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On-Air Passion
Lindsay Evans
Game on, CupidBasketball star Ahmed Clark’s wealth made him a target for money-grabbing groupies. He’s since left sports behind to became an Atlanta radio show host- one who is famously cynical about romance. But from the moment gorgeous, upbeat Elle Marshall goes on air to promote her business of creating perfect dates for couples, it’s a whole new ballgame. And for the first time, he’s off his guard.Idealistic Elle believes in love, even if she has yet to experience it. She and Ahmed clash and sizzle over the airwaves—and even more so when the station arranges a media-friendly Valentine’s date for them in response to the irrefutable excitement from his audience. Elle’s passionate response to Ahmed’s touch spurs powerful, mutual desire, until past hurt places him on the defensive. Putting his heart in play is the riskiest move Ahmed’s ever made, but it’s the only way to earn a shot at her love…
Game on, Cupid
Basketball star Ahmed Clark’s wealth made him a target for money-grabbing groupies. He’s since left sports behind to become an Atlanta radio-show host—who is famously cynical about romance. But from the moment gorgeous, upbeat Elle Marshall goes on air to promote her business of creating perfect dates for couples, it’s a whole new ball game. And for the first time, he’s caught off guard.
Idealistic Elle believes in love, even if she has yet to experience it. She and Ahmed clash and sizzle over the airwaves—even more so when the station arranges a media-friendly Valentine’s date for them in response to irrefutable excitement from his audience. Elle’s passionate response to Ahmed’s touch spurs powerful mutual desire, until past hurt puts him on the defensive. Bringing his heart in play is the riskiest move Ahmed’s ever made, but it’s the only way to earn a shot at her love...
LINDSAY EVANS was born in Jamaica and currently lives and writes in Atlanta, Georgia, where she’s constantly on the hunt for inspiration, club in hand. She loves good food and romance and would happily travel to the ends of the earth for both. Find out more at www.lindsayevanswrites.com (http://www.lindsayevanswrites.com).
Also By Lindsay Evans (#ub3f5cc5a-8d47-5b83-a143-e9b22a1785bf)
Pleasure Under the Sun
Sultry Pleasure
Snowy Mountain Nights
Affair of Pleasure
Untamed Love
Bare Pleasures
The Pleasure of His Company
On-Air Passion
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
On-Air Passion
Lindsay Evans
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08074-3
ON-AIR PASSION
© 2018 Lindsay Evans
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“Here, let me.”
He took the keys from her and clicked open the car door, slid one of the pastry boxes into the passenger seat, and straightened back to his full and impressive height.
“Thank you for having coffee with me,” he said. “And for introducing me to something sweet I can sink my...teeth into.”
Despite her resolution not to let Ahmed rattle her in any way, Elle felt her face heat again. This was getting out of control. “I need to get in my car and go before you get me accused of public indecency.”
He chuckled, his voice low and sexy as it rumbled from deep in his chest. “I’m surprised at you, Princess Elle.” And this time, there was no twist of cynicism to his mouth when he called her that. “None of that was even close to threatening the public’s decency.” As he spoke, he moved closer until his big body was crowding her against the car and Elle was breathing in a deep lungful of his intoxicating scent. Faintly smiling, he dipped his head and showed her what a real threat to public decency felt like.
Dear Reader (#ub3f5cc5a-8d47-5b83-a143-e9b22a1785bf),
Atlanta is one of my favorite cities. It’s a place where the music is hot, everyone is beautiful, and you can easily run into a celebrity at the local health-food store. It’s the perfect setting for the Clarks, a family with new money and old-fashioned traditions, and larger-than-life men with enough heat for a slow, Southern August night. Ahmed, the first of these Clark men, came to me in a dream. I hope you find him as wonderful as I do.
With love from Atlanta,
Lindsay
For all my readers, THANK YOU!
Contents
Cover (#u5f81b020-c9e7-5a7b-9a94-464ce356ca35)
Back Cover Text (#uda9696f9-1e26-5156-8d1d-201c2f7abc6a)
About the Author (#u2ba3287f-9df7-55be-8b31-a6a70a0b4b7d)
Booklist (#uedd1deeb-794a-510e-a399-bffd10d41bde)
Title Page (#uf428a8f6-59a4-53de-8ef9-414bccf8f6c1)
Copyright (#udeddc800-26ff-590a-a8d0-51408028cdd3)
Introduction (#u6893df96-21ac-54ba-a7c3-8766e4694c4c)
Dear Reader (#u69921481-ebd0-5e97-9117-ef1556b633cc)
Dedication (#u71bb4273-03d7-5755-b40d-aaa61bc167e3)
Chapter 1 (#u9a9c67fd-3ee2-50de-bee9-ae0a7a816837)
Chapter 2 (#u22e8a95f-d7c1-51cc-8cf7-4a76b9953c70)
Chapter 3 (#uab83539f-4236-5931-8664-db98c59de183)
Chapter 4 (#u0fb33ed1-d79a-552e-9ca3-9ddbaea4bc5b)
Chapter 5 (#u5166e54b-8698-5fc2-8546-a0ce20beae94)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ub3f5cc5a-8d47-5b83-a143-e9b22a1785bf)
“You should just keep your mouth shut! Nobody wants to hear politics from a ballplayer.”
From behind the broad back of his bodyguard, Ahmed moved quickly through the vocal crowd of about two dozen people to get to the doors of the radio station. Some were obviously gawking simply because of who he was—rich, retired at thirty and a consistent presence in the Atlanta club scene and on gossip sites across the internet. Others were there because they smelled a scandal or something close to it. And there were some who were present, like the guy who’d just screamed at Ahmed, because they apparently didn’t have anything better to do at ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning.
“Technically you’re an ex-ballplayer, so you can have opinions on anything you damn well please.” Sam, Ahmed’s bodyguard and cousin, growled the comment as they slid past the radio station’s security guys, just low enough for Ahmed to hear, although if he’d said it at the top of his voice, nobody would have reacted. Guys over six feet tall with muscles stacked on top of muscles could get away with saying just about anything they wanted to, and to whomever.
Ahmed was built on a more modest but—he liked to think—no less impressive scale with his six and a half feet of lean but defined muscle, a strong jawline and cheekbones that had been accused a time or two of being “chiseled.” And those were just the nice things his sisters said about him.
Only the memory of the mellow breakfast he’d had with his family—his sisters, Aisha and Devyn, his mother and Sam—kept his annoyance at the heckler to a low-grade ripple. Besides, the hostility of strangers was nothing new to him, especially after twelve years playing professional basketball. He was now retired and having fun being a part-time radio show host. Even if he’d been silent about his politics, people would still find some way to throw insults his way. Plenty of his former teammates were prime examples of that. The people loved you when you were playing well, making them money, entertaining them. But once you fumbled, good luck.
“Damn, they’re rowdy out there today.” Sam settled the lines of his dark jacket more firmly on his shoulders with a shrug, the custom-made suit easily hiding his gun and somehow minimizing the size, but not the threat, of his big body. Ahmed didn’t know how he could wear it with the crazy-hot January weather currently punishing Atlanta. “What the hell did you do while I was asleep?” His deep voice rumbled in a way that let Ahmed know he was only half joking. Before going their separate ways—Sam to the military and Ahmed to basketball—Sam was forever pulling Ahmed out of the trouble his big mouth got him into. He’d learned to temper his snarkiness but once Sam got out of the army with an honorable discharge, Sam fell back into the role as bodyguard but in a more official capacity.
“You know it’s because of that tweet I sent last night,” Ahmed said.
“As if the city didn’t already know how you felt about it closing that downtown high school.” Sam took in the wide and sterile hallway and the half dozen or so people making their way through it with a skilled gaze, taking in details Ahmed took for granted.
“Just making sure they didn’t miss my opinion,” he said with a scornful twist of his lips.
Marcus Garvey High was a school Ahmed had poured a lot of money and time into to support its STEM program that worked to give city kids an equal chance at tech, engineering and science jobs once they graduated. Although Ahmed had been born into a middle-class family and hadn’t faced the challenges many of those kids at the high school did, he knew betting on an elusive sports career or going into the armed forces shouldn’t be the only options they saw in their future.
Ahmed was sick of urban kids’ education being a low priority. Something had to be done about securing their future. He may not be a politician or even a “real activist,” by some standards but he was doing what he could while he had the platform.
“Don’t forget we’re going to that town hall meeting on Monday morning,” Ahmed said.
“Good,” Sam said, nodding.
As they made their way toward the studio Ahmed would occupy for the next three hours, Sam walked just behind and to the right of Ahmed, keeping an eye out for whatever possible dangers lurked nearby. Not that Ahmed had stumbled into any hazards after being at the station for his new gig for nearly two months now. The weekly midmorning show was still enjoyable. It gave him a chance to interact with fans—and haters—in a personal way he’d never had the chance to try before. And it was something for him to do after retirement that didn’t involve groupies, the successful string of restaurant franchises he’d bought or the various “investment people” he’d had to hire once his money began multiplying even faster than he’d planned.
Sam stepped ahead to push open the door of the studio, and Ahmed moved to step through it when a flash of pink caught his eye, something unusual in his established Wednesday-morning routine. He stopped in his tracks and damn near caught his breath at the vision of femininity floating toward him from down the hallway.
High heels, a pink floral dress swirling around slender legs and hips, a narrow waist he could easily measure with both of his hands. The woman’s breasts were small, barely a handful, but like most Black men he socialized with, Ahmed had never been caught up in breast size. Big, small, barely there at all—it didn’t matter to him. The rear view was what made him decide whether or not a woman was worth a second look or even a second date.
The Pink Lady sauntered toward him, her hips swaying and high heels loudly kissing the tile floors, making his heart beat faster as she came close. She wore her hair straight and pinned up in some sort of topknot with curly wisps floating around her face.
“Don’t swallow your tongue.” Sam, still holding the door open, was making a visible effort not to roll his eyes.
Ahmed didn’t care. He was already losing himself in a daydream involving thick thighs and a plump backside made for spanking. He had no idea what his Pink Lady was packing in her trunk, but damn, he bet it was good. His fingers twitched with the phantom sensation of sinking into her sweet flesh.
Sam pretended to cough into his fist. “Okay, now you’re just being a creep.”
And he was right. Ahmed couldn’t stop himself from just...staring. He didn’t want to stop. Above her hips and waist and delicate-looking breasts, the woman’s face was pretty. Like a daisy in sunlight or a rainbow after a storm, she stunned him with her natural and easy radiance. The image came to him, effortlessly, of tumbling with her into his bed to the music of her laughter and the sweet clasp of her thighs while her thick hair fanned over his pillow.
Damn. She made him want to give up his rule about messing around at work.
But he wasn’t a kid anymore. He couldn’t afford to be that sloppy about who he took to his bed. Not again.
His—no—the Pink Lady was still walking toward Ahmed, but he forced himself to look away from her.
“Let’s get in there and do this.” He clapped his hands once, a loud gunshot of a noise to get his mind right.
“I’m not the one who needs the pep talk about sticking to business, cousin.” Despite his casual words, Sam did his usual thorough scan of the studio’s large outer office, only relaxing his stance once he was satisfied nothing lurked in the spacious room to harm Ahmed on his watch.
“Ahmed, my man!” The station’s general manager, Clive Ramirez, was a ball of energy. Probably from the four-plus espressos he usually had before lunch.
He stepped out from behind the receptionist’s desk, where he had been looking over the young woman’s shoulder at something on her computer. With a wide grin, he shook Ahmed’s hand. Firm and enthusiastic.
“What’s going on, Clive?”
“Life, just life.” Short yet muscular, with a belly just beginning to grow from middle age and lack of exercise, Clive Ramirez gave the impression of being a perennially happy man. He loved what he did for a living, fairly treated the people who worked for him, and loved drama like a teenage girl. But everyone had to have a hobby.
Clive followed Ahmed and Sam from the outer offices to the sound booth.
“Nothing wrong with that.” Ahmed took off his blazer and draped it over one of the six chairs in the room while Sam stood with his back against the wall, his legs spread, hands clasped easily in front of him as he kept an eye on the single door into the room and the glass partition separating the sound booth from the studio, where the sound engineer and his intern handled their responsibilities.
Over the airwaves, Ahmed could hear DJ Don Juan, who was in the sound booth across the hall, about to wrap up his morning show.
“What’s on tap for today?” Ahmed asked Clive. “Anything special or do I just do my thing?” His thing was usually to play music, rile up the listeners and entertain them with what his mother called his bee-sting humor. Ahmed would almost do this for free. He settled down into the ergonomic chair with a sigh of bone-deep pleasure then swiveled around to keep Clive in his sights.
The station’s GM sat in the chair on the opposite side of the oblong table and its six microphones set up in the center of the soundproof room. “More of the usual,” Clive said. “Except we have a Valentine’s Day promotion going on. A local woman is supposed to come on with you today to plug her business.” He passed Ahmed a sheet of paper. “It’s all here. Just introduce her and her business then offer the prize. If it goes well, people will be calling in to win, and she’ll get her money’s worth in new clients.”
“Cool, I can do that.” He quickly scanned the paper, noting the type of business, the name of the owner and what she offered. He smirked before he could get his face under control. “Selling romance, huh?”
