Читать книгу Pleasure In His Kiss - Pamela Yaye - Страница 12

Chapter 3

An hour after leaving Beauty by Karma, Morrison parked his silver BMW X6 at the north entrance of the Hamptons Sports Club and took off his seat belt. He grabbed his water bottle and iPhone from the center console, and exited the SUV. Starving, he’d stopped at his favorite downtown café on the way to the sports complex and ordered the All-American breakfast. He’d left the family-owned restaurant with a smile on his face, a pep in his step and a full stomach. Now Morrison was ready for his tennis match, and confident he’d win.

A grin claimed his mouth. Duane was no competition; his brother would rather play video games in his free time, than sports, and Morrison suspected the only reason he’d agreed to meet up with him was to get out of the house. A brilliant software developer, with a hearty laugh and jovial personality, he’d quit his corporate job in the city so he could start his own business and spend more time with his family. Although he worked from home, Duane often joked about being a “househusband,” but it was obvious he adored his sons and his pediatrician wife, Erikah.

Morrison retrieved his Nike duffel bag from the trunk, tossed it over his shoulder and activated the car alarm. The morning sun was overcast, filled with dark, fluffy clouds, and the air held the scent of rain. Approaching the outdoor tennis courts, Morrison heard balls bounce, cheers and groans, and the distant sound of pop music. The sports complex had it all, manicured grounds, knowledgeable staff and instructors, and an outdoor snack shop that served coffee, sandwiches and fruit.

Taking a deep breath quieted Morrison’s mind, helping him to relax. He enjoyed the great outdoors, liked seeing the birds, the towering trees and the peaceful, picturesque views. Hearing his cell phone buzz, he fished it out of his pocket and read his newest text message. It was from his mom. Morrison felt guilty for not updating his family about Reagan. He should have phoned his mom from the car, instead of daydreaming about Karma Sullivan, but for some reason he couldn’t get the salon owner out of his mind.

Morrison relived their conversation, dissecting everything Karma had said and done that morning. He was a great judge of character, could size up anyone in ten seconds flat, and he suspected Karma was a party girl who lived life by her own rules. The salon owner was a magnet, the kind of woman who attracted male attention wherever she went, the complete opposite of the females he usually dated. Still, he was intrigued by her, drawn to her. In her office, it took everything in Morrison not to touch her, and every time she looked at him he felt the urge to kiss her hard on the mouth. An hour after leaving the salon his body was still throbbing with need, but it was nothing a cold shower and a shot of Bourbon couldn’t cure.

Typing fast, Morrison comprised a group text message to his family, letting them know he’d found Reagan, and hit Send. The complex was crawling with sports enthusiasts but he didn’t see his brother anywhere, and wondered if Duane had changed his mind about the game. Morrison played tennis three times a week, regardless of the weather, and was proud of his undefeated record. A fierce competitor with a passion for the game, he’d do anything to win, and he wasn’t going to show his brother any mercy.

Strolling toward the tennis courts, Morrison saw children running around in circles, and a group of British nannies chatting in front of the water fountain. The women smiled and waved, and Morrison nodded in greeting. Glancing at his Gucci sports watch, he realized he was ten minutes late to meet his brother, and broke into a jog.

“Morrison Drake in the flesh? This must be my lucky day!” shrieked a female voice.

A brunette, in a red, lace-trimmed mesh dress, that looked more like lingerie than tennis attire, appeared in front of him, doing the happy dance. Morrison tried to move away but the woman was too fast. Pressing her body against his, she kissed him on each cheek. Her sickly sweet perfume made his eyes sting and his stomach churn.

Morrison thought hard. What was the woman’s name again? She was one of his brother’s fiancée’s friends, and he vaguely remembered meeting her at Roderick and Toya’s engagement party last summer. After a whirlwind courtship, his brother had popped the question to the twenty-five-year-old blonde from New Hampshire, and the couple were sparing no expense for their dream wedding. Roderick was an entertainment attorney who spent money like a Saudi prince, and the last time Morrison saw his youngest brother he’d bragged about booking Adele and John Legend to perform at the September ceremony.

“It’s so great to see you again, Morrison,” she gushed, her hand grazing his ass. “You look as handsome as ever. How have you been?”

Put off by how loud and aggressive she was, Morrison stepped back. He wanted to run for cover but remembered he was a Drake, not a pubescent boy, and gave a polite nod. Morrison couldn’t believe how bold she was, and searched the grounds for the nearest escape route. “Great, thanks, and you?”

“Better, now that we’re together,” she purred, coiling a lock of frizzy hair around her index finger. “Join me inside for a drink. I just finished my private lesson, and my Swedish instructor worked me hard this morning. I could use something cold right now.”

Morrison wore an apologetic smile, but deep down he was glad he had plans with his brother. Being one of the most eligible bachelors in the city certainly had its perks—single women dropped off home-cooked meals at his estate on a weekly basis, and he was invited to the best parties—but he was tired of pushy females propositioning him every time he left his mansion. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have a game, and if I leave my brother hanging he’ll be pissed.”

“I understand. Family comes first.” Batting her extra-long eyelashes, she rested a hand on his forearm and squeezed it. “I bet you’re an amazing tennis player, Morrison, so give me your number and we’ll play one day next week. I’d love that, and I bet you would too.”

Wrong again! He recalled how she’d bragged at Roderick and Toya’s engagement party about dating a married New York senator. The brunette was the kind of woman who only cared about a man’s status, and what he could do for her, and Morrison wasn’t interested in seeing her again. Turned off by her overconfidence, and her skimpy attire, he said, “I have to go. I don’t want to keep my brother waiting.”

“Not so fast, mister. You have something I want.” Sliding in front of him, she offered her cell phone, her eyes wide and bright. “Put your number in my cell, and I’ll give you a ring later. Maybe we can hook up tonight.”

He opened his mouth to decline her offer, but it was Duane’s voice that filled the air.

“Are we gonna play or are you gonna stand around shooting the breeze?”

Morrison was so relieved to see Duane standing inside court nine he wanted to cheer. Moving with the quickness of an NFL running back, he dodged the brunette, entered the fenced court and closed the door behind him. He’d come to the sports complex to play tennis with his brother, not make a love connection. Besides, if he wanted to hook up with someone it would be a sophisticated and classy woman, like Karma. He wondered whom she spent her nights with, was curious if the salon owner had a man—

Morrison scoffed, telling himself he was being ridiculous. Of course, she was dating someone. Women like Karma, with brains, charisma and booty, didn’t have one man, they had several, and he’d be a fool to pursue a woman who was playing the field. Not that he was ready to settle down. He wasn’t. He had his hands full with Reagan, and aspirations of becoming the youngest Supreme Court judge in the nation. Not to mention aging parents who needed his help on a regular basis. His brothers were busy with their careers and families, and since he was the oldest—and happily single—he was the one who kept a watchful eye on their stubborn parents. His father was recovering from hip surgery, and these days his mother was so forgetful Morrison worried about her state of mind. They could afford to hire someone to help them, but they refused, saying they didn’t want a stranger snooping around their waterfront estate.

“Did you get baby girl’s number?” Duane teased, wiggling his thick eyebrows.

“Yeah, and I’m going to save it in your cell under Side Chick.”

“Hey, don’t joke about things like that!” Shivering, he pressed his eyes shut and made the sign of the cross on his chest. “Erikah has a quiet nature and a sweet disposition, but if she thought I was cheating on her she’d bury me alive.”

“You better not, or I’ll help her dig the ditch!”

Duane gave Morrison a shot in the arm, then dumped his Cleveland Cavaliers backpack at his feet. Short and stocky, with dark skin and a salt-and-pepper moustache, he was often mistaken for Morrison’s older brother, and laughed off comparisons to their father.

“Ready to play?” Morrison unzipped his duffel bag and took out his tennis racket.

“Not yet. I need to stretch. Don’t want to break anything.”

Amused, Morrison watched his brother roll his neck from side to side, chuckling as Duane jogged in place for a minute, huffing and puffing as if he was climbing the Great Wall of China. Unlike Roderick, Duane would rather save money than spend it, but his workout gear had seen better days and Morrison couldn’t resist teasing the dad of four about his faded Nike T-shirt and nylon basketball shorts. “After our game, I’m taking you to the mall. You need some new clothes ASAP, bro.”

“Get out of here,” Duane argued, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “This is the outfit I was wearing when I met LeBron James at Rucker Park several years ago, and since it always brings me good luck you don’t stand a chance, Your Highness.”

Morrison chuckled. “Not today, Daddy-Daycare! I’m going to mop the court with you.”

Taking their positions on the court, they agreed to do practice shots to warm up, and took turns serving the ball. Morrison heard his cell phone ring from inside his duffel bag, but ignored it. He hadn’t seen Duane all week, and he was having fun talking trash and joking around with his brother. His family meant the world to him, and nothing mattered more to Morrison than spending time with the people he loved. Losing Emmanuelle had been a crushing blow, the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and at her memorial service he’d vowed never to take his siblings for granted again.

“Reagan called me a few minutes ago, and she was really upset,” Duane said. “You took her car keys? Why? She’s an adult now, Mo, and it’s time you start treating her like one.”

“Duane, she’s only seventeen. She still needs discipline and guidance and a strong, firm hand.” Needing to vent, he told his brother about his trip to Beauty by Karma and his argument with Reagan. Morrison couldn’t believe how much their niece had changed since he’d become her legal guardian. Five years ago, Reagan was a chubby seventh grader who loved Harry Potter and the Nickelodeon channel, and now she was obsessed with boys, makeup and social media. Worst of all, she was pulling away from him, and it hurt like hell.

“Mo, that’s the second time this month you’ve gone off the deep end, and I’m worried if it happens again, Reagan will leave for good, and none of us want to see that happen.”

“Duane, relax. Reagan isn’t going anywhere, and once she quits that stupid job at Beauty by Karma things will go back to normal.”

“I don’t know what your problem is. I love that place. Every time Erikah goes to get her hair and nails done, she comes home in a great mood.” Duane winked. “And horny as hell!”

“That’s the problem. A beauty salon is no place for a young, impressionable teenager like Reagan, and if Karma won’t fire her I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.”

“What are you going to do?”

Morrison wore a sly grin. “Use the Drake charm to get my way, of course.”

“You sly dog!” Duane caught the ball midair with his right hand. “You asked Karma to be your date for Winston and Antoinette’s wedding next Saturday, didn’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow. Was Duane out of his mind? Had he been drinking? Morrison would rather catch up on sleep than attend the Manhattan wedding of his childhood friend, but it was going to be the social event of the year, and he couldn’t skip it. Bringing a date was out of the question though. Born into wealth, the powerhouse couple had friends in high places, and political connections. And if Morrison wanted to achieve his goal of being the youngest person appointed to the Supreme Court he had to network his butt off, and everyone he wanted to meet would be at the wedding. “No way,” he said, shaking his head. “Karma’s not my type, and I don’t want anyone to think we’re a hot, new item—”

“Mo, get out of here, Karma’s everybody’s type. Who doesn’t want a smart, successful beauty on their arm? Shoot, if I wasn’t happily married I’d be all over her.”

“My focus is on Reagan right now, not hooking up with a feisty makeup artist.”

“It should be. In the fall she’ll be going off to college, and you’ll be home alone with nothing to do and nowhere to go.”

“Reagan’s going to live at home, not on campus,” he explained, nodding his head to emphasize his point. “Dormitories are dangerous, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“You worry too much. She’ll be fine. Quit stifling her, or she’ll rebel.”

Morrison scoffed, not giving his brother’s advice a second thought. “You know nothing about raising a teenager. Your kids are still in diapers, and they run you ragged!”

The brothers laughed.

“Go out with Karma,” Duane advised, bouncing the ball absently on the court. “It’ll be good for you. You need to quit hanging out at home 24/7 and get back in the dating game.”

Ready to start their match, Morrison dropped to one knee and retied his shoelaces. “Are we going to play, or stand around talking about the ladies for the rest of the morning?”

“Neither. Let’s go inside and grab a cold one. Erikah’s forcing me to do a thirty-day cleanse with her, and I’m craving a beer. And French fries.”

Morrison chuckled. “I’m glad I’m single. You’re a sorry case, D!”

“And you’re jealous,” Duane countered, wearing a proud smile. “You wish you had a beautiful, sexy woman to come home to every night.”

A vision of Karma dressed in a flimsy negligee and red-heeled pumps flashed in his mind. His thoughts took an erotic detour, filled with explicit images of the beauty salon owner with the silky, mile-long legs. Giving his head a shake, he tossed the tennis ball high in the air and smacked it powerfully with his racquet. “Game on.”

“Mo, take it easy!” Duane shouted, running for cover as the ball whizzed past his face. “I’m a father of four, not a ten-time Wimbledon champion!”