by Mason Dixon
“I’ll buy us another round,” Kenya said. “Why don’t you and Celia find a table?”
“A woman after my own heart. Just don’t tell Avery I said that.” Bridget stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Simone.”
“Likewise.” Simone waited until Celia and Bridget were out of earshot before she turned to Kenya and asked, “Is she always like that?”
“Only when she likes someone.”
Simone started preparing a fresh round of drinks. “If that was her demonstrating how much she likes me, I’d hate to see what she’d do if she detested me.”
“Yes, you would. Believe me, it’s not pretty.”
“Has she always been so protective?”
“Yes. Which is what makes her such a good friend. Do you have any friends like that?”
“Yes, but they’re the kind who would rather defend my honor with their fists rather than their wits.”
“Bridget went through a phase like that. Thankfully, she grew out of it.”
Simone hoped the comment wasn’t meant to be a subtle reminder she still had some growing up to do. She was twenty-eight, not twelve. She added the garnishes to Kenya’s old-fashioned and reached for a bottle of white wine to make Celia’s spritzer.
Kenya was wearing a low-cut little black dress and strappy heels that made her legs look even lovelier and longer than usual. A gold choker, elegant and understated, matched the small hoop earrings dangling from her earlobes. She looked not only sexy but classy, too. The combination left Simone feeling lightheaded.
“This is as good a time as any for question six, don’t you think?” she asked.
“Hit me.”
Kenya took a seat at the bar and crossed her legs, giving Simone a peek at her shapely thighs. Simone felt her mouth fall open like the detectives interrogating Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. Though her view wasn’t as R-rated as the one Michael Douglas’s character had enjoyed in the movie, it was just as memorable.
“Would you like to be famous?” she asked when she finally recovered her ability to speak. “If so, for what?”
Kenya raised her right hand as if swearing on the Bible. “I can unequivocally say I have no desire whatsoever to be a household name.”
“Andy Warhol once said everyone is destined for fifteen minutes of fame. Don’t you want your share?”
Kenya shook her head emphatically. “I want to be respected, not recognized.”
“Then why are you dating someone as famous or infamous or whatever you want to call it as Mackenzie?”
Kenya’s answer was as simple as her accessories. “Because I like her.”
“I like you, too,” Mackenzie said as she slipped her arms around Kenya’s waist and planted a kiss on her cheek. Kenya closed her eyes and leaned into Mackenzie’s embrace.
Simone had been so focused on Kenya she hadn’t seen Mackenzie approach. Now she couldn’t turn away. Kenya looked so peaceful in Mackenzie’s arms. She looked like she felt she belonged there. Yet she deserved so much more than Mackenzie could give her. She deserved more than someone who could buy her fancy things and take her on exotic trips but couldn’t be faithful to her. She deserved someone who would respect her and treat her right. Mackenzie wasn’t that kind of person. Simone was. But Kenya wasn’t willing to even consider the idea, let alone accept it.
“Are you here alone?” Mackenzie asked.
Kenya spun on her bar stool. “No, I’m here with friends.” She pointed out Celia and Bridget, who waved from the table they had claimed across the room.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have reserved you a booth in the VIP section.”
“We aren’t going to be here that long,” Kenya said. “We only popped in for a quick drink.”
Mackenzie snapped her fingers the way she always did when she was trying to get someone’s attention. The demeaning habit made Simone and her fellow employees feel like they were pets being reprimanded, though none of them had been able to convince Mackenzie to see it that way. “Simone, whatever they’re drinking is on the house. As a matter of fact, send over a bottle of Dom with my compliments.”
“You got it, boss.” Simone grabbed a bottle of Dom Perignon and a bucket of ice.
“I recognize Celia,” Mackenzie said, peering at Kenya’s friends. “Who’s the woman with her?”
“Bridget Weaver,” Kenya said with a frown. “She said she met you at a business luncheon a few years ago. Don’t you remember?”
“No,” Mackenzie said hesitantly. She looked taken aback. Like she had been caught in a lie. Before Simone had a chance to gloat, Mackenzie laughed and said, “But I meet so many people it’s hard to keep track.”
Unless you’re trying to sleep with them, Simone thought. Then you have a mind like a steel trap.
“Would you like for Bridget and me to get reacquainted,” Mackenzie asked, “or am I your dirty little secret?”
Simone couldn’t stand to see Kenya being manipulated, but what could she do? “Here are your drinks. Would you like me to carry them to the table for you?”
“I can take care of Kenya,” Mackenzie said. “You just keep doing what I’m paying you to do.”
Simone clenched her teeth, having been not-so-politely put in her place. Did Mackenzie know she was interested in Kenya, or was she trying to make herself look big by belittling someone else?
I guess money can buy everything but class.
*
Mackenzie picked up the tray of drinks and motioned for Kenya to precede her. “Lead the way. I’ve got this.”
As Kenya ran point through the growing crowd, she tried to figure out why Mackenzie had claimed not to know Bridget when Bridget was certain they had met. Kenya didn’t know which one to believe, but why would either have reason to lie?
Mackenzie wasn’t exaggerating when she said she met a lot of people. People vied for her attention all the time. For business and for pleasure. But Bridget, a six-foot African-American woman with a crew cut, left a distinctive impression which made her hard to forget. The nerves Kenya had felt about having Bridget meet Simone paled in comparison to the ones she felt now. According to Bridget, her first meeting with Mackenzie had been inauspicious. What if tonight’s was even less so? If this encounter was anything like the last one, it might make future get-togethers awkward at best.
Kenya mentally chided herself for jumping too far ahead. She and Mackenzie were dating, not engaged to be married. There was still time to work things through before they got in too deep.
Mackenzie placed the drinks on the table, kissed the back of Celia’s hand, and reached to shake Bridget’s. “Kenya tells me you and I have met, but for the life of me, I can’t remember where. Please refresh my memory.”
Bridget popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and poured everyone a glass. “It was a couple of years ago at a networking luncheon hosted by the Better Business Bureau. You introduced yourself and asked if I knew one of the women seated at my table.”
Mackenzie thought for a moment, then her face lit up in recognition. “Ah, yes. The one who looked like Halle Berry. Her, I remember.”
Bridget’s eyes flashed, but a corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile. “So do I. Last week, she agreed to marry me.”
“Congratulations.” Mackenzie raised her glass in a toast and wrapped her arm around Kenya’s shoulders. “It goes to show we both have great taste in women.”
“That we do,” Bridget said evenly. “It’s the one thing I’ve always admired about you.”
“But not the only thing, I hope,” Mackenzie said.
Bridget sipped her drink in uncharacteristic silence.
Kenya felt trapped. Like she was caught between warring factions locked in a battle in which she wanted no part. When Mackenzie had said she wanted to get reacquainted with Bridget, Kenya had hoped they would take to each other. Now the best she could hope for was that each survived the next few minutes unscathed. Tonight hadn’t turned out like she expected, but su
rely things could only get better from here. They had to, because they certainly couldn’t get much worse.
“I need a do-over,” Mackenzie said as she and Kenya sat in her office at the end of the night. Bridget and Celia had already left, and Mackenzie had offered to drive her home. “I think I screwed that up.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because the only person at your table who seemed to like me was you.”
Kenya tried to make light of the tense situation. “Since Celia’s married and Bridget’s engaged, that isn’t such a hardship, is it?”
Mackenzie pulled Kenya into her lap. “I’m being serious, Kenya. These are your friends we’re talking about. If I’m going to be in your life, I want them to be as comfortable with me as they are with you. It’s just—” She faltered, apparently unsure of what to say. “What I feel for you, I’ve never felt for anyone else. I don’t want to lose that—or have anyone else try to take it away. Since I’ve met you, no other woman exists for me. You’re the only one I want. The only one I need. I think I might be falling for you, Kenya.”
Each time Kenya doubted her, Mackenzie gave her more reason to trust her, not less. It was obvious Mackenzie had changed. She wasn’t the amoral cad she used to be. Between working, rehearsing, and getting to know Kenya, she didn’t have the time—or the inclination—to pursue other women. After years of playing the field, it seemed she was finally ready to embark on a real relationship. A relationship with Kenya.
“I feel the same way.”
“What about your friends?” Mackenzie asked.
“When they see how happy you make me, they’ll come around.”
Mackenzie stretched her neck for a kiss. Kenya bent to oblige her. The moment her lips met Mackenzie’s was electric. She could feel the crackle in the air. A surge of power. Of passion. Of lust. All the things she and Mackenzie were supposed to pretend to feel when they were dancing. When Mackenzie slipped her tongue into her mouth, she felt them in earnest.
“You asked me to let you know when I was ready to take our relationship to the next level,” Kenya said when they finally came up for air.
“Are you there?” Mackenzie asked eagerly.
“Yes, I am. Please take me home.”
*
Mackenzie hustled Kenya out of Azure with an unmistakable sense of urgency. Simone tried to think of an excuse to thwart their escape—a faulty tap, a disgruntled customer, even a report of a stopped-up toilet—but she couldn’t come up with anything that would stand up to closer inspection.
She pulled out her phone and opened the picture of Mackenzie in a lip-lock with someone other than Kenya. She should have forwarded the photo when she had the chance and let Kenya sort it out for herself. But she hadn’t been willing to inflict such pain on Kenya or jeopardize her place in Kenya’s life over what Mackenzie would probably have claimed was a misunderstanding. Now it was too late.
She hoped Kenya knew what she was doing. That she was climbing into bed with Mackenzie with an open mind and not just an open heart. Because if she wasn’t, her heart was bound to be broken.
Chapter Six
Kenya’s hands were shaking so badly she could hardly fit her key in the lock. “This is it,” she said when she finally managed to get her front door open. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Mackenzie stepped inside, gave the condo a quick once-over, and nodded appreciatively. “This place is gorgeous. Clean lines. Open spaces. My compliments to your interior decorator.”
“That would be me.” Kenya hadn’t felt the need to pay someone to tell her which accessories to buy and how to place them, so she had eschewed the unnecessary expense and done the job herself. The decision had proved fortuitous after Ellis’s deception made money—or, more accurately, the lack of it—such an issue.
“A woman of many talents, I see.”
Mackenzie kissed the side of Kenya’s neck, making her knees go weak. When Mackenzie drew her into her arms, Kenya nearly lost all sense of reason. Mackenzie’s embrace was like a refuge. A place where nothing and no one else mattered. She was not only safe there but desired.
“Thank you for the tour,” Mackenzie said. “What I’ve seen so far is wonderful. When do I get to check out the view from your bedroom?”
Kenya’s heart was racing so fast she couldn’t think clearly. It had been so long since she’d made love with someone for the first time. Six years, in fact. When Mackenzie kissed her, she trembled at her touch.
“What’s wrong?” Mackenzie asked.
“I’m nervous.” Kenya lowered her gaze, feeling like the inexperienced virgin she once was. “I haven’t been in this position in a while. I think I’ve forgotten how to act.”
“Let me remind you.”
Mackenzie kissed her again. Softer this time. Almost tentatively. Now she was the one holding back, throttling down and waiting for Kenya to catch up. Kenya felt something stir inside her. A fire that had nearly gone dormant flickered back to life. She felt the warmth slowly build inside her.
“My bedroom is this way.” She took Mackenzie’s hand and led her there.
“Beautiful,” Mackenzie said.
Kenya joined her by the window. Below them, the lights in the harbor twinkled like stars. “The view is one of the main reasons I bought this place.” And the reason she had fought so hard to hold on to it.
Mackenzie turned to her. “I was talking about you, not the view.” She held Kenya’s face in her hands. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I know,” Kenya said with certainty. The little warning light in her head had finally stopped flashing. She could not only see how much Mackenzie wanted her. She could feel it, too. And the feeling was very much mutual.
“Then let me show you.”
“No.” Kenya unbuttoned Mackenzie’s suit jacket and pushed it off her shoulders. “Tonight, it’s my turn to lead. Are you willing to follow me?”
Mackenzie smiled. “Just tell me where you want to go.”
Kenya loosened the knot in Mackenzie’s silk tie and slowly pulled it free. Using the tie as a restraint, she bound Mackenzie’s wrists. Loose enough to avoid cutting off circulation, but tight enough for Mackenzie to feel the restriction. Mackenzie’s eyes danced as Kenya lay her across the bed and straddled her body.
Kenya unbuttoned Mackenzie’s shirt and slid her fingertips against her skin. Mackenzie arched her back, making it easier for Kenya to reach underneath her and unhook her bra. “Yes,” Mackenzie hissed when Kenya flicked her tongue against her nipple. “I would follow you anywhere.”
Kenya moved lower, skimming her lips over the smooth skin of Mackenzie’s stomach. Mackenzie squirmed beneath her.
“Kenya, you’re killing me. Please.”
Kenya looked up. The desire she saw in Mackenzie’s eyes fueled her own. She ripped Mackenzie’s zipper down and pulled off her pants. She removed Mackenzie’s boxer briefs with her mouth, taking care to graze her teeth against the sensitive skin of Mackenzie’s inner thigh.
She could smell Mackenzie’s arousal. Oaky and earthy like a fine wine. But when she ran her tongue from Mackenzie’s opening to her clit, she discovered she was as sweet as nectar. She used her lips and tongue to bring Mackenzie to the edge, then finished her with her fingers as she explored Mackenzie’s mouth with her tongue.
“That was amazing,” Mackenzie said after she caught her breath, “but now it’s my turn to show you what I’m capable of.”
She shook off her restraints, flipped Kenya on her back, and spent the next several hours showing her she was capable of a great many things.
Kenya woke up the next morning happy, satiated, and alone. A note and a single rose rested on the nightstand. She held the rose against her lips as she read the note Mackenzie had left behind.
You’re beautiful when you sleep. I would have loved waking up with you, but I promised my father I would meet him for an early round of golf today. Looking forward to our next round of Follow
the Leader—M
Kenya covered her face with her hands, unable to suppress the girlish giggles that welled up from within. When her phone buzzed, she thought it was Mackenzie texting her to say she had changed her mind about going golfing and was coming back to pick up where they had left off. Instead, the message was from Simone.
“Question number seven,” she read. “Which is more important in a relationship, honesty or passion?”
Seeing the word passion in print reminded Kenya of the lust-filled night she had spent, but she took a moment to formulate a thoughtful response rather than a reflexive one.
“Passion has its merits,” she eventually wrote, “but a relationship built on anything other than honesty isn’t a relationship at all.”
Thankfully, the relationship she was crafting with Mackenzie was built on both.
*
Simone’s heart sank when she read Kenya’s answer to her question. Kenya seemed to think she was living a dream, but a nightmare awaited her. A nightmare in the form of whatever fine piece of ass next caught Mackenzie’s eye.
Simone ached to call Kenya and tell her everything she knew about Mackenzie, but she didn’t want to hear the joy in Kenya’s voice replaced by pain. Joy that was bound to be short-lived if Mackenzie stuck to her usual patterns.
“What are your plans for the day?” she typed instead.
A few minutes later, her phone beeped with Kenya’s reply. “I’m just waking up. I haven’t planned anything yet. I’ll probably catch up to Mackenzie at some point, but the rest of the day is up for grabs. Why do you ask?”
“I’d rather ask you question eight in person.” She could have asked over the phone or by text, but she needed to see Kenya face-to-face. She needed to see if Kenya was as hung up on Mackenzie as her words made her sound. “Can we meet somewhere?”
“Sounds good. Any particular location?”
Simone wanted to show Kenya the Miami she knew. Not the playground for the filthy rich or the hunting ground for thieves and hustlers. The Miami populated by immigrants in search of the American Dream and ordinary Joes struggling to make sure their dreams didn’t end up deferred. The Miami she had grown up in and the one in which she continued to live.