Dipping his head, Cory pressed his lips to hers as he caressed her mouth. “Can’t we pretend it’s December?”
Sybil returned his kiss as her hand moved over his chest and down his flat belly. Her fingers searched between his thighs, finding him fully aroused. “No,” she whispered in his ear, “but nothing says we can’t practice baby-making.” She moved off his lap, and she wasn’t disappointed when he rose with her. Reaching for a remote device, Sybil turned off the television. Smiling at her husband, she said, “Can you wait for me to take a shower?”
“Show me what I’m going to get and I’ll let you know.”
In one smooth motion, Sybil lifted the tank top with a built-in bra, displaying a pair of full breasts that never failed to arouse her husband. Closing the distance between them, she placed a hand on Cory’s chest and forcibly pushed him down to the chaise. She didn’t give him time to react when she ripped open the fly to his jeans and eased his penis through the opening in his boxers. Less than a minute later she eased herself over his erection, her own jeans and bikini panties down around her knees.
She became Delectable sans latex, mask and whip. Bracing her hands on either side of Cory’ head, she bounced up and down on the hardened flesh as she pushed her breasts to his face. Gurgling sounds came from his throat, he struggling to breathe. Sybil alternated, changing the cadence from deep, violent thrusts to a quickening that gave her a sense of power and complete domination. It all came to an end when she reached under her hips and captured his testicles. She applied the slightest pressure, eliciting the reaction she sought when Cory groaned in pain. Her fingers tightened, and when his eyes rolled back in his head, she climaxed, whispering his name over and over as he released his passion inside her.
Cory closed his eyes, unable to believe the exquisite ecstasy Sybil had offered him. Just when he thought he knew everything about her, she surprised him with something new.
They didn’t make love as much as he wanted, but he had to admit that their coming together was always passionate and satisfying.
CHAPTER 27
Dina climbed into the back of the Town Car, cell phone in hand, and barely glanced at the driver who held the door for her. She sat down and scrolled through the directory of the phone Lance had given her. The driver hadn’t maneuvered out of the parking lot to the two-story building, with handmade brick end walls evocative of the early Dutch, where Sybil Cumberland had established her catering enterprise, when she pushed the Send button.
Sinking against the black leather seat, she smiled when hearing Lance’s greeting. “I got it,” she said softly. She heard other voices—male and female—then Lance excusing himself to take a “very important” call.
“You got it?” he asked after a noticeable pause.
“Yes, and I’m sorry if I interrupted your dinner meeting. I was just so excited I had to tell you.”
“Don’t you dare apologize. Why do you think I gave you the phone? You can call me anytime.”
“Okay.”
“I suppose this means we’re going to have to celebrate,” Lance crooned.
Dina felt a swell of joy fill her chest, making it difficult to draw a normal breath. “Yes, it does.”
“When am I going to see you again?”
“I’ll call and let you know. Tomorrow I’m going apartment hunting.”
“If you need help or a reference, then let me know.”
“I will. LL?”
There came a beat of silence. “What is it?”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
His chuckle caressed her ear. “You’re welcome. Dina, baby, I have to get back to my clients. I’ll talk to you later.”
He ended the call, Dina, baby playing over and over in her head during the ride to Irvington. Had Lance called her baby because of the twenty-plus-years difference in their ages or was it because he viewed her as “his baby.” She prayed it was the latter because there was something about Lancelot Haynes she liked enough to want to see him again.
When the traffic signs pointing the way to Irvington came into view, she asked the driver to stop at a convenience store, where she purchased several newspapers. It wasn’t until she opened the door to her motel room that she noticed the shabbiness for the first time.
She stared at the fading wallpaper, the threadbare rug and a spiderweb in a corner near the window. This will be the last week I’ll sleep here. The silent vow was one she intended to keep.
Dina sat in the middle of the bed, reading every entry in the classified real-estate section in several dailies and a weekly. She’d circled one advertising a furnished one-bedroom apartment in a private house owned by a Christian couple. It was within her price range. Reaching for Lance’s cell phone, she dialed the number.
It was the voice as much as the greeting that rendered her temporarily mute. “Praise the Lord,” she repeated. “I’m calling to ask if the apartment is still available.”
“It is,” said the man with a deep baritone voice. “The ad said no children and no pets.”
“I’m the only one who’ll live in the apartment. Is it possible to set up an appointment to see it?”
“I have someone coming in the mornin’—”
“What time tomorrow morning?” she asked quickly.
“I believe it’s ten. Why?”
“Can I come at nine?”
“Ain’t you got a job?”
Dina smiled. “I have a job, but I don’t go to work until early evening.”
“Okay, I guess it won’t do no harm. Come at nine.”
She gave the man her name, then wrote down his address. “Thank you, sir. All things are possible through Christ,” she added.
“Amen, Ms. Gordon. Have a blessed evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Foster.”
Falling back to the mattress, she stared up at the shadows on the ceiling. If anyone would’ve predicted the turn her life would take, she would’ve called them a liar. She was realistic enough to know she couldn’t have spent all of her life hustling, but she never would’ve imagined having to leave Brooklyn and changing her name and holding down a real job all because of a proposed or real death threat.
After the dinner of stuffed grilled red snapper, a mixed green salad and garlic baby spinach prepared by the Buddha-like assistant chef, Sybil had given her an overview of the catering business. More than half of SJC Catering’s reservations were corporate affairs and small private parties hosted by those on her elite client list, and the other half were the general public for wedding receptions, birthdays and anniversaries.
Sybil revealed that she took a hands-on approach when it came to training, establishing a strict protocol as to how she wanted her staff to relate to her clientele; this revelation told Dina that Sybil Cumberland not only micromanaged her business but was also a control freak.
How the uptight chef ran her business was not Dina’s concern. Earning enough money to pay Payne Jefferson what he claimed she owed him had shifted to the top of her priority list.
CHAPTER 28
The taxi stopped in front of a row house in a working-class Irvington neighborhood. There were several young children sitting on the porch steps of a neighboring house, arguing over a handheld computer game, but other than that the block was quiet.
Dina paid the fare and stepped out of the cab. She noticed the curtain in one of the front rooms moved before settling into place. Pulling back her shoulders, she mounted the four steps leading to the porch and rang the doorbell. The door opened, and she came face-to-face with a woman who reminded her of her grandmother.
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Dina Gordon.”
The woman beckoned her inside. “Come, child, and rest yourself.”
Forty minutes after meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Gideon Foster, Dina hailed a taxi to take her back to the motel. The Fosters had given her a one-year lease and a set of keys to her new apartment. They’d expected her to bring letters of reference, but after Mr. Foster spoke to Lance,
he informed her that if she wanted the apartment, then it was hers.
The rooms were a far cry from those she saw on MTV Cribs, but they were hers. The freshly painted space was immaculate with small, cozy rooms and large, bulky, functionable furniture.
She liked that she had her own private entrance and washer/dryer privileges, and the monthly rent of nine hundred dollars was less than her forty-nine-dollar-a-night motel rate. A dreamy smile crossed her face when she thought of what she had to do to turn her first apartment into a home. She had to buy linens, towels and pots and pans. It would be another week before she began working at SJC Catering, which gave her time to adjust to her new crib.
Cradling the phone between her chin and shoulder, Dina listened as Karla read back the Irvington address she’d given her at the same time she checked dresser drawers to make certain she hadn’t forgotten anything.
“I keep pinching myself to make certain I’m not dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming, Dina. You’re now experiencing what you should’ve had years ago.”
“But I couldn’t have done it without you, Karla.”
“You would’ve done it without me, because always remember that you’re a descendant of survivors. Your ancestors went through hell for you to be here today.”
Dina halted zipping the carry-on. “I never thought of myself in that way. Thank you for making me aware of it.”
“If you’re not doing anything on the Fourth, I’d like to invite you to my place for a cookout.”
A shock flew through her. “You…you want me to come to your house?”
“Yes, I do. You have a new job, a new apartment and now it’s time you make some new friends. Take down my address and cell number.” Dina moved over to the bedside table and wrote down Karla King’s Oldwick address. “If you need transportation, then let me know.”
Dina thought of Lance. She wouldn’t have to impose on Karla if he drove her. “May I bring a friend with me?”
“Of course,” Karla confirmed.
“He has a car.”
Karla laughed softly. “I understand, Dina. Good luck with everything. I’ll see you and your friend on the Fourth.”
“Okay, Karla.”
She ended the call, picked up her bag, took one final glance around the motel room and walked out. She had to check out before Lance arrived. He’d promised to drive her to a nearby mall to shop before they celebrated her new job and apartment.
CHAPTER 29
Judge Rhys Weichert watched Karla King walk down the hallway, his gaze widening appreciably. Like fine wine, he found that Karla improved with age. She’d been a bright-eyed, barely legal twenty-going-on-twenty-one-year-old when he first saw her race into his classroom at NYU Law School, out of breath and her hair falling over her forehead in sensual disarray. She’d been one of his brightest students, and before she completed her first year they’d become lovers, meeting discreetly once or twice a week. It hadn’t mattered that she was his student or that he was married. He’d fallen in love with the aspiring attorney, and after twenty years he was still in love with her.
He smiled. She was casually dressed in a pair of black cropped pants and a sleeveless white blouse. Her groomed feet were pushed into a pair of black patent leather wedge-heel sandals that put her close to the six-foot mark.
Karla’s freshly coiffed hair moved sensuously around her head with each step that took her closer to the man who’d been teacher, mentor, lover and now confidant. She’d told Rhys things she’d never told Ronald. It’s not that she didn’t trust her husband, but she knew it would probably put a crack in the foundation of their perfect marriage.
A smile tipped the corners of her generous mouth when she saw the minute lines around the still-bright blue eyes deepen when Rhys smiled. He extended a heavily blue-veined hand, pulling her gently into the hotel room and kissing her cheeks.
“You look wonderful, Rhys,” Karla said softly. She hadn’t lied. He’d gained some of the weight he’d lost when she last saw him.
The state supreme court judge who’d recently celebrated his seventieth birthday had made it known that he was leaving the bench at the end of the year, declaring it was time he kick back, go deep-sea fishing and become reacquainted with his many grandchildren, most of whom lived on the West Coast. What he hadn’t disclosed to anyone, with the exception of his wife and Karla, was that he’d been diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer.
Resting a hand on the small of Karla’s back, Rhys shook his head. “You’ve always been the most beautiful liar I’ve ever had the delight in knowing. Have you eaten?” he asked, smoothly segueing to another topic. He’d told Karla he was dying, then exacted a promise from her that they would never discuss his illness again. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a light repast.”
Karla permitted Rhys to seat her; she stared intently as he rounded the table to sit opposite her. The ruddy color that was always apparent in the lean face of the tall man with the deep voice and shock of white hair had returned. His hair wasn’t as thick and bushy as it’d been before he’d begun chemotherapy. However, he was luckier than most patients because it hadn’t fallen out completely. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, in a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, and a pair of midnight-blue tailored slacks. The subtle scent of his specially blended cologne wafted in her nose.
She wasn’t certain why she’d been drawn to the man, because he wasn’t what she thought of as her ideal. And if she were completely truthful then she would have to admit that she was only attracted to men in her own race. Rhys Weichert had become the exception because of his elegance, wealth and brilliant legal mind.
Karla had supplemented her partial undergraduate and law school scholarships waiting tables and swinging around a pole at men’s clubs until Professor Weichert asked her to have dinner with him. The one encounter changed her life completely when she became his mistress; he gave her the money she needed to complete her education. What he hadn’t known was, although she’d stopped waiting tables, she’d continued dancing because the craving for male attention was so great that it’d become an addiction. Instead of dancing at a club, she’d performed in hotel suites for discriminating men with fat wallets and even more discriminating tastes. Her private performances came to an abrupt end the day Ronald placed an engagement ring on her finger.
“I like the room,” she said softly, her gaze sweeping around the opulent hotel suite.
Rhys nodded. “I’m practically living here.” Reaching for a bottle of chilled champagne, he filled a flute, handing it to Karla while ignoring the expression of shock freezing her features. “Erika and I aren’t getting along too well nowadays.”
Karla grasped the delicate stem of the flute. “What’s wrong, Rhys?”
“She’s in denial, Karla. She can’t accept the reality that I’m dying and that she’s going to be left alone.”
“But we’re all mortal,” she argued softly.
A sad smile parted the judge’s pale lips. “My dear wife has lived a life of privilege that’s insulated her from the ugliness of the world as you and I know it. I met her when I was nineteen and she fifteen. Three years later she’d become my wife. I was the first and only man she’s ever known. Although—”
“Why are you telling me this?” Karla asked, interrupting him. She’d met Erika at social events, and Ronald was aware that she’d once been Rhys’s mistress, but intimate details of their respective marriages were never discussed.
Rhys’s hand shook slightly when he filled his flute. “I need to talk to someone, Karla. My wife has shut me out completely.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please continue.”
A frown creased the lined forehead as he returned the bottle to the crystal bowl filled with ice, the brilliant jurist appearing deep in thought. His expression brightened when he raised his glass. “I’d like for you to make the toast tonight.”
“Are you sure, Judge Weichert?”
“Very sure, counselo
r,” he teased, winking at her.
The smile that softened Karla’s generous mouth did not reach her eyes. They were sad, filled with pain and the impending loss of her best friend. “I toast to us.”
His bushy white eyebrows lifted. “That’s it?”
She nodded. “That’s it, Rhys.” She touched her glass to his, then took a sip of the bubbly wine. “It’s excellent.”
It was Rhys’s turn to nod. “Thank you. I wonder what our lives would’ve been like if we’d married each other.”
Waves of shock slapped at Karla when she mentally replayed his statement. Even though she’d slept with the man, she never would’ve considered marrying him. “Why would you even say something like that? You’ve had a wonderful life with Erika, and my life with Ronald is better than I could’ve ever expected it to be.”
Rhys drained his glass, then reached for the bottle to refill it. “That’s because you and Ronald have an incredible sex life.” He held up his free hand when Karla’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t have to tell me, Karla. I knew he was satisfying you when you stopped sleeping with me. I kept telling myself that you wanted to be a faithful wife because I didn’t want to admit that I’d lost you to a better man.”
I’m not a faithful wife because I still sleep with other men. The difference is my husband knows about them, Karla mused as she stared at the man with the crestfallen expression. What she wanted to tell Rhys was that he’d lost his appeal even before she’d met Ronald, that it had started to take him longer and longer to climax and that she’d been left more sexually frustrated than before their encounter.
“It’s not that at all,” she said in a quiet voice, hoping to soothe his wounded ego. “I’m not going to deny that I love Ronald. But what I want is to live a simple life without the complications or encumbrances that come with having an affair.” Reaching across the table, she placed her hand over Rhys’s. “I can’t believe that after all these years that you’d question my feelings for you. It wasn’t just about the sex, Rhys.”
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