by Pamela Yaye
Karma considered her past relationships. No one had ever spoken to her with such warmth, such tenderness. That’s why I’m still single, she thought with a heavy heart. I’d rather be alone than settle for anything less than I deserve. She’d never admit it to anyone, not even Jazz, but she was tired of being alone, and wanted one special man in her life who’d cherish her. Realizing she was getting caught up in the moment, Karma gave her head a shake and listened intently to what the minister was saying.
“Today, before all of us in this assembly, you have declared you will live together in holy matrimony and God is well pleased. You have made vows, and promises to each other, exchanged rings with hands joined in unity, and by the authority given to me as a minister in the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he said, clapping the groom on the shoulder. “Winston, you may kiss your beautiful bride.”
As the couple shared their first kiss as husband and wife, guests stood and applauded.
That’s when Karma saw him. Morrison Drake. The nerve endings in her body stirred, then tingled. Taller than everyone else in the church, he was impossible to miss. She should have known Morrison would be at the Tolbert-Lefevre wedding. It was the social event of the year, one of the most lavish weddings Karma had ever been to, and although she couldn’t see the president and the first lady from her corner seat, the minister had publicly acknowledged them.
Karma stepped out of the pew. To get a better look at Morrison, she peered around a heavyset gentleman in a tacky, orange suit, and stood on her tiptoes. To die for, in his black, velvet-trimmed suit jacket, it was no surprise the female guests in his pew were boldly checking him out. Was the brunette in the tight, peach dress his date? Or the slender Asian woman with the ridiculously long weave?
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Winston Tolbert!”
Guests cheered, cameras flashed and Karma snapped to attention. Leaving the hotel that morning, Antoinette had told her once the ceremony started she was officially off the clock, and as the couple danced down the aisle to their favorite Celine Dion song Karma waved and whistled. Karma loved weddings, had a blast partying with her clients’ friends and family, and when the bride’s mother thanked her for saving the day, she beamed.
All around her, guests chatted and laughed, traded hugs and snapped pictures, but Karma kept a watchful eye on Morrison as he moved around the church. He was gruff and salty, but damn he was fine. His eyes, his mouth, his physique, his debonair vibe. Wetting her lips with her tongue, Karma admired his profile.
Morrison spotted her, staring at him, and time stopped. Surprise covered his face, and then a broad grin curled his lips. Never, in her life, had she desired a man more, and his deep, dark stare left her breathless. And horny. More aroused than a bachelorette at Magic Mike Live.
Karma looked on with interest, wondering what Judge Hottie was going to do next. Ending his conversation with a willowy blonde draped in diamonds, Morrison shouldered his way through the crowd and headed up the aisle—straight toward her! Their chemistry was powerful, all consuming and, even though he was across the room, she was trembling.
Glancing around, Karma searched for the nearest exit. The urge to run was so strong she wanted to kick off her floral-print satin pumps, hike up her designer gown and bolt through the church doors, but since she didn’t want to plough into the newlyweds, who were posing for guests and photographers in the foyer, Karma waited patiently for them to finish.
Relax, relate, release, she chanted, resting a hand on her midsection to still the butterflies swarming around her empty stomach. Leaving the Royal Suite, she’d grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl, but it didn’t pacify her hunger, and once Karma congratulated the bride and groom she was heading to the nearest burger joint.
“You weren’t going to leave without saying hi, were you?” Morrison leaned in close and kissed her cheek. “How do you know the happy couple?”
“I used to do Antoinette’s hair when she lived in the Hamptons, so when she called and asked me to do her hair and makeup for her big day I said, ‘hell yeah!’”
Morrison whistled. “Wow, I’m impressed. I’ve never seen her look so glamorous.”
“I think her custom-made gown had something to do with it, but thanks,” Karma said with a laugh, glancing over her shoulder at the bride. “I take great pride in what I do, and making my clients happy is my number one priority, so I always try my best to capture their vision.”
Her heart was beating a million miles a second, but she maintained her poise.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said. “You look so different with braids.”
Taken aback by his words, she raised an eyebrow. “Different bad, or different good?”
“The latter of course. You’re stunning, Karma, simply and utterly captivating,” he praised, in an appreciative tone of voice. “Hell, you’re so fine you’d look good with a mullet!”
Karma laughed long and hard, couldn’t believe how funny he was. Bored with her hair, she’d braided it last night in Senegalese twists. For the wedding, she’d piled them on top of her head in an elegant bun, and diamond clips added a touch of glamour. All day, she’d been receiving compliments, and at the start of the ceremony five women had booked her on the spot to get their hair done at Beauty by Karma. Her schedule was already jam-packed, filled with dozens of back-to-back appointments next week, but Karma had entered the slots in her cell phone calendar and emailed it to Abigail.
Karma pinned her shoulders back and straightened her spine. She smoothed a hand over her hips, then adjusted the diamond choker at her neck. Her satin Balenciaga gown had cost a small fortune, but once she’d tried it on at the by-appointment-only boutique in Southampton, she was in love. It accentuated her best features, hid her flaws and the vibrant teal shade made her eyes pop. Jazz had insisted she buy it as an early birthday present to herself, and Karma was glad she’d listened to her bestie. Her nerves were out of whack, and perspiration wet her skin but she’d never felt more beautiful.
“That dress was made for you, and the color complements your complexion perfectly.”
Transfixed by the sound of his voice, and his distinct, masculine scent, Karma didn’t speak. Someone bumped into her from behind, pushing her into his chest, and heat flooded her skin. “Sorry about that,” she murmured, regaining her balance. “Someone pushed me.”
“No problem. I like holding beautiful women in my arms.”
“What’s gotten into you? You’re giving out compliments like they’re candy,” Karma teased, shocked that this was the same man who’d insulted her last Saturday at her beauty salon. She couldn’t wrap her brain around it, couldn’t figure out why Morrison was being so nice to her. Had Reagan put him up to this? Was he trying to make amends for barging into Beauty by Karma last weekend and causing a scene?
“You’re right. I better stop flirting with you before your date beats me up.” He gestured at the well-dressed crowd mingling in the church, and said, “Where is he? I’d love to meet him.”
“I don’t have a date. I’m here alone.”
“Great, then you can be my plus one at the reception.”
“You don’t have a date?”
Mischief filled his eyes. “I do now. You.”
“Your family isn’t here with you tonight?”
“My brothers were supposed to drive down with me last night, but Duane’s youngest son is sick with pneumonia, and he didn’t want to leave him,” Morrison explained. “And Roderick’s fiancée surprised him with a weekend getaway to Cabo, so I’m flying solo tonight.”
Karma swallowed hard. Morrison was just inches away from her, close enough to kiss, to touch, but she resisted the needs of her flesh. Had to, or she’d embarrass herself. Morrison was a powerful, successful man who probably thought women should be seen, not heard, and Karma didn’t want to hook up with someo
ne who didn’t respect her—no matter how dreamy he was.
“It’s settled. We’ll sit together at the reception, and you can tell me more about your—”
Interrupting him, she fervently shook her head. “Morrison, I can’t. There are table assignments, and place cards, and I don’t want to mess up Antoinette’s seating chart.”
“Don’t worry, beautiful. I’ve got this. Leave everything to me.”
He lowered his mouth to her ear, and Karma shivered. Why did that keep happening? Why did her limbs shake, and her knees wobble every time he looked at her? It didn’t matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t speak.
Placing a hand on her back, he led her out of the church and across the street to where his sleek, black Bentley was parked. Watching him on the sly, Karma didn’t know if she should be mad at his take-charge attitude or impressed. But as Morrison gently caressed her shoulders and hips, desire—not anger—shot through her veins, and Karma knew if she wasn’t careful she’d be another notch on his belt, and there was no way in hell she’d ever let that happen.
Chapter 6
Over the years, Karma had been to dozens of black-tie dinners and high-profile events in New York, but nothing compared to the Tolbert-Lefevre wedding. It was a lavish, over-the-top affair that had it all: a dramatic entrance with flame throwers, a scrumptious, seven-course meal prepared by a celebrity master chef, an energetic emcee who made guests laugh out loud, and a surprise performance from the Queen of Hip-Hop and Soul.
Raising her flute to her lips, Karma spotted belly dancers waiting outside the ballroom doors and admired their colorful costumes. The Tolbert-Lefevre reception wasn’t a party; it was a Hollywood production, with more A-list stars than the Grammys, and Karma was having the time of her life. She’d met the mayor, taken a selfie with a Spice Girl and blogged about the wedding from the comfort of her satin-draped chair.
Hanging lanterns, ivory-adorned centerpieces, rose-gold candlesticks and round tables dressed in fine china created a whimsical, romantic decor in the Four Seasons grand ballroom. The elaborate candy station, with the three-tier fondue fountain, had long lines, but Karma liked the black-and-white photo booth the best. She’d never taken so many photographs in her life, but every time Morrison suggested they take one more she struck a pose.
From the time they’d arrived at the grand ballroom, Karma and Morrison had been talking, flirting and cracking jokes. They’d been sitting at Table Nine for hours, chatting about their careers, mutual friends and acquaintances, and their favorite hangout spots in the city. Morrison had an opinion about everything, but his sense of humor was his most endearing quality. Witty and self-deprecating, he made Karma laugh until tears spilled down her cheeks. And she wasn’t the only one. They were sitting with four other couples, and the women at the table were giggling too. Morrison was telling the group about his trip to Asia months earlier, and everyone was hanging on to his every word—even the pretentious plastic surgeon and his decades-younger wife.
“Tokyo and Hong Kong are fantastic cities, with incredibly kind and gracious people, but Singapore was by far my favorite country to visit.”
“Really? Why?” questioned the female biochemist. “What made it stand out for you?”
Cocking an eyebrow, Morrison pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and tapped the face of his gold, Gucci wristwatch. “How much time do you have because once I start talking about my travels there’s just no stopping me!”
The women tittered, the men chuckled, and Karma propped her face up in her hands. She could listen to Morrison talk all night, would never tire of his charm, his wit and his smooth-as-silk baritone. The belly dancers burst into the room, eliciting a cheer from the guests, but Karma didn’t take her eyes off Judge Hottie. Conversation was put on hold, but once the dancers finished their routine, Morrison finished his story.
“Singapore is a city, and an island, and a country all in one, and every day was an exciting, new adventure,” he explained, picking up his water glass. “I tried zip lining for the first time, had breakfast with the orangutans at the Singapore Zoo, enjoyed a private sightseeing tour through the city at sunrise, and I made several good friends along the way, as well...”
Female friends? Karma wondered, jealousy rearing its ugly head.
Of course they’re women, quipped her inner voice. Look at him! He’s tall, debonair and dreamy, and if you weren’t afraid of getting hurt you’d do him in a New York minute!
“Give a round of applause to Mr. and Mrs. Winston Tolbert,” the emcee shouted.
Popping another chocolate raspberry truffle into her mouth, Karma watched with rapt attention as the bride and groom approached the raised podium. Remembering her favorite moment of the night, she laughed to herself. After dessert, Antoinette had ordered all of the single women to the dance floor, but when Karma saw the tulip-filled bouquet flying toward her she’d jumped out of the way. Morrison hadn’t been so lucky, but chuckled good-naturedly when the black, lace garter landed at his feet. Much to the crowd’s delight, he’d scooped it up in his hands, waved it in the air, then danced back to his seat. Women whistled, swooned and cheered. Of course. It didn’t surprise her. Morrison was the most eligible bachelor in the Hamptons and couldn’t go anywhere without females ogling him, and Manhattan was no different.
“Today I married my best friend, my one true love, and I want to thank everyone in this room for helping me make my dreams come true,” Antoinette said, snuggling against her new husband. “We are humbled by your unwavering support, and we wouldn’t be the couple we are today without each and every one of you cheering us on. My husband is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given, and every time he kisses me I feel like the luckiest woman alive...”
Karma admired the bride’s poise and eloquence. Twelve hours ago, Antoinette had been panicking, and now she was grinning at her husband, so blissfully in love stars shimmered in her eyes. Karma thought she’d seen it all, couldn’t imagine anything more heartwarming than the couple’s first dance, but their poignant thank-you speech moved her to tears.
“Now, it’s time to get down and dirty, so get out of your seats, and let’s hit the dance floor!” Winston shouted, pumping his fist in the air to the beat of the hip-hop song playing in the background. “Come on, baby, let’s show them how it’s done...”
Eager to bust a move, everyone at Table Nine jumped up from their seats, but Karma didn’t move. Her expensive designer pumps were made for walking, not bumping and grinding, and since she didn’t want to roll her ankle on the eve of her thirtieth birthday Karma stayed put. She crossed her legs and sipped her cocktail as her tablemates waved goodbye.
“You’re not coming? But they’re playing the ‘Cha Cha Slide.’ It’s a classic.” Standing, Morrison loosened the knot in his black tie, took off his suit jacket and draped it behind his chair. “You have to come. It’s going to be fun.”
“Maybe later,” she said, pretending not to notice the disappointment in his eyes. “I’m going to sit this one out, but you go ahead. Shake a leg for the both of us, Judge Drake!”
Chuckling, he dropped his mouth to her ear and a hand to her thigh. His cologne washed over her, the spicy, sandalwood scent so enticing her mouth was moist. “Sit tight, beautiful. I’ll be back in a few, so don’t go anywhere.”
Morrison kissed her cheek, then turned and marched through the room. But he didn’t make it. Besieged by an army of perky, twentysomething women with lust in their eyes, he stopped abruptly and flashed a smile. As if under a trance, they followed him toward the dance floor, snapping their fingers and swiveling their hips. The crowd parted when Morrison arrived, and from the front of the grand ballroom, he led the group in the steps of the Cha Cha Slide. Amazed, and impressed, Karma straightened in her chair. She’d never seen a man move like that before, let alone a judge, and wondered what other skills Morrison had. Does he move like that in the bedroom? Is he a pa
ssionate and selfless lover?
Karma picked up her glass and finished the rest of her drink. The sweet liquid quenched her thirst, helped to cool the raging fire in her body. Her eyes were glued to Morrison, boldly admired him. With his energy and charisma, he garnered more attention than a presidential Tweet, and owned the heart of every woman in the room. Morrison danced to so many songs, with so many different guests, Karma marveled at his stamina. Shrieked and cheered when he did the splits. Morrison knew all of the latest dances, and moved his body with ease and confidence, seemed to feed off the excitement in the air as he joined the Soul Train line.
Checking the time on her cell, Karma grabbed her purse, tucked it under her arm and rose to her feet. She’d had a blast at the Tolbert-Lefevre wedding, but she wanted to return to her suite to freshen up before Jazz arrived, and she hurried to say good-night to the bride and groom. Several hugs and kisses later, Karma sashayed out the ballroom doors, and into the bright, grandiose lobby. The crystal chandeliers, designer furniture and eclectic wall paintings screamed of glamour, and added to the serene ambiance of the posh hotel.
“One minute, you’re sitting pretty at the table nursing a virgin margarita, and the next thing I know you’re running off. What gives, Karma? I thought we were having a good time?”
At the sound of Morrison’s voice, she glanced over her shoulder, ready to fire off a witty retort, but when their eyes locked the quip died on her lips. Karma didn’t think it was possible for Morrison to look any sexier, but his shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his boyish grin gave him an edge, a bad-boy vibe she found irresistible. Drenched in sweat, his designer threads clung to his biceps and chest, and the bulge in his pants was pronounced. Eye-catching, and arousing. Something Karma’s wayward hands were itching to stroke and caress—
“Come back inside,” Morrison said, touching her forearm. “I want to dance with you.”
He wore a hopeful look on his face, and if Karma didn’t have plans with Jazz tonight she’d return to the grand ballroom. Morrison had surprised her at the reception, had proved that he wasn’t the stuffy, uptight judge she’d thought he was, and he was great company.
