Butterfly (10 page)

He’d spent days trying to remember every feature, every expression, but had failed miserably. Seneca Houston was a
chameleon, changing and becoming whomever she wanted. Last week she’d been a siren, silently beckoning him when he hadn’t wanted her to. And tonight she reminded him of a naughty schoolteacher or librarian with her conservative blouse, body-hugging slacks, sexy heels and bun.

And when the images of her long legs, sultry voice and sensual mouth had invaded his dreams, he’d awakened to find his thighs and the bed wet from his nocturnal emission. The last time he’d experienced a wet dream was as an adolescent. What he hadn’t been able to understand was why, at twenty-six, he’d reverted to a time when women weren’t readily available for his sexual pleasure and recreation?

All of that had changed once girls were cognizant of the scouts at many of the school’s home games. They rang his phone and doorbell and some were even so brazen as to try and seduce him in the hope of becoming his baby mama. His father had lectured him about the pitfalls of having unprotected sex, and he’d heeded his father’s warning. Not once, even when he’d been under the influence, had he not worn a condom when sleeping with a woman.

“Does it bother you that you make money because of your face and body?”

Seneca went still, only the rise and fall of her chest revealed that she was breathing. “No more than it bothers you to make millions tossing a ball through a hoop and net.”

“It’s different with me,” Phillip countered.

“Why, Phillip?”

“I never would’ve become a professional athlete if I didn’t have an exceptional physical skill.”

Pinpoints of heat stung her cheeks. “And you believe modeling doesn’t require any special skill?”

There came a beat of silence. “No,” he finally said.

“If that’s the case, then why can’t every man or woman
model? Models are not only selling garments but also their persona. We are taught how to walk and what our best camera angles are. Even before modeling became so much a part of our society, folks were into people watching. Watching not only what they wore, but how they wore it.”

Taking a step, Phillip dipped his head and kissed her cheek. “The only person I want to watch is you, Seneca.”

“Can we change this subject?” He obviously disapproved of her profession, and she didn’t want to continue to defend it.

Phillip increased the pressure, his mouth moving closer to the tempting curve of Seneca’s lips. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything but us,” she whispered.

“How am I going to get to know you better if you don’t talk about yourself?”

Turning her head slightly, their mouths inches apart, Seneca stared at the strong mouth that made her feel things she didn’t want to feel, emotions she’d forgotten existed when she’d walked away from the boy whom she’d believed she loved with all of her heart, body and soul; a boy to whom she’d offered her innocence in exchange for his passionate entreaty that he loved her.

There was something so strong in her attraction to Phillip Kingston that it was palpable, and she wondered whether it was because of his high-profile status as an athletic phenom, his eye candy appeal, if she’d been without a man for far too long or if she truly liked him.

She smiled, bringing his heated gaze to her parted lips. “You’re going to have to date me, Phillip. And I don’t mean you taking me out to dinner and then I become dessert when you expect me to crawl into bed with you.”

His expressive eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Is that the way it’s going to be?”

Seneca’s expression changed as she sobered. “That’s the only way it can be.”

Phillip recognized the challenge. Seneca Houston wasn’t going to be easy, and he liked that. It was why he’d told Booth he wanted Seneca in the Cadillac ad with him and then made the crafty agent swear an oath that he wouldn’t tell her that it had been his suggestion.

There weren’t too many things Phillip Park Kingston had been denied in his short lifetime. He wanted to become a doctor, and with a degree in premed he knew eventually he would earn a medical degree. He’d also wanted to become a professional basketball player, and that dream was manifested when he’d become a first-round draft pick for the NBA.

What he hadn’t known before meeting Seneca Houston was his definitive ideal when it came to a woman. She had it all: beauty, confidence, intelligence and a smoldering fire that appealed to his very healthy sex drive. “Okay, Seneca.”

“Okay what?” she asked.

“I’ll date you.”

Leaning into his length, Seneca pressed her breasts to his hard chest. Tilting her head, she brushed her mouth over Phillip’s. “Thank you.”

S
hrugging out of his jacket, Phillip draped it over the back of a chair at the table with place settings for two. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked Seneca as she emptied potatoes into a glass bowl. She’d opened the refrigerator, removing a cruet filled with what appeared to be salad dressing. She poured the mixture over the potatoes, tossing them with a large spoon.

Seneca shook her head. “Not right now. I have everything under control.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Phillip leaned against the countertop watching as she moved confidently around the kitchen. A platter with marinated steaks, a baking sheet with marinated asparagus and another pan with a mound of dough with a sprinkling of coarse salt, minced garlic, dried rosemary, grated Parmesan and drizzled with olive oil sat along the length of the countertop. Seneca moved over to the oven and turned it to a designated heating setting. Phillip was more than impressed with her culinary expertise. Not only could she cook, but she also made her own bread.

“How long have you lived here?” he asked.

Seneca crossed the kitchen, removed the bowl with salad greens from the fridge and placed it on the table. She also took out the vinaigrette to bring it to room temperature. “I moved in a little more than a year ago.” She smiled at Phillip. “I’d shared an apartment with three other students on Avenue C, but when I was given the opportunity to not only have a roommate but also my own bedroom I jumped at it.”

Phillip straightened. “You have a roommate?” He hoped her roommate wasn’t male.

She nodded. “Most times I forget I have one because Electra and I rarely see each other. She’s a full-time student, works part-time as a waitress, and she spends most weekends with her boyfriend when she doesn’t go up to Connecticut to see her family.”

Phillip, relieved that her roommate wasn’t a man, told Seneca that being an only child hadn’t prepared him for what he thought of as the pitfalls of dormitory life. “I grew up in a calm household, so having to put up with loud parties and people coming and going had become a problem, because I found I couldn’t study. I spoke to my parents about moving off campus and into a nearby housing complex, and because I was on full scholarship they agreed to pay the rent.”

“I’d read somewhere that you were premed, but where did you go to college?”

“UND. The University of North Dakota,” he explained when she gave him a questioning look. “And before you ask,” Phillip continued, smiling, “it was a bit of a shock going from Southern California to a state where temperatures sometimes dipped into double-digits below zero in the winter.”

“How about snow?”

He shook his head. “I never ventured off campus after it’d snowed because all I thought about was ending up in a
snowbank and not being discovered until the spring thaw. The landscape was incredible in the spring and summer.”

“Did you stay year-round?”

Phillip shook his head again. “No. I usually went back to L.A. I’d delayed going back home the summer of my junior year when I drove from Grand Forks to Fargo, then over to the Badlands. From there I went up to Saskatchewan, Canada. What I hadn’t realized until I was ready to check out of a motel was that I’d lost my wallet, passport and cell phone. The manager refused to let me use his phone to call my folks and contacted the police. The notion of being jailed in a foreign country scared the shit of me, so I convinced the police officer to call my coach at UND to verify who I was.

“It wasn’t until I impressed upon them that my passport had been stolen that they were galvanized into action. The police contacted the Canadian and U.S. Border Patrol to look out for anyone attempting to cross into the States using my passport because after 9/11 border security had been on high alert. Thankfully, Coach came through for me. He paid for the motel room with his credit card and flew up to drive me back to Grand Rapids because I didn’t have a driver’s license. I’d promised the cop who helped me that when I made it to the pros I’d pay for him to come to the States to attend a game, but when he told me he preferred hockey I pledged he would get two season’s tickets to every Minnesota Wild home game for as long as I remained in the pros.”

“Isn’t the Minnesota Wild an American hockey team?”

Phillip nodded. “It is, but St. Paul is closer to Winnipeg than Calgary, Edmonton or Vancouver.”

Seneca glanced up from stir-frying the potatoes that she’d marinated with balsamic vinegar, stone-ground mustard, red chili flakes, minced garlic and chopped rosemary in a large frying pan. “How far it is it from Winnipeg to St. Paul?”

“It’s a little more than seven hundred miles.”

“Seven hundred miles!” she gasped. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Who would travel fourteen hundred miles to see a game?”

A smug smile softened Phillip’s handsome features. “A real sports fan.”

“No, Phillip. That’s a fanatic,” Seneca argued softly.

“Where do you think the word
fan
comes from? Thankfully, I’ve been able to keep my promise these past four years because he didn’t have to make that call and I would’ve wound up with a criminal record. And there was no doubt I would’ve lost my scholarship.”

Seneca added a half cup of broth to the pan, covered it tightly and lowered the flame. Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked over to Phillip, leaned in and kissed his smooth jaw. “Did anyone tell you that you’re a very nice guy?”

Looping an arm around her waist, Phillip eased Seneca to stand between his legs, his eyes moving slowly over her face and committing it to memory. Now he didn’t have to dream about her. She wasn’t a specter, but real. Warm, breathing and his for the taking. Never had he wanted a woman as much as he craved Seneca Houston. Would he, he wondered, still crave her once they’d slept together, or was it because she was so unattainable that he hungered after her?

“Not lately,” he crooned.

“Well, you are, Phillip Kingston. You’re also a gentleman.”

His hands came up to frame her face. “What I’m thinking right now isn’t very gentlemanly, baby.”

With wide eyes, Seneca met his penetrating stare. “What are you thinking about?”

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, answering her question with his own.

“Yes, Phillip. I really want to know.”

“I want to…”

“You want to what?”

Phillip had stopped himself before he could say he wanted to fuck her. That was what most of the women he’d slept with wanted him to do. When they’d asked him to fuck them, he did. And when they’d asked him to make love to them, he did that, too. With Seneca he wasn’t sure what she’d want: fucking or lovemaking.

“I want to make love to you.” He’d decided on the latter.

Seneca felt Phillip’s heart, keeping tempo with her own. She knew he was as physically attracted to her as she was to him; however, she wasn’t going to jump into bed with him because he was basketball phenom King Phillip. It didn’t matter if Booth planned to market them as a couple. The decision as to whether she would or wouldn’t sleep with Phillip was hers and hers alone. Who and what she wanted to know was Phillip, and not the baller who ignited the arenas with adoring, rabid fans when he executed his dazzling three-point plays.

“You just may get what you want one of these days,” she said cryptically, “but you’ll have to—”

“I’ll have to date you,” Philip said, interrupting and completing her statement.

She affected a sexy moue. “Yes. Did I tell you that I’m now a BGM client?”

Phillip pulled her closer. “It looks as if the Barracuda didn’t waste any time signing you.”

“Does he know people call him that?”

“I don’t know, and I doubt if Booth cares as long as he makes money.” Phillip kissed the end of her nose. “I brought a bottle of champagne, not knowing whether you’d want to share it with me, but I think your good news calls for at least one sip of bubbly.”

Putting her arms around his neck, Seneca pressed a kiss to Phillip’s brown throat. She couldn’t believe he could look, smell and feel so good. Maybe it was her prolonged celibacy that made her respond to him like a cat in heat, rubbing against him, while using every opportunity to touch his magnificent body.

“Tonight I’ll have more than a sip.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” he teased.

“We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

Phillip chewed slowly, savoring the ingredients that made up the dry rub on the perfectly grilled rib eye steak. The flavor of mesquite lingered on his palate. “Damn, girl, I’m surprised some man hadn’t married you before now.”

Touching the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin, Seneca smiled across the table at her dining partner. “Why would someone want to marry me?”

“You’ve got skills—mad cooking skills, baby.”

She inclined her head. “I thank you and my father thanks you.”

Phillip cut another piece from the steak that had exceeded his expectation. He’d told Seneca he wanted his meat cooked medium-well and it was just that—medium-well. “I take it your father is a chef.”

Seneca picked up a goblet filled with icy-cold water. She’d alternated drinking water and sipping champagne, which had affected her within seconds of taking a mouthful. “Not professionally. He learned to cook after he’d become a merchant seaman.”

“Does your mama cook?”

“Yes. But she didn’t do much cooking before she married Daddy. Everything she knows she learned from him.”

Phillip raised his flute. “My compliments to the cook
and
her daddy. Dinner was superb.”

Following suit, Seneca raised her half-filled flute. “Thank you.”

“No, Seneca, thank
you.
”

“Do you cook, Phillip?”

He peered at her over the rim of the delicate wineglass. “The question should be
can
I cook. And the answer is hell no, even though my grandparents own a restaurant in Koreatown.”

“No, you didn’t say Koreatown.”

Phillip drained his flute and refilled it before topping off Seneca’s. “Yes, I did. If you come to L.A. you’ll see a City of Los Angeles Koreatown marker. The locals call it K-town.”

“Did you grow up there?” Seneca asked, eager to know more about the man sitting at her kitchen table.

“I did the first ten years of my life. It took that long for my parents to pay off their student loans and save enough money to buy a house of their own. Both my parents are doctors. My father is a microbiologist working on infectious diseases, while my mother is a medical examiner.”

“What will be your specialty?”

“Pediatric orthopedics.”

Seneca smiled. “So when someone calls Dr. Kingston they’ll have to identify which one.”

Phillip also smiled. “My parents had a problem with that until my mother decided to use her maiden name. She’s Dr. Park and my father is Dr. Kingston.”

“What will you be?”

“Dr. Park-Kingston.”

Picking up her wineglass, Seneca took a sip. The champagne made her feel sleepy, languid, as if she didn’t have a bone in her body. Her eyelids drooped. “When are you going to medical school?”

“I’ve decided to give the NBA another four years, and then I’m out.”

This disclosure made her suddenly alert. “Is Booth aware of your future plan?”

Phillip slowly shook his head. “No. And there’s no reason for him to know. Don’t get me wrong, Seneca. Basketball has been very good to and for me. It paid for my undergraduate education and it will pay for medical school. I’ve made a lot of money—much more money than I’d ever earn practicing medicine—but there has to be a time I have to sacrifice something in order to fulfill my dreams.

“My grandparents came to this country literally with the clothes on their backs and the address of a relative willing to take them in until they got on their feet. They worked sixteen-hour days in a family-owned restaurant while sleeping on a pallet in a hallway between the kitchen and bathroom. It took years, but they managed to save enough money to rent an apartment.”

“Did they still work at the restaurant?”

“Yes. My grandmother never missed a day of work. She took time off when my mother was born, but her goal was to buy the restaurant from her uncle. And she had one dream, and that was for her daughter to graduate from college. My mother was a very good student, graduating at the top of her class, and that was a first for a Korean-American at her high school. She got into Stanford as a premed student. That’s where she met my father. They managed to keep their liaison secret until Mom found out a month before they were to graduate that she was pregnant.

“To say all hell broke loose is an understatement,” Phillip drawled, smiling. “Both families declared war on one another, and while they were threatening to take the other out, my parents drove down to Mexico and got married.”

“Did they ever declare a truce?”

“Yes, but it took my birth to make them somewhat rational. While my parents were working on their internships and residencies, I spent the week in the restaurant with my grandparents and was shuttled to my father’s people on the weekends. Korean had become my first language, and then English. I’d become a black and Korean prince to both sets of grandparents.”

“Now you’re a prince to hordes of screaming women,” Seneca drawled.

Phillip’s expression changed, becoming a mask of stone. “I don’t accept everything that’s offered.”

She sat up straighter, meeting his angry gaze. “I didn’t say you were a dog, Phillip. I said what I said because you’re known as a sex symbol. Oh, come on now, don’t act as if you’ve never heard anyone call you that.”

“I don’t believe everything I hear.”

Seneca took a deep swallow of champagne, holding it in her mouth for several seconds before letting the dry wine slide down the back of her throat. “You and I are about to become the living Ken and Barbie of color, so don’t pretend that you don’t know what you look like. The difference between you and me is that I’m comfortable using my face and body to earn a living, while you believe it’s your basketball skill that has allowed you to become a pitchman for certain products. Don’t kid yourself, Phillip. It’s the fact that you are intelligent, articulate
and
certifiably eye candy that are the reasons Booth wants us together.”