The Pleasure Trap (19 page)

She laughed bitterly and her face lit with fire. It was the most beautiful and vibrant he had ever seen the woman before him. “Don't you dare give me advice on
my
marriage,” she spat, flinging the file over at him.

A corner of it hit his chest before sliding down his body and landing on the floor. He picked it up. His life story would not join Baldwin's in the safe if he could prevent it.

“I thought at the very least you would remain loyal since I paid for it, but I thank you for the costly lesson that I've learned. I thank you and I thank Baldwin—my two men—for teaching me that money matters not at all when it comes to you whorish motherfuckers being led by your dicks.”

Pleasure bit his lip to keep from reminding her that she frequently spread her legs to two men—basically giving him and Baldwin carte blanche to tag team the pussy.

“My husband didn't care about what all I brought to the table in our marriage, and you couldn't care less about everything I offered you for your loyalty.” She swiped away her tears with the sides of her hands. “This is a nasty little circle we all have going on here. The five of us: me, my husband and his whore, and you and yours.”

Pleasure was surprised at how quickly she struck his ire by calling Jaime out of her name.

“So that's where you've been spending all of your time this last month,” she said. “Ms. Jaime Pine-Hall and her little town house.”

She rose from the window seat and walked around the living room, touching items of splendor here and there. “You have a choice to make. All of this”—she waved her arm around the apartment and then up and down the length of her body—“or Ms. Jaime Pine-Hall.”

The protectiveness he felt about Jaime both surprised and disturbed him. Theirs was not a relationship built on concern and care. And for her to frame the ultimatum of Jaime versus Smyth was ridiculous.

Or was it?

He thought about the excitement he felt at just the thought of seeing her later. It all was too much like a relationship of sorts, because his gut said “Jaime” without hesitation.

That blurred line again. He had to fix it. Make it clear.

But for the more pressing matter at hand...

“I think we've run our course, Smyth,” he said.

“Really?” she said, her shock evident.

“I appreciate everything—”

“Spare me,” she snapped, striding to the door.

Pleasure stood up with the file rolled up in his hand.

“You must really love this Jaime Pine-Hall,” she said, stopping by the table to pick up his keys and remove the one that unlocked the door to the apartment. “You have twenty-four hours to get out.”

And with that she was gone.

 

 

She spun the knife like a top and watched it whirl on the polished floor. “Your life with
her
, Pleasure. I was fine with all your other bullshit . . . until
her
.”

“I never promised
anyone
forever,” he said truthfully.

I already do.

Jaime

 

 

Pleasure slid his aviator shades back into place on his face as soon as the Tahoe pulled to a stop outside his Jersey City apartment. He opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk before his driver could even come around to open it for him. As he did wait for the driver to retrieve his leather garment bag on wheels, he smoothed the pockets of the blue linen blazer he wore with a crisp plaid shirt and dark-wash denims. He checked the time on his Piaget watch and brushed his dreads back off his shoulders.

Thirty never looked so good.

“Here you go, sir,” the driver said, sitting the luggage on the sidewalk.

Pleasure reached for his billfold and pulled a twenty-dollar bill to hand the man. “Have a good day, sir,” he said politely, then turned to walk across the wide sidewalk before the upscale high-rise apartment building overlooking the Hudson riverfront.

He smiled at the white-gloved doorman as he entered the lobby with its Italian granite and wood finishes. It was a long way from the apartment he'd shared with his father in New York.

Gone were the days of his Jordan sneakers, track pants, and T-shirts. He hadn't worn one of those clinging dick sleeves in at least two years. Stripping was in his past. Too much work for not a lot of money.

He had just flown in from Los Angeles for a one-night rendezvous with an entertainment reporter for a major television show. These days his focus was on the list of high-profile clients he'd established. Bigger bank for the bang. Less miles on his dick.

And it afforded him a good lifestyle.

He rode the elevator thirty-seven levels up to his penthouse apartment—one of four in that tower. Entering his apartment, he paused by the door to take in the sweeping view of New York across the Hudson via the windows spanning from the parquet floors to the nine-foot ceilings. It almost reminded him of his apartment in Newark, but better. Much better.

Unbuttoning his blazer, Pleasure sat down upon his sofa and turned on the television as he browsed through the stack of mail he left before his spur-of-the-moment jaunt to the West Coast. He was barely able to make it through the endless bills before he dropped them and sat back against the sofa. Still, the days of him enjoying his work were fading.

He didn't know if it was reaching the milestone of thirty or whether his father's words of advice of choosing love over sex were finally resonating, but Pleasure was becoming more and more discontented with a life he should have been happy about.

He was paid very well to have sex with beautiful women. A lot of them. But still, only one woman remained uppermost in his mind. For him, one was always elevated above the rest.

Even if he hadn't seen her in over two years.

It was after he chose not to continue his affair with Smyth that he moved into the Bell Towers penthouse apartment and opened himself back up for business. His reasoning for that was twofold. He needed the influx of cash without Smyth's weekly stipend, and he'd discovered that his feelings for Jaime had run deeper than even he knew. That was something he neither welcomed nor wanted.

With that realization, he made very sure that things between him and Jaime ended.

Whether doing immature acts like walking out in front of her mother naked and asking Jaime if she was ready to have sex or boldly giving her best friends his sexy business card and offering them his services to “please,” Pleasure had lived in a world where his body desired her but his head wanted to push her away. He wanted her to be the one to tell him to go away because he didn't have the strength to do it.

The antics hadn't worked. Jaime continued to call for him, and fighting the temptation to answer her had been getting too great for him. Avoiding her calls hadn't worked when she sought him out at Club Trick, his old stomping grounds. He saw the hunger she had for him. He felt it too but he knew he had to end it.

She had gotten too close.

Pleasure shook his head, then let it fall back on the sofa. He made a small noise of regret as he recalled the night . . .

When she couldn't afford his rate, he had danced away from her and instead chosen a much older and far less attractive woman to take into one of the private rooms, purposely leaving Jaime and her shattered ego behind. Truth be told, he had just given the woman a dance, accepted her tip, and sent her on her way, not even returning to the floor to continue work.

It took everything in him not to call Jaime and tell her the truth, but he didn't. That line had blurred so many times that now it was beyond repair. The last thing he wanted to do was fall in love back then.

Today?

Pleasure rose from the sofa and crossed the parquet floors to stand at his window and look out at the sun reflecting against the water. He couldn't say that he loved Jaime—he'd pushed back from her before that happened—but after two years he still missed her. Still wanted her. And was even curious about her life.

Reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer, he pulled out his iPhone and dialed her number, not at all surprised that he remembered it well. His heart hammered and he paced a bit as it rang. He felt nervous and unsure.

“Hello.”

He stopped pacing and his head dropped as his pulse raced.

“Hello,” she repeated.

“Jaime. Hi. It's me. It's Pleasure,” he said, shifting on his feet so that he faced the window.

“You have the wrong number,” a teenage girl snapped before ending the call.

Pleasure's brows furrowed as he double-checked that he had not misdialed. He hadn't.
Shit.

Sliding the phone back inside his pocket, he felt disappointed.

What was he going to say? “Hey, I just wanted to reminisce over how you used to pay me to fuck you?”

Shaking his head and releasing a breath, he walked out of the living room and headed down the hall to his master bedroom. Halfway across the length of it, he turned and retraced his steps. He snatched up his keys and left the apartment.

As he rode the elevator down to the lobby and exited into the parking garage, he wondered if he had lost just a little bit of his mind. His father's words came back to him. He could remember them well.

Pleasure had indeed become so preoccupied with avoiding love and filling his days with these fleeting moments with women too numerous to count that he had no one to truly share his life with. His dick? Yes.

He unlocked his black convertible Jag and climbed in easily. “What the fuck am I doing?” he wondered aloud as he reversed out of his reserved parking spot and accelerated out of the deck and onto the Jersey City streets.

During the entire hour-long drive, Pleasure tried to convince himself that his impulses were not leading him astray.
Fuck it. What's the worst that could happen?

Slowing down the vehicle, he waited for traffic to pass and made the left turn into the Richmond Hills gated community. He forced his body to relax as he pulled up to the security booth and lowered the window when the portly red-faced guard came out of the booth.

“Good afternoon. Does Jaime Hall still live here?” he asked, squinting his eyes against the sun as he remembered he'd left his shades back at his apartment.

The guard, whose tag read
Lucky
, nodded. “Yes sir, she does,” he said. “I can call her and request permission for you to enter. What's your name?”

“Pleasure.”

Lucky did a double take at his name before he entered the booth and picked up the phone.

Those and a dozen more questions rapidly flew as he fought hard to breathe and maintain his usual cool composure. “What the fuck was I thinking?” he asked, his eyes shifting up to his rearview mirror before looking over at Lucky just as the portly man glanced over at him as he continued to speak on the phone.

Pleasure shifted in his seat when the guard finally left the booth.

“Go right in, sir,” Lucky said.

Pleasure waved to him and raised his window; all the while his heart was beating so loudly that he could see himself having a heart attack. He couldn't deny that he was pleased and surprised that she'd allowed him entrance back into her life, even if for just a little bit.

As he drove around the curve and enjoyed the sight of the landscaped grounds, he recalled the very last time he had come to Richmond Hills. He couldn't remember the name of Jaime's neighbor who'd called him to her home under the guise of buying his dick but had used him to embarrass Jaime in front of her neighbors and attendees of her husband's funeral.

Pleasure threw his hands up at all the drama that had unfolded behind the wrought-iron gate. It was just like he always said. It was the places of seeming perfection that hid so much unhappiness.

He didn't know all the details, just the little bit Jaime divulged to him in between hot sex and whatever stories the national news reported, but he knew enough that he hated he was involved in all the drama on even a minute level.

A vengeful mistress who betrayed her friend with a lover who turned right around and stalked her when she tried to end things because he broke his promise to leave his wife for her. A text message. Angry friends and neighbors. A suicide/ murder attempt. Pregnancy. Lawsuits. Publicity. Book deals. Speaking engagement. Jessa Bell had ridden the wave of her infamy.

“That's right, Jessa Bell,” he said as he turned down the final curve in the paved road before reaching the street Jaime lived on. “How the hell could I forget a name like Jessa Bell?”

As he pulled up and parked outside Jaime's house, he looked up the street to the house where drama once lived. There was a white couple sitting outside watching their toddler play, and so he knew Jessa Bell had moved on. Still, after all the hoopla, he knew her actions had to leave a stain on the community.

He climbed from the car and adjusted his clothing before he stepped up onto the sidewalk and climbed the stairs to her front door. He had knocked just once before it opened. Taking a step back, he steeled himself for whatever reaction she gave him.

“Mikel,” Jaime said, offering him a smile.

“Graham. Graham Walker,” he offered, as his eyes took her in. She hadn't changed a bit. She was still beautiful.

“So your name isn't Mikel?” she asked, leaning in the doorframe as she looked up at him with her arms crossed over her ample chest.

“No,” he admitted, barely able to stop smiling.

“It's been a long time.”

“Too long,” he countered.

She shrugged one shoulder.

“You married?” he asked, his eyes locked with hers.

“Definitely not,” Jaime stressed, brushing her long bangs from her forehead to tuck behind her ear.

Pleasure nodded and licked his lips as he gave her a slow once-over that missed not one detail of her curvy body in the strapless maxi dress she wore. The peach color looked breathtaking against her light brown complexion. “You look good, Jaime. Damn good,” he said, his voice even more deepened by his appreciation.

Her mouth opened a little and he knew it was a small intake of breath. “Why are you here, Pleasure?” she asked.

He wondered if she felt that familiar hum of their chemistry building in intensity around them like an orchestra's crescendo. “I missed you,” he said honestly.

“Really?” she asked in disbelief.

“I missed you,” he repeated again, his voice softer.

“Pleasure,” Jaime said, pushing up off the frame to eye him.

“I missed the hell out of you,” he said with one bold step.

Jaime's hand came up to rest lightly against her throat, and he knew from the look in her eyes that she could feel her pulse pounding just as hard as he could feel his. “Pleasure, this is crazy—”

He shook his head as he took another step to enter her personal zone. “This is undeniable. Always has been,” he said, reaching to jerk her body up against his. “You haven't thought about me—about
this
—in all these years?”

She opened her mouth but no words came out.

“I'm sorry I came,” he said, stepping back from her before he turned to walk away. “I'll go.”

“No.”

He smiled at the feel of her hand on his arm. Turning, he picked her up and wrapped his arms around her tightly as he pressed his face against her neck and placed kisses against her pounding pulse that caused her to shiver as she released a small cry of passion.

He walked them into her house and closed the door with his foot decisively.

 

 

“How much do I owe you?”

Pleasure lifted his upper arm from across his eyes and looked up to find Jaime standing above him with her wallet in hand. “Are you fucking kidding me right now, Jaime?” he asked as he sat up in the middle of the bed with the sweat-soaked sheets clinging to his naked body.

She looked confused. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, her naked body barely covered by a sheer black T-shirt that ended mid-thigh.

Pleasure hated that deep in the midst of his hurt feelings, the sight of her made him want to pull her back in the bed and bury himself deep within her until she stuttered.