They’re living their most passionate dream...

But will her scandalous secret cost her his love?

Beauty blogger and owner of the Hamptons’ hottest salon, Karma Sullivan has been swept off her feet by judge Morrison Drake. But she knows their passion-filled nights must end. She can’t let her family secret derail Morrison’s ambitious career plan. Even if it means giving up the man she loves...

PAMELA YAYE has a bachelor’s degree in Christian education. Her love for African American fiction prompted her to pursue a career in writing romance. When she’s not working on her latest novel, this busy wife, mother and teacher is watching basketball, cooking or planning her next vacation. Pamela lives in Alberta, Canada, with her gorgeous husband and adorable, but mischievous, son and daughter.

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Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Pleasure in His Kiss

Pamela Yaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08482-6

PLEASURE IN HIS KISS

© 2018 Pamela Sadadi

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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“I like it better when you call me Morrison.”

“What else do you like?”

Bracing his hands against the door, fencing her in, Morrison gazed intently at her, his deep brown eyes smoldering with desire. Inwardly chastising herself for her salacious quip, Karma sucked in a breath. Why did I say that? Why am I flirting with a man who is totally out of my league? Her loose lips had gotten her into trouble, and the longer he stared at her the harder her limbs shook. Her head was spinning, but she projected confidence, not fear, and said, “Thank you for a wonderful evening, Morrison. Good night.”

“It’s midnight,” he announced, lowering his mouth to her face. “Happy birthday, beautiful. I hope this year brings prosperity, excitement and adventure. They don’t call it the dirty thirties for nothing, so throw caution to the wind and own every moment.”

Shivering as his lips moved gently against hers, she willed her legs not to buckle. Deep down, she craved his touch, his kiss, but she wasn’t brave enough to make the first move.

“Life is not remembered in days, Karma. It is remembered in moments, and this moment will remain with me forever.”

Dear Reader,

Karma Sullivan and Morrison Drake are opposites in every sense of the word. The only thing they have in common is their mutual dislike! That’s what makes Pleasure in His Kiss such a delicious read. After a passionate first kiss, Morrison can’t get the sultry salon owner out of his mind. The no-nonsense judge sets his sights on Karma, and she isn’t strong enough to resist his seductive charms. I hope you have fun “watching” Karma and Morrison flirt at a ritzy New York City wedding, enjoy their romantic marathon date at beautiful Coopers Beach and root for them despite the obstacles in their way.

Kimani readers, I can’t thank you enough for your support and encouragement over the years. I’d love to hear what you think of Karma and Morrison’s sizzling love story, so connect with me at pamelayaye@aol.com, or on my social media pages.

All the best in life and love,

Pamela Yaye

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Karma Sullivan didn’t know who was shouting inside her swank, full-service beauty salon, Beauty by Karma, but she was going to find out. Balancing the books would have to wait. Her customers were probably having a spirited discussion about sex and relationships, but things had obviously gotten out of hand. It sounded as if World War Three had broken out on the main floor, and since nothing mattered more to Karma than maintaining the elegance and dignity of her salon, she dropped her pen on the April spreadsheets, and shot to her feet.

Her gaze fell on the mahogany desk across the room, and her shoulders sagged. Karma could only wonder where Jazz was. She’d met Jazmine “Jazz” Figueroa at cosmetology school six years earlier, and they’d bonded over their love of fashion, pop culture, Idris Elba movies and exotic cuisine. Hiring the gregarious esthetician to be the manager of her beauty salon was a no-brainer. Karma enjoyed working alongside her bestie, and thought they made a formidable team. Unfortunately, her happiness had been short-lived. Jazz used to be a model employee, who gave a hundred percent to Beauty by Karma, but these days she came to work late, spent more time on her cell than with clients and left early. And when Karma spoke to Jazz yesterday about her concerns she’d mumbled an apology, then quickly changed the subject.

A deep, husky voice filled the air, yanking Karma out of her thoughts and back to the present. What in the world? Has everyone lost their minds? Beauty by Karma was a ritzy, high-end salon in the Hamptons, not a barbershop in the hood, and she wasn’t going to let anyone ruin the peaceful ambience. Since the salon’s grand opening, Karma had worked tirelessly to get her business off the ground, and her efforts had paid off. She had A-list clients, a successful beauty blog millennials couldn’t get enough of and tens of thousands of social media followers.

Yanking open her office door, she marched down the hallway, her lush, purple-hued tresses cascading around her shoulders. She’d paired her short, off-the-shoulder sundress with gold accessories, and even though she’d gained weight while vacationing with her girlfriends in the Cayman Islands in January she felt beautiful in the flowy, Gucci dress. Still, she was starting The Raw Food after her birthday. Yesterday, she’d received an email from the Hamptons Women’s Association informing her she’d been nominated for the Businesswoman of the Year award, and Karma had been so excited she’d danced around her office. Wanting to look fit and fabulous for the July banquet, she’d hired a personal trainer, and was going to eat healthy for the next three months even if it killed her. And it would. Karma loved junk food, drank wine every night with dinner and was a self-proclaimed chocoholic. The last time she’d exercised Obama was still in office, and when her trainer suggested Karma take an aerobics class five days a week she’d burst out laughing. It was going to be hard going to the gym and changing her poor eating habits, but Karma was determined to get in shape.

Classical music was playing in the background, but it did nothing to soothe her mind. Karma loved hip-hop music, could rap with the skill and finesse of Yeezy, but since her customers preferred Bach to Kanye West, that was what they listened to during business hours.

Entering the salon, a smile curled her lips. The grand opening was eighteen months ago, but every time she entered the shop she felt a rush of pride. Beauty by Karma was her “baby,” the only thing that mattered to her. Decorated with comfort and luxury in mind, the space had chandeliers dripping with crystals, cushy designer chairs and exquisite African artwork. Glass vases filled with colored roses beautified the twenty-five-chair salon, and black-and-white photographs of her celebrity clients were hanging on the mauve walls.

There was a buzz in the air, and when Karma saw the chocolate hottie standing at the reception desk, she understood why every woman in the salon—including the cosmetic heiress, a trophy wife and a marketing executive—were licking their lips and fanning their faces.

Someone whistled, and Karma overheard a Broadway actress murmur in Spanish, “¡Señor, si tuviera un hombre que se pareciera a eso en casa, nunca dejaría la casa!” A giggle tickled her throat. I agree, she thought, hiding a smirk behind the stoic expression on her face. You’re right! If he was my man I wouldn’t leave the house, either!

Her legs wobbled, as if they were about to give way, but she didn’t lose her footing on the gleaming, hardwood floor. Caught off guard by her physical attraction to the man with the chiseled face and muscled body, she couldn’t think or speak. Was at a loss for words. Shocking, considering Jazz had affectionately nicknamed her Yabbermouth the day they met, but when he glanced in her direction Karma’s tongue fell limp in her mouth. Having worked on magazine photo shoots and music videos, she was used to meeting attractive men, but the longer she stared at him the harder it was to control her X-rated thoughts. Suddenly, perspiration drenched her forehead and breathing was a challenge.

Karma checked him out on the sly. The man had it all. Flawless, cocoa-brown complexion? Yes. Perfect teeth and a defined jawline? Yes. Boyish good looks, and more muscles than Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson? Yes, yes, yes! There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe how gorgeous he was, and for a moment Karma was starstruck, consumed with desire. He was wearing a striped polo shirt, knee-length shorts and white sneakers, but he carried himself like a man in a designer suit, and Karma was so anxious to meet him she moved through the salon faster than an Olympian speed walker.

“You have to do something,” the stranger fumed, addressing the receptionist. “This is important. Very important. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”

His cologne, like his voice, was captivating, and listening to him made Karma tingle from her ears to her toes. Swallowing hard, she mentally chastised herself. Told herself to get a grip, and quit lusting after the man with the piercing gaze and ripped physique.

Joining the receptionist, Abigail Reese, behind the front desk, Karma offered her right hand in greeting, even though she knew touching him would push her horny body over the edge. Driven to succeed, she’d put her career above her personal life, and although her girlfriends teased her about being celibate, Karma loved being single and had zero desire to settle down. Why would she? Relationships sucked, and her ex-boyfriend had proved that even humble, sensitive men with good reputations couldn’t be trusted.

Her gaze returned to the stranger’s face, and zeroed in on his thick lips. Oh my. I bet they could do some serious damage. Tingles flooded her body, pricking her skin. Karma couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, but if Mr. Tall-Buff-and-Dreamy invited her to his place she’d say yes in a heartbeat. It was an outrageous thought, considering she didn’t even know his first name, but her body had a mind of its own, and it wanted his hands in her hair, on her breasts and between her legs—

“Who are you?”

Startled by his curt tone, Karma broke free of her thoughts and met his gaze.

“Hello,” she said brightly, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m Karma Sullivan, the owner of this fine establishment. How may I help you?”

“You’re the owner? Finally. It’s about time you showed up.”

Ice spread through Karma’s veins, chilling her to the bone. Put off by his cold demeanor, she dropped her hands to her sides, and pinned her shoulders back, radiated confidence even though his rigid stance was intimidating. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’m Morrison Drake, Reagan’s uncle...”

He reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet, then raised his driver’s license in the air. Scanning it, Karma committed the details to memory. According to the information on the card, he was six feet six inches, two hundred and twenty-five pounds, with dark brown hair and eyes. Morrison was thirty-four years old, and he was born on...August 2...

Overcome with emotion, sadness stabbed her heart. Morrison shares the same birthday as my mom. Needing a moment to gather herself, she took a deep, calming breath. Thinking about Carmelita’s tragic death six years earlier always made her cry and since she didn’t want to break down at the salon, she willed herself to keep it together.

A troubling thought ran through her mind. Was Reagan okay? Was she in trouble? Needing more help at, Beauty by Karma, she’d hired the high school senior as a salon associate weeks earlier, and already had a soft spot for the teen. Karma straightened her bent shoulders and tried her best to recall everything Reagan had ever said about her uncle, Judge Morrison Drake.

Uncle Morrison is serious, stubborn and strict, she’d complained, one evening last week when they were cleaning the salon after closing. He rarely laughs or smiles, but I hope he finds a girlfriend soon, because I’m sick of him running my life. I’ll be eighteen in July, Ms. Karma. I should be able to do what I want, and go as I please...

Bits and pieces of other conversations they had filled her mind and, as Morrison glared at her, Karma suspected everything Reagan had told her about him was true. She had her work cut out for her, knew it was going to be hard to turn his scowl into a smile, but Karma was up for the challenge. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Drake. Welcome to Beauty by Karma.”

He nodded, but didn’t speak. Stared at her as if he was bored out of his mind.

“Reagan tricked me,” Karma said, hoping to lighten the mood with a joke. “You’re tall, dark and handsome. There’s no way you’re a tyrant!”

Morrison didn’t laugh. Instead, his frown deepened, and his lips formed a hard line.

“Is Reagan here? Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?” he asked, his gaze darting around the salon. “Your employees won’t tell me anything and it’s infuriating.”

Karma shook her head. “No, she’s not here. Why? What’s going on?”

“Reagan didn’t come home last night, and I’m worried about her.”

“Are you sure? Maybe she got home late, and left before you woke up.”

“I checked the alarm history. I set it before bed, and it was never deactivated.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“Of course, I’ve tried calling her,” he snapped, his frustration evident by his sharp tone. “But every time I call, her cell goes straight to voice mail. Worse, she hasn’t responded to any of my text messages, and none of her friends know where she is, either.”

His voice cracked, faltered under the weight of his emotions, and his demeanor softened. As Karma watched Morrison pace the length of the waiting area, his head bent, his hands balled into fists, two things became abundantly clear: he was angry, and he was scared. Filled with sympathy, Karma wanted to help. All of her employees knew and loved Reagan, and she did too. Treated her like the kid sister she’d always wanted, but didn’t have—

“How long has my niece been working here?”

Caught off guard by the question, seconds passed before Karma spoke. “A month.”

“A month?” he repeated, stopping abruptly. “Are you kidding me?”

His gaze was full of confusion, but Karma didn’t know why. Couldn’t understand why he was shouting at her. Wondered why he was staring at her in disgust.

Morrison gestured to the reception desk with a flick of his head. “My niece came in here, filled out an application, and you didn’t think it was important to contact me before offering her a job?”

“No, Reagan’s almost eighteen, and her CV was impressive—”

Before she could finish her thought, Morrison cut her off midsentence.

“You should have called me. If I didn’t go into Reagan’s room this morning, and snoop through her things, I wouldn’t even know she worked here. Thank God I found a pay stub in her desk, or I’d still be in the dark about her having a part-time job.”

Karma winced, couldn’t believe Morrison had invaded his niece’s privacy, and had the nerve to look proud of himself, as if he’d made a three-point basket from half-court with his eyes closed. Feeling the need to defend herself, she said, “I rarely hire high school students to work in my salon, because they’re often unreliable, but I’m glad I took a chance on Reagan. She’s a wonderful young lady, and a model employee.”

Morrison snorted, then argued that a beauty salon was no place for a teenager.

Karma pursed her lips together and swallowed the fiery retort on the tip of her tongue. She treated everyone who entered her salon—from the delivery person to the relentless salesperson—with respect, and whenever her staff complained about clients, Karma would quote her mother’s favorite saying. Kindness is never wasted, she’d quip in a singsong voice, but Morrison was working her last nerve and Karma wanted him gone. Wished she could grab him by the ear and heave him out of her salon. Karma liked four-letter words and used them often, especially when she was driving on the freeway, but everyone in the salon was listening in on their conversation and if she cursed Morrison out her staff would never let her live it down.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better employee and I’m thrilled Reagan’s part of the Beauty by Karma family,” she continued, speaking from the heart. “She’s a smart young woman with a great head on her shoulders and a very bright future in the cosmetology field.”

“Cosmetology?” Morrison scrunched up his nose as if someone had tossed a stink bomb through the window. “Reagan’s going to university in the fall, not beauty school.”

Karma raised an eyebrow, but wisely said nothing, knowing it would only make things worse if she told Morrison that his niece had changed her mind about becoming a lawyer and wanted to become a makeup artist instead. Karma should know. She’d helped Reagan fill out applications for cosmetology school weeks earlier, and written recommendation letters for her, as well. Unique and creative, with boundless enthusiasm, Reagan had raw, natural talent, and with the right training could one day be a household name in the makeup industry.

The telephone rang, and Karma picked it up, feigning excitement even though she was annoyed with Morrison-I-Think-I-Am-The-Boss-Drake. Thankful for the interruption, she chatted for several minutes with the celebrity publicist and penciled her name in the leather-bound appointment book for tomorrow morning. Her schedule was jam-packed, filled with so many bookings she’d have to work through lunch, but Karma wouldn’t have it any other way. For years she’d dreamed of owning a beauty salon and, thanks to the kindness of her A-list clients, Karma was the go-to hairstylist and makeup artist in the Hamptons. I wish my mom was alive to see me today. She’d be so proud of everything I’ve accomplished—

“Is Reagan working today?”

Karma consulted the appointment book, saw Reagan’s name at the bottom of the weekly schedule, and nodded. “Yes, but not until ten o’clock.”

“Good, I’ll wait,” he announced. “And, if she doesn’t show up I’m calling the police.”

Panic streaked across Abigail’s heart-shaped face, and Karma knew they shared the exact same thought: Hell no! He can’t stay here for an hour! Karma opened her mouth to suggest Morrison go grab a coffee at the café across the street, but she thought better of it. Didn’t want him to think he wasn’t welcome at the salon. He wasn’t, especially when he was insulting her and shouting at her staff, but since she didn’t want to make any enemies in the small, tight-knit community, she racked her brain for another solution to her problem.

Her gaze strayed to the red, high-heel-themed clock hanging above the front door. Karma didn’t have time to babysit Reagan’s uncle. She had to finish balancing the books, update her website and blog, and when Jazz showed up she wanted them to talk. Had to find out what was going on with her best friend. Karma had work to do, and lots of it, but she feared what would happen if she left Morrison in the waiting area. What if he picked a fight with someone? Or insulted her staff? Or worse, caused a scene when Reagan arrived for her shift? Left with few options, she said, “Mr. Drake, let’s speak in private. I can tell you more Reagan’s job description, and give you a copy of her monthly schedule, as well.”

Abigail sighed in relief, and Karma winked at her, wanting the single mom to know she understood her frustrations. It was hard to find good staff, and she wanted her employees to know she supported them wholeheartedly.

“Relax, relate, release,” Abigail chanted in Karma’s ear, gently rubbing her back. “If you need me, text me 9-1-1, and I’ll come running.”

Karma swallowed a laugh. Her employees were the heart and soul of her business. They were her family, the brothers and sisters she’d never had, and Karma could always count on them to have her back, especially when she was dealing with hotheads like Morrison Drake.

“I don’t want my niece working here, so consider this her two-week notice.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Drake, that’s not your decision to make.”

“I’m Reagan’s legal guardian, and what I say goes.”

His tone was so cold, Karma shivered, but she didn’t shrink under his withering glare.

“Maybe at the courthouse, but not here. This is my business, Mr. Drake, and I don’t appreciate you causing a scene,” she said in a quiet voice, even though she was fuming.

Surprise covered his face, and his eyebrows shot up his forehead.

That’s right, she thought, feeling triumphant. This is my spot, and I call the shots around here, Mr. Bossy Pants, not you. Resisting the urge to dance around the desk, she forced a smile. “We can discuss the matter further in my office while we wait for Reagan to arrive, or you can leave. It’s your choice.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. Reagan should be doing her homework, not doing nails, washing hair and sweeping floors. She’s a Drake. It’s beneath her...”

The murderous thought that popped into Karma’s mind must have darkened her face because Morrison broke off speaking. “Oprah was a grocery store clerk before she became famous, Brad Pitt wore a chicken costume and Barack Obama’s first job was at Baskin-Robbins. You should be teaching Reagan to be humble, not proud and pompous.”

“You misunderstood what I said—”

“No, I didn’t,” she snapped, cutting him off. “I heard you loud and clear.”

Music filled the air, a strong, infectious beat that drowned out the noises in the salon.

“I have to take this call,” he said. “It’s my brother. Hopefully he’s heard from Reagan.”

Recognizing the chart-topping song, Karma couldn’t resist swaying her hips to the music, and tapping her feet.

Fishing his iPhone out of his back pocket, Morrison touched the screen with his index finger, then put his cell to his ear.

Morrison liked Jay-Z? He listened to rap music? No way! He had a stern, no-nonsense demeanor, but hearing his ring tone made Karma think she’d pegged him all wrong. Maybe he wasn’t an uptight jerk, she thought, giving him the once-over again.

Intrigued, Karma studied him closely. Everything about him was sexy—the way he talked, the way he carried himself, his commanding presence—but he wasn’t her type. Karma liked men with tattoos and dreadlocks, who had a wild, adventurous side. Still, there was something about Morrison that appealed to her, that made her mouth wet and her heart race. Morrison Drake was the yummiest judge she had ever met, and if he wasn’t bossy and short-tempered she’d give him her number. And more.

Karma waited patiently for Morrison to finish his phone call, and when he did she gestured for him to follow her. He did, and as they headed through the salon, Karma noticed they had an audience. Women ogled him from behind fashion magazines, handheld gadgets and hooded dryers. Walking with Reagan’s drop-dead gorgeous uncle at her side gave Karma a dizzying rush, one she’d never experienced before and couldn’t make sense of.

“Hey, Judge!” called a divorcée seated at the nail station. “Looking good!”

“If I was ten years younger I’d make you my second husband!” joked a single mom.

“Whooee!” hollered a reality TV star, her eyes wild with desire. “I’ve been a very bad girl, Judge Drake. Hold me in contempt of court in your private chambers!”

Cheers and raucous laughter erupted inside the salon. Karma glanced at Morrison, expecting to see a broad, grin spread across his face, but it wasn’t there. To her surprise, Morrison looked concerned, not pleased that he had the attention of everyone in the salon, and Karma knew he was thinking about his niece. Had to be. That’s why he’d driven over to the salon and stormed inside. Because he was scared Reagan was in trouble.

Feeling guilty for asking him to leave, Karma decided to do everything in her power to help Morrison find Reagan—including contacting her ex-boyfriend, Sergeant J. T. Garver at the Southampton Town Police Department. He’d broken her heart, and Karma regretted dating the cop for nine months, but she’d swallow her pride and make the call.

Chapter 2

Morrison didn’t like Karma Sullivan. Didn’t trust her. Sensed she was lying to him about his niece’s whereabouts, but since he didn’t have any proof of her deception he quit interrogating her. But if Reagan didn’t show up at the salon for her ten o’clock shift he was going straight to the police station. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been missing for twenty-four hours. Screw policies and procedures. Having worked in the judicial system for over a decade, Morrison knew how important it was to trust his instincts, and something told him Reagan was in trouble.

Considering the last time he’d spoken to his niece, Morrison tried to recall every detail of their conversation. Yesterday, he’d worked late, and as he was leaving the courthouse Reagan had called to say she was going bowling with some of her classmates. Before he could get more details, she’d hung up. Regret filled him. Morrison wished he’d taken the time to find out who his niece was with. He’d had dinner with his colleagues, then went straight home to bed. That morning, after finding Reagan’s empty room and checking the alarm, he’d reached out to her friends but no one had seen her. If not for his family, insisting that he was overreacting, he would have already called the police. Morrison hoped he didn’t end up regretting his decision.

A worrying thought ran through his mind. Was Reagan hurt? Had she been in a serious car accident? Was she lying unconscious in a hospital bed? Was that why she hadn’t come home last night? His younger brothers, Duane and Roderick, thought he was blowing things out of proportion, but Morrison couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. That morning, when he’d called his family in a panic, his father, the Honorable Nathaniel A. Drake, reminded him that Reagan was almost an adult, and encouraged him to loosen the reigns. To stop treating her like a child. Morrison disagreed with his dad, told him he was wrong. Reagan was living under his roof and he expected her to abide by the rules, or else.

“I apologize in advance for the mess,” Karma said, glancing over her shoulder as she sashayed down the hall, her long, wavy hair swishing across her back. “I share the office with my salon manager, and she’d rather surf the web than clean her desk.”

Morrison gulped. He tried not to stare at her backside, tried not to notice how firm and plump it was, but it was hard to be a gentleman when she was walking in such a seductive way. Karma looked perfect, as if she’d just returned from an Essence magazine photoshoot, and it took every ounce of self-control he had not to touch her. But since he didn’t want to get slapped, he buried his hands in the pocket of his tan, Dockers shorts and admired the mosaic wall paintings instead of her curves. Karma had the face of an angel, the juiciest set of lips he’d ever seen, and the moment she’d entered the salon she’d seized his attention. If he wasn’t worried about Reagan, he’d skip his eleven o’clock tennis game at the Hamptons Sports Club with Duane and spend the rest of the day getting to know the titillating hairstylist with the mouthwatering cleavage. Morrison loved the female body almost as much as he loved his Fantasy Football League and imagined himself closing his eyes and burying his face in her big, beautiful breasts. Just thinking about it made his mouth wet and his erection rise inside his boxer briefs.

“Please, Mr. Drake, have a seat.”

“No, thanks. I’ll stand.” He was polite, because it was in his nature, but he was pissed that his niece had been lying to him for weeks. And he didn’t appreciate the things Karma had said, either. Imagine, his niece throwing away a full scholarship to one of the best universities in the country to attend cosmetology school. As if! It was the most ludicrous thing Morrison had ever heard, but he chose not to dwell on Karma’s words. Booted them from his mind. She was dead wrong, and there was nothing she could say to convince him otherwise.

“Can I interest you in something to drink?”

Her smile was so bright it could light up Madison Square Garden, but Morrison reminded himself that Karma was the enemy, not an ally, and shook his head. Thinking about what she’d done made his eyes narrow and his jaw clench. The irresponsible salon owner had hired his young, impressionable niece to work in her beauty shop—a place where women openly talked about sex, bashed and ridiculed men, and God knew what else—and if he had his way Reagan would never step foot in the salon again.

“Mr. Drake, sit down. You’ll be fine,” she said, gesturing to one of the printed armchairs in front of her oval, glass desk. “I don’t bite.”

Morrison didn’t move. Stayed put beside the door, listening for the sound of Reagan’s voice in the salon. Folding his arms across the chest, he surveyed the bright and spacious corner office. Morrison had never seen so much pink in his life. It was everywhere—on the area rugs, the graphic wall art, the floor lamps and chalkboard walls. One side of the room looked as if it had been hit by a cyclone, and the other side was so clean he could eat off the floor. The office smelled of peppermint tea and cinnamon, and his mouth watered at the tantalizing aroma in the air. In his haste to leave the house, he’d forgotten to have breakfast and now his stomach was growling so loudly he’d bet Karma could hear it. That’s why she was wearing a sad smile. Because she felt sorry for him.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to eat or drink? The staff room fridge is packed with healthy, delicious foods, and I hate to brag but I make a mean vegetarian omelet.”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” It was a lie—he was hungrier than an NFL linebacker at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but Morrison didn’t want to inconvenience her. Furthermore, he was at the salon to find Reagan, not to break bread with the overtly sexy owner. To keep his mind off Reagan he needed a distraction, and Karma Sullivan was it. His mother, famed interior designer to the stars, Viola Drake, always said, A wise man learns many things from his enemies, and Morrison planned to. Something was going on with his niece, and Karma was going to tell him everything he needed to know. He’d noticed a change in Reagan weeks earlier, during their college road trip, and since returning home things had only gotten worse. Reagan had dyed the ends of her hair purple, swapped her baggy shirts and sweatpants for belly-baring tops and miniskirts, and broken curfew twice.

Realization dawned, striking Morrison harder than a blow to the head. Now everything made sense. Why his niece was wearing fake eyelashes and jewelry to school; she was copying her boss, Karma Sullivan. And Morrison didn’t like it one bit.

Noting the framed certificates, plaques and awards proudly displayed on the glass bookshelf, Morrison carefully admired each one. “Karma Felicity Sullivan,” he said aloud, reading the name printed on the Business of the Year award. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone named Karma. It’s a very interesting name.”

A smirk curled her lips. “So I’m your first? I’m honored.”

Morrison choked on his tongue. Speechless, his mouth was dry and his thoughts were muddled. He was attracted to Karma, thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, but he couldn’t lose his focus. Had to get to the bottom of things, and to do that Morrison had to maintain his composure, not lose his cool.

“Despite living a block away from each other as kids, my parents didn’t meet until they were adults, and got pregnant with me on their first date,” she explained. “My mom loved astrology and thought Karma was the perfect name for me. I think so too. You’d be amazed at how many compliments I get.”

I believe it. You’re stunning. I bet men chase you down 24/7!

“Tell me more about yourself, Miss Sullivan. I grew up in this town, so I know everyone except you. What brought you to the Hamptons, and how long have you lived here?”

A pensive expression covered her face, but her voice was full of warmth and excitement. As she spoke about growing up in Brooklyn, her years in beauty school and her dead-end jobs after graduation, Morrison found himself impressed with her rags-to-riches story. She’d created a lucrative business through dedication, hard work and sheer willpower and he was impressed by her inner strength. Karma gushed about her family, credited her mother and grandmother for her success, and he was moved by her gratitude for her loved ones.

“I was hired to do hair and makeup for the reality TV show Hamptons Housewives a few years back and because of the ridiculous popularity of the show I was able to quickly build my clientele,” she explained, sitting back comfortably in her leather executive chair. “I opened this salon eighteen months ago, and if everything goes according to plan I’ll open locations in Washington, Philadelphia and Chicago within the year.”

“That’s an incredible story,” he said. “Congratulations on your success.”

A proud smile filled her red-painted lips. “Thank you. I feel fortunate to be doing what I love. Not everyone is so lucky.”

“I agree. I meet people every day who hate their jobs, and I can’t help but feel sorry for them. I love what I do, and I couldn’t imagine ever doing anything else.”

“Me too! I love doing hair and makeup so much I’d work for free!”

Like the blast from a trumpet, her laugh was loud and lively. Cultured, and well-read, Karma was a great conversationalist with a zest for life. Morrison enjoyed learning about her educational background, her beloved shop and her favorite clients. Proud of her Jamaican–Puerto Rican heritage, Karma spoke fondly of her small, close-knit family from Brooklyn.

“Is it possible Reagan’s with her dad, or another relative and forgot to tell you?”

“No, it’s impossible. Reagan doesn’t know who her biological father is.” Morrison didn’t know if Karma was genuinely trying to help or fishing for information, but he suspected it was the latter. Still, he spoke his mind. “Reagan has loving grandparents, aunts and three doting uncles who adore her, but if she ever wanted to track down her biological father we have the money and resources to make it happen.”

Peering out the door, Morrison glanced up and down the hallway for any sign of his niece, but he didn’t see the teen anywhere. His fear intensified with each passing second, and if Karma hadn’t persuaded him to come to her office he’d still be pacing in the reception area, worrying himself to death. “Do you see your parents often?” he asked, admiring the photographs hanging above the couch. “Do they still live in Brooklyn, or have they relocated here, as well?”

The light in her eyes faded. “No, they passed away in a car accident six years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, filled with sympathy.

“Me too. My mom was my hero, and I definitely wouldn’t be the woman I am today without her.”

“Unfortunately, I know how you feel. I lost my...”

Painful memories of his sister, Emmanuelle, overwhelmed his mind and he lost his voice. His temperature climbed, and his limbs shook. Worried he’d succumb to grief and his knees would buckle, he dropped down in the padded armchair in front of Karma’s desk. He wanted to tell her about his sister’s death, but feared if he did he’d lose his composure. Morrison didn’t feel comfortable baring his soul to her, so he said nothing. Pretended not to notice the sympathetic expression on her face. Damn, was his pain that obvious?

A chilling thought stole his breath. Had history repeated itself? Was his niece in grave danger? His heart stopped, and his pulse wailed in his ears like a siren. Had Reagan met the same fate as her mother? Was she... Morrison couldn’t bring himself to say the word. Was scared that if he did his worst fear would be realized.

Standing, he straightened his bent shoulders. Coming to the salon had been a mistake. An error of judgment. He should have gone to the police station instead of wasting precious time at the beauty shop. Feeling guilty for sitting around with Karma, he hung his head. He’d never forgive himself if something bad happened to Reagan and hoped it wasn’t too late to save her. He’d legally adopted her ten years ago and she meant the world to him.

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here. I should be at the police station.”

Karma picked up her cell phone and glanced at the screen. “I can’t believe it’s already ten o’clock. I totally lost track of time,” she said. “Morrison, wait. Let me check the salon one more time. If Reagan isn’t here I’ll call Sergeant Garver at the Southampton police station and get his advice.”

“I know him. We play in the same recreational rugby league—”

Karma raised an eyebrow. “You play rugby?”

“And lacrosse, football and golf. What can I say? I’m a sports fanatic.”

“Not me. I hate sports, and I can’t imagine anything more boring than golf.”

Clutching her cell phone with one hand, she tapped the screen with the other.

“How do you know Sergeant Garver?”

Shifting in her seat, Karma raked a hand through her hair, then flipped it over her shoulders. Morrison frowned. She was nervous. Why? What was she hiding?

“It’s the Hamptons. Everyone knows everyone.”

“That’s not true,” he countered. “Before today I had no idea who you were.”

Karma shrugged. “That’s because you’re a bookworm who never goes out.”

“I go out all the time. I enjoy eating out, hip hop concerts and sporting events—”

Hearing voices behind him, Morrison broke off speaking and glanced over his shoulder. Reagan! Relief flooded his body. Overcome with emotion, he pulled her into his arms for a hug. For the first time that morning, Morrison smiled. But when he remembered what his niece had done, how she’d scared him half to death, he released her. One minute. That’s how much time Reagan had to explain herself, and if she lied to him she’d lose her privileges for three months. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“I was at Zainab’s house.”

“Zainab? Who?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve never mentioned her before.”

“Zainab Qureshi. We met a few weeks ago at the mall, and hit it off.”

Morrison slowly nodded his head, could feel the tension in his body recede as he listened to his niece. “I know her parents. Her father, Ibrahim, is an investment baron, and her mother is a jewelry designer. Her late grandfather was not only a former prime minister of Lebanon, but also one of the most influential businessmen in the world.”

“Really? I knew her family was stupid rich, but I had no idea they were famous too.”

“Where did you girls go last night, and why didn’t you come home?”

“We fell asleep watching Scream Queens, and when I woke up this morning my cell was dead and I didn’t have my charger with me.”

“Then why didn’t you use Zainab’s cell to call me? Was it dead too?”

“Unfortunately it was.”

“How convenient,” Morrison drawled, wearing a skeptical expression on his face. “They don’t have a landline at their house?”

“House? They don’t have a house. They have a gigantic, twelve-bedroom mansion dripping in gold, and it’s so fly and flashy I want to move in—”

“Reagan, stop cracking jokes and answer my question.”

“Uncle Morrison, no one has a landline anymore. That’s so ’80s. We’re probably the only family in the state who still has one!”

“This is not funny. This is serious,” he scolded. “I thought you were in danger.”

“I was going to call you when I got here. I swear.”

“Were Zainab’s parents’ home last night?” he asked, unsure of what to make of Reagan’s story. “Can they confirm that you were there?”

“No, they’re at the Monaco Yacht Show and won’t be back until tomorrow. That’s why I was at Zainab’s estate last night. To keep her company.”

Scrutinizing his niece’s appearance, he searched for anything amiss. Her short hair was styled in tight, curls, her floral romper was clean and ironed, and her open-toe sandals added height to her petite frame. “I want Zainab’s cell number, and Mr. Qureshi’s number, as well.”

“Why? That’s so unnecessary, and embarrassing.”

“Because I need to know the truth, and if I find out you lied to me you’ll lose your car, your cell and your allowance for the next three months.”

A gasp filled the room. “Ouch, don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

“See,” Reagan said in a self-righteous voice, propping her hands on her hips. “Ms. Karma thinks you’re being unreasonable too.”

Morrison glared at Karma, and to his surprise she glared back at him. Stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Made him feel guilty, even though he’d done nothing wrong. What was her problem? Why was she scowling? Morrison wanted to ask her to leave, so he could talk to Reagan in private, then remembered they were in Karma’s office and dismissed the thought.

“Is your cell charged now?”

Reagan shook her head. “No, but I can use one of the chargers in the staff room and text you their cell numbers later.”

“Later? No. I want the information now.”

“I can’t. I’m at work, and since Ms. Karma doesn’t like staff using their cell phones on the salon floor I’ll message you when I take my lunch break.”

“I don’t want you working here. You should be at home studying for your midterm exams.”

Her face fell, and panic flashed in her light brown eyes. “I—I—I can’t quit. Ms. Karma needs me. Weekends are insane around here, and the staff can use all the help they can get.”

Karma came around her desk, and stood beside Reagan. “She’s right. We need her.”

“Fine, you can stay, but today’s your last shift. A beauty shop is no place for a kid—”

“I’m not a kid,” she argued. “I’m a mature, young woman who’s capable of making her own decisions, and I’m not quitting the best job I’ve ever had.”

“It’s the only job you’ve ever had,” Morrison pointed out, surprised by his niece’s tone. Conflicted, he took a moment to consider his options. He didn’t want to make a scene by dragging Reagan out of the salon, so he decided to let her stay. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m staying at the salon, and there’s nothing you can say to change my mind. I’m learning a lot, the staff is incredible and Ms. Karma is a terrific mentor.”

Karma gave Reagan a one-arm hug, but Morrison wasn’t moved. More convinced than ever that the hair and makeup artist was a negative influence on his niece he made a mental note to speak to his family about Karma Sullivan. His mom would know what to do, she always did. Morrison stuck out his hand. “I don’t want you disappearing again, so give me your car keys.”

“But, I didn’t do anything wrong!” she argued. “It was an honest mistake.”

“It’s not open for discussion, Reagan. Hand them over, or you’ll lose your cell too.”

Reagan unzipped her shoulder bag and rummaged around inside for several seconds. Wearing a long face, she pulled out her key chain and dropped it in his palm. “I finish at six.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Morrison said, addressing Karma. “Why would you give my niece such a long shift? She’s just a kid. Did you work eight-hour shifts when you were a teenager?”

“Yeah, I did. In fact, I worked thirty hours a week, and maintained a 4.0 GPA.”

Reagan stared at Karma with stars in her eyes, and Morrison groaned inwardly. Damn. The last thing he wanted was for his niece to put the salon owner on a pedestal, but because of his blunder Reagan was gazing at Karma in awe, as if she’d just finished a death-defying stunt.

“I know Reagan is busy with school so she only works sixteen hours a week—”

“Sixteen hours a week,” Morrison repeated, folding his arms rigidly across his chest. “So, all the times you told me you were going to the library to study you were here, doing hair and nails? Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you tell me you’d gotten a part-time job?”

“Because I knew you’d get mad. You always get mad when I don’t do what you want, but I love working here and Ms. Karma says I’m talented.”

Karma picked up a piece of paper from off her desk. “Here’s a copy of Reagan’s schedule for April, and May,” she explained, speaking in a soft, soothing voice. “Look it over, Mr. Drake. If you’re not happy with her shifts we can discuss it further.”

“But I want to work more, Ms. Karma, not less.”

Morrison scoffed. If I have my way you won’t be working here at all.

“Here you go.” Karma offered him the paper.

Morrison wanted to take the schedule and rip it to pieces, but he took the paper, folded it and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. “Reagan, I’ll be back to pick you up at six o’clock.”

“You will?” she asked, the disappointment evident in her voice. “But I thought you were going out with your friends tonight.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going, and you’re spending the night with your grandparents.”

“Lucky me,” she drawled. “Can’t wait.”

Morrison kissed Reagan on the cheek. “Be good.”

“I will. Have fun at the sports club,” she said with a wave. “Take it easy on Uncle Duane. He’s a sleep-deprived dad of four, so don’t beat him too bad!”

Morrison chuckled, but as he exited the office and marched through the salon, he wasn’t thinking about his tennis match with his brother or his game strategy. He was thinking about Karma Sullivan—the sexy salon owner with the sensuous mouth and drool-worthy curves.

Chapter 3

An hour after leaving Beauty by Karma, Morrison parked his silver BMW X6 at the north entrance of the Hamptons Sports Club and took off his seat belt. He grabbed his water bottle and iPhone from the center console, and exited the SUV. Starving, he’d stopped at his favorite downtown café on the way to the sports complex and ordered the All-American breakfast. He’d left the family-owned restaurant with a smile on his face, a pep in his step and a full stomach. Now Morrison was ready for his tennis match, and confident he’d win.

A grin claimed his mouth. Duane was no competition; his brother would rather play video games in his free time, than sports, and Morrison suspected the only reason he’d agreed to meet up with him was to get out of the house. A brilliant software developer, with a hearty laugh and jovial personality, he’d quit his corporate job in the city so he could start his own business and spend more time with his family. Although he worked from home, Duane often joked about being a “househusband,” but it was obvious he adored his sons and his pediatrician wife, Erikah.

Morrison retrieved his Nike duffel bag from the trunk, tossed it over his shoulder and activated the car alarm. The morning sun was overcast, filled with dark, fluffy clouds, and the air held the scent of rain. Approaching the outdoor tennis courts, Morrison heard balls bounce, cheers and groans, and the distant sound of pop music. The sports complex had it all, manicured grounds, knowledgeable staff and instructors, and an outdoor snack shop that served coffee, sandwiches and fruit.

Taking a deep breath quieted Morrison’s mind, helping him to relax. He enjoyed the great outdoors, liked seeing the birds, the towering trees and the peaceful, picturesque views. Hearing his cell phone buzz, he fished it out of his pocket and read his newest text message. It was from his mom. Morrison felt guilty for not updating his family about Reagan. He should have phoned his mom from the car, instead of daydreaming about Karma Sullivan, but for some reason he couldn’t get the salon owner out of his mind.

Morrison relived their conversation, dissecting everything Karma had said and done that morning. He was a great judge of character, could size up anyone in ten seconds flat, and he suspected Karma was a party girl who lived life by her own rules. The salon owner was a magnet, the kind of woman who attracted male attention wherever she went, the complete opposite of the females he usually dated. Still, he was intrigued by her, drawn to her. In her office, it took everything in Morrison not to touch her, and every time she looked at him he felt the urge to kiss her hard on the mouth. An hour after leaving the salon his body was still throbbing with need, but it was nothing a cold shower and a shot of Bourbon couldn’t cure.

Typing fast, Morrison comprised a group text message to his family, letting them know he’d found Reagan, and hit Send. The complex was crawling with sports enthusiasts but he didn’t see his brother anywhere, and wondered if Duane had changed his mind about the game. Morrison played tennis three times a week, regardless of the weather, and was proud of his undefeated record. A fierce competitor with a passion for the game, he’d do anything to win, and he wasn’t going to show his brother any mercy.

Strolling toward the tennis courts, Morrison saw children running around in circles, and a group of British nannies chatting in front of the water fountain. The women smiled and waved, and Morrison nodded in greeting. Glancing at his Gucci sports watch, he realized he was ten minutes late to meet his brother, and broke into a jog.

“Morrison Drake in the flesh? This must be my lucky day!” shrieked a female voice.

A brunette, in a red, lace-trimmed mesh dress, that looked more like lingerie than tennis attire, appeared in front of him, doing the happy dance. Morrison tried to move away but the woman was too fast. Pressing her body against his, she kissed him on each cheek. Her sickly sweet perfume made his eyes sting and his stomach churn.

Morrison thought hard. What was the woman’s name again? She was one of his brother’s fiancée’s friends, and he vaguely remembered meeting her at Roderick and Toya’s engagement party last summer. After a whirlwind courtship, his brother had popped the question to the twenty-five-year-old blonde from New Hampshire, and the couple were sparing no expense for their dream wedding. Roderick was an entertainment attorney who spent money like a Saudi prince, and the last time Morrison saw his youngest brother he’d bragged about booking Adele and John Legend to perform at the September ceremony.

“It’s so great to see you again, Morrison,” she gushed, her hand grazing his ass. “You look as handsome as ever. How have you been?”

Put off by how loud and aggressive she was, Morrison stepped back. He wanted to run for cover but remembered he was a Drake, not a pubescent boy, and gave a polite nod. Morrison couldn’t believe how bold she was, and searched the grounds for the nearest escape route. “Great, thanks, and you?”

“Better, now that we’re together,” she purred, coiling a lock of frizzy hair around her index finger. “Join me inside for a drink. I just finished my private lesson, and my Swedish instructor worked me hard this morning. I could use something cold right now.”

Morrison wore an apologetic smile, but deep down he was glad he had plans with his brother. Being one of the most eligible bachelors in the city certainly had its perks—single women dropped off home-cooked meals at his estate on a weekly basis, and he was invited to the best parties—but he was tired of pushy females propositioning him every time he left his mansion. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I have a game, and if I leave my brother hanging he’ll be pissed.”

“I understand. Family comes first.” Batting her extra-long eyelashes, she rested a hand on his forearm and squeezed it. “I bet you’re an amazing tennis player, Morrison, so give me your number and we’ll play one day next week. I’d love that, and I bet you would too.”

Wrong again! He recalled how she’d bragged at Roderick and Toya’s engagement party about dating a married New York senator. The brunette was the kind of woman who only cared about a man’s status, and what he could do for her, and Morrison wasn’t interested in seeing her again. Turned off by her overconfidence, and her skimpy attire, he said, “I have to go. I don’t want to keep my brother waiting.”

“Not so fast, mister. You have something I want.” Sliding in front of him, she offered her cell phone, her eyes wide and bright. “Put your number in my cell, and I’ll give you a ring later. Maybe we can hook up tonight.”

He opened his mouth to decline her offer, but it was Duane’s voice that filled the air.

“Are we gonna play or are you gonna stand around shooting the breeze?”

Morrison was so relieved to see Duane standing inside court nine he wanted to cheer. Moving with the quickness of an NFL running back, he dodged the brunette, entered the fenced court and closed the door behind him. He’d come to the sports complex to play tennis with his brother, not make a love connection. Besides, if he wanted to hook up with someone it would be a sophisticated and classy woman, like Karma. He wondered whom she spent her nights with, was curious if the salon owner had a man—

Morrison scoffed, telling himself he was being ridiculous. Of course, she was dating someone. Women like Karma, with brains, charisma and booty, didn’t have one man, they had several, and he’d be a fool to pursue a woman who was playing the field. Not that he was ready to settle down. He wasn’t. He had his hands full with Reagan, and aspirations of becoming the youngest Supreme Court judge in the nation. Not to mention aging parents who needed his help on a regular basis. His brothers were busy with their careers and families, and since he was the oldest—and happily single—he was the one who kept a watchful eye on their stubborn parents. His father was recovering from hip surgery, and these days his mother was so forgetful Morrison worried about her state of mind. They could afford to hire someone to help them, but they refused, saying they didn’t want a stranger snooping around their waterfront estate.

“Did you get baby girl’s number?” Duane teased, wiggling his thick eyebrows.

“Yeah, and I’m going to save it in your cell under Side Chick.”

“Hey, don’t joke about things like that!” Shivering, he pressed his eyes shut and made the sign of the cross on his chest. “Erikah has a quiet nature and a sweet disposition, but if she thought I was cheating on her she’d bury me alive.”

“You better not, or I’ll help her dig the ditch!”

Duane gave Morrison a shot in the arm, then dumped his Cleveland Cavaliers backpack at his feet. Short and stocky, with dark skin and a salt-and-pepper moustache, he was often mistaken for Morrison’s older brother, and laughed off comparisons to their father.

“Ready to play?” Morrison unzipped his duffel bag and took out his tennis racket.

“Not yet. I need to stretch. Don’t want to break anything.”

Amused, Morrison watched his brother roll his neck from side to side, chuckling as Duane jogged in place for a minute, huffing and puffing as if he was climbing the Great Wall of China. Unlike Roderick, Duane would rather save money than spend it, but his workout gear had seen better days and Morrison couldn’t resist teasing the dad of four about his faded Nike T-shirt and nylon basketball shorts. “After our game, I’m taking you to the mall. You need some new clothes ASAP, bro.”

“Get out of here,” Duane argued, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “This is the outfit I was wearing when I met LeBron James at Rucker Park several years ago, and since it always brings me good luck you don’t stand a chance, Your Highness.”

Morrison chuckled. “Not today, Daddy-Daycare! I’m going to mop the court with you.”

Taking their positions on the court, they agreed to do practice shots to warm up, and took turns serving the ball. Morrison heard his cell phone ring from inside his duffel bag, but ignored it. He hadn’t seen Duane all week, and he was having fun talking trash and joking around with his brother. His family meant the world to him, and nothing mattered more to Morrison than spending time with the people he loved. Losing Emmanuelle had been a crushing blow, the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and at her memorial service he’d vowed never to take his siblings for granted again.

“Reagan called me a few minutes ago, and she was really upset,” Duane said. “You took her car keys? Why? She’s an adult now, Mo, and it’s time you start treating her like one.”

“Duane, she’s only seventeen. She still needs discipline and guidance and a strong, firm hand.” Needing to vent, he told his brother about his trip to Beauty by Karma and his argument with Reagan. Morrison couldn’t believe how much their niece had changed since he’d become her legal guardian. Five years ago, Reagan was a chubby seventh grader who loved Harry Potter and the Nickelodeon channel, and now she was obsessed with boys, makeup and social media. Worst of all, she was pulling away from him, and it hurt like hell.

“Mo, that’s the second time this month you’ve gone off the deep end, and I’m worried if it happens again, Reagan will leave for good, and none of us want to see that happen.”

“Duane, relax. Reagan isn’t going anywhere, and once she quits that stupid job at Beauty by Karma things will go back to normal.”

“I don’t know what your problem is. I love that place. Every time Erikah goes to get her hair and nails done, she comes home in a great mood.” Duane winked. “And horny as hell!”

“That’s the problem. A beauty salon is no place for a young, impressionable teenager like Reagan, and if Karma won’t fire her I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.”

“What are you going to do?”

Morrison wore a sly grin. “Use the Drake charm to get my way, of course.”

“You sly dog!” Duane caught the ball midair with his right hand. “You asked Karma to be your date for Winston and Antoinette’s wedding next Saturday, didn’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow. Was Duane out of his mind? Had he been drinking? Morrison would rather catch up on sleep than attend the Manhattan wedding of his childhood friend, but it was going to be the social event of the year, and he couldn’t skip it. Bringing a date was out of the question though. Born into wealth, the powerhouse couple had friends in high places, and political connections. And if Morrison wanted to achieve his goal of being the youngest person appointed to the Supreme Court he had to network his butt off, and everyone he wanted to meet would be at the wedding. “No way,” he said, shaking his head. “Karma’s not my type, and I don’t want anyone to think we’re a hot, new item—”

“Mo, get out of here, Karma’s everybody’s type. Who doesn’t want a smart, successful beauty on their arm? Shoot, if I wasn’t happily married I’d be all over her.”

“My focus is on Reagan right now, not hooking up with a feisty makeup artist.”

“It should be. In the fall she’ll be going off to college, and you’ll be home alone with nothing to do and nowhere to go.”

“Reagan’s going to live at home, not on campus,” he explained, nodding his head to emphasize his point. “Dormitories are dangerous, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“You worry too much. She’ll be fine. Quit stifling her, or she’ll rebel.”

Morrison scoffed, not giving his brother’s advice a second thought. “You know nothing about raising a teenager. Your kids are still in diapers, and they run you ragged!”

The brothers laughed.

“Go out with Karma,” Duane advised, bouncing the ball absently on the court. “It’ll be good for you. You need to quit hanging out at home 24/7 and get back in the dating game.”

Ready to start their match, Morrison dropped to one knee and retied his shoelaces. “Are we going to play, or stand around talking about the ladies for the rest of the morning?”

“Neither. Let’s go inside and grab a cold one. Erikah’s forcing me to do a thirty-day cleanse with her, and I’m craving a beer. And French fries.”

Morrison chuckled. “I’m glad I’m single. You’re a sorry case, D!”

“And you’re jealous,” Duane countered, wearing a proud smile. “You wish you had a beautiful, sexy woman to come home to every night.”

A vision of Karma dressed in a flimsy negligee and red-heeled pumps flashed in his mind. His thoughts took an erotic detour, filled with explicit images of the beauty salon owner with the silky, mile-long legs. Giving his head a shake, he tossed the tennis ball high in the air and smacked it powerfully with his racquet. “Game on.”

“Mo, take it easy!” Duane shouted, running for cover as the ball whizzed past his face. “I’m a father of four, not a ten-time Wimbledon champion!”

Chapter 4

Morrison glanced at the clock on the dashboard of his SUV, realized he had an hour to kill before picking up Reagan from Beauty by Karma and contemplated visiting Roderick at his estate. He’d had so much fun at the sports complex with Duane, he was missing his youngest brother, and wanted to touch base with him. Two weeks earlier, during their monthly fishing trip to Shinnecock Inlet, they’d butted heads and their argument still left a bitter taste in Morrison’s mouth. After downing one too many beers, Roderick had become loud and belligerent aboard Morrison’s Scout 350, disrupting the serene and peaceful atmosphere. The gleaming, white vessel was the Mercedes-Benz of boats, and when Roderick threw up on the platform Morrison had lost his temper. Told Roderick he had a drinking problem and needed professional help. Filled with remorse, Roderick had agreed to pay for the boat to be detailed, but Morrison had yet to see a dime.

Hanging out with Duane had put him in a good mood, made him forget about his argument with Reagan at the beauty salon. For hours, he’d played in the hot sun, and by the time they went inside for lunch it was two o’clock.

What a match! Morrison thought with a wry smile. Duane had surprised him by winning the first game, but he’d battled back to win the next three. While eating burgers and fries, they’d talked about their parents, their careers and the groom’s bachelor party next Friday. They were planning to drive to Manhattan together after work, and Morrison hoped Roderick could join them. These days, he didn’t go anywhere without his bride-to-be, and Morrison was tired of Roderick putting his fiancée first and his family last. Toya Janssen had a girl-next-door vibe, but Morrison didn’t think she was the right woman for his brother.

Arriving home that afternoon, Morrison had showered and changed into a short-sleeve denim shirt, blue jeans and navy loafers. After he dropped Reagan off at his parents’ estate, he was meeting his poker buddies at The Long Island Bar & Grill and hoped they had some good news for him. Morrison needed his friends to work their connections and get him an invitation to the political fund-raising gala in Washington next month. It was the hottest ticket in town, and he had to be there. Couldn’t afford to miss the exclusive, black-tie event. If he was lucky he’d meet the vice president, or his chief of staff. That’s all Morrison needed. An introduction, and he’d be one step closer to making history.

Morrison narrowed his gaze. Gripping the steering wheel, he leaned forward in his seat. What the hell? Spotting Reagan exiting Beauty by Karma, he sped through the intersection. Pulling up to the curb, he lowered the passenger side window. “Reagan, where are you going?” he asked.

“Ms. Karma said I could leave early, and I didn’t want to wait around for you.”

Disappointment flooded his body. Morrison had hoped to see Karma again. He’d convinced himself it was because he wanted to talk to her about his niece, but it was a lie. Sure, he wanted her to honor his request and fire Reagan, but he was attracted to Karma and wanted to get to know her better—especially in the bedroom. The salon owner was a vivacious beauty who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and even though they’d butted heads that morning, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Fantasizing about her. Imaging them making love—

“You can leave. You don’t need to wait around. Zainab’s coming to pick me up.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Because I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself.”

“Get in. We can talk on the way to your grandparents’ house.”

Reagan tapped her foot on the ground, her arms crossed, her expression defiant. “No.”

“Do you want me to confiscate your cell phone, as well?”

“I don’t care,” she answered, rolling her eyes skyward. “Do what you have to do.”

His jaw clenched. She spoke in a clipped tone of voice, with plenty of attitude, infuriating him. Horns blared, but Morrison didn’t move. He felt like an ass for holding up traffic, but he wasn’t going anywhere until Reagan got into his SUV. He’d arranged to have her beloved car towed to his estate, and hoped his actions would send a powerful message to his niece.

Morrison put on his hazard lights, checked his rearview mirror for oncoming traffic and opened his door. Marching around the hood of the car, he struggled to control his temper. He was so intent on reaching Reagan, and talking some sense into her, he didn’t notice Karma until she called his name.

“Morrison, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”

Karma appeared on the sidewalk, wearing oval-shaped sunglasses and a bright smile.

One look at her was all it took. Instantly, his shoulders relaxed, and his anger receded. For the sake of peace, he said, “Reagan, please get in the car so I can drop you off at your grandparents’ house. They’re expecting you for dinner, and I don’t want you to be late.”

“Why do I have to go to their house? Why can’t I stay home alone?”

“Because I’m going out with my friends, and I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“So?” she argued. “I can stay home alone. I’m seventeen, Uncle Morrison, not seven.”

“I’d feel safer if you were with your grandparents.”

“But I don’t want to go. I want to stay home and relax.”

“You can relax at Grandma and Grandpa’s estate.”

Reagan groaned. “This is so frustrating. Why do you keep treating me like a kid?”

“The last time I left you home alone you threw a raucous house party!”

“It wasn’t a party. My friends came over, and we ordered pizza and listened to music.”

“A hundred kids isn’t a get-together, Reagan, it’s a party.”

Reagan mumbled under her breath.

“This isn’t the time or the place to have this conversation,” Morrison said, mindful of the people around them. The streets were busy, full of families and shoppers, and he didn’t want anyone to overhear them. “Like I said, we can talk about this in the car, so get in.”

Morrison opened the passenger side door and waited patiently for his niece to get in.

“I don’t have to listen to you. I’m practically an adult. I can do what I want.”

Stepping forward, Karma took Reagan by the shoulder and spoke to her in a quiet voice. “Sweetie, go with your uncle and work out your problems,” she admonished, wearing a sympathetic expression on her face. “How can you fix what’s wrong in your relationship if you don’t talk to him?”

“Why bother? He doesn’t listen to me,” she complained.

“Real women don’t run from their problems, they tackle them head-on.” Karma helped Reagan into the SUV, then patted her hands. “I’ll call you later to see how you’re doing.”

“Bye, Ms. Karma. Thanks again for lunch. It was delicious.”

“My pleasure, sweetie. Next time I’ll take you to the Peacock Alley at the Waldorf Astoria,” she said, licking her lips. “Their brunch is to die for, and the waiters are supercute!”

Standing on the sidewalk, listening to his niece talk and giggle with Karma made Morrison smile. His admiration for the salon owner grew as he watched her interact with Reagan. Gregarious, and down-to-earth, it was easy to see why Reagan worshipped the ground Karma walked on. Her warmth and openness was endearing, what appealed to him most, and if they weren’t polar opposites he’d take Duane’s advice and ask her out.

Pressed for time, he marched back to the driver’s door and got inside the SUV.

“Can I come by the salon on Wednesday?” Reagan asked, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’m Devin Skye’s biggest fan ever, and I’d love to meet her.”

“You’re as sly as a ninja!” Karma teased. “I didn’t tell anyone about her appointment, so how did you know the actress was coming to the salon after closing?”

“I overheard you on the phone with her manager when I came to refill your coffee...”

Morrison opened his mouth to protest, to remind his niece that she had a physics test on Thursday she needed to study for, but thought better of it and held his tongue. He didn’t want to upset her again, but made a mental note to talk to her about the test later. He loved Reagan as if she was his daughter and wanted to raise her the way his sister would.

Sadness pricked his heart. Emmanuelle had been gone for years, but Morrison missed her more each day. He tried not to think about her untimely death, only the good times, but as he listened to his niece joke around with Karma his emotions got the best of him and tears filled his eyes. Glad he was wearing sunglasses, he blinked them away. Not only was Reagan the spitting image of Emmanuelle, she had his sister’s quick wit and her outrageous sense of humor.

“Please,” Reagan pleaded, clasping her hands together. “I’ll never ask you for anything again. I swear. It’ll be my birthday present, and grad gift all rolled in one!”

“If it’s okay with your uncle, it’s okay with me.”

Karma looked at Morrison, and their eyes locked, zoomed in on each other.

Pleased with her answer, he nodded his head in agreement. He spoke to Reagan, but his gaze was glued to Karma’s face. “You can go to the salon as long as you finish your homework.”

Reagan cheered. “Thanks, Uncle Morrison. You’re the best!”

Karma beamed, and for some strange reason Morrison felt prouder than a gold medalist on a podium. Reagan spoke, but he missed her question because he was busy admiring Karma. Her curled eyelashes, bejeweled lavender nails and colored extensions didn’t make her beautiful; it was her radiant smile and effervescent laugh that appealed to him. She waved, then turned and walked back into the salon, switching her shapely hips. Transfixed, he watched her every move. Wet his lips with his tongue. Groaned and grunted in appreciation.

“Uncle Morrison, snap out of it!”

Reagan waved a hand in front of his face, and Morrison blinked. Bolting upright in his seat, he put on his seat belt and started the car. Merging into traffic, he stepped on the gas and sped down the street. Anxious to get to his parents’ house, he switched from one lane to the next, passing slow-moving vehicles and teens cruising the block in their flashy sports cars.

“So, you like Ms. Karma, huh?”

Morrison coughed to clear his throat. “Who, me?”

“Yeah, you. Want me to put in a good word for you?”

“Nice try, Reagan. I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not going to let you change the subject. What you did last night wasn’t cool, and I’m very disappointed in you.”

Hanging her head, she fiddled with her gold thumb ring on her left hand.

“Prove to me you can be trusted, and I’ll give you more freedom.”

“Sorry about last night, Uncle Morrison. It was an honest mistake. Really.”

“I’m going to cut you some slack this time, but if you ever stay out all night you’ll never drive your Mini Cooper again.” Morrison opened the center console, took out Reagan’s car keys and handed them to her. “Remember what I said.”

“I will. Thanks, Uncle Morrison.”

Driving along Main Street, he marveled at how much the Hamptons had changed since he was a kid. There were high-end restaurants, salons and boutiques popping up every week, and Morrison couldn’t go anywhere without spotting the paparazzi lying in wait. Noticing a helicopter in the sky, which was the preferred mode of travel from New York for the very wealthy, he wondered who was flying in. In the summer, residents complained of the traffic, the noise and the party atmosphere, but Morrison was looking forward to socializing and networking with foreign businessmen and obscenely rich entrepreneurs.

“Can you please take me home? I’m tired, and I’d really like to chill out in my room,” she explained. “I’ll visit with Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow.”

He took a moment to consider her request. “Fine, but I don’t want anyone in the house. No friends, no loud music, and if you decide to go out you have to be home by curfew.”

She sighed deeply, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted in a frown.

“I know you think I’m hard on you, but everything I do is for your good—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. From now on, I’ll obey your every word. Now, back to you and Ms. Karma. When are you going to ask her out?”

Morrison kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Uncle Morrison, keep it a hundred.” Facing him, she tucked her feet under her bottom and tapped an index finger against her cheek. “You’re feeling her, and you know it. You were staring at her hard when she left. It’s a miracle you didn’t pop an eye vessel.”

Morrison wanted to laugh, but he wore a straight face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his niece this happy, and was amused by her jokes. The truth was out. He was interested in Karma, sexually attracted to her, but he’d never act on his feelings. His focus was on raising Reagan and advancing his career, not pursuing a feisty, provocative woman from Brooklyn.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he thought about his ex-girlfriend. Their relationship had ended because the anesthesiologist didn’t get along with Reagan, and none of the females he’d met in recent months appealed to him. They were all savvy career women with graduate degrees, but there’d been no spark, no fire. Morrison realized he had the opposite problem with Karma. Their chemistry was so strong every time their eyes met he wanted to kiss her, to stroke every inch of her body. There was nothing sexier than a woman who was comfortable in her own skin, and Karma moved with the ease of a runway model.

“Uncle Morrison, you have to bring your A game to win Ms. Karma over and, even though you play chess and watch CNN religiously, I have complete faith in you.”

Morrison scoffed, and Reagan giggled. He didn’t mind her poking fun at him, and chuckled when she started clapping and singing off-key.

“Uncle Morrison and Ms. Karma sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” Reagan sang, dancing around in her seat, her voice strong and loud. “First comes loves, then comes marriage, then comes triplets in a Gucci baby carriage!”

Wearing a wry smile, Morrison turned into his estate and drove up the driveway.

“Men are always hounding Ms. Karma for her number, so you have to come correct when you ask her out. And don’t be late for your date. Ms. Karma hates that.”

“Bye, Reagan,” he said, unlocking the doors. “Don’t forget to put on the alarm.”

“I will. Bye, Uncle Morrison. See you later!”

Reagan threw open the door then rushed inside. Morrison was pressed for time, but he sat in his SUV for a moment, thinking about his conversation with his niece. She’d promised to be on her best behavior, but Morrison didn’t believe her. To assuage his fears, he’d call Duane and ask him to check up on Reagan tonight.

Karma’s words came back to him, playing in his ears like a song. Mistakes are a part of growing up, and if you don’t give Reagan the room to fall she’ll never learn to fly. He’d disagreed with Karma that morning in her office, still did. He knew what was best for Reagan, and his job was to protect her, to make sure she didn’t make the same mistakes his sister did as a teenager. He’d convince Karma to fire Reagan, and when she did he’d show his appreciation—in the bedroom. Encouraged by the thought, Morrison drove back down the driveway, whistling to himself. Considering his next move, he broke into a broad grin as a plan formed in his mind. Karma was no match for him, and he’d prove it.

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