Sinful Paradise (Kimani Hotties)

by Christopher, Ann

  Catching himself and hanging on to his determination to do the right thing by a frayed thread, he diverted his hands by running them both through his hair, pulling at his roots a little because he seemed to need an infusion of pain to clear his head.

  She also seemed to come to her senses and took a step away from him.

  “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, so...I’d better... I’ll just get...” He trailed off like an idiot, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder toward the limo.

  She blinked and nodded, further breaking the spell between them. “You have to go.”

  “I should go,” he agreed, even though he’d willingly pay a million dollars and sacrifice a couple of his lesser toes to stay. “Yeah. I’m gonna go.”

  Galvanized by the sudden awkwardness of the situation, he strode off and was halfway back down the steps to the street before he realized he probably didn’t want to leave things like that. There were a few important details he needed to nail down, like getting her number and making sure he’d see her again sometime soon. But this was what this woman did to him—she reduced him to a mindless idiot.

  Cursing under his breath, he wheeled back around, praying she was still there.

  “The thing is,” he began with a laugh as casual as he could make it, “I was wondering—”

  “Coffee,” she said at the same time. “I mean—do you drink coffee?”

  “I live for coffee.”

  There was a pause.

  “Good.” Nodding decisively, she stepped aside and held the door open for him.

  Abandoning all pretext of being casual, he took the steps three at a time, ridiculously grateful for any excuse to extend tonight’s interlude with her.

  Chapter 3

  They walked through the lobby and rode the elevator to the second floor in silence. The place was understated and elegant, with dark paneling, Oriental rugs, gilt mirrors, sconces and fresh flower arrangements in all the common areas. There was only one other apartment on her floor, he realized, feeling the pleasant kick of anticipation as she opened the door and let them in, clicking on the lights as she went.

  He wanted to know everything there was to know about her, and he wanted to know it now.

  “Nice digs,” he said, taking it all in with a sweeping gaze.

  That was an understatement.

  In sharp contrast to the old-money feel of the rest of the building, Gloria’s apartment was all modern decor, with boxy black leather sectionals, ottomans and chairs, sleek chrome accents, glass tables, mirrors and a wicked zebra-print rug that probably cost the Earth with a couple of minor planets thrown in. It was a straight stretch from foyer to kitchen, with living and dining areas between and the glittering lights of nighttime Manhattan on the other side of the sheer drapes. There were occasional pops of color in the accent pillows, flowers and sculptures, all of which seemed to take their inspiration from the vivid paintings on the walls.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be here.”

  “Why? Rent going up?”

  “No. The city is wearing me out. I need more space. More grass. Might be time for me to move to the suburbs.”

  He stared at her, his thoughts emptying out.

  “What?” she asked, arrested.

  “I just bought a fixer-upper in Greenwich. For those reasons. I’m having it renovated before I move in.”

  “Oh,” she said, a faint frown marring her forehead.

  After an awkward silence, he nodded to the painting over the fireplace, a study of orange, red and blue that fed the space’s energy. “Talia’s work. She’s good.”

  “Damn good,” Gloria agreed, kicking off her heels and tossing her keys in a basket on a hall console as she passed. “Free paintings are one of the perks of having a sister who’s an artist.”

  “Do you play?” He nodded at the concert-sized grand in front of the curtained windows.

  “Absolutely.” She grinned and counted on her fingers. “So far I’ve mastered ‘Chopsticks,’ ‘Twinkle, Twinkle’ and ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ Well worth the two years of lessons I’ve shelled out for. The neighbors are asleep, or I’d give you a concert. I can almost always manage to play with both hands.”

  He grinned back. “Impressive.”

  “I strive. Do you play?”

  “Hell, no. And your OCD looks like it’s worse than mine, by the way. This is some kitchen.”

  He followed her into it, afraid to touch any of the gleaming surfaces for fear he’d leave an unwanted fingerprint somewhere. In a city full of tiny galley kitchens where you could hardly open the refrigerator door without banging it into the oven, she had a full-sized kitchen with stainless-steel appliances and a six-burner stove that looked as if it could manage dinner for the whole building in ten minutes or less.

  Gloria laughed and went to work on the cappuccino machine. “Here’s a shameful secret—I don’t cook.”

  Cooper narrowed his eyes at her and focused on broaching this important subject carefully. “By don’t, you mean...?”

  “Can’t. I can’t cook.”

  “And by can’t, you mean...?”

  “I ain’t got no skills, Cooper.”

  “And by no, you mean...?”

  “I order in, okay! Or I bring it home from the hospital cafeteria! Or I eat cereal.”

  He pressed a hand to his temple and shook his head as he leaned against the black granite counter. “I need to sit down for that kind of information. This is sad, Gloria. I am saddened. Deeply saddened.”

  “I know.”

  “You don’t seem to care about this deficiency.”

  “I don’t care. I have no desire to cook.”

  “Give me a minute. I’m dizzy.”

  “So...are you a caveman, or is it a time warp and you think it’s still 1950, or—? What exactly is your objection here?”

  “I think everyone should embrace the joys of cooking a home meal. Men and women alike.”

  Gloria looked around, arrested, measuring spoon poised over the coffee. “So you cook, then.”

  “I’m a great cook. In fact—are you hungry? I’d love an omelet right about now.” He walked to the fridge, opened it and peered inside. “Maybe with some mushrooms—aaand maybe not. There’s nothing in your fridge other than pomegranate juice and Dijon mustard. I can’t cook an omelet with that. Omelets require eggs. I’m going to give you several demerits in my ongoing marriageable-woman assessments. Do you have anything frozen that I can defrost and—? Hey, what’s wrong?” He straightened and let the fridge door slam shut, food forgotten. She had a hand pressed to her belly, and her expression was so stricken and forlorn that he wondered if she was in pain.

  “Gloria?”

  She looked away, her gaze darting to the cabinets...to the coffeemaker...anywhere but him.

  “I’ve never had a man in this great apartment before, unless you count the maintenance guy and the painters.” She shook her head and worked at a wry smile, failing miserably. “I’ve never had a man offer to cook me anything. Not even microwave popcorn.” Her lips twisted; then she laughed derisively. The sound was so bitter and brittle that he winced away from it, wishing he could cover his ears. “And I’m a really stupid person. Just so you know.”

  That was going way too far, no matter what else was happening in her life.

  “You’re not stupid,” he said flatly.

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  The unshakable certainty in her voice angered him. “You’re not—”

  “Yeah, okay, you’re right.” She swiped her nose with the back of her hand and finally met his gaze, her eyes a hard glitter of self-hatred. “I’m book smart. We can agree on that. I’m an NYU-trained plastic surgeon who put herself through school and makes damn good money. I’m go
od with nose jobs and breast augmentations. If you need your chin lifted, I’m your woman. But in my personal life? Where it counts?” That bitter laugh again. “I’m too stupid to live.”

  “Gloria—”

  “But the good news is,” she added brightly, “that I’m just smart enough to be grateful you didn’t let me compound my stupidity by having sex with a near-complete stranger, even though I wanted to. So thanks again.” Her face crumpled, killing him slowly as he watched her, but he forced himself not to reach for her now because he knew she’d fall apart and hate him later for it. “Can you let yourself out? I really need to—” She gestured helplessly over her shoulder, pointing to the hallway. “I really need to go to bed.”

  With that, she clapped a hand over her mouth and raced off, disappearing down the long hallway in a swish of fragrant silk and slamming the bedroom door behind her.

  Well, shit, Cooper thought, feeling flummoxed and clumsy as he watched her go. He took one hurried step after her, caught himself, held his hands out in a hopeless gesture to no one in particular and finished, lamely, by collapsing on the nearest ottoman and cursing under his breath.

  What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  Leave?

  Yeah, no. That wasn’t going to work. He didn’t think Gloria’d ever hurt herself or anything, but he didn’t know her well and he definitely didn’t like her state of mind. She was hurting and her hurt had inexplicably become his hurt. He wasn’t going to walk out on her in a dark moment, even if she wanted him to. He rubbed a hand over his knotted gut, wishing he could loosen up some of his tight muscles.

  So...yeah. He was here for a while. He’d give her a few minutes to calm down. Then he’d try to talk to her, maybe see if he could somehow help. He could volunteer to smash Aaron’s face to smithereens. He’d be happy to help with that.

  Meanwhile, he decided, shrugging out of his jacket, untucking his shirt, rolling up his sleeves and kicking off his shoes, he might as well make himself comfortable.

  Where was the remote? Ah. There on the coffee table. He clicked the button, settled back, propped up his feet and watched as panels on the far wall slid back, revealing a theater-sized flat-screen that was even sweeter than the one at his place. A quick check of the DVR revealed a Doctor Who marathon, along with Night of the Living Dead and—no effing way—The Thing, two of his all-time favorites.

  He was overwhelmed by an unexpected feeling of...what? Not pleasure, because Gloria was upset. Contentment? Rightness? Belonging?

  He couldn’t name it.

  All he knew was that he liked it, and her, and he liked her better the more he learned about her.

  Prompted by his rumbling stomach, he pulled out his phone and dialed Bruce, who was no doubt circling the block or idling at the curb, awaiting further instructions.

  Half an hour later, he was finishing off his third slice of pizza and about to select a fourth when a startled voice behind him made him jump out of his skin.

  “Oh, my God! What the hell are you still doing here?”

  He leaped to his feet and wheeled around to face Gloria, who was gaping at him.

  “Eating pizza,” he told her around a large mouthful.

  “Why?” she cried.

  “I was hungry.”

  “No! Why are you still here?”

  “You were upset,” he said simply.

  She stared at him.

  “Oh,” she said faintly.

  He waited for her verdict, his throat tight and his mouth dry.

  “Just my luck,” she muttered after several long beats. “Trapped in my own apartment with a crazy-ass Boy Scout.”

  “Eagle Scout. Just to clarify.” He worked hard to keep his relief on lockdown and show some level of contrition. He knew he’d had no business hanging out. Well...no business other than his growing fascination with her. “And I’m sorry. If I took advantage.”

  She snorted. “If?”

  He pressed his lips together to keep them from twitching. “I did provide the food.”

  “And you ate the food,” she snapped.

  “I saved you some.”

  Still fuming, she jammed a hand on her hip and divided her glare between him, the pizza box and his glass of pomegranate juice on the coffee table.

  “I used a coaster,” he pointed out.

  A hint of amusement lit her expression for the first time as she looked to the TV. “Doctor Who?”

  He grinned. “You have good taste in recorded shows.”

  That seemed to mollify her a little. She considered the pizza again, taking her time about deciding his fate. He used the opportunity to consider her.

  Just showered fresh, fragrant with floral body wash or lotion or God-knew-what, she was a dizzying temptation. The most challenging possible test of his self-control.

  The slinky black dress was gone, replaced by what was apparently her bedtime outfit, which consisted of a lacy white camisole shirt and a pair of white bikinis.

  That was it.

  Which meant that the gentle swells of her breasts were clearly visible, treating him to the sight of perfect dark nipples perfectly centered in breasts that would be, he was sure, perfect handfuls for him—

  “You’re not staring at my boobs, are you, Cooper?” she asked, now leaning over the coffee table to grab a napkin.

  Caught, he decided to just roll with it.

  “Nah. I’ve moved on to your ass.”

  And what an ass it was, high and round, tight with the kind of muscle definition that announced she was either a jogger or a dancer, possibly both. She didn’t have much in the way of hips, but who the hell cared when her legs were long and shapely, without an ounce of fat on them?

  Having selected a piece of pizza and put it on her plate, she turned to face him. Her face was washed and makeup-free, he realized, but she was, if anything, more beautiful without it, especially with that wicked gleam in her eyes.

  “I never miss yoga class.”

  Yoga! God, he loved yoga.

  “And I’m a runner, so I have a great body,” she announced. “You probably noticed.”

  The understatement of the millennium right there. “Yes, ma’am. I noticed.”

  “And you’re probably regretting not taking me up on my offer earlier, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Poor Cooper,” she said. “That’s a real shame, isn’t it?”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” he agreed sourly.

  “Because we’d be in my bed right now, wrapped around each other, and I’d be making you come until your eyes crossed.”

  He stilled, arrested by the images now cartwheeling through his overheated imagination, which included Gloria sweat-slicked and moaning as she arched beneath him, and his blood and face grew several degrees warmer. The front of his pants, meanwhile, was getting tighter by the second.

  She was good, this one. She was very, very good.

  But so was he.

  “And you’d be saying my name.” Raising his juice glass, he toasted her and sipped, holding her turbulent eyes as he did so. “Over and over again.”

  Gloria hesitated, her discreet gaze flickering to his crotch and back up again so quickly he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been so intensely focused on her.

  “But now you have to lie in that horrible bed you made for yourself, don’t you?” There was a new huskiness in her voice. “Pun intended.”

  He sighed. His hips, acting on their own accord, shifted restlessly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So keep your eyes in your head, okay?” she finished sweetly.

  “I’ll try. No promises. Can I stay?”

  He waited, hoping that last question didn’t sound too desperate and fearing that it did. Not that there was any
thing he could do about it, because he was quickly discovering that when it came to Gloria, he had precious little control over himself. And he really didn’t want to be banished to his lonely apartment.

  Not now that he knew what it was like to spend time here with her.

  “That depends,” she told him, dimpling. “Are there anchovies on this pizza?”

  He blinked at her, trying to keep a handle on his soaring hopes. “Why would anyone order a pizza without anchovies?”

  Grinning, she swept her hand toward the sofa, grabbed a fuzzy sweater off the end and slipped it on, covering herself enough for him to keep his sanity, then plopped to the right of where he’d been sitting. “Make yourself comfy.”

  Returning the grin, he sighed and collapsed back into his seat. This time he had no problem identifying the emotion welling inside him.

  It was happiness.

  The feeling was so overwhelming and delicious that he opened his mouth and spoke without thinking. “A man could seriously fall in love with you, Gloria.”

  The words landed hard, thudding into their newfound accord and mushrooming into a painful silence. Both of them hastily looked away, flushing and determined not to meet the other’s eyes.

  Chapter 4

  They settled in and ate and watched Doctor Who without talking. Since he was a guy who could easily make a thousand words last several days, and since he was determined to take his cues from her and she seemed comfortable with the silence, it took him a while to notice that she wasn’t laughing when he was...that she was just picking at her pizza...that—he shot her a sidelong glance—her expression was glazed and vacant as the ending credits rolled.

  He checked his watch. It was half past dead of night. Time for him to go home.

  Except that there was nothing waiting for him at home. Everything he wanted was here.

  “Hey,” he said quietly, nudging her shoulder as he clicked off the TV. “You okay?”

  Startled out of whatever dark thoughts she’d been thinking, she nodded quickly—too quickly—ducked her head, swiped at her eyes and tried to smile.