Jardel (Hidden Desires Book 1), page 1
jardel
HIDDEN DESIRES
A.H. CUNNINGHAM
Copyright © 2023 by A.H. Cunningham
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Brynn Harbon
Copy Editor: A.K Edits
contents
Content Notes
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Also by A.H. Cunningham
Acknowledgments
About the Author
content notes
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one
JARDEL
A discerning man understands the privilege of walking his path beside a woman who does not need him but wants him for all he is and will be.
I realized Solange Rivera was that woman the moment I met her at one of those attorney association networkers I occasionally attend to keep my contact list updated.
She stood with her two best friends, height enhanced by black pumps, shrewd, beautiful brown eyes scanning the room, plump lips pressed in concentration. A tailored fuchsia pantsuit brightened her golden oak complexion. She'd made a bold statement amongst the muted blacks, navies, and browns, suggesting the personality would match, but instead, I found a woman who measured her words to the pace of her thoughts, and every thought she had took time and care.
Over cocktails, we discussed the state of our profession in the city and the many ways the diaspora could get creative with rice. Our favorite reads of the month, hers being Rare Danger by Beverly Jenkins, mine Razorblade Tears by S.A. Cosby. How we both had stopped listening to the top twenty charts and the importance of sleep after hitting thirty-five. I teased out a couple of smiles, won a laugh, and I thought I was a heavyweight champ. By the end of the night, all the other attorneys were long gone, and we'd overstayed our welcome if the glances from the two bartenders were any indication. I walked her to her car and charmed her into agreeing to our first date. I swaggered away from her certain I'd met my future wife.
Two years later, that same certainty flooded through every vein in my body. Beyond that, all of our pluses added up perfectly together. Charm and a good time would have never been enough for me to want to propose to a woman, but our life values, our goals, our determination, and our intelligence matched too well for me to ignore all the green flags.
Afrobeats blared through the speakers of the sophisticated lounge with black sleek furniture illuminated by neon club lights. Solange sat next to me on the plush VIP sofa with our drinks resting on the black coffee table in front of us, wearing a purple satin dress that draped her curves with loving care and matched my plum fitted suit and black shirt. When we entered the bar earlier, more than one head swiveled in attention. Even when we didn't plan it, we complemented each other.
"You look gorgeous, minha paixão," I whispered in Solange's ear, making her shiver. All this time together and I could still get her to respond to my proximity. And she sure as fuck could get me going too as her hand ghosted up my thigh to rest right where things started to stir.
"And you look so handsome. That's a new suit, isn't it? I leave you to go shopping on your own one day and you come back with a full new outfit. I thought you just needed new shoes," she teased, making fun of my penchant for impeccable fashion as she hooked her other hand on my platinum chain, applying pressure.
"You know how I do, Solange, don't play with me now. You wanted to come to this party but you sending me different signals," I warned as her hand got perilously close to my crotch.
"It's the cut of this suit and how you fit in it…it’s doing things to me," she whispered back, her silky plush lips wrapping around each syllable. Oh, she was asking for it.
"Say the word, Bebê, just say the word."
"No, I wanted to come out. We haven't had a proper date since you started that new case a month ago. How's it going, by the way?" She grinned mischievously, letting go of my chain. I let her cook, crossing one leg over the other and settling back in my seat.
I explained how the labor case my associates were handling on behalf of my client was going to settle with a sum Solange felt was too low for what my client had done, which was essentially stealing time from a non-exempt employee for years. They'd given them a work phone, but the employee was only paid for the hours they were in the office.
"That shouldn't have cut it; which firm was working on behalf of the employee? They need to get their license revoked. That case should have been an easy win for opposing counsel." She scoffed, never afraid to tell me what she thought of my big corporate cases. Other men would want a ride-or-die; I wanted a woman that knew her own mind, always. That shit was sexy to me.
"You're not wrong. It should have been a win for the opposing side, but it's me." I shrugged, not needing to say much else. Instead, I got lost in the softness between her neck and shoulder, exploring her with my lips.
"Mhm. All that talent, and you still using it for the wrong side." She shook her head. Her words had no heat; no harm felt. We both were mature enough to see where our goals differed and where they aligned. We just had different ways to get to the finish line.
"Bebê, you know you wouldn't be getting paid at your firm if it wasn’t for the wrong side, come on now. Your pro bono work is only possible due to those big corporate cases that your colleagues win."
Solange smirked but allowed me more access to her neck as I followed her scent of vetiver that always reminded me of simpler times. Lovely times. Lovely and trying times. It had taken me a while to get used to her perfume—it brought back the few years of happy childhood I remembered. She smelled just like the home I’d thought would always be there and then wasn’t.
“I’m just saying your soul could use some pro bono work yourself,” she murmured, then gasped.
I lifted my gaze to see what had caught her attention. A familiar tall, dark-skinned man with locs approached us.
“Isn’t that Deacon?” she asked with a breathlessness I hadn’t created, at least not yet. A rush of heat crawled up in me, creating the same effect. There were times when I wondered about Solange…
"Why do you sound like that?" I asked, zeroing in on her as she tracked Deacon's swagger toward us.
"Like what, Jardel?"
"Like you forgot how to spell oxygen?”
"That's how you make me feel all the time." She cut her heated gaze away from Deacon and gifted me with one of those wide grins that activated the demon in me. The sincerity in her eyes was enough to satisfy my curiosity. Everyone else got demure Solange Rivera, but me... I got all of her.
Or so I wanted to believe.
"Damn, you couldn't hit me up and tell me you'd be here, I have to find out like this?" Deacon said with a smirk. I stood up and shrugged my shoulders to ensure the cut of my suit was good, then I dapped him up.
"Shit, last time I invited you to Afro-diaspora night, you shut me down."
"Lies, I just had a previous engagement, that's all. Solange, every time this one lets me get a glimpse of you, you blow me away. Girl, you keep getting finer,” Deacon said, holding her hand like she was a porcelain figurine and pressing a kiss on top of it. With his signature smirk, Deacon shot me a quick glance, then looked back to Solange.
This nigga knew Solange was off-limits, that that side of my life was no-go with her, but he always tried to test the waters. He usually backed down right away; there was a deep respect in our friendship that meant he would always follow my lead in regard to Solange.
"Deacon, how are you?" Solange said in a much-muted tone to the excitement she’d shown me just seconds ago when she recognized him. I tempered my enthusiasm to her earlier reaction. When they spelled intense in the dictionary, they were thinking about me. I kept some of my extra in check around her because I wasn't about to jeopardize losing her. Solange was it for me, and I wouldn't let her get away for the sake of anything. Not even for my…cravings.
"I'm better now that I'm with you, girl. Y'all mind if I bring over my date?" Deacon asked, giving me a long, reluctant stare that made me sit up in attention.
"Of course! Bring her, traela!” Solange grew animated at the news of Deacon's date, which furthermore told me I'd been wrong about earlier. Deacon disappeared through the crowd and returned with his companion.
Fuck.
Now I understood his hesitation.
"Solange, this is Mirna. Mirna, this is Solange." Mirna, a face from the past, greeted Solange with a polite smile, wearing a tight dress that somehow kept contained the lush curves I'd been privy to enjoy many times.
“Mirna, good to see you. Life treating you good?” I asked her, and Mirna ti ttered, never one to read the room. This was why I’d stopped fucking with her. She had zero discretion.
Stealing a glance at Solange, I found her polite mask on, nothing to indicate she had picked up on anything even though there was nothing to pick up. You'd think I'd be sweating bullets, but if I reacted to shit in an emotional manner, I'd have long ago lost my job, my woman, and my mind. Handling things emotionally and trusting one's instinct without calmly analyzing the situation always led to disaster. I knew it firsthand, so I sat unperturbed while Mirna and Solange thawed out and started chatting. When they both went to the restroom together, I kept it cool. After all, Mirna and I hadn't had any romantic connections, just carnal ones.
“Sorry, bruh, I ran into Mirna last week and you know me, a little casual fuck with her, that way I keep the numbers even…” Deacon sipped on his drink, shrugging away the awkwardness he’d brought to my table.
“You’re a whole fool, do you really think fucking the same women means you keep your numbers low? Besides, why you even counting? We ain’t about that life.”
“Yeah, says the man ready to marry yesterday.” He shook his head. “Listen, if you want us to leave…” Deacon pointed to the table he’d reserved for his date.
“Nah, bruh, you know it’s all good. Solange probably didn’t even realize what happened.”
"You fucked her, didn't you? I can tell. And yes, I know you haven't cheated on me, but you fucked her before us,” Solange said as we drove to my apartment.
I hazarded a glimpse as the streetlights zoomed past us on the way and found her staring at me with a slight smirk on her face. If there was anyone that could make my heart race more than it should, it was this woman. But my heart wasn't racing for what she probably thought was a gotcha moment. It was because, for two years, we'd danced around the perimeters of our sexuality, opening up about what worked in bed for each other but never beyond that. Never about what had happened before our time together.
We'd both concluded we were grown-ass people with pasts. Why excavate that if both of us just wanted to push forward? But as I got closer to answering the question, I wondered if I should have told her about my previous life, about what I'd done before I found her.
"I did have sex with her in the past, before you." I nodded, and she grinned, the smile hitting me square in the chest.
"I knew it! She couldn't stop eye-fucking you and Deacon. Damn, the girl was thirsty. It made me a little hot, all the pheromones she was throwing at you both." Solange laughed the laugh of a woman 100% secure in her man, and my chest expanded at the sound. I'd worked damn hard to make sure she knew she was my all. "So what’s the story with her because she clearly loved it? Tell me all the juicy details," she asked eagerly. For a second, I thought to tell. Just open up, but I couldn't trust my gut; that shit wasn't smart. Everything I knew of Solange, of how private and demure she was, told me if I opened up, I'd end up in heartache.
"So you're gonna tell me you didn't steal a glance at Deacon tonight?" I tested the waters one more time, but she shook her head, still laughing.
"You know I have my 'look only' pass. And Deacon is fine.”
When we started dating, we'd both been ok with the other admiring people—respectfully, as she'd framed it. Solange herself had started the conversation, taking me by surprise, assuring me she didn’t mind me checking women out or even telling her who I found attractive.
"Quite frankly, it’s a little hot to know you find women sexy but come inside me every night," she'd teased back then, and for three days I didn’t leave her apartment, balls deep in her in ways I'd never been with anyone before—so many moments to ask for more, all wasted.
"Well, that nigga stays with a new woman, so I guess he's got something," I teased her back, secure in what I had to offer.
"That he does..." she whispered, then turned around.
"I'm probably going to head to my place on Sunday; I’m still working on all the documents my associate sent me for our case,” Solange said, changing the subject abruptly. I just nodded, keeping my annoyance at bay. Even though both our careers entailed high-stakes cases, Solange had a way of leaning in a little too much into hers, sometimes taking all her attention and focus. I understood her zealousness, but damn if I didn’t want every second of her free time. I was fucking possessive like that, and usually, she loved it, but there were times like this when she put her foot down before shit became more than it needed to be.
"Ok, but clear out next weekend, Monday, and Tuesday; I’m taking you to a hotel on the beach."
"Oh?" she murmured.
Solange started humming Beyoncé’s "Grown Woman." Shit. She was pissed the fuck off but wouldn’t let it show, and it turned me on.
"Bebê, I want to treat you... You've been working cases nonstop this year and haven't taken a break. We’ll enjoy ourselves for a few days, then you can return to work. Also, I want you to meet someone special next week after our trip.” After I propose to you, minha paixão.
"Xavier, I have a meeting with my client on Tuesday; I blocked the whole morning because you know how you like to pop in with your breakfast dates between cases. I have to be back by Monday," she said in a tone of command, and I nodded, wondering how I'd missed her appointment in our shared calendars.
"Bet. You’re the boss, you know that, right? We’ll be back Monday. We’ll head back after breakfast," I said.
"Oh, you insufferable man, why do I love you so much?"
"Because we’re good for each other, Bebê.”
And I cannot wait to marry you.
two
SOLANGE
"Babe, did you really just bring two carry-ons for three nights?"
Jardel stood by his latest M8 with a sexy grin, his two-designer luggage peeking out of the trunk. Lord, but the man could command any room.
I'll never forget spotting him when he arrived at that boring networker Khalil and Toñita had dragged me to. I had no desire to be there, but then this suave-ass brother swaggered into the place wearing a bespoke blue suit, and I attempted to keep it together while he roamed the room, clasping people's hands and making the rounds.
He wasn't tall but exuded this energy that made him seem bigger than he appeared. His sienna bald head had that smooth shine that screamed of care, and his beard had a full, slightly disheveled but clearly planned appearance he probably maintained to give himself an edge. And damn it, it worked.
When he approached me that night, I tried my best not to get lost in his deep chocolate, hazel-specked gaze or stare too long at his strong, wide nose with that bump that told me he knew how to throw hands if need be. Nor those darker thick lips that brought smoke and danger to mind.
Then he started talking to me, and everything he said was smart, deep, and right up my alley, the one that connected from my brain making a pit stop in my heart to end right in the deep waters of my pussy.
I knew that day I was in trouble.
Two years later and I knew everything there was to know about Xavier Jardel Souza—or at least what he allowed other people to know about him. What I didn't know could probably fill encyclopedias.
But the heart is a treacherous organ that doesn't care about logic and reason, and every time I saw him or heard his voice, it accelerated its pace to remind me who its owner was.
"Listen, I don't know what we're gonna do in this hotel, so I need to stay ready," Jardel said, gathering me in his arms, his thick lips so soft against mine as we lost ourselves in our kiss.
"So fashion," I mumbled into his lips, deepening my Puerto Rican accent in gentle mocking.
"Mas tu gostas disso." He grinned, reminding me how much I liked his style. I rolled my eyes and let him put my weekender bag next to his two roll-aways.
"Ready?" he asked me with a shine in his eyes that made my heart race faster, trepidation threading through it all.
