Pleasure Seekers (5 page)

M
arcus parked his car in a twenty-four-hour indoor garage a few blocks from Enid’s town house and strode along sidewalks that were crowded with people taking advantage of the unseasonably warm spring weather. A tall, muscular man dressed in black leather bumped into him, and he tightened his grip on a decorative shopping bag.

He didn’t break stride or offer an apology, remembering his mother’s warning never to make eye contact or speak to anyone whenever he informed her as a teenager that he and his friends were going to hang out in the city.

He’d grown up in New Rochelle, a northern suburb of New York City, the only child of an accountant father and math-teacher mother. The family joke was that he was born counting on his fingers and toes.

Marcus didn’t know if he’d inherited the special gene that made math easy for him, but he took full advantage of the skill which enabled him to decipher complicated mathematical equations in his head. He earned an accounting degree from New York University School of Business, graduating summa cum laude, and a subsequent MBA from Wharton.

He had no siblings, so he competed with himself, missing his goal to have his first million by age thirty by four years. That accomplished, he set another—five million by forty. As an equal partner in Pleasure Seekers and with an accounting client list that included record producers, video directors and his first hip-hop performer, he knew he’d realize that objective before his thirty-seventh birthday.

Marcus turned down the quiet tree-lined street with 19th century town houses and brownstones. The events of September 11 had changed the tony Battery Park neighborhood when many abandoned their historical houses until the air was declared safe enough for their return.

Enid had lived with him in his Pelham condominium for six weeks, and once she informed him that she was going back home he experienced a loss of companionship for the first time in his life. Their living together had offered him a glimpse of what it would be like to be married to her.

He rang the bell to the sand-colored three-story building, identifying himself after Enid’s sultry voice came through the intercom. When she lived with him he’d given her a key to his condo, yet she hadn’t reciprocated and he loathed asking her for one.

Marcus walked up the staircase to the second floor instead of taking the elevator, and as soon as he stepped onto the landing the door to Enid’s duplex opened. A quick smile crinkled the skin around his eyes when he stared at the woman who, when not at Pleasure Seekers, was a chameleon.

Enid closed the distance between them, put her arms around his neck, took off his baseball cap, pulled his head down and kissed him with a hunger that belied her outward calm. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered against his parted lips.

Marcus’s free hand cradled her waist, his fingers splayed over the band of exposed flesh under her skimpy tank top. “I’ve missed you, too,” he whispered into the fragrant hair tickling his nose. “What did you cook?”

“Gumbo with lagniappe.”

Marcus kissed the end of her nose. “Which means?”

“It’s an old Creole word for
something extra.
” She reached for his arm. “Let’s eat, because the shrimp get tough once they’re reheated.”

“Something for you.”

Enid peered into the bag he handed her. There were two bottles of her favorite white wine and a large envelope with Ilene’s head shot and résumé. “Thank you, darling.”

“I’ll be with you as soon as I wash my hands.”

Marcus walked into a bathroom off the living room. The sunny yellow and lime-green furnishings were inviting, the complete opposite of the bathrooms in the Soho loft. Enid had decorated her business space in Asian-inspired minimalist furnishings, while her home radiated the warmth and sensuality of the French Quarter. Most of the furniture, a mix of Regency and French Country styles, had come from her grandmother’s house, including an antique French painted chest and eighteenth-century French clock with a subtle banjo shape that had been appraised at mid–six figures.

If Enid ever decided to sell her share of Pleasure Seekers she’d still be a very wealthy woman. She owned the town house and charged exorbitant rental fees to the first-floor tenants for the prime location.

Marcus dried his hands, then climbed the winding staircase, which led into Enid’s gourmet kitchen where the intoxicating smell of piquant spices from the gumbo lingered in the air. Slowing his approach, he stared at Enid standing barefoot in the enclosed rooftop terrace.

He loved seeing her this way, bare feet and body-hugging tank top and jeans. She was sexier than women half her age. Once he’d discovered she was old enough to be his mother, it was too late. He’d fallen in love with her beauty, intelligence, passion and ambition.

She’d told him that she’d married well and handled her own divorce that left her with a sizable settlement. She’d moved from Palm Beach, Florida, to New York and set up her own law firm; ninety percent of her cases were divorces.

“M
ay I pour the wine?” he asked.

She smiled. “Please.”

Marcus and Enid ate in silence, enjoying the food, wine and the moment. The sun had set, taking with it the heat of the day, while millions of stars lit up the nighttime sky. The city was settling down momentarily before gearing up for a night of endless frivolity.

Marcus emptied the remains of the wine into Enid’s glass. The lighted votives on the wrought iron table cast a warm glow over her scrubbed face, which even without makeup, was ravishing. And it wasn’t for the first time that he wondered why he was drawn to an older woman.

“I don’t know how you do it, darling.”

“Do what, Marcus?” Her voice was lower, sultry. Whenever she drank, the timbre of her voice deepened.

“Prepare just enough for one meal.”

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging a bare shoulder. “I suppose it comes from not wanting to eat leftovers.”

“You can always throw it out.”

A scowl distorted her balanced features. “I’d never throw away food. That’s sinful.”

Resting his arms on the table, Marcus leaned forward and smiled. “Sinful?”

Enid’s frown deepened. “Do you think I’m not familiar with the word?” Not waiting for his reply, she said, “I grew up with nuns reminding me every day of my life that I was born in sin and that I had to fight against the evil forces that were determined to keep me from the kingdom of heaven because my mother had been a whore and my grandmother owned and operated a whorehouse. It didn’t matter how much she donated to the church. I was still tainted.

“I said my daily devotions, went to confession and prayed for strength not to succumb to the weaknesses of the flesh. I was told that vanity was sinful, so I grew up believing I was hideous until I went to college. Attending a black college gave me the confidence I needed to become a proud black woman. The girls liked me because I didn’t deny I was one of them, while boys who preferred white women could pursue me openly without the threat of being lynched because I was as close to white as they would ever have. So, please don’t talk to me about right and wrong.”

Marcus’s benign expression didn’t change. “It doesn’t bother you that you offer women to men for a price?” It had taken him two years before he’d morally accepted Pleasure Seekers’ raison d’être. He’d invested in the business because he knew it would make him a millionaire even though it went against his strict Baptist upbringing.

Lowering her gaze, Enid stared at Marcus through her lashes. “No. Once I understood the concept of free will I was able to absolve myself of guilt.”

“Do you ever experience guilt about sleeping with me without benefit of marriage?”

She made an attractive moue. “Never. You, darling?”

“Sometimes.” His answer appeared to surprise her as her delicate jaw dropped.

“Why?” The word came out in a whisper.

“Because I’ve been involved with you longer than I’ve been with any other woman in my life. I’m totally committed to you and our business venture, but there are times when I want permanence.”

“You think getting married would make you feel more secure about us, our future?”

“At times I do.”

“It’s either yes or no, Marcus.”

He hid his annoyance behind an expression of indifference. Marcus wanted to tell Enid yes, but to admit insecurity meant weakness. And there was no way he would give her that advantage. “No.”

Enid sighed. She did not want to get into a dialogue with Marcus about love and marriage. She loved him, but not enough to marry. She’d married once, and had no intention of repeating the act.

Reaching for the envelope Marcus had brought with him, she opened the clasp and took out a glossy black-and-white head shot. The dark face with the slanting catlike eyes was mesmerizing.

Enid met Marcus’s direct stare. “Do you think she’ll fit in? I’ve heard she has a reputation for being difficult to work with.”

“That’s going to be up to you to make her fit in. Her modeling career is over and she’s squandered her savings. She’ll do whatever you’ll tell her because the last thing she wants to lose is her Chelsea co-op.”

“I’ll watch her closely tomorrow night.” She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. “Are you ready for dessert?”

His former annoyance forgotten, Marcus smiled. “Yes.”

Pushing back her chair, Enid came to her feet. Marcus followed suit. He rounded the table and pulled her into a close embrace, his hands cupping her hips.

“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious, as usual.”

Resting her head on his chest, Enid counted the steady beats of his heart as she inhaled his natural scent that blended perfectly with his cologne’s subtle fragrance.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Marcus rested his chin on the top of her head. “When can I thank you?”

Easing back, Enid tried making out his expression in the glow of the flickering candles. “After dessert.” She threaded her fingers through his. “Come.”

M
arcus followed Enid down the staircase and into her bedroom where soft music played constantly. Tonight he did not mind the classical station once he recognized
Boléro,
Ravel’s hypnotically sensual composition that always reminded him of a man and woman making love, the haunting melody ending in a crescendo akin to climaxing.

A lamp on a corner table provided barely enough illumination to make out the four-poster iron bed draped in mosquito netting embroidered with tiny yellow butterflies.

They began their ritual: he took off his running shoes and socks, then removed her tank top; she removed his T-shirt. He removed her jeans, his gaze fused to her high breasts with the rose-tipped nipples before moving lower to a flat belly, slim hips and long, slender legs. He made a motion to slide her bikini panties down her hips but she stopped him, pushing his hand away.

Enid took her time unsnapping the waistband of his jeans, then unzipped him so slowly that if not for the music, they would’ve heard the sound of the zipper’s teeth. An audible gasp escaped her parted lips once she realized Marcus wasn’t wearing briefs.

“I decided to go commando,” he said close to her ear. “I wanted everything to hang loose.”

Slipping her hand into his jeans, Enid squeezed his penis, the flesh hardening quickly against her palm. Marcus’s fingers curled around her wrist, pulling her hand away.

“Slow down, baby, before you make me pop.”

Enid rubbed her breasts against his smooth, muscled chest. “I don’t want to wait.”

Pushing his jeans down his hips, Marcus stepped out of them. His mouth twisted as he sneered. “Wait, Enid? You’re a fine one to talk. How do you think I feel having to wait three weeks to fuck you? It’s not as if you can use the excuse that you’re on your period.” She’d admitted to him that she’d had a hysterectomy after a Pap smear confirmed precancerous cells six months after her marriage to the president of a major insurance company.

“I’ve had things on my mind, darling.”

His fingers tightened around her upper arms. “So have I. But that hasn’t stopped me from wanting to make love to you.”

Tilting her chin in a gesture of defiance, Enid met his angry stare. “Well, you have me
now.
”

“Yes—I—do.”

Marcus’s voice was void of emotion, and that unnerved her more than his thunderous expression. His hands moved down to the waistband of her panties, and in one strong motion he tore them in half. She stared numbly at the scraps of silk lying at her feet.

Her right hand came up, but she found her wrist impri
soned between fingers that tightened into manacles. This Marcus Hampton was a stranger, a man she did not know.

Her temper rose quickly. “Do it!” she taunted as high color suffused her face.

Marcus picked her up, swept back the netting and placed her on the cool sheets, his body covering hers. There was no tenderness in his kiss as his mouth ravished hers. His hands were everywhere—in her hair, on her breasts. Holding her wrists captive, he slid down the length of the large bed and buried his face between her thighs. His tongue searched for the opening and plunged in and out over and over until he felt the spasms seize her body, hold her captive, then release her to start all over again.

“No!” Enid screamed, biting down on her lower lip, loving and hating Marcus at the same time. She loved the sensations he evoked whenever he put his tongue into her vagina, but hated him because it made her helpless against his sensual assault on her mind
and
body. She wanted to release the desire that swirled like a twister moving over the earth, disintegrating everything in its path. Then, without warning, he pulled back.

Moving out from under him, she reversed their positions. It was her turn to punish Marcus the way he’d tortured her. She kissed him, tasting herself on his lips and tongue, easing her way down his body. Everything about her lover was clean and masculine.

He bellowed as her mouth closed on his engorged penis, sucking gently until she took as much of him as she could without gagging. Her tongue worked its magic, he rising
off the mattress at the same time as unintelligible, guttural sounds drowned out the music coming from the speakers concealed in an armoire in the adjoining sitting room. Enid licked, stroked and suckled, bringing Marcus close to ejaculation twice before changing tempo.

She gasped in surprise when he sat up and forcibly extracted her mouth from his throbbing flesh. Supporting his back against the headboard, Marcus pulled her down to straddle his lap. Lifting her with one hand, he guided her until he was fully sheathed inside her.

He set the rhythm, Enid following. Her respiration quickened as she closed her eyes and moaned softly.

It was no longer a battle of wills, a competition for dominance or control. They were male and female, man and woman, lovers whose love was deep, boundless and infinite.

Marcus cupped Enid’s hips in his hands, squeezing and pulling her closer as electricity arced through the nether regions of his body. He lowered his head and fastened his mouth to the side of her neck.

“Don’t mark me,” she screamed, but it was too late. Marcus’s teeth caught the tender skin at the base of her throat as he smothered a growl. She felt him explode inside her, and within seconds her body vibrated with liquid fire as she melted all over him. The pulsing went on and on until she collapsed against his moist body, her breath coming in long, surrendering moans.

Her lips, still quivering with a lingering passion, brushed his. “I love you.”

Marcus did not respond to her declaration of love. The
only time Enid told him that she loved him was in the throes of passion. When, he wondered, would she ever tell him that she loved him out of bed?

He held Enid until his heart settled back to a normal rhythm, then he eased her down to the mattress. Resting an arm over her waist, he pulled her closer.

“Thank you for dessert,” he crooned against the nape of her neck.

Enid smiled. “How would you like dessert every night next week?”

Marcus went completely still. “Why the change of heart, darling? Wasn’t it you that said you can’t put up with a man for more than two consecutive nights?”

“Don’t forget I lived with you for six weeks following nine-eleven.”

“That’s because you didn’t want to stay here. Would you want me to live with you for six weeks?”

Shifting, she turned to face him. “Why don’t we try it?”

He stared at her thoroughly kissed mouth. “Try what?”

“Living together. You don’t work the summers, so we can stay here during the week and go to your place on the weekends.”

Marcus gave Enid a long, penetrating stare. “Are you trying to fuck with my head?”

She placed her fingertips over his mouth. “No, darling. And please don’t curse at me.”

“Don’t tell me what to say, Enid. I’m not your son.”

“And I don’t want to be your mother, Marcus. At least not one who would sleep with her son.”

The seconds ticked off as they stared at each other in what was certain to become an impasse.

“Okay,” Marcus conceded. “We’ll live together this summer.” Lowering his head, he kissed her fragrant hair. “I don’t want to fight with you, baby.”

“Nor I you,” she countered softly.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes, darling.”

“I love you.”

Enid pressed her face to his chest rather than let him see the tears welling up in her eyes. He loved her and she loved him. But what were they going to do with their love?

She lay in bed with Marcus until he fell asleep. Then she left the bed and showered before returning to the kitchen to clean up the remains of dinner. The evidence of Marcus’s lovemaking was stamped on her body like a tattoo. The dress she planned to wear to Saturday’s soiree would have to be replaced with one that covered her throat.

Her expression brightened when she thought of one she’d bought in Hong Kong. It would be the perfect outfit in which to welcome her exotic jewels.