One Night: A BWWM Interracial Romance Page 3

  He smiled when the roaming eyes paused between his legs. He had no illusions that he was so well-endowed that he filled out the front of the loose pajama bottoms enough to impress her. Without pants, he had had no complaints. If all went well, perhaps she’d be the judge of that.

  God, he was beginning to sound desperate even to himself. It wasn’t a problem for him to woo women into bed, so why was he so focused on getting this one between the sheets? She was cute—gorgeous actually. Even beneath that baggy sweatshirt and awful footwear, he could tell she had a nice little figure. It would be a fun romp, then they’d both go their separate ways. She had pretty much inferred that she was in no mood for a relationship. It should have been a no-brainer.

  But the entire reason for coming here was to be alone. It was his process. At this point it was practically superstition. He’d taken a cabin in the woods of upstate New York to complete the final draft of his first manuscript. He had headed out to the nearest bar to celebrate the accomplishment, not knowing if it would be picked up or not. The most expensive drink at that bar had come from the same brand he had before him. He had drunk in silent contemplation then, reflecting on his past and figuring out his future.

  Tonight was the first time such solitary reflection after completing a manuscript had been interrupted. He wasn’t sure how to take that. Did it bode well for the book or not? He put the thought aside as her gaze lingered over him.

  “I’m going to need a bit more liquid courage,” she said, pushing the glass in front of her toward him and nodding at the bottle in front of him.

  “Developing a taste for it, are we?” he asked, raising a teasing eyebrow as he grabbed the bottle to pour her another drink. He dropped some more into his own glass as well.

  “I certainly hope not!” she said, giving him an incredulous look. “Some of us are lucky if we can afford $4 drinks on Ladies’ Night. I just happen to think I’m worth a bit more than $100.”

  He laughed at the inference.

  This one was fun. He actually kind of liked her.

  She laughed with him.

  “To opportunistic rebounds,” she said, raising her glass.

  What choice did he have but to join her?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NATALIE

  Natalie brought the glass to her lips, wincing in preparation for the heat to fill her body. She wasn’t developing a taste for it, but it was sure making her feel very nice. She was even getting used to the feel of the warmth filling her middle.

  It was all very fortuitous.

  A handsome stranger. An—expensive!—bottle of whiskey. Friends who were too blissfully asleep to keep her from being impulsive. It was as if providence wanted this to happen.

  Obviously it was meant to be.

  “You have your own room, right?” she asked, taking another small sip.

  “Why don’t we head up and find out?” he said, taking the lead by grabbing the bottle and standing up.

  Oh boy.

  She wasn’t prepared for things to move this fast.

  Natalie looked up at him uncertainly over the glass. She did want this…but a little more verbal foreplay would have been nice.

  He seemed to take note of her concern and his face softened empathetically. “Listen, no pressure here,” he said softly. “We can just sit and talk up there, if that’s what you want.

  “I’ll go close you out with the bartender over there,” he continued. “He’ll see you leaving with me so if anything happens to me, the cops will know who to look for.”

  She broke out in a laugh, finally loosened up enough to get up from her chair.

  “Your milk is on me. Although, I don’t think I’ll ever live it down having something like that on any tab of mine.”

  Natalie laughed again. She was really starting to warm up to this guy. It didn’t hurt that he looked even better standing up. She followed him to the bar and watched the muscles of his back ripple under the t-shirt. Nice.

  The part of him below the waist was an even better view. She sipped the rest of the whiskey as she trailed behind him letting her eyes have a little fun.

  “George, her drink’s on me,” he said leaning over to the bartender. “Add a $50 tip to that…just in case I wind up naked in a ditch somewhere. You’re my only witness here.”

  George grinned appreciatively, more so at the tip than the joke. Natalie just rolled her eyes.

  What in the world was she doing?

  Jake gave her one last look, the question in his face asking her if she was really up for this?

  Was she?

  She looked him over again. He seemed harmless enough. Of course, that’s just how serial killers got to their victims. Maybe even George was in on it. What if they were a team and….

  Oh good grief, Natalie! she thought to herself.

  This was getting ridiculous.

  The jitters were to be expected. She hadn’t been with anyone other than Malcolm in over two years. Even with him, it had been…goodness, who knew how long?

  She was pretty much due. And to be honest, it probably couldn’t get much better than this, she thought, looking him over again.

  Why not have a bit of harmless fun?

  She nodded at him and followed him out towards the elevators. He pressed the up button and they both waited there in awkward silence. All of a sudden they were like a couple of nervous teenagers preparing for their first time. They eyed one another out of the corner of their eyes.

  Natalie actually jumped a bit when the indicator lit up with a ding. He held the door and waved his hand in: after you. She took a deep breath and went inside.

  She leaned against the bar running across the back of the elevator, watching as he pressed the button for the top floor. Interesting. Then again, a guy who could afford a thousand dollar bottle of whiskey could probably afford a penthouse room.

  He leaned against the wall near the doors as they closed. With his arms crossed over his chest, he looked down at her. Definitely over 6 feet. 6’ 2”?

  “So what are you reading?” he asked looking down at the e-reader in her hand.

  It would be a cold day in hell before she gave an honest answer to that. The ribald adventures of Scarlett and Blade? Yeah, no. She decided to play with him instead.

  “I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you,” she said smirking at him.

  He bowed his head with a smile. “I deserve that I suppose,” he said.

  “You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine,” she went on.

  Aghast, she immediately looked to the corner of the elevator twisting her mouth and bringing her eyebrows down in a look of self-castigation. Not only did that statement border on the obvious…he might actually take her up on it.

  She was a bit intimidated by the fact that he was a bona fide author. She felt silly enough being a librarian and complete bibliophile who had never even heard of his books. His work was either too high-brow or too low-brow to fall on her radar. Looking at him, he didn’t seem to fit either image. He was definitely a serious man with a wee bit of baggage hiding underneath the surface. On the other hand, he knew how to crack a joke and tease in just the right mode.

  So, no, Thrust would remain her little secret. She brought the e-reader up to her chest protectively.

  “That juicy, huh?” he said, reading every word written across her face.

  Just as she was wondering when the damn elevator would stop, a ding rung out and the doors slid open. The hallway on this floor had far fewer doors lining it. She followed him to the door at the very end of the hall. A moment of lucidity hit her and a tiny bit of apprehension shot through her body as he slid his card into the slot on the door.

  Any negative thoughts were immediately highjacked by the awe that hit her as she walked through the door. It wasn’t a room, it was more like an entire apartment. There was a small living room with an adjoining dining area. Next to that was an open area with a large desk in front of a picture window. Actually, the living room looked lik
e more of a cozy but spacious den, if that was possible. Good feng shui, Natalie thought. She felt the urge to simultaneously snuggle up into a ball and twirl around with her arms wide open.

  “You have your own fireplace,” she pointed out, turning back to Jake. “Why bother going down to the bar?”

  “I don’t drink where I work,” he said pointing to the laptop on the desk by the window.

  The laptop was closed shut so she walked over to the desk to look out the window. It was dark outside with only a half moon but there was enough light to see that he had a spectacular view of the lake. She wondered what it looked like in the morning light.

  Would she still be here come morning?

  “So this is where the magic happens?” she asked, tracing a finger over the logo on the back of the laptop.

  “Well, one kind of magic,” he said, surprising her as he came up close behind her. “Not the kind I’m thinking about right now.”

  Natalie turned around to face him. He had approached so stealthily and was now only inches from her. She had a direct line of sight to the stubble covering his chin. Looking up, she noted for the first time that his eyes were most likely hazel. She realized she was staring right into them as he stared back. Hers instantly fell to inspect the tiny little hairs on his chin again. He sensed her apprehension and backed up a few inches.

  “I guess I did promise we could just talk.” He took her hand and led her to the couch.

  She followed, breathing a bit easier. For Pete’s sake, she was like a virgin on prom night! Sex with a guy like this should be a no-brainer, especially, no-strings-attached, rebound sex. He was perfect for it. He had even paid for drinks, she thought, smiling as she followed him to the couch.

  She sat down and noted that he was just close enough not to be invasive. Still, she felt a certain heat rising up in her as she looked at him. He had one arm draped over the back of the couch, showing off the muscles in his arms and the peek of a tattoo creeping beneath the sleeve. The t-shirt stretched tightly over his torso, revealing way too much to keep her from thinking rationally. His legs were spread in that way that men sat and she couldn’t stop her eyes from succumbing to the momentum that led them straight down in that direction.

  The train had left the station and was gaining speed.

  JAKE

  Jake saw the effect he was having on her. His seated position wasn’t an accident and he was pleased to watch her eyes roam over what he had to offer. At some point maybe she’d come around.

  In the mean time, he had no problem sitting and talking to this woman. She was amusing and a nice little diversion from his original plan of staring into the fire through his whiskey glass. The mild concern he’d felt about his little superstitions was fading away as he looked at her sitting on her knees facing him.

  “So, what shall we talk about Ms. Damond,” he said, crossing one leg over his knee and clasping both hands on top of his ankle, giving her a serious expression.

  The effect worked. She laughed and looked away, relaxing into the couch as she brought her legs out from under her. She stretched them out, half on, half off the edge of the couch. The offending shoes were right before him. Without thinking he grabbed one of her legs and held it up.

  “Why do you girls wear these things?” he asked, making his disgust quite apparent. “I mean, look at them. I thought you were the sex that cared about fashion. Even men wouldn’t be caught in these things.”

  “We women,” she corrected him, “wear these because they are comfortable.” She tried pulling her leg away from him but he held tight.

  “Nope,” he said tugging a the UGG on the leg he was holding, “I can’t have sex with a woman wearing these.”

  “It’s not like I would keep them on!” she protested, laughing before she caught what she had just said. One hand went up to cover the O that her mouth formed.

  He grinned and used her momentary embarrassment to pull the boot off and fling it across the room. He reached for the other leg and the resistance was milder this time. With one boot already off, he had no trouble tugging the other one down. She laughed as he flung it in the air.

  They both flinched as it hit the table in the dining area with a loud smack. Then they looked at each other and laughed even harder.

  Both of her legs were in his lap now and he stroked one calf, his hand gliding over the firm curve, down to the ankle. He looked down at her bare feet. The toes were painted a dark blue. It was an interesting look…on rather nicely shaped feet.

  She traced a finger up his right arm to the sleeve. He knew what she was going for and tensed a bit. It didn’t stop her from asking the question.

  “So, what’s the tattoo?” she asked.

  Jake stared down at the leg he was stroking, not answering right away. The topic wasn’t exactly in line with where he wanted the night to go. Answering this question would lead to other questions and pretty soon they’d be down the rabbit hole of his sordid history. Frankly, he wasn’t quite sober enough to finagle the answer in such a way that it would end the discussion.

  “Snake,” he said simply. “Black mamba.”

  His eyes shifted to her and found a smirk there. Oh, boy; she had no idea what door she was opening.

  “So, what’s the story there?” she probed. “Let me see it!”

  He took in her face: the hazy, whiskey-tinged gleam in her eyes; the high cheekbones and cute chin; the lips he wanted to place his on top of to stop this line of questioning. Instead he sighed and looked back down at her legs.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You planning on kicking me out soon?” she said teasingly, too tipsy to pick up on his tone.

  “It’s in honor of a friend who died,” he said, giving her a somber look. “Killed, actually.”

  Her face changed immediately. He could see the regret in her face at the playful way she’d touched on the subject.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Her brows drew inward and the corners of her lips turned down as she looked anywhere but at him. Jake had no desire to see her do that kind of 180 so he softened the blow.

  “It was a long time ago,” he assured her. It had been 2 years ago but he still had occasional vivid dreams about it. She didn’t seem reassured at all from the look on her face. Perhaps a good purge would abate the temperature drop in the room.

  “I wasn’t always a writer,” he began. Her eyes shot back up toward him, interested.

  “My field was…let’s just call it a special division unit,” he fudged. It was actually pretty close to the truth, though there wasn’t much “special” about it. In reality he was a the glorified heavy lifting for the C.I.A. When they needed men to make a move in enemy territory his group was the crew who drove the cars, cleared the area, kept the locals at bay, and, if necessary, got a little more aggressive. More often than not, it was necessary.

  “We were in…,” he paused. This was where it got tricky. He had sat through God knew how many exit interviews and signed his life away when he left the service. He knew what he could and couldn’t reveal. They had nearly had a conniption when his book was up for publication. His publisher had nearly dropped him. But the book sold, and sold well…and turned out to be a nice, shiny, little piece of glowing propaganda for the current War on Terror. They came to an agreement that he could continue in his new career as long as he never mentioned specifics. Fine by him.

  “…The Middle East. I can’t give details, you understand?”

  Natalie’s eyes glowed as she nodded. Espionage and war games in foreign countries always got civilians excited. They had glamorous ideas about Jason Bourne leaping across rooftops and leading police cars in chases through the streets of Europe. Perhaps this night could be salvaged after all.

  “It was a rescue mission. There were five of us sent in to…rescue…someone.” Jake was beginning to realize that telling this story on half a bottle of whiskey was troublesome. Why did he have to meet this girl tonight of all nights?

  “Geor
ge—that’s Black Mamba. Well, he was black,” he explained, realizing how stupid he sounded.

  Natalie rolled her eyes and nodded, encouraging him to go on.

  “But we called him that because he was quick…and, yes because he was black,” Jake actually laughed a little. Natalie smiled and the atmosphere in the room warmed up.

  It was good to purge like this. Other than his sister, to whom he gave a far more succinct and stoic narrative, he hadn’t told anyone the story behind the tattoo. Any woman he’d been with—and most of them had been too ready for action at the time to even bother asking—had simply got a lie about a dare he had lost. He wanted to blame the whiskey, but something about this woman made him comfortable telling all that he could.

  “The Black Mamba is one of the quickest snakes in the world…and deadly,” he sobered a bit a the last part. “George was…brilliant at what he did. We could be in and out in a second with him leading the way.” Jake’s eyes stared off into the distance as he recalled fond memories of George. “He had a slick wit too, always quick with the comebacks to any smart-assed comment thrown in his direction.

  “Well, we were on a mission and…he went in first as usual. The entire place was booby trapped. Four of us survived, one of us didn’t. I got the tattoo in his honor. Then I left the service.” Jake left it at that. It explained everything Natalie needed to know.

  The reality was, they had gone in to collect one of the wives of Numero 18 on the C.I.A’s most wanted list. She claimed to have “important info” about a threat to more than a few western countries, not the least of which was the good old U.S. of A. She wanted a new, safe, life for her and her four children, ages 2 to 9. Yeah, he remembered that last part pretty damn well. It was a tricky op, but then that’s what Jake’s team specialized in.