Her face softened. “I’m glad you’re here, honey. It’s good to see you.”
Hugging her with one arm, he swiped his cell off the bar with the other and punched in his password. Marc touched the camera app, tightened his hold around his mother’s waist, then raised his cell in the air. “Mom, we’re taking a selfie. Smile!”
She didn’t, and when the camera flashed she shielded her face with her hands.
“Marc, put that thing away. This is a classy, upscale event, not a backyard barbecue,” she hissed, glancing nervously around the room. “And delete that hideous picture.”
“Mom, it’s a party. Relax.” Chuckling, Marc slid his cell phone into his jacket pocket. “Are Kingsley and Zander here? I don’t see them anywhere.”
Sadness touched her features, and a frown twisted her thin lips. “No. I’d hoped Kingsley would be here, but I guess she’s too busy playing house to support her family.”
“Have you spoken to her since her birthday dinner?”
Bridgett shook her head, but beamed as guests walked past, waving and smiling.
“Mom, you need to apologize.”
“For what?” she argued. “Having an opinion? Your sister is making a mistake shacking up with that man and his child, and I’m not talking to her until she comes to her senses.”
“His name is Tyson, and he’s a smart kid who hopes to be an airline pilot one day.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I. Don’t. Care. Kingsley has no business living with that man. It’s wrong. I didn’t raise her like that.”
Marc knew better than to argue with his mom, and decided to try talking to his twenty-eight-year-old sister on Sunday when he went to her Wicker Park home to watch the football game with Zander. His sister’s fiancé was a mechanic, and Marc thought the single dad was a positive influence on his sister. Since meeting Zander Daniels and his six-year-old son, Tyson, last year, Kingsley had become more thoughtful and compassionate, and now the siblings were closer than ever. A pharmacist, with a sharp mind and an effervescent personality, his sister was on the fast track to success, and he couldn’t be more proud of her.
“Honey, I will be back shortly. The entertainment portion of the program is about to start, and I have to ensure everything runs smoothly.” Straightening her shoulders, Mrs. Cunningham inspected her gown, then fluffed her hair. “Drink responsibly. I will see you later.”
His mom left, rushing off to boss someone else around, and Marc sighed in relief.
Marc spotted a server holding a silver tray and stopped him mid-stride. “My man! Am I ever glad to see you,” he said, licking his lips in hungry anticipation. “What do you have there?”
“A leftover appetizer tray from table nine,” the server explained. “There are ham-and-cheese croquettes, blue crab beignets, and stuffed mushrooms, if you’re interested . . .”
“I’m very interested.” Marc clapped his back, then stuffed a twenty-dollar bill in the front of his shirt pocket. “Thanks, man. Keep them coming.”
Marc was sitting at the bar, eating his second meal of the day, when he heard excitement ripple through the crowd, and glanced up from his plate to see what the commotion was.
That’s when he saw her.
The svelte, statuesque beauty in the sequined mini-dress.
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, hitting his chest with a thud.
Smitten, completely captivated, Marc admired her beauty. The flawless, almond-brown skin, the pronounced cheekbones, the button nose, and blinding-white teeth. Straight, shiny hair—that his hands were itching to touch—kissed her shoulders, and her curled eyelashes and dramatic makeup gave her a sultry, exotic vibe. Like a model in a fashion magazine. Stilettos elongated her long, silky legs, and her walk was mesmerizing—the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
A hush fell over the room as the crowd parted for the curvy new arrival in the emerald-green dress. Swishing her shapely hips, she moved through the grand ballroom as if she was an international superstar and it was her own personal stage. She was an actress. Had to be. She had “it,” the wow factor, that intangible quality that couldn’t be defined or explained, and men and women alike gawked at her in open appreciation.
Marc suspected she was in her early twenties, and wondered if she was single. As she approached the bar, her floral perfume overwhelmed his senses. His mouth dried, and sweat drenched his palms. Like the sun, her smile was so dazzling and bright Marc had to look away.
Narrowing his eyes, Marc scanned her left hand for a diamond ring but didn’t see one. Over the years, he’d met pop stars, elite female athletes, and even an Oscar-winning actress, but none of them had captured his attention the way the voluptuous beauty did. Drawn to her, he couldn’t fight his feelings. Couldn’t stop from trailing her around the room with his eyes. Determined to meet her, Marc stood, but before he could introduce himself, a short, stocky man with rimless glasses stepped forward, ruining his plan.
The stranger purposely bumped into her, and a confused expression marred her pretty features. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping back.
“You’re stunning,” he praised, in an awestruck tone of voice, his eyes glued to her cleavage. “If you were a burger at McDonald’s you’d be the McGorgeous.”
“Ah, thank you, I think.”
Amused, Marcus listened in on the conversation. Watching them through the mirrored wall behind the bar, he wondered how long it would take for the woman to give the stranger his walking papers. Marc wiped his mouth with a napkin, then tossed it down on his empty plate.
“I’m Warner, and you are?”
“Uninterested, and unavailable,” she quipped, tucking her clutch purse under her arm. “Bye. Have a good night.”
Wearing a toothy smile, Warner pointed at a barstool. “Sit. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“You seem like a nice guy, and I’m not trying to be mean, but I’m not interested.”
The grin slid off his face, and he raised a thick, bushy eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Because I like my men the way I like my coffee—tall, strong, and black.”
Marc cracked up, chuckled long and hard at her witty comeback, but when he noticed everyone at the bar staring at him—including the curvy knockout—his laughter dried up. Unlike his celebrity clients, Marc hated to draw attention to himself, and hoped he hadn’t blown his chance with the brown-eyed beauty by eavesdropping on her conversation.
“I appreciate everyone coming out tonight to support the Sickle Cell Foundation. If my husband, Eli, was here, I know he’d be proud of our efforts, so thank you . . .”
Hearing his mother’s voice, Marc stood to his feet and faced the raised, dimly lit stage.
“Our first performers of the night are a young, dynamic a capella group from right here in Chicago. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to Lyrical Soul !”
Cupping her hands around her mouth, the voluptuous beauty cheered, hollered, and whistled. The noise was deafening, and Marc knew he wouldn’t be able to hear properly for a week, but he didn’t move away from her. He moved toward her. Closed the gap between them.
Hearing his cell phone buzz, he checked the number on the screen. His least favorite client was calling. The hockey player had a monster-sized ego, and Marc didn’t feel like hearing him bitch about his teammates. Last night, they’d talked for an hour, and although he prided himself on being available to his clients day and night, he couldn’t take the call. Making a mental note to phone him in the morning, Marc pressed the Decline button and pocketed his cell. He returned his attention to the beauty with the spellbinding dance moves.
Intrigued, Marc studied her. She watched the performance with rapt attention, singing every word of every song. Everything about her was appealing. Her singing. Her enthusiasm. How she swiveled her hips and whipped her hair around as if she were the queen of rock and roll. And, when she signaled to the lead singer at the end of the group’s ten-minute set, Marc suspected she was their manager.
In a stroke of good l
uck, the woman sat down on a stool at the bar and ordered a Mistletoe Martini. It was time to make his move. Filled with confidence, he stalked toward her, determined to sweep her off her feet—and into his bed.
Chapter 2
Maya Malone hated Christmas. Had since she was a little girl, growing up in a low-income-housing apartment with her mom and brother on Chicago’s South Side. Raised by a single mother, who’d rather party than parent, Maya had never had a Christmas tree in her living room, or baked cookies for Santa, and the only presents she’d ever received during the holidays were from her foster parents. But, as Maya sat at the bar inside the Avenues Ballroom in the cocktail dress she’d designed, and sewed weeks earlier, listening to the ten-piece band play the instrumental version of “Silent Night,” she felt an overwhelming sense of pride. She’d done it. Beaten the odds. Proved the naysayers wrong. Made a good life for herself. Working as a celebrity stylist for an up-and-coming a capella group had its pros and cons, but Maya was exactly where she wanted to be, and felt fortunate to be living the American dream.
“Is this seat taken?” a male voice asked.
Oh, no, he’s back! Maya thought, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. All night, men had been chatting her up, asking her out, and offering their business cards. Most of the men were old enough to be her father, but she’d been polite and respectful to all of them. It was flattering to receive male attention, especially after everything her ex-fiancé had put her through last year, but the stranger with the corny pickup lines who’d bumped into her earlier didn’t light her fire.
Why won’t he leave me alone? What do I have to do to get rid of him? Annoyed that he was bothering her again, Maya spun around, prepared to ask him to leave, but when her gaze fell across Mr. Eye Candy—the hottie her friends had spotted in the crowd earlier and shamelessly drooled over—she slammed her open mouth shut.
For a moment, she stared at the ridiculously tall stranger in the slim-fitted, designer suit. He reeked of confidence, his light brown eyes were weapons of mass seduction, and his crisp, refreshing cologne made her think of the beach. Her favorite place to be. Every time she travelled to LA she’d spend hours at Manhattan Beach, and just the thought of swimming in the ocean with the dark and handsome stranger made goose bumps prick her skin.
His lips were moving—oh, how she wished they were moving against her mouth!—but his unexpected arrival threw her for a loop, making it impossible for her to concentrate, and Maya didn’t hear a word he’d said. To regain control, she picked up her Mistletoe Martini and took a sip. “Hi,” she said brightly, finding her voice. “I’m Maya.”
“I’m Marc. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
No, sexy, the pleasure is all mine, she thought, giving her eyes permission to roam and lust. His deep, husky voice tickled her ears, making her feel dizzy. Maya wanted to invite him to join her, but when she remembered what happened last night at the show in Newark, she had second thoughts. A middle-aged Spanish man had asked her to dance, and out of nowhere a petite redhead had showed up, slinging insults and causing a scene. If her girlfriends hadn’t come to her rescue, Maya would probably still be at Fever Bar and Lounge, pleading her case. “Did you bring a date tonight, or are you flying solo, like me?”
“I’m as single as they come. No wife, no fiancée, no kids.”
Surprised by his answer, Maya wondered what his story was. He was to-die-for, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh, and in her experience men who looked like him usually had girlfriends in every part of the city.
He sat down on the stool beside her, and when their arms accidently touched, electricity shot through her body. Their eyes met, and her thoughts scattered, jumping from one X-rated thought to the next. To break the spell, she tore her gaze away from his face and asked, “What’s your story? Why aren’t you married, with kids and a house in the suburbs?”
“I was married once, but it didn’t work out.”
Maya knew she was being nosy, getting all up in his business, but she couldn’t resist asking about his failed marriage. “What happened?”
“Can I be honest?”
Intrigued, and wanting him to be forthcoming about his relationship status, Maya nodded her head. “Yes, absolutely. Feel free to speak your mind.”
“Women don’t want nice guys like me. They want thugs and bad boys, guys who’ll lie and mistreat them, not honest, respectable men like me who love their moms, picnics in the park, a capella music, and Sex and the City marathons.”
A giggle tickled the back of Maya’s throat and fell out of her mouth.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. I bet you’ve never even seen an episode of the show.”
“Of course I have, and now I have an important question for you.”
Enjoying their verbal banter, Maya shrugged. “Ask away. I have nothing to hide.”
Marc wore a serious expression on his face, but the corners of his lips were curled in a half smile. “Which character do you most identify with on the show?”
“Is this a trick question?”
Marc chuckled, and Maya did, too. She liked his personality, how charming and personable he was, and she could easily spend the rest of the night talking to him. The Avenues Ballroom offered spectacular views of Water Tower Park and Michigan Avenue, and watching the sunset with a suave, debonair man who smelled like the great outdoors was a heady feeling.
The female bartender arrived and took their drink orders. The brunette winked at Marc, but he pretended not to notice, gave Maya his undivided attention instead. “I’m waiting . . .” he prompted, drumming his fingers on the granite countertop. “Do you have an answer?”
“I’m torn. I love Carrie, and Charlotte, and I see myself in both of them.”
“So, you’re a confident, fun-loving girl who dreams of having it all. A fabulous career, a loving family, a couple of cute kids, and a wardrobe that makes you the envy of all your girlfriends. Am I right?”
“Wow, how did you know that? I’m impressed. You hit it out of the park!”
“We want the same things out of life,” he said smoothly, his eyes bright with desire and mischief. “We must be kindred souls.”
Maya knew Marc was joking, but for some strange reason, his words aroused her. Maya imagined herself kissing him, right then and there at the bar, but wiped the thought from her mind. Despite her height, and her ballsy personality, she’d never made the first move with a guy, and she’d always been attracted to men who were strong and assertive.
“We have a lot in common, and our names even complement each other.”
“You think so?”
“Heck yeah. ‘Marc and Maya’ sounds cool, like a Hollywood power couple.”
Amused, she hid a smile. To cool her overheated body, she fanned her face and sipped her cocktail. Maya didn’t know if she was sweating because of the temperature in the room, or because the dark-skinned hottie was staring at her, and when her body tingled and her nipples hardened under her dress, Maya was convinced it was the latter.
“I think you’d look great on my arm at the New Year’s Eve black-tie party,” he announced, a grin dimpling his cheek. “You should definitely be my date.”
Yassssss! she thought, overcome with excitement. Maya told herself he was joking again, just teasing her, and changed the subject by asking Marc about his career. Convinced he was a professional basketball player, she was shocked to discover he was a lawyer who worked for a management company that represented dozens of celebrities, and high-profile people.
“Are you from Chicago, or just visiting?” Marc asked.
“Born and raised on the South Side and proud of it. You?”
“The North Side, but don’t hold it against me.” Chuckling, he unbuttoned his suit jacket, took it off, and put it on the stool beside him. “You work for Lyrical Soul, right?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I put two and two together during their performance. You were rocking out pre
tty hard to ‘Jingle Bells,’ and you sang all of the songs, note for note, so I figured you worked for the group,” he explained. “To be honest, I thought you were an actress.”
“An actress?” Maya repeated, shocked by his confession. “Why?”
“Are you serious?” Raising an eyebrow, Marc pointed at the mirrored wall along the bar, and stared at her reflection. “Look at you. Not only are you physically beautiful, you glow from within. You have a spark about you, a light, and it’s captivating.”
Beautiful? Captivating? His words confused her. Was Marc for real? Had her girlfriends put him up to this? Expecting to see the members of Lyrical Soul hiding in plain sight, Maya glanced around the room, but she couldn’t find her girlfriends anywhere.
“You look upset. Did I say something wrong?”
Never had Maya felt more wanted or desirable. Her gaze strayed from his eyes to his lips, and it took everything in her not to kiss him. To avoid acting on her impulses, Maya sipped her cocktail, drinking the sweet, fruity concoction until it was finished.
“Did I blow my chance with the prettiest woman in the room, or can I stick around for a few more minutes and enjoy the pleasure of your wonderful company?”
Sexual tension consumed the air, hovering above the bar like a fragrant mist. No one had ever said she had a “light” before, and his compliments wowed her. All her life, ever since she was a chubby third-grader, she’d been told she was too heavy, too dark, too tall, and being with a man who praised her appearance gave her a rush. Her ex-boyfriend had never looked at her the way Marc did. Desire lay naked in his eyes, and his broad smile gave her a brain freeze. His mouth looked inviting, tempting, and for the second time in minutes all Maya could think about was kissing him until she was breathless.
“Of course you can stay,” she quipped with a cheeky smile, tapping an index finger against her empty glass. “You have to stick around to buy me another drink!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Maya spotted her girlfriends from Lyrical Soul on the dance floor, doing the electric slide with gusto, and smiled to herself. To celebrate the success of their ten-city European tour, which had wrapped up three days earlier in London after a month away from home, they’d booked the presidential suite at the hotel. Closer than sisters, Maya loved Liberty Clark, Eliza Neves, and Aquarius Davidson with all her heart, and valued their friendship. Last year, when her engagement imploded, her girlfriends had dropped everything to be at her side on Christmas Eve, and their support had meant the world to her.
The Perfect Present Page 18