Jezebel

by Koko Brown

Thinking nothing else of his proposal, she picked up her half-eaten red velvet cupcake and took a bite. Too bad the dessert didn’t come with a dick. The mix of chocolate and cream cheese almost made her moan as she devoured the rest of the cake. When she fell back down to earth, Roxanne finally noticed she was the only one laughing.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She couldn’t keep the incredulous tone out of her voice.

  “Very,” he replied, powering off his laptop.

  The crumbs in Roxanne’s mouth suddenly turned to dust. She picked up the Mason jar next to her plate and gulped down her milk, wishing it was something stiffer.

  Never in a thousand years would she have guessed Leo wanted more than friendship! If his tight-lipped answer was any indication, a new millennium had obviously dawned. Roxanne eyed him over her glass. Not as a good friend, but as a woman eyeing a potential lover.

  Easy on the eyes, Leo had a curly mop of jet-black curls that offset his electric blue eyes and the rich, olive-toned skin he’d inherited from his Greek parents.

  Those very same genes also contributed to a pair of full lips, high cheekbones and a lean, six-foot-plus frame that didn’t need much in the form of exercise, even though he worked out on a regular basis.

  Looks aside, Leo was also very intelligent and the owner of one of Chicago’s most successful internet companies. He’d earned his first million five years ago at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

  Despite the solid foundation, Roxanne knew she couldn’t go there. Becoming lovers would only complicate things. Boyfriends came and went, true friends did not.

  Wedged between a rock and a hard place, she decided to grease her way out of a difficult situation with reverse psychology. “You and I both know I’m not your type.”

  “Not my type?” Leo rolled his eyes. “You’re one of the most desirable women I’ve ever met.” Leo’s light gaze slid over her in a lingering perusal. Hot, predatory and disturbingly wicked, the gaze lingered far too long on her cleavage.

  Unsettled and feeling a growing itch between her thighs, Roxanne snapped, “Who are you kidding? Every woman you’ve dated sprouted from the same Grow Me a Barbie Petri dish. All of them were size zero, blonde and blue-eyed, just like your ex-fiancée.”

  Roxanne winced as a shadow fell over Leo’s expression before he quickly blanketed it. Damn! Leo’s confession had so unsettled her, she’d run roughshod into forbidden territory.

  Two years ago, Victoria Carlson, Leo’s former fiancée, had called off their wedding a month before the nuptials on the ridiculous assumption that Leo was in love with someone else. The idea was preposterous. Leo had always been a one-woman man.

  Roxanne reached out to diminish the damage. When her fingers brushed along his forearm, a jolt of electricity bolted up her own. Startled, she drew back. What was wrong with her?

  “You’re looking for excuses.” Leo cocked his head and mustered up a tight smile. “I would have never taken you for a coward.”

  Roxanne’s mouth fell open. “Take it back!”

  “Coward.”

  “I think cautious is a better word for it.”

  Leo tucked his thumbs under his armpits and flapped his arms. “Bock, bock,” he clucked.

  A patch of giggles erupted across from them. Time to go. Ignoring the whispers and giggles of the parochial set, Roxanne grabbed her clutch bag and pushed Leo from the booth, sliding out behind him. “Let’s take this outside,” she said, nodding at their underage audience. She threw a twenty on the table while Leo gathered his things.

  Roxanne stepped outside and pulled on her leather gloves. Chicago’s temperature must have plummeted twenty degrees while they’d been inside Let Them Eat Cake.

  Leo followed, bursting into a speech as soon as he cleared the threshold. “Why won’t you admit it? The real reason you won’t consider me is because you’re not attracted to me. Roxanne Simmons always falls for tall, dark and debonair. Not tall, white and geeky. You like guys who wear cashmere, tailored suits from London and suede horse-bit loafers. Not computer geeks who live in wrinkled khakis, button-down shirts, Chuck Taylors and glasses.”

  Broadsided by his superficial opinion of her, Roxanne stood rooted to the spot—because she realized she couldn’t entirely disagree. But saying she found him unattractive wasn’t exactly the truth. Leo might not be GQ’s man of the year, but there was something about him that appealed to her in a way other men never would.

  Still, his opinion stung. She refused his hand when he found an opening in traffic, instead picking her own way through Chicago’s midday rush. She needed the brief respite to dampen her hurt and anger.

  Once on the other side of the street, Leo clicked his key fob, opening the doors to his silver Maserati GranCabrio. Roxanne crossed in front of the shiny four-seater, which Leo called his First Born, and scaled the curb. Miffed by the whole situation, she didn’t get in the car but instead started to pace beside it briskly.

  “Leo…I’m hurt by what you said back there. I don’t find you unappealing. Far from it.” Roxanne stopped abruptly and faced him. “But you’re my best friend. I love you and I don’t want to lose what we have by downgrading you to a booty call. Think about it. If it doesn’t work between us, can you go back to what we have now?”

  For several drawn-out seconds, he didn’t say anything. In the late-afternoon sunlight, his exotic features were more pronounced and his gaze twinkled like diamonds behind the black frames of his glasses.

  “No,” he finally admitted, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “Once I’ve tasted you, I’d be unable to settle for anything else.”

  Roxanne blamed the milk she’d gulped down earlier for the sudden flutter in her stomach.

  “Come on, get in,” he said. “I’ll drop you back off at the boutique. I’ll come over later and we’ll finish your profile.”

  Roxanne nodded in agreement. But as she slid in beside him, she wondered if what she really needed was online…or already sitting right beside her.

  * * * * *

  Leo realized the dynamic between them had changed the moment Roxanne had climbed into his car. During the half-hour commute across town, she didn’t speak a word. She’d even taken pains to make sure they didn’t touch, sitting as stiff as an ironing board. And when he’d dropped her off, she’d jumped out of the car so quickly, he could barely say goodbye.

  Cursing under his breath, Leo gripped the leather steering wheel. He’d opened his big mouth and ruined everything.

  Leo made a sudden right. As he merged into traffic, he speed dialed his assistant. Instead of returning to his offices overlooking Lake Shore Drive, he headed west outside the Loop and Chicago’s downtown business district. He needed to let off some steam and there was no better place than a round at Halsted Boxing Club.

  “What’s up, boss?” His personal assistant, Marcello greeted him on the other end.

  “I need you to clear the rest of my afternoon.”

  “Okay.” Leo heard the hesitancy in the other man’s voice. “You’re not sick, are you?”

  If he were in a good mood, Leo would have smiled. He was notorious for his work ethic. He worked so many hours, his staff, which now numbered in the double digits, had nicknamed him the 80-Hour Man―behind his back, of course.

  “No, I’m heading uptown to HBC. I need to work through some things, let off some steam.”

  Damn, too much information. His assistant knew he and Roxanne had a late lunch every Tuesday and Thursday. And since he’d left in a good mood, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out something had gone down between the two of them.

  Extremely private when it came to his personal life, Leo gripped the steering wheel even tighter. Roxanne had him so turned inside out he wasn’t behaving like himself.

  There was a long pause on the other end and then Marcello’s baritone voice drifted through the receiver. “No problem, boss. I can shuffle Mr. Lloyd around. Any phone calls you would like me to pass on to you?”


  “No.” He knew Marcello was fishing for information.

  “See you tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  “Same to you,” Leo replied automatically. He doubted he’d be able to really enjoy anything for quite some time. He’d made sure of it by alienating Roxanne.

  * * * * *

  Only five blocks from his parents’ home, the Halsted Boxing Club was so far removed from the shiny, spotless gyms most hip Chicagoans flocked to.

  Truth be known, many locals barely knew the club existed since the brick building still resembled the public bathhouse it once housed during the first half of the nineteenth century.

  The interior wasn’t much of an improvement. Converted into a boxing club in the early 1950s, Halsted remained dark, dank and smelled worse than the inside of an old gym bag. Leo wouldn’t want it any other way.

  The place kept him grounded, reminded him of how far he’d come from the hard-headed fourteen-year-old disciple of the No Mercy Graffiti Masters. To this day, Leo still marveled over the fact he hadn’t ended up behind bars or living on a park bench, still breaking into train yards. But he’d straightened his life out—or had it straightened out for him by the gym’s owner.

  Salvatore Cipriani had caught him defacing the front of the building with a Papadopoulos original. Instead of turning him in to the cops, he’d marched Leo down to his father at the family restaurant and told him to get one last look, because Cipriani now owned Leo’s ass, lock, stock and barrel.

  The crotchety, third-generation Sicilian hadn’t been bluffing. He put Leo to work fixing what he’d damaged. What should have only been two days, Leo’s punishment lasted two months as Cipriani had him repairing or repainting practically everything.

  But by then, Leo didn’t care. He was so hooked on boxing he was making up excuses to stick around. Thankfully the old man took pity on him and opened a spot for him on the youth boxing team. One single act of charity had led to half a dozen amateur boxing titles and a four-year academic scholarship from the USA Boxing Association, which he’d used to attend Northwestern University.

  He’d paid his debt, but Leo received far more in return. He attributed his strict personal discipline, his successful career, multimillion-dollar fortune and even Roxanne to boxing.

  As his thoughts turned to Roxanne, Leo developed a mental hard-on. What’s new? He’d been in lust with the curvaceous brown-skinned beauty since the moment he’d laid eyes on her outside the college bookstore several weeks into their freshman year, and secretly in love with her by the time they’d graduated.

  Now he’d gone and ruined a perfectly good friendship by allowing his one-eyed monster to lead, instead of his head. After all these years, why had he decided to finally walk the line?

  Simple—her rare sexual confessional had turned him on.

  “Great job, dumbass,” Leo muttered, retying the drawstring on his dark-blue athletic pants.

  “You’re here early.” Salvatore Cipriani’s gravelly bark followed Leo as he set himself up under a speed bag. The club’s owner had just hobbled out of his tiny office, carrying a mug of God knows what in one hand and a folded newspaper in the other. He glanced over at two guys sparring in the club’s center ring and snapped, “Keep your hands up, Rodney, unless you want your head to take the place of your ass.” Without missing a beat, he turned back to Leo. “What’s wrong?”

  Leo rolled his shoulders. Sometimes he hated how well the old guy knew him. “I came in to exorcise a few demons.”

  Salvatore’s shaggy eyebrows shot skyward. “Demons? They wouldn’t be of the female kind, would they?”

  Leo shook his head. Salvatore could read people like a book. “How’d you guess?”

  “You have a great head for business and you’ve tackled everything else with ease. Females, on the other hand, have always been your Achilles heel.”

  “I hit on Roxanne.”

  Salvatore nodded solemnly. He’d met Roxanne on several occasions and, with a sixth sense, he’d picked up on Leo’s secret infatuation. And ever since, the old man pestered him on an almost constant basis to finally seal the deal. “‘Bout time,” Salvatore barked. “When’s the special day?”

  Leo shook his head. “Roxanne’s not interested. She doesn’t want to ruin our ten-year friendship.”

  “Pshaah!” Salvatore waved his newspaper in the air. “What a load of shit. If a woman is really attracted to you, she won’t give a damn if you’ve been friends for three minutes, three days or thirty years.”

  Leo rested his taped hands on his hips. “Now you know why I’m here rather than at work.”

  Salvatore swatted the paper against his leg. “What are you going to do?”

  “Nothing,” Leo muttered. In an attempt to close the subject, he lifted his arms and started working the bag. He didn’t get a chance to work up a momentum because Salvatore stepped around him and smacked his hand against the back of the bag.

  “Nothing? You’re not going to try to convince her?”

  “I don’t beg,” Leo countered with more attitude than he felt, but he didn’t need this right now. He was trying to blow off steam, not become even more worked up.

  “Begging isn’t convincing. She just needs to see you in a different light.”

  Leo almost rolled his eyes but didn’t out of respect. Salvatore believed he knew the art of seduction like he knew how to train a prize fighter. And he’d trained dozens over the years.

  “You need to lay down the three Ts.”

  “The three Ts?” Leo asked hesitantly, unsure if he really wanted to know the answer.

  Salvatore smiled slyly. “You need to tempt her, tease her and make yourself so tantalizing she’ll want you as much as you want her. Oh, and you should cock block any potential suitors. You do know how to do that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Leo replied, humoring his old mentor.

  “Good.” Salvatore let go of the speed bag. “I’ll leave you to your workout. You’re moving slower than day-old grits. And that’s never a good thing, in or out of the ring.”

  chapter two

  Roxanne clutched her third glass of margarita in one hand, a bottle of Heineken in the other and went to answer the door. Leo had called a little over an hour and a half ago to tell her he was on his way over to help set up her WhipADate.com profile.

  Her steps slowed. How could she have been so blind? Leo was her best friend. She could read him like the back of her hand. Obviously not. His offer to be more than friends had hit her like a dump truck with no brakes. Thankfully she’d imbibed a couple of margaritas to fortify her nerves.

  But as she opened the front door, Roxanne realized no amount of fortifying could have prepared her for seeing Leo again.

  Casually dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans that hugged his thighs, he looked fresh from a shower. His dark curls were still damp and she could see where drops of water must have dotted the collar of his long-sleeved, navy-blue Henley.

  Were his shoulders always that broad? Before she started to drool, Roxanne focused on his glasses. Instead of being a safety net, the dark frames drew her attention to his high cheekbones and aquiline nose, which helped her notice his full bottom lip—

  “Hey, you,” he said, his voice interrupting her blatant inspection.

  Damn, this is going to be hard. “Hey back.”

  Mentally applauding the casualness in her tone, Roxanne stepped aside to let him in. Per their usual routine, she handed him the beer then locked the door behind him. “The computer’s set up in the den. So we’ll work in there.” There was no way in hell they were going upstairs to her home office.

  As she led the way into the den, Roxanne found herself overwhelmed by his presence. It seemed to blanket and overshadows everything in the room, including her.

  Before she fell flat on her back and did something she’d regret, Roxanne hurried over to the sofa and sank down.

  She tried to slide over to give him some space but he sat on her skirt, trapping her.
For the first time since she’d bought the winter-white maxi skirt, Roxanne regretted the purchase.

  “I came up with the perfect user name for you.”

  “Oh really,” she said, tugging on the flowing cashmere.

  “I think you should use WantTheBIGOne.”

  Roxanne didn’t care if she resembled a deer in headlights. His recommendation was disturbing on so many levels.

  Scooting forward, Leo pulled the laptop toward them. His leg settled firmly against hers and Roxanne wondered why she had never noticed his perfect muscle tone.

  “Like it?” he asked.

  She more than liked it. Couldn’t he see her hands were shaking? Any harder and she’d spill her drink. Just in case, Roxanne set her glass down on the table. When she sat back, he rested his hand on her knee.

  “You hate it, don’t you?”

  “Hate?” she squeaked, as visions of her grabbing his hand and thrusting it between her legs danced before her eyes. “Hate…hate is a harsh term. Is there any particular meaning to the name?”

  “I’m helping you kill two birds with one stone. You want great orgasms, of course. What’s the point of sex without them? And most women like men who are well endowed.”

  Imagining Leo giving her the big one, in more ways than one, Roxanne licked her lips. “WantTheBIGOne is perfect,” she said as if through a fog.

  Was that a smirk on his face?

  While Leo turned back to the computer, Roxanne found she couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Fascinated, she noticed the way his muscles rolled under his shirt with every keystroke, and how his curls kissed the nape of his neck whenever he leaned forward to peer at the screen.

  With each passing second, the temperature in the room seemed to bump up a notch, which was impossible of course. It was almost Thanksgiving and close to fifty degrees outside. And Roxanne never turned on the heat until mid-December. Once again, she tried to put some distance between her and the source of the heat, but still found herself pinned.

  “Now the fun stuff.” Leo sat back some so Roxanne could see the screen. His arm bumped hers and a jolt of electricity ran from the tips of her fingers to her collarbone. She swiftly sat upright and rubbed her chest in an attempt to dispel her reaction.