Читать книгу Sex In The Sanctuary - Lutishia Lovely - Страница 15

Cy was still smiling as he curled himself into his new toy, a midnight blue Bentley Azure. He was leaving City National Bank where he’d just met with his friend and business associate, Todd Green, a company vice president. Todd was the one who’d suggested that Cy get into real estate after liquidating his Internet stock and becoming an instant multimillionaire. So it was only right that Todd be taken to lunch with some of the one-and-a-half-million-dollar profit Cy had received from his latest real estate transaction.

You could barely hear the mechanism that neatly folded the Azure’s convertible top into its niche across the backseat. Cy hit the CD button, and the melodies of Boney James filled the air from a system whose sound was so pure it was as if Boney himself was playing his saxophone from the passenger seat. Cy leaned back as he smoothly navigated through afternoon traffic in Beverly Hills, turning west on Wilshire Blvd., and heading to his next meeting in Century City, another investment opportunity. Cy was mulling over this possibility as he pulled up to the traffic light and heard a horn honk. It sounded a second time and Cy looked around. Next to him was an attractive blonde in a black Jaguar convertible. She took off her sunglasses, flashed a come-hither smile and shouted, “Hey! Love the car!” She then reached into her purse, pulled out a business card and, as the light was changing, tossed it onto his front seat, saying, “Call me. I’d love to buy you a drink.” Cy glanced at the card before continuing through the light and smiled as he shook his head back and forth. Women, how they did come on. That was the story of his life from the time he was six years old and Gracie May had pulled her pants down when they decided to play doctor in an isolated corner of the playground at recess.

It was Cy’s first look at the female anatomy and his first knowledge that girls and boys didn’t look alike “down there.” He remembered being embarrassed and astounded before shouting out, “Look, y’all. Gracie May ain’t got no dingy!” That innocent admission had brought with it the attention of Mrs. Patterson, their first grade teacher, who marched over to the corner where they were “practicing” and asked the obvious, “What are you doing?” in a stern, commanding tone. By then Gracie May had pulled up her ruffled panties and tried to smooth her wrinkled skirt that had pieces of grass and a twig hanging on it from her lying on the ground. “Nothing,” Gracie had replied hastily, her head down, eyes wide and close to tears. They had to spend the rest of recess inside with Cy writing “I will not say bad words” across the chalkboard and Gracie penning “Pulling my pants down is bad” in her Big Chief tablet. He hadn’t realized that “dingy” was a bad word and thought belatedly that “thing” might have been a better choice.

Cy’s cell phone rang as he neared the large business complex that housed the Morgan Group where his meeting would take place. He deftly navigated the crowded parking lot and slid the Azure effortlessly between two cars near the front of the building. He punched the speakerphone button as he turned off the CD. The world seemed almost silent with the absence of Boney’s “Sweet Thing.”

“Cy speaking.”

“Hey, Mr. GQ. It’s Pamela.”

“Pamela! How are you?”

“Better now that I’m listening to that gorgeous voice of yours. Busy?”

“Yeah, heading into a meeting. Call you later?”

“You better.”

“I will. Goodbye.”

The top of the Bentley clicked quietly into place as Cy reached back for his briefcase. Pamela. He smiled at the thought of her. Pamela was a sweet lady, funny and ambitious. She wasn’t bad to look at either. And most importantly, she wasn’t a member of Kingdom Citizens’. That was a huge plus. Dealing with Millicent had taught Cy a valuable lesson in the art of dating as far as the Christian community was concerned—stay away from family. “Family” was how the members of Kingdom Citizens’ referred to each other, and with good reason. Derrick and Vivian worked hard to maintain a close, friendly, family atmosphere in a church that was nearing five thousand members. Fellowshipping with family was one thing; dating family quite another. “Too close for comfort” took on new meaning when it came to a failed romance with a person you had to see every week and worse, even work with on occasion. Not that Millicent was unfriendly. No, she was kind and as efficient as always when they worked together. But Cy knew Millicent still carried a torch for him—well, everybody knew that—and it made him uncomfortable. He had told her in no uncertain terms after just a couple months of going out that while he found her to be a nice person and beautiful woman, she was not the woman for him. He knew she’d been hurt by that revelation, but Cy didn’t want to lead anybody on and have her hoping for something that could never be. After that, even though he was propositioned weekly if not daily by women at the church, he decided to steer clear of that pasture and look for companionship in another field.

Not that his decision had stopped Millicent or other women of Kingdom Citizens’ and other churches from trying. Cy still received dozens of letters ranging from invitations for dinner to a “word from the Lord” about his future wife, usually the writer of the letter. One time it was a mother who’d written that she had dreamed about him and her daughter marrying. Cy remembered being tempted to reply to the mother and tell her to lay off the Tabasco before going to bed, but finally decided to ignore it and hope it and she would go away, along with the others. There had been more than one pair of lacy panties and other sundry items sent in packages to the church and more than one suggestive photograph. These all came from God-fearing, tongue-talking, bonafide daughters of the Kingdom. Then there was the photograph he’d taken innocently enough with a female member at a church banquet. The picture had been copied onto a piece of blank, lacy wedding stationery filled with flowers and bells and framed with a caption reading “Mr. and Mrs. Cy Taylor” at the bottom and sent to him, along with a letter of undying love from the woman in the picture who had knowledge from God Himself that they were to be married. Why hadn’t God told him? There’d been tickets to concerts, plays, sporting events and ski trips. One lady had gone so far as to purchase the plane tickets for a weekend in the Bahamas she was sure he’d enjoy. She’d even assured him in the letter that accompanied the ticket confirmation that he’d have his own room. How generous! And Mother Moseley was always bringing one nice lady after another up to him after church to “just say a Sunday hello.”

And then there was Millicent, always there, always trying to help—looking at him, staring as if to read his very soul when she thought he wasn’t looking. He wished she didn’t feel the way she did about him. Most men would welcome the attention that being Cy Taylor brought, and Cy would gladly give it to them if he could. He’d much rather enjoy quiet anonymity in the background with a lady intelligent enough to carry herself in a manner that invited being pursued. Being hunted brought Cy no pleasure, but being the hunter, now, that was another story indeed! As if thinking about her had conjured her up, Cy looked down at his caller ID and noticed Millicent’s number. It had forwarded from the phone in his church office, and had a 911 after the number she’d entered. No, Cy didn’t like being pursued at all.