Tempting Me: A Bad Boy Romance (16 page)

Chapter 10-Devlin
 

The lights and panoramic mirrors around the dressing stage allow for an all-access view of Ayron as she models dresses for tonight. I brought her to Baraide’s Boutique—the same one that my family has used for generations—to get the full stylist experience.

“You like her,” Denise Baraide observes, her large false eyelashes fluttering, as Ayron disappears down a short hall into a dressing room to try on another gown.

I’m glad that she doesn’t have any clients to see and is free for the day. I’ll be free for the next thirty days. Being a rich kid, I always felt the need to prove myself, that I wasn’t soft. My cousins hadn’t been as fortunate as I had been, and made it be known that I had it made, that I wasn’t as tough as them because my parents had money. In the beginning, in an attempt to prove them wrong, I worked extra from the bottom of my father’s company to show them that I had what it takes. Eventually, their opinion stopped mattering, and hard work had become habit and the best way to have a semblance of a relationship with my father. I hadn’t allowed myself to take a break in years.

It is not possible for me to like Ayron as much as Mrs. Baraide thinks I could. I’m just not capable of it.

“Maybe,” I half admit with a shrug from a cushioned sofa in the studio.

Denise takes a seat next to me.

“I remember when you were a little boy running right under your mother’s heels, playing with her dresses.” She claps her hands together with delight, her long rounded nails clacking together as well. “Oh, and when you got your first tailored suit, how you puffed out your chest and strutted around here like your father.” She laughs. “I know you better than you think. You could have taken her to the mall—” she scrunched her face at the mention, “but you brought her here.”

I look at the woman who had been a stunner in her time and had helped create styles for every important event in this generation of my family. Even though I lost my birth mother, throughout the years, I had gained several surrogates who imparted their wisdom as though I were their own.

“There may be something to that.” I shrug. “Maybe not.”

Ayron emerges from the hall that she had taken to the dressing room and prances onto the dressing stage in front of the mirror. Like a bee to pollen, I want to be near her, in her, taste her sweet nectar.

“Do you like it?” Ayron asks, a grin overtaking her face.

Denise stands as I do, and I assume that it can only be because she sees what I see.

“Wow.” I’m mesmerized

Denise touches and tugs on the dress.

“Deep gold is your color,” she says. “The sweetheart neckline and mermaid cut of the gown are perfect for your body.”

The dark gold material pools atop her perfectly painted taupe toenails, flows along the contours of her legs, and tightens perfectly to cup the girth of an ass that I plan to lay my head on at least twice in my life. The center of the dress pivots inward to accommodate her waist, and circles around her pert, pronounced chest in a heart shape without a strap or wire to hold it up or in place.

Ayron playfully snaps her fingers in my direction.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare?” Her face is flushed and she looks delighted. I like this sassy side of her.

“Umm. Yeah.” I let my tongue run the length of my lip, wishing that it were the lips below her hips that my tongue had the pleasure of indulging.

“All right, Ayron,” Denise says. “Let’s get you out of this dress and over to hair and makeup.”

“Yeah. Let me help you out of that dress,” I say, following the pair.

“Shoo,” Denise pushes. “You let her stay a lady. You’ll see her in four hours.”

“Wait.” Ayron steps forward. “Promise me that you won’t act on anything until we’ve had a chance to talk out a plan.”

Her eyes are wide with concern.

“I won’t do anything without you,” I say and truly mean it.

“You better not,” she says with a wink.

***

Dana’s uptown loft is immaculate as expected. I don’t visit often, but when I do, the furniture is always new, ornate, and up-to-date.

“You change furniture like people change clothes,” I comment, following my older sister through the vaulted entryway into the all-white living room.

“What is this about, Dev? I know you didn’t come here to discuss decorating,” she insists, stepping over to the grand bar area full of beautiful bottles and decanters.

My sister had always been direct. It was a trait she inherited from our father. If anyone is like the old man, Dana is. Sharp and determined, I could just mention her name in certain circles and people would quake. Her infatuation with Trevor is baffling.

“Would you like something to drink? A stogie?” she asks, already pouring a drink for herself.

“No, thanks,” I tell her, taking a seat on a sofa.

My sister is a hard woman, but her appearance doesn’t suggest so. There are still soft lines about her. Dressed in her usual fitted, wide-leg pantsuit and heels, she looks as though she could be a poster for the feminist movement.

“So, what would you like, Devlin?” she asks, leaning against the bar. “I can tell you now that I am not going back on my recommendation for your suspension, and I know for a fact that you need to see a therapist.”

“Why are you marrying him?” I ask, straightforward.

Her laugh sounds more like a hiss.

“When were you ever concerned about my dating life?”

“Since it affects the future of our family business,” I explain.

“Let’s get something straight, baby brother,” she says, placing the glass down on the bar and pointing a finger. “I don’t answer to you about whom I sleep with. You sound just like Dad, concerned about the business and the image.”

“That’s not it,” I say, standing up.

“Then what is it?” She steps closer to me. “Growing up the only daughter of David Masters was not an easy feat. Every guy I brought home had to be perfect: skilled, mannered, and verified. Now, not only does the man I intend to marry have all three, he’s even already a part of the company. How could you possibly have a problem with him?”

“Because he wants to take our company,” I say.

“And why shouldn’t my husband run the company?” she responds with a roll of her neck. “I don’t want to, but I’m capable of choosing a successor, Devlin.”

“He’s not family for real,” I explain, exasperated. She should know this shit already. “He’s not going to have Pop’s back like I will. This motherfucker is shadier than an oak tree, and you’re ready to hand him my damn legacy.”

“Our damn legacy, Dev,” she corrects, poking me in the chest. “The company is ours, and as per usual, your selfish ass can’t see past your own interests.”

“Selfish? I’m trying to save your ass.”

She shakes her head in disagreement.

“Nope. This is just like when we were younger and you popped up and stole all of the air out of the room,” she hisses. “Junior and I, we were there for the lean times, when they had to struggle hard and hustle harder. We didn’t have the exclusive private schools of the rich and famous, catered birthday parties, and thousand-dollar allowances.” Her voice grows louder with each description.

This had always been my experience with my siblings—resentment.

“And that pisses you off, doesn’t it? So is this my punishment for being born?” I question. “I always hoped that you had a smidgeon of sibling love and that our circumstances made it difficult to show. Thank you for the clarification that I don’t mean shit to you.”

***

The lights twinkle across the perfectly canopied trees and up the pathway to the expansive country club where music blares from the venue. If I ever visit this club, it has to do with business, and it happens during the day. My mother had held events here so often that this place began to feel like a second home. The one event that meant the most continues on in her legacy—Gladys’s Glad Gala. The benefits are given to nonprofit organizations that provide low or no-cost professional counseling or psychological support.

I leave my car with the valet and stand in wait for my date. I had sent a car to pick her up and it would be here soon. I could wait inside the windowed building, but I know these people. They ask many questions on a normal basis, nosy motherfuckers, but they ask even more questions after a noticeable absence.

I straighten the lapels of my black Armani tux and look up the extended drive. Having Ayron by my side will serve as a shield of some sorts. Decorum demands that deep questioning not occur around the unconfirmed, those not established as a part of this community. Ayron is new to this world.

A white limousine ends it trek at the curved driveway before me.

The well-dressed driver hops out of the front seat with a whistle, as though his job is of great importance, and opens the door for my lady in waiting.

Her perfect, unassuming face lifts in a smile as she tilts her head and gives a simple curtsy while thanking the driver.

“Thank you for the pleasant ride.”

I let loose a hearty chuckle.

Ayron had only slightly started with her glamour process when I left Baraide’s. Her look, now complete, rivals the star-lit sky.

I blink a few times before allowing my eyes to drink in the sight of the sassy, shapely woman.

Her curled copper hair rests against her bare shoulders as she moves her gold-clad body in my direction.

I meet her half way, acting on a sudden need to be near her.

“Were you laughing at me?” Ayron asks, stepping between my arms.

Embracing her longer than normal, I reveal that her actions caused my smile.

“You don’t have to curtsy to the driver, princess,” I tease.

“I was just saying thank you,” she declares, playfully jabbing my shoulder with her matching clutch purse.

“You look good,” I say, exploring the contours of her perfect face and shimmering lips.

Ayron empties my arms to model her look for me, and I humor her.

“Just good?” she questions. “You paid enough for me to look awesome, stunning, or breathtaking, Devlin. If I’m looking like the ugly stepsister to you, then we need to head back to the shop and get your money back.” She grins and twirls like a model on a catwalk.

I shake my head, transfixed by her fascinating form.

“I’d tear that dress off your body right now,” I growl.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” She nods. “My best friend’s philosophy on the pain of beauty—If he don’t want it. then it wasn’t worth it.”

“You crack me up.” I laugh.

I leave an arm around her waist as we stroll into the building.

On our way through the corridor to the ballroom, a gangly teenage employee nearly walks into a post, gawking at the picture-worthy woman attached to my arm.

A few other scattered bystanders notice her as well. I catch a few scattered whispers, wondering about her identity.

The trip to Baraide’s was worth every penny. The last time I attended this function, I slunk away a heartbroken mess.

Her walk is one of pure, self-assured confidence, something she will definitely need when we enter the room of entitled elitists.

“Is that her?” Ayron asks, swiveling her head between the glossy picture of my mother and my glistening eyes when we arrive at the ballroom.

A large poster of my mother with the words “Gladys’s Glad Gala” sits atop an easel. I had put her pictures away the same time that my father and family had. Although I remember her in smells, sights, and songs, I had left the beauty of her image locked in a box under my closet floor.

“Yes. That is my mother,” I tell her.

Her eyes light with approval.

“She was beautiful.”

“Are you ready?” I ask her, eyeing the nut-brown polished floor that gleams beneath the white-washed walls.

“Always,” she sasses, moving forward into the ballroom with a twitch of her hips.

We don’t have to move far before acknowledgment of our addition is heard in a grasshopper string of gasps across the magnificent, shining chandelier hanging from the middle of the room.

Chapter 11-Ayron

Entering the ballroom with Devlin is like walking into a scene from the long-ago television show “Dynasty.” I can feel the vibration of wealth all around me just from the way that the straight-backed, expensively dressed people stand. Their perfectly quaffed hair and professionally powdered faces beam affluence.

An unexpected thrill sidles me. Their eyes say it all—Devlin is a desired man in these parts. Penetrating eyes whisk our way from the pampered princesses, and sharp fiery gazes crucify me with smiling lips.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Devlin asks as he hooks me close.

I place a hand on his chest, more for show than anything—a statement that we are close. I move my lips to his ear to speak.

“I’m all good. I’m here to support you,” I let him know, and match the smile that crosses his full lips.

He nods to me with a confidence that few men know and even fewer exude. Even with an established absence, he is recognized and respected. This morning he had been just a man, a broken man that I had made a promise to help. Tonight he is a returned prince.

“If you feel uncomfortable, let me know and we can leave.” He whispers this so close to my neck that his lips nearly kiss it.

Our secluded seconds at the entrance quickly succumb to the intrusion of a perturbed looking woman. She had walked away from a conversation on the other side of the room to speak with us.

I wonder if Devlin can see the glint of jealousy in her eyes or the slight, annoyed tilt of her head, and I’m pretty sure she’ll talk in a sweet tone.

Her eyes move across me as though she is preparing for battle, but she turns her body to Devlin and leans in for a respectable one-armed hug.

“It’s good to see you here,” she speaks in cheery tones, but I hear the real objective of her words—where have you been? I am fluent in dignified folk’s double talk. My granny warned me to keep an ear as sharp as their tongue. “Words become as worthless as arrows shot at the sun as long as you know your worth,” was one of her regular sayings to me.

“Hello, Giselle,” he says flatly. “I’m glad to be seen. Let me introduce you to my date, Ayron.”

She acknowledges me briefly with a nod and returns her attention to Devlin.

“Well, I hadn’t heard from you in a while and I was beginning to—”

“Why would you expect to hear from me?” he interrupts, irritation clipping his voice.

I place a calming hand on his chest, and smile between the two of them. Obviously, there is a history.

Devlin eyes me, suddenly relaxing his face.

“Dev,” Giselle implores. “We should talk. In private.” Her pursed painted lips look ready to release scathing things. I have dealt with women like her before—dainty and dignified women who sing praises in someone’s presence and later serrate that same person as though they had never known a nice thing about them.

Before Devlin can respond, a refined man in a tuxedo joins the conversation.

“There you are, darling,” the suited intruder speaks before releasing a kiss onto Giselle’s forehead. “I wondered where you had slipped off to.”

The original exasperation returns to Devlin’s face.

“William,” he acknowledges. “It’s nice to see you two, but if you’ll excuse me.”

I smile and follow in the direction that Devlin leads me.

“You should come to the wedding,” William adds.

This stops Devlin’s forward movement and he turns to face the two.

“I certainly will,” he adds with a counterfeit smile.

After the first intense conversation, the rest are pleasant. Hugs and hellos from club members follow with kind words about Gladys and her efforts to fight her own mental illness issues and help others as well.

Devlin hadn’t shared with me that his mother suffered from bouts of depression, but his inclusion of me in every conversation confirms that he didn’t mind my knowing. The people that Devlin congregates with aren’t half as bad as I thought that they would be. Maybe Lance’s family was so rude because they were well-off and not wealthy, or maybe Devlin just makes sure to associate with good people.

I smile and nod as he ushers me through the event. Hand against my back or arm around my waist, his attention to my wellbeing is comforting. A quiet longing for him churns inside for his hand to slip a little a lower, for this night to get a little naughtier, even though I know that it shouldn’t.

I sigh to release some of the pressure of my building desire for him. This would be entirely less difficult if his body wasn’t so warm next to mine, his hands so large and steady, or if his cologne didn’t smell so good.

“Thank you for this,” he whispers against my ear, allowing his tongue to slide across my earlobe. His arm continues to rest along my waist as it has the majority of the night. A strike of desire flashes through me. I cannot handle naughty, not with Devlin.

I catch his eyes with mine, and the wink he gives nearly makes me fall to my knees.

My eyes close, weighed down by the intoxicating smell of his cologne mixed with the desire in his voice.

“Anytime,” I breathe before clearing my throat.

Being so close to him is becoming too much. His soft words and iron hard body, his alluring eyes, his careful concern, all make this feel real.

An egg-shaped man with an oblong head partially covered by a patchy, bushy afro moves stodgily over to Devlin, gripping a glass of brown liquid. His gait indicates that the glass in his hand is most likely not his first one.

“I didn’t imagine that I’d see you here,” the less subtle man exhorts in a deep bass of a voice. “It’s been years since you attended. Trevor has been here on the company’s behalf for the last two years.”

“I thought it was time to make a return.” Devlin grimaces before he introduces us. “Mr. Randall is a M.I.S. executive board member. Mr. Randall, this is my date, Ayron.”

The round man’s square, overgrown eyebrows nearly lift from his face as he takes a leisurely glance at my form.

“I suppose if a person could resurrect an appearance,” he leans to view my backside, “I assume that she could.”

Devlin’s look of agitation grows as he leaves my side to guide Mr. Randall a safe distance away.

“Let’s walk and talk, Mr. Randall,” he says before turning to me. “I’ll be right back.”

Maybe some space will calm my body temperature down. This is just a job like any other. Almost like any other. Devlin is just a man. A sexy man, with big muscular arms and a fit figure, who makes my private places alert and soaking in his presence.

Groaning, I stroll out of the room onto the verandah overlooking manicured acres of lush grass. The night air and the cool, quiet space are refreshing.

I had thought giving Devlin the thirty-day trial excuse would keep him at bay, but the way his eyes burn against me, it may have turned him on more than settled him. Not to mention the way my body reacts to him.

“I bet he took you to Baraide’s,” Giselle says as she flounces next to me.

The wicked witch has returned. Her eyes are tight, and she is too preoccupied with her flute glass to look at me. I figured that she would pop up somewhere. She had been watching Devlin and me all night.

I don’t answer. I just feign a smile.

“It’s kind of cute that he found himself a project. I could tell that he was a little lonely after our breakup,” she smugly offers.

“Words are like arrows shot at the sun” circles through my mind. If the venue had been different or my attitude on the fritz, the bitch would be bald right now.

I look over at the woman with a pleased look, imagining ways to rip the expensive-looking weave from her head.

“His company has been pleasurable,” I respond.

The quick wince on her otherwise mute face lets me know that the comment affected her. If Devlin makes love with the same passion that he kisses, then I know she is missing that pleasure. A pleasure that I shouldn’t even be considering.

“You look decent enough, so I thought I would do the polite thing and warn you. First off, nothing ever has or ever will come before that stupid company of his. As though he doesn’t already have enough money. Even if he does decide to keep you around as his little toy, you don’t belong in this world, and once he is done feeling charitable, he’ll be done with you,” she sneers.

I lift a finger, with the intent of showing the demeaning debutant just how much I “don’t belong,” but the warmth of a familiar hand is at my back before I do.

Devlin whirls me around, pulls me close to him, and in an instant places his mouth softly against mine. I catch a look of desire flash in his eye and he deepens the kiss, parting my lips and thrusting his tongue between them. He searches my mouth as though he was a poor man and my teeth were made of gold.

My eyes close and I feel light enough to float away, but the strength of his tongue keeps me tethered.

“Damn, girl,” he says, releasing my mouth and biting his lip. “I have never been kissed like that before.”

Everything on my body associated with sex clenches, pebbles, or leaks in that moment.

Giselle looks as though she wants to throw acid, and she silently slinks her way back into the party.

“Sorry that the ice queen got to you,” he apologizes. “She is definitely my ex for a reason.”

I should ask probing questions, guide him to understand the importance of past relationships in building a stronger future, but I have nothing. He kissed away all of the mental capacity that I have to analyze behavior and assess through conversation.

I simply nod at him.

“You know that none of what she said is true, right?” He slides one of his large hands across his smooth, hunky face. “I know where you come from, and I’m glad that you aren’t like these people.”

I manage to stick on a worried smile as anxiety twists through my insides. How long will I be able to push away this irresistibly sweet and sexy man? I have to hide the bag of chocolate for the candy dish at the office, just to keep myself from eating it all. He is ten times as alluring as a candy bar.

“I know,” I answer. “Excuse me for just a little.”

Without waiting for a reply or giving an explanation, I head away from those mesmerizing eyes.

***

I step into the private restroom, take a deep breath, and call my friend.

“I can’t do it,” I rush before Monique has the chance to pop out a greeting. “I can’t spend the evening with him. I just can’t.”

The tiled bathroom floor receives the brunt of my agitation, as pacing seems to calm my nerves a bit, but not enough.

“Calm down,” she orders. “What did he do? I got bail money under the mattress, if I have to come beat his ass.”

“He’s been a perfect gentleman,” I nearly yell in disbelief. “His father had me pumped up to meet this pompous, anger-filled miscreant, and Devlin is nothing of the sort. He bought me clothes, paid for hair and makeup and a limo just to have me stand by his side while he showered me with compliments all night!”

“The dog,” Monique exhales sarcastically. “I’m going to tell you like Ms. Agnes would—carry yourself right back in there and enjoy that man.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t do that. He’s been too sweet for me to keep leading him on.”

“So he’s getting to you?” Monique says. “It’s alright to care about him as a person. You’re helping him become better.”

I shake my head.

I have crossed so many lines already.

“I have to tell him what I do and why I am here. I need to confess,” I say.

I look at myself in the mirror.

“And what about Ms. Agnes? What about getting the office space that you need?” she says. “You’ve more than outgrown that broom closet at the community center. Focus on the goal.”

A knock at the door startles me.

“You all right in there?” Devlin’s smooth voice, and the image of his tall, handsome body leaning against the door, coming to check on me, cause the flutters return as though they’d never been absent.

“Why does he keep being so nice?” I whisper to Monique.

Devlin knocks again.

“Ayron,” he calls.

“He’s outside of the door,” I snap into the phone while searching through the small space for a window, porthole, trap door or something. “I can’t face him again, Mo.”

“Do I need to call an ambulance?” he asks.

“I’m all right, Devlin,” I squeak.

“You can do this, Ayron,” Monique reassures. “The ends will justify the means.”

Ending the call with Monique, I open the door to Devlin.

“Is everything all right?” He examines me, his gorgeous brows furrowed. He places a steady hand on my cheek. “I thought you may have done a disappearing act on me, until coat check said they saw you slip in here.”

“I’m fine,” I stutter, lost in the feeling of his caress.

“I wish that I could say the same.”

“What’s wrong?” It is my job to worry about him, to comfort him.

“I need you. This—” His mouth is against mine before I can speak.