a Lady Justice water fountain and duking it out in front of Washington’s political elite moments before Isabella was to walk down the aisle.
“Where’s Stanley?” Charlie asked.
The group looked around.
“He’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Taariq said, frowning. “He better not bother the DJ. I keep telling that boy that white men can’t rap and I better not catch him on the mic. I have a rep, you know.”
“What about Eminem?” Charlie asked.
“I reserve judgment until I see the man’s daddy. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“All right, all right.” Charlie popped his collar. “I know you have some Cristal floating around here.”
Taariq reached out and grabbed two flutes from a passing server. “Yo, here you go, bro.” He handed a glass to Charlie. “Cheers!”
“Check it. One, two. One, two,” Stanley rapped into the microphone. “I’m a white boy and a frat boy—”
“All, hell naw,” Taariq cursed. “They gave Stanley the mic. “Charlie—”
“Yeah, I’m cool. Handle your business.” Charlie chuckled and waved him off.
People in the crowd started booing.
Charlie sliced himself a piece of cake. As he chewed he couldn’t stop moaning. He tried to stop, but damn. What exactly is in this stuff?
“Oh, there she is,” Isabella said, glancing over Charlie’s shoulder and waving.
Turning, Charlie froze as a stunning cinnamon-brown sister navigated her way through a throng of dancing people. Her long brown hair fell in loose curls across her shoulders while her deep sable eyes twinkled with excitement and two raisin-sized dimples grooved into her apple cheeks. Entranced by the angelic vision, it took Charlie longer than normal to take notice of her statuesque curves.
He smacked his lips, but it had nothing to with the lingering taste of chocolate in his mouth and everything to do with a sudden longing to taste her strawberry-colored lips. Absently, Charlie pulled at his collar and wondered who in the hell turned up the heat.
In Charlie’s mind, the woman was moving in slow motion—like a classier version of Bo Derek in the movie 10. The beauty’s breasts had a slight jiggle as she walked and her hips swayed in a strange, but hypnotic, rhythm.
“Happy birthday to me,” Charlie mumbled under his breath while his erection pressed hard against the inseam of his pants.
Isabella looped an arm around the mysterious woman’s waist and then led her to their small circle. “Gisella, I’d like for you meet the man of the hour, Charles Masters—but everyone calls him Charlie. Charlie, this is Gisella Jacobs, the owner of Sinful Chocolate. She made your cake.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Charlie said, offering to take her hand. “The cake is delicious.”
“Likewise.” Gisella’s accented voice was musical yet husky, a heady combination. “You have a lot of friends,” she added, glancing around. “I hope you don’t mind my crashing and networking for new business. Isabella assured me that you wouldn’t mind.”
Charlie cocked his head while the corners of his lips curled with open pleasure. “You’re French,” he announced, moving closer. “How erotic.”
Gisella’s arched brows rose in amusement. “Erotic?”
Even the way she said the word sent pleasure rippling down his spine and added a sweet ache to his throbbing hard-on. “Come on now,” Charlie said, erasing the last remaining inches between them. “Surely I’m not the only red-blooded American man who’s been enslaved by your…” His eyes roamed yet again. “Accent.”
“Oh, he is good,” Isabella whispered, turning toward her husband.
Charlie had forgotten about their audience.
Derrick nodded and proceeded to pull his wife away. “Let me get you out of here before you fall under his spell and I have to fight for you all over again.”
Taariq and Hylan also didn’t linger for a brick wall to fall on their heads. They quickly turned their attention to a couple of other women floating by.
Gisella looked stunned at how fast everyone disappeared and left her alone with a man with predatory eyes and a wolfish smile. Maybe she should grab one of the white napkins from the table and wave it as a flag of surrender.
“I’m glad Isabella told you to come. I like making new friends.” Charlie couldn’t stop his gaze from roaming again. By his shrewd calculations, her measurements were a perfect 36-24-36. Lord, this was shaping up to be one hell of a birthday.
“Interesting party favors.”
“Huh?” Charlie followed her line of vision to the condoms draped around his neck. “Oh. Well. You want one?”
Gisella blinked and took a step back.
“Okay. That didn’t come out right.” He laughed.
Gisella took another precautionary step back. The man looked as if he was going to devour her right there in front of everyone. “Well, like I said. I’m just trying to drum up new business,” she said, trying to swallow her nervous tremor.
“You’re not going to have a problem with that once everyone tastes this wonderful creation. How long have you been baking?”
Her smile brightened again. “All my life. My mère and grandmère still run a shop in Paris.”
Gisella’s accent enraptured Charlie.
A woman to their right emitted a low moan of orgasmic pleasure. “Oh, my God, this cake is off the chain.” The woman turned to her companion. “Here, taste this.”
Gisella’s cheeks blushed a rich sienna. “I love baking and cooking. Food is life, no?”
Charlie just smiled. “Have you ever heard that the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”
Eyes twinkling, Gisella’s lips turned up into a sly smile. “If I wanted your heart, I would just take it.”
Charlie cocked his head with a bemused grin, but when he opened his mouth for a quick retort, a pair of hands slipped over his eyes.
“Guess who.” A high-pitched feminine voice floated over the shell of Charlie’s ear while a small set of breasts pressed into his back.
Not now. He controlled his irritation while he forced a smile. “Let me see now,” he said, wondering how to get out of a potentially sticky situation. “Could this possibly be my favorite woman in the whole wide world?”
“And who would that be?” the woman asked with attitude edging her voice.
Charlie reached to uncover his eyes. “Dear ole Mom, of course,” he answered, pulling away the small hands and turning around with his ready-made smile still hugging his lips.
“Hey, you.” He still didn’t know the name of the smiling beauty, with a short spiked haircut and eyes the color of maple, but he was determined not to go down in flames. “You came!”
The woman’s face lit up with pleasure. “I wouldn’t have missed your birthday for the world.” She inched closer and lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “Especially after that wonderful weekend last month.”
Charlie was still clueless to the woman’s identity. After all, that was four weekends ago, and he was never without company on any of them.
“Well, I’m glad you made it,” he whispered. His mind scrambled for a way to get rid of her so that he could get back to Gisella.
“I hope you’re saving one of those for me,” she cooed, pulling one sleeve