With This Ring

by Allison Hobbs

  Nivea seriously doubted that her gorgeous daughter resembled the unattractive doctor when he was a child, but she smiled as if the comparison was a compliment.

  “Let’s have tea, shall we?”

  “Sure.” With dollar signs in her mind, she allowed Rachel, who was still holding Mackenzie, to guide her to the formal living room that was exquisitely furnished in Edwardian style. A tea tray and china tea set were placed at the end of a sturdy mahogany table.

  Rachel cooed to Mackenzie in French and then returned her to Nivea’s arms.

  What a show-off! Rachel was wealthy, fit, attractive, and she had a luxurious home. Adding to her list of attributes, she spoke fluent French. Nivea was beginning to dislike the woman slightly, but she kept a smile affixed on her face as she accepted the cup of green tea that the maid poured for her.

  Gazing around the room, Nivea’s eyes landed on the enormous wedding portrait of Dr. Sandburg and Rachel. Old Doc Sandburg had the nerve to have been quite handsome in his younger days. In the portrait, Rachel’s face was girlishly round and her hair was long and straight, but aside from a few lines at the corner of her eyes, and the strands of gray hair, Rachel hadn’t changed very much.

  “Well, let’s get down to business,” Rachel said, taking a seat in an elegant antique chair. Nivea leaned forward, eager to hear Rachel’s proposition. “As you can see, Bertram and I are very well-off. But Bertram’s income is only a fraction of our wealth. I inherited a large sum of money from my parents, and my money allows my dear Bertram and me to lead a luxurious lifestyle.”

  “I see.” Nivea wondered why such a wealthy, energetic, and attractive woman would want to be saddled down with dowdy, old Dr. Sandburg. He couldn’t even get it up without the help of Viagra, and with his potbelly and lumbering movements, he obviously didn’t follow his wife’s healthy lifestyle. Yet despite his flaws, Rachel seemed devoted to him. Then again, maybe someone else took care of her womanly needs. Someone like a strapping young gardener or a handyman who took care of the upkeep of the lovely home.

  Rachel sipped her tea and then regarded Nivea intently. She stared at Nivea for an uncomfortably long period of time.

  “Is something wrong?” Nivea asked.

  “No. I was just thinking…”

  “Yes?” Nivea said, urging her to continue.

  “If you decide to sue Bertram for child support, you’ll find that his income is relatively meager, but if you agree to keep this out of court and allow my attorney to discreetly draw up the paperwork, I assure you, you’ll be more than pleased with the financial arrangement I have in mind.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I would like to offer you the original sum Bertram suggested.”

  “Only two hundred fifty thousand?” Nivea had hoped to be presented with a much larger figure.

  “We’d also provide health care coverage for Mackenzie, child care costs when you return to work and—”

  “Oh, Kenzie’s not going to a child care center. I plan to hire a nanny to look after her in our home,” Nivea interjected.

  “Of course.” Rachel nodded thoughtfully. “Hopefully, you’ll insist upon a nanny who speaks French. It’s important for children to know a second language. My former nanny was French, and I’ve been bilingual my entire life.”

  Rachel was an annoying snob, and she reminded Nivea of her mother. “And what else did you have in mind, financially?” Nivea asked, hoping there was more money on the table. Enough to provide whirlwind shopping sprees and a lifetime of financial security.

  “Five thousand a month in child support, and when Mackenzie’s of school age, we’ll pay for the absolute best private school in the area,” Rachel concluded.

  “I appreciate your generosity,” Nivea said calmly, while refraining from letting out a joyful yelp. She couldn’t believe her luck. Rachel was willing to hand over a truckload of cash without requiring a paternity test. Things were finally looking up; Mackenzie would have everything Nivea desired for her. It was as if she’d hit the jackpot…or had given birth to a celebrity’s or a star athlete’s child. Life was good, and she felt herself flush with the thrill of it!

  “You’re welcome to stop by and see Mackenzie whenever you’d like. Or I could always bring her here for a visit if you’d like,” Nivea offered with a smile.

  Rachel gave Nivea a beneficent little smile. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. This arrangement is strictly business; Bertram and I don’t want to establish a relationship with your daughter.” This was said through lips that were turned down in revulsion.

  Insulted, Nivea recoiled. Her jaw clenched visibly. She wanted to curse Rachel out, but considering it wise to hold her tongue, she expressed her displeasure with furrowed brows and a sidelong glance. It wasn’t that she desired to have the Sandburgs in her daughter’s life, but Rachel’s comment made it seem as if Mackenzie was scum—not good enough to socialize with. The nerve of the bitch, bamboozling me into coming here, and pretending it was all good when she really thinks my daughter and me are trash!

  “Let’s not pretend to be friends. I’m paying you to keep your mouth shut. I’m trying to prevent you from going on a smear campaign; I can’t have my good name ruined, you know. Bertram told me you have connections with the local media, and I need to know that you won’t be holding any press conferences or selling your story to the tabloids.” Rachel grimaced. “Those rags would have a field day with this information. I can see the headlines: Husband of Wealthy Heiress has Child out of Wedlock! Oh, the humiliation would be unbearable, which is why I’m making sure that you’re well compensated. With the money I’m willing to pay you, there’s no reason for you to breathe a word of Bertram’s scandalous behavior.”

  “I won’t,” Nivea murmured as thoughts swirled in her head. Since Rachel was so afraid of negative press, Nivea wondered if the $250,000 she’d offered was enough for her silence. Maybe she was cutting herself short. She and Mackenzie needed something a lot bigger than their tiny townhouse; they needed a home with land around it. A home that had a big playroom for Mackenzie, a huge master bedroom, and lots and lots of bathrooms. Something in the million-dollar range would suit their needs. Nivea was about to bring up the subject of their housing situation when Rachel cleared her throat, drawing Nivea away from her thoughts.

  “My attorney will draw up the paperwork. I’ll schedule an appointment for you to meet with him and sign off on all my conditions.”

  “Well, I think I should have my own attorney present before I sign anything. Two hundred fifty thousand might not be enough.”

  Rachel smirked and shook her head. “Do you suppose your attorney could negotiate a better deal? If so, we can haggle for months. We could also involve the court system and perhaps clear Bertram’s good name with a DNA test.” She gave Nivea a long and significant look, which prompted Nivea to guiltily drop her gaze.

  “I’ll sign the papers,” Nivea acquiesced.

  “Good. My attorney will be in touch.” Rachel stood, indicating the meeting was over.

  As Nivea gathered Mackenzie, the baby began to cry. “I have to feed her before we leave.”

  “Take your time. It was nice meeting you and Mackenzie.” She gazed down at her watch. “I have a meeting with my yoga instructor; the maid will see you out.”

  Rachel exited the living room, without giving Nivea and Mackenzie a second glance. The rude, arrogant bitch really grated on Nivea’s nerves.

  She placed a blanket over her shoulder and began to nurse Mackenzie. As Mackenzie suckled, Nivea felt a shiver of dread. Rachel Sandburg was a shrewd and ruthless woman. Not someone you wanted as an enemy, and Nivea intended to sign the papers, keep her mouth shut, and make sure she and Mackenzie stayed far away from Rachel Sandburg.

  VANGIE

  After she’d suggested that Drake and Alphonso might be into something shady, Harlow became quiet and pensive. On Sunday, they had appointments at Harlow’s favorite spa, but Harlow complained of having a he
adache and urged Vangie to keep her appointment, which Harlow had already paid for in advance.

  “Since the spa is close to Penn Station, there’s no point in me coming back to the Upper East Side. I guess I’ll go back to Philly after my massage,” Vangie said.

  “That’s a good idea.”

  It was clear that Vangie had upset Harlow when she’d suggested that Drake was shady, but it was too late to take back the hurtful words. Normally, Harlow would try to keep Vangie in New York for as long as possible, coming up with a number of ways to keep Vangie entertained, but not today.

  Harlow retired to her bedroom and didn’t come out to walk Vangie to the elevator or down to the lobby when Vangie hollered, “I’m leaving!”

  She’s pissed—and I have to figure out a way to fix this rift I’ve caused.

  A massage was exactly what Vangie needed to take her mind off Yuri hanging in the projects, Alphonso…his gun and his unwillingness to commit, and now a hurt and angry Harlow. In all their years of friendship, Harlow had never been upset with Vangie. But Vangie had crossed a line when she’d suggested that Drake might not be the upstanding man he appeared to be. Maybe she should give Harlow some time to cool down and then call her and offer an apology.

  The moment Vangie stepped inside the day spa, she felt her troubles begin to melt away. The comingled scents of citrus and flowers had a soothing effect, giving her a feeling of complete calm. While lying on the massage table, Vangie came up with an idea. She’d send Harlow some flowers with a note expressing how sorry she was for making such an unkind comment about Drake. Yes, that would work. Harlow was a sweetheart; she wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.

  The woman who was kneading her back and getting out the kinks in Vangie’s neck had introduced herself as Frieda. She was somewhat heavy-handed, hurting Vangie as she dug her thumbs into her shoulder blades, causing her to groan in pain. Frieda was a large and obviously strong woman, and she wasn’t exactly feminine. Vangie was trying not to hold her mannishness against her, but damn, didn’t the big bitch know her own strength? She was damn near crushing Vangie’s bones.

  “Can you take it easy?” Vangie asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

  “Pain is good. Your muscles are tense—tight and knotted up,” Frieda explained, speaking with a heavy accent that sounded like German. Then again, it might have been Swedish. Hell if Vangie knew or cared.

  “I don’t care how knotted up I am…you’re hurting me. I didn’t come here to be tortured; you need to lighten up.”

  “Do you want something gentler?”

  “Yes, please,” Vangie said with irritation. This rough bitch was trying to break the bones in my damn back.

  Frieda’s large hands now glided over Vangie’s body, gently rubbing her neck and her back with scented oil. It was so pleasant, Vangie dozed off briefly and when she awakened the masseuse’s hands were traveling up and down her thighs and over her butt, lightly squeezing each cheek. A butt massage? She supposed there was a first time for everything, and instead of protesting, she simply went with the flow, relaxing under the expert hands of the massage therapist. Using the pads of her fingers, Frieda conducted a deep tissue massage on Vangie’s derriere. It felt surprisingly good. And since it was therapeutic and nothing inappropriate, Vangie uttered sounds of pleasure as she felt the stress being kneaded out of her buttocks.

  Then those thick fingers began to inch toward a more intimate part, brushing softly and tickling at her labia. A pussy massage? Oh, hell no. I’m not with this perverted shit! Vangie bristled, her muscles clenching in alarm. She lifted her torso and glanced over her shoulder. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The big German…Swede…or whatever she was, gave her a sneaky smile. “Relax. Let yourself go,” she said in that thick accent of hers.

  Before Vangie could protest further, manly-looking Frieda slid her other hand beneath her and quickly clasped her inner lips between her sturdy thumbs and index fingers, massaging the plump flesh, while the knuckles of her thumbs brushed against Vangie’s sensitive clit. Sensations coursed through her, overwhelming her, and the feeling was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Every fiber of her being screamed that this behavior was wrong. She wanted to flip over on her back and scoot off the table, and cuss the big dyke out for taking such a liberty with her pussy.

  But the only sound Vangie emitted was a soft moan. The shit felt good, and after so many months of bad sex with Alphonso, her pussy was yearning for release. She couldn’t control it—couldn’t stop her body from undulating, writhing, and acting on its own accord.

  “Do you want me to explore?”

  “What?” The word came out in a squeaky gasp.

  “Do you want me to explore inside?”

  “Do whatever you want,” she answered breathlessly, and then buried her face in the pillow to stifle her loud moaning as the masseuse wriggled and corkscrewed her finger into the confines of her soft interior.

  On the brink of climaxing, Vangie gasped in objection when Frieda suddenly withdrew her finger. “Don’t stop, please,” she murmured.

  “You paid for deluxe treatment. Turnover, and I’ll finish you off.”

  Deluxe treatment? What the hell kind of massage had Harlow paid for? Too wound up to think rationally, Vangie did as she was told and turned over. Too ashamed to look the foreign woman in the eye, she covered her face with the pillow. Unable to see what was being done to her, she shivered in anticipation.

  She flinched as she felt her legs being gently pulled apart, and then began to tremble violently when Frieda’s short hair brushed against her inner thighs. “Oh, God!” she cried out as a warm tongue delved between her silken folds. Bolting upright, she bit into the pillow and screamed as a powerful orgasm nearly knocked her unconscious.

  “You can get dressed now,” the masseuse said, giving Vangie’s pussy a final pat.

  “Okay,” Vangie muttered, still covering her face with the pillow. She couldn’t bring herself to face the lesbian who had brought her to a climax with her tongue. She felt like a fool hiding behind the pillow, but she was too embarrassed to look the masseuse in the face.

  She’d sunk about as low as she could go. I’m straight as an arrow; I can’t believe I let this dyke bitch take advantage of me. If that fuckin’ Alphonso had been handling his business, this depraved bullshit would have never happened.

  Frieda pulled the pillow away from Vangie’s face, forcing her to meet her gaze. Her eyes were brown and seemed kind. “No reason to be ashamed. Plenty of women come to me to get their needs satisfied.”

  “Really?” Vangie wondered if Harlow was one of those women. Nah, I can’t even imagine Harlow coming here for some down-low freakishness.

  “By the way, I make house calls,” Frieda said and handed Vangie a business card.

  Wanting to forget this day ever happened, Vangie declined the card. “No, thanks; I don’t need it.”

  “Take it; you never know when you’ll have another stressful day.”

  With Frieda urging her to accept the card, she grudgingly stuffed it her handbag with the intention of ripping it into shreds the moment she exited the building.

  NIVEA

  Carrying her daughter, Nivea entered Rachel Sandburg’s lawyer’s well-appointed sanctum and settled into the visitor’s chair across from Andrew Brackman’s executive desk. She offered a smile in greeting, but the arrogant attorney turned down his mouth and acknowledged her presence with a terse thrust of his chin before glancing down at the papers on his desk. It was a deliberate snub…haughty disregard. The ill-mannered attorney was the perfect representative for obnoxious Rachel Sandburg.

  No sooner had she sat down when he began pushing papers toward her. He didn’t bother to make small talk, and he sighed with irritation whenever Nivea tried to speed-read the legal jargon before affixing her signature.

  “I’m scheduled to appear in court in an hour, and so if you could hurry along, I’d appreciate it,”
Andrew Brackman said, tapping his fingertips together impatiently. As if to motivate her to sign quickly, he eased the $250,000 check to the center of the glossy desktop.

  After she signed all the papers, Brackman sat back and regarded Nivea with a challenging look in his eyes.

  What now? Nivea wondered nervously if there were more hoops to jump through before she was handed the money. Through sheer will she maintained a passive expression as she met the attorney’s piercing stare.

  Toying with her, Brackman didn’t speak for a few moments. He rested his elbows on the armrests of his chair, steepled his fingers and finally said, “My secretary is going to have to get a DNA sample from the baby.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  Rachel Sandburg was aware that Mackenzie wasn’t her husband’s biological daughter, but she wanted scientific evidence for some unknown reason. What a conniving bitch!

  “I’m very serious.” His thin lips twisted into a scornful smile. “Mrs. Sandburg ordered the test to satisfy her own curiosity. The arrangement she made with you won’t change either way. As for the test, it’s very simple…a quick swab of the baby’s mouth. My secretary will use a sterile Q-tip to—”

  “I know how it’s done! But Rachel told me that we didn’t have to be bothered with the test; she said she knew by looking at Mackenzie that she was her husband’s child.”

  Brackman didn’t respond. Not with words. He snorted and raised an eyebrow, and his mocking sound and expression spoke volumes. He picked up the phone on his desk. “Can you please come in my office, Laurie? To administer the test.”

  Laurie, a mature woman with thick, brown hair that was worn in a bob, entered the office carrying a small packet, which contained a sterile swab that was encased in paper packaging.

  Nivea sneered at the packet and then glanced at Laurie, who had a fabulous figure and was very pretty despite the lines on her face. In an odd way, the cracks of age that usually marred a woman’s beauty seemed to enhance Laurie’s. Gave her something undefinable that probably turned men’s heads—both young and old. Nivea looked from silver-haired Brackman to his secretary and wondered if the two were banging each other. More than likely.