Another Woman's Man (14 page)

“Come on, baby. Cut your dad some slack,” he urged softly, squeezing her shoulder. “It's not like he was out to get Byron. And he's right. Byron
did
do this to himself. If his marriage and his family's reputation are ruined, then it's Byron's fault, not your dad's.”

Constance shoved away from him. “You don't like Byron either. You didn't want Daddy to hire him in the first place! Be honest!”

“Well,” Dawn said, finally joining the conversation, “considering that neither Herb nor Xavier liked him very much, as you claim, sounds like this Byron guy had it coming, Constance. They're pretty good judges of character. I would trust their opinions.”

“Oh, what the hell would you know?” Constance snapped, making everyone stare at her in shock. “You just met all of us two months ago! Now, suddenly, you're an authority on
our
family?”

Leslie Ann loudly cleared her throat and rose from the table. She clapped her hands. “It looks like everyone is finished now,” she said anxiously. “Xavier, we should probably start cleaning up, shouldn't we?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, his eyes shifting uneasily between Constance and Dawn as he reached for one of the dirty plates.

He had to give Dawn credit. She was staying tight-lipped, even though she looked furious, even though he knew from experience that she didn't shy away from a fight. He wondered if she was holding back because her father was here.

“Raquel and I should probably be leaving,” Herb said quietly. “We have to get back home, and frankly, I'm . . . I'm feeling a bit under the weather today.”

Dawn tossed her napkin aside and pushed her chair back from the table. Her face was marred with concern. She touched her father's shoulder. “Are you OK? Maybe you should—”

“I'm fine, sweetheart.” He patted her hand. “I'll get some sleep and I'm sure I'll be right as rain in the morning.”

Herb and Raquel departed soon after. Constance had already made plans to spend the night with Xavier, so he wasn't surprised she didn't leave with her parents, but in some ways, he wished she had. If she was in a bad mood, he wasn't in the right mind-set to deal with any bullshit tonight.

Dawn lingered behind to help with the cleaning after the meal while Constance sat at the table, silently drinking chardonnay and looking sullen. A distinct chill now radiated between the two women. If they had any chance of building a relationship before, he was pretty sure that it was now ruined.

He carried the remaining dirty plates into the kitchen and began to load the dishwasher.

“Need any help?” he heard a few minutes later.

Xavier looked up from the dishwasher racks to find Constance standing in the entryway smiling at him.

“You want to help me?” he asked, surprised.

She stepped into his kitchen. “Don't look so surprised.” She reached for one of the hand towels on his granite kitchen island. “I wanted to make a peace offering for that little blowout we had earlier.”

He turned to face her. “Yeah, what was that all about? I wasn't sure how the argument even started.”

She released a long breath and shrugged. “I have no idea, pumpkin. I guess I was just . . . upset. Mommy said that Daddy vetoed one of the things I wanted for the wedding. He said the cost was just ‘too outlandish.' Daddy never tells me no, but since Dawn came into the picture, now he says he doesn't want to just spoil me anymore. He gave me some speech last week about being more self-sufficient! ‘Learn from Dawn's example! ' ” She rolled her eyes. “I guess I was pissed at him and it came out during dinner. Then Dawn had to make it worse and butt in her big fat nose and I . . .” She shook her head angrily and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Look, I don't want to talk about it anymore. I came in here to make up with you, pumpkin. To say I'm . . . I'm sorry for how I behaved.”

“I appreciate that, baby. But you don't have to do manual labor for us to make up.”

“I know. It's just . . . It's not like I'm needed out there. Your mom and Dawn are busy with their own little conversation. It looks like they're becoming
fast
friends.” She seemed perturbed at the idea, but didn't make any further comment. “Besides, I know how to clean!”

“I know you do, baby. It's just . . .”

You've never offered to clean before,
he wanted to say, but didn't.

Constance had grown up with servants who catered to her every need. She didn't think to offer to clean up after herself or anyone else. He didn't hold it against her. She was just a product of her upbringing.

The one time he had seen Constance pick up anything dirty, it was while she volunteered at a soup kitchen event that Allen Enterprises had sponsored. She had done her best to keep on a smile for the photographers as she removed used paper plates and plastic forks from the tables, as she scrubbed down the scuffed linoleum surfaces, but the instant the cameras disappeared, Xavier had seen Constance's perky façade disappear. She looked tired and bewildered.

“Don't worry about it,” he said now, waving her away. “I've got it covered.”

“Oh, it's no big deal! Let me help you.” Constance eagerly walked toward the sink and peered down at the pile of dirty dishes. She paused, making him chuckle.

“Any second thoughts?” he asked, loading another plate into the dishwasher.

“No!” she answered stubbornly. “I'm supposed to be more self-sufficient now. Right?”

She grimaced, reached into the sink, and retrieved a dirty wineglass. She began to place it on one of the dishwasher racks.

Xavier shook his head and removed the glass, setting it on the counter. “No, sweetheart, that's Mom's crystal. All those glasses have to be washed by hand.”

At that, she frowned. “I didn't know washing dishes was so complicated.”

For the next ten minutes, she made a halfhearted attempt to help him—mostly holding the dirty dishes with two fingers and quickly rinsing them off before handing them to Xavier. But finally, she let out a dispirited sigh.

“I don't think I'm cut out for cleaning, pumpkin,” she said, wiping her hands on one of the towels. “This is just
gross
and the water is making my hands all prune-y,” she muttered, staring down at her fingers.

“That's OK, baby. I appreciate you trying to help at all.” He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before returning his attention to his work.

“But you know,” she said, placing her hands on her hips, “you look pretty sexy cleaning and working in the kitchen like this.”

He did a double take.
“I do?”

“Definitely.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “Seeing you like this even makes me a little horny,” she whispered seductively with an impish grin.

Horny?
He frowned down at her in disbelief. But then she suddenly turned him around, stood on her toes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him. She tugged his bottom lip between her teeth and raked her fingers through his hair.

Xavier didn't know how to respond. Constance rarely initiated things sexually, so for her to take the reins now was pretty astonishing, to say the least. But it didn't take him long to fall under her spell. He kissed her back just as fervently. When he started to get into it, she abruptly pulled her mouth away. She then began to unbutton her top, making his eyes widen. He stopped her hands midmotion and looked toward the kitchen entrance. He could still hear Dawn and his mother laughing and talking in the dining room. They sounded like they could walk into the kitchen at any moment.

“Baby, are you sure you don't wanna wait until they leave?” he whispered. “Believe me, I'm ready to go if you are, but—”

“We'll just be quiet about it.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but she silenced him by raising a finger and placing it on his lips. “I'm horny
now
, pumpkin. I don't wanna wait until they leave!”

Constance went back to unbuttoning her blouse, revealing the pink lace bra underneath. She took one of his hands, placed it on her breast, and kissed him again.

The logical part of him thought this was a bad idea. Who the hell had sex with his girlfriend with his mother and his future sister-in-law on the other side of a wall, less than ten feet away? But the logical part was losing out to the hunger that was building inside him. Admittedly, he and Constance didn't have sex quite as often as he would like, so when she presented him with an offer like this, it was hard for him to say no. Maybe that was the
real
reason why he was having fantasies about Dawn. Sex with his fiancée might be the balm that he needed to push Dawn out of his mind.

When Constance pressed her torso against his and began to unbuckle his belt, he didn't argue with her. When she lowered his zipper and plunged her hand past the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, all he could do was close his eyes and let her do whatever she wanted. He groaned against her lips when she started to stroke him, and he tugged down the lace cups of her bra and toyed with her nipples. They kissed again and he began to raise the hem of her skirt, easing her back onto the counter.

“Xavier,” Dawn said as she walked into the kitchen, holding a casserole dish, “your mom said you need to soak this in soapy water as soon—”

At the sound of Dawn's voice, Xavier tugged Constance's hands out of his pants. He turned toward the entryway to find Dawn staring at them.

“Hmm, looks like we've been caught red-handed,” Constance said, closing her top. She grinned.

“I'm . . . I'm so . . . so sorry,” Dawn stuttered, looking embarrassed. “I wasn't . . . I mean, I didn't . . . I was only bringing this in. Your mom asked me to—”

“No! No, that's OK, really,” Xavier said, hastily raising his pants zipper. “We were just—”

“Pumpkin, Dawn
knows
what we were doing.” Constance giggled and wrapped an arm possessively around Xavier's waist. She licked her lips and laid her head on his shoulder. “Sorry, Dawn. Xavier and I got a little carried away. You know how it is though, right?”

“Yeah,” Dawn replied, smiling tightly at Constance. “I know how it is.”

Her dark eyes then shifted to Xavier, and he instantly felt guilty. He didn't know why. Constance was his fiancée. He had every right to kiss her and to do a lot more than that if he wanted to, but still, the last person he had wanted to stumble upon them at that moment was Dawn.

Dawn stepped forward and placed the eggplant-crusted casserole dish on the granite island. She then quickly backed away. “Well, like I said . . . your mom asked me to bring this to you. I was about to head out and—”

“Leaving already?” Constance asked.

“Yeah, I should be . . . you know . . . getting home.” Dawn cleared her throat. “Enjoy your birthday, Xavier.”

“Oh, believe me,
he will!
” Constance gloated, then laughed. “Won't you, pumpkin?”

Xavier could be wrong, but at those words, he thought he saw Dawn flinch.

“Good night,” he called to her.

“Thanks for coming!” Constance sang.

Dawn nodded. “No problem. Have a-a good night.”

He watched her turn and walk out of his kitchen.

D
awn poured herself another glass of sauvignon blanc, grabbed her cell phone, and began to scroll through the contacts list on the glass screen.

She had arrived home from Xavier's dinner party half an hour ago, and thanks to the hot-and-heavy love scene she had witnessed in the kitchen between Xavier and Constance, Dawn was now hell bent on getting drunk and getting laid—
in that order!
She was tired of obsessing about that man. Dawn Gibbons was not a woman who mooned over someone who neither wanted nor desired her. Plus, it wasn't like she could have him anyway. He was Constance's man, and that Malibu Barbie bitch had made that abundantly clear tonight. It was about time Dawn realized that fact and moved on, and what better way to do that than with a booty call?

“You're hurt, but are you sure you don't want to call one of your sisters and lament to her instead?” a small, rational voice in her head suggested. “You'll feel much better in the morning about it than having sex with some random guy!”

To hell with that,
Dawn thought with a snort as she continued to scroll through the list and took a gulp from her glass. The time for talking was over! She wanted a man to make her moan and make her scream and push whatever lingering thoughts she had of Xavier Hughes out of her head with an earth-shattering orgasm. Her only challenge now was finding the right candidate.

While Dawn and her sisters had been taught by their mother to look for certain qualities in men—wealth, power, and a willingness to skip signing a prenuptial agreement—Dawn knew some men had other laudable qualities that weren't on her mother's list. In this area, Dawn didn't break the family rules exactly, but merely bent them a little. Over the years, she had secretly hooked up with a half dozen guys who didn't have a lot of money or prestige, but were definitely skilled in the bedroom. She would never commit to them, only call on them from time to time, whenever she had an itch. Unfortunately, those times were further and further apart now that she had become so preoccupied with her career, but still she liked to keep a few around for emergency situations like these.

“
Mark?
No,” she said as she scanned her phone screen, searching for the names with the gold star beside them.
“Jean Claude?”
She tilted her head and drank more wine. “Eh, maybe. But I'll see who else is in here.
Miguel?
Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!
Yes!
”

She had met Miguel two years ago at a fund-raising gala at the Capital Hilton. He wasn't one of the rich men who had placed insanely high bids on the items up for auction that night. He was instead one of the bartenders who handed out watered-down drinks and collected tips in a snifter. He had kept looking at her with sexy caramel eyes and had given her a seductive smile every time she'd go to the bar to refill her glass. When the night wound down, he asked her if she'd be willing to go with him to a salsa club after the gala. Her first instinct had been to say no. She was exhausted from a night of schmoozing, and he was a hotel bartender, for God's sake! But there was something in those eyes and in that smile that held a lot of promise. The next morning, Dawn was happy she had agreed to go out with Miguel. It turned out he was just as good in bed as he was on the dance floor—and that man could salsa damn well!

They had hooked up a few times since then, but she hadn't spoken to him in more than a year.

“Time to check in,” Dawn murmured as she pressed the button to dial his number. She finished the last of her wine and listened to the phone ring, already brainstorming what lingerie she would wear when he arrived at her apartment later that night.

“Hello?” a woman answered.

Dawn paused. That certainly wasn't the voice she expected to hear on the other end of the line. She lowered her wineglass to her night table. “Hi, uh . . . I'm sorry. I was trying to call Miguel Sanchez.”

“Who is this?” the woman asked. “How did you get this number?”

Dawn went stark still.

“How the hell did you get my husband's cell number?” the woman continued, raising her voice. “Damn it, the number is blocked but you don't fool me! Are you that bitch from the leasing office? I told you not to call my husband anymore unless you want me to come down there and kick your ass!”

Her husband? Oh, hell,
Dawn thought, rolling her eyes heavenward. So she guessed quite a great deal had happened in Miguel's life in the past year. Luckily, Dawn had run into her fair share of angry girlfriends and wives, and she knew how to do some fancy footwork to get out of this one.

“I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm not sure what you're referring to,” she said, taking on a bureaucratic tone. “I was trying to get in touch with Mr. Sanchez to let him know about the new low interest rate he can receive on his Visa card. He's one of our valued customers, but I'll try calling back at another time that's more convenient for him.”

“Oh,” the woman said. “Well, I . . . I didn't know it was a sales call. You should have said that at first.”

“No problem. Thank you very much for your time, ma'am. Enjoy your evening!” Dawn chirped.

After she hung up, she flopped back onto her pale blue satin comforter and blew out a breath that sent the bangs of her bob flying.

Well, that was a big fat disappointment!
So much for a hot night with Miguel,
she thought.

“Good! Now maybe you'll give up this stupid idea, throw on some pajamas, climb into bed, eat a carton of Ben & Jerry's, and call it a day,” the voice in her head chastised.

Dawn ignored it and instead went back to scrolling through her phone list, looking for more contenders.

She paused when she reached the name
Hosea
. She slowly sat up from the bed.

Hosea . . . Now there was a chocolate honey-dip she wouldn't mind seeing again. He had been her personal trainer for a while. One day last year, an intense evening workout at the gym doing push-ups and crunches led to an equally intense workout in his bedroom that also required her to get on all fours. She was sore for days after that, and for all the right reasons. She wondered if Hosea was willing to do an encore performance.

Dawn pressed the button to dial his number while crossing her fingers that no angry wife or girlfriend answered the phone this time.

“What's up? Hosea speaking,” he answered casually in his rumbling, deep baritone, instantly making her toes curl.

“Hey, Hosea, it's Dawn. Remember me?”

He chuckled on the other end. “Of course, I remember you, girl! You had the best abs I've seen in quite a long time.”

“
Really?
That's all you remember is my abs?” she purred with a laugh.

“Oh, I remember a lot more than that! Don't even get me started! So what have you been up to, sexy?”

“Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” She walked across her bedroom to one of her dressers. “I was sitting all alone in my bedroom wondering what
you
were up to, specifically what were you up to tonight.”

“Nothing so far.” He paused on the other end. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”

“Well . . .” She tugged open one of her dresser drawers and pulled out a black and purple bustier. “I was thinking you could drive over here. I'd open a chilled bottle of wine, set the lights and the music on low, and wear the sexiest lingerie I could find. Then we'd go from there. Who knows? Maybe you'll even get to see my abs again.”

“Give me your address, sexy,” he said instantly. “I'll be right over.”

 

At the sound of her doorbell ringing, Dawn tightened the belt of her silk robe and finished yet another glass of wine. She was starting to get that light buzz that let her know she was only one or two glasses away from being drunk, which was right where she wanted to be. She had just enough alcohol in her veins to make her bolder and to perk up her libido.

“And to make a world-class ass of yourself,” the annoyed voice in her head iterated yet again.

Oh, hush! I've had enough of you. I'm going to get some booty tonight and
no one
is going to stop me!

She sat down her glass on her dresser, gave one last glance at her reflection in her bedroom mirror—opening the top of her robe a bit to reveal the lace cups of her bustier—and dashed to her apartment's front door. She took a moment to gather herself, unlocked the door, and swung it open. She grinned.

In the hallway stood Hosea—all two hundred pounds of hard muscle and chocolate delight. His dreads had grown longer since the last time she had seen him, and he had shaved off all his facial hair. But besides that, he was as handsome as she remembered and he still emanated the same sexiness and virility that made women do double takes when he passed them at the gym.

His eyes slowly trailed over Dawn from head to toe, lingering on her breasts and the exposed thigh that peeked through the slit in her robe. She could tell from the expression on his face that he liked what he saw.

“Hey!” She leaned seductively against the door frame. “Thanks for coming.”

“Hey, sexy,” he drawled then stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around her, eased her back into her apartment, and shut the door behind him. He tugged at the knot in her belt, catching her off guard. Hosea pushed her robe open and lowered his mouth to hers. The next thing she knew, he was shoving his tongue down her throat and groping for the bustier clasps at her back. She could barely get her bearings before his other hand was toying with her thong, trying to tug it down her hips.

Whoooooa! Slow down there, honey!

Yes, this was a booty call, but that didn't mean that they were going to skip all foreplay and any pretense that this was about more than just sex. Hell, he could at least have a drink first!

Dawn pulled away and yanked at his hands.

“I didn't know we were on a timer,” she said hesitantly with a chuckle. “Why the rush?”

“Why the rush?”
He stared down at her, looking exasperated. His jaw clenched. “Damn, girl, I thought you wanted to do this! Isn't that why you called me?”

“Of course it is,” she said, bristling at his tone. “But we've got all night.” She ran her hands along his coat lapels. “At least take your jacket off. Sit down. Have a glass of wine.”

He looked like having a glass of wine was the last thing on his mind, but he sighed and nodded. “Whatever. Go ahead and pour me some.”

And the evening pretty much went downhill from there. While Dawn tried to engage Hosea in a little conversation, he stared off in the distance and swilled back a few glasses. After a half hour, he didn't even bother to pretend anymore. He started groping at her again. When they made it to the bedroom, Hosea showed just as little patience and restraint. The man went straight for the bustier and the panties. Within seconds he had on a condom and her legs spread wide.

This certainly wasn't the lover that she remembered from a year ago. This guy could take a lesson or two in how to please a woman.

“You like this, huh?” he grunted as he pumped his hips and plunged inside her. “You want this? Is this what you want?”

Dawn didn't respond but instead stared at the bedroom ceiling, completely bored. She grimaced when he roughly pumped again.

“Take it, girl! Take it!” he ranted like some demented porn star.

She stifled a sigh.

Why
had she called this man?

“Because you were under some misguided notion that this would help you forget about Xavier,” the voice in her head answered. “I told you this was a bad idea!”

Finally, after about ten minutes—the longest ten minutes of her life—Hosea gave one last grunt and collapsed on top of her. He slowly raised his head. “Aww, man! Damn, that was good! I'm worn out, girl!”

Dawn didn't comment. Instead, she shoved him off her and rose from the bed.

“Wait, now! Don't leave yet,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. He turned on his side and hooked a finger toward her. “I'm just getting started, sexy. Give a man a few minutes to recover and we'll go another round.”

Dawn threw on her robe. This time when she put on the belt, she did a double knot so that there were no delusions that she was taking off her robe again. “No, that's OK.” She walked around her bedroom and gathered his clothes. “I've got an early morning tomorrow. I really should get some sleep.”

“Early morning?”
He frowned, sitting up from the bed as she tossed his shirt and pants at him. “But tomorrow's Sunday.”

“Yes, but sometimes I . . . I work weekends,” she said, which was true. Sometimes, she
did
work weekends, just not this weekend. But he didn't know that, and frankly, she would tell any lie to get this man out of her bedroom and her apartment.

“Uh-huh,” he said, looking doubtful. He began to put on his boxers and slowly shook his head. “Females,” he muttered.

Dawn cocked an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”

“Y'all just don't know what the hell you want!” He rose from the bed, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and stuck his arms through his sleeves. “First, you call me to come over here like you're hard up to get fucked in twenty minutes or less! Then you tell me you want to ‘talk' first,” he said with widened eyes. “Whatever the hell that means!
Now
you're giving me some bullshit story about working tomorrow, when you know damn well—”

“No, Hosea, I know
exactly
what I want!” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And it's not you shouting, ‘You like this? You want this?' when it's pretty damn obvious that I don't!”

“What am I?
A mind reader?
How the hell was I supposed to know that you weren't into it?” he asked, dragging on his jeans.