Signed, Sealed, Delivered ... I'm Yours

by Naleighna Kai

  She glided along the massive ballroom’s outer panel walls, hoping the walk would camouflage her exhaustion and give her a second wind.

  Chapter 7

  Steven’s gaze shot back to the table where the woman in the effervescent ‎pearl gown was seated. She had disappeared. For a moment his gaze swept the area and he was a little disappointed that he couldn’t lay eyes on her. Something about her spoke of quiet mystery and subtle temptation—a soft elegance that was lost in women these days.

  He stood beside Roger and Tony. All three of them were decked out in a custom-made charcoal tuxedo. The suits complemented the strong builds of the men who were capable of knocking down walls with the heave of a shoulder, prying elevator doors open with their bare hands, or jumping off a burning roof and into the safety nets of their brothers below while holding a small child in their arms.

  Although Roger was the shortest and oldest of the three men, he was no less formidable. Steven was the tallest, but he only had a few inches over Tony. But from his vantage point, he could see Tony scoping the room for the latest conquest. Why women fell for a man like him—a man who, after he seduced them, couldn’t even remember their names, treated them like they were outdated fashion accessories, and avoided their calls like they were bill collectors—remained a mystery that Steven would never solve.

  “Give it a rest, man,” Steven warned, sipping the last of his cognac. “There’s no way in hell Keisha’s letting you out of her sight. If you weren’t standing here with us, she’d have you in her back pocket.”

  A quiet chuckle escaped from Roger, who straightened his tie, nodded at Steven, and frowned at Tony. “Steve warned you. Now you’re on lockdown at the biggest flesh fest of the year.”

  “Once the music starts,” Tony said, eyeing the DJ booth, “I’ll have a chance to work the room. She always wants to get a few dances in with the big wigs.”

  “Be careful, Tony,” Steven said. “You know she knows how to use a blade.”

  At the beginning of the year, Tony had gotten sloppy, and Keisha gave him a very memorable warning—a giant butcher knife piercing an eight-by-ten photo of him on the hood of his car. The knife was strategically planted right in the crotch area. On the blade was a note: I think you get the point. Keisha.

  Tony shivered, took a sip of champagne, looked toward the table where Keisha was sitting, and saluted his lady with a lift of his glass. She returned it with a warm smile, then turned to the blonde guest sitting next to her at the table. “I’ll be so glad when the music starts.”

  Both Steven and Roger smirked as they shared a speaking glance.

  Ten minutes later, the DJ took to the stage. The music signaled to everyone that the event was shifting from business and networking to party time. Roger excused himself and collected his lovely wife, Yolanda, and led her to the dance floor.

  Steven smiled as the couple did a twirl that any professional ballroom dancer would admire. The chief still had an adorable twinkle in his eye for his wife of twenty plus years—something that Steven hoped for but never expected would happen in his own life.

  Then Tony sidestepped him with Keisha, who wrapped her arms around her man and sighed as if their closeness was the only thing she’d ever need. Scanning the dance floor, Steven found his brothers wrapped up in their loved ones’ arms, and a pang of absence hit him. He missed Sergeant Rivers, the woman he had loved. He had thought maybe, just maybe, they could have made it to the altar and started a family. That dream had died with her—she was killed in a night raid while Steven was on a tour of duty. The pain had finally dulled to a small ache. And he was open to the possibility of love once again.

  When the next song started, Yolanda shrieked with joy as Roger lifted her and spun around with her in his arms. Roger set his wife down and serenaded her along with the song—“How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You.”

  Soon everyone parted to give them room on the dance floor. The photographer was engrossed in a mini photo session with the mayor, so Steven pulled out his camera phone. These were the kinds of moments worth capturing. He angled his phone toward them, but quickly approached the stage to get a better shot.

  Steven made his way to a space that would give him better range and walked right into the woman of his dreams.

  Chapter 8

  Lena slammed right into a life-sized fantasy. Oh my God!

  The man grabbing her elbows to steady her couldn’t be real. He felt real. He smelled better than real—of all things sandalwood and toffee. Dressed in a flawless dark tux, sporting a tiny diamond stud earring in his left ear and a perfectly trimmed goatee, he bore a striking likeness to a dark knight of chivalry.

  “Excuse me,” she said, righting herself as he did the same. “I was so drawn in by the couple on the dance floor that I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”

  “That’s my boss, Roger Lofton,” he said, following her line of vision to the couple making a dip that caused an uproar amongst the crowd. “I was trying to snap a photo of them.”

  “Oh, please,” Lena said, inching back to let him by. “Don’t let me keep you. Hurry, before the song ends.”

  She turned away but instantly felt her hand trapped by a strong, demanding grip. That same deep voice asked, “What’s your name?”

  Lena turned and looked into the deepest, clearest brown eyes she had ever seen. “Lena,” she managed on a breathy whisper. “Lena Striker.”

  He brought her limp hand to his lips and brushed a feather soft kiss across her palm. “Steven Banks. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Striker.” He released her hand as he backed away. “When I return, I’d like to dance with you.”

  She was not given the chance to respond as he made tracks to the stage.

  Lena held up the wall as he maneuvered for the shot. She watched Roger and his wife, and from the corner of her eye saw the flash of Steven’s camera. With any luck, he had caught a perfect picture of the couple circling the dance floor while laughing and looking so much in love. The outpouring of affection radiating from them had Lena grinning in spite of herself. That kind of love was something fairytales were made of.

  The song ended, and another Motown classic kicked right in. Lena knew the song well. She closed her eyes, picturing her parents. She had heard this melody numerous times in her parents’ home. It was the song that had been playing when they first met each other in a little laundromat right outside their college campus. Thirty-seven years, two children, a house, and nearly a lifetime later, her parents were finally doing what they wanted—cruising to the other side of the globe and seeing the world—together.

  Lena was startled when a hand stroked her arm.

  “This one,” Steven said as he eased her from the wall, “I requested.”

  Trapped in his hypnotic gaze, she followed almost helplessly as he weaved her through the dancing crowd to a spot in the center of the floor.

  “Marvin and Tammy didn’t do no wrong with this one right here,” Lena admitted as she fell into his arms.

  “Sometimes it’s best to let the experts do the talking,” Steven replied, favoring her with a smile that caused a little flutter down below.

  “I can’t argue with that kind of logic,” she whispered, her cheek finding a place to rest against his chin.

  Steven tightened his hold. “Like sweet morning dew…”

  “I took one look at you,” Lena finished, trying to remain calm despite the desire he stirred within.

  He brushed his lips along the soft curve of her cheek. “And it was plain to see…”

  “You were my destiny.”

  Their gazes met. His lips lowered, and before she could think about how wrong it was, Lena surrendered to a kiss that dismantled her common sense and her hard-won resolve. She silently cursed her traitorous heart.

  So much for steering clear of trouble tonight.

  * * *

  Lena’s captivating lips crippled Steven’s equilibrium. This woman had entangled his heart with one breathless kiss! />
  Good grief! Man, you can’t go around putting your lips on women you barely know!

  “I don’t know what came over me,” Steven whispered.

  Her tiny hand, nested in his giant one, felt like the missing piece to his existence.

  “I have to admit, I don’t care,” she breathed over his tingly lips.

  The song continued, and it was as if it was binding them together with its melody, its lyrics, and its message. Steven stared down at this heart-stopping beauty—dressed in a pearl white, form-fitting ball gown, with a haircut that was a sensual accent to her round face. Her arm felt like the rarest silk draped across his shoulder. Her generous mouth had lips that called to him like a siren of the sea.

  How can she feel so perfect and so right?

  Her warm breath against his neck was making sweet love to him. Steven eskimoed his nose to hers. “What do I have to do to see you again?”

  “Ask,” she said.

  “Lena Striker, when can I see you again?”

  Her curvy body lifted as she rose up on her toes. “Now … tomorrow … maybe forever,” she offered, causing the corners of his lips to turn upward.

  You’re all … I need … to get by …

  Chapter 9

  Lena managed to make it to Serenity Massage Center an hour before Giselle was scheduled. She needed that time to think on the past three weeks, as she was certain her friend was going to grill her about the latest on Steven Banks.

  As she changed from a purple pencil skirt and sleeveless lavender blouse into her uniform, she weighed just how much she could share and still keep her friend’s respect. As strong as Lena thought she was, when it came to getting from first base to home plate, she had failed to even step up to bat.

  Christopher, the postal carrier with sweaty hands and smelly feet; Henry, the airline pilot with the manners of a caveman; and Felix, the police officer from hell—all had left a sour taste in her mouth. And although she felt a certain sweet longing every time Steven Banks’ number showed on her cell, she had better things to do in life besides entertain thoughts of his scrumptious kisses and his panty-melting eyes. Steven Banks may have been many a woman’s wet dream, but he also had the potential to be a dry nightmare.

  An hour later, as expected, Giselle posed the dreaded question, and as much planning as Lena had done to give her one excuse or another, the truth slipped out. “Steven Banks scares me to death,” Lena said to Giselle during her massage session.

  “Hmph, it didn’t seem that way while you were counting his teeth with your tongue at the ball,” Giselle answered in a muffled tone while lying on her stomach.

  Lena paused with her hands on Giselle’s calf muscle. “Ever since that kiss, that man has had me completely out of sync.”

  “He looked at you like he could swallow you whole. Woman, what’d you do to that man?”

  “Me?!” Lena nearly shrieked. “He kissed me first. Turn on your back.”

  Giselle complied and got comfortable.

  Lena stepped to Giselle’s upper area and started kneading her shoulders. “Since the ball, all I do is think about him. We exchanged numbers, but—”

  “Oh, my shoulder loves you right now,” Giselle moaned. “Mama, you’re my aching body’s new best friend.”

  Lena shook her head and applied deeper pressure to the stone sized knot in Giselle’s right shoulder.

  “But what?”

  Shoot! Lena had hoped that Giselle had lost her train of thought. “I think it’s a setup for another heartbreak.”

  “Damn, Officer King Kong did a number on you.”

  “Please.” Lena rolled her suddenly tight shoulders at the mention of that creep. “He was just another mistake in a long line of bad choices. Thank God, I didn’t sleep with him.”

  Giselle slipped out from under the sheet and sat up. “Now that, I can relate to.” She locked gazes with Lena. “Every woman has emotional crap in the closet when it comes to guys. We fall for their smooth lines, we have sex with them too soon, ignore our first instincts about them.” She covered Lena’s hand with her own freshly manicured one.

  “No woman has this love thing all figured out, Lee. We’re all just fumbling through it.”

  Lena nodded, then gestured for Giselle to resume the position. She mulled over those words as she continued her ministrations down the side of her client’s body. “I hear you, but that’s not very encouraging.”

  Giselle’s eyes fluttered as she sighed in relief when Lena applied rolling pressure to her hip and thigh. “In your case, it should be very encouraging,” she said after a few moments. “You’ve tasted the bitter flavor of bad choices. Now the sweet nectar of promised love is tempting you to try again.”

  “It’s all so fast,” Lena protested.

  Giselle lifted her head and looked at Lena. “Honey, you’re missing the point.”

  “What point is that?” she grumbled. “That I have lousy taste in men?”

  This time, Giselle placed her hand on her chest to keep the sheet over her naked body and sat up again. “No, what I’m saying is … Steven Banks scares you like none of the other men ever did. He scares you because, once again, you’re not listening to your instincts about him.”

  Giselle reclined again on the table, and Lena stared at her closed-eyed form.

  Instincts? What are my instincts telling me about Steven Banks? He was sensual, witty and so … full of life. Unlike the other men from her past, who’d failed miserably at intimacy, Steven was starting out on the right track. That had to count for something, but she had not given him credit for anything because all the others had made too many negative deposits in her emotional bank. Her instincts had told her to stay away from the others, but she didn’t, and she regretted it each time. Her instincts this time were pushing her towards Steven.

  “Follow my instincts,” Lena whispered, trying the words on like a pair of new shoes.

  Giselle nodded. “If more women did, there’d be fewer divorces and King Kongs.”

  Lena laughed and finished the massage.

  Chapter 10

  Steven stared at the cell phone, willing it to ring. He had not been able to connect with Lena Striker since the ball. Every time he called, it went straight to voicemail. On the fifth try, he got the message—she was not interested, and he should leave her alone. But the images that woman and her kiss had implanted on his brain were relentless. Her laughter, her voice—that smile. The conversation that covered everything from debates of deep-dish versus thin crust, to White Sox versus the Cubs, then on to their hopes and dreams for the future. The way her body had melded with his; he could only picture what it would be like to have her with him, breasts pressed against his chest—

  “What the hell is going on in my kitchen?!” Roger boomed as he entered the fire station’s culinary center.

  “What happened?” Tony asked, right on Roger’s heels, peering at the sight before him. “Aw, man, you’re burning the bacon.” He sprinted to the stove, grabbed a bag of flour off the countertop and poured it over the two huge frying skillets. “Breakfast is ruined,” he said in a sour tone.

  Steven snapped out of his sensual daydream and looked first at the chief then at Tony. “Sorry, guys,” he mumbled. “I guess I got lost in my thoughts for a minute.”

  “For a minute!” Tony removed the scorched pans, dumped their contents into the disposal and dropped the ruined skillets into the sink. “What’s gotten into you?” He gestured to the destroyed cookware. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for your cooking rotation? I had my mouth set for your pecan waffles.”

  “You’ve been like a zombie since the ball.” Roger announced, leaning against the fridge.

  The words caused Steven’s lids to dip a little. Has it really been like that?

  Roger pulled another package of bacon from the fridge. He tossed it on the table in front of Steven. “I want my breakfast. Once I have it, then we’ll talk about this funk you’ve been in.”

  “Ai
n’t no funk,” Tony said, disappearing into the pantry. “It’s that girl he was smothering at the ball,” he yelled from his spot deep among the firehouse’s dry goods.

  “I wasn’t smothering her,” Steven protested as the chief washed his hands. “It was just something about her that kept pulling me in.” Steven sighed as he cut open the new package of bacon. “I can’t explain it.”

  Roger cracked the first of a dozen eggs on the edge of a large silver bowl. “Your tongue down her throat said plenty.”

  “She’s a very attractive woman, but—”

  “Smokin’ hot is a better word.”

  “Shut up, Tony,” Roger quipped.

  Tony set down a new bag of flour and moved back to the sink to scrub the torched skillets.

  “But her effect on you goes deeper than that.” Roger said, looking up from the bowl. “Are you two getting serious? It’s been a month since the ball, and you’re more gone now than the night you met her.”

  Steven glanced up at the chief as he separated the last slices. “Haven’t been able to catch up with her for some reason.”

  “You need to do more than catch up; you need to go ahead and tap that ass and get that monkey off your back.” With soapy hands, Tony gestured to the charcoaled bacon swirling down the disposal. “My stomach can’t take much more of this.”

  “Shut up, Tony!” Roger and Steven chorused.

  Roger joined Steven at the table but kept his focus on the station’s knucklehead. “You say one more word, and I’m calling Keisha. I’ll throw you right under the bus.”

  The skillet slipped from Tony’s soapy hand and clattered in the sink. “Aww, man,” he said, whipping around to face the chief. “You wouldn’t.”