If You Don't Know Me (8 page)

W
hat appropriate gift does a single woman give to a married man?

Something tangible? Intangible? A tie was too basic, yet safe. A hand-painted partially nude tasteful image was thoughtful of her, inconsiderate of his wife. A lap dance was sexy, would make him very happy, and last an eternity in his mind, especially if his wife had never given him one. The latter was what I'd planned.

Being in Roosevelt's presence made my pussy pulsate with pleasure. His sexual energy was dynamite and kryptonite rolled together.

“I know it's been a long day, for both of us,” he said. “Thanks for meeting me here.” He refilled our glasses with champagne.

The red belly-dancing outfit I'd bought was in a bag in my car. At Roosevelt's request to the owner, we sat alone in the Lexington Room at Corner Table restaurant. A ten-foot-tall mirror was closest to our table. The curtains were drawn. No one could see in. We didn't want to see out.

The waiters were informed not to disturb us. An extra bottle of Cristal was on ice. A small feast of strawberries, chocolate, whipped cream, an assortment of cheese, and red grapes decorated a silver platter that sat in the middle of our round table.

I wasn't hungry for food. Neither was he. We focused on one another. My being a virgin didn't mean I was inhibited. Creativity and exploration over the years made me more aware of my erogenous zones.

“I understand. You have a lot of responsibilities. Your team. Your son. Your family. Your—”

He kissed me, then said, “You. I want you, Sindy.”

The sentiments were mutual. My pussy, although it'd never been wrapped around a dick, craved his. Holding his hand, one at a time I pressed his fingertips to my lips. “Which one is your favorite?”

“The longest. It's the perfect length to stimulate your G-spot.”

I liked that he knew where it was but he wouldn't be sticking anything in my vagina. My ass, maybe. I eased his hand under the table, between my legs, then let him touch my precious pearl. I put his middle finger in my mouth, then let him feel me again.

“Pleasant surprise,” he said, this time dipping his finger into the whipped cream.

Perhaps he was referring to the fact that I didn't have on panties. Or that I'd initiated contact. Roosevelt smeared the thickness onto my wetness. I was wet before he'd touched me. Impromptu foreplay was not what I'd planned but it felt so good.

I squeezed my thighs together. “Ah, yes, babe.”

Gripping his wrist, I moved his hand. He dipped his finger again, resumed playing with me. This time I curled my hips into his rotation, then closed my eyes. Roosevelt positioned himself under the tablecloth. The white cotton draped his head.

Opening my eyes, ours met. When his tongue brushed against my clit, slowly my eyelids covered my pupils. I scooted my chair backward. He pulled my hips to the edge of the seat. I had a stellar reputation, not the kind that would make my colleagues snicker behind my back or mumble under their breath at the annual bar conference, “Did you hear Sindy Singleton was caught having sex in public? If she's giving it up for a bottle of bubbly, she's so hot I'll buy her a vineyard.”

Irrespective of how successful women were, men viewed us as objects. I wasn't sure how much longer I was going to remain a virgin but tonight wasn't the appropriate time for us to consummate our relationship.

The more I struggled to resist, the better his mouth felt. I conceded, grabbed the back of his head, and drew him into my juiciness. Roosevelt fluttered his tongue on my clit. My body tensed. I was glad I'd removed my panties earlier and put them in my purse. Teasing him wasn't supposed to go beyond fondling.

Waves of orgasmic spasms made me slide off the seat and under the table. Suddenly my back was flat and my knees were bent. I felt like a freak and a sexually deprived woman at the same time.

Roosevelt bit my nipple through my dress. He slid my strap off my shoulder and suctioned my areola into his mouth.

I bit my upper lip to keep from cumming. I exhaled, “Ah, damn.” His lips trailed down my stomach, belly button, and back to my clit. He suctioned me in.

I started screaming, “Babe! I'm creaming!”

Silencing my climax, I'd forgotten where we were. I prayed no one came in while I was still cumming. The tail end of my orgasms turned into laughter.

“You are so crazy,” I told him. “I can't believe we're under a tablecloth doing this.”

“Doing what?” he asked gazing into my eyes. “Say it.”

I was not going to tell Roosevelt “making love” or “I love you.”

Peeping out, I crawled from under the table, stood, and straightened my dress and hair. “Let's get out of here.” At least I didn't have to worry about being videotaped like Madison.

The valet retrieved our cars. After that amazing climax, I had to lay my head on Roosevelt's chest and shoulder tonight. I followed him to his place.

Being a virgin didn't mean I'd never experienced an orgasm but this one was head to toe. There were more alternatives to intercourse that would take the edge off for both of us. I was confident I could please Roosevelt sexually but I wanted to be reassured he was the one. I'd hate to have waited until I was thirty to let a man cross my hymen threshold then have regrets.

Roosevelt pressed his brother's buzzer. Shortly afterward, Chaz opened the door.

“Good to see two beautiful people together. Numbiya is here. Come in.”

“I just wanted to say thanks and you were right.” Roosevelt nodded, then added, “I'll see you at the office tomorrow.” He interlocked his fingers with mine, then kissed the back of my hand.

Raising my brows, I smiled. “Hi, Chaz. Bye, Chaz.” Based on his actions, I was certain Roosevelt's statement was in my favor.

Although I lived in a River Oaks mansion designed by John F. Staub in the 1930s, I was tired of living in ten thousand square feet of space alone. A real man didn't ask a woman's ring size to get her a token of his appreciation.

I saw myself moving in with Roosevelt after he'd proposed. From the theater on the entry level to the ballroom on the top floor, his condominium building at The Royalton had all the amenities I desired and more.

Walking a few doors down, we were at Roosevelt's place. Taking a good look at his firm buttocks, I entered behind him. This man was heavenly to hold and behold.

Yet, how could I be 100 percent certain this was the right man for me? I couldn't. I'd do what I believed would work. One, continue getting to know him. Two, be patient. Three, trust my gut instincts. I placed my purse and bag on the bar countertop.

“Hey, baby. You hungry?” I asked him opening his refrigerator.

He looked down at my hips.

“For food,” I said smiling.

“My chef prepared a chili bean casserole and a spinach quiche. It's in the oven. If you don't mind heating it up, that would make your man happy,” he said kissing me.

Wow, if I weren't a woman of reason, I'd truly believe he was my man. Underestimating what Madison would do to keep him wasn't in my plan.

“Anything for you, handsome.” I meant that believing he'd do anything for me.

“I'm going to take a quick shower.” He bit his bottom lip, slowly eased it from between his teeth, winked, then entered his bedroom.

Quietly, I exhaled and removed my Jimmy Choo red sparkling open-toed slingback stilettos. The football team's colors, red and blue, had become my new favorite since dating Roosevelt.

I placed my heels next to his sofa, then washed my hands. A real woman never did more for a man than he did for her. Everything wasn't monetary. I possibly had more money than Roosevelt could give me. For that, I thanked God. I probably should thank my father too, but the way he'd earned his millions wasn't honest. Siara. I needed to Skype soon with my sister. I had missed a few sessions since being with Roosevelt.

What I wanted from this man was simple—love, respect, and consideration. Those were my nonnegotiables. As basic as that was, most men didn't give those things to a woman because he didn't want to, she didn't require him to, or he didn't care about her feelings.

The test I used to gauge how badly a man wanted me was to walk away shortly after meeting him. The one guarantee in every relationship was men displayed their characteristics and character flaws early. When a man showed me he was no good, I didn't try to change him. I released him to the women who liked wolves.

Programming the oven to 350 degrees, I set the dinner table for two. I poured a glass of scotch for him, champagne for me.

The day Roosevelt took me to Brennan's for dinner he'd patronized my profession, mildly devalued womanhood, and stepped away from the table to make a call. Since he'd done all of that on our first date before we'd ordered entrees, I left.

If he'd called me later that night, which he did, he showed he cared. If he would've phoned the next day, that meant he was prideful and needed time to restore his ego. If Roosevelt hadn't called for two days, I would've been done. A forty-eight-hour delay was the sign of an insecure man and I'd never invest in that type of person.

Glancing up at the beautiful white crown molding around his ceiling, I frowned. There was an unusual gap in the corner. A closer looked revealed the spacing in the other corners was consistent. I imagined it was a construction defect.

“Hey, the table looks nice,” Roosevelt said as he stood behind me. He hugged my waist, gently swept my hair over my shoulder, then kissed the nape of my neck.

“Is there something wrong with your molding?” I asked pointing toward the ceiling.

“Let's focus on what's right. You and me.”

I faced him. Eyes didn't lie. This man loved me so much I felt it. “In fifteen minutes, you can take the dishes out of the oven and placed them on the table. It's my turn to shower.”

Pressing my lips to his I opened my mouth, sucked his tongue, then swallowed our saliva. “Sweet. Let's save some of that for dessert toppings.”

Seductively walking away I entered his bedroom. There were no visible signs of Madison ever living here. I'd asked him to get rid of her belongings. A man who'd justify holding on to his woman's or his wife's property after they'd separated wasn't over her. Since Roosevelt's mother and brother weren't fond of Madison, I didn't imagine he'd store her things at their place. Most condos had a storage space for each unit. I'd be happy if he'd put them there. I was not treading on insecurity. I was thinking ahead. And I wasn't sharing room in his space with another woman, especially his estranged wife. My toiletries had replaced hers.

I preferred a bath but opted for a shower. I cleansed my body head to toe and every space in between in ten minutes. Another five to brush my teeth and dry off and I was ready to enjoy what was left of our night.

“You ready for me to fix the plates,” Roosevelt called from the dining area.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Your cell phone is ringing. It's your dad.”

I hurried to the living room before it went to voice mail. There was no telling what Charles Singleton was up to. “Thanks,” I said then answered, “Hi Daddy.”

“Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” That Granville had changed his mind about the hit my father put on Roosevelt? If that were true, it'd be the right thing for Granville to do. I wasn't supposed to know any of this so I didn't mention it. Even if I wanted to tell my father off, I couldn't do it in front of Roosevelt.

“Granville?” my father said.

“What about him?”

“He was arrested for violating his protective order.”

“And?”

Roosevelt mouthed, “Everything okay?”

I nodded.

“I heard from my sources that Nyle Carter is going to tell the police that Granville told him he's plotting to kill Chicago again.”

“And?”

“Okay, baby girl. What I heard sounds a lot like I was listening to you. Are you behind Granville being arrested? Are you still trying to protect Chicago?”

“I think you know the answer to that question. Bye Daddy.” I didn't tell my father I was about to have dinner with the man who had done no wrong to my dad, Madison, or anyone. And yes, I'd do everything I could to protect Roosevelt, but I wouldn't take a bullet for him or any man.

“Sindy.”

Lost in thought, I realized I hadn't ended the call. Whenever he called me by name, he was serious. “What, Daddy?”

“I'm going to bail Granville out.” That meant I was getting Nyle out.

While my dad was saying, “You are going to marry this billionaire who has already paid for you or he's going to kill me. Don't cross me. I'm not asking,” I was texting my inside contact: Release Nyle Carter immediately.

I wasn't backing down. The inside guy couldn't do what I'd requested on his own. I had a few more texts to send. I never gave my father permission to accept money from a wealthy stranger in a foreign country in exchange for my virginity the way he'd done with my sister, Siara. My gut told me our mother wasn't dead. My sister believed she was. Siara had said, “If she's alive, why hasn't she contacted either of us?” My sister loved her family.

I was with the man I wanted to marry and there wasn't anything my father could do to make me change my mind.

“Good-bye, Charles.”

T
he five minutes I'd planned on spying on Roosevelt turned into my barely blinking for a half hour. This was not supposed to be the life of Madison Tyler-DuBois. All the foul things Loretta had done to me didn't compare to Sindy seducing my husband.

I checked on Zach, who was asleep in his crib. Babies blessed with good parents didn't have to worry about their needs being met. My need for Roosevelt to love me was not coming to an end over her!

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I swiped them aside before they stained my dress. Didn't want any outward signs of sadness. Papa was on his way over. Said he had something to tell me. Refused to say whatever it was over the phone.

Pacing in front of my television, I kept watching them. I knew there were some who would say, “She deserves this,” and there were others who'd sympathize with my agony because they too had been a fool for love. A split decision was what my husband had made. He couldn't have both of us. When he was here, he'd shown me that he cared for me.

I recalled the look on Sindy's face when she was on the phone. Seemed as though she'd been told something important. I watched my husband sit at the dinner table staring at Sindy. She tucked her hair behind her ear. I wondered if her strength was in those long beautiful strands and if I could get close enough to cut them and her off. I couldn't hear her clearly and had no idea to whom she was speaking or what they were saying but the distorted expression on her face indicated there was a problem.

When Sindy had pointed up at the ceiling earlier, I sat on the edge of my bed praying she hadn't spotted the hidden cameras. I had to find a way to enter Roosevelt's condo during his next game to close the gaps where I'd had the devices installed behind the crown molding.

What if the person on the phone with Sindy told her Granville had come to my house claiming Zach was his child? Damn, Madison. Stop waddling in your guilty conscience.

Standing over my son's crib, I placed my hand on his back, then under his nose. He was fine. I wasn't. The truth was undisputable. Paternity tests didn't lie. What if Sindy was the envious one who'd sent Granville here? I bet that's exactly what happened.

I turned off the television, picked up my baby, went downstairs, and sat in my favorite chair. My doorbell rang. Turning on the TV in my family room to check my security monitor, I prayed he wasn't back. It was Tisha.

Exhaling, I opened the door. “Come in, girl. I'm happy to see you.”

“I'm just checking on you. Loretta told me she saved you from Granville by filing a report against him for violating his PO. She said you don't have to thank her. She was doing what any friend would've done. Call her, Madison.”

“Not my problem,” I told her.

“I can't believe this boy is sleeping through our conversation,” Tisha said taking Zach from me.

“What am I going to do?” I asked, sitting beside them on the sofa.

“Get your own protective order.” She cuddled Zach in her arms.

“I wasn't talking about Granville.” I picked up the remote, changed the channel to Roosevelt's condo.

“Madison, no. You can't be serious. That's invasion. You could end up in jail if he finds out.”

Roosevelt wouldn't do that to me. He loved Zach too much.

“Oh, oh. You might want to turn that off,” Tisha said staring. That slut was on her knees and had her mouth all over my husband's dick.

The words I wished I hadn't heard were loud and clear. “Oh, shit, motherfucker, damn! I'm cumming,” Roosevelt shouted.

“Nasty bitch.”

“Madison, excuse you. Zach heard that,” Tisha said covering up his ears. “Why don't I take him to my house for a few hours until . . .” She paused, then said as if she were reading my mind, “You're not going to go over there, are you?”

I stared into her eyes.

“I'll just stay—”

The doorbell interrupted her sentence. Papa's face was in the upper right corner of the screen. Tisha stood, placed Zach in my arms, picked up the remote, then powered off the TV.

“You don't have to leave,” I told her.

“Actually, I do. I have a date,” she said opening the door. “Hi, Mr. Tyler.”

How was she going to take Zach if she had plans? I could've used a break but she was right. If I didn't have my baby, I would've definitely gone to Roosevelt's place.

Papa said, “Thanks for keeping an eye on Madison, Tisha. Bye.”

I handed Papa his grandchild, headed to the kitchen, filled a goblet to the rim with champagne, then drank half.

Papa was sitting in the oversize chair facing the sofa. This time he had the blanket over his suit like a bib.

Opening my mouth to laugh, I burped loud. “Excuse me,” I said drinking half of the half that was left in my glass.

“Slow down. The baby can't be causing you to drink that much. At least not yet.”

“What took you so long to get here?” After I'd asked, I said, “Don't answer that.”

“It's okay, sweetheart. I was home all day with your mother. We're talking more these days.”

I wished I could say that were true for Roosevelt. Did Sindy swallow my husband's semen? What were they doing now? Papa's timing was not good.

Taking my baby from Papa, I decided not to question him for details of his conversation with Mom. I had to get back to watching my husband. “What is that you've been meaning to tell me, Papa?”

He cleared his throat, glanced at his wristwatch. “About what, sweetheart?” he said reaching for Zach. “We were still bonding.”

Moving my child away from Papa, I cradled my son and rocked him. Silently, I stared at my dad. My lips pressed tighter together. He was the one who'd said he needed to tell me something; now he was acting like he hadn't come here for that.

“You'd better not give me any bad news,” I told him. “You've hurt me way too much, Papa.” I wanted to cry. Not for what my dad might say. I couldn't erase the image from my mind of Sindy down on her knees.

“Okay, I'll tell you but you have to keep this between us.”

I shook my head and remained quiet. My heart pounded hard against my chest, reminding me I had no breasts. There were times when I didn't focus on having had a double mastectomy. The one regret I had was not trying the newer procedure and having everything done at once—removal, implants, and nipple preservation.

“The test,” he said.

I stood preparing to hear the rest. “What about it?”

He sighed, looked up at me. “Okay.”

I yelled, “Don't play games with me!” then cried. “Say it.”

Zach screamed. I started crying.
God, please.

Papa hung his head and talked at the floor. Covering his mouth, he mumbled.

“What was that? I didn't hear you, Papa.”

He looked at me, then said, “I paid the lab technician to make sure the test results were in favor of Ro—”

Shaking my head, I said, “Get out.”

“Sweetheart, it could be his baby. We don't know for sure. I did what I felt was best—”

“For you, Papa. You always do what's best for you!” Bouncing Zach in my arms, I rubbed his back. “Leave, Papa! And don't ever come back to my house!”

“I deserve that,” he said walking toward the door. “But Roosevelt can still be the father. I don't understand why you jump to conclusions before you have all the facts. You want me to—”

“You know damn well Granville came here because . . .” The words “It's his baby” were caught in my throat. I could not imagine having to co-parent with that fool. Gasping for air, I could barely breathe.

“You've done enough. Go!”

Zach was screeching and jerking. His arms and legs were flapping. I wanted to do the same.

“Sweetheart, you make sure I keep my job. I'll make sure I keep our secret. One hand washes the—”

Slam!

I didn't care if the door hit him in his face. I took my baby upstairs.

Glancing at the video monitor, I saw that Roosevelt and Sindy were naked in his bed. I should've turned off the camera but I couldn't. I didn't know which hurt more. Watching them engage in foreplay or wondering who Zach's real father was.

The one thing I was sure of was Zach was my child. Or was he?