Because of You (16 page)

Aziza returned his smile. “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.”

Kyle released her hand. “Thank you. Are you coming with Jordan?”

Knowing Kyle had put her on the spot, Aziza narrowed her eyes at Jordan, wondering what he'd told his friend about her. She'd stopped the practice of inputting her appointments in her cell phone once she'd set up the home office. Now that she'd committed to dating Jordan, she would have to go back to it.

“Yes.” She was certain she didn't have any court appearances in February, so that meant whatever she'd
scheduled for the Valentine's Day weekend could be rescheduled.

“Hey, Jordan,” crooned a sultry voice. A petite woman wearing a white tailored blouse, black pencil skirt and a pair of Louboutin black patent leather pumps wended her way through those standing around drinking and nibbling on hors d'oeuvres set out on low tables.

Smiling, Jordan reached out and scooped Nayo Goddard-Campbell off her feet. He planted a noisy kiss on her cheek. There was something about the photographer's face that reminded him of the prototype for a black Barbie doll.

“Happy New Year, Nayo.”

Nayo hugged him. “Thank you. Happy New Year to you, too. And thank you for the case of champagne.”

Jordan set her on her feet. “Enjoy.” Whenever he was invited to a soiree he usually ordered a case of champagne or their favorite wine and had it delivered to the host or hostess's residence.

The sparkle of the diamonds in Nayo's ears competed with the ones in the eternity band on her left hand. “Did you bring a date because I've arranged seating by couples?”

Aziza bit back a smile. Jordan's friends asking him if he'd come with a date spoke volumes. They were aware that he wasn't currently involved with a woman. And given his looks, money and social standing he could have a harem of women at his disposal. It was apparent he was just as discriminating about whom he dated as he was in his choice of attire.

“Nayo, this is Aziza Fleming. Zee, Nayo Campbell, our gracious hostess for the evening.”

Nayo peered at the tall, beautiful woman with Jordan
Wainwright, wondering where she'd seen her before. “I know you.”

“I don't think we've ever met,” Aziza countered.

“Why then do you look so familiar?” Folding her hands at her tiny waist, Nayo closed her eyes for several seconds. “I know,” she said excitedly. “Are you related to Al Fleming?”

Conversation ceased and all eyes were directed at Aziza. “Uh. Yes. He's my brother,” she admitted reluctantly in a quiet voice.

Nayo applauded. “I knew it. I took a photograph of Al when I had an assignment to photograph as many sports figures I could find in a month. You and your brother were coming out of a restaurant on Third Avenue when I was waiting on the corner to catch a bus. I think he'd just come over from the Bears to play with the Giants. Unfortunately, the shot wasn't that good, so I couldn't use it.”

“You have a very good memory,” Aziza said.

“My memory is only as good as the images I'm able to capture on film. When you speak to your brother again, tell him I would like to take an updated photograph of him.” She frowned at Jordan. “And don't stand there looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, Jordan Wainwright.”

He spread out his hands. “What did I do?”

“Why did I have to find out secondhand that the Viking is your cousin?”

“I didn't know you followed football.”

“What about football, doll face?” Ivan had come over to join the conversation.

“Don't you dare doll face me, Ivan,” Nayo said between clenched teeth. “You know I'm still pissed off about you, Kyle, Duncan and Jordan going to the Super Bowl without
even bothering to ask your women whether we wanted to come along.”

Aziza stared at Jordan. “You're going to the Super Bowl?”

A flush darkened his face. “Well…um…you know—”

Nayo waved a hand in front Jordan's face. “Save it, counselor. It appears as if your girlfriend is as much in the dark as the rest of us.” She reached for Aziza's hand. “Come with me, girlfriend. We need you to help us plan strategy.”

Jordan exchanged a confused look with Ivan. “What the hell was that all about?”

Ivan shook his head. “Man, you don't want to know.”

“But I
do
want to know. What's wrong with us going to a ballgame?”

“When DG told Tamara he was going, she got on the phone with Ava, who in turn called Nayo.” Ivan ran a hand over his face. “I don't understand women, Jordan. We get together for a game every Sunday, and they walk around with major attitudes. I tried to tell Nayo that it is the shortest season for any sport, yet they mumble, grumble and push out their lips like spouts on a jug.”

“Have you invited them to watch the games with you?” Jordan asked.

“Yes.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“They don't want to watch it with us. Yet they bitch and moan about not going to the Super Bowl.”

Resting an arm on Ivan's shoulder, Jordan shook his head. “It's not about the game, but the parties and the hype. I'm willing to bet if you took your wife with you, she'd end up on Rodeo Drive shopping her brains out.”

Ivan blinked. “You think?”

Jordan nodded. “I know.”

“Talk to me, Wainwright.”

“I took a girl to Arizona for Super Bowl XLII and she spent the entire trip hanging out at a spa in the desert. I didn't see her again until it was time to fly back to New York.”

“Damn, man. That's wrong.”

“Tell me about it. That was the last time I invited
any
woman to go along with me to a sporting event.”

“What about Aziza? Is she into football?”

“Not really,” Jordan confirmed. “She'll only watch when her brother is playing.”

Ivan blew out a breath. “I suppose that lets you off the hook.”

Kyle joined them, handing Jordan a glass with tomato juice, lime wedge and celery stalk. “There's no vodka in it.”

“What's up with you, gangsta? I heard about you downing shots,” Ivan teased.

Jordan laughed. He'd gotten used to people calling him gangsta or sheriff, viewing them as an affectionate sobriquet. “I wasn't thinking straight that night.”

Pushing his hands into the pockets of his slacks, Kyle rocked back on his heels. “That's what happens when your woman looks like Aziza.”

“I hear you, brother,” Ivan intoned. “I don't know if I'd be able to handle dating a model. I really don't like other men gawking at my woman.”

Jordan swallowed a mouthful of the piquant virgin cocktail. “She's not a model.”

“What is she?” Ivan and Kyle chorused in unison.

He held back laughter when he saw the expectant expressions on his friends' faces. “She's an attorney.”

Groaning and shaking his head, Ivan closed his eyes. “Why do I have a house full of lawyers? What are of the
odds of Nayo and I inviting six couples and five of the twelve being attorneys?”

“That's because we got it like that,” Kyle bragged, bumping fists with his junior law partner.

 

Aziza followed Nayo Campbell through the kitchen where a caterer and his staff were braising, sautéing and chopping different ingredients for the evening's dinner party, past a well-stocked pantry and laundry room and then down a flight of stairs to the street level. Framed movie prints covered the walls of a home theater with an authentic popcorn machine. Two women, both wearing diamond engagement rings, seated on leather love seats, were talking quietly to each other.

“Please sit down, Aziza,” Nayo said, indicating a facing love seat. She sat on a matching club chair. “Let me introduce you to Tamara Wolcott and Ava Warrick. Ladies, this is Aziza Fleming, Jordan's girlfriend. Ava is engaged to Kyle and Tamara to Duncan Gilmore, who you'll meet later. Right now he's upstairs looking at photographs.”

Aziza smiled at the two attractive women. “Please call me Zee. It's less of a tongue-twister than Aziza.”

Nayo rested folded her hands in her lap. “I like your name. It's African, isn't it?”

“Yes. It means
beautiful
in Swahili. Is yours African, too?”

Nayo nodded. “It's
our joy
in Yoruba. I guess you're wondering why we're meeting.”

Aziza stared at the three women. She assumed they were all around her age—early thirties. When she'd asked Jordan about his friends' girlfriends, he'd said Ava was a social worker and Tamara a trauma center doctor. Jordan had also revealed that Kyle, Duncan and Ivan, who'd
grown up together in public housing, had made a boyhood pact to own a Harlem brownstone. The three friends had realized their dream when they purchased an abandoned brownstone, renovated it and set up their businesses under the same roof. Ivan and Kyle owned property in Harlem, while Duncan had purchased a condo in Chelsea.

“I did give it some thought.”

Tamara leaned forward. A mane of heavy dark hair framed her tawny-brown face.
Lush
and
voluptuous
were adjectives most people used when describing Dr. Tamara Wolcott. A black stretch-knit top and matching slacks hugged her curves like second skin. Strappy stilettos added another four inches to her statuesque figure.

“Let me explain why we're upset,” she said to Aziza. “Our men usually get together once a week during the football season, and we don't have a problem with that. It's their time to bond and it is our time to get together to test our cooking skills. What has us so pissed off is that Kyle, Duncan and Ivan promised if they were able to secure Super Bowl tickets, they would take us with them. I want to know one thing, Zee. Has Jordan mentioned taking you to L.A.?”

Aziza could feel waves of resentment coming off them. They were football widows who had expected their men to take them to football's big dance—the Super Bowl. She could identify with them. If one looked up
sports fanatic
in the dictionary they would find Ezekiel, Omar and Sheridan Fleming. Her father and brothers took spectator to another level. They watched football, baseball, basketball, golf, hockey
and
soccer.

“He didn't say a mumbling word.”

“I'd hoped he'd be different, but Jordan is just like the rest of them,” Ava complained, waving her hand. Recessed
light reflected off the cushion-cut diamond on her finger with blue-white sparks.

“What did you do during last year's Super Bowl?” Aziza asked.

Tamara, Ava and Nayo exchanged glances. “We didn't know them last January.” It was Nayo who'd spoken.

Aziza mentally did the math. A year ago none of the women knew their fiancés, or husband, which meant they hadn't had, or wouldn't have, long engagements. “Have any of you been to a Super Bowl?” They shook their heads. “Well, I have, and if given the choice, I'd rather watch and celebrate in the comfort of my own home. That way I don't have to deal with unruly, intoxicated fans
and
the frustration of spending hours in an airport waiting for a flight home.”

Tamara grimaced. “So it's not as glamorous as it looks?”

“It's fun if you're really a fan. I only watch it when my brother is playing.”

“Her brother just happens to be Al Fleming,” Nayo stated proudly.

“No!”

“You're joking!”

Ava and Tamara had spoken at the same time.

Aziza smiled. “He's my baby brother.”

Nayo moaned under her breath. “A baby brother I'd love to photograph. I've taken a few photos of athletes, but I don't have enough for a showing. Can you help a sister out and ask him for me?”

“I'll ask him.” Aziza would ask her brother, but what she couldn't promise Nayo was that he would agree. Alexander Fleming had managed to keep a low profile despite his A-list status.

“Some of my girlfriends and I usually take turns hosting
a Super Bowl gathering each year,” she continued. “You're welcome to join us.”

Ava angled her head. “Where do you live?”

“Bronxville.”

Ava smiled. “That's not far. I'm willing to drive if y'all want to come with me,” she said to Nayo and Tamara.

Nayo stood up. “Sounds good to me. I better get upstairs before everyone will think I'm a neglectful hostess.”

Aziza and the others followed their hostess into the living room. More couples had arrived, and the bartender was doing a brisk business pouring and mixing drinks.

A shiver raced over the nape of her neck when the scent of familiar cologne wafted in her nostrils. “How was your strategy meeting?” Jordan asked softly.

“It was wonderful.”

“Should I be concerned?”

“Nope.”

“Should Ivan, Duncan or Kyle be concerned?”

Aziza smiled. “They have to ask their women.”

“Are you saying you're
my
woman, Aziza Fleming?”

She turned to face Jordan, her smile still in place. “I'll let you know.”

“When, baby?” Jordan caught his breath when he saw the open invitation in the eyes of the woman who'd ensnared him in a sensual web from which he didn't want and couldn't escape.

“When we dance together on the beach in the moonlight.”

Jordan resisted the urge to kiss her with a room filled with people. “I can't wait.”

He couldn't wait to take her to Puerto Rico, but that was more than six weeks away. One thing he didn't have to wait for was making love to Aziza. He'd broken his own rule about not sleeping with a woman until they'd dated at
least a month. But there was something about Aziza that would make him break if not circumvent the law.

She'd become that precious to him.

A
smile softened Aziza's mouth when Jordan reached for her hand under the tablecloth. At the conclusion of the cocktail hour everyone was escorted into the formal dining room. Couples were seated together with the host and hostess at either end of the table.

Ivan had exchanged his sweater and slacks for a tailored dark gray suit, white shirt and aubergine silk tie. All eyes were trained on him as he stared across the table at his wife.

“Nayo and I would like to welcome you into our home and kick off what will probably become a very active social year with weddings and new births. The two empty chairs are for a couple who'd planned to attend, but at the last minute were forced to cancel. For those of you who are familiar with Signature Cakes, I would like to inform you that pastry chef Faith Whitfield-McMillan and her husband, Ethan, are now the proud parents of a healthy baby boy.” Applause followed his announcement.

Nayo's dark eyes sparkled like onyx. “When Ivan and I decided to host this gathering we decided to compromise. I invite my friends and he invite his, and before everyone leaves we all will be friends. This is a little unorthodox, but I'd like to go around the table and have everyone introduce themselves.” Her smile widened. “I'll break the ice. I'm Nayo Goddard-Campbell, a freelance photographer and as soon as Ivan and I get the necessary permits to install an elevator, I plan to open a gallery on the top floor.” She turned to her right. “Geoff.”

A slender young man with shaggy blond curls and cool gray eyes smiled at Nayo. “Geoffrey Magnus. I own an art gallery in the Village. I'm proud to say that some of the photos in this magnificent home once hung in my gallery.”

The woman beside Geoffrey rested a hand on his shoulder. Her blunt-cut dirty-blond hair was swept off her face with a velvet headband. She wore the quintessential little black dress with a single strand of pearls and matching studs. “I'm Bethany Lawry. I just joined my dad's law firm as a junior partner.”

All eyes shifted to Jordan. “Jordan Wainwright, junior partner at Chatham and Wainwright.”

“Aziza Fleming. I'm an attorney with a private practice in Bronxville, New York.”

“What's up with the lawyers?” Ivan quipped.

An incredibly handsome man with sable coloring and salt-and-pepper hair cleared his throat. “Micah Sanborn, former NYPD. I'm currently an A.D.A. with the Kings County D.A.'s office.” Everyone laughed.

A woman with short curly hair and shimmering catlike eyes smiled at Micah. “I can assure you I'm not a lawyer. Tessa Whitfield-Sanborn, wedding planner for Signature Bridals.” A smattering of applause followed her
announcement. Tessa's wait list had gone from twelve to eighteen months after she'd coordinated the wedding of an A-list actress.

“Duncan Gilmore, accountant, financial analyst and in another two years I'll add tax attorney to the list.” His olive coloring, cropped curly hair, chiseled features and beautifully modulated voice garnered the rapt gaze of every woman in the room. “All my friends call me DG.”

Tamara rolled her eyes at him. “You say that as if you're a playa from the Himalaya.” She pantomimed putting her hand over her eyes the way the mime did when he executed the routine.

Kyle laughed loudly. “It was Jordan not DG who was a playa when he first came to work with us,” Kyle teased. “He couldn't get a lick of work done because the
ladies
from Ivan and DG's offices found every excuse to come to the second floor—and it wasn't because they wanted legal advice.”

Aziza gave Jordan a sidelong glance. “Were you a playa, baby?” she asked innocently. The entire table erupted in laughter, some pounding the table so hard glasses and silver rattled.

Jordan glared at Kyle. “TMI, brother.”

“No it's not, brother,” Kyle drawled. “Your woman has a right to know that the Harlem honeys like JW.”

Aziza looped her arm through Jordan's. “If that's the case, then I definitely have to hold on tight.”

“That's right, girl,” Nayo crooned. “Hold on to your man.”

There was chorus of amens from the women in attendance before introductions continued.

“Tamara Wolcott. And no, I'm not an attorney but an E.R. doctor.”

Kyle waited until the snickers subsided. “Kyle Chatham,
senior partner at Chatham and Wainwright, Attorneys-at-Law,” he announced smugly. He and Jordan executed a thumbs-up simultaneously.

“Ava Warrick, social worker. I don't know why y'all hatin' but I happen to like my lawyer.” She winked at Kyle. He angled his head and brushed a kiss over her mouth.

“Hear, hear,” Geoffrey intoned, raising his water goblet, and was rewarded with an adoring look from Bethany.

Eyes were trained on the remaining couple. The man with dark blond hair and intense dark blue eyes was jaw-dropping gorgeous. “Rafael Madison, U.S. Deputy Marshal assigned to the White Plains Federal Courthouse.”

“I'm Simone Whitfield-Madison, owner of Wildflowers and Other Treasures and floral decorator for Signature Bridals.” The resemblance between Simone and her sister was obvious. Both had curly hair, but Simone's was streaked with reddish highlights and her eyes were a sparkling hazel.

Ivan winked at Simone. “That concludes the introductions, so if anyone needs to purchase artwork, hire an attorney, doctor, social worker, financial analyst, wedding planner or floral designer, you'll know who to contact. Sorry, Rafe, but you're the odd man out. Let's hope none of us will need the services of the U.S. Marshal Service.”

Tiny lines fanned out around the hunky lawman's remarkable eyes when he flashed a wide grin. “Once I put in my twenty years with the service I plan to go to law school. So that will make it even—six attorneys and six
others.
” He managed to duck when his wife threw a balled-up cocktail napkin at him. This elicited another round of laughter.

Nayo signaled for a member of the waitstaff to begin serving, and over the next two hours her guests dined on
expertly prepared prime rib, herb-crusted Cornish hens and broiled flounder stuffed with lobster and crab.

The wines flowed, the conversations were lively as the seven couples exchanged pleasantries and anecdotes that kept everyone laughing. The conversation shifted to Kyle and Ava's upcoming wedding in the Caribbean and the process of coming up with baby names after Tessa and Micah announced they were expecting a daughter in mid-April.

It was minutes after midnight when Ivan and Nayo's guests began to take their leave; those who didn't have cars had contracted with car services to take them home. Aziza barely had time to settle back and relax in the warmth of the car when the ride ended. The temperature had dropped to single digits, and when Jordan helped her out of the car, she ran to the building, startling the doorman when he rushed over to open the door for her.

Within seconds of closing and locking the door, Jordan swept Aziza off her feet and carried her up the staircase to his bedroom. The sound of clothing being tossed aside, the escalating moans and groans that accompanied their undressing each other echoed with the rising passion threatening to explode.

Somewhere begin madness and sanity, Jordan remembered he had to protect Aziza from an unplanned pregnancy. He snatched open the drawer to the bedside table and grabbed a handful of condoms. Light from a full moon silvered the bed and bedroom through half-open drapes.

Aziza felt a burning in the back of her throat where she'd choked off the screams building there. There was something so feral and unbridled about making love without the pretense of foreplay that it excited and frightened her at the same time. Moisture flowed from
her like an unchecked faucet when she stared at Jordan sheathing his tumescence in latex. The condom was so thin she was able to feel the heat of his sex when he penetrated her. She extended her arms and opened her legs as Jordan loomed over her. He lowered his body until her breasts were crushed to his hard chest.

“Love me, Jordan,” she whispered in his ear.

Jordan wanted to do more than love Aziza. He wanted to brand himself on her body, heart and mind. His mouth covered hers in a soft kiss that belied the fire raging in his groin. “I love your mouth,” he whispered. His mouth moved lower as he fastened his teeth to the tender flesh at the base of her throat. “I love your sweet neck.”

Continuing his downward journey, he placed kisses all over her firm breasts, catching the hardened nipples between his teeth. “I love your beautiful breasts.” She gasped when he increased the pressure, worrying the hardened flesh between the ridges of his teeth. He'd bitten her, but it wasn't hard enough to hurt her or break the skin.

He slipped down the bed, his tongue marking a trail over her belly. Inhaling, Jordan blew out his breath over the mound covered with moist tangled curls. Then, without warning, he grasped her legs, anchoring them over his shoulders.

Aziza screamed once and then swallowed the sobs of rising ecstasy when she felt Jordan's tongue searching between her legs to find the opening that brought her so much sexual pleasure. She wanted to tell him to stop but it felt so good, too good. Heat, then cold swept over her, her skin beading with gooseflesh.

“Please.” She heard a voice, but didn't recognize it as her own.

Jordan heard the entreaty. He rested a hand on Aziza's
belly and felt her muscles contracting under his touch. He wanted to make love to her with his mouth until she climaxed, yet feared if he continued he would come without being inside her.

Pulling his mouth away, he moved up her trembling body and kissed her deeply, his tongue plunging in her mouth over and over and simulating his making love to her. “Touch me,” he whispered hoarsely.

Reaching between his legs, Aziza held his hardened flesh, feeling the heat and the blood rushing to his erection. Spreading her legs, she lifted her hips and eased him inside her inch by every delicious inch, sighing when he was fully sheathed up to the root of his penis.

Slowly, deliberately, they moved together, she arching to meet his strong thrusting. Things they never would've said out of bed they communicated wordlessly with their bodies. Just when she felt the soft tremors that indicated the onset of an orgasm, Jordan slowed and stopped without pulling out. And when he started moving inside her again, the pulsing increased. He continued stopping and starting up again until she felt as if she were going crazy.

Her fingernails made half-moon imprints on his back with her increasing frustration. She felt as if she was standing on a precipice, unable to move because she feared falling.

“Jordan!” His name came out in a strangled cry. She couldn't hold back any longer. An orgasm seized her, followed by another one and then one more. She'd fallen off the precipice, shattering into a million little pieces of pure ecstasy.

Burying his face between Aziza's neck and shoulder, Jordan bit his lip to smother the groans when he felt his scrotum tighten. He couldn't hold back any longer.
Grasping the pillow under her head, he surrendered to the pleasure holding him captive.

They lay joined, enjoying the sensations that had made them one with the other. Jordan would've fallen asleep where he lay if Aziza hadn't tried to push him off her. He'd become dead weight.

Somehow he garnered enough strength to roll off her body. He knew he had to get up and discard the condom but found that his limbs refused to follow the dictates of his mind. And for the first time since sleeping with a woman, Jordan Wainwright pulled off the condom and dropped it to floor beside the bed. Turning back to Aziza, he pulled her hips to his, closed his eyes and within minutes had fallen asleep.

 

Aziza sat in her office going through the mail that had accumulated during the time she'd stayed with Jordan. She separated junk mail, magazines and bills, putting them into piles.

Jordan had taken her out for Sunday brunch, then when they returned to his place he'd told her about the conversation he'd had with the district attorney who had been his classmate at Harvard Law. She'd agreed that the tapes were inadmissible, but not the condom with Kenneth Moore's DNA.

As her legal counsel, he'd also decided to sue Kenneth Moore in the Westchester County federal court for violation of her civil rights based on sex and race. In several of the taped conversations Kenneth admitted hiring her because she was a “sexy African-American woman,” “his firm needed more color,” and “he'd always fantasized about making love to a black woman.” In cross-examination he would use Kenneth Moore's words against him.

Aziza now knew what rape victims went through
when they had to face the person that had violated them in the most violent way possible. Kenneth Moore hadn't physically violated her, but she felt as if she'd been violated nonetheless by his innuendoes, sexual overtures and finally with the condom. Rape was rape, whether physical or emotional, and the pervert had to pay for his crimes.

It would be another week before Jordan would be available to accompany her to file charges against Kenneth Middleton, Jr., and she'd decided not to go to the safe deposit box until that day. She wasn't superstitious or paranoid by nature, but Aziza didn't want any unforeseen event or accident to destroy the only evidence she needed to prove her assertion.

Flipping the pages on the planner on her desk, she perused the notations for the next month. She had one court appearance—a hearing for a thirteen-year-old who had begun staying out at night after her mother caught her with an eighteen-year-old boy. With the exception of two projected house closings, she was available to go to Kyle and Ava's wedding, attend a museum fundraiser at the end of the week and plan her girls-only Super Bowl party. She'd exchanged phone numbers with Tamara, Ava and Nayo.

Aziza had enjoyed interacting with Jordan's friends, finding them friendly, and what she valued most was they were unpretentious, notwithstanding the lawyer jokes. She did find it odd that there had been so many lawyers at the dinner party.