I eased on a soft smile and then slid my hands down to his strong, muscled ass. “I’m absolutely positive,” I whispered. Clearly, it was my turn to take charge. I dipped and rolled my hips, easing him in deeper.
Lyfe struggled to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head again. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on mine as he started to move inside of me again. Somehow, in some unexplainable way, my body heat penetrated his soul. At least it felt that way as wave after wave of pleasure washed over us. Our hips moved in sync and, within a few glorious strokes, we were filling the living room with soft sighs and moans. We’d done it. We’d officially made the leap from mere high school boyfriend and girlfriend to full-fledged lovers, and it was clear that neither one of us was sorry.
While we rode high, I knew that this was a moment to be savored and forever etched into our memories. I watched as the flittering light from the fireplace danced across his dewy skin, and gloated while his lower lip quivered between strokes and low baritone moans.
“Ohh, Lyfe,” I panted. I was more in love with him at that moment than I’ve ever been. Our pants and moans blended together like a beautiful duet.
Soon after, he swept more kisses down the column of my neck while whispering, “I love you so much, Corona Mae. I’m yours forever. I’m here, baby. Tell me what you want—what you need.”
Hell, all I needed was for him to keep doing what he was doing.
I rolled my hips a third and then a fourth time. I was getting warmer and wetter with each stroke. It seemed like a whole new world was opening up to me and I was greedy to see and feel more. Is this how it always is with sex? Or am I feeling these things because I’m in love with Lyfe?
“Whoa … whoa … wait … wait … “ Lyfe gasped and then bit his lower lip. I could tell that it was just an attempt to regain control of his deteriorating willpower. Mercifully, I eased up and gave him all of fifteen seconds to try to regroup. As he opened his eyes, I was once again overwhelmed not only by the passion flickering in them but by the intensity of love that danced there as well.
With renewed confidence, Lyfe surged his hips forward and watched my expressions with fascination. His strokes were gentle, but he made sure that they grew longer and deeper.
“How does it feel, baby?” Lyfe asked. His lips stretched wide as he watched me struggle to answer. After a few more strokes, his cockiness evaporated and his toes curled tight. “Oh, God,” he groaned and then dropped his head against the crook of my neck where he breathed in my scent and lazily dusted more kisses across my collar bone and then down the valley between my breasts.
“Mmm. You smell and taste like honey and cinnamon.”
“Oh, Lyfe,” I moaned, digging my nails into the tender flesh of his muscled shoulders. “Please, don’t stop.”
“I have no intentions of ever stopping. You’re mine now.”
Diary, I felt like I was really losing my mind. But through the fuzzy mesh of my eyelashes I could see that in his quest to give me pleasure, he was steadily marching himself right over a cliff. Things started tingling in places that I can’t even risk writing to you. But just know that it was all so wonderful.
Lyfe’s breath came in short, choppy puffs. Before long, he was completely and utterly lost.
I started slipping into a vortex of pleasure. It became increasingly hard to keep air in my lungs while my body was being assaulted with all these wonderful sensations. Our moans grew into a crescendo that drowned out Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” playing on the radio.
I cried out and then started trembling violently. Above me, Lyfe unleashed a growl that sounded like something out of the jungles of Africa. A half a second later there was a bright light and then we were floating in a galaxy of stars. It was the most beautiful thing ever.
Collapsing in a heap, he locked his arms around me while I rolled over and peppered kisses across his sweat-slicked forehead. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He fluttered his eyes open. “That’s kind of an odd thing to thank me for, don’t you think?”
I blushed and then was rewarded with more kisses. “Thank you,” I repeated.
He just stamped on a silly smile and said, “You’re welcome. Feel free to ask me to do this with you again any time. Your wishes are my command.”
I giggled. “How about now?”
He blinked. “Now, now?”
“Yeah.” I smirked. “That is … if you’re UP for it.”
We both looked down at his growing cock.
“I don’t think that is going to be a problem,” he said. The front door banged open.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of skinny legs racing up the stairs. (Tess! She probably saw the whole thing!) But that wasn’t our main problem. Mom and Dad came back home early.
“Damn it, Adele! It’s colder than a witch’s titties out here,” my father declared, swiping off his hat.
“Just be glad that we were able to get back before they closed the roads, Rufus,” Momma said. “Just get yourself on in by the fire and I’ll fix you some … “ They froze as their eyes finally landed on the scene before the fireplace.
Lyfe and I were equally frozen.
Then, finally, Daddy thundered, “WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?”
“Uh … evening, Mr. and Mrs. Banks,” Lyfe fumbled out. Hell. I don’t think he could think of anything else to say.
But Daddy brought us back to reality real quick.
“Adele, where’s my damn gun?”
That was cue enough for Lyfe to jump his butt up and make a grab for his clothes. The rest of the sleeve of condoms sliding across the floor didn’t make things any better. Momma looked faint.
Daddy pulled out his shotgun from his gun cabinet next to the grandfather clock.
“Wait, Daddy no!” I yelled, jumping up—naked as the day I came into the world.
“Father in heaven,” Daddy roared and then took aim.
“Rufus, baby, wait!”
Lyfe tried to cram one leg through his boxers but ended up tipping over too much and tripping over the head of the bearskin rug. It was a good thing too because Daddy got off his first shot.
POW!
The buckshot grazed Lyfe’s ass cheeks. “Oww!”
“Rufus, honey, don’t kill the boy!”
“Damn it, Adele. I told you those damn Alton boys were no damn good!”
POW!
Lyfe scrambled low on the floor, figuring it was best to try to dodge behind the coffee and end tables.
“Coming up in here and disrespecting my daughter!”
POW!
“My daughter!”
POW!
“My house!”
POW!
“Daddy, stop,” I wailed.
“You hush up now, child,” Daddy barked. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Lyfe made a dash toward the back glass door. Unfortunately, the next buckshot shattered the damn thing before he could reach it, but that didn’t stop him from diving straight through it and out into the Georgia snowstorm—in his birthday suit with Daddy still hollering and chasing after him …
Buuuuuzzzzzzz!
Corona Banks jumped a foot out of her chair and then slammed her diary that she’d been reading shut. It took another half a second for her to realize that the buzzing was coming from her desk phone. Not wanting the call to go to voicemail, she quickly snatched up the receiver. “Banks Artists Agency, this is Chloe.”
“There you are! What on earth are you still doing at the office?” Margo, her assistant, hissed into the line. “You’re supposed to be here at Rowan’s place for the E! interview. We’re all waiting.”
Corona sprung up out of her chair. How on earth had she forgotten about that? She glanced over at the calendar and there in bold black lettering was indeed this afternoon’s interview. “I’m on my way. Stall them.” She slammed the phone and then glanced back down at the stack of diaries on her desk. She needed to find a new hiding space. Th
e floorboard that she had concealing her stash had been suspiciously moved, and she had a growing fear that someone had found her treasure trove.
With no more time to think about the possible spy, she jammed the books back into her briefcase and rushed out of her New York office. She had more important things to deal with right now than daydreaming about a decade-old love that had never had a chance.
Chapter 2
Corona rushed up the stairs to the SoHo apartment in a pair of fresh-out-of-the-box Louboutins. While she went through the fruitless exercise of berating herself for running late, she had long ago accepted the fact that in all likelihood she would be late for her own funeral. It wasn’t that she was lazy or didn’t plan ahead of time—she just had a tardiness gene somewhere in her DNA. At least that was her excuse and she was sticking to it.
“Is everyone still here?” she asked Margo the moment she bolted through the front door.
Relief washed over Margo’s face at the sight of her boss. “Oh, thank God. The film crew has been here for over an hour. They were just talking about doing the interview without you.” She rushed over to help Corona out of her A-line Mischka coat to reveal her snow-white Gucci pantsuit. “Nice,” Margo said, her eyes widening appreciatively at Corona’s immaculate fashion sense.
“Thanks. I can’t have my fiancé show me up. Call me vain.”
“All right, Vain,” Margo said, shooing her toward the living room. “You just get in there before Rowan starts reenacting his Hamlet soliloquies from his Shakespeare in the park days.”
Corona smiled. No one loved a camera more than Rowan James. Heralded as this generation’s most bankable movie star, Rowan lived to be in the public eye. He instinctively knew his best angle and lighting at any given moment. While Corona thought of herself as attractive, she couldn’t say that she and cameras had the same love affair.
Inevitably, her plump apple cheeks would look too big or her doe-shaped eyes would make her look like a deer caught in the headlights. It was the oddest thing. When people met her, they would always toss out the backhanded compliment that she was more beautiful in person.
“Hurry,” Margo kept shooing her. “He’s getting ready to thank God and the Academy.”
Corona laughed, brushed her thick hair behind her ears, and marched into the apartment’s large, open living room with a ready-made smile. “Hello, everyone. I’m so sorry to have kept you all waiting,” she announced, with her voice all syrupy sweet. “Things were crazy at the office.”
Rowan James turned his dark head, and his glowing blue eyes lit up at the sight of her. “There’s my baby now.” He stood up and drew Corona into his arms before brushing a sweetheart kiss against her upturned face. “Glad you could make it. I hope this isn’t a dry run of what you’re planning to do to me at the altar,” he joked with just a tinge of seriousness.
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Corona joked back with a playful wink.
K. D. Hardaway, a trailblazing celebrity reporter with womanly curves and high volume, corkscrew curls, popped up out of her seat and thrust out her hand. “The lady of the hour. We’re so happy that you could finally join us. I personally have been dying to meet you.”
Corona went to accept the woman’s handshake, but at the last minute, the exuberant woman abandoned the idea and instead threw her arms around her like they were long lost friends.
“You know the whole world is hating on you now, right?” the woman informed her.
Corona didn’t but she supposed that she should be grateful for the update. When she pulled back, K.D. kept a tight hold of her right hand. “Let’s see the rock, honey. Bam!” The reporter dipped her knees and dramatically flung her head back. “Well, all right now! Ha!” She turned toward her lone cameraman. “Ed, we don’t need a close-up on this one. I think the folks down in Texas are busy trying to get the glare of this diamond out of their eyes right now.”
Corona smiled sheepishly while Rowan swung his arm around her shoulders and thrust out his chest. “Nothing but the best for my Chloe.” He pried her hand from the reporter and then pressed a kiss just above her ring. “Honest to God, she’s the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he boasted.
K.D.’s perfectly arched brows damn near stretched to the top of her hairline as she gave them snaps in a Z-formation. “Well, all right now!”
Rowan laughed and pulled Corona even closer.
“So the entertainment world has their new power couple,” K.D. announced, winking into the camera. “It’s all good with me. It’s about time someone knocked Will and Jada off their throne.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Corona said, shaking her head. “My work is behind the cameras.”
“Exactly! That’s where all the power is, girlfriend. Don’t play.” She held up her hand, signaling for a high five.
Corona gave Rowan a look that asked whether this chick was for real or a caricature of every sister-girl role that she had ever seen in rom-com movies rolled into one.
He responded with a quick shrug.
“Don’t leave me hanging, girlfriend.”
Corona finally threw her hand up against K.D.’s which caused her entire arm of silver bracelets to start jiggling like crazy while she cheesed with a smile that could rival The Joker’s.
“So while we still have a few minutes, why don’t you tell our audience how you two met? Was it love or lust at first sight? Give us the dirt.”
Corona opened her mouth to answer, but Rowan quickly cut her off.
“I’m not ashamed to say that I felt something the first time I laid eyes on her. Chloe was like a ray of sunshine, and that’s saying a lot in this business.”
K.D. shifted back to Corona. “Is that how you felt, too? Wait. What am I saying? Who wouldn’t have fallen head over heels for this gorgeous hunk, huh?”
“Well … “ Corona hesitated with a nervous look over at Rowan.
“You got to be kidding me.” K.D.’s traveling brows had now blended into her curly hair.
Corona opened her mouth, only to be cut off once again by her overeager fiancé, who undoubtedly wanted to put a nicer spin on the story.
“Actually, it was probably not one of my best nights when we met,” Rowan laughed and then tossed a wink toward the camera.
“Oh?” The reporter edged closer, sensing a juicy story was coming her way.
“Yeah, I guess you can say that I was being a bit of a bad boy at a bar,” Rowan answered sheepishly. “As everyone out there in TV land knows, I went through quite an ugly breakup last year.”
K.D. nodded her head sympathetically, just like Corona imagined everyone else at home was doing right now. The entertainment world had been riveted for the past two years over Rowan’s love affair with Hollywood’s hottest sex kitten, Danica Foxx. Glossy tabloid magazines had made a fortune planting their faces on every cover in the western hemisphere. But, predictably, with all the media scrutiny, a couple that hot was bound to implode.
And they did. Quite spectacularly. Danica cheated on him. All that was missing was a set of golf clubs and a small library of lurid text messages to complete Rowan’s humiliation. But it was Danica’s announcement two days later that she was engaged to the movie star whom she did the cheating with that crushed Rowan.
“Anyway, I was sort of drowning my sorrows at the bottom of a Jack Daniel’s bottle, tossing back one shot after another when I looked up and there she was.”
Rowan turned and smiled at Corona. “An angel. A vision in white.”
Corona rolled her eyes at the way he was spinning their story.
“Sounds like you made quite an impression,” K.D. said.
“Yea, me.” Corona twirled her finger in the air with a breezy laugh before thinking better of it. Realizing that she needed to clean up her act a bit, she tried to explain. “You don’t understand. By the time me and my assistant, Margo, had made our way to the bar, Rowan and his new buddy Jack Daniels weren’t getting along so well.”
Rowan tossed the camera another wink.
“Our first meeting happened because I felt sorry for him for not being able to sit on a barstool,” Corona continued, finally starting to laugh at the memory. “Margo and I had a fun-filled evening lugging Mr. Blockbuster here back to his hotel. The whole time he kept telling me how perfect I was for a part in his next film. It was so cliché. Trust me.”
“Cliché or not, clearly whatever you did worked,” the reporter concluded.
“Not really,” Rowan laughed. “They dumped me on my bed—”
“More like he passed out,” Corona corrected.
“And when I woke the next morning, I was convinced I’d only dreamt her up.” He laughed and leaned over to give her another kiss. “Imagine my surprise when I saw her on the movie set later that evening talking to another star on the film. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was convinced that it had to be fate.”
“And I thought that I must have made someone mad in a past life,” Corona joked.
K.D. continued to look astonished. “You’re kidding me?”
“See why I’m marrying her? Anyone else in this town would’ve called the tabloids and made a quick buck.”
Sharp as a tack, K.D. cut in, “But it still proved to be beneficial to her. After all, she did sign you to the Banks Artists Agency, did she not?”
“Only after I tracked her down and begged her to represent me,” he said slyly.
“Really?”
“Well, what else could I do? She refused to go out with me.”
The reporter turned her incredulous eyes back toward Corona. “You’re kidding. You actually told the number one box office star in the world that you wouldn’t go out with him?”
Corona’s apple cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “No. I told the drunken guy that threw up in my shoes that I didn’t want to go out with him. I can forgive a lot of things, but ruining a pair of my favorite Jimmy Choos took divine intervention to forgive.”
Rowan smiled. “But the more she resisted, the more I just had to have her.”
“Ahh. So you’re a man who loves a challenge,” K.D. said.
A Christmas Affair Page 2
