“I’m out of coffee,” she said.
“I’m not here for coffee.”
Her smile reflected sarcasm. “Yeah, I know.” Turning back to the stove, she hastily pulled out mugs from a small cabinet next to it. She stopped when she felt him behind her. He didn’t touch her, but Ray felt him just the same—as though his presence radiated like the sun. She turned, and still Barker didn’t touch her. Instead, he leaned close to search her eyes with his.
“I came to see that you got home safe because I didn’t like the idea of you coming up here alone. I didn’t like the thought of you being alone.”
“I’m not alone, Barker, and I’m not some sad case needing to be pitied.”
“I agree, and because you’re not is why I’m here.” He smiled, shifting a look past her shoulder. “The water’s about to boil.”
Ray could’ve cared less. Again, his words held her in a rapt state. She wanted what his eyes promised. She wanted to know if his mouth was as honey-sweet as the voice that resonated beyond it.
“Ray?” He gave a solitary nod then. “The water.”
She snapped to. The reminder, paired with the insistent whistle of the silver kettle, was successful in tugging her thoughts out of the inappropriate places they lingered. With a hasty turn toward the stove, she removed the kettle from the glowing orange burner. When she turned back, Barker was gone.
* * *
“So, who’s the photographer?” Barker was asking just over ten minutes later.
They were back in the living room with mugs of robust black tea in hand. The remote-controlled blaze across from the sofa bathed the room in comforting warmth.
Ray looked to the piece that had caught Barker’s eye. It was one of several that featured her in an array of dance poses in genres ranging from ballet to jazz. “Courtesy of Miss Jaz,” she said.
Barker smiled, regarding the large photograph above the hearth with renewed interest. “I didn’t know she was a photographer.” He referred to the late Jazmina Beaumont. The woman had been revered yet scandalized during her reign as one of Philadelphia’s most successful female entrepreneurs. Her franchise of gentlemen’s clubs had been fixtures across the nation.
Ray snuggled into her side of the long chair she shared with Barker. “She had them professionally done when she was thinking of turning the clubs into dance schools.”
Barker showed his surprise. “I thought that was Clarissa’s idea.” Clarissa David was Jazmina Beaumont’s niece and Rayelle’s oldest friend.
“Nope.” Ray sipped her tea. “Miss J had the idea years before but...well, a woman’s gotta make a living. A dance school wasn’t where the money was—at least it wasn’t there for women like Jazmina Beaumont.”
“Ahead of her time,” Barker noted.
“Very.” Ray used her mug to toast and then set it aside.
“It’s a shame.” Barker’s dark eyes continued to roam the photograph with approval and intrigue. “With you for her spokesmodel, they would’ve been turning away students at the door.”
“Hmph...sometimes, I forget that’s even me.”
The admission had Barker turning reluctantly from the black-and-white picture. It was a vision with Ray captured in a dark leotard, her shoulder-length hair wrapped around her head in a thick braid with a ringlet of small flowers artistically woven throughout.
“How old were you there?”
She shrugged. “Nineteen or twenty.”
“Unbelievable.” Barker sent another look above the hearth.
“What?” Ray paused en route to reaching for her mug.
“You could’ve taken that yesterday.”
“Ha! Don’t be fooled, Mr. Reporter. The thighs in that picture have changed.”
Barker put his mug on the mantel and turned. “I can’t tell how that’s a bad thing,” he said.
Just like that, Ray felt absorbed in the mesmerizing depths of his stare, until he broke the spell.
“So, why don’t you recognize yourself?” He smiled, watching as she worked to fix on the question.
Ray noticed and had to wonder if he was purposefully trying to keep her off-kilter. If so, he was damn good at it.
“Miss J always thought I could be more than what she thought I was settling for by working for her.”
“And what was that?”
“Well, she wanted to be a serious dancer. She thought I did, too. Doesn’t everyone?” Ray shifted on the sofa and shrugged. “I mean, who’d want to take her clothes off for money? It wasn’t my life’s dream, but neither was becoming renowned on the world’s stage.”
“She wanted more for you.”
“She’d already given me more. I was more from the day I met her.” Ray blinked, as though suddenly realizing where she was—what she was saying. She didn’t dare look to Barker Grant then. The man was way too easy to talk to. Which was dangerous, considering there were things she’d forbidden herself to ever speak of outside of certain circles...
Barker didn’t pry. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, Ray,” he told her instead. She looked at him then, stunned. Good, he thought. It was the reaction he’d hoped for. He’d known full well that wasn’t what she’d been thinking. He knew wherever her thoughts were settled, it wasn’t a place she wanted to share with him.
“I’ve been told I can be intimidating.” Barker added a faint shrug as though he considered the idea a ridiculous one.
Though she considered herself relatively safe with him, Ray found the notion far from ridiculous. While Barker Grant was considered to be a respected journalist both at home and on the national landscape, many believed it was his looks that accounted for much of his “celebrity.”
Fierce and intimidating were natural terms that came to mind when the man was the topic of conversation. Ray had been privy to quite a few of those chats, especially following the recent case that had started with discrepancies in Jazmina Beaumont’s own franchise. Those discrepancies had culminated with the takedown of several high-ranking Philadelphia officials—thanks in part to Barker. His station, WPXI, had started putting certain key pieces in place before any real suspicions were ever conjured.
No surprise there—much of Barker’s respect stirred from spot-on instincts that had resulted in stories that had toppled big names in Philadelphia and beyond. Intelligence, instincts, to-die-for looks fringed with the unmistakable hint of ferocity and...yes, intimidation was an understandable reaction.
Ray supposed she should’ve at least felt somewhat unnerved at being alone in her apartment with a man she didn’t really know—a man who seemed to fill a room with his presence without saying a word. She supposed she should have considered the possibilities of what could happen if she wanted him to leave and he chose not to...she hadn’t considered any of those things. Asking Barker to leave hadn’t even registered.
“Do you want me to be intimidated?” she asked, her tone quiet.
“No.” He leaned on the wall next to the mantel. “You should ask me to go anyway, though.”
Ray refused to blink or even to swallow around the sudden lump at the back of her throat. “Why would you want me to do that?”
“Because if I stay, we’ll be here for a while, and most of that time will be spent doing what we should’ve been doing in the Bahamas. What we should’ve been doing long before the Bahamas.”
“I’m confused.” She said the words while sharing a look that expressed just the opposite. Part of her hoped they would continue along this line of discussion. The other part of her anticipated him changing tactics on her once again.
“That’s a shame.” He pushed off the wall.
Ray pegged the edge to his soft voice as resignation, and she assumed their time together had reached its end. She stood, deciding to beat him to the door. Instead, she found her path blocked and then she was taken off her feet entirely.
/>
“Where?” he queried against her cheek.
Anywhere, the initial response came to mind silently before she reconsidered. She’d stand a better chance of keeping him longer if he were in her bed.
Desperate, Ray? a voice jibed. So what if she was? She’d damn well earned the right to treat herself, and what better treat than over six foot five inches of well-defined dark onyx muscle with a stunning brain to match.
“Around the corner—the door at the end of the hall,” she said.
“That far, huh? Will you cut me some slack if we make it as far as the hall?”
Laughter bubbled inside Ray’s chest, but was stifled by the quick deep lunge of Barker’s tongue inside her mouth. She shuddered against him, and Barker felt his sure grip weaken where he cradled her bottom.
He had bargained about making it as far as the hall, but was suddenly weighing the odds of making it from the living room. Rayelle Keats had been a fixture in his mind for too long not to have her presence now wreaking all sorts of chaos on his mind and body. He stood there with her in the middle of the warm, bright room, kissing her like they had all the time in the world. He didn’t intend to rush this. He’d meant what he’d said. They’d be there for a while.
Chapter 2
All Ray wanted was out of her clothes. Well...maybe that wasn’t all she wanted. It’d be a fine start, though. Anything to bring her a few steps closer to the bliss she had no doubt she’d find in Barker Grant’s arms.
He wasn’t exactly preventing her from stripping, but her hands felt deliciously weak in the wake of his touch, where they rested in loose fists at his shoulders. His wide palms kneaded her bottom where he cupped it.
The slow massaging strokes were as soothing as those his tongue used to pamper her mouth. When he did withdraw from the kiss, it was to slide his mouth along the line of her neck. His perfect teeth grated the column intermittently as it lowered. Drawing closer to the base of her throat, he used the tip of his tongue to deftly stroke the area until she was all but breathless.
Barker took the path toward the hall that was just past the longest wall in the gold-lit room. By then, his mouth was at her earlobe. He suckled the spot in a way Ray felt captured the perfect blend of pleasure and pain.
Again, she made an effort—a weak one—to get out of her clothes. Her short-waist burgundy-and-emerald knit sweater was easy enough to discard. The cap-sleeved button-down shirt beneath it took a bit of undoing. This was due to Barker trading his captivating suckle at her lobe for driving his tongue into her ear and rotating the tip while she gasped and shuddered anew.
All the while, Barker continued his trek toward the hall. He made terrific progress, though he kept his steps slow. That wasn’t only for safety’s sake, but more to relish the feel of her body next to his. She was a slender thing, and yet the actual feel of her told a different story. She felt lush and supple as opposed to fragile. Her bottom abundantly filled his wide palms and they cupped, squeezed and fondled to no end. Silently, Barker cursed the fact that she was still inside her jeans. Not for long, he swore.
Ray’s arms were linked about his neck, her elegant fingers playing lazily at his nape and the sleek hair tapered there. Her moans carried on a sultry chord that entwined with her frequent gasps, which were the personification of erotic. How had this woman eluded him for so long? Then again, Barker supposed she hadn’t. Not really. He’d merely been waiting for the right time. Perhaps they both had.
Ray worked earnestly to rid herself of the shirt Barker had watched her board the plane wearing when they left Nassau. He’d been doing a fine job of not objectifying her during their time down there. At least, he hoped he’d done a fine job of not letting on that he’d been objectifying her. That wasn’t saying much for him, but what she thought was very important. She had been objectified enough in her life.
Besides, the tropics didn’t require much in the way of clothing. Barker wouldn’t lie—at least not to himself—that he very much wanted to know what Rayelle Keats looked like out of her clothes—what she was like in bed...
He was about to have those questions answered. She was a woman a man would want to keep...those words filtered back to the front of his mind. He’d remembered saying them during a talk with one of his old friends during the trip. Somehow, he knew he’d feel that way once they crossed certain boundaries.
Of course he’d want to keep her. The question would still remain however—would she want to be kept?
Ray had managed to free one arm from her puffy shirt sleeve, and Barker decided to help with the rest. They were nearing the end of the corridor. Barker stopped there, putting her between himself and the wall. He used a knee to anchor her there and to free his hands in order to assist.
She’d managed to undo the buttons to just below her bra, enabling her to tug her arm from the sleeve. Barker stopped short of ripping the delicate buttons en route to opening the rest of her shirt. The sight of her generous cleavage heaving above the bra’s lacy confines sent heat rising at the collar of his shirt. The garment’s front clasp was a welcome sight. With the press of a thumb, he unhooked the fastening with expert skill. His seductively curved mouth was there to capture a nipple when a breast spilled free of the dark lace.
Ray felt weakness infuse her hands again. She could barely cling to his biceps, which felt like long stone slabs beneath her palms. He seemed to devour a pert, pebble-hard bud while his thumb raked its twin with firm, repetitive strokes. Eagerly, she pushed her breast deep into his mouth and emitted a long, shaky moan that captured the hint of a sigh.
Barker wasn’t silent either. His groans crested on rough, rugged chords that mimicked the way his tongue handled the nipple it bathed. Once satisfied he’d tended to it properly, he moved on to its mate. So as not to totally abandon the bud, his thumb grazed the wet peak with the same firm strokes.
Ray bit down hard on her lip as though the move enabled her to more intensely savor the unexpected treat. Just as she’d come to accept her relationship with Barker Grant would go no further...this happened. Despite his gifted, attentive manner, she expressed a disappointed whine when he altogether abandoned her chest.
Instead of shushing her, Barker re-engaged their kiss, which proved to be a far more effective silencer. Ray sensed when they’d crossed her bedroom threshold. Silently, she commended the man’s talent for following instructions and then figured much of that had to do with his reporter’s instincts.
She’d expected to soon feel her bed at her back, but Barker had her meeting another wall instead. Ray had no argument. Her shirt and bra had drifted to the floor long ago—her spot at the wall would give him leave to undo her jeans.
In the spirit of reciprocity, she made a hasty yet efficient effort at sending his shirt to the floor. It didn’t take long to bare what she knew—if only by sight—to be a superior chest. Sight had nothing on touch, she discovered when his shirt hit the floor and they met flesh-to-flesh.
She was moving to the waistband of his jeans when Barker set her down suddenly. A few vicious tugs had her denim peeling away from her legs and thighs. Eagerly, she kicked herself free of the material, along with the panties and tights she wore. She had but a moment to bask in the feel of being out of her travel clothes.
Soon, Barker had her positioned in what appeared to be his preferred spot for her against the wall. Ray locked her legs around his back and realized he was as bare as she. He seamlessly freed himself of her hold and she smiled, observing the condom he’d taken from his jeans.
“You came prepared.” Her words were slurred.
Barker used his teeth to rip into the packaging. “Hope you’re not offended,” he said.
“I’ll worry about it later—” Her response broke on a gasp when he tugged her closer.
He spread her thighs, yet cupped them loosely in an encompassing grip. With ample space to accommodate his broad frame, he took h
er body in one filling stroke. Ray’s gasps became hiccups flavored with erotic approval. Barker murmured a lurid curse into the dip of her neck as he sank into the deep, moist well of her sex. Faintly, he berated himself for not taking time to more properly ready her. He’d make it up—there was no doubting that. With the plan settled in his mind, Barker gave himself over to the range of sensation and pleasure rifling through him.
His strength was as impressive as it was arousing, she thought while Barker used one steely arm to support her. His other rested against the wall—forearm lying flush against it. The only sign of weakness he showed was the once clenched fist, now barely closed, against the wall as he gasped harshly into her neck.
Rayelle’s gasps then resembled sighs that betrayed the weakest strains of blissful laughter. She felt herself being stretched anew with each thrust he subjected her to. The strokes were deep, long and deliciously intense. When her sighs caught on a hiccup or sharp gasp, that intensity became ruthless, relentless and shockingly infectious.
Between the wall at her back and the wall of muscle trapping her against it, Ray felt suspended between an almost desperate need for release and the need to remain suspended in the lusty wave she rode with eager greed. Barker cradled her bottom in both hands, using the improved stance to drive her in a fiercely erotic manner that all but stole her breath. She kept her arms locked tightly at his neck. She was sensitive enough to feel every square inch of his flesh against hers. Her nipples tingled as they crushed into the unyielding brick that was his chest. She could feel the tips of his middle fingers grazing her folds and keeping time to the potent advance and retreat of his erection staking a sultry claim. She could feel his perfect teeth raking her shoulder and the wildly sensitive spot below her ear.
Delicious as it all was, nothing compared to the sensation of his release flooding her core. She could feel the warmth of it against the condom’s thin sheeting. He secured her thighs in a hold that danced the line between firm and viselike.
Seductive Moments Page 2
