Pleasure After Hours. AlTonya Washington
Читать онлайн книгу.
cause to abandon his freedom. Then what Sanford Norman referred to as “nagging” began. It never failed to intrigue Mataeo how rigorously a woman could “nag” when the possibility of commitment loomed far off into the horizon. This behavior ran the spectrum from the most freaky and promiscuous to the most intelligent and reserved.
Replenishing the stock wouldn’t be a problem at all for Mataeo. Not when his physical gifts were so dangerously appealing. Even women already schooled on his success with the opposite sex were unfailingly lured to the provocative flame he generated. His massive build was just shy of 6 foot 8 inches, which made it easy for him to command attention the second he arrived in a room. The honey-toned skin was as flawless as the taut muscles it covered. A deep-set smoky brown stare was fringed with shamefully long lashes; they even had the nerve to curl at the ends. Such was also the case for the curve of the mouth, equally as seductive and made more sensual by the striking dimple in his chin.
Yes, the assets were many and erotically powerful. Refreshing the stock wouldn’t be a difficult or boring chore. So why did he cringe at the thought of it? Roland’s voice mixed into his thoughts.
“We’ve arrived at Ms. Grahame’s, boss.”
“I got the door, Ro.” Mataeo had answered his own question before he stepped onto the sidewalk outside the condo tower. Replenishing the stock made him cringe because somewhere along the way he’d lost complete and utter interest in it.
“You’re early.” Temple glanced at the wall clock in her living room when she opened her front door.
“Told you I’d see you after lunch.” Mataeo brushed past her on his way inside.
It didn’t take much more to clue Temple in to his sour mood. She tossed her coarse, wavy hair, loosened from its usual confines of a chignon or coiled braid, and took note of the stiffness in Mataeo’s wide back.
“Well, I’m taking a call in the back so…grab a drink or something.”
“What do you think I’m on my way to do, Temp?”
Temple rolled her eyes and waved him off as she headed back to her home office.
“Damn.” Mataeo figured it just wasn’t his night, having opened the cabinet to the bar to find the Jim Beam running dangerously low there, as well. Shaking his head, he poured what remained into a stout glass and dialed the car from his phone.
“Ro? Grab an extra bottle of Beam for Ms. Grahame, will you?” With a quarter-filled glass in hand, Mataeo strolled into the living room.
In spite of his frightful mood, he couldn’t help but smile as he often did whenever he spent time at Temple’s place.
If the term “old school” ever fit anyone, it was Temple Grahame, he thought. The second oldest in a huge Southern family, her old-fashioned nature was a thing one could almost see.
Mataeo passed the sound system that, while state of the art, didn’t garner half as much use as the record player Temple had inherited from an aunt, who also left her prized possession of classic soul vinyls.
Mataeo studied the back of an album cover, nodding to the beat of the Curtis Mayfield piece that filled the room with its slick melody. Laughter in the distance caught his ear below the rhythm. Mataeo set down the cover, emptied his glass and headed toward the sounds.
Temple sat on the edge of her desk with her back to the door. With her bare feet propped on the seat of her chair, she faced a gorgeous view of late-afternoon Wilmington. As the sun set, the skyline gradually illuminated, offering a more brilliant picture of the city.
Mataeo smiled, enjoying the lazy drawl of her voice while she chatted. He wasn’t so much focused on her words as he was on the manner in which they were delivered. How many times had that voice alone soothed raging tempers during heated business conferences? He absently fiddled with his vest pocket as he thought it over.
Temple laughed again, catching Mataeo’s full attention. That time he was quite interested in the words she spoke, especially when he heard the name Kendall.
“Well, we’ll just see if you’re still talking so bold when I see you in a few weeks…ha! Right. Thanks Kendall…mmm-hmm… See you soon.”
Temple smiled, studying the cordless until Mataeo cleared his throat and grabbed her attention. “Damn you, Taeo.” She clutched her chest when she saw him in the doorway.
Mataeo barely managed to smile as she whirled around on the desk and faced him. Though she never raised her voice, her curses held a definite sting when they were directed his way.
“You taking a trip?” He ignored her agitation.
Temple eased off the desk. “That was Kendall Ingram. He’s a Realtor helping Mama settle some business on a property.”
Mataeo straightened from his leaning stance against the doorjamb. Obvious concern sharpened his already striking features. “Does Miss Aileen need help with anything?”
Waving off the gesture, Temple walked around her desk. “Everything’s fine—nothing to worry about. So why don’t you spend your time telling me about that lunch meeting instead?”
Though he grimaced, Mataeo didn’t seem to notice her subject change. “We were done talkin’ business before we ordered the first drink.”
“God, that bad?” Temple gathered the hem of her ankle-length peach housedress.
Focused on business once more, Mataeo moved to let her pass. He followed her from the office and back toward the kitchen.
“Depends on which conversation you’re referring to—business or the other.” He doffed his suit coat and dropped it on the back of an armchair. “The other got pretty weird,” he added.
“Weird?” A smile curved Temple’s generous mouth. “I wouldn’t associate that word with a man like Manson Yates.”
“Hmph. You would if you tossed Sanford Norman into the mix.”
“Ah…” Temple was browsing her cabinet. “What’d he say or do this time?” Gradually, Temple lost interest in her soup hunt as Mataeo explained the lunch topic.
“Weird indeed....” She turned back to the cabinet. “Then again, Manson Yates has been married almost fifty years. He and his wife have been together since they were teenagers.”
“Keeping up with the society pages, huh?” Mataeo’s gravelly voice softened on the question.
She gave a toss of her head and an awkward shrug. “Strong marriages are rare. When you hear about one, you pay attention.”
Mataeo wasn’t sure how to respond, so he went to search the refrigerator. “Well, the man’s dead serious when it comes to holy matrimony.” He studied the selection of juices along the door. “Didn’t mind telling me what he thought of my love life, that’s for damn sure.”
“Really?” Amusement crept into Temple’s light eyes. “And what does he think about it?” She set about heating up a large can of chicken tortilla soup.
Mataeo decided on what to drink while muttering something foul. “It’s just obvious that man’s got a thing for commitment and vows and whatever the hell else goes along with it.”
“Mataeo…” Temple set the pot to simmer and then turned to him. Disbelief had replaced her amusement. “Tell me you’re not thinking that Yates might base his decision on whether you’re married or not.”
It was Mataeo’s turn to shrug awkwardly. “I don’t think I have to be married.” He chugged down a bit of the pineapple juice. “But he made it clear that he didn’t approve of me dancin’ from one pair of arms to the next.” He slanted her a wink.
Temple lowered the heat under the soup. “Well, I hope he doesn’t think Sanford’s any more noble.”
“Is that right?” Mataeo drew