by A. C. Arthur
She offered him a smile. “If you promise it will be wonderful, then I’m sure it will be.”
* * *
A half hour later they were seated in leather-skirted chairs, perusing the menu while a jazz trio serenaded the room. Reka was suddenly glad she’d worn the new black dress, even more grateful that Tacoma had had the foresight to purchase it. When she got home, she’d call to thank him, even though she wouldn’t hear the end of his ‘I told you so’s. Not only was she appropriately dressed for the elegant yet casual restaurant, but Khalil couldn’t stop staring at her. She knew she looked good. She purchased clothes that would accent the attributes she was blessed with, whether it was hipster jeans, corporate suits or this dress. If it didn’t enhance something, she left it in the store. It was as simple as that. The dress and her heels made her appear taller, giving her legs length and grace. The deep plunge in front offered a tantalizing view of her cleavage without giving away all the goodies, and it didn’t hug her butt to the point of showing a panty line. It gently covered her most prized possession. Yes, she was extremely thankful to Tacoma and to the maker of this little black number. Even if it were only for one night, like Cinderella, she planned to enjoy every minute of it.
They ordered and spent the first few minutes thoroughly enjoying their meal. Reka was sure she’d never before tasted steak so tender, so flavorful. Khalil was positive he enjoyed this meal that he’d ordered so many times much more tonight because of the woman sitting across from him.
She was lively, talking about everything from the décor to the music the strolling trio played. She professed to liking jazz, although R&B was her first love. He’d even enjoyed her impromptu rendition of Anita Baker’s “Giving You the Best that I’ve Got.” Surprisingly, she had a really nice voice, even though she swore she hadn’t had any lessons and had never fancied a singing career. Now she was chewing slowly, as if she were savoring every morsel. Her eyes wandered the room in a cursory fashion, and when she caught him staring, she smiled, letting him know she, too, was happy they were here together. Still, his need to know everything about her was not satisfied, and he pushed further. “So tell me all about Reka. I know that she likes to sing, even though she won’t admit it, but I want to know more.”
Reka put her fork down, took a sip of the red wine he’d ordered for them and found that she actually liked it. “I’m not sure what you want to know exactly. My life’s pretty cut and dried.”
“Then how about I ask questions and you supply answers?” he offered.
Whether it was the wine or the ambiance or simply being with him, Reka felt agreeable. “Shoot.”
“Are you part Native American?” That was his first question, because he knew it wasn’t what she expected. She expected him to ask about her past relationships, about why she was so angry towards men, and he did want to know all that, but not just yet.
“What?” Tilting her head to the side she stared at him. “Why would you ask me that?”
Khalil simply smiled, enjoying the surprise in her voice. “Your skin, it’s an unusual shade. You have sort of a burnt orange tint, like Native Americans.”
“Hmph. I never thought of that.” And she truly hadn’t. Her mother and Grammy had the same coloring, so she figured she’d inherited it from them. She thought for a moment. “You know, I once heard Grammy mention Indian heritage when she was talking about her parents, but I didn’t ask any questions.”
“You should, it’s important to know your heritage. That way you can pass it on to your children.”
“I guess you’re right. I’ll have to look into that. Next question.”
“Do you want children? I mean, someday, do you want to have a family of your own?” He did. He’d wanted it so badly he’d asked Sonya to marry him even though he’d felt no love for her.
“I think I’d like to have a baby or two sometime in the future. I don’t really think about it that much, though.”
His brow furred. “Why not?”
“Because you have to have a man to think about having kids, and as I told you yesterday, I don’t have a man.”
“That’s purely by choice, I’m sure.”
Reka gave a wry grin. “More by necessity.”
“Necessity?”
“Yes, my need to remain sane. Men drive you crazy.”
With another question he could have her tell him about her past relationships, about what had gone so wrong that she’d sworn off men, but at that moment he really didn’t care what mistakes the other men in her life had made. He only wanted to make things better. “I wouldn’t drive you crazy, Reka.”
She paused, took a drink of wine. “What would you do, Khalil? If I were your woman, how would you treat me?”
He finally pinpointed what he liked most about her—it was her candor. Most women would have smiled, cooed at him, told him they knew he wasn’t like their past mates and so on and so forth, yet she hadn’t done that. She wanted to know how he was different, how he would measure up to the men in her past and he admired her for skipping all the bull and getting to the point.
“I’d treat you like a woman is supposed to be treated. I’d cherish you, listen to you, do everything in my power to please you. I’d treat you the way you deserve.”
Was it suddenly very hot in here? Or had she drunk too much wine? His words sounded too good to be true. He was too good to be true. He was polished and debonair, looking as if he ate at this type of restaurant at least two or three times a week, while she was struggling to keep that napkin on her lap and the burp in her throat at bay. “If you don’t mind, there are a few things about you I’d like to know.”
For the second time tonight he realized he’d shocked her. Good, maybe with enough shock she’d realize he was sincere. “Ask me whatever you’d like.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“I was raised in Greenwich, Connecticut. I attended private schools there until I went to college. NYU was my choice. That’s where I met Keith.”
“Oh, you know the judge?” Cienna hadn’t told her that.
“Yes, we met in college and have been close ever since. We play ball every weekend. He’s a great guy with a wonderful family.”
“So that’s how you got the IT job?”
Khalil shrugged. “Keith said they were having some computer problems. I volunteered to help.”
Reka nodded. “So your parents still live in Connecticut?”
“Yes, our family home is still in Greenwich.”
“And you’re an only child?”
“I have a younger sister, Danielle. She’s been married for four years and has a three-year-old son, Delano.”
“Does she work?” For some reason Khalil seemed to be from the type of people that didn’t allow their women folk to have jobs of their own.
“Danielle’s a CPA. She works at my father’s company.”
Bingo. “Your father has his own company?”
Khalil could see where she was going with this line of questioning and didn’t like it, but he’d said she could ask, so he answered. “My family owns a reputable investment brokerage. It’s been passed down from son to son for the last four generations.”
“But you’re in computers. How does that relate to investments?”
It was clear that she didn’t understand. The question was, what didn’t she understand? Why he didn’t work for his family, or why he’d be stupid enough to turn down such a wonderful opportunity. His parents wanted an answer to that question.
“I like computers. My father likes investments and running the brokerage. It’s as simple as that.”
“Breaking a family tradition is simple for you?”
Because she was treading on touchy ground, Khalil took another drink. “Not simple, just necessary. I had to become my own man. I wasn’t meant to work for the family company. That’s something I can’t deny.”
“Mmmm, interesting.” Reka nodded to the waiter who’d come to retrieve their plates. “I’ll bet yo
ur father’s having a hard time accepting that.”
“At first it was difficult, but they’ve come around, for now anyway.” Donald and Naomi Franklin thought their son’s hobby in computers would soon run its course. Too bad they couldn’t see that his decision was permanent.
She was quiet then, seemingly content to simply watch him. He wondered what was going on in that pretty little head of hers but admitted, only to himself, that he was afraid to ask. Reka looked at him as if she could see things nobody else could, just as she’d heard the words he hadn’t spoken.
“I’m wondering,” she began.
Khalil removed his napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. “You’re wondering what?” He was a little tense, not sure what she was going to say next.
“I’m wondering what you’d be like on a dance floor.” Reka rubbed her finger absently over her chin, surveying him.
“A dance floor?” Of all the directions this conversation could have gone, Reka had done one spectacular three sixty on him.
“Yeah.” She stood, walked around the table to grab his hand. “I know this great club where we can go get our dance on.” She was pulling him behind her, stopping only long enough for him to throw a few bills on the table and grab her purse.
Once they picked up their coats and he held hers again so she could slip her arms inside, she turned, moved close enough that she could smell his cologne, almost feel his body heat. “I’ve seen the professional, serious Khalil. Now I’m interested in the laid back Khalil.” She watched him as he eyed her suspiciously. “You game?”
6
Reka turned to face Khalil in the front seat after he’d parked the car. “Now, this is a different type of place than the restaurant, so you need to loosen up a little bit.” She reached for his tie and pulled it from his neck. “Take your coat off.”
“Reka,” he sighed in confusion. “It’s about twenty degrees outside.”
She released herself from the confines of the seatbelt and leaned over the console, using her palms to push the heavy leather from his shoulders. “I know it’s cold outside. You can put the coat back on, but you need to get rid of this suit jacket first.”
Khalil shrugged out of his coat, let her assist him in removing his suit jacket—not that he needed the assistance, but her hands were warm on him, spiking his already growing desire.
“Relax. We’re going to go inside and get our dance on. Then we’ll go home.”
She was unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt, her fingers skimming his bare chest. He sucked in a gulp of air and counted to ten before releasing it. She seemed really serious about getting him to relax but he doubted she knew just how unrelaxed he was becoming. His sex throbbed between his legs. He slipped his arms back into his leather coat while she pulled a little mirror out of her purse and smeared more lipstick on her lips. It was a simple motion, a task he’d seen performed a million times before. On Reka it added another layer to her complex character. She made a simple act graceful, alluring, enticing. He almost groaned, but instead he opened the door and got out, appreciating the twenty degree coolness a lot more now.
This time Reka knew to stay seated until he opened her door. He seemed to like opening doors for her, and she wasn’t about to complain. When she stepped out, she surveyed him once more, then led the way into the club.
The music was loud and, because it was a Saturday night, the club was crowded. After Khalil paid the cover charge, they checked their coats once again and she grabbed his hand and led him toward the bar. It was dark inside, and blue and silver lights bounced off the indigo walls as they made their way through the crowd to find two seats at the end of the bar.
“We’ll have a drink first,” she told him, then signaled for the bartender. She ordered a rum and Coke for him and a straight martini for herself before facing him again. He looked absolutely edible. When she’d touched his chest in the car, she’d had to keep an extra tight rein on her emotions. Not only was he broad and buff, but rock hard. When she’d helped to remove his coat, he’d stared at her strangely, as if he’d never had a woman undress him before. A bolt of desire had shot between her legs with a direct hit.
Now he sat stiffly at the bar, as if this were the last place he wanted to be. But turnabout was fair play. Since she’d scrounged enough class to eat at that fancy restaurant without making a fool of herself, he could surely enjoy a few hours of partying. “Don’t you like the music?” she yelled over the thumping bass.
He did, but hadn’t admitted to liking club music in a really long time. “Yeah, it’s great.” Though his words seemed forced, it wasn’t because he was uncomfortable with the club or the music. He wanted to show her how a woman should be treated on a date but he knew if he were forced to get on that dance floor and hold her closely, all his good intentions would be shot straight to hell. He was having a hard enough time keeping his hands off her as it was. If they danced…
As he felt her touch his shoulder and run her hand down his arm, he closed his eyes. Did she secretly enjoy torturing him?
“You okay?” she inquired.
“I’m cool,” he lied, taking a deep breath and chancing a look at her. Her eyes glittered, and her lips were shiny and enticing—God, he wanted to kiss her. “No appletini tonight?” he asked, desperate to think about something else.
When her eyes found his, Reka’s heart skidded to a halt—no man had ever looked at her that way before. She licked her lips. “Uh, no, not tonight. When I’m in a party mood, I need all the fuel I can get. The apple tones down the vodka.”
He laughed, trying to dismiss the erotic way her tongue had run over her lips before disappearing again.
When their drinks arrived, they both took long sips.
“So this is more your scene, huh?”
Reka nodded, then bobbed to the music. “I like to dance. Tacoma and I usually hit the clubs once a month. We used to go more frequently, but he’s really settling down into the couple life with Terry and I—”
“You aren’t looking to meet anybody,” he finished for her. Coming to a club like this and shaking that fine ass body all over the dance floor would definitely result in her meeting more than her share of men, he realized—and didn’t like it one bit. But he was with her tonight, and no other man would get close to her. That was a fact.
She hadn’t meant to bring that up again, didn’t want to keep harping on her bad luck with men, so she simply shrugged. “Oh, that’s my song. C’mon.” She slipped off the stool, grabbed his hand and pulled him onto the dance floor. She was really enjoying the feel of his long, strong fingers entwined with her own. She’d been pulling him along all night but he hadn’t seemed to mind.
The bass was thumping just the way she liked it and they began to dance. At first, there was about two feet between them but the congestion on the floor changed that quickly.
Crunched between sixty or so other gyrating bodies, Reka watched Khalil to see if the brother had any rhythm. She didn’t want to be embarrassed by some stiff-assed man. She gulped. He looked even better in motion, moving his head to the beat, his arms raised in the air and his feet gliding from side to side. One of those strong arms came around her waist, pulling her close to him and she went along willingly, placing an arm around his neck.
Their bodies were pressed together, a natural rhythm developing between them. It was an instant connection, as if they’d been dancing together for years. The music played and he moved. She felt his hard body against hers and she moved. The sixty or so people in the room seemed to disappear, leaving only them and the music.
Her breasts pressed against him and Khalil clenched his teeth. Keeping his eyes focused on her face, he attempted to balance the desire he felt for her with the simple need for them to just be together. It was now an understatement that he liked her, that he wanted her. In an instant it had blossomed into so much more. There was a new need now. A new purpose where she was concerned. She shifted, her hands moving to cup the back of his h
ead, her fingers splaying over his neck, spreading heat like wildfire.
Reka was caught in a dream. The room was dark but there seemed to be a spotlight on Khalil. She heard the music but concentrated more on his touch. He held her possessively, confidently, and she let herself be held. In fact, she liked it. A lot. There was something about this charming, business-like man that she’d never thought would appeal to her. But this evening, what she now admitted was a date,was turning out to be one of the best nights of her life.
His hands moved up and down her back and she pressed closer to him, needing that contact like she needed her next breath. Her center pulsed and she instantly recognized another need. She flattened her palms on his chest and let the feel of thick pectoral muscles meld into her palm. The sensations were overwhelming and she let her head fall back in enjoyment. She wasn’t prepared for it to get any better than this—after all, it was just a dance.
But then she felt his tongue hot and thick on her neck and she gasped.
Khalil couldn’t resist. She’d all but begged him to taste her, baring her slender neck to him like a willing victim to Dracula’s love. He’d assumed the role of the dark, menacing male and dropped his lips directly over the blood-filled vein and suckled. Her fingers clenched, grabbing his shirt, and he stroked and swirled his tongue from her jawbone to the beginning of her cleavage, tasting her sweetness.
She had to see his face, had to decipher what this meant to him. But when her gaze found his, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw there—desire—thick and heavy. Then his lips crashed down over hers, demanding that she open her mouth and accept him fully.
Before her eyes closed completely, his tongue was stroking hers, a silky smooth motion that mimicked the now slow movements of their dance. He touched every recess of her mouth, scraping across her teeth, drawing her bottom lip into his mouth to suck even harder. Breathing frantically, Reka was trying like hell to figure out how her idea of relaxing him had brought them to this point. She had planned to go out with him only once and end it there. Yet his mouth promised her so much more.
