On The Edge Of Heat

By Nick Haskins

Follow the complexities of The Mortons’, The Kennedys’, and Paige Ross as each of their lives will soon be turned upside down. Charles Morton nearly spins out of control when he finds himself in the center of a love triangle as his past, present, and future engage in a vicious game of tug a war! Stephanie, Nicole, and Paris gear up as they race to the finish line for his heart. During their reckless journey one of them will be tragically swept out of Charles’ life forever, as the other will meet him at the altar to confess her undying love for him in front of God and thirty-five hundred guests in holy matrimony, all while his seed patiently waits in the other woman in his life’s womb. Alexis Kennedy falls for the man she believes she will spend the rest of her life with. Maxwell Storm was charming, tall, strong, handsome, and the love her life, but, she is totally oblivious as to whom he actual is. He was more than just her lover he was payback! Payback for a mistake Alexis’s father, Macmillan, committed many years ago. Maxwell haunted Alexis; she was his prey, and he isn’t going to let her out of his catch until his job is done. Paige Ross decides it’s time to teach her cheating man, Desmond, a final lesson in love after years of dramatic, unsuccessful attempts to pry him from the grips of other women. She ends up in bed with Desmond’s brother, Malcolm, to teach Desmond a lesson that she shall never forget.

You’ll be on the edge of your seat as On The Edge Of Heat unfolds in an explosive ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 16, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456865771

Nick Haskins

Nick Haskins was born and raised in Toledo, Ohio. His first book On The Edge Of Heat was released May 2011. He also released Urban Erotic Tale Jamal May 2012. Nick is currently studying to obtain his Bachelor's degree in Communications, with hopes of starting his own literary agency. Readers can visit Nick’s websites, ontheedgeofheat.com, or MHW.com, and e-mail him at [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter One

December 31, 1999

No, I’m being silly. Charles assured me everything between him and Stephanie was over. Besides, I trust him. If he said it’s over, then it’s over. Nicole’s thoughts seemed to devour her as she sat at her vanity, staring back at herself.

Nicole Antoinette Morton stood five feet, eight inches; she was an even shade of brown skin, with thin lips and long black extensions with streaks of brown highlights. Nicole was very gaunt with not a lot of curves, but extremely attractive. If you blinked too fast, you would mistake her for the actress Gabrielle Union.

She started to apply her makeup, but paused after each brushstroke. She said, I’m probably just worrying over nothing . . . If Charles wanted Stephanie, he would have married her instead of me, as if she was trying to convince someone even though she was the only one present in their master suite. I’m just going to go to church with my mother-in-law and try to enjoy myself. Nicole spoke softly, applying honey brown lip liner to her bottom lip.

Charles and Stephanie . . .

Hello.

Wassup?

Stephanie asked, Who is this? as if she didn’t know.

You mean to tell me you don’t recognize your man’s voice? Charles asked through a deep seductive laugh on the other end.

Charles Morton stood six feet, four inches; his complexion was two shades darker than caramel, and he sported a neat tapered haircut with an ocean of natural waves. Charles had a gorgeous yet strong masculine face with all the right features: sexy bedroom eyes with a sexy chiseled body to match. He had a smile that could get him out of any speeding ticket regardless of what gender the officer was.

Charles once got into a special VIP section at a nightclub in Miami Beach, Florida, because half the staff was convinced he was Tyson Beckford. Without him confirming or denying his identity, he drank Cristal the entire evening without touching his wallet. He knew just how sexy he was and used it to his advantage, especially with Stephanie.

When Stephanie replied, If I had a man, I’m sure I would know his voice, Charles’s facial expression and voice seemed to change in sync. After brief silence, Stephanie came back with, It’s New Year’s Eve. Why aren’t you out partying with your wife?

He answered, She just left. I sent her to church with my mother, picking at his perfectly manicured fingernails.

Oh, really?

Yes, really . . . so that gives us a few hours to be together.

All right . . . Where? Stephanie asked while putting Charles’s favorite fragrance, J’adore by Christian Dior, in between her breasts.

To her surprise, he answered, Here.

There?

Yes. Right here.

Are you serious?

Hell, yeah! he said strongly. I want to make love to you in one of my guest rooms. Charles grabbed the bulge sitting in front of his silk Kenneth Cole boxers that grew each time Stephanie spoke a word.

Charles, I’m not coming there. What if your wife comes home?

"You let me worry about Nicole. And baby, do you have to always say my wife? If you just have to acknowledge Nicole, call her by her name."

Stephanie replied, "Regardless of what I call her, it isn’t going to change her title or the fact that she is your wife."

Babe, just get here. We’ll talk about all that later, Charles said after a sigh, alerting her he was becoming frustrated with the topic.

You are dead serious about me coming to your house, aren’t you?

He answered, You will see just how serious I am once you get here.

OK, Charles . . . Stephanie bit her bottom lip as her voice tapered off. I’ll come only if you are sure about this.

I’m positive!

Another brief moment of silence until Stephanie says, Give me twenty minutes.

Charles’s smile bled through the phone when he said, That’s my girl. I’ll see you in a bit. I love you, baby. All Charles heard was dead air, then the dial tone as he waited for Stephanie’s response that never came.

West Angeles Church of God in Christ . . .

Hello, Jeanine. Nicole spoke in a soft voice, looking down at her mother-in-law as she seemed to be meditating in the pew.

Jeanine looked up at her and said, Nicole, what a surprise. What are you doing here?

Charles’s mother, Jeanine Morton, was almost forty-four but looked half her age. Her hair was mostly black with a few silver strands, but always perfectly in place. She kept her mane cut in a style that accented her facial structure. She stood only five feet, two inches, with a rich dark complexion, mid build, and always seemed flawless for any age.

After Nicole sat down beside her without an invitation, she questioned Jeanine with, What do you mean what am I doing here? There was no answer given. She then asked, pushing her glasses back up on her nose, Didn’t you ask Charles if I would meet you here at the church for the New Year’s Eve service? You did speak with him this afternoon, didn’t you? Nicole queried after Jeanine’s answers seemed to be lost inside her.

Yes, but I didn’t . . . Jeanine paused after not being sure which lie her son told his wife this time, or why. She stood and stepped over Nicole to get to the aisle. Nicole, excuse me, I need to go to the ladies’ room before the second service starts. I’ll be right back.

What is Charles trying to prove by sending her here, knowing I didn’t invite her? Jeanine thought to herself as her three-inch heels hit the vinyl floor in the hallway of the church.

Since Nicole was Jeanine’s least favorite person, she was anything but happy to see her now or any other time for that matter. See, just like her son, Jeanine’s heart still belonged to Stephanie. She didn’t want to bring in the New Year with Nicole and was seconds away from telling her so.

Heavy in thought, Jeanine opened the door to the semi-crowded ladies’ lounge, flashing a few fake smiles at the exiting women dashing past her.

Once inside, her thoughts rang aloud. I will get to the bottom of this, Charles!

2062 Baroda Drive . . .

Ummm, Stephanie, I’m so glad you came. And you’re wearing that sexy dress that makes your ass look so damn perfect. You know that shit turns me on. Charles sucked his bottom lip into his mouth right before he said, "And you smell so good."

He held onto Stephanie a few seconds after she’d already let go from their traditional greeting. Once she finally pulled away from him, all Charles could do was admire the sight standing in front of him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the triple black, short form-fitting dress Stephanie was sporting or her body that sat perfectly underneath.

Charles’s high school sweetheart turned mistress, Stephanie Cerelia Jones, was just as beautiful as Charles was fine. She had milky dark skin that was as smooth as a newborn’s ass. She was considerably shorter than Charles, even with the stilettos she wore each and every time she knew she would be in his presence. Stephanie’s jet-black hair cascaded on each shoulder; her breasts looked like two sour melons, and her flat stomach disappeared into her twenty-four-inch waist. She had been mistaken for former model Kim Porter more times than she could count. Stephanie was a goddess from head to toe. At least that was what men, including Charles, told her each and every time she stepped foot outside her front door.

Stephanie looked up at him and said, We need to talk.

Charles came back with, We sure do, all the way to the guest room, grabbing her hips from behind, pulling her close to him after she turned and proceeded to walk away.

No, I’m serious! We need to talk about us, Stephanie said, pulling away from his grip, turning around so they were now face-to-face.

OK, but we don’t have much time, babe. Nicole will be home soon.

After Stephanie said, No . . . actually we’re going to have plenty of time, Charles sat down in the chair in front of where she was standing.

All right, baby . . . talk.

Stephanie took a deep breath, looked into Charles’s chestnut-colored eyes that she could never resist, and said, I came here to tell you . . . I came here to say it is . . . it’s over. I will not carry on my life like this anymore. I just can’t continue to be the other woman.

Charles jumped up smiling, hoping to distract her, but Stephanie wasn’t an officer, and he hadn’t been speeding.

She stopped him before he could say whatever it was that was about to form on his lips with a powerful, I’m not finished! She continued with, I love you, Charles. Please don’t ever doubt that, but I deserve more than what you can give me.

What? he asked, Baby, where is all this coming from?

"It’s coming from me! I have been feeling this way for some time now. I just never knew how to express it to you. Charles, I deserve to be able to be seen with the man I love, not hidden behind closed doors. I should be able to tell people that I love you, instead of hiding and denying it to everyone."

He leaped up and put his strong hands on her waist. Stephanie, you said yourself just the other day that we have a good thing going. He looked at her and whispered, Why are you doing this?

She pulled away from him again, this time fighting the tears she felt trying to escape from her eyes. You’re right, I did say we had a good thing going. But then I realized I can’t live the rest of my life like this. Charles, I grew up, and now it’s your turn to grow up and open your eyes. You need to understand that you can’t have your cake and eat it too.

He started to laugh, trying to cut the tension in the conversation. He joked, Isn’t that what you do with cake . . . eat it?

This is not a damn game, Charles!

OK, Stephanie . . . All right, I’m sorry, but can’t you see that we’re in a good place right now?

She looked at him with her face now soaked from tears. Charles, don’t you get it? We cannot sneak around forever. We are not those same high school kids running around Alexandria Academy hoping the dean doesn’t catch us in the theater room. We are grown now, and this relationship is not fair to me, you, or your wife.

Baby, please don’t do this to us. You know how much I love you.

Stephanie didn’t say a word after he asked, Don’t you? At this point, Charles’s voice started to tremble from fear. He could tell from the look now plastered on her face that she just might mean the words she was speaking to him. He thought, I can’t lose her. I won’t lose her! But was he prepared to do whatever it took to keep her? That was the question.

Charles softened his tone when he said, Babe, you know how I feel about you. You are my world. Without a reply from her, Charles called out, Baby? Stephanie . . . say something!

OK . . . Fine, she said, quickly gaining the composure she thought she lost minutes ago. Since you feel that way Charles, tell her . . . You know what, as a matter of fact, leave her! You leave Nicole, and I will marry you tomorrow if you wanted me to. They stood in complete silence for about sixty seconds that felt more like sixty minutes. Stephanie came back with, That’s what I thought! You love me so much but not enough to be with only me. She waited for him to drop to his knees and say what she’d been waiting years to hear, but nothing fell from his lips.

When she yelled, Charles! in his silence, he looked at her and said, Stephanie, I don’t know what to say.

She pursed her lips together, folded her arms across her chest, and said, Exactly! You don’t know what to say because you have nothing to say and no intentions of being with me. I’m tired, Charles. I am so tired of this game, and your selfish erratic ways. You and I should have been together by now . . . married, with probably ten children, but you allowed Paris to come . . .

Charles looked at her with his eyes suddenly turning cold, stopping her in midsentence. All he could muster up to say was, Don’t go there, Stephanie! She didn’t continue with her point, knowing she hit a nerve inside him after hearing the new tone of his voice.

Charles didn’t allow anyone, including himself, to mention his cherished fiancée, Paris Sinclair, since her fatal car accident four years ago. Paris was killed instantly when her car dove off a cliff in late November as she was driving home from a night class at UCLA.

It seemed Charles had never stopped searching for answers. Why her, Lord? Why would You give Paris to me, only to take her away . . . Why would You do such a thing? was one of Charles’s many questions he would ask God before crying himself to sleep, only to be awakened minutes later by visions of Paris’s face that seemed so real he would actually reach out his hand to caress it. Or her voice that rested in his ear until he opened his eyes from his restless sleep, only to discover it was just another one of those dreams. At least that was how he would explain it to his mother over the phone right before crying himself back to sleep, only to have the sequence restart minutes later. Charles had never gotten over Paris’s death, and it seemed he never would.

Stephanie resumed the dialogue with, So Charles, where do we go from here? I’m standing here telling you I absolutely will not do this any longer, so either it’s me and only me this time, or I’m walking out that door, and that’s it.

The tears Charles held back started to fall uncontrollably. Right then it became clear to Stephanie that he wasn’t prepared to leave his wife and finally make her more than just his mistress.

Charles sniffled before he said, Baby, all I can do is apologize.

Stephanie put her chocolate index finger over his lips and said, No apologies needed, Charles. I knew the mistake I was making when I got myself into this situation.

Sorrowfully, he asked, Can I at least call you sometimes?

When she answered, No . . . Not right now, Charles dropped his head, with her rubbing the side of his face. Stephanie added, I just need some time.

After five minutes of gazing into each other’s watery eyes, Stephanie said, Look, I have to go. I’ll let myself out. As she headed for the door, she contemplated turning back to embrace Charles and reverse her decision until she spotted the hand-painted portrait of him and Nicole on their wedding day, on the Westside of the sunken living area in Charles’s LA mansion.

When they arrived in the foyer, she turned around, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered into his ear, I will always love you, Charles Morton. The lump in his throat kept him from saying the words that swam around in his mind.

After Stephanie was gone, Charles went back into the living quarters and plopped down on the Italian leather sofa, looking as if he’d just lost his best friend. In his mind, he did. He spoke, I will always love you too, baby, into the quiet air as a single tear ran down his left cheek.

Baroda Drive . . .

I really enjoyed myself tonight. It’s a shame Jeanine wasn’t feeling well and wanted to leave so early, Nicole said to herself, increasing the volume on her stereo after Mary J. Blige’s All That I Can Say filled the speakers. Nicole turned down her drive just in time to see a navy blue Acura leaving her driveway. She slowed down so she could catch a glimpse of the driver. The California licenses plate on the car read, J-U-S-M-E-N-U (just me and you).

Wait a minute . . . that’s Stephanie’s car! Nicole’s mouth flew open as the vehicle zoomed past her. She eyed Stephanie, but Stephanie never noticed her. It didn’t seem to bother Nicole when her silver Jaguar drove up on the neighbor’s curb, just missing their mailbox. Instead she shouted out, What in fuck was that whore doing at my house?

Nicole pulled into their driveway so fast she bumped Charles’s triple black Mercedes C300, almost sending it down the hill of the cobblestone circular driveway. She slammed the car in park and stormed inside. She yelled out from the foyer, Charles, where in the hell are you?! You have some explaining to do!

Chapter Two

February 1, 2000

Tony! Jeanine yelled from the vestibule below the double staircase, next to the huge custom-made indoor fountain.

Yeah, Ma?

Get the phone.

Even though Tony and Charles were blood brothers, they could be compared to night and day. Anthony Nicholas Morton, simply known as Tony, only stood five feet, seven inches tall; he had light skin, dimples in both cheeks, curly hair, thick eyebrows, and was chubby. If this were the eighties, he could pass for R & B singer Al B. Sure even by Al’s biggest fan.

Tony didn’t find it necessary to follow in Charles’s footsteps and become a successful businessman or even employed, for that matter. Tony still lived in the main house with his parents and seemed to have no ambition to work, no matter how many offers his father gave him at his company, Morton Enterprises. He was a twenty-one year old video-gaming, college football jock, junk food junkie living comfortably off his fifteen-hundred-dollar-per-week allowance.

Tony had his own living section in the main house and drove a year-old Beamer that he had no idea how much the payments were since he’d never paid a single note.

Tony answered, Hello.

Thank God you answered. I’ve been calling you for days!

He asked, Who is this?

How are you? the out-of-breath female asked on the other end.

Tony shrugged his shoulders when he answered, I’m cool.

She then asked, How are your parents?

They are . . . He paused. Hold up, I asked you who this is?

How is Charles? she asked, ignoring his questions.

Look, you need to tell me who the hell you are! His voice became stern.

Tony, please just answer me!

What the fuck? Man, who is this? Tony asked while packing his gym bag and smacking on a piece of Winterfresh gum as the other end of the phone went silent. Tony said, I’m out!

Wait! Tony, please don’t hang up!

Aiight, so tell me who you are.

I can’t . . . At least not—

Click! He slammed the phone down on the base before she could speak another word. The cordless rang again within seconds of the disconnected call. Tony looked at the caller ID to see Private displayed on the electronic screen. Abruptly he answered, What!

She quickly said, Tony, please don’t hang up!

Look, I got things to do, so either you tell me who you are or don’t call back!

All right . . . OK . . . Just meet me somewhere.

Tony said, I gotta go, wanting to hang up for a second time; but it was just something about the voice on the other end of the phone that wouldn’t allow him to. Not just yet anyway.

She said, Tony, just come to where I am: the Four Seasons downtown. Suite number 1501. Tony found himself writing down the information but not paying much attention. She added, The number where you can reach me is 310-555-3955.

He snapped, I’m on my way to the gym. I don’t have time for this bullshit! Tony slammed the phone down once again, balled up the piece of paper, and threw it toward the trash basket next to his gym bag.

As the anonymous caller’s voice rang out in Tony’s head, he thought, Damn, she sounds so familiar, scratching his stomach that bulged out through his white tank shirt. He smacked his lips and said, Whatever, I ain’t on it. He then grabbed his bag, zipped it, and headed for the door.

Baby, who was that? Jeanine inquired as she and Tony met up in the black-and-white limestone-tiled foyer leading to the front entrance.

Tony muttered, I’m not sure.

Huh?

Oh . . . nothin’, Ma. That was just one of the girls from the school messing around again. You know exams are coming up, and they get a little crazy around that time.

Jeanine said, Uh-huh . . . speaking of exams, what are you—

Tony cut her off with an, I love you, Ma. See you when I get back in a few hours. He kissed her on the cheek and headed out the right side of the double glass doors.

"Ah, that boy, that boy, that boy!" Jeanine said as she soon followed behind him, heading out.

2062 Baroda Drive . . .

Nicole! I wasn’t expecting you home. I thought you would be out spending money or something, Jeanine said, removing her short flat bangs from the top of her right eyelash as she entered Nicole and Charles’s home three doors down.

"I decided to stay home and get dinner ready for Charles. And Jeanine, I don’t just spend money all day. Nicole said, I do have a job," with a smirk, unbeknownst to her anything but pleasant mother-in-law.

Where is Lette? Jeanine asked, speaking of the hired help.

Nicole said, I gave her the day off so I could cook for my husband, even though she was thinking, I wish you would take yo nosey ass home, and mind your own damn business!

Well, utilize her. That’s why she was hired and what she gets paid for. Jeanine then asked, Where is my son anyway?

He went into the office to finalize the contracts for the new strip mall. He should be back soon. Nicole wiped her hands on her Kiss the Cook apron, trying to ignore the awkwardness filling the room; the same feeling she got whenever she was alone with Jeanine.

Oh well, tell him I stopped by, Jeanine said, heading for the door until Nicole stopped her.

Wait . . . I wanted to talk to you anyway. Won’t you stay? Nicole asked, leading her to the sofa. With an inviting smile, she asked, Would you like some tea?

Jeanine answered with a stern face, No. After taking her seat, she asked, What did you want to talk to me about, Nicole?

Well . . . I just wanted to tell you how good things are going between Charles and me. It seems like ever since the night you and I went to that New Year’s Eve service, something is different about him. Jeanine sat there quietly, with her hands folded in her lap as Nicole continued.

Charles actually pays attention to me now without any interruptions, even when those interruptions are work. When we are together, he makes me feel like I am his number one priority. I just can’t explain it, Jeanine. This change in him . . . I mean, we talk for hours, we take long walks in the park, we laugh until we are both holding our sides. It’s just . . . Nicole paused, gazing out of the living room window. I . . . I just can’t put it into words. The love that was beaming in her eyes darkened when she said, I was so upset that night I caught Stephanie leaving here, I stormed inside and went—

Jeanine snapped Nicole out of her trance when she said, Wait a minute! Stephanie was here?

She answered, Yes! I went off when—

Jeanine cut her off again. When was Stephanie here?

New Year’s Eve, the night I came to service with you.

Jeanine then asked, How do you know she was here?

I saw her car leaving as I was pulling up.

Jeanine dazed out, not hearing another word she spoke. Nicole, I have to make a run before Montgomery gets home. I will see you a little later in the week. She grabbed her shawl and jetted for the front door.

Jeanine stood in Charles and Nicole’s driveway without taking another step. She pulled out her cellular phone and dialed a few digits before placing it to her ear.

Good afternoon, and thank you for calling Morton Enterprises. How may I direct your call?

I’m sorry, who is this please? Jeanine asked after the greeting filled her ear.

This is Gia.

"OK, Gia. Jeanine scolded, When you answer the phone, address yourself. I know you know better than that! Now, may I be transferred to—"

The secretary snapped at her with, Um, excuse me, and who is this?

Jeanine answered with extreme authority in her feminine voice, "This is Mrs. Morton!"

Oh, Mrs. Morton, I apologize. I . . . I am so sorry, the nervous executive assistant said, tripping over each word.

Connect me to Charles Morton’s office, immediately!

Yes, ma’am.

After the exchange, the next thing Jeanine heard were light whispers of elevator music that for some reason she couldn’t stand.

Charles’s deep voice rumbled in his chest when he came on to the line with, This is Charles Morton.

Jeanine said, Well, good afternoon, son.

Charles smiled and said, Mother . . . What a surprise. What are you doing on this sunny but chilly day?

I’m actually standing in your driveway.

Charles asked, My driveway? With concern wrapped around his voice, he asked, Where is your key? Is Nicole or Lette there to let you in?

Jeanine answered, I’ve already visited with Nicole, which is why I’m calling you.

Charles sighed, sitting back in his black leather plush chair, with the view of downtown Los Angeles resting behind him. He rolled his eyeballs up to the ceiling when he asked, What did Nicole do or say to upset you this time, Mother?

"She didn’t do anything, but she did say something that disturbed me. I have a question for you, if you don’t mind?" Jeanine kept her cool.

Unflappably, Charles asked, What is it?

Jeanine came right out with, What was Stephanie doing at your house?

Charles’s reply was, Mother, what are you talking about?

"The night you sent Nicole to service . . . oh, excuse me, the night I insisted to have Nicole meet me at service, even though you and I hadn’t spoken of her that entire day."

Charles’s childlike sarcasm flew. Mother, that was like a year ago.

No, it wasn’t! It was less than two months ago. I’ve been meaning to ask you why you sent her there, but it kept slipping my mind.

Unprepared for the fight he felt brewing, Charles said, Mother, let me tell you something. There is no need for you—

"No, you let me tell you something, Mr. Morton! You may be twenty-three years old, married, and sitting in that oversized, high-priced office on the twenty-second floor. But you are never to—"

Charles interrupted her with, Mother, I have to go. I have investors walking through my door from Japan as we speak. He tapped his ink pen on his computer’s keyboard, looking around his empty office. Jeanine looked stunned as she knew her son was rushing her off the phone with the lying investors from Japan bit. Charles said, I promise we will continue this conversation. I have to go. They’re here. I love you, Mom.

Jeanine pressed END on her cell phone before Charles hung up. Her irritation with her son and the conversation was evident as she strutted down the driveway.

Later . . .

Where the hell is it? Tony tried to focus on the road and look for his asthma inhaler in his gym bag at the same time. He stopped at a red light as he exited Interstate 10 on his way to his father’s office in the business district of downtown L.A. to hit him up for a small loan he knew he would never repay. Tony came across the balled-up piece of paper he thought he had trashed before he left home. He looked at the traffic light, then quickly in his rearview mirror.

What the hell? He read the words he had scribbled down: Four Seasons. Suite number 1501. Tony looked at the street sign before making a right on Doheny Drive. He drove while looking at the addresses on the buildings—2501, 2503, 25—he was going the wrong way, so he zipped his BMW around in the middle of the street, now heading in the opposite direction. He drove until he came across the huge tan building with The Four Seasons beautifully scripted on the side. The hotel sat on the left side of the street, so Tony turned in front of a speeding Cirrus trying not to miss the entrance to the hotel. He stuck up his middle finger as the driver of the Chrysler laid on the horn, almost hitting him.

What am I doing? Tony questioned himself as he turned into the parking lot.

Who could that . . . ? The anonymous woman from the phone call paused when she looked out the peephole to see Tony standing there.

The door opened to the barely lit room, with nothing visible inside but a silhouette of a female moving rather quickly. Tony said, Hello, grabbing the gold handle before the door shut.

She said, Come in, before rushing into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Tony said, Listen, call me when you done playin’, even though he had no intentions of leaving since the fragrance from the woman had already intoxicated his senses.

The voice from the bathroom echoed out, Please don’t leave. I’ll be right out.

As his insides along with his mind raced, Tony asked, What in the hell kinda game is this? He found the lamp and turned it on as the voice said, Just give me a few minutes. Make yourself at home.

Tony walked through the room until he came to the midsize window. He did a quick peek out through the curtains and said, Hello, again before snatching some grapes off the vine from the complimentary fruit basket on the nearby coffee table. He turned around to notice a black bag sitting on the sofa with a red thong lying on top. Tony walked over to the bag, looking at the bathroom door to make sure it was still shut. He reached down, snatched up the garment, and placed it to his nose while grabbing himself repeatedly until his erection took over the entire front of his basketball shorts.

He looked down to see what else was in the bag when he fumbled across the attached travel ticket. He saw the name Sinclair Paris in black ink, printed on the red-and-white tag. He threw down the thong, grabbed his chest, and yelled, "What the fuck!"

He jumped up and rushed over to the bathroom door. Tony turned the locked handle back and forth trying to enter as he banged on the door so hard with his fist, it was probably heard in the parking garage fifteen stories down. He shouted, What in the hell is going on? Who is in there? The next thing he heard was the door unlocking. Tony hesitated before opening it, but was too anxious not to.

What is this? What? Who are you? Tony backed up into the wall behind him after the door was fully ajar, and he saw exactly who was on the other side. He gasped, Paris? This isn’t . . . no, you are . . . He bent over, gripping his thighs with the palms of his hands, but keeping his head up and eyes on her. When she walked toward him, he yelled, sweating and tugging at the front of his shirt, No, please stay right there! Don’t come near me!

Paris calmly said, Tony, sit down, before grabbing his arm to lead him to the sofa by the window. I’ll get you some water.

Tony sat there gasping for air as he tried to speak. You are not . . . You just can’t . . . This can’t be!

It had been four years since Tony had seen his brother’s fiancée, Paris Sinclair. She was five feet, six inches, with golden brown skin and long curly black hair with fading highlights. She had full lips and high cheekbones with paralyzing dark eyes. Paris was a true definition of a Coca-cola bottle: size 38C breasts, little waist, and a perfect hump; most men would call it a fat ass, but in a good way.

When Tony, Charles, the rest of the Morton family, and the Fox 11 News crew watched as Paris’s car was fished from the bottom of the mountain it had plunged off after she lost control on that dense November night, Tony never thought he would see her again. Not alive anyway.

About three minutes had passed before Tony spoke another word. Paris got up from the seat next to him and headed for the door. She announced, Tony, I’m going to go downstairs for a little while. I can see my presence is upsetting you. I’ll be back. Try to calm yourself down.

Putting the glass of water on the table next to the sofa, he shouted No! Tony just looked at her before saying, I . . . I . . . I don’t understand? How could this be? You were killed in a car crash! His breathing increased radically as the seconds ticked away. This just can’t be! What are you doing here? Alive! . . . Standing right in front of me! Who are you really? You know what? If this is some kind of plot to get a piece of my father’s money, you can just—

Tony, stop it! Paris said, ceasing his rattling. I’ll prove to you who I am. She walked over to the table and pulled out her vintage Louis Vuitton wallet from the matching purse to show him her American Express charge card that read Paris A. Sinclair. Passport, Paris A. Sinclair. An out-of-state valid driver’s license that also read Paris A. Sinclair. She said, You see, Tony, it’s me. I wasn’t killed in that accident.

Tony picked up the glass of water and sat back down. With his head wagging back and forth, he said, You need to start from the beginning!

When Paris sat down next to Tony, all she said was, Penny— before her voice tapered off.

He looked over at her and asked, Penny? What does your sister have to . . . Paris, what does your twin have to do with what you are about to tell me? Tony asked slowly, cutting his eyes to the floor as if he didn’t want to hear the answer.

Paris started with, Jacob was a patient transporter at Good Samaritan Hospital where my sister was a patient.

Tony said, Jacob? Are you talking about that little corny dude from school that had a crush on you?

Paris answered, Yes, fidgeting with her hands.

Tony asked, What does he have to do with anything?

Paris said, Tony, please, just listen. She took a deep breath, trying to figure out which part of the truth she wanted to tell Tony and exactly which parts she was going to conveniently leave out. Tony . . . Jacob and I were friends. Really, really good friends. He had accepted some illegal work from his brother overseas and wanted me to go with him. So one night, he made a plan that I never expected in a million years would come to life.

Tony asked, "What kind of plan?"

Paris hesitantly answered, Faking my death . . .

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down. Faking your what?

Tony, my sister Penny had a rare form of terminal cancer with a very short time to live. At her request, she didn’t want to be on any life support, feeding tubes, or ‘machines,’ as she would call them. She just wanted to go natural. Penny was extremely ill . . . probably living her final hours, when Jacob went into her room and stole her body. Paris’s confession brought a single tear to her eye that rolled down her cheek. He took my sister’s flaccid, ailing ninety-pound body and put it in this huge garbage duffel bag-type thing. He carried her out to the car in his left hand, with a gold and silver urn in the other.

Tony jumped up with repugnance painted across his face. Paris, I’m leaving! I can’t listen to this!

She continued speaking through his interruption. Jacob already had an urn engraved to say, ‘In Loving Memory of Penny A. Sinclair,’ with some kind of ash in it. He drove us to Stony Hill Falls and put her body in the driver’s seat of my car. The only thing I can remember after that is my sedan diving off one of the cliffs and then burst into flames. None of Paris’s idle tears fell since the one previous, although she continued speaking in a whimpering voice. Since Jacob was the transporter at the hospital, he made it look like Penny expired in her bed, and he transported her to the infirmary where she was cremated. My disgusting, greedy mother was in on the entire scheme from the jump, plus Jacob was fucking half the nurses at the hospital. So that’s how things went so smoothly. Paris looked over at him with dry eyes and a suddenly vibrant tone to her voice. So you see, Tony . . . it wasn’t me in that car. It was my twin sister that was supposedly cremated the same night.

Tony asked, So then what . . . where did you disappear to for four years?

Jacob and I were on a flight a few hours later to France. And the rest, I guess, is history.

Tony stood there in shock, with his mouth gaping open. He asked, Why? When Paris didn’t respond, he grabbed her up off the sofa by her arms and yelled, Answer me, damn it! Why in the hell would y’all do something so . . . so . . . ridiculously vicious? Because of you, my brother . . . Tony let her go. I’m going to say this once and once only: you stay the fuck away from me, my family, and especially Charles!

When Tony turned around and headed for the door, Paris asked, Where are you going?

His reply was, The hell away from you!

Tony, I told you the truth because I thought just maybe I could get you to understand. You and I were so close . . . You were like a brother to me before I left. I knew if I could tell anyone the truth about what really happened, it would be you! Paris’s words started to jumble from her speaking so fast.

Tony followed up her statement by simply saying, Goodbye, Paris.

Wait! Please . . . I need you to help me.

Tony turned and looked at her with a grin and said, Help you?

Yes! I want to tell Charles I’m alive.

You’re joking, right?

No! I love him. Even more now than I did the day I left Los Angeles.

Paris, if Charles ever heard even half of that story you just told me, he would never consider any type of relationship with you. Besides, he’s married.

She echoed. Married?

Yes, married!

Paris shook her head and said, She couldn’t wait to latch onto him once I was gone. I should have known Stephanie would finally find some kind of way to be a part of his life.

Tony looked surprised when he said, Stephanie? He’s not married to Stephanie. Paris shifted her eyes to Tony after he said, Charles married Nicole Brown.

In another echo, Paris said, Nicole Brown? That little flat chest, four eyes from the Academy?

Tony said, I wouldn’t call her all that, but him and Nicole have been married for a while now, a little over two years.

Paris asked, How in the hell did that happen? Stephanie was his one temptation, as he used to say.

Charles didn’t marry Stephanie because of you! My brother died inside when you left. He wouldn’t eat, he wouldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t work. He didn’t do anything, including talk to anyone about you or anything else for over a year. And even after he started his life again, he wasn’t over you. Hell, he still isn’t! Tony shook his head when he said, There is something he told me that he never told anyone else. Not even our mother.

His look of disgust deepened when he said, God, I don’t know why I’m even telling you this, but . . . my brother loves Stephanie. She was there for him, nursing him back to health when you were supposedly killed. She is his soul mate, but he was too scared to let himself have her and then lose her like he lost you. It was like he built up some kind of wall against her. So he started dating Nicole and eventually married her because he knew he didn’t love her and would never love her the way he did you or Stephanie. She was nothing but a substitute because he needed a companion and wanted to fill that void, but was terrified to do so with Stephanie. A silent Paris went over and sat back on the sofa. Out of frustration, Tony said, This is going nowhere. Look, I gotta go. Enjoy your life!

As he made a second trip to the door, Paris shouted, Tony, wait! Don’t leave!

He turned around and said, Paris, what else do you want me to say? You killed your sister, faked your death, and destroyed my brother’s world! And for what? Some dude that could give a fuck about you? Paris grew silent yet again as Tony shouted, Tell me, Paris! Why would you do such a thing? Huh? I want to know why? You owe my brother . . . naw, fuck that, you owe my family at least that!

Fine! I’ll tell you why. She blurted, You know Charles never would have let me leave him!

So you thought faking your death was the only way to get away from him? That was just a little drastic, don’t ya think? And furthermore, why in the world would you want to leave him? I thought you loved him? Tony said, softening his tone and facial expression.

I did love him, Tony. I didn’t leave just to get away from Charles. I left to get away from a life that I hated. My mother, father, and other sisters made growing up a living hell. When I saw an opportunity to leave it all behind, never to look back, I took it.

Tony confessed, Paris, I know you were having some rough times at home. We all knew. The bruises you sported spoke for themselves, but to do this? You didn’t feel you had any other options to get away? Before she could answer, Tony said, And what about Charles? Did you ever stop to think about my brother? How this would affect the man that planned on spending the rest of his natural life with you?

I did, but . . . I was young. I really didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I didn’t want to be married to him, at least not at that exact time in my life. Paris said, I would have been married to Charles against my wishes.

You know what, Paris? I’m done trying to figure you or any of this out. I don’t know why I’ve listened to this bullshit this long!

Tony, I was scared, OK? Charles, your entire family, and mine were suffocating me. At that time, I felt in my heart if I had married Charles, I would have been stuck in a rut. In another prison just like the one I grew up in. I felt I would’ve never had my own life. I loved your brother with all my heart, but I wanted to be more than just Charles Morton’s wife and Montgomery Morton’s daughter-in-law. I was only eighteen and nowhere near ready for that.

Tony asked, Why didn’t you tell someone your feelings instead of going across the freakin’ country with another man?

Talk to someone like who, Tony? I couldn’t talk to my family.

He yelled, Why not?!

Because all they saw were dollar signs when it came to the Mortons. My mother would tell me whenever she even thought I had a problem, ‘Straighten up, Charles is on his way . . . Make sure you’re looking your best for Charles . . . Make yourself look happy before you upset Charles . . . Charles’s happiness is the most important thing.’ It was always Charles, Charles, Charles. Instead of making sure I was OK, all she was concerned about was her own selfish motives. She made me . . . I just couldn’t do it any longer.

Well, what about me, Paris? You even said yourself a second ago how close we were then. You know you could’ve come to me.

Tony, I just didn’t know what to do. Back then I didn’t think talking it out with anyone was an option, Paris said, trying to justify her planned disappearance.

She had decided to tell Tony most of the truth. Even the part about Jacob stealing her sister’s body. What she didn’t tell him was the entire plot was her idea. Paris was in love with Jacob, so she thought. He had sweet-talked her and made her heart as well as her pussy melt from his suave words. However, after the first month in France, Paris learned Jacob already had another woman lined up and waiting for him with open arms. Once she got tired of Jacob spending his days and most of his nights with this other woman, along with several others, she realized she had made a horrible mistake; but there was nothing she could do. To everyone in the States, including Charles, she was dead; so coming back to LA wasn’t an option. But after four years of multiple women, three children, and Jacob’s own disappearing act, Paris decided to come home and reclaim the life she had sped away from and the man she left at the altar by any means necessary!

Tony asked, "So what are you doing back here now? What makes you think you are all of a sudden ready?"

Paris’s voice escalated when she said, Because I want my life back!

Oh, are you talking about the life you did something so extreme to get away from?

"You know, Tony, I don’t know why I ever expected you to understand. It’s not like the Morton family has ever made a mistake. Y’all just buy your way out!"

Tony bit his bottom lip as his hands quickly turned into balled fist. "Bitch, I will drop you where you stand if you ever say some shit like that again! This was more than just a mistake. You fucked up! My family and no one else got shit to do with it!"

Paris said, Fuck you and your family!

Tony punched her as hard as he could on the left side of her face, clamping down on his tongue in the process.

Paris screamed as she stumbled to the floor, Tony, are you fucking crazy? You just hit me!

He shouted, standing over her as she struggled to get back