Chapter 7

Ngozi was exhausted.

From the moment they left the art gallery together, she and Chance hadn’t been able to keep their hands—or anything else—off each other.

In the office at the gallery.

In the car.

Against the wall of the living room.

On the bench of his nine-foot Steinway grand piano in the music room.

In the shower.

And the bed...where he held her nude body closely as he united them with deep intense strokes and whispered to her how much he missed her until they climaxed and cried out in sweet release together.

And she was spent as she straddled Chance’s strong thighs as he sat in the middle of his bed with his back pressed against the headboard. Her sigh was inevitable when he gripped her thighs to massage them. She rested her hands on his shoulders, gently kneading the muscles there.

“We’re really doing this?” Ngozi asked, pressing kisses to his brow as he lowered his head to her chest.

“I don’t think we can resist,” Chance said, turning his face from one side to the other to plant a warm kiss to each curve of her breasts.

She eased her hands from his shoulders and up his neck to grip his face to tilt upward until he was looking at her. The room was dimly lit by a corner lamp across the room, but the light of the moon and the brightness of the white snow reflected a light in his eyes that she felt herself getting lost in. He met her stare and she lost her breath, feeling something tugging at her heart and claiming a piece of her soul.

She kissed him lightly. “Chance,” she whispered, her eyes searching his as she felt a lightness in her chest.

Bzzzzzz.

They both looked to his iPhone vibrating on his bedside table.

Ngozi was thankful for the intrusion. She had started to feel spellbound.

Chance held one of her butt cheeks with one hand and reached for his phone with the other.

She felt his body stiffen. “What’s wrong?”

“The attorney notified me that Helena has been officially served her summons,” Chance said, his voice hard as he turned the phone to show her.

Ngozi winced. Helena.

She moved to rise up off him, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her closer. “Don’t answer that, Chance,” she advised, putting on her attorney hat.

She visualized the blonde Cuban with whom he’d been ready to share his life. Ngozi, educated woman and accomplished attorney, had looked up the woman’s Instagram account weeks ago. She was gorgeous. J-Lo level.

“Helena,” he said, his tone chilly enough to make her wish for a sweater.

“You have got to be kidding me, Chance. Are you serious? Suing me?” she railed.

He had her on speaker.

Ngozi successfully freed herself from his hold and rose from the bed, not interested in eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Racking up a million dollars’ worth of bills for a wedding while screwing another man? Are you serious?” he countered, his anger and annoyance clear.

Ngozi paused in the entrance to his bathroom and looked back at him over his shoulder. Something in him needed this moment with Helena.

She squinted as he began to slash his hands across the air as he rose from the bed and paced, and they began arguing heatedly in Spanish.

Her entire body went warm and she leaned against the frame of the doorway as she accepted what she was feeling. Jealousy. Pure and simple.

And she knew that when she looked in his eyes and saw the moonlight in the brown depths, that the emotion that took her breath was the same one that made her warm with envy.

Her heart pounded so loudly it felt like it thudded in her ears.

Ngozi gripped the door frame tightly and released a long, shaky breath as the truth of her feelings settled in...and scared her.

I love him. I love Chance.

“Go to hell!” Helena screamed.

Ngozi refocused her attention on them.

“I will see you there,” Chance returned coldly, holding the phone close to his mouth.

Ngozi stiffened her back and pushed off the door frame to walk across his expansive bedroom and calmly slip the phone out of his hand to end the call. She turned and tossed it onto the middle of his bed. “It is hurtful to your case to argue with Ms. Guzman,” she said, turning away from him so he couldn’t see how hurtful it was to her, as well.

How did I let this happen?

“You’re right,” he said.

She glanced at him as she gathered her clothing, taking note with a critical eye that he stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows with his hands on his hips as he looked out at his backyard. His back was to her, but in his reflection in the glass, she took in both his nudity and the pensive look on his face.

He looked lost in thought.

She was tempted to dress and walk out, leaving him lost.

Instead, she set her clothes down on the edge of the bed and walked over to him to press her body against his back and wrap her arms around him as she pressed a kiss to his spine.

Chance brought one hand up to cover hers as he looked down at her over his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said.

Ngozi eased her body around his to stand before him with her bare bottom, her upper back and head against the chilly glass as she looked up at him. “You sure?” she asked, reaching up to stroke his low-cut beard.

Chance cupped her face with his hands, tilting her face up as he bent his head to kiss her. “Honestly?” he asked, as his eyes searched hers just as hers had searched his earlier.

She wondered if he felt the same breathlessness that she had in that moment. “Always,” she finally answered, her voice whisper soft.

“I wasn’t looking for anything serious and...and I’m not sure I’m ready,” Chance admitted. “In fact, I don’t think either of us are.”

She nodded with a slight smile. “True,” she confessed, enjoying the feel of his hands.

Chance stroked her lip with his thumb. “But I don’t know how to be without you, Ngozi. I’ve tried and failed. Twice.”

More truth.

The hour was late. Later than she’d ever stayed at Chance’s home, but when their simple kisses filled with heat and passion, she didn’t dare to resist. Once she stroked him to hardness, in tune to her soft sucking motions of his tongue, the chill of the glass against her body faded as the heat of their passion reigned. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist after he hoisted her body up, centered her core above his upright hardened length and lowered her body down on each inch until they were united fully.

Ngozi gasped and released a tiny cry as she arched her back, pushing her small but plump breasts forward. Chance licked at each of her taut brown nipples with a low growl as she rotated her hips in an up-and-down motion like a rider on a mechanical bull. She kept looking at him, enjoying the glaze of pleasure in his eyes, the grimace of intensity and the quick shallow breaths through pursed lips as he fought for control.

“Ahhhh,” she sighed, her eyes still locked on him as she released his neck to press the back of her hands against the glass and slid them upward as she continued to wind her hips.

Chance’s grip on her hips deepened, and she felt him harden even more inside her.

“Yes,” she sighed with a grunt of pleasure, closing her eyes as she tilted her head back.

Never had she felt so bold, so sexy, so powerful as she did with Chance. The look in his eyes, the strength of his hold and his reaction to her moves pushed her beyond her normal limits with her sexuality. It was new and refreshing and satisfying in every way.

With him there was no shame. No inhibitions. No denial of her wants and desires.

With him she was free.

With the strength of her thigh muscles from her daily runs, Ngozi gripped his waist tighter and lowered her body down the glass until they were face-to-face. They locked eyes and shared what seemed to be a dozen small kisses as he took the lead, alternating between a deep thrust and a circular rotation of his hips that caused his stiff inches to touch every bit of her feminine core and drag against her throbbing bud.

And there against the chilly glass, with the heat they created steaming away the frost, Chance stroked them to another explosive climax that shook Ngozi to her core with such beauty and pleasure that it evoked tears.

She felt like she was free-falling.

It was amazing.

Still shivering, she clung to Chance and buried her face against his neck as he walked them over to his bed. She relaxed into the softness of the bed and snuggled one of the down pillows under her head. She closed her eyes as the exhaustion of her emotions and her climax defeated her.

“You’re staying?” Chance asked, his surprise swelling in his voice.

She nodded as he curved his body to hers and wrapped a strong arm around her waist after pulling a cool cotton sheet over them.

Ngozi snuggled down deeper on the bed, content that she didn’t have the will or the energy to leave him.

It was early morning before Ngozi made the short trip home from Alpine to Passion Grove. She entered her security code on the side entrance in the massive kitchen, pushing it open as a yawn escaped her mouth. Chance had gifted her another mind-blowing, energy-sapping, eyes-crossing orgasm before she left him.

“No sleep last night?”

Startled, she paused in the doorway at her father sitting at the mahogany island, still in his plaid robe and pajamas, drinking from a cup of what she presumed to be coffee from the heavy scent of it in the air. “Sir?” she asked, by way of stalling as her nerves were instantly rattled.

“We’re not trying to heat the outdoors, Ngozi.”

Her head whipped to the right to find her mother at the breakfast nook, also in her nightclothes as she drummed her clear-coated fingernails atop the round table.

Double trouble.

Ngozi turned to close the door, pausing to lick her lips as she furrowed her brows. She felt like a child about to be scolded.

“Reeds was kind enough to let us know you called and told him you were staying in the city for the night at the firm’s apartment,” her father began, ever the attorney—retired or not.

Late last night, she had dug her phone out of the pile of clothing on the floor and texted Reeds to cover for her yet again. “Good, I wouldn’t want you to worry,” she said, striding across the kitchen at a pace that could have won a speed-walking race with ease.

“Ngozi,” her mother said, all simple and easy.

Deceptive as hell.

Ngozi paused and turned, uncomfortable with her face makeup-free and her hair disheveled, dressed in the same white outfit she’d worn to the art gallery the night before.

“Your father is retired from the firm but he’s still the majority owner, my daughter,” Val said, turning on the padded bench to fold her legs and look across the distance at her daughter. “And that includes the firm’s apartment—”

Oh damn.

She was a gifted attorney as well and knew exactly where she had made a wrong calculation. Her eyes shifted from one to the other. Her father took another drink, and in that moment, Ngozi wished he would stir his spoon in his cup so the floor would open and send her to her own special sunken place.

They know I wasn’t there.

“Who is he?” Horace asked, setting the cup down on top of the island.

Ngozi opened her mouth to lie. When it came to her relationship with her parents, subterfuge was her first line of defense.

Val held up a hand. “Let’s remember that anything less than the truth is disrespect,” she advised before shifting her focus back to her husband.

“Who is he?” Horace repeated.

I don’t want to lie. I don’t want to deny Chance. I don’t want to.

“Chance Castillo,” she said, physically and mentally steeling herself for a long list of questions and reminders of obligations to Dennis even beyond his death.

Silence reigned.

Their faces were unreadable.

“Invite him to dinner,” her mother said.

Ngozi grimaced. “But—”

“Soon,” her father added before returning his attention to his coffee.

“Horace, we better go up and get ready,” Val said, rising from her seat. “We have that breakfast meeting with possible donors for my upcoming campaign.”

Ngozi looked from one to the other, her mouth slightly ajar. She couldn’t hide her shock, even as they eased past her to leave her in the kitchen alone.

Chance carefully steered his silver Bentley Bentayga SUV over the busy New Jersey streets, being sure to stay focused with all of the snow and ice on the ground. As he pulled the vehicle to a stop at a red traffic light, he looked over at Ngozi sitting beside him in the passenger seat. He smiled at all the nervous gestures he spotted. Swaying her knee back and forth. Twisting the large diamond-encrusted dome ring she wore on her index finger. Nibbling on her bottom lip.

He had picked her up from work, fresh off yet another trial win, and she was dressed in a claret ostrich feather coat with a turtleneck and pencil leather skirt of the same shade that was beautiful against her mocha complexion, particularly with the deep mahogany lipstick she wore.

“Mi madre no muerde, sabes,” he said, giving her thigh a warm rub and squeeze as he steered forward under the green traffic light with his other hand.

“She doesn’t bite, huh?” Ngozi said, translating his words. Inside the dimly lit interior of the SUV, she glanced at him with a weak smile. “I told you my parents want to meet you as well, so let’s see how easy-breezy you are when I finally get the nerve to serve you up to them.”

“I’m ready,” Chance said with a chuckle as he turned onto the short paved drive of his mother’s two-story brick home just a few miles from his estate. He pressed the button to open the door of the two-car garage and pulled into the empty spot next to her red convertible Mercedes Benz she called “Spicy.”

“And the deposition tomorrow—are you ready for that?” Ngozi asked.

Chance shut the SUV off and looked over at her. The overhead motion lighting of the garage lit up the car, offering him a clearer view of her face. “Yes, I am.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Just be sure to keep your cool.”

He frowned. They rarely discussed his lawsuit against Helena. “My cool?”

Ngozi reached for the handle to the passenger door. She looked nonplussed. “Same advice I would give if you were still my client,” she said matter-of-factly with a one-shoulder shrug.

“But you’re not my attorney, you’re my woman,” he reminded her.

Ngozi relaxed back against the seat. She stroked the underside of his chin, letting the short beard hairs prick against her hand. “Your woman, huh?” she asked.

He smiled as he leaned in and pressed his lips to her own as he reached down to use the controls to lower her seat backward.

“Don’t...start...something...we...can’t...finish,” she whispered up to him in between kisses as her eyes studied his.

“Who says we can’t—”

“Chance! Are you coming in?”

They froze before they sat straight up in their separate chairs again.

Chance looked through the windshield at his mother standing in the open doorway leading from the garage into her kitchen. She was squinting as she peered into the car with a frown.

Ngozi covered her face with her hands, feeling the warmth of embarrassment that rose in her cheeks. “Oh God,” she moaned.

Chance chuckled before he opened the driver’s side door. “We’re headed right in,” he called out to her.

She turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door ajar.

“Great first impression,” Ngozi drawled, before he climbed from the car and strode around the front to open the passenger door.

“No worries, mi tentadora,” he said, closing the door when she stepped aside.

“Your temptress?” she asked, looking back at him as she climbed the brick staircase.

Yes, you are.

A relationship had not been in the cards for him after Helena, but Ngozi had drawn him in from their first meeting and he hadn’t been able to shake his desire for her ever since. She was his temptation. His temptress.

And in time, his acceptance of that truth shook him to his core.

“Ready?” he asked, seeing the nervousness in her eyes as she waited for him to pull the glass door open for her.

She nodded before stepping inside.

Chance eyed his mother as she turned and walked across the spacious kitchen with a wide, warm smile.

“Welcome, welcome,” Esmerelda said, grasping Ngozi’s shoulders as she kissed both of her cheeks. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Chance eyed Ngozi as she returned the warmth, and her shoulders relaxed.

Their exchange pleased him.

“We can go in to eat since you were running a little behind,” she said, with a meaningful stare at Chance.

He gave her a wide smile. Her disapproval vanished.

“What do you want me to carry, Ma?” Chance asked.

“Nothing, just go on in.”

Chance led Ngozi out of the kitchen and through to the dining room. The large wood table, covered with a beautiful lace tablecloth that looked out of place among the modern design of the home, was set for three with his mother’s favorite crystal drink ware and a large floral arrangement. “She went all out,” he said as he pulled back the chair for Ngozi at the table.

She took the seat, smiling up at him when he stroked her neck before moving around the table to take the chair across from her.

“Relax,” he mouthed as his mother began carrying in large ceramic bowls in bright colors to set on the table.

The smell of the food intensified, and Chance’s stomach rumbled.

“I’m too nervous to eat,” she admitted.

“Nervous? Why?” Esmerelda asked, setting down a bowl of white rice and a pitcher of amber-colored liquid with fresh fruit pieces.

“Nothing, Ms. Castillo,” Ngozi said.

Chance fought not to wince as his mother gave her a stiff smile. “It’s Ms. Diaz,” she said with emphasis. “Castillo is the name of his father, who didn’t choose to share it with me by marriage.”

Ngozi remained silent, giving Chance a pointed stare as his mother took her seat at the head of the table.

“She didn’t know, Ma,” he said, reaching to remove the lid from the bright turquoise tureen. “Tayota guisada con longaniza. I love it.”

“This is a popular dish from my country,” Esmerelda said, scooping a heaped spoonful of rice into each of three bowls stacked by her place setting. She handed each bowl to Chance to ladle the sausage and chayote cooked in tomato sauce, onion, garlic, cilantro and bell peppers. “I hope you don’t find it too spicy. Sometimes the palate of those not raised in our culture is delicate.”

Chance frowned. Traditionally, there wasn’t much heat to the dish.

“I’m sure it’s fine. Everything looks delicious,” Ngozi said, using both of her hands to accept the bowl he handed her.

He picked up his spoon and dug in, enjoying the flavor of the food. There was a little bit of a spicy kick that tickled even his tongue.

Ngozi coughed.

He glanced across the table at her. Sweat beads were on her upper lip and forehead. Her eyes were glassy from tears.

She coughed some more.

Chance rushed to fill her glass with his mother’s homemade fruit juice, standing to reach across the table and press it into her hands.

Ngozi drank from it in large gulps.

“I’m so sorry, Ngozi. Perhaps I can fix you something else if that is too much for you,” Esmerelda said, sounding contrite.

Ngozi cleared her throat. “No, this is delicious,” she said, setting the glass down before dabbing her upper lip with the cloth napkin she’d opened across her lap.

Chance shook his head. “You don’t have to—”

“This is fine,” she said, giving him a hard stare and his mother a soft smile before taking a smaller bite of the dish from her bowl.

As their meal continued in silence, Chance eyed Ngozi taking small bites of food followed by large sips of juice. It was clear she didn’t want to offend his mother.

“Ngozi, Chance tells me you’re an attorney,” Esmerelda said, covering her nearly empty bowl with her cloth napkin as she placed her elbows on the table and looked directly at Ngozi.

“Yes, I’m a junior partner of the firm my father established,” she answered.

“My Chance seems to have a soft spot for attorneys,” she said.

Ngozi licked her lips as she set her napkin on the table.

“Helena and Ngozi are nothing alike,” Chance offered into the stilted silence.

“Espero que no, por tu bien,” Esmerelda said. “Ella debería estar llorando a su esposo y no buscando uno nuevo. Los buscadores de oro huelen el dinero como tiburones huelen a sangre.”

“Ma,” he snapped sharply as he sat up straight in the chair and eyed her in surprise and disappointment.

He could hardly believe her words and could only imagine how harsh they sounded to Ngozi: “I hope not for your sake. She should be grieving her husband and not looking for a new one. Gold diggers smell money like sharks smell blood.” Ngozi rose to her feet, looking down at his mother. Chance rose, as well.

“Se equivoca acerca de mí, Señora Díaz,” Ngozi said.

His mother’s jaw tightened, and her eyes widened in surprise to find Ngozi speak in fluent Spanish to proclaim that she was wrong about her.

Chance shook his head. He agreed with Ngozi that his mother was mistaken about her.

“I am not a gold digger nor am I on the prowl to replace my dead husband with a new one,” she said in his mother’s native tongue, her voice hollow.

Chance eyed his mother in disbelief. He could tell she felt his stare as she avoided his look.

“My apologies if I offended you,” Esmerelda said, reverting to English.

“Thank you for dinner,” Ngozi said before quickly turning to walk into the kitchen. Soon the alarm system announced the opening and closing of the side entrance door.

Chance’s eyes continued to bore into her.

“What?” she asked.

“You have never taught me or shown me the example of how to be rude and mean to anyone,” he began. “I’m just trying to figure out who is sitting before me.”

Esmerelda turned in her chair and looked up at him. “I watched you recover from heartbreak by Ese Rubio Diablo for almost a year, so what you see now is a mother willing to fight to make sure you don’t go through that heartache again,” she said, her voice impassioned and her eyes lit with the fire of determination.

“I know you mean well, but Ngozi should not have to suffer for what Helena did to me,” Chance insisted, forcing softness into his tone. “All I ask is that you give her the same kindness you give strangers. Even a dog deserves respect, Ma.”

She shrugged and turned her lips downward.

He stepped near her and bent at the waist to press a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for dinner,” he said and then frowned deeply as he rose to look down at her again in skepticism. “Did you spice the food on purpose?”

Esmerelda sucked air between her teeth and threw her hands up. “It didn’t kill her,” she said.

“Ma!”

“What?”

“I’ll see you later,” Chance said, walking around her chair. He paused. “Do you need anything?”

“Just for you to be happy,” Esmerelda said.

“I’m a grown man. My happiness is in my hands now,” he said. “You don’t have to work double shifts to take care of me and send me to private school. I will love you and spoil you because of your sacrifice, but your time putting me before yourself is over. I got it from here.”

She remained quiet and studied her nails.

He could tell she was hurt, but the truth of his words could not be retracted to save her feelings. He gave his mother the world, but he was a man who had no desire to be babied and coddled by his mother.

“Te amo, Ma.”

“I love you, too, Chance.”

With that he took his leave.

Ngozi was sitting in the SUV. He eyed her through the windshield as he made his way over to the driver’s side door. He climbed inside. Unspoken words swelled between them.

Chance licked his lips and reached over to take one of her soft hands in his. “Say it,” he urged. “I’m listening.”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she said, looking to him with a smile as fake as the plastic one pinned onto a Mr. Potato Head toy.

“Don’t ever deny your feelings for the sake of anyone—not me or anyone else—because they matter,” he said.

She smiled again. It was soft and genuine. “I wouldn’t know what it feels like to put myself first,” she admitted.

Chance leaned over to press kisses to the side of her face. “Try it,” he whispered into her ear.

“I want you to know that I am not looking to replace Dennis,” she said, turning on the seat to face him. “Hell, I don’t even feel I have the right to move on and be happy when he’s dead.”

Chance took a moment to properly frame what he said next. “I never expect you to let go of Dennis.”

She began to stroke his hand. “Not of him, of my guilt,” she acknowledged before closing her eyes and releasing a breath.

He wondered if talking about him was like releasing steam to dissolve the buildup of pressure.

“We’ve never spoken of his death,” he offered, being sure to tread lightly to avoid stepping on or disrespecting her feelings.

“I’ve never talked about it with anyone.”

Her sadness was palpable, and his gut ached for her. “And do you want to talk now?” he asked.

Ngozi shook her head. “Not yet, but thank you for letting me know that someone is there to finally listen to me.”

“Sounds like a lot to unload from that clever brain of yours,” he said, his eyes searching his.

“It is. Think you can handle it?”

With a final kiss, he turned his attention to starting the car. “For you I will do anything,” he said, letting the truth of his words settle in his chest as the engine roared to life.