Captivated Love - Yasmin Sullivan

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herself begin to throb. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. She closed her eyes against the multicolored strobe lights that circled the room and gave in to the sensation of being in Darien’s arms. Although they were in public, it felt so erotic, so intimate, so safe.

      The rugged smell of Darien’s body filled her senses when she inhaled, and the taste of bittersweet chocolate rose to the tip of her tongue. The feel of his body was delicious. Their thighs brushed gently against each other’s as they wavered to the slow, heavy beat and the guttural voice of a woman yearning for love. His hard chest pressed against her breasts, and his hands gripped her hip and back, drawing her into the curves of his form. It all sent a tingling through Safire that made her pulse rush. And she could tell from the bulge pressing against her hip that he was also getting a bit stimulated.

      The slow song ended and a faster song came on. The two continued to sway slowly for a moment, long enough for Safire to know that he, too, hated to have the dance end. Then they looked at each other and went back to their table, Darien’s palm pressed to her back.

      At their table, Safire placed her hand in Darien’s. He accepted it and held it in a gentle fist.

      She leaned toward him and motioned for him to come. He leaned his ear toward her, but that wasn’t what she wanted. When she said nothing, he turned to look at her. That’s when she caught his lips with hers. It was a chaste kiss, but they held it for a long moment before he leaned back, breaking the connection.

      As she ran her fingers along his palm, he peered at her, but it was a gaze of inquiry.

      “Why do you move so fast?” Darien asked.

      “Well, I know what I want. What’s wrong with that?”

      “And what do you want, Safire?” He looked at her deeply.

      She answered quietly, almost wistfully. “Come home with me, Darien.” When he stalled, she looked him up and down and added, “I dare you.”

      Then she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and gave a devilish smile—waiting.

      Darien saw the challenge in Safire’s eyes, her smile, her posture, her very being. And it was a challenge that he couldn’t resist. It wasn’t only that he was filled with desire for this woman. It was also that her defiance incited something in his masculine constitution. He had been triggered by his prey the way the canter of a deer sets a lion in motion. Desire and instinct were overruling reason and wisdom. He covered their tab, took Safire’s hand and led them to her car.

      “I’ll follow you home.”

      Safire smiled like a kitty that had just found a stash of catnip. “Honk,” she said, “if I get too far ahead of you.”

      “That won’t happen,” Darien said. “Just drive.”

      It wasn’t until they were well on their way that Darien wondered what the hell he was doing and why on earth he was tossing his calculations out the window. His mantra had been that he would take things slowly until he found the right one—for sure. Now he was following a Cheshire cat to her lair. The thought made him laugh.

      He parked beside her in the lot of a large apartment building off of Biscayne Boulevard in North Miami, and they went up to her apartment. She let them in and turned on a light and faced him, but he didn’t take her into his arms. He took her elbow and started walking around her apartment, looking at where she lived.

      “You live here alone?”

      “Yes, I do.”

      “It’s spacious.”

      It was all he would have expected for a chic, upcoming professional. There was a long, beige leather sectional in the living room with a matching love seat and armchair. These were accented by matching glass end tables and a glass coffee table. The books on the coffee table were eclectic—a pictorial history of Bob Marley, a photograph collection by James Van Der Zee, a visual encyclopedia of African-American history, a copy of Toni Morrison’s latest novel, a few fashion magazines. There was a fully stocked entertainment center, and near it was a credenza with a bar on top. In the corner was a small bookshelf, but he couldn’t read the titles from where he stood. The living room was sleek, smart and sparse. Everything was tasteful and elegant.

      There wasn’t much art. There was a charcoal drawing of a robust female nude and a watercolor of what looked like the harbor. There was a large, framed photograph of a Harlem scene from the 1920s, probably a Van Der Zee. That was it in the living room. To the left he could see the dining room, which had a fully set six-place table and matching chairs, but he couldn’t see the walls without the light. Everything was clean and polished. It barely looked lived in.

      “You like James Van Der Zee,” Darien said, stepping around the couch to the path behind it, where the photograph hung on the wall.

      “Among others,” Safire answered, putting her purse on the credenza and coming to stand next to him. “I could afford them. They’re just reprints.”

      “They’re nice. I like his stuff, too.”

      Safire had been patient for a while. Now she put her hands on Darien’s chest and backed him against the wall. She pressed her body against his and put her lips against his throat.

      Automatically, both of Darien’s arms surrounded Safire’s body, moving over the silky turquoise material that covered her back and flared at her hips. In her heels, she was just under his height, and he could feel the way her body stirred against him. When he dipped his head, he could smell the floral aroma rising from her earlobe. But what were they doing?

      He lifted his head and cupped her hips, using them to move her back from his body. “You know, we don’t have to move so quickly.”

      “What if this is what I want?” Safire asked.

      “Is it?”

      “Yes. What do you want?” Safire placed a hand on Darien’s chest and moved it down his abdomen to the front of his jeans. “You seem to want me.”

      “I’m just saying—”

      Safire took a step back. She put her hands on her hips and looked at him with one lifted eyebrow, as if waiting for him to show some moxie. Darien took a breath and shook his head. He was about to step around her when she pressed her body against his again and whispered into his ear, “I double dare.”

      Safire’s soft voice in his ear and her soft body pressed against his lit Darien on fire as much as her demand. The deer was on the run again, and the lion in him was roaring.

      Darien pulled Safire against him roughly, lacerating her body with his own. He dipped his head to her neck and sucked in the tender hollow, raising her against him until she was murmuring and rubbing herself along his body. The fire she had lit moved through both of them, and he was consumed by the flames.

      “Is this that you want, Safire?”

      “Yes, Darien, yes.”

      They moved toward her bedroom, tearing off each other’s clothes as they gripped each other’s bodies—her hands at his chest, his fingers on her breast, her mouth latching onto his throat, his palm cupping her rear.

      By the time they reached the bed, they were down to their underwear, and Safire’s tender flesh clung to Darien’s hard body.

      Darien stopped at the bed and broke from Safire. He needed to catch his breath and get his perspective back. Something about the fire in this woman was making him get ahead of himself, far ahead.

      “Cold feet, mon ami?” Safire said.

      “You know, we haven’t even kissed properly yet,” Darien said.

      “Yes, you kissed me at my car the first day we met.”

      Yes, Darien thought. What had gotten into him

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