Delia had been great at the ten, terrible at the five. And he’d had to find out the hard way. The day after they exchanged vows, she turned into someone he didn’t want to have a conversation with, let alone live with day in and day out. She quit her job and dedicated herself to shopping for designer clothing. She hated Chicago and constantly whined about moving back to New York.
She was all facade and no substance. She was a shallow, selfish shell of a woman lacking in empathy, sympathy, or moral compass. He recalled his mother saying the woman was a soulless pit where evil dwelled. He really couldn’t argue with her. You name it, Delia did it. Overspend? Sleep with his friends? Terrify the housekeeping staff? Trash his Gold Coast condo? All of that and more. The more unhappy she was, the more vodka she drank. His bill from the liquor store that delivered rivaled that of a restaurant with a robust happy hour.
A part of him wondered if it was his fault. Had he not been sensitive enough, supportive enough; had he not been clear about his expectations? Could he really not have seen that beneath the polish, there was nothing there? His parents’ marriage, his grandparents’ marriage, his uncle’s marriages were all healthy and long lasting. He thought if he just hung in there, things would get better. They didn’t.
When the end came, it came quickly. One day after a taxi brought her home drunk, half dressed, and smelling of another man, he decided that he’d had enough. There was no reason for either of them to be this miserable and, frankly, he was bone weary of all the drama.
The very next morning, he sat Delia down and asked her how much it would cost for her to walk away and never look back. She named a sum intended to shock him and asked for an apartment. She had no idea that he would have paid three times that much to be rid of her free and clear. Within forty-eight hours, papers were signed and he had her and her things packed and headed east to New York City. She left with a check in her purse and the key to her new residence in her hand. When he closed the door behind her, he thought good riddance.
He moved to his current townhome in Lincoln Park and rarely looked back. Which was why he was able to answer Rick’s question with absolute clarity. “I’ve seen women who look shiny on the outside with nothing on the inside. I know the difference; this one is special.”
“If you say so.”
“I definitely say so.”
“Okay, she’s special . . . whatever that means. So what are you going to do about it?”
“Wait,” Jason said with a secret smile.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am just going to wait.” Jason nodded, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes.
“So, what? She’s coming to you?”
“Yes sir, she is coming looking for me to see what’s next.”
Rick threw back his head and laughed. “This I would place money on. I wager that the Bears will go undefeated before this woman tracks you down. Five hundred dollars cash money, son.” He reached into his wallet, pulled out four hundreds and two fifties, and slapped them down on the table.
Jason opened one eye and eyed the cash. “You just lost a half grand, Mr. Santos. I’ll be calling you shortly to collect.” He closed his eyes again. When he received no response and the silence stretched on, he opened his eyes and sat up. Rick was looking at him with a strange expression on his face. “What? Mad you just threw away five hundred dollars?”
“Intrigued that you are this positive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this enthused about the sheer prospect of getting to know someone. Maybe this girl is something special.”
“See? Now you’re on my page.”
“Just one last question . . .”
“Half this game has gone by with you and your questions. What is it?”
“Does she have a sister?”
“Ha! I’ll find out.”
“Now . . . about this game. . .”
4
Come What May
It had been two weeks since I watched Jason walk away from outside my condo. The good thing was I had no time to dwell on it; work was kicking my ass. The bad thing was I had no time to dwell on it; work was kicking my ass. Even though it was early September, we had started putting together budget projections for the following year. That meant long days in meetings and longer nights in front of a spreadsheet. A glance at my watch showed that it was already eight thirty. I’d been at work since seven a.m.
“Ms. Lake, are you with us?” Charles, my executive vice president, was shooting me the evil eye from the head of the table.
I opened my mouth to say I was fine, but what came out was, “No. I’m not. I’m not even on autopilot anymore. Eight straight days of this pace and I’m fried. I can’t be the only one. At this point, we’re in danger of doing more harm than good. I could sit here and fake it and pretend that I’m giving you my best, but we’re better than that. I’m sorry, but I for one need a break.” Then I held my breath. NOW is when I decide to get brave? Charles’s eyes narrowed and locked on mine.
Everyone around the table froze, looking from me to Charles and back again. I was all in, holding his stare, not giving a damn about consequences. We were all a day away from nervous breakdowns or stabbing each other over the last turkey sandwich. Enough was enough. If this cost me my job or his respect, this clearly wasn’t the place for me. After a few more seconds where I swore my heartbeat was audible, Charles spoke. “Okay. Truth time: everybody’s fried?”
“Hell yes.”
“My kid forgot my name.”
“I was burned out a week ago.”
“My socks don’t match today.”
“What day is it anyway?”
The chorus of assenting voices rose. Charles held up his hand. “I got it, I got it. All of this yet somehow Jayla is the only one ballsy enough to say something?”
Silence.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he had a weary smile on his face. “Thank you, Jayla. It’s Friday night. Everybody get outta here and take a three-day weekend. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
We sat in stunned silence, not sure we’d heard him correctly. I again spoke for the group. “Seriously? Monday, too?”
“Move it before I change my mind. Also, no laptops home, no BlackBerrys on. Just take yourselves and go.”
His last words acted like a starter pistol at a racetrack. People hopped up and scattered as though running for their lives. Or in our cases, running to our lives. Such as they were. By the time I logged off, locked up my laptop, and put my purse on my shoulder, I had made up my mind. I knew exactly where I was headed. And I suddenly couldn’t wait to get there.
At the elevator doors, I stood tapping my foot impatiently. Let’s go already!
“Jayla, can we buy you a drink? Hell, two drinks and a lobster dinner? You’ve earned it.” Two of my co-workers offered and raised their hands for high fives.
I slapped palms while shaking my head. “Rain check, fellas?”
Charles walked up. “Hot date?”
I just smiled.
“Really? The workaholic is getting a life?” he teased.
I raised a brow. “Have you heard the one about the pot and the kettle?”
We laughed as we stepped onto the elevator. We made friendly chitchat as we rode down the eighteen floors to the lobby level. It was just what I needed to keep from dwelling on the potentially reckless thing I was about to do. “Good night, all,” I called out as we scattered in different directions. I headed toward the coffee house. Approaching, I noticed there were no customers inside. I glanced at my watch. It was a little after nine: their closing time. I reached to open the front door, but it was locked. I rattled the door a little in frustration.
“Sorry, we’re closed,” a familiar voice called out from the back of the shop.
I rattled the door again, this time with a little more noise and force. It became urgent that I see Jason. Right now. Tonight.
“We’re closed!” he called out again. Then he stuck his he
ad around the corner to frown toward the door. When he saw it was me, a slow smile spread across his face. I waved with a smile of my own. Setting down the towel in his hand, he headed toward the door with a gleam in his eye that I had to call predatory. He looked amazing in simple jeans and a black T-shirt with the café apron over it. My mouth watered just looking at him.
He unlocked the door and opened it wide. “Look who’s at my door.”
“Hey,” I said softly and stretched up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He turned his face and grazed his lips with mine. All my senses went on high alert and I had to concentrate to pay attention to what he was saying at that moment. “I beg your pardon?”
“I asked if you would like some coffee?” he said, drawing me into the store before running his lips down the length of my jaw. He pushed the door closed behind me and I heard the click of the lock.
The edges of my mind got a little cloudy the minute his lips touched my flesh. “I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”
He laughed. “I asked if you wanted some coffee?”
“Maybe later.”
“Ah. One moment.” He hurriedly circled the room, closing blinds, flipping off the outside lights, and switching the sign to CLOSED. He turned back to me. “So then: tea?”
I shook my head, took off my summer-weight jacket, and dropped it onto a chair with my purse. I had on a sleeveless jersey wrap dress in crimson and taupe sling-back pumps. I walked toward him, putting a little extra sway in my hips. It was as if standing up for myself in that meeting had set me free. I was going to be the woman to say what I wanted . . . and get it. And right now, I wanted Jason. Come what may. “I just want you.”
He flashed a smile that literally made me weak. “I know.” He met me in the middle of the floor and let me take the final step into his arms. He stroked his hands up and down my back.
I wanted to purr under his touch. “How do you know?”
He trailed his finger down my neck and across my bodice before pausing, “May I?” His fingers paused as he waited for my permission.
“Uh, sure,” I breathed.
He continued running his fingers down and around my chest, flicking a razor-sharp nipple as he went. When I gasped, he said in a low growl, “I know you want me because you are here and obviously aroused.” He raised his other hand and flicked both nipples once, twice until my head fell back in surrender.
“Violently,” I agreed as he leaned down and tasted the column of my throat that was exposed, leaving a trail of flames as he licked. I leaned into him, wanting to get closer, quicker.
“Can I . . . help you with that?” he offered, flicking faster, making my nipples painfully sensitized and all of me needy.
“Please.” I untied his apron and palmed the contours of his hardness through the denim, stroking and exploring.
He backed me farther into the store, pressing his hips forward and continuing to tease my nipples, first the left, then the right, in strokes and circles and perfect pressure. “You want this?”
“Um-hmm.” I squirmed impatiently.
He slid one hand under my dress and up my thigh, sending a long finger beneath my panties and between my swollen lips, his hand instantly coated with my juices. “Quickly?” He asked the obvious.
“Oh God, please,” I begged, starting to pant in earnest. My deprivation, his hotness, my wetness, his skilled fingers: I knew it wouldn’t take long.
He lifted my right thigh and slid two fingers into me, stretching and teasing while his thumb zeroed in, pressing down in a quick circle. I came instantly, breath stolen at the intensity of sensation. He stroked me through every tremor before lowering my leg back to the ground, wrapping his arms around me, and lifting me onto the low counter behind me. “So, now that we’ve taken the edge off . . .” He tilted my hips forward and pulled my panties down while I shimmied to help him.
I was a whole new Jayla. I felt powerful, womanly, and in charge. Reaching forward with no shyness, I grasped the waistband of his jeans and carefully unbuttoned the four fastenings. Pulling the denim and black cotton down past an erection of impressive proportions did nothing to lessen my eagerness to have him inside me.
Kicking out of the clothing and stepping between my thighs, he waited until my eyes were on his before he spoke. “Are you ready?” He canted forward until the tip of him teased my entrance.
“Yes.” I scooted forward and rubbed myself against him. We both groaned as my juices moistened the head of his shaft. He backed away, plucked a lemon-lime-colored condom from the promotional display behind the counter, and quickly sheathed himself.
“Safety first. Now, if you’re sure you want this?” He slid his hardness against me, hitting every nerve ending before pressing the head against the most sensitive part of me.
“YES!” I grabbed his rear in my hands and tried to pull him forward.
He held back. “Be sure.” His voice was deep, his tone was firm.
Through the hormone haze I became aware of his meaning and my circumstances. I was, for all intents and purposes, exposed in a public place, with a man I’d met less than fifteen days ago. Of the two of us, he was thinking with both heads. Here we were: his hands under my knees to hold me open wide, my hands on his butt to pull him near, staring into each other’s eyes and contemplating sanity.“Are you sure?” I felt him twitch against me.
He smiled. “Clearly. I’ve been sure. I’ve been waiting on you. I want you to be sure.”
What the hell, you only live once, carpe diem: all those convenient justifications suddenly made perfect sense to me. I kicked off my shoes, tossed my head back, and lifted myself onto his shaft.
He took the hint and slid the rest of the way into me, so slowly.
I gasped for breath as he filled me to the hilt. “Hello, Jason.”
He smiled and rotated his hips slightly. “Hi, Jayla.”
“Jason . . . more,” I implored as he slid out and then back in with the same wickedly slow pace. “More.”
He shook his head. “You like that, Jayla?” He tilted my hips and slid in at an angle that set off every bell and whistle on the way down before twisting slightly and hitting all the others on the way back up. Ever so slowly he slid in and back out as though there was all the time in the world to stay and tease and linger. In and back out, again and then again. He was disciplined, he was delicious, and he was demonic in his ability to maintain the same achingly slow pace. Instantly, I was hooked, craving the return of him each time he withdrew. I couldn’t hide from the pleasure. I started to moan and he laughed low. “Yeah, Jayla likes it like that.”
I was burning, bucking my hips, craving more, unable to get close enough. “Help me,” I asked, leaning back to get more leverage. He lifted me off the counter altogether and held me in place against him, grinding up against me so the sweat and the juices and the skin all fused into a humid jungle. “Jason!” I cried out as he bounced me along the length of him, his length hitting inside me so deeply that I began to convulse against him helplessly.
He carried me over to a large purple couch in the corner and laid both of us down. “That’s right, baby, you just let it go. I know you have more in you. Now, let’s go.” Sliding his entire body on top of me, he began to thrust in earnest. Using the floor and the back of the couch for leverage, he rode me hard and deep like a man on a mission. I wrapped my legs around him and hung on for the ride. The feel of him filling me was addictive. I wanted more, all he had to give. How had I lived without this feeling? Had I ever had this exact feeling before? Had it ever been this good?
I was pure sensation from the tips of my fingers to the soles of my feet as a monster orgasm built up in waves. Desperate, I ground up against him, meeting his strokes, and milking him with my canal. I was not too proud to beg. “Just give me . . .”
“Take it, baby, take all of it.” He slammed into me harder and groaned so sexily in the back of his throat as sweat dripped from his brow. Leaning down, he placed his lips on mine and let his tongue mimic
the rhythm of his hips.
It was too much. Too hot, too good, too full, too deep, and too sexy. He paused, reared back, and sank back deep, moving with an urgency and a force I loved.
“Now, Jayla, now,” he said through gritted teeth, his hips pumping faster as his climax hit.
I screamed as I came apart, raw screams torn from me in rapid succession.
Slowly, we came back to reality. Two minutes, then five passed. The scents of sinfully steamy sex, chocolate, and coffee hung heavy in the air. There was the hum of the machines and the rasp of our breathing for sound. His lips pressed lightly against my forehead, my hands still clutching and unclutching on his rear. I closed my eyes to keep real life at bay for a few minutes more. The world outside did not have to exist in that moment.
My thoughts were everywhere. Why had I ever thought I wasn’t that sexual a creature? Who would sit on this sofa tomorrow and would the wet spot still be there? What was he thinking? Could I ever buy coffee at that counter again without imagining myself impaled and dripping, wide open and begging for more? “Umm.” I took a deep breath and wriggled a little, aroused by the thought.
“Unless you’re ready for round two, right here and now, you better hold still,” Jason said with a smile in his voice, as he hardened a little in response to my humid wriggle.
Crush Page 3