Church Folk - Michele Andrea Bowen [98]
"It serves him and them other pimps-in-trainin' right if I go and mess up these books tonight. That dawg deserves whatever trouble he gets."
Marcel practically pushed Jackie Giles out of the bed, rushed her into her clothes and out of the room. He didn't want to have to linger with her, cuddling up and talking trash just to make her feel like she was special to him. He had already begun to regret their affair, between the payoffs to Otis Caruthers and the funeral home scheme he had gotten roped into. No woman was worth all that, but he was afraid to say no when Jackie Giles showed up at his room. She was one of the most conniving women he had ever met, and the last thing he needed, with everything else that was going on, was trouble with Bishop Lawson Giles.
His daddy had always told him that chasing tail was an art he needed to learn. Said that a man should always be able to discern when the hidden costs outweighed the benefits. How he wished he had not been so hardheaded and listened to his father.
The minute the taillights of Jackie's car disappeared, Marcel ran back over to the club and straight up to the office where he had left Precious working. He desperately hoped that she was so busy with the books that she had not come trying to find him when he was holed up with Jackie.
Precious opened the door, looking delectable in her black pedal pusher pants and sleeveless red shirt. Marcel stared at her a few seconds, resisting the urge to run his hands over her shoulders and then bend down to lick each one, tasting and savoring the silken sweetness of them. It was a shame he had worn himself out with Jackie Giles because Precious sure did look like she had some awfully good loving in her tonight.
He walked into the room and playfully tugged at the bouncy, curly ponytail she wore high on the top of her head. A few dark tendrils had escaped, making her sweet, round face look adorable. He pulled her over to him, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her right shoulder. It tasted just like honeysuckle.
"Precious, Precious, Precious. What in the world am I going to do with you, with your fine, sweet, delicious self? You know something," he said, unbuttoning a few buttons on her shirt and planting soft kisses on her collarbone. "Right now you taste so good until I think I want the whole meal rather than this little snack."
At any other time Precious would have just melted from the heat of Marcel's inviting kisses. But not tonight. She turned away to make sure she wouldn't betray herself by throwing what she knew about him and that Jackie Giles up in Marcel's face. She had to be real cool and play this one out, with the feeling of her guts in her hands.
So she sighed softly and then took a deep breath and let it out slowly, giving the impression that she was in serious need of his attention. Then she turned back to face Marcel, who had made himself quite comfortable on the couch that was in the room. As much as she hated to admit it, he looked good in that expensive golden brown, jersey knit shirt that hugged every inch of his chest and shoulders. She forced herself to say, "Ooohh, honey-baby, you are looking at me so good-like until you running my temp-ture straight up through the roof," without choking on those words.
She watched him as he shifted around on the couch like he was making room for her, taking note of how carefully he was searching her face and said, "Anything wrong, honey-baby? You know you looking at me like you got something on your mind."
At first Marcel didn't answer. Instead, he put on his cool, seductive smile, and then lowered his voice down to that decibel level that almost always got him what he wanted from a woman.
"Precious baby, what's wrong with me is that you are sitting way over there, looking at me with that sweet face, and running up my temp-ture."
She let that jive talk settle in her ears and then stretched her body—arching her back, reaching her hands up in the air and then back behind her head,