What Love Tastes Like Page 8

  The woman-turned-detective reached for her cell phone. “Angelica, this is Nick’s assistant, Christina. I’ve got some news.”

  17

  Angelica leaned back on the chaise lounge and twirled an errant sister-lock as she listened to the beans Christina spilled into her ear. As Christina rambled, Angelica remembered how Nick used to love burying his hands into her waist-length tresses, how he’d play with them while she orally played with him.

  While rising from the chaise and walking to her kitchen, Angelica thought of how war made strange bedfellows. Angelica knew why Christina was calling. Her motive was about as invisible as Oprah shopping at Walmart. Angelica had always known about Christina’s ambitions to use her position with Nick to snag someone of his stature, or to grab Nick’s coattails and move up to manager or higher in one of his businesses. But what Christina didn’t know was that Angelica didn’t like having someone like Christina so close to her man. Christina was very attractive, with thick, brunette hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a nice, lean figure. Angelica figured it was just a matter of time before Christina’s desire to have a man of Nick’s stature turned into a desire to have Nick.

  “So Nick has found another diversion,” Angelica said with mock disinterest. No way would she let anyone, least of all Christina, know how she really felt. Instead of you using me, little sister, I’m the one playing your naïve ass. She poured a glass of cranberry juice and continued to listen.

  “Yes. He sent her flowers after they met and suggested she apply for a job. But you know that employment isn’t the only thing a woman like her wants from Nick.”

  “Yes, don’t I know it.” This fool’s too dumb to realize I’m talking about her!

  “Anyway, she’s playing hard to get, but you know that’s just a ploy. Oh, and she was acting all weak and helpless, telling Nick about issues she has with her father. Give me a break…”

  Christina rambled on for another moment before Angelica had heard enough. “I appreciate your calling me, Christina,” she lied. “But I’m really not interested in what goes on in Nick’s life. We’re no longer together and I’ve moved on. Perhaps your skills would be put to better use handling Nick’s administrative tasks, rather than trying to handle his personal business.”

  “Oh, well, as a friend, I just thought you should know.”

  “I appreciate it, Christina.” Not. “Good-bye.”

  Angelica ended the call, telling herself it really didn’t matter who Nick was with. She was over him, wasn’t she? He’d given her an ultimatum—either agree to have children, or end their engagement. She’d tried every argument she could think of to convince him that they would be much happier without kids; that there would be nothing to stop their jet-set lifestyle.

  “But this is one of my dreams,” he’d pleaded. “To have children, you and me. Don’t you want to be a mother, baby? I thought every woman wanted children.”

  “Well, you thought wrong. I was born without the mommy gene.”

  They’d gone back and forth for over a year, the length of their engagement. This sticking point was why no wedding date was ever set. Then last year, during the holidays, Nick had applied the pressure by telling her that he wanted them to be married the following year, but only if it were clear that they’d be starting a family soon after. He’d argued that at almost forty, it was time for him to start a family before he got too old to run and play with his children. The discussion almost ruined their skiing vacation near Zurich, Switzerland, and had dimmed the brightness of the three-carat teardrop necklace he’d given her. Then finally, on the next to the last day of their vacation, she’d finally told him the truth. That not only did she not want to have children, but that she couldn’t have them. A tubal ligation almost ten years before made that desire an impossible one. Not only had the doctor tied the tubes, he’d burned them. At the time, her body was reacting negatively to birth control pills and she found the diaphragm too painful. Knowing she didn’t want kids, she’d been tied and sizzled. “But,” she assured Nick with tears in her eyes, “nobody will ever love you like I do, baby. No one.”

  After that telling conversation, the relationship was never the same. Belatedly, Angelica realized the extent of Nick’s desire and the damage of her confession. More than once she wished she’d waited until after they were married to tell him the truth—that she’d told him whatever he wanted to hear long enough to become Mrs. Rollins. But it was too late for what should have happened. Nick was gone and someone else was in his place, someone with a smaller dick but a bigger bank account, someone who wouldn’t pressure her to have kids or about anything else, for that matter. Someone who just wanted to have fun, give her money, and have sex. Angelica wasn’t missing Nick for a minute. The new man in her life had made her all but forget about him.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, Angelica smiled when she looked at the caller ID. “Bastion, my darling,” she purred into the phone. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Oh, well, that’s nice.”

  Angelica’s intuitive antennae immediately went on high alert. “Bastion, baby, what’s wrong?”

  Bastion cleared his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s not good news, I’m afraid, at least not for me.”

  “What’s happened?” Angelica left the kitchen where she’d been sitting, and began pacing the dark mahogany living room floor in her deluxe two-bedroom Manhattan Beach condo, the one Bastion began paying for after Nick stopped.

  “I hate to have to break this kind of news over the phone, Angelica…”

  Uh-oh. This does not sound good.

  “But…I can’t see you anymore.” Bastion said the words quickly, and all together, trying to get them out before he lost the will to do so. He was very fond of Angelica.

  Angelica smiled. Is that all? Bastion wasn’t the first married man she’d dated, nor the first to get a little skittish when the wife started asking questions or acting suspicious. She’d swam in these waters before, knew just how to navigate them.

  “What, has the missus gotten suspicious? Or are you being paranoid? Either way, let’s not be too hasty, darling, you know we’re made for each other. If you want to cool it down for a few days or a week or two, I understand. But,” Angelica dropped her voice to a sultry whisper, “me and my pussylicious will think about you every day.”

  Bastion stifled a groan. Sex with Angelica would be the hardest thing for him to give up. But he would give it up. Bastion wasn’t the most moral man in the world, but he did have a conscience. His wife needed him now. And he’d be there for her, without distractions. “Jill has cancer,” he blurted.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Angelica quickly replied, already wondering if the disease was terminal, how long it would take for Jill to die, and how soon afterward she and Bastion could marry. “You must be devastated.” Angelica’s voice held just the right mix of compassion and concern.

  “I can’t see you anymore,” Bastion said, needing to end the call and the emotional attachment he felt toward this woman. “I’ll put some money in your bank account. But this will be the last time I phone you, and please…don’t call me again.”

  Angelica placed the phone down on the cradle and idly picked up a copy of Black Enterprise magazine. Bastion’s wife’s illness definitely added a wrinkle to her smooth plans. Since a ticking biological clock wasn’t the issue, Angelica was totally prepared to wait two, three years for Bastion to wise up to the fact that he needed to leave his wife and marry her. That Bastion was Nick’s business partner would make becoming Mrs. Price even sweeter—a constant reminder to Nick of what he could have had. But Bastion’s wife getting ill was a glitch Angelica hadn’t considered. How long could she afford to wait and see what happened?

  Angelica looked at the magazine table of contents and turned to the reason she’d bought the magazine. “Influential Black Americans” was the article title. Before she could start reading the list, a familiar face caught her eye. It was Nick, looking fabulous in a tailored, charcoal g
ray suit with matching shirt and tie. “Feeding his bank account along with his clientele,” the article stated. “A rising Black star in the worlds of hotel acquisitions and five-star cuisine.”

  After tearing out the page, Angelica placed the magazine on the table and headed to her bedroom. She opened the doors to her large, walk-in closet, stepped inside, and idly fingered her massive wardrobe. Deciding there was nothing in there Nick hadn’t seen, she quickly stepped out of her lounger and into a pair of Anne Klein slacks and a classic Chanel blouse. It was time to go shopping. Because come Monday, she’d be paying a surprise visit to one Mr. Dominique Rollins at Hotel Le Sol, congratulating him on his making the list, and reminding him of what she could do from under his desk. She’d moved fast to forget Nick; now she planned to give him a lunch date he was sure to remember. Angelica was nothing if not adept at changing her plans quickly. Her smile was predatory as she grabbed her Prada purse and headed for the Mercedes in the underground parking lot, the car that Nick had gifted her with two years prior. Oh yeah, baby, I’m getting ready to dress to impress. Christina’s call was timelier than Angelica had realized.

  18

  Nick had wasted no time on Saturday. He’d called Tiffany before eight A.M.

  “Do you know what time it is?” she’d asked in a voice husky with sleep.

  “Yeah, but…do you?” Nick had answered, his voice husky with lust. “What’s your address? I’m picking you up tonight—seven o’clock.”

  It had been too early to argue; Tiffany had given him her address, hung up the phone, and gone back to sleep.

  Now she stood in the middle of her bedroom with her fashion judge, Joy, lounging across her bed.

  “So, how does it look?”

  “The same way it looked when you tried it on last night. I wouldn’t have let you buy the dress if it didn’t look good on you.”

  “I don’t know,” Tiffany continued, turning this way and that in the mirror. “It’s kind of tight. I don’t want to give Nick the wrong impression.”

  “And what wrong impression would that be?”

  “That I’m trying to come on to him!”

  “Girl, please, the man is trying to come on to you. And from what you told me about y’all’s little tryst in Italy, it’s a little too late for you to act the prude.”

  “Whatever, Joy.”

  “Whatever, Tiffany,” Joy mimicked. “I don’t see why you’re trying to turn down what’s being offered to you on a silver platter: a fine, rich, Black man who’s interested in you. If someone who looked like him came after me, I’d bring him home and eat his ass like steak on a plate!”

  “Uh, wouldn’t Randall have something to say about that?”

  “Oh now, why did you have to go and bring up the husband?”

  “Maybe because y’all have been together forever and have two kids?”

  “Who’s paying attention to pesky details like those?”

  “Besides, I’m sure that Nick isn’t short on women coming after him with…healthy appetites.”

  “All the more reason you need to work it while a brothah wants a taste of you. Men have short attention spans. If you don’t give him what he wants, somebody else will. Remember Bernadine.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The character in Terry’s book Waiting to Exhale. Her husband ended up falling for the white woman at work who paid him the kind of attention he wanted. Angela played her part in the movie.”

  “Well, if somebody who looks like Angela can’t keep her man…”

  “That’s not my point.”

  “Well, I wish you’d get to what it is.”

  “My point, Tiffany, is that you have also attracted somebody in the work environment who just happens to own said environment and wants you to put in a little overtime. Maybe his after-hours suggestion would take care of the reason you’ve been so bitchy lately. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

  “I’m bitchy because a certain friend keeps trying to run my business.”

  “Hmph. You’re bitchy ’cause you keep running from Nicky’s dicky.”

  “Ha! You’re a mess, Joy.”

  “That’s why you love me.”

  Tiffany plopped on the bed next to her BFF. “You’re right. I am running. But that’s because I don’t want to get hurt, and that’s exactly what will happen if I open my heart to Nick Rollins. Right now, I’m a goal, a little challenge for his ego. But what happens after dating a month or two? He’ll move on to someone who’s a better fit for his world. I’m sure there are plenty of women traveling in his circle who are wealthy, more beautiful…”

  “Oh, stop being such a Libra and overanalyzing.”

  “Stop being such a Leo and bossing me around.”

  Joy ignored her and kept being bossy. “No, don’t put on those sandals. Wear the Donna Karans. And did you spray on perfume, ’cause I don’t smell any.”

  “Oh, shoot, I forgot.” Tiffany walked over to her dresser. “Which one should I wear, Magnifique or Fabulosity?”

  “Use the Baby Phat, because it has vanilla in it. Vanilla is supposed to be a natural aphrodisiac.”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes.

  “Look, I’m just saying. Spray some on your titties and your coochie, too. But not where he’s going to lick later on, only at the top.”

  “Joy!”

  Joy laughed as she rolled off the bed. “Girl, your man will be here soon, I’m outta here.”

  “Are you and Randall going to take advantage of the kids being with their grandparents?”

  “Maybe later. But right now he’s hanging with some of his frat brothers and I’ve got a date with Mary B.”

  “I’m guessing she’s an author and you have a date with a book?”

  Joy nodded. “A sistah’s learning how to be a man eater.”

  “Hmph, with two kids, I’d think you already know.”

  “It’s about more than dickage, but come to think of it, you could probably use the book more than me. I’ll finish it quick and bring it over.”

  “Yeah, whatever, Joy.”

  “Bye, chick.”

  Two hours later, Nick and Tiffany strolled down the Santa Monica Promenade. They’d enjoyed a seafood dinner and were headed to one of Nick’s favorite jazz spots for a nightcap.

  Nick slid an arm around Tiffany’s waist and pulled her toward him. “Did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?”

  Tiffany smiled. “Once or twice.”

  “Um, and you smell good, too.”

  “Thank you.” Thanks, Joy.

  “Look, instead of checking out the band, why don’t we go to my place? I’ve got a fully stocked bar, a nice jazz collection, and a magnificent view.”

  “Sounds like a place perfect for seduction.”

  “As fine as you’re looking? I sure hope so.”

  “Look, Nick, I’m flattered that you’re attracted to me and yes, the feeling is mutual. But…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know how comfortable I feel with being intimate with you again. Things are different now. You’re my boss. My career is important to me. I love where I work and I wouldn’t want to jeopardize what could be a long-term career opportunity for something that might not last.”

  “You don’t put much faith in yourself, huh?”

  “I don’t put much faith in you.”

  “Whoa!” Nick said, grabbing his heart. “You crush me!”

  “It’s not personal. I just don’t trust men.”

  Because of your father? Nick thought the question, but wisely did not ask it.

  “Baby, look, the only things guaranteed in life are death and taxes. Love is one of the most elusive, fickle emotions there is. I could tell you something that sounds good, but I don’t want to give you any false promises. I only wish that you’d let us take this one step at a time, and see where those steps take us.”

  They reached the doors of the jazz lounge. Nick reached for his wallet but Tiffany stayed his hand. “What
kind of jazz do you have at your house?”

  Nick smiled and took her hand. Tiffany’s palm tingled. By the time they’d pulled up to Nick’s home in Malibu, something else was tingling—the spot at the apex of Tiffany’s thighs. Nick twirled Tiffany around his massive living room to the sounds of Wayman Tisdale. The groove was seductive; the song, familiar.

  “Who sang this first?” Tiffany asked, trying to get her mind off what Nick’s deft hand movements were doing to her body. As achingly innocent as they were, stroking her shoulders, her lower back and neck, they had her strumming like Wayman’s guitar.

  “Barry White,” Nick said, singing the lyrics to the song over Wayman’s smooth guitar licks. He touched his lips to Tiffany’s temple.

  “You sing good!” Tiffany screeched, a little too loudly. She stopped dancing and stepped away from Nick in one movement. “I’m thirsty. Maybe I’ll take that glass of wine now.”

  “There’s no running away this time, woman. I’ve got something for you that’s more intoxicating than wine.”

  Tiffany had backed up to the wall, and Nick must have figured that was as good a place as any. He rested his large palms on each side of Tiffany’s head, lowered his mouth to hers, and nibbled her lips. “Hmm, my brown sugar…” He softly kissed the mole that sat just above the right side of her mouth before placing a hand on her chin and lifting it for better access. He licked her lips, gently prodding them apart with his tongue. He tweaked her nipple. Tiffany gasped and Nick plunged in, sucking her tongue into his mouth, pressing his hard, lean body against hers.

  “Give me this,” he ordered, even as he placed his hands under her buttocks and lifted her high on the wall. He held her there with his body while his fingers found their target. He pushed aside the wispy material of her thong and rubbed her already wet treasure. Still kissing her deeply, he expertly separated her nether lips and slid a finger inside her. Tiffany groaned her pleasure, wrapped her legs around Nick’s hips and her arms around his neck. The move spurred Nick on. He withdrew his finger, placed his hands underneath Tiffany’s butt once again, and walked them straight to the bedroom. Tiffany barely had time to take in the decidedly masculine black oak cabinets and platform bed. Nick wasted no time in placing her on the raw silk comforter, and following her down. He roughly pushed up her dress, his breathing slow and even. His gaze was so hot Tiffany felt he could see inside her very soul. His pupils darkened as he spread her legs and again began his fingered assault.