Truth of the matter was, I didn’t believe that I was capable of producing the specific type of emotion, the kind a husband gave to his wife or a man gave to his woman.
The fact that I’d had her background checked thoroughly was proof of my inability to build the bond a couple needed. Mecca was as careful as me, so I wasn’t able to find evidence that hinted that she was involved in any illegal activities: no jail time, no juvenile offenses, credit impeccable.
She was smarter than her uncle and had invested her money in three legit businesses that she managed. At only twenty-six, she impressed me with what she had accomplished. I surmised that she’d had no choice but to grow up fast considering who her uncle was and the role she played in their organization.
The Black Saints, now her organization, wasn’t a run-of-the-mill small-time group. Although they were facing major issues, they had applied strategic techniques and tactics that had made them a force in their respective market.
Mecca’s uncle had left her an empire on the verge of collapse, but based on the strength of her profile alone, I was confident that she would find a way to fix their issues.
Standing before her, I found that there was nothing about her that my gaze didn’t linger on. It was concealed well, but when you were trained, more like tortured, into detecting small details, you see a lot of what others missed.
A large bruise on her arm was concealed under flesh-colored makeup. I found it difficult to believe in any aspect that she was being abused by a lover. I didn’t know her well, but based on the few interactions we shared, she was not the kind of woman that would tolerate a man putting his hand on her in anger. What was happening in her life that left her bruised?
Mecca slid my ring on but hesitated before she glanced up to meet my eyes, watching me as keenly as I was her. Her gaze followed mine to the bruise I spotted, and our eyes lifted at the same time.
Her expression didn’t give anything away, but she knew that I knew what she was hiding. I also noticed the life and death tattoo on her inner left arm, skeletal fingers grasping at a beautiful blue butterfly. I had caught a glimpse of the same tattoo in the same area on Desiree’s arm.
“You may kiss your bride.”
The words lured me from the depth of my exploring as my gaze fell immediately to her tempting lips, slick with a purplish color that highlighted their plushness and caused my tongue to dart across my own lips.
Mecca’s facial expressions battled as she stood stiffly in place, the tension in her forehead indicating she either didn’t want to or hadn’t anticipated kissing me. But, I wanted it. I wanted to see if her lips were as soft as they appeared to be.
“It’s okay. I’m a great kisser,” I whispered, making the crease in her forehead deepen at my arrogant words. The words were a lead off to my hand gliding along the surface of her neck, an action I hadn’t intended to take. I leaned in, excited for a taste of her.
“Kiss me and get it over with, you big nut,”she whispered.
The tension in her body radiated, but it didn’t stop my lips from melting into hers, caressing them between the folds of mine. “So soft.” My whisper escaped and added weight to my reluctance to pull away.
Her scent floated around me while her warmth gripped me as securely as the pull of the connection shared when our lips had touched. One touch wasn’t enough. I leaned in further, trapping her lips between mine, tasting the sweetness she possessed.
The kiss sent a gratifying warmth careening through me, enticing me to go deeper when she pressed her lips into mine, returning the kiss.
“A-humm.” Someone was attempting to get our attention. The light murmurs from the audience sounded before the pastor cleared his throat a second time. Even with the knowledge that I was causing a scene, that we were causing a scene, I was reluctant to back away.
An eruption of applause followed my release, but my eyes were locked on Mecca’s and her lifted right brow. An unreadable glint flashed in her eyes as she scanned me up and down, ignoring the crowd as much as I was. Why was I standing in the middle of my wedding, pondering what she thought of me?
When I took too long to turn us so that we could proceed with the bride and groom walk, Mecca tugged at the tail of my suit jacket to call my attention. There was no doubt in my mind we had shared a connection. Had she sensed that we had chemistry? The realization had stunned me. It had me questioning what I had missed because I was usually not thrown off guard like this.
“Give me your hand,” I suggested, realizing we needed to start our first walk as husband and wife.
Individuals and couples that understood our marriage was an arrangement, made toasts like we were a real couple. We eased down the aisle, receiving our congratulations and being showered with warm smiles and applause. Through our walk and the noise of the cheering crowd, I never lost sight of the pulsating connection that remained alive between us.
Mecca took it all in stride as she chatted with the crowd, winning them over with her charm. If she were nervous at any point, she didn’t express it.
It wasn’t hard to notice that her lovely features garnered her a lot of attention. She was putting politicians to shame, and I had to admit, I loved what I was seeing. She could work a room as well as me. The wicked little grin she tossed in my direction let me know that she knew I was watching her every move.
“How does it feel to be a married woman?” I eased up to her, close enough to press my body into the back of hers. My intention was to be forward, but I ended up getting caught up in her scent, and the warmth radiating off her like caressing hands.
The first deep inhale I took enticed me to close my eyes and savor the stimulating mixture she produced. She wore Chanel Chance, an alluring mixture of pink pepper, jasmine, and amber that surrendered to the mix of her natural aroma, which was sweet, intense, and unusually calming. It was what I imagined warmth would smell like if it had a scent.
“It doesn’t matter how I feel,” she answered the question I had forgotten about asking. “This isn’t real. We’re using each other. It’s going to take a lot more than fancy words and an overpriced ceremony to convince me that I should glorify this as something more than what it is. We did this because it’s going to improve our business status, end of story.”
Her words were spoken in a smooth silky tone, but the impact stilled me. I stood blinking for a few seconds, confused, and even turned on. Other than my brother, I wasn’t used to people being this straight-forward with me. They usually told me what I wanted to hear, and it suited me fine.
Mecca had given me a peek at her fiery personality the first day we met. Based on her strong stance now, she didn’t care about my reputation, and the notion caused sparks of excitement to flare to life within me. I loved a challenge.
We had only shared a few encounters between the wedding planning and me showing her my house, soon to become ours. And we’d only talked on the phone three times, usually about the marriage ceremony. We hadn’t delved into anything business-related, agreeing that we needed to concentrate on getting married before we approached those types of discussions.
I’d always taken the time to consider what I was getting myself into before I took on the challenge of a new project. With Mecca, I knew right away that I would not be able to treat her like any of the other women that I had dated in the past because she was of a different caliber.
She made tough decisions, some of them deadly. She had to make executive business decisions, that impacted finances and jobs. I considered that I was with a woman that was on my level in many aspects, and I’d have to approach her with the same level of respect I was given, or we weren’t going to work.
As far as our personal lives, I believe I was in trouble, as I hadn’t considered that I would be this attracted and impressed with her. And I couldn’t forget that she was the living representation of danger and trouble.
Had I just married a woman capable of ripping my hell apart and taming the devil?