by Shelly Ellis
Evan closed his eyes and tiredly ran his hand over his face, feeling a lot like Job. He also could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.
This was turning out to be a horrendous day. First, there was the argument with Charisse, now the yelling match with his sister. He glanced at his wall clock. It was only 9:24 a.m. He hoped the day wouldn’t get much worse. He didn’t think he could take another ten hours of this.
He walked across his office to the floor-to-ceiling windows and loosened his neck tie. He glared at his scenic view. The midday sun refracted off the Potomac River in the distance, making it twinkle. A few sail boats cut through the water. Watching the picturesque scene, Evan became lost in thought.
What had gotten into Leila’s head? First, she had crashed the wedding to ambush him; now she had decided to go to Paulette to beg about the foreclosure. It wasn’t Paulette’s job to clean up Leila’s messes.
He sighed and rested his throbbing brow against the cool glass.
Where was the Leila of Evan’s childhood—the sweet, honest Leila whom he had fallen in love with? Because he had loved her once, probably since the day when they met at nine years old at their small private school, where he had been a legacy student and she had been on a low-income scholarship. For all those years, he had only pretended to be just friends with her because he hadn’t had the courage to tell her the truth. But he should have told her he loved her. Maybe then she could have avoided falling for Bradley Hawkins.
Evan knew that slimy bastard was nothing but trouble, “a grade-A bullshitter,” as Evan’s father liked to say. Evan had noticed how the guy talked endlessly about himself and how Brad’s gaze followed other women when Leila wasn’t looking. Brad wasn’t worthy of Leila. Evan had tried to tell her as much, but she and Brad had gotten engaged anyway. And Leila had done everything and anything for her man. She’d made excuses for him and, sometimes, outright lied for him. But one day, she’d taken it too far. Even Evan couldn’t make excuses for her anymore.
The last straw had been when Evan’s father, George, was beaten and robbed at gunpoint one night coming home late from “the office.” (The truth was the old man had probably been leaving one of his mistresses’ houses.) George said he hadn’t seen the men who had robbed him because they’d been wearing ski masks, though he did say one of their voices sounded eerily familiar. But the identity of the woman who had driven the getaway car that the robbers hopped into after stealing his wallet was emblazoned in George’s memory.
“It was that bitch!” he had shouted at Evan after stumbling home, bloodied and furious. “That cunt of yours—Leila! I’d know her from a mile away.”
Evan had said it couldn’t be Leila. His father had to be mistaken, though George insisted that he wasn’t.
“It was her! I swear my life on it!” he had cried.
Evan couldn’t say for sure that his father was right, but he hated to admit that the allegations made sense. Brad didn’t seem above doing anything illegal to make a buck, based on the questionable “investments” he had tried to get Evan involved in more than once. And Leila had shown in the past that she was willing to lie to help Brad. Maybe she was willing to do a lot more than that to give her man a leg up.
It had taken lots of arguing, negotiating, and outright begging to get his father not to drive to the Sheriff’s Office and press charges against Leila. Evan had known that if it was his father’s word against hers, Leila didn’t stand a chance. Evan had considered it his last favor to her, the last thing he owed her from their years of friendship. After that, he wanted nothing to do with her. He hadn’t looked back since.
Leila had changed so much—on the inside, anyway. But on the outside she was still as beautiful and sexy as he remembered. When he closed his eyes, he could still see her smiling face, those bedroom eyes and her tempting curves. At the wedding reception, just a mere touch from her had sent his pulse racing.
Slowly, Evan opened his eyes again. A thought began to crystallize.
Leila faced a serious problem, but so did he. She wanted to halt foreclosure proceedings, and he needed and wanted the sexual comforts of a woman. Maybe she would be amenable to solving their problems together.
“So you’re willing to have an affair, after all?” a voice in his head asked. “Would Leila be up for that though?”
The old Leila wouldn’t, he argued in response, but maybe the new Leila would.
He wanted kinship from his wife. He wanted love and passion, but Charisse wasn’t willing to give him that. She made that abundantly clear with the contempt she showed him daily. He couldn’t see enduring such an empty existence year after year after year. He needed a respite, something to get him through the cold loneliness. But he couldn’t risk his reputation with a messy divorce either. So if he had an affair he had to make sure it was with someone who could show some discretion, who had just as much to lose if their affair was made known. Leila was going through a divorce and she needed to keep up appearances of being a virtuous wife and respectful mother. She would have to be discreet.
Maybe she would be willing to “help” him. It would be a business deal, after all—no different from the hundred other contracts he handled day after day. Instead of agreeing to purchase an office space or acquire a subsidiary, he would be agreeing to purchase Leila’s company for a few months. That’s all. Well, more like an exchange of services. She would fulfill a need he had, and he would find a way to end her mother’s foreclosure.
It wasn’t like getting a call girl he had never met before. He knew Leila and she knew him. This would be two adults engaged in a mutually agreeable business relationship.
The more he thought about it, the more plausible the idea seemed.
If there was anything Evan had learned during the years under his father’s tutelage, it was that sometimes, to get what you want, you had to think out of the box. You had to take a chance. This was as far out of the box as Evan could get—but he wanted to try it. Despite his growing distaste for Leila, he still wanted her.
“Joe Cannon was right,” the voice in his head argued.” You are changing.”
Maybe I am, he thought resignedly.
With his new plan in mind, he turned away from his office window and returned to his work for the day. Sometime this week, he would give Leila Hawkins a long-overdue call back.
Chapter 8
PAULETTE
Paulette adjusted the cups of her black balconette bra, then the lace bands of her thigh-high stockings and took one final look at herself in her full-length mirror’s reflection. She turned to her right, then her left, wondering if she looked more alluring than she felt.
“Positive thoughts. Positive thoughts,” she murmured to herself as she walked across the bedroom’s plush carpet in her satin stilettos. She seemed to be repeating that phrase a lot these days. But she needed to say it now to take her mind off of the argument she’d had with Evan that morning.
Paulette wasn’t sure what she found more infuriating, that Evan had told her what was going on at the company their father had founded was none of her business, or Evan’s inability to realize just how unfair he was being to Leila. Her brother was so proud and pigheaded sometimes. It may serve him well in the business world, but it made for a shit job in his personal life.
But Leila had to push thoughts of Evan aside for now and focus on getting herself sexy and ready for her husband, who was coming home on time from the office in less than fifteen minutes. Antonio not working late was a rare occurrence these days. She had to take advantage of it.
Paulette gave one final glance at their darkened bedroom. She had drawn closed the new curtains that Antonio had hung only a couple weeks ago and lit scented candles around the room, setting a few on the dresser and armoire. A trail of red and pink rose petals led from the door to the foot of their four-poster bed. A few were sprinkled on the gray Dupioni silk bedspread.
She hoped her romantic gesture would surprise him. It didn’t take much to get Antonio in
the mood, but lately her man had been too distracted or tired to climb on top of her and get the job done—so to speak. Maybe this evening, they would finally . . . finally make the baby she was longing for.
Just as Paulette closed the bedroom door behind her, she heard Antonio pull his Mercedes into the driveway. She ran as fast as her heels would allow down the second-floor hall, then down the stairs. She raced into her spacious kitchen and grabbed a few important items, then raced back into the main foyer just as she heard Antonio inserting his key into the front door.
“Welcome home, baby,” Paulette said in a throaty purr when he pushed open the door, giving no hint to the flurry of activity that had kept her occupied for the past hour and a half.
Antonio stepped inside the foyer and almost stumbled on the straw WELCOME mat when he saw his wife standing six feet in front of him in her lingerie with a can of whipped cream in one hand and bottle of chocolate syrup in the other. She strutted toward him and saw that familiar gleam in his eye that reminded her of the days when they’d first started dating. She saw the way he licked his lips and looked her up and down, like it took all his willpower not to throw her to the hardwood and make love to her right there.
“Either you’re gonna make me a sundae or tonight is about to get real interesting,” he murmured as he slowly lowered his briefcase to the floor.
Paulette wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, we’re all out of ice cream.” She then stood on the balls of her feet and nibbled his bottom lip before dragging it between her teeth. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t have dessert.”
He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. She could already feel his erection poking through his pants, nudging her insistently. “I love it when you talk like a porn star,” he whispered into her ear.
“Like it’s my talking that you love.” She kissed him again, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the staircase. “Come on.”
It was a challenge to get Antonio to the second floor. Every few steps, he had his hands on her, sliding one up her thigh or cupping one of her breasts. She playfully tried to fend him off but couldn’t while holding the chocolate bottle and the whipped cream can. Besides, the whole point was to entice him. By the time they reached the bedroom, whatever patience Antonio had had all but disappeared.
Good, she thought as they fell back onto their bed. We’re going to make a baby tonight if it kills us.
And if it did kill them, at least they’d die blissfully.
The garters went first, then the thigh-high stockings, next the balconette bra, and finally her thong. She straddled him and shook the whipped cream can. She then sprayed a puff on her nipples, down the center of breasts, and along her navel.
“Better lick it off before it melts, Tony,” she whispered, tossing her hair over her shoulder and setting the can aside on their duvet.
He instantly obliged, sucking the cream off her nipples until she moaned. When all of it was licked off, he grabbed the can and sprayed her again a little too eagerly, making a burst of whipped cream splatter their headboard. Some of it sprayed her in the eyes.
“Damn, baby, sorry,” he muttered as he wiped the cream off her face and she giggled with delight.
Only her Antonio could turn such an erotic moment into slapstick comedy.
But her giggles quickly morphed into moans and yelling when he sprayed her in between her legs and licked off the rest of the whipped cream with a tantalizing deliberateness that made her toes curl. Each stroke of his tongue left her writhing in ecstasy. When the orgasm hit her, she fisted their bedsheets in her hands and breathlessly shouted out his name.
Later, she treated his body to the same carnal play, using the chocolate syrup instead of the whipped cream.
“Two of my favorite chocolates,” she whispered before flicking her tongue over his left pec. She then followed the winding trail of chocolate lower until she reached his groin. She saw the abdominal muscles tighten as her tongue went lower and lower and lower.
“Stop torturing me, girl,” he groaned before she finally took him into her mouth.
Antonio shoved his hands into her hair as she licked and sucked the chocolate off his shaft.
“Aww, shit! Shit!” he shouted after a few minutes. “Oh, God!”
That was her cue. She licked the last traces of chocolate off her lips and pulled her mouth away. She straddled him again and lowered herself on top of him, feeling him glide inside her with a smoothness and ease she had grown to love. He grabbed her hips to steady her as she rode him. He then cupped her bottom, all the while rocking underneath her. Paulette closed her eyes and braced her hands on his broad shoulders, increasing the tempo and enjoying herself as he met her thrust for thrust. It didn’t take long for her to reach orgasm again or for him. After they both came, she fell on top of him, gasping for air.
They lay silently, both slick with sweat and sticky from the chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Paulette was content as well as optimistic.
We made a baby this time, she thought as she closed her eyes and gave a winsome smile. I’m sure of it.
A half an hour later, she roused awake in the dim light of their bedroom only to find Antonio still snoring beside her. She felt and heard her stomach rumble and realized that neither of them had eaten dinner. Paulette crawled off the bed, stretching and yawning as she went. She strolled out of the bedroom and down the hall to the floor below. As she walked down the staircase she considered making two club sandwiches and grabbing a bottle of wine when she halted in her steps. She caught the shadow of movement by the dining room.
Suddenly, her mother-in-law leaned her head around the door frame. “Oh, there you are?” Reina said, pursing her lips.
Paulette screamed before trying feebly to cover her nakedness. “Reina . . . what . . . what are you doing here?” she cried, clamping her hands over her breasts. “How did you get in?”
The older woman’s lip curled. “What do you mean how did I get in? I used my key!”
Paulette blinked at Reina in shock. “Your key?”
“Yes, my key. I came to make y’all some dinner.” Reina gestured down to the gingham apron she was wearing with the spatula in her hand. “You don’t seem to think feeding my son is a priority so I thought I’d make sure he got some proper food.” She looked Paulette up and down. Her nose wrinkled with disdain. “Judging from all that yelling you were doing, I guess you’re more concerned with other things.”
“Tony! Tony, get up, damn it!” Paulette screeched as she angrily swung open their bedroom door and slammed it closed behind her.
Antonio instantly startled awake. He rose from the bed in shock. “What? What’s wrong?”
“I just walked downstairs to find your mother cooking in our kitchen! Why did you give her a key to our house?” she yelled, making him wince.
“What do you mean, why did I give her a key? She’s my mama! It’s my house! She had a key to my apartment back when—”
“This isn’t your house, Tony! This is our house! Me and you! Not me, you, and Reina Williams! She can’t just barge in here whenever the fuck she feels like it!” Paulette screamed as she stormed across the room. She turned on the overhead lights and began to blow out the candles she had so painstakingly arranged around their bedroom. “Damn it, I hate feeling like a guest in my own home! She’s here more than you are!”
“So what? You want me to tell my own mama she can’t come around anymore?”
“No! That’s not what I’m saying! I’m just . . . she just . . .” She stomped her foot in frustration. “Tony, she saw me naked! She heard us . . . us fucking!”
“She wouldn’t have seen you naked if you wouldn’t have walked around the house with no clothes on! Anybody could have seen you through the windows! Come on, Paulette! Use your damn head!”
At those words, she went rigid. She glared at him. “What did you just say?”
“I said to use your damn head! Think for once!”
Paulette’s father had o
ften yelled the same thing at her mother when the two would argue at night when they thought both the mansion staff and the children had gone to sleep. But at the distant sound of raised voices, Paulette would wake up, creep out of bed, sneak down a series of hallways, and ease her parents’ bedroom door open. She would witness the arguments. Well, they couldn’t really be called “arguments” since they were almost exclusively one-sided. Paulette’s father would be bellowing at her mother, chastising her like some child, while Angela Murdoch sat silently and wept. Paulette had been so angry at her father back then and sad for her mother. She vowed that she would never let any man do the same to her.
“You enjoy whatever meal your mama wants to cook for you,” she said quietly as she walked into the bathroom. “I’m going out.”
She then slammed the bathroom door closed behind her.
Less than an hour later, Paulette pulled into the parking lot of her local gym, prepared to sweat out her frustrations on the treadmill and elliptical machine. She had changed into a sports bra, a no-nonsense tank top, and a pair of black stretch pants. She had scrubbed off all her makeup and pulled back her lustrous curls into a ponytail. With a resigned sigh, she climbed out of her cherry-red Mercedes Roadster and took out her small gym bag with her that had been sitting on the passenger seat. She pushed through the glass door of the gym seconds later and absently waved at her trainer, Daniel, who was leaning over another one of his clients—a plump woman who was grunting and huffing her way through lunges and squats.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” Daniel called out to Paulette as she passed him. “I’m not supposed to see you until Wednesday at 7 p.m.!”
“Just felt like doing a quick workout,” she mumbled as she strode towards the ladies’ locker room.
“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about! Get it in, girl!” he cheered with a fist pump before returning his attention to the woman beside him, who looked near collapsing. “Okay, just one more, June. You can do it!”