Fire & Desire (Hero Series) (4 page)

“Now, how are you going to turn down your dear old aunt before she
even makes her request known?” Leslie said, syrupy sweet.

“Because I know what you’re going to ask me, and it’s still no,”
Trevor said with a firm tone, which never seemed to work on his aunt.

“Trevor, this will be the last time, Scout’s promise.”

 “You were never a Girl Scout.” Trevor laughed.

“I was a Brownie for a month; that’s close enough.”

“Not in this case.”

“What if I sign a contract that says I’ll never ask you again?”

“Not good enough.”

“Trev, you know I wouldn’t ask this of you unless it were really
important.”

Unmoved, he said, “You’ll have to get one of your other guys to do
it, or hire more staff. Or tell the customer that its peak season and you don’t
have any available men.”

“Having a man available is not the problem. I’ve hired six new
guys over the last two weeks to make good on my promise I made to you last
month.”

“What’s the problem then? Send one of them.” Trevor went into the
storage room to collect the parts he would need to replace one of the hard
drives for the library’s computers.

“Trev, this is a
very
important client.”

He could tell by his aunt’s insistent tone she wouldn’t relent.

“Aren’t they all?”

She didn’t answer the question; instead she said, “There’s one big
problem with sending one of the other guys.”

“Let me guess, they want Black and all you have is White and
Hispanic left. No, I got it; they want bare chest, and all you have is hairy.”
Trevor didn’t try to hide the sarcastic tone. He knew his aunt was aware of his
thoughts toward her clients. He considered most of them to be extremely
fastidious.

“No.” She waited a moment. “They specifically asked for you.”

Trevor paused. “They requested me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see why someone else can’t do it. They don’t even know
who I am.”

“They may not know your face, but they’ll know if I send another.
Remember, all Black men don’t look alike—especially naked.”

“Well, if the person only heard about my performance, then you
could get away with it.

Regardless of the situation, I’m not doing it.” He hated to turn
down his aunt because he knew she would do anything for him. Numerous times in
college when he had gotten in a jam and couldn’t ask his parents for help, his
aunt was there and never judged him. Not to mention, her business was also
responsible for paying a chunk of his college tuition.

But he just didn’t have the time for it. The last show had put his
career and life in a precarious situation. He didn’t need another one.

“Tiffany Selina didn’t hear about you from a friend, she hosted
the party you did for me over a month ago,” she said resolutely.

The vision of a conservative woman moaning in a kitchen did what
nothing else his aunt said had done—piqued his interest.

“What type of party is it?”

“It’s another bachelorette party, this time held at the Selina
family home. So you wouldn’t even have to travel out of state.”

Trevor tried to sound nonchalant. “So is it finally her wedding
this time?”

He didn’t know what Tiffany and Manning were up to, but maybe this
was her way of trying to get in touch with him about the divorce.

He wouldn’t fall for that trap. He wouldn’t settle until Manning
came to him personally, man to man. His old college bud, looking him in the
eye, knowing that he’d finally one-upped him. Five years and now he held
something precious of Manning’s. And
he
was in control this time.

“Governor Selina’s daughter? Not a chance. Hosting is her claim to
fame. If she were to get married, it would be all over the society pages.
Manning would definitely be using that as another angle for a seat in
Congress,” Leslie said. “The party is for Charmagne Spelling. You know, the
daughter of the president of Hudson Morris University in Alexandria.”

Trevor had never met the president of HMU. However, if he wasn’t
mistaken, Charmagne was the young lady at the last party who had fainted. He
remembered the woman seated next to her, Sonya, calling her name as she fanned
her awake.

“Because she did the last party and she knows basically what you
look like, it’s the only reason I’m asking you.” His aunt paused again. “Will
you please do this for me, for the last time?

I know your business is on the rise, and I would never do anything
to jeopardize your success.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t for more reasons than I care to explain
right now. But I’ll call Miss Selina and explain that to her myself if you
would like?”

His aunt sighed in resignation. “No, that’s okay. I’ll call. I
knew it was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Whoever you pick, tell them they can have the persona, I’m
hanging up my mask, fire hose and cape. Also a bit of advice for whomever you
pick. Tell him they’re a wild bunch, so be careful.”

“I will. You were always my most popular dancer.”

Trevor laughed. “The answer is still no.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She chuckled. “Are we still on
for dinner Sunday night?”

“Haven’t missed one yet.”

“Well, my love…I’ll see you soon.” His aunt blew a kiss into the
phone.

“Same here.”

They ended the phone call.

His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it. Another idea began to
form in his head. He figured it was time he paid his
dearly beloved wife
a
visit.

He beamed with satisfaction of the possibilities of their next
meeting. The memories of their Las Vegas encounter flooded back into his mind.

Tiffany had abandoned everything else around her but him. He had
become the center of her world. Living for the pleasure that he was giving her.

He looked down at his hands; he could still feel the warmth of her
skin. His ears still rang with the sweet sound of her voice in the throes of
passion.

Trevor was the first to admit he had not been starved of intimate
female companionship during college and a few years after. But even with his vast
experience, he had never known a woman to lose herself so completely.

Truth of the matter was, he wanted to bring her to that point
again while they were both sober and could enjoy it to the fullest.

He knew he was making things hard for himself—literally. He
squirmed, trying to get more comfortable, letting out a soft curse for Miss Selina’s
continued effect on his body.

He told himself he was only going to see her to keep his plan in
action. He was out for revenge—nothing more. And helping Tiffany in her quest
not to marry Christopher was just a bonus.

Four

The imitation Fireman started his second set. Tiffany was thankful
that her friends took the news so well that the
real
Fireman wasn’t
going to be able to make it. Disappointed murmurs had gone around the
restaurant table when they had gotten together last weekend, but other than that,
they took it in stride.

She kept telling herself it didn’t bother her that Trevor wasn’t
there. That she was happy she wouldn’t have to be bothered by him. That she had
no reason to expect anything different from him since he hadn’t called her.

The voice in her head kept saying…
liar
.

Quickly, she blew it off by telling herself she only wanted to see
him to get the divorce taken care of and that it had nothing to do with what
had happened in the kitchen of the town house—let alone what may or may not
have happened at the hotel.

She was glad she had asked Josephine to handle everything this
dancer needed. She wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

As the music’s seductive beat began an enticing tempo, the dancer
entered the room through the sliding door of the family room. He came in slow
and sexy, making every move count. Tiffany watched as the dancer’s keen eyes
focused on Charmagne sitting in the honored chair in the middle of the room
holding a bowl of ice. She had done surprisingly well.

Tiffany had to admit to herself, she was fascinated to see what he
would do with the ice.

This was a requested performance by her friends who had seen
Trevor perform this act during his last set at the other party. They may have
taken the news calmly that Trevor wasn’t going to perform, but they’d made sure
Tiffany requested this routine.

Tiffany had missed that set in Las Vegas while she had been in her
room changing her underwear and composing herself. By the time she returned
downstairs, he had finished. When she questioned her friends, asking them what
was so special about the ice, she remembered Lydia saying, “Girl, you just had
to see it for yourself. No words can explain.”

This stripper, who was now dressed like Batman, finally arrived at
the designated place in front of Charmagne. For a few moments, he danced around
her, grinding his hips in a suggestive way to the notes of the song. At one
point, he’d turned his back fully to her, stood within inches of her face and
jiggled his buttocks, similar to the way Trevor had done when Charmagne had fainted
before.

Remarkably, Charmagne didn’t pass out this time and boldly placed
her hands on his shivering muscles.

“You don’t have a shy bone left in your body now, do you
Charmagne?” Sonya called out from where she sat perched on the edge of the
couch.

Karen followed up with, “Who could be shy? A body like that could
make a nun want to reach out and touch.” She made a grabbing motion with her hand
in the air toward the dancer.

With his back to them, Tiffany couldn’t tell how he was feeling
about all of the catcalls coming his way. When he turned around there was a
serious, determined expression on his face, as if he were going to perform a
science experiment.

He removed the bowl from Charmagne’s lap and placed it on the
floor beside her chair.

Squatting on his hunches in front of her, he placed one hand on
each of her ankles. Slowly, he moved his hand up the back of her calves until
he reached her knee. At a leisurely pace he parted her khaki covered legs
widely.

Grabbing Charmagne by the waist, he forcefully slid her to him. He
wrapped her legs around his waist. Before rising, he leaned over and picked up
a piece of crescent-shaped ice out of the bowl.

Tiffany was drawn into the scene and couldn’t look away. Her
curiosity was piqued.

What had Trevor done that had been so captivating to my friends?

As he stood up fully and his muscular thigh muscles flexed to
support the additional weight in his arms, the dancer commanded, “Open your
mouth.”

Being caught up in the show, Tiffany felt her own lips part
slightly.

Batman held her friend firmly in place with one hand on her hip
and placed the ice partially in Charmagne’s mouth. “Now close your lips around
it,” he said.

When Charmagne’s lips enclosed one end of the cube, the man closed
his mouth around the other end. He turned himself and his weight to the side,
so all of the ladies in the room could see clearly what he was doing and
imagine it was being done to them.

Gradually, he began to suck on the ice while pulling it in his
mouth slightly and pushing it back into Charmagne’s, until she finally
understood and picked up the rhythm with him. In and out the ice cube went.
Slowly at first, until they almost ended in a tug of war with the cube.

Charmagne’s eyes closed and a moan echoed throughout the room.
Tiffany wasn’t sure if the noise came from Batman’s pleasured captive or the
spectators.

The one thing she realized was, in Las Vegas, this scene was meant
for her…even if she hadn’t witnessed it.

As she watched the slick frozen water enter and leave the recess
of the other woman’s mouth, she knew what Trevor would have been implying.

Tiffany’s thigh muscles tightened with euphoric recall. Her whole
body began to quiver as she remembered the hot scene they’d shared in the
kitchen. If she‘d seen the actual live performance a month ago, she would have
known Trevor was reliving it too.

“Hmm, not bad…not bad at all,” Diane groaned.

Josephine leaned toward her and whispered, “This guy does do it
well. I’m definitely hot, but the last time, I actually thought I would wet my
pants on the spot just imagining what
that
man could do to me with an
ice cube.”

Tiffany couldn’t respond. All of the air in her lungs became trapped.
Her throat squeezed.

In her mind, she saw herself and Trevor re-enacting the part. It
had become so vivid and real—her panties were beyond wet. She didn’t have to
fantasize what Trevor could do; she knew the skills he possessed with
crystallized water.

Mercifully, the music finally ended, and Tiffany knew escape was
in sight.

The dancer placed the charmed Charmagne back in her seat and
exited the room, leaving enraptured women in his wake.

“Wow,” Josephine sighed. Josephine’s articulation ability seemed
to leave her, like the rest of the women in the room, who remained quiet and
still.

Tiffany watched as Josephine left the room fanning herself. When
she returned with the bowl of fruit for the next act, Tiffany had finally
regained a minuscule amount of composure.

She knew the same could not be said about her senses.

“I’m not feeling very well. My head is starting to throb. I think
I’m going to take something for it and sit the last show out.” For effect,
Tiffany pressed her fingers against her temple and rubbed in a circular motion.

As she prepared to leave the room, relief settled over her. If
Josephine thought it peculiar how she was acting, her friend kept her opinion
to herself.

 “I understand. You didn’t eat much today. Why don’t you take some
of this fruit with you, so you won’t take that medicine on an empty stomach?
I’ll come and get you when the

show is over.” Josephine gave her a small smile.

Tiffany used the excuse of grabbing a banana and an apple from the
bowl as a reason not to meet her friend’s eyes. “Thanks, Jo, I’m probably going
to just take a Tylenol and look over the plans for next week’s fundraiser.”

“No problem.”

“Tiff,” Josephine called.

Tiffany turned and looked at her friend.

“You don’t have to cover with me. I know this is not your thing.
Las Vegas…” her words drifted for a moment. “I think it was too much for you.”
Josephine’s eyes, clear and piercing, held awareness in them.

You have no idea
. Without elaborating, Tiffany gave her friend a small smile,
retrieved her briefcase from the coat closet and exited the room with a cloud
of guilt hanging over her. She knew there was no way for her to watch the next
act without making a fool of herself somehow.

After her reaction to the last set, she didn’t trust herself.

Watching the dancer mimic Trevor’s act just reaffirmed that
everything that happened between her and Trevor was just a game to him—all part
of his show.

Something they probably learned in an erotic dance class.
Tiffany entered the
family room and closed the double doors behind her. The room was one of her
favorites in the house, decorated with white plush carpet and rose and ivy
print furniture. Even though her father lived and spent most of his time at the
Governor’s Mansion in Richmond, it was the one room she and her father used for
family holiday gatherings. Tiffany divided her time between both, but lately, she’d
found herself staying at the family home more often. She liked to keep herself
separated from the intricate political aspects of her father’s career. Politics
had never truly interested her.

Coordination was her passion in life.

After her mother’s passing, Tiffany and her father promised each
other they would still keep the traditions her mother had set at this house.

Tiffany placed everything on the table with the exception of the
banana and walked over to the fireplace. She needed time to get her thoughts
together. Josephine was right; she hadn’t eaten anything all day. Pins and
needles. Her senses had been going haywire even though she knew Trevor was not
coming.

She removed the yellow peel from the fruit. As she placed her
mouth around the slender, curved fruit, her imagination conjured up an image of
something long, warm, sleek and hard.

Little tremors of heat ran through her body at the thought.

Quickly, she pitched the deceptive food into the trash, chastising
herself for the vision and praying it wasn’t a memory of an alcohol induced
night.

Tiffany hated to admit it, but she was hiding out. Earlier that
day while she and Josephine had been setting up for the party, she had asked
her friend to act as hostess for the entertainment part. She fabricated a lie
about having too many other things on her mind to attend to the needs of
another stripper. Josephine believed she was uncomfortable with the subject of
stripping in general.

She let the conversation drop, deciding not to enlighten
Josephine. It would have taken too much explaining to tell her friend how far
it had really gone out of her comfort zone.

Besides, she was hoping that soon it would all be over, just a
distant memory.

She’d barely come to grips with her behavior, let alone having to
explain her actions to someone else, even if that someone was her best friend.

“Who am I fooling?” She stared into the empty grate.

She could pretend with her friends, but she couldn’t make her own
conscience believe the lie. The truth of the matter was, around Trevor, she
couldn’t even rely on all the training she’d been given in charm school.

Tiffany heard someone enter the room. Assuming it was Josephine,
or one of her friends coming to check up on her, she didn’t turn around. Not
really wanting to be bothered, she hoped they would think she was mulling over
fundraising plans and leave the room as quietly as they came in.

After a few moments passed, she realized she would have no such
luck.

“So, how’s the stripper?” she asked, still facing the fireplace,
wondering if he had started his final act.

“I don’t know. You tell me?” The voice came out smooth, thick and
rich like a Bavarian creamed éclair.

Tiffany’s eyes closed automatically with the sound of the silky
deep tone. She didn’t have to turn to know who it was. All of her senses came
alive in remembrance of their last meeting.

Staring into the fire, she asked, “How did you get in here?”

“The back door was open and your friends were too occupied talking
about the stripper to notice me. I saw you head this way when I came in.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” she commented as she walked back
toward the couch.

She took a slow breath with every step, hoping to calm her nerves
before she raised her eyes to look at the man who called himself her husband.
Regaining her composure, she sat down on the couch and met his eyes.

Rich, sparkling, light nut-brown irises met hers. It was the smile
that could seduce Aphrodite that made Tiffany quickly look away.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said without moving further
into the room.

“My prodigal husband returns. Why should that be disturbing to
me?” She leaned toward the papers on the table as if his unexpected presence in
the room, and, in her life, was not disconcerting for her.

She wondered if one of her friends had spotted him or recognized
him. If someone did, she knew she would be in for a lot of questions later.
“Unless you have come here to talk about our divorce, I have nothing to say to
you. I have work to do. However, you can leave your contact information for me
so my lawyer can get a hold of you.”