He glanced past me. “The Great Wall of China gotta go.”
My laughter trembled, a shaky sound escaping my lips as frigid air and anxious anticipation gripped me. We still had on clothes. And his muscles rippled beneath his soaked shirt. “You’re really gonna?—”
Pillows thudded against the carpet behind me. His smile had vanished when he faced me again. His eyes softened, darkened, and I relished his protection. How he uplifted me. Helped me become salt until he was ready to come to my level? Technically, he was on my level. He locked eyes with me, gazing at me as if the world had narrowed down to the two of us.
“Zuri,” he said, voice low.
This. This was what I’d wanted to hear since we met. My name. But from those seductive lips. Just like this. My breath caught at that same raw, tortured Creole tone he’d used on day seven of me nurturing him back to health. He’d said my name … Just. Like. This.
He lifted his hand, brushed wet hair from my face, fingers lingering at my jaw. Before I could stop myself, I felt the warmth of his muscle-rippled chest. His lips met mine, a delicate exploration that asked for more. My lips trembled as I answered, kissing him back. My speechless offering a whimper, and my eyes flashed betrayal when he pulled away.
Montana removed the wig from my head. “Ah, there she is.”
Of course, he spoke to my Sisterlocks. And my hair sang his praises as he massaged my scalp. My girls hadn’t had any attention in years. A man’s attention? Never.
“I have so many ideas for you,” he said.
Yep. Still conversing with my hair.
My only response was a drawn-out “Mmmm …” as I listened intently. My gaze fixed on him, desperate to be a part of this moment. Between him andmyhair. Montana’s fingers plunged into the hair at my scalp, his tongue on the same pursuit with my mouth. Deliberate with each stroke.
I clutched his shirt, tugging, needing him closer.
The soaked fabric stuck to his chest, heavy, and mine felt all achy and uncomfortable against my skin. My complaints? Gone with the wind. The massaging of my scalp, of my tongue? Heaven.
Montana sank back onto his haunches.
“Mon-Montana, wh … what are you … doing?” I stitched that sentence with the butchery of a beginner knitting class.
“You gone leave, Zuri?”
“What—no.”
His chest expanded, as if that were possible, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Non,chère. I’m talking about leaving NOLA. Leaving …” Voice a rasp, I had to wonder if he saidme. “Zuri, we already talked about me finding you.”
“I’m staying, Montana. We have the … contract.” Luckily, a raindrop in my hair dripped into my eyes, mirroring the tear that escaped. I slid off the bed, legs wrapping around him as he kneeled on the ground. I clutched his shirt, tugging, needing him closer. “Not leaving, Montana.”Never leaving you first is probably my weakness.
Somehow, my trembling fingers got him out of his shirt. Those damn fixations weren’t helping when my hands stilled. Broad shoulders. Hard muscles. Water slid over his skin, a smooth mahogany stone.
“You’re staring,bébé,” he teased, voice rough as if fighting the same nerves I was. Probably for a different reason. I worried the contract would be the only tangible memory of him I possessed. He probably feared epididymal hypertension. That uncomfortable, achy sensation men got after experiencing prolonged arousal.
Blue.
Balls.
I swallowed, heat flooding my face. “You’re staring too.”
His gaze traced the curve of my body, lingering on the silk of my dress and the heat of my legs around his hips. He reached behind me, gripping the hem with careful fingers. The soft zip? Deafening.
Instead of standing, we remained in our position. He lifted me a little and slipped the dress over my head. My body embraced him.
“You tryna hide from me,chère?”
I giggled. This wasn’t the best position for a mother. Seated. The knot in my stomach felt as large as the small pooch of thick skin on my lower abdomen from conceiving.
Once again, his lips touched mine, but this time the kiss was slower, meant to coax and not to demand. With each kiss, the promises from his lips intensified, growing firmer and more passionate until I found myself trembling within his embrace. With a reverent touch, his hands explored the curve of my breast and the swell of my hips. A map of my every movement.
I tugged at his belt, clumsy, desperate, until he helped, fingers brushing mine.
