Between the Sheets (9781476775807) (23 page)

“But dig, baby,” I say, gliding a finger along the side of Marika's cheek. “I'm out having lunch with my beautiful wife now. Why don't I have Marika hit you up a lil' later, aiight?”

I tell Nairobia to hold on as Marika gestures for the phone. The two of them chat it up for several minutes with Marika pulling out her own phone, then scrolling through her calendar. I take a sip of my sake as Marika tells her so far she has nothing planned for Friday evening.

Marika's gaze settles over mine as she slips her hand down into my lap. Her hand slides along the inside of my thigh, along the length of my semi-hard dick. She squeezes the head. Then one corner of her sexy lips curls in a half smile. I settle back in my seat and wait for the call to end, grinning.

Marika

Late in the afternoon one of my assistants cheerfully whisks into my office. “These just came for you,” Natalie says, her heels clicking against the wood floor.

I look up from the manuscript I'm reading and smile. She's carrying an exquisite large floral arrangement.

“Oh, my. They're beautiful.”

“Yes, they are.” She breathes in the bouquet. “And they smell delightful. Looks like you have made someone very happy. Where would you like these?”

“Sit them over there,” I say, pointing toward the Florence Knoll credenza centered in front of the window. “I wonder who they're from.”

“Oooh, let's hope it's a secret admirer,” she says plucking a small white envelope from the arrangement. She waves the card, grinning. “Ooh, lalalala. Look'a here.”

Out of all my assistants, Natalie is my favorite. She's intelligent, quick-witted, has lots of sass, style, and a splash of sophistication that most girls her age seem to lack. And aside from the fact that she's a sexy piece of eye candy, she's proven herself trustworthy over the three years she's been with me.

I take her in, admiring her flair for fashion. Today she's wearing a vintage arc-hemmed, shoulder-baring flower power tunic dress that clings to her hips and C-cup breasts.

“Save the secret,” I say, dismissively. “The
only
admirer I'm interested in is my husband. Hand over the card.”

She sucks her teeth, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Oh, what a dream killer. Where's the scandal in that? Here.” She pokes her lips out, sliding the card on my desk. “I'll be at my desk,” she says, heading for the door.

“Bye, Natalie,” I say cheerfully. She gives me a stiff beauty pageant wave. I shake my head, chuckling to myself. “Oh, you can leave the door open.”

I eye her as she walks out, then pick up the card from my desk. A light feminine scent wafts out as I pull out the stationary note card. My brows draw close as I read the cursive that flows across the card in black ink.

I still taste you on my lips. Still feel you deep in my ass. Thank you for making love to me like no other woman ever has. I'll never forget it or you.

—Anonymous

I blink, blink again, then reread the note for a second time.
I can't believe this! How did she even know where to send this? Easy, fool. Look who you're married to.

I shake my head. I don't want to make a big deal about the gesture. After all, the flowers are gorgeous. But this note card…what if Natalie or someone else from here had read it? Then what? Couldn't this bitch simply written a simple “thank you” for the other night, instead of being so goddamn descriptive?

I mean. Where the hell is the discretion in this?

Better yet, how about not sending anything at all?

Relax, Marika, girl. Don't blow this out of proportion. It's just a card and some flowers. Accept it for what it is and move on.

Just as I'm pulling out my cell to call Marcel, Shayla buzzes me. “Lenora Samuels is on line two for you.”

“Thanks,” I answer absently. Thoughts of this Anonymous chick start to take space in my mind.
What if she's a lunatic? What if this ho starts harassing us? What if she tries blackmailing us?

The last thing Marcel and I need is drama.

And that's why you never, ever, fuck anyone who doesn't have anything to lose.

I shake the unnerving thoughts from my head for the moment, clearing my throat as I pick up the phone. “Hello. This is Marika.”

“Marika, darling, Lenora Samuels here.”

“Yes, how are you, Lenora? Forgive me for not getting back to you. Life has been ridiculously crazy.”

“I'm fabulous darling. No worries. Now let's cut through the cheese and get right down to the meat, darling. You know I have no time for idle chitchat. The manuscript. You've read it. And you loved it, no?”

I can't help but chuckle at her brashness. “Yes, of course I did. And I loved it. I actually forwarded it to Andrea.” Andrea is the senior editor for our erotica imprint. “She should be calling you in a few days to discuss an offer.”

“Oh, fabulous. I'll be going to the prison later this afternoon to share the news.”

“Wait. I thought you said your client was released.”

“Oh, yes. She was. But she's had a minor slip-up.”

I blink. “
Minor
as in what? A traffic violation?”

“No, not exactly. She sort of violated her restraining order.”

I frown. “Define
sort of
, please. The last thing I want is to sign someone to…who hasn't been fully rehabilitated, or is mentally unstable.” I glance over at the floral arrangement, then down at the card on my desk.
I still taste you on my lips.
I flip the card over, cringing. “We don't need that sort of publicity here.”

“Oh, Marika, darling. Don't go getting all
Judge Judy
on me. It's simply a case of a broken heart. Heaven loves hard, that's all. And she has a hard time letting go. And, yes, she's a little extreme and, maybe, even a bit touched.”

Translation: she's fucking crazy!

“Then again, passionate is more like it. But she means well. And she has, as you've read, one helluva juicy imagination.”

“Well did she try to kill anyone, again?”

“My goodness, no,” she says, sounding appalled. “Since her last incarceration, she's against gun violence.”

I dramatically roll my eyes. “Well, that's a relief.”

“Yes. She stabbed her victim this time.”

My mouth drops open. She says this Heaven chick violated her restraining order by trespassing onto her imaginary—because he was never hers—ex boyfriend's property, then attacked his girlfriend, stabbing her in the chest and neck.

I gasp, clutching my chest. “Ohmygod!”

“So needless to say, she won't be available for any book signings for a long while, unless she can sign from her cell.”

Oh, she has got to be kidding me!
I lean back in my chair and shake my head in distress. There is absolutely no way I can consider offering her a book deal in light of this new information. Then again…

It had makings of a bestseller, girl.

She probably won't see a dime of it.

That's not your concern.

I clear my throat. “You know, I'm thinking maybe we should hold off on offering your client a contract until she's—”

“Now, now, darling. Let's not be hasty.”

I feel like saying, “Sweetie, being hasty is the bitch sitting behind bars.” I pick up my pen and repeatedly drum it against my desk, trying to wrap my mind around what I've been told. I can't. It's simply too much to digest.

“I'll tell you what. Let's not lose focus here. How about I give you a call the middle part of next week?” she offers as if she's trying to accommodate me.

“Sounds great,” I say as Natalie pokes her head through the door and says in a low whisper so not to disturb my telephone conversation, “There's a Marisol Rodriguez on line three for you. She says it's personal.”

I hold up an index finger and mouth, “Whoever she is, have her hold for a second.”

She nods, backing out of my office.

“Lenora, I hate to end our conversation, but I have another call. We'll talk next week. Okay?”

“Perfect darling,” she says, and hangs up.

I click over to the third line. “Good afternoon, Marika Kennedy speaking.”

“Hey,
mami
.”

My pulse quickens. “Excuse me? Who's this?”

“Ooh, is that how you and that fine hunk of a man of yours do it? Bring someone back to your suite. Fuck them real good and filthy, then forget who they are?”

I blink. “
Anonymous?”

“Yes,
mami
. Who else would it be? And before you get all spooked out. I promise you,
mami
, I'm not some nut case. I just want to make sure you got the flowers I sent. And to say, I'd love a repeat of last week's mind-blowing performance.”

Yes.” I frown, totally caught off guard while trying to keep my tone even, and my attitude from flaring up. “They're lovely. But it really wasn't necessary. Thank you.”

“Oh, I know it wasn't. I just wanted you to know how much I enjoyed—”

“Listen, Marisol, or if that's even your real name I—”

She cuts me off. “No,
you
listen. Before you start getting all messy. Let's meet for drinks tonight. I can be in the city around seven.”

I blink.
She can't possibly be serious
. “That's not a good idea,” I say, calmly. “But thank you for the invitation.”

She huffs. “Soooo, you're saying after the romantic night we spent practically fucking until the sun came up that you're too good to meet me for a drink now? Is that it?”

I blink. “Of course not. Not wanting to go out for drinks with you has nothing to do with thinking I'm better than you. It simply means we're not friends, nor will we ever be.”

“Oh, okay. If that's how you want it.”

“It's for the best.” I get up and walk around my desk, then shut my door. “Listen, Anonymous, I mean Marisol…” I pause, shaking my head. “That night…in all honesty, Mar
Sell
and I had a great time with you.” I sit back at my desk. “But it's no more than that.”

“Uh-huh. No worries,
mami
. Fuck the drunken girl, then act like it never happened.” She tsks. “Real classic.”

“Listen. We were all pretty lit up that night, but not to the point where we weren't aware of what we were doing. We were all consenting adults that night. So I don't want to sound harsh or anything, but I need to be honest with you. We're never going to be friends. Nor are we going to become acquaintances. So, there'll be no after-work dinner dates, or future late-night rendezvous.”

“Well, I don't want to be friends with
you
either. But I was hoping to get your blessing to keep
fucking
that fine husband of yours.”

My eyes widen. I am totally taken aback that this woman has boldly come out and tells me that
she
wants
me
to allow
her
to keep sleeping with
my
goddamn husband. All I want to know is, where the hell they teaching this shit at?

She laughs. “Ooh,
mami
. He has some delicious dick. And it's so huge. I thought my last
papi
's cock was
mucho grande
but he—”

“Excuse
you
?” I say, cutting her off. “Are you serious? You want
me
to give
you
permission to keep screwing
my
husband?”

“Well, of course. I don't see the big deal. Out of respect, I'm coming to you as a woman. Yes. I want
your
man,
mami
. I think we have something special. And I'm willing to share him for now. But eventually I'm going to want him all to myself. So get ready.”

Oh this bitch has got to be fucking kidding me?

I hop up, walk around my desk, stalking over to the credenza. “Oh, no, sweetie. Let's get something clear right here, right now.” I snatch the flowers from out of the vase. “You will
not
be fucking, sucking, or doing anything else”—I toss them into the garbage—“with
my
husband under any circumstances. Now I appreciate the flowers, but I'm going to have to insist that you not contact either of us again. Please. Respect our privacy
and
our space.”

“Oh, okay, then. I can take a hint. You're not interested in being friends. And you're not willing to share your man.
Your
man.” She laughs. “What a joke. But fine. I'll play nice. Keep him…I'll just borrow him.”

Keep him?

As if I planned on doing anything less.

“Oh, and no worries,
mami
, your secret is safe with me.”

I frown, placing a hand up on my hip. “And what secret is that?”

“That you and Mister Creepin' and Freakin' After Dark are a bunch of certified freaks. I'm sure you wouldn't want that getting out.”

I blink. “Well, of course I wouldn't. Discretion is of the utmost importance to us. And I assumed for you as well.”

“Well, of course it is. Lucky for you I don't kiss and tell.” There's a pregnant pause, before she says, “But don't cross me.”

The line goes dead.

I slump back in my seat as if the air is being sucked from my lungs.

Dear God…

Marcel

“Can you believe that
bitch
?” Marika hisses, kicking off her heels and removing her blouse. She steps out of her skirt, then stomps over toward the liquor cabinet. I absently lick my lips eyeing her ass bounce in her panties with each step. I imagine it's my tongue that's wedged in between the crack of her ass instead of them muhfuckin' laced drawz. I lick my lips again, shifting my eyes from her juicy ass to her silky legs, then back up. All I have on my mind is having them long, sexy legs wrapped around my hips, or one up over my shoulder and the other around my waist.