Soca Nights: African-American Romance

By Lexy Harper

British entrepreneur Kevin Williamson, desperate to put some space between himself and events in the UK, travels to the sunny island of Barbados for a much-needed break. The last thing he needs is to feel an attraction for a woman who seems to embody the term ‘diva’, before he even gets off the plane.

Barbadian Kimberley Collins has lived a life in the spotlight as the only daughter of a prominent politician, her pampered existence envied by many on the small island.  After three failed love affairs she realizes that she will probably never be loved just for herself, that the wrong men will always be drawn to her because of her father’s position and power. The last thing she needs is to feel an attraction for a ‘foreigner’ who may have come to the island to prey on naïve local women, to charm them with his slick Western ways and leave them heartbroken.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ebonique Publishing
• Release date: Jul 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781386764427

Book preview

Thanks for your concern.  I’m fine.

Kevin smiled frigidly, pointedly moving his hand away from her seductive stroking. 

She hastily removed her hand, snuggled her head back against the older man’s broad shoulder and closed her eyes without saying another  word.

Yes, Ms Gold Digger, get back to your sugar daddy!

Lexy Harper was born in London.  She’s known to most fans as an erotic writer, but she loves nothing better than immersing herself in a good romance novel.  She was seduced into writing this story by the sunny skies, crystal clear waters and golden beaches of Barbados where she currently resides.  Contact her at: [e-mail].

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By the same author:

BEDTIME EROTICA

BEDTIME EROTICA FOR FREAKS (LIKE ME)

BEDTIME EROTICA FOR MEN

Lexy

Harper

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Soca Nights

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All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher or author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.

First published in Great Britain 2008

Copyright © 2006 Lexy Harper

All Rights Reserved.

www.lexyharper.com

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Published by Ebonique Publishing, London.

Print Book: ISBN-13: 978-0-9556986-0-6

This book is dedicated to:

My brothers and sisters who put up with my eccentricities and give me nothing but love and support.

My wonderful nieces and nephews.

My one-of-a-kind father.

And last, but not least, my mother—my greatest inspiration.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter One

Kevin Williamson reached for the lever to pull himself upright as the airhostess drew her trolley alongside his first-class seat on the British Airways flight from London to Barbados.

Hello again.  She smiled down at him, her full lips parting to reveal even, dentist-white teeth.  What would you like for lunch: chicken, beef, salmon or the vegetarian option?

I’ll have the salmon, please.  He returned her smile, surprised at the effort it took.  His facial muscles felt stiff from disuse, as though he hadn’t smiled in years, instead of just the last four days.

She placed a generous portion of salmon, lightly steamed broccoli, a crisp green salad and a small wedge of lemon cheesecake carefully on the pull-out tray in front of him.

Would you like wine with your meal?  Still smiling, she indicated the array of drinks on the top of her trolley with a slim, elegant hand.  Or would you prefer another beer?

The latter question confirmed his suspicion that she’d been playfully flirting with him since serving him coffee just after takeoff from Heathrow Airport.

I’ll have a beer, please.  He shook his head in mock disapproval.  She chuckled softly as she placed a bottle of  beer on the tray—the same brand as he’d ordered before and winked at him as she moved on to the next aisle.

She was beautiful.  Her smooth, supple, sun-kissed caramel skin; long, wavy, jet-black hair pulled back into a neat chignon; small straight nose and full sensuously curved lips all hinted at her mixed Caribbean ancestry—a fusion of the blood of African slaves, indentured Indians and white plantation owners.  She looked about twenty-one.  Too young for Kevin even if he was looking for intrigue.  He wasn’t.

He turned his attention to the meal.  He wasn’t hungry—hadn’t felt hungry in days, but the last thing he needed was to weaken his body’s already-shattered defences by starving it.

He finished the meal, neither the flavour nor texture registering on his palette.  As soon as the tray and utensils were removed, he returned his seat to its reclining position and closed his eyes.

Belatedly he wished that he had booked a ticket to Guyana instead.  The air hostess’s lilting Trinidadian accent reminded him of his mother’s Guyanese intonation and filled him with longing and nostalgia.  But, he reminded himself ruefully, he was thirty-two, not two.  His mother couldn’t kiss his hurt better like she had done when he was a little boy.

At the thought of hurt, an image of Dawn, his wife of seven years, surfaced behind his eyelids: her beautiful heart-shaped face framed by long dark brown hair; her shy long-lashed eyes; her sweet smile that could erase the tiredness from his body at the end of a long hard day; her petite, compact body with its narrow waist that he could almost span with his hands; her soft skin and her small firm breasts with prominent nipples she had always taken great care to conceal under clothing.

He had never told her that he’d stole occasional glimpses of their entwined bodies in the mirror of their built-in wardrobe as they made love.  She would have been mortified if she had known.  Those glimpses had heightened his arousal.  Their cocoa-brown skin tones were so closely matched it was impossible to tell where she ended and he began, except for his harder, muscular frame contrasting with her smoother, softer contours.  The sight of her slim body pressed against his had been so unbearably erotic....

Abruptly his image was superimposed in his mind’s eye by one of rippling dark chocolate.

Damn you, Anthony!  He silently cursed his best friend for the thousandth time in days, filled once again with the all-consuming rage that was bubbling beneath the surface of his tight-lipped exterior.

Are you okay?  The softly whispered inquiry from the female passenger across the gangway to his left brought Kevin back to the present.

Curbing his annoyance, he opened his eyes, turned his head and looked into her worried dark gaze.  Forcing himself to relax, he assured her, I’m fine, thank you.

It was probably just a patch of turbulence, she comforted, reaching over to stroke his hand which was clutching the armrest in a vicelike grip.

Turbulence?  He had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he had been unaware of anything else, his inner turmoil greater than whatever the plane had encountered.

Her caressing hand was slim, long-fingered, soft and soothing.  Kevin took an audible breath, slackened his grip on the armrests and released the last remnants of the fury that had engulfed him.

The woman and her male companion had been among the last passengers to board the flight.  The tall, debonair, light-complexioned man was clearly twice the age of the stunning, dark-skinned diva.

And diva she seemed to be.  Soon after takeoff an air hostess had brought her two extra blankets, although she was wearing a woollen hat, thick jumper, baggy jeans and the pair of socks she had pulled on immediately after kicking off her red, high-heeled pumps.

As the man had tucked the blankets around her, Kevin had noticed the thick gold band on his wedding finger.  The only ring she wore was an intricately designed silver ring on her left thumb.

The man had pulled out official-looking documents embossed with the Barbadian coat-of-arms from a briefcase and perused them for an hour or two before putting them away.  He had then ensured that the blankets were still tightly wrapped around the young woman who, as soon as the man had tucked her in, had snuggled her head onto his shoulder, as if her head was too heavy for her poor neck to carry, and fallen asleep.  Assured that his little darling was comfortable, the man had leaned back against the headrest of his seat, his head touching the top of hers and fallen asleep himself.

Kevin had shaken his head in disapproval, praying that as he advanced in age that his brain wouldn’t become addled enough for him to date a woman decades his junior.  For him, there was nothing more pathetic than an older man trying to retain or regain his youth by dating a woman young enough to be his daughter.  It was obvious that the man had been on a business trip.  He had probably been too afraid to leave his nubile mistress alone for more than a day.  She looked like the type to play while he was away.

Now she had awoken and was caressing the back of Kevin’s  hand, looking at him as if she wanted to induct him into the Mile-High Club while the old fool was sleeping.

Thanks for your concern.  I’m fine. Kevin smiled frigidly, pointedly moving his hand away from her seductive stroking.

She hastily removed her hand, snuggled her head back against the older man’s broad shoulder and closed her eyes without saying another  word.

Yes, Ms Gold Digger, get back to your sugar daddy!

***

Well, excuse me for giving a damn!  Kimberley Collins felt like slapping herself as she snuggled back against her father and closed her eyes in embarrassment.

She had thought the man was having a heart attack the way he had been breathing rapidly, his broad chest moving up and down in agitation, beads of perspiration popping out on his forehead, his hands gripping the armrests like his very life depended on it!  Okay, maybe it hadn’t been that bad, but the man had been visibly distraught.  Alright, if she hadn’t been constantly peering at him from under her lashes she might not have noticed his distress, but surely he couldn’t blame her for feasting her eyes when he insisted on looking so damned gorgeous.  She had innocently reached across to offer comfort.  It wasn’t her fault that his skin was firm and smooth, and felt so damned good under her fingers that she had kept stroking it longer than necessary.

Okay, she would admit that she might have gotten a little bit carried away.  But damn, the man’s skin was deliciously strokeable!  Taut, stretched firmly over the underlying muscles and so hot it warmed her chilled palm.

It was only as he had pulled his hand away that she had noticed the glaring line on his finger where he must have worn a wedding band until quite recently.  In fact, the line was so glaring he had probably forgotten to put it back on after his shower that very morning!

He must think she was desperate!

Kimberley’s groan of mortification was thankfully muffled by her father’s sturdy shoulder.

***

The diva turned at the door and gave Kevin a quick smiling glance before she alighted at Grantley Adams International Airport.  He stared back at her, deliberately keeping his face impassive.  She and her sugar daddy were among the first passengers to leave the plane.  Kevin watched the man place a tender, supporting hand at the back of her waist as she stepped off the plane.

Kevin barely concealed a smirk—there was no fool like an old besotted fool.

He stayed in his seat, ignoring the flurry around him as the other passengers hurriedly grabbed their respective bits of hand luggage and duty-free bags and disembarked.  He was in no hurry to start his first holiday without Dawn.

The blazing Barbadian sun blinded him as he finally stepped off the plane and automatically he pulled his sunglasses from his top pocket and slipped them on.

As he joined one of the rather long queues of non-residents waiting to be interviewed by the Barbadian Immigration Control, Kevin was strangely disappointed when he realized that the diva and her sugar daddy had already cleared immigration.  He would have liked to have seen her without the jacket she had still been wearing as she stepped off the plane.  Surely she would have taken it off before she got to the bottom of the stairs else she would have roasted in the heat.  But then again she had been wrapped in layers of clothing like an Egyptian  mummy on the plane when Kevin hadn’t even needed a blanket.  Maybe she was cold-blooded.  A cold-blooded gold digger.

Kevin didn’t know why he was still thinking about her, why he felt the need to put her down.  She was too tall, about five-foot-eight or slightly taller and he’d always been attracted to petite women.  Yet, he had felt strangely attracted to her.

Smiling derisively, he admitted that it was probably because he knew that he could meet her sexual needs far better than her old sugar daddy.

Finally he got to the end of the queue and walked up to the desk to present his passport and answer a few rudimentary questions.

There was a general air of excitement in the baggage reclaim area as other tourists looked ahead to days of basking in the sunshine, taking in the sights, feasting on the local cuisine and getting drunk on Barbadian rum.  Kevin felt far removed from the euphoria, breathing a sigh of relief as his distinctive silver Samsonite suitcase appeared among the first batch of luggage on the conveyor.  Moving closer, he grabbed its handle and pulled it off as it came alongside him.

None of the airport staff challenged him as he strode briskly through the ‘Nothing To Declare’ gate, perhaps because he looked the part of a successful businessman even in casual clothes, or because they sensed instinctively that he was not in a mood for interrogation.

He headed out to the airport’s waiting area, pulling the suitcase behind him and for the first time in four days a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.  Standing a few metres away was a shorter-than-average man holding a large placard with Kevin’s name on it.  Lifting a hand in acknowledgement, Kevin smiled again as the man rushed over to him eagerly.

Relinquishing his suitcase at the man’s insistence, Kevin followed, adjusting his brisk, ground-eating stride to the driver’s shorter, more casual gait as he led the way to the car.

Suddenly exhausted as he sank onto the back seat of the car, Kevin tipped his head back onto the headrest and closed his eyes as the driver accelerated and swung the car out of the busy airport and onto the main road.

He dozed lightly until they reached the Sandy Lane Hotel.  The splendour of the cream coralstone Palladian style building stunned Kevin.  He hadn’t expected anything quite on this scale.  The travel agent had said that the hotel was the most exclusive on the island and that Tiger Woods had rented the entire hotel for his honeymoon, but Kevin had barely paid attention to the man’s sales pitch, unconcerned where he ended up as long as it was away from the UK.

Kevin seriously doubted that any celebrity, no matter how large the ego, would need anything this grandiose just for a honeymoon.  And worse still, if the golfer had intended the expense as a show of how much he loved his wife, recent revelations of his numerous extra-marital affairs now made a mockery of the gesture.

Standing on the patio of his one-bedroom Dolphin Suite a few minutes after booking in, Kevin gazed out at the people frolicking on the pristine sands or swimming in the clear waters of the Caribbean Sea.  They seemed to be having so much fun.

Having fun—he couldn’t remember what that felt like.

Grabbing a large beach towel, Kevin went down to join them minutes later.  He spent the rest of the day lying on the towel in the shade of a massive mahogany tree, pondering his life, the people and events that had changed it beyond recognition in less than twelve months.  The rays of the sun warmed his skin but couldn’t thaw the ice that seemed to have settled around his heart.

***

Kimberley sighed as the warmth of lavender-scented bath water finally penetrated her chilled bones.  How the homeless in the UK survived the winter sleeping on pavements was a mystery to her.

Shuddering, she remembered the brisk May winds she had encountered on her return to the hotel after an appointment at the University of Westminster where she was contemplating doing an MBA in September.  The gale-force winds had almost whipped the large umbrella out of her grasp as soon as she had exited the tube station.  She had doggedly held on to the handle and had nearly been lifted off her feet.  In the end she’d had to seek shelter in a nearby shop, but by then she had been half drenched.

After that she couldn’t get warm.  Nothing helped, not turning up the heating or cups of hot chocolate, coffee or tea; nothing except snuggling under the quilt all day.

Her father had laughed at her each morning as she huddled like a quilt-wrapped mummy on the sofa, watching him have his usual breakfast of orange juice, hard-boiled egg, two slices of buttered, toasted wholemeal bread, followed by strong black coffee as he read The Times.

She had sometimes switched on the TV after he left, but most times she had simply turned over and slept until midday.  She hadn’t ventured out except on the two occasions when her father had dragged her along to official functions at the Barbados High Commission.

The day before they had left London she had finally mustered the nerve to go to Harrods to collect the Rigby & Peller lingerie her mother, Adrianna, had pre-ordered online from Barbados.  Her mother insisted on wearing only underwear made by the lingerie makers of the Queen, though she was adamant that it was because the garments fitted well rather than the royal connection.

Browsing through Harrods, the world-famous department store which occupied an entire block in Knightsbridge, had been an experience in itself for Kimberley.  Its sheer size had staggered her.  The prices had been almost as staggering.  But the browsing had awakened her appetite for shopping.  The coldness of the weather forgotten, she had hailed a passing taxi to the Marble Arch end of Oxford Street and worked her way on foot through Selfridges, Marks & Spencer, Debenhams, John Lewis and finally to Top Shop at Oxford Circus before heading for the more exclusive shops on Regent Street.

Late that evening, foot-sore and laden with purchases, she had caught a taxi back to the hotel, pleased with the bargains she had picked up.  Most fashionable Barbadian women wore US fashions; English clothing was considered less stylish and was therefore not as readily available on the island.  Some of the outfits she had purchased might even raise a few eyebrows when she wore them, but there was little likelihood that she would turn up at an event dressed the same as another woman.

Kimberley’s mother had clucked disapprovingly as her daughter had shown her the flimsy, non-supporting wisps of satin, silk and lace underwear that she had bought for herself.  And once again she had subjected Kimberley to a lecture on the importance of good supporting undergarments.  Her mother swore by the longline bras and support girdles she had worn since she was a young woman herself, insisting that they had kept her almost-girlish figure in shape over the years.  She despaired that Kimberley refused to wear even a light-control panty girdle.

For a woman approaching her fiftieth birthday, Adrianna was in fantastic shape and ‘foundation garments’ as she referred to them were in part responsible for her maintaining the twenty-five inch waist she’d had at the age of twenty-two, a year after she had given birth to her daughter.  Kimberley’s waist was an inch larger, but she was built on more Amazonian lines than her petite parent.  And whenever Kimberley was tempted to wear a corset to keep her slightly wayward butt under