One And Done

by Cynthia Sax

  Too soon, we arrive at a large brick home in the Annex. The club employees tumble out of the limo, chatting excitedly. Bruiser stands by the vehicle. Woofer remains in the front seat, his seatbelt on.

  “Are you coming, Miss Jenella?” Lucy pulls on my hand.

  “I’ll catch up with you.” I smile at her.

  “Okay, but don’t wait too long.” The redhead flounces toward the building. “Nana Zaire doesn’t like it if we’re late for dinner.”

  Nana Zaire doesn’t have to deal with a teenage boy.

  “Woofer said someone should watch the limo.” Bruiser’s forehead is furrowed. “I told him it was safe here but he won’t listen.”

  “Go in. I’ll handle this.” This meltdown is best managed in private.

  “I figured you would.” Bruiser flashes me a relieved grin and lumbers away.

  I wait until we’re alone. Then I open the door.

  “I’m staying here.” Woofer fiddles with the control panel. “Limos attract the wrong sort of attention. People will want to touch it and I have to be here to stop them. My job is to protect all of Mr. Sheridan’s vehicles. He told me that.”

  “It’s okay to be scared.”

  “I’m not scared of nothing.” The boy stabs the scan button with one of his fingertips. “This is my job. I’m doing my job.”

  “Okay.” I abandon that tactic. “Give me the dinner rolls.” I grab the top bag. “I can’t go into the house empty-handed.”

  “You’ll tell Nana Zaire I baked them?” He peers up at me.

  “Hmmm…maybe.” I examine the rolls. They’re slightly crushed. How did that happen? They were perfect when we left.

  “Maybe you’ll tell her? No, you have to.” Woofer draws his thin body upright. “You promised to say nice stuff about me.”

  “I’m very old.” As he continually tells me. “Very old people have difficulty with their memories and since you won’t be there to remind me—”

  “You could forget.” His eyes widen. “Nana Zaire will think you did the baking. She won’t know I want her to like me.”

  “She won’t know that.” I pause. “I guess you could deliver the dinner rolls to her and then return to the limo. Hmmm…” I tap my chin. “But that would mean leaving the vehicle.”

  “It would only be for a second.” Woofer unbuckles his seatbelt and scrambles out of the limo. “Just so she knows.” He closes the door and snatches the bag of dinner rolls back, insisting on carrying all of them.

  We’re being watched. The limo beeps behind us, the doors locking. Faces peek out from behind white lace curtains. The front door swings open as we ascend the stairs.

  “You got cookies?” Tyrice asks, working the door at this establishment also.

  “We have dinner rolls, which I baked,” Woofer declares proudly.

  “He did bake them.” I look over Tyrice’s shoulder, spot Smoke’s handsome face, and my heart pounds.

  Our gazes lock and hold for one, two, three, four heartbeats, the people surrounding us fading into unimportance. There’s only the two of us, our connection strong and sensual. My lips part, the urge to taste him, to touch him, intense. His eyes flare with emotion.

  A girl laughs. Loudly.

  Smoke blinks, looks at the dinner rolls Woofer is mangling, turns abruptly and walks away.

  What the fuck? My smile wavers as I follow his progress. He brushes against a large woman leaning heavily on a wooden cane. She teeters. He wraps an arm around her waist, steadying her, the love on his countenance sucking the air from my lungs.

  “Stop manhandling me.” She bats his shoulder and he releases her, continuing on his way. The woman frowns after him, her wrinkled face creasing even more. “Where’s the fire, boy?”

  He doesn’t look back at her or at me.

  “That boy has been acting strangely all day,” the elderly woman mutters, hobbling forward, the hem of her floral dress swinging. “Jumpy like he’s wearing someone else’s skin. I suppose none of you know anything about that?” She eyes Smoke’s employees.

  Tyrice opens his mouth.

  “No, don’t say anything.” She stops him. “Your boss won’t appreciate you telling tales about him.”

  “Yes, Nana Zaire.” This is echoed throughout the gathering.

  “Nana Zaire.” Woofer steps backward.

  I place my hands on his shoulders, signaling he’s not alone. “I’m Jenella and this is Woofer. He’s a great baker and a real hard worker. I’ve never met anyone who knows about cars like he does.”

  Bruiser grumbles. I suspect he’s contesting that knowledge.

  “Yes, I’ve heard about you, boy.” Nana Zaire studies him. Her carefully curled hair might be gray and her body hunched over the cane, but her eyes are keen. I doubt she misses much. She’s like my Grandma Whyte in that way. “Smoke tells me you’re a solid addition to the team and I can tell, from looking at you, he’s right."

  Some of the tension eases from Woofer’s small frame. “I’m solid, really, really solid.”

  “Well, come on and give me a hug.” She spreads her arms, her balance precarious. “And let me judge for myself.”

  He shoves the dinner rolls at me and submits to a quick, awkward embrace.

  “You need some more meat on your bones.” She clucks her tongue. “But you’ll do.”

  He grins at her.

  The Nana Zaire crisis is over.

  “Thank you for dropping Woofer off.” Nana Zaire turns her attention to me. “We’ll take good care of him.”

  This sounds like a dismissal. Woofer must have thought so also because he pipes up. “Miss ‘Nella is staying.”

  “That can’t be true.” The woman’s voice is soft yet unbending. “Judging by her lack of uniform, Miss Jenella doesn’t work for Mr. Sheridan. This dinner is for staff, or as we think of you, family only. So she must have other plans.”

  Woofer said I was invited. He has never lied to me.

  But then I thought Edward had never lied to me either and he had been cheating on me for months.

  Oh, God. This is why Smoke walked away. He knew I didn’t belong here. He thinks I’m creating drama at his weekly dinner, forcing my way in here as I forced my way into the club last night.

  “She’s right.” I summon a smile, determined to fix my mistake. “Now that I see you’re fine, that you’re surrounded by friends, by family, I remember that I do have other plans for today.” I give him the bags of dinner rolls. “Eat double for me.”

  “You said you wouldn’t leave me.” The boy glowers.

  “You don’t need me. You have friends here.” I try to hug him and he wrestles away from me. “Bruiser will stand by your side, won’t you, Bruiser?”

  The big man nods.

  “And he’s much larger than I am.” I’m talking to a stone-faced teen. Woofer won’t acknowledge me. I sigh, knowing that coldness. I’ve been added to the long list of people who have disappointed him. “Bruiser, please explain to your boss that this was one big misunderstanding.”

  “On everyone’s part, miss,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know either.”

  “Thank you for being so mature about this, Jenella.” Nana Zaire smiles.

  “Mature is the right word.” I force a laugh. “I’m old. You can ask anyone here. They’ll tell you that.”

  Chuckles roll through the group. I wave at them and leave, stepping into the sun, glad to end this embarrassing encounter.

  It shouldn’t hurt me that I wasn’t included in Smoke’s dinner. As Nana Zaire mentioned, the meal is for staff only, for their makeshift family. I’m merely the woman he’s seeing.

  The woman who loves him.

  I have to get out of here before I further humiliate myself. Smoke can’t know how I feel about him. I look around me, considering my next steps.

  The house is situated on a quiet side street. I could call for a cab. But that might take a while and I don’t want to stand like a lost puppy outside Nana Zaire’s home.

  I’l
l walk to the main road, where I’ll have more options. Taxis pass by the main roads regularly, as do buses.

  I trek in that direction. It’s a nice day. I could browse in some of the little shops, drink a coffee on a patio, try to forget about Smoke.

  Which would be easier to do if I didn’t hear his deep sexy voice calling my name again and again.

  “Are you wearing space pants? Because your ass is out of this world.”

  There’s no way I could imagine that cheesy of a line. “I’m wearing a skirt.” I turn around and smack face-first into hard male chest.

  “You look like candy floss.” Smoke straps his arms around my waist, holding me to him. “Pink and soft and sweet.” His lips cover mine, the pressure firm, persistent. I gasp. He invades, taking advantage of my shock, my wonder, my need.

  God, he tastes good, like spices and desire. Our tongues tumble. Our breaths mingle. I become one with him again, still, the morning falling away, leaving only memories of last night, of his lust, his tenderness, his surrender.

  I clutch his shoulders, dig my nails into the fabric of his suit jacket, ignoring the mysterious strip of frilly white material near my thumbs, out of place on my Neanderthal man. Smoke rumbles, his words muffled by our mouths. He slides his hands up my back, pressing me deeper into him, flattening my breasts, ensuring as much of me touches as much of him as possible.

  He missed me. He must have. I suck on his tongue, varying the tug and pull, mimicking the action I’d like to take with his cock. He groans, threads his fingers through my hair, cradling my head in his palms.

  We kiss until my lips hum and my mouth aches, until I’m part of him and he’s part of me. I swivel my hips, grinding against the ridge in his dress pants, teasing him.

  His fingers ball into fists and he pulls back. The world around us is spinning. Smoke leans his forehead against mine, breathing heavily, his eyes black with desire.

  My thinking returns. I remember what I did and how he reacted. “I’m sorry about showing up at your dinner. It was a big mix-up. I thought I was invited and—”

  “You were invited.” Smoke slants his lips over mine again, teasing, tasting, tempting, smoothing my jagged feelings with layer upon layer of lust.

  My brain melts into a puddle around my feet. He pulls back once more, gazing into my eyes. “Baby, what am I going to do with you?” His chest vibrates against my breasts, escalating my arousal.

  “I have some ideas.” I lower my hands to grip his lapels.

  Instead I grasp cotton.

  I look downward and blink, disbelieving my eyes. “Is that an apron?” I pluck at the white lace trim. My appearance-conscious player is wearing a dainty apron. “You’re looking pretty, so very pretty,” I sing.

  “Go ahead. Laugh at me.” Crimson creeps up Smoke’s neck. “I was transferring the fried chicken from the deep fryer to a platter when you left.” He yanks the bit of femininity over his head and tosses it to the sidewalk. “And, before that, I was hiding the store-bought dinner rolls I purchased, so Woofer didn’t have a level seven nuclear meltdown.”

  That’s why he disappeared when we arrived. “You cook?”

  “Officially no.” Smoke closes the gap between us once more, pulling me tightly against his fit form, as though he can’t bear to be apart from me. “If you ask me in public, I’ll say that everything we eat at dinner, with the exception of Woofer’s dinner rolls, was prepared by Nana Zaire.”

  The woman can barely walk. She isn’t preparing anything. Warmth spreads across my chest. “You help her.”

  “That’s open to interpretation.” His beautiful lips twist. “She considers me inept…and I might be,” he admits. “I don’t have any patience for cooking.”

  “But you do it because you love her.”

  “Yeah.” The red reaches his cheekbones. “I’ve never asked a woman to one of these dinners before.”

  “You didn’t ask me either. I’m Woofer’s plus one.”

  “You’re my plus one.” His grip on me tightens. “And if Nana Zaire knew who you are to me, she wouldn’t have sent you away. That was my fault. Don’t blame her.”

  He wants me to like her. “And who am I to you, player?” I touch his face, tracing the line of his jaw, the shape of his chin.

  “You know who you are.” He nuzzles against my palms, his eyelids lowering, his expression blissful. “Who you could be.”

  “Do I?” I skim my fingertips over his lips. “Am I your next hit it and quit it?”

  “I want to say yeah.” His eyes gleam. “But you wouldn’t fuckin’ believe that. You’d stand outside the club and howl until I admitted I needed you.”

  I inhale sharply. “You need me?”

  “I do.” Smoke captures my face between his hands. “’Cause baby, do you know who you look like?”

  “Who?”

  “You look a lot like the woman I’m in a relationship with.” He delivers this bombshell wrapped in a terrible line.

  I stare up at him. “You don’t do relationships.”

  “You’re trying new things.” He rubs his thumbs over my skin, these sensual circles reaching my soul. “I thought I would too. And the key word is try. I could suck giant kangaroo nuts at this.”

  “That’s all right.” I turn my head, kissing his fingertips. “I sucked at blow jobs and you didn’t kick me to the curb.” We both glance at the curb and I laugh, enjoying that we’re on the same wavelength. “We’ll take it one minute at a time, do what is right in that moment.”

  “In this moment, that would be returning to the house.” Smoke clasps my hand. “Nana Zaire promised to save us seats at the table. She said nothing about saving food.”

  “I’m not staff.” I scoop up the apron and walk beside him, not in any rush to face the others. “Should I be at this dinner? I don’t want to be somewhere I don’t belong.”

  “You belong.”

  I wait.

  He says nothing more.

  Because for my commitment-shy player, those two words say it all. I belong with him, by his side. He wants me at this dinner.

  I swing our arms, my heart light. “If I had known, I would have helped you with the cooking.”

  “Holy fuck. You could have.” A wide grin spreads across Smoke’s face. “We have dinner every Sunday.” He pauses. “A week is a long time from now.”

  It must seem that way for a man who has never had a romantic relationship last longer than one night. “I’ll keep the day open for you. If, in a week, you still want me to attend the dinner, I’ll come. If you don’t.” I shrug. “No big deal.”

  “And if Eddy comes to his senses?” Some of Smoke’s good humor fades.

  He worries that my ex will win me back. “Eddy isn’t the man I want.” I squeeze my player’s fingers. “You were right about that. If I had truly loved him, I would have fought to the death to keep him.”

  “You would have hassled him into admitting he loved you.” Smoke’s smile returns. “You’re the most stubborn woman I know.”

  Curtains move as we approach the house. “Now that I’ve met Nana Zaire, I consider that a compliment.”

  He chuckles. “I’m surrounded by stubborn women.” Faces appear at the window, his staff unabashedly watching us. “And nosy employees.” We exchange smiles. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I’m ready.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  We enter the house. The hallway is suspiciously empty.

  “Stay seated.” Nana Zaire’s voice reaches us. “This is my house. I’ll greet them…if I can get out of this chair.” Wood scrapes against wood. “Tyrice, this has to be one of your practical jokes. You swapped my chair again. I know it wasn’t this tight this morning.”

  A deep voice rumbles. People laugh.

  “I heard that, young man. My backside is exactly the same size. Thank you very much. Now, help me stand.”

  “Christ.” Smoke pulls me toward the right. I drop the apron on the bench by the door. His focus remains on
the older woman. “She might surpass you for stubbornness.” We move quickly through the house. “Nana Zaire, don’t leave your chair,” he yells.

  We burst into a huge room. The entire right side of the house is one open space, dominated by a long wooden table set with food and dishes. At the head of the table, Bruiser and Tyrice are trying to pry Nana Zaire out of her chair. She’s huffing and puffing, her face red. The other employees are watching them, adding their suggestions.

  “I’m not a sack of potatoes.” Nana Zaire slaps one of Tyrice’s arms.

  “No, you’re a grump—”

  “Tyrice,” Smoke barks. “That’s enough. We’re here. No one is getting up.”

  Nana Zaire’s lips part.

  “No one.” He levels a hard look on her. “You can greet us from your chair.” The men return to their seats. The older woman’s face creases with worry lines.

  I hurry to her side. “Nana Zaire.” I bend and kiss her weathered cheek. “Sorry about the misunderstanding.”

  “The misunderstanding was mine, girl.” She pats the empty seat beside her. “I didn’t know.”

  I sit in the chair, lean toward her. “I didn’t know either.”

  “That’s our boy.” She smiles, laugh lines fanning from her brown eyes. “The more he cares, the less he says.”

  “I wonder why.” Smoke claims the chair to my right. “Dinner roll?” He passes me the breadbasket.

  The bread is topped with sesame seeds. “These aren’t the rolls Woofer baked.”

  “We ate those.” Woofer glares at me, his animosity not fading with my return. He’s seated as far away from me as possible. “I would have saved some for you but you left me.”

  I left him, not the dinner, him. We have to talk about this but not now, not with Smoke’s employees, Woofer’s coworkers watching us. “We made three bags of rolls. Mr. Sheridan and I were gone less than twenty minutes, thirty tops. How could you eat all of them in that short of a time?”

  I look around the table. Judging by the guilty expressions I see, that’s exactly what happened.

  I shake my head, having underestimated the bread consumption. “We’ll have to make more next time.”

  “More cookies too.” Bruiser bites into a piece of fried chicken.