Nairobia licked her lips. “I’m coming, my love. And you do know how much I love to come, no?”
Carlos grinned. “I already know. Damn. You’re starting to make me sweat with your fine-ass. So what brings you out to L.A.? Business or pleasure?”
“Pleasure, my darling,” Nairobia said saucily as she cast her gaze down to the lump in his designer cut-up jeans. Tonight, she was attending an all-white party at Hugh Hefner’s infamous Playboy Mansion in Beverly Hills. Then later in the evening, she’d be hosting one of her very own exclusive, invite-only sex parties at her Bel-Air estate, before flying back to New York just in time for the doors to her club to open.
“And you, my love. Is this business or pleasure for you?”
“Business,” he told her. He had a meeting with his PR team, followed by a photo shoot, then he was performing at the Staples Center tomorrow night. “But I am always in the mood for something pleasurable.” His eyes gleamed mischievously.
Nairobia seductively licked her lips.
He added, “Speaking of which, I hear you’ve opened a Manhattan gentlemen’s club. I’ll have to come through and check it out.”
Nairobia cringed at hearing her club being trashed down to that of a gentlemen’s club. Yes, there were lots of scantily dressed women, and plenty of happy endings. But there was nothing gentlemanly about her establishment. “No, no, no, my darling. I do not have a nightclub for men. The Pleasure Zone is a den of sinful goodness for the uninhibited.”
She removed her diamond hairclip letting her hair tumble down past her shoulders. She shook her head, running a hand through her tousled mane.
Carlos grinned. “Nice. Put me on the guest list.”
Nairobia eyed him and smiled. “Enter if you dare, my love…”
“Oh, I’m always up for a dare, baby. How about we start with you coming to my show tomorrow night? Up close and personal?”
Nairobia pursed her lips and pondered the invite. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a concert. It’d been years. For some odd reason, the thought of seeing a bunch of star-struck women, throwing themselves—and their panties—at the sexy crooner made her that more interested in attending. After several more seconds of thought, she told him she’d love to go.
He smiled. “Cool. I’ll make sure my publicist has two tickets for you.” He shot a glance over at Lamar, then brought his attention back to Nairobia. “You’ll be my special guest.”
Legs spread. Arms crossed. Totally still, Lamar cleared his throat, loud enough for the both of them to hear him. She could feel his eyes on her ass behind the dark lenses of his shades. She slid him a sultry glance and felt her pussy tingle. She decided, then, she might one day give him his very own private viewing if he earned one.
But—
A camera flash went off.
They’d been spotted.
“Ohmygod!” screamed a young woman, pointing in their direction. “That’s Carlos!”
“Looks like I’m being outed,” Carlos said lightheartedly, giving her another hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Yes, my love. Your fans have sniffed you out.”
Nairobia quickly stepped out of his embrace just as a gaggle of women surged upon them like a tsunami, causing a number of travelers to get knocked over as adoring fans surrounded them, screaming out Carlos’ name, while whipping out their cells and begging for photographs with the R&B sensation.
“Carlos! I love you!” another worshiping fan called out.
“OMG! There’s my baby daddy!” someone else yelled, running in the direction of the others, cell phone on the ready for a photo.
Lamar clenched his jaw. He knew this shit was going to happen. Instinctively, he grabbed Nairobia, pulling her into his hard body, ushering her away from the pandemonium, while struggling to ignore how good her body felt against his.
His dick stretched another two inches down the inside of his thigh.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
FOURTEEN
Saturday night came quickly. Laid out on her ten-thousand-dollar bed was an equally expensive gown. The backless, crystal-embellished, see-through gown with a plunging neckline was a Balmain masterpiece Nairobia simply had to have after seeing it in his collection at Paris’ Fashion Week. She’d snatch it up first chance she had gotten; now the fabulous piece was in her possession and she couldn’t wait to showcase the French designer’s one-of-a-kind, show-stopping evening gown.
After applying a glittering body cream, she pinned her hair up into a sleek chignon, then slid in a pair of diamond and ruby studs, followed by a diamond choker with a huge ruby teardrop around her neck. The piece was exquisite, fitting snugly against her skin, the breathtaking ruby dangling ever so delicately in the middle of her slender neck.