Butterfly (17 page)

Wrapping her arms around her waist over the thick velour robe the hotel had made available for guests in their bridal suite, she closed her eyes and let out a long sigh. Seneca had never fantasized about getting married like most girls. However, even in her wildest dreams she would never have believed that she would marry a man she’d known for only a month. She really didn’t know him, because at that moment she didn’t know who Seneca Houston was.

What nagged at her was that she wasn’t impulsive. Never had she done anything without giving it a great deal of thought. The decision not to attend Cornell had not been an easy one for Seneca. She’d wrestled with the notion for weeks until she’d found it hard to go to sleep and sleep throughout the night. Not only had she stopped sleeping but eating as well, losing weight she could ill afford to lose.

When she’d given the clerk her New York State driver’s license as a government-issued photo ID to secure the license, a voice had told her to run and not stop running until she was back in New York in her bedroom in the Upper West Side brownstone. However, Seneca ignored the silent voice and was now a married woman.

She hadn’t mentioned a prenuptial agreement and neither had Phillip, because she realized she hadn’t been thinking clearly. For that matter, she hadn’t been thinking—not until now. They would spend the night in the Vegas hotel before flying back to L.A. to meet with the production company that was to shoot the commercial.

“I thought you would’ve been in bed.”

She turned around slowly. Phillip had come out of the bathroom wearing nothing more than a towel around his hips. “I was waiting for you.”

His hands went to the towel, it falling to the carpeted floor. “I’m ready.”

Seneca swallowed when she saw the heavy sex jutting from between muscular thighs. How had she forgotten the size, length and width of his prodigious sex? She closed her eyes, moaning softly when she felt a rush of moisture bathe her vagina.

Taking long strides, Phillip closed the distance between them. The rush of color to his wife’s face was all he needed to know what she was feeling and needed. Scooping her up as if she were a child, he carried her to the large bed and placed her on it, his body following hers down.

Reaching over, he turned off the lamp. He hadn’t bothered to close the drapes at the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows. There weren’t as many lights dotting the desert, but there were enough to let him know the city was still filled with an energy that waned slightly but only to return with the rising sun. Phillip hadn’t thought he would spend his wedding night in a Vegas hotel penthouse. But then, he hadn’t given marriage much thought, either. His focus was playing basketball, then a career in medicine. Now it would shift to include his wife.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Kingston?” he whispered in his wife’s ear.

“I’m good, Mr. Kingston.”

And she was good. She wasn’t in love with Phillip, but Seneca knew she could grow to love him. Perhaps that was better than being so madly in love with someone that she’d lose all sense of perspective. “Remember, you have to use a condom,” she reminded him.

Seneca knew being able to trust Phillip surpassed her wanting to love him. She hadn’t disclosed that she was fitted with a birth control device because she wanted to see if he would
keep his promise to protect her from an unplanned pregnancy. Phillip could afford to father as many children as he could financially afford, but for her it was different. Her body was her moneymaker, and becoming pregnant was certain to short-circuit her career.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Phillip crooned.

Deftly, he took off Seneca’s robe, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. They hadn’t talked about children—in fact they hadn’t talked about anything other than to exchange vows. He’d promised to protect her, and he would until the time came for them to start a family.

Rolling over on his back, he searched under a mound of pillows for the condom he’d placed there when Seneca had gone into the bathroom. He opened the packet and rolled the latex sheath down the length of his erection. Just once, he wanted to experience the sensation of going inside Seneca without the barrier of latex between them. But he knew that wasn’t possible, recalling when she’d said: “I don’t need a baby. Not when I have to concentrate on my career.” She was right.
They
didn’t need a baby. It would take time for them to get to know each other; their careers would take them away from each other whenever he played an away game or she had a show out of the country. They would make New York their home base only because his team was in New York.

Trailing kisses down the column of her long neck, Phillip spread her legs with his knee. He’d wanted a prolonged session of foreplay but realized it was not to be. His dick was so hard it hurt, and only Seneca could assuage the pain. He rubbed the head over her clit, achieving the reaction he sought when she raised her hips and spread her legs.

He pushed inside her, acutely aware of the change in her breathing. How had he forgotten in a few short weeks? Her feminine scent, the tight fit. Everything outside the room
ceased to exist for Phillip Kingston as he found himself falling into a sexual abyss from which he didn’t want to escape.

The contractions began for Seneca within seconds of Phillip penetrating her. She tried to hold back, but to no avail. The orgasms came, one after the other, then overlapping to where she didn’t know where one began and the other ended.

However, it did come to a crashing end, with her soaring beyond herself, seemingly speaking in tongues while Phillip pumped faster, harder before collapsing heavily atop her. They lay joined together, their chests rising and falling in unison. Seneca managed a small moan of protest when Phillip pulled out. He left the bed to discard the condom.

She never knew when her husband returned to the bed.

She’d fallen asleep.

S
eneca slipped quietly out of bed in an attempt not to wake Phillip. She showered, dressed and was lounging in the living room, watching the sun rise over the desert, when he walked in. Her body was still on East Coast time. She averted her gaze rather than stare at his male body in its entire naked splendor. The sun pouring into the room turned him into a statue of gold.

Yawning and scratching his chest, Phillip stared at his wife. “What are you doing up so early?”

“I’m still on New York time. Besides, I want to call my parents to let them know I’m now a married woman.”

He yawned again. “What do you think they’re going to say?”

Seneca turned to look at him. “I don’t know. My dad will probably be shocked. I can’t anticipate what my mother will say.”

“It’ll be easier breaking it to my folks because I’ve already told them about you.”

She sat up straight. “When?”

“When I returned to see you. My father wanted to know what had me flying back to New York after I’d only been home a few days.”

“Am I going to meet your parents before I go back?”

“No.”

“No!” Shock was evident in the single word and her stunned expression.

“You’ll get to meet them at some other time. They’re in Malaysia for an international medical conference.” Phillip studied Seneca, still unable to believe his good fortune. With her flawless complexion and the ends of her hair curling around her incredible face, she continued to take his breath away. “Are you coming back to bed?”

Seneca shook her head. “In a little while. I want to make the phone calls before my folks read about it in a supermarket tabloid.”

“I suggest you call Booth, so he’ll know how to spin it.”

“How do you want him to spin it, Phillip?”

“I’m going to leave that up to the Barracuda. Knowing him, he’ll milk it for all it’s worth. Who is she? Are they a couple, or just friends? Weren’t King Phillip and Butterfly spotted together wearing wedding bands? Is she pregnant? Yada, yada, yada.”

Throwing back her head and baring her throat, Seneca laughed uncontrollably. “It sounds as if you know the drill.”

Phillip chuckled. He liked hearing Seneca laugh. For some one so young she was much too serious. “It’s a well-rehearsed script, baby. Prepare yourself for an onslaught from tabloid, magazine and television entertainment reporters. BGM’s publicity department will schedule the interviews based on how much they’re willing to pay for a story. They’ll try to get as
much as they can, only because Booth Gordon is a greedy bastard.”

Seneca sobered. Her private life was about to be played out in public. She knew she would’ve been able to maintain a modicum of privacy, away from the runway, as Seneca Houston. However, her confidence wavered when she realized she would be hurled into the spotlight as Mrs. Phillip Kingston.

Was she prepared for the close scrutiny that was certain to occur? Unknowingly, it would be a question she would ask herself over and over in the next few weeks. She picked up her cell phone and punched in the speed dial for her parents’ house. It rang six times before going to voice mail. Not bothering to leave a message, Seneca called her mother’s cell. It, too, went directly to voice mail.

Lines of consternation appeared between her eyes. It was odd that Dahlia hadn’t picked up, because she was fanatical about keeping her cell charged and on. Seneca tried one more number—Robyn’s cell. She smiled when hearing her sister’s voice.

“Hey, Robbie, it’s Seneca. Is Mom around?”

“Yeah. I just left her downstairs in the kitchen. What’s up?”

“Did you hear the house phone ring?”

“Yeah,” Robyn repeated. “But I thought Mom got it.”

“Can you do me a favor, Robbie?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Go downstairs and see if Mom is okay.”

“No problem. I’m on my way down. Daddy told me you’re not coming up for the Fourth.”

“I’m in California.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m shooting a commercial with Phillip Kingston.” Seneca
held the tiny phone away from her ear when Robyn screamed into the mouthpiece.

“Omigod, Seneca! He is so fuc—freakin’ hot!”

She smiled, wanting to tell Robyn that Phillip was now her brother-in-law. “He is kind of nice on the eyes,” she said instead. Seneca couldn’t hear what Robyn had told Dahlia, but the older woman’s reply knifed through her like an ice pick. Dahlia had heard the phone, but after seeing the caller ID hadn’t wanted to speak to her.

“She doesn’t want—”

“I heard her, Robbie. It’s okay.”

“What’s going on between you and Mom?”

“Nothing,” Seneca lied smoothly. She didn’t want to bring her sister into her quarrel with their mother. “I’m not going to see you for my birthday, because I have another event that weekend.”

“When am I going to see you?” Robyn whined.

“As soon as I finalize my summer calendar, I’ll ask Daddy if you can come down and spend some time with me.”

“I’ll come if you promise to introduce me to Phillip Kingston…”

Seneca smiled. “I promise.”

She talked to her sister for another minute and then rang off. Her smile faded, replaced by unshed tears. She knew Dahlia was notorious for holding grudges, but that did little to relieve the feeling of sadness holding her captive. Seneca had tired of fighting with her mother years before, and once she’d moved out she’d thought things would change. Apparently they hadn’t—at least not for Dahlia.

“I can’t let her do this to me,” she whispered, pushing to her feet. If she continued to dwell on the friction between her and her mother, Seneca knew she would become an emotional wreck.

Sniffling and squaring her shoulders, she raced into the bedroom and flopped on the bed, Phillip catching her in midair. They rolled around and around on the large bed, stopping long enough for Phillip to slip on a condom. This coming together was different from their wedding night. There was no frantic coupling and when it ended they’d ceased to exist as separate entities.

Seneca closed her eyes when she felt the flutter of nerves seize her as she stood on the mark from which she would move once filming began. The set was in a large warehouse that had been converted into studios where a popular daytime soap opera was in production. The commercial was promised to be as stunningly visual as the crossover vehicle being showcased. Well-dressed actors spanning six decades filled the room, talking quietly, most holding flutes with sparkling cider. Classical music played softly in the background as the actors examined and gestured toward sculpture and framed prints on the stark-white walls.

There were no lines for them to memorize. She and Phillip had been directed to stroll around what would become an art gallery exchanging sultry glances, in keeping with the vehicle’s tagline: “Words are unnecessary.”

Clad in a black sheath dress with an asymmetrical neckline and black Studio Pollini suede-and-patent-leather pumps, a strand of thirteen-millimeter pearls, matching studs, dramatic makeup and with her hair fashioned into an elaborate chignon, Seneca found herself transformed into a young sophisticate. She opened her eyes. The butterflies were gone, replaced by adrenaline.

Seneca hadn’t seen Phillip since he’d disappeared behind a door marked
Wardrobe/Makeup,
and when he walked onto the set the reaction the director wanted from her was evident
when she stared, an expression of awe filling her eyes. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from the tall figure dressed in a navy tailored suit, stark-white shirt, charcoal-gray silk tie and black imported slip-ons.

Spotlights bathed Seneca and Phillip in warm, flattering light as the director yelled “action” and they began walking in opposite directions, their eyes following the other as they glanced over their shoulders. The camera angle changed, pulling back to capture a full shot of her from head to toe. Phillip stopped, lifted his eyebrows questioningly, and was rewarded with a coy smile and lowered lids from Seneca. She hadn’t accepted his unspoken advance, but her expression communicated that she hadn’t rejected him either.

“Cut!” The director’s voice echoed throughout the set. “Let’s set up for scene two.” He’d captured the scene in one take.

The second scene, an outdoor shot, showed Phillip leaning against the bumper of the crossover, waiting for Seneca to emerge from the gallery. He nods to her, but she shakes her head and gets into a waiting limo. Phillip watches her car take off, then slips into the SRX, maneuvering smoothly away from the curb.

The edited ten-second spot concludes with Phillip slowing down when he sees Seneca standing on the side of the road with her thumb up. He gets out and opens the passenger-side door, but she rounds the SRX and slips in behind the wheel. She motions for him to get in and the scene ends with them sharing a smile as she drives off.

The director was effusive with his praise when Seneca climbed out of the luxury car, kissing her cheeks. “You were incredible. I occasionally direct a daytime drama and the writers have come up with a new storyline where one of the principal characters discovers he’s the father of a biracial daughter
after he’d had a brief affair with a former business associate. You would be perfect for the part.”

Seneca patted his shoulder. “Talk to my agent.” She’d never thought saying those four words would leave her feeling euphoric.
“Tell your agent to call my agent.”
If she had a dollar every time she’d heard that line of dialogue in the movies, she could’ve saved enough to spend the night in the Waldorf-Astoria’s ultra-exclusive Towers.

“I’ll do that,” he promised.

Seneca’s head popped up when she felt the punishing grip of Phillip’s fingers around her upper arm. “What are you doing?” she asked whispering, when he led her back to the building.

“We have to talk,” he said between clenched teeth.

“We’re not going to talk about anything until you let go of my arm. Not only are you hurting me but you’ll probably leave a bruise.”

She’d learned early in her adolescence not to pick her zits, because the result was bruises that took weeks to fade. Phillip loosened his hold, but not enough for her to escape him. Waiting until he closed the door to the dressing room to which he’d been assigned, Seneca rounded on Phillip. “What’s up with the caveman act?”

“I’m sorry, baby. You know I’d never hurt you.”

“No, I don’t know that,” Seneca countered. “This is the second time I’ve asked you to take your hand off me.”

Phillip flashed a sheepish grin. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.” He hadn’t lied to Seneca. He would never deliberately cause her physical harm.

Walking over and flopping down on a sofa, Seneca stared at the toes of the designer pumps. “What do you want to talk about?”

Taking two long strides, Phillip leaned against a lighted
vanity. “How can you tell that man to talk to your agent before you talk to me?”

“What?”

Shifting and resting his hands on his thighs, he leaned toward her. “I am your husband, Seneca. Instead of telling him to call Booth, you should’ve told him that you’ll get back to him.”

She blinked. “Get back to him after I talk to you?”

“Dah!” he drawled.

Seneca paused as she tried analyzing Phillip’s reaction to her interaction with the film director. “What’s obvious to you isn’t
that
obvious to me, Phillip.”

“How can you commit to a job without consulting with me first?”

Emotions ranging from shock, incredulity and anger gripped her. “Are you saying I have to get your approval where it concerns
my career?
I’m only asking because I don’t believe you would permit me to control yours.”

“It’s not about control, Seneca.”

“If it’s not, then what is it, Phillip?”

“If you get the part for the soap, then you’d have to work in L.A.”

Seneca swallowed hard, trying not to reveal the inner turmoil turning her stomach muscles into knots. “You’re projecting. I haven’t even auditioned for the part, so your saying I’d have to work in L.A. is pointless. You’re jumping the gun because you don’t know the details.”

“It’s not business as usual, Seneca. You can’t make a decision without first checking with me.”

“Check with you!” she shouted. “I am not a little girl where I had to check in with my father, or get his approval before I could do something or go somewhere. You knew before you asked me to marry you what our marriage would be like.”

Phillip nodded. “That’s true. But I’d expected you to do fashion shows, magazine layouts or even an occasional commercial. But not a daytime soap opera.”

“Now you want to pick and choose the course of my career?”

“No.”

“Yes, Phillip,” Seneca countered angrily. “Yes, you do. Are you telling me it’s okay to do runway shows or pose for a magazine, but I can’t act because it would take me away from New York? What about you?” she spat out. “You’re a professional athlete. One night you may play in New York, then the next night in Miami, and a couple of days later you’re in Chicago. You start preseason play in early October and the regular basketball season doesn’t end until mid-April. Then there are the play-offs, and if you’re lucky to make it to the championship that’s another month. So in all there are six to seven months of the year when I’m lucky if I get my husband all to myself for six or seven consecutive days.

“You may have caught me off guard when you asked me to marry you, but I had to weigh all my options. Even if I wasn’t a model I had to be willing to accept that you wouldn’t be coming home every night to sit down to dinner with me. If I can sacrifice not seeing you whenever I want, or sharing you with millions of adorning fans, then you should at least do the same for me. I’m just starting out, and what I need from you more than love is respect and support. Respect for what I do, and to support me as I begin my journey into the only profession where having a good face and body counts for something.”

Phillip’s face had become a mask of stone during Seneca’s lengthy monologue. He knew if he’d interrupted they would’ve engaged in an all-out verbal assault on each other. So he’d remained silent and let her have her say. She believed he
didn’t want her to have a successful career, but she was wrong. He wanted Butterfly to soar, to become the supermodel Booth Gordon had predicted. What she’d failed to understand was that now they were a team, and if a team didn’t confer and play together, then they were doomed and certain to fail.