Passionate Game (Kimani Hotties)

by Monkou, Michelle

  He didn’t like being under the microscope. The media already had him there, and they didn’t seem to be letting up. The constant observers kept him in a permanent state of wariness. Maybe he was being naive thinking that he could manage the situation. He excused himself and headed to the array of food that had been catered for the large crowd.

  * * *

  Tamara watched Grant’s departure, noting the stiffness in his shoulders. Evidently Clinton had touched on a sensitive subject. At first, she had thought that Grant was playing along until she had seen his jaw working. He returned with food only for her. The easy banter was now awkward conversation. His hand, which had gently guided her into the suite, was now stuffed in his pocket. She missed the warm pressure that had gotten her hot and bothered.

  “Game is about to start.” Tamara stepped close to Grant and took the small plate of appetizers.

  “Let’s find a seat.”

  There were two front-row seats in the corner of the suite. People were still milling around, and with the TV monitors positioned around the room, they technically didn’t have to see the game in person.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, but cringed when his shoulders tensed before he shook his head. After a few minutes of silence, Tamara softly forged ahead.

  “You seemed a bit put out by Clinton’s comments.”

  “I’m fine. Clinton is right. I don’t hang out. I’m pretty much a private person, and I can do without the scrutiny from within my circle and from the press.”

  “Not that I don’t understand where you’re coming from, but I think that you shouldn’t change your life for others. Don’t let them push you underground.”

  “I live a very simple life. Maybe if they did see a glimpse of a day in the life of Grant Benson, they would lose so much in ratings that they would never push another camera in my face.”

  Tamara listened as she bit into the barbecue wings. She hunched over the plate, hoping to keep the drippings from soiling her clothes.

  “You don’t get it.” Tamara cleaned off her fingers and mouth. “You have too much that will hold the viewers’ interest—you’re a single, rich brother.” She shrugged to emphasize the obvious.

  “You make it sound like the price I have to pay.”

  “Something like that. Maybe stop trying to avoid the press, and then if you get a honey on the side, they won’t care. You’d be normal and not the eccentric reclusive rich guy.” Tamara tossed out the flip advice. She found it a little hard to believe that he truly stayed home.

  “You’ve also had your share of time in the spotlight. Who do you have on the side?”

  Tamara shook her head. “I used to do my share of hanging out. Got blasted as the party girl. Let me not forget—the irresponsible party girl. After all, my parents were serious, diligent activists, and I was taking advantage of everything they’d worked hard to achieve.”

  Tamara had partied, but not for attention. The partying, drinking and acting careless had all been to numb her emotions. She had lost a friend who had meant so much to her. Once the anger had subsided, she had turned her energy from self-destruction to helping others and ultimately to opening her leadership academy.

  “I’m too busy all day long to have the energy to go dancing and jabbering with any guy I don’t care about,” she said, deflecting the question onto more neutral territory.

  “What do you do with guys you do care about?”

  She looked over at him. “First, I think it’s more important that they care about me. If I focus on the opposite scenario—I care about the guy—then I stand to get the short end of the stick, sooner or later.” She bit into another wing, feeling the sauce smear around her mouth, possibly even her cheeks. She hoped that her honesty and her lack of finesse with her food signaled to Grant that she was not “honey” material.

  Suddenly, the announcer’s voice boomed. “Time to catch our couples!” The crowd erupted, along with the more noisy members in the suite. Tamara barely paid attention to the tradition.

  The overhead camera zoomed in and out at various fans, showing their reactions on the big screens above the scoreboard. Some of the people weren’t couples, and they waved away the camera with embarrassed grins. The crowd cheered regardless of whether the couples were real or not. The spirit of the night seemed to be celebratory.

  When the camera did pick up on actual couples, the MC previewed the magic moment with exaggerated fanfare. As the fans cheered, the couples would turn and kiss, enticing the crowd to raise the volume of their screaming.

  Tamara did her part with cheering. But she needed to wipe her fingers of the barbecue sauce. The stickiness was gross, and she couldn’t touch anything until she washed up. She leaned forward to make her escape to the bathroom.

  Suddenly, the suite erupted in raucous calls. Tamara barely made out her name being shouted. Grant grabbed her wrist and pointed toward the screen. His forehead displayed the deepest furrow that she’d seen in a long time.

  She followed the direction of his pointing. Her face stared back at her from the giant stadium screens, mocking her as various emotions slid on and off her countenance. She issued a curse. Although no one could hear what she said, they could read her lips and surmise that she really wasn’t saying “what the truck!”

  She turned toward Grant and pulled on his arm for him to do something. It seemed that anything she did caused an eruption of cheers.

  “It’ll be okay.” He placed his finger against her mouth. “Shh. We can give them what they want and be done with it.” He grinned as if he’d just won a prize.

  Tamara blamed everything on shock. Otherwise, she would have seen the kiss coming. But nope, her brain shifted gears, sending her body out of whack.

  She had been leaning for her escape to the bathroom, so Grant only had to lean in slightly. His lips connected to her mouth with a gentle touch. She felt his partly opened mouth tentatively make its acquaintance with hers. Her desire unwound as if from a slumber, slowly swirling upward toward the surface with lyrical ease, issuing its own demands. She moved in closer. However, Grant released her lips and pulled away. The warmth that had suddenly departed was replaced with the cool air of the stadium. The crowd’s roar blasted into her consciousness. She swore again. The heat of desire was long gone. Now her ears burned with embarrassment.

  “We’ll continue this later,” Grant whispered. His gaze locked on to her eyes and then her lips.

  Tamara raised a shaking hand to her mouth. She kept her eyes lowered, still refusing to witness her shame on the big screen. Now she just wished everyone would stop whistling and cheering. They needed to shift to a real couple, where the kiss wasn’t faked.

  “There will be no part two,” Tamara said flatly.

  “Do you want me to prove that you’re a liar?”

  “Don’t you even think about it.”

  She would stuff the chicken bones from her plate up his nose if he dared to come close again. Since apparently words had failed her, she was willing to take things up a notch and resort to physical assault, for her pride’s sake.

  The rest of the basketball game didn’t matter. Tamara had gone to the bathroom and splashed cold water over her face. Even that hadn’t worked. Once she thought about the kiss, her body heated up again as if she had come too close to the sun. The sad part was that she wanted to reach out and feel that searing heat once more. She looked in the mirror, expecting the shame and embarrassment to be evident in her face. Nothing was further from the truth. She felt alive. Her eyes were bright. She looked as if she’d gotten off a treadmill after a workout still with energy to burn.

  “Are you okay?” Grant asked when she returned to her seat for a second time.

  “Yes.” She tried to smile at him but couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Maybe I should go home.”

  “Sure.” He sounded off
. But she had also been off, upside down, inside out for the past half hour.

  This man, who was supposed to be reclusive, had taken her down a hilly path into the land of uncontrollable desire. They walked out of the suite, side by side, subdued. Tamara wondered what was next. She’d go home. They’d pretend nothing happened. Did she even want something to happen next, anyway?

  Yes, her heart whispered.

  No matter what she’d said, a part of her wanted to take this—whatever this was—as far as it could go. However, she really didn’t have the time or inclination to be tied to a man.

  A few bad relationships had soured her on the idea. Ernie acted as if she was his sugar momma; Xavier said her net worth didn’t matter, but constantly brought it up as a reason they were incompatible; and Omar’s parents put an end to the relationship before it had begun because she didn’t match any of their ideals of race, culture or religion. And what she’d seen time over time was that once that commitment was made, nine times out of ten the woman had to compromise her career either for marriage or for motherhood. If she refused to compromise her career, then the woman was somehow considered an unsupportive partner. As if her desires and ambitions were less important. She wouldn’t hold her breath waiting for a man who could understand her conditions for a committed relationship.

  “Grant?” A statuesque, well-dressed woman blocked their path. Tamara noted how winded she sounded and that her chest was heaving slightly.

  “Vanessa?”

  Tamara stayed silent, observing with keen interest not only the stilted exchange but also the subtle changes in Grant’s body language. His jaw worked as if he were grinding his teeth on glass.

  The woman had eyes only for him, and it was as if the surrounding stadium and the thousands of fans had melted away from her sight. She still hadn’t looked Tamara’s way. Her shocked expression had turned into an ugly mask of quiet rage.

  Meanwhile, Grant stood next to Tamara as if frozen into place. Although anger didn’t show in his face, he definitely wasn’t a happy camper.

  “I—I didn’t expect to see you.” The woman finally turned in Tamara’s direction. “I almost fell out of my chair when I saw you on the screen. Actually, falling out of my chair wasn’t quite the first response.” Vanessa took a long, shuddering breath. “No, being embarrassed in front of my friends and mother was the reaction.” Her fists balled at her side.

  “Not here,” Grant said in a quiet voice full of frost. He stepped closer to Tamara.

  Oh, freakin’ snap. She didn’t relish going toe-to-toe with any woman over a man. Especially not his supermodel ex-girlfriend.

  She felt Grant slip his hand along her back.

  “Not a good idea,” she muttered.

  “Who is she?” Vanessa’s voice barked, a little too shrill.

  “That doesn’t really matter. It’s over and has been over between you and me. Thought I made that clear.”

  The woman bristled. Tears shimmered. “And is that why it’s over?” Her eyes cut across Tamara as if she was ready to slash her to ribbons.

  “Not really. I’ve explained it to you. And I don’t plan to spend more time doing so.” He pulled Tamara closer to him. She could feel his heartbeat, steady in the face of a brewing storm. Her pulse, however, was erratic, ready for a retreat. “Please, step aside. You’re interrupting my evening.”

  Tamara exited with Grant, suddenly grateful for his hand along her back. The adrenaline that now rushed through her system left her knees weak. They headed to the parking garage in silence. She didn’t feel any anger toward the spurned supermodel, although she also didn’t feel sorry for her. But questions swirled over Grant’s role in the breakup. And was she the rebound girl? Was he trying to make her just another notch on his bedpost? Would she be faced with the same cool, detached attitude when he was ready to call it quits?

  And why was she thinking that there was anything between her and Grant? Because I want there to be.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Grant said. His voice sounded deep, tight and flat.

  “Thank you for the apology.” She waved off any further explanation. “However, we’re not dating.”

  He said nothing as he navigated his car out onto the streets. Then he touched her hand. “I want to explain.”

  Tamara didn’t respond. She did want to hear the explanation. But once he explained, then that would be it.

  He drove away from the stadium and into northern Virginia. Tysons Corner was quiet as they drove through the streets. Grant drove until they found a twenty-four-hour diner. He pulled into the semilit parking lot, parked and turned off the engine.

  Tamara gave him his space and time. They took a table in the corner of the room and ordered coffee. She waited with her hands cupped around the mug. Although the night wasn’t chilly, her fingers were cold.

  Grant cleared his throat and sighed. “Vanessa is my ex. A friend set me up on a blind date with her a long time ago.” He made circles on the table with his coffee mug. He hadn’t taken a sip since they’d had the beverages. “All the sordid details are in the news. I fancied myself in love. Thought it was mutual. She always had one hand in my pocket, and her mother’s hand was in my other pocket. My parents, lawyer and friends pushed for a prenup. I argued against it. Love doesn’t need a prenup.”

  “You have something to protect. You’re creating your legacy. It’s not about holding back your love for someone. At least that’s my opinion.” She tried to kick her soapbox under the table.

  “Sounds so straightforward until emotions get intertwined.”

  “I think it’s more than emotions, I think it’s personal agendas and ambition. But I don’t know a thing about Vanessa. Those are my thoughts on the matter in general.”

  “Won’t be doing that again.” Grant finally lifted the mug to take a drink.

  Tamara shrugged. Whether Grant fell in love again didn’t matter to her.

  “You don’t seem the type to take risks,” she said. She imagined that he deliberated on every subject before deciding whether to proceed ahead. Except with Vanessa.

  “Not usually, and I mean to stick to that rule. But with you, I went on instinct. You’re like a breath of fresh air. I have no regrets.”

  “That’s what happens when someone bulldozes their way into your world.” She laughed.

  “Agreed. I was enthralled by the messenger, so I enjoyed listening to the message. And now that the message has been delivered, I’m not prepared to let go.”

  “I will be around. Have to check in on my guys.”

  “Not enough. I don’t want my time with you shared.”

  “You always want things your way?” Tamara had to admit that she liked the shift in their conversation.

  “Just about.”

  She took a deep breath. Grant grabbed hold of her, not with his hands but with his powerful gaze. His lashes, thick and dark, framed his eyes, punctuating their mesmerizing depth. Blink, for heaven’s sake. She needed release.

  Tamara blinked first. “I don’t have time for a relationship.”

  “But this will be purely business.” He sipped the coffee and tossed a wink over the top of the rim.

  She couldn’t help but chuckle.

  They eventually headed back to the car. The tension had dissipated. As he opened the car door for her, he paused and looked down at her.

  “Tamara, I want to kiss you.”

  She reached for his shirt, balling the fabric into her fists. “Hurry up,” she prompted.

  He lowered his mouth to hers for a second time that night and gently kissed her lips before coaxing open her mouth. His arms wrapped her in a warm embrace. Surrendering in his arms was like falling into cotton candy, full of sweetness and decadence.

  Her hands slid to his waist, holding on to his shirt to anchor her. Kissi
ng him carried the headiness of being drunk. Her craving for him exploded until she moaned for more.

  He answered her moan with a sensual caress of his tongue. Masterful strokes spoke a language of carnal intent. Every delicious maneuver hummed its own meaning.

  “Tamara,” Grant whispered against her cheek.

  She allowed the cool night breeze to bring her internal thermometer down a degree or two. The logical side of her mind was desperately trying to intervene. But who needed or wanted common sense at a time like this?

  She decided to take the deep plunge into insanity. Standing on tiptoes, she cupped the back of Grant’s head and pulled him toward her upturned face. “Kiss me again. Quick, before I change my mind.”

  He complied with a speed that took her breath away. His body molded against hers. His hand slid down the side of her hip, fingers curling under her butt. His arousal pressed against her.

  This time, she took a tour of his mouth, enjoying the curve of his lips, claiming them. Finally, they pulled away slowly.

  “So, this is the purely business part?” She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

  “It’s all in how you see it,” he responded, with a sheepish grin. “I think that I’d better take you home.”

  “Yeah, for both our sakes.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Tamara barely got to work on time. Her sleepless night had been filled with images of Grant’s hot face and memories of their kisses. Her body didn’t relent until the sun began its ascent. Then she fell asleep only to be awakened by a phone call from her mother.

  Now at work, she wanted to rest her head on her desk and allow her body the time it needed to recuperate.

  “So, how did it go?” Becky entered her office with an extra coffee mug. “I missed when you came home. I tried to wait up.”

  Tamara took the mug, raising it up with gratitude. “Here’s the short version, and you can’t ask any questions because I don’t want to get into it. This afternoon Grant is coming over to meet the kids.” She quickly ran through the highlights, mentioning only the one kiss—really, the quick peck—at the game. The other kiss didn’t need anyone’s scrutiny. That was hers to lock away in her heart.