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She's Gotta Have It
By Niqui Stanhope St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2005 Niqui Stanhope
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-6212-8
CHAPTER 1
Hedonism III was simply one of the most extraordinary resorts Camille Roberts had ever seen. It wrapped itself around the glittering blue shoreline of the north coast of Jamaica in the most amazing way. And as she climbed from the low-slung limousine, brown legs long, toned, and very bare, she actually felt a trifle overdressed in her bright yellow polka-dot mini, black tank top, and wideb-rimmed yellow straw hat. Her eyes ran in appreciation over the young Adonis who had opened the car door for her. He was a gorgeous specimen of manhood; there was no doubt about that. He stood at least six feet tall. Was well muscled in all of the right places. Had a flat washboard stomach with a beautiful six-pack of muscles. And was chocolate brown in complexion and G-stringed, with no other garment to adorn his body but a crisp little bow tie about his neck.
A playful impulse ran through Camille, and as she walked past him and into the hotel she asked in a soft undertone, "Is that all you usually wear?"
The Adonis smiled and responded in kind, "Only during the day, ma'am." And he winked at her in a manner that told Camille that should she suggest a little rendezvous later in the evening, he would be more than willing to oblige her. But even though she had flown to Jamaica on her girlfriend Lola's private jet with the very intention of seeking out and bedding a sexy young thing, this man held no real interest for her. The one she would choose would be just as sexy but much more special. And she would know him as soon as she saw him.
"This way please, ma'am." Another scantily dressed man smiled. "Your suite is ready for you."
A sigh of utter contentment drifted from between Camille's lips. Now, this was exactly what she needed. A weekend away from the crazy hurly-burly of planning a wedding. If all went according to plan, in just about eight weeks she would be Mrs. Anthony Davis. And she thanked the heavens above that she had finally found exactly the right kind of man. Wealthy. Older. Generous. He would pamper her well. And she would thoroughly enjoy her new life. So what if her husband-to-be could not satisfy her in bed? She had had more than enough sex in her life so far to make up for that little problem. Besides, if ever the strain of it all became too much for her ... well, that was another matter entirely. She would have to think about that. Because she was not the sort of woman who took the taking of a lover lightly. Some aspects of marriage were still sacred to her. And fooling around once she had tied the knot was not something that she was willing to do. Hence the reason for her weekend trip to Jamaica. She was going to do all of her fooling around now, while she still could.
She nodded and smiled at another member of the hotel staff. The tangy salty smell of the navy blue Caribbean sea perfumed the air, and it made her feel randy, randy for just about anything. She had brought a weekend bag of party things with her. Frilly, lacy, silky garments with suggestive bows and convenient ties. She had also packed a black lace mask as an afterthought, but now she was glad she had decided to bring it along. Because ... it would be just the thing. Just the thing to use once she found that one special man.
* * *
"Harry!" Summer bellowed from somewhere on the second floor of the house.
Harry Britton, who was at that very moment up to his elbows in a sink full of soapsuds, wiped his hands hurriedly on the thick towel hanging from the handle of the fridge and then sprinted in the direction of her voice. God Almighty, what was going on? Was she being attacked?
He took the stairs two at a time and very nearly knocked Summer down as he rounded the corner.
"Why are you charging about the place like a mad bull, for heaven's sake?" Summer asked as soon as she had managed to get her breath back.
"You screamed, so naturally I thought ..."
"I did not scream," Summer said with a great degree of patience. "I was just trying to tell you that they're coming. Gavin just called from the car. They're not ten minutes away." And she switched conversational streams as fluidly as she always did. "I'm going to finish dressing, so ... is the table ready? Everything nicely laid out? Knives? Forks? Plates? Everything?"
Harry nodded in a good-natured manner and said, "Check. Check. And check again, ma'am. Everything's done."
"Did you remember to wash the big silver bowl? The one for the stew?"
"I washed that one, as well as the big soup tureen."
Summer's brow furrowed. "Soup tureen? We're not having any soup today."
Harry bit on the side of his mouth and struggled valiantly against the chuckle brewing in his chest. No soup? So what in the name of heaven was that concoction that was even now simmering on the stove?
"Anyway," Summer said, waving away whatever it was Harry was about to say, "I'm going to go and get changed. OK? So, keep an eye on things." And she rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean, right? Don't, under any circumstances, let Mother Champagne add anything to my pots. Last time she just about ruined the food."
Harry coughed and nodded. As far as he was concerned, the Sunday dinner that Summer had cooked last month had been ruined long before Mother Champagne had gotten her hands on it. But he wisely kept such thoughts to himself and instead said, "I'll keep an eye on things. Don't you worry."
Summer gave him a grateful smile and a slightly apologetic, "You're such a nice guy, Harry Britton. I'm sorry I yelled at you before. But stay away from those girls, though ..." She wagged a finger at him. "I mean it." And before he could say much of anything in reply, she said, "I'm going to get dressed."
CHAPTER 2
Camille groaned in delight as several broad blunt-tipped fingers walked their way down the curve of her spine. This was truly heaven indeed. A full-body massage at five o'clock in the evening? A crystal blue ocean directly before her. Soft evening breeze billowing across the veranda, making her skin feel like silk itself. The scent of hibiscus and jasmine in the air. The sound of Shaggy drifting sweetly on the wind. Now, what could be better than that?
She turned her head slightly to give the masseur full access to the long length of her neck, and as his fingers moved obligingly, she muttered an encouraging, "Yes, that's it. Right there. That's the spot right there."
The blunt-tipped fingers paused and then went back over the delicate spot. Over and over and over again until Camille thought that she must surely die from all of this pleasure.
She closed her eyes and gave herself up to the feeling. Now this was what she had needed for such a very long time. This utter and total dedication to the pursuit of nothing but wicked pleasure. Why had she denied herself this for so long?
The masseur was blissfully silent as the comfortable minutes ticked by, letting his fingers talk to the sore muscles in her back, the fine bones in her neck, the dip and curve of each of her thighs. It was glorious. Like nothing else. And Camille relaxed into the coziness of her thoughts and dreamily considered the next sinful item on the agenda.
After the hour-long massage was through, she would have a chilled champagne-scented bubble bath. She had asked that the bathtub be lined with flickering scented candles and that a large dish of chocolate-dipped strawberries be waiting on the lip of the large Roman tub. When she was through with that, she would have a nice long nap on the veranda. She'd been told that even at nighttime in Jamaica the temperature fell to nothing lower than a balmy seventy-five degrees. But feeling the possible chill of night air was not something that she even had to worry about, since she would be checked on by her personal room attendant while she slumbered, and covered with an appropriate blanket, should she need it.
She sucked in a delicious breath as the strong fingers stroked her hair apart and moved slowly across her scalp. Her eyelids fluttered at the feel of them. This was it. This was the only life she could possibly live. And no, she wasn't at all sorry that she had decided to marry for money. How could she possibly give any of this up? Work nine to five. Every day up at the crack of dawn to battle traffic and all sorts of crazies? Please. What for? She could only marry a rich man. A rich man. The others could just ... well, they knew what they could do. ...
* * *
"Christ Almighty, what is with this dog?" Nicholas Champagne said in frustration as the brown-haired dog of indeterminate pedigree attempted to hump his leg for the third consecutive time.
He pushed the animal away with the side of his foot and Amanda Champagne pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. She didn't want her husband to see even the trace of a smile on her lips. She was very upset with him at the moment, and no amount of unsolicited humping by a poor deranged dog would make her forget it.
"Good God. And it's a girl, too. Summer!" Nicholas bellowed.
"Well, that makes a lot of sense," Amanda muttered. Of course it would have to be a female dog. Only a female dog would ever hump Nicholas "Ladies' Man" Champagne's leg. It was probably the first female dog in the entire world to do that.
Nicholas gave his wife a glance. She hadn't said a single word to him in the last two hours. Why this was, he had no idea at all. She had been so moody and difficult since they had started trying to get pregnant. Yes, they seemed to be having a little trouble in that area. Yes, they had been trying now for more than a year with no success at all. But why should that throw her into a mood at the least little thing? One minute she could be laughing with him, and the next she was upset just because he might have smiled at a waitress or some other inconsequential person. Women. He would never understand them.
"Summer!" he shouted again as the dog made another go at his leg.
The screen door pushed open and Harry loomed big and large in the doorway. He was dressed in a huge grin and a water-stained apron.
"So, you finally decided to show up, huh? Amanda, sweetheart, you look wonderful," he said with a playful glance in her direction.
Amanda brushed by him and entered the house with a "You men are all the same" comment hanging in the air.
Harry exchanged a glance with Nicholas. "What'd I say?"
Nicholas shrugged. "It's this baby thing. It's driving her crazy. And ..." He paused to give the dog a gentle shove yet again. "Look, there're some desserts and things in the car, but I can't chance bringing them out with this crazy dog attacking my legs at every turn. See if you can hold on to her while I ... Where are Gavin and the kids?" he asked, changing conversational directions for a moment.
Harry whipped off the apron and slung it across a shoulder. "Gone to pick up Summer's cousins at Norman Manley Airport in Kingston."
Nicholas leaned into the black Land Rover as Harry held on to the dog. "I'd forgotten they were coming this week," he said, and gently eased a large nicely iced butter sponge across the leather of the backseat. Once he'd gotten his fingers securely beneath the base of it, he straightened to say, "They're nice girls, I've heard."
Harry grinned and did his best to hold on to the squirming dog. "I've already gotten my marching orders from Summer."
Nicholas laughed. "I should've known she wouldn't mince words with you. Where is she, by the way?"
Amanda, halfway up the stairs to the second floor of the house, was asking the very same question.
"Summer? Where are you hiding? I've got to talk to you before everyone gets here."
"Bedroom," Summer shouted, and then proceeded to wiggle her way into a nicely printed spaghetti-strapped sundress. "The door's open," she called at the sound of a soft tap on the wood.
Amanda pushed open the door and gave Summer a watery smile. "I ... I brought cake for dessert." She sniffed and wiped a finger beneath her nose. "And a couple of cobblers. Peach. Thick crumbly crust. The way you like it."
Summer paused in her struggle to straighten the dress across her hips and said in a questioning voice, "Mandy?" And then with a distinct note of worry as a tear traced its way down one side of Amanda's face, "Mandy. What's the matter? Why are you crying?"
Amanda wiped the side of her face dry and then said in a tight little voice, "It's Nicholas."
Summer held on to a sigh and went to sit on the edge of the large four-poster bed. Nicky again. What was her beautiful brother-in-law doing? He'd married Amanda Drake about three years before, but he still appeared to have little idea as to how to make his marriage work. If it wasn't one thing, it was another.
Summer patted the bed beside her and said in a coaxing manner, "What's that Nicky done now?"
Amanda struggled with another sob and then managed a sodden, "I think he's having an affair ... or something."
Summer blinked clear golden eyes at her. "An affair? Nicky having an affair? No. He wouldn't do that. I know he was kinda wild before you met him. But as soon as he saw you ... that was the end of all other women for him."
Amanda shook her head. "Not true. You just don't know."
Summer took her by the shoulders. "But I do know. From the very first time he saw you at my wedding, he ... he couldn't take his eyes off you. And even after you handcuffed him to that bed and left him there without any keys to free himself with."
Amanda gasped. "He told you about that?"
Summer gave her a patient look. "You've always known that Nicky and I were close. We're like brother and sister, really." She tilted Amanda's face up and wiped away the trace of another tear. "That's why I know for sure. For sure. That he's not having an affair. Why would you even think a thing like that?"
"Because —" A knock on the door halted the words in her throat.
Summer sucked in a breath. "Nicky, if that's you, go away. I can't talk to you now."
"It's Harry," came the rumble from behind the door.
"Can't talk to you now, either," Summer shouted. "Mandy and I are having a gossip."
Harry stepped back from the door. In his experience, it was never a good sign when two wives were sequestered in a bedroom, having a "gossip." It almost always meant one thing and one thing only. Trouble. And it didn't take a genius to figure out who it was in the thick of the mess.
"Nick, my friend," Harry said as he walked back into the kitchen, pulled out a stool, and sat. "I think we'd better leave the women alone for a while."
Nicholas straightened from the meat that was sizzling in a pan full of oil. "Did you tell her that the roast is burnt? ... And raw," he added, giving the piece of meat a poke with the teeth of a long metal fork.
Harry raised his eyebrows. "I think you'd better turn off the oven and go buy your wife some flowers, or candy."
Nicholas scratched the side of his head. "Did she say something to you?"
Harry shrugged. "She and Summer are having 'a gossip' upstairs."
Nicholas sighed. "Sometimes I have to wonder about this whole getting-married thing. One woman for the rest of your life. It just doesn't seem natural."
Harry nodded. "Better you than me. You know how I feel about all of that. No woman's going to tie me down. At least not until I'm close to fifty-five, sixty. By then I'll probably be ready to settle with one woman. A sexy young thing with breasts the size of melons." He laughed at his own joke and then gave his friend a steady-eyed look. "Are you stepping out on her?"
Nicholas paused in his inspection of the pot of soggy corn rice. "Are you kidding me? That woman would kill me in my sleep. Besides, other women just don't seem to do it for me anymore."
Harry laughed in a rueful manner. "God, I'm glad I don't have your problems. So why don't you take your wife away somewhere? A few days in New York. A couple of Broadway shows. A day of shopping on Fifth Avenue. You know, do it up right. Wine. Roses. Music. Good food. Lots of romance. The whole nine. You know how women like that kind of thing. She'll be purring like a kitten by the time you bring her back."
"Hmm," Nicholas agreed. "Amber's still in school, though. We can't just up and leave her like that. She's —"
"Come on, man," Harry interrupted. "Leave the child with Summer and Gavin. You know they're practically her second parents. Besides, Amber and Adam will have a ball together. I've never seen two kids so much alike."
Nicholas laughed. "Those two? From one day to the next, I never know what they're going to get into. And I'm not sure which one is worse."
He was about to say more on the subject, but his train of thought was suddenly broken by the honking of a car horn.
"That'll be Gavin and the gang," Harry said, standing. "I think, given my little talk with Summer, I'd better hang back a bit until those girls have settled in."
Nicholas chuckled and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Wise man."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from She's Gotta Have It by Niqui Stanhope. Copyright © 2005 Niqui Stanhope. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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