After Hours Read online

  “What are we going to do tonight, darling?”

  Ronald’s hands slipped lower. He lifted Karla effortlessly until her legs were anchored around his waist. “Fuck,” he rasped close to her ear.

  Holding on to his neck to keep her balance, she laughed softly. “I’m serious, darling.”

  “So am I,” he countered. “Join me in the shower, and if you can still walk and talk, then we’ll see about going out for dinner.”

  “I’ll watch you shower, but I’m not going to join you.” If Ronald was disappointed that she didn’t want to share his shower, his expression gave no indication as he carried her out of the office, down a wide hallway and up the staircase to the second story as Karla rested her head on his shoulder. “I want to put in another fireplace.”

  “Don’t we have enough fireplaces, Karla?”

  “Not really.” Her voice was soft, seductive. She didn’t want to tell Ronald that she’d come into an unexpected windfall thanks to the generosity of the former Adina Jenkins. “I’d also like to host a July Fourth party this year now that we have the pool.”

  Ronald entered their bedroom suite and carried Karla into his bathroom. When they’d met with an architect to draw up the plans for the house, Karla had insisted on his-and-her bathroom suites. Hers contained a powder room, a garden tub, a bidet and a shower stall; his had a steam room, a freestanding shower and a urinal.

  When they’d decided to build the house, Ronald told his wife he wanted nothing to do with the design or decorating. This is not to say that Karla didn’t confer with him beforehand, because he had to countersign checks for big-ticket items. His mantra of Whatever Karla King wanted Karla King got kept their marriage on an even keel.

  Discussing the household budget with her was something he avoided at all costs because he and his three sisters grew up listening to their parents’ incessant arguments about not being able to make ends meet on their salaries.

  It was different for him and Karla because they’d decided not to have children. Another factor wherein both differed from their parents was that individually they earned six-figure salaries. They’d also invested well with stock portfolios worth several million dollars.

  “If you want it, then go for it, baby,” he said, setting her on her feet.

  Karla sat on a padded bench, watching her husband undress. She’d had the contractor draw up plans to put in an outdoor stove/grill and a stainless-steel sink in the expansive backyard, but now she could indulge herself with an outdoor fireplace. She’d fantasized about sitting outdoors in front of a fire in the cooler weather, and now it would become a reality.

  Her gaze lingered on the muscles in Ronald’s back when he leaned down to pick up his discarded clothes. She smiled. It’d taken a while, but he’d learned to pick up after himself. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d told Ronald that she was his wife, not his maid, even though a cleaning service came to the house twice each week.

  “What do you think of having an outdoor fireplace?” she asked as Ronald walked in the shower area.

  He hesitated, turning a faucet with a programmable thermostat. “What?”

  Unconsciously Karla tucked several strands of hair behind her right ear. “A fireplace,” she repeated. “We can entertain outdoors until it gets real cold.”

  A frown marred Ronald’s almost-too-pretty masculine face. “You spend years decorating the house where you like it, and now you want to entertain outside year-round?”

  “Not year-round, darling. Having an outdoor fireplace extends the time for outdoor entertainment. It would also save us sending our rugs out to be cleaned.” She’d covered her wood floors in the living and dining rooms with priceless hand-knotted Turkish rugs.

  Ronald turned on the water, and streams of water from jets built into the tiled wall cascaded over his body from shoulders to legs. “Okay,” he drawled noncommittally. He didn’t know why Karla wanted to talk about things that didn’t interest him when all he wanted to do was make love to her.

  “Okay what, Ronald?”

  His frustration and temper exploded. “Put in the fuckin’ fireplace.”

  Karla froze, nothing moving except the rise and fall of her chest. “What the hell is the matter with you?” Her voice was low, ominous.

  He glared at her. “I told you that I want to make love to you, but you keeping going on about inane bullshit!”

  Rising slowly from the stool, she closed the distance between them, standing far enough back so she wouldn’t get wet. Hands on hips, her eyes narrowed to mere slits. “If you didn’t want to talk about it, then you should’ve said something.”

  Cupping his hands, Ronald filled them with water and flung it at Karla. Water pasted the cotton to her chest, the outline of her breasts showing through as if she were naked. She looked down at her chest before her gaze shifted back to her grinning husband. His large, even teeth showed whitely against the black of his mustache.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Okay, Mrs. King?”

  Reaching down, Karla relieved herself of the wet undershirt. “No, it’s not okay, Mr. King.”

  “Whatcha gonna do ’bout it?” he said, lapsing into dialect.

  “This.”

  Her right hand shot out, she grasping his penis at the same time she stepped out of her pants. Ronald had guessed right. She wasn’t wearing panties. He hardened quickly as they sank down to the floor.

  There was no time for foreplay when Karla opened her legs. Her hand covered Ronald’s as he eased his enormous penis into her vagina. Even after six years she hadn’t figured out whether he was too big or she too small, but once he was fully sheathed inside her, the pleasure was always exquisite. They shared a groan and a smile as water flowed over them. She hadn’t wanted to get her hair wet, but it was too late. She was wet, her hair was wet and her body was on fire!

  Ronald slid his hands under Karla’s hips, lifting her off the large blocks of tile for deeper penetration. “This is what I want to talk about, baby.”

  Karla, closing her eyes, nodded. She forgot about the specs for her outdoor kitchen, the official documents she would hand over to Dina Gordon, the cash she’d secreted in a drawer in her walk-in closet and Rhys, whom she would meet at a Philadelphia hotel.

  What she couldn’t forget or ignore was the heat and then chills as Ronald’s powerful thrusts swept her away to a place where nothing mattered except the two of them. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. Droplets of water shimmered on his hair and dripped off the end of his nose.

  Passion pounded the blood through her heart as she struggled to breathe. Then, without warning, waves of ecstasy throbbed through her; she gasped as the pulsing between her legs swirled uncontrollably.

  Cradling her hips with one broad hand, Ronald covered Karla’s breasts with the other, squeezing them until her nipples hardened like plump berries. She was an inferno, her heat sweeping into him. He may have slept with other women, but it was his wife he always came back to. She wound her legs around his waist, her body meeting his in a savage bucking that sent shivers up his spine. He felt the familiar tightening in his scrotum. Throwing back his head, he bellowed as he ejaculated, the walls of her vagina milking him until he was close to fainting.

  They lay motionless until their respiration slowed to a normal rate. As if on cue, they got up, washed each other’s bodies, then retreated to the bedroom and fell into bed together. The sun had gone down and stars littered the sky when they got up and went down to the kitchen to prepare a light repast.

  It was after midnight when they went back to bed to make love yet again.

  CHAPTER 19

  Karla touched Ronald’s arm to get his attention. “I’m going inside to see if Sybil needs help.” He nodded and went back to his conversation with his host and two other men.

  Navigating her way through the small crowd gathered in the expansive backyard of the two-story house in a new upscale West Orange, New Jersey, suburb, she slid back the scree
n door and stepped into a stainless-steel kitchen. Sybil Cumberland, dressed in a white tunic over a pair of pin-striped pants, stood at a cooking island, tossing salad fixings in a large glass bowl. Classical music flowed from speakers concealed throughout the house.

  “I came to see if you needed help with something.”

  Sybil’s head came up. She smiled, her upper lip disappearing against the ridge of her teeth with the gesture. “Thanks, Karla, but I have everything under control.”

  Resting a hip against the cooking island, Karla took a sip of her sweet tea. “Do you mind if I hang out here and watch you?”

  Sybil’s wide-set, slanting brown eyes bore into Karla’s. “Something the matter with the company outside?” she asked intuitively.

  Karla twisted her mouth at the same time she rolled her eyes. “You know Maxine Owens and I can’t be within spitting distance of each other without shit goin’ down.”

  “I’d never invite her to my home if her husband wasn’t related to Cory, and you know how he hates drama. The horse-face bitch will go after anything with a dick.” She’d spat out the word.

  Nodding, Karla agreed with Sybil. The one time she’d seen Maxine with her hand near Ronald’s crotch, she’d been up and out of her chair and heading toward the woman with the intent of kicking her ass but not before snatching every track of weave out of her basketball-size head. Ronald had managed to defuse the altercation when he forcibly removed Maxine’s hand, and whatever he’d whispered in her ear, it hadn’t been to her liking, because she’d told her henpecked, frock-tail, candy-ass husband they were leaving.

  Consciously dismissing Maxine, she watched Sybil quickly and expertly put together an antipasto platter. Green and black olives, marinated artichokes, roasted red bell peppers cut into narrow strips, anchovy fillets and parmesan cheese broken into bite-size pieces were put into separate small bowls and plates, then on a large serving tray along with serving utensils. She then separated thinly sliced Italian cured prosciutto and bresaola and layered them attractively on a hand-painted platter.

  Sybil, who operated her own catering business, moved around the kitchen without wasting a single motion. She removed a parchment-lined baking sheet from the oven. The tantalizing aroma of tiny golden parmesan shortbreads filled the kitchen. After cooling them on a rack, she topped them with roasted cherry tomatoes and feta, parsley pesto and goat cheese. She removed another tray, this one with cocktail corn cakes she topped with spicy mango salsa.

  Karla was introduced to Sybil three years ago after their husbands met at a Vegas-based computer show. She felt a particular kinship with the chef because Sybil’s ambition matched hers. At thirty-six, Sybil was five years younger, and although she ran a successful business, it wasn’t enough for the talented chef.

  Sybil had a nervous energy that at first wasn’t discernible. It was on rare occasions that her black shoulder-length hair wasn’t pulled off her oval face in a ponytail. The inky darkness of her hair made her light brown complexion with yellow undertones appear sallow unless she wore makeup. A small, straight nose and high cheekbones made for an overall attractive visage.

  “Do you sample everything you cook?” Karla asked.

  Sybil shook her head. “If I did, then I’d weigh more than I do now.”

  “You weigh less than I do.”

  “I doubt it. I’m five-seven and weigh one sixty-three.”

  “I—I don’t believe it,” Karla sputtered. She couldn’t believe Sybil weighed almost twenty pounds more than she did. “Maybe you look thinner because you don’t have a sister-girl booty.”

  “I’m built like my mother. But if you tell anyone how much I weigh, I’ll deny it. Even Cory doesn’t know.”

  Karla pantomimed zipping her mouth. “Your secret is safe with me. Are you sure I can’t help bring something outside?”

  “What I’d like for you to do is tell Cory to come and take these trays outside. If I cook, then he has to serve.”

  “Okay.”

  Karla returned to the patio. Cory had taken up a position behind a portable bar, pouring and mixing drinks. Tall, dark and slender with an athletic physique, he had soulful dark eyes, a square jaw and had recently begun growing a goatee. His easygoing personality made him the perfect host, and whenever she observed him with Sybil there was no doubt he was hopelessly in love with her.

  A DJ had arrived and was setting up his equipment. The Cumberlands, who’d moved into the sprawling high ranch in early January, had invited friends and family members to join them in celebrating their new home.

  Karla moved behind the bar with Cory. “I’ll take over here. Your wife needs you in the kitchen.”

  Cory handed a chilled martini to one of his guests. “Are you sure you can handle the bar, counselor?”

  Karla smiled as if she were hiding a secret—and she was. “I promise not to poison anyone.” She turned her attention to a BOTOXed woman with a short, stylish haircut. “I’m going to have to see some ID before I can serve you,” she teased.

  The woman blushed to the roots of her frosted hair. “Stop! I’m a grandmother.”

  “You’d never know. Grandmas come young nowadays.”

  The woman placed a hand over Karla’s, the gems on her bejeweled fingers sparkling in the bright sunlight. “Do you know what?” she asked as if sharing a secret.

  Karla leaned closer and the smell of scotch wafted over her face. It was apparent she wasn’t ordering her first drink. “What?”

  “I like you.”

  Karla winked at her. “I like you, too.” She reached for a tumbler. “Scotch and soda on the rocks?”

  “How did you know?”

  Filling the glass with ice, she wrinkled her nose. “Lucky guess.”

  She wanted to laugh when Cory asked whether she could handle the bar. She was as knowledgeable about cocktails as an experienced mixologist.

  She took orders for a Salty Dog, a Rusty Nail and an Old Fashioned before Cory returned to relieve her. When she went to look for Ronald among the three dozen people who’d come to eat, drink and listen to music, she found him staring at her with a strange expression on his face.

  “Please don’t say anything, Ronald.”

  His mouth thinned noticeably under his mustache as he averted his gaze. “I wasn’t going to say anything.” His gaze swung back to meet hers, holding it for a full minute. His hands slid down Karla’s arms, pulling her to his chest. “When are you going to learn to trust me to keep your secret?”

  “I do trust you, Ronald. I love and trust you, darling.”

  Ronald held his wife close, feeling the pumping of her heart against his chest. She loved him and he loved her so much that it frightened him. Karla had become his world, his life.

  Dipping his head, he brushed a kiss over her parted lips. “I love and trust you, too.”

  CHAPTER 20

  “Ms. Jenkins, Mrs. King will see you now.”

  Dina stood up and gave the receptionist a baleful look. She’d arrived at the offices of Siddell, Kane, Merrill and King at nine-thirty, yet the dour-faced woman had made her wait an hour before she’d announced her. There were times when she appeared to doze off but wake up whenever the telephone rang.

  She walked to Karla’s office, knocking lightly on the door. “Mrs. King?”

  Karla glanced up from the document she’d read twice while waiting for Dina Gordon. “I expected you half an hour ago.”

  Dina didn’t miss the censure in the attorney’s voice. Karla had pulled her hair back, leaving a wisp of bangs over her forehead. “I’ve been here since nine-thirty,” she countered.

  “Why didn’t the receptionist let me know?”

  “You’ll have to ask her that.” Her tone was cryptic, but after waiting she didn’t much care.

  Karla nodded, waving a hand. “Please sit down, Dina.”

  Concealing a smile, Dina sat on a chair in front of the desk. She’d called her “Dina.” “Thank you.”

  Picking up an envelope, Karl
a handed it to her. “Everything you need to secure documents with your new name is in there.”

  She opened it and examined a set of triplicate birth certificates in a glassine envelope. She was now legally Dina Gordon. Her birth date and everything else had remained the same. There was also a smaller envelope. A soft gasp escaped her when she opened it, her gaze shifting from the contents to Karla.

  “What’s up with the money?” The envelope was filled with one-hundred-dollar bills.

  A hint of a smile touched Karla’s generous mouth when she said, “That’s the firm’s hourly fee.”

  Dina’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. “I—I don’t understand,” she stammered.

  Pressing a button on her telephone, Karla buzzed the receptionist. “Mrs. Siddell, will you please bring the receipt book.” Minutes later the receptionist entered the office, book in hand. Karla smiled sweetly at the elderly woman. Jane Siddell was the widow of the man who’d set up the firm sixty years ago to handle the finances of wealthy New Jersey residents. Her son, who took over after his father’s death, humored his mother when she’d volunteered to act as receptionist Tuesday mornings. Most times the impeccably dressed octogenarian literally slept on the job.

  “Miss Jenkins will give you our hourly fee of six hundred dollars in cash. I need you to give her a receipt.”

  Dina handed her the envelope. Jane Siddell counted the money and wrote out a receipt with a flowery cursive that harkened back to another era. Waiting until the door closed behind the receptionist, she gave Karla a questioning look. “Do you want me to give you six hundred dollars?”