Damaged by Stacy Deanne

Damaged by Stacy Deanne

Author:Stacy Deanne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: bwwm romance, interracial romance
Publisher: Stacy-Deanne
Published: 2018-02-24T00:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Jesus.” Jonathan snatched off his reading glasses as he watched the gorgeous, black woman enter the mansion through his computer screen.

She glided behind Tran in a sexy, white blouse that hung off her shoulders and flowed at her slender hips. In wide-legged white slacks and stiletto sandals, she made her way through the entrance hall, enchanting Jonathan with every step.

He stroked his knuckles, a momentous throbbing gripping his pelvis. “Mm.”

Tran led her through the house and outside to the garden.

Jonathan switched his computer to the home page, mind racing to figure out what flower she liked. Usually he could tell right off by looking at a woman but from what he heard of Lydia, she was as unpredictable as her sister was.

Tran walked in, interrupting Jonathan’s trance. “Lydia’s here. She’s waiting in the garden.”

“I was watching her.” Jonathan stood, staring at the computer though her image was no longer there. “She’s stunning.” His body quaked. “What’s she like?”

“She doesn’t like you.” Tran half-shrugged. “That’s more than obvious.”

“How can she not like me when she doesn’t know me?” Jonathan walked from around the desk, moving his fingers along the top of it. “I love a challenge though. Deidra’s told me so many fascinating things about Lydia. She’s a woman who loves adventure.” He straightened his crisp, black shirt. “I wonder what makes her tick.”

“Well, if anyone would find out, it would be you. Shall I get Deidra?”

“Wait, a few minutes.” Jonathan passed Tran, tapping Tran’s arm as he did. “I’d like a little time with Miss Lydia Quarter alone.”

****

After gathering the seven assorted roses, Jonathan hurried through the garden to his sensual guest.

Lydia observed the waterfall with her arms crossed and her straight tresses blowing in the light breeze as if she were on a photo shoot.

He tiptoed up behind her, straightening the collar of his shirt. “Hm.” He moaned, enthralled by her aggressive yet sweet perfume. “For you.” He held out the roses from behind her back.

She turned around, batting her thick eyelashes, heavy with mascara.

“Are you aware of what each of these roses represent?”

Her little nose went up in the air, face void of enthusiasm but he vowed to change that.

“We have the dark red rose.” He handed it to her, and she took it with reluctance. “Which means, unconscious beauty. Now let me explain.” He touched the red petals. “This one fits you because, well, you’re very attractive but I doubt you know just how irresistible you are.”

She sniffed it, still no smile or hint of impression.

“Here’s the white rose.”

She took it, spinning it in her fingers.

“Purity and innocence.” He caressed the white petals. “You’re well-rounded in every sense of the word but still have a hint of innocence to you and it’s a beautiful thing.” He held up the yellow rose. “It means joy and friendship.” He gave it to her. “I hope that’s what comes out of this meeting.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes.

He cleared his throat. “The orange rose. The one I believe is ignored which is a shame.



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