And he did, leaving them alone.
“Ngozi!”
At the sound of her name, Ngozi broke their stare and turned to find Marisa Martinez standing beside her. She gave the petite woman with a wild mane of shoulder-length curly hair a warm smile. “It’s good to see you, Marisa,” she said, her eyes taking in the clarity in the woman’s eyes and feeling sweet relief.
The former party girl who lived hard and fast off the allowance she received from the Dalmount dynasty had developed an addiction to alcohol and drugs that put both her and Alessandra’s freedom in jeopardy. As the head of the family, Alessandra felt it her obligation to guide and protect the entire clan made up of her two aunts, Leonora Dalmount and Brunela Martinez, her cousin Victor Dalmount and his bride, Elisabetta, and Marisa, Brunela’s daughter. That sense of duty had led Alessandra to seek out Marisa at a house party and to get caught in the middle of a police drug raid.
Ngozi was called on by her client to represent them both. The charges were dropped, but Alessandra had forced Marisa to either attend the long-term rehab program Ngozi arranged or be disowned.
Marisa chose the former, and six months later, she’d returned drug-free.
“I just wanted to thank you for everything you did to help me,” Marisa said, before lifting up on her toes to give Ngozi an impromptu hug.
“Well, I thank you for not letting my hard work go to waste,” she said, returning the hug. “You look good.”
Marisa released her. “I feel better,” she said, her eyes serious before she forced a smile and walked away with one last squeeze of Ngozi’s hand.
She watched her walk over to join her mother and aunt Leonora by the fireplace. With her work as a criminal attorney who insisted on pro bono work and tough cases, Ngozi was well acquainted with thankful clients.
“I’ve heard you’re one of the best attorneys on the East Coast.”
Him.
Ngozi took a sip of her champagne as she eyed him with an arched brow. “Just the East Coast?” she teased.
He chuckled.
“I’m kidding,” she rushed to say, reaching out to grasp his wrist.
His pulse pounded against her fingertips. She released him.
“La tentadora,” Chance said.
The temptress.
Her entire body flushed with warmth.
Chance was Dominican on his mother’s side, and like many other Afro-Latinos did appear to be what was standardly thought of as such. Much like Laz Alonso, Victor Cruz and Carmelo Anthony.
“Me das demasiado crédito,” she said, loving the surprise that filled his deep brown eyes at her using his native tongue to tell him that he gave her too much credit.
“Ah! ¿Tu hablas español?” he asked.
“Yes, I speak Spanish,” she answered with a nod.
“¿Pero alguna vez te ha susurrado un hombre en español mientras te hace el amor?”
Ngozi gasped in surprise and pleasure and excitement at his question of whether a man had whispered to her in Spanish while making love. She recovered quickly. “No,” she answered him, before easing past his strong build and imposing presence to leave.
“Usted tiene algo que esperar,” Chance said from behind her.
Then you have something to look forward to.
Chance Castillo.
She gave in to her own temptation and glanced back at him over her shoulder. He had turned his attention to greeting Alek’s younger brother, Naim. She pressed her fingertips to her neck as she turned away, admitting regret that his attention was no longer on her.
In truth, she couldn’t remember feeling that affected by a man in a long, long time.
She pursed her lips and released a stream of air, intending to calm herself.
Ngozi stopped a male waiter and set her near-empty flute on the tray. “Thank you,” she said. Her stomach rumbled, and she looked around with a slight frown, hoping no one had heard it. Quickly, she turned and tapped the shoulder of the waiter. “Is there another one like you with a tray of hors d’oeuvres? A sista is hungry.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “The food will be served after the ceremonies.”
Damn. Ngozi checked her platinum watch as he walked away.
She crossed the room and made her way outdoors. During the day, the September air was still pleasant. It was the early mornings and late nights that brought on a chill that reminded her summer was drawing to an end.
As she neared the Olympic-sized pool, she felt an urge to jump in and sink beneath the crystal clear depths to swim to the other end and back. Instead, she settled for slipping off one of her sandals to dip her toes in the water, causing it to ripple outward.
Dennis loved to swim.
She felt sadness, closing her eyes as she remembered his looking back at her over his shoulder before he dived into the deep end of her parents’ pool back in some of the rare moments of free time they had during law school.
She smiled a bit, remembering how happy they were then.
That was a long time ago.
“Excuse me, Ms. Johns.”
She was surprised by the same waiter who took her drink, now standing beside her with a sandwich on his tray.
“Courtesy of Olga, the house manager, per the request of Mr. Castillo,” he said.
Ngozi looked up and bit back a smile at Chance standing in the open doorway, raising his flute to her in a silent toast. Her stomach rumbled again as she bowed her head to him in gratitude. She assumed he had overhead her conversation with the waiter.
“One sec, please,” she said, holding the man’s wrist to keep her balance as she slipped her damp foot back into her sandal.
Once done, she took the sandwich and cloth napkin from him and bit into it. Her little grunt was pure pleasure at the taste of seasoned and warmed roast beef with a gooey cheese and a tasty spread on the bread. “Thank you,” she said to him around the food, with a complete lack of the decorum she had been taught by her parents.
“No problem.”
As he walked away to finish his duties, Ngozi turned her back to the house and enjoyed the view of the manicured lawns to avoid people watching her eat.
“Ngozi.”
Him.
Her body went on high alert. Every pulse point on her pounded. What is wrong with me? Am I in heat?
“Yes?” she said, patting the corners of her mouth with the napkin before turning to face him. Wow. He’s fine.
Chance was nursing his second glass of champagne and squinting from the sun of the late summer season as he eyed her.
“You shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach,” she said, offering him the other half of the sandwich still on the saucer.
He eyed it and then her. “My appetite isn’t for food, Ngozi,” he said before taking another deep sip of his drink.
“The only thing I have for you is half of this sandwich, Mr. Castillo,” she said, keeping her voice cool and even.
He chuckled.
“Akwaaba. Akwaaba. Memo o akwaaba.”
They both turned to