“I’m looking for someone who I can spend my life with. Someone whom I can travel the world with, someone I can wake up to, make love to, and fuck whenever, wherever, however.” He smiled at her. “I’d like to think I already found what I’m looking for. You.”
Nairobia sucked in her breath and let it out in a long exhale as she tried to picture herself spending the rest of her life with him—with anyone, for that matter.
She couldn’t see it. And it saddened her. It simply wasn’t there. And she couldn’t force something that wasn’t obtainable.
“I can’t do—”
Marcel put his hand up to stop her.
“Ssh. Please. Don’t say anything right now. Think on it. I’ll give you all the time and space you need. No pressure.”
There was nothing to think about. This couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t happen.
“Mar—”
He leaned over and covered her mouth with a kiss, shutting her up. When he finally pulled away, she had to catch her breath.
“Baby,” Marcel began and paused. Nairobia’s heart stopped. Whatever words would come next, she knew for certain her entire world would most likely never be the same again once they were spoken.
She braced herself. “Yes?”
“Je t’aime…”
Let me love you.
FORTY-TWO
Marcel wasn’t used to being put on hold by anyone—not for long, anyway. He’d told Nairobia to think about what he’d wanted from her.
To love her.
He said he’d give her space, while she thought it over.
But that was close to fucking three weeks ago.
He hadn’t considered she’d take her slow, sweet-ass time. A few days, tops, should have been sufficient enough for her to decide whether or not she wanted to pursue more with him. It wasn’t a difficult question. He hadn’t asked her to marry him, or to jump off a cliff with him. So what the fuck was the problem?
And why was she avoiding him?
This waiting-around shit was driving him crazy.
He grunted, shaking his head. Look at you, man. Obsessing over a damn woman. Pull your shit together. If she ain’t beat for you, then let that shit go…
He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. The problem was, he didn’t want to let go. He wanted her. No one else.
Nairobia was the one, the only one for him.
He knew that. Felt it in every part of his soul. Marika…
He looked up toward the ceiling, and closed his eyes.
She’d come to him in a dream, and had given him permission to find love again. She wanted him to be happy. And to be with someone who would, could, love him for the man he was.
Marika had been the only woman who had done exactly that. Loved every part of him. And he knew no one would ever love him in the way she had. And he also knew he’d probably never be able to love another woman as deeply as he had her. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of loving again.
He wanted love.
He still had so much more of it to give.
And he had a big, hard dick with lots of nut that he wanted to share with someone special. He didn’t want random pussy from a bunch of faceless women. He wanted to be able to look in a woman’s eyes and see, feel, the pleasure he was giving her every time he touched her, looked at her, or simply made love to her.
He didn’t want a woman he had to fuck, simply because she wasn’t someone he found worthy of being made love to. He wanted substance. Something meaningful. What he wanted was a love of his own.
Was that too much to ask for?
Marcel sighed.
Shit. Maybe it was too much to ask for.
Hell. He was starting to think maybe something was wrong with him. He was motherfucking Marcel Kennedy reigning over an entire empire of music and media. He was the motherfucking man. He had sex appeal, a large bankroll, and mad swag. Hell, his motherfucking name rang bells in the industry. He could have any woman he wanted. He knew this. Hell, he’d bedded down some of the baddest ones out there. His name and his dick always made lasting impressions.
And, yet…
He was still alone.
He leaned forward, and covered his face in his hands. This shit was so fucked up. “Why’d that bitch have to kill you, baby?” he whispered into his palms.
He felt so fucking helpless without her. Yet, he somehow found hope in his memories of her. He couldn’t tell anyone that she spoke to him, not only in his dreams but while he drove, while he showered, while he sat alone at home or in his office. Marika came to him. Sat and talked with him. He could see her clear as day. Smiling at him. Weeping for him. Praying for him. She was everywhere, watching over him. He felt her presence. Could still feel her touch. And smell her in the air.
Maybe there was something wrong with him.