Riding the Storm - Brenda Jackson [16]
They suspended conversation when the waiter brought out Storm’s food. Storm surprised Jayla when he handed her a fork. “There’s too much here for one person. Share it with me.”
She glanced at his plate. He did have a lot and it looked delicious. “Umm, maybe, I’ll just take a few bites,” she said taking the fork from him.
“Help yourself.”
And she did. The picture of them sharing a meal played out a rather cozy and intimate scene in her mind, one she tried to ignore. She licked her lips after they had finished. The food had tasted great. “Now you’re going to have to help me eat that cheesecake.”
“Hey, I can handle it.”
His words triggered a flutter in the pit of her stomach. There was no doubt in her mind that Storm Westmoreland could handle anything. And he did. They finished off the strawberry cheesecake in no time.
Storm checked his watch after he signed the check for their bill. “It’s still early. How would you like to go dancing?”
His words echoed through Jayla’s mind. She knew the smart thing to do would be to tell him, no, but for some reason, she didn’t want to think smart. She didn’t want to think at all. She was in the company of a very handsome man and she was in no hurry for them to part ways.
She met his gaze. “I’d love going dancing with you, Storm.”
The club that had come highly recommend from one of the waiters at K-Paul’s was dark, rather small, and crowded. Storm and Jayla were lucky to find an empty table inside Café Basil, which had a reputation of being the undisputed king of nightlife in the French Quarter.
Storm doubted that another couple could fit on the dance floor. Already, the place was jam-packed, but he was determined that they would squeeze in somehow. There was no way he would leave this place tonight without molding Jayla’s body to his and holding her in his arms.
He glanced across the table at her, barely able to make out her features in the dimly lit room. Her body was swaying to the sound of the jazz band that was playing and as he watched her, he had to restrain the emotions that were pulsing inside of him.
He had been with numerous women before and each one had met his specific qualifications—whatever they’d been at the time. And every single one of them had known the score. He promised nothing other than a good time in bed. He wasn’t interested in satisfying emotional needs, just physical ones. But there was something about Jayla that was pulling at him. The pull was definitely sexual, but there was something about it that was emotional, too.
And Storm Westmoreland didn’t do anything with women that hinted of the emotional so why was he here, bursting at the seams to take Jayla into his arms on that dance floor?
Before he could ponder that question, the tune that was playing stopped and another started. Some of the dancers went back to their seats, clearing the way for others to take their turn. “This is our number,” he said to Jayla, standing and reaching out for her hand.
She smiled and placed her hand in his. Immediately, he felt a tug in his gut that he tried ignoring as he led her onto the dance floor. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly the moment she came into his arms and molded her body to his.
“I like holding you,” he said truthfully into her ear moments later, wanting her to hear his words over the sound of the band.
She leaned back and searched his face a moment before asking, “Do you?”
“Hmm…”
She smiled and he thought it was the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen on a woman and felt good that his words had brought a smile to her lips. Speaking of lips…
His gaze shifted to her mouth and he couldn’t help but take in their proximity to his. All he had to do was inch a little closer and—
“You smell good, Storm.”
He inhaled deeply and slowly shook his head. She could say the damnedest things at times. They should be concentrating on small talk that was socially acceptable for platonic friends and not the sultry murmurings of lovers. “Thanks, but you shouldn’t say that to me.”
“Why not? If you can tell me that you like holding me,