Kyra’s eyes slid down the hard lines of Terrence’s chest. The NFL player might have been every woman’s dream, but he was her worst nightmare. For starters, he was broad, lean and had more muscles than a professional body builder. He possessed everything she liked in a man and more. Sexy shaved hair, deep brown eyes, ripped arms. And then there was his voice. There was a very sensual feel to it. It was commanding, but soothing and evoked feelings of calm. Charles spoke in a polished, refined way and though Terrence had graduated with a double major in English and education, his speech was cooler, laid-back, street.
“We should all hang out some time,” Terrence suggested, as the elevator came to a grinding halt. “Kevin owns a nightclub in the city called Bollito. Ever heard of it?”
Charles started to speak, but Kyra grabbed his arm and with a burst of superhuman strength, practically dragged him out of the elevator. Going clubbing with Terrence was out of the question. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. He’d made his choice ten years ago, and Kyra didn’t believe in second chances, especially not for someone like him.
* * *
“Is everything all right?”
Kyra snapped out of her daydream. Instead of enjoying a quiet lunch at one of her favorite restaurants, she was replaying her conversation with Terrence in her mind. Thanks to its celebrity investors, big shots such as Russell Simmons and Justin Timberlake, Azure Lounge & Bar attracted a steady stream of powerful executives and rising stars. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been very good company, have I?”
“No, but I forgive you,” Charles said.
Kyra couldn’t tell if he was joking, and didn’t have the energy to ask. Troubled about her meeting with Terrence, and hungrier than a hiker lost in the woods, she reached for another garlic bun from the oversized glass bowl.
“Why don’t you let me order you another appetizer?”
“Because I’ve already eaten a huge plate of peppercorn ribs!” She sliced the bun in half, decided against adding butter and took a bite. “I’d like to lose a few pounds before homecoming, and it’s already September 5. If I keep eating everything in sight, I’ll never fit into the gown I bought.”
“You’re beautiful no matter what size you are.”
Kyra’s mind drifted off. Terrence had once whispered those very words to her, and after one drink too many at a raucous house party, they’d returned to his apartment to “talk.” She remembered that night in remarkable detail. The potency of his cologne. The feel of his lips on her ear, his hands on her breasts and the rush of pleasure to her core when he plunged deep inside her slick walls.
“You feel the same way, Kyra, don’t you?”
Embarrassed that she’d been swept away by her thoughts, she smoothed a hand over her flushed cheeks. Not wanting Charles to know she’d been fantasizing about another man, she nodded in response to his question and choked down so much water, she felt the button on her skirt pop off.
“I want us to be exclusive,” Charles confessed, his awestruck tone teetering on desperation. Eyes glittering like diamonds, he took her hand and caressed her palm. “I think we’re good together, don’t you?”
Her shoulders tensed. It was too soon in their relationship to make grandiose declarations. Charles traveled a lot for his company, and Kyra was lucky if they saw each other once a week. Furthermore, she considered him more of a friend than a potential lover. “I’m really glad we exchanged numbers,” she said, unsure of what else to say. “It’s nice having someone to hang out with on the—”
“Hold that thought.” He swiped his cell off the table, pressed it to his ear and chirped, “Charles Roberts. Talk to me.”
Kyra stared at him, hoping her furrowed brows conveyed her disapproval. Talking on his cell phone at the table was her biggest pet peeve and they’d discussed it at length last week. Now he was back at it.
“Here we go,” the waiter announced, pulling up beside the table and setting down two enormous plates. After refilling her glass, he left.
“I’m sorry about that,” Charles said when he finally ended his call, “but I’m in the middle of a monster business deal.”
Not wanting to ruin their lunch, she accepted his apology. “It’s all right. I understand. Everyone gets a bit crazy when—”
His utensils fell on his plate with a clank, startling her.
“My food is cold.” Charles spit into his napkin. Rising from his chair, his gaze darted maniacally around the room. “Where is that stupid waiter?”
Having worked as a waitress to put herself through school, Kyra had zero tolerance for rudeness and told him so. “Charles,” she began, refusing to be embarrassed in front of the other well-dressed patrons, “your food is cold because you were on your cell phone for ten minutes. What did you expect the server to do?”
The waiter returned. “How is everything tasting?”
“I’d like another steak.” Charles pushed his plate forward. “This one’s cold.”
With a curt nod, the young man was off and running back into the kitchen.
“Charles, that was unnecessary—”
“It’s my accountant.” Phone pressed to his ear, he stood and stalked through the dining room. Kyra watched him walk away. Charles was acting like a petulant child, and she wasn’t going to let him get away with humiliating her. He had to learn to treat her—and everyone around him—with more respect. His behavior was something she’d expect from an actor. Or a rapper. Or a buff, wickedly handsome NFL running back.
Sighing, she glanced out the window, unwanted memories rolling through her mind. Ten years ago, she’d met Terrence on the Hollington College campus, and as she thought about that first meeting, a smile filled her lips. Rushing toward the fine arts building, she’d rolled her ankle and narrowly missed wiping out in front of Terrence. Kyra had seen the star running back around campus, but they’d never talked before. So when he ditched his friends and commanded her to hop on his back, she’d been stunned.
Five minutes later, she was climbing aboard the T-train, as he’d teasingly called it. Arms swathed around his neck, legs wrapped at his waist, he’d carried her to the north building and returned at the end of her African dance class with a pair of pink jelly shoes. To show her appreciation, she’d treated the handsome footballer to lunch.
Terrence was the big man on campus and she was a bookworm, but they’d hit it off immediately. Then one night after they’d had too much to drink they’d ended up back in his dorm room. One thing led to another and the next thing Kyra knew, she was down to her panties, pulsing with a tangible mix of desire, passion and lust. Terrence was her first, and though they’d stumbled in the dark, knocking things over and laughing hysterically at their inanity, she’d counted it as one of the happiest moments of her life.
Within weeks, they were inseparable. They ran with the same crowd, had the same friends and made plans to get married after the NFL draft. “Once things settle down and I finish training camp,” he’d promised. Things never did settle down and that magical day she’d always dreamed of never happened. Pressured by his manager to maintain his cool, single guy image, Terrence had broken off their engagement via email, never to be heard from again. Until now.
Why, after all these years, was she rehashing the past? Seeing Terrence again had stirred something in her. Something that had died the day she’d read that email message. Over the years, Kyra had dated some great guys. Powerful, accomplished men who knew how to treat a woman right. But Terrence stood out in her mind for several reasons. Though he’d been a struggling college student, with a rusted white hooptie and staggering debt, he’d spoiled her silly. He brought her breakfast in bed, walked