His Secret Desire (Atlanta Nights)

by Linda Verji

  She had. When she was dating Tay. Yikes. Sebastien probably thought she was a whore moving from one friend to another. Her chest tightened painfully as Marcel maneuvered his car past the large gates marking his brother’s home down the long driveway. There were already several cars parked outside the ranch-style house.

  Just how big was his family?

  Her heart began to drum even faster. By the time Marcel stopped his Lexus beside a dark red Navigator, Olivia was ready to snatch the car keys from him and make a quick getaway.

  “Relax, sweetheart,” Marcel said as he reached for her hand again and squeezed her fingers in reassurance. “You’ll be okay.”

  “Woof,” Pig barked in the backseat.

  “See even Pig agrees.”

  “What if they don’t like me?” The words slipped from her lips before she thought to hide her vulnerability from him.

  “They’ll like you.” His hand moved upward to her chin and he turned her to face him. “But even if they don’t, who cares? I like you.”

  His words were very sweet, but they weren’t enough to slow her racing pulse. Unbuckling his seatbelt, he leaned forward and set his lips on hers. Despite her anxiety, she responded to the slow movement of his mouth over hers. He teased open her lips with a flick of his tongue against their seam. When she parted her lips, he eased his tongue in to dance with hers for a long delicious moment. The kiss was soft, coaxing and exactly what she needed to soothe her frazzled nerves.

  “You’ll be okay,” he husked when they finally stopped to take a breath. One last suckle of her bottom lip and plunge of his tongue into her mouth, then he ended the kiss. Helping her with her seatbelt, he added, “I promise.”

  Though his words and kiss had somewhat soothed her, her stomach stayed knotted even as he released Pig from the backseat. Pig bounded away, disappearing behind the garage while Marcel circled to the trunk to grab the potato salad she’d packed as their contribution to the barbecue. Casserole dish in one hand, he linked their hands and led the way to the front door of the large bungalow.

  Even before they rang the bell, a curvy woman with skin the color of coffee, hair bigger than Diana Ross’s and a smile for days threw the door open. “Yay! You’re here. I was beginning to think you were too chicken to come get your ass whooped again.”

  Marcel rolled his eyes. “You cheated last week. I know you had some extra cards hidden in your weave.”

  “How many times have I told you…” The woman’s words drifted off as she finally noticed Olivia. Apparently it was possible for her smile to get even wider. “Hi, Olivia, right?”

  “Hi.” Olivia offered her a tentative smile.

  “Livy, this is our resident poker cheater a.k.a. Rasheeda, my sister-in-law,” Marcel introduced.

  “He’s just salty because I beat him every week,” Rasheeda dismissed. “And you can call me Sheeda. Come in. Come in.”

  “Thank you,” Olivia said as she and Marcel stepped into the house. She was welcomed by the merriment that filled the house. Soft music, sounds of laughter and chatting coming from somewhere beyond the foyer, and the delicious smells emerging from an open door to the right. But it was the house itself that caught her immediate attention.

  It was exquisite.

  The circular foyer’s bamboo flooring was a perfect complement to the merigold walls and the large animal print rug in the middle of the space. Tribal masks lined the off-white walls. In between the masks were five glass framed black and white, hand-etchings of the family. One etching of Sebastien, another of Rasheeda, another of a boy with close-cut hair, and one of his twin with wilder hair. The final etching was much larger and had them all bundled together grinning. Olivia found herself smiling along.

  “You’re as beautiful as I heard,” Rasheeda gushed as she closed the door behind them. “I love your tattoos. And your braids. Where did you get them done?”

  Marcel saved a blushing Olivia by interjecting, “Sheeda, leave my date alone.” He shoved the casserole dish into Rasheeda’s arms. “Here. Go disturb someone else.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Rasheeda turned a gleaming smile at Olivia. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Olivia said.

  Marcel protested, “Why are you assuming that she made it. It could’ve been me.”

  “Huh! I’ve seen you burn water,” Rasheeda snorted. Starting towards a door to the right, she said, “Let me put this in the kitchen. The others are out in the backyard.”

  “See they’re not so bad,” Marcel reassured as he urged Olivia through a tastefully decorated living room to the backyard.

  One down, many, many more to go. Marcel and Sebastien were the only members of their nuclear family still living but it seemed they’d carved out a new family for themselves when Sebastien had married Rasheeda.

  Olivia was introduced to Anna, Rasheeda’s mother and the apparent matriarch of this unit. Rasheeda was the second born in Anna’s brood of four girls. She was preceded by Yasmin, followed by Stevie, and Lulu was the youngest. Yasmin had turned up with her husband, Kane and their three kids, while both Stevie and Lulu had come with dates.

  Add in Rasheeda’s family of four along with their multitude of pets (a dog identical to Pig, a cat, a hamster and two rabbits), it should’ve been overwhelming. But they all welcomed Olivia like she was a part of their large, happy family. Pretty soon she was relaxed enough to wander away from Marcel and sit with Stevie and Lulu by the pool watching the younger kids splashing around.

  “Are you sure we don’t know each other?” Stevie’s brow furrowed as she stared at Olivia. Olivia could understand the feeling. Of the Johnson sisters, Stevie was the one Olivia related to most. They were around the same age, had already compared tattoos, traded salonists and discovered their mutual love of all things fitness. She was like a sister from another mother.

  “I swear I’ve met you before,” Stevie insisted.

  “I doubt it,” Olivia said as she cut into the hunk of steak in her plate. “Considering you’re a celebrity, I’d definitely remember meeting you.”

  “Don’t flatter her.” Lulu, the hippie of the clan, rolled her eyes as she spooned some of Olivia’s potato salad into her mouth. “We have enough trouble trying to fit her big head into hats without you inflating it even more.”

  “You’re just jealous cause my show got ranked number one in the country while your tired ass is still stuck in college trying to figure out what one plus one is,” Stevie teased. “Its two, little girl. Two”

  “Wait until I’m running this country’s economy,” Lulu threatened. “Just wait!”

  Olivia grinned, enjoying their teasing banter, the good food and the general easy atmosphere of the barbecue. After the meal, the three of them headed to the kitchen to help Yasmin with the dishes. Soon Anna joined them. The older woman was as genuine and unpretentious as her daughters and had a warm motherly air about her that had Olivia wishing she’d known her own mother.

  Olivia found herself opening up to the older woman. “My mum died when I was two.”

  “I’m sorry,” Anna clucked sympathetically. “It must’ve been hard growing up without her.”

  “It was okay.” Olivia shrugged as she rinsed the plate Stevie had passed her. “I had my dad and my grandparents.”

  Anna opened her mouth to say something but was cut short by Stevie’s gasp. “Oh! Now I remember how I know you. You’re E-Hawk’s daughter.”

  Olivia’s pulse jumped, and her stomach knotted in anxiety. It had been such a long time since anyone had connected her with her dad that it hadn’t even crossed her mind that that might how Stevie knew her.

  “Nooo,” Yasmin’s eyes widened in shock. “She can’t be E-Hawk’s daughter.”

  “E-Hawk?” Anna looked askance between her daughters and Olivia. “Who is E-Hawk?”

  “No way,” Lulu gasped, her mother’s question completely flying past her. “You can’t be E-Hawk’s daughter. His daughter is…” Olivia winced at the inevitable w
ord, “… fat.”

  “She’s lost weight, dummy!” Stevie reprimanded even as she grinned triumphantly. “You’re her, aren’t you? I remember you ‘cause of how you got your tattoos at thirteen and almost gave the press a heart attack.” She laughed. “You go, girl.”

  “Can someone tell me who E-Hawk is?” Anna interrupted loudly.

  “He’s a really popular rapper and music producer, Mama. You don’t know him,” Yasmin explained even as Lulu and Stevie fawned over Olivia. Olivia answered their questions about where she’d been for the last thirteen years and why she’d disappeared from the celebrity social scene, but inside she was cringing.

  She hated the attention then, and she hated it now.

  Marcel was as surprised as everyone else to find out that Olivia was E-Hawk’s daughter. Now all the records in her apartment made sense. Part of him was still in shock that he was dating a celebrity. The other part was curious about why Olivia wasn’t interested in claiming her celebrity status. He could see it in the stiffness in her smile as his family questioned her.

  He wasn’t the only one who noticed her reticence. Soon the older members of the family changed the topic to draw the attention away from her. Even Stevie and Sebastien who he was sure were itching to have her dad on their respective shows backed off.

  But the news was out.

  Chang, Yasmin’s teenage son, was particularly ridiculous in his fawning. Olivia had gained a groupie in the wannabe rapper as soon as Lulu had blurted out who she was. He kept sidling next to her and offering to give her his demo tape. Kane had to pull the boy away by his blond dreadlocks to keep him from bursting into a song right there.

  Soon Olivia relaxed again, her smile warming up as she joined Marcel, Rasheeda and Kane for a game of poker. But to make sure she was okay, Marcel followed her when she broke away from the group to go freshen up.

  He was nearing the bathroom door when it swung open and she emerged.

  “Sorry,” Olivia started, but when she saw it was him her lips widened in a smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” With an identical grin, he grasped her waist and backed her back into the spacious bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, an amused twinkle in her eyes as she watched him turn the lock on the door.

  “Kissing you.” He bent his head and did just that.

  Her taste was as delicious as he remembered and he couldn’t get enough of it. He slanted his lips over hers and drank his fill while his hands roamed freely over her back and ass. As responsive as always, Olivia curved her arms around his shoulders and arched upwards for more of the kiss.

  Their lips and tongues tangled in a dance as old as time, sending spikes of desire through him and straight to his cock. Eager to satisfy it but not dumb enough to try it with all the kids in the house, Marcel let the kiss peter off into a series of soft pecks.

  “You okay?” he asked huskily when they took a breather.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “The thing about your dad.” He ran his thumb over her lush bottom lip as he watched her expression. “I know you didn’t want to talk about him.”

  “It’s not my dad I didn’t want to talk about.” She lowered her eyes as if embarrassed. “It’s that whole lifestyle.”

  He wanted to ask her more questions, find out what she meant. He wanted to know everything about Olivia. What made her happy? What made her sad? What had made her evaporate from the social scene all over sudden? How she’d turned out so well as opposed to all the celebrity kids who got swallowed up by that superficial world. Everything. He wanted to be the one she shared her secrets with.

  But something told him that this conversation would need more than a few minutes in his brother’s bathroom. He tipped her chin upwards and asked, “We’ll talk about it later?”

  He was glad he’d deferred his questions when she offered him a bright smile. “Okay.”

  She rose on tiptoes for another tongue-searing kiss that had him grabbing her ass and dragging her closer to press his cock to her tummy. She was the one who stopped the kiss this time, squeezing his arm and whispering against his lips. “Not here, baby.”

  Groaning in frustration, he dipped his head for one last tempting kiss before pulling away from her to cool down. He sat on the edge of the sink counter watching her with hooded eyes.

  Olivia leaned back against the door as she met his gaze with a smile. “I like your family.”

  “Aren’t you glad I brought you along now?” he teased. “You could’ve been so bored at home with only Mr. Ted to keep you company.”

  “Ho ho, fighting words, huh?” She chuckled. “That’s rich coming from a man who screamed like a little girl when he met Mr. Ted.”

  “I did not scream,” Marcel protested. “I growled.”

  He’d had the pleasure of meeting Olivia’s furry, oversized friend when she’d snuck the teddy bear into her bed while Marcel was asleep. Marcel had almost had a heart attack when he’d woken up at three a.m. to a pair of eerie, glassy eyes staring at him. Olivia had fallen to the floor in laughter when he’d responded with a scream - a manly scream.

  Never again.

  Marcel would burn that teddy bear if he had to.

  Fortunately he didn’t have to. At least not tonight. Olivia agreed to his suggestion to spend the night at his place and he’d drive her to work the following morning. They were getting ready to leave when Sebastien gave Olivia a hug, inviting her to come back anytime. It meant a lot to Marcel, because if there was anyone he wanted getting along with his woman, it was Sebastien.

  His woman.

  Marcel smiled. He liked the sound of that.

  CHAPTER 22

  “I can’t believe this,” Olivia clucked disapprovingly as she stacked several containers of food into Marcel’s fridge later that evening. “You literally have only beer and eggs in here.”

  “Don’t forget the donut,” Marcel who was seated atop the island pointed out. When she cut her eyes at him, he defended himself. “That’s a nutritious meal right there. Beer has carbs and vitamins while eggs are proteins. And donuts are a food group all on their own.”

  “You need to get your life.” She shook her head and closed the fridge. “What would you do if your family didn’t send you home with food?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “Eat at your place.”

  “Boy, please.” She kissed her teeth. “You’re crazy if you think I’ll let you sponge off me.”

  “Aw, come on.” Marcel hopped off the island and came toward her. “You’re mad cause I don’t know how to cook?”

  “Don’t even come close to me.” She batted his hand away and threw him an annoyed look. “What kind of man can’t cook for himself at your age? You probably don’t even know how to do laundry because your wife is supposed to do all that for your lazy ass.”

  “Chill with the assumptions,” he protested. “First, I do know how to do laundry. I bet I’m even better than you. Second, I know how to cook.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and twisted her lips in disbelief.

  “Fine, I know how to cook pasta and eggs.” He grabbed her hand. She tried to pull it away but his hold was persistent. “And the only reason I don’t cook anything else is because at our house Sebastien was the one who liked all that cooking stuff. So we traded. I did dishes, he cooked.”

  Refusing to be seduced by his somewhat logical defense, Olivia narrowed her eyes at him. “What about in college?”

  “Everybody lives on ramen noodles so you can’t blame me for not learning then.” Before she could ask about the years after college, he added, “Afterwards, we started the family barbecue. The ladies always send me home with so much food I never have to cook.”

  Okay! Maybe she’d been too quick to tag him as a sexist. But still, he was a grown man who didn’t know how to feed himself. She clucked disapprovingly, “They’ve spoilt you. Now I’ll have to be the one teach how to throw down.”

  “Oh yeah?” His voice deepened
and his eyes darkened as he hooked her hand around his neck. Setting his hand on her waist, he crowded closer to her. “You’ll teach me?”

  His liquid deep voice, the look in his eyes and the brush of his chest against hers was like an aphrodisiac, and heat slowly unfurled inside her. Touching her tongue to her bottom lip, she breathed, “Yeah, I’ll teach you how to cook.”

  “What lesson will you start with first?”

  “How to-” How was she supposed to think with his hand inching up her torso? She lowered her head to watch its movement. The back brushed against the underside of her breast. She held her breath in anticipation, waited for him to cup her already throbbing flesh.

  “How to what?” he whispered hotly against her temple as he brushed a finger over her nipple.

  “Uh… um…” What were they talking about again? Oh yeah! “Chicken.”

  “I like chicken,” he whispered as he pinched one aching tip. Her dress and bra were no defense against the sharp jolt of pleasurable pain that seared through her. “What kind of chicken?”

  “Uh… umm… chicken alf - Aaah,” she whimpered, thrusting her chest towards him and begging him to cup her breasts.

  “I’ve never heard of chicken alf?” He grazed his lips down her ear. He lightly nipped at her earlobe as he pinched her nipple again.

  “Alfred… alfredo… ssss,” she corrected herself on a hiss of delicious agony. Her arm tightened around his neck as she grabbed his wrist with her other hand urging him to engulf her breast fully.

  “What’s in it?” He obeyed her unspoken request, molding his large palm over her flesh. A satisfied moan tore from her lips to echo in the kitchen. “What’s in the chicken alfredo, Livy?”

  Bloody hell! How could this man talk about food when she was on fire, imploding from the inside? He may not know how to cook but he was a master at seduction. His hands were those of a skilled potter, molding and shaping her into a wanton with each practiced touch.

  “What’s in it?” he repeated, cupping and squeezing her flesh.

  “Mm mm,” was the only sound she could push through her parched lips. Breathless with lust, Olivia tightened her grip on his wrist and turned her face towards his mouth.