by Kenya Wright
“Coming to pick you up for tonight.”
“I'm not going.”
“Would it help if I lowered to my knees and said please?” He started to go down.
I hit his shoulder. “Stop that. You're embarrassing me.”
He dragged his gaze over my body. “You look beautiful.”
“Whatever.” I wore black yoga pants and a shirt with Star War’s Yoda flipping the bird on the front.
“I love the way your clothes hug your body.”
“I love the way you continue to invade my privacy.”
He checked my table and grinned at the pile of books. “How about this? I take you to dinner and then bring you back to the library. I won't take up more than an hour of your time.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“But you haven't eaten in hours.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I hired someone to make sure you were okay.”
“I'm fine. Fire them because it sounds more like you're spying on me than worried about my well-being. I already have a rich guy stalking me. I don’t need anymore.”
He moved in closer. “Dinner, please. I promise to behave. Come on. You have to be hungry and at the least curious about why I'm here.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why are you here, Freddy?”
He tilted my way. “Say my nick name again, please.”
I couldn't help myself. “Freddy.”
He trapped my lips to his, taking his time with his tongue and sucking in the right moments. Kids giggled. A few adults gasped. I jumped back with my mouth open and eyes wide.
Of course, Freddy has me doing things without thinking. You sneaky man.
“Leave.” The word came out shakier than I intended.
“No.”
“This is a library. You can’t just make out with me in here.”
He dragged his gaze all over my body. “If you don’t leave with me right now, I’m going to pick you up and take you on this table.”
“There are kids around.”
“Then if you don’t leave with me, you’ll be traumatizing them because I can’t control myself. Just dinner for one hour, nothing else. I’ll bring you back here and won’t bother you anymore today.”
“Just dinner.” I gathered up my books. “Nothing else.”
Freddy moved my hands away. “My guy can do this for you. Let's go.”
The black man appeared again and began picking up each book. God, this is probably a big mistake. Freddy and I walked off. A limo waited outside. The driver opened the door and gestured for us to come in. Freddy waited for me to get in, before following.
“So do you want to know why I'm here?” Freddy asked.
“Yes.”
“I registered for Miami Culinary Institute. I'll be starting in the fall.” He nudged my arm and chuckled. “I guess we'll both need to study in the library this summer, right?”
“Very funny. Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
I smirked. “I'm not interested in playing more games. I'm serious.”
“Me too. I thought about what you said. Why not learn how to cook? I love doing it and go crazy when the chef lets me in the kitchen.”
“Lets you?”
“Chef Michel is a God to culinary arts. He's the only one on that yacht that can boss me around. If he says leave the kitchen, I'm out of there and won't return until he says it’s okay.”
He leaned down and grabbed a huge binder next to his foot. “Look at this.”
I read the page. It was a welcome letter from the Miami Culinary Institute. I glanced at his name and then handed the paper back to him. “If this is true, then I'm excited for you. It's going to be a lot of fun.”
He played with the strands of hair outlining the side of my face and slipped his fingers around the curves, twirling my hair around his finger. “If this is true? You still don't believe that the game has ended.”
He stared at my hair, instead of me.
“I bet you've played these types of mental games before. Why would I think that this is real?”
“Because I'm telling you it is.”
“I don't know. How can I trust you? I bet every women that fell for you thought you were telling the truth too.”
Letting go of my hair, he turned away, but didn't look defeated. “Eventually, you'll believe me. We have nothing but time.”
“Oh really? You think I'm going to give you my time?”
“Most definitely.” He rubbed his hands together. “How do you feel about leaving the country this weekend? I want to show you something. Have you ever skied? You'll need to pack for three days.”
Again, he shocked me. I blinked a few times. “I'm not just going to leave the country with you this weekend.”
“You've already gone to Cuba with me. Why not let me take you on a surprise?”
“Because I'm still suspicious of you. What is this, Freddy? What are you trying to gain from taking me out?”
“I want to spend time with you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re all I think about.”
“Then you should get out more.”
“I decided we can start dating.”
I laughed. “I’m not falling for whatever you’re trying to do.”
He wagged his finger. “What I’m trying to do is date you. That's what we'll call it for now. I think we can take our time. In a couple of months, you'll be my girlfriend, a year later my fiancé, and another year my wife. I may not have ever been in a serious relationship, but I've been nagged at by my mom on the correct steps when dealing with a woman. According to her, when you find the right one, I should do this process—date, committed relationship, engagement, and then marriage.”
My mouth went dry. “I haven’t agreed to dating you. You need to slow down.”
“How slow do you want me?” Dripping in confidence, he took my mouth. Instead of his gentle tongue thrusts like he'd done on the beach in Cuba, he gave me rhythmic dips, just enough to taste the sweetness of his tongue but not enough to suck on him.
“How slow, baby?” He sucked on my neck. “How slow should I be with you?”
“Hmm.”
“Damn. I love that answer.” He nibbled my skin.
“When I say slow I mean really slow, I won't be jumping into anything until I believe I can trust you.”
“Okay. Just let me know when I go too fast.” He slipped his hands between my thighs.
I gasped. “This is too fast.”
Sighing, he removed his hand. “You still think this is a game?”
“You can't blame me, if I want to use caution with you.” I put his hand on his side and scooted away. “And what's up with Max?”
“We both agreed after you stopped answering our calls that the game was over.”
“Okay.” I had to keep my head focused and never trust him too much. If he'd played twisted games on women before, then he would do it again.
I can't forget that he's untrustworthy.
“Okay. I'll give you two dates,” I declared. “Let's see what happens.”
Laughing, he clapped his hands. “You can think what you want, but I've already told you my plans—dating, committed relationship—”
“Marriage and children. Yes. I remember your ridiculousness.”
“I didn't say kids, but I'm damn sure open to having them with you.”
“Oh brother.”
Remember. He lies. I bet this is all a game. Let’s see how far he’s willing to take this.
Several hours later, we danced on the rooftop on the highest building in Miami. A woman sang as a man played piano behind her. Strings of tiny white light bulbs hung all over the roof from high poles. It was like we had a small section of the starry sky for ourselves. And the flowers, they flooded the place—bushels of white roses, cream-colored lilies, and absolutely a ton of others where I didn’t recognize their names. Mom would’ve loved the attack of full-scented blends ming
ling in the air.
Before taking me to the rooftop, Freddy brought me to a designer boutique where the salesperson put together an outfit and convinced him to buy everything I wore tonight, from my high heels to the small ruby earrings dangling from my ear lobe. He even purchased the crimson red silk panties and bra underneath my dress. It took everything in me to remind myself over and over that it could all still be a game, all just be a way for him to win.
Don’t trust him.
While I dressed at the store, he'd changed too. A black suit formed around his muscular frame. His hair lay back just right and shined within the moonlight. He was stunning and radiated pure elegance.
“I can't believe you've already picked out your entire class schedule before registration started. How does it work?” I asked. “Are there like cooking electives or something.”
“Yeah. Dim sum was one of them. But I'm going to have to focus on many of the basic courses like knife skills. Later, I'm going to enroll in some of the classes that teach wine pairing. I've always disagreed with most of the sommeliers when I dined in specific restaurants.”
“So you've always had a love for food?” I asked as he twirled me around.
“First time I cooked, I was five and my mom showed me how to make homemade chocolate chip cookies. We made a huge mess. Mom helped me clean so we wouldn't piss off our house cook too much. Like me, she believed in making sure the people that served us were treated with respect. Dad's not so big on how we deal with our maids.”
“Did you still cook after your mom passed away?”
His body tensed against me. “Sometimes, it's what I do when I'm feeling like crap. I'll throw something together and feel better again, just feel useful somehow.”
“Is your food good?”
“I think so.”
“Why aren’t you sure?”
“No one eats it.”
I laughed, but tried to pretend it was a bad cough. I didn’t think he bought it. “No one has ever eaten your cooking?”
“No. My food is never pretty or colorful like my chef’s. Most of the time Dad or Max glare and sniff at it, then makes some excuse to get out of trying it.”
“Poor, Freddy. Do you at least eat it?”
“Oh yes. And let me tell you something. My dishes may look unappetizing, but they sure are tasty.”
“I would love to try something you cooked.”
“Okay. Next date I’ll make you a luscious meal.”
“Deal.” Remember. This could all be a lie, but damn. . .I hope not. “I really think you’ll end up loving culinary school.”
“Me too.” He landed a kiss on my cheek. “Now let's talk about you.”
“What about me?”
“Will you stay on the yacht with me tonight?”
So that you can win your game or because you want to spend time with me?
This was a slippery slope of mistrust and complications. How would I ever get to the point where I could believe anything that he said?
“Dawn?”
“No. I don’t feel comfortable coming back with you tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not interested in spending the night with you until I’ve confirmed that I can trust you.”
He frowned. “And how long will that be?”
“I have no idea, a year or so.”
He lifted the side of his lip up into a sneer. “I don’t like that. I have needs.”
Spoiled much?
“You can always masturbate and date other women,” I offered my bratty rich guy. “I’ll still be dating other men.”
We stopped dancing.
“Excuse me?” he asked. “What did you say?”
“I’ll be dating other men.”
“You and I are dating. That’s enough. Let’s not bring anybody else into this.”
“O-kay. Let’s make this a hundred percent clear. I don’t know if I can trust you. Let’s also add the fact that I am still very much single and on the market. I will date who I want.”
He blinked. “Would you date my brother if he asked?”
“I don’t know.” I had to admit that I said it just to piss him off. The last thing I desired was someone telling me what to do, especially some guy that I’d just met. If he figured that purchasing a dress for me gave him permission to boss me around, then he was dead wrong.
“All right,” He cleared his throat. “I’ll just have to get used to you. . . possibly dating someone else.”
That went better than I expected.
I raised one eyebrow at him. “Are you really done with the game?”
“Yes.”
I studied his face as if that could give me a hint or indicator into what I was really dealing with. “Please don’t lie to me. I don’t like to be played with, and the last thing I need is another broken heart.”
“There’s no game. I promise.”
“Okay.” But deep within my core logic whispered to be careful.
The rest of the night we danced until the food went cold and the sun rose high into the sky. We laughed and slung our shoes off like idiots as we talked about our childhood dreams of the future. He’d wanted to be a super hero. I hoped to be a singer, even though I couldn’t carry a note.
After several glasses of wine, we scattered all of those flowers around the roof’s surface. Silky petals rained down over him and me. Tipsy and full of the moment, I rolled around in them and he followed. How ridiculous the staff must’ve thought we were as we made petal angels and cracked up with laughter.
Still in our elegant attire, we did breakfast at a small little Cuban café near a deserted section of North Miami Beach. He told me more about his real mom. It was fun to watch his face light up and appear young and fragile. He must’ve spent several minutes just describing her smile and how he used to do the oddest things to get one on her face—wearing her ball gown, singing her favorite songs, and making her crafts with the discarded silks and jewelry he’d found under her bed.
If this is all real, I could fall in love with him.
That thought scared the crap out of me.
But I couldn’t deny that it felt good to be attended to after three years of no dating or real intimacy with a man. At times, my date with Freddy was out and out bizarre. He behaved like the perfect gentleman—opening the car door, pulling out my chair, spoiling me with little gifts throughout the evening like an autobiography book signed to me by Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayer, the first Hispanic woman to sit on the highest court. I had no idea how he guessed she would be my idol, but he’d done well with that one.
And we kissed for all of those hours that we spent together. Lots of lovely sweet nibbles of each other’s mouth. My lips were swollen and bruised by the time we got to the front of my apartment. His hands explored. His earthy scent drove me mad, and his tongue knew my mouth better than me. I couldn’t take anymore from him. If I did, he’d be inside of me before I could forget that I had to be cautious. Somehow he was needling his way into my heart, breaking down the barrier that I’d so carefully placed around me. Unease hit me each time I forgot that he was the same asshole that had broken so many hearts in the past.
Why would I be any different? Surely, I’m not any more special than any of the other women.
All night, I repeated those thoughts and stacked that barrier of bricks back around me. But then he would make me laugh or trap my body into a very sensual dance with his fingers and lips, and I would forget whatever I’d been trying to remember. Everything would be lost to me. My wall around my heart would crumble and my breathing transformed into needy panting. If he’d changed as much as he claimed, then he’d have my heart before I knew it was gone.
That very fact shook me with fear.
Chapter 8
Frederick
I made it down to the yacht’s lower deck and entered my bedroom.
Max was big on decorating his spaces. He loved to hang up his favorite paintings or whatever grabbed his eye.
He loved to collect things wherever we traveled to, and display them wherever he laid down for the night. I was different. I enjoyed a simple elegance, clean walls with nothing on them. Sparse furniture that included the finest pieces, but not too much to overload the eye.
A black king-sized bed sat in the center. Vanilla colored the walls and the carpet. There was a black dresser and small end table on the side. Next to the window where I loved to sit and stare out at the sea, rested my favorite hot red leather chair. It was the most expensive item in the room. The complete focus. The thing was huge and comfortable with white threaded lines that formed into a sort of design at the top.
With mounting dread, I stumbled over to my favorite chair. As tired as I was, I would probably just fall asleep in it. My phone rang. I knew without looking that it was Max.
I ignored it.
Not now, brother. I just want to think about her.
I wished I could’ve said that all those hours with Dawn went as planned, but they didn’t. In my chair, I sniffed my hands like a mad man, inhaling that rosy perfume and thinking about the whimpers that escaped from those full lips when I touched her.
Damn it. Why couldn’t she just come back with me today? This is insane.
She was unlike any other women I’d ever met. And that was saying a hell of a lot. I’d met many in my travels all over the globe. I’d seduced them all and by now moved on to the next.
But not you, Dawn. Not yet. What the hell did I have to do to get her to see that I’d changed? What? She still doesn’t trust me.
I smelled my fingers again, promising myself that it would be the last time. It had to be. One didn’t sit around sniffing a female’s scent and still be sane. After a while that guy would have to admit that the woman’s fragrance he was hot over, had to be the one that would eventually cage him.
I don’t get caged. I do the trapping.
A knock came at the door. I kicked off my shoes. “Come in, Max.”
He opened and walked through it, wearing a towel around his neck along with gym shorts and a shirt. “How was it?”
“Fine.”
“That’s it?” Max wiped the sweat away off of his forehead. “Any sex?”
“No, man.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
