A Harem of One [The Moreland Brothers 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) (18 page)

As she dug through the pile in her spam box, there was an e-mail from an unknown address. She was going to delete it, sure the e-mail was one of the Nigerian scam e-mails, but the username sounded slightly familiar. When she opened the e-mail, she realized it was Duke, the dancer from the hole-in-the-wall house party.

Jamison,

This is Duke. I know you are probably still with your man, but I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me today? I’m back in the area, and I want to see you again if you’ll let me.

D

Jamison was shocked to say the least. She didn’t think the stripper would really contact her. He deserved a response, but what could she say that even made sense? It wasn’t like she could say,
No he’s not my man, even though I want him to be?
Or
He’s my lover and its temporary
? Then there was the lingering thought of,
why can’t I want a man who wants me as much as I do him?
Most of her life was spent in relationships were that were fairly one-sided. Growing up as she did was hard on the soul. It made her wary and untrusting of other people. But her escalating sense of loneliness and sadness forced her to open up. But the men that she chose weren’t worthy of the honor. She was a good woman, but seemed to choose the worst men of the bunch. Her last ex, Aiden, was an asshole. She cooked and cleaned, worked hard, kept herself available for even the most minute of needs, and never so much as looked at another person with any type of interest. She stayed with him for years, and he didn’t have enough respect for her to keep his dick to himself or women out of her bed. It was not like the sex was great, and that was the saddest part. In fact her neighbor, the trollop, got the short end of the literal stick. A small cock was able to satisfy her, but if a man couldn’t row the boat right, the size his oar was inconsequential.

When she sent back a brief reply to the surprise electronic message, Jamison felt a little guilty. She felt like she shouldn’t have entertained the idea of lunch with the luscious Duke and worse agreed to meet him for the midday meal. But the vague disquiet she felt niggled at her as she went back to working on her latest blog post in an attempt to forget. When she checked the time, she had spent an hour and a half staring at the word “the” and nothing had really gotten done. She couldn’t get her mind wrapped around the fact that it was soon over, and her work suffered as a result. Duke had responded quickly as if he was waiting to hear from her with baited breath.

Jamison,

Thank you.

D

By the way, where would you like to go? I did make reservations in the hope you would say yes. If it’s all right with you, let’s say noon at Natasha’s?

Wow, Jamison was floored. Natasha’s was a world-class dining experience. The owner was a French chef who worked in some of the finest restaurants in the world. His other locations had Michelin stars and everything. Getting reservations was near impossible without clout or a handful of palm greasing, and for an average Joe, it could be as much as six-month wait to even make a reservation. The small diner supposedly only boasted seating for thirty diners at fifteen tables. Jamison was excited now. She couldn’t wait to try some of the lavish cuisine. She had to look her very best, not because she wanted Duke, but she feared being stared at in a place of that caliber appearing any less than fantastic. She was already a minority, and that would warrant enough eyes on her as is.

When she finished dressing, Jamison was confident she was at her very best. She flat ironed her hair into a sleek curtain and dressed, checking her makeup before she walked out of the door. When she arrived at Natasha’s thirty minutes later, she had no idea what she was doing here. She was with Marques. Even if it was temporary, she couldn’t date another man. But it was not a date, Jamison thought, even as she felt nervous about what Marq would think about it.
It’s not like you’re going to sleep with him
. But even that mental mantra didn’t cut it. Duke was attractive true, but she didn’t need him. She needed—

* * * *

Marques was tired as hell. He’d gotten up this morning and an e-mail confirmed he was in a sticky situation that required his personal touch. Apparently, one of investors in the shopping mall wanted to revisit the terms, and instead of condos, wanted to just give Jed a small share in the center for his land instead. But the way Marques had maneuvered the contracts let Jed make a larger profit, and he didn’t want to see the man screwed up in red tape with big boys. The center wouldn’t turn a profit for at least two years, but the condos would make a profit within one year, and he knew Jed needed the money as soon as possible. So he kissed Jamison’s forehead and got dressed, leaving her half asleep with a quick good-bye. He opted to meet John Terrance, the holdout investor, in his corner office downtown. He hoped to be finished by brunch, but the meeting dragged as his own impatience and John’s greed got out of control. Usually he was more suave, but today he felt a bit raw. His month with Jamison was coming to an end, and he knew she was going to leave him. He was pretty sure Jamison cared about him, but now that he’d freed her from her butterfly cocoon, he wasn’t sure if she would stay or fly away. She was a beautiful woman, but she’d hidden herself for a long time, and now other men saw her and desired her the way that he did. When he glanced at his watch it was after eleven and they been deadlocked for four hours already. His throat was parched, not to mention he was hungry as hell, and damned if he didn’t think conversation had turned into a long filibuster. The negotiations were stalled, so Marques took another tack. He opted to change their location and distract his opponent. He sent a quick message to his personal assistant to make reservations at whatever trendy place he could find on short notice for lunch.

Apparently, luck was on his side, and the PA sent him a quick message with itinerary for a private table for eleven thirty. Marq cut the man before him off in midsentence.

“Would you care to break for lunch, John? I have reservations at Natasha’s,” Marq asked, but he knew this man was no fool. If they gave stars in Wilmington, this place was sure to get one.

The man gasped, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “That sounds good.”

The meal was succulent. He had to bring Jamison back here with him. He made a note to speak with Philippe, the head chef, to call in a favor or two for the coming weekend. John ate with unabashed delight, and even though he was sure that the wine would bring home the negotiations, he really wanted to know what Jamison was doing. Most likely, she was working on her blog, he thought. But his thoughts were distracted when he saw a familiar face and form walking behind the maître d. The dark-skinned man carried himself well, and looked almost exactly the same as he did ten years ago. He hadn’t seen his friend D in years. After he finished eating, he was going to be sure and stop by his old friend’s table. He noted D was alone, but appeared to be waiting for someone, and if Marq knew anything about D, it was most likely a woman. Even though both of D’s parents were world renowned chefs and wealthy, they preferred simple southern style dishes eaten family style at home. So the sight of his friend at a French restaurant was ironic to say the least.

He diverted his attention back to the matter at hand and played his trump card. True, it was a bit early to pull out his big guns, but he really didn’t want to waste any more time with John today. He could be inside Jamison right now, or could taste her shaved pussy, and he had spent enough time on this bunch of malarkey.

But when he opened his mouth to tell John that he was either in or out of the project, he saw a flash of gold fabric out of the corner of his eye headed toward D’s table. The woman was beautiful from the back. She was shaped just like—

In So Much Trouble

Oh hell no, Marq thought, that better not be Jamison. He knew it was her. The cashmere cardigan style sweater dress was the one he’d had shipped from France two weeks ago along with some La Pearla lingerie and a pair of Kate Spade flats they found while browsing boutiques.

His vision flashed red, and he was barely able to make his excuses to his meal companion before he stood up from the table. He schooled his face to a polite scowl and strode across the dining room. When he had nearly reached the table, he saw the side of her face and gritted his teeth at the sight of the faint blush-reddened cheek. She put on makeup and everything else to meet another man when she was supposed to be with him. Even if it was temporary, she didn’t get to date, kiss, fuck, or even look at anyone else. Damn it, he wasn’t finished with her yet. Duke chose that moment to look across up, and Marques saw the genuine joy in the smile D gave him. If he wasn’t so pissed, he would have been able to match it.

“Hey! How have you been?” Duke was still smiling, but the angle lessened as he saw Marq wasn’t responding.

“I’m well Duke, how are you?” He spoke to Duke, but his eyes were for Jamison only. Her face said she was nervous, but the smile on her lips masked most of it.

“Okay, my man, working hard on my thesis. Have you met Jamison? She’s a friend of mine.”

“Funny that, she reminds me of someone I know.” He felt his eyebrow cock upward. Duke had a funny look on his face and started laughing.

“Jamison, so this is the guy, huh?” Duke couldn’t stop laughing, even as Marq scowled harder. What the hell was so funny about him and Jamie?

Apparently the thought must have left his lips without him realizing it as Duke answered him. “It’s not that, Marq. It’s just I knew that she was dating someone, we had talked about it, but I never realized it was you that she spoke about. Damn, it’s a small world.”

Marques was still angry. Why in the hell was she here anyway? “Duke, I apologize, but I am going to have to take your lunch companion. Indefinitely.” He clasped Jamison’s hand and looked her in the eye until she stood up a moment later.

“T–thanks, Duke. Apparently, I will have to provide my excuses.” He knew she was rattled. She hadn’t stuttered in weeks. It looked as if she had the same thought, and he watched as her lips pressed together once in consternation before she walked away with him. She smelled too good, and the fact that she put on perfume for her date on top of everything else turned his fury into white-hot rage. She was in a heap of trouble. He knew one thing for sure, she knew what she had done. He escorted her to his car, even as she opened her mouth to tell him she drove. He knew she had since she arrived so much later than her date, but if she voiced the words aloud to him, he would snap where he stood.

“You can have your car later.” His tone was harsh, and he felt her shake slightly under the pressure of his hand at her spine. He helped her into the car, and she sat still as he buckled her seat belt and kissed her. The press of lips was violent, but he corralled most of the rage he felt even as he bit her fat lower lip. Jamison jerked back, and he tasted a slight copper tang from where she cut her lip on his teeth with the quick retreat she made. Right now, he was mad enough that the hint of fear in her eyes mollified him slightly, just not enough to change her fate. He dodged traffic and parked the car. He helped her exit the vehicle and enter the condo.

Once she crossed the threshold, he stopped her from advancing any further with a tug on her hand and pulled her back to rest against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and with a quick jerk of both hands ripped the front of the cardigan style sweater dress. The numerous pearl buttons down front scattered across the marble flooring. The small beads tinkled and plinked as they made contact with the tiles. He slid the sleeves off gently, and the dress fell to the floor. She was left in a silk, ivory slip and stockings, but he chose to leave those on her for the moment. There were more important things to do. Before he had a chance to register what he was doing, Jamison’s back was to the door and half of his cock was inside her. He listened to her grunt at the force he was using as if he hurt her, but her body was strained against his for more. He gave it to her with a slap of pelvis to feed her pussy the rest.

“Do you think another man can give you this?” he asked rhetorically.

“N–noo.” She curled her legs around him and squeezed tightly. He kept thrusting and curled one hand behind her nape using the hold to push her further onto his cock with each stroke forcing himself deeper and deeper. He was still angry with her even as he fucked her, and he wanted to punish her for making him feel this way.

“Who owns this luscious body, Jamie?”

She was silent for only a split second before she spoke, tones husky and low. “You do, Marq.”

Her agreement pacified him somewhat, but not enough to show her any surcease. “I know I do, but you need to understand that, and if it’s the last thing I do, you will finally get it.”

He backed away from the door and unwrapped her legs from his hips, forcing her to stand on the unsteady limbs. She melted to the floor, and he let her, only to prompt her to all fours and thrust home again. This time she skidded across the floor several inches before he gripped her shoulder in one hand and pressed the other palm against the door to his right side. He sat back on his heels before he fisted two thirds of her hair in his grasp and guided her head back. She loved the rough treatment. Even now she was melting around him. The hot folds of her sex welcomed him, didn’t want to let him go. Each retreat he made was hard fought for, and her sticky wet flesh massaged his upon return.