Understanding then what her wake-up call was for, Misha set the mug down. But her intention to leave the bed was foiled as Talib sat down beside her and captured her lips in a deep kiss. She was in his bed and he intended to keep her there.
Her body had every desire, except to resist.
Talib kept her there for what seemed to be a never-ending session of irresistible foreplay. The cami and shorts she’d worn to bed were in total disarray as his fingers plundered beneath them and his mouth devoured hers hungrily.
Misha groaned her disappointment when his fingers withdrew from the part of her that ached shamefully for him. But she quickly forgot it when she felt his mouth there. Hooking strong hands around her thighs, Talib kept her still while he feasted.
“Talib…wait…” She wanted him to pleasure her, of course, but she wasn’t ready to return the favor in the way she knew he needed. “It’s not fair…” she moaned, riding his tongue slowly “…not fair to you…”
Not wanting to do anything against her wishes, Talib stopped. Misha wouldn’t risk eye contact when he finally let her up. Just barely, she made it to the adjoining door. Her weakened legs finally gave out just as she returned to her own bed.
A wine-and-cheese gathering was held that evening at sunset. The faint chill of the approaching autumn didn’t overshadow the enjoyable event.
Misha saw Talib and Asher talking near the bar and braced herself as she walked over. Asher caught sight of her first and broke conversation with his partner to draw her into a hug.
“Sorry to interrupt you guys.” She smiled when Asher kissed her cheek. “Could I, um, have a moment?” She looked at Talib.
“Catch you later, man.” Asher clapped Talib’s arm and gave Misha a squeeze before leaving the couple alone.
“We can’t do this,” she blurted, albeit softly.
Talib appeared confused. “Talk?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know.”
“Remind me.”
Balling her fists, she knocked them against the sides of her lavender trousers. “This will only put us in a bad spot while we’re trying to work on this story.”
Talib was clearly having a good time feigning bewilderment. His sleek ebony brows drew near above his dark eyes. “This?” he queried, while stoking his jaw.
“This morning in your room—” her stare faltered “—in your bed.”
“Did you enjoy that?”
She could have swooned right there at the bass lining his accent. “That’s not the point. Sex was never our issue.”
“I seem to recall us making an issue of it many times.”
Misha felt her cheeks burn and knew her complexion was betraying her. “It was never a problem, but it could be if we mix it with trying to work on this feature.”
“Right.” He appeared to be considering the matter. “But what about using it to work on us?”
Misha stared at his mouth, certain she’d heard him wrong. Then someone called his name and he left her to dwell on the question.
Board games, debates, cycling and barbecues filtered throughout the remainder of the weekend. All the activity was a welcome diversion for Misha, who’d found herself reeling from Talib’s suggestion that they work on themselves. He couldn’t really be hinting at some sort of reconciliation, could he?
She shook off the thought and looked toward the dining-room entrance where the group was meeting for the final dinner of the busy weekend. Talib stood there talking with their hosts Jasper and Molly Faison.
A voice surged through Misha’s muddled thoughts, asking if reconciliation was so out of the question. After all, wasn’t it what she hoped for? Wasn’t it what she’d only admit to herself in the quiet loneliness of her home?
Bowing her head then, Misha sat pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose when Talib walked past her chair. He brushed the back of his hand between her shoulder blades bared by the V-cut of her dress.
“What time are we heading out tomorrow?” she asked once he’d taken his place next to her at the long, elegantly set table.
“Are you in a hurry?”
She propped her elbow on the table and shrugged. “All of us can’t own multibillion dollar sports agencies, now can we?”
Talib shrugged then, too. “Jasper and Molly said a few people might make a longer weekend of it—stay through Monday or Tuesday.”
“No, Talib.” Misha blinked and glanced around to see if anyone had overheard her.
He rested against the highbacked oak chair. “Does spending more time together make you uneasy?”
“Cut it out.” Misha gripped the side of her chair when she turned to fully face him. “Stop acting like you have no idea what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing, love?”
“You know damn well, so stop wasting your time. We’re not going back there.” Her anger then abated to something more melancholy. “We can’t ever go back there.”
Talib squeezed her thigh to keep her from turning on the chair. “I don’t want to go back there, either. There was hell and I never desire to go back. But, we did leave things unfinished there.”
“Talib—”
“And they need to be handled one way or another.”
“Why?”
His smile returned then, purely seductive and full of promise. Satisfied that he’d properly unsettled her, Talib turned to the tables. “By the way, the party’s next Wednesday night at seven. The boxer we’re signing.”
“You were serious about that?”
“Of course, why not?”
Misha looked away, not able to read the message lurking in his bottomless gaze. She thought of Riley’s advice to stop letting him take the upper hand, to stop letting him turn her mind to mush, and damned if he wasn’t good at that.
She was sick of it and knew it couldn’t hurt to turn the tables a bit. Talib, however, had mastered a game she wasn’t quite familiar with. So it all came down to one question. Would she be in way over her head if she tried to play along?
Chapter 7
“Misha?”
Talib’s hushed tone made her laugh and made her decision to take things into her own hands well worth the effort.
Talib most likely didn’t agree with that, as he was currently studying her with a mix of surprise, awe and embarrassment. The embarrassment most likely stemmed from the fact that he was dripping wet and barely holding his robe together when he answered the door.
“What are you—”
“Have you forgotten already? I’m picking us up for our date. In spite of my record, I thought I’d drive.”
Talib’s lashes fluttered. “I wish you’d stop saying that.”
Misha rested against the doorjamb. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Sorry.” He instantly recalled his manners and backed away from the door. “I just got out of the shower.”
Misha allowed herself a long, leisurely appraisal of his glistening, honey-toned frame. She tilted her head and studied the area where he held the robe loosely at his waist. She smiled, making eye contact again. “That’s very obvious.”
Momentarily taken aback by her demeanor, Talib paused. He shook his head after a second and waved her inside.
“It won’t take me long to get ready. It’s still early.”
“No problem.” Misha followed him into the hotel suite. She wasn’t quite ready to stop admiring the stunning breadth of his back and shoulders and the long, powerful bare legs beneath his robe.
Talib was motioning toward the living area. “There’s info on the guy we’re having the party for if you wanna know more.”
Misha paused in the process of removing her wrap. “You’re really serious about involving me in this, aren’t you?”
“Quite.” He threw her a wink before heading into the bedroom.
She tossed aside the black wrap covering her dress and took a peek inside the portfolio. She took note of the name: Sampson “The Stone” Hart. The face was a good one—too good to risk i
n a boxing ring, she thought.
There was a thud, followed by a curse a few seconds later.
“You okay?” Dropping the portfolio, Misha strolled to the back and was lucky enough to catch another glimpse of Talib’s physique. Her luck was better this time around for she got to observe the man without his robe. Her view was aided by the floor-length mirror on the closet door, but it was adequate enough for allowing her to study him without him knowing.
It pleased her to put more of a visual to all the hardness she’d felt against her during the couples’ weekend in his bedroom. She could have watched him all night. The sinews in his back flexed impressively as he smoothed lotion into his skin. His wet hair covered his head in adorable blue-black ringlets. She smiled, watching as he went to search his suitcase. He hobbled a bit, favoring his foot which he may have stubbed earlier and accounted for the dull thud and curse she heard, Misha thought.
He bit his lip while concentrating on matching socks with the boxer shorts he’d chosen. Her breath caught when he finally turned, giving her the full benefit of his nude body. Yes, all of what she felt that morning was definitely him.
“Be out in a sec!”
His voice jerked Misha back to her senses. Quietly, she hurried back to the front of the suite.
Favreau’s Bar was the site of the party for middleweight contender Sampson “The Stone” Hart. The bar was the perfect setting as its layout was a multilevel space with a bar in every corner. Guests were allowed to branch out and enjoy conversations all over the establishment and not have to wait long for their drink refills.
“As we’re trading places this evening, shall I wait on you to open my door?” Talib asked when Misha pulled to a stop before the bar’s entrance.
“If you’d like,” she said as she smirked and turned to face him. “The men in there would be more in awe of you than they already are. Seated in the passenger seat while a beautiful woman—” her large dark eyes sparkled devilishly “—opens your door. Ha! They’d be impressed as hell.”
She was about to leave her side of the Acura when he grabbed her hand.
“You wouldn’t have to open my door to impress them.”
Misha wouldn’t allow his looks or his voice to hold her captive for long. She exited the car, took the valet ticket and met Talib on the other side of the car.
“This is a lot of fanciness, Mr. Mason. Favreau’s regular patrons won’t know what to think.” She teased, staring up and around at the surroundings.
“We wanted a lot of hype surrounding Hart.” Talib pressed a hand to Misha’s back, urging her to precede him into the bar. “The guy’s not very good with the media, or people in general, for that matter. We’re hoping a series of parties might help.”
“Good strategy,” she commended when they stopped at the coat check area put in place especially for the event. “What?” she queried, turning to find Talib staring. She’d noticed the look on his face before they left the hotel, but didn’t take time to question it.
Then, it dawned on her that it was the dress. At first she thought the frock was a bit over-the-top, but she went with it anyway. The wine-colored material fit like a glove, only flaring out at her knees and where the long sleeves hugged her wrists. The drawstring bodice cupped her breasts provocatively and gave her a playfully chic look. She took the arm he offered, silently commending her choice while they stepped into the bar.
The party was for “The Stone,” but Talib and Asher garnered more than their share of attention. Asher was thrilled to see his partner. He and Riley had been working the crowd since arriving over a half hour earlier. The man was ready for a little dance time with his wife.
No matter, for Talib was fine with working the crowd—even if it was something that really wasn’t his cup of tea. Having Misha on his arm changed that.
She sensed the possessiveness in his touch, but wasn’t about to let it go to her head. Showing up at his hotel that night had given her a much-needed power boost, but not enough to give her a false sense of being something she wasn’t. They still hadn’t discussed what she’d blurted out that morning at Red Sun during breakfast.
She didn’t have the time to mull over anything further. She was being introduced to everyone who called Talib’s name. But before any business was discussed or any congratulations were given, Talib made sure the woman on his arm was recognized. He barely let her out of his sight for a moment. He even seemed a bit put out when she insisted on some private time in the ladies’ room.
“Well, you’re sporting a lovely piece of arm jewelry tonight.”
Misha was finishing with her lipstick when she heard the familiar voice. Laughing, she leaned over to hug Shawny Reed, publisher at The First Beacon.
“In fact, I think any woman here would trade every bit of her jewelry to wear that Talib Mason.” Shawny ruffled the brunette waves rippling down her back.
Misha waved off the comment and checked the wrapped locks framing her face. “It’s just business, Shawn.”
“Trust me.” Shawny turned from the mirror. “When a man like Talib Mason is involved, business is the last thing it is.”
“So how are things going at the Beacon?” Misha asked, trying to change the subject. “I heard through the vine that you guys are enjoying an impressive revenue stream with your new entertainment section to thank.”
Shawny rolled her eyes. “Yeah, everyone these days is more interested in what toothpaste a celebrity uses than in the state of world affairs.”
“Well, Justine Duke must be doing a bang-up job.” Misha studied the ruffled cuff of her sleeve and feigned light interest.
“I wonder how long it’ll take for our readers to notice almost every piece has her byline.”
“And why is that, anyway?” Misha asked as they strolled from the restroom corridor.
Shawny’s green eyes narrowed. “That is because she’s the top lady in charge—everyone else is just a lowly assistant.”
“And you’re letting her get away with it?” Misha halted her steps.
“Trust me, I’d love to kick the woman out on her talentless butt but the board loves the cash she’s bringing in.”
Misha winced, understanding the woman’s predicament. “Well, let’s just hope all good things will come to an end.”
“You got that right.” Shawny rolled her eyes and accepted Misha’s hug before they parted ways.
Talib appeared quite relieved when he found Misha on the enclosed balcony overlooking the city.
“I’ve been looking all over for you.” He rubbed her hair between his fingers when he passed.
“I’m just taking a minute.”
“I’ll take one with you.”
“You can’t.” Her mouth fell open when he dropped down next to her on the loveseat nearest the balcony railing. “You’ve got all these people here wanting to talk to you.”
“They’ll survive while we have our minute.”
“Talib?” Misha bit her lip, hesitating before she broke her own rule and decided to continue. “Is this about what I said at Red Sun—what I hoped we were done discussing?” She turned toward him on the seat. “Because I’m a big girl. I’m a big, successful girl who doesn’t need anybody to welcome her into their club.”
“Misha, do you really think you could tell me something like that and not expect me to do anything about it? Granted, the way things ended…it makes sense that you’d have that idea, but I have the feeling you felt this way long before all that craziness with the story….”
“It’s in the past, Tali.” She pressed her lips together following the slip.
He tilted his head to keep watch on her face. “Funny how all those things in the past are still screwing with us, eh?”
“We can’t change anything.”
“And I hate that,” he muttered, seconds before his tongue thrust into her mouth.
Misha was moaning and thrusting back as the kiss heated and moistened. Like before—like always—need surged quickly between them.
Talib had thought of getting inside the bodice of her dress since he’d first seen her in it. Now his hand was there, cupping a full mound, his thumb brushing her nipple as it firmed.
“Come home with me.” He kissed his way down her neck. “Come home with me.”
“Of course I will.” She cupped his cheek. “I’ve got to drop you off.”
Talib let his head rest on her shoulder as a wave of chuckles claimed him.
“Did you plan this?” he asked.
“I’m a working girl, remember? Gotta get home at a sensible hour. Speaking of which, what time should we meet tomorrow?”
She tugged at his jacket lapel and he knew she was serious. “How about ten?” he suggested.
“Make it nine. My office.” She smoothed his lapel and winked. “You can bring me breakfast.”
“You got it.” He leaned in to seal it with another kiss.
Misha pulled away before things got too serious. “Let’s go, Mr. Mason. You’ve got more mingling to do.”
“Come inside with me.” Talib extended his offer once again as Misha slowed to a stop beneath the canopied hotel entrance.
“Not a chance.” She left the Acura idling and turned to face him. “You keep forgetting I’ve got a big day tomorrow, preparing for our first interview and all.”
“You could prepare inside my suite.”
“Right! I think we’re discussing two separate things.”
“We sure are! I don’t need to prepare, after all.”
“Talib, please.” Misha was about to succumb to a fit of laughter. “Let me say good-night. Besides—” she granted him a saucy wink “—you don’t want to ruin your mystique by begging, do you? All those folks hanging on your every word tonight would be sooo disappointed.”
Her words were meant as a tease to ease the sexual weight that hovered like an anvil between them, waiting to fall. Talib didn’t find the humor in them.
“I don’t give a damn about my mystique.”
Misha noticed a jaw muscle dancing a wicked jig when he turned his head. “I’m not sleeping with you,” she said.
Every Chance I Get Page 5
