Maneater (5 page)

W
omen. Emotional. Lovable. Irrational. Huggable. Gullible. Not suitable for much outside the bedroom and kitchen. Her spending too much time in either could yield a negative return on her non-monetary investment.

That was Danté's perspective.

“You need to change how you view women,” I told him as he drove me to my condo, then parked at the meter in front of my building. I could've come home this morning but decided to wait until one o'clock this afternoon.

“We need to make sure she is gone,” he said, opening my door, following me.

“Wait here,” I told him.

“Why the fuck am I the one who always has to wait? It's time you tell her and yourself the truth. You want me more than you want her,” Danté said, standing on the sidewalk, in front of the doorman.

Calmly walking over to Danté, I said in a low voice, “Make this your last time outing me in public.”

“Or what?” he said, staring in my eyes.

He had no idea who he was fucking with. I could beat his ass to death right on this sidewalk. “Don't let him up,” I told the doorman, then entered the building, leaving Danté outside. I picked up a copy of
USA Today
from the counter. Maybe I'd have time to read it later.

I loved Danté, but lately, he irritated the fuck out of me. Like now. I took the elevator to the third floor, unlocked my front door. Danté had become too demanding of me. Had me contemplating how to get rid of his ass. Permanently.

Nobody had ever given me a thing. Not my father. Not my mother. Not Danté or Seven. And no one should expect shit from me. Every dime I'd earned, I'd busted my ass for. Every debt I had, I'd repaid. What made Danté believe he could make demands of me? What made Seven think she could waste my money, my time? She didn't know my childhood struggles, fighting with my old man to survive in his house. Frank had taught me a few things, mainly how to take no prisoners.

In college and while starting my business, I'd capitalized on weak-minded fools who were chasing a dollar with their dreams. That shit never made sense to me. I downed my liquor like I closed business deals. Straight. No chaser. Same time. Give me my money or my property when I execute the contract.

My heart softened, a lot, when I met Seven.

Her smile, warm, friendly. Her voice, soothing, calming. Her laughter, healing therapy. The kind my mother used to have before she married my father. Once he moved in, everything changed for us. What I missed most was my mother's infectious smile. That, and the fact that she had always believed in me. Always. I was sure she still did but…

A lump of hatred for my father clogged my throat.

Soft men finished last. I'd learned that when my father told me, “Yo' mother ain't yo' mother no mo', boy. She's my wife. And if you ever step between us while I'm disciplinin' her, callin' yo'self tryna be da man in my house, I'll kill ya li'l five-year-old punk ass. Man the fuck up in yo' damn house when you get one. Ya hear me? Not mine. This here is Frank's house.”

The day I turned eighteen, I kissed my mother's cheek, told her, “Ma, I love you,” then walked out, kind of how I'd done with Seven, except under different circumstances. With a month left to go before leaving for college, I got a job, lived with my friend Chad Langston and his parents until Chad and I moved into our dorm room.

“Boy, don't you ever let yo' woman get big, fat, and nasty on ya,” my father had once said. “Next thang ya know, she'll get lazy. If yo' mama don't get that weight off, I'ma beat it off of her. Every day.”

I stood in my foyer. What the hell was life all about? I could buy anything and practically anyone, but I couldn't make my old man accept me. Racing to the bathroom off the foyer, I heaved the contents of my late breakfast/early lunch inside the toilet. Wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

When I looked at Seven yesterday, I had to leave the house. All I heard then and now was my father's raging disgust toward my mother because she'd gained a few pounds. Seven was right. I should've said something sooner. I should've shared my horrible childhood with her, instead of suppressing my anger. I feared one day waking up like him. Putting my hands on Seven in a way she didn't deserve frightened me.

Rinsing my mouth, I prayed Seven was gone. I had to be harsh on her to ensure she'd taken me seriously.

I raced to the second floor, yelling, “Seven! Seven! Come here right now!” sounding just like him when he'd yelled at my mother.

Only my echo resounded.

Marching to the bedroom, I spotted the pile of clothes spilling over the sides of Seven's suitcase. “Where are you, Seven?” I called out.

No answer.

“Fuck!” When I threw her suitcase to the floor, a picture slid along the white carpet. I picked it up. Stared. It was a photo of us on our first date. Her smile made me smile. What had happened to me, to us? I loved this woman. I dialed Seven's cell. The call went straight to voice mail.

I speed dialed Zena, tapping my foot until she answered. “Yes, Maverick. What is it?”

Calmly, I asked, “Uh, do you know where Seven is?”

Zena snapped, “No. Don't you? You're the one who kicked my friend out. If I were her, I wouldn't marry your ass.”

“Zena, I never kicked Seven out. She was feeling anxious about not fitting into her wedding dress. We discussed it. She decided going away to a weight-loss camp was what she wanted to do. I simply supported her,” I lied.

“That's not how she explained it to me. Besides, nothing justifies kicking her out while she's carrying your child,” Zena countered.

Carrying what? As in pregnant? Bullshit.
“Of course not. I'd never do such a thing. Seven isn't pregnant. She's feeling embarrassed and self-conscious about her weight gain. And since you've lost weight, Seven is…well, she's admitted to me she's slightly jealous,” I replied, then asked, “Where'd she go without any clothes? Is she with you?”

Was Seven really pregnant? Zena was lying. Seven would never leave without telling me we were having a child…unless she was pregnant by some other man.

“No. She's gone. She'll be back in five weeks, she said.”

“Six weeks,” I corrected her, asking again, “Where'd she go?”

“She didn't say. All I know is my best friend is hurting, and it's all your damn fault. You could've convinced her to stay. She could've worked out with me or a personal trainer.”

I wasn't surprised Seven had shared with Zena the true story. I was stunned about the pregnant part. Seven was either a liar or a cheater. Either way, she'd made my decision to pursue other options easier.

“Changing the subject, I want to retain your PR firm to promote my new ventures. Are you available for dinner tomorrow night? My yacht. I'll have my driver pick you up at six.”

A pregnant pause. I felt Zena smiling through the phone when she replied, “I wanted to represent your empire before you met Seven. You won't regret hiring my firm.”

“Perfect. Hopefully, neither of us will have any regrets,” I said, ending the call.

Women weren't loyal to one another when it came to having the opportunity to snatch one of society's most eligible bachelors. That was how my mom had snatched my dad, except his ass was broke. She'd pulled him right off the arm of his fiancée. I had six weeks to prove my theory right, starting tomorrow night.

After all the money I'd spent on my wedding, I was getting married with or without Seven standing beside me at the altar. The newspapers had highlighted my engagement for an entire month. I refused to suffer public embarrassment. I wouldn't give my father the satisfaction. As much as I'd demanded that Seven stop hanging with Zena, I had to admit, Zena was supermodel and trophy wife material. Slightly too independent for my liking but surely, she could fit into Seven's wedding gown, and my lifestyle, after I took her down a few notches.

Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!

Looking out my window, I saw Danté standing on the sidewalk, with his arm inside the car.

Honkkkkkkkkkkk!

I knew what I had to do. I'd warned him. Danté had left me no choice.

I
'd spent the night at Zena's after we'd shut down the House of Blues. Didn't hear from Maverick last night. No messages from him when I powered on my cell phone as the plane landed on the island.

Zena had dropped me off at the airport, then headed to work, still trying to convince me to tell her where I was going. I'd refused. I'd intentionally left my laptop bag, my laptop, Maverick's gun, credit card included, in her bedroom this morning. I'd boarded my flight at O'Hare, slept all the way to my destination.

The first thing I did when I arrived at Punany Paradise this morning was stroll in the sand along the shore. Warm crystals sunk beneath my soles, filling the gaps between my toes. Warm water splashed against my legs, soaking the bottom of my emerald ankle-length halter dress.

“Ahhhh,” I exhaled in relief.

Twirling in the wind, I felt free and happy. It had been a long time since I'd seen turquoise water drifting into cerulean, blending with dark blue waters, kissing the tangerine sky. Flinging my arms, I cast my problems out to sea, imagined them sinking to the ocean floor like an anchor. Some of my ancestors were probably buried in the Atlantic Ocean. Their sacrifices bolstered my determination to achieve happiness

“When I get back, I'm returning to college to get my master's,” I declared aloud. The million dollars my mom had left me was safely invested, earning interest. Our home and the twenty acres I'd inherited in Webster County, Mississippi, after my dad died would remain un-sold. Not that I'd move back to Mississippi after having lived in Chicago, but I'd have a quiet place to spend summers, teaching my heritage to my child. Enough of dwelling on others. The present was all about me.

I wanted to sunbathe nude on a yacht, swim naked in the ocean, snorkel, deep-sea dive, parasail, skydive, hike in a tropical rain forest, cry under a waterfall, washing away my fears, and rejoice in loving me some Seven. The next six weeks, I'd proclaim Seven's heaven.

Lake Michigan was beautiful; Punany Paradise was surreal.

Removing my cell phone from my purse, I captured the sun's diamonds sparkling on the ocean in a photo, then texted the picture to Zena with the message, I arrived safely, inviting my friend to share in my joy. Each day I'd send Zena a tiny glimpse into my world. She was the only person in the world that truly cared about me.

Instantly, Zena texted back. OMG…This place is unreal. Where r u? I have great news!

Keying in, Tell me your great news, but don't tell Maverick I might be pregnant. Not sure I want to have his baby, if I am, I headed toward the group of women gathering for our orientation. I stood a few feet back from the other women, who had been on the shuttle bus with me earlier. Each of them had arrived the same. A purse, no luggage, no man. I hadn't expected that some would be slim, some plus sized—and that all would be ethnically diverse.

Zena texted, I'm having dinner with Maverick 2moro nite. He wants my company to represent his. Isn't that great! Work off that w8 gf so I can convince him 2 put u in our ads.

Ping-pong.

Instantly, my head was messed up again. My heart thumped against my breast.
What the fuck?
The fading sunlight eclipsed my sight. In an instant, my joy vanished.

“You okay?” a chestnut-toned woman, with long auburn locks and a proper English accent, politely asked.

Okay? Hell, no, I'm not okay. Seven, chill out.
“I'm good. Thanks for asking,” I replied, a contrived smile barely spreading my lips.

I'd been gone less than twenty-four hours, and my best friend was already having dinner with my fiancé. Powering off my cell phone, I tossed it into my purse, where it would remain for the next six weeks.

“Welcome, ladies,” a tall, nude, voluptuous woman said, strolling the perimeter of the infinity pool.

A tall, sexy, Greek god–looking man carefully laid white beach towels atop fourteen cushioned lounge chairs perfectly lined up alongside the pool. Waves crashing from the ocean spilled over into the deeper end of the pool. As quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared, so as not to interrupt the orientation with his dick damn near hanging down to his knees.

I wanted to slap his beautiful oiled ass. Run and jump into his arms cheerleader style. All sorts of naughty thoughts raced through my mind.

“Take a few deep breaths, and then have a seat and relax,” the tall woman instructed as she sat naked at the foot of the lounge chair closest to the deep end of the pool. “My name is Serenity. I promise I didn't make the name up. My mother gave me that name. I'm glad she did. Believe it or not, birth names mean a lot.”

Eyeing her beautiful body made me want to keep my clothes on the entire stay. The god of a guy emerged, carrying a tray with glasses. After handing seven women a cool yellowish drink, he left quickly, returning with seven more until each of us held a drink, including Serenity.

After scooping ice into my hand, I pressed my chilled glass against my throbbing temple, wondering why Maverick would have dinner with Zena one day after I'd left, knowing he didn't like her.
Crunch. Crunch.
I chomped on the cubes. Obviously, he'd planned this. I prayed Zena wasn't part of Maverick's scheme to get rid of me. Whatever it was, it was.

Serenity stood, held her glass in the air, then said, “A toast. To your beauty within, which shines throughout. By the time you leave Punany Paradise, every cell in your body will smile without your having to move your lips.”

Beautiful
was not the adjective I would've used to describe the way I felt. I sipped the pineapple, ginger nonalcoholic beverage, craving a double shot of rum. “Um, yes,” I moaned. “This is good.”

Serenity continued, “Ladies, you are here for one reason only. Pleasure. The only rule is if it doesn't feel good to you, do something that does feel good.”

Nodding, I said, “Yep, from now on that's my philosophy.”

“I know each of you is here for different reasons,” said Serenity. “Some to relax. Others are starting over after a divorce. Some of you are battling depression. Addictions or a-dick-shuns. Others are here to lose weight. Some of you will be here for one week. Others for up to two months. Stay as long or as short as you'd like. The only thing we ask is, if you're unhappy being here, leave.”

Who would want to leave a place like this? I'd better learn to fake being happy so I don't get kicked out.

“The unused portion of your payment is fully refundable, no questions asked. I don't do introductions. Your privacy is fully respected here at Punany Paradise. If you want to meet someone, we have a written introduction process, where you write them a note, seal it in an envelope, then drop it in the mailbox at the front desk. Your photo is on your in-box.”

Dang
. The pictures they took of us an hour ago were already posted?

Serenity went on. “There are several community areas on the island where you can go to socialize. You will receive a tour of the island whenever you're ready. Right now you will meet…”

When she paused, a long line of heart-throbbing, make-your-pussy-quiver, drop-dead-then-resuscitate-yourself, gorgeous men in vibrant-colored exotic swimwear circled the pool. My chin fell toward my collarbone. “Yes!” I desperately wanted to yell. All the men were handsome, masculine, with fantastic chiseled bodies. Twenty-six. I'd counted them all, twice.

“Oh, my, gosh. That's him. That's Jagger. The one on the Web site,” I whispered.

Our eyes met.
Breathe, Seven. Breathe.
Struggling to find my breath, I looked away.

Serenity continued, “All the men here are for your pleasure. There's at least twenty-six men here at all times, sometimes more, never less, to serve and service you any way you'd like.”

In sync, they removed their swimwear.

“Oh, my God,” I cried, admiring each one.

Serenity nodded at me, then said, “They're all highly skilled in every area imaginable. In your private beachfront homes, your computer has a profile of each guy. All you have to do is send an instant message, and your desired guy is all yours. You can book ahead or last minute. It doesn't matter.”

I inquired, “What if, say, four of us want the same guy at the same time?”

“As in an orgy?” Serenity asked, seeking clarification.

My face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh no. I'm sorry.”

“We never use that word here. I don't want to hear it again. No woman is ever sorry.” Serenity said, smiling. “Your question is valid. So if there are conflicts, you're assigned a number by the requested guy. If you want another woman or a group of women to join you, you have to leave a note for the woman, inviting her to your place, and you must let the guy or guys know as well. Life here is simple. Zero guilt. Take advantage of exploring your wildest fantasies. Enjoy as many men as you'd like.”

Finishing my drink, I admired the last glimpse of sunset shimmering off the tight, perfectly shaped asses, wondering if I could honestly have carefree sexual encounters with strange men while not knowing whether I was pregnant. Maverick was the only man I'd made love to in the past two years.

“Gentlemen, escort your lady to her beachfront home,” Serenity said, waving good-bye.

Two men escorted each of us. I joyfully interlocked my arms with each of my guys, pretending they were both mine. I lowered my head, looking side to side. Damn, they had the prettiest dicks I'd ever seen. My entire body smiled.

I was ready to indulge in pure, unadulterated pleasure.