Loving Yasmine

Loving Yasmine - Chapter 1

"You want to stay over tonight?" Yasmine gazed up at Robert as he stood hesitantly at the door of her condo with one foot in and one out.

"I don't know, Yas." He set her suitcase on the floor and dropped her keys into a bamboo bowl on a table near the door. "Should I?" he asked, his entrancing chocolate eyes level under dark bushy brows.

Untangling her gaze from his, Yasmine removed her Valentino crossbody bag and placed it on the chair next to the table. As much as she would love to rip off their clothes and writhe under Robert for an hour or so before falling asleep snuggled up to his hard muscular body, she wasn't one to beg—not even for the best sex of her life.

Lifting her gaze again, she watched his mouth tighten with irritation as he stared down at her. Her desire to reach up and kiss the softness back into his smooth sexy lips was strong, but Yasmine squelched it. She was so good at controlling her desires—sometimes. "Can you close my door? All my cool air is escaping to the outside."

"You want me on the inside or the outside of your door when it's closed?"

Yasmine shrugged indifferently. She'd already posed the question, and that was all the invitation he was getting tonight. "That's up to you, Robert. I'll be upstairs while you decide." Before he could reply, she wheeled her suitcase toward the flight of stairs that led to the second floor.

"Let me help you with that," Robert said behind her, his footsteps following in the wake of his deep baritone voice.

"No, I got it."

"Why do you always have to be so—so...independent, Yas? Let a brother help you once in a while."

Because that's how a lot of women get lassoed.

Yasmine lifted the suitcase and ascended the steps as quickly as she could, carrying about thirty pounds of clothes, shoes, handbags, makeup, and toiletries with her. A smile briefly braced her lips as she felt the heat from Robert's stare burning a hole in the back of her bare legs and thighs left visible from her white shorts. She put a little more effort into wriggling her buttocks under the cotton material.

She knew he hated her independence and wished she would lean on him more, but that wasn't Yasmine's style anymore. Like a lot of women, she used to think that she needed a man to perform certain tasks and solve certain problems. She'd kicked that philosophy to the curb when she became a divorce attorney, and realized how one woman after another got sucked into a relationship she shouldn't have been in, merely because a man flexed his muscles at her.

After her first few cases, Irina Dunn's famous catchphrase, "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle," had become Yasmine's mantra. When she needed a plumber, she called a professional, paid him, and sent him on his way. No expectations. No obligations. When she wanted a man and his sweet loving, she called Robert. They gave and they took equally, enjoying each other to the max.

As she walked down the hall, Yasmine heard Robert's footsteps retreating across the floor, followed by the firm thud of her door closing behind him. So he decided to go home to his Beacon Hill townhouse after all.

She flipped a switch as she entered her master suite, and blinked as all thirty bulbs from the crystal chandelier hanging over her bed flooded the bedroom with light—too much light. With a sigh, she dimmed the bulbs, placed her suitcase on the luggage stand, and unzipped it. As she proceeded to unpack, she heard the engine of Robert's silver Ferrari roar to life.

He'd been moody on the ride back from Granite Falls—a bustling little town in the foothills of the White Mountains in northern New Hampshire—where they'd spent the last three days. Yesterday, they'd attended the most magnificent wedding she'd ever witnessed in real life, or even seen on TV. Yasmine hadn't even imagined weddings could be so grandiose.