Naughty (16 page)

“Well, that was a year ago. Trust me, I’ve had more than a few private pity parties. Life goes on no matter what you’re going through, so either you get with the program or drown in your misery. Besides”—he stared directly into her eyes—“I’m looking toward the future, which is looking quite good”—he winked—“not the past.”

The word
future
resonated within Kennedy’s soul; she could definitely envision a future with Nigel Charles. He was gorgeous, intelligent, and successful. In an instant, her mind fast-forwarded to their engagement, wedding day, and the birth of their first child. Within sixty seconds, she’d planned out their entire life, like most women do when they meet “the one.”

Then he turned the tables and started peppering her with questions about her past. “As beautiful as you are, I’m surprised you’re not married with children,” he said, glancing down at her ring finger.

Without sounding like the walking wounded, she told him about a few failed relationships, sans the gory details of how she fucked them too soon, bringing the end to a potential long-term union.

“Their loss is my gain,” he said, with a sly smile spreading across his handsome face.

He knows just what to say,
Kennedy thought. This was going way too smoothly, when it suddenly occurred to her that he might have the usual ulterior motives in mind. “I hope you don’t think I’m sleeping with you tonight,” she blurted out. Though she had fantasized that her trusty vibrator was his dick, plunging in and out of her multiple orifices, Kennedy didn’t want to go back on her self-imposed rule. And if she put him on notice, then the chances of them sleeping together too soon were nil.

“Excuse me?” he asked, with a perplexed expression.

The moment the words flew out of her mouth, she regretted every single syllable and clumsy consonant.
Now he probably thinks I’m a paranoid schizophrenic off of my meds,
she thought, and then said, “I don’t have casual sex anymore,” trying to explain her sudden outburst.

“I think we already established that fact on the plane. Relax.” He reached across the table and patted the top of her hand. “I’m not looking for random sex. You’re much more than a random booty call. I’m also looking for more than just sex. I’ve been ready to settle down for a while, and thought that I had found my future wife, but she turned out to be . . .” he stopped himself.

“She turned out to be what?” Kennedy wanted to know.

“Never mind, I really don’t want to talk about her. I’d much rather talk about you,” he said with a smile. “So tell me, how long have you been flying?” he asked, changing the subject.

“For too long. It’s getting to be a bore. Initially flying off to different countries was fascinating, but now it’s become routine.”

“Are you thinking about leaving the airline?”

“Actually I have. Lately I’ve been thinking about either going
back to school, or starting my own import/export business. If I start my own business, I won’t necessarily need a degree in merchandising. I’ll probably just take a few business classes instead. I’ve shopped all over the world and have a pretty good eye for unique finds, so I’m leaning toward import/export. I like the idea of running my own little company, instead of answering to someone else.”

“I know what you mean. There’s nothing like your own business, and being in control of your own destiny.” He then reached over and lightly touched her necklace. “Where did you buy that? It’s quite unique.”

“Thank you,” she blushed. “I bought it in Nigeria. It’s handmade from eighteen-karat gold, and the diamonds are rough cut, which gives the necklace an ornate look. I’m surprised you noticed. Most men don’t pay attention to detail.”

“Well, I’m not like most men. And I notice everything about you, Kennedy Bryant,” he said, and then winked.

Kennedy felt her cheeks getting rosy. She was enjoying his attention. Nigel was a great conversationalist, and she was feeling comfortable in his presence, as if they had known each other for years.

Their conversation eased the apprehension that had begun to build within her, leading up to the obligatory good-night kiss, which usually led to sex on the first date. Reassured that he wasn’t going to connive his way into her panties—which, feeling the way she did about Nigel, she would have let him—she leaned back and enjoyed the rest of what was truly a memorable evening at Tru.

NIGEL LIVED ON
the tony East Side. The twenty-six-story, twin apartment buildings were reminiscent of the “Glass Houses” designed by famed architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe. The parking attendant must have been on the lookout for Kennedy.
The moment she pulled in front of the building, he magically appeared at the driver’s side.

“Are you here for Mr. Charles?” he asked knowingly.

“Yes,” she said, stepping out of the car.

“I’ll park your car. Call down when you’re ready to leave,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat.

“Kennedy Bryant, for Nigel Charles,” she announced to the doorman. Based on the waiting attendant, she was sure that the doorman also knew who she was, but followed protocol just the same.

“You can go up, Ms. Bryant, he’s expecting you. It’s apartment 2510. The elevators are straight ahead,” he said, pointing the way.

“Thanks.”

Alone in the elevator, Kennedy began to fidget with her skirt. Suddenly it seemed too tight. The minute she pulled the right side down, the left side rose up an inch. She looked down at her blouse and it, too, seemed too tight. She could see the imprint of her nipples against the silk fabric, even though she wore a bra, and the sight of them was making her hot. She and Nigel had gone out several times since their dinner at Tru, but had yet to make love, only juicy good-night kisses. This would be their first time alone without a hovering wait staff. Kennedy was extremely attracted to Nigel. She was getting bored with her vibrator and wanted the real thing, but it was still too early to consummate their relationship.

An anxiety that she hadn’t expected crept into her body as the elevator neared his floor. She needed to take the edge off before entering his apartment and spontaneously jumping his bone. She pushed the stop button, hiked up her skirt, and stuck her hand into her panties. Kennedy immediately located her clit, and started flicking it with her index finger. The rapid back-and-forth motion was making her come faster than she normally did, and she spread her legs farther apart to get better access.
She was working her finger so fast that she had to hold onto the railing with her free hand in order to keep her balance. Kennedy had been masturbating since high school, and was an expert at pleasuring herself.

“Excuse me, miss, is everything okay?”

The voice booming through the speaker jolted Kennedy out of her state of masturbation back to reality. She quickly removed her hand and silently prayed that there were no hidden cameras in the ceiling. “Yes, everything is fine,” she spoke into the air, and pressed stop again to restart the elevator.

The doors slid open on the twenty-fifth floor, and Kennedy stepped out of the car a little calmer, now that she had released some tension. She walked toward Nigel’s apartment and rang the doorbell.

“Hey there”—he swung open the door—“what took you so long? I was getting ready to call out the bloodhounds.” Stepping forward, he enveloped Kennedy in a tight bear hug. “You feel so good,” he whispered in her ear. Releasing her, he took a half step back. “And you look good too,” he said, zeroing in on her too-tight blouse and stepping aside. “Come on in.”

Walking beyond the gray slate foyer into the living room, Kennedy was struck by the dazzling view of the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges. The white lights that adorned the perimeter of the bridges glimmered in the night like facets on a diamond. “Wow!” she said, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows for a closer look. “Great view.”

“Actually, that was a major selling point for me. This view at night is so romantic.” He snuggled up close behind, slipped his arms around her waist, and kissed the back of her neck. “But watching the sunrise above the river in the morning is priceless.”

She wanted to ask if that was an invitation to spend the night, but didn’t want to tempt herself. Nestled in his arms, she said softly, “I’m sure watching the sunrise is amazing. I would
love to see it sometime.” The moment she made that last statement, she realized that it sounded suggestive.

Nigel turned her toward him and began kissing her passionately. “You’re more than welcome to stay over tonight and watch the sun come up,” he said, coming up for air.

“Can I have a rain check?” As much as she wanted to fuck Nigel, she was determined not to sabotage their relationship by jumping into bed with him too soon.

Sensing her hesitation, he kissed her on the forehead and said, “Whatever you want, Kennedy; there’s no rush. Like I told you before, I’m not looking for a random booty call. I really like your company, and getting to know you outside of the bedroom is important to me. Now don’t get me wrong, I am a hot-blooded male, and I hope you don’t make me wait too long.” He smiled.

She reached up and kissed him again. “Don’t worry, Nigel, I won’t.”

“Good. Now, I hope you’re hungry,” he said, switching gears. He grabbed her hand. “Come on into the kitchen and keep me company while I finish dinner.”

“What’s on the menu?” she asked, sitting at the stainless-steel counter, glad to have the counter as a barrier between them. She felt safe and sexy in his arms, and didn’t trust herself when their bodies touched. On one hand, she was ready to throw her casual sex rule right out of his floor-to-ceiling window, but on the other hand, she knew waiting was the right thing to do.

“Grilled snapper, asparagus, and new potatoes sprinkled with fresh parsley,” he said, uncorking a bottle of Chardonnay.

“Yum. Sounds good. Who knew you were a chef?” she teased.

Handing her a glass of wine, he smiled. “I’m no Emeril, but I got skills.” He winked.

“I just love his show. Do you watch it?”

“I’ll never tell.” He chuckled.

“I bet you TiVo every episode, Chef Boyardee.” She laughed.

“How’d you guess?” He winked. “I may not be Emeril, but my snapper recipe is finger-licking good.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. I’m starv—” Before she could finish her sentence, the phone rang.

He picked up the cordless that sat on the counter, looked at the caller ID display, and put the phone back on the counter without answering the call. The phone rang three more times before going into voice mail. “Work.” He looked over at her. “My boss doesn’t seem to understand the concept of private time.”

“Some people need to get a life.”

“Exactly.” He turned his attention to the bunch of fresh asparagus on the cutting board and began slicing off the ends. “Dinner’ll be ready in a few.”

Relaxing on the high-backed bar stool, she watched Nigel take command of the kitchen like a pro. He lit the stovetop grill, took the fish out of a bowl of marinade, and placed the filets on the rack once it was piping hot. After brushing the asparagus with olive oil and a sprinkling of garlic powder, he placed the spears alongside the fish. A few turns later, he was plating up their dinner.

“How many potatoes do you want?” he asked, reaching for a pot filled with petite new potatoes.

“Just one. I’m trying to cut back on the carbs.” She inhaled the enticing aroma of the fish. “Dinner surely smells good.”

“Let’s hope it tastes good,” he said, placing plates on the counter.

They chatted over dinner with Sade playing softly in the background. Kennedy had to admit that Nigel could throw down. The snapper was grilled to perfection, not overcooked, but succulent and flaky.

“Well, what’s the verdict, Emeril Lagasse?” he joked.

“I’ve got to give it to you, Nigel, you got skills,” she said, polishing off the last asparagus spear.

“Thank you, thank you.” He bowed his head in a mock subservient gesture. “Everything I learned, I learned from Julia Child. She was my culinary guru. Would you care for seconds?”

Kennedy rubbed her stomach. “No thank you. I’m full as a drum.”

“Not too full for dessert I hope,” he said, clearing the dishes. “Like Bill Cosby says,” he changed his voice and facial expression to impersonate Mr. Cosby, “there’s always room for J.E.L.L.O.”

She cracked up laughing. “You sound just like him. And yes, I would love a little Je . . .”

Ring.
It was the phone again. And once again, he looked at the caller ID and let the call go into voice mail.

Kennedy wanted to tell him to just answer the damn thing. Obviously his boss wasn’t going to let up. But she didn’t want to get in his business. She knew how territorial men could be about their work, so she decided to excuse herself. “Where’s your bathroom?”

Nigel stared at the phone in his hand. He barely looked at her when he said, “Down the hall, first door on the left.”

Kennedy got up and proceeded in that direction. Stopping her in her tracks was a series of Jacob Lawrence paintings mounted on the wall that led to the bathroom. The paintings were similar to his famous Migration series. She couldn’t tell if they were originals or prints. She quickly surmised that they must be prints, because originals would cost a fortune. After admiring the paintings, she continued on to the bathroom. As she was primping in the mirror, the phone rang again, except this time Nigel picked up. Kennedy clicked off the bathroom light and opened the door. Walking down the hall, she heard him saying:

“I told you earlier that I don’t have that information here. I’ll get it to you first thing in the morning. Yes, I know time is of the essence.” He turned around, startled to see Kennedy standing in the doorway. “Look, I’ve got to run.” He hung up abruptly, without saying good-bye, and simply said, “Work.”

Over bowls of raspberry Jell-O and cream, he didn’t say much. Kennedy tried to make a lame joke about him pureeing the raspberries by hand, but he didn’t return her quip with one of his wisecracks. His mood had completely changed. He was no longer joking around, but seemed preoccupied with his thoughts.

“Are you okay?” she asked, picking up on his attitude shift.