Read Online Blissfully Yours (Mills & Boon Kimani) by Velvet Carter - Free Book Online Page B

them yelled.
    She turned around and saw her friend Cedella cutting through the crowd. Cedella and Ayana had grown up together and remained close even after Ayana had moved to the States years ago. The two friends hugged, happy to see each other.
    â€œMe moms told me ya were here,” Cedella said. As she spoke she checked Brandon out from head to toe. Cedella was a serial flirt with no shame in her game. “And who is dis fine bro’her? Is dis yo man?”
    Ayana looked over at Brandon and had to admit that he looked sexy in his baby-blue polo shirt that complemented his milk-chocolate skin, straight-leg jeans that hugged his muscular thighs and a pair of sandals. She loved men who were confident enough to show their feet. I wish he were my man, she thought. “No, he’s just a friend from New York.”
    â€œYa two look good together. Ya should be a couple. If ya don’t want him, maybe me’ll have a chance,” she said as if Brandon weren’t standing there.
    â€œCeDe, you still haven’t learned to keep your thoughts to yourself.”
    â€œYa know me’ll never change,” she said, laughing. “So, ya gonna introduce me or what?”
    â€œBrandon, this is my friend Cedella. We were next-door neighbors growing up.”
    â€œNice to meet you, Cedella.”
    â€œCall me CeDe,” she said, making googly eyes at him. “So ya married, Brandon?”
    â€œNo, I’m not. CeDe, would you like a drink?” he asked.
    She raised a plastic cup filled with a ruby-colored liquid. “No, thanks. Me already have a rum punch. Me meeting some friends up front near da stage. Ya wanna join us? We have a good spot.”
    â€œNo, thanks. We’re good,” Ayana said before Brandon could answer. She and Brandon had melted the iceberg between them, and she wanted to continue their getting-to-know-you session without CeDe interrupting or trying to hit on him.
    â€œSuit yourself. Be sure to call me before ya leave town,” Cedella said as she gave Ayana a hug goodbye, then disappeared back into the crowd.
    â€œTell me something—why don’t you talk with an accent?”
    â€œMe can talk wit da Jamaican accent if me want to,” she said in a sassy tone. “When me interviewed for da show, Ed didn’t want me to use me accent. Me worked wit a vocal coach to perfect me U.S. accent. So whacha tink of me talk now, mon?”
    Brandon started to blush. “Your accent is sassy. It suits you.”
    The band was now singing “No Woman, No Cry.” Ayana turned the beer up to her mouth, drained the bottle and tossed it into the garbage can. Brandon followed suit.
    â€œCom on, mon. Let’s dance,” she said.
    They walked hand in hand through the masses and joined the concertgoers dancing to the music. Brandon wrapped his arms around Ayana’s waist and gently held her close.
    The old-school reggae was soothing, transporting Ayana to a state of total awareness. She could feel her body molding into his as they swayed to the beat. Ayana closed her eyes and rested her head against his broad chest. She was so accustomed to being on the defensive that it felt good to let her guard down. Being in his arms felt comfortable, as if they were a couple that had been together for years instead of coworkers getting to know each other.
    When the song ended, the band switched gears to an up-tempo beat, but Ayana and Brandon continued clinging to each other, seemingly in their own world, oblivious to the change. Brandon spun her around so that her backside was to him. He grabbed her hips and moved them to match his steps. Ayana looked over her shoulder, surprised that he was adept at a traditional reggae dance.
    â€œI see you’ve got skills,” she said, turning to face him.
    â€œYou haven’t seen nuthin’, mon,” Brandon responded, using his own Jamaican accent.
    They began doing a sensuous butterfly dance, spreading