Pleasure in His Kiss
Auteur·e
Pamela Yaye
Lectures
19,8K
Chapitres
18
Chapter 1
Karma Sullivan didn’t know who was shouting inside her swank, full-service beauty salon, Beauty by Karma, but she was going to find out. Balancing the books would have to wait. Her customers were probably having a spirited discussion about sex and relationships, but things had obviously gotten out of hand. It sounded as if World War Three had broken out on the main floor, and since nothing mattered more to Karma than maintaining the elegance and dignity of her salon, she dropped her pen on the April spreadsheets, and shot to her feet.
Her gaze fell on the mahogany desk across the room, and her shoulders sagged. Karma could only wonder where Jazz was. She’d met Jazmine “Jazz” Figueroa at cosmetology school six years earlier, and they’d bonded over their love of fashion, pop culture, Idris Elba movies and exotic cuisine. Hiring the gregarious esthetician to be the manager of her beauty salon was a no-brainer. Karma enjoyed working alongside her bestie, and thought they made a formidable team. Unfortunately, her happiness had been short-lived. Jazz used to be a model employee, who gave a hundred percent to Beauty by Karma, but these days she came to work late, spent more time on her cell than with clients and left early. And when Karma spoke to Jazz yesterday about her concerns she’d mumbled an apology, then quickly changed the subject.
A deep, husky voice filled the air, yanking Karma out of her thoughts and back to the present. What in the world? Has everyone lost their minds? Beauty by Karma was a ritzy, high-end salon in the Hamptons, not a barbershop in the hood, and she wasn’t going to let anyone ruin the peaceful ambience. Since the salon’s grand opening, Karma had worked tirelessly to get her business off the ground, and her efforts had paid off. She had A-list clients, a successful beauty blog millennials couldn’t get enough of and tens of thousands of social media followers.
Yanking open her office door, she marched down the hallway, her lush, purple-hued tresses cascading around her shoulders. She’d paired her short, off-the-shoulder sundress with gold accessories, and even though she’d gained weight while vacationing with her girlfriends in the Cayman Islands in January she felt beautiful in the flowy, Gucci dress. Still, she was starting The Raw Food after her birthday. Yesterday, she’d received an email from the Hamptons Women’s Association informing her she’d been nominated for the Businesswoman of the Year award, and Karma had been so excited she’d danced around her office. Wanting to look fit and fabulous for the July banquet, she’d hired a personal trainer, and was going to eat healthy for the next three months even if it killed her. And it would. Karma loved junk food, drank wine every night with dinner and was a self-proclaimed chocoholic. The last time she’d exercised Obama was still in office, and when her trainer suggested Karma take an aerobics class five days a week she’d burst out laughing. It was going to be hard going to the gym and changing her poor eating habits, but Karma was determined to get in shape.
Classical music was playing in the background, but it did nothing to soothe her mind. Karma loved hip-hop music, could rap with the skill and finesse of Yeezy, but since her customers preferred Bach to Kanye West, that was what they listened to during business hours.
Entering the salon, a smile curled her lips. The grand opening was eighteen months ago, but every time she entered the shop she felt a rush of pride. Beauty by Karma was her “baby,” the only thing that mattered to her. Decorated with comfort and luxury in mind, the space had chandeliers dripping with crystals, cushy designer chairs and exquisite African artwork. Glass vases filled with colored roses beautified the twenty-five-chair salon, and black-and-white photographs of her celebrity clients were hanging on the mauve walls.
There was a buzz in the air, and when Karma saw the chocolate hottie standing at the reception desk, she understood why every woman in the salon—including the cosmetic heiress, a trophy wife and a marketing executive—were licking their lips and fanning their faces.
Someone whistled, and Karma overheard a Broadway actress murmur in Spanish, “¡Señor, si tuviera un hombre que se pareciera a eso en casa, nunca dejaría la casa!” A giggle tickled her throat. I agree, she thought, hiding a smirk behind the stoic expression on her face. You’re right! If he was my man I wouldn’t leave the house, either!
Her legs wobbled, as if they were about to give way, but she didn’t lose her footing on the gleaming, hardwood floor. Caught off guard by her physical attraction to the man with the chiseled face and muscled body, she couldn’t think or speak. Was at a loss for words. Shocking, considering Jazz had affectionately nicknamed her Yabbermouth the day they met, but when he glanced in her direction Karma’s tongue fell limp in her mouth. Having worked on magazine photo shoots and music videos, she was used to meeting attractive men, but the longer she stared at him the harder it was to control her X-rated thoughts. Suddenly, perspiration drenched her forehead and breathing was a challenge.
Karma checked him out on the sly. The man had it all. Flawless, cocoa-brown complexion? Yes. Perfect teeth and a defined jawline? Yes. Boyish good looks, and more muscles than Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson? Yes, yes, yes! There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe how gorgeous he was, and for a moment Karma was starstruck, consumed with desire. He was wearing a striped polo shirt, knee-length shorts and white sneakers, but he carried himself like a man in a designer suit, and Karma was so anxious to meet him she moved through the salon faster than an Olympian speed walker.
“You have to do something,” the stranger fumed, addressing the receptionist. “This is important. Very important. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
His cologne, like his voice, was captivating, and listening to him made Karma tingle from her ears to her toes. Swallowing hard, she mentally chastised herself. Told herself to get a grip, and quit lusting after the man with the piercing gaze and ripped physique.
Joining the receptionist, Abigail Reese, behind the front desk, Karma offered her right hand in greeting, even though she knew touching him would push her horny body over the edge. Driven to succeed, she’d put her career above her personal life, and although her girlfriends teased her about being celibate, Karma loved being single and had zero desire to settle down. Why would she? Relationships sucked, and her ex-boyfriend had proved that even humble, sensitive men with good reputations couldn’t be trusted.
Her gaze returned to the stranger’s face, and zeroed in on his thick lips. Oh my. I bet they could do some serious damage. Tingles flooded her body, pricking her skin. Karma couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, but if Mr. Tall-Buff-and-Dreamy invited her to his place she’d say yes in a heartbeat. It was an outrageous thought, considering she didn’t even know his first name, but her body had a mind of its own, and it wanted his hands in her hair, on her breasts and between her legs—
“Who are you?”
Startled by his curt tone, Karma broke free of her thoughts and met his gaze.
“Hello,” she said brightly, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m Karma Sullivan, the owner of this fine establishment. How may I help you?”
“You’re the owner? Finally. It’s about time you showed up.”
Ice spread through Karma’s veins, chilling her to the bone. Put off by his cold demeanor, she dropped her hands to her sides, and pinned her shoulders back, radiated confidence even though his rigid stance was intimidating. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I’m Morrison Drake, Reagan’s uncle...”
He reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet, then raised his driver’s license in the air. Scanning it, Karma committed the details to memory. According to the information on the card, he was six feet six inches, two hundred and twenty-five pounds, with dark brown hair and eyes. Morrison was thirty-four years old, and he was born on...August 2...
Overcome with emotion, sadness stabbed her heart. Morrison shares the same birthday as my mom. Needing a moment to gather herself, she took a deep, calming breath. Thinking about Carmelita’s tragic death six years earlier always made her cry and since she didn’t want to break down at the salon, she willed herself to keep it together.
A troubling thought ran through her mind. Was Reagan okay? Was she in trouble? Needing more help at, Beauty by Karma, she’d hired the high school senior as a salon associate weeks earlier, and already had a soft spot for the teen. Karma straightened her bent shoulders and tried her best to recall everything Reagan had ever said about her uncle, Judge Morrison Drake.
Uncle Morrison is serious, stubborn and strict, she’d complained, one evening last week when they were cleaning the salon after closing. He rarely laughs or smiles, but I hope he finds a girlfriend soon, because I’m sick of him running my life. I’ll be eighteen in July, Ms. Karma. I should be able to do what I want, and go as I please...
Bits and pieces of other conversations they had filled her mind and, as Morrison glared at her, Karma suspected everything Reagan had told her about him was true. She had her work cut out for her, knew it was going to be hard to turn his scowl into a smile, but Karma was up for the challenge. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Drake. Welcome to Beauty by Karma.”
He nodded, but didn’t speak. Stared at her as if he was bored out of his mind.
“Reagan tricked me,” Karma said, hoping to lighten the mood with a joke. “You’re tall, dark and handsome. There’s no way you’re a tyrant!”
Morrison didn’t laugh. Instead, his frown deepened, and his lips formed a hard line.
“Is Reagan here? Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?” he asked, his gaze darting around the salon. “Your employees won’t tell me anything and it’s infuriating.”
Karma shook her head. “No, she’s not here. Why? What’s going on?”
“Reagan didn’t come home last night, and I’m worried about her.”
“Are you sure? Maybe she got home late, and left before you woke up.”
“I checked the alarm history. I set it before bed, and it was never deactivated.”
“Have you tried calling her?”
“Of course, I’ve tried calling her,” he snapped, his frustration evident by his sharp tone. “But every time I call, her cell goes straight to voice mail. Worse, she hasn’t responded to any of my text messages, and none of her friends know where she is, either.”
His voice cracked, faltered under the weight of his emotions, and his demeanor softened. As Karma watched Morrison pace the length of the waiting area, his head bent, his hands balled into fists, two things became abundantly clear: he was angry, and he was scared. Filled with sympathy, Karma wanted to help. All of her employees knew and loved Reagan, and she did too. Treated her like the kid sister she’d always wanted, but didn’t have—
“How long has my niece been working here?”
Caught off guard by the question, seconds passed before Karma spoke. “A month.”
“A month?” he repeated, stopping abruptly. “Are you kidding me?”
His gaze was full of confusion, but Karma didn’t know why. Couldn’t understand why he was shouting at her. Wondered why he was staring at her in disgust.
Morrison gestured to the reception desk with a flick of his head. “My niece came in here, filled out an application, and you didn’t think it was important to contact me before offering her a job?”
“No, Reagan’s almost eighteen, and her CV was impressive—”
Before she could finish her thought, Morrison cut her off midsentence.
“You should have called me. If I didn’t go into Reagan’s room this morning, and snoop through her things, I wouldn’t even know she worked here. Thank God I found a pay stub in her desk, or I’d still be in the dark about her having a part-time job.”
Karma winced, couldn’t believe Morrison had invaded his niece’s privacy, and had the nerve to look proud of himself, as if he’d made a three-point basket from half-court with his eyes closed. Feeling the need to defend herself, she said, “I rarely hire high school students to work in my salon, because they’re often unreliable, but I’m glad I took a chance on Reagan. She’s a wonderful young lady, and a model employee.”
Morrison snorted, then argued that a beauty salon was no place for a teenager.
Karma pursed her lips together and swallowed the fiery retort on the tip of her tongue. She treated everyone who entered her salon—from the delivery person to the relentless salesperson—with respect, and whenever her staff complained about clients, Karma would quote her mother’s favorite saying. Kindness is never wasted, she’d quip in a singsong voice, but Morrison was working her last nerve and Karma wanted him gone. Wished she could grab him by the ear and heave him out of her salon. Karma liked four-letter words and used them often, especially when she was driving on the freeway, but everyone in the salon was listening in on their conversation and if she cursed Morrison out her staff would never let her live it down.
“I couldn’t have asked for a better employee and I’m thrilled Reagan’s part of the Beauty by Karma family,” she continued, speaking from the heart. “She’s a smart young woman with a great head on her shoulders and a very bright future in the cosmetology field.”
“Cosmetology?” Morrison scrunched up his nose as if someone had tossed a stink bomb through the window. “Reagan’s going to university in the fall, not beauty school.”
Karma raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing, knowing it would only make things worse if she told Morrison that his niece had changed her mind about becoming a lawyer and wanted to become a makeup artist instead. Karma should know. She’d helped Reagan fill out applications for cosmetology school weeks earlier, and written recommendation letters for her, as well. Unique and creative, with boundless enthusiasm, Reagan had raw, natural talent, and with the right training could one day be a household name in the makeup industry.
The telephone rang, and Karma picked it up, feigning excitement even though she was annoyed with Morrison-I-Think-I-Am-The-Boss-Drake. Thankful for the interruption, she chatted for several minutes with the celebrity publicist and penciled her name in the leather-bound appointment book for tomorrow morning. Her schedule was jam-packed, filled with so many bookings she’d have to work through lunch, but Karma wouldn’t have it any other way. For years she’d dreamed of owning a beauty salon and, thanks to the kindness of her A-list clients, Karma was the go-to hairstylist and makeup artist in the Hamptons. I wish my mom was alive to see me today. She’d be so proud of everything I’ve accomplished—
“Is Reagan working today?”
Karma consulted the appointment book, saw Reagan’s name at the bottom of the weekly schedule, and nodded. “Yes, but not until ten o’clock.”
“Good, I’ll wait,” he announced. “And, if she doesn’t show up I’m calling the police.”
Panic streaked across Abigail’s heart-shaped face, and Karma knew they shared the exact same thought: Hell no! He can’t stay here for an hour! Karma opened her mouth to suggest Morrison go grab a coffee at the café across the street, but she thought better of it. Didn’t want him to think he wasn’t welcome at the salon. He wasn’t, especially when he was insulting her and shouting at her staff, but since she didn’t want to make any enemies in the small, tight-knit community, she racked her brain for another solution to her problem.
Her gaze strayed to the red, high-heel-themed clock hanging above the front door. Karma didn’t have time to babysit Reagan’s uncle. She had to finish balancing the books, update her website and blog, and when Jazz showed up she wanted them to talk. Had to find out what was going on with her best friend. Karma had work to do, and lots of it, but she feared what would happen if she left Morrison in the waiting area. What if he picked a fight with someone? Or insulted her staff? Or worse, caused a scene when Reagan arrived for her shift? Left with few options, she said, “Mr. Drake, let’s speak in private. I can tell you more Reagan’s job description, and give you a copy of her monthly schedule, as well.”
Abigail sighed in relief, and Karma winked at her, wanting the single mom to know she understood her frustrations. It was hard to find good staff, and she wanted her employees to know she supported them wholeheartedly.
“Relax, relate, release,” Abigail chanted in Karma’s ear, gently rubbing her back. “If you need me, text me 9-1-1, and I’ll come running.”
Karma swallowed a laugh. Her employees were the heart and soul of her business. They were her family, the brothers and sisters she’d never had, and Karma could always count on them to have her back, especially when she was dealing with hotheads like Morrison Drake.
“I don’t want my niece working here, so consider this her two-week notice.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Drake, that’s not your decision to make.”
“I’m Reagan’s legal guardian, and what I say goes.”
His tone was so cold, Karma shivered, but she didn’t shrink under his withering glare.
“Maybe at the courthouse, but not here. This is my business, Mr. Drake, and I don’t appreciate you causing a scene,” she said in a quiet voice, even though she was fuming.
Surprise covered his face, and his eyebrows shot up his forehead.
That’s right, she thought, feeling triumphant. This is my spot, and I call the shots around here, Mr. Bossy Pants, not you. Resisting the urge to dance around the desk, she forced a smile. “We can discuss the matter further in my office while we wait for Reagan to arrive, or you can leave. It’s your choice.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. Reagan should be doing her homework, not doing nails, washing hair and sweeping floors. She’s a Drake. It’s beneath her...”
The murderous thought that popped into Karma’s mind must have darkened her face because Morrison broke off speaking. “Oprah was a grocery store clerk before she became famous, Brad Pitt wore a chicken costume and Barack Obama’s first job was at Baskin-Robbins. You should be teaching Reagan to be humble, not proud and pompous.”
“You misunderstood what I said—”
“No, I didn’t,” she snapped, cutting him off. “I heard you loud and clear.”
Music filled the air, a strong, infectious beat that drowned out the noises in the salon.
“I have to take this call,” he said. “It’s my brother. Hopefully he’s heard from Reagan.”
Recognizing the chart-topping song, Karma couldn’t resist swaying her hips to the music, and tapping her feet.
Fishing his iPhone out of his back pocket, Morrison touched the screen with his index finger, then put his cell to his ear.
Morrison liked Jay-Z? He listened to rap music? No way! He had a stern, no-nonsense demeanor, but hearing his ring tone made Karma think she’d pegged him all wrong. Maybe he wasn’t an uptight jerk, she thought, giving him the once-over again.
Intrigued, Karma studied him closely. Everything about him was sexy—the way he talked, the way he carried himself, his commanding presence—but he wasn’t her type. Karma liked men with tattoos and dreadlocks, who had a wild, adventurous side. Still, there was something about Morrison that appealed to her, that made her mouth wet and her heart race. Morrison Drake was the yummiest judge she had ever met, and if he wasn’t bossy and short-tempered she’d give him her number. And more.
Karma waited patiently for Morrison to finish his phone call, and when he did she gestured for him to follow her. He did, and as they headed through the salon, Karma noticed they had an audience. Women ogled him from behind fashion magazines, handheld gadgets and hooded dryers. Walking with Reagan’s drop-dead gorgeous uncle at her side gave Karma a dizzying rush, one she’d never experienced before and couldn’t make sense of.
“Hey, Judge!” called a divorcée seated at the nail station. “Looking good!”
“If I was ten years younger I’d make you my second husband!” joked a single mom.
“Whooee!” hollered a reality TV star, her eyes wild with desire. “I’ve been a very bad girl, Judge Drake. Hold me in contempt of court in your private chambers!”
Cheers and raucous laughter erupted inside the salon. Karma glanced at Morrison, expecting to see a broad, grin spread across his face, but it wasn’t there. To her surprise, Morrison looked concerned, not pleased that he had the attention of everyone in the salon, and Karma knew he was thinking about his niece. Had to be. That’s why he’d driven over to the salon and stormed inside. Because he was scared Reagan was in trouble.
Feeling guilty for asking him to leave, Karma decided to do everything in her power to help Morrison find Reagan—including contacting her ex-boyfriend, Sergeant J. T. Garver at the Southampton Town Police Department. He’d broken her heart, and Karma regretted dating the cop for nine months, but she’d swallow her pride and make the call.
