However, it did come to a crashing end, with her soaring beyond herself, seemingly speaking in tongues while Phillip pumped faster, harder before collapsing heavily atop her. They lay joined together, their chests rising and falling in unison. Seneca managed a small moan of protest when Phillip pulled out. He left the bed to discard the condom.
She never knew when her husband returned to the bed.
She’d fallen asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Seneca slipped quietly out of bed in an attempt not to wake Phillip. She showered, dressed and was lounging in the living room, watching the sun rise over the desert, when he walked in. Her body was still on East Coast time. She averted her gaze rather than stare at his male body in its entire naked splendor. The sun pouring into the room turned him into a statue of gold.
Yawning and scratching his chest, Phillip stared at his wife. “What are you doing up so early?”
“I’m still on New York time. Besides, I want to call my parents to let them know I’m now a married woman.”
He yawned again. “What do you think they’re going to say?”
Seneca turned to look at him. “I don’t know. My dad will probably be shocked. I can’t anticipate what my mother will say.”
“It’ll be easier breaking it to my folks because I’ve already told them about you.”
She sat up straight. “When?”
“When I returned to see you. My father wanted to know what had me flying back to New York after I’d only been home a few days.”
“Am I going to meet your parents before I go back?”
“No.”
“No!” Shock was evident in the single word and her stunned expression.
“You’ll get to meet them at some other time. They’re in Malaysia for an international medical conference.” Phillip studied Seneca, still unable to believe his good fortune. With her flawless complexion and the ends of her hair curling around her incredible face, she continued to take his breath away. “Are you coming back to bed?”
Seneca shook her head. “In a little while. I want to make the phone calls before my folks read about it in a supermarket tabloid.”
“I suggest you call Booth, so he’ll know how to spin it.”
“How do you want him to spin it, Phillip?”
“I’m going to leave that up to the Barracuda. Knowing him, he’ll milk it for all it’s worth. Who is she? Are they a couple, or just friends? Weren’t King Phillip and Butterfly spotted together wearing wedding bands? Is she pregnant? Yada, yada, yada.”
Throwing back her head and baring her throat, Seneca laughed uncontrollably. “It sounds as if you know the drill.”
Phillip chuckled. He liked hearing Seneca laugh. For some one so young she was much too serious. “It’s a well-rehearsed script, baby. Prepare yourself for an onslaught from tabloid, magazine and television entertainment reporters. BGM’s publicity department will schedule the interviews based on how much they’re willing to pay for a story. They’ll try to get as much as they can, only because Booth Gordon is a greedy bastard.”
Seneca sobered. Her private life was about to be played out in public. She knew she would’ve been able to maintain a modicum of privacy, away from the runway, as Seneca Houston. However, her confidence wavered when she realized she would be hurled into the spotlight as Mrs. Phillip Kingston.
Was she prepared for the close scrutiny that was certain to occur? Unknowingly, it would be a question she would ask herself over and over in the next few weeks. She picked up her cell phone and punched in the speed dial for her parents’ house. It rang six times before going to voice mail. Not bothering to leave a message, Seneca called her mother’s cell. It, too, went directly to voice mail.
Lines of consternation appeared between her eyes. It was odd that Dahlia hadn’t picked up, because she was fanatical about keeping her cell charged and on. Seneca tried one more number—Robyn’s cell. She smiled when hearing her sister’s voice.
“Hey, Robbie, it’s Seneca. Is Mom around?”
“Yeah. I just left her downstairs in the kitchen. What’s up?”
“Did you hear the house phone ring?”
“Yeah,” Robyn repeated. “But I thought Mom got it.”
“Can you do me a favor, Robbie?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Go downstairs and see if Mom is okay.”
“No problem. I’m on my way down. Daddy told me you’re not coming up for the Fourth.”
“I’m in California.”
“Doing what?”
“I’m shooting a commercial with Phillip Kingston.” Seneca held the tiny phone away from her ear when Robyn screamed into the mouthpiece.
“Omigod, Seneca! He is so fuc—freakin’ hot!”
She smiled, wanting to tell Robyn that Phillip was now her brother-in-law. “He is kind of nice on the eyes,” she said instead. Seneca couldn’t hear what Robyn had told Dahlia, but the older woman’s reply knifed through her like an ice pick. Dahlia had heard the phone, but after seeing the caller ID hadn’t wanted to speak to her.
“She doesn’t want—”
“I heard her, Robbie. It’s okay.”
“What’s going on between you and Mom?”
“Nothing,” Seneca lied smoothly. She didn’t want to bring her sister into her quarrel with their mother. “I’m not going to see you for my birthday, because I have another event that weekend.”
“When am I going to see you?” Robyn whined.
“As soon as I finalize my summer calendar, I’ll ask Daddy if you can come down and spend some time with me.”
“I’ll come if you promise to introduce me to Phillip Kingston…”
Seneca smiled. “I promise.”
She talked to her sister for another minute and then rang off. Her smile faded, replaced by unshed tears. She knew Dahlia was notorious for holding grudges, but that did little to relieve the feeling of sadness holding her captive. Seneca had tired of fighting with her mother years before, and once she’d moved out she’d thought things would change. Apparently they hadn’t—at least not for Dahlia.
“I can’t let her do this to me,” she whispered, pushing to her feet. If she continued to dwell on the friction between her and her mother, Seneca knew she would become an emotional wreck.
Sniffling and squaring her shoulders, she raced into the bedroom and flopped on the bed, Phillip catching her in midair. They rolled around and around on the large bed, stopping long enough for Phillip to slip on a condom. This coming together was different from their wedding night. There was no frantic coupling and when it ended they’d ceased to exist as separate entities.
Seneca closed her eyes when she felt the flutter of nerves seize her as she stood on the mark from which she would move once filming began. The set was in a large warehouse that had been converted into studios where a popular daytime soap opera was in production. The commercial was promised to be as stunningly visual as the crossover vehicle being showcased. Well-dressed actors spanning six decades filled the room, talking quietly, most holding flutes with sparkling cider. Classical music played softly in the background as the actors examined and gestured toward sculpture and framed prints on the stark-white walls.
There were no lines for them to memorize. She and Phillip had been directed to stroll around what would become an art gallery exchanging sultry glances, in keeping with the vehicle’s tagline: “Words are unnecessary.”
Clad in a black sheath dress with an asymmetrical neckline and black Studio Pollini suede-and-patent-leather pumps, a strand of thirteen-millimeter pearls, matching studs, dramatic makeup and with her hair fashioned into an elaborate chignon, Seneca found herself transformed into a young sophisticate. She opened her eyes. The butterflies were gone, replaced by adrenaline.
Seneca hadn’t seen Phillip since he’d disappeared behind a door marked Wardrobe/Makeup, and when he walked onto the set the reaction the director wanted from her was evident when she stared, an expression of awe filling
her eyes. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the tall figure dressed in a navy tailored suit, stark-white shirt, charcoal-gray silk tie and black imported slip-ons.
Spotlights bathed Seneca and Phillip in warm, flattering light as the director yelled “action” and they began walking in opposite directions, their eyes following the other as they glanced over their shoulders. The camera angle changed, pulling back to capture a full shot of her from head to toe. Phillip stopped, lifted his eyebrows questioningly, and was rewarded with a coy smile and lowered lids from Seneca. She hadn’t accepted his unspoken advance, but her expression communicated that she hadn’t rejected him either.
“Cut!” The director’s voice echoed throughout the set. “Let’s set up for scene two.” He’d captured the scene in one take.
The second scene, an outdoor shot, showed Phillip leaning against the bumper of the crossover, waiting for Seneca to emerge from the gallery. He nods to her, but she shakes her head and gets into a waiting limo. Phillip watches her car take off, then slips into the SRX, maneuvering smoothly away from the curb.
The edited ten-second spot concludes with Phillip slowing down when he sees Seneca standing on the side of the road with her thumb up. He gets out and opens the passenger-side door, but she rounds the SRX and slips in behind the wheel. She motions for him to get in and the scene ends with them sharing a smile as she drives off.
The director was effusive with his praise when Seneca climbed out of the luxury car, kissing her cheeks. “You were incredible. I occasionally direct a daytime drama and the writers have come up with a new storyline where one of the principal characters discovers he’s the father of a biracial daughter after he’d had a brief affair with a former business associate. You would be perfect for the part.”
Seneca patted his shoulder. “Talk to my agent.” She’d never thought saying those four words would leave her feeling euphoric. “Tell your agent to call my agent.” If she had a dollar every time she’d heard that line of dialogue in the movies, she could’ve saved enough to spend the night in the Waldorf-Astoria’s ultra-exclusive Towers.
“I’ll do that,” he promised.
Seneca’s head popped up when she felt the punishing grip of Phillip’s fingers around her upper arm. “What are you doing?” she asked whispering, when he led her back to the building.
“We have to talk,” he said between clenched teeth.
“We’re not going to talk about anything until you let go of my arm. Not only are you hurting me but you’ll probably leave a bruise.”
She’d learned early in her adolescence not to pick her zits, because the result was bruises that took weeks to fade. Phillip loosened his hold, but not enough for her to escape him. Waiting until he closed the door to the dressing room to which he’d been assigned, Seneca rounded on Phillip. “What’s up with the caveman act?”
“I’m sorry, baby. You know I’d never hurt you.”
“No, I don’t know that,” Seneca countered. “This is the second time I’ve asked you to take your hand off me.”
Phillip flashed a sheepish grin. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.” He hadn’t lied to Seneca. He would never deliberately cause her physical harm.
Walking over and flopping down on a sofa, Seneca stared at the toes of the designer pumps. “What do you want to talk about?”
Taking two long strides, Phillip leaned against a lighted vanity. “How can you tell that man to talk to your agent before you talk to me?”
“What?”
Shifting and resting his hands on his thighs, he leaned toward her. “I am your husband, Seneca. Instead of telling him to call Booth, you should’ve told him that you’ll get back to him.”
She blinked. “Get back to him after I talk to you?”
“Dah!” he drawled.
Seneca paused as she tried analyzing Phillip’s reaction to her interaction with the film director. “What’s obvious to you isn’t that obvious to me, Phillip.”
“How can you commit to a job without consulting with me first?”
Emotions ranging from shock, incredulity and anger gripped her. “Are you saying I have to get your approval where it concerns my career? I’m only asking because I don’t believe you would permit me to control yours.”
“It’s not about control, Seneca.”
“If it’s not, then what is it, Phillip?”
“If you get the part for the soap, then you’d have to work in L.A.”
Seneca swallowed hard, trying not to reveal the inner turmoil turning her stomach muscles into knots. “You’re projecting. I haven’t even auditioned for the part, so your saying I’d have to work in L.A. is pointless. You’re jumping the gun because you don’t know the details.”
“It’s not business as usual, Seneca. You can’t make a decision without first checking with me.”
“Check with you!” she shouted. “I am not a little girl where I had to check in with my father, or get his approval before I could do something or go somewhere. You knew before you asked me to marry you what our marriage would be like.”
Phillip nodded. “That’s true. But I’d expected you to do fashion shows, magazine layouts or even an occasional commercial. But not a daytime soap opera.”
“Now you want to pick and choose the course of my career?”
“No.”
“Yes, Phillip,” Seneca countered angrily. “Yes, you do. Are you telling me it’s okay to do runway shows or pose for a magazine, but I can’t act because it would take me away from New York? What about you?” she spat out. “You’re a professional athlete. One night you may play in New York, then the next night in Miami, and a couple of days later you’re in Chicago. You start preseason play in early October and the regular basketball season doesn’t end until mid-April. Then there are the play-offs, and if you’re lucky to make it to the championship that’s another month. So in all there are six to seven months of the year when I’m lucky if I get my husband all to myself for six or seven consecutive days.
“You may have caught me off guard when you asked me to marry you, but I had to weigh all my options. Even if I wasn’t a model I had to be willing to accept that you wouldn’t be coming home every night to sit down to dinner with me. If I can sacrifice not seeing you whenever I want, or sharing you with millions of adorning fans, then you should at least do the same for me. I’m just starting out, and what I need from you more than love is respect and support. Respect for what I do, and to support me as I begin my journey into the only profession where having a good face and body counts for something.”
Phillip’s face had become a mask of stone during Seneca’s lengthy monologue. He knew if he’d interrupted they would’ve engaged in an all-out verbal assault on each other. So he’d remained silent and let her have her say. She believed he didn’t want her to have a successful career, but she was wrong. He wanted Butterfly to soar, to become the supermodel Booth Gordon had predicted. What she’d failed to understand was that now they were a team, and if a team didn’t confer and play together, then they were doomed and certain to fail.
“Are you finished?”
Seneca recoiled as if he’d struck her across the face. Not only was his voice cold, but it was cutting. “Yes, I am.”
Phillip stood up. “Good. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go back to the hotel, call the carrier and hopefully book a flight out today.” Booth hadn’t booked a return flight because he didn’t know how long it would take to shoot the commercial. Fortunately, it had taken only one day.
Seneca stood up and walked out of the dressing room, slamming the door behind her. Red-hot rage made it almost impossible for her to think clearly. She didn’t need a clairvoyant to tell her that her marriage was in trouble, although she hadn’t been married a week.
When she’d called to tell Booth that she had married Phillip, his advice was to keep their marriage a secret until he met with the agency’s publicity department. The news of her marrying one of the country’s most eligible bachelors
was cause to sell millions of supermarket tabloids and entertainment magazines. He would also arrange for them to be interviewed by all of the television entertainment journalists individually and as a couple. He’d predicted the hype would thrust her into the spotlight where she and Phillip would become another beautiful, high-profile celebrity couple.
She entered her dressing room, closed the door and sat down at the vanity to begin removing the makeup that always had a tendency to make her face feel heavy. However, wearing makeup had its advantages. It forced her into a daily regimen of caring for her skin. For Seneca, cleansing facial lotions, eye-makeup remover and moisturizers were as essential as food, water, deodorant and toothpaste.
Using a tissue, she removed the last of the makeup, dabbed her face with a deep-cleaning astringent for sensitive skin, making certain to avoid the eye area, then applied an oil-free moisturizer. It had been a while, but she never knew when a pimple would remind her that she still hadn’t reached the stage where adolescent acne was a thing of the past.
Seneca changed out of the dress and into a pair of jeans, an oversize T-shirt and running shoes. Removing the pins from her hair, she swept it up in a ponytail, securing it with a red elastic band, then pulled a worn denim baseball cap over her head. When she walked out of the dressing room no one would recognize her as the actress who’d silently seduced basketball phenom Phillip Kingston into letting her drive his prized vehicle.
Phillip, who’d also changed, was waiting for her in the parking lot. He opened the rear door to the limo and waited for her to get in before he slid onto the leather seat next to her. Reaching for her hand, he laced their fingers together as the driver maneuvered out of the lot and onto the road that led to their hotel. It was as if they were reliving the commercial. No words were exchanged, but that was a good thing, because the last thing Phillip wanted to do was argue with his wife.
Chapter Seventeen
“Why aren’t you dressed?” Seneca asked Phillip when she walked into the bedroom at the Ritz-Carlton. He lay on the bed, eyes closed. Although he’d covered his lower body with the sheet, it couldn’t conceal his erection.
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