Temptation's Kiss

Blanca laughed. “All right, you got me. Good night, chica.”

“Good night,” Patrice said softly, feeling a lot better about the script. She hung up the phone, picked up the script, sat down and continued reading. Bella was killed the next day. Good death scene, Patrice thought. She died bravely. Later in the script, Bass avenged Bella’s murder.

Tears were in Patrice’s eyes when she finished reading. She wondered what T.K. was doing at that moment. Had his flirting been genuine? Or had he done it just because he knew women expected him to be charming and attentive when they were with him?

Chapter 4

That night, T.K. was running on the beach near his house in Malibu. He liked running at night when the world around him was quieter. He liked running on the beach because of the extra resistance the damp sand provided. He got a better workout. An added bonus was that the sound of the ocean soothed him.

He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. Much of the heat of the day had dissipated, but it was still a temperate seventy-five degrees out. Sam, his golden retriever, sneezed next to him, and T.K. laughed. “What’s the matter, boy, am I kicking up too much sand for you?”

Sam, of course, didn’t answer but happily ran on beside his human. They were only a half mile from the house. T.K. would be sure to spoil him a little tonight—maybe give him one of those doggy ice-cream treats he loved so much.

Now that Malcolm was gone, Sam was his only housemate. When he was alive Malcolm had loved to care for Sam. Sometimes T.K. would walk into the living room and find man and dog sitting in front of the TV watching some inane comedy, Malcolm laughing uproariously and Sam smiling. Occasionally, when he would go into the living room now, he would expect to find Malcolm there. He supposed it would take his mind a while to accept that his brother was gone forever.

At the house, he and Sam jogged up the back steps of the house that led from the beach. He doffed his shoes on the balcony. He didn’t want to track sand into the house. Sam patiently stood while he wiped him off with an old towel he kept on the balcony for that purpose. They entered the house through the kitchen entrance.

He got a bottle of water from the fridge and poured some in Sam’s dish for him and drank the rest. Then he began the trek upstairs. Although the house was big at five thousand square feet, it wasn’t ostentatious. He preferred clean lines, and possessions weren’t that important to him. The furnishings were expensive only because he thought you got what you paid for. He was a big man, and the last thing he wanted to worry about was his bed collapsing under him because it was cheaply made. He was sensible in that way.

Sam followed him all the way to his bedroom. At the door, he turned to the dog and said, “I’ll be down in a few minutes. I want to shower, and then I’ll give you a good brushing and a treat for being such a trouper tonight.”

Sam peered up at him as though he understood him perfectly, whined, turned around and padded back downstairs.

T.K. walked over to the nightstand next to the side of the bed where he slept and pressed the message button on the answering machine. His mother had phoned while he was out. “Your father and I are going to New York for the weekend and will be leaving Aisha alone in the house. If you would call her to check on her once or twice while we’re gone, we would appreciate it.”

T.K. dreaded doing that. Aisha turned into a sultry vixen when she spoke with him over the phone. It was as if she lost the ability to speak normally. Why she thought he wanted to hear his brother’s girlfriend cooing in his ear, he could not imagine. Trying to sound sexy wasn’t going to make him warm up to her. He kept his distance because whenever she looked at him there was a hungry, predatory expression in her eyes.

He hated to put a pregnant woman in her place, but if it continued he was going to have to bluntly do so.

The next message was from Mark. “I just got off the phone with Blanca Mendes, Patrice’s agent. That’s one formidable lady. She’s sensible too, though. They didn’t ask for any outrageous perks, but she made sure to protect her client’s rights. Patrice will be able to start in late August when we begin filming. She has another film that begins rolling in March, though, so we need to be finished with her scenes before then. I don’t anticipate running over schedule, but you never can anticipate the elements, and you’re going to be in the Badlands. Have a good night.”

T.K. had been pulling off his clothes as he listened. Naked, he strode into the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. Patrice Sutton. He tried not to think too much about her. She was so sweet. When he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, he imagined he could still smell the enticing scent of her.

It was too soon after his breakup with Edina to consider allowing another woman to get close to him. He knew most people expected the male in a relationship to have a roving eye, but in theirs it had been Edina who had cheated on him—repeatedly. Plus, she had had the gall to blame him. His schedule, she accused, didn’t allow them enough time to grow as a couple. What she meant was he wasn’t there every night to satisfy her sexual needs. Well, she hadn’t been with him every night to satisfy his needs either, but he hadn’t gone out and found some willing substitute for her. To be truthful with himself, he was more embarrassed than heartbroken because he had suspected for some time now that Edina, who was an actress, was with him only to further her career. He wasn’t conceited enough, even though he was admittedly a fine example of a black male, to believe that he could be the complete answer to a woman’s prayers. No man was that perfect. A woman had to be happy with her life without a man in it before she could find happiness with a man. She needed to know what she wanted out of life and be willing to sacrifice for it. That was Edina’s problem. She wanted instant gratification. She wasn’t willing to work for happiness and didn’t care who she hurt in her efforts to coast through life.

When he was feeling particularly depressed he would ask himself if he had been a better lover whether she would have cheated. Then he would remind himself that he was never a selfish lover. When they made love, he had given her his full attention. Now he knew how women felt when men cheated on them: dignity and self-worth take a beating. The truth was cheaters will stray no matter how well their significant others perform in bed. They’re selfish and greedy, always looking for the next thrill.

He wasn’t about the next thrill any longer. In this fake world in which he made a living, there were too many people who were looking for a thrill, ready to provide one or had enjoyed one too many and had ended up dead, broke or both.