Pleasure for Two. Pamela Yaye

it was up to him to keep the groom on the straight and narrow. If he didn’t, Will’s fiancée would go ballistic. Since it was too late to cancel the six massage therapists, he’d just have to keep Will close and be on the lookout for any home wreckers.

      “I’m going to go call my girl,” Caesar announced, fishing out a Heineken from the cooler. “See you later, man.”

      “When’s the grub going to be ready?” hollered the groom, packing a handful of tortilla chips into his open mouth. “I’m starving. Hook me up with a hot link or something!”

      Chuckling, Marcel turned back toward the grill. He added more steaks to the bottom rack, slathered them with a coat of barbecue sauce and closed the hood. “Listen, before you guys get wasted, I’d like to make a toast.”

      The groom lowered his cards. “All right, but make it quick. I’m on a winning streak,” he said jokingly.

      Everyone quieted down and Marcel began.

      “Will Arroyo was one of the first people I met when I moved from Mauritius five years ago. He helped me get settled into my new place, showed me around Seattle and hooked me up with my first job.” He raised his beer bottle in salute. “I wish you nothing but the best, man. You’ve always looked out for me, and if not for you I probably would have frozen to death that first winter!”

      The guys chuckled, but no one laughed harder than the groom. “Marcel was a sorry sight, ya’ll. One day I rolled up on him waiting for the bus, and he had no gloves, no cap and no jacket. His teeth were chattering so loud that he startled the children standing nearby!”

      More laughs rang out.

      “Will, it’s not too late to back out,” one of his younger cousins said. “I’ll gas up the Lincoln Navigator, and we can hit the road. Vegas, anyone?”

      The guys laughed, but Will declined the offer. “I can’t wait to marry Thalia, you guys. She’s my dream woman. Outgoing, funny…”

      Everyone groaned, and Marcel bit back a laugh. Will drove a Harley-Davidson and loved extreme sports, but he got choked up every time he talked about his fiancée.

      Some guys have all the luck, Marcel thought, taking a swig of his beer. He was the oldest of six, but all of his siblings were married with children. Tired of the single scene, he was looking forward to meeting the right woman and starting a family of his own. Sarita wasn’t coming back, and in light of what he’d discovered about her in recent weeks, he should be thanking his lucky stars that she’d dumped him and sunk her claws into a rich pro athlete. Sure, he could have used some of the money in his trust fund to win her back, but after talking things over with Will he’d quickly come to his senses. That money was for his future, not to blow on a gold digger who had no conscience.

      And then there was the fact that his student visa expired soon, and there were too many new applicants for him to get an extension. If he didn’t find an engineering job by then, he’d have to return to Mauritius. Marcel missed his family, but he didn’t want to go home—not when he’d worked so hard to make a life for himself in Seattle.

      “Are there any more of those egg roll things?” Will asked, pulling Marcel from his reverie. “I’m starving, and the steak’s nowhere near done.”

      Still consumed with thoughts of his future, Marcel stood and strolled through the double French doors leading into the house. Bright and inviting with thick columns and an elegant curved staircase, the Beacon Hill home had been decorated with pharmacy lamps, bright ornamental pieces and plush couches. The focal point of the living room was the grand piano, and as Marcel passed it, he wondered why his uncle would pay thousands of dollars for something he never used.

      Inside the pantry, Marcel rummaged around in the freezer. Arms filled with boxes of frozen foods, he closed the door with his foot and started back toward the kitchen. He heard a car horn beep and glanced out the window in time to see a black Range Rover pull up in front of his uncle’s house. Marcel didn’t recognize the car, but when he saw a dark, shapely sister slip out of the driver’s seat he stopped short. As I live and breathe, I’ve never seen a more stunning woman. Blown away, he wondered if the ebony angel was the masseuse he’d spoken to on the phone last week. Dominique…Dominique King. That was her name. A gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman, he decided, watching her with growing interest.

      His eyes raked over her svelte body. Sleek, glossy hair fell casually down her back. It was hair he wanted to touch and stroke and bury his fingers in. Though casually dressed in a white tank top and shorts, he could tell this sister with the sky-high cheekbones had very expensive tastes. Her face had a natural glow, and her movements were graceful. Peering through the glass, he fought a strong, overpowering desire for a woman he’d never met but was desperate to.

      Does this count as spying? Deciding it didn’t, he inched closer to the window. Sweat began to soak through his T-shirt as his eyes explored the beautiful stranger. Unable to turn away, he took in every curvaceous inch. Man, she’s something. Worried he might be spotted, he shielded himself behind heavy burgundy drapes.

      Doors opened and slammed. Five women wearing pink Destination Wellness T-shirts joined the driver at the back of the SUV and helped her unload the trunk. Caesar wasn’t kidding when he said the sisters at Destination Wellness were centerfolds. Carrying cases in hand, they marched up the cobblestone walkway in single file. Well, everyone except the driver. She didn’t walk; she glided.

      Snapping to, he streaked into the kitchen, dropped the boxes on the counter and checked his reflection in the hallway mirror. By the time the doorbell rang, he was ready to meet the sister with the smoky eyes and winsome curves.

      “You must be Dominique,” he said. “I’m Marcel. We spoke on the phone last week.”

      “Of course, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

      Her voice was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

      “These are my coworkers.” She gestured to the women behind her. “This is Electra, Jasmine, Suzette…”

      Like a twister in a deserted field, his thoughts ran wild. Dominique wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but he knew there was no way this chocolate beauty was single. If by some stroke of luck she was, she probably had brothers chasing her down at every turn.

      “Can we come inside?”

      “Yes, of course, please come in.”

      When Dominique stepped past him, he leaned in and inhaled her scent. Mesmerized. That was how he felt when her fragrance drifted over him. Marcel was drawn to her, intrigued, filled with feelings he thought died when his ex-girlfriend, Sarita, had callously dumped him. But as he admired Dominique’s perfectly coiffed hair and French manicured nails, he realized she was way out of his league. A woman like Dominique King would never look twice at a guy like him, so the quicker he dealt with his attraction to her, the better off he’d be. “Can I interest you ladies in something to drink? The bar is fully stocked with water, juice and beer.”

      The women smiled politely but shook their heads.

      “This is a lovely home,” Dominique said, glancing around. “Did you want us to set up in the living room or out in the backyard?”

      Marcel thought for a moment. He wanted the groomsmen to have a good time, but he didn’t want anyone pushing up on Dominique. Getting into a fistfight over a woman he barely knew would be juvenile, but he’d fight to the death before he let Kevin or Raheem steal her out from under him. “How about half of you stay here and the rest work outside?”

      Dominique shared a confused look with the brunette standing beside her. “Okay, I guess that would be all right. Aja and Heather will stay here with me and…”

      Marcel heard someone behind him, but he didn’t turn around. Dominique was speaking, and she deserved his undivided attention, which he planned to give her plenty of.

      “My, my, my, what do we have here?”

      Dominique trailed off when a man in blue swimming trunks