Passion by the Book

by Pamela Yaye

  Simone giggled, then shrieked when he ground his erection against her and eagerly palmed her breasts. She wanted to remind Marcus that she’d been primed and ready to go the other night, but didn’t. It was in the past, and she’d forgiven him. Or at least that’s what she kept telling herself. “Baby, there’s no time.” Patting his chest, she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I need a minute to change, but if Angela calls tell her we’re on our way—”

  “What about a quickie?”

  “A quickie?” she repeated, wrinkling her nose. “No way. Your mom’s downstairs with the boys and I’d die if they overheard us.”

  “Then we’ll do it in the bathroom, or the closet.”

  “How romantic.” Simone wanted to make love, but a five-minute romp was out of the question. The en suite bathroom was spacious, filled with more flowers than a prizewinning rose garden, but getting busy on the sink just wasn’t going to cut it. She wanted candles, music, her big, comfy bed, and some foreplay wouldn’t hurt, either.

  “You’re not going to make me beg, are you?” Marcus took her earlobes between his fingers, stroked them, caressed them, applied the right amount of pressure to excite her. His mouth scorched her, moved so urgently and hungrily over her lips, her breath caught on a whimper. “You are so damn beautiful,” he praised, whispering in her ear. “So sexy and desirable that I lose control every time you’re around...”

  Simone closed her eyes, murmured into his chest. Her ears were humming, her core throbbing, her legs shaking so hard she feared she’d drop straight to the floor. They clung to each other, like a couple lost at sea, and the scent of their desire was so thick it saturated the air.

  “Marcus, honey, are you up there?”

  At the sound of her mother-in-law’s thin, breathy voice, Simone broke off the kiss and straightened her dress. Gladys had been raised in a poverty-stricken neighborhood, but she was as proper as the queen and hated public displays of affection. Sure, she and Marcus were in the privacy of their own home, but that wouldn’t stop Gladys from scolding them. Or rather her. Marcus could do no wrong in his mother’s eyes, and he wore the mama’s-boy label with pride. “Hi, Gladys, how are you?” Simone greeted, pushing a hand through her tangled hair. “I hope Jayden and Jordan haven’t been giving you any trouble.”

  “Never! Those two darlings are a joy.”

  Marcus chuckled. “I hope you’re still singing that tune three hours from now!”

  “The boys just need a firm, strong hand,” she replied with a curt nod of her head. “I keep them on a short leash, but you two are softies. That’s why they walk all over you.”

  Simone wanted to kick Gladys in the shin, but she projected calm. Wouldn’t Dr. RaShondra be proud! she thought with a wry smile. “Thanks again for watching the boys, Gladys. We really appreciate it.”

  “You don’t have to thank me for taking care of my grandbabies. It’s my pleasure.”

  Simone felt Marcus’s hand on her butt, squeezing, massaging, stroking it. Shivers overtook her, made her hungry for more of what he was offering. He moved closer, skillfully traced his fingertips along her thong. Simone glanced at him. He looked at her with wide-eyed innocence, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and had the audacity to wink.

  “Your cell phone’s been ringing off the hook,” Gladys said, addressing her son.

  “I bet. I forgot it on the counter when I was rummaging around in the fridge for a snack.”

  “Yes, well, I noticed there was nothing to eat on the stove.”

  “I didn’t cook because I knew we were going out tonight,” Simone explained. “But there’s plenty of leftovers in the fridge.”

  “Leftovers?” Gladys made a face that could scare the devil and his agents. “I certainly hope you’re not feeding my son and those precious babies stale food. For optimal health, they should be eating fresh fruit and vegetables, not stuff that’s been sitting in the fridge all week.”

  “I made the turkey Bolognese last night for dinner.”

  “Exactly! Who knows how many germs have grown on it since then,” she chirped, her eyes touched with alarm. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand you modern women. I worked two full-time jobs and went to night school, but I still went home and made dinner every night.”

  But you’re the one who brought the boys McDonald’s! Simone bit the inside of her cheek to keep from speaking aloud. She wasn’t going there with Gladys. Not tonight.

  “I recognize that shirt,” Gladys said, wearing a proud smile.

  “You bought it for me for Father’s Day.” Marcus leveled a hand over his chest, a boyish grin on his lips. “I clean up pretty good, don’t I?”

  “I’d say. You look more and more like your father every day.”

  Simone’s gaze strayed to the digital clock. It was time to go. Besides, once Gladys got started reminiscing, there was just no stopping her, and Simone didn’t want to hear another convoluted story about her late husband. It was wrong to talk ill of the dead, but if what Marcus told her was true, the only exceptional thing about his father was the staggering number of jobs he’d been fired from. “Marcus, we better get going. It’s almost seven o’clock.”

  “I hope you’re not wearing that old standby frock to the party,” Gladys said, her thin eyebrows crawling up her forehead. “You look—”

  “Sexy and sophisticated,” Marcus offered, slipping a hand around Simone’s shoulder. “But that’s no surprise. My baby always looks like a million bucks.”

  Simone cranked her head in Marcus’s direction. He looked sincere, sounded earnest, as if he meant every word. Ten minutes ago he had wanted to burn her sweaterdress, and now he thought she was gorgeous. What gives? Frowning, she snatched her clutch purse off her bed and stuffed her cell phone inside. Simone wondered if Dr. RaShondra made home visits, because between Marcus and his mother she couldn’t get a moment’s peace.

  “Mom, we should be home in a couple hours,” Marcus said when they reached the bottom of the staircase. “But if you need anything just give me a call.”

  Simone started to give Gladys some final instructions, but when she saw Jordan and Jayden jumping on the couch, their ketchup-stained fingerprints on the living room furniture, a squeak tumbled out of her mouth. I need a drink, she decided, pivoting around and stalking out the front door. No, better yet, make that a whole bottle of merlot!

  Chapter 6

  Albany Park, a charming, working-class neighborhood with homes dating back to the Victorian era, wasn’t a hotbed for criminal activity, but when Simone saw a group of teenage boys smoking in front of Angela’s townhome, she felt a twinge of fear. Just yesterday, Angela had told her about a string of carjackings in the area, and Simone didn’t want to fall victim to a brazen gangbanger looking to bolster his street cred. As a social worker, she knew all too well how deadly peer pressure could be, how lethal, so she suggested Marcus park on Twenty-Fifth Street. “There’s always a ton of parking beside the nursing home,” she said, pointing out the windshield.

  “Oh, look, that car is pulling out.” Marcus sped up the street, flicked on his indicator light and tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. “Come on, man. It doesn’t take that long to put on your seat belt!”

  Simone wanted to tell Marcus to find another spot, but after circling the block for the last fifteen minutes, she knew her husband was anxious to park. And eat. He was starving, and if not for her vehement protests, he would have stopped somewhere to buy a burger.

  The neighborhood was filled with tall trees, a slew of charming, restored homes and the city’s oldest park. The wind was bitterly cold, but the streets were crawling with college students looking to have some fun.

  “I can smell Angela’s cooking from here,” Marcus said, resting a hand on the small of Simone’s back and leading her up the brick steps. />
  A smile slid across Simone’s lips. She loved when Marcus did that. The gesture, though small, made her feel safe, secure. Like he’d always be there for her. No matter what. It was a good feeling. No, she thought, leaning into his chest, it is the best feeling in the world.

  “I hope Nate and the guys didn’t finish all the grub.”

  Simone patted his chest. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m sure there’s plenty of food left.”

  She giggled when her husband frowned, but her stomach was coiled into a dozen knots. Simone had sent Angela a quick text, informing her that they’d be a few minutes late, but she knew her best friend was not going to handle their tardiness well. Aware of the prospects, she had come with a peace offering. Simone seriously doubted an expensive bottle of champagne would appease her best friend, but it was worth a try. Praying forgiveness was alive and well in Angela’s heart, and that she loved the housewarming gift she’d had delivered that afternoon, Simone jabbed the buzzer and pushed away the heavy feeling in her heart.

  When the front door swung open and Simone saw the fake smile plastered to Angela’s lips, she knew it was going to be a long night.

  “Look who finally decided to show up,” Angela said, raising her eyebrows. “Didn’t think I was seeing you tonight.”

  Marcus wore a sheepish smile. “Sorry we’re late.”

  “You look fabulous by the way,” Simone added, admiring her friend’s silk chiffon dress. “I love how your burgundy heels make the whole outfit pop.”

  “Uh-huh.” Angela waved a hand in the air, then turned away. “Come in.”

  Cool jazz music mingled with laughter, conversation and the distant sound of the TV. The heavy aroma of barbecue chicken made Simone’s mouth water, but she ignored her hunger pangs and admired the sleek, contemporary decor. Simone could almost fit the entire main floor into her master bath, but Angela had maximized every inch of space and created a trendy bachelorette pad.

  Angela’s recent trip to Belize to interview the country’s first female president must have inspired her, because the main floor was brimming with color. Hints of turquoise—in the cushions, the area rug and the silk drapes—made the house seem bigger, wider. The glass, globe-shaped chandelier emitted a soft, spangled light, one that made Simone feel like she was standing outside underneath the stars. “Angela, I love what you’ve done to this place!” Simone praised as they stepped down into the living room. “It looks amazing!”

  “I agree.” Marcus whistled. “This place is tight, Angela. I helped you move in, but I hardly recognize it now!”

  “Thanks.” Her face was stiff, but there was a note of pride in her tone. “Maybe later I can show you the rest of the house.”

  “We’d love that.” Simone glanced around and smiled sheepishly at the guests mingling in the living room. Kym and O’Neal were feeding each other hors d’oeuvres; Tameika and Dion were admiring the giant, black-and-white framed pictures on the wall; and Nate, Jameer and Emilio were watching basketball on the mounted flat-screen TV.

  “Look who’s here, everyone,” Angela announced, with false enthusiasm. “It’s Marcus and Simone, just in time for dessert and party games.”

  “Dessert?” Panic flickered in Marcus’s eyes. “Does that mean all of the food is gone?”

  Angela went into the dining room, picked up the knife on the wooden cutting board and sliced into an apple pie topped with whipped cream and cherries. Fruit trays, cheese platters and an assortment of finger foods and drinks covered the long, rectangular table.

  “Did you get my gift?”

  Angela nodded, gestured with her head to the glass hutch standing along the far wall. “It arrived this morning. The personalized china bowls are lovely. Thanks.”

  “Are you going to stay mad at me all night?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Yes, you are. I can tell. I’d be upset, too, if you showed up an hour late to my housewarming party.” To smooth things over with her girlfriend, Simone did the only thing she could—blame her husband. “I was dressed and ready to go by five o’clock, but Marcus didn’t get home until almost six. Don’t be mad at me,” she pleaded, wearing a sad face. “It’s not my fault I unknowingly married a man who can’t keep time.”

  Angela ran her tongue over her mouth as if she was trying not to laugh.

  “Now, that we’ve cleared the air and everything’s cool, let’s get to what’s really important here—your juicy, mouthwatering, taste-so-good-I’d-smack-my-mama ribs,” Marcus said, eagerly rubbing his hands together. “You didn’t let the guys eat my share, did you?”

  Giggling, Simone stared wide-eyed at her pleading, begging husband. Marcus had a remarkable gift; he knew just what to say to soften a woman’s heart, and his charms were working wonders on Angela. Her scowl was gone, and she was smiling like a pageant queen.

  “Are you going to show me where you’re hiding the ribs or do I have to rummage around in your fridge like a stray dog?”

  Angela let out a laugh. Taking Marcus by the arm, she joked, “Come with me, Smooth Operator. I think I could find you a rib or two.”

  While Marcus went off in search of dinner, Simone fixed herself a plate. Once she had selected all of her favorites, she went over to the sectional and sat down beside Dion.

  “Hey, you,” she greeted, making herself comfortable on the couch. Dion Houston was a shapely, statuesque, size-sixteen sister with a sunny disposition and the initials M.D. after her name. Simone didn’t see Dion as much as she liked, but whenever they got together they had a blast. “How have you been?”

  “Obviously not as good as you!” Dion inspected Simone from head to toe. “Girl, what have you been doing to yourself? You’re looking all slim and trim and sexy!”

  Simone beamed. “I still have a little baby weight to lose, so I’ve been eating better and working out. I’d rather eat a whole box of donuts than exercise, but you know what they say. A woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.”

  “Baby weight, huh? My son’s nine, and I weigh more now than I did when I gave birth!” she quipped. “I’m just glad I finally met a man who loves me for me, because I’m not starving myself for anyone!”

  The women laughed.

  “Look at those two,” Dion said, motioning with her head to Kym and O’Neal. “I don’t mind couples showing a little love, but they’ve been going at it all night.”

  Simone gawked, looked on wide-eyed as O’Neal licked his wife’s neck. “I’ve never seen them, so, well...”

  “Amorous?” Dion offered, wrinkling her eyebrows. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think Kym injected O’Neal with some kind of love potion or something because he doesn’t have an affectionate bone in his body.”

  Simone agreed. “I’ve known them for years and I’ve never even seen them kiss.”

  “The last time I saw them they were on the verge of a divorce, and now they’re sucking face like a bunch of middle-school kids in the bushes.” Squinting, her face lined with confusion, she leaned forward in her seat. “I didn’t believe Kym when she said A Sista’s Guide to Seduction worked, but now I’m a believer!”

  Noise erupted from across the room. Simone turned around to see what the commotion was and laughed when she saw Angela perched in front of the entertainment unit with her hands glued to her hips. A menacing glare wrinkled her face, and her lips were pursed together. She was arguing with the guys, and when her voice climbed to a fever pitch, Simone knew things were about to get ugly.

  “What’d you do that for?” Nate Washington yelled, flailing his hands toward the flat-screen TV. “The game just went into overtime!”

  Angela twirled her finger around in the air. “Whoop-tee-do.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand. For excitement, you watch the news.”

  Munching on a stuffed bell pepper, Simone watche
d the heated exchange between Angela and Nate with growing fascination. Nate had to know that he was fighting a losing battle. Angela always got her way, and as soon as she batted those pretty hazel eyes, he’d fold like a house of cards. Nate had a gruff voice and a surly disposition, but he had a heart of gold. And he was so hot for Angela he was drooling like a bloodhound with a steak bone.

  “We’re going to play a party game,” Angela said defiantly, her eyes slicing across his face. “I didn’t invite you over here to watch TV, so grab some dessert and kindly join the rest of us in the sitting area.”

  Nate snatched the remote control out of Angela’s hands and frantically hit the power button. “The only game I care about is this one, but don’t worry, I’ll join you guys as soon as the Celtics annihilate the Spurs.”

  “We are not going to spend the next three hours watching basketball, Nate.”

  “I never said you had to watch. Go ’head and play your little party game.”

  “Isn’t spending quality time with your friends more important than watching a stupid ball game?” Angela challenged him with her eyes, dared him to contradict her.

  “Whatever,” he mumbled, flopping on the couch and folding his arms across his chest.

  Victorious, Angela strolled over to the coffee table, picked up a white, rectangular box and waved it high in the air. “Great, now who’s ready to play Intimate Questions?”

  * * *

  “Marcus, it’s your turn,” Angela announced, pointing at him. “Now, reach inside the box, pull out a card and answer the question truthfully.”

  Marcus shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

  “Just pick a card and get on with it already,” Nate grumbled, popping a cashew into his mouth. “Another game starts in ten minutes, and I’m not missing tip-off.”

  Tameika licked the icing off her fork. “Be a good sport, Marcus. It’s all in good fun.”