Yuki's Luck Page 2

  “We shouldn’t.” Dylan steps closer planting his large hands on my hips.

  “Of course we should.”

  “Sir.” The suit insists.

  “Give us a second.” Dylan turns me to face him as he scans my body from head to toe. A singe of heat accompanies his roaming appraisal of my black dress paired with silver heels. “Yuki. Join me. Or I could celebrate your birthday alone.” I see his smile before his head falls.

  “How do you plan to celebrate my birthday without me?” I punch him in the arm. “You don’t have to do this.” I glance again over his broad shoulders at the impatient suit.

  “I know how important twenty-seven is to you.”

  I don’t buy luck. However, on my seventh birthday, Momma adopted me. I graduated college at seventeen. Twenty-seven looks as promising as the others. This is the downside of knowing him for most of my life. There are very few secrets between us. I stare up into his blue eyes, and I shiver.

  “We could dine upstairs,” he offers.

  Taking a deep breath. Upstairs means fewer eyes, we would be alone. Alone, alone. But this is Dylan, we’ve spent time alone before. I roll my shoulders back and close the space between us.

  “What’s upstairs?”

  “My penthouse suite.” His smoldering eyes are melting my resolve to treat him like a brother. Hell, I’ve known him since we were seven. Nothing about this man mirrors his seven-year-old self except maybe the honesty hidden in the depths of his eyes. And memories, really great memories.

  The suit clears his throat a few times, and Dylan glances back with a raised brow. And the suit nervously walks away to seat a couple.

  “What do you say?” Dylan asks.

  As a marketer and a saleswoman, I close deals. It is what I do. I tell colorful tales, full of hope and potential fused with a dedicated focus. I am a visionary. I see the unseen. I get paid millions to do it. But this is hard to envision. I can’t see how this will end.

  How can our friendship remain intact? How will Asher feel if it all blows up in our faces? If Dylan learns….

  “Dinner. Drinks.” He restates casting his own vision for tonight.

  “Just dinner and drinks.”

  “Baby girl, we passed just dinner and drinks a long time ago. I want more. Much more. You know it. I know.” He pauses letting his words penetrate my apprehension. “But I’ll accept what you offer.”

  I bite the inside of my lip counting the cost. “So dinner, drinks, and—”

  “You in my bed beneath me.”

  The air swooshes from my lungs. His intense gaze melting through my objections. And then his mouth covers mine. In front of the suit, the other waiting patrons. Soft and persuasive. His large hands grip my waist pulling my body to his. Intense, yet familiar.

  Our first kiss.

  He pulls back. “Yes?”

  I swallow, my body swims with desire at seeing this Dylan for the first time. “Yes.”

  Dylan grabs my hand as if we’ve done it a million times before guiding me through the lobby with nonchalant grace. Am I really going to his place?

  He stops in front of the elevator and presses the up arrow. I use the time to catch my breath and return his assessing gaze. His polished shoes and suit are expensive. The soft sheen of the navy blue fabric against his olive skin paired with a crisp white shirt and a power red tie. He screams wealth. But its the full beard trimmed low that imparts the right amount of edge to his pristine appearance.

  I’m glad I picked my best black dress. The knit fabric hugs my curves with a plunging v in the front, the back is open with double straps. It’s what I call sexy in the front, vixen in the back. I straightened my bra strap length hair and adorned a smokey dark eyeshadow look with ruby red lipstick.

  “Yuki you look gorgeous tonight.” He leans against the wall, powerful with his arms crossed over his massive chest.

  Ding.

  The elevator doors open and his hand finds my lower back. A hiss escapes under his breath. I glance over my shoulder meeting his gaze. Dylan is taller than my brother by at least two inches. I feel like a smaller woman in their presence, which is rare for my five-foot eleven-inch height.

  “Where’s the rest of your dress, Miss Smith?” His eyes dance with mischief.

  “Do you not approve Mr. Jameson?” The ease of our normal banter settles between us as the elevator doors close. I spin around to face him. The sparks in his eyes thrill me while my attraction for him bubbles to the surface terrifying me. Feelings I’ve run from my entire life.

  Love is not in for me. I am the evidence of love going terribly wrong. My veins hold conflicting truths fusing my parents and severing me from my living relatives residing in Korea. My black father and Korean mother banked on love and lost.

  He presses the PH button and enters a code on the keypad. The doors close. We are alone. He takes two giant steps, his eyes zero in on my silver body necklace. His index finger runs the length from my neck, down my chest, between my breasts. I inhale his familiar scent.

  “Why is this the first time you’ve invited me to your place?” I ask.

  “I had to wait for the right time.”

  “For what?”

  “For you to hear me out.” His voice low and smooth speaks volumes as his large hand brushes my exposed skin then rests on my bottom.

  “Why now?”

  Ding.

  The open living room is massive overlooking downtown Austin. The room is lit by the surrounding buildings and the glow from his private rooftop pool. I walk to the glass.

  “Breathtaking.”

  “I agree.” His eyes are on me.

  “Dylan…” He steps closer, pulling me into his arms. “Are you sure this is wise?”

  “Only one way to find out,” he kisses me slow, and it leaves me trembling with need. The intimate rhythm of his tongue invades my mouth in the sweetest way, I grip the lapels of his jacket until his chest is against mine.

  “Let’s order dinner.” I watch his eyes darken from sky blue to a vibrant hue dark enough to resemble denim.

  My lips ache for a repeat , I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment. Before I lose my courage, I stand on my tip toes brushing my mouth against his wrapping my arms around his neck. His strong arms circle my back and lava flows through my veins to the parts that make me female.

  “What do you want to eat?” His heated whisper brushes my ear, kissing my temple.

  “You,” escapes before I can stop it. My body aching for him to extinguish the fire he started. Not with food. But him.

  “Yuki don’t say it like that baby,” he growls. “Dinner first. Then your gift.” The promise lingering in his eyes makes the ache between my thighs intensify. He pulls me from the window to the couch. “I’ll grab the menu.”

  I collapse on the couch.

  “Make yourself at home,” he says over his shoulder, loosening his tie with one hand. He walks through a door on the far end of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

  The chant of no more Dylan is dead, its morphed into more Dylan, please Dylan. His kisses serve as a perfect distraction. But this is not what I need, not right now. I need to focus on getting that corner office.

  I glance at the doorway hearing him move around in the back room. The open space of the living room bleeds into the dining area. Across the room, I catch a glimpse of my younger self. I walk over and see the wall lined with pictures of us over the years.

  Elementary. Middle school. High school. Vacations. Each picture with Asher between us. Except one. I recognize the background, we were at Zilker Park for an outdoor concert. I am smiling at the camera, and Dylan’s eyes are focused on me in the same intense gaze I saw tonight.

  Has he always felt this way?

  I look at the doorway anxious for his return then back at the pictures. His kisses open a hidden door I locked away years ago. A yearning I recognized for the first time our sophomore year of high school.

  Asher and Dylan had a pool party at Dylan’s pl
ace. As always, his parents were off traveling the world, and Momma made Asher take me along. I promised to keep quiet as long as they paid for my summer camps. But what I really wanted was a pair of diamond rings. Camps won out. They were the sensible, more affordable option, and I’d gain credits for college.

  I found a spot by the pool with a book and several brochures for camps hosted around Austin, landing on a business management and entrepreneurship camp at the University of Texas. It was perfect. I circled the fee, deadline, and the website to submit my application. Satisfied I grabbed my potato chips and a Coke ready to read. Then I saw him. Really saw him.

  Dylan strolled out of the house with an air of confidence that belied his fifteen years of life. Shirt off, smiling and whispering in Amber’s ear. She laughed every time he leaned in, her hair blowing in the wind. I wanted more than anything to be one of the other girls.

  The girls that Dylan smiled at. The girls that Dylan whispered in their ears, giving his time. To be Dylan’s girl. But he didn’t see me as a girl or a young woman but as Asher’s sister.

  Until tonight.

  3

  “I think I should apologize for having you dress up to eat Mexican food in my living room.” We ordered dinner, and he made margaritas, my favorite. I’m stuffed and satisfied.

  “This is perfect.” He’s on the cushion next to me. His thigh lightly resting against mine. I pour Dylan a shot of tequila.

  “Have you heard back from Jack?” He throws it back and pours me another.

  I shake my head with the glass approaching my mouth. No Jack, my boss, has not made the announcement and time is ticking. I set goals. I achieve them. It’s my MO.

  He downs another shot and turns to me with agitation across his beautiful face. “You’ve earned them billions. You’ll get the promotion.” His faith in my work never falters. “We all know you live for BrandShare. They’d be fools not to give you the position.”

  “Yeah.” This is one of those moments when I wish I were one of the guys. And Dylan could understand how I can do the work to earn the position, yet not get the position.

  Dylan is one of the boys. Not at my office, of course, but in life. The type of man with a commanding presence that appeals to both men and women. Men want to associate with him, women want him in their beds. Hell, he got me in his house without breaking a sweat.

  BrandShare provides the clients, I close the deals with a massive one-two punch. I devote all my time—on the clock and off—to my clients. As a result, I return to my beautifully furnished home day after day, night after night, alone. Dylan’s right, BrandShare is my life.

  But I’m not one of the guys. They golf. They entertain executives at strip clubs. There is only so much I can do. To offset all of their male bonding I work my ass off, bringing a unique eye, creativity, and my willingness to go the extra mile.

  It’s my edge. My superpower. But this wait seems different.

  I gave it my all. What if my all isn’t enough? I down another shot.

  I’m asking my bosses to step outside the mold and bring on a female, biracial partner. The youngest in the history of the firm. If they decide, no, when they decide to make the offer I will be the first Black, first Korean, first woman and first partner under the age of thirty in one swoop.

  Are they ready to take that on? Take me on? What if they give the corner office and partnership to Eric? I throw back another shot with Dylan’s knowing eyes watching me.

  “How can you drink this, it burns?” My throat is on fire, and I’m ready to change the subject. “That’s the last one for me.” He laughs as I lean an arm against the back of the couch, every muscle in my body relaxed. I turn to him curling my feet beneath me. “I recall you mentioning a gift.”

  “I’ll go grab it.” He sits forward then leans across and kisses me. “Don’t move.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it.” He’s relaxed with several buttons undone and his signature decorative socks. He always dressed to rival the best high-end model yet on his feet he always has the funkiest socks. He probably owns thousands. He disappears into a room off to the side and returns just as quick.

  “It’s not what you think it is, but it’s not what it may look like.” I raise a brow at his cryptic spill. Dylan sits on the edge of the couch with a small box in the palm of his hand, there’s a hopeful glint in his eyes. I smile at his nervous laugh.

  “I remember one summer. We were, I don’t know, sixteen or so.” Running a hand over his face and then through his hair. “Anyway, you blackmailed us—”

  “I what?” My mind spins as the little black box rests between us.

  “You blackmailed us. Do you know how much we paid for those summer camp fees? Hell, I think you owe me at least ten thousand dollars.” He’s probably right.

  “Cry baby cry, wipe your weeping eyes.” I hold my stomach laughing. “Open it.”

  “Just a second.” He holds a hand up, laughing with me. “You saw a jewelry catalog and there was a pair of earrings.” He faces me and opens the box, diamond studs sparkle against the velvet.

  I can’t stop smiling as I hold back tears. I’m not the crying type, but he remembered.

  “I saved all summer,” he removes an earring from the box, “after paying off my blackmailer.”

  I slap his arm. He removes my hoop earring and places it on the table. Then he adds the diamond stud. I recall his words wrapping my hands around his wrist. “Dylan, how long have you had these?”

  He breaks eye contact reaching for the other earring. “Ten years.”

  My heart skips a beat, or two.

  “Dylan.” I grab his face enjoying the tickle of his beard beneath my hands. I hear warning sounds in my head, but his eyes quiet the voice. I capture his mouth in a deep kiss and our tongues dance as I try to satisfy the unquenchable thirst resurfacing with his confession.

  Ten years.

  A desire I tucked away, long ago, when all I wanted was to be Dylan’s girl.

  His strong arm snakes around my waist pulling me across the couch in a cocoon of tequila and Dylan. Strong, bold, protective. Not aggressive, yet not passive as his mouth introduces me to the man behind my childhood fantasies. I wrap my arms around his neck, not wanting the slightest gap between our bodies, crushing my now aching breast against his rock hard chest. My fingers rake through his hair as I find myself flat on my back and the heat in the room increases, igniting a fire guaranteed to change everything between us.

  His kisses move from my moist mouth to the hollow of my neck. And he uses his tongue to retrace the steps his fingers traveled down my body necklace leaving a trail to the infirmary between my thighs. I shift slightly, and he’s perfectly nestled between my legs.

  “Baby girl….” It sounds like a mix of a growl and a plea. Dylan pushes up and hangs over me, our breathing in sync—rapid, heavy, thick. The denim blue in his eyes gives me a clear indication that he is affected by our kissing too. His eyes snap closed.

  The thought of having this well-controlled man on the brink of losing it increases the rhythm of my heart several notches. To see him mature from wimpy kid to awkward preteen, to dashing teen, now he is an irresistible man that I should leave alone. But his messy hair and flush moist skin make it hard to say no.

  I run my hands up his chest. My fingers slightly shaking as I unfasten the small buttons on his shirt. His large hands massage my inner thighs as his fingers brush my satin panties, my back arching encouraged by the slightest touch from him.

  I yank the hem of his dress shirt and undershirt free, reaching for his belt and he sits back with his head facing the ceiling. My brain is mixed with need and tequila, and neither want this feeling to end. Not without completion.

  “Why’d you stop?” I sit up and rest on my elbows. My dress is around my hips and we look like the most scandalous picture.

  “It is the hardest thing I’ve had to do. In life.” His eyes find mine and I believe him. Knowing I place that look in his eyes only makes me more eager
to continue. I reach for his pants and notice the obvious bulge and smile up at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” I tease. “Are we not celebrating my birthday?”

  “Yes. We are.”

  “And, am I not the birthday girl?”

  “Technically—”

  “Yes or no Mr. Jameson.” I slide my hands beneath his undershirt and I hear that heavenly groan again. It is lighting fuel to my fire.

  “Yes,” he says between clenched teeth. I run my hands over his washboard abs and his manhood jumps in my direction. I giggle. And he growls again.

  “We’re celebrating. I’m the birthday girl. I want you to finish what we’ve started.”

  “Baby girl I ain’t what you’re used to, I play for keeps.”

  His gaze shifts from agony to predatory and my inner voice is telling me to pull down your dress and run!

  “So before I ruin your beautiful dress and erase your memory of any man you’ve ever been with, count the cost.”

  “Mr. Jameson,” I lean forward, “that sounds like a threat.”

  The storm raging in his eyes should warn me that playing with this man is a no-no but the chance of him losing control, with me, makes me feel risky. And the only clear thought I can pluck from my discombobulated mind is, for keeps means I’d finally be Dylan’s girl.

  Either this is exactly what I’ve always wanted or I need to stay far far away from tequila. Or both.

  “Let me help you decide.” Dylan crawls up my body until I’m flat on my back again. He anchors a hand over my head and the other briefly brushes my panties before slipping past the elastic. His thumb finds the source of my ache, I squeeze my thighs trying to back away. “Oh no, you don’t.”

  I reach for his shirt to hold on to anything for leverage as my heels dig into the couch. And then a finger slips in.

  “Dylan—”

  “No, baby girl, this is what you wanted. Isn’t it?”

  I nod like a maniac as the intensity increases. The feeling of tiny marching ants leaving little love bites on my exposed skin. His fingers rock inside me and his thumb massages the button granting access to ecstasy and I. Can’t. Breath.