Irish Luck (3 page)

So perfect in his arms, Kenyatta felt right. He knew it. Lifting her chin, his eyes met hers. “Let me kiss you.”

He claimed her mouth at once. Tasting as sweet as her demeanor, Kenyatta’s soft lips drove him wild! How many nights had he lain awake, his cock rock hard in his fist, dreaming of her wet, thick lips fastened around his rod? Too many. His arms tightened. Yanking her to him, he held her firm against his chest. The kiss deepened and her breasts pressed soft and flat against him, further tormenting him. Kenyatta moaned, so deep and delicious, it turned him on more. His jeans had become greatly restrictive. His growing hunger pressed impatiently, thudding against his zipper. With the stirring of his desire roused, he released her, breaking the kiss before he took her right there on the floor.

“Wow.” Kenyatta blushed.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.”

Her lips lingered close to his when they split into a wide grin.

“Me, too.” Her hand sought his. It made him glad she wanted his touch.

“Was it so bad?” He dropped a kiss on her cheek.

“No.” She squeezed him, and again, he relished the contact. “It was very wet.”

Doran laughed. “You
have
been kissed before...”

“Not like that. Not by
you
.” Sincerity drove those words into his heart. He hugged her close.

Just then, laughter erupted as three people spilled out of the ballroom doors. “Get a room!” one of them shouted. Doran peered at them. One, a graphic designer, added in slurred speech, “Lucky bastard!”

Doran noted all hailed from CAKE. One, Jillian Graham, worked in accounting. She spied them and approached, bleary eyed and staggering. He hoped she would not get behind the wheel of a car.

“Oh my God. It’s Jill!” Kenyatta buried her face into his chest. “Darn it.”

“I’ll take care of it, lass.”

“Is that you, Kenyatta?” Jillian smashed the words together, peering intently at Kenyatta. She stumbled back a step and then tried to touch her.

Doran rolled Kenyatta out of the drunken woman’s grasp.

“Obviously, you’ve had a good time tonight,” Doran scowled at Jill.

Jillian flashed a broad grin that broke through her confused expression. “You too, Richards.”

He nodded. “Touché.”

She glanced at the woman wrapped in his arms. “’Bout damn time you two got together. One more week of y’all mooning over each other, and pretending not to, and we voted to lock you both in the closet until one of you came out pregnant.”

Kenyatta squeaked. Jillian roared in laughter and stumbled off toward the pair waiting for her at the end of the hall.

“Rose, you driving them home tonight. They’re toasted,” Doran called down to a shapely woman dressed in a black suit and heels. She’d arrive at the party with Jill and her brother, Enrique in tow. Rose was a driver for Carte Seay’s law firm. Doran knew her because she often came by in the company car to fetch her brother.

Rose nodded and gave him a wink. “That you, Miss Kramer? So glad to see you and Mr. Richards have finally connected. You’re such a cute couple.”

Grabbing Enrique’s hand, Rose guided him down the hallway where Jill waited leaning against one of the tables. The three of them vanished around the corner.

Doran shook his head and looked down at Kenyatta. “See? To them we’re already a couple.”

Kenyatta laid her head against his chest. “She’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk, and I already see us as a couple,” Doran said softly. He kissed the top of her head.

“Can we go?” she asked.

“Look at me.” She lifted her head and with her chin on his chest she met his eyes. “I am not ashamed of us. I’m in love with you. I won’t hide it. Not from the people we work with. Not from anyone. Ever. Now, if you’re not on board with that say so now.”

She untangled herself from his embrace. “Why do you have to make it so darn hard?”

“What’s hard? You want to be with me or not?”

How much simpler can it get?
The rest they would face together, work out together, tackle together, as one.

“I do want you!” she crossed her arms in a huff.

“But…” He could hear it in her tone.

“But what if we go south or it sours or—”

“Or the Mayan calendar is correct and 2012 is the end of the world?” Doran interjected. “Every time you leave your home there is risk. Love
is
a risk. Life is a risk. You’re right about that. I’m Irish. Tonight is St. Patrick’s Day. Use a little Irish luck and take a chance. Take a chance on me. On us.”

“Us,” Kenyatta said, as if she was trying it out. “Us.”

“Yes,
us
—you and me.”

“And on Monday you won’t…”

“Do you have to even ask?” He scowled at her. He took her hand and placed it against his heart. “Listen.”

She pressed her ear to his chest. After a few moments, she straightened.

“And?”

“And you’re crazy if you think your heart can speak.”

Laughing, he held her hand tightly. “You ready to try your luck?”

“Yes, I think I am.”

Chapter Five

Absolutely no way would Kenyatta allow herself to engage in the horizontal hello inside her boss’s sprawling mansion. She followed Doran down the massive central staircase—marble two-tiered stairs that consumed most of the foyer. It bottomed out into a sprawling and gleaming foyer that led to the double front doors. Her heels clicked on the tile and her heart seemed to jump at each sound. Beside her, Doran held her hand and spoke in soft tones to her. With her throat dry and her panties wet from the excitement, she managed to croak out a, “I have to call Cree.”

Doran paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Cree?”

Kenyatta nodded. “I came with her.”

He shrugged. “Text her.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Kenyatta frowned. “Doran, she’s going to want to know.”

He squeezed her hand. “I don’t give a damn what she wants to know. The only woman I care about is you.”

“Well,
I
want to know.”

Kenyatta did not like how this was going. Truthfully, her choices were slim. She either wanted to go with him or she didn’t. She either trusted him or she didn’t.  Her fence sitting had done what her nana had told her fence sitting would do—give you a sore backside. Doran made her feel so alive. So wickedly sinful and sexy she couldn’t
not
go with him—to the ends of the Earth if need be.

“You are stalling,” Doran said, clearly calling her bluff. “Are you really that afraid of me, or the option of what we could be together? You said you were ready. So, are you?”

When Doran spoke to her like this—full of command, certainty, and warmth, it made her want to do exactly what he said—all while wearing nothing but black lace and a tiny thong.

“I’m not stalling.” To her surprise, she meant it.

“Text Cree, and let her know you’re with me—”

“No need.” Cree appeared at the top of the staircase. With a nod at Kenyatta, she looked down her nose at them. “Doran, you’re not taking my baby cousin out of this house. You’ve both been drinking. We’ve got thirteen bedrooms. Pick one and sleep it off.”

Kenyatta’s cheeks burned. Her cousin sure did know how to embarrass her.

Point. Blank. Shoot.

Cree spun on her heels and clicked off back to wherever she’d magically come from.

“You heard the boss,” Doran said. With mischief fleshing out his dimpled cheeks, he pulled her to the east. They’d been given carte blanche to run through Silver’s home by the future Mrs. Silver herself. No CAKE employee would pass up that opportunity. She followed him down the eastern corridor, past several rooms. When he came to one with the door closed, he opened it, entered the guest room and flipped on the wall light switch. Decorated in soft Carolina blue, the rectangular room had been washed in Tarheel décor. It crawled over the walls, into picture frames and across the single bed’s comforter, sheets and pillowcases.

Doran stepped inside. “Um, wow.”

Kenyatta followed. “Mr. Silver went to Chapel Hill. I’ve never seen this room.”

“She said thirteen bedrooms.”

Kenyatta laughed in agreement. Doran softly shut the door, and pulled her to him.

“I love your laugh.” His voice deepened along with his accent. 

When his arms slid around her waist, Kenyatta’s stomach rolled over. How many lunch breaks had she sat imagining this moment? Too many to count, and far too many turkey sandwiches to remember.

He dipped his head lower, and placed his lips so close to hers that when he exhaled, she inhaled.

“Doran,” she breathed.

Her hands glided up his neck, across the nape and into his hair. Those silky strands felt good against her fingertips—cool to the touch. He shuddered against her, laughing in her ear, before taking the outer shell into his mouth. Nibbling the edge, his tongue licked a line down to her lobe, where Doran, sucked it into his mouth.

It raised goosebumps across her skin, made her nipples harden to the point they hurt, and caused her to clutch at this neck, her nails biting into his skin. His soft kissable lips traveled further down her throat, nuzzling her sensitive spot and making her moan. Kenyatta stopped fighting and released the pleasure she’d pinned behind her emotional Kevlar vest, her wall. Doran had successfully infiltrated her defenses and with each soft kiss, naughty nibble, and nuzzle, he dismantled her objections until there were none.

In the warm yellow light, she opened her eyes and saw Doran clearly. There was no denying he meant to make love to her. She closed her eyes and threw her head back as a rush of pleasure wash over her. Doran took his time licking her collarbone, and palming her ass. His hands slipped under her dress and felt good and strong as they squeezed her butt. He ran his tongue over her cheek and right to her lips.

He kissed her briefly on the lips, so light she barely felt it at all.

“Look at me, Ken.”

Her eyes flashed open. His gravel tone, the seriousness of it brought her back to the room, to this place and time. Doran’s crisp blue eyes were so close she thought she’d drown in them. Despite this, they offered comfort, bliss, and peace she hadn’t known since, well…ever. She’d always had to look out for herself, especially when her cousins had moved on with their lives, except for Cree. Her brother and sister were a good six and eight years older, respectively.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, but I do want to be clear. What we do now must be your decision too. I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing this with me. We can lie down, fully clothed and sleep until morning. We don’t have to have sex tonight. But know this. I am fully in love with you. No jokes. No alcohol-induced confession.”

She took it in and released a slow breath. Earlier, she’d been so nervous and worried about being with him. An office fling, um no, not her, but now when she gazed deep into those eyes, she trusted Doran to do what he said. He’d hold her tight, if that was what she wanted.

“I will give you anything you want, Kenyatta, but I do want one thing in return.”

“Yes?”

“Your love, forever, not just tonight.”

“Forever is a long time,” she teased.

“It won’t be enough time to spend with you.” Doran tugged her close to him again, and to her disappointment, did not ravish her with kisses. “Not nearly enough.”

Why did he keep talking? So many words, but none could accurately describe how she felt, what she believed and what she hoped for with him. There were no words at all. Kenyatta tugged him toward her, hungry for his kiss. Her panties were already soaked with desire, her body wound so tightly she thought she’d shatter if he didn’t take her right there and now!

“Doran,” she cooed, but the stubborn Irishman didn’t give in.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Tell me true. Do you want me? All of me and not just for right now?”

“Yes, Doran.”

“You’re not going to freak out on me in the morning?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Ken…”

She kissed him lightly on the lips. “I want to be with you.  I’m ready to try my luck.”

“Good.”

He kissed her hard on the mouth, stealing her breath and stunning her with the ferociousness of it. It made her think back to him walking around the party, primal and raw. She gave in to him, but it wasn’t surrender—not at all. It was an exchange of goods and services—love and devotion. Kissing him back, Kenyatta greedily took control, sucking his tongue into her mouth and then releasing it to tease with her own. Doran’s hands tugged at the hem of her dress. She broke the kiss long enough for him to snatch it over her head. Somehow he managed not to catch her big gold hoop earrings. Doran paused. His eyes roamed over her body, clad only in her pink lacy bra, matching bikini panties and garter with stockings.

“Sweet St. Patrick,” Doran said.

Kenyatta blushed. No man had ever reacted to her body that way before. She wasn’t a virgin, but most men she’d dated in college had only wanted to pump her a few times, grunt, roll over and leave. They never seemed to bother to actually look at her curvy body. At five feet, she didn’t have incredible legs or a tiny waist. It didn’t matter, if the way Doran stared at her was any indication. She stood taller, and unhooked her bra, freeing her swollen breasts. Aching for his touch, his mouth, his attention, her nipples throbbed.

Doran didn’t wait for an invitation. He took one engorged nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling in equal abandon. His tongue whirled around her sensitive peak and she arched, giving him more. She slipped her fingers beneath the fabric of her panties, and rubbed her saturated clit. Wetter than she’d ever remembered being, Kenyatta panted. “Doran, please.”

She opened her eyes and looked down at Doran’s lowered head. His eyes closed, he seemed to be in ecstasy.  When he switched to her other pointed peak, he sighed in pleasure.

“Doran…” It sounded like a whine, but Kenyatta realized her fingers weren’t enough. She needed him inside her physically—to join where he existed emotionally. She touched his face and said his name real slow, enunciating each syllable. “Doran.”