by Naomi Chase
Tamia scowled at him. “I told you I had nothing to do with him showing up here. I haven’t had any contact with him since I went to prison!”
Brandon nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m just letting you know.”
“Whatever.” Hurt, angry, and annoyed, she sat up all the way and unwrapped her legs from around his waist. “Could you hand me my leggings, please?”
Brandon hesitated, his heavy-lidded eyes lowering to her pussy and lingering there.
The longer he stared at her, the more hot and bothered Tamia became. When she couldn’t take anymore, she put her finger under his goateed chin and lifted his head, forcing him to meet her exasperated gaze.
“If you’re not gonna fuck me,” she snapped, “at least let me get dressed.”
He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring as he wrestled with temptation.
Tamia waited, pulse pounding, clit throbbing.
After several moments, Brandon turned away and walked over to where he’d dropped her leggings on the floor. When he returned to her, he knelt and slowly pulled the black spandex over her calves, up her thighs and, when she lifted off the table, over her hips and ass. It was the first time Tamia had ever been dressed—as opposed to undressed—by a man, and it turned her on even more than she already was.
But she wasn’t going to beg Brandon to finish what he’d started, no matter how badly she wanted him to. He’d already gotten enough pleasure from torturing her tonight.
Frowning at the thought, Tamia grumbled, “You’re different.”
Brandon’s eyes lifted to hers. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ve always known you had a ruthless streak, but it seems even more noticeable tonight.”
Brandon looked amused. “Yesterday you told me I seemed more relaxed.”
“Well, yeah, you do. But at the same time, you also seem more ... hardened.” She hesitated uncertainly. “I hope I didn’t do that to you.”
“Maybe.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Or maybe this is the real me.”
Tamia frowned again. “What do you mean?”
He got slowly to his feet. “Maybe I didn’t let you see the real me when we were dating. Or maybe you only saw what you wanted to see. A nice guy.”
“You are a nice guy, Brandon.”
“Am I?” A grim, reminiscent smile touched his mouth. “When I was growing up, a lot of other black kids thought I was just some corny-ass rich boy from River Oaks. So they assumed I was a punk who couldn’t fight. One summer when I was thirteen, Dre and I went to this picnic around his neighborhood. Some hood rats liked my Air Jordans so much they decided they were just gonna take ’em. So when Dre and I got separated, the dudes rolled up on me, and they jumped me.”
Tamia stared at him. “What happened?”
He chuckled softly. “Let’s just say when the dust settled, I still had my sneakers, along with someone else’s pair.”
Tamia grinned. “Dayum, slugger.”
Brandon made a wry face. “I didn’t tell you that story to impress you.”
“Too late. I’m impressed.”
He gently stroked her cheek. “The moral of the story is that people aren’t always what they seem. My grandfather was an amazing poker player, and he always taught me that in life, you don’t show your hand until the other players show theirs. I guess that’s how I’ve always approached relationships. I try not to let my guard down completely until the woman I’m dating shows her true colors.”
Tamia’s grin faded. Suddenly she didn’t like where this conversation was going. “What are you saying, Brandon? That we dated for nine months and I never knew the real you?”
He raised a brow at her. “Did I know the real you?”
That shut her up.
Brandon murmured, “We’ve still got some walls between us, still have some relearning to do.”
Tamia eyed him hopefully. “Are you saying ... there’s still a chance for us?”
“I don’t know, Tamia. I’d be lying if I said I’m completely over you. I’m not, and I think you know that. But you need to understand something about me. You’re the only woman I’ve ever let down my guard with, and I got fucked up in the process.” He leaned close, his soft lips brushing her temple before moving to her ear. “So here’s what I’m saying. If I find out that you’re lying to me about anything—absolutely anything—I promise you there won’t be any second chances. Believe that.”
Tamia gulped hard, watching as he slowly pulled away and gave her a small, narrow smile. “Now I’m leaving.”
And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving Tamia with a sense of dread that was all too familiar.
Chapter 21
Brandon
“Where the hell have you been?” Cynthia demanded, accosting Brandon as soon as he stepped through the front door of his condo.
As proof of how angry she was, she still had on the tacky turquoise gown that she and the other bridesmaids had been forced to wear, which Cynthia had vowed to burn as soon as the wedding was over.
She apparently had bigger fish to fry at the moment.
“I left for twenty minutes to help Lynn get out of her gown so she and Phillip could leave for the airport,” she ranted. “By the time I came back to the reception, you were nowhere to be found! I had to catch a ride home with my parents!”
“Didn’t you get my text?” Brandon asked calmly, setting his keys and cell phone on the foyer table. “I told you I had to swing by the office to fax some important documents to a client.”
“That was two hours ago! Don’t expect me to believe you’ve been at the office all this time!”
“I wasn’t.” He paused. “I went to Tamia’s apartment.”
“I KNEW IT!” Cynthia exploded, glaring furiously at him. “You went over there and fucked her, didn’t you?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“That’s your prerogative.” Craving a cold beer and a hot shower, Brandon brushed past Cynthia and headed to the kitchen to take care of the first need.
She charged after him, the loud swishing of her taffeta gown sounding like hissed accusations. “Why the hell did you go over there if you weren’t planning to fuck her? And don’t you dare tell me you didn’t touch her, because I can smell her damn perfume on you!”
Brandon grabbed a Black and Tan from the fridge and twisted the cap off the bottle. Leaning back against the counter, he met Cynthia’s gaze directly. “I didn’t say I didn’t touch her. I said I didn’t fuck her.”
“What!”
As Cynthia raised her hand to slap him, Brandon caught her wrist midair and shook his head once, a terse warning.
“I’ve had enough of that for one night.”
With a strangled cry of frustration, Cynthia yanked her wrist free and shrieked, “It’s bad enough that you showed up late to the wedding—”
“I told you I was with my father.”
“—but then you snuck off early to be with that whore! Like you just couldn’t help yourself!”
Brandon sipped his beer, silently pondering her angry words. Truth be told, she wasn’t too far off the mark. When it came to Tamia, he often felt as though he had no control over himself. When he’d arrived at her apartment tonight and seen her with Dominic, he’d lost his mind. If she hadn’t intervened, he probably would have killed that motherfucker with his bare hands.
“Don’t you see what’s happening, Brandon?” Cynthia cried shrilly. “She’s only been home a week, and she’s already coming between us!”
Brandon said quietly, “You need to calm down and lower your voice.”
“Why?” Cynthia jeered. “Afraid your neighbors will find out what a lying, cheating bastard you are?”
“I haven’t lied to you, Cynthia. I told you exactly where I was.”
“Like that’s supposed to make me feel better! If you see absolutely nothing wrong with leaving my cousin’s wedding reception to sneak over to your ex-girlfriend’s apartment
, then I have nothing more to say to you!”
With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the kitchen.
Brandon took a long sip of his beer, then heaved a deep sigh and followed her.
By the time he reached the living room, Cynthia was marching from his bedroom carrying her suitcase. He had an unpleasant flashback to the night he’d returned home to find Tamia packing her belongings after she’d caught him and Cynthia flirting with each other at the office. He couldn’t help marveling at how things had come full circle.
As Cynthia strode past him, he asked, “Where are you going?”
“Where do you think?” she snapped. “I’m going home. I refuse to stay here and put up with any more of your bullshit. Unlike that bitch Tamia, I have standards. My parents have been happily married for forty years because they genuinely love, respect, and trust each other. So why the hell should I accept anything less from you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
Cynthia faltered for a moment, looking as if she hadn’t expected him to agree with her.
He lowered himself onto his favorite armchair and drank his beer, watching as she squared her shoulders and continued on her way to the front door.
“I’m sick and tired of being taken for granted. As I explained to you before, I have options. Plenty of them. But you obviously weren’t listening to me, so I’m gonna make a believer out of you.”
Reaching the door, she paused and looked over the huge, frothy bow on her shoulder. She frowned when she saw that Brandon had made no move to follow her.
“You must think I’m playing,” she spat.
“What I think,” he countered patiently, “is that you’ve been here at least an hour, so you were obviously waiting for me to come home because you want me to talk you out of leaving. But I’m not going to, sweetheart, because I actually think it’s a good idea for you to go back to your house for a while. We both need some space to reassess what we want out of this relationship.”
Cynthia stared at him with a stunned expression. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“That’s not what I said. Now who isn’t listening?”
She sneered. “You want space? Fine. I’ll give you all the space you want. But don’t be surprised if I’ve moved on by the time you come to your fucking senses!”
As she wrenched the door open, Brandon called out, “Cynthia.”
She turned back expectantly.
“I’m going to my parents’ house tomorrow after church. So you can stop by here and get the rest of your belongings. I’ll instruct the doorman to let you inside.”
“Don’t bother,” Cynthia hissed. “I can just use my damn key.”
“Nah.” Brandon shook his head. “You need to leave the key now.”
She let out an affronted gasp, her face twisting with indignant fury. “Why? Are you suggesting that I’m gonna run out tonight and make a spare copy?”
He just looked at her.
Sputtering with outrage, she snatched the requested key off her key ring and hurled it across the room at him, then stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rock the walls.
Alone, Brandon took a long swig of his beer and allowed his thoughts to drift back to Tamia.
She was the only woman he’d ever truly loved.
And if he wasn’t careful, she would be his ultimate downfall.
Chapter 22
Fiona
Fiona hummed softly to herself as she sashayed through the glass doors that fronted the administrative offices of Pinnacle Sports Group. Since it was after hours on a Saturday night, the large reception desk was empty, the phone lines were silent, and the plasma television mounted against the wall was dark.
With a magazine tucked beneath one arm, Fiona left the plush reception area and made her way down a thickly carpeted corridor adorned with sports memorabilia, press clippings, and framed awards that the agency had received since opening last year.
When she reached the open door at the end of the hallway, she poked her head inside and smiled.
Beau Chambers sat behind a large, glass-topped desk talking on the phone. Spying Fiona in the doorway, he held up one finger, signaling that he’d be with her shortly.
She nodded and smiled again.
As Beau continued his phone conversation, his gaze took slow inventory of Fiona’s appearance. Her long black hair was swept over one shoulder, her pouty lips were slicked with MAC’s Nymphette lip gloss, and she wore a tan Juicy Couture shirt dress with matching leather stiletto boots.
She could tell by the way Beau’s eyes gleamed that he liked what he saw. And the feeling was definitely mutual.
With his dark chocolate skin, ebony bedroom eyes, chiseled cheekbones, and juicy lips, Beau was so damn sexy that Fiona’s coochie throbbed every time she saw him. His shoulders were as wide as Dwight Howard’s, and his hands were the size of dinner plates, leaving no doubt in Fiona’s mind that he had to be working with at least ten inches.
By the time he ended his business call and motioned her into the office, her pussy was pumping harder than her heart after a high-impact Zumba workout.
As she sauntered over to his desk, Beau leaned back in his chair and smiled at her, a diamond stud twinkling in one ear. “Wassup, girl.”
“Wassup,” Fiona purred, giving him her sexiest smile. “I just wanted to welcome you back and get your autograph.”
He raised a brow. “My—? Oh,” he said, chuckling as she dropped the current issue of GQ magazine onto his desk and pointed at the cover.
“You and Brandon look like straight-up gangstas,” she teased him.
Beau grinned wryly. “Don’t let my old man hear you say that. He’s been bitching ever since he saw this cover, asking us why we didn’t choose a ‘less threatening’ pose. He’s worried that the Republicans will find a way to portray us as thugs or some ish like that.”
Fiona laughed, shaking her head. “Your pops is trippin’. I love that photo. You and Brandon got the coolest swagger I’ve ever seen. And the feature article was amazing.”
“Thanks,” Beau drawled, idly flipping through the magazine. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Most definitely.” Fiona grinned. “I want you and Brandon to sign my copy so I can take it to school and make all my classmates jealous.”
Beau tsk-tsked. “Now, that’s not very nice.”
“Oh, trust. They’d all do the same thing if they knew you and your brother.”
Beau chuckled, setting aside the magazine. “We’re having lunch with my parents tomorrow, so I’ll get Brandon’s autograph for you then.”
“Thank you,” Fiona told him, lowering herself onto one of the visitor chairs across from his desk. She deliberately crossed her legs, noting the way his eyes followed the movement and lingered on the luscious curve of her thighs.
Hiding a satisfied smile, she asked conversationally, “So how was New York?”
“Good.” His gaze slowly returned to hers. “Very productive.”
Beau had flown to New York to conduct business on behalf of some of his clients. While there, he’d also met with Damarion Griggs, a star quarterback and Heisman Trophy frontrunner who was expected to declare for the NFL draft in January. Not surprisingly, every football agent in America was salivating at the prospect of signing him.
Fiona grinned at Beau. “Do you think you can lure Damarion away from the competition?”
Beau smiled lazily.“Let’s just say I like my odds,” he said with such confidence that Fiona’s nipples hardened.
“He’d be crazy to sign with anyone but you,” she asserted.
“That’s pretty much what I told him.”
She and Beau laughed.
As the humorous moment passed, Beau asked her, “So what’s good with you? How are your classes coming along?”
“Great!” Fiona smiled shyly. “I just got an A on a history test.”
“Really? That’s wonderful,” Beau said warmly. “Congratulations, Fiona. I’m proud of yo
u.”
She warmed with pleasure. “Thanks, Beau. I appreciate that.”
He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. I brought you back a souvenir.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s just a little somethin’ somethin’ I picked up in Manhattan.” He glanced around the cluttered surface of his desk, brows furrowed with exaggerated bewilderment. “Now where did I put—Oh, that’s right.” He reached under the desk and retrieved an elegant bag that bore the Hermès logo.
Fiona’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
Beau smiled, passing the bag to her. “Open it.”
Fiona peered inside, then gasped when she saw an exquisite blue crocodile Birkin handbag. “Oh, my God! Is this what I think it is?”
Beau’s smile deepened. “Depends on what you think it is.”
She eyed him incredulously. “A little somethin’ somethin’? Beau, these handbags cost—”
“Shhh.” He put his finger to his lips. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Shaking her head, Fiona carefully removed the Birkin from the bag and ran her fingers over the sumptuous leather. “I heard these are only available on a limited basis,” she marveled. “And they used to make you get on a waiting list. I can’t believe you bought one for me. I mean, I would have been happy with an ‘I Heart New York’ T-shirt or keychain!”
Beau chuckled softly. “Nah, baby girl. I don’t do cheap trinkets. Besides, you deserve nothing but the best for the way you keep the fellas in line down at the barber shop.”
Fiona grinned, tucking the expensive designer handbag into the crook of her arm.
Beau nodded approvingly. “You wear it well.”
“Think so?”
“Most definitely.”
Fiona beamed. Just as she began fantasizing about being worn on his arm, his cell phone rang.
Murmuring a quick apology, Beau answered the phone. “Hey,” he said, his deep voice dropping to a low, intimate tone as he angled slightly away from Fiona. “I’m still at the office, but I’ll be leaving soon.”
Fiona glanced up from admiring her handbag to watch as a slow, sexy smile curved his mouth. “Don’t worry, I won’t be late.” Pause. “Can’t wait to see you, too. Be there soon.”
