After Hours (27 page)

Resting a hand on her behind, Lance squeezed it gently. “There'll be no more honey dips until after we're married.”

“But I thought you liked it.”

He opened the door for Dina, waiting for her to sit, then came around to sit behind the wheel. “I did,” Lance admitted.

A slight frown furrowed Dina's smooth forehead. “So why do we have to wait?”

“I'd like to save it for our wedding night. That way we'll have something to remember for the rest of our lives.”

What Lance didn't tell Dina was that he'd thought he was having a heart attack during her fellatio session. The next day he'd called his doctor for a complete physical. He was still waiting for the results, but if or when anything happened to him, he wanted to make certain Dina would be provided for. Now that she'd accepted his proposal, he would have to contact his lawyer to draw up a will naming Dina Gordon Haynes as his heir.

“It will become a night to remember,” Dina crooned.

His hand touched her hair. “How long are you going to make me wait before you become my wife?”

“Not long, LL.”

He stared at her delicate profile. “How long is not long?”

“I'd like an autumn wedding.”

Angling his head, Lance pressed his mouth to hers. “You will have your autumn wedding. Don't make any plans for us for Sunday because I'd like to go house hunting. Where would you like to live?”

Dina sat, confused and shaken. Everything was happening too quickly. She'd agreed to marry Lance, and now he was talking about looking for houses. She would've thought that they would live in his West New York apartment.

“I like Upper Saddle Brook.” She'd fallen in love with the town when she'd gone there for her procedure.

Lance started the car and maneuvered away from the curb. His fiancée had selected an upscale community in northern New Jersey in which to live. It was an ideal place to live and raise a family.

S
ybil sorted through her sock drawer for a pair in black. “Dammit!” she whispered. She'd run out. Then she remembered she hadn't put up a load of wash in over a week.

This was when she wished she had a housekeeper, someone who would take care of the chores that kept a household running smoothly. She enjoyed doing her own housework because it provided her an outlet to work off tension, but lately she hadn't been as tense because Delectable was busy servicing E. Paul Redding every other night now that his wife had extended her European vacation a month.

She shut the drawer in the triple dresser, making her way to the armoire where Cory stored his underwear. Opening the ornately carved doors, she opened one drawer, then another. Cory always insisted on putting away his laundry, so she had to open and close several before finding the right drawer.

She found his sock drawer, then leaned closer to find a pair in black. They were arranged in neat rows in corresponding colors of brown, gray, blue and black. Sybil selected one in cotton. She preferred the natural fiber because it permitted her feet to breathe.

“What the hell…?” Her words trailed off when she discovered, bound neatly with rubber bands, a stack of betting slips. Upon closer examination, she found another wad of lottery tickets.

“The son of a bitch has been gambling behind my back!” she screamed. Not only was he gambling, but judging by the number of slips, he'd also been losing—heavily. “How much have you lost—or won—my darling husband?” she mumbled, continuing her monologue. If Cory Eliot Cumberland had been there, Sybil wasn't certain what she would do or say to him.

What saved Cory and their marriage was that Sybil had to go to work and later on that night she would morph into Delectable. Not only was he lucky but also blessed.

 

Sybil sat up, her back cradled against a mound of pillows, waiting for Cory to return from the bathroom. She didn't have long to wait. It took him exactly twenty minutes to shave and shower.

He walked into the bedroom completely naked. Her gaze caressed his lean, athletic body. She hadn't wanted to believe what she'd uncovered the day before. She'd ruminated about the excuses he'd come up with for throwing away his money until she felt like screaming. Her frustration escalated, and E. Paul Redding had become the willing recipient.

Cory smiled at his wife. “I thought you'd still be asleep.”

Sybil combed her fingers through her hair, pushing it off her forehead. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?” he asked, stepping into a pair of boxer briefs.

“Your gambling problem, Cory.”

Reaching for an undershirt on the bench at the foot of the bed, Cory pulled it over his head. “I don't have a gambling problem, Sybil.”

“You don't? I found a wad of gambling slips thick enough to choke a fuckin' hippo, and you tell me you don't have a gambling problem?”

Cory pointed a finger at his wife. “Talk
to
me, not
at
me, and don't you dare curse at me, Sybil.” He'd spoken through his teeth.

This was a Cory Cumberland that Sybil wasn't familiar with. She'd learned early on when dating that he abhorred confrontation and she'd always tried to appease him. “What do you expect me to say?
Cory, darling, it appears as if you've been playing the ponies. Is there something you need to tell me?
”

He glared at her. “Don't be facetious, Sybil, it's not becoming.”

“Losing our money isn't becoming.”

“It was my money.”

Sybil swept back the sheet, swinging her legs over the side of the mattress. “Your money, Cory? Since when is it just your money? I thought we were partners in this marriage. We share everything equally.”

Cory continued dressing, slipping into a pair of trousers. “That's easy for you to say, my dear wife, because you bring home three times what I make.”

“But you knew that before we married. I've never hidden what I earn from you.”

An angry scowl distorted his pleasant features. “Why should you, Sybil? You remind me every chance you get that you're the breadwinner in this family.”

“No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do, Sybil.” He waved his arms. “Take this house. We bought it with
your
money. Every stick of furniture in it was purchased with
your
money. Everything we have was—”

“Stop it! Just stop it, Cory.” A rush of blood turned Sybil's face a dangerous shade of rose-pink. “Please stop it.”

Cory closed the distance between them, pulling her gently to his chest. “Syb, baby, I don't want to fight with you.”

Sybil's arms went around his waist. “And I don't want to fight with you. All I want to know is why are you gambling?”

“I'm trying to win enough to start up my own business. I love what I do, but I want to work for myself. You know I've never been good at taking direction from someone else.”

Easing back, Sybil stared up into her husband's tortured gaze. “Why didn't you tell me this before? We have enough money saved for start-up capital.”

He shook his head. “I can't take your money.”

Pressing her palms to his back, she closed her eyes. “Yes, you can and you will. Besides, it's not my money but ours.”

Cory pushed her back. “I'm not going to argue with you.”

“Nor I with you. Either you take the money or…”

“Or what, Sybil?”

Sybil swallowed the threat on the tip of her tongue. “Nothing, Cory. Nothing,” she repeated as she walked out of the bedroom and into the adjoining bath. She had to get away from her husband or she would say something that was sure to end their marriage.

There was no way she was going to have a child with a man with a gambling problem. She'd grown up with an addicted father who drank until passing out. She'd had enough of addicted men to last several lifetimes.

D
ina found herself at a loss for words. She clutched Lance's hand like a frightened child as they followed the real-estate agent in and out of rooms in an estate home designed in classical French Renaissance architecture.

She liked one of the two properties they'd been shown earlier, but Lance's claim they were too small prompted the experienced agent to show them the updated chateau. What, she thought, did two people need with a house with nine bedrooms, eleven baths and a formal drawing room and dining room flanked by a butler's pantry? The master suite had a stateroom and his-and-her private spa baths. There was an upstairs laundry with access to a twenty-eight-foot lavish walk-in closet.

However, she was impressed with the openness of the house that claimed high ceilings, curved wall arches, columns and expanses of glass that made the formal areas grand yet comfortable. If she was a fairy-tale princess and Lance her prince, then the estate home was their castle.

The elegantly attired middle-aged woman turned and smiled at Lance. When first meeting him, she'd blushed, then gushed over him as if he were a celebrity. The encounter made Dina aware of the clout of the man she'd promised to marry and cognizant of Karla's reminder that she would do well to stay out of the spotlight as Mrs. Lancelot Haynes.

“Mr. Haynes, I know you're going to really love this area of the house. Here we have the grand salon with a giant fireplace and media area connecting it to the morning breakfast room and open kitchen. Beyond the kitchen is the conservatory and library, which are connected by the gallery.”

Lance exchanged a glance with Dina when they stood in the middle of the library. “What do you think, baby?”

“Do you think it's a bit much for two people?” she whispered.

“How long do you think we're going to remain two people? I want at least two little Hayneses,” he added when she gave him a puzzled look.

A shiver snaked its way up Dina's spine. Lance was talking about getting her pregnant, unaware that she'd undergone a sterilization procedure. “What if I can't get pregnant?”

“Don't worry, darling. We have options.”

“What kind of options?”

“Insemination or adoption.”

She forced a smile. “We'll talk about babies later.” If it'd been up to her, they'd never talk about children. Dina hadn't wanted another child because she thought herself incapable of being a good mother.

They left the library and stood on the balcony overlooking the grand salon. “You're going to buy it.” Her query was a statement.

“Only if you like it.”

What did he expect her to say?
Yes, I like it because you like it? Or no, I don't like it because, although beautiful, it's just too big.
Dina took a breath. This wasn't about her—it was about the two of them. The moment she agreed to marry Lance she'd stopped thinking only of Dina. He'd done everything possible to make her happy, and now it was her turn to reciprocate.

“Make her an offer, darling.”

Lance placed a hand on Dina's shoulder and slowly turned her to face him. His fingers trailed across her forehead, down her cheek.

Suddenly everything came to a wild stop inside Dina. Lance Haynes loved her! Curving her arms under his shoulders, she buried her face against his chest. They held each other until the agent returned.

“How much, Mrs. Beatty?” Lance asked, meeting the woman's gaze over Dina's head.

“Five.”

He shook his head. “Too high.”

“It
is
negotiable, Mr. Haynes.”

“How negotiable?”

“The owner's willing to go as low as four-eight-ninety.”

“I'll give him four-three-ninety—cash. That's my final offer.”

“I need to make a call.” Edythe Beatty reached into her handbag for her cell phone. She walked a short distance while talking quietly with her client. The owner had set a price of five million dollars for the house and the surrounding four acres of prime real estate, but she knew he would take the four million three-hundred-ninety thousand because a bad investment had left him strapped for cash. The call lasted less than a minute. “My client has decided to accept your offer.”

Lance gave the agent his business card. “I'd like to take possession before the end of the month.”

Mrs. Beatty nodded. “I'll make certain to expedite the closing.”

“We haven't set a wedding date, and you want to move in next month?” Dina asked Lance once they were back in his car.

Shifting on his seat, Lance turned to stare at her. “We probably won't move in before the end of the year. You're going to have to select furniture, then wait for it to be delivered. And that can take months. Once we're married, you'll move in with me.”

“What about my lease?”

“Don't worry, baby girl. I'll pay off your debts.”

Dina wondered how Lance would react if she told him she needed eighty-four hundred dollars to add to the eleven thousand six hundred she'd put away to pay off an ex-con threatening to hurt her supposedly deceased grandmother.

She wouldn't panic, at least not yet. Sparkle had an encore performance Friday night, this time at a bachelor party.