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Kendall groaned, and then his lids fluttered and his eyes opened, immediately finding her gaze.
“Mornin’,” he rasped, his voice groggy. “What time is it?”
Krista shrugged. “I don’t know.” She craned her neck and glanced over at the clock on the nightstand behind her. “Almost six.”
Kendall inched closer and planted one of his morning kisses on her lips. Krista eyed him. And he sleepily made a face, feigning a frown. “What?”—Kendall cupped a hand over his mouth—“I know it’s not my morning breath. I know how much you love it.”
He pressed another kiss to her lips.
“Am I enough woman for you?” Krista asked in a quiet voice. “And don’t lie to me.”
Kendall studied her face, a raised brow, her stare intense; Krista burned her gaze into him. Shit. Where the hell was she going with this? He was too tired for a long talk, or interrogation. All he wanted to do was fall back to sleep.
He’d deal with this some other time—in counseling, with Dr. Dangerfield.
Not now.
“Of course you are, baby,” he said softly, pulling her into his arms. Reluctantly, Krista reached for the covers around them and pulled them up over her as she snuggled against his side, curving her body into the hollow of his shoulder.
Kendall sighed, kissing the top of her head, and then he closed his eyes, wrapping his leg over hers, his morning hard-on pressing thickly against her flesh.
Krista sucked in her breath at how good he felt there, against her skin—all warm and heavy. Heat washed through her veins, and slowly she melted into Kendall’s embrace.
Shit. Kendall wasn’t going anywhere. That porn star bitch didn’t have anything on her. She’d just been overly sensitive, acting paranoid over nothing.
Krista closed her eyes, and finally she relaxed and fell into sleep with him.
Thirty-One
“Girl,” Brenda said, reaching over and grabbing LaQuandra’s hand, “we haven’t really had a chance to talk, since”—she tilted her head and tooted her lips—“your meltdown the other night. How you been making out?”
Brenda had invited LaQuandra and Krista to have a light lunch on the beach with her over cocktails, while the men had their session with Dr. Dangerfield. Krista had decided not to come—surprise, surprise. Which was probably for the best since Brenda wanted LaQuandra to speak freely about how she’d shown her naturally flat-ass on stage in front of everyone.
Brenda still couldn’t believe Isaiah had knocked her to the floor. Lord, had that been Roselle—she would have beat his ass down with the heel of her shoe. But, then again, she wouldn’t have made a spectacle of herself the way LaQuandra had. Ooh, she was ratchet. Mmph. I wonder what that baby mother she’s so jealous over looks like.
LaQuandra gasped. Was this bitch trying to be low-key messy, because she damn sure didn’t think the nosey heifer really cared one way or another about her or her damn man?
Nosey bitches stayed doing the most.
And then she frowned. “What meltdown?”
“Girl, don’t play coy with me,” Brenda said. “You know what meltdown I’m talking about. The one you had on stage the other night.”
As Brenda spoke, LaQuandra’s mouth dropped open, and she now sat gaping at Brenda. The gall of this bitch! Still, LaQuandra reached for her mimosa, took a quick swig, and then said, “Girl, you call that a meltdown? Ugh. Not hardly,” she said dismissively. She stared at the other two flutes of champagne she’d ordered, before looking back at Brenda.
Brenda squeezed LaQuandra’s hand. “Oh, hon, it’s okay. Trust me. We’ve all been there, making a fool of ourselves over our men.”
LaQuandra blinked, pulling her hand away.
“You know like I know,” Brenda reassured her. “Love makes us do some crazy shit sometimes.”
LaQuandra couldn’t deny that truth. And she’d paid for it dearly when she and Isaiah had gotten back to the villa that night and the door had shut and locked behind them.
“Bitch, is you fuckin’ crazy, huh?” Isaiah had hissed, snatching LaQuandra by the throat. He didn’t want to put his hands on her, but she’d asked for it. Isaiah had tried to kill her, choking her nearly unconscious with one hand wrapped around her neck. “You ever put your motherfuckin’ hands on me out in public again like that, and I’ll beat your ass to sleep.”
Tears had sprung from LaQuandra’s eyes, blurring her vision as she had tried to claw his hands off of her, but the harder she tried to fight him off of her, the tighter his grip became around her neck. She’d seen it in his eyes, that wild, dark dangerous look of a man who’d been pushed too far. And she believed he would kill her, then dump her lifeless body in the ocean. All she kept thinking was, “God, not here. Let me get back to the States—away from all this damn water—before he kills me.”
Isaiah must have seen the fear in her eyes, but he’d let her neck go and then she crumbled to the floor, gasping.
