Pleasure In His Kiss. Pamela YayeЧитать онлайн книгу.

       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