Sultry Pleasure Read online

  Trish sat up and put her glass on the ground beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” But it could have been something.

  “Don’t give me that pile of garbage, Diana.” Trish put her bare feet on the floor and glared at her. “Spill it!”

  Diana clenched her jaw. “I won’t be seeing Marcus again.”

  “And why not?”

  “He’s not the man I thought he was.”

  Trish raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard he’s as hung as Kwanzaa is long, so you might need to reexamine your sources.”

  “Not everything is about sex, Trish!” But she smiled at her friend’s raunchiness.

  “Then tell me, what is this about? Because I bet I know more about Marcus Stanfield than you do. He’s a very fine specimen.”

  Diana fought a pinch of jealousy at Trish’s assertion that she knew Marcus. “Did you know his father is Quentin Stanfield?” she asked.

  “Of course I did. All of Miami does.” Trish looked confused.

  Diana bit her lip in dismay. “I—I didn’t.”

  Her friend shrugged as if to say “so what,” her cleavage jiggling in the white bikini. “What does his father have to do with anything?”

  “His father was the one who owned the factory where my father worked.” She swallowed as the words caught in her throat. “He was the one who tricked Daddy out of his pension. He is the reason my father committed suicide.” Her voice cracked at the memory of her mother on the phone the day before, sorrow in her voice as if it was just yesterday that Washington Hobbes died.

  Trish shrugged again. “Not to be cruel, sugar, but what does that have to do with Marcus? Quentin Stanfield is a true corporate raider, but those two men are not the same. Don’t blame Marcus for what he had no control over.”

  “I thought you were on my side.” Diana looked at her friend in surprise.

  “I’m always on your side. Encouraging you to get some action is most definitely being on your side.” Trish winked at her. “You have to see how much nonsense this is.”

  “Not really. Mom called and chewed me out for leaving the party with Marcus. By the time she hung up, I felt like I’d betrayed my entire family, including Daddy, by kissing Quentin Stanfield’s son.”

  Her friend pursed her bright red lips, looking impressed. “Damn. She’s got guilt down to a science.”

  Diana sighed. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “This is not about thinking.” Her best friend gave her a wicked grin. “This is about you getting some serious man meat in your kitchen for the first time in months, maybe years.”

  When Diana opened her mouth to say something else, Trish held up her hand. “Okay, fine. Tell me what happened on Saturday night after I went home to my lonely bed.”

  Diana sucked on the inside of her lip.

  She was very aware that Trish was surprised Marcus had gone after Diana instead of her. Another reason they’d been friends for so long was because they could read each other like a book.

  When Marcus had approached them out of the gathering of elegantly dressed men, his dismissal of the dress code registering with her as sexy and even a little charming, Diana noticed how Trish had pushed out her breasts, pulled in her already flat stomach and cocked a hip. She didn’t do anything nearly as obvious as fluffing her already immaculate hair, but as far as Diana was concerned, she might as well have. Then, when Marcus asked Diana to dance, her friend’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

  Diana had felt a small measure of satisfaction, although she hadn’t necessarily wanted Marcus’s attention for herself. After years of being the onlooker while men flocked to Trish, it was nice to be the one chatted up for a change. She was self-aware enough to recognize that.

  “Saturday night was great,” Diana finally said.

  She told her friend the PG-13 version of what happened between her and Marcus, how her brother had called and cut the night short.

  “That sounds like a damn nice date,” Trish said. “And as much as I love your brother, I’d have told him to get a cab or something. There’s a sex drought in your parts.”

  Diana flushed, remembering just how long it had been since she had had any sex, good or bad. “I wasn’t about to sleep with him on the first date, Trish!”

  “Too bad,” Trish said. She stood up and headed inside the condo.

  When she came back, she had a decanter of golden liquid in one hand and a pair of tumblers in the other. “After that conversation, I’m convinced we both need the real thing.”

  She poured the liquor in two glasses and passed one to Diana. The fumes from the whiskey burned her nose. “Drink up, honey,” Trish said. “This will be the last time you’ll have something strong in your mouth for a long while.”

  Chapter 6

  Marcus left Diana’s house fighting his disappointment and chagrin. Had he been so wrong about what happened between them over the weekend? What they shared had felt so strong. So mutual. How could a day and a half have changed that? In the morning after their shared night, she was even more real to him, more desirable. He was sure she would feel the same.

  It had been a long time since any woman had rejected him. It felt strange. Even stranger was what the man had shouted to him at Diana’s door. His father, a killer? Hardly.

  Marcus brought the car to a halt at a red light and lowered the windows to let in some fresh air. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to decide what to do now that his evening plans were all shot to hell. His cell phone rang, interrupting his thoughts.

  He glanced at the car’s center console display, then unconsciously straightened his posture when he saw who was calling.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Marcus, aren’t you coming over tonight for dinner?” His father’s voice boomed through the car’s speakers, effortlessly powerful, like the man himself.

  Frowning, he pressed a few buttons on his car’s display to access his calendar. “That’s next Monday.”

  He told his father the date, pleased Quentin Stanfield was calling to check on such a simple thing. Although he’d never doubted that his father loved him, it was only in recent years that the older Stanfield had begun making overt efforts to socialize with Marcus on a regular basis. This included planned family dinners, impromptu lunches, drinks at the yacht club. For Marcus, who had grown up regarding his father as a kind of demigod, this was a very welcome change.

  “Ah,” his father said. “Aliza was sure it was tonight even when I told her it was next week.” He chuckled at some private joke. “Whatever the case, son, be here next Monday at seven.”

  “Of course.” The red light changed to green, and he moved the car forward in traffic.

  “By the way, are the documents ready for the Baltree Heights purchase? My lawyer mentioned it today and I told him you were handling it. I’m following up to make sure.”

  Marcus mentally reviewed his company’s pending contracts. The Baltree Heights deal came to him almost immediately. He knew everything about the deal. At least on paper. He just couldn’t quite remember the exact streets and city blocks that would soon be his. But he would fix that soon enough.

  “Yes, that’s on schedule,” he said with satisfaction. “The owner of the last piece of property holding out there is meeting up with my agent by the end of the week. No worries there.”

  “Good. That area is ripe for development. I want to be sure we get in first.”

  “It’s taken care of,” he said.

  “Very good.” He heard the nod in his father’s voice. Another potential crisis handled. “Good job, son.”

  “Thank you, Dad.” Although he was damn near thirty-three years old, Marcus felt that familiar surge of warmth knowing that he was making his father proud.

  “I’m sure you’re about to spend the evening with a young lady or two. Go and enjoy your night, and I’ll see you next week.”

  “All right, Dad. See you then.”

  He hung up the phone. In the silence, Marcu
s basked in the feeling of pride his father’s words left behind. He’d always wanted to please his powerful father, even while fearing he wasn’t as capable or as ruthless. Over the years, Marcus had built a reputation founded on his tenacity, fairness and ability to go the distance. Not quite the same as his father, who was regarded as a wolf in the business world. But one day he hoped to be as respected as Quentin Stanfield—and also respected by him.

  Marcus tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he drove, consciously allowing the warmth from his father’s words to overshadow the dismay he felt from Diana’s rejection. His evening was free now. What kind of trouble could he get into?

  *

  An hour later found him at one of his favorite clubs. It was early Monday evening, with sunset just a few minutes gone. But the underground club was far from empty. The lights pulsed around the room filled with surging bodies moving to the latest hip-hop beats.

  Below where he sat in the club’s VIP section, beautiful women writhed and flashed him their available smiles. The music was nearly deafening, the base thundering in the cavernous space, the strobe lights like lightning.

  Marcus sat in a wide velvet chair with his thighs sprawled, sunglasses over his eyes to protect them from the intermittent bright lights. He watched the dancers below him grinding their bodies to the music, teeth flashing in laughter as they enjoyed themselves.

  At his side, Mario Spence, a member of his country club who he didn’t know very well, leaned back in his chair while a woman gave him a lap dance. She was deep into it, and so was Mario. Her was back turned to him while her beautiful behind moved in tight circles on his crotch. She made excited little noises as she ran her hands through her butt-length hair and licked her lips.

  Normally, Marcus was all about some action like that for himself, but the thought of a woman who wasn’t Diana Hobbes touching him made him feel bereft, as if he would be settling for something inferior because he couldn’t get the real thing.

  He looked briefly over his shoulder and accidentally caught the dancer’s eye. She winked at him, tweaked her nipple and gave him a naughty smile. He turned away and looked down at the stage, not even a little bit interested.

  What the hell was he doing here? There was nothing for him at this place. The dancer on Mario’s lap only made him feel even lonelier, more resentful.

  Damn Diana.

  She couldn’t see him anymore? There was no way he had been wrong about what she felt for him. He remembered for the hundredth time how she felt in his arms at Gillespie’s. The drugging heat of her mouth around his tongue. Her body’s sensuous movements as they kissed.

  The intensity of his attraction to her had made him nervous; she was nothing like he was used to. Just like when he got behind the wheel of his first sports car. Then he grew used to the feeling, even enjoyed it as it tore his composure to shreds.

  Marcus looked over the crowd of gyrating dancers again. He was in the wrong place. Diana would never be in a club like this. Instead, she’d be at the office of her little nonprofit, saving orphans and getting awards.

  He drew in a deep breath and released it as an irresistible feeling overcame him. No matter what, he had to see Diana Hobbes again.

  Chapter 7

  Diana’s sneakered feet slapped against the pavement as she jogged along the sidewalk bordering her neighborhood. Hip-shaking reggaeton music pounded through the earbuds from the iPhone strapped to her arm, fueling the last few blocks of her three-mile run. Cars blew past her on the street, some going much faster than the posted thirty-five-mile-per-hour speed limit. Three driveways up, a woman held on to her Chihuahua’s leash as the dog barked and tried to run toward Diana.

  She ran past the woman and waved, sweat coating her face, dripping down the center of her back and trickling between her breasts. The music was bass-heavy and loud, helping to block out any unwanted thoughts about a certain man. Diana jumped when the music disappeared and a ringtone chimed in her ears. Panting, she pressed the button on her headset microphone to answer the call without looking to see who it was.

  “Hello?”

  “Diana, what are you doing?” Her mother’s voice came on the line.

  Uh-oh.

  She slowed her pace and turned down a side street, away from the constant flow of cars. Whatever her mother had to say, she didn’t want to get distracted by it and run into traffic. Accidentally or not.

  “What’s up, Mom?”

  “I asked you first,” her mother snapped. “Why are you breathing so hard? Do you have someone over there with you?”

  Diana frowned. Was her mother really asking her…? “I’m jogging.” She clenched her back teeth. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Oh.” Her mother sounded part relieved, part disbelieving. “I just called to see how you are with this Marcus Stanfield thing. You haven’t seen him again, have you? I told you he’s no good.”

  Diana kept her breath even as she ran slower and slower, soon coming to a brisk walk.

  “I told you not to see him,” her mother continued. “I forbid it.”

  The sun burned the back of Diana’s neck as she walked quickly down a cement path, trying to keep her heart rate up and her temper down.

  “I already told you I wouldn’t see him anymore.”

  But heavens above, she wanted to. She wanted to dance with him again, to allow a beautiful night to take its natural course. She wanted to hear his teasing voice and touch him freely without thinking she was doing something wrong. But she also knew she didn’t have that luxury.

  “I know you, Diana,” her mother said. “You always want more than you can have. Stay away from that man. Don’t lose yourself like your father did.”

  “Mother, please!”

  She was so tired of her mother threatening her with the idea of becoming somehow like her father.

  Don’t leave Miami because you’ll end up lost like your father. You can’t be the boss of so many people. Your father tried to be more than he was and look how he ended up.

  Yes, Diana was tired of it all.

  “Don’t ‘Mother, please’ me. I know what that means. I’m only trying to help you. That’s all I’ve ever done while you insisted on doing things your own way.”

  Her own way. She wished she was able to do things her way for once. That she was able to live her life without the specter of her father or the threat of becoming unhappy and dead looming over her. Sometimes she wondered if her mother had always been that fearful, or if it was after her father’s death that she became so.

  “Okay, Mother. Don’t worry. I haven’t seen Marcus Stanfield again, and I don’t plan to.”

  “Just don’t forget yourself, Diana. And don’t forget your obligations to your family.”

  Diana sighed quietly. As if anyone would ever allow her to.

  Chapter 8

  The sky was a mixture of dark and bright, sunlight fighting its way through thick clouds as the smell of impending rain hung thick and heavy in the air. A storm was coming. A brisk wind blew through the palm trees surrounding the brick-lined driveway as Marcus firmly closed his car door and headed for the massive, Mediterranean Revival–style house where his father lived.

  He had never felt comfortable visiting Quentin Stanfield at his new home. The Coconut Grove mansion was not the house where he grew up. It wasn’t even where he avoided responsibilities as a teen. Instead, it was the brand-new house that his father bought when he replaced his first wife with the second.

  He didn’t know when his mother, Evelyn, had become obsolete enough for Quentin to put her out to pasture in a high-rise condo in West Palm Beach. He didn’t know when their family of four had become something else. Evelyn in exile. His younger sister, Cherish, first off to boarding school and now away at a university in England. Quentin richer and even more powerful but as distant as ever.

  Instead of the family Marcus had grown up with, there was Aliza Razzah. A former supermodel who had become the consummate trophy wife when sh
e married Quentin Stanfield at the age of twenty-eight. They had only been married for six years, but Aliza acted as if she and Quentin had always been together. Marcus hoped she wouldn’t be too surprised when his father dropped her for a newer model somewhere down the line.

  Witnessing his parents’ crumbling and oftentimes bitter marriage shattered any belief he might have had in long-term relationships. It didn’t help that his father was a serial cheater and thought nothing of sharing tales of his promiscuity with his only son. Marcus never wanted to be like that. So he avoided women he thought would be hurt by him, dealing only with the easily affectionate types who knew exactly where things stood and only wanted material things from him in the short term. He never wanted to hurt someone the way he’d seen his mother hurt.

  Thoughts of the type of women Marcus let into his life led him tumbling headfirst into memories of his evening with Diana. She was so different from any of them, so compelling and utterly unforgettable.

  I want her, he thought not for the first time that day.

  Then Marcus tucked away his thoughts of Diana, like a precious jewel, and rang the doorbell to his father’s house. He waited only a few seconds before the heavy mahogany door swung open. He nodded to the uniformed butler who let him in and waited for him to close the front door before following him to the family dining room and adjoining sitting room where Aliza and his father waited.

  The rooms were in an over-the-top style that seemed more Aliza’s taste than his father’s. Gold trim, hand-painted walls. Chandeliers heavy with crystal. Antique English furniture. A fortune in Turkish rugs. His sneakered feet sank into yet another one of those rugs as he walked toward his father.

  “Dad.” He shook his father’s hand.

  “You look good, Marcus! Who would have thought, a son of mine looking like a model for Gentleman’s Quarterly.”

  Marcus shrugged but was very aware of Aliza carefully sizing him up from foot to crown—his retro Jordans, True Religion jeans, pale purple dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat. The small diamond in his left ear.