Keeping Jahleel (Loving All Wrong #1.5) (9 page)

“Can’t believe…I’ve been missin’ out on this…all these years,” Jahleel whispered brokenly into my ear as we rocked slowly to Christina Perri’s
A Thousand Years
. “You’re such a spectacular fuckin’ view, Sassy. Priceless. Fuckin’ priceless. Don’t wanna look anywhere else but here. Through any other windows but your eyes. Walk through any other door but your heart.”

I stared up at him, unblinking, as his words seeped deep into my soul. I felt like I’ve been loving him for a thousand years, too. And it was so surreal that we were finally together. We fought, we worried, we doubted, but in the end, we knew we belonged together. We knew we were each other’s forevers.

A tear stained my cheek, and Jahleel gave me a faint smile, wiping it away with his thumb.

“Do you love me?”

“Forever,” I answered without hesitation.

“Good,” he said. “‘Cause I love me, too. Nice knowing I’m not the only who thinks I’m the shit.”

Giggling like the giggly sluts I hated so much, I smacked his arm. “Arse.”

He watched me with soft eyes like he adored the crap out of me.

Of course, Lion had to bloody interrupt.
Again
. “Bodyguard’s been briefed. Free to go now.”

We started off the dance floor, and Jahleel leaned down to whisper, “So, do the cocky assholes usually get into the British girls’ panties at the end of the night?”

“No,” I answered with a serious expression. “They usually get hair-gripping blow-jobs. British style.”

I woke up to his fingers trailing along the deep arch of my lower back, over the rise of my bum, landing under my butt cheeks, down my thigh, before starting all over again.

Opening my eyes, I moaned in appreciation of the expression on his face. One of adoration and wonder, as his gaze transfixed on his fingers outlining my body.

“The female body is an amazing creation,” he glorified, gaze still mesmerized.

One hand propping up his head, he lay on his side, appreciating my body with his fingers and eyes. I was on my stomach, face turned to him. We were both naked and freshly rejuvenated from last night’s exertions, crisp white sheets draped over his lower half, me uncovered.

Waking up in Jahleel’s bed gave me more warmth and contentment than waking up in my own. Guess it was the thought of seeing him there whenever I open my eyes from a long repose that gave me comfort.

The morning was rather quiet, save for the ceiling fan whipping above. I peeked up a little to look out the window and noticed the sun wasn’t even halfway in its quotidian ascent.

It was early. Too early. Why was he awake? Why the hell did he wake
me
?

As if he was a mind reader, he answered my unasked question while he continued his finger trailing. “We leave for a breakfast cruise in an hour.”

“Hmmmm,” I hummed, “that sounds—”

“With my family,” he added.

Completely unprepared for this, I shut up and swallowed.

Jahleel’s parents were righteous know-it-alls who’d probably hate me upon first sight. For all I knew they probably hated me already. I mean, I was famous. Of course, they knew who Saskia Day was.

Whatever, though. I could deal with his parents. I could sustain a hard knock from them if need be. I could do it because I loved Jahleel. However, he never said “parents,” he said “family,” which meant
she
was going to be there. Oh, hell. “Does family means—”

“Yes.” His fingers left me and he finally brought his gaze to mine. “Krissy will be there. And Claire. We’ll be pickin’ her up from Marsha on our way to the dock.”

My sigh following that tidbit was audible. I wasn’t even on the cruise yet and I was already uncomfortable.

Jahleel studied me for a beat. “You cool with this?”

“Bloody hell, no!” I snapped, surprised at my own outburst. “You couldn’t have given me notice so I could mentally prepare for this crap?”

“We were on a break, remember?”

“
You
were on a damn break! Not me.”

Calm as a humid morning after a storm, he spoke slowly, evenly. “No, I wasn’t.
You
were. I loved you no less throughout those ten days. In fact, I loved you more with each passing day, because every hour without you reminded me just how deeply I feel for you. But I was never on your mind like you were on mine. ‘Cause where did I find you? All cozy with my best friend.
Again
.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. What was there to say? Veraciously speaking, if the roles were reversed and I was the one who walked in on him like that with another woman, there was nothing he could’ve said or done to make me believe him. Most likely, because of my lack of trust in him, and my expectation of him screwing up, I probably wouldn’t even consider forgiving him.

So to be fair, he’d been putting up a lot with me of late and I wasn’t taking note of it. If I carried on in this vein, I’d lose him. And my goal was to keep him. Not lose him.

On this thought, I took a deep breath and sagely avoided what was bound to blow up into another huge, pointless argument, due to my own unreasonableness.

After all, Krissy was married now. Claire was now permanent in his life and there was no undoing that one.

He was with
me
. Not Marsha. Not Krissy.
Me
. The whole world knew he was with
me
. So what the fuck was my goddamn problem?

Flipping onto my side, I faced him. “Okay. I’ll come.”

Leaning in, he kissed me and whispered a sincere, “Thank you,” as though he wanted more than anything else for me to go on that breakfast cruise with him.

He nodded in the direction of the closet. “Met up with your stylist yesterday and bought some stuff for you. So you’d have shit here.”

Before I could say anything to that, he snapped his fingers with an “Oh,” and jumped up off the bed, disappeared bare-butted into the walk-in closet, then returned with a red, rectangular gift box.

Settling back in his side position on the bed, he set the box down between us, then used one long finger to push it over to me.

Arching a brow, I glanced down at the offering, up at him, then down at the box again.

He chuckled. “Just open the damn thing.”

A smile spreading across my face, I plucked off the card attached to the box.

So the world will know…

Itching with curiosity, I popped off the cover. Red velvet was ruffled inside. To reveal what it covered, I shifted the soft fabric aside.

Sheer beauty, that’s what.

A golden microphone glistened at me, resting comfortably on more red velvet. Embedded down the front was
JK’s
, in diamond cuts that weren’t exactly tiny. They were big, bright, and blatant, sending a clear, unmistakable message. I belonged to him. Diamonds are forever. So I belonged to him,
forever.

When I only stared opened-mouthed at the microphone, which I was pretty sure cost him a small fortune to customize, he whispered, “This represents me. I want you to use it in each and every one of your performances from now on. I want the world to know who you belong to. When you get onstage, you get on there with me. Sing through me, Sassy, and let us tell the world together that we’re forever.”

Trying not to tear up like a silly, syrupy, sugary romance novel heroine, I smarted, “So you want me to
sing on your mike,
huh?”

Jahleel frowned at first, looking confused, then when he got what I was onto, he shook his head. “Why’d you gone and put that image in my head, Sassy? Now every time I see you singing on this mike, instead of listening, I’m gonna be picturing you
singing on my mike
.”

“It’s no problem.” I grinned. “I love singing on your mike.”

In the periphery of my vision, I saw his cock jerk to attention.

I licked my lips and hummed.

He groaned. “Stop it. Back to the gift.”

But I wasn’t interested in the golden mike at the moment. I preferred the real mike, so I pushed him on his back and shifted down on his body. “In fact, I’m overly willing to sing for you right now.”

Jahleel groaned again, deeper this time. He glanced at the clock on the wall and tried to shift away from me, but I dug my nails hard in his thighs and he kept still.

“Sassy….we—hmnnnnh,” he moaned, flexing his hips upwards when I curled my fingers around his steel-hard erection and squeezed. “We’re gonna be late…”

“In that case, I know the perfect song to sing right now,” I salaciously drawled, dipping the tip of my tongue in the slit on his engorged head, which evoked a long, long moan from him. “It’s called Quick Tricks.”

From where I sat in the back of the SUV parked outside Marsha’s charming Victorian condo, I could see her neck rolling around and around on her shoulders, her fingers snapping in Jahleel’s face as she argued on about God-knows-what, reacting to whatever it was he said to her when she opened the door.

Really though, this neurotic twat belonged in a Tyler Perry movie, what with all that finger snapping and neck attitude she’s got there.

Jahleel stood calm and patient with his hands in his pockets, watching her without a word as she spilled the attitude. Until little Claire came skipping through the door, a wide grin on her face as she bounced on her feet.

A middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway next and handed Jahleel a knapsack. Housemaid, babysitter or Grandmum, maybe. Whoever she was, she apparently answered to Jahleel and not Marsha.

Jahleel took the knapsack, clasped Claire’s tiny little hand in his, then turned and left without another glance at Marsha, who huffed and stomped back into the house, shooting the older woman a nasty glare.

My heart pained a little at the sight of Jahleel walking hand in hand with his daughter down the steps, smiling and laughing with her. She should have been
our
daughter. I was supposed to be the one to give him his first child, and that wretched woman stole it from me. She stole a piece of our dream. And none of this could be undone.

It sucked donkey’s arse.

The door opened and Jahleel lifted Claire inside, seating her beside me and snapping her seatbelt before he swung in and tapped on the headrest in front of him.

Nick, Jahleel’s new security guy was chauffeuring. Big, scary, and grumpy. Though, somehow, was familiar with Jahleel as though he knew him before he came to work for him.

The vehicle pulled off from the curb at Jahleel’s cue.

While Claire was busy fiddling with her seatbelt, a deep frown on her face, I looked over to her father who was rummaging through the knapsack with a deep frown of his own.

Le sigh
…

“What was all that neck rolling about?” I inquired.

Without looking up from his digging, he answered, “She doesn’t like you.”

He said it so casually, simple, as if the mother of his child hating me wasn’t supposed to be regarded with any form of seriousness. Or maybe he expected me to expect her enmity.

Why would she fancy me, right? I had what she wanted. I won; she lost. Of course, she would hate my guts and not want me around her child.

As though she was never aware of my presence before, Claire’s head spun in my direction, her sandy-brown pigtails whipping, her golden eyes exact replicas of the strong, irresistible man sitting next her.

She was so pretty. When she grew up, she was going to be a total bombshell.

As her eyes traveled to my face, they widened and her mouth hung open. “Whoa! Cool! You’re the vampire lady!”

Vampire lady?

Ah, she must be referring to my most recent music video for my hit song, Bitten, in which I
was
a vampire sneaking into men’s room at night and sinking my fangs into their necks until they fell in love with me on the spot. Then I would laugh at them and jam my hand in their chest, rip their heart out, and take off with it still beating.

But my luck ran out when I snuck into a super-hot guy’s room one night, unaware that he was waiting for me with a trap. And when I flipped off his sheets to bite into his neck, there wasn’t a real man under the covers, but a dummy. The real man attacked me from behind and bit me. I convulsed and became human, instantly falling in love with him. We made love. We fell asleep.