Reese awakened to the smell of coffee. He opened an eye but his location failed to register. A moment later it did, along with a lusty set of memories that made him smile. Lord, what a night. Just thinking about her made his manhood rise up and want to go to work. “Down boy,” he chided. Getting up, he dragged the sheet off the bed, wrapped it around his waist, and set off to find the woman who’d cried out his name.
He found her out on the balcony, talking on the phone. She was dressed in a pair of sweats, a loose fitting halter top, and her face was clean and free of makeup. She looked younger but no less beautiful. Seeing him standing in the door, she gave him a smile that warmed him like sunshine, then pantomimed pouring coffee and pointed to the kitchen. The male in him was disappointed that her attention was elsewhere, but he didn’t hold it against her and padded into the kitchen to get coffee.
She was still on the phone when he came back to the door with a cup of brew, and she didn’t sound happy.
“Kimon, for the fifth time, there is nothing I can do. I’m not going to waste my time or yours suing a tattoo shop.”
Reese could see her listening to the response, then she turned his way and threw up her hands.
He had no idea what the conversation was about, so he drank and waited. He wanted to shower, but settled for watching her and the sun as it burned the fog off the water.
“I don’t care what it really says, Kimon. You should have had somebody verify the translation before you got the tat done.”
She listened for a few more seconds, her face set tersely, then stated, “Kimon, I’m hanging up. My breakfast is burning. Find somebody to laser the damn thing off. ’Bye!”
She sighed and turned to Reese. “Apparently, the Asian characters he had tattooed on his arm don’t say, ‘King of the Ballers.’”
The light of amusement in her eyes made Reese start grinning. “What’s it really mean?”
“Hog fat.”
Reese spit coffee, and a laughing JT fell into a chair and laughed until she cried. When she finally regained control, she told him, “Twenty-five players were bamboozled by the same tat shop. He wants me to file a class action lawsuit.”
Reese shook his head. “You lead an interesting life.”
“Whack is more like it. Good grief,” she added, still chuckling. “Hog fat.”
Reese wondered if all of her mornings began with calls from her clients. The day was Saturday and yet she was working. “Do they call you 24/7?”
“All day, every day.”
“When was the last time you took a vacation?”
She thought back.
“If you have to think about it, it’s been too long.”
She shrugged. “Maybe, but I enjoy what I do.”
Their eyes met. JT didn’t want to talk about her workload. “What would you like for breakfast? I’m a pretty good cook.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Omelets okay?” She’d never had a sheet-wearing man in her house before. Just looking at his buffed brown body made her want a repeat of last night.
“Omelets are fine. I’d like a shower first, though.”
“Oh shoot, I’m sorry.” She walked to the open patio door, and he backed up so she could enter. She stopped. Looking up into his eyes, she said softly, “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“What little I got, yeah.”
She grinned and led him to her guest bedroom with its connected bath. “Bathroom is through there. There are towels and soap. Toothbrush. I’ll get you a robe.”
He raised an eyebrow. He certainly didn’t want to sit at her table dressed in one of her frilly robes.
She opened a closet door, looked through the garments hanging inside, and pulled out a robe that was black silk and by its size obviously made for a man. Thrown a bit by the idea of her having male robes waiting to be worn, he put his cup down and took the hanger. “Thanks,” he said.
“My sister sent it to me from Hong Kong a few years ago. Said it might come in handy, so I guess she was right. You’re the first person to wear it, so you can take it home if you like.”
He viewed the robe in a whole new light. “Your sister has good taste.”
“Yes, she does. I’ll start breakfast.”
Left alone, Reese stood in the silence, feeling the echoes of her vivid presence resonate, then dropped the sheet and went to shower.
JT found she liked making him breakfast. Of course if she had to do it for a living, she might not be as happy, but for that morning it was okay. The cracked and seasoned eggs were in the bowl waiting to be cooked, and a small plate held the veggies and cheese that would fill the omelets. The bacon was frying up nicely in the skillet, and Mary J was thumping on the kitchen’s CD player. She and Ms. Blige were jamming so tough, she didn’t notice him standing and watching until she turned. He looked freshly showered and the smile on his face warmed her to her toes. “Better?” she asked, lowering the volume on the music.
“Yeah, but I’d like to go back to my room and get some clean clothes.” He’d had no choice but to put on what he’d taken off last night, and seeing her made him want to take them off again, along with the loose sweats she was wearing.
“We can run over there after we eat.”
Reese nodded, then sat on one of the stools tucked under the counter. He watched her pour milk and a spoonful of water into the eggs and whip them up. “Not many women cook these days.”
“Not many men either.”
“Touché.” Enjoying her, he sat silent while she poured the egg mixture into a hot skillet. When the bottom layer set she added the veggies, chilies, and cheese, then expertly folded it over. It slid from the skillet onto a plate, and he savored the mouth-watering sight and smells.
Plates were set out along with silverware. She pulled out a carton of orange juice from the fridge. They helped themselves to the offerings then moved out to the table on the patio to enjoy their meal.
He took a few bites of the flavorful omelet and groaned with delight.
She grinned. “That good?”
“Better.”
“My mama made sure Maxie and I could cook.”
“She did a good job.”
She saluted him with her juice glass.
Reese studied her. Classy, sexy, and she could cook—what more could a man want besides making love to her on a regular basis? He hadn’t gotten nearly enough of the fascinating Jessi Teresa Blake, and the more he was around her, the more he realized how multifaceted she was. “So, you’ve never been courted.”
She eyed him for a moment. “I already told you, no. Nobody courts anymore anyway.”
“Real men do.”
“Oh, really?”
He took a draw on his juice and watched her over his glass. “Yep.”
Amused by him, she shook her head. “Is that why you sent the flowers?”
He nodded.
“That’s sweet but not necessary.”
“I think it is. I’m old school, Jessi, and this is the way things are done where I come from.”
“So you think this is going to get serious?” she asked skeptically.
He leaned forward. “You said it best. Relationship.”
She looked away for a moment then back at him. She chose her words carefully, “As long as you work for the commissioner, I can’t be with you and keep my cred. My players will jump ship faster than you can say ‘collusion.’”
“Then let’s see if we can find a way around that. I don’t want whatever it is we’re doing here to negatively affect you or your livelihood, but I do want you, Jessi. No sense lying about it. I want you, your kisses…”
Putting down his cup, he stood, walked around to her, and held out his hand. She accepted the offer and rose to her feet. He tilted her chin up gently, then brushed his lips across hers. “Especially your kisses.”
And what kisses they were. The logic she’d been attempting to apply slid away, repla
ced by something far more sensual. He could bring a marble statue to life. No, she didn’t want to be courted, but she did want this. “After this weekend, I can’t see you again. Not like this,” she told him, needing to let him know she was serious.
“I understand.” He rubbed his palm over her bra-free nipples. “But your kisses and your body won’t stop calling me.”
To prove his point, he took a nipple in his mouth through her shirt, and arrows of delight flooded her senses. He pulled her shirt up, exposing a brown-tipped prize that he fondled, licked, and sucked until she groaned. He treated her other breast to the same magnificent conquering and JT’s world grew hazy. She didn’t protest when her sweats were slid down her hips, baring her and her black lace thong to the sunny morning, the warm wind off the bay, and his possessive hands. Even though in reality she barely knew him, he had the touch of a man who’d caressed her body down through time, and she wanted more.
Seven
Drowning in the eddy of his magic, she husked out, “Let’s go inside.” Lord knew she didn’t want to stop, but she didn’t want to give anyone who might be looking a show either.
With hands roaming and tongues mating, they blindly kissed their way indoors. Once there, she pulled his shirt up and off. He returned the favor and immediately transferred his mouth to her nipples. She gasped, arched and thrilled as he ran a roughly possessive hand over one bared hip to pull her closer. Last night’s interlude had been an introduction. Now that they knew each other’s measure, there was no holding back. Her sweats were down around her ankles and his fingers were creating sweet havoc between her thighs. God he’s good, she thought, standing there while he plied her so expertly her first orgasm of the day rippled over her like sunshine. Shuddering, she dropped her head on his chest and melted with bliss.
Fingers dewed with her heat, Reese thrilled at the sight and feel of her response. She was so erotically tantalizing he was hard, ready, and wanted her then and there. Stepping away for a moment, he pulled a condom from his pocket and took off his pants.
Eyes closed, a boneless JT stood braced against the wall lost in a world filled with pulsing delight. The orgasm was still resonating. Her mouth was kiss-swollen, her nipples hard and damp.
Then she felt his kiss. A man’s kiss; soft, solid, and strong. He drank as deeply from her as she did from him while their hands slowly explored and enticed. He touched the gates to her paradise and asked with a hot whisper, “Are you ready, Ms. I Don’t Want to Be Courted?”
JT wanted to respond but he was slowly filling her and she couldn’t have spoken had her life hung in the balance. Damn he was good. How she wound up off the floor with her legs wound around his naked waist, and her hips in his hands, she had no idea, but she didn’t care. It was scandalous, delicious being made love to in the middle of her living room by a man tall enough and strong enough to support her and work her like she weighed nothing. She held onto his shoulders and let him do the rest. He played her like a bowed instrument, and the sensual music he wrung from her rose in the silence. “Reese…”
He grinned and kept stroking. “What, baby?”
She forgot what she’d planned to say. Her flesh sheltered him as if he’d been made just for her pleasure, and she returned his rhythm greedily while his big hands directed her hips how and where he wanted.
Soon, the orgasm grabbed her and her joy was plain. A few seconds later his climax exploded too, and he joined her in vocalizing his release. The passionate battle engulfed them both, and they fought for all they were worth until they had nothing left. Only then did he collapse with her onto the sofa.
Later, after their breathing and heartbeats slowed, JT was sheltered in his lap and braced against his arm. Sated, sweaty, and satisfied, she gave him a shy grin. “Never made love standing up before.”
Humor flashed in his eyes. “Glad I could help a sister out.”
“Bet you’ve done a lot of helping out in your time.”
“I plead the Fifth.”
She reached up and cupped his clean-shaven face. Her inner woman wanted to become attached to this man. Even though she knew it was not in her best interest, she couldn’t seem to make it stop.
“What’re you thinking?” he asked.
“That I can’t become attached to you.”
She had no idea how good that made him feel. “At least you’re honest.”
“Always.”
“Well, stick to your guns.”
She scanned his face. “You’re not taking this seriously enough for me.”
He traced a crescent over her cheek, “Sorry. I respect your worries, but I think whatever this is we’re doing is already way past our control and that it’s a lot deeper than just killer sex.”
She dropped her head to hide her grin. When she raised it again, his eyes were waiting. She couldn’t deny his words. There was something happening between them, she just didn’t understand what. “So what do you propose we do?”
“Keep us a secret for as long as you need to and let the rest run its course.”
She nodded. Lord knew she wanted him in her life, but would her need for him ruin her life? The answer was tied to the future.
He gave her a playful swat on the butt. “Up. We both need a shower. Wanta share?”
She stood. “Sure.” Her legs were rubbery. “Are you going to behave?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
Laughing, she held out her hand, “Then come on.”
True to his word, he didn’t behave. He gifted her with a third bout of lovemaking in twenty-four hours, and she glorified in every throbbing inch of it.
They dried and dressed then headed for his airport hotel so he could grab a fresh change of clothing.
Bobby Garrett drove through Watts bobbing his head to the beat of Tupac rapping about California on the CD player. As a young blood, he had grown up here, snatching purses, jacking cars, and dealing weed. Ironically, an eighteen-month stint in jail for carjacking when he was seventeen placed him on the road to success. Her name was Priscilla Steele, a green-eyed, red-haired prisoners’ rights advocate who saw something in him no one else had. With her help, he’d gotten his GED and while still incarcerated began taking college classes. Once he paid his debt to society and the courts kicked him free, she wrangled a partial scholarship to USC, known in the hood as the University of South Central, and he was on his way. He’d always been smart, but in his world, academic success was ridiculed, not celebrated. A man wasn’t measured by his brain power, but by the colors he wore and the weapons in his trunk.
He’d had to bang Pris of course, but during his sophomore year she got engaged to a Stanford tax lawyer and exchanged her commitment to the poor and underprivileged for a mansion in Malibu and a membership in the local country club.
He hadn’t cared. By then he knew how to work the system. By charming, bullshitting, and clawing, he went from USC to a Wharton degree in Economics, maintained his ties to his gang, as every righteous member did.
Bobby pulled up in front of the short, one-story white house and by habit scanned the street before getting out. He’d known Michael “Ham” Birmingham since he was ten and Ham twenty. Back then, Ham’s mother, Doris, had been alive. Now, Ham lived in the white house with his woman Niki, a former gang queen. Both she and Ham were too old to rule the streets by force anymore, but they ruled in other ways.
Bobby checked the empty street one more time then got out. He visited Ham often enough that the young bloods on the block knew his ride and knew to leave it the hell alone or pay the price. Moving casually but keeping his eyes peeled, he stepped up onto the porch and knocked.
Niki answered the door. She was Spanish. Back in the day, she’d been the finest thing walking, but the years and the vices had taken their toll. She didn’t say much, rarely did. Upon seeing it was him, she simply backed up and let him in. “Kitchen.”
“Thanks.”
Ham was seated at the kitchen table weighing up dimes of coke on a palm-s
ized digital scale. Two gallon-size plastic bags filled with white powder lay on the table. Ham looked up. He was Black, not particularly big in stature, but deadly just the same. The nose he’d broken in a fight years ago had healed fat and ugly like a boxer’s, making his light brown face appear wider and flatter than it was. “What can I do for you, Bobby?”
“Just came by to make sure we’re still cool.”
Ham scrutinized him for a long moment then went back to his scale. “Killing that old man wasn’t smart.”
“I had to kill him.”
“True, but you should have taken him somewhere else and offed him. The popos aren’t stupid.”
“We cleaned up everything. Not that you stayed to help.”
“It was your mess. Not mine.”
Bobby’s lips thinned. It had been Bo Wenzel’s idea to put the janitor’s body in the truck. He’d wiped Bobby’s unregistered gun clean, placed it in the dead man’s hand to make sure his prints were found, then they went back inside to clean up. “So what about the next shipment?”
“What about it?”
Bobby held onto his temper. “Do I get it or not?”
Ham shrugged. “My guts says doing business with you will send me back to San Quentin, and I ain’t going there again. You’ve lost your edge, Bobby. In the old days you wouldn’t have panicked when that janitor walked in on us.”
“I didn’t panic.”
“Yeah, you did. I saw your eyes, man. Big as saucers. You didn’t think. All you did was reach in your coat and blow him away. Stupid,” Ham added with disgust. “We had the perfect deal going. Perfect. Now?”
Deadly Sexy Page 10
