Sinful Paradise (Kimani Hotties)

by Christopher, Ann

  And then his mind blanked out and his body took over.

  Part of it was that she was so fragrant—flowers and coconuts; he’d missed that heady combination—and so soft and yielding and, somehow, an aggressive wildcat. Plus, she made these breathy little mewling sounds that shot straight to the center of his brain, intoxicating him.

  He lost his head a little.

  He was always losing his head with her.

  Groaning, he pulled her closer, running his hands down her supple back and hips, grabbing that ass to anchor her while he ground his swelling erection against the sweet spot between her legs. She was right there with him, hooking a knee around his thigh to keep him there, and, honest to God, he felt something pop inside his brain.

  His hands went to work with no coherent instruction from him, stroking up her bare thighs and under her skirt, hefting her up so she could wrap her legs around his waist as he swung her around and plopped her on his desk.

  Something hit the floor with a crash; he didn’t bother looking to see what it was.

  All that mattered was her open mouth as it worked beneath his, and her sharp little nails raking his nape and scalp, pulling his hair, and the way she parted her thighs for him, welcoming him, and he swore to himself—swore it—that he would be the last man to ever occupy this space with her.

  This space was made for him.

  She was made for him, and a part of him had known that the second he laid eyes on her.

  “Wait.” She pulled back, lids heavy and eyes glazed with passion. He followed her, recapturing that lush mouth because he’d waited so long to taste it. But she seemed to be coming to her senses. “Wait, Cooper. Aren’t we at your office?”

  “I’m with you.” Since she wouldn’t let him kiss her mouth, he took the opportunity to explore a little, planting his hands on either side of her torso so that his thumbs were in easy reach of her nipples, which he rubbed. She shuddered. Gasped. “I’m with you,” he said again. “That’s all I know.”

  “Cooper.” Resting her palms on the desk for support, she let her head fall back, exposing the smooth column of her throat. Knowing an opportunity when he saw one, he leaned forward, licking it. “Cooper. Stop. Sto-op. This isn’t taking it slow. Cooper!”

  “Screw slow.”

  She put her hands on his chest and shoved him, hard.

  “Yeah, okay.” Sighing harshly, he let her go. “Okay, okay.”

  Feeling wrung out, if not ruined, and deciding it would be best if he put a little physical distance between them, he walked around to the other side of his desk, slumped into his chair, leaned back so he could rest his feet on the desk and closed his eyes, trying to get his overheated body under control. The continued sound of her breath, as though she was as far gone as he was, didn’t exactly help. The situation called for drastic action, so he pinched the bridge of his nose until stars popped behind his lids.

  There. That was better.

  Opening his eyes, he saw Gloria still perched on the edge of his desk, her face lowered and shadowed.

  “What?” he asked gently.

  “I just feel like we should talk about the race thing. Before we go too far down this road.”

  “The race thing?” he echoed blankly. “What’s that?”

  She frowned, swiveling to face him. “Have we met? I’m black and you’re white, Cooper.”

  His frazzled brain was having a tough time keeping up. “I’m well aware of my color, thanks. I’m the only white face in a black family, remember? What’s your point?”

  Her frown turned to a gape, as though she never could’ve imagined the existence of someone this clueless.

  “My point is, I’m wondering if, I don’t know, you only date sisters or something.”

  Yeah, okay. He got it. And she was starting to piss him off.

  “Maybe you’ve got some fetish,” she continued. “Maybe I’m your walk on the wild side before you settle down and marry Buffy Whitington from Greenwich.”

  “Or maybe you’re not,” he said, not bothering to keep the edge out of his voice.

  She plowed ahead anyway. “But have you dated other black women? Do I remind you of the big love of your life—the one that got away? Am I your type?”

  “No. No. Yes. Well, no. Anything else I can clarify for you?”

  “I’m not your type?” Hurt flashed across her face before she quickly blanked out her expression. “So what’s your type, then?”

  “Normally? Petite blondes, if you must know.”

  “Petite blondes.”

  His lips thinned. He probably needed to work on his patience, because this seemed to be an important topic to her. But his body was a hive of buzzing hormones right now and, besides that, wasn’t this the twenty-first freaking century? Why were they going there?

  “Anything else I can help you with?” he snapped. “Do you want to know my number, too? Because if you do, I’ve got a lot of adding to do—”

  “No! I do not want to know how many women you’ve been with!”

  “What’s with the twenty questions?” he wondered. “It’s not like I’m your type, am I?”

  Her face reddened like the burners on a stove. “I’m asking the questions here.”

  “Let me guess.” He tried to smile, but his face felt as though it was encased in concrete. “Tall, dark and handsome, right?” She glanced quickly away, making a production out of smoothing her hair behind her ears and trying not to look guilty as charged. “Well, I’m tall and handsome. I’m not dark. Just so we’re clear.”

  “Got it. Thanks,” she said sourly.

  They glared across the desk at each other, trapped in a moody silence while he wondered how things had taken such a sharp left turn into ugly territory.

  “So...this thing.” She gestured between them. “With us—”

  “It’s called a relationship, Gloria. Our developing relationship. You should practice saying it. Get used to the whole idea. I’d hoped you were used to it, since it’s been a long damn time coming.”

  “Our relationship has a short shelf life, then.” There was a distinct bite in her voice now. “We’re not each other’s types, so we’ll never last, right? I guess that’s fine with me.”

  A muscle started to work in the back of his jaw. “Fine?”

  “I just want to know going in— Stop glaring at me like that!”

  “Here’s what you need to know.” He dropped his feet from the desk, scooted his chair closer and leaned in, staring up at her. “You’re my type. If you came in green, I’d want you in green. My heart and my dick don’t care what color you are or that our colors don’t match. Got it?”

  She faltered. “Yeah, but—”

  “But what? I’m just a dumb white boy who’s incapable of figuring out who he wants or what color she is?”

  “What? No! It’s just that...I’ve never dated a white guy before.”

  “Well, neither have I,” he said flatly.

  That broke up some of the tension. She snorted but didn’t laugh.

  “What’s this about, Gloria?”

  She hesitated. “Relationships are hard enough when everyone comes from the same demographic group.”

  “Do me a favor, Doc.”

  “What?”

  “Shut up and stop thinking.”

  “Excuse me? Do you want me to go ethnic on your ass?”

  That made him grin, because now she sounded like Mama. Which made him think that it’d be a good idea to get the two women in his life together. “You can think about your patients and Talia and her wedding and all, but don’t think about this.” He gestured between them. “Just let it happen. It’s happening. Okay?”

  “I have to get to work. I’m late.” A hint of a smile softened the edges of her mouth. “And since
I’m smarter after Aaron, I’m not sleeping with you until we get to know each other much better. Just so you know.”

  He suppressed a grin with difficulty. Taking one of her hands, he raised it to his lips so he could suck and then bite the tender webbing between her thumb and index finger. She gasped, shivering.

  “We’ll see about that,” he murmured.

  Chapter 9

  Gloria hurried into the café a couple blocks from the hospital and saw at a glance that Cooper was already there.

  Typical, she thought, grinning as she hurried through the double glass doors and headed for his table, which was near the soaring windows. The lingering Eagle Scout in him did not, apparently, allow him to ever be late. In the two months since they’d been dating, he’d never been so much as thirty seconds tardy and usually beat her to wherever they were going.

  She liked that about him.

  She liked pretty much everything about him, and that was what worried her.

  He’d already ordered his standard drink, iced tea with lemon, and had the menu open on the table in front of him. His blond head was bent low over his phone as he checked his email, and she had a minute to study him as she wove her way through the crowded tables.

  Today he wore a black T-shirt with jeans so faded and weathered they’d be white with another wash or two. His long body was relaxed, slung back in the chair with his ankles crossed, and his shoulders seemed to span the width of the table. His arms, meanwhile, were works of art, muscled and cut so powerfully that she really should put some effort into figuring out how to capture his physicality and offer it to her patients. If she could develop a surgical procedure to make other men look the way he did, she’d make a fortune by the end of the year, no question.

  His lids were lowered so that his lashes, which were dark and lush, fanned the sharp planes of his cheeks. And then, as though he felt her presence when she came within a few feet of the table, his bright gaze flicked up and connected with hers.

  A transformation came over him.

  He smiled, a wide ear-to-ear grin of pleasure, and all his harsh masculinity receded in favor of boyish delight. Dimples grooved in his cheeks, and lines appeared at the corners of his shining blue eyes. Watching him, she felt that thing she felt whenever they saw each other—that delicious swoop of pleasure that exactly mirrored what she was seeing on his face.

  It was as though life went on all the time, but living happened only when they were together.

  In one smooth motion, he put his phone down, slid his chair out and stood, reaching out a hand to bring her close, as though there could possibly be some other place she might slip off to when he was in the room.

  When he bent his head to kiss her, it was, like all his greeting kisses, lingering, sweet and unabashed. She’d thought more than once that even if he ever had a private meeting with the president and she interrupted it, he’d be this glad to see her and would welcome her just like this.

  And when the kiss was over, he folded her into his arms for a bear hug, lifting her to the tips of her toes, then, finally, he let her go with a kiss in that tender space right where her cheek met her ear and whispered the same thing he always told her and that she never got tired of hearing: “I missed you.”

  She did the same thing she always did: ducked her head, smoothed her hair and flushed furiously. Because she could never get past the idea that this was all temporary. That she’d better not get too attached, because he’d get wise to her soon or find someone else soon, and then he’d be gone and she’d be crushed. That it was better to never show too much emotion where men were concerned, and it was much, much better to never hint to Cooper Davies that she might be falling in love with him.

  She tried not to let her smile show that she counted the minutes in between their time together, waiting until she could see him and breathe again.

  “Don’t get mushy on me, Eagle Scout.”

  Usually when she said this, the light in his big baby blues dimmed just a bit, but he recovered quickly and joked away the hurt, saying something like, “I’m all about the mush, Doc.” But this time he caught her hand, stopping her when she would’ve slid into her chair.

  Trapped and wary, she met his unsmiling eyes and waited.

  “And you missed me, too,” he prompted, bending his knees just enough to put them at eye level.

  She opened her mouth. Her brain knew that saying words that were true and meant so much to him wouldn’t kill her, but her gut—her still-healing heart—wasn’t so sure.

  “You missed me, too,” he repeated softly.

  Her smile widened just a little, and there was no stopping it. “I...missed you, too.”

  Those eyes crinkled at her. “Was that so hard?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Leaning in, he kissed her again, tenderly, then pulled out her chair so she could sit.

  That was when she noticed the steaming bowl of clam chowder and let out a tiny squeal of glee that could barely be heard over her growling stomach. “Is this for me?”

  “It is.”

  “God bless you, you wonderful man! How did you know?”

  “I’m psychic. Or maybe it’s that you order clam chowder whenever it’s on a menu and then spend the rest of the meal waxing poetic about it.”

  “I do like to wax.” She grabbed her cloth napkin and put it in her lap. “How was your morning? What’ve you been up to?”

  “Nothing much,” he said, shrugging as he took a sip of tea. “Meeting. Conference call. Another meeting. The usual. How’d surgery go?”

  “Perfect.” She opened her menu and took a look. “I did a child with a cleft palate first thing. Then I had office appointments. I was able to talk a woman down from the watermelon-sized implants to three-quarter watermelon-sized. So it was a huge victory. Now her back will only ache most of the time instead of all the time. But, hey, her thirty-years-older husband is happy, so that’s all that really matters, right?”

  “I want you to know,” he said solemnly, picking up his own menu, “that I am very happy with the size of your breasts.”

  “I’m so glad,” she said, laughing.

  “I’m deeply unhappy about how little I get to see your breasts, but their size is perfect— Oh, the salmon looks good.”

  This was a theme that had turned into a running joke. No one was more surprised than Gloria that they’d held out this long on having sex when their chemistry was this explosive, but she’d been serious about getting to know him better first, and he seemed serious about taking things as slowly as she needed.

  “Is that so?” Keeping her gaze lowered, she flipped a page. “Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we? Oh, they have risotto. Did you see that?”

  “Yeah, I was thinking about the risotto— Wait, what? What did you say?”

  “Hmm?” she said absently, trying to keep a straight face. “I was saying I might get the risotto—”

  “No,” he said urgently, laying his menu down. “We were definitely talking about your breasts. I remember stuff like that.”

  “Hello,” interrupted their server, smiling at Gloria. “Welcome! Can I get you started on a drink or an appetizer?”

  “I’ll have a diet cola, please.” Gloria pointed to the third and fourth settings at the table. “And you can go ahead and take those if you want to. We won’t be needing—”

  “Actually, we will,” Cooper interrupted.

  “I’ll be right back, then,” the server said, and left.

  Gloria raised her brows at him. “You didn’t say anyone else was joining us.”

  “No?” Cooper said, studiously avoiding her gaze.

  Now she was beginning to get suspicious. “Who is it?”

  He waved a hand, keeping his eyes on the menu. “Just my parents,” he said breezily.r />
  That bombshell soared through the air and hit the ground beneath her feet with a reverberating clang. She cocked her head, wanting to make sure she heard the punch line when it came. But there didn’t seem to be one.

  “Your...parents?”

  “Yeah. They’re visiting for a couple days on their way to Capri.”

  Cooper’s parents were retired and had made a cottage industry of traveling the world in search of the sunniest spot. In the time they’d been dating, they’d vacationed in Hawaii, Costa Rica and Greece, but they’d come nowhere near Manhattan. Their home base was in Palm Beach, so she’d had no chance to meet them, nor had Cooper ever suggested it.

  In short, she’d had absolutely no freaking warning that she was about to meet Cooper’s parents, and she had no idea how to react.

  “You want me to meet your parents?”

  “Of course I want you to meet my parents. Why does that surprise you?”

  Because Aaron never had, nor had the smattering of other men she’d dated or hooked up with since her divorce.

  “I haven’t met that many parents in my dating life, to be honest.”

  “Well, that’s about to change.” His gaze flicked up, connecting with hers across the top of his menu. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll love them.”

  “Why didn’t you give me some warning?”

  “This is the warning,” he said. “I didn’t want to give you time to obsess about it, which you’re clearly doing.”

  The way he raked her with that intent gaze of his, sized her up and hit the nail on the head every time was profoundly unsettling. The only other person who’d ever been able to read her like that was Talia, and Talia was allowed because they were blood relations.

  “You don’t know me,” she snapped.

  Crooked smile. “Oh, I know you, Doc.”

  “A woman needs time to get her thoughts together before she meets—”

  “Cut the bullshit, Glo. Before you give yourself a panic attack. You need to realize I’m serious about you.” He paused, covering her fist where it lay on the table. “And if I’m serious about you, then my parents need to meet you. That’s how the world works.”