Passionate Game (Kimani Hotties) (6 page)

Tamara ran her hand over her blouses. She pretended to study one then another. Protesting would only confirm Becky’s observations. She pulled out a beige top.

“Oh, no, not that one. You look like a missionary ready to perform some conversions. And in this case, we need him to convert to you. He’ll have his work cut out for him. Those clothes that you’re planning to wear would make a man snooze.”

Tamara shook her head at her friend’s silliness.

“That’s how I keep out of trouble. You, on the other hand, have attracted nothing but trouble with your crazy get-ups. And when things get out of hand, I get blamed.”

Their last year in high school came to mind. Becky had thought it was a good idea to go on the hunt for a prom date at her older brother’s college campus. Not only did they get caught for skipping school, but they got in a lot of hot water for pretending they were older. Becky usually instigated, but Tamara was gullible enough to take on the challenge. They’d get caught, and immediately everyone thought that Tamara was solely at fault.

“And you’ve earned my best-friend-forever status.” Becky giggled.

“You’re so kind.” Tamara could never stay mad at her friend. They were soul sisters, through thick and thin.

“Now, how about this outfit?” Becky had joined her in the closet to select clothes.

“That pair of pants doesn’t work. A bit on the tight side.” Tamara patted her hips. A few inches always managed to play hide-and-seek around her hips, making her curvier than she’d prefer.

“Nothing wrong with skintight. Wear a long blouse, if that’ll make you comfortable.”

“I’m not trying to hold my breath for the entire evening.” As it was, she’d be having all kinds of breathing issues whenever she came into close proximity to Grant. Worrying about popping the button from her pants in front of a hunky man was an experience that she’d rather avoid.

“Pull out that pair of black jeans. Now grab that electric blue top.”

“What if it gets cold?” Tamara eyed the lightweight fabric and low-scooped neckline.

“Then wear this black blazer. You’ll look all slim and trim in the black. And the blue will light up your face.”

Tamara slipped on the clothes. She had to admit that Becky’s picks did work.

Becky pointed to her feet. “Shoes?”

“Flats.”

“Boring.”

“This is business.”

“You sound like a broken record. Anyway, who is in control?” Becky was on her knees, pulling out shoes for closer inspection.

“Sometimes, I’m not sure.” Tamara sighed.

“Then take control of one thing—his sexual appetite. I’ll be right back.” Becky left the room but hurried back with her latest shoe purchase.

“You want me to control Grant’s sexual appetite with your three-and-a-half-inch stilettos?”

“Yeah, baby. These heels will make your hips do that slinky, sexy walk.”

Tamara didn’t doubt the claim. She slipped her feet into the shoes. Immediately her calves tightened and she had to readjust her body weight to balance on the balls of her feet. But what if she tripped and took a nosedive at Grant’s feet?

She tilted her feet from side to side to admire the design of the heels. A tightly woven lattice pattern covered the top of her foot, while her heels were bare in the slingbacks.

Without warning, Becky pushed her down on the edge of the bed. She set down her makeup bag. “We don’t have much time.” The transformation took exactly ten minutes. Then Becky wiped her brow, rolled up the makeup bag and motioned her to the bathroom mirror.

Tamara stared at her reflection. “Hot diggity. I like this.” Tamara turned her head from side to side. Wearing makeup wasn’t something new, but in her hectic life, she usually managed to put on only light foundation and lip color. Becky was able to make her look striking, giving the complete outfit a more sophisticated appeal. She glanced at the clock.

The buzz of the intercom signaled Grant’s arrival. Becky left the room in a whirl of expectation.

Tamara remained in front of the mirror. It was time for her meeting with Grant. Her pulse felt like a pack of Pop Rocks, and she took a deep, unsteady breath.

“Ah, Tamara, your date is here.” Becky stepped into the room with a blinding grin.

“Okay.” Tamara took a deep breath.

“Wait.” Becky sprayed a mist of perfume in front of her. “Hurry, walk through.”

Tamara complied, feeling the perfume lightly settle on her skin. She didn’t expect Grant to get close enough to appreciate the scent, but adding the extra touch couldn’t hurt. Tamara took another fortifying breath before exiting her bedroom to face the man who made her feel like a shy schoolgirl on her first date.

Chapter 7

G
rant had to have a date with Tamara. There was no way that he could continue in his state of mind, contemplating all sorts of sexy thoughts about her. He didn’t appreciate feeling out of control, either. It was an alien state of being for him.

But he hadn’t expected this attack of nerves. He felt as if he was on a prom date, especially now that he was waiting for her to emerge from the bedroom.

Usually his other dates were picked up by his driver and brought to wherever he waited. He had a limo pick up the ladies partly to impress but mostly to be emotionally distant. Taking out Tamara didn’t fall under either category.

He suspected that she wasn’t one to fall for his bravado. And how could he remain emotionally distant when his mind and body were in active discord with that tactic?

“Hi, Grant.” Tamara emerged from the bedroom.

“Beautiful,” he said. It was the first word that came to mind.

“Huh?”

“You are beautiful.” He could have added a few more adjectives to completely encapsulate what he felt. But simplicity seemed to be more appropriate for this evening.

“Thank you. Shall we go?”

“Then let’s go.” All of a sudden, his throat was dry. Thoughts scrambled into full chaos.

“Becky, we’re out of here.”

The woman who had opened the door emerged from a room. She kept grinning at him, and he could only imagine what Tamara had said. Maybe he should be grateful that she wasn’t scowling.

“Have a nice time, you two. Don’t rush home.”

Grant bit his cheek to keep from laughing. Tamara’s embarrassment clearly showed on her face. He had to hurry after her as she exited through the front door.

“You have a nice place. Pretty big.” He attempted small talk, hoping to ease the tension.

“I share it with my friend.”

Grant noted the defensive tone that immediately colored her response. He hadn’t meant to sound critical. The apartment had surprised him, with its definitely upscale zip code and expansive floor plan. Despite her involvement with helping the disadvantaged, she lived a comfy lifestyle. Nothing wrong with that, but he found it to be strangely in conflict with her attitude.

“How long have you been living there?” he probed.

“Only a year. It’s a gift from my father.”

“Very nice gift.”

She only nodded.

He led the way out of the building to the parking garage.

“Oh, you’re driving?” She looked beyond where he stood.

“Yep. I don’t have any driving violations. At least not any recent ones.” He grinned as he opened her door. “Don’t you trust me?”

“That’s a loaded question. I think it can only be answered on a case-by-case basis.”

“Got to work on that,” he muttered. He closed the car door and walked over to his side of the vehicle.

When he slid behind the steering wheel, his arm brushed against hers where it rested on the middle console. Even through the layers of clothing, his body reacted as if it were skin-to-skin contact. All he wanted to do was to cover her hand with his and interlock his fingers with her long, slender ones.

He half closed his eyes as he breathed in her soft scent, which evoked imagery of warm spices and tropical romantic breezes. He wanted to bathe her body with his touch. And then with his tongue he wanted to follow the scintillating path of her perfume to all its erotic points of contact.

He started the car. Its roar to life matched his internal engine, which was revved on high sexual octane. Now he had the difficult task of keeping his cool for the next three hours.

“What are you thinking about?”

“If you’re going to enjoy the evening.”

“I think you have a sense of what I would enjoy, what I wouldn’t care to do and how I would react.”

“Sounds like you’re giving me a challenge...and a threat.” He grinned. Suddenly testing her boundaries was quite tempting.

“Where are we going?” She looked out the window, peering up at the buildings and reading aloud the street signs. She turned a puzzled frown toward him.

“You’ll see. We’re almost there.” Grant slowed as he approached congestion. Each block closer to his destination had more traffic and more pedestrians swarming the sidewalks and even spilling into the streets.

“The stadium, that’s where we’re going? Oh, my. We’re going to a basketball game?”

Grant nodded. “I’m afraid to ask, but is that okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I would have never guessed. Becky and I were thinking of all the possible places.” She laughed. “I didn’t know what to wear.”

“We’ll be in the skybox. And you look great.”

“
Your
box?”

“No. I don’t like to spend money on things like that. But I was invited.”

“So am I party crashing?”

Grant shook his head. “I was told to bring you.”

“Me, specifically?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, spill.”

“I was talking about you a little too much. So it was suggested that I bring you along.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s your mother.” Tamara looked pained at the possibility.

“No.” Grant remembered how he had felt blindsided the first time he’d met Vanessa’s mother. Plus, meeting mothers was a game changer. He liked Tamara, thought she was gorgeous beyond belief, and he wanted her so badly that he couldn’t walk straight. But upping the stakes with a visit to his parents was not happening. Yet. “This is a business colleague.”

Tamara continued to look at him, as if waiting for him to say something else. He sensed her distrust. But he wasn’t worried.

Finally, after battling with the traffic into the stadium parking lot, he parked in the VIP section and headed for the elevators. The fans were pumped for their home team, and their enthusiasm was contagious as they spilled out of their cars.

They mixed in with the hustle and bustle of fans entering the stadium. On their way to the skybox, he and Tamara chatted with strangers about the home team’s overall performance for the year. Tamara offered her predictions and her tips on how the coach should proceed for the remainder of the year. He hadn’t known she was a sports buff, but he had opted for this activity since it was a safe one that shouldn’t make her feel uncomfortable. While he wasn’t up on the latest news about the basketball world, he could hold his own at the basic level of sports trash talk.

“I didn’t bother to get us refreshments because there will be food in the skybox,” Grant explained as they approached the door of the suite.

Tamara nodded.

He pressed the buzzer at the suite. The door opened and the merriment from within hit them full blast.

“Looks like the party started without us.” Grant stepped aside for Tamara to enter. He laid his hand gently on her back as she entered the room, and he felt her stiffen.

“Let me introduce you.” Grant wanted to erase any unease she felt.

“I’m not going to remember all of these people.”

“I don’t know them, either.” He kept his hand on her back. Little did she know that this wasn’t his usual scene. He’d much rather hang out at his favorite brick-oven pizza place, but this had felt more special. And he wanted her to feel special.

“Grant, over here.” His colleague beckoned to him.

Grant and Tamara squeezed through the various bodies to his colleague.

“So, is this Tamara?” His friend plunged ahead without waiting for Grant’s introduction. “I’m Clinton. Thanks for getting Grant to come out and have some fun. He’s such a homebody, always working on world domination.” The man shook Tamara’s hand and whistled appreciatively over her. “Only took a knockout to really knock him out.”

Grant had always thought Clinton was a nerd in disguise. He tried so hard to be the party guy that sometimes it irritated Grant. But to be called out about his lack of a social life by the man who had to spend tons of money to keep an entourage, well, that truly fired him up. And Tamara’s laughter at his expense was a little too bubbly for his liking.

Clinton continued. “So, Tamara, what do you do? Grant seems to be scared to share any details with me.”

“I run a leadership academy for teens.”

“That sounds noble. Grant, why did you hide that from me?”

Grant shrugged.

“Do you find him to be very secretive?” Tamara asked, jabbing a thumb in Grant’s direction. Now she was going to jump on the bandwagon to make fun of him. At least she was cute enough to get away with it.

“Always secretive. I think he likes to hold everything at arm’s distance. Who knows, he might be living a double life, one for the public—hardworking, dedicated CEO—and one that’s private—bargaining with the devil for world domination in the computer game industry.”

“Oh, my, now that’s...dark. I wonder which Grant Benson came out tonight.” Tamara assessed him as if the answer would scroll across his forehead.

“I’m going to get food. I think both of you should fill your mouths, too,” Grant scolded.

He didn’t like being under the microscope. The media already had him there, and they didn’t seem to be letting up. The constant observers kept him in a permanent state of wariness. Maybe he was being naive thinking that he could manage the situation. He excused himself and headed to the array of food that had been catered for the large crowd.

* * *

Tamara watched Grant’s departure, noting the stiffness in his shoulders. Evidently Clinton had touched on a sensitive subject. At first, she had thought that Grant was playing along until she had seen his jaw working. He returned with food only for her. The easy banter was now awkward conversation. His hand, which had gently guided her into the suite, was now stuffed in his pocket. She missed the warm pressure that had gotten her hot and bothered.

“Game is about to start.” Tamara stepped close to Grant and took the small plate of appetizers.

“Let’s find a seat.”

There were two front-row seats in the corner of the suite. People were still milling around, and with the TV monitors positioned around the room, they technically didn’t have to see the game in person.

“Everything okay?” she asked, but cringed when his shoulders tensed before he shook his head. After a few minutes of silence, Tamara softly forged ahead.

“You seemed a bit put out by Clinton’s comments.”

“I’m fine. Clinton is right. I don’t hang out. I’m pretty much a private person, and I can do without the scrutiny from within my circle and from the press.”

“Not that I don’t understand where you’re coming from, but I think that you shouldn’t change your life for others. Don’t let them push you underground.”

“I live a very simple life. Maybe if they did see a glimpse of a day in the life of Grant Benson, they would lose so much in ratings that they would never push another camera in my face.”

Tamara listened as she bit into the barbecue wings. She hunched over the plate, hoping to keep the drippings from soiling her clothes.

“You don’t get it.” Tamara cleaned off her fingers and mouth. “You have too much that will hold the viewers’ interest—you’re a single, rich brother.” She shrugged to emphasize the obvious.

“You make it sound like the price I have to pay.”

“Something like that. Maybe stop trying to avoid the press, and then if you get a honey on the side, they won’t care. You’d be normal and not the eccentric reclusive rich guy.” Tamara tossed out the flip advice. She found it a little hard to believe that he truly stayed home.

“You’ve also had your share of time in the spotlight. Who do you have on the side?”

Tamara shook her head. “I used to do my share of hanging out. Got blasted as the party girl. Let me not forget—the
irresponsible
party girl. After all, my parents were serious, diligent activists, and I was taking advantage of everything they’d worked hard to achieve.”

Tamara had partied, but not for attention. The partying, drinking and acting careless had all been to numb her emotions. She had lost a friend who had meant so much to her. Once the anger had subsided, she had turned her energy from self-destruction to helping others and ultimately to opening her leadership academy.

“I’m too busy all day long to have the energy to go dancing and jabbering with any guy I don’t care about,” she said, deflecting the question onto more neutral territory.

“What do you do with guys you do care about?”

She looked over at him. “First, I think it’s more important that they care about me. If I focus on the opposite scenario—I care about the guy—then I stand to get the short end of the stick, sooner or later.” She bit into another wing, feeling the sauce smear around her mouth, possibly even her cheeks. She hoped that her honesty and her lack of finesse with her food signaled to Grant that she was not “honey” material.

Suddenly, the announcer’s voice boomed. “Time to catch our couples!” The crowd erupted, along with the more noisy members in the suite. Tamara barely paid attention to the tradition.

The overhead camera zoomed in and out at various fans, showing their reactions on the big screens above the scoreboard. Some of the people weren’t couples, and they waved away the camera with embarrassed grins. The crowd cheered regardless of whether the couples were real or not. The spirit of the night seemed to be celebratory.

When the camera did pick up on actual couples, the MC previewed the magic moment with exaggerated fanfare. As the fans cheered, the couples would turn and kiss, enticing the crowd to raise the volume of their screaming.

Tamara did her part with cheering. But she needed to wipe her fingers of the barbecue sauce. The stickiness was gross, and she couldn’t touch anything until she washed up. She leaned forward to make her escape to the bathroom.

Suddenly, the suite erupted in raucous calls. Tamara barely made out her name being shouted. Grant grabbed her wrist and pointed toward the screen. His forehead displayed the deepest furrow that she’d seen in a long time.

She followed the direction of his pointing. Her face stared back at her from the giant stadium screens, mocking her as various emotions slid on and off her countenance. She issued a curse. Although no one could hear what she said, they could read her lips and surmise that she really wasn’t saying “what the truck!”