If Only For One Night Read online

  If Only For One Night © 2018 by ReShonda Tate Billingsley, Victoria Christopher Murray

  Brown Girls Books LLC

  www.BrownGirlsBooks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-944359-72-0 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-944359-73-7 (print)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical or photocopying or stored in a retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.

  First Brown Girls Publishing LLC trade printing

  Manufactured and Printed in the United States of America

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It is reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped” book.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER 1

  Angelique Mason

  I snapped the band of my thong onto my waist, then shimmied until everything was in place. As I twisted from the left to the right, checking out my image in the antique leaning mirror, the price of these ten inches of satin and lace once again skipped through my mind.

  “Two hundred and twenty-eight dollars,” I whispered, but then, I shook my head and tossed that thought aside.

  Really, it just didn’t matter. This little teddy and thong was so worth every one of those dollars that I’d charged to my American Express. If there was anything that was going to make Preston walk in the door and drop all that he was doing and all that he was thinking, these little strips of red material would do it.

  Turning back to the dresser, I faced the array of fragrant creams that were lined inside my vanity tray and finally selected the Jimmy Choo lotion. I hadn’t opened it, had actually tossed it into the trash when Preston came home with this gift-wrapped inside a huge basket — my consolation prize after he missed the Chamber of Commerce dinner where I was honored for my foundation, Black Girl Magic.

  It was ironic that Preston had missed that night when he’d been the one to bring the good news home to me about six months ago. Even now remembering it, all I could do was smile:

  I couldn’t imagine who was banging on the front door like that. It had to be the police.

  Rushing from the kitchen, I peeked through the side window and frowned.

  “Preston,” I began when I opened the door. “What are you….”

  Before I could finish my thought or my words, my husband swept me off my feet and into his arms, swinging me around.

  “Goodness!” I gasped, and then giggled. “What…Preston…what...” It wasn’t until he put me down that I was able to string together a full sentence. “Oh, my.” I pressed my hand against my chest. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just so proud of you.”

  “Me?” I frowned, trying to figure out what my husband was talking about.

  “Yes. You. My beautiful wife.” He pulled me into his arms again. “You are the two-thousand-seventeen recipient of Houston’s Woman on the Move Award.”

  “What?” He had to be kidding. This was Houston's most prestigious community service award. Why would I be given this honor? I glanced up at my husband and I couldn’t remember a time when Preston’s grin had been wider. “You’re serious.”

  “I wouldn’t kid about something like this.”

  Indeed! These kinds of accolades were so important to my husband and the pride he had for me beamed right through at that moment….

  I sighed. He’d been proud then, but there wasn’t enough pride inside of him to put his own work aside to be there for me.

  So last Monday, I’d donned my off-the-shoulder crepe evening gown and strolled that red carpet alone, sat on the dais alone, and accepted the award, then had taken hundreds of media photos — all standing alone.

  I’d had to force every smile and force back every tear, but I’d done it…because practice had made me the perfect pretender. In the last three years, there were so many times when I’d cried while wearing a smile. All because of Preston.

  “Stop it,” I scolded myself. Why was I thinking of all of this negativity? Wasn’t I always talking to the girls in my foundation about the law of attraction? Wasn’t I always telling them that you become what you think about?

  So, I turned off those memories and in my mind created a new one — of tonight.

  Picking up the lotion, I sat on the bed, then squeezed a quarter-size dab onto my palm. As I raised my leg and massaged the lotion into my skin, I closed my eyes and imagined that my fingertips were no longer mine…my fingers belonged to Preston. And now, his tongue followed the trail set by his fingers.

  I sat up and shuddered.

  I could almost feel it, I could almost imagine it.

  Almost.

  That was the problem. It was hard for me to imagine because it was hard to remember all the way back to the last time when his hands had touched me that way, since his lips had made me shudder. Yes, we’d had quickies, once or maybe twice a week when Preston just needed a release….

  “Stop it!”

  Why did I keep going back to how it used to be? Why couldn’t I just focus on what would happen once Preston came home? Tonight was going to be one for the ages after my husband saw me in this lingerie and these…I pushed myself from the bed and slipped into my six-inch Louboutins, another consolation gift from my husband, although I couldn’t remember what his apology was for that time.

  Turning back to the full-length mirror, I finger-fluffed my curls that were still fresh from my appointment today. I didn’t like wearing my shoulder-length hair out this way, preferring my signature ponytail when causal, chignon when professional.

  But Preston loved my hair curled and he loved my legs in stilettos, and he loved me wearing more skin than clothes. So tonight…Preston would love me.

  The chime of the downstairs door opening shocked me, and made me freeze for just a moment. Of course, I expected Preston home — it was just after nine. But still, my heart fluttered.

  “Alexa,” I spoke to my wireless speaker, “play Adore by Prince.”

  “Adore, explicit by Prince,” Alexa told me.

  Explicit! That was exactly what Preston and I needed.

  I jumped onto the bed (not so sexily), but by the time I plumped up the pillows and leaned back, I was nothing but sexy. I was sitting in the middle of a memory — our wedding night, Adore (our favorite song) playing on a CD as we made love, over and over and over….

  I sighed and then, I smiled. Mentally, I was finally in the right place.

  Until the end of time

  I’ll be there for you….

  My heart beat to the rhythm of the song as I listened for Preston. I heard his faint steps on our parquet floor in the foyer, but then, I heard something else…his voice.

  Please, God, let this night be perfect.

  His steps wer
e coming closer, he was on the stairs. But his voice came with him. He was still in the hallway, but now, I heard him clearly.

  “I told you that's not the way to go. You’re too young, your company is too young for such a conservative approach. You have the luxury of waiting out the stock market.”

  I closed my eyes as there was a moment of silence.

  Then, Preston started up again, “Yeah, there will be some bear markets, but the bull is always charging. Trust me on this. High risk equals high rewards.”

  Of course he would be on the phone, no matter the time.

  In a second, I decided to change my approach. I’d thought laying back on the bed would remind him of our wedding night. But now, I scooted to the edge and crossed my — what Preston still referred to as my gold medal gymnast’s — legs. Yes, we’d been married for eight years, but I’d been blessed to be one of those women who looked better now than on the day we’d married. I’d been a girl in 2009. Back then, even at twenty-six, I still had my competitive gymnast’s body, hardly gaining a pound after college. I was a tall gymnast, at five-five, but I was as svelte as any who had ever glided through the air.

  But marriage had filled me out and Preston always told me he loved the new bends and curves of my body — all one-hundred and thirty pounds of me.

  So I sat, tugged at my teddy to reveal even more (of the little) cleavage that I had and crossed my best assets, my legs. Once Preston walked into our bedroom, he would drop the phone (and the call) and focus only on me.

  “I don’t know why you don’t want to trust me on this,” he said as he stepped over the threshold.

  He looked up.

  I smiled.

  He didn’t, though he did pause long enough to walk over, lean down and kiss me on my forehead.

  Then, “Yeah, it’s your money, but you’ve hired me to help you make the big bucks.” He kept talking…all the way into the master bathroom.

  It took a moment for me to close my mouth, but the shock hadn’t worn off. It was like he didn’t even notice.

  He didn’t close the door, so his voice was still clear. He said, “Look, I have to go. I have something important to tend to….”

  He did notice me!

  “We’ll pick up on this tomorrow, but stay off the Internet. Anybody can post anything. You need to talk to people who’ve made this money and who can help you make more.”

  I scooted back on the bed, thinking that I should resume the wedding-night pose. “All right, man. Let's touch base first thing in the morning.”

  There was not a time when Preston had ever shut off a call for me. That was a good sign. This was going to be epic.

  There was nothing but silence for a few moments and I waited for Preston to come strolling out of the bathroom. But when he didn’t, I called out, “Hey, baby. How was your….”

  “Kelvin, it’s Preston. I just got off the phone with Brad and you’re not going to believe what he’s talking about doing.”

  Wait! What had just happened? Hadn’t he just told the other guy that he had something important to tend to? Wasn’t I that important something that needed tending?

  I scooted off the bed, all thoughts of being sexy gone! I wobbled a bit as I tried to stomp across the room; clearly stilettos weren’t meant for this kind of mood.

  In the bathroom doorway, I stood there wearing ten inches of satin and lace and a whole lotta attitude. With my arms folded, I glared at my husband.

  He paced across the space between the double sink and the Jacuzzi tub, not even looking my way.

  His head was bowed as words poured from him. He was so deep into his conversation that he didn’t even pause. Not until I cleared my throat and said, “Ummm, hello.”

  When he glanced up, his eyes roamed over me and the way he paused at certain parts of my body, I knew he’d finally seen me. But then, what was his reaction?

  He held up his forefinger.

  His forefinger.

  I had a finger for him. "No,” I said, my tone filled with my demands. “I will not give you a minute.”

  “Babe, come on,” he whispered, though his eyes did travel the length of my body again. But then, he returned to his call. “This is our reputation and yeah, it’s his money, but he came to us because we know what’s best.”

  I stood, seething and Preston must have felt the heat. Now, he had something else for me — this time, when he gave me his glance, his eyes stayed for a moment and then, he gave me…a thumbs up.

  A. Thumbs. Up? I knew what I looked like in this get-up. There wasn’t a Victoria Secret’s model nor a Playboy bunny who’d want to stand next to me right now.

  “That's what I told him.” The phone was still pressed to his ear when Preston strolled toward me. He pulled the phone away, whispered, “You look hot, babe,” then gave me another peck, this time, I was rewarded with a graze on my lips.

  He moved past me, out of the bathroom and out of our bedroom, still talking, his hand moving, punctuating his words.

  It took moments for me to turn, to move, to stumble to the edge of the bed. I wouldn’t have even been able to explain how I felt — pissed, angry…no, it was more that I was hurt.

  “When we be making love…”

  “Alexa, shut up,” I snapped, then bounced onto the bed. Inside, I growled, trying to figure out what I was going to do.

  But before I could wrap my mind around a plan-of-attack, my cell phone chimed with a notification. Reaching over to the nightstand, I snatched it up.

  Your play.

  Really? Right in the middle of what was supposed to be a loving night with my husband, this notification from Words With Friends comes in?

  I shook my head — until I saw that TruBlu had scored sixty-seven points.

  My smile was automatic. “Go ‘head,” I said, my thoughts, at least, for the moment, turned from my husband.

  I loved this game. My best friend, Sheryl said I was addicted. But that wasn’t it at all — it was more like I was trying to recapture a time, when my dad and I sat at the kitchen table every night after I finished my homework, and played Scrabble for hours, until my mom made us stop for dinner. Or maybe it was just that playing this game made me feel like I always had friends. How could I be lonely as I sat up at night waiting for Preston to come home when there were at least ten friends (I always had ten games going) waiting anxiously for me…even if they were only inside an app on my cell.

  TruBlu was one of my newest friends. We’d only been playing for about two weeks, but he was rising to the top of my list of favorites. Because he was that good — almost as good as me.

  I clicked into the game and checked out the move my friend had made.

  “Oh, yeah. Nice, Mr. TrueBlu.” I kicked off my shoes, and with my heels, scooted back until I leaned against the pillows. I stared at the letters I had, then studied the board, before I moved a couple of tiles in place. I checked out several options — this was serious, this was strategic. And after about ten minutes, I found my best move — one hundred and twelve points.

  Beat that!

  I turned my phone off, returned it to the nightstand, but when I did that, my forgotten-for-a-moment feelings rushed back to me. I was pissed, I was angry…and I was hurt.

  Pushing myself from the bed, my image stared back at me. Walking closer to the mirror, I tried to see myself as my husband saw me. I was a toned size six, thanks to not only my genetics, but my dedication to the five-times-a-week, ninety-minute workouts that did my body good. I worked hard because I’d been trained that way; I was an athlete. But so much of what I did now was for my husband. I wanted him to be proud always, just as I was proud of him.

  Shaking my head, I turned toward my closet. It was time to get out of this. One of my old sorority T-shirts would do.

  “Whew.”

  I turned around at the sound of my husband’s deep sigh. I didn’t even hear him return to our bedroom.

  He said, “I thought I’d never get off the phone.

  I p
ressed my lips together. Not need for me to spout out what I’d been thinking. Preston had heard this all before.

  He loosened his tie and tossed it onto the chaise. “Babe, you wouldn't believe the day from hell I had.”

  I folded my arms, said nothing, as he unbuttoned his shirt.

  “The merger that we’re handling for Citibank….”

  He stepped into his closet.

  “It’s our biggest project. And then, Brad….”

  I heard the zipper on his pants.

  “We did his annual review and I think his earnings scared him. Can you imagine? Tripling a six-figure investment and you're afraid?”

  He stepped from his closet wearing just his boxers.

  “I’ve got to be up early. At five for a meeting at six, so I’m gonna turn in early.” He folded back the duvet, then climbed between the sheets. Resting his head on the pillow, he exhaled again. “Whew! I’m exhausted.”

  For the first time since he came into our bedroom, he turned and made eye contact with me. “Damn, you look good, babe.” He paused. “You should wear that to bed more often.”

  I tried. I tried my best to hold back and not say a word. I tried. I tried to just roll my eyes and go into my own closet. But, no! I had to say it. “Wear this to bed? For what?”

  I saw the sigh in his eyes. “Come on, don't be like that.”

  “Like what?” I shrugged. “No need for me to wear anything like this when no one notices.”

  “I noticed,” he almost whined. “You know I think you are so sexy. It's just that the work on this merger, and we still have all of our other clients.” He shook his head. “And remember, it’s just me and Kelvin as the major partners. We’ve been blessed, but with this blessing comes long hours. You know that. I’ve just been preoccupied.”

  “As always,” I mumbled.

  “No. Just until we get past this merger.”

  “This time it’s the merger. Last time it was a new client. Next time…what will it be?”

  “Angelique, you know I’m working hard. Working hard to give you everything. And it’s paying off, babe. You’ve just got to be patient.”

  Be patient.

  That’s what he always said.