Because of You (15 page)

However, when Jordan Wyatt Wainwright had been thirty-one, he had discovered for the first time in his life who he was and where he'd come from.

Placing his first two fingers between her breasts, he traced an invisible line down her ribs and flat belly to the waistband on her jeans. Jordan felt the shudders racing through her body under his fingertips.

An audible sigh filled the silent room at the same time Aziza rose several inches off the bed. “Please, don't tease me,” she pleaded.

She was pleading with him not to tease her when that
was what she'd been doing since their initial introduction. Each and every time she lowered her lashes to glance up at him—it was teasing. When she'd pressed her breasts to his chest the night before—it was teasing.

Jordan slid a hand under her buttocks, while the other unsnapped her jeans, easing the denim fabric down her hips to her thighs. White bikini panties were decorated with tiny red hearts. “Cute,” he drawled, smiling.

Aziza wanted Jordan to stop talking and make love to her. It was becoming more and more difficult not to move her hips. She felt the blood, hot and sluggish, sluice through her lower body and the arousing passion she'd locked away long before she'd ended her marriage.

Then, he did stop talking, removing each article of clothing in what seemed like a stylized ritual. Her blouse was first, then her bra, socks and jeans. The only thing that remained was her panties. Jordan moved over her, her gaze going from his face to the area below his waist. She smothered a gasp. Although he was semi-erect, Jordan was large—much larger than she could've imagined. Just the thought of his rigid sex inside her resulted in a rush of moisture, followed by a soft pulsing where it was impossible not to move her hips. She did gasp when his hand cupped her mound through the layer of silk. His eyebrows lifted a fraction. He knew. He knew by the dampness that she was aroused and ready for him.

Jordan forced himself to go slowly. Leaning over, he opened the drawer to the bedside table and removed a condom. He hadn't realized that his hands were shaking until it took two attempts to open the packet and roll the latex sheath down the length of his fully erect penis.

Smiling, he removed the remaining article of clothing that had kept him from viewing all of Aziza's beautifully proportioned body. He'd found her perfect with flawless
brown skin the color of chocolate mousse, full, lush breasts, hips wide enough to carry children without difficulty and long legs with curvy calves, slim ankles and slender arched feet that seemed to go on forever.

“You are more than I could've ever imagined.” His voice was filled with awe.

Aziza wanted to tell him that he'd shocked her, too. He
had
a lot more between his thighs than she could've ever imagined. “Thank you,” she said instead. Extending her arms, she invited him into her embrace
and
inside her body.

She thought she was going to climax when his fingers searched the folds at the apex of her thighs, finding the swollen nub and applying pressure with the pad of his thumb. “Oh, my! Oh…oh…” She was babbling like an idiot.

Jordan answered her, positioning his sex at her wet vagina, pushing gently. His own groan echoed hers as he felt her body opening, stretching to accommodate the length and girth of his blood-engorged penis. Aziza was tight, tight enough to make him feel as if he were deflowering a virgin.

He hadn't slept with so many women that he hadn't been able to remember their faces or their names, but for a reason he was unable to fathom he wanted Aziza to be the last woman in his life. He wanted what Kyle, Ivan and Duncan had—that special woman with whom they planned a future that included marriage and children.

Before he was introduced to Alexander Fleming's sister he hadn't known what had been missing in his life because growing up wealthy had provided him with whatever he wanted, not necessarily what he needed. He'd known her a week, but it was long enough time for him to admit he was willing to fight to hold on to her.

Jordan rolled his hips, pulled out an inch and then with a sure thrust he found himself fully sheathed inside Aziza. They shared a sigh and a smile. “Did I hurt you, baby?”

“No. You feel good. Real, real good, Jordan.” And he did. He hadn't begun to move and she felt him so deep inside her it was if he'd touched her womb. Curving her arms under his shoulders, she held him tightly, as if he were her lifeline.

He moved again, this time establishing a strong rhythm that Aziza followed as if they'd choreographed the steps to an intricate dance. He felt her heat, her flesh close around him in a long, measured pulsing at the same time his own passions quickly spiraled out of control.

Jordan covered her mouth with his, cutting off the whimpers heating his blood; he quickened his thrusts. She felt so good. The rising scent of sex, mingling with her perfume, had become an aphrodisiac. He wanted to pull out and taste every inch of her body, but didn't want to shatter the sensual spell making them one.

“Jordan!” Aziza breathed out his name when the first ripple of release held her prisoner before easing. The pressure in her vagina built steadily as Jordan's sex swelled to enormous proportions until there was no more room.

“Yes, baby. I feel you.” His breathing was deep, labored. “You're going to have to let it go.”

Her head thrashed from side to side. “I don't want to let it go. I don't want it to be over.”

Closing his eyes and gripping the pillow beneath her head, Jordan clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “It's not going to be over, baby. Not for a long, long time.”

And during the nanosecond where time stood still, before he ejaculated into the latex covering, Jordan vowed
to hold on to Aziza Fleming at the risk of losing his own life.

Aziza cried out as the walls of her vagina contracted around Jordan's rigid flesh; she felt as if she were floating outside herself as the orgasms grew stronger and stronger, overlapping one another in what had become freefall. She lay motionless, breathing heavily and savoring the aftermath of complete fulfillment.

When she did move it was to trail her fingertips over his damp back. “Thank you.”

Jordan smiled into the pillow. “No, baby. Thank you.” He wanted to tell Aziza that she was exquisite—in and out of bed. He loathed moving, but he had to get up and discard the condom. “I have to get up.”

Aziza moaned in protest when he pulled out. She missed the weight pressing her down to the firm mattress and his warmth. Turning over on her side, she pulled the sheet and lightweight blanket up and over her body. She giggled like a little girl when Jordan returned, got into bed and pulled her hips to his groin.

“What are you doing?” He was simulating making love to her again.

“What does it look like? I'm humping you.”

“Don't start something you can't finish, counselor.”

He caught the tender flesh on the nape of her neck between his teeth. “You think I can't get it up again?”

“I don't know.”

“What don't you know?” Jordan asked.

“If you're not taking something for erectile dysfunction.”

Jordan reached between her legs, his fingers working their magic until Aziza was moaning and writhing as she felt the familiar flutters that signaled she was going
to climax again. Then, without warning, he withdrew his hand and turned over.

With wide eyes, she sat up, staring at his broad back. “You can't leave me like this.”

“Oh, yes, I can. It appears as if I've just run out of my pills.”

The seconds ticked. “I'm sorry,” she apologized.

He turned and smiled at her. “I'm not, Zee. I haven't spent a sorry moment since I've met you.”

Curving her arms under Jordan's shoulders, she pressed her mouth to the side of his strong neck. “I think I'm going to enjoy being your girlfriend because you're so good for a woman's ego.”

Jordan wanted to tell her it wasn't about boosting her ego but about falling for her—hard. It also wasn't about spouting the flowery phrases—phrases she'd probably heard before. What he intended to do was show her. Show Aziza how important she'd become to him.

“T
his is Jordan.” He'd picked up the receiver before the second ring.

“Jordan, darling. This is your mother. Wyatt told me you were taking time off from work, so I thought perhaps you weren't feeling well.”

Cradling the receiver between his chin and shoulder, he executed tying his tie without looking in the mirror. He had less than twenty minutes to finish dressing before the driver arrived to take him and Aziza to Ivan's brownstone, which was within walking distance of their offices.

He would've taken his car, but trying to find a parking space in Manhattan during the winter months was like finding a needle in a haystack. However, from the Memorial Day weekend through the Labor Day weekend, many residents left the city for Long Island's East End, the Berkshires or the Jersey Shore. Every Fourth of July weekend, Christiane closed up the Fifth Avenue mansion
and relocated her household, including the live-in staff, to the family compound at Chesapeake Ranch Estates, Maryland.

“I'm quite well, Mother.”

“I got a call from Deborah Westerbeck earlier this morning. She's in charge of seating arrangements for the museum's midwinter fundraiser, and she wants to know if you're coming unescorted. If you are, then she will pair you up with her niece.”

“Tell Mrs. Westerbeck I'm bringing a guest.”

“Who is she, darling? Do I know her?”

Jordan tightened the knot before turning down the shirt collar. “No, you don't. But I think you'll like her.”

“Do you like her, Jordan?”

“Yes, I do, Mother. I like her a lot.” A distinctive beep came through the earpiece. Jordan glanced at the name and number on the display. This was the call he'd been waiting for. “Mother, I'm going to have to ring off. I have a very important call coming through. I'll see you Friday night.”

He tapped the flash button. “Melody, thanks for getting back to me. I'm going to make this quick, because I know you don't like to talk shop when you're not working.” He'd called the A.D.A. at her office, but had been told Melody Harvey was away from her desk and would return his call. It had taken her more than twenty-four hours to get back to him.

“No problem, Jordan. What's up?” It took him less than ten minutes to give the prosecutor the details about Aziza's harassment case. “If Bonner tossed it out before, what makes you think he won't do again?”

“She has what translates into a rape kit.” Jordan told Melody about the condom.

A beat passed before she said, “She's got him, Jordan.
If you're representing her, then you can guide her through the process. The tapes are inadmissible, but the content of the condom isn't. I'd love to handle this case, but I just discovered that I'm pregnant again, so I'm planning to leave in a couple of weeks to work part-time for Jeffrey. I told him that he can fire me as an employee, but he can't fire me as his wife and the mother of his children.”

Jordan laughed softly. He and Melody were law school classmates. “Congratulations on the new baby. Jeffrey is a lucky man to have you as a law partner, wife and the mother of his children. When it comes to this case, I've made a decision not to revisit the same well,” he said cryptically. “Ms. Fleming lives in Bronxville, so I'm going to have the Westchester County's D.A.'s office handle the case.”

“Good move, Jordan. I hope you string the bastard up by his
cojones.
”

“I'll take a felony conviction and the revocation of his license for starters. Thanks again, Melody. I'll keep you updated.”

He'd replaced the receiver in the cradle when Aziza walked into the bedroom. She was stunning in a black pencil skirt, matching hip-length jacket with a shawl collar and white tailored blouse. Sheer black stockings and a pair of black-and-gray variegated snakeskin stilettos pulled her elegant look together. She'd brushed her hair off her face into a loose chignon. Expertly applied makeup accentuated her best features: her eyes and mouth.

Walking across the room, he closed the distance between them, cradling her face. “You look absolutely beautiful.” Diamond hoops had replaced the pearl studs.

Aziza lowered her lids and smiled up at him. She hadn't known what to expect when she'd asked Jordan Wainwright to make love to her, but it wasn't the warmth,
ecstasy and fulfillment that had lingered for hours. She'd consciously not compared Jordan's lovemaking to Lamar's because there had been a time when she was so inexorably in love with her ex-husband that making love with him had been an extension of her deep affection.

Aziza wasn't in love with Jordan, but there was something special about him and between them. To say the sex was good was an understatement. She'd thought she would've held back, unable to rid herself of the hang-ups she'd held on to because the man with whom she'd pledged her future had disappointed her and the man who'd offered to shepherd her professional career had shown her another side of his personality—deviance.

“Thank you. I hope what I'm wearing isn't too casual.”

Attractive lines fanned out around Jordan's incredibly luminous eyes when he smiled. “You're perfect.”

“And you're biased.”

“You've got that right,” he crooned, kissing the end of her nose.

Jordan wanted to tell Aziza what he'd gleaned from his conversation with Melody but decided to wait, not wanting to spoil the mood that had begun when he woke with Aziza huddled close to his length. He'd watched her sleep, wondering if she was dreaming, what she had dreamt about. When she finally did wake, she'd given him a shy smile, slipped out of bed to the bathroom, then returned and lay in his embrace until nature had forced him to seek out the bathroom.

They'd lingered in bed, making slow, passionate love, and when it had ended he'd known their relationship had changed. He'd held her, waiting for her respiration to return to normal, and they'd gone back to sleep. When they'd finally left the bed, the sun was high in the sky.

Aziza stepped around Jordan, picking his suit jacket
off the bench at the foot of the bed while he fastened the cuff links in the French cuffs. Doubling as his valet, she held it as he pushed his arms into the sleeves of the dark blue garment.

“Turn around, Jordan, and let me check your tie.”

He complied and stared at Aziza while she straightened the navy-blue silk tie with minute white squares. Was this what she'd done with her husband before they'd gone out? Helped him into his suit jacket? Adjusted his tie?

I'm not going to ask you to make love to me because it would mean I'm using you to assuage a need I've denied for longer than I can remember.
Was she, Jordan mused, using him? Had he becoming a willing replacement for her husband—a man she'd loved but couldn't trust to protect her from a sexual predator? He wanted to tell himself that he was thinking too much, overanalyzing a new relationship when he should be enjoying it.

He forced a smile he didn't feel. “Are you ready?”

“I just have to get my coat and handbag.”

Looping an arm around her waist, Jordan led Aziza out of the bedroom to the hallway where she'd left her coat and bag on the chair near a side table. He returned the favor when he held her coat. Hand-in-hand, they descended the staircase, he leading her to the front door and out into the lobby.

The doorman came to attention with their approach. Aziza averted her gaze from the man in the dark gray greatcoat and cap. He was staring at her as if she had a zit in the middle of her forehead.

“Good evening, Mr. Wainwright.”

Jordan nodded in acknowledgment. “Good evening, Hector.”

“Shall I call a taxi for you and your lady?”

“No, thank you. I've called for a car.”

Hector clasped his gloved hands together. “It's best you wait inside where it's warm. It's very cold tonight.” A sweep of headlights lit the sidewalk under the building canopy. “I think your car is here,” he said, opening the door as a sleek black Lincoln, with its engine running, parked in front of the building.

Sergio was standing on the sidewalk with the rear door open when Jordan and Aziza left the building's warmth. Aziza got in, sliding over on the leather seat to make room for Jordan. She sank into his embrace when the door closed with a solid slam.

“It is frigid,” she whispered. She and Jordan hadn't left the duplex in three days.

Jordan pressed a kiss to her temple. “I don't mind the cold. It's the snow that bothers me.”

“You don't ski?”

“No. I don't like cold weather sports.” He closed the partition and then anchored her legs over his thighs. “Do you want Sergio to turn up the heat?”

“You're all the heat I need,” she whispered. “What are you doing?” Jordan's hand had found it way between her thighs.

Throwing back his head, Jordan laughed, the warm, rich sound filling the interior of the vehicle. “I'm trying to keep another part of you warm.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“
That's
never cold.”

He laughed again. “I can attest to that.”

 

Less than ten minutes after they'd gotten into the car, the ride ended in front of a brownstone in Harlem's Mount Morris Park Historic District. Lights blazed from windows in the four-story building. Aziza barely had time to feel the cold when Jordan, holding her to his length to share
his body heat, led her up the stairs to the entrance of the century-old structure. The solid oak door with lead-paned glass opened within minutes of the soft chiming of the bell to the first-floor apartment.

A tall, solidly built dark-skinned man with a widow's peak, wearing a black pullover and slacks, flashed a warm smile. “Welcome, folks. Come on in out of the cold.”

Welcoming heat wrapped around them like a comforting blanket when Aziza and Jordan stepped into the spacious vestibule. A mahogany staircase with carved newel posts led to the upper floors. An antique credenza table held a Tiffany-style table lamp, and a leather chair with decorative walnut trim complemented the furnishings in the space.

Jordan exchanged a handshake with psychotherapist Dr. Ivan Campbell before they pulled each other close in a strong embrace. “Thanks, Doc.” Easing back and extending his hand, he drew Aziza to his side. “Zee, this is our host, Ivan Campbell. Ivan, Aziza Fleming.”

Ivan stared at the woman with Jordan, his eyes widening in appreciation. She was the perfect counterpart to the always well-dressed attorney who'd become his best friend's law partner. She was stunning!

He offered his hand, smiling when she placed her groomed one in his. “It is indeed a pleasure to meet you.”

Aziza's head was level with Ivan's. Four-inch heels had put her over the six-foot mark. “Thank you.”

Ivan shared a surreptitious wink with Jordan. “Come on in and join the others. We're serving cocktails before dinner. Jordan, you probably know everyone here, so I'll leave you to introduce your lady.”

Aziza gave Jordan a sidelong glance, wondering if he was going to abstain. He'd told her about his first attempt
to sample alcohol at fourteen. He'd admitted it had taken another ten years before he drank again and always in moderation.

She exhaled an inaudible sigh when she realized she wasn't over or underdressed for the gathering. Most of the women had chosen the de rigueur little black dress or slacks with dressy tops and the men suits with shirts and ties. The ubiquitous New York City black was in full effect.

A young man dressed in black with a white waistcoat bowed slightly. “May I take your coat, miss?”

Jordan helped Aziza out of her coat, handing it to the man assigned to coat check. She leaned close to him. “Do you know everyone here?”

His eyes scanned the small crowd standing and sitting in the expansive entryway in front of roaring fire in a minimalist-designed fireplace. A bartender had set up a portable bar between the entryway and the formal living room. He'd met most of the Campbells' guests over the summer when they'd gotten together either at Ivan's or Kyle's house for outdoor cookouts.

Jordan had been as shocked as Kyle and Duncan when Ivan had announced that he was getting married. The older of the trio by several months, Ivan had the reputation of “love them and leave them,” but when he'd met and fallen in love with the exceptionally talented photographer Nayo Goddard, he hadn't hesitated to give up his carefree social lifestyle to settle down with her.

“Practically everyone,” he said in her ear. “Can I get you something from the bar?”

“I'll have club soda with a twist.”

Jordan pressed his mouth to her hair. “Are you sure I can't get you anything stronger?”

“No, darling,” she drawled, smiling up at him.

“Damn, partner. You and your lady need to get a room.”

Jordan turned to find his law partner standing a few feet away. “Mind your neck,” he quipped, touching fists with Kyle Chatham. Placing an arm around Aziza's waist, he pulled her close. “Aziza, this Kyle Chatham, partner, mentor and soon-to-be ex-bachelor. Chat, this is Aziza Fleming.”

Aziza extended her hand and was rewarded with a light kiss on her fingers.
So, this is the dynamic Kyle Chatham,
she mused. Jordan's law partner was tall, very dark and strikingly handsome. His cropped hair was salt-and-pepper, but it was his slanting gold-brown eyes that drew her rapt attention. The woman who'd managed to get Kyle to commit was more than lucky. She was blessed.

Kyle stared at the tall woman beside Jordan, silently congratulating his partner on having exquisite taste in women. He'd observed Jordan with women over the years they'd come to know each other, but none had surpassed Aziza Fleming. He knew he was staring at her, but so were the other men in the room.

“It's truly a pleasure to meet you,” he said, smiling.