Authors: Francis Ray
Tags: #Romance, #Erotica, #African American, #Contemporary, #Fiction
Only You (10 page)
“I’m not the helpless, nervous type.” She smiled up at him, expecting him to at least humor her.
If anything, his expression hardened. “Security is here for a reason. Let the men do their jobs.”
Sierra started to point out that the days of a woman waiting for a man to take care of her were gone, but she let it go. She had a feeling she wouldn’t win this argument with Blade any more than she had with her brothers. “I’d better get to work or you’ll regret hiring me.”
“Never.” His hand circled her forearm before he thought. He tensed for a second, half-expecting her to tear into him. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”
“Where?”
“My place.” His eyes studied hers. “Martin would get huffy if we went anyplace else.”
It was as good an excuse as any. “Can’t have that.” Life had taught her the best way to overcome her fear was to face it.
“What do you want?”
The husky words sank into her. She wanted for him to really smile, to somehow ease the pain she often glimpsed in his dark eyes, for her not to be hurt. “Surprise me.”
“Works for me.” His hot, inventive mouth settled on hers.
S
ierra planned a full day. In the morning, she scheduled appointments. In the afternoon, she wanted to meet with the head of the marketing department for Navarone Resorts and Spas. She shook her head at the small article buried in the Home Center section of
The Dallas Morning News
that morning.
ierra planned a full day. In the morning, she scheduled appointments. In the afternoon, she wanted to meet with the head of the marketing department for Navarone Resorts and Spas. She shook her head at the small article buried in the Home Center section of
The Dallas Morning News
that morning.
During her stay in Dallas she’d searched the paper daily, and this was the first time she’d seen any mention of the estates. With the project slated for completion in less than two months, there should have been more of a buzz, more units sold. She expected to go after buyers, but they should have also been calling her.
There was an 800 number listed on the huge sign in front of the building, but none of her sales or those of the other Realtors had come from callers to that number. The article, with a two-by-four-inch black-and-white photo, wouldn’t tempt anyone to call.
She’d called John to learn the name of the person responsible and learned they’d hired a local marketing firm. Whenever possible, they liked to use local businesses. She asked for the contact name and telephone numbers.
Sierra refrained from telling John her opinion of the pitiful job she thought the advertising firm was doing. She wrote down the information he gave her, then called the phone number. After being passed on to two people in Fulton Advertising Agency, Sierra was finally connected to the person in charge of the campaign, Char James. Sierra had barely gotten out her name and position before the woman offered to come over and meet with her.
“Thank you. I’ll be in the sales office all afternoon. I’ll give your name to Security so you can come right up.”
“He really is there, then?”
Sierra frowned at the breathless quality of the woman’s voice. “Who?”
“Never mind. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
Was that another woman “chasing Blade” or one simply awestruck? Hanging up the phone, Sierra dialed Dominique at her studio. “How would you like the opportunity to take some photos of Navarone Place?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been itching to do that since I came over last week for the tea. When?” Dominique asked.
That was the answer Sierra had hoped for. “Can you be here in the morning? The head of marketing for Navarone Place is rushing over now. I want to discuss some ideas with her. But I think she’s more interested in seeing Blade than me. I’ll set another appointment once she gets here to meet you tomorrow. I want her to see your wonderful photographs as well. We’ve got to kick this campaign up a notch.”
“I haven’t done much commercial photography, but I’d like to try.”
“This is your chance. You see people and instinctively know how they’ll best photograph. I need that same eye,” Sierra said. “I want photographs that will pull them in, make them want Navarone Place to be their residence.”
“It’s fabulous. Daniel certainly jumped at buying an estate. If we hadn’t recently purchased a home with thoughts of starting a family soon, I might be tempted myself,” Dominique laughed.
Sierra pictured a chubby and happy dark-eyed baby, but the mother wasn’t Dominique. “You’ll make a great mother.”
“I’m going to do my best. See you tomorrow.”
Sierra hung up the phone, then went to look out the window. Babies meant marriage, permanence. No sane woman would think of either in connection with Blade. And, above all, she was a sensible woman.
S
ierra heard someone enter the sales office and looked up, expecting to see Char. Instead, she saw Martin. She stopped making notes and leaned back in the plush leather chair behind her desk. “I might lose track of time, but I know it’s not time for dinner.”
ierra heard someone enter the sales office and looked up, expecting to see Char. Instead, she saw Martin. She stopped making notes and leaned back in the plush leather chair behind her desk. “I might lose track of time, but I know it’s not time for dinner.”
“Lunch. What would you like?”
She came to her feet and rounded the desk. “I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
“Mr. Navarone said that I was to see that you ate. I’m at your disposal.” He had a stubborn look in his eyes. “I take my cooking responsibilities seriously.”
Folding her arms, she leaned against the desk. “You remind me so much of my brother Brandon. He’s the chef and owner of a restaurant in Santa Fe. He’s fed me more times that I can count.” She looked around, then leaned over to whisper in Martin’s ear, “I can cook, but I don’t like to.”
Martin’s lips twitched. “That is what I’m here for.”
She straightened. “Since I am hungry, I’ll accept, but we’re going to discuss this later.”
“Excuse me, I’m looking for Ms. Grayson.”
Sierra looked over Martin’s shoulder to see a slender woman in her early forties in a black Chloé suit and stylishly cut auburn hair. Stepping around Martin, Sierra extended her hand. “I’m Sierra Grayson. You must be Ms. James.”
The handshake was limp, the dark eyes full of surprise. “You’re the exclusive broker? You’re younger than I expected.”
Translation: You’re too young to know what the hell you’re doing. “I’ll take that as a compliment. This is Martin, Ms. James.”
She barely flicked a glance at him. “Martin.”
“Ms. James. Excuse me.”
“How long have you been in real estate?” Char asked as Martin walked away.
“Long enough. How about you in advertising?”
Her shoulders snapped back. “Fifteen years.”
Sierra picked up the newspaper on her desk. “Then why is this the only news on Navarone Place I’ve read in the past week?”
Char actually laughed. “Where are you from? Obviously, you don’t know the value of free advertising.”
You didn’t get angry at condescending people, you let them trip themselves up. “Free advertising is worth squat when no one reads it or cares.”
“The circulation of the newspa—”
“Are you suggesting that every reader of the newspaper is looking for a home of this caliber and is in a position to purchase one?”
“Of course not, but the important thing is that people saw it,” the woman rushed on to say.
“Seeing and buying are two very different things,” Sierra finished. “Car manufacturers advertise every day in multiple media for a very good reason. It’s been proven that it takes the consumer at least three repetitive times to see something before it sticks. When had you planned for two and three?”
“I-I—”
“That wasn’t the answer I was hoping to hear.” Sierra tossed the newspaper on the desk. “A Navarone property is a first for Texas, thus giving Dallas prestige. By now every major newspaper in the state should have run a story on Navarone Place, and if you couldn’t have gotten one, you should have paid for it. Magazines like
Architectural Digest
or
Southern Accents
should be waiting with bated breath to come in and photograph the homes of the first residents.”
Architectural Digest
or
Southern Accents
should be waiting with bated breath to come in and photograph the homes of the first residents.”
“I’ve got plans,” Char defended.
“Let’s hear them.”
“I—” Once again the woman faltered.
“Ms. James, your performance is inexcusable and unacceptable. I mean to make Navarone Place
the
premiere residence not only in Dallas but in the country. To do that, I need an advertising company with the contacts, motivation, and intelligence to get the information out. Can you produce or do I need to make a phone call that you’re not going to like?”
the
premiere residence not only in Dallas but in the country. To do that, I need an advertising company with the contacts, motivation, and intelligence to get the information out. Can you produce or do I need to make a phone call that you’re not going to like?”
“I’ve been busy with other projects.”
“Excuses won’t cut it with me. What I want, what I demand, are results. Tell me one reason why this conversation shouldn’t be over.”
Her lips began to tremble; tears streamed down her cheeks. “Father will kill me if I mess up this account.”
“Don’t tempt me, Char.”
“
I
f I had known you were taking care of it, I wouldn’t have called,” Sierra said from behind the desk.
I
f I had known you were taking care of it, I wouldn’t have called,” Sierra said from behind the desk.
Blade couldn’t tell if she was upset with him or not. Bob Fulton, head of Fulton Advertising Agency, had just left with his chastised daughter and promised to have a marketing plan on Blade’s desk by ten the next morning. “I wasn’t pleased any more than you. I had Fulton come over to discuss it. While we were talking, I received a phone call from Martin. He was concerned about you.”
“So you rushed to my rescue.” Clearly miffed, she slapped a notebook on her desk.
“That will be the day. Actually, it was Fulton who insisted that we come down. Char was clearly having trouble with the account. I like the old man, but I won’t allow anything to stand in the way of the success of Navarone Place.”
“If her father knew that, why let her continue on the project?”
“She’s his only child, his legacy. He wants to leave the business to her,” Blade said slowly. A legacy was something he would never have, but he understood the need. “I’d better get back to work.” He walked to the door. “Don’t be upset with Martin. It wasn’t so much that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself as it was that he didn’t like the condescending way she talked to you. He was so angry I could barely understand him.”
“She won’t be so flippant the next time we meet.”
He debated only a moment. “Fulton is going to handle the account personally from now on. Char is out.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Your doing?”
“I liked it even less that she talked to you that way.” He opened the door. “Can you meet with us in the morning? I’d like your input.”
She tapped her pen on her desk. “If you don’t mind, I’d like Jacques and Dominique Falcon-Masters there as well. She’s a fabulous photographer. I want her and Jacques to work together to see what they can come up with. You and your design team have created a fabulous place that needs to be shown.”
“I agree. We’ll discuss it over dinner tonight.” He’d worked that reminder in nicely.
Her lips tilted upward. “Afraid I might not come otherwise?”
Nothing much got by Sierra. He almost smiled. “The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Crossed mine, too.” She pulled her appointment book from the corner of her cluttered desk. “Tell Martin the meal had better be fabulous.”
Blade’s eyebrows lifted. “Knowing Martin, he’d probably say that was the only kind he cooked.”
Her mouth twitched. “Get out of here.”
S
ierra forgave Martin long before dinner. Jenkins knocked on her door less than thirty minutes after Blade left with the chef’s peace offering, a crispy calamari salad that delighted her taste buds. She’d called after the first incredible bite. Men had that irksome quirk that made them protective of women. She’d gone back to work looking forward to dinner and being with Blade, another protective male.
ierra forgave Martin long before dinner. Jenkins knocked on her door less than thirty minutes after Blade left with the chef’s peace offering, a crispy calamari salad that delighted her taste buds. She’d called after the first incredible bite. Men had that irksome quirk that made them protective of women. She’d gone back to work looking forward to dinner and being with Blade, another protective male.
Martin might listen and back off, but Blade would do as he pleased. He’d bend only to a point. The same went for her. A showdown between them, both strong willed, was inevitable. And when it happened, it was going to be a doozie.
S
ierra barely kept the smile from her face as Blade, Martin, and Jenkins met her at the door. “Quite a welcoming committee.”
ierra barely kept the smile from her face as Blade, Martin, and Jenkins met her at the door. “Quite a welcoming committee.”
“You’re ten minutes late.” Blade took her arm as if afraid she’d leave.
“Talking with my family.” Pierce and Brandon hadn’t wanted to hang up on the three-way after she told them about her dinner date with Blade. Pierce had suggested room service. Brandon quickly took up the cry. Since they communicated on her cell phone all the time, they didn’t know she had moved out of the hotel. Sierra didn’t think it was a good time to tell them.
“I told them you were coming,” Jenkins said, looking pleased. “You’re too well mannered not to have called and canceled.”
“I’m glad someone has faith in me.” She looked pointedly at Blade.
“I have faith in you. I just don’t know what you’re thinking,” he said, leading her through the great room, the two men following.
She had to smile at that. “My brothers have the same problem.”
“Glad to know I’m not in this by myself,” Blade said.
Jenkins stepped around them and opened the double doors to the terrace. “Martin will serve the first course directly. Enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you, Jenkins.” Sierra took the seat Blade held. The intimate table was a short distance away from the outdoor fireplace. A sloped lounge chair was in front as if waiting for two lovers to lie on it and enjoy the night and each other. Heat flushed her face on imagining her and Blade there. Perhaps she should have listened to her brothers.
“What’s the matter?” Blade stared down at her with a bottle of sparkling water in his hand.
“My brothers wanted me to eat in my room.”
“What do you want?”
She lifted her glass with a steady hand. “As I said, I’m still trying to figure that out.”
After filling her glass, Blade took his seat just as Martin came through the door Jenkins was holding open. Martin quickly served and left.
“Anything I can do to help?”
Stop tempting me
. “I’ll let you know.” She bowed her head to say grace. When she lifted her head, she looked straight into Blade’s gaze. He studied her with blatant appreciation. Perhaps she should have said a prayer for herself.
. “I’ll let you know.” She bowed her head to say grace. When she lifted her head, she looked straight into Blade’s gaze. He studied her with blatant appreciation. Perhaps she should have said a prayer for herself.
“Did you get moved in all right?” he asked, picking up his fork. Perhaps food would quench one appetite while he tried to control another.
“Yes, thank you.” Sierra’s fork hovered over her salad. “When I went over after lunch, the maid, Val, had already unpacked everything. I can definitely see the appeal of just arriving with things already in place, but then you already know that feeling.”
“Yes, but I never thought of it as a draw to residents.” He liked that, besides a beautiful face and irresistible body, Sierra had a sharp mind. Too sharp at times in evading him, but he was determined to change that.
“That’s because you’re so used to it.” She speared a grape tomato. “People don’t pay attention to something unless it disrupts their routine. The draw of Navarone Place will be that it will do everything to make their life there pleasurable.”
She had certainly disrupted his routine. When he finally broke through her resistance, “pleasurable” would be too tame a word to describe their sexual encounter. “Go on.”
She bit into the tomato with relish, then straightened abruptly. “‘Navarone Place—Dreams immersed in reality.’ No, needs work as a slogan.”
“I’m sure it will come to you.”
Just as you will come to me
, he thought. “Here’s Martin with the next course.”
Just as you will come to me
, he thought. “Here’s Martin with the next course.”
“Peppercorn-crusted filet of beef with horseradish mashed potatoes, baby vegetables, and caramelized glaze,” Martin said to her, then to Blade, “minus the green peas. Enjoy.”
Blade noticed immediately that Sierra wasn’t eating. She usually dove into her food before Martin turned away. “What’s the matter?”
Biting her lower lip, she glanced at the terrace doors, then leaned forward to whisper, “I don’t like green peas or cooked carrots.”
Blade instantly stood and reached for her plate. “I’ll have—”
She grabbed the plate. “No. It would hurt his feelings. I guess I could eat them this time.”
“Sierra, I’m not going to allow you to eat food you don’t like when it’s so simple to have Martin fix it.”
She got that mutinous look again. “Not allow me?”
“Would you want a dinner guest to eat food they didn’t like?” he asked.
She sighed. “No.” She caught his arm as he passed. “Tell him I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to be.” He leaned over and kissed her lips. He saw the surprised pleasure in her eyes, on her face. “Stop worrying.”
In less than a minute Blade was back with a fresh plate and Martin. Martin, if anything, was even more captivated by her because she’d wanted to eat food she didn’t like just so she wouldn’t hurt his feelings. “I can’t abide brussels spouts or asparagus.”
“Me, either,” Sierra confessed with a sheepish grin.
“Are there any other foods I should know you don’t like?” Martin asked patiently.
“That’s about it.” Sierra accepted the fork he handed her. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Dessert is triple chocolate cake.” With a small dip of his head, he was gone.
“Thank you, too,” she said as Blade took his seat. “I hope your food isn’t cold.”
He spread his napkin in his lap. “I’ve eaten cold food before.”
Sierra picked up her knife. “But I wasn’t the cause of it.”
His mouth quirked. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” He continued speaking at her stare. “As I said, you’re a hard woman to forget.”
She easily recalled his statement. She didn’t know how she felt about that. She did know she wasn’t going to dwell on it. “How is the resort in the Mexican Caribbean going?”
“Ahead of schedule.” He bit into his meat. “It’s beautiful there. Peaceful.”
He almost looked relaxed for the first time since she’d met him. She wanted that peace for him. “Please tell me more.”
“Located in the Mexican Yucatán Peninsula, Navarone Riviera Maya will be a luxurious haven of sophisticated design, innovative amenities, with unsurpassed personalized service,” he told her. “In this place, steeped in ancient history, surrounded by sugar beaches and a forest so green it looks artificial, the occupants will be able to party or relax as the mood strikes.”
“But as here, you’ll have competition,” she said.
“I see you’ve done your research as usual, but we’re the best,” he said without arrogance. “We’ll provide one of the world’s great luxury escapes with carefree living at its finest. We’ll bring Navarone’s own uncompromising style and sophistication. Cancun International Airport is only thirty minutes away. Major cities like Dallas and Atlanta are less than three hours away.”
Nodding, Sierra picked up her drink. “That’s a great plus for businessmen.”
“Navarone Resorts and Spas will continue its success as the world leader in upscale resorts,” he said, and polished off his dessert.
“Can you dance?” Sierra asked as music drifted from the speakers on either side of the terrace. She placed her napkin on the table.
“What?”
She sadly shook her head at him. “Dance. Take me in your arms and move your feet without stepping on mine.”
“I have no difficulty with the first part.” He proved himself by standing and pulling her into his arms.
What had seemed like a good idea to Sierra now seemed fraught with dangerous, if tempting, possibilities. Their bodies touched from thigh to chest. Her senses reeled. “You’re not moving.”
“Sorry.” His mouth dipped to nibble on her ear, sending shivers over her.
“Blade.” She didn’t know if her breathless voice admonished him or demanded more.
“Moving.” His warm lips moved to the curve of her face, her lips, down the column of her throat. He apparently saw it as the latter.
She moaned softly, her arms going around his neck, her fingers in his hair. “Your feet,” she managed.
His feet moved and made everything better and worse. He insinuated one leg between hers, causing her to feel the muscle hardness of his body, the incredible heat. His mouth nibbled and pleased her as his hands pressed her closer.
She’d worn a strapless mid-calf floral dress. He dropped kisses on her bare shoulders that made her feel tingly and restless. His hands moved to just beneath her breasts, which felt full and achy with need.
Her breath caught, waiting; then his hand cupped her, his thumb raking across the tight bud of her nipple. The sensation was exquisite, yet not enough. She wanted his hand, his hot mouth, on her bare flesh, ached for it. The thought had her jerking away.
He reached for her. She stepped back and held up her hands. “Wait.”
“I don’t want to wait.”
“I know.” She drew in a calming breath, then another. “I think I should go to my place.”
“We haven’t discussed your plans for Dominique and Jacques in the meeting tomorrow.”
“It will have to be over breakfast.”
A wolfish expression crossed his face. “Works for me.”
Sierra batted his reaching hands away. “Stop that.”
“Easier said than done,” he admitted, his gaze narrowed.
“Tell me about it.” She quickly moved through the terrace doors before he could stop her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He was right behind, then in front of her. “You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you go downstairs alone, do you?”
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