She held on to his shoulders while she did, her touch sending bolts of heat throughout his body. Malik stood then, left her standing in only her bikini underwear and moved to turn off the water. Fragrant bubbles were about to run over the lip of the tub and he inhaled deeply the lavender scent. She probably needed chamomile tonight, to truly soothe her and take her into a dreamless sleep. But since he wasn’t going to push the physical act of lovemaking with her, Malik figured he at least needed to leave with the scent on her body, the thought in his mind, so he would have a perfectly wonderful sleep filled with sexy dreams of her.
Before he could turn back to Belinda he saw that she’d removed her own panties. He smiled at her, shaking his head. “You are so insubordinate.”
She shrugged. “Just trying to help.”
He nodded and reached for her hand. “Thanks a lot.”
Helping her into the tub, watching her sleek body sink slowly beneath the cover of bubbles made Malik rock hard. His entire body screamed for release, one he knew would not be coming anytime soon.
“Will you stay and talk to me?” she asked, her voice more fragile than he’d ever heard before.
“Of course. I have to wash you.”
She sank into the water until the bubbles touched her chin and gave him a very dreamy, very delicious look before whispering, “Of course.”
Chapter 11
Malik’s hands were heaven as they finished the last circle over her back where he applied her lotion.
To add to her list of firsts, probably right at the top, Belinda would add being bathed by a man. No, that didn’t quite describe the experience. Being bathed by Malik was more like it. Every place he touched sent shivers throughout her body, even now after she’d finished in the bathroom and lay across her bed, covers pulled down and waiting for her to slip beneath.
The heat of the water and the relaxing of her tired muscles had her barely able to keep her eyes open. Yet she didn’t want to miss a moment of what Malik planned to do to her next.
He’d slipped the shortest nightie he could find in her drawer over her head, smoothing it down the length of her body. And now she lay there on the bed, her body completely pliant, her eyes closing and slowly reopening. His hands rubbed her shoulders and down her arms. Belinda heard herself moan but floated somewhere between heaven and earth.
When his lips touched her ear, she sighed. The kiss was chaste, the ensuing lick of his tongue like fire. She gripped her pillow tighter, sinking down into the soft bedding and loving the feel of his heat above her.
“We’re not just having sex, Belinda. That’s for people who don’t know what they want. I know without a doubt that I want more from you,” he whispered.
His voice was so sexy, so warm against her skin. His words heady enough to make her feel even more tranquil than she already did. All she could do was moan in response.
“And you can tell your mother that I’ll be escorting you to the auction. Remember, I do not share.”
A smile ghosted her lips, she felt it, but she did not open her eyes. His words echoed in her mind.
He didn’t want to share her. Malik Anthony wanted her all to himself. And he knew exactly who she was, all her faults and everything. Yes, Belinda continued to smile even as she drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Malik was there. He was on top of her taking her on that magnificent journey to bliss once more. She rode the sensations, loving the feel of him inside her, the tightness of her body gripping him.
He called her name, said it like she was the only woman in the world for him, over and over and over again.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I don’t know how it happened but I love you. I truly do.” The words tumbled from her mouth as her nails dug into his shoulder.
When he stilled over her, both of them reaching their climax simultaneously, Belinda wanted to weep with joy.
In the blink of an eye, she wanted to run and hide from sheer embarrassment.
The scene had shifted and she was wearing a wedding dress wrapped tightly around her slim body, veil diminishing her vision only slightly. She looked to her right and there were her parents sitting on the front pew of the church they sometimes attended. Daisy was dressed in cream-colored silk, her father looking stately in a black tuxedo, both wearing smiles that could light up the entire room. Beside her mother were her grandparents. Unlike her grandfather, her grandmother wore a slight frown.
The people in the opposite pew Belinda did not know. But at the sight of them her heart began to pound.
She hurriedly looked to her left, or rather to the man standing in front of her, at the altar of the church dressed in a tuxedo.
Patrick Masterson frowned down at her, his round face and developing second chin marred with anger or disgust, she wasn’t quite sure.
“I don’t love you,” he said, his voice in that sickeningly high pitch of his. “I could never love a woman like you!”
Behind her Belinda heard the snickers, then the full-blown laughter of every person who sat in that church. When she looked out into the audience her grandmother was shaking her head, and her parents crying.
She’d let them down. She’d let all of them down and made a spectacle of herself, of her family.
And when she turned to run away because the weight against her chest was bearing down so hard she could barely breathe, someone grabbed her arm.
It was Dina English and she was smiling smugly.
Belinda turned again to a maddening screech to see Carter, Shari and even Malik dripping with the red velvet cake batter she’d been using to bake those five hundred cupcakes. The room spun around her and all Belinda could hear was crying from her parents, the screeching of defeat from Shari, Patrick’s taunting laugh all blending together until her eardrums burned.
And when Belinda awoke it was to sweat dripping from her forehead and a pounding in her chest. Her eyes were blurred and her mind still tried to decipher dream from reality.
She wanted to fall back onto her pillow face-first and cry from the agony of anxiety. For the past few months she’d been reading books on dealing with stress. Going to a therapist was out of the question, since it would be more than embarrassing for the family to see that one of them was cracking up.
But instead of giving in, Belinda walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While it ran for a few minutes she practiced her breathing. In and out, steady and slow. At the same time she cleared her mind. Patrick wasn’t here. She wasn’t getting married. Her grandmother didn’t look disappointed. It was all a dream.
Or a nightmare.
* * *
Morning had always been Malik’s favorite time of day. He was so much more productive before the sun rose. That was why he’d arrived at the gym just a little after four this morning. He’d had a restless night and was filled with pent-up energy—or unleashed passion, whichever one sounded best.
Ever since his accident and the grueling year of physical therapy that had followed, swimming had become his second-favorite sport. So after his time on the treadmill and the thirty strenuous minutes of weight lifting, he finally submerged his body into the cool water of the gym’s Olympic-size pool. Every lap had his shoulders burning, his legs tingling, heart racing and mind still running circles around one particular female.
She was an enigma, or at least she tried to be. He couldn’t really tell. What Malik knew for certain was that none of it mattered. He wanted Belinda. And he was pretty sure she wanted him. Even if her mind wanted to fight it, her body was game for whatever he had planned. Malik wanted to plan something superspecial for the next time they made love. He wanted to show her how special she really was and not because of any of her accomplishments, but because of who she was inside.
It was with thoughts of a blissfully romantic evening that he emerged from the pool, heading to the chair where he’d thrown his towel. Only to find it missing.
The second he turned to look around for it, she was there. Up cl
ose and very personal in a black bikini that barely covered her assets. Too bad it was the wrong woman.
“Good morning, handsome,” Chantelle Martin said with a smile on her face.
“Mornin’,” was Malik’s mildly uncomfortable response. He took the towel she held out to him.
“You look fabulous,” was her next comment as she looked him up and down.
He wore swim trunks but the hungry look she was giving him made Malik uncomfortable, as if he was naked under her perusal. He used the towel to dry off his upper body, moving slowly so the towel would also cover his bare skin. “Thanks. What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
“How did you know I’d be here?” Malik didn’t have a routine; he liked to play things by ear for the most part. And there was a gym in his apartment building. It wasn’t as good a setup as this local one, but he used it from time to time. Which begged the question of how Chantelle knew he was here.
“Don’t get all uptight. I’m not a stalker. I came by your place and the doorman told me you’d gone to work out. This was the closest gym to your apartment building so I took a shot. The attendant was kind enough to grant me a guest membership when I told him I was here to see you.”
It couldn’t be more than six in the morning by now. “Why were you at my place so early?” he asked her. Never mind how she knew where he lived. Jarrod had been to his apartment before so he assumed the boy had told his mother, innocently, he figured.
“I had dinner last night with someone who wants to see you. I told him I’d get you the message as soon as possible.” As she talked she pulled a card from the top of her bikini. How the small piece of paper had fit into that top along with her voluptuous breasts, Malik had no idea. But he kept his gaze focused on her eyebrows, figuring that was the safest place for it to be.
He took the card from her and glanced down at it. “Why would a college coach ask you to get in touch with me?”
“You are so full of questions, so early in the morning. How about we take a swim together then we can talk over breakfast?”
Belinda’s words echoed in his head. He needed to tell Chantelle that whatever she was thinking would happen between them was a no go.
“No. I have to get to work. Look, Mrs. Martin,” he started, figuring he’d make this as polite and concise as possible, “I enjoy coaching Jarrod. He’s a good kid and I think he has a lot of potential. I think he could get into a great high school program with his basketball skills and his grades. I’ll keep you abreast of whatever I can work out for him.”
“And?” she asked taking a step toward him. “What does that have to do with the two of us right here and now?”
Malik wasn’t used to running from women, and what he did he wouldn’t exactly call running. Well, maybe in a sense it was, but he knew self-preservation was his best bet. He stepped back from her, this time putting his hands on her shoulders to keep her at arm’s length. “It means that’s the only thing we have to communicate about.”
She arched an eyebrow—he knew because he’d still been training his gaze there.
“Oh, really? So you’re telling me that you don’t want any of this?”
She used a hand to signal her body, which was not necessary at all because he’d already assumed what she was referring to. He still kept his gaze on her eyebrows.
“I’m telling you that I’m not interested in any personal entanglements with you.”
There, blunt and to the point and spoken in clear, concise English. It was a done deal.
She tilted her head as her arms reached up behind her and she unlatched her bikini top. “You’ll change your mind.”
Now he was just angry. If there was one thing Malik hated, it was a woman who didn’t respect herself.
“No,” he said adamantly, “I won’t. And you can tell this coach to go straight to hell!” With a flick of his wrist, Malik tossed the business card in her general direction. “Cover yourself up. This is a respectable place,” he told her, giving her back the towel she’d just handed him.
As he walked out of the pool area and headed to the men’s locker room, he thought about the crazy world they lived in. The one where people would do just about anything for money, or fame and fortune, or all of the above.
Chapter 12
For the first time in all the years he’d worked there, Malik walked into Lillian’s and felt as if he were walking into a madhouse.
When he’d arrived that morning he’d found out that Carlos had called in with car trouble, so Malik had volunteered to make the morning deliveries. It was a job he was used to doing and one he needed today because it would give him time to think about dating Belinda, killing Chantelle’s ideas about them, and why Coach Rodney Sanders would want to contact him after all these years.
Unfortunately, each delivery had come with a talkative client who wanted to know about making another order, which meant Malik had spent too much time with them and was now just getting back to the bakery at almost one o’clock.
The coffee bar had a line that stretched almost to the main cash register and display cases. Nichelle was manning the bar and moving as fast as she could since she was solo. There were also customers at the display case, where Drake was handling them with his charming smile and cordial tone. Malik headed behind the counter with the idea that he’d take over for Drake and let Drake go over to the coffee bar to help Nichelle out since he knew more about mixing those drinks than Malik did.
“They need you in the back pronto,” Drake said out of earshot of the customers.
“What’s going on?”
“Oven mishap. We’re a couple orders behind and time is ticking.”
“Are we fully staffed except for Carlos?”
Drake nodded. “Carter’s got designs going. Amber’s helping him out. Shari and Belinda are trying to take care of the rest.”
“I’m on it,” Malik said and headed to the back.
Chaos didn’t quite describe this new scene.
Two of the large oven doors stood open, steam pouring out of each one, which signaled the heat was cooling down but there was definitely a problem. Instead of trying to fix them right at this moment, he went all the way to the back and disconnected the gas lines to each of them.
“Where are we?” he said, grabbing his apron and hair cap and moving to the table where Belinda stood.
“Four whole sheet cakes, eight dozen cupcakes and pastries for the Ledbetter brunch tomorrow, 285 in attendance,” she rattled off without even looking up from the bowl where she mixed the glaze that would go on top of her apple streusel.
“Two sheets need icing and decorating and all the cupcakes need the same,” Shari added from the other table, where she mixed more cake batter.
“Done!” was all Malik said.
Carter and Amber were on the other side of the kitchen where they were meticulously cutting and layering, pinching and slicing and everything else that came with artisan cake designs.
“I’m gonna need help with two wedding deliveries in about an hour.”
Malik nodded. “Gotcha.” He was layering the first sheet cake with its buttercream base. He’d just read the order sheet that had been taped on the table beside the cake. It was a girl’s sweet sixteen that already had a fondant-covered number sixteen and a sugar-encrusted tiara made to top it. He would do the final assembly and have it ready for pickup in less than thirty minutes.
Then he would help Carter with the deliveries and return here to do whatever else was needed. Because this was not only his job, it was the career he’d chosen. After the one he’d dreamed of had collapsed.
* * *
“Grandma’s cooking dinner tonight. She wants us all to come over,” Drake said at twenty minutes after seven when they were together in the kitchen cleaning up.
The crowd had stayed past closing, until 6:53 p.m., when Carter had come from the back and locked the front door. He instructed Nichelle to only let customers out, not to invite any
more in. By seven-fifteen the bakery was finally empty and Drake had taken in all the cash from both registers and sat at the kitchen
counter and began the final count for the night. The others moved around, washing dishes, putting trays and pots away, storing batter and wrapping pastries for tomorrow’s early morning delivery. The one which Malik volunteered to make because they didn’t want to chance Carlos still having car trouble.
“I’m exhausted,” Shari was the first to admit. “And I still have to leave here and pick up Andre. I don’t know if I’m going to make it.”
“I think Grandma wants to talk about the competition again,” Drake told them.
“I have a date,” Carter said as he meticulously cleaned his tools and placed them into the cloth-lined box he kept them in.
“Come on,” Belinda interjected. “I’m sure there’s something all of us would like to be doing other than taking that forty-five-minute drive to the estate to have dinner and talk more about work. But this is what we do and the competition is important.”
Malik heard her words and he also heard the strain in her voice as she said them. Of course, he was probably the only one to hear that since the rest of her family were simply used to her being the bucket of ice water splashing over their ideas.
“That’s a long drive, Belinda. And I do have a child. I know all you have to do is worry about you, but unfortunately I can’t think like that.”
“Andre can sleep at Grandma’s until we’re finished. It’s not like you’ll have to change his nightly routine that much,” Belinda countered.
“Spoken like a woman with no kids,” Shari grumbled.
Belinda’s head shot up at that remark. Her gaze quickly found Malik’s then just as quickly she looked away, focusing on wrapping all the ingredients to be added as finishing touches to the pastries tomorrow. The streusels and the pies were done, fillings for the Danish would be applied in the morning, as well as all the croissants she would come in early to bake. That was part of the reason Malik had volunteered to do the morning delivery. It gave him a reason to be here to help her without having to hear her tell him she didn’t need him.
Decadent Dreams (The Draysons: Sprinkled with Love) Page 12
