Ramsey

by Tina Martin

  Just thinking about him must have made him think of her because now, her phone was ringing and she knew it was him calling.

  “Hey,” she answered.

  “Hey, beautiful. You’re not working too hard, are you?”

  A warm sensation flooded her body. “Not really. Felicity is here. She’s working the register. I have the last batch of cupcakes in the oven for one of my catering orders and while they’re baking, I’m doing inventory.”

  “Don’t worry about the inventory, baby. I’ll take care of it tonight. I want you to relax.”

  “But you’ve had a long week too, Ramsey. I want you to relax.”

  “I’ll relax when all of your needs are met.”

  “Ramsey—”

  “All of them. Listen to me—I’ll do the inventory. Besides, I had time to unwind today playing golf with Regal. It’s nothing for me to take thirty minutes to do the inventory when I get home. I know that bakery like the back of my hand.”

  “Okay, well, I appreciate it.”

  “You are very welcome, sweet lips.”

  “How was golf by the way?”

  “The norm—I whipped Regal yet again.”

  Gianna grinned. “Are you on the way home?”

  “Not yet. I’m going to swing by Regal’s place for a while but I’ll be home before you get there. Maybe we can watch a movie and order a pizza and some wings.”

  “That sounds good—the food and the fact that I’ll be curled up next to you,” Gianna said.

  “And you know I’m always down for some curl-up action with my baby.”

  When Gianna didn’t respond, Ramsey said, “I can see you blushing.”

  “You can’t see me doing anything over the phone, Ramsey.”

  “So you’re not blushing right now?”

  “Well, I kinda am,” she admitted, twirling the necklace he purchased for her. The three-stone diamond.

  “I’ll see you tonight, baby.”

  “Okay.” Gianna placed her cell phone on the desk, then got up to take the cupcakes she’d forgotten about out of the oven. She certainly wouldn’t sell overcooked cupcakes. To her relief, Felicity had already removed them from the oven.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Felicity,” Gianna shouted from the kitchen.

  “Love you too, Gianna,” Felicity responded.

  * * *

  Pizza and movie night was more like a make-out session on the sofa. The movie was playing. A pepperoni-sausage-mushroom pizza was on the table, but instead of eating at the moment, Gianna was in her nightshirt stretched out on the sofa while Ramsey was on his knees next to her with his tongue lost somewhere down her throat. She moaned while they kissed and tried to handle him the best way she could but the man was skilled with his mouth the same way he was with architectural designs. Occasionally, he’d let her come up for air, but he was intent on making love to her mouth. The movie could wait.

  “Mmm,” she said feeling his thick tongue fill her mouth.

  Sensing she might need air, he stopped.

  Licked her lips.

  Licked his.

  Licked hers again.

  She giggled. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re kissing me like it’s your first time…like we haven’t done this a trillion times.”

  “I can’t get enough of you.” He took another small kiss and said, “Gosh, there are so many things I want to do with you. Show you. We never did get a chance to go whitewater rafting.”

  “That wasn’t because we didn’t have time. You know I’m not that adventurous.”

  “That’s why you have me. I’m going to bring the adventure out of you, baby.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. That’s so.” He combed his fingers through her hair. “I want to travel with you—and I mean take a month away from work and go anywhere in the world we want.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “Yes. Where would you go first, my love?”

  “Um, probably California.”

  Ramsey chuckled. “You can go anywhere in the world and you choose California?”

  “Yes. I’ve never been.”

  “Okay, babe. One day, I’m going to take you to California. Me, you and baby girl.”

  She smiled. “Me, you and baby girl.”

  He touched her stomach. “I can’t believe you’re having my baby. Can’t believe how fast things transpired between us.”

  “I know. I think about it when I’m at the bakery—”

  “Oh…you think about me while you’re at the bakery whipping up those delicious cupcakes?”

  “I do. After all, that is where we met. Where you basically stalked me.”

  A dimple formed on his cheek. “I stalked you. Okay.”

  “I remember the first day you came into the bakery…when you left that day, I honestly didn’t expect to see you again. I was shocked when you showed up the next day.”

  “Surprised me, too. I wasn’t expecting a connection. I just wanted some coffee, but when I saw you…I couldn’t help myself. And you were funny, too.”

  “I wasn’t being funny on purpose.”

  “I know. That’s what makes you so hilarious…made me even more interested.”

  “And look at us now.”

  “Yes. Look at us. Now, you’re stuck with me,” he said, kissing her stomach.

  “I’m not stuck. I want to be with you. I enjoy being with you. You’re my everything.”

  Ramsey folded his bottom lip under his teeth. “We need to take this conversation to the bedroom if you’re going to talk dirty to me.”

  Gianna laughed. “That’s talking dirty?”

  “Yeah. Gianna style.”

  “Well, if you want to go to the bedroom, you’ll get no objections from me.”

  Ramsey took the remote from the table, powered off the TV and said, “Okay. Let’s go. You walk ahead of me so I can squeeze your booty…get you warmed up.”

  Gianna giggled. “Stop it. That tickles.”

  He had a handful of butt-cheek when he responded, “I got something that’s gon’ tickle you, all right…”

  “Ramsey—” Gianna blushed, then gnawed on her bottom lip.

  When they stepped into their third-floor master suite, he pulled her into his arms kissing like he was starving for the taste of her while his hands gripped and squeezed her backside even more.

  “Mmm,” he moaned, just beginning to satisfy his hunger for her. He broke off the kiss to lave her neck with his tongue, feeling her body quiver in his arms. “That tickles, huh?”

  “Mmm hmm,” she confirmed, still absorbing the feeling, taking it all in.

  He pulled up her nightshirt, tugged at her panties until he maneuvered them down the length of her legs, then touched her there – that spot – the one that was sure to make her go insane and stir a fire inside of her.

  Gianna threw her head back and closed her eyes. Bit down on her lip.

  “Look at me, Gianna.”

  She opened her eyes to see him – his pit-black, deep, mysterious eyes – staring back at her and he was still stroking her. Teasing her. Driving her wild. Staring into her eyes like he was daring her not to fall apart at his hands. Then, out of nowhere, the most wicked, sexiest smile she’d ever seen came over his face when he asked, “Does that tickle?”

  “Ramsey,” she gasped with what little oxygen she had at her disposal.

  “Huh?” he asked, stroking still, fingers gliding back and forth across her pearl.

  “Ramsey…” she sang almost there. He knew she was. He could read her body like the most complicated sketch. It’s the only piece of art he’d committed to memory.

  He stopped, allowed her to catch her breath, then walks her over to the bed. While they’re still standing, he instructed her to place her hands on the mattress.

  Gianna could hear the moment his zipper went south. Could hear him wiggling out of jeans and sliding down his boxers and then she felt it – th
e size of him against her backside, bobbling around before he guided it to home plate. Inch-by-inch he stretched her until her body swallowed him up. Tightened around him. Locked him in. Held him hostage.

  All kinds of sensations took over – ones he felt before but would never get used to. He moved back and forth, stroking her back with his fingertips then played with her hair – pacing his tempo according to what he thought she could handle. He listened to her moan, felt her body shake and he knew she was about to come apart.

  “Ramsey!” she bellowed, lowering herself from hands to forearms as tremors rattled her body. He leaned down so his chest rested on her back. Holding her steady. She was still standing – legs weak from the pleasure tearing through her – but still standing. Body steady quivering. Moans still filling the room. Triggered by her moans and screams, he let out one of his own, exploding, emptying himself inside of her in a good-to-the-last-drop way, feeling every nerve-ending alive and pouring out pleasure intermittently, sending an electric charge throughout their bedroom – prolonging the intensity of his climax.

  And then they rested together, naked and in love, lying on top of the covers fully spent and one-hundred-percent in love.

  Chapter 12

  When Monday rolled around, the men of St. Claire Architects – Ramsey, Regal, Royal, Romulus, and the project managers, Ralph and Gilbert – were all in Uptown with Basile Moreau at the future home of some French fashions coming to Charlotte. Standing at five feet, nine inches, Basile was shorter than the St. Claire brothers but he was dressed in a way that made him fit in. Well, somewhat. He had on a dark teal suit, with a camel-colored pair of Bestetti shoes and a pair of ombre sunglasses with lenses that transitioned from black to clear. He was impressed with St. Claire Architect’s ability to deliver a prime location within the heart of the city – just what he was looking for. It was one thing to see the site on a map – but it proved to be another experience to actually be there to see the premium Uptown location with his own eyes. The streets were overflowing with people. All Basile saw were dollar signs.

  “You’ve certainly outdone yourself, Ramsey,” Basile said in a strong French accent.

  “I can’t take the credit for this leg of the project.” Ramsey patted Romulus on the shoulder. “This is the man who made it happen.”

  “Romulus, thank you. I’m most grateful,” Basile said.

  “Just doing my job,” Romulus said modestly.

  “Basile, what do you say we grab some lunch, then we’ll head back to the office to give you a tour and discuss a few more details,” Ramsey said.

  “Yes. This sounds good to me.”

  * * *

  The men settled in at Palm, and after being served their food, Regal asked, “So, Basile...”

  “Yes,” he said in the middle of eating a roasted pepper salmon fillet.

  “This new building is going to be for some French fashion. Will you carry men’s fashion, or will this be another store catered to women?”

  “We’ll actually do both and it’s very high-end clothing, Regal. The minimum price for a suit is five grand.”

  “Whew,” Ralph said. “That’s a little steep for my wallet.”

  “I’m with you on that, Ralph,” Gilbert said.

  “I’m sure you’ve priced the Charlotte market,” Ramsey said glancing up at Basile. “Are you confident in selling those kinds of suits here in the Queen City? I’ll be a customer for sure, but not everyone can afford a suit with that kind of price tag attached.”

  Basile fanned his napkin open to dab his mouth, then said, “Charlotte is prime for this kind of venture. We looked at New York first and while it was a contender, the fashion scene in New York is a little too eclectic for our taste.”

  Regal had just taken a gulp of soda. Then he commented, “So you’re saying Charlotteans dress better than New Yorkers.”

  Basile smirked – an uncommon expression for the businessman but leave it up to Regal to get Basile to loosen up a bit. “No, Regal...I assure you that’s not what I mean.”

  “Let me ask you this then,” Regal said, on a roll with questions. “Who started the trend of wearing tight, high-water suits with ashy ankles…no socks?”

  Amused, Romulus could only shake his head.

  Royal glanced up at Regal and kept on eating.

  Ramsey was amused himself, but tried to hide it by continuing to eat.

  “Please…help me to understand what a high water suit is,” Basile said.

  Royal laughed.

  Ramsey cleared his throat and explained, “I think my brother is referring to pants that tapers off at the ankles.”

  “Oh. I think the American designers came up with that concept. Personally, I prefer full-length suits.”

  “I agree,” Romulus chimed in, “And not the ones that make it hard to move around freely.”

  “Yeah…gotta have room for the crown jewels,” Regal said.

  Basile grinned. “That is a must.”

  Ramsey took a sip of green tea and was about to shift the conversation from Regal and jewels when he saw a woman who looked like Geraldine breeze pass the front windows of the restaurant. He could have sworn it was her. Only one way to find out.

  “Gentlemen, excuse me for a moment,” he said getting up, heading for the door. He followed the woman – was almost certain it was Geraldine now. The gold rings on her fingers gave her away. She wore more jewelry than Jezebel.

  Ramsey continued following her to see where she was going at two-something in the afternoon on a Monday. Walking with a fierce strut, the heels of her shoes drummed on the sidewalk and as she entered one of the towers. He followed using the rotating doors.

  When she disappeared down the hallway, he stayed back so she didn’t see him and after waiting for a few beats, he came around the corner but she wasn’t there, which meant she was in one of the two offices on this wing – a therapist office or a public accountant office.

  She could have been in either, but he took an educated guess and stepped inside the place she’d most needed to visit – the therapist.

  He opened the door and sure enough, there she was sitting in a waiting area already flipping through a magazine.

  Geraldine looked up and saw him. Her eyes brightened in surprise.

  “Ramsey St. Claire...what are you doing here?”

  “I was primed and ready to ask you the same thing, Geraldine.”

  Geraldine tossed the magazine back onto the wicker table and said, “I’m sure Gianna told you she met with me.”

  Ramsey invited himself to sit down a chair away from her to keep some space between them. “She did.”

  “And let me guess—you’re against it. Here to threaten me and tell me to leave her alone. You make it so obvious that you don’t like me.”

  “That’s because I don’t trust you, and I know how much my wife had to suffer because of you. I know the pain you’ve caused her. Am I to believe you’re on a path of righting your wrongs and fixing your damaged relationship with Gianna and Gemma?”

  “I am. I’ve seen the errors of my ways,” Geraldine said holding her head high trying to salvage her pride, what little she had left, anyway. “And I’m not going to let you stop me.”

  Ramsey crossed his legs. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking Gianna belongs to you, Geraldine. She’s mine and always will be. Now, since you’re sitting in this therapist office, I suppose I can conclude you’re actually making an effort with trying to repair your relationship with my wife.”

  “I told you I was.”

  “Then you have to understand me when I tell you I’m protective of what’s mine. Gianna is carrying my child. She doesn’t need any of the stress and flat-out foolishness you brought to her in the past.”

  “I understand that.”

  Ramsey’s brows raised. “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” Ramsey uncrossed his legs and stood up. “Then it’s time to show and prove. I want you to join us for dinner on Wed
nesday evening.”

  Geraldine looked surprised. “What did you say?”

  “I want you to join us for dinner on Wednesday,” Ramsey repeated. “In fact, I’ll talk to Royal so he can discuss it with Gemma and maybe they can join us as well. Do you know where I live?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. I’ll expect to see you there by 7:30 p.m.”

  “O-okay,” Geraldine said, still somewhat shocked about the invite. “I’ll be there.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t sound convincing.”

  “Yes. I’m sure. I’ll be there.”

  “Good. I’ll be on my way now,” Ramsey said, then walked out the door.

  * * *

  When he was back to the restaurant, Ramsey pulled Royal off to the side but before he could talk to him about Geraldine, Royal said, “It’s not like you to be handling outside business when we’re dealing with a priority client. What’s so urgent?”

  “That’s what I was just about to discuss with you. I got up because I saw Geraldine walk by. I caught up with her—asked her to come by the house for dinner on Wednesday.”

  Royal lifted a brow. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. Geraldine has been attempting to get herself together and I think our wives need to see her effort. They need this in their lives.”

  “Maybe your wife does. Gemma doesn’t need the stress and I don’t want to subject her to that lunatic, so if that’s what you’re asking, the answer is heck no.”

  “Take a day to think it over, Royal. You’re basing your decisions on your own emotions. I don’t like Geraldine, either, but I’m thinking about how Gianna would feel. That’s what I’m asking you to do. Put yourself in Gemma’s shoes. Think about Gemma’s feelings.”

  “I am thinking about Gemma. I consider my wife in all of my decisions,” Royal said sounding slightly offended.

  “Then you know she needs this just as much as Gianna does.”

  “No, she needs a mother—not a maniac who pops in and out of her life, plays with her emotions then goes flying off to the moon on her broom.”