Charmed by You by Pamela Yaye

Author:Pamela Yaye [Yaye, Pamela]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rose Gold Press LLC

Chapter Nine

Downtown LA was humming with excitement. The streets were filled with couples, impeccably dressed families, and wide-eyed tourists snapping pictures with their cell phones. Darius moved through the crowd like a man on a mission and he was. Since the photography studio was only a block away from The Greek Kitchen, and it was a warm, balmy night, he’d decided to leave his car in the parking garage and convinced Sloane to go for a walk.

All night, they’d been flirting and kissing and even though he had an early-morning recording session, Darius wasn’t ready for their date to end. Sloane never failed to impress him. She possessed all of the traits he desired in a romantic partner, was hands down the most captivating woman he’d ever met, and Darius loved having her on his arm.

Darius checked his watch, then increased his pace. Tightening his grip on Sloane’s hand, he dodged a tall, lanky kid on a longboard and continued through the crosswalk. He didn’t want to be late to meet Ming Huang. The realtor might think they were a no-show for their special night appointment and leave, ruining the surprise Darius had planned for Sloane.

Someone whistled and Darius glanced around, searching for his competition. Stylishly dressed in a ruffled, off-the-shoulder blouse, and skinny jeans, Sloane turned heads as they passed sports bars, restaurant patio decks, and cafes. They couldn’t go anywhere without Sloane developing a fan club, but Darius didn’t mind. She was with him, clutching his forearm and that was all that mattered. In Santa Barbara, he’d learned that one of the other groomsmen had a crush on Sloane. When he’d asked her about the cocky airline pilot from Vermont, she’d laughed off his concerns, then gave him the best oral sex of his life.

“Baby, where’s the fire?” Sloane joked, squeezing his forearm. “Darius, slow down. I’m wearing my new Prada booties, and they were made for strutting, not running.”

Chuckling, Darius admired Sloane. What a difference red wine and a few French kisses make? he thought, giving her a peck on her ruby-red lips. During dinner, he’d told Sloane about his conversation with Russell at the golf course, and the color had drained from her face. She’d sat in silence for several minutes, staring aimlessly out the window. To lighten the mood, he’d cracked jokes about the day she’d given him a black eye with a volleyball in Santa Barbara. His plan worked. Sloane had laughed until tears filled her eyes and they’d spent the rest of their meal flirting and feeding each other. “My bad. I wasn’t thinking…”

Sirens wailed in the distance, horns honked, and rock music blared from an idle pickup truck, drowning out the rest of his apology, but a smile curled the corners of Sloane’s lips and Darius’ temperature—and his erection—climbed. That was all it took. A wink, a whiff of her perfume and his body was inflamed. It took everything in him not to devour her mouth. Kissing Sloane was thrilling, more exhilarating than riding a motorcycle two hundred miles an hour on the 405, but Darius exercised self-control.

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