Every Chance I Get. AlTonya Washington

the sense in the world, considering our breakfast appointment isn’t until ten.”

      “Nine, remember?” He walked inside. “Besides, I thought you might like an idea of what we expect with this story.”

      “So now you want to talk about it?” Misha let the door slam and followed him into the living room. In awe, she listened to him go on about the message they wanted to send with the piece. “Did you come here to tell me how to do my job, Talib?”

      He didn’t answer straightaway. Instead, he strolled the apartment, loving the soft warmth radiating from the comfortable yet elegant décor. He didn’t comment, knowing she wasn’t ready to hear compliments from him.

      “I spoke with Gloria.” He unbuttoned the hunter-green suit coat and eased one hip onto the edge of the dining table. “She agrees that a detailed human-interest piece is best. We’d like to show folks that Hud-Mason is more than another shallow company scraping up millions for pampered athletes.” He folded his arms and stared thoughtfully at the artwork lining her walls. “We were thinking of maybe a three-or four-part series.”

      “Are you insane?” She bolted toward him. “I don’t have time to devote to something that expansive! Talib!” She followed him when he left the table and disappeared down the hall leading to her bedrooms.

      “Gloria gave it the green light and we don’t want anyone else on it but you.”

      Misha was seconds away from raining blows across his back but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her come undone. “Would you just go?” She spoke as softly as she could.

      “But we haven’t had our breakfast yet.” He was studying her DVD collection next to the flat-screen television in her master bedroom.

      “I think you just explained everything we were going to discuss.”

      “And now we can enjoy our food without business interrupting.”

      She massaged the bridge of her nose and turned away when he advanced. “Business is the only thing between us.” She sighed.

      “Is it?”

      Misha knew he was but a touch away without needing to look back and prove it to herself.

      “Is it, Misha?” The back of his hand trailed the dip of her spine. His finger curled into the belt around her robe in case she had any thoughts of moving away.

      “Is it?” he insisted.

      “Talib, what do you want from me?” She almost moaned and received her answer seconds later.

      She was turned promptly and kissed thoroughly. Like before, like always, she responded in kind. Her tongue thrust eagerly against his, giving as much fire as his gave. She was so intent on the kiss, so absorbed in that fantastic cologne he wore that she hardly registered him hoisting her against his body and following her down to the bed.

      Finding her nude beneath the robe, Talib took full advantage. Without a care for his tailored three-piece suit, he threw himself into the task of pleasuring both Misha and himself. Misha bit her lip and let herself go. She’d denied herself a man’s touch for so long. To now be with the man whose touch she truly craved bordered on heavenly.

      Talib kissed his way down her body, almost painfully aroused by the supple curves on her slender form. Her bottom was full and molded perfectly to his palms when he cupped them beneath her. Her breasts were small, firm, perfectly rounded mounds that beckoned his lips, teeth and tongue. And when he had his fill of tonguing her nipples into a frenzy, he ventured lower.

      Misha tunneled her fingers into the silky dark curls covering his head. Gradually, she took stock of their position—more accurately her position. Half out of her robe and flat on her back beneath a provocative, impeccably dressed male. Silently, she completed the admission which had been interrupted when Talib first rang the bell. The thought drained her arousal and instead of gripping his shoulders to draw him close, she began to push him away.

      Talib tuned in easily and didn’t try to coax her into going further. This wasn’t the time, yet he was approaching the point where he nearly didn’t care. This was happening far more quickly than he’d expected, but then didn’t everything where he and Misha were concerned?

      He allowed himself a moment to graze his nose across her belly and the faint dusting of curls above her womanhood. Then he muttered something about letting her get dressed and left her alone.

      Red Sun at 8:50 a.m. was of course a madhouse. The Japanese-owned eatery was anything but the usual. The breakfast menu spanned the globe and easily appealed to an extensive array of tastes.

      Misha couldn’t find a thing she wanted to order. Talib handled it all as though her sour mood hadn’t fazed him. She snapped her fingers suddenly as if she’d been wracking her brain to come up with a discussion topic and finally latched onto one.

      “We should set up some meetings to cover the story.”

      “Later, all right?”

      She was opening her mouth to insist.

      “I also wanted to invite you to a party.”

      “With you?”

      Talib stroked his jaw. “Isn’t that the way it’s done, love?”

      “I can’t, I… The baby, the baby’s party put me so far behind.” She fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “I just don’t have the time.”

      “I haven’t even told you when it is.”

      Misha clenched her fist beneath the table and waited.

      “Consider it research for the story.” Talib smiled as their waiter approached. “It’s for a new client—about a week and a half from now.”

      Misha managed to remain silent until after her coffee and Talib’s tea had been placed on the table.

      “You really have lost your mind, haven’t you?” She flopped back on the redwood chair and laughed shortly. “Either that or you’re just in need of a little side entertainment while you’re in town and torturing me is the best you could come up with.”

      “Maybe I am daft.” Talib spoke as if he were talking to himself. “Because I’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

      “Do you remember the last client party I attended?”

      Talib frowned. “Vic?”

      “Not Victor.” She rolled her eyes then glanced across her shoulder to see if anyone had noticed her outburst. “Ray Simmons,” she hissed.

      Talib had truly forgotten, for his powerful frame tightened visibly the moment he heard the name. He was quiet, coolly going about sweetening the hot tea in the mug before him.

      Misha was about to take a sip from her black coffee when Talib’s fist suddenly came down on the table.

      “Will we ever get past all that?” He grimaced, not expecting an answer. “I guess not, especially when you won’t even let me talk to you about it.”

      “It ruined us.” Pain clearly colored her words. She kept her eyes focused on her coffee. “But it was only one of the things that ruined us—all the rest built slowly.”

      “Crickey, Misha, what rest?”

      “Come off it. I was never good enough for you and you made that pretty damn clear when the Ray Simmons story broke. How many times did you say my supposed betrayal was something you should have expected from a woman like me? A slut that would sleep with a man for a story? And why not? Hell, I grew up with nothing, so why not do whatever it takes to have it all, right?”

      Talib was speechless and stunned. He watched her as though suddenly realizing what her anger, her fear, was about.

      Misha looked away, stunned as well that she’d admitted so much. She kept her face turned when the waiter arrived with their meal.