Also by Geneva Holliday
Groove
Fever
Heat
Seduction
WRITING AS BERNICE L. MCFADDEN
Sugar
The Warmest December
This Bitter Earth
Loving Donovan
Camilla’s Roses
Nowhere Is a Place
To Bernice, who held my hand every step of the way.
Thank you, girl; I couldn’t have done it without you.
1
Karma sat up in the bed. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and turned her gaze toward the open window. The view, rows and rows of grapevines heavy with next season’s stock, was breathtaking. She’d been waking to this beauty for nearly eight months and it never failed to dazzle her.
“Karma? Always up so early, why?” Sergio’s sleepy voice floated up to her. “You are an insomniac, yes?” he kidded as he turned over to face her.
Karma peered down into his deep-green eyes. He was a gorgeous hunk of a man and she’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together, but her heart had started longing for home, for New York, so she knew it was time to leave.
Over the past year she’d been living a fairy-tale existence. Who would have ever guessed ugly, fat, buck-toothed Mildred Johnson would transform herself into the beautiful, curvaceous Karma Jackson and end up living in a Mediterranean villa with a gorgeous Italian wine magnate as a lover?
Certainly not Mildred! And definitely not the people from her past.
“Come to me, darling,” Sergio growled sexily as he tossed the silk embroidered duvet back to reveal his perfectly chiseled naked body and swollen member. “I need you,” he purred. “We need you,” he added as he gently stroked his penis.
Karma grinned in spite of herself. He never seemed to get enough of her.
She turned into him, threw one hand behind his neck, and pulled his face toward hers. She grabbed hold of his penis, giving it a gentle but firm squeeze as she planted a searing kiss on his lips.
“Mi amor,” Sergio sighed when their lips parted. “Marry me today, Karma, please,” he pleaded before pressing his lips back into hers.
Sergio had proposed exactly twenty-two times, but Karma never really took him seriously, because he never proposed outside of the bedroom. It was always during their lovemaking sessions. And besides, he was a bon vivant and she wanted someone she could call her very own.
Pushing Sergio onto his back, Karma straddled him; grabbing hold of the dark hairs of his chest, she pulled. “Oh, oh,” Sergio cried out in ecstasy. He loved it rough.
Karma whispered, “You are a bad boy, Sergio. Very bad.”
“I am bad.” Sergio’s words came out in short blasts. “You must punish me for my naughtiness.”
Karma sat up, pulled her arm back and then brought it forward, her open palm landing squarely on Sergio’s right cheek.
“Oh God, yes!” Sergio screamed.
Karma smiled and leveled the same assault on the left cheek.
“Please, please,” Sergio whimpered as he rubbed the crimson-colored palm prints on his face.
Karma grinned. “Have you had enough?”
Sergio, his eyes wet with tears, looked up at Karma and said, “No, I have been very bad. I need to be taught a lesson.”
Reaching across to the nightstand, she pulled the drawer open, revealing a treasure trove of condoms. She’d learned plenty in the Italian countryside. These were amorous, beautiful people who loved wine, food, love, and sex. And not necessarily in that order.
The daughter of an olive farmer had taught her how to use her mouth to fit a condom on a zucchini in exchange for Karma having corn-rolled her hair. And now Karma put that lesson to use. Sergio watched as the condom disappeared behind her lips.
Bending forward, she kissed his two bruised cheeks before covering his neck in kisses. She slithered slowly down his body, her kisses like tiny explosions on his skin. When she reached his cock, she took his testicles in her hand and slowly massaged them. Sergio groaned and grabbed a fistful of her twisted tresses. Pressing her mouth against his jewels, she began to hum “The Star-Spangled Banner.” The vibrations reverberated through his body, driving him insane with pleasure; his hips began to writhe and buck. When Sergio began to whimper that he couldn’t take much more, Karma worked her magic and slowly slipped the condom onto his penis.
Sergio had her by the shoulders now, urging her upward, but Karma wasn’t finished. She began to methodically massage the base of Sergio’s dick as she placed one testicle and then the other into her hot mouth.
His voice floated down to her. He was begging, pleading for her to stop. He wanted, he cried, to come inside of her.
“Not this way, mi amor, please not this way!” he wailed, his toes curling as he fought to restrain himself.
Karma acquiesced.
“You’re like fire,” Sergio moaned as he grabbed hold of her hips and slipped effortlessly inside her.
A firm grip on his shoulders and Karma began to grind, wind, and thrust in a way that she had perfected and was sure she could patent and trademark.
Sergio’s eyes rolled back into his head and his mouth hung helplessly open. “Karma, Karma,” he called out to her, his face flushed with pleasure.
“Yes, baby, yes,” Karma responded as she released his shoulders and brought her hands up to her breasts. She fondled them, rolled her nipples between her fingers and increased the intensity of the grind. The excitement on Sergio’s face multiplied and he began to buck more violently beneath her.
Suddenly, Karma was on her back, Sergio looming above her. Karma let out a small giggle of surprise as he parted her legs and eased his face down between them.
His mouth enclosed her engorged clitoris; the warmth and wetness made her squirm with pleasure.
Sergio could eat a mean pussy. He sucked, licked, and nibbled until Karma’s back was arched so high into the air she’d thought her spine would snap.
Just as she was reaching her climax, Sergio inserted his middle finger inside of her. Fireworks went off behind Karma’s eyes as her juices gushed out onto the silk bed sheet.
Karma was still panting, still trying to regain some sort of composure, when Sergio came to rest alongside her. “Do not drift off, my love, we are only at the beginning …”
2
She’d been considerate enough to leave a note. And—God help her—the diamond and emerald ring she’d woke one morning to find glittering on the empty pillow beside her. She did take the sapphire and diamond tennis bracelet, the Vuitton luggage set, and all of the designer clothes he’d bought her.
She was homesick in the worst way. In a way Sergio just could not understand. “Karma,” he’d say as they sat eating breakfast on the balcony of his villa, “why would you want to leave such a beautiful place?” He swept his arms across the lush countryside. “Puglia is heaven, and that place you call home, New York? That is hell.” And on that note he’d viciously stab the melon with his fork.
After some time she just stopped discussing it with him and began planning her departure. Karma knew if she told him that she was leaving, he would throw a fit and probably destroy her passport.
He was a jealous man, which was a blatant contradiction to his lifestyle.
So when Sergio announced he was going to Milan to handle some business, and would stay over a few days in Pisa to see how the renovations on his apartment were going, Karma instantly understood that he would be spending time with his other woman. Carmen something or other.
Carmen had had the audacity to write Karma a letter and have it hand-delivered. The purpose of the communication, she explained, was, first, for Karma to know that she existed and second, that if she had any fantasies of
becoming Mrs. Martinelli, she should put those fantasies to rest. Carmen, who apparently had been involved with Sergio for five years, was the only woman who actually had Sergio’s heart. Karma and the others were playthings. Whores.
Along with the letter Carmen had included a picture of her and Sergio in a lovers’ embrace at a clothing-optional Grecian resort. The digital date on the picture indicated that Sergio and Carmen were together when he’d claimed he was on business in Sicily. Karma hadn’t even flinched. She wasn’t upset in the least. It was all a game to her anyway. And so she’d scrawled across the picture:
Fine by me
and stuffed it back in the same envelope it’d come in.
“Take this back to the woman who sent it,” she instructed the messenger, after pressing one hundred euros into his palm.
The young man was bowled over; eyes wide, he turned and rushed off to his waiting bicycle before the stupid American realized her mistake.
Karma chuckled to herself as she pulled the door shut. She knew how much she’d given him. What did she care? It wasn’t her money!
Still smiling smugly at her retort, she climbed the marble stairs to the opulent bedroom where the naked pool boy was anxiously awaiting her return.
Yes, Karma was no saint. She had her lovers too.
When the cat’s away, the mouse will fuck the pool boy, the cook, and the husband of the high-profile American politician who kept a winter home just next door.
3
Geneva wanted to smoke in the worst way. It was three weeks since she’d had her last cigarette, and she’d been getting past the cravings by chewing on strawberry-flavored licorice sticks.
But a licorice stick wasn’t going to do her any good right now.
“What did you say? ” Geneva’s tone was strained. Her husband, Deeka, was all too familiar with that tone and took a cautious step away from his wife and the pot of grits she’d been stirring.
“I said an apartment.”
“I heard that part, Deeka. It’s the other part I need you to repeat.” Geneva’s hand squeezed the handle of the pot and her eyes narrowed.
Deeka swallowed hard. “In Brooklyn,” he whispered.
“That’s what I thought you said,” Geneva barked and then lifted the pot from the stove.
“Now … now, baby, wait.” Deeka threw his hands up over his face.
Geneva stopped; a small smile had crept onto her lips. “Baby”—her tone soft now—“do you really think I’d throw this pot of hot grits on you?”
Deeka peeked out from behind his palms. He never knew with Geneva. He loved her dirty drawers, but when she got mad, she was liable to do anything.
“No, no, of course not.” Deeka’s response was unsure.
I should, she thought to herself; I should throw these grits all over his pretty-boy face.
“You know how much I hate Brooklyn!” Geneva screamed as she slammed the pot back down onto the burner. “It’s the other side of the fucking world!”
Deeka took a cautious step backward. “Baby—”
“Enough with the baby’s, Deeka,” Geneva huffed, throwing her hands up in the air. “Why can’t we buy something around here or up in Harlem?”
“I’m making money, baby—I mean, Geneva, but not that type of money. This place is great, I know if you come see it you’ll love it.”
Geneva folded her arms like a spoiled child. She’d rather stay in the projects in Manhattan than move to Brooklyn.
Deeka moved toward her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Change is good. This place has served us well, but now it’s time to move on.”
He leaned in and kissed her.
Geneva had no great love for Brooklyn, but more than that she was afraid. She’d been living in the projects her entire life. She knew the people and the people knew her. Now she’d have to start all over again and that scared the hell out of her.
Geneva rolled her eyes. “Don’t try to get over with your sweetness,” she declared, shrugging him off and turning her attention back to the pot of grits.
Deeka sighed, moved next to her, and playfully bumped his hip against hers. “It’s got three bedrooms,” he sang, “hardwood floors, a brand-new kitchen with a double oven and six-burner stove …”
Geneva stopped stirring the grits. “Go ahead, I’m listening,” she said with a smirk.
“High ceilings, recessed lighting, and …” Deeka smiled slyly; he’d saved the best for last, “backyard.”
Geneva turned and looked at him. “How many people I got to share it with? Forty?”
“Nah, just …” Deeka raised his hand and fiddled with the hair on his chin, “just two.”
Geneva’s eyes popped. “Two people? Ha!” She laughed heartily. “Must be the world’s smallest apartment building.”
“Nah, I’m serious ’Neva, you only have to share the backyard with two other people.”
Geneva waved her hand. “Negro, stop bullshitting me and sit down so you can eat your breakfast.”
Geneva opened the cabinet door and reached for a plate. Deeka came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her soft mid-section. “I ain’t bullshitting you, baby. You only have to share the backyard with me and Charlie.”
“Humph,” Geneva sounded. “And where are the other tenants going to go?”
“To the park, I guess. I don’t care.”
Geneva spun around to face her husband. “Okay, enough games. What kind of apartment is this?”
Deeka’s face broke into a broad smile. “It’s a duplex in a brown-stone.”
Geneva gave him a hard look. “A duplex?”
“Yeah, duplex. That’s two floors!”
A small smile began to creep across Geneva’s face. “I ain’t never lived nowhere with two whole floors before,” she said in her best plantation slave voice. “You s’pose they gots indoor plumbing too?”
Geneva was being mean on purpose.
Deeka’s smile slipped. Geneva had hurt his feelings. “You got jokes, huh, Geneva?”
Geneva just smirked at him.
“Yeah, all right, whatever then,” Deeka said before he stormed out of the kitchen and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
“Whatever then,” Geneva mocked under her breath before screaming, “Charlie, breakfast is ready!”
4
Crystal pulled the bedroom window shutters open and was greeted with a pink shower of bougainvillea that had bloomed during the night. Beyond that was the ocean dotted with a variety of boats, sails fluttering in the wind.
It was sailing week in Antigua, leaving Crystal extremely busy. She’d coordinated four weddings for the week. Two on Monday, a third last night, and this afternoon, the mother of them all, which was to take place on a megasize yacht and be attended by two hundred and thirty people.
She was nervous. More nervous than she could ever remember being since she’d started her small wedding planning service. This particular wedding could make or break her business. If the couple loved what she’d done, then she would be recommended to all of their wealthy friends and family. If they were disappointed, her name would be mud, and she wouldn’t even be able to plan a birthday party for a five-year-old.
It was barely seven o’clock in the morning and her cell phone was vibrating on the nightstand. “Crystal Atkins, good morning?” she sang.
It was the nervous bride calling. Crystal listened intently as the woman rambled on and on about how everything had to go off without a hitch and how this was the most important day of her life and how she would die … JUST DIE … if everything wasn’t absolutely, positively perfect!
Crystal grinned. They’d been having the same conversation for three straight months.
“Laura,” Crystal began, when the bride finally stopped talking long enough to take a breath. “It’s all going to be fine. The car will be at your hotel to collect you and your bridal party at exactly eight a.m. When you get to the spa there will be a light breakfast for you and the other g
irls to enjoy before your treatments begin.
“I spoke to Evan, and he and his groomsmen will be picked up at 8:30, so there will be no chance that the two of you will see each other. I confirmed his tee-off time for 9:15—”
“I just don’t know why he feels he needs to play golf on our wedding day!” Laura screamed from her hotel suite at Jumby Bay. She was becoming frantic, but Crystal kept her voice low and her tone calm.
“It relaxes him, Laura, you know that. Now, I’ll be at the resort around noon and before you know it, it’ll be three o’clock and you’ll be Mrs. Rubenstein.”
Sometimes Crystal felt more like a therapist than a wedding planner.
They said their goodbyes and Crystal officially began her day.
On tiptoe she crept to the second bedroom to check on her son, Javid.
Javid was in his favorite position, on his knees, bottom stuck up into the air. He was two years old. She didn’t know where the time had gone. In her opinion it was going all too fast. It seemed like just yesterday she was carrying him inside of her and now he was walking, talking and feeding himself.
Crystal felt herself becoming soupy with emotion, but quickly shrugged it off and headed toward the front of the house. In the living room she scooped up her laptop before passing through the open sliding glass doors and out onto the veranda.
How many people could claim an outside office with a view of the ocean?
She used the moments the laptop took to boot up to lean back into her cushioned wicker chair and sip her freshly squeezed guava juice.
It was during these moments that she was most aware of her blessings, and after setting the empty glass down onto the table, she offered up a small prayer of thanks to the universe.
An hour later, after responding to a dozen e-mails and sending twice as many, she strolled into Javid’s room and began to delicately rouse him.
“Up, up, sleepyhead,” Crystal said as she tickled the bottoms of his feet.
Javid rolled onto his back and pressed his small hands over his eyes.
Lover Man Page 1
