Destiny's Daughters Read online

  Forty minutes later she pulled up in front of the Loews Miami Beach Hotel, the restored St. Moritz. She’d barely come to a complete stop before a valet was at her window. She depressed the button and the window slid down.

  “Guest of the hotel, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I am.” She smiled.

  “I’ll take your car for you. Do you need help with your bags?”

  “That would be lovely. Thank you.” She stepped out into the humid air and looked around as the bellman came to remove her bags from the trunk. The valet handed her a ticket.

  “Enjoy your stay,” he said, before getting in behind the wheel.

  “I’m sure I will.”

  Following the bellman inside, the welcome chill from the central air greeted her. Several guests of the hotel sat on antique sofas that graced the patterned walls. The ceiling was endless, gold and glass were everywhere. A giant palm tree, the likes of which she’d never seen before, sat in an enormous white marble pool. Uniformed staff hurried about, pushing luggage and giving directions. The glass façade opened to a view of startling blue ocean.

  Leticia’s predatory instincts shifted into high gear watching the parade of beautiful men who strolled through the lobby, alone or at the side of a woman. The pickings were plentiful, she mused, as she walked to the reception desk, catching the eye of several handsome possibilities. She ran her tongue seductively across her lips when one gave her an extra long look.

  “Welcome to the St. Moritz, Loews. How may I help you?” a young woman in a navy blue uniform asked.

  Leticia turned her attention to the woman behind the desk. She smiled.

  “I have a reservation. Pamela Armstrong,” she said, slipping easily into her pseudonym.

  The young woman focused on the computer in front of her, quickly stroking the keys. She looked up at Leticia. “I see you’ll be with us for a while, Ms. Armstrong?”

  “I’m on vacation. I believe I’m reserved for a month.”

  “Yes. I see that.” She hit a few more strokes. “How many keys will you need?”

  “One.”

  The receptionist processed the key, but before handing it over, she said, “We have your credit card on file, but I’ll need to see some identification, please, and get an imprint of your card.”

  “Of course.” Leticia dug in her purse, took out her wallet, and handed over her passport and credit card, all in the name of Pamela Armstrong.

  The young woman reviewed the identification, made an imprint of the credit card, and handed both back to Leticia. “Thank you, Ms. Armstrong.” She gave Leticia her card key. “You’ll be in room 1875.” She looked over Leticia’s shoulder and signaled for a bellman. “Felix will take you to your room. If you need anything at all, we’re here to serve you.”

  “Thank you.” She put her information back in her purse and followed Felix to the bank of elevators.

  Felix was the epitome of Latin masculinity, of medium height with ink-black hair swept away from his broad forehead and skin the color of lightly toasted bread. He was an almost dead ringer for a young Antonio Banderas. Hmm. Edible.

  When Felix opened the door to her suite, Leticia instantly knew she was going to love it here. She kicked off her kitten-heeled sandals, dropped her purse on the entry table, and crossed the plush white carpeted floor to the balcony. The pile was so deep and thick, it caressed her ankles. Opening the glass balcony doors, she took in the breathtaking view across Miami and out onto the sandy white beach below. No more snow, winter coats, or turning up the thermostat. She spread her arms, tossed her head back, and sucked in the ocean-washed air. This would be home, she decided then and there.

  She spun around, a broad smile highlighting her hazel eyes, courtesy of expensive contacts. “Thank you, Felix.” She came toward him, her hips swaying beneath the short swing skirt of white and pale blue gauze. She picked up her discarded purse, dug inside her wallet, and handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “For your trouble.” She pressed the bill into his palm and held it there.

  “Thank you. If there is anything I can do for you . . .”

  Leticia reached out and stroked his arm with her free hand. Her voice dropped an octave. “I’ll be sure to let you know.” She stepped back.

  Felix’s right brow arched ever so slightly in understanding. He gave a short bow of his head, turned, and walked away.

  Leticia stood for a moment, facing the now-closed door, her lips pursed in thought. If all the men in Miami were going to be as potentially accommodating as Felix, she would have plenty to keep her occupied.

  Room by room, Leticia inspected her space. Totally pleased with her new digs, she opted for a shower, change of clothes, and a visit to the hotel bar. Anyone who is anyone eventually finds their way to the bar, and she wanted to be there to sample the menu.

  White was one of Leticia’s favorite colors for the summer and she wore it well. For her foray to the hotel bar and lounge she chose a Grecian white dress, short, waist-hugging with a neckline that plunged dangerously close to her navel, the crisscrossing shirred bodice barely contained her size D’s. A tap of her favorite oil, African Musk, behind her ears, on her wrists, and deep in the valley of her cleavage had her smelling edible. Diamond studs dotted her ears, and barely there makeup had her pecan-toned skin looking silky and flawless. She pressed closer toward the makeup mirror, popped in her contacts, and added a stroke of clear lip gloss that gave her mouth a dewy look. Turning her head from side to side, she patted her neatly tapered short ’do and, pleased with all she saw, she stepped out of the dressing room, picked up her white Kate Spade purse with the gold handle, and headed out.

  Leticia Holmes was difficult to miss, even in a crowded room. For as long as she could remember, she was able to draw attention to herself. Perhaps it was from the years of trying not to be ignored in the countless group homes she was subjected to. She’d never wanted to be considered just another unfortunate black kid that nobody wanted. So she worked hard on her speech and her looks. She watched the white folks who ran the homes, along with the big shots who came around once a month to check on things, and learned how to shake hands, sit properly, which fork was which at the table, and basically to appear more important, more poised, educated, and worldly than she really was. It was all perception, she discovered by the time she was ten. You could make folks believe whatever the hell you wanted them to with the right words, attitude, and attire. Lessons she never forgot.

  Her striking appearance was not lost on the men or the women whom she passed en route to a vacant table by the window. She smiled politely and took a seat shown to her by a too-young-looking-to-beworking waitress.

  “That dress is banging,” the young woman said.

  Leticia grinned. “Thank you. And what is your name?”

  “Cynthia,” she responded, surprised that anyone would take an interest.

  “Well, Cynthia, you are a lovely young woman. I’d love to see what you look like all dressed up.”

  Cynthia beamed, her light-skinned complexion turning rosy. “I can put it on when I have to,” she said.

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “What kin I get you?”

  Leticia turned halfway in her seat, crossed her legs, and then her arms over her knees. She focused totally on Cynthia. “I’m sure you know the menu inside and out, what’s good and what’s not. Why don’t you suggest something?”

  Cynthia’s light brown eyes widened. Most of the customers that came to the hotel lounge barely acknowledged her, but this lady was different.

  She cleared her throat, stuck out her small breasts, and poised her order pad in her hand. “The grilled salmon is to die for, ma’am.”

  “Then I’ll have the grilled salmon, and a tossed salad with vinaigrette. And a glass of your best wine. I’ll leave that up to you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She quickly jotted down the order and started to turn away.

  “And Cynthia?”

  She stopped and looked expectantly at Letic
ia. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Please call me Pamela or Pam. ‘Ma’am’ sounds so . . . old.” She grinned and patted Cynthia’s hand.

  Cynthia bobbed her head. “Yes, ma . . . I mean, Pamela.” She scooted away.

  Leticia subtly watched the guests and knew before a certain man did that he would be coming her way in no time.

  Chapter 2

  Nathan Spencer was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it. The moment he saw Leticia, he knew he wanted her. He waited for the waitress to leave Leticia’s table before he got up from the bar and approached her.

  Leticia pretended to be engrossed in the dessert menu.

  “May I buy you a drink while you wait for your meal?”

  With slow deliberance, Leticia put down the menu and turned her head to look up at him. She waited a beat, letting her gaze drift up, then down, his long body. Finally she settled on his face.

  “No. You can’t,” she said, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. “But you can sit down and join me for dinner if you don’t have other plans.”

  Nathan tossed his head back and chuckled deep in his throat. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “Only a matter of opinion.” She extended her hand toward the vacant seat. “Please—sit.”

  “Nathan Spencer,” he said, pulling out the chair and sitting down.

  “Pamela Armstrong.”

  “So Pamela, let me get the one-liner clichés out of the way. What is a beautiful woman like you doing eating alone?”

  “Now, Nathan, if I wasn’t alone, you and I would never have the opportunity to meet.”

  “Touché.” He looked her over. “Business or pleasure?”

  “A little of both. What about you?” She raised her water goblet to her lips and took a dainty sip, letting her long lashes drift over her eyes.

  “Business. I’m closing several building deals in the area.”

  “Really. So you’re in real estate.”

  “A broker. Mostly commercial properties.”

  “Do you live in Miami?”

  “Yes, I have a house near the beach.”

  She frowned slightly. “Do you always hang out in bars?”

  He grinned, and she noticed how his eyes crinkled in the corners like one who enjoys laughing and laughter. Nathan Spencer was certainly good looking; solid build, a delectable chocolate brown complexion, clean-shaven with a sleek, bald head that had her immediately imagining all manner of erotic images.

  “I was having drinks with a client,” he said in answer to her question.

  Leticia looked around. “Male or female?”

  “Male.”

  “Hmm. Hope it went well.” She reached for her water again.

  “It did. What kind of business are you in?”

  “Entertainment.”

  “What kind?”

  “Management. But let’s not talk about business. This is my first time to South Beach. Suggest some highlights.”

  Nathan leaned forward. “I have a better suggestion.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “If you’re not busy tomorrow, I’d be happy to show you around.”

  She faked surprise with a hand to her chest. “Why, Nathan, I barely know you.”

  “Then it’s the perfect opportunity for us to fix that.”

  The waitress returned with Leticia’s wine and placed it on the table, looking at Leticia expectantly.

  Leticia smiled up at her, lifted the glass to her lips, and sipped. A slow smile moved across her wide mouth. “Very good choice.”

  Cynthia beamed.

  Leticia introduced Nathan. “This is Nathan Spencer. He’ll be joining me for dinner.”

  “Would you like a drink to start?”

  “Courvoisier on the rocks.”

  “Right away.”

  Nathan turned his attention back to Leticia. “What time would you like me to pick you up?”

  “I’m an early riser. Why don’t we meet for breakfast and take it from there?”

  “I like how you think.”

  “Ahh, a man who is intrigued by the female mind. How appealing.” She gave him a seductive smile.

  “It’s going to be very interesting getting to know you.”

  “That’s the plan, Nathan.”

  After a very pleasant dinner with Nathan, Leticia excused herself with promises of tomorrow and returned to her room. Unpacking her belongings, she turned on the tub and sprinkled in drops of jasmine-scented oil. But before she had a chance to step into the water, there was a knock on her door.

  Frowning at being disturbed during her ritual, she tightened the belt on her red silk robe, turned off the faucets, and went to answer the door.

  “Felix. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Felix had a rolling table, topped with a sterling silver bucket and a bottle of Cristal bedded in chipped ice.

  She leaned against the doorframe, folded her arms, and smiled slowly. “Felix, you shouldn’t have,” she teased.

  Felix blushed beneath his golden complexion. “I wish I could say it was me, Ms. Armstrong.”

  Her right brow arched in question. That’s when she noticed the card perched on the white-linen-covered tray. She picked it up. “Dining with you was my pleasure. I look forward to tomorrow. N.”

  Hmm, a man with class.

  She offered a pretty pout. “How thoughtful.” She rolled her eyes over Felix’s chiseled frame and exotic features.

  “Care to join me? I see there are two flutes and I hate to drink alone.”

  Felix looked over his shoulder, then at both ends of the hallway. “I’m still on duty . . .”

  “How long can a drink take?” She played with the opening of her robe, running her finger absently up and down the valley of her breasts.

  He hesitated, transfixed by the journey of her finger. Swallowing hard, he said, “I suppose no one will miss me for a few minutes . . .”

  Leticia stepped aside and let him wheel in the table, which gave her a great view of his rear. She smiled, then shut and locked the door behind him. A man like you—I’m sure you can last for more than a few minutes.

  An hour later, Felix struggled with his bow tie while hunting frantically around for his shoes.

  Leticia watched him from her reclining position on the bed, her head held up in her palm. “They’re in the corner,” she said, her voice thick and dreamy.

  He looked over his shoulder at her, and she could see the desire relight in his eyes while her long fingers stroked the wetness that clung to her sex. Her smile invited his return.

  She moved onto her back, her legs spread wide and bent at the knees while her fingers continued their exploration—in and out. Her eyes closed and she moaned. She ran her tongue over her lips as her pelvis moved in a sensual rhythm.

  Leticia heard movement, but she was too engrossed in what she was doing until she felt Felix’s body atop hers. He pulled her hand away and buried himself deep inside her, making her groan with pleasure. She draped her legs across his back, pulling him firmly against her as she met him stroke for stroke. The bed banged viciously against the wall as Felix called out in Spanish and pushed them blissfully over the edge of reason.

  Alone now in her tub, Leticia leaned back and let the hot, scented water ripple over her. She thought back to her little tryst with Felix. Not bad, and certainly a pleasant way to get acquainted with the natives. It’s only sex. The one thing men are good for. She sighed, contented, closed her eyes, and remained in the cleansing waters until they cooled.

  Chapter 3

  Nathan had expected Leticia to call him when she received her token of his thanks. He’d gone so far as to check with the front desk to make sure it was delivered. That was more than two hours ago. He hadn’t heard a word. It shouldn’t bother him one way or the other, but it did.

  He got up from the couch, turned off the television with the remote, and walked out onto the deck. The sun was setting in a blaze of orange glory across the endless bl
ue horizon as the waves danced gently against the sandy shore. In the distance seagulls dove and rose above the water in a ritualistic dance, daring the fish below to peek above the foam to become entrée or dessert.

  It was a calming scene, picture perfect, a movie director’s dream.

  Nathan leaned down and opened the cooler, removed an icy bottle of Coors, and effortlessly twisted off the top. He took two long, refreshing swallows, then leaned against the cedar railing staring out at forever, thoughts of his impromptu dinner with Pamela Armstrong creasing his brow.

  He’d had his share of women. He changed them as often as his tailor-made shirts, wearing them as long as they fit and continued to make him feel good about having them around. When the fit and the feel were no longer appealing, he moved on and traded in for another make and model.

  Pamela Armstrong was different. No doubt about that. He was certain that she wasn’t playing hard to get. She was simply a woman who didn’t give a damn. That intrigued him. She couldn’t have cared less if he’d spoken to her or not. She would have been content to eat alone and not feel lonely or out of place. She came across as the type of woman who could make herself at home virtually anywhere she set her feet. He liked that, too—a woman who was sure of herself. She wore her sexuality like a good perfume—teasing, all over but not overpowering.

  The corner of his mouth curved into a grin. Pamela Armstrong.

  The ringing phone pulled him away from the images he’d begun to conjure in his head—and just in time.

  He put down the bottle, pushed open the glass sliding doors, and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

  “Hello?” Anticipation laced his voice.

  “Hey, man, it’s Cal.”

  “Hey.”

  “Don’t sound so excited to hear my voice. I can’t take it.”

  “My bad, brotha—long day, that’s all.”