Pleasure In His Kiss

“I overheard you on the phone with her manager when I came to refill your coffee...”

Morrison opened his mouth to protest, to remind his niece that she had a physics test on Thursday she needed to study for, but thought better of it and held his tongue. He didn’t want to upset her again, but made a mental note to talk to her about the test later. He loved Reagan as if she was his daughter and wanted to raise her the way his sister would.

Sadness pricked his heart. Emmanuelle had been gone for years, but Morrison missed her more each day. He tried not to think about her untimely death, only the good times, but as he listened to his niece joke around with Karma his emotions got the best of him and tears filled his eyes. Glad he was wearing sunglasses, he blinked them away. Not only was Reagan the spitting image of Emmanuelle, she had his sister’s quick wit and her outrageous sense of humor.

“Please,” Reagan pleaded, clasping her hands together. “I’ll never ask you for anything again. I swear. It’ll be my birthday present, and grad gift all rolled in one!”

“If it’s okay with your uncle, it’s okay with me.”

Karma looked at Morrison, and their eyes locked, zoomed in on each other.

Pleased with her answer, he nodded his head in agreement. He spoke to Reagan, but his gaze was glued to Karma’s face. “You can go to the salon as long as you finish your homework.”

Reagan cheered. “Thanks, Uncle Morrison. You’re the best!”

Karma beamed, and for some strange reason Morrison felt prouder than a gold medalist on a podium. Reagan spoke, but he missed her question because he was busy admiring Karma. Her curled eyelashes, bejeweled lavender nails and colored extensions didn’t make her beautiful; it was her radiant smile and effervescent laugh that appealed to him. She waved, then turned and walked back into the salon, switching her shapely hips. Transfixed, he watched her every move. Wet his lips with his tongue. Groaned and grunted in appreciation.

“Uncle Morrison, snap out of it!”

Reagan waved a hand in front of his face, and Morrison blinked. Bolting upright in his seat, he put on his seat belt and started the car. Merging into traffic, he stepped on the gas and sped down the street. Anxious to get to his parents’ house, he switched from one lane to the next, passing slow-moving vehicles and teens cruising the block in their flashy sports cars.

“So, you like Ms. Karma, huh?”

Morrison coughed to clear his throat. “Who, me?”

“Yeah, you. Want me to put in a good word for you?”

“Nice try, Reagan. I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not going to let you change the subject. What you did last night wasn’t cool, and I’m very disappointed in you.”

Hanging her head, she fiddled with her gold thumb ring on her left hand.

“Prove to me you can be trusted, and I’ll give you more freedom.”

“Sorry about last night, Uncle Morrison. It was an honest mistake. Really.”

“I’m going to cut you some slack this time, but if you ever stay out all night you’ll never drive your Mini Cooper again.” Morrison opened the center console, took out Reagan’s car keys and handed them to her. “Remember what I said.”

“I will. Thanks, Uncle Morrison.”

Driving along Main Street, he marveled at how much the Hamptons had changed since he was a kid. There were high-end restaurants, salons and boutiques popping up every week, and Morrison couldn’t go anywhere without spotting the paparazzi lying in wait. Noticing a helicopter in the sky, which was the preferred mode of travel from New York for the very wealthy, he wondered who was flying in. In the summer, residents complained of the traffic, the noise and the party atmosphere, but Morrison was looking forward to socializing and networking with foreign businessmen and obscenely rich entrepreneurs.

“Can you please take me home? I’m tired, and I’d really like to chill out in my room,” she explained. “I’ll visit with Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow.”

He took a moment to consider her request. “Fine, but I don’t want anyone in the house. No friends, no loud music, and if you decide to go out you have to be home by curfew.”

She sighed deeply, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted in a frown.

“I know you think I’m hard on you, but everything I do is for your good—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. From now on, I’ll obey your every word. Now, back to you and Ms. Karma. When are you going to ask her out?”

Morrison kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Uncle Morrison, keep it a hundred.” Facing him, she tucked her feet under her bottom and tapped an index finger against her cheek. “You’re feeling her, and you know it. You were staring at her hard when she left. It’s a miracle you didn’t pop an eye vessel.”

Morrison wanted to laugh, but he wore a straight face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his niece this happy, and was amused by her jokes. The truth was out. He was interested in Karma, sexually attracted to her, but he’d never act on his feelings. His focus was on raising Reagan and advancing his career, not pursuing a feisty, provocative woman from Brooklyn.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he thought about his ex-girlfriend. Their relationship had ended because the anesthesiologist didn’t get along with Reagan, and none of the females he’d met in recent months appealed to him. They were all savvy career women with graduate degrees, but there’d been no spark, no fire. Morrison realized he had the opposite problem with Karma. Their chemistry was so strong every time their eyes met he wanted to kiss her, to stroke every inch of her body. There was nothing sexier than a woman who was comfortable in her own skin, and Karma moved with the ease of a runway model.

“Uncle Morrison, you have to bring your A game to win Ms. Karma over and, even though you play chess and watch CNN religiously, I have complete faith in you.”

Morrison scoffed, and Reagan giggled. He didn’t mind her poking fun at him, and chuckled when she started clapping and singing off-key.

“Uncle Morrison and Ms. Karma sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” Reagan sang, dancing around in her seat, her voice strong and loud. “First comes loves, then comes marriage, then comes triplets in a Gucci baby carriage!”

Wearing a wry smile, Morrison turned into his estate and drove up the driveway.

“Men are always hounding Ms. Karma for her number, so you have to come correct when you ask her out. And don’t be late for your date. Ms. Karma hates that.”

“Bye, Reagan,” he said, unlocking the doors. “Don’t forget to put on the alarm.”

“I will. Bye, Uncle Morrison. See you later!”

Reagan threw open the door then rushed inside. Morrison was pressed for time, but he sat in his SUV for a moment, thinking about his conversation with his niece. She’d promised to be on her best behavior, but Morrison didn’t believe her. To assuage his fears, he’d call Duane and ask him to check up on Reagan tonight.

Karma’s words came back to him, playing in his ears like a song. Mistakes are a part of growing up, and if you don’t give Reagan the room to fall she’ll never learn to fly. He’d disagreed with Karma that morning in her office, still did. He knew what was best for Reagan, and his job was to protect her, to make sure she didn’t make the same mistakes his sister did as a teenager. He’d convince Karma to fire Reagan, and when she did he’d show his appreciation—in the bedroom. Encouraged by the thought, Morrison drove back down the driveway, whistling to himself. Considering his next move, he broke into a broad grin as a plan formed in his mind. Karma was no match for him, and he’d prove it.

Chapter 5

“Girl, you’re lucky I love you, or I’d steal your rich, fine-ass fiancé right from under your nose!”

The bridesmaids cackled at the matron of honor’s outrageous joke, laughing as if they were watching a comedy special on the flat screen TV, and the bride rolled her eyes to the ceiling. The Royal Suite at the Four Seasons New York was so loud and noisy, Karma could feel a headache forming in her temples and took a deep breath to stop the room from spinning.

Scared her knees were going to buckle, Karma leaned against the padded armchair the bride was sitting on. For the past three hours, she’d been doing hair and makeup for the Tolbert-Lefevre bridal party—and discreetly blogging about it on her iPhone when no one was looking—and Karma was so tired all she could think about was taking a nap.

Her thoughts returned to that morning. The bride had called her in a panic at 6 a.m. because her long-time stylist had fallen ill and couldn’t do her hair and makeup for her wedding. Torn over what to do, Karma had weighed the pros and cons of going to Manhattan. She’d wanted to help the White House deputy assistant, but she’d planned to spend her birthday weekend partying with Jazz in the city. But when the bride agreed to triple her fee, and pay for two nights’ accommodations at the Four Seasons New York, Karma had accepted the job. Karma felt guilty for changing her plans with Jazz at the last minute, but she’d be a fool to turn down the high-paying gig. It had taken some convincing, but Jazz had agreed to meet her at the hotel after the reception, and Karma was looking forward to hanging out with her bestie tonight.

The gold wedding invitation card, propped up on the fireplace mantel, caught Karma’s eye. Everyone who mattered in the world of business, politics, entertainment and sports would be at the Tolbert-Lefevre wedding, and Karma was hoping to find some new clients. The Hamptons’ upper crust was starting to notice her, and it felt good. More than anything, she wanted Beauty by Karma to be a household name. That was the only way to honor her mother’s legacy. Her mom’s words played in her mind as Karma remembered happier times. You’re smart, and strong, and capable, hermosa, and you can do anything you put your mind to. You’re destined for great things, so walk boldly into your destiny—

“It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” shrieked a pencil-thin bridesmaid, throwing open the suite door. “Breakfast is here, ladies, so eat now or forever hold your peace!”

Giggles and cheers filled the air as the bridal party swarmed the lanky waiter and his cart.

“I’m too nervous to eat,” Antoinette confessed with a sheepish smile. “Last night at the rehearsal dinner, Winston fed me so much caviar and beignets I’m still full...”

Karma tucked her foundation brush in her vinyl makeup tool belt and picked up her water bottle. Taking a sip, her gaze wandered around the room. Bridesmaids were eating gooey pastries, snapping selfies and singing along to the R & B song playing on the Bose stereo system. The lavish suite occupied the top floor of the five-star hotel, and had all the amenities a guest would want. Eye-catching contemporary art, a champagne-filled minibar and a butler’s kitchen worthy of a celebrity chef. Ornate chandeliers hung from twenty-six-foot ceilings, and the windows offered panoramic views of the city skyline.

Determined to finish strong, Karma took a deep breath and got back to work. Blocking out the noise in the suite, she cupped the bride’s chin in her hand, and added waterproof mascara to her eyes. Karma had never dreamed of getting married, or being a wife, but she envied the forty-year-old bride from Long Island. Antoinette was living the American dream; she had a fantastic career, a supportive family and a doting fiancé. Karma had never been madly in love, or swept off her feet, and listening to Antoinette gush about her fiancé made Karma wish she had a soul mate too. Someone who would accept her in spite of her past.

For some strange reason, an image of Morrison flashed in her mind. At the thought of him, her mouth dried and her nipples hardened underneath her purple, silk shirtdress. Karma wondered how Judge Hottie was spending his weekend. Or rather, who he was spending it with. Since their run-in last Saturday at her shop she’d bumped into him twice. Once at the grocery store, and yesterday at the bank. She’d wanted to approach him, had even rehearsed what she’d say when they came face-to-face, but by the time Karma finished with the teller Morrison was gone. Not that it mattered. He thought he was better than her, so why waste her time flirting with him?

Karma added bronze blush to the bride’s cheeks, concentrating intently on what she was doing so she wouldn’t mess up, but Morrison consumed her thoughts. They were from two different worlds, and even though she was a successful businesswoman worth millions, she’d never be on his level. He had status and prestige, and she was a lowly stylist from Brooklyn; they didn’t belong together, and Karma had a better chance of winning Survivor than hooking up with him. Still, she lusted after him. She’d thought she was doing a good job hiding her true feelings, but when Reagan stopped by the shop yesterday after school she’d said, I’m glad you like my uncle, Ms. Karma. You’re perfect for him.

Karma shuddered at the memory. Mortified that her clients had overheard Reagan, she’d dragged the teen aside and set her straight, assured her that there was nothing going on between them. Though, deep down, Karma wished there was. She wasn’t looking for love, and didn’t want to get married or have children, but she was attracted to Morrison and couldn’t stop thinking about him. Thanks to Reagan, she’d learned some interesting facts about Morrison. He spoke Spanish fluently, loved fishing and horror flicks, and most shocking of all, he was an avid traveler who had been to more than fifty countries.

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