Belinda’s hand continued to rub his back, a constant source of warmth that was succeeding in calming him down a bit.
“That guy that kept hanging around, showed up at my house for dinner one night. Then we took a plane to meet him at his school and stayed in a lavish hotel for the weekend. He had a lot of meetings with my mother that weekend.” Malik shook his head. “A lot of damn meetings without me. But I was too starstruck to see why.” He inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.
“I ended up playing for him in college. He taught me everything about the game, about how to play with the pros and how to make it in the NBA. He was my mentor. No, he was more than that. He was the closest thing I’d ever had to a father.”
“The guy at the bar?” she asked.
Malik nodded. “Coach Rodney Sanders. Legendary for the amount of students he’d sent to the NBA, the amount of basketball phenoms he’d discovered. And for the amount of women he’d used to build his legend.”
“I don’t understand.”
She wouldn’t, he thought dismally. Belinda would not understand how someone could use someone else to get ahead, because that’s not the world she came from. She would, however, understand the hunger that had burned like an inferno in the gut of a young boy who wanted to make his mother proud. But those types of blemishes weren’t in her perfect and pristine life. And he didn’t begrudge her for that.
“I played for seven months in the NBA. Got a sweet car, a fat check and more attention than I’ve ever had in my life. Then in one game I was knocked to the floor by a seasoned veteran. Through the roar of the crowd, I heard the muscles in my leg stretch and moan in agony. The next few days were a blur. All I kept hearing was that I’d torn my ACL and I would probably never play professionally again. For days that was all I heard, then one day I heard something else. It was Coach Sanders talking to my mother, who was angry with him for not protecting me better. He told her that he could work something out for me if she resumed their relationship.”
“Oh, Malik,” Belinda sighed, laying her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Malik shook his head. “He’d been sleeping with my mother the entire time. It was her payment for him coaching me, grooming me. Everything he’d said and done for me was a lie, because she was a married woman sleeping with his trifling ass!”
It sounded one-sided, Malik knew. His mother had known exactly what she was doing and had used him as an excuse. Malik’s anger had not been spared on either of them. But at the end of the day, Jocelyn Kincaid was his mother. She was the woman who’d worked at Burger King at night and at the local supermarket during the day to keep a roof over his head. She’d sometimes gone without pretty dresses and shoes, so that he could get new basketball shoes or a new uniform for the team. There was nothing Jocelyn wouldn’t do for her only son, including betray her husband.
As for the coach, Malik hated the sight of him, hated the air the man breathed. He’d already received letters from Sanders and voice mails to his home phone, which he rarely ever answered. He couldn’t believe the gall of the man to come here and actually look for him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all this on you,” he said finally, sitting up and taking her hand in his.
“No. I’m glad you told me. I’m glad I could be here for you,” she told him honestly.
“I walked away from the NBA and the sport of basketball for almost two years. Then I figured that wasn’t really hurting anybody but myself. I had some of the signing bonus money left so I went to a financial investor and told him my idea of a nonprofit foundation. He set up everything for me and I’ve been running Hoop’n Stars ever since.”
“It’s a great program,” she told him. “I did some research and you’re reaching thousands of kids nationwide.”
He smiled because she’d given him this information so matter-of-factly like they were at a business meeting and he needed to be told how his company was faring. “You researched me?”
“Not you,” she said slowly, probably unsure of whether or not he’d be angry about that fact. “The company, because I wanted to see what other types of things you do and figure out if I could somehow help.”
Now, that was a surprise. “You want to help with the foundation?”
“I want to help girls like Kayla. She looked so sad that day. Then her team won and she ran off the mat and hugged me. I’ve never been hugged like that before.”
She was smiling and leaning into him, and he could see excitement brewing in her eyes.
“Anyway, I found out that her mother works all the time and Kayla just goes to the rec around her neighborhood to keep from being home alone. I saw her at the library the day before yesterday and she’s an excellent reader. She says her grades are really good in school, too.”
“Wait a minute. You’re contacting her without her mother’s permission?”
Belinda held up a hand. “I’m not stupid, Malik. I’ve always contributed financially to the libraries around the city, but last year I started going in one day a week during the summer for the youth reading program. The rec center brought the kids there on the same day I was there getting the schedule for this summer.”
“I didn’t know you read at the library.”
She nudged him and smiled brightly. “See, you don’t know everything about me.”
“I will,” he said, bringing up her hand to his lips for a kiss. “I want to know all there is to know about you so I can take care of you and—”
“Isn’t this a lovely surprise?”
This must be the week for interruptions and overheard conversations, Malik thought.
“Hello, Belinda. Your mother said I’d find you out here with your little friend.”
Malik had already been eyeing this guy with reserved interest. He hadn’t liked his tone from the first comment. The second one, including the reference to him being a “little friend,” was about to earn him an ass kicking. Coach Sanders had already ruffled his feathers, so it wasn’t going to take much to push him over the edge. With that in mind, Malik stood slowly and extended his hand in a gentlemanly fashion.
“Malik Anthony, and you are?”
“Patrick Masterson of Masterson Wholesale Foods.”
His grip was weak as he shook Malik’s hand.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Patrick,” Belinda said from beside Malik.
Her entire body had gone stiff, so he knew she wasn’t comfortable with this guy and he wondered why.
“I told your mother I’d be here, since she called my office a couple times to request my presence.”
He had the nerve to smile at Malik when he said that. This guy was truly a character, with his expensive tuxedo and sparkling diamond cuff links peeking from his sleeves. A couple inches shorter than Malik, Patrick Masterson had an early receding hairline that wasn’t helped by the fact that he tried to let his hair grow out. He had a thick, not muscular, build, but carried himself as though he thought that was the going preference these days.
“Then maybe you should go back out there to find her,” was Belinda’s retort. “We’re about to leave.”
With that said, she grabbed hold of Malik’s hand. Malik was just about to wish the jerk a good-night when he did exactly what Malik figured he’d do.
“This is the best you could do after me? If I’d known you were this desperate to go after some washed-up basketball player I would have stayed with you no matter how stuck-up you are. Your family deserves better than this guy.”
Malik felt his fingers releasing Belinda’s. He heard her whisper something like, “Let’s just go.” But he was so beyond that point.
With one step in Patrick’s direction, Malik took a swing and knocked the jackass a couple feet back, where he fell right into an ivy topiary draped in twinkle lights.
From behind he heard Belinda gasp. When he turned, it was to see her covering her mouth and Daisy Drayson-Jones making her way over to them, a small crowd following behind her.
Cha
pter 15
“I just cannot believe you would do this to me, Belinda. And what is he doing here anyway?” Daisy asked, flinging a hand in the direction of the doorway where Malik stood.
She and her mother were in one of the dressing rooms on the lower level of the Ivy Room. Patrick’s mother and father had helped him out of the bush and the bartender sent over napkins and a bucket of ice to assuage his broken nose.
“Malik is my date for the evening,” Belinda answered coolly.
“He’s your date? You brought a coworker to this important function?”
“Who would you have rather I brought, Mama? The arrogant ass that called me stuck-up?”
Daisy touched a finger to her temple, lightly because it would never do to mess up her makeup. “Lower your voice. Don’t you think we’ve managed to embarrass the family enough tonight? Or rather, I’ll say your little date over there has embarrassed us enough.”
“At least he was bold enough to stand up for me,” she shot back.
“What kind of juvenile response is that?” Daisy asked, her perfectly arched eyebrows shooting upward.
Her mother looked stunning in the beige-and-gold-taffeta gown. Her nails were done, diamonds shimmering; in fact, everything about Daisy spoke elegance, privilege, perfection.
But she wasn’t perfect. Belinda knew this for a fact. She’d let Lillian down by not becoming a baker, and she’d let her only daughter down by caring more about some crazy blown-out-of-control protocol and decorum code that most likely didn’t even exist. Belinda realized in that instant that her mother had taken—no, prohibited—much more in Belinda’s life than she’d actually given her. And that was not to be tolerated any longer.
“It’s the kind of response I’m giving you. Malik is a good man, regardless of who his parents are or where his family lineage lies. He’s a good man because he’s the one I want to be with. And I wouldn’t pick someone who wasn’t good.”
“Okay, whatever. We need to get back out there and smooth things over with the Mastersons. Patrick’s threatening to file charges against Malik and sue me for not having appropriate security to screen uninvited guests at this function.”
Was she serious? Belinda looked at her mother, wondering how this woman could be the daughter of Lillian Drayson. When did she become so distorted in her values and when did everyone else besides her daughter become so important?
“You go smooth things over with the Mastersons. They can go to hell for all I care.” With that said, Belinda lifted her dress so she wouldn’t trip as she marched across the room, heading toward Malik and the door.
“Belinda, you come right back here. I’m your mother!”
Belinda turned at that. “You are. But I’m my own woman and I’ll make my own decisions from here on out.”
* * *
He’d driven them to his place. Not for any specific reason but that she’d never been there before and he felt like going home. And he wanted her with him, without the distraction of her family or her things that she kept so neat and tidy, the routine of her normal life.
“This is nice,” she said when she walked into the living room from the front foyer.
As far as space, her apartment was bigger, but his had more furniture, more things, which said someone actually lived here. He’d noticed that about her place—the sparse decorations, the simplistic, almost sterile, environment. It was so simple and yet so intense at the same time. And when she was there, she’d been fighting for control. Malik had seen it and had wanted to make it better.
“Have a seat,” he told her.
“I want to look around first,” she said. “If you don’t mind?”
He shook his head and picked up the remote from the bookshelf. Malik supposed it was typical guy fashion, but he didn’t really care. For him, the remote that controlled everything in this room was for convenience and served its purpose marvelously. With the flick of a button he switched on the two lamps that sat on matching end tables on either side of his black leather couch. His carpet was a deep gray, the bookshelf, entertainment center and matching tables all black. On his walls every picture was framed in the same black-and-silver frame, the pictures were black and whites of different city skylines.
“I love Paris,” she said wistfully as she looked up at the picture on the wall behind the couch. “Don’t you?”
“I’ve never been. But I liked the picture.”
She nodded. “You always just buy what you like?”
“Usually. Well, after I could afford to buy what I liked, that is.”
“But you’re not with the NBA anymore, how can you... I mean, where...” She shook her head, refusing to finish her sentence. “Never mind. It’s not important.”
“Yes, it is,” Malik said. He’d removed his tuxedo jacket and slipped his hands into his pockets as he leaned on the arm of the couch. “To you, it would be important how I make my living. You already know where I work and about how much I make there. What you don’t know is that, as the first-round draft pick, I was paid a lot of money to sign with the NBA. Even though I couldn’t fulfill my entire contract, which was three years, I still walked away with all of my signing bonus and a good portion of the remaining contract. That was courtesy of a very good agent. After I left, I told you I met with an investor.”
“To start the foundation,” she said, looking at him intently, like every word he said was totally being absorbed.
“That and to talk about my future. I’ve made some pretty good investments in the last few years. So much so that I’m very comfortable, without the salary from the bakery.”
Now she looked incredulous. “Then why do you work at the bakery? I mean why do you stay there working for someone else when you could have your own bakery or anything else you wanted?”
“Maybe I like the scenery at the bakery.”
She smirked. “Come on, I may be new at this relationship thing but I’m not that naive.”
Malik chuckled. “You’re right. Baking is peaceful to me. It’s not the constant rush of running up and down the court, constant competing, constantly trying to be the best player. I can be creative and relaxed when I bake.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, that’s just the way it worked out.”
“All things happen for a purpose,” she said, coming to stand closer to him.
Malik couldn’t help it. If she was near, he wanted to touch her. So he did. With both hands he cupped her face.
“My grandmother says that all the time.” She continued talking as her hands moved to his arms.
“I hate that he hurt you,” Malik said, his thumbs caressing the softness of her cheeks. She tried to shake her head.
“I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to think about him. He’s an idiot.”
“And an ass and I’ll bet he’s rethinking saying another word to you after tonight.”
She smiled and everything inside Malik warmed. He loved her smile, how it lit up her eyes and added a glow to her skin.
“He’s thinking about pressing charges,” she replied.
“Let him.” Malik really didn’t care. To protect Belinda, he would take anything Patrick Masterson dished out, and anyone else for that matter.
“I’m sorry. This isn’t how I meant for this evening to end,” she told him.
“It’s not how it’s going to end,” was his reply.
He moved in slowly, touching his lips to hers in a soft whisper. “I’m going to make long, sweet love to you tonight, Belinda.”
Their lips touched again, this time his tongue brushing softly against hers. Her breath hitched, that tiny little sound that was like music to his ears.
“I’m going to let you make long, sweet love to me tonight, Malik,” she whispered against his lips.
And Malik smiled.
* * *
The blindfold was cool against her face at first and the loss of sight a little unnerving. But when Malik put his lips to her ear and whispered, “Trust me, baby,” Belinda’s heart rate
immediately calmed.
She was naked on his bed—which was a huge-ass bed for one person. His room was red. Yes, red, and it had been a shock to her the moment she had walked in and he switched on the lights. The walls were a deep, almost bloodred, the curtains sheer and black. Candles were everywhere as if this were actually some type of worship area. He’d laughed when she said that.
“The only thing I plan to worship tonight is you, sweetness.”
Was it possible to orgasm just from the sound of a man’s voice? That’s the question she’d asked herself when he said those words and she felt like her legs would give out beneath her.
He touched her arms, fingers moving softly over her skin before his lips landed quick, moist kisses on her neck and throat. She arched her back when he kissed her breasts, licking around each nipple so slowly she wanted to yell with impatience. He traced little circles with his fingers around her breasts, then along the skin beneath her breasts and down her torso. Everywhere he drew a circle he followed up with his tongue as if it were tracing the invisible lines.
Belinda felt each touch right down to her toes. When he turned her over she wondered what in the world he would do back there. Obviously there was no need to wonder. Malik had a plan.
His tongue moved along the line of her back, then his fingers traced there, massaging her spine until she moaned. She was startled when his lips touched her bottom, kissing along the roundness and down the backs of her thighs. When he traced a finger down the crease of her behind, she hissed. And when that finger went farther and farther until it was parting the moist folds of her vagina, she could do nothing but cry out.
He entered her from behind, his thick length pressing through the damp path prepared just for him.
Decadent Dreams (The Draysons: Sprinkled with Love) Page 15