Playing for Keeps

by Yahrah St. John

  And that was exactly what she did. Avery was brazen in bed that night as she unleashed her inner sexy and Quentin let her. He enjoyed this unrestrained side of her. Not that she hadn’t been that way before in bed—she was naturally expressive and passionate—but this time was different; she was the one in charge and he was loving every minute of it.

  She stripped him down to his briefs and pushed him back on the king-size bed while she slowly unzipped her dress. He watched the fabric fall in a puddle on the floor, leaving her wearing nothing but a skimpy thong.

  He sucked in a deep breath when she slowly pulled her thong down, leaving nothing on. She was pure temptation. “Oh yeah, baby,” Quentin groaned, devouring her with his eyes all the while soaking in the sweet lines of her slender body. And when she came crawling toward him on the bed, Quentin was ready for her. He plunged his tongue deep inside her mouth and Avery opened up to him like a flower, matching his kiss with another greedy one. His shaft was straining against the confines of his briefs until she pulled them down and released him.

  She leaned over him and reached inside his drawer for a condom. “Would you like me to do the honors?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Quentin said, never taking his eyes off her.

  “But first, I have something else in store for you.” Avery dipped her head and took him all the way inside her mouth.

  Oh wow, was the last thought Quentin remembered as Avery teased him with her gifted mouth. When he felt himself about to lose control, he gently pushed her back onto the bed. He couldn’t wait; he desperately needed to be inside her. He snatched a foil packet off the nightstand and quickly sheathed his rock-hard erection.

  Then he grabbed either side of her hips and pressed forward. When the tip of his erection found its mark, he slowly eased deep inside. He felt her muscles clench and pulse around him, causing him to thrust forward. Avery encouraged him by titling her hips upward, allowing him to thrust again and again. Over and over. When he felt her body jerk as she climaxed, his orgasm came long and strong. Stronger than any he’d ever had in his life. And that was when he knew—there were no ifs, ands or buts—she was made for him. Avery had touched a part of him that he’d thought was closed off forever. He was in love with Avery Roberts.

  Chapter 13

  Richard King’s assistant telephoned Avery on Sunday to schedule an appointment for him to come to the gallery on Monday to peruse some of their artwork for his home collection. Despite her desire to remain aloof to his existence, Avery couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of Richard coming to her domain. She’d taken special care when dressing for the day.

  Thankfully she’d stashed a new outfit at Quentin’s loft which consisted of some tan wide-leg pants which she teamed with a silk cami and a tapered leopard-print jacket. And with her stylish hairdo, Avery looked every bit the polished art buyer that she was. Surprisingly, Richard arrived later in the morning alone. Avery and Hunter were discussing their next exhibition when he walked in.

  “Excuse me, Hunter,” she said and walked toward Richard. “My appointment is here.” She didn’t notice the jealousy that came across Hunter’s face over the fact that the wealthy businessman in the Armani suit was her client.

  “Avery.” Richard clasped her hands and kissed both her cheeks. He stepped back to take a look at her. “You are looking well.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Richard. So, are you ready to see what my gallery has to offer?”

  “Absolutely.” He smiled back at her and tucked her arm in his. “Lead the way.” He nodded to Hunter as Avery showed him several of the gallery’s popular artists and her new find, Gabriel Thomas. Avery could feel Hunter’s eyes burning a hole through the back of her head as she and Richard laughed and talked about the awards banquet.

  “You know, Avery, I must say, I can’t recall a time when someone has charmed me more. Quite frankly, you’ve put a spell on me, my dear, and I’d buy anything you suggest.” Richard was frank. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but she’d captivated him. He’d had his assistant research her, but he’d found nothing out of the ordinary. She came from a well-established family. So what was it?

  “In that case,” Avery said, moving Richard to some of the more exclusive artwork, “let me show you…” But she didn’t get a chance to finish because Hunter interrupted them.

  “Hello.” Hunter extended his hand to Richard. “I’m Hunter Garrett, director of the Henri Lawrence Gallery.”

  Avery noted the way he said director as if she were nothing more than a peon. “Hunter, I have this. Thank you.”

  “I’m sure you do, but did you—”

  “Mr. Garrett, was it?” Richard said, staring Hunter straight in the eye. “I expressly came here to see Ms. Roberts. She’s a skilled curator, is she not?” Avery appreciated Richard sticking up for her.

  “Well…yes, but I have many—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Garrett, let me make myself clear,” Richard started. His face turned stone cold. He wasn’t used to being interrupted, especially not by the likes of Hunter. “If I will be buying any artwork for the King Corporation or my home collection, it will be from Avery.”

  Take that, Hunter, thought Avery. Realizing he’d overstepped, Hunter nodded and scurried off upstairs to his office. Blessedly leaving Avery and Richard in peace.

  “Thank you for that, Richard,” she said. “He’s been riding me for months now. You really put him in his place.”

  “I’m glad—I didn’t like the way he was treating you. Matter of fact, why don’t you come to the King Corporation and I’ll put you in charge of my entire art collection.” Richard couldn’t explain why he made the offer. He just wanted to get to know Avery better.

  Avery’s eyes widened in amazement. “Are you serious?” She was stunned. “That’s a really generous offer.”

  “Yes, I’m serious. You’re a smart, talented woman and someone who would be a great asset to the King Corporation,” Richard said, folding his arms. “Think about it, okay?”

  “I will.” Avery couldn’t believe how kind Richard was being. He hardly knew her.

  “Good. In the meantime, I’ll take those two over there.” He pointed to two paintings that combined would put her way over the top in commissions this month. “And I’ll take the last two pieces of your new artist’s work.”

  “You’ve no idea what this means to me.” Avery was overwhelmed. Her biological father believed she had talent.

  Richard winked at her. “I have some idea. Now, listen, I have to get going, I have a lunch meeting. I’ll have my assistant contact you for payment and delivery.” He headed toward the door.

  “Sounds fantastic!” Avery beamed. Once he’d gone, she let out a whoop. “Yes!” She brought her hands down to her sides. She was on her way to her office to write up the order when she found Hunter at the top of the stairs watching her.

  “Looks like you’ve made quite the sale,” Hunter commented. “Again.”

  “Yes, I did,” Avery replied, climbing the stairs. She felt as if she were walking on air.

  “How did you manage to land a big fish like Richard King? We are a small gallery, after all. First, we have Quentin Davis interested in exhibiting and now King—what gives?”

  “Are you wondering what you don’t have, Hunter?” Avery asked sarcastically.

  “I know what it is,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “Clout. You grew up on Park Avenue. Therefore you have connections, unlike me.”

  “What I have, Hunter,” Avery said, standing on her tiptoes and whispering in his ear, “is talent and Richard recognized it.”

  With that comment, she strutted past him and into her office.

  Quentin was in his darkroom processing images from the last couple of months. He’d decided that black-and-white would pack the most punch and allow him the most creativity, when he came across the photos he’d taken at the community center. There were some great pictures of the young dance troupe practicing and even better ones of
the young men he’d hoped to mentor taking a jump shot.

  For the rest of the afternoon, he put the film through the three-step chemical process of developer, stop bath and fixer. He was hanging them to dry when he heard a knock on the door. It was Avery.

  “I see the red light is on,” Avery said from the other side of the door. She’d noted the red light was flashing above the darkroom. “Can I come in?” She’d let herself in with the key Quentin had mentioned was under a potted plant outside his front door.

  “Yes, you can come in,” Quentin said. “I’m about finished.”

  “It’s kind of cozy in here,” Avery said, commenting on the amber-colored lighting as she closed the door. “Actually, I would say it’s downright romantic.” She came forward and wrapped her arms around Quentin’s middle.

  He felt Avery’s heat on his back, felt the warmth of her breath against his neck, and it caused his temperature to rise sky high. He immediately turned around and planted a sizzling kiss on her lips. “Hmmm, I like the way you think.” He circled his arms around her waist and gently pulled her toward him. He captured her mouth in his, slipped his tongue inside and began thrusting as he mimicked the actions his lower body intended to take.

  It was a soul-stirring kiss that left Avery feeling light-headed as molten sensations quickly spread through her entire body. She clutched his neck and pressed her taut breasts against his rock-hard chest. She felt electrified, tantalized and extremely sexual, but they were in his workroom with a lot of chemicals, so Avery pulled back.

  She noticed the look of disappointment on his face right before her gaze fell on several pictures from the community center hanging on clips. “These are really great, Quentin. Malik should really see these,” Avery commented. “You never set out to hurt him, Quentin. Don’t you think it’s time you hang up your macho pride and make this right? Go talk to him.”

  “What if he doesn’t listen?”

  “You mean he’s as bullheaded and stubborn as you?” she asked. “Then you both have that in common. You have drawn a line in the sand and neither one of you will give an inch. Is this how you honor your longtime friendship?”

  Right then, Quentin realized what he had to do. Dante was right; he had to go to the center and confront Malik head-on. Quentin was not one to run from his problems. He’d let this feud go on long enough and it was time he ended it.

  “All right, all right, I’ll make an effort. Are you happy now?”

  Avery smiled. “Yes, I am.”

  “Good.” Quentin pulled her back into his arms so they could finish where they’d left off. Since she’d gone to work looking sexy as hell this morning, Quentin had dreamed of making love to her all afternoon.

  “Don’t you want to ask me how my day went?” Avery asked.

  “Sure,” he said, nuzzling her neck.

  “Work was fantastic!” Avery pushed away from his embrace.

  “That good, huh?” Quentin couldn’t remember Avery describing any time spent in Hunter’s company as fantastic. “How so?”

  “Richard King came in and not only bought several paintings, but he put Hunter Garrett in his place,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “You should have seen it.” She gestured with her hands. “Hunter tried to steal my sale and Richard told him in no uncertain terms that he would buy from me or not at all.”

  “Wow.” Quentin rubbed his chin. “Sounds like Richard really came through for you.” He just couldn’t understand why.

  “In a big way.” Avery smiled. “He even offered me a job as a corporate buyer at the King Corporation.”

  “He did!”

  “Yes, it was a pretty amazing offer.”

  “And how did you respond?”

  Avery glanced in Quentin’s direction. He was watching her and gauging her response, so she downplayed. “I told him I’d think about it.”

  “Avery, if you don’t mind my asking, what is this fascination with King?” Ever since they’d met, she had seemed obsessed with the man.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve certainly met powerful men before, but there’s something about him….” Avery’s voice trailed off. Then she thought about Quentin’s comment and asked, “Why? Are you jealous?”

  “Maybe a little,” he answered honestly. “The way you look at him…and the way you talk about him.” Did he have anything to fear? Normally, he wouldn’t have thought so, especially from a fifty-five-year-old man, but maybe he was wrong.

  “He doesn’t even come close to you.” Avery pulled him toward the darkroom’s exit. Minutes later, they were falling back onto his bed as she said, “Why don’t I show you who’s really on my mind?”

  The next day, Quentin took Dante and Avery’s advice and went to the community center to make peace with Malik. He’d allowed this nonsense to go on much too long. He was determined to end it once and for all.

  “Malik Williams, please,” Quentin said to the hard-nosed receptionist.

  “And your name, sir?”

  “You don’t remember me?” Quentin asked politely. “I’m a friend of Malik’s. I was here photographing the center a couple of months ago.”

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.” The older woman shook her head and gave him a piercing stare. “What’s your name?”

  Man, the woman didn’t give an inch. She was just like that old battle-ax, Vivienne Falconer, who’d been the receptionist during his adolescence. “Quentin Davis.”

  She buzzed Malik and from her facial expression, it was clear he’d said he didn’t want to see Quentin because she responded with “I’m sorry, he’s in a meeting right now.”

  “He’s not busy, he’s just being a stubborn mule,” Quentin said, pulling open the door separating the office and the lobby.

  “You can’t come in, sir.” The woman rose from her desk and tried blocking Quentin’s path, which was really quite useless considering he was over six feet to her five feet. “I told you Malik was in a meeting.”

  “And I told you, ma’am—” Quentin’s voice rose slightly as he tried his best to remain respectful of his elders “—that I need to talk to Malik.”

  “Q, stop bullying my staff,” Malik said from behind her.

  Quentin was pleased to see him. His friend sure looked the same, he thought. The same dreads and toga, but he was wearing a frown. “We need to talk, Malik.”

  “Now is not a good time,” he said, turning his back and walking toward his office.

  “It hasn’t been the right time in two months.” Quentin casually sidestepped the elderly and less-quick receptionist, and followed Malik into his office. “Enough is enough, Malik. I’ve given you two months, which was more than enough time and space to get over this. When are you going to let this go?”

  “I’m not,” Malik answered, sitting behind his desk. He leaned back in his big black chair and regarded Quentin.

  “So, how long do you intend on not talking to me?” Quentin asked. “You may have been used to not having me around, but it must have been awfully lonely the last two months without Dante and Sage around.”

  Malik threw back his dreads. “It’s been just fine,” he lied. Quentin was dead right. He hadn’t realized just how much his family meant to him until they’d no longer been a part of his life. Over the past couple of months, there had been many times he’d wanted to reach out to them, but how could he when he’d made an utter fool of himself? He’d blown the whole affair way out of proportion. Of course he knew Quentin hadn’t intentionally set out to hurt him, but it stung nonetheless. He’d just had too much pride to admit he was wrong or at the very least had overreacted.

  “Sure, it has.” Quentin smiled at Malik’s stubbornness to admit he needed anyone. “Listen, Malik, you’re like a brother to me and I’m sorry if I disappointed you, but I had to do the right thing.”

  “You mean what was best for your career?”

  “Can you blame me?” Quentin finally asked the question that had been lodged in his throat for a long time. “You kn
ow as well as I do what it’s like to do without. Can you blame me for not wanting to trash my career?”

  Malik exhaled. “No, of course not.” Why did Quentin have to be so logical? “I was just really counting on your help, Quentin.”

  “I know that, Malik, and I feel terrible. What can I do?” Quentin placed his hands on either side of Malik’s desk and affixed his eyes on his best friend.

  “Well…” Malik thought about it. “Can’t you tell both sides of the story? You know, showcase the community center and Richard King? Readers would be able to see the consequences of his big development deals.”

  Quentin thought about Malik’s suggestion. He’d taken some great photographs of the center. What better way to highlight their struggle than to show the services they offered the community? Quentin’s mouth broke into a smile. “I think that’s a great idea. I’m not sure how my agent or Capitalist’s editor is going to feel about it. But I can at least present the photos and give them the option.”

  “You would do that?” Malik asked, hopeful for the first time in months.

  “Of course I would,” Quentin returned. “I’ll do anything I can to bridge this gap, so we can be friends again.”

  “Awww, Q.” Malik couldn’t resist Quentin’s sensitive side and came forward to give him a long-overdue hug. “Are you going soft on me, man?”

  “Not a chance.” Quentin patted Malik’s back and stepped away. “But I am happy to have you back in my life.”

  “So am I, so am I,” Malik said.

  “I don’t like it,” Jason told Quentin when he stopped by his office the following day. Quentin had brought the portfolio with shots of Richard in his office, at one of his construction sites in a hard hat, one of him at the awards dinner and various others all juxtaposed against a photo of him pointing to the community center and the subsequent shots of the clinic, the dancers and the boys playing basketball.

  “I don’t agree,” Quentin replied. “Those pictures make a pretty powerful statement.”