Meet Quinn & Camille.
A delightful aroma filtered through the office. It jarred some distant memory to life, but the recollection remained just out of reach. Her song dried up in her throat when she realized the source of the scent stood by Roderick’s door, trying to get an eyeful of the space between her thighs. An alien coil of heat stroked her center and traveled down her legs. Subtly, she eased her thighs together wondering if that man had heat vision.
The potted palms on either side of the doorway provided a pleasing backdrop for his football-player physique. The image of a lithe panther slinked into her brain.
Every item he wore screamed money—from the tasseled loafers to the designer jeans encasing long legs, and the crisp, white shirt with the discreetly placed logo. A sculpted naked woman hung from the gold chain resting against his milk-chocolate skin.
He moved, and Roderick emerged behind him. The pair walked to the entrance, where she stared at him over Roderick’s shoulder, fascinated by his sharply etched lips. She clenched her fist, but it didn’t stem the desire to run her fingertips over his mouth.
His words came out low and mellow, not at all what she expected. Though he spoke to Roderick, she understood his words were meant for her. I’ll be seeing you.
She kept her face impassive, but her mind filled with questions. How did Roderick know him, and what kind of a name was Quincy?
The visitor caught her eye and paired his smile with a cheeky wink.
Camille answered her own question. One that shouts ghetto.
He was probably a drug don, straight from some shantytown in the capital city. All the same, she stared at the door long after it closed wondering where she had seen him before. Something about him bothered her, stirring a familiar fear.
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