Читать книгу Love T.K.O. - Pamela Yaye - Страница 13

Yasmin spotted Rashawn as soon as she pulled into the Bahia Mar Dock. It was hard to miss him. He was surrounded by a bevy of attractive women. All weaves galore and heavy makeup, the buxom quartet resembled high-class call girls. Not wanting to give him the wrong idea about tonight, Yasmin had selected a loose, flowing blouse, slim-fitted pants and sandals. But as she watched stylishly-dressed couples exit their vehicles and head toward the boat, she had second thoughts about her conservative attire.

Once the car was locked, she walked briskly through the parking lot and joined the throng of sightseers. A slight breeze rose and with it the scent of spring flowers. Dark, somber clouds drifted peacefully across the sky. The air was thick with rain and mingled with the perfume of the sea.

Yasmin saw Rashawn glance around the harbor. His admirers were trying fruitlessly to hold his attention, but his mind was obviously somewhere else. He probably thought she’d stood him up. He wouldn’t be far from wrong. The idea had crossed her mind more than once, but blowing him off wouldn’t be right, especially since she needed his help. He hadn’t agreed to host the fund-raiser yet, but she was confident he would.

Rashawn’s face broke out into a grin when he spotted her. Mumbling good-bye to the cosmetology students, he strolled down the pier toward his date. A flabby Hispanic man acknowledged him, but Rashawn didn’t stop. Tonight wasn’t about meeting fans or signing autographs; it was about spending time with Yasmin.

“You’re late,” he said, when they were a few feet apart.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

His eyes gleamed. “I was about to come looking for you. Thought maybe you weren’t going to show.”

Yasmin looked at the beddable and willing women standing behind him. “I’m sure you would have been in good hands.”

“Hardly.” He leaned in and whispered, “They’re not my type. I like sophisticated women who know how to leave things to the imagination.”

“…Said the man with the harem,” she teased, raising her eyebrows.

Rashawn took her hand, pressed it to his chest and said, “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“My heart skipped a beat.”

Yasmin melted like an ice cube in the sun. Rashawn definitely had a way with words. On the drive over, she had told herself nothing was going to happen between them, but deep down she knew something would. Rashawn wasn’t her type, but she was drawn to him.

It was his sensual bedroom tone, his sexy swagger and his killer smile. Or maybe it was the fact that he couldn’t be more different from the men she usually dated. Eric had been a plastic surgeon, owned a lavish six-bedroom home and had a fleet of luxury cars. Rashawn was from the inner city, made his money beating his opponents to a pulp and drove a Mustang. But God help her if she didn’t want him. When he was around, she had that walk-on-water feeling and was short of breath. Like now.

“You’re lookin’ good, Doc. Real good.”

“Thanks. I hope it’s not cold tonight because I forgot my jacket in the car.”

His eyes sparkled with lust. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you warm,” he promised, admiring her classy outfit. Rashawn liked how Yasmin had a different look every time he saw her. She kept him guessing and it didn’t matter if she was wearing a dress, a business suit or gym shorts, she always looked sexy.

“You know what we should do?”

“No, what?”

“Kiss now, so we’re not thinking about it all night.” Resting a hand on her lower back, he gently pulled her toward him. A whiff of her perfume tickled his nose and elicited images of them making love on a bed of roses. “One kiss, that’s all I want, but if you’d like to go further, I won’t stop you.”

Desire zipped up her spine. A wave of excitement swept over her as she leveled a hand over her stomach. His confidence bordered on arrogance but made him even more appealing. “I, um…”

“All aboard!”

The gray-haired captain stood at the portal of the boat, his hands propped on his hips like Long John Silver. Behind him was a smiling crew of both male and female stewards.

Rashawn broke the silence with a soft chuckle. “Looks like that kiss is gonna have to wait until later. Ready to go inside, Doc?”

“Can I interest you in a Bahama Breeze?”

Rashawn glanced up at the waiter. “Sure, what’s in it?”

“Coconut rum, pineapple juice and a splash of tequila. It’s our most popular drink,” he finished, setting the cocktails down on the table.

Yasmin tasted it. “This is delicious.”

“Yeah, keep them coming!”

The server pulled out his pen and notepad. “Do you need a few more minutes to look over the menu or have you decided on the ribs-and-chicken buffet?”

Rashawn and Yasmin spoke at once, drawing a light chuckle from the twenty-something waiter. “I’ll give you guys a couple of minutes to decide.”

When he departed, Rashawn put his menu off to the side. “You’ve gotta have the buffet. Ribs, chicken and three-cheese lasagna. It’s a meat lover’s paradise.”

“I’m a vegetarian. You’ll be picking me up off the floor if I eat all that food.”

“For real? What made you come to that decision?”

“When I was ten I saw a pig slaughtered on my grandfather’s farm. I quit eating meat that same day.”

“That’s brutal. You don’t mind if I have the buffet, do you?”

“Of course not. Don’t worry, I’m not one of those vegetarians who make meat-eaters feel bad.”

“Good, ’cause I’ve been dreaming about ribs all week!”

While they waited for the server to return, they discussed the Men of Initiative program. Conversation came easily and they shared the same opinion on many prevailing issues. Politics, like religion and sex, weren’t topics to discuss on a first date, but when the discussion turned to the state of black America, Rashawn couldn’t resist weighing in.

“Police brutality, racial profiling and the AIDS epidemic in the African-American community are topics that should be addressed by all of the presidential candidates but will probably be ignored. That said, I still think Senator Obama has a good chance of becoming president,” he told her, picking up a piece of rib with his hands. “Most people would rather see a black man in power than leave the country in the hands of a woman.”

Yasmin nodded. “You’re right. The United States might be the land of the free and the home of the brave, but when it comes to equality for women, we lag behind less prosperous nations.”

“We like to think we’re an elite superpower and that other countries should learn from us, but it’s often the other way around. Finland, Mozambique and the Philippines all have female presidents, but we’ve never had one in our two-hundred-and-thirty-year history.”

“Is that how old America is?” she asked. Yasmin was surprised that Rashawn knew who all of the political candidates were and the pressing issues dividing the country.

“Someone needs a refresher course on American history,” he teased.

Yasmin hid her frown behind her napkin. This was mind-blowing. If she had been standing up, she would have toppled over onto the floor. She had her doctorate. She had graduated at the top of her class. She should be the one schooling him, not the other way around. “How do you know so much about history and politics?”

“I’m a news junkie. When I was a kid my mom worked at the local TV station and me and my brothers used to hang out there after school.” Rashawn tasted his drink, a pensive expression on his face. “Mom always dreamed of working her way up from the mailroom and being the first woman of color in the anchor chair, but it never happened.”

“Do you see your dad now?”

“From time to time. Now that my career’s taken off, he comes around a lot more.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

Rashawn drew a deep breath before answering. “Hugo was only nineteen when my mom got pregnant with me. He was a high school dropout and didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby. No one ever taught him what it means to be a man, so how could I blame him for the mistakes he made?”

After she had peppered him with more personal questions for what seemed like hours, but wasn’t more than a few minutes, he said, “This feels like another therapy session!”

They laughed together. The ambiance of the ship, coupled with the starlit sky and the stunning view spread before them in all directions, made for a romantic setting.

“I can’t believe how beautiful this boat is. I never imagined it would be this nice,” Yasmin confessed, glancing around the dining room. Upon entering the boat, they’d followed the other passengers to the upper deck. There they’d sipped wine, admired the collection of skyscrapers and vivid blue-green water and listened to the gentle lapping of the waves. After meeting the captain and his crew, they retired to the dining room and found a table near the piano. A short, stocky man had been playing since the ship had set sail, but now the raspy voice of Michael Bolton was purring from the overhead speakers.

“I brought you another helping of ribs, sir.”

“You must have read my mind!”

The waiter replaced Rashawn’s empty plate and set down one heaping with ribs, chicken and potatoes. “Enjoy,” he said, before departing.

Shaking her head in awe, she finished what was left of her cocktail. The heat from the fireplace wrapped itself around her, warming her body. “You eat a lot. I figured you’d have a very strict diet, being a boxer and all.”

“My workouts run anywhere from four to six hours.” Rashawn picked up a slab of ribs and ripped the meat off the bones, leaving nothing behind. “I have to eat enough so I have the energy to train. I snack during the day and load up on carbohydrates and protein in the evening.” He devoured the plate of food in minutes and when the waiter returned told him it was the best meal he’d had all day.

Yasmin watched Rashawn over the rim of her glass. His deep, masculine voice, his soft eyes and athletic physique made her mouth water, but he was more than just a handsome face. He was interesting, entertaining and just plain old funny.

“I’m gonna have to skip my morning workout because there’s no way I can run five miles after eating three plates of ribs.”

“Do you train every day?”

“Yup, except for Christmas and Easter. My mom’ll kill me if I miss mass.” He rested back in his chair, watching her. “I’m having a good time.”

“Me, too,” she confessed, surprised by her admission.

“I’d like to see you again. If you’re free tomorrow night we could go bowling or shoot pool or something.”

“I can’t, I’m going to a wine-tasting party.”

“A wine-tasting party?” he repeated, clearly amused. “What’s that all about?”

“Once a month, my friends and I get together and sample various wines. It’s really an excuse to gossip and get drunk, but we like to think it’s cultured and high-class.”

Rashawn liked beer better than wine, but he would sip Merlot and discuss fashion trends if it meant spending more time with Yasmin. If he was going to pull this off, he’d have to educate himself on the different flavors, textures and aromas. He’d stay up all night if he had to. It was a small price to pay for having another date with this beautiful appealing woman. “Is this thing just for the ladies or can fellas come, too?”

“It’s a good mix of singles and couples. Actually, my best friend is hosting tomorrow. She just moved into her new place so it’s more of a housewarming party.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

Yasmin didn’t know how she felt about Rashawn meeting her friends. Katherine could be a snob sometimes and her pretentious, upper-middle-class colleagues weren’t any better. But how could she tell Rashawn she didn’t want him to come because she was scared he wouldn’t fit in? Sure, he was well read, but what did he know about Wall Street, trust funds and vacationing in the south of France?

Rashawn must have sensed her inner turmoil, because he said, “Two dates in one week is too much, huh? Getting sick of me already, Doc?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I want you to come, I just don’t think you’ll have a good time. We’re a pretty boring group and—”

“Let me be the judge of that. Besides, it’s not about anyone else, it’s about being with you.” His eyes revealed nothing, but there was no mistaking the heat in his voice.

Yasmin didn’t know what she was doing. Inviting Rashawn to the party was a bad idea. He was a twenty-seven-year-old boxer from the inner city. What would he talk about with a room full of executives, doctors and millionaires who lived in gated communities? But instead of dissuading him from coming, she heard herself say, “It starts at seven o’clock.”

“Cool.” Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he pushed back his chair. “Do you want anything else?”

Her stomach rebelled at the thought of more food. Yasmin stole a glance at the dessert table. Guests were sampling cakes, pies and other high-calorie treats. The strawberry shortcake looked tempting, but Yasmin wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if she overindulged. The fund-raiser was weeks away and she had a designer gown to fit into. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough for one night.”

“We should walk off some of this food.” Rashawn punctuated his sentence with a smile. He wanted to be alone with her. Her eyes sparkled under the soft lights and the more time they spent together, the more she impressed him. “How about we take a stroll around the deck?

“But we haven’t discussed the charity fund-raiser yet.”

“No, problem. We’ll talk outside.” Rashawn directed his eyes to the back of the room. “Let’s get out of here. Rhythmically challenged people are starting to dance.”

Giggling, Yasmin allowed him to help her to her feet. Swayed by his smile, she took the hand he offered. It was a simple gesture, but one that made her feel warm and tingly inside. Eric thought hand-holding was juvenile. According to him, professional people didn’t act “common,” but being this close to Rashawn was as natural as breathing.

Brushing past a burly man in a high cowboy hat, Yasmin cast a bemused glance at the couples “dancing” to Miami Sound Machine. “You sure you don’t want to stay? I’d love to see you out on the dance floor.”

Rashawn grinned. “And I’d love to have you in my arms.”