Free A Private Affair by Donna Hill

like someone sweet, someone soft and feminine who could talk about something besides having babies and videos. So here he was. Now what? He wasn’t even sure how to rap with a woman like Nikita. Hey, he’d been around. He’d think of something.
    He leaned against his car and waited. He hoped she’d turn up soon. Man, it was hot.
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    Nikita didn’t know whether she should run back upstairs before he saw her, stroll down the block as if she didn’t see him or just act as if she hadn’t noticed him and find out what he was going to do.
    Maybe he wasn’t even there to see her. He did look as if he was waiting for someone, leaning against that pretty BMW, fine as he wanted to be with that red T-shirt against that chocolate skin that she could almost taste. Her mouth started to water. Could he see her, with those dark glasses on?
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    There she was, all decked out in a b-a-a-d lime green number that stopped just above her knees and those dynamite legs. Yeah, I see you, baby, tryin’ to act like you don’t see me. Let me make it easy for you.
    He inhaled deeply, slowly removing his shades, and their gazes connected.
    With practiced ease, Quinn uncrossed his long, CK-clad legs, the precision-creased sandstone linen pants flowing around them in lazy-river fashion.
    She watched him glide toward her like a director calling for slow motion. Why was she holding her breath?
    Quinn stopped at the bottom of the steps, placed one foot on the first step, and looked up at her. His eyes crinkled. “Whatsup, Nikita Harrell?”
    She kind of smiled. “I was on my way—to get something to eat. Whatsup with you?” Did she just say whatsup?
    He grinned. She sounded funny, but cute. “That’s what I’m here tryin’to find out. But in the meantime, why don’t I take you where you’re goin’? My ride’s across the street. Come on.”
    â€œWas that a question or a command?” She arched her brow.
    His dimples flashed and she felt even hotter. Quinn gave a mock bow. “It was a question, your high-ness.” He looked up at her from beneath those long lashes—grinning.
    She pursed her lips as if trying to decide, knowing good and well that she was going. Finally she shrugged. “I guess.”
    Purposefully, she took her time coming down the stairs. There was no way she could miss the salivating look he gave her legs, and she figured she might as well give him a bit of entertainment, show him what he wasn’t getting.
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    Nikita remained mute during the short ride, afraid of saying something nerdy. Quinn, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to listen to endless unintelligible lyrics by rap artists with names that sounded lethal. She’d definitely have to do something about his music-listening habits if he planned on spending any time with her.
    Then, as if he’d been reading her mind, he pressed the SCAN button and the cool sounds of pre-programmed CD 101.9, the city’s premier jazz station, filtered in all around them with a haunting ballad by Phyllis Hyman.
    Nikita’s eyes slightly widened. He was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? And he even had the station programmed.
    Quinn, from the corner of his eye, could see her tight little body relax, as if someone had mercifully snatched her out of a too tight girdle. He almost laughed. Instead, he just hummed along with Phyllis. Now, Phyllis could blow. Why she’d decided to snuff herself was a mystery to him. Ain’t nothin’ that bad. And he should know.
    â€œThis the spot?” he asked, slowing down in front of Zuri’s, a little outdoor café on Fourteenth and Sixth.
    â€œYes. This is it. There’s a parking space across the street,” she offered, pointing to a vacant spot.
    â€œWhat kinda time you got—regulation one hour, or what?”
    She turned her head to look at him and her heart knocked hard. Quinn had angled his