After Hours (7 page)

L
ance's gaze shifted from the two-story building with peeling paint on the second-story balconies to the woman next to him. The place she called home wasn't much more than a flophouse.

Dina realized she'd made a faux pas when she'd directed Lance to turn down the block leading to the motel. She wasn't in Brooklyn, where she could get out and walk past apartment buildings, brownstones and town houses to reach her public housing development. The motel was in an industrial area five hundred feet from a Home Depot, a Staples and a Sam's Club. The nearest residential area was half a mile away.

“What are you doing living—”

She put up her hand in front of his face, cutting him off. “Please don't ask.”

He glared at her until she lowered her hand. “Okay, Dina, I'll stay out of your business.” He'd only conceded because he knew when to advance and when to retreat when it came to women. “May I at least walk you to your door?” The motel wasn't in the best neighborhood and probably wouldn't garner a half-star rating even with a new paint job.

Her smile was slow in coming. “Yes, you may.”

Lance walked into the motel with Dina, following her down a hallway to her room, and waited until she unlocked the door. At least the lobby and halls were clean and well lighted. She handed him his cell phone.

“Thank you for everything and a memorable afternoon.”

He stared at the back of Dina's head, wondering why she wouldn't look at him. He actually didn't know much more about her than her name, age and that she lived in Irvington, not in a house or apartment but in a seedy motel. He wanted to know her marital status, whether she had children or where she worked.

More questions bombarded him like missiles: who was the man at the track who'd walked away with his approach? What was his connection to Dina and what had he said to her to make her cry? Lance knew his questions would remain questions if this was to be the last time he saw Dina.

“It was my pleasure,” he said to her back. Turning on his heel, he retraced his steps, walking away from a woman who'd stirred up protective instincts he hadn't known he had.

Dina stood motionless, watching Lance until he disappeared from her line of vision, then walked into the room and closed the door. The threat against her life had changed her. Two weeks ago she would've seen Lance Haynes as the perfect mark. It wouldn't have mattered if he was married or single because she would've pimped him for everything he had and walked away without a modicum of guilt. Her rationale would've been if he'd been dumb enough to let the head between his legs do the thinking for him, then he deserved whatever he got.

What she couldn't understand was that she liked Lance. But, then again, she was Dina Gordon, not Adina Jenkins—who would've messed him over royally. Lance Haynes didn't know how lucky he was that he'd escaped Adina Jenkins's clutches unscathed.

She slipped out of her shoes, sat down and reached for the cell phone in the drawer of the bedside table.

She checked her voice mail.

Her heart sank.

No one had called.

K
arla lay on a chaise on the shaded patio of the Oldwick, New Jersey home she shared with her husband, Ronald, sipping from a glass of iced green tea. Ronald had gotten up early to play doubles tennis with three of his fraternity brothers. He'd invited her to come along and hang out with the other wives, but she'd declined.

She probably would see the same women the following day at a cookout hosted by mutual friends. Interacting with some of the women for two consecutive days was not what she thought of as entertainment. There were a few women who didn't like her, and the feeling was mutual.

It felt good to sleep in late, lose track of time after she'd lounged in the Jacuzzi before eating a cholesterol-laden, calorie-filled breakfast—something she rarely did. It was Sunday, a day of rest, and Karla intended to do just that—rest.

Her gaze narrowing, she stared at a bird circling lazily overhead. She sat up and watched as it appeared to stop in midair, then fell out of the sky in a burst of speed, disappearing from sight. She waited, counting off the minutes, a smile parting her lips. The bird reappeared with what looked like a small rabbit in its talons. She wasn't a serious bird-watcher, but she recognized the bird as a hawk.

She loved the four-bedroom, four-bath house as much for its spaciousness as for the surrounding countryside. The million-dollar, forty-six-hundred-square-foot Colonial with an inground pool set on three acres of landscaped property with a nearby stream was surrounded by a wooded area that sloped down into a picturesque valley. She and Ronald lived far enough from their closest neighbor to walk around naked without anyone seeing them. Walking around without their clothes on was something they did often.

Reaching for her sunglasses off the table next to the chaise, Karla settled back on the cushions and closed her eyes. The cool breeze feathering over her body countered the strong rays of the sun. Ronald hadn't decided what he wanted to do later that evening, but if it were up to her, she would spend it at home.

She felt as if she'd just dozed off when she heard the chiming of the doorbell. Sitting up, she glanced at her watch. It was five-thirty. She'd been asleep for hours. Swinging her legs over the side of the chaise, she went inside.

She pushed a button on a closed-circuit screen built into a wall in the kitchen to see the face of a man dressed in a FedEx uniform. A slight frown furrowed her forehead. She wasn't expecting a delivery, so it had to be something for Ronald. Pressing another button, she activated a speaker device on the intercom. “May I help you?”

“FedEx, Mrs. King. I have a delivery for you from R. Weichert.”

A wide grin split her face. “Please hold on and I'll be right with you.”

He'd come through for her. Her former law professor, Judge Weichert, had expedited Adina Jenkins's name change. Opening a drawer under the countertop, she picked up a five-dollar bill from her household petty cash and made her way to the front door.

She signed for the envelope, gave the messenger a tip, closing the door before he could thank her. Sitting on a needlepoint-covered chair in the expansive entryway, Karla ripped open the envelope and examined the contents. She smiled. Rhys had given her three official copies of the birth certificate. It was apparent he was looking for something special from her, and she would give it to him.

Going into the space she'd set up as a home office, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the number to Adina—no, she thought, Dina Gordon's cell. The call was answered on the second ring.

“Hello.”

Karla smiled when hearing the tentative greeting. “Dina Gordon, this is Karla King.” She heard a soft gasp through the earpiece. “I need you to meet me in my office Tuesday morning. I have several documents to give you.”

“What time Tuesday morning, Mrs. King?”

“Is ten too early?”

“No. Ten is fine. I don't know how to thank you, Mrs. King.”

Leaning a hip against one of two rosewood-topped facing desks, Karla stared at the modular wall suite in a soft vanilla-bean color with shelves of books and photographs displayed behind glass doors.

“Now, you know, you've already thanked me, Ms. Gordon. I hadn't called you because I wanted to wait to see if my friend would come through for you. If he hadn't, then I would've returned your property to you.”

“Was it enough, Mrs. King?”

“Yes. It was enough. Enjoy your weekend and I'll see you Tuesday at ten.”

“Thank you again.”

“You're quite welcome.” A warm glow eddied through Karla when she ended the call. Ten thousand dollars was spare change to a woman living with the fear that each day might be her last.

Pressing a number on speed dial, she waited for Rhys to answer his cell. She wasn't disappointed when she heard his resonant greeting. His voice was like the man—powerful. “I got it a few minutes ago. Thank you, Rhys.”

“When am I going to see you, Karla?”

“You're going to have to let me know when you're available.”

“Let me check with my secretary on Tuesday to see what's on my calendar, then I'll call you.”

“I'll be waiting.”

“Who are you waiting for?”

Karla spun around to find her husband standing in the doorway, his white shirt and shorts a startling sensual contrast against his tanned honey-brown skin. He smiled at her, and like Pavlov's dog she felt the flutters followed by a gush of moisture between her legs. She pressed her knees together to still the sensations.

Ronald Thaddeus King had had that affect on her more than six years ago when she met his gaze across the room at a party, and it was still evident. They'd dated for five months, then married in a small private ceremony with Judge Rhys Weichert officiating.

The first time she slept with Ronald she knew she'd finally met her sexual soul mate. Not only did his sex drive match hers, but he wasn't timid when trying new positions or other methods of sex play that ended in indescribable pleasure.

Karla had openly admitted to her husband that she'd married him because of the sex; however, it wasn't the only reason she'd remained Mrs. Ronald King. Before they'd celebrated their first wedding anniversary she'd found herself inexorably in love with the man.

A
mysterious smile tipped the corners of Karla's mouth. “Rhys.”

Smiling, dimples flashing in his chiseled cheeks, Ronald King walked into the room, his gaze fusing with his wife's. Dark brown deep-set eyes caressed her face, moving sensuously down to her chest before reversing direction. The shape of her full breasts was ardently on display under a wife beater.

“Oh, yes, the Honorable Judge Rhys Weichert,” he whispered seconds before his mouth closed over hers. Capturing her lower lip between his teeth, Ronald suckled it. “Are you planning to see him?”

Karla put her arms around her husband's waist, pressing her breasts to his wide, deep chest. She didn't want to talk about Rhys. “Mmm!”

Ronald shifted his attention to her neck; he cupped her waist, wondering whether she had on panties under the blue-and-white-striped cotton drawstring pants. He ground his hips to hers when he felt the stirrings of an erection. “Is that a yes or a no?”

Karla threw back her head, baring her neck for his kiss. “It's an
eventually.
” Her breathing deepened with the hardening flesh against her thigh. “I'll let you know when.”

“You better,” he threatened softly. Every woman he'd slept with since marrying Karla knew, and vice versa. Ronald stared at his wife. She looked nothing like the lawyer who favored tailored suits and a chic hairstyle. She'd pulled her hair off her face in a ponytail. Wayward strands had escaped the elastic band to fall around her neck and over her forehead. The epitome of high maintenance, Karla King had a standing weekly appointment for her hair, her hands, her feet and a massage, claiming the massages were the cure for her tension headaches.

He'd always thought her more attractive than beautiful, yet that hadn't stopped him from pursuing the woman with whom he planned to spend the rest of his life. Five-nine and weighing one forty-five, she claimed the most incredibly toned body he'd seen on a woman. And in thirty-eight years he'd seen
and
had his share of naked women. However, it was Karla who complemented him in and out of bed. Both had an insatiable lust for power, luxury and unlimited sexual pleasure. But it was her intelligence, ambition and her willingness to take risks that made her the perfect wife.

Karla lowered her head and buried her face against the strong column of Ronald's neck. He smelled of sweat, cologne and man! He worked out every day in their home gym, running miles on the treadmill, lifting weights and bench-pressing twice his body's weight of two hundred pounds that was evenly distributed over his six-foot, two-inch physique. His crooked dimpled smile, delicate refined features and black silky close-cropped hair, eyebrows, trimmed goatee and mustache had most women—if they were normal—giving him a second look. One of the female attorneys at her firm had remarked that Ronald King had the face and body of a god, to which Karla had politely thanked her, then crossed the room to loop her arm through her husband's in a proprietary gesture that definitely wasn't lost on the others at the social gathering.

“What are we going to do tonight, darling?”

Ronald's hands slipped lower. He lifted Karla effortlessly until her legs were anchored around his waist. “Fuck,” he rasped close to her ear.

Holding on to his neck to keep her balance, she laughed softly. “I'm serious, darling.”

“So am I,” he countered. “Join me in the shower, and
if
you can still walk and talk, then we'll see about going out for dinner.”

“I'll watch you shower, but I'm not going to join you.” If Ronald was disappointed that she didn't want to share his shower, his expression gave no indication as he carried her out of the office, down a wide hallway and up the staircase to the second story as Karla rested her head on his shoulder. “I want to put in another fireplace.”

“Don't we have enough fireplaces, Karla?”

“Not really.” Her voice was soft, seductive. She didn't want to tell Ronald that she'd come into an unexpected windfall thanks to the generosity of the former Adina Jenkins. “I'd also like to host a July Fourth party this year now that we have the pool.”

Ronald entered their bedroom suite and carried Karla into his bathroom. When they'd met with an architect to draw up the plans for the house, Karla had insisted on his-and-her bathroom suites. Hers contained a powder room, a garden tub, a bidet and a shower stall; his had a steam room, a freestanding shower and a urinal.

When they'd decided to build the house, Ronald told his wife he wanted nothing to do with the design or decorating. This is not to say that Karla didn't confer with him beforehand, because he had to countersign checks for big-ticket items. His mantra of
Whatever Karla King wanted Karla King got
kept their marriage on an even keel.

Discussing the household budget with her was something he avoided at all costs because he and his three sisters grew up listening to their parents' incessant arguments about not being able to make ends meet on their salaries.

It was different for him and Karla because they'd decided not to have children. Another factor wherein both differed from their parents was that individually they earned six-figure salaries. They'd also invested well with stock portfolios worth several million dollars.

“If you want it, then go for it, baby,” he said, setting her on her feet.

Karla sat on a padded bench, watching her husband undress. She'd had the contractor draw up plans to put in an outdoor stove/grill and a stainless-steel sink in the expansive backyard, but now she could indulge herself with an outdoor fireplace. She'd fantasized about sitting outdoors in front of a fire in the cooler weather, and now it would become a reality.

Her gaze lingered on the muscles in Ronald's back when he leaned down to pick up his discarded clothes. She smiled. It'd taken a while, but he'd learned to pick up after himself. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd told Ronald that she was his wife, not his maid, even though a cleaning service came to the house twice each week.

“What do you think of having an outdoor fireplace?” she asked as Ronald walked in the shower area.

He hesitated, turning a faucet with a programmable thermostat. “What?”

Unconsciously Karla tucked several strands of hair behind her right ear. “A fireplace,” she repeated. “We can entertain outdoors until it gets real cold.”

A frown marred Ronald's almost-too-pretty masculine face. “You spend years decorating the house where you like it, and now you want to entertain outside year-round?”

“Not year-round, darling. Having an outdoor fireplace extends the time for outdoor entertainment. It would also save us sending our rugs out to be cleaned.” She'd covered her wood floors in the living and dining rooms with priceless hand-knotted Turkish rugs.

Ronald turned on the water, and streams of water from jets built into the tiled wall cascaded over his body from shoulders to legs. “Okay,” he drawled noncommittally. He didn't know why Karla wanted to talk about things that didn't interest him when all he wanted to do was make love to her.

“Okay what, Ronald?”

His frustration and temper exploded. “Put in the fuckin' fireplace.”

Karla froze, nothing moving except the rise and fall of her chest. “What the hell is the matter with you?” Her voice was low, ominous.

He glared at her. “I told you that I want to make love to you, but you keeping going on about inane bullshit!”

Rising slowly from the stool, she closed the distance between them, standing far enough back so she wouldn't get wet. Hands on hips, her eyes narrowed to mere slits. “If you didn't want to talk about it, then you should've said something.”

Cupping his hands, Ronald filled them with water and flung it at Karla. Water pasted the cotton to her chest, the outline of her breasts showing through as if she were naked. She looked down at her chest before her gaze shifted back to her grinning husband. His large, even teeth showed whitely against the black of his mustache.

“I don't want to talk about it. Okay, Mrs. King?”

Reaching down, Karla relieved herself of the wet undershirt. “No, it's not okay, Mr. King.”

“Whatcha gonna do 'bout it?” he said, lapsing into dialect.

“This.”

Her right hand shot out, she grasping his penis at the same time she stepped out of her pants. Ronald had guessed right. She wasn't wearing panties. He hardened quickly as they sank down to the floor.

There was no time for foreplay when Karla opened her legs. Her hand covered Ronald's as he eased his enormous penis into her vagina. Even after six years she hadn't figured out whether he was too big or she too small, but once he was fully sheathed inside her, the pleasure was always exquisite. They shared a groan and a smile as water flowed over them. She hadn't wanted to get her hair wet, but it was too late. She was wet, her hair was wet and her body was on fire!

Ronald slid his hands under Karla's hips, lifting her off the large blocks of tile for deeper penetration. “This is what I want to talk about, baby.”

Karla, closing her eyes, nodded. She forgot about the specs for her outdoor kitchen, the official documents she would hand over to Dina Gordon, the cash she'd secreted in a drawer in her walk-in closet and Rhys, whom she would meet at a Philadelphia hotel.

What she couldn't forget or ignore was the heat and then chills as Ronald's powerful thrusts swept her away to a place where nothing mattered except the two of them. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. Droplets of water shimmered on his hair and dripped off the end of his nose.

Passion pounded the blood through her heart as she struggled to breathe. Then, without warning, waves of ecstasy throbbed through her; she gasped as the pulsing between her legs swirled uncontrollably.

Cradling her hips with one broad hand, Ronald covered Karla's breasts with the other, squeezing them until her nipples hardened like plump berries. She was an inferno, her heat sweeping into him. He may have slept with other women, but it was his wife he always came back to. She wound her legs around his waist, her body meeting his in a savage bucking that sent shivers up his spine. He felt the familiar tightening in his scrotum. Throwing back his head, he bellowed as he ejaculated, the walls of her vagina milking him until he was close to fainting.

They lay motionless until their respiration slowed to a normal rate. As if on cue, they got up, washed each other's bodies, then retreated to the bedroom and fell into bed together. The sun had gone down and stars littered the sky when they got up and went down to the kitchen to prepare a light repast.

It was after midnight when they went back to bed to make love yet again.