by Donna Hill
“I can’t believe this,” Choice muttered.
Trey yawned as he answered. “Me either.”
“Is the heat making you sleepy?”
“No, I’d have to blame that on the alcohol I consumed at my parents’ party.” Trey stretched out on the cool stone floor. “Trust me, I’m more comfortable than you are.”
Choice took a few sips of her precious and dwindling water supply, then wiped her face with the hem of her shirt. She shifted positions, undid the button on her jeans, and unzipped them.
Time stopped on the other side of the elevator. Trey held his breath, waiting for the sound of denim sliding down skin. Given that he could have any female he wanted, Trey wasn’t prone to fantasies. But he’d been envisioning the cocoa cutie, sans clothes, since her soft, round body had fallen against his lean, hard one. For some inexplicable reason, it became very important to Trey that Choice be naked. He convinced himself that it was for her health.
Trey shifted to a cooler section of marble, one a little closer to Choice, and asked, “How’s your water supply?”
“I’m trying to save it, but I feel like I’m in an oven.”
“It’s the clothes you’re wearing, especially the jeans,” Trey replied, trying to sound as a doctor might when telling his patient to disrobe and don a gown. “No telling how long we’ll be in here. It may be morning before help arrives.” His comments were met with silence. “Can you see me?”
Choice frowned at such a frivolous query. She’d never experienced such abject darkness in her entire life. “Don’t you think the answer to that question is pretty obvious?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Not from the way you’re huddled up in the corner like a virginal school girl, willing to chance overheating and dehydration to getting out of those clothes and giving your body the air it needs.”
Choice’s curt comeback died on her lips. She wasn’t so sure he couldn’t see her. After all, she was huddled up in the corner, and braless state aside, did feel like a virginal school girl all aflutter after finding herself alone in the company of the top jock. His spot-on assessment embarrassed her. She was a grown woman who, as a designer, saw naked bodies all of the time. So what’s the problem?
“Then again, I understand your hesitation,” Trey drawled, his voice becoming lower, softer. “Brothah like me might have you thinking all kinds of thoughts once you get your clothes off . . . if you haven’t thought them already.”
“Are you always this arrogant?” Choice’s embarrassment turned to anger. The nerve of this guy!
“Not arrogance, baby, insight. I read people pretty well. You’re attracted to me, and it scares you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
Trey’s chuckle was low, deep, knowing.
Choice pushed off the wall and stood. Before she could give herself time to think, she grabbed the waistband of her jeans and pulled the fabric over her thighs. Then she reached for the hem of each leg, pulling out of one and then the other. Through the heat of her chagrin came the warmth of reality—that she was nearly naked and within very close proximity to a gorgeous hunk of a man in a similar state of undress. An arrogant, egotistical man, she reminded herself to calm a growing horniness. A man who is probably a very good lover, she also acknowledged.
“Feel better?” Trey asked, after a pause.
“Actually, it does.”
A few moments of silence passed before Trey continued. “So, what has you here on a holiday night?”
“Dropping off something for a friend,” Choice quickly replied. Even though Trey had pushed the button to another floor, she knew that his knowing of her father was a distinct possibility. It was enough that he knew her name, a very unusual one that with just a few more bits of information would give Trey more facts than she wanted him to know. When people found out she was Charles McKinley’s daughter, they treated her differently. “What about you?”
Trey shrugged in the darkness. “Wrapping up a few business matters, getting a jump on next week.” He purposely avoided telling Choice where he was employed. Trey wasn’t vain, per se, but he wasn’t naïve either. His looks made women clamor after him, and if they succeeded in getting his attention, his economic status made them not want to leave. Trey loved all things female, but was discriminating in his choices of romantic partners. This year, while he made a name for himself at McKinley Black, he would stick to those women who he’d already schooled on how he handled his business—those who knew his good loving came with no meal tickets and no strings attached.
For a few hours, Trey and Choice conversed about casual matters: the Obama White House, why Choice loved Brooklyn and Trey adored Manhattan, and the crazy, unpredictable weather that both thought could be responsible for their present predicament. Choice learned that like her, Troy loved traveling internationally. They talked extensively about places they’d visited and places they’d like to see. At one point, Choice almost slipped and told Trey about Chai Fashion. Even in her near-naked state, she became comfortable with the easy-going man who seemed as intelligent as he was fine. She’d managed to tamp down the erotic images that kept presenting themselves in her mind, all of which included her being wrapped in Trey’s arms.
Trey didn’t try to rein in his imagination. The more he knew about this woman with the unusual name, the more he wanted to know. She talked openly enough, but Trey got the distinct impression that there was more to her than met the eye, and layers beneath those she chose to show him. And then there was his manhood, with a life of its own, twitching its agreement at Trey’s copulative considerations, even as it momentarily hardened when Trey caught a whiff of Choice’s flowery perfume.
I bet he tastes so good, Choice thought, after Trey’s laughter brought to mind the smile that lit up the elevator when he’d stepped inside it. She moved a little closer to the sound that seemed to echo in the darkness.
If I roll over and stretch, I’ll probably touch her. I’ll just say it was an accident. Trey rolled over, making the appropriate stretching sounds as he stretched and searched.
In the next instant, neither needed excuses to make a closer connection. A large boom, followed by a rattling of the building akin to an earthquake, threw the almost-but-not-quite strangers into each other’s arms.
Chapter 3
Choice screamed as her body collided with Trey, who’d sat up amid the brief shaking. She clung to him unashamedly. “What’s happening?” she cried.
“I don’t know,” Trey whispered, every nerve in his body alert. His arms tightened around Choice, and he worked to still his breathing. “Shh,” he said, when Choice came close to tears. “I think it’s stopped.”
The shaking had stopped, but the sirens had only begun. In their dark enclosure fifty-five floors above the ground, sounds were faint, yet unmistakable. Police horns wailed, followed by those of fire trucks. Soon, a helicopter was heard overhead.
Choice began shaking. “I’m starting to freak out,” she said, shifting her body more closely into Trey’s. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
Trey didn’t want to voice his first thought after the blast—that another terrorist attack had struck their city. He chose to pin the events on nature, even though an earthquake could potentially be more destructive than a bomb. “It felt like an earthquake,” he finally said.
“In New York?”
“It’s happened before.” Granted, the last major one occurred in the 1800s, but the possibility for another major shakeup existed. “I remember feeling a tremor five years ago. I was at a friend’s house on Long Island. We were in the backyard, and I was lying in a hammock when I felt the strangest sensation and looked up to see the leaves shaking in a different way than when the wind blows. My friends thought I was tripping, but later the news reports confirmed my suspicion.”
“I can’t imagine being in an earthquake. It’s one of the reasons I’d never consider moving to LA.”
“I think us getting a major quake is highly unlikely. The 125th
Street Fault here is nothing like the San Andreas fault in Southern California. Unlike the movie The Day After Tomorrow, I don’t foresee the Statue of Liberty falling into the Atlantic.”
“Oh my gosh,” Choice moaned, snuggling even closer to Trey and burying her face in his neck. “Why did you have to go and mention that movie? I could barely sleep the night I watched it.”
Trey couldn’t answer. All of his senses were suddenly trained on the woman in his arms: the feel of her supple body curled against his, her scent wafting across his nose, the soft blasts of warm breath against his neck. His manhood hardened, and he shifted instinctively, settling Choice’s lush gluteus maximus between his legs. He ground his hardness against her, used his finger to gently lift her lips to his, and pressed his lips to hers.
There was a blackout in the city, but inside this elevator, Trey’s touch was electric. Choice’s breath caught as his plush lips made contact with her equally full ones. The kiss was light, full of promise. He kissed one side of her mouth, and then the other; placed whispery kisses near the pulse point on her neck, and the tip of her nose. Choice closed her eyes, reveling in the moment. His actions, the way his mouth touched her body, made her feel cherished and special. After feathery kisses near her temples and still more along the side of her face, Trey brushed his lips over Choice’s again. Choice’s stomach clenched, her body fairly shook in anticipation of something wonderful happening, something more explosive than a cherry bomb, more mind-blowing than the fireworks finale she’d seen last year near the Statue of Liberty. She opened her mouth, wanting more, needing more, and ever so lightly swiped the tip of her tongue between his lips.
Trey groaned, opened his mouth, and met her tongue with his own. Their organs became dancing partners—swirling, twirling, circling—with the beauty of a well-choreographed ballet and the leisurely elegance of an old-school slow dance in a blue light–lit basement. Their noses touched, breath mingled, as the two deepened the kiss and their exploration of each other. Trey slid his strong hand down the length of Choice’s arm before sweeping his fingernails back up to her shoulder and over to her weighty globes. He drew lazy circles around her areola, tweaked her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Goose pimples instantly broke out on Choice’s body, and she shivered in spite of the heat. She moaned into his mouth and shifted her body to give them both better access to each other. Trey took control, stretching his body out to its full length and effortlessly melding Choice against him. Choice wrapped one arm around his neck while the other delighted in the sculpted contours of a perfect frame that rippled with muscles. She ran her hand over his back and finally dared to caress the butt she’d admired. It was as she’d suspected—hard and round. Trey pulled her even closer to him, ground his massive hardness against her. The kiss continued. One minute. Two. Five. More. Their bodies communicated in a way that made words unnecessary. Which was good, considering that with what Trey’s tongue was doing to her body, Choice couldn’t formulate an intelligible sentence if she tried.
“Ah,” she sighed, as Trey dipped his head and sucked a hardened nipple into his mouth. A flash of yellow, and through Choice’s lust-induced haze came this thought: Stop! This, even as she skimmed her hands over the silky cotton of Trey’s briefs and lightly cupped his substantial package.
“Umm,” Trey breathed, removing her hand from his stick of dynamite and wrapping her arm around his waist. As much as he wanted to make love to the woman in his arms, he knew it wouldn’t happen. At least not right now. He didn’t have a condom, and even if he did have one, he didn’t believe in anonymous sex. He knew nothing about the sistah who’d just thrown her leg over his thigh, cushioning his dick in the valley of her contentment. But one thing was for sure. He wanted to.
Trey shifted onto his back, bringing Choice with him. The kiss continued as he ran his hands along the graceful slope of Choice’s back, finally cupping his destination—her firm, round, thong-exposed backside. He palmed it, squeezed it, imagined it bouncing above his hips. He knew he needed to end this dance of seduction before things got out of control. But for the life of him, Trey seemed unable to pull his tongue away from Choice’s mouth or his hands from her body. And the way Choice’s body was gently grinding against his, it seemed as if she was experiencing the same difficulty.
Oh, what the hell. Why fight fate? Throwing both caution and common sense to the wind, Trey parted his legs, allowing Choice’s body to settle between them as if that was exactly where she belonged. His hardness teased her nether lips, causing Choice to become wet and full of wanting. She knew what was happening could not happen, but she seemed powerless to resist the magnetic pull that existed between her and this man she’d met just hours before. What if this blackout is from some sort of attack? What if there’s no way out, and I die tonight? Would I rather die with society’s definition of dignity or with the memory of the best night of lovemaking I’ve ever known? Because there was no doubt in Choice’s mind that the sex would be as explosive as it was exquisite. Her other lovers had been adequate, but she’d never seen stars or had her world rocked. Until now. With Trey, Choice was having an out-of-body experience . . . and all he’d done was kiss her!
“I want to bury myself deep inside you,” Trey softly admitted. He pressed the exclamation mark of his desire against Choice’s heat. “I know it’s crazy, but . . . do you want this?”
Yes! Every fiber of Choice’s being screamed this affirmation. Choice wanted to do nothing more than give herself fully and completely to the man in whose arms she now rested, and against whose body she’d found peace. Stuck in an elevator, hundreds of feet above the earth, Choice felt safe and secure, protected and strangely . . . loved. “I want you so much,” she whispered. “But I . . .”
The rest of her sentence was cut off by Trey’s swordlike tongue plundering her mouth and scalding its insides with passion. He rolled them over, and Choice reveled in opposing sensations—the heat of flesh and the coolness of marble, the caution of logic and the spontaneity of desire, her body’s yes and her mind’s no. His kiss seemed to envelope her entire body and spread love’s warmth through every muscle, fiber, and tissue. It was crazy, it was illogical, but Choice could taste the love this man had to give. She could taste the love and feel the promise. Her hands itched to slide inside his briefs, feel the flesh pulsating against her stomach, guide it to her opening, and let love rule. Life is short, and no day is promised. She pressed her hand to the band of his briefs, slowly pushed her hands under the cotton, and then something happened.
The lights came on.
Chapter 4
Trey’s eyes flew open. In light of the, well, light, a wave of disappointment overtook him. He never thought he’d be sorry to have whatever malfunction had occurred come to an end, but he was. He and Choice had been wrapped in a cocoon that felt magical—where no holds were barred and everything was possible. But now the fluorescence of reality chased away that illusion, and Trey wondered if he could ever get it back.
Choice squeezed her eyes shut. As long as she didn’t actually see him, she could imagine that this was a dream from which she’d awaken to find herself in her bed, clothed, and even more important, alone. Embarrassment replaced longing. The return of common sense brought with it the reality of consequence. She was Choice “Chai” McKinley: daughter of a nationally known architect father and a socialite mother, designer and owner of an up-and-coming clothing line, and an out-of-her-mind woman who’d come within seconds of giving up the nookie to a stranger in the elevator of one of the most famous buildings in the Big Apple. This thought, the now moving elevator, and Trey’s quick actions jolted Choice out of her momentary immobility.
“Shit!” Trey muttered as he jumped to his feet. He jumped into his shorts and slipped his feet into his sandals while simultaneously reaching for his T-shirt and hurriedly pulling it over his head. What in the hell was I thinking? Trey rarely allowed himself to lose control and immediately became angry at his lack of discipline. This was where h
e worked, the place that would help him secure the future he desired and the life he fully intended to live. He couldn’t deny Choice’s beauty or his attraction to her. Nor could he dare think about what might have happened had they been in the very act of copulation when the lights came on, along with the cameras that Trey believed permeated the building. Fine female notwithstanding, Trey couldn’t believe that he had almost let happen what almost happened! On the floor? In public? Man, you’re tripping for real. An image quickly entered his mind—a glistening rump hovering over and between creamy spread legs. At his place of employment. With someone he’d met just hours before. It was not a pretty sight. He blinked his eyes to erase the image. Suddenly Trey wanted to be anywhere but here, with anyone but her. He looked at his watch: 6:07. He had just enough time to run home, shower, and change, get to work before eight, and try to forget the moment that he almost lost control.
