Pamela Yaye - Pleasure In His Kiss

“This isn’t the time or the place to have this conversation,” Morrison said, mindful of the people around them. The streets were busy, full of families and shoppers, and he didn’t want anyone to overhear them. “Like I said, we can talk about this in the car, so get in.”

Morrison opened the passenger side door and waited patiently for his niece to get in.

“I don’t have to listen to you. I’m practically an adult. I can do what I want.”

Stepping forward, Karma took Reagan by the shoulder and spoke to her in a quiet voice. “Sweetie, go with your uncle and work out your problems,” she admonished, wearing a sympathetic expression on her face. “How can you fix what’s wrong in your relationship if you don’t talk to him?”

“Why bother? He doesn’t listen to me,” she complained.

“Real women don’t run from their problems, they tackle them head-on.” Karma helped Reagan into the SUV, then patted her hands. “I’ll call you later to see how you’re doing.”

“Bye, Ms. Karma. Thanks again for lunch. It was delicious.”

“My pleasure, sweetie. Next time I’ll take you to the Peacock Alley at the Waldorf Astoria,” she said, licking her lips. “Their brunch is to die for, and the waiters are supercute!”

Standing on the sidewalk, listening to his niece talk and giggle with Karma made Morrison smile. His admiration for the salon owner grew as he watched her interact with Reagan. Gregarious, and down-to-earth, it was easy to see why Reagan worshipped the ground Karma walked on. Her warmth and openness was endearing, what appealed to him most, and if they weren’t polar opposites he’d take Duane’s advice and ask her out.

Pressed for time, he marched back to the driver’s door and got inside the SUV.

“Can I come by the salon on Wednesday?” Reagan asked, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’m Devin Skye’s biggest fan ever, and I’d love to meet her.”

“You’re as sly as a ninja!” Karma teased. “I didn’t tell anyone about her appointment, so how did you know the actress was coming to the salon after closing?”

“I overheard you on the phone with her manager when I came to refill your coffee...”

Morrison opened his mouth to protest, to remind his niece that she had a physics test on Thursday she needed to study for, but thought better of it and held his tongue. He didn’t want to upset her again, but made a mental note to talk to her about the test later. He loved Reagan as if she was his daughter and wanted to raise her the way his sister would.

Sadness pricked his heart. Emmanuelle had been gone for years, but Morrison missed her more each day. He tried not to think about her untimely death, only the good times, but as he listened to his niece joke around with Karma his emotions got the best of him and tears filled his eyes. Glad he was wearing sunglasses, he blinked them away. Not only was Reagan the spitting image of Emmanuelle, she had his sister’s quick wit and her outrageous sense of humor.

“Please,” Reagan pleaded, clasping her hands together. “I’ll never ask you for anything again. I swear. It’ll be my birthday present, and grad gift all rolled in one!”

“If it’s okay with your uncle, it’s okay with me.”

Karma looked at Morrison, and their eyes locked, zoomed in on each other.

Pleased with her answer, he nodded his head in agreement. He spoke to Reagan, but his gaze was glued to Karma’s face. “You can go to the salon as long as you finish your homework.”

Reagan cheered. “Thanks, Uncle Morrison. You’re the best!”

Karma beamed, and for some strange reason Morrison felt prouder than a gold medalist on a podium. Reagan spoke, but he missed her question because he was busy admiring Karma. Her curled eyelashes, bejeweled lavender nails and colored extensions didn’t make her beautiful; it was her radiant smile and effervescent laugh that appealed to him. She waved, then turned and walked back into the salon, switching her shapely hips. Transfixed, he watched her every move. Wet his lips with his tongue. Groaned and grunted in appreciation.

“Uncle Morrison, snap out of it!”

Reagan waved a hand in front of his face, and Morrison blinked. Bolting upright in his seat, he put on his seat belt and started the car. Merging into traffic, he stepped on the gas and sped down the street. Anxious to get to his parents’ house, he switched from one lane to the next, passing slow-moving vehicles and teens cruising the block in their flashy sports cars.

“So, you like Ms. Karma, huh?”

Morrison coughed to clear his throat. “Who, me?”

“Yeah, you. Want me to put in a good word for you?”

“Nice try, Reagan. I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not going to let you change the subject. What you did last night wasn’t cool, and I’m very disappointed in you.”

Hanging her head, she fiddled with her gold thumb ring on her left hand.

“Prove to me you can be trusted, and I’ll give you more freedom.”

“Sorry about last night, Uncle Morrison. It was an honest mistake. Really.”

“I’m going to cut you some slack this time, but if you ever stay out all night you’ll never drive your Mini Cooper again.” Morrison opened the center console, took out Reagan’s car keys and handed them to her. “Remember what I said.”

“I will. Thanks, Uncle Morrison.”

Driving along Main Street, he marveled at how much the Hamptons had changed since he was a kid. There were high-end restaurants, salons and boutiques popping up every week, and Morrison couldn’t go anywhere without spotting the paparazzi lying in wait. Noticing a helicopter in the sky, which was the preferred mode of travel from New York for the very wealthy, he wondered who was flying in. In the summer, residents complained of the traffic, the noise and the party atmosphere, but Morrison was looking forward to socializing and networking with foreign businessmen and obscenely rich entrepreneurs.

“Can you please take me home? I’m tired, and I’d really like to chill out in my room,” she explained. “I’ll visit with Grandma and Grandpa tomorrow.”

He took a moment to consider her request. “Fine, but I don’t want anyone in the house. No friends, no loud music, and if you decide to go out you have to be home by curfew.”

She sighed deeply, her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted in a frown.

“I know you think I’m hard on you, but everything I do is for your good—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. From now on, I’ll obey your every word. Now, back to you and Ms. Karma. When are you going to ask her out?”

Morrison kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, Uncle Morrison, keep it a hundred.” Facing him, she tucked her feet under her bottom and tapped an index finger against her cheek. “You’re feeling her, and you know it. You were staring at her hard when she left. It’s a miracle you didn’t pop an eye vessel.”

Morrison wanted to laugh, but he wore a straight face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his niece this happy, and was amused by her jokes. The truth was out. He was interested in Karma, sexually attracted to her, but he’d never act on his feelings. His focus was on raising Reagan and advancing his career, not pursuing a feisty, provocative woman from Brooklyn.

Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he thought about his ex-girlfriend. Their relationship had ended because the anesthesiologist didn’t get along with Reagan, and none of the females he’d met in recent months appealed to him. They were all savvy career women with graduate degrees, but there’d been no spark, no fire. Morrison realized he had the opposite problem with Karma. Their chemistry was so strong every time their eyes met he wanted to kiss her, to stroke every inch of her body. There was nothing sexier than a woman who was comfortable in her own skin, and Karma moved with the ease of a runway model.