From One Night to Forever (32 page)

“Lock the door.”

“I am, but first can you change the music for me?” Her gaze met his, and she quickly looked away again.

The shy routine only heated his blood. Neecie liked what she’d seen that night, and damn if he didn’t want to give it to her. But she wasn’t that type of girl—not like his ex who loved sex the only way Kareem knew how to give it.

Kareem came around his desk. “Why would I change my music?”

Neecie instantly stepped back and out of his office. The way she scurried to avoid being alone with him in that place was almost funny. Her embarrassment also turned him on, making him wonder what bending her over his desk would be like as he followed her out.

“I found this hot new artist over the weekend on satellite radio,” Neecie said in a light, smooth voice, with just enough of an edge to scrape along the desire he tried to ignore.

Neecie waved her cell phone, a smile—more relaxed now that they were out of his office—on her face. “Of course I downloaded his album. Maybe we can listen to it.” One of her feet twisted back and forth. “Since none of the guys are here and won’t give you a hard time.”

He narrowed his eyes on her, but her smile only turned into a mischievous grin. His annoyance from earlier slowly melted away. Indulging Neecie’s taste in music when they were the only two in the shop was their secret. Otherwise, he controlled the music.

“What is it this time?” Kareem strolled over to the radio and speaker system. “Some dude wailing about being in love, or another pop album that’s going to make me want to rip out my dreads?”

“Love is a beautiful thing, Kareem,” she said, completely ignoring the sarcasm in his voice. She scrolled across the screen of her smartphone. “And this guy … you can tell he’s been in love before. It’s in the way he says the words. It’s like poetry. If only I could meet a man who put words together like that.”

The corner of Kareem’s lip twitched. “You’re hanging out in the wrong place, honey. The men that come through here don’t know a thing about poetry. Except the vulgar kind.”

“Maybe so,” she said, handing over her phone. “But one day I hope to fall in love. Get married. All that stuff.”

“You seem the type. Ready to be the perfect housewife.”

“Hold up.” Neecie placed a hand on her hip. “I never said I wanted to be a housewife. I just said I want to get married one day. I’m not trying to submit to some guy and sit around waiting for him to hand out an allowance.”

Kareem raised a brow. The housewife jab had worked to bring out her spark. Seeing the spitfire beneath the sweetness always made him want to fire her up.

“Submitting to a guy isn’t always bad. In the right circumstances.” His gaze traveled across her thick curves before returning to her eyes.

Neecie inhaled quickly and broke eye contact. “Love is a partnership. Mutual trust, mutual love, mutual understanding. Give and take. That’s all I’m saying.”

Kareem let her avoid his meaning. Neecie was too good to get what he wanted to give.

Glancing down at the screen of the cell phone he cringed at the picture of the album she’d downloaded. The guy on the cover looked like the kind of lame dude she’d fall for—tall, lanky, wearing too tight pants, a fedora, and glasses with a guitar in his hands. Kareem read the title,
Love Poems
, and snorted.

Neecie laughed and playfully pushed his shoulder. “Stop, and hurry up while I clean up.”

“You know this guy is just like every other guy.” Kareem used the AC adaptor cord coming from the speakers to plug into her phone. “All this love crap he’s spitting is just a front to get in a woman’s pants.”

“All men aren’t like that.”

He switched the stereo to the AUX mode. “Yes, they are. All men are thinking about what angle to work so they can hit.”

She waved her hand, bringing over a whiff of some new fruity body spray he wasn’t familiar with. Every week she came in smelling like some new, tempting thing—another weapon to add to the smile and too many curves that distracted all the men in his shop.

“Whatever, Kareem, just play the damn music.” She pushed past the curtain to go back to the main part of the shop.

The corner of his mouth lifted. Neecie was so sweet and sentimental, even her curses were cute. “You just lock the damn door.”

“Music, Kareem,” Neecie yelled back.

He shook his head and hit play on the phone. Not many people ordered him around. He would have put her in her place long ago—if she weren’t so damn cute.

The sappy sounds of a guy in love filled the air. Kareem groaned.
Back to the office where I don’t have to listen to this crap.
Plus, he didn’t need to watch Neecie swaying her hips back and forth to the music. Not in his frustrated state.

Back in the office, he picked up his business plan then tossed the papers back on the desk. Tension swept through his body, and he glared at the paperwork. Kareem wasn’t stupid. He knew what Mr. Small meaning of the word risky really meant—a former thug trying to cater to a high-end clientele. The guy probably had a good laugh with the rest of the bank employees after Kareem left.

To hell with all of them.
Today was a setback, but he’d be damned if his story ended here.

The next song came through his open office door. One completely dedicated to holding a woman’s hand. Kareem groaned. There wasn’t a single man Kareem knew only interested in holding a woman’s hand. Not when there were soft hips, thick thighs, and full breasts to enjoy. A picture of Neecie in her fitted black shirt and flowing skirt filled his brain. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to get with a woman he desired, but Neecie was the type who wanted cuddling, hand holding, and eventually love. All things that made Kareem uncomfortable. His previous relationships—if he dared called them that—had been with gang ladies before prison and women only interested in a few wild nights in bed after.

The thought didn’t eliminate the vision of Neecie’s shy gazes or his fantasy of bending her over the desk. Kareem spun on his heels and marched out of his office.

“That’s the last song, Neecie. I can’t take any more of this nonsense.”

Voices from the other side of the curtain stopped him in his tracks. Angry voices. Damn, this is why he told her to lock the door. Frowning, he jerked one side of the curtain back. Neecie and a guy Kareem had never seen before were so busy glaring at each other they didn’t notice Kareem.

Kareem’s head tilted to the side. He hadn’t seen this man before. The last guy sniffing around Neecie was some idiot who resembled the singer on the album she’d bought—soft, skinny, and sentimental. This guy, average height, clean cut, with a suit so sharp he could slice a tomato, did not appear to be Neecie’s type.

Instantly, Kareem disliked him. Neecie was a nice chick, and this guy looked like he would run game all over her romantic heart.

“You need to leave, Chad.” Neecie pushed the guy in the chest.

Kareem smiled. The spitfire was out. She tried to push pass him, but the guy grabbed Neecie’s arm.

Blood rushed in Kareem’s ears. His heart revved up, and he saw red. He stomped from behind the curtain, pushed Neecie behind him, and got in the guy’s face.

“You can’t keep your hands to yourself?” Kareem’s pulse pounded. He wanted the pretty boy to make the wrong move. He’d happily put a dent in the punk’s face for grabbing Neecie.

“How about you mind your business,” the guy said with a sneer mastered by those used to looking down on people. “This has nothing to do with you.”

Kareem took a step forward and cracked his knuckles. “When you’re manhandling my people, it has everything to do with me.”

The guy scoffed then glared around Kareem at Neecie. “Really, Patrice, you’re hanging out with thugs now. I expected better of you.”

Kareem balled his hands into fists.
Who the hell is Patrice?
“I’ve got your thug, pretty boy.”

Neecie rushed between them. Her small hands had little effect as she tried to push him back. The girl was five foot one, if that.

“Kareem, stop, I’ve got this,” she said.

“This asshole put his hands on you.” He didn’t look away from the smug smirk on the other guy’s face.

“Listen here, young man, why don’t you go back inside and worry about cutting hair instead of me and Patrice.” He waved a hand toward the back of the shop, his voice bored.

Neecie spun and put her hands on her hips. “That’s enough, Chad. You have no right showing up here.”

Chad narrowed his eyes. “I have every right. You’re coming home next weekend, or else I’m dragging you there.”

Neecie crossed her arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kareem took a step closer to Neecie and placed his hand on her shoulder. She jumped, then stiffened beneath his touch. Not surprising—he wasn’t one to initiate personal contact. But he felt the need to back her up.

“Doesn’t sound like she wants to go anywhere with you, pretty boy. So get the hell out of my shop.”

Chad glared at Neecie. “Patrice, the time for playing games is over. You went away, had your little fun,” he flicked a nasty scowl Kareem’s way, “but it’s time to grow up. Look at you, you deserve better than this. Come home. Roland still asks about you.”

Neecie … Patrice held up a hand. “Shut up, Chad!”

Kareem’s grip on Patrice’s shoulder tightened. “Who the hell are you anyway?” Kareem asked.

The guy lifted his chin, looked at Kareem’s hand on Neecie’s shoulder, and sneered. “I’m her brother, which means I have more of a right to this conversation than you do. So, again,
partner
, why don’t you go back into your little office and leave this to me and my sister.”

Sister! Neecie didn’t look like she belonged in the same room with this jackass, much less the same family. He loosened his grip on her shoulder. If this guy really was her brother, then Kareem should step away. The idea caused his stomach to tighten.

“Is he really your brother, Neecie?” he asked.

Chad scoffed and shook his head. “
Neecie
?” He said her name as if it were funny. “Really, Patrice?”

She stiffened beneath Kareem’s touch and moved back. The back of her brushed against the front of him, and damn if his mind didn’t take note of the softness of her ass in that brief second.

“Yes,” she said. “Kareem, meet my brother, Chad Baldwin.”

Chad raised a brow and tugged on the front of his suit like he’d won a victory. Kareem wanted to knock the smug look off his face, but he knew when to step out of other people’s family crap. He lifted his hand, but Neecie’s snapped up to grip his wrist. She took a step back, pressing her soft, warm curves against him.

“Chad, meet, Kareem, my f … fiancé.”

Kareem’s fingers dug into her shoulder.
Fiancé!
There were a lot of things he wanted to do to Neecie, but marriage wasn’t on the list. To throw that out meant she was desperate. His need to back her up intensified.

Neecie sucked in a breath. “And … if I’m coming home for Mother and Father’s anniversary party … he’ll be there with me.” She turned her head and looked at him with soft, pleading, brown eyes. “Won’t you, baby?”

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Praise for
Making It Real
:

“…a beautifully written story of second chances. It shows the importance of learning to forgive yourself for past indiscretions, and doing so will allow you to live your life to the fullest and be the best you can be. It had the perfect blend of drama and romance, which made for a very entertaining read.” — 4 stars, The Romance Review

Love’s Replay

Praise for
Love’s Replay
:

“This was truly an engaging story that flowed ... Readers will be rooting for this couple's happiness.” —5 stars, Romance Novels in Color

For more books by Synithia Williams, also check out:

You Can’t Plan Love

Praise for
You Can’t Plan Love
:

“This is my first read by Synithia Williams, and I will continue looking for her books in the future. I truly recommend this book to anyone ready to read a story where you will laugh, cry, want to kill someone, and get insanely hot.” —The Romance Reviews

Worth the Wait

Praise for
Worth the Wait
:

“… a great contemporary romance with fresh young characters that readers will certainly enjoy. The plot is conventional but Synithia Williams manages to put an innovative spin that makes it fun and appealing.
Worth the Wait
is thoroughly entertaining, scandalously funny, and a modern take on old-fashioned values.” —Romance in Color

A Heart to Heal

Praise for
A Heart to Heal
:

“For a different type of romance that has a broken heroine and a hero that is every woman’s ideal man ready to help heal her, don’t miss
A Heart to Heal
by Synithia Williams.” —Harlequin Junkie

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