Excerpt from "Come to Me" by LaVerne Thompson

The mangled scents of perfume and sex teased Baron Munro as he turned his head and looked for a clock on the bedside table. There wasn't one. Didn't matter, it was time to go. He'd indulged them both long enough. Glancing at the tangle of long blond hair resting on the pillow near his head, he hoped its owner would continue to slumber. The last thing he needed was to explain why he wasn't going to spend the rest of the night, or any other, with her. He should have been long gone already, but he'd been exhausted even before the sex marathon. And that damned near drained him. Yet, he still felt unsatisfied.

In the last few months, no matter how much he indulged, he'd roll out of bed feeling as empty as he had before he climbed in it. Even with his brief hiatus from casual sex, this time was no different from any others. A break was not what he had needed. Whatever he was looking for wasn't here either.

Shifting, he eased his body off the bed and picked up his clothes where he'd thrown them on the chair earlier in the evening. Naked, his clothes clutched to his chest, he carefully opened the bedroom door. He closed it behind him and released the breath he'd been holding. After dressing in the hallway, he made his way fully clothed to her front door. When he reached the lobby of the building he dumped the card with the woman's name and number in the trashcan near a pillar. They'd been out a couple of times now; but he never saved her number in his speed dial. He wouldn't be calling her again. She was a mistake, another in a long succession of them.

At thirty-one, he was too old for this crap. He had to believe something more existed out there. Getting into his silver Porsche Boxster- S parked across the street from the building, he did a U-turn and headed toward his condo overlooking Pennsylvania Avenue in the heart of the District of Columbia. By the time he turned into his garage, the clock on his dash read two A.M. A white signboard with black lettering proclaiming the second level loomed before him. Rounding the corner, he expected to pull directly into his reserved parking spot; instead, a red Thunderbird sat there.

“What the hell?” he snapped. “Unbelievable!” Stopping behind the car, he whipped out his cell phone and called the building manager. It was her job to take care of things like this at the condo.
Her sultry voice came on before the ring had finished its first vibration, as if she waited by the phone for his call. He wished.

This wasn't the first time he'd spoken to Jasmine Sandler and it wouldn't be the last. Not if he had anything to say about it. She gave him hope. In truth, since she became the building manager six months ago, he'd taken every opportunity to talk to her, to try to get to know her--even if her voice wreaked havoc with his libido, sending it into overdrive whenever he heard it.

Their flirting had begun from the very first time he'd spoken to her, and she'd flirted right back. He'd tried several times to meet her, but she always put him off. No one he knew in the building had ever seen her, but everyone he'd spoken to about her agreed she had a sexy voice. The kind that had him taking cold showers a couple of times after talking with her. No matter how often he told himself she was probably sixty, with four kids, nothing helped. If she looked half as hot as she sounded on the phone, he'd still want her.