Delgano: A Dark Contemporary Interracial Romance

Having her sit on his lap tonight would have been a terrible idea anyhow, seeing how he was harder than a brick. One poke, and she would be all over him.

The wrong woman.

“You’ll also have to stop holding me against your chest,” she said. “And doing that thing where it feels like your lips are in my hair. Oh, and you have to stop saying, ‘Come to me.’ I don’t know if you realize you do it. It’s why I stand in the doorway—I’m waiting for you to say it. Then, when you do, it’s with this look in your eyes that just…” She moaned. “Fuck, the things I want to do to you.”

Seconds before he asked her what some of them were, he caught himself. They were already on a steep, soap-covered hill. Unfortunately for her, she had no idea that disappointment waited at the bottom.

“Then we’ll stop,” he offered.

She snorted. “That’s not what I want.”

“It sounds that way.”

“What is it about Sayeda? Here I am, coming on to you, and I get the feeling that you’re thinking about her. My face,” she motioned to it for emphasis, “isn’t hidden. I’m more willing to do nasty things and don’t need feelings or a commitment. Yes, I might get attached, but my feelings are like Velcro. I’ll just move on to someone else.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen Sayeda’s face?”

“I think I’m done talking.”

He didn’t argue.

Once he was finished with lunch, he retreated to take care of his Sayeda problem, twice, then headed to the villa’s “fitness annex.” There, he stretched the tightness from his muscles and mentally retraced his fight with Barnes to see what areas he could improve on before their next sparring session.

Afterward, he found himself having to take care of his Sayeda problem again, and when he was done, he went to the theater room—a new amenity he was allowed access to—and popped in a DVD.

Fingers tapped his shoulder.

He opened his eyes to Sayeda bent in front of him, her face so close to his that he thought about kissing her, just to see what would happen. If she would kiss him back.

“Enjoyed your movie?” she asked.

He barely remembered the opening credits. “Where were you earlier?”

“I was rewarded with the remainder of the day off. Your cooperation seems to benefit me as well.”

“That’s good.” He yawned into the back of his hand. “Well, if you’re technically off, I’ll cook today. Give you a break.”

“Actually, I have another benefit from your cooperation. I was given permission to take you with me.”

“Take me where?”

“In my car.”

“In your car, where?”

“It’s a surprise.” She held out a hand. “Come with me? Please?”

He allowed her to “help” him to his feet. Then, as they headed for the doorway, he noticed that instead of the chef’s coat, she wore a stylish dress whose sleeves went all the way to her wrists, and flats with rounded toes. Her nails were painted, and she had a fresh henna tattoo.

She glanced up at him with those uncomfortably sultry eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Your clothes,” he said.

Also, he sensed that he would be facing a similar problem again later. Next time, he would try harder not to moan her name as he covered the shower floor with thick ropes that didn’t leave him nearly anywhere close to satisfied.

“I can dress up, you know. I’ve even worn heels and,” she gasped, “makeup.”

“Don’t get all snippy with me.”