“Naijhel King, please meet Delaney Synclair. My apologies that I have to introduce you two and run, but I’m being tugged in another direction.”
I watched in disbelief as my best friend cut out on me and ran, leaving me with the monster.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.
I was supposed to be meeting my date, and unless there was a mixup, he was it; but he couldn’t be. I knew he was here on some foul shit for Clayton. I just knew it.
He smiled and explained, “I’m your date, Delaney.”
“That’s not happening.”
“It’s too late. I’ve already paid.”
“You can take your money and shove it where the sun don’t shine,” I hissed.
At that moment, Charles and Amanda Williams, the museum owner and his wife, stepped up.
“Naijhel, it is always a pleasure having you support our museum. Thank you for your contribution and support of the museum tonight and all the time.”
“You’re welcome, Charles. You all have been great friends for so long. I will always support you and Amanda,” Naijhel replied, greeting them with handshakes, hugs, and kisses.
I wanted to pass out right there. Instead, I forced a smile to my lips when Charles Williams acknowledged me. “And thank you, Delaney, for your participation and cheerful spirit. You were a good sport, and you looked lovely tonight. I just know the two of you will have a wonderful time together.”
“Yes, they will. They’re both such lovely people. You make a beautiful couple,” Mrs. Williams professed.
“You’re welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Williams. Anything for the museum,” I lied.
Naijhel smiled at me and declared, “I look forward to a lovely evening with you.”
I was so embarrassed. The last thing that I wanted anyone to know was that the enemy had purchased me like I was his whore. What had Clayton told him about me? Did he think I was easy? I hoped not, because this was going to be the date from hell for him if I could help it.
4
NAIJHEL
Ismiled when the Mercedes pulled up to the dock. I knew that if she refused to get in the car, Shane wouldn’t have driven here, but he would have called instead.
I watched as he stepped out of the car, walked to the rear door, and opened it for her. My eyes lit up when I saw her delicate foot, encased in a gold, strappy sandal, emerging from the back seat first. Slowly, her calves and then a thick thigh was revealed. I was pleased because that meant she was either wearing a short dress, skirt, or shorts. I saw that I was wrong when she exited the car completely, but I was not disappointed.
Delaney wore a long, floral wrap skirt that blew open in the wind, exposing those thick, glorious thighs. She wore a yellow silk tank top with a matching yellow silk sweater. Her long, luxuriant hair that had been flowing in waves to the middle of her back on the two previous occasions that I saw her, was now pulled up in a high, playful ponytail that swung sideways and brushed her shoulders.
If he wasn’t a happily married man, I would have been jealous at her reaction to Shane versus her reaction to me. She gave him the most beautiful smile, but the minute her eyes met my gaze, they were spitting fire, and her full, heart-shaped,pink-glossed lips turned down. I maintained my smile because I intended to do everything possible to make her smile again.
Delaney Synclair was a gorgeous dark-skinned, voluptuous woman—a woman who Clayton Settles hadn’t known how to handle for the life of him. Her smooth, rich, mink-brown skin glowed underneath the afternoon sun and radiated with health and vitality.
Her almond-shaped, chocolate-brown eyes regarded me with boredom and disinterest as she approached me. Her long, curly eyelashes gave her eyes a seductive, bedroom appeal. The woman definitely knew how to play up her greatest assets because besides the mascara that she applied to her beautiful lashes, her candy-coated pink lips were outlined in a deep burgundy color.
Thick, arched eyebrows lifted when I greeted her with, “Good afternoon, gorgeous.”
She turned her heart-shaped face away from me when she asked, “Is it?” and looked around the dock at the other boats.
“It is a very lovely afternoon, and I presume it’s about to get even better.”
“You shouldn’t make those presumptions,” she replied in a sultry, Southern tone.
At five-three, she was roughly 250 pounds, and her curves were distributed appropriately. Her large breasts were barely contained in the tank that she wore, but she had applied a bronze glitter to them that shimmered in the afternoon sun.
I turned my gaze away to avoid disrespecting her by licking my lips, but God knew that I wanted to taste her. The wraparound skirt that she wore hugged her thick thighs, curvy hips, and ample ass. Her belly was round, and she hadn’t even bothered to wear a girdle like most women might.
