Temptation's Kiss (13 page)

T.K. laughed harder. “Darlin', you are so innocent in some ways. As long as you've got the money to pay for the room they don't care if you use it for an hour or a month.

“That's your business.”

“Okay,” Patrice said skeptically. “I'm not walking into that hotel empty-handed, that's all.”

“You're so stubborn,” said T.K.

“Yes, I am,” agreed Patrice.

The minute she and T.K. began walking toward the registration desk, however, Patrice was glad she was
taking steps to be careful. Behind the desk was Lucy Lopez. She'd had no idea Lucy worked there! Lucy hadn't looked up and seen her yet.

Patrice turned to T.K. “You're going to have to get the room on your own. The woman behind the desk is Keira's sister-in-law. Keep your sunglasses on. Hopefully she won't recognize you. I'll wait for you by the elevators.” She handed him the bags.

T.K. humored her. It was obvious she was concerned that it would get back to her family that they'd gone to a hotel while they were visiting.

At the desk, he registered as Trevor Kennedy McKenna. Lucy Lopez smiled at him, her eyes roving over his muscular frame and his face, but she didn't seem to connect him with the actor, T. K. McKenna.

Room key in hand, he joined Patrice at the bank of elevators. Several other people were waiting for the conveyance as well. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Mission accomplished. I don't think she recognized me.”

“Good,” Patrice whispered back.

On the ride up to their floor, they stood in the back of the elevator, arms around each other's waists. The other five passengers were obviously tourists. They were talking about historic Old Town and their visit to see the annual River of Lights display at the Rio Grande Botanic Garden.

“We went there, didn't we?” asked T.K.

Patrice nodded. “Yes, the first day we were here,
all the Christmas lights?” she said, giving him a brief description of the attraction in order to enhance his memory.

“Oh, yeah, they were something else,” he said appreciatively.

One of the women, an attractive black woman in her mid-thirties, turned to look at T.K. and cautiously asked, “Aren't you T. K. McKenna?”

T.K. laughed shortly. He pulled off his sunglasses and said to Patrice, “I told you I looked like T. K. McKenna with my head shaved.” Then he said back at the woman, “
She
even thinks so.”

Patrice smiled at the woman. “Please don't encourage him. I'll never hear the end of it. No, my fiancé isn't T. K. McKenna.”

The woman squinted up at T.K. and wrinkled her nose. “Come to think of it, he's not as tall as you are, is he? They always look bigger on the screen. I hear Tom Cruise is only five-seven. He looks bigger in the movies.” She smiled at T.K. again. “But I'm with you. You do look an awful lot like him.”

When they got to their suite, Patrice unlocked the door and stumbled into it laughing. “We go to all that trouble of getting around Lucy unnoticed and then you get recognized on the elevator!”

T.K. frowned. “I hated confusing the poor woman. But I did it to save your reputation.” He laughed shortly. “You should have seen your face when you spotted Keira's
sister-in-law behind the registration desk. You were bug-eyed.”

Patrice put her shoulder bag on the foyer table and went to him to relieve him of the bags he was carrying. She placed them beside her bag on the table. With this done, she got out of her coat and hung it on the hall tree next to the door and turned to face him. T.K. had already removed his coat and thrown it onto a nearby chair. His gaze roamed over her luscious body in jeans and a royal blue sweater. Patrice took a deep breath as she watched him, her chest rising and falling.

No words were needed at this point. They fell on each other, kissing hungrily. T.K. pulled her sweater over her head and kissed her again. Her chest pressed against his, but she wasn't satisfied with the feel of his shirt. She broke off the kiss long enough to unbutton his denim shirt and pull it off him. He undid the clasps on her bra, and finally, they were skin to skin. They both sighed contentedly. Her nipples hardened at the first touch of his skin on hers. T.K. jerked her roughly against him, then picked her up fireman style and tossed her butt-first onto the king-size bed. He took the time to remove her shoes and drop them onto the floor. Patrice unbuttoned her button-fly jeans, and he grasped them by the hems and pulled them off her. All that was left on her were a very small pair of panties.

T.K. got out of his athletic shoes, socks and jeans. He wore boxer-briefs. They were molded to his body, and the bulge in them was quite impressive. Patrice looked
at that bulge and suddenly remembered. No condoms. She didn't have a single condom with her. “Condoms?” she croaked, looking desperately at T.K., willing him to say he'd remembered them.

He chuckled and went to get his wallet out of his jeans' pocket. “The old standbys,” he said as he held up a couple for her to see.

“Not too old, I hope,” said Patrice.

“Trust me,” he said as he knelt on the bed, tossed the condoms in their wrappers onto the bed where they'd be within easy reach and grasped the waistband of her panties and began pulling. Patrice lifted her hips a bit to help him. When the panties had been tossed behind him, he spread her legs and simply looked at her a moment. He loved everything about her body, how her full breasts felt in the palms of his hands, how her firm round bottom looked like a perfectly formed peach. He leaned down and kissed her mouth. She wrapped her arms and her legs around his body. She sighed with pleasure, and her tongue made love to his. She might have all the physical attributes of every other woman he had made love to in the past, but she certainly used them in a unique, thoroughly satisfying fashion. With her, he knew that she was enjoying herself as much as he was. She pushed it to the limit every time. Because of that, it felt new and exciting every time they made love.

She gestured for him to roll her over so that she would be on top. He happily obliged.

He knew what she was after, getting him out of his
boxer-briefs. He admitted that he liked it when she released him and held him in her hands. He moaned softly when she reenacted the scene that had been in his mind.

Patrice held him in her hand. His hard member pulsed with a life of its own. She bent and licked the tip. He throbbed in her hand. She took this as an indication it was time to put the condom on. He never liked coming before her; he said it made no sense since he would have to wait a few minutes before he was hard again. He wanted her to get her pleasure first.

So she took her pleasure. After putting the condom on him, she climbed onto his member and rode him until he was crying out for release. She had come once and was approaching another explosion.

Their bodies had a thin layer of perspiration, and it was with sweet pain coupled with intense pleasure, a few minutes later, that she cried out as another climax rocked her and he grabbed her hips and pumped her hard before crying out in release himself. She fell onto his chest a bit breathlessly and kissed his mouth, biting his lower lip, felt his member throb some more inside of her and then suckled his lower lip.

Momentarily, she laid her head on his chest. T.K. sighed. He even liked it when she lay on top of him afterward, their bodies slick, warm and satisfied. “It's always over way too soon for me,” he said softly in her ear.

She looked into his eyes. “Yes, but I like this time together, just holding you.”

T.K. smiled. He didn't want to ever be parted from her for any reason. He thought about their first argument. He would try to be more sensitive about her workingwoman sensibilities and not be so blasé about the cost of things. Had he been a rich man for so long that he no longer knew how to think like the average American? Had he become elitist? He hated to think that he had. He would work on that.

Patrice had closed her eyes, and for a moment, he thought she was sleeping. Then she opened them and smiled at him. “How about a shower and we do that again?”

“D
rive carefully,” Cady told them as Patrice and T.K. climbed into the SUV for the trip back to Los Angeles, this time with T.K. at the wheel. The household had assembled on the front stoop to see them off. When Patrice had kissed her father goodbye he'd said for her ears only, “He passed the mountain lion test. He's worth hanging on to.”

Patrice had playfully punched him on the arm. “Daddy, no, you didn't!” It wasn't the first time her father had taken advantage of Luke's unique way with animal sounds and used that talent to pull a prank on somebody.

She wasn't going to let him get off scot-free this time, though. “Momma, did you hear about what Daddy and
Luke did to T.K. while they were out with the cattle the day before yesterday?”

Her father was trying to shush her, but she wouldn't let him. “They made him think he was being attacked by a mountain lion.”

“What?” cried Cady, going to playfully grab her husband by the ear.

“Ouch, woman!” said Patrick. “We didn't hurt the boy. He was a good sport about it. Tell them, T.K.!”

“Really, Mrs. Sutton, I got a good laugh out of it. I was only disappointed I didn't get a photo of the mountain lion.”

Cady laughed. “You were going to photograph a mountain lion?” She turned to Patrice. “Baby, tell him on the trip home how crazy that sounds. And I'll handle your father.” That was when she'd told them to drive carefully, and she and T.K. had driven off with her looking back fondly at her family standing on the front stoop.

“What did she mean by that?” T.K. asked.

“Mountain lions attack people and livestock. They kill and maim. They're extremely dangerous. If you ever see one, don't stick around to take its photo. Just recently, a boy was dragged off by one. His father managed to fight it off, but the little boy was badly mangled. It took him months to recover.”

“That's terrible,” T.K. said, returning his attention to the road. “I'm really a greenhorn, aren't I? There I was reaching for my cell phone to take a photo. I should
have known something was up when your dad led me in circles.”

“But you trusted him not to lead you astray,” Patrice said. “He didn't mean anything by it. He was just having fun, but Momma and I don't like it when he does it to unsuspecting people.”

“Don't be too hard on him for my sake,” T.K. told her. “I took it as an initiation into the Sutton men's club. Really, I laughed as hard as the rest of them.”

“Okay, I'm letting it go,” Patrice said. “I just wanted your visit to be a pleasant one.”

“It was. Men don't think the same way women do. You're angry because you think they scared me just to get a laugh. But they didn't do it for a laugh. They did it to let me know that they accept me. That means a lot to me.”

Patrice shook her head. She got him now. It was true that in her and her mother's opinion her father's prank-playing was incomprehensible. But perhaps that was simply one of the ways that men and women differed. Women generally didn't get
The Three Stooges,
either, but many men found them hilarious. “All right,” she conceded. “I will defer to you when it comes to my father's sense of humor.”

T.K. reached over and squeezed her hand. “He's a good guy, your dad.”

Patrice couldn't argue with that.

 

The first order of business when they got back to Los Angeles was to go to his parents' house and collect Sam,
but there was also the matter of telling his parents that he and Patrice had gotten engaged on Christmas Eve.

It was sundown when they got to the Beverly Hills mansion. The house had belonged to T.K., but he had given it to his parents and moved to Malibu after they had agreed to move out here. He had always thought the house was too big for him alone. Now he had his Malibu house that he loved, and the house in Beverly Hills was occupied by family whom he visited often and whose friends and relatives visited often. So it was nice for them to have plenty of room to accommodate their guests.

T.K. had a key to the house and also knew the security code, so he let himself and Patrice into the house. He stood in the foyer a moment, listening. Usually, there was music on somewhere in the house when he entered it. Both his parents were jazz fans and would have Grover Washington Jr. or some other jazz great's music piped in over the sound system.

The house was silent.

He and Patrice looked at each other. He could tell she also felt the uneasiness he was feeling. Where was everybody? Also, where was Sam, who usually was jumping up on him and licking his face by now?

He took Patrice by the hand and headed for the kitchen where he could usually find someone as it was the hub of the house.

“Hello!” he called. “Anybody at home?”

“If they were going off for the day, wouldn't they have
phoned you to tell you about it?” Patrice asked. “They were expecting you back today.”

T.K. stopped in his tracks, let go of her hand and checked his cell phone. He had forgotten to turn it back on. He checked the messages. Sure enough, his mother had phoned him at least three times. He listened to the first message. “Trevor, Aisha is gone, and she's taken Mira with her. I went to check up on her when she didn't come down for breakfast. I thought maybe she'd had a rough night with Mira. Mira's been keeping her up nights. She didn't leave a message or anything. I'm worried about them. Your father and I don't agree on what to do. He says we should call the police, but I don't think they'll look for an adult right away—a child, yes, but she's twenty-six. Please call as soon as you can.” T.K. checked the date of the message. It had been on Christmas Day. Aisha had been missing for more than twenty-four hours.

He looked at Patrice, who was watching him with a concerned expression. “Aisha took off with Mira. My parents don't know where she is. I've got two more messages to listen to.”

He listened to number two. “Your dad and I are going out to look for her. We're taking Sam with us. He loved to be around Mira so much that we're hoping against hope that somehow he'll know where she is. I have one of her little sweaters that she's worn with me, and I'm letting him sniff it. I know he isn't a hound dog, but I'm desperate. Why would Aisha do this and make us worry?
She said she would talk to us after the holidays, and we would decide together what was best for her and Mira then. Is she so scared that we're going to try to take Mira from her that she ran? Trevor, please call.”

T.K. was so angry at Aisha for putting his mother through such a stressful situation that he couldn't listen to the final message. He handed the phone to Patrice, and she listened. “It's the day after she left, and we're combing East Los Angeles. It's the only place we know of that she was known to have lived before she met Malcolm. I don't know why you haven't phoned yet, Trevor. I hope nothing's happened. I couldn't take it if something's happened to you, too.”

Patrice handed him the phone. “They're looking for her in East L.A., with no luck so far. Call your mother, Trevor. She sounds upset.”

T.K. took the phone and dialed his mother's cell phone number. Rose McKenna must have answered right away, because he started talking, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. My phone was off. Where are you now? We'll come to you.” His mother must have told him. He closed the cell phone and met Patrice's gaze. “They're on the way back home. They're exhausted. Damn it, I should have known that little user would do something like this as soon as I turned my back! I'm calling the cops.”

Patrice was angry, too. It was wrong of Aisha to make everybody sick with worry. Mira was only a little over a month old; she was so vulnerable. What if Aisha did something stupid like leaving her with somebody
untrustworthy? You heard horror stories about people abusing, even killing babies on the news all the time.

She had to remain calm for T.K.'s sake though. “What can you charge her with?” she asked reasonably. “She's Mira's only surviving parent. She has the right to take her anywhere she wants to. Hire a private detective to find her and then you can deal with her, but the police might be the wrong choice right now.”

T.K. looked hurt that she didn't support his course of action. “You sound like you're on her side in the matter.”

“I'm always on your side,” Patrice assured him, “but think. She could be scared and confused, and she could come back home at any time. If she sees police cars all over the place, she's going to be reluctant to come to you for help.”

“She shouldn't have taken Mira out of this house!” T.K. bellowed.

Patrice jumped. She'd never seen him in a rage before. He looked like he could tear someone apart with his bare hands. A thrill of fear shot through her. He was a big man. He probably
could
tear someone apart with his bare hands.

She took a step backward. “Calm down,” she said softly. “Yes, she took Mira with her, but that doesn't mean she's run away for good. Maybe she needed to go someplace where she could think, be away from Malcolm's family for a while. I know you think you know everything you need to know about her, but maybe she's
been grieving for Malcolm this whole time and she'll come to the realization that she does need help raising Mira, and she'll come back. Just think before you call the police. That's all I ask.”

T.K.'s gaze was cold when he looked at her. To Patrice, it was like looking into the eyes of someone who was totally devoid of emotions—dead eyes.

“I really can't deal with your altruistic views right now, Patrice. I need to handle this and handle it swiftly.” He was about to say more, but suddenly there was the sound of his mother's voice in the foyer shouting, “Trevor! We're home.”

Sam ran into the room, smiling, tail wagging, totally happy to see them. Patrice was surprised when he came straight to her but then perhaps he'd sensed his master's frame of mind and thought he'd get a better reception from her.

She knelt and hugged him. He licked her face repeatedly. Patrice felt like crying. With another cold look in her direction, T.K. turned to go greet his parents. She heard them talking in the foyer, but from this distance their voices were not clear to her so she didn't know what they were saying.

T.K. returned to the kitchen alone. “I told them to go lie down and I'd bring dinner up to them,” he explained tersely. “Alma, their housekeeper, went to visit family over the holidays.”

Patrice rose and patted Sam on the head. “I can prepare something for them.”

“No, you go home, I know you're probably tired,” T.K. said with that dead look still in his eyes.

Patrice was hurt. Shouldn't she be here to support him? Why was he pushing her away? “I'm not tired,” she told him with a tentative smile. “I'm concerned about Mira, too. I want to stay and help.”

He didn't smile back. “Don't you get it?” he asked, his tone rough. “I have to act, and I don't want you around to pass judgment on me for my actions. Go home, Patrice.”

“I never judged you,” said Patrice. Tears sat in her eyes.

T.K. hated himself for putting those tears in her eyes. But she didn't live in the real world if she thought he could sit around and wait for some detective who didn't have the resources the police had to find Aisha and, more importantly, Mira. The longer he waited the farther she could go with his brother's child. It was critical that they do something now. Patrice was in the way with her idealistic view of life.

“Here,” he said, walking toward her with his car keys in his outstretched hand. “Take my car and go home. I'll call you later.”

Patrice took his keys and turned her back to him. She felt weak all of a sudden. He was treating her like this because she had disagreed with him about how he should deal with Aisha. She wouldn't argue with him further. Undoubtedly he was terrified right now, wondering if he'd ever see his niece again. She understood that. But
how did he know what was in Aisha's mind and heart? He had seen the girl as only a gold digger from the beginning. He'd never given her a chance. Patrice had met her only twice, but both times the girl had struck her as scared and uncertain about her future. She was like any young woman who had grown up in poverty and latched onto a good thing only to have that good thing snatched away. She was adrift. Of course she was intimidated by T.K. and his family. She hoped that she and Mira would be okay wherever they were, and she regretted that comment she'd made when T.K. had told her Aisha had insisted he marry her. She'd told him to be wary of women like Aisha when she hadn't met her and had no idea what kind of woman she was. She only knew what T.K. had told her about her.

She turned back around to face him. “I'm really sorry this happened, Trevor. Call me if you need me.” She left.

T.K. was stunned that she'd gone, even though he was the one who had asked her to leave. He felt out of control and unreasonable right now. He wanted to hit somebody. He wanted to throttle Aisha. He should never have invited her to stay. Then he would not have seen Mira and grown to love her in such a short time. It would have been better to have never known of her existence than to be experiencing this fear and pain.

He uttered an expletive and got his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Saul Abraham's number, and when he answered, he told him what had happened.

“If we can prove that she's incompetent, we have a chance of gaining custody,” his lawyer told him after a few minutes of consulting with him. “If she tried to sell the child, for example, that would give you the chance to swoop in and take her away from her. But right now, you have no right to call in the police.”

T.K. felt a pang of regret. His mother had said that maybe Aisha had run away because she was afraid they might try to take Mira away from her. Was that the impression he'd given her? No, he was certain he had assured her that he would support both her and Mira, not take Mira away. His conscience was clear.