Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(64)

“And I want to see you.”

I touch my hair, twisted into big knots and colored creamy white with three different products.

“I’m not up for going out,” I tell him. “I was just about to order some food.”

“Order enough for two. I could come over.”

“I’m not inviting you over,” I reply with a firmness the butterflies flapping around in my belly don’t approve of.

“Have pity on a friend.”

“Hmmm,” I grunt noncommittally.

“I came to town for this charity event. A fundraiser for a school I serve on the board of, the Young Leaders Academy of Atlanta. You heard of it?”

“Ezra Stern’s school? Of course. They do great work.”

“Well, I’m on the board so… thank you?”

We laugh together, and my shoulders relax a little. I don’t want to allow myself the pleasure of his company and his conversation, but every time he’s on the other end of any device—phone, iPad, whatever—my defenses drop and before I know it we’re two episodes into season two on Netflix. After the rapport we’ve built recently, I don’t want to test my strength of will in the flesh.

“I didn’t eat the food there, though,” he continues. “Can I come scoop you?”

“I’m wearing pajamas.”

“Throw on something.”

“I don’t have on any makeup.”

“Good. I love your natural skin.”

I scoff, but a small smile tugs at my lips. Charmer. “You’ve never seen me without makeup.”

“Then it’s about damn time I do.”

“I just washed my hair.”

“Got a hat?”

“When a Black woman tells you she just washed her hair, you should know that is a full-ass production and she ain’t going nowhere.”

“I’m aware,” he says, laughing. “But surely there’s some way you could venture out with me in public. We could go to a dive. We could eat at a drive-in and you wouldn’t have to get out of the car. I don’t care.”

He pauses and draws in a sharp breath.

“I just want to see you, Hen.”

I close my eyes and heart against the tidal wave of response at those words. I don’t want this anticipation, how it shortens my breath. I don’t want to acknowledge the way my nipples pebble under my satin top from the sensation of that deep voice licking over me. This is so dangerous. And surely not wise.

But I’m doing it anyway.

“It’s not going to be fancy,” I sigh. “So lower your billionaire bar, but it will be an Atlanta institution.”

“I didn’t grow up a billionaire, Hendrix,” he says dryly.

“Oh, no. You grew up the son of a professional basketball player. Nearly impoverished. You may have grown up with just a silver spoon in your mouth, but now it’s platinum.”

He sucks his teeth, but chuckles. “Girl, just send me your address.”

“I need a few minutes to get my hair at least presentable for going outside.”

“You know I’ll take you however.”

The words I’ll take you hang in the air, a lasso whipping overhead, ready to fall over my shoulders, slip around my waist and draw me in.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be ready.”

What a lie. I’ll never be ready for this man.





CHAPTER 24





MAVERICK


Wagwan.”

I deliver the greeting with a smile at Hendrix’s front door.

“Wagwan,” she replies, her mouth curving as she steps back so I can enter her apartment.

“Just gimme a sec to grab my bag.” She turns away, but I gently clasp her wrist to stop her. She looks at me over her shoulder, a question in her eyes.

“Hold on,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “I’m glad to see you.”

I keep it loose, fighting the urge to crush her softness against me. She smells so damn good, I briefly tighten my arm around her waist and dip my head to catch the scent at her neck. It’s something fresh and clean, with top notes of fuck me against a wall. I’m instantly hard, and keep my arm at her waist, not willing to let her go yet, but insert a few inches between us so she doesn’t feel the effect she has on me from jump.

It’s my first time seeing her since the trip to Colorado. Despite her objections on the phone, she looks beautiful. I drink her in, noting that her hair is still damp from the fresh wash and tamed into two braids, the tips of which brush her shoulders. Her skin is flawless and a deep, luminous shade of chestnut brown. She must only be wearing lip balm or something simple because the natural chocolate-rose color of her lips is in evidence. I think of A Different World reruns when she smiles. She has a Kim Reese grin; wide and blindingly white and infectious. How could anyone not smile back at this woman?

She licks her lips and pulls out of our hug.

“Um, it’s good to see you again, too.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder toward the floating stairs that lead up to a loft. “Like I said, need to grab my bag.”

“I’ll be right here,” I tell her, taking a seat and spreading my arms across the back of the couch.

Her apartment is exactly what I would expect, but also different from what I envisioned. A cream-colored couch dominates the front room, its overstuffed cushions punctuated with pops of fluffy pillows in shades of cool green, muted violet, and pink. Dark hardwood floors are splashed with area rugs along the same color palette. A brass-toned bar sits against one wall, fully stocked with bottles of liquor and glasses.