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Getting Lucky
Kayla Perrin


Lucky Annelise may be having the best sex of her life with her new man, but she can't help noticing her two closest friends and her sister—fresh from very recent, very public breakups—are miserable. So she does what any good friend would do: plans a girls' weekend in Vegas! In a town that emphasizes hedonism, Lishelle is sorely tempted. Between sensual masseurs and private exotic dancers…how's a girl to choose? She finally lets her guard down and beds the perfect guy for a no-strings-attached affair—a sexy rapper looking for a good time with no questions asked.Meanwhile, Claudia is busy getting her groove on with a younger man who makes her laugh. Even better, he's eager to please and—much to her delight—wants her to be in control in the bedroom. It's Samera who hits the jackpot, though, hooking up with a high roller and finishing off the night in his luxury suite.But Rusty has a dark side, and Samera can't get home to Atlanta—and away from Rusty's dangerous friends—fast enough. But once the friends return from Sin City, they all receive threatening notes, suggesting someone has been watching them all along. Maybe this time what happened in Vegas won't stay in Vegas….










Also by Kayla Perrin From Spice Books

CONTROL

OBSESSION

GETTING SOME

GETTING EVEN




Getting Lucky

Kayla Perrin

















www.spice-books.co.uk (http://www.spice-books.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to my single girlfriends

who helped make last summer’s trip to Atlanta a blast:

Sharon Wickham, La-Reine Camara-Leslie,

and Karlene Millwood.

Here’s hoping that the next trip has some

wonderful romantic surprises in store for us!




Chapter one

Annelise


I WADDLE INTO THE RESTAURANT AS FAST AS my swollen belly will allow, heading for our regular table, where I can see Claudia is already waiting. Though we don’t have a standing reservation, the staff at Liaisons know us and keep our favorite booth available for us every week. No matter what is going on in our lives, Lishelle, Claudia and I get together every Sunday for brunch here. It’s our chance to get caught up on what’s happened with each other during the week, and to bitch without guilt—which we do a lot.

Lishelle is not here yet, for which I am glad. I want to talk to Claudia about the latest development first, in case Lishelle hasn’t heard.

That might be too much to hope for, though, given the fact that Lishelle is a local news anchor. The news is her business, and when it’s about a famous Atlanta hip-hop artist … well, she probably already knows.

All the more reason for us to be together today, so Claudia and I can support Lishelle as she deals with this shocking development.

Judging by the expression on Claudia’s face—and the fact that she’s staring at a newspaper on the table in front of her—I am certain that she is up-to-date on the bombshell.

“Hey,” I say cheerfully as I reach the table. My hand is on my belly, which I’m amazed has changed so much in a few weeks. I am five months pregnant, and have recently begun to show in a truly visible way. Three weeks ago, I had a small bump that you could only see if you were looking at me from the side.

Now, that belly has grown exponentially, and while it’s not huge, it’s big enough to make it clear to the world that I am definitely with child. Before I was pregnant, I would see women with tiny bellies waddling and holding their stomachs, and think they were simply doing it for effect. Now, I understand. The belly holding is more of a protective gesture, one that begins shortly after you know you’re with child. The waddling, I’ve learned, is what happens when you’re carrying around extra weight in your pelvic area that your body isn’t used to.

“Annelise,” Claudia says and rises. She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a warm hug. Then she eases back, her gaze going to my belly. “You’re bigger than you were just last week.”

“I felt the baby for the first time,” I tell her, an ear-to-ear smile breaking out on my face. “On Friday night.”

Unless you’ve been pregnant, it’s difficult to understand how amazing it is to feel a tiny life flutter inside you, and the first time I experienced it, it was the biggest thrill. I was thankful that Dom, my boyfriend, was with me when it happened. It was just a small fluttering sensation, as though a butterfly were trapped inside me. But just like the moment when I saw the ultrasound and the proof of the life growing in my belly, feeling my baby move made my pregnancy very real.

In four months, I am going to become a mother.

“You felt the baby move?” Claudia asks, her eyes lighting up.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Claudia squeals in delight then places her hand gently on my ever-growing stomach, as if hoping to catch the baby in action. “I can’t believe it. Before we know it, you’re going to have a baby.”

“I know. Amazing how things can change in a year.”

Last year, I was in the dumps when my marriage ended. My husband, Charles, was having an affair. But worse than that, I found out he was embezzling money from the Wishes Come True charity, where he’d been a member of the board. Dom was an auditor investigating the embezzlement and, long story short, we fell hard for each other. One minute, my life had been at its lowest point being married to a man who didn’t love me, and who had become the subject of a huge public scandal. The next, I was on cloud nine, never imagining that I could be this happy.

The happiness of the moment dissipates as my eyes land on the newspaper Claudia has spread on the table. “You think she knows?” I ask.

Claudia shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. She works in the news. She must have heard something at the station.”

“Then again, maybe not,” I say. “It’s not like she does the entertainment beat. And she doesn’t work weekends. So … “ I let my statement trail off as I take a seat across from Claudia, figuring my words are wishful thinking at best.

I look at the picture in the Atlanta Journal Constitution she’s been reading, upside-down from my vantage point. But I can still make out the photo and the headline: One of Atlanta’s Most Eligible Bachelors Is Off the Market.

“Then again,” Claudia begins, “even if she’s heard, it’s not like it’s a big deal. She’s over Rugged.”

I meet Claudia’s eyes and stare at her for a long moment, wondering if she believes her own words. Sure, Lishelle has told us over and over again that she doesn’t want a relationship with Rugged. She has stressed that he was simply a fling. And granted, she’s the one who broke up with him. But still, I have never quite believed that she wasn’t really into him.

Lishelle went through a bitch of a breakup with a guy she was crazy about before she met Rugged—although breakup isn’t the right word, since Glenn wasn’t hers to begin with. I know how hard it was for me to learn my husband was cheating on me, so I can only imagine that it was far more devastating for Lishelle to discover that her college flame—the one she still held a torch for—lied about being married when he came back into her life years later. The prick had used her for her money, stringing her along real good until he was able to steal a ton of cash from her. Ever since that betrayal—and considering she was also married before but divorced because her husband cheated on her—she’s been understandably guarding her heart.

At least, that’s my opinion. Because with Rugged—a local rap sensation and six years her junior—she was a different person. Happier, more vibrant. And she hasn’t quite been the same since she told him that their relationship could never go anywhere, and subsequently ended things with him.

Still, I say to Claudia, “I guess you’re right. She’s the one who broke up with him.”

“Exactly,” Claudia stresses, and then her eyes flit over my shoulder. Quickly, she grabs the newspaper, folds it and tosses it under the booth. Which tells me Lishelle has arrived.

And it also tells me that what Claudia just said—that the news of Rugged’s engagement will be no big deal to Lishelle—is hogwash.

I turn to see our friend heading toward us with a purposeful stride. She has the kind of beauty that looks effortless, but with her black hair flat-ironed straight, big, black sunglasses covering her eyes and a formfitting black dress more appropriate for a Saturday night, she looks like a supermodel this morning.

“Hey, ladies,” she all but sings as she reaches us. She bends over to kiss my cheek, then takes a seat beside Claudia. “Sorry I’m late. I was … occupied.”

My eyebrows shoot up. The dress. That big-ass smile.

Claudia obviously has gotten the same vibe I have. “And why are you late?” she asks, eyeing Lishelle skeptically.

Lishelle slips off her designer sunglasses, a playful smirk on her face. “You want to know his name?”

“Girl!” I exclaim. “You met someone?”

Lishelle beams. “You could say that.”

“Nice,” Claudia quips. “The walk of shame in a public place.”

“No one here knows I had this dress on last night,”

Lishelle says. Then, “A round of mimosas? Of course, not for you,” she adds, smiling sweetly at me.

“No, of course not,” I say. On Sundays, restaurants in Atlanta start serving alcohol at twelve-thirty, which is why we show up right about then. “I’ll stick with the ginger tea.”

Lishelle flags down Sierra, the petite Asian woman who has waited on us every Sunday afternoon for as long as we can remember. Except for the three-month span where Sierra thought she was in love, and took off to Los Angeles to be with the man of her dreams. Sadly, the relationship that had started online fizzled when they began living in the real world. Though the truth is, for our own selfish reasons, we’re happy to have Sierra back here. We never did bond with Apple, the woman who had waited on us in Sierra’s absence. Sierra is a premed student, putting herself through school by waitressing.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Sierra says sweetly. “How’re y’all doing?”

“We’re fantastic,” Lishelle replies, and Claudia and I share a look across the table. Whoever this guy is, she must be really into him.

“Two mimosas and a ginger tea, right?” Sierra asks.

“You know us so well,” Lishelle says.

Lishelle took particular pleasure in listening to Sierra tell us how her relationship with Braden had fallen apart at the seams, as she was the one who’d taken it the hardest when Sierra had suddenly been gone. Lishelle has been extra generous with her tips since her return, which she claims are to help Sierra with her premed expenses, but Claudia and I know it’s more of an incentive not to run off again.

“You even sound different,” Claudia says once Sierra has taken our order. “Who is he and how many hours did he rock your world?”

“And how on earth did you manage to get lucky at a retirement party?” I ask. That’s where she was supposed to have been last night, at a retirement party for someone at the news station.

Lishelle’s eyes brighten. “His name is Damon, and he’s a friend of Maureen’s, who does makeup. Remember I told you that she said she has a friend she wanted me to meet? How she thought we’d be great together? I’ve been busy, so has he, so we hadn’t made it happen yet. But he shows up unexpectedly at the get-together last night, pretty much begging to take me out afterward. He offered me real food—not that god-awful finger food the catering company provided, so how could I say no? And—get your minds out of the gutter—we had a really nice time.”

“What do you mean get our minds out of the gutter?” Claudia asks. “And what exactly do you mean by nice?”

“We went to Sambucca lounge, had a decent and lovely dinner and talked,” Lishelle explains. “He’s gorgeous, and the conversation between us flowed really well. He’s the kind of guy you could talk to all night long. So, when they were about to shut down the club and he suggested we go to his place, I thought why not?”

“The first night,” I say, and then tsk.

“Like I said, get your minds out of the gutter. He suggested we continue talking. He was telling me all about his college-football career, and it was quite fascinating. I wanted to hear more.”

“I’m sure that’s all you wanted,” Claudia says, and rolls her eyes.

Sierra arrives with our drinks, and gives a little smirk as she places them on the table. Over the years, I’m sure she has gotten an earful of juicy conversation from us—but she’s always had the grace not to say.

“Sierra,” I begin, “if you don’t mind, can I also get a tall glass of orange juice?”

“Sure thing,” she says.

“Believe it or not,” Lishelle continues when Sierra has disappeared, “I am capable of staying the night at a guy’s place and not fucking him.”

Claudia pretends to cough because of her drink. I stifle a laugh.

“It’s like that, is it?” Lishelle asks, feigning a hurt tone.

“Oh, go on,” I tell her. “Tell us what happened next.”

“Now, I’m not saying I wasn’t tempted. Trust me, it’s been a long time, and Damon is as hot as they come. The fact that I didn’t jump him is a testament to my self-restraint, because damn, you should have seen the man’s thighs. He used to play college football. I told you that, right?”

“You sure did,” Claudia says.

“Part of me didn’t believe his let’s continue talking line,” Lishelle continues. “I figured at some point he’d try to get me into bed. But Damon was very sweet and kept his promise. We chatted, drank a bit of wine—and yes, we shared one hot kiss—but then he put on a movie, and we snuggled on the sofa. I fell asleep in his arms. So, yeah, a very nice time.”

“Sounds like you want to see him again,” Claudia says.

“Definitely,” Lishelle says, nodding.

As Lishelle goes on about how she’s finally ready to start dating seriously, I can’t help thinking that she hasn’t heard the news about Rugged. She seems a bit too chipper to know that her ex is about to get married.

“Do you like him?” I ask. “I mean like him like him?” This is good. If she’s got someone else to occupy her thoughts, maybe she won’t be that upset about Rugged.

“Sure,” Lishelle says, shrugging nonchalantly. “He’s gorgeous, has a great body. And the way he was flirting with me and eyeing me up like I was a juicy piece of steak, there’s no worry about him being one of those down-low brothers.”

“So why don’t you call him?” I suggest. “Today. Take the initiative and suggest a second date.”

Lishelle eyes me warily. “You want me to call him and suggest a second date?”

“Why not? There’s no law to say you can’t, and people often spend so much time playing dating games, not wanting to call too soon. Pretending that they’re not really interested. All that nonsense. What’s the point?”

Even Claudia is looking at me strangely. Her eyes widen slightly, and it’s clear to me that she is trying to warn me that I should quit while I’m ahead.

Lishelle must pick up on the fact that something is going on, because she glances at Claudia, who promptly lifts the menu—a dead giveaway that something is wrong. We never look at the menu, as we always have the buffet.

To deflect attention from Claudia, I chuckle and say, “Listen to me ramble on like Cupid on crack. My pregnancy hormones are making me play matchmaker.”

Lishelle’s eyes bore into me with the intensity of the skilled reporter she is. “What’s going on?”

I don’t answer right away. And damn, it’s clear that Lishelle has sensed there is some secret between me and Claudia, because she looks at Claudia again.

“Oh, look,” Claudia says, throwing a glance beyond Lishelle. “Sierra is coming with your drink.”

Sierra sets the orange juice in front of me. I immediately take a liberal sip, avoiding Lishelle’s eyes.

“Are you having the buffet?” Sierra asks. She asks more out of formality, because we always have the buffet. But perhaps we’re taking too long to get up and fill our plates today, so she’s wondering if we’re going to order off the menu for a change.

“The buffet,” Lishelle tells Sierra.

“Flag me down if you need coffee or anything,” Sierra tells us before heading off to another table.

“And speaking of the buffet,” Claudia begins, “I’m famished. Let’s get some food.”

“Not so fast.” Lishelle stays seated, blocking Claudia’s path of escape from the booth. “What’s going on?”

I stare at Claudia, and she looks uncomfortably back at me.

“Is someone going to spill the beans?” Lishelle goes on.

This is my fault, and I could play as if there’s nothing going on, but Lishelle is too damn intuitive for that. I also know her well enough to realize that she would have said something about the engagement if she’d heard about it, so clearly she’s in the dark. Maybe her friends in the newsroom protected her from the information.

Where Lishelle is concerned, there is no point in sugar-coating anything. There is no way to hint around the subject of Rugged. I just have to say it.

“What do you think about Rugged’s engagement to that model?” I ask, knowing I’m dropping a bomb.

Lishelle’s eyes widen slightly and her jaw slackens, making it crystal clear that she hadn’t heard.

Claudia frowns at me from across the table, but it’s too late now. Could I have been less tactful?

Lishelle chuckles, but the sound is distinctly uncomfortable. “Wh-what did you say?”

“I—I thought you’d heard already,” I stammer. “I’m sorry. I just—it’s been all over the news, so I thought for sure you knew.”

Now Claudia makes a face, the kind that screams, Shut up!

So I do.

A few seconds pass. Lishelle needs a moment to digest this information. Claudia and I are both quiet, waiting for what she’ll say. We’re both here for her if she needs to rant about this, or even cry.

After a long moment, Lishelle’s shocked look morphs into a pleasant one. “So, he’s marrying Randi.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Lishelle asks, and chortles as if to emphasize the point that the news hasn’t fazed her one bit. “We’re not dating, remember? We broke up months ago.”

“Yes, but—” I stop abruptly when Claudia kicks me under the table.

“But what?” Lishelle asks. “I dumped him, remember?”

Yes, I know, I think. I could go on to recite Lishelle’s spiel as to exactly why she and Rugged weren’t good for each other, including the major points that he’s a rap artist and he’s younger than her.

“Exactly,” Claudia says, her voice sounding overly sweet. She’s acting out a role—one she feels Lishelle wants her to play. I know this because Claudia and I have had more than one discussion about the fact that we both believe Lishelle liked Rugged more than she wanted to let on.

But if she wants to play happy-go-lucky, I’ll go along with it.

“Tell her what you told me about the baby,” Claudia goes on, clearly desperate to divert the conversation from Rugged.

“What about the baby?” Lishelle asks.

“I felt her. For the first time. Friday night.” I can’t help beaming.

“Ohhh!” Lishelle exclaims. “The baby’s kicking already?”

“It was more of a fluttering than a kick. Like a butterfly was trapped inside my stomach and flapping her wings around.”

“Or an angel,” Lishelle says, and I see her eyes misting. “An angel fluttering her wings.” Suddenly, she gives me a questioning look. “Wait a minute—you said her. Is there something else you haven’t told us?”

“You said you weren’t going to find out the sex of the baby,” Claudia chimes in, a frown forming on her lips.

“And I didn’t,” I quickly point out. “I know you both think it’s archaic, but Dom and I want to save that surprise for when the baby is born.”

“How are we supposed to spoil that little darling rotten if we don’t know what you’re having?” Lishelle protests.

“You’ll buy neutral colors like people did way back in the Stone Ages.”

“I still think you should find out,” Claudia says. “Anytime you learn what you’re having it will be a surprise.”

“Dom and I think of it kind of like Christmas. You know you’re getting gifts, but if you open them early—or peek—it takes away from the special surprise of opening your presents on Christmas morning.”

Claudia shrugs, but the expression on her face says she doesn’t buy my argument. I get that she’s dying to know. Lishelle too. But I’m glad that Dom and I are on the same page where the matter is concerned, because I’m not about to ruin the biggest surprise of my life.

“It is kind of funny,” I say. “Dom is certain we’re having a boy. I’m positive this baby inside me is a girl.”

“How’re you feeling?” Lishelle asks. “Still have that back pain?”

“Thank you for the referral to that chiropractor. I’m feeling much better. And the nausea has finally passed. Hopefully from here on in, it’ll be smooth sailing.”

I smile, and so does Claudia. But Lishelle’s face crumbles.

“What?” I ask.

“Rugged … he’s really getting married?” she asks, and it sounds to me as if her breathing is shallow.

“Apparently he proposed a couple of nights ago,” Claudia explains. “He was out at some club with Randi … it was a big to-do. And, I’ll shut up now.”

“Look,” I begin gently, “if you’re not okay—”

“I guess … I guess I just thought he’d call. Send an email or something. Before it made the news.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. Because pointing out that Lishelle has refused to take Rugged’s calls over the last two months is not going to be helpful.

Suddenly, Lishelle pastes a smile on her face and rises—as though nothing in the world is bothering her.

“I’m famished,” she announces. “Let’s get something to eat.”




Chapter two

Lishelle


FUCK. DAMMIT! SHIT. FUUUUUCK!

I have pulled my car into the parking lot of a strip mall where I can have some privacy to vent. I pound the steering wheel of my fiery-red Mercedes SLS AMG—the dream car I bought after Glenn’s betrayal to soothe my bruised ego. The sleek sports car is giving me no comfort now, however. I’m not sure anything can.

I did my best during brunch not to let my emotions show, and made sure to drive away from Liaisons before I had my profanity-filled breakdown. The last thing I wanted to do was react negatively to the news that Rugged is getting married in front of Claudia and Annelise. I’ve spent so much time telling my friends that Rugged and I weren’t meant to be that I couldn’t make a liar of myself.

But it is clear, as I clench the steering wheel now, that I am a liar.

The thing that’s baff ling me, however, is why I care.

I mean, I broke up with him. I saw no future in our relationship, and realized it was better to end it before we got too involved. Not so much for my sake, but for Rugged’s—because he was clearly into me.

Maybe that’s what’s making the news that he’s getting married so much harder to fathom. The guy was seriously into me, I’m talking commitment and all that. And months later, he’s engaged to someone else?

Suddenly I understand Maureen’s strange behavior at the station yesterday. I don’t work on Saturdays, but one of the senior newscasters is retiring, so there was a party for him last night. I’d talked about leaving early because the food had been lame, but she kept insisting I stick around. When her gorgeous friend showed up, I understood why, but didn’t think anything of it. She’d been trying to arrange for us to meet ever since he’d moved back to Atlanta a couple of months ago. But she was overly cheerful when he arrived and all but pushed him on me, rather than simply introducing us and letting nature take its course. And she’d been antsy—almost as if she was invested in me spending more time with him.

Given just how gorgeous Damon is, I had to ask Maureen if they’d ever been involved. Thankfully, they hadn’t. He was the brother of a guy she’d dated seriously in college.

Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I can see now that Maureen was anxious for me to meet Damon because she’d heard about Rugged’s engagement. She’d probably called Damon and begged him—heck, paid him—to show up at the station so that he could be a distraction for me.

Maybe that’s what he can be now …

I loosen my grip on the steering wheel and let my mind wander back to last night and just how hot I’d been for Damon. It’s not often I feel an instant attraction to someone, but with Damon, I did. He’s sexy, funny and easily the kind of guy I could have tried to seduce. But I wasn’t looking for a one-night stand. I was interested in pursuing something real.

Now I’m ready to fast-track our relationship and jump into bed with him. With those strong thighs, he must be good at fucking. I wonder if his tongue is equally as strong… .

Suddenly I’m remembering Rugged’s tongue all over my pussy. I draw in a sharp breath, my clit throbbing in response to the graphic image playing out in my mind. I may not think that Rugged and I had a chance at a future, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss the amazing sex we had. And damn, talk about a guy who loved to eat pussy.

Does he eat Randi’s pussy with the same lust that he did mine?

“For fuck’s sake,” I say aloud. After cussing on the air last month, I am trying to tone down my potty mouth, but I have a feeling that today I’m going to have to give myself a pass.

I’m not even sure why I’m so surprised that Rugged’s engaged. I’d heard that he was dating that rail-thin model. More like a wannabe model. Randi’s the daughter of a local television producer, which, if you ask me, is how she ended up landing various modeling campaigns. I was shocked when the news broke that Rugged was dating her, because after dating me, well, she just didn’t seem like his type.

I glance at my car’s digital display. It is two thirty-six. A full ten minutes since I pulled into this strip mall.

Is this why Rugged called me? I saw his number on my phone three times last week, but he didn’t leave a message. Maybe he wanted to tell me about his plans to propose before he popped the question.

Honestly, so what if Rugged is getting married? It’s not like he broke my heart and ran off with someone else.

I start my car and drive out of the parking lot. I head right, in the direction of my brownstone in Buckhead. But then I think about Annelise’s words: Why don’t you call him? Take the initiative and suggest a second date.

I hit the Phone button on my steering wheel. Then, using the car’s Bluetooth controls, I find Damon’s number, which I programmed into my BlackBerry last night. That’s the one thing I love about this car, how I can sync up my mobile device to it and not use an earpiece because the car is the Bluetooth. Within seconds, Damon’s number is ringing.

I am aware that I’m calling Damon right now because I need a distraction, not because I’m thinking about growing our relationship. I’m ready to get naked with him. And in case you’re wondering, that’s not something I do all the time. In fact, I was celibate for two years after I divorced my cheating husband. And when I end up in bed with someone, it’s usually because I’m going to have a relationship with him.

Like Rugged.

I don’t want to think about Rugged anymore, because the truth is, the news that he’s getting married has shifted my world off its axis. I don’t know why. There was no chance we could ever make a life together.

And yet …

And yet what? If I don’t want him, certainly someone else can have him.

Damon’s deep baritone interrupts my thoughts of Rugged. “Hello?”

“Hey, Damon. It’s Lishelle.”

“Lishelle, hi.” He sounds tired. No surprise there. We were up quite late.

“I was wondering what you were up to.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.” And then I add in the best seductive voice I can come up with, “I was hoping we could pick up where we left off last night.”

“Really?” Damon sounds surprised, but I’m not sure if he’s pleased.

“There’s no time like the present.” He also lives in Buckhead, not too far from my place.

He chuckles softly. “I can’t argue with your logic.”

“Is that a yes?” I ask, my voice almost a purr. “Do you want to see me?”

“Definitely.”

I’m grinning as I press the button to end the call. The smile intensifies when I get to Damon’s door and he opens it, wearing nothing but a pair of faded jeans that hang low on his hips.

His eyes light up when he sees me. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“What’s the point in playing that childish game of waiting for the other person to call first?” I place a hand on his chest, forcing him to take a step backward so that I can enter the house. His lips curl in a slow, devilish grin, the kind that says he can’t wait to get his hands on me.

The feeling is mutual.

Seriously, to look at him now, in the daylight, his body all hard, magnificent muscles, I wonder how I kept myself from jumping his bones last night.

But I don’t think about that now. All I think about is quenching my thirst for lust.

This is totally out of character for me. I’m very selective about who I go to bed with. A guy has to really turn me on for me to be interested, and I generally prefer for my brain to be stimulated as well as my body. But every so often, I guess a woman meets a man who connects with her on a carnal level.

That’s Damon.

Honestly, I didn’t expect that when I ended up at his place he would honor his word not to get me naked. That had been his promise to me at Sambucca lounge—that if I went home with him, we’d chat, hang out and nothing else.

Somehow—except for one hot kiss—exactly that had happened. And I’d appreciated it. The fact that he honored his word has endeared him to me more.

“You don’t want to talk?” he asks me, his voice playful.

“Maybe later,” I tell him. “But first, I want you to kiss me again.”

Damon’s smile says he knows he’s got me. Last night, the kiss damn near had me taking my clothes off, but I had refrained because we had both been playing the “we’ll-be-good” game.

Damon moves toward me, and the next instant, my eyes are fluttering shut as his mouth connects with my skin. His kiss begins at my neck, with broad, sweeping strokes of his tongue. His tongue moves from the base of my neck to the underside of my jaw, eliciting sweet sensations over every part it touches. When he has done the same to the other side of my neck, he gently sinks his teeth into the skin on my cheek. From there, his mouth moves to my mouth, where instead of simply kissing me, his teeth graze my bottom lip. His fingers stroke the baseline of my jaw as we neck, adding to the delicious tingling going through my body.

I’m standing, frozen, letting him work his magic over me. I have never been kissed quite like this before, and I can’t help but savor it for a long moment.

Once Damon has suckled my bottom lip, he pulls back and looks down at me. He grins, and it is clear that he knows just how effective his kiss is.

“You didn’t kiss me like that last night,” I say, as if it is an accusation of some sort. If he had, I think I would have quickly gotten naked.

“Last night, we agreed that we weren’t going to go to bed together. So I gave you a … tamer kiss. But now, you want something more.” He suckles my earlobe.

“Ohhh,” I moan, my pussy throbbing. Suddenly, I need to be naked. I need to have this man’s hands and mouth all over my body.

I reach awkwardly for the zipper at the back of my dress to drag it down. After I fumble for a couple of seconds, Damon says, “No. Let me.”

I expect him to turn me around so that he can have access to the back of my dress, but instead his hands encircle me as he reaches for the zipper. And as his fingers find the zipper, his lips find mine.

Again, Damon’s lips move over me with the skill of someone who has perfected the art of the tease. He knows exactly how to use his lips to excite. What starts as a slow kiss—the kind that says we are equally enjoying every exquisite moment of it—soon turns to raging lust, with both of us hungrily opening our mouths wide, tangling our tongues together as if we cannot get enough of each other. Our breathing is suddenly ragged, our emotions raw. Damon urges the dress over my shoulders and then my hips, and I feel it slip to the floor.

I am surprised when Damon abruptly ends our fiery kiss. Stepping back from me, his eyes move over my upper body—my naked breasts—and he emits the deepest of moans. He likes what he sees. A lot. That kind of knowledge to a woman is power.

“Damn, you’re hot,” he whispers into my ear. Then he covers both my breasts with his hands, letting my nipples grow into taut peaks against his palms. Once they’re hard, he brushes the pads of his thumbs over my nipples again and again. Closing my eyes, I arch my back and moan, wanting more than just his teasing touch.

I flinch when I feel Damon’s tongue between my breasts. I open my eyes and look down at him. I want to see the moment his lips close around my nipples, but instead, he only kisses the area between my breasts and then raises his head to look at me.

“Come on,” he whispers. “As much as I want to do you right now … “ He kisses my cheek. “Right here … “ He kisses my other cheek. “I say we should make it past the doorway. I’ve got a perfectly good bed.”

“I know,” I say, sounding breathless.

Damon takes my hand and walks with me through his loft to the steps that lead upstairs. His bedroom occupies the entire second level, and with the blinds open this afternoon, it affords a great view of Buckhead Triangle Park.

Now that we’re in his bedroom, he gently pushes me and I fall forward onto the bed. Before I can turn over onto my back, he is on top of me. I feel his hands on my legs, his mouth on my ass. He nibbles and licks, driving me wild with desire.

“I love your ass,” he tells me as he trails a finger along the length of the material of my thong from the top of my butt until he reaches the back of my pussy. Within seconds, Damon is pulling my thong over my hips and off my body.

And then I am being turned over, and Damon is spreading my legs, exposing my pussy to him. It’s the middle of the day, the sunlight is spilling in, and I’m on my back, naked, every inch of me bared to this man for the first time.

I ease myself up on my elbows, and my eyes connect with Damon’s. The heat emanating from his gaze is as potent as any touch, and a jolt of delicious pleasure shoots through my body.

Damon holds my gaze as he lowers his head, a slight smirk on his face saying that he knows he has me exactly where he wants me—under his control. I hold my breath, waiting. I love to watch a man eat me.

His lips part. His tongue extends. I’m gripping the sheets, my body so ready for this.

And then he flicks his tongue over my clitoris. A quick flick. A teasing flick. Then another flick. My pussy pulses, my juices already flowing.

Damon groans with pleasure, and the teasing quickly stops. His mouth covers my clitoris fully, and he begins to perform with gusto. He suckles me hard, drinking my honey. He nibbles. He twirls the tip of his tongue over my ever-swelling clit. I ball my hands into fists as I watch it all, enjoying the view of this gorgeous man eating the fuck out of my pussy.

He spreads my legs wider, then adds his fingers, first easing one into my wetness, then another. As my moan of pleasure grows louder, he puts a third finger into my pussy and begins to finger-fuck me hard. He’s still working his teeth and tongue over me, and the sensations are so amazing I can no longer stay up on my elbows. I let my upper body fall onto the bed, my eyes fluttering shut. I concentrate on the sensations of carnal pleasure as this man sucks and fondles me relentlessly. I grip my nipples, massaging them to heighten my stimulation.

My breathing becomes more ragged. I am almost there now. Almost ready to lose myself in an orgasm.

“Oh, God. Oh, yeah. Give it to me, Rugged!”

Damon finger-fucks me harder. “You want it rougher? How’s this?”

As I realize what I said, my words so jar me that I come prematurely. I have a mini orgasm, the kind you end up having when something distracts you.

Damon, thankfully, doesn’t get my meaning. He doesn’t realize that I was calling out to another man while he’s the one going down on me.

“Shit, you’ve got a sweet pussy,” he utters, and continues to finger me and lick me.

I’m not sure how I went from experiencing pure bliss from Damon’s tongue to calling out Rugged’s name. All I know is that it has annoyed me. Annoyed me because I shouldn’t be thinking about Rugged at a time like this.

I squeeze my legs around Damon’s shoulders, determined to forget Rugged. I try in vain to recapture my orgasm. But it has slipped away. Nothing will bring it back now. So I moan and arch my back and put on a show—pretending that I have been gripped by the most amazing climax ever.

Damon doesn’t let up. He grips my thighs and continues to torture my pussy until I rasp, “Fuck me! I need you inside me right now!”

Damon wastes no time getting out of his jeans and briefs. He is erect—and while I should be even more excited, my enthusiasm fizzles slightly.

His cock is on the small side.

I reach for it nonetheless and stroke it, I suppose hoping to make it grow even larger. But it doesn’t, no matter how vigorously I pump his shaft.

Damon runs his fingers through my hair and says, “Hold on one second.”

I watch as he walks to the bedside table, checking out his tight ass and strong thighs. He truly has an amazing body. So what if he’s not the most well-endowed guy I’ve ever been with? I’m sure he knows how to use what he’s got.

He puts on a condom and then comes back to me, climbing on the bed in front of me. I ease onto my back and spread my thighs. He is smiling at me, an I’m-gonna-give-it-to-you-good smile. And when he leans his body over mine and kisses me in the same slow, sexy way that starts at my neck, I am once again tingling all over.

Seriously, that’s a hot fucking kiss.

I wrap my legs around his hips, feel the pressure of his erection between us. I expect him to thrust inside me, but instead Damon moves his lips from mine to my breast and begins to suckle. My God, it feels good. He trills his tongue over my nipple, eliciting heat that spreads throughout my body. And when he adds his fingers as well as his tongue, I know that this time when I come, it will be a great orgasm.

He moves his mouth to my other nipple, nibbles on it gently, flicks his tongue around the hardened tip. I begin to purr and gyrate my hips against him, letting him know that I am ready to be fucked.

Finally, Damon eases back and slips his cock inside me.

Normally, I love this moment. When a cock fills your pussy with its thickness. But Damon’s erection leaves a lot to be desired.

He positions his arms behind my knees and begins to fuck me hard and fast. This is the kind of unyielding movement that should leave a woman breathless during sex. And yet, my excitement is plunging quickly.

“You like that? Huh? Is that rugged enough for you?”

Damn, why did he have to go and mention Rugged? Because thinking of Rugged right now only reminds me just how good he was in bed, and how much Damon isn’t doing it for me.

Damon slips his hand between our bodies and strokes my clit in wild, frantic circles, clearly hoping to help get me off while he’s inside me. I moan, play the part. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I’m just not going to come this way, and dammit, I need a release. So I find myself saying, “Eat me again, baby. Eat my pussy. Make me come in your mouth again!”

Damon is happy to oblige. He withdraws from my pussy and buries his head between my thighs. As his tongue works its magic, I find myself wondering if I could be with a man with a small penis—as long as he eats pussy as well as Damon does.

The thought is distracting, and I do not want a distraction. Another fizzled orgasm and I will have to go home and pull out my vibrator. It has been so long since I’ve had a real man’s tongue and fingers on me that I do not want to leave here in defeat.

So as Damon’s hot tongue circles my clitoris, I close my eyes, fondle my nipples and allow my mind to go where it wants to go. And suddenly, I’m not thinking about Damon. I’m thinking about Rugged.

I’m imagining Rugged’s tongue all up in my pussy, lapping at my juices. I’m remembering the way he knew just how to tease my clit into submission. “More! Oh, yes, your fingers. Right there. Make me come. Yes, your tongue right there. Oooh, my God. That’s it. Suck my pussy. Baaaaby … “

I start to come, a volcano of sensation. The climax erupts from my pussy and spreads prickles of heat throughout my entire body. I am panting, delirious with the bliss of it. Damon, grunting excitedly, settles himself between my thighs. He thrusts again, hard and fast, and I urge him on with words like “Yes, baby. Fuck me hard! You’re hitting my spot!”

Soon Damon’s body tenses and he succumbs to his own release. I squeeze my vaginal walls around him, hoping to draw out his orgasm. My own body is still enjoying the aftermath of mine.

Sated, Damon lowers his body on top of mine, kissing me. His beautiful body is slick with sweat. We stay like that, kissing and holding each other, until our breathing calms down.

Finally, Damon eases back and looks down at me. He is smiling, that sweet smile. The kind that says he likes me.

Guilt washes over me. I can’t do it … can’t move forward in the hopes of having a relationship with Damon. I need a large, hard cock—the kind that can thrill me for hours.

“I’m glad you came back,” he says.

I grin. “So am I.”

“Are you doing anything this evening? We can go out, get a bite to eat.” He trails a finger around my nipple. “Come back here and go for round two.”

“I wish I could,” I lie. I don’t want to hurt him. He seems like a nice guy. He’s just … not enough. “But I’ve already got plans.”

“That’s okay. Tomorrow night?”

“Um,” I hedge. “Let’s talk later, okay?” I’m already getting up off the bed, gathering my clothes.

“You have time for a shower?”

“I may as well do that when I get home,” I tell him. And I hope—for his sake—that he doesn’t realize I am brushing him off.

I’ll give it a few days. Not answer his calls. Put him off gently. Hope that he gets the hint. And if he doesn’t, I’ll come up with a lame excuse for not being able to see him.

Because as much as I hoped that fucking Damon would help me forget Rugged, it’s made me remember him all the more.




Chapter three

Claudia


YOU CAN TELL YOURSELF OVER AND OVER AGAIN that you’re a strong black woman, a beautiful black woman, that the right man will eventually come along—but that doesn’t quite kill the ache in your soul. Oh, I know I don’t need to be married to be fulfilled. At least I know that logically. But the truth is, I never expected to be in my thirties and single.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying it’s the end of the world to be single past your thirtieth birthday. But I know—in my social circle—that people are talking behind my back, wondering what’s wrong with me that I haven’t tied the knot yet. An eligible Black-American Princess like myself—why is she still single?

Maybe people wouldn’t be talking if I hadn’t been engaged to Adam Hart, who turned out to be a sick son of a bitch. I can say that now because I’m over him. Adam has a twisted kinky side, one I ignored because I thought I was marrying the man of my dreams. One everyone in my social circle approved of.

Those same people who approved of Adam are judging me now. I know they are. At charity events, I get the sympathetic stare, the pat on the hand from older women and the assurance that one day I’ll find the perfect man.

It all makes me want to scream.

But as I stare at myself in the mirror, at my light brown skin and soft curls I perfectly styled—because, let’s face it, I’ve got too much time on my hands—I can’t help wondering if there’s something wrong with me. If there’s some reason a nice surgeon or business mogul wouldn’t want to marry me.

I can’t confess the feeling to my two best friends, Lishelle and Annelise. They would tell me that I’m out of my mind, that if the men I meet are too dumb to realize how fantastic I am then there’s something wrong with them. But I can’t stop the thought from popping into my head that the men in my social circle know all about my screwed-up relationship with Adam, and that’s why they don’t want to go anywhere near me.

And when they do want to go near me, it’s because they think that I’ll give it up easily. That I’ll do kinky things in bed with them. Things I regret doing with Adam.

I can’t believe how stupidly I behaved for the sake of keeping my man. And the idea that I may be judged for that forever is really hard to accept.

The rumor mill is alive and well in high society, let me tell you. That’s why I’ve pretty much given up on the idea of finding a man in Atlanta. In fact, I’m pretty much regretting the fact that I said yes to the blind date my brother-in-law’s sister set me up on.

But it’s a Tuesday evening, and I have nothing better to do, and who knows? Maybe Mark Wickham will be the one.

So I finish applying my makeup, get my clutch purse and head out the door. Within minutes, I am in my white BMW and driving toward midtown.

I really don’t want to be here. That’s what I think when I hand my keys to the valet. I am at New York Prime, the restaurant where I am supposed to meet Mark. This place has a reputation of serving the best-quality steaks in town, so if nothing else, I should get a decent meal.

I am still skeptical of this kind of date—the kind initiated by others—but Lishelle’s talk about how well her evening with Damon went has given me some hope.

And there’s no doubt that Mark is a good catch. He’s one of the Wickhams—a publishing dynasty in Georgia. Samson Wickham, Mark’s father, runs Wickham Publications, which publishes a series of monthly magazines for black women, black men, teens and entrepreneurs.

I have met Mark at events in the past, but we’ve never really chatted. I do know that he is attractive and, as far as my family is concerned, he’s from “good stock.”

I’m jaded, of course, which is why I told Mark that I would be driving my own car to the Buckhead restaurant. My dating life has most definitely sucked, but I’m always open to meeting the love of my life.

We’re due to meet at seven o’clock, and my personal rule is to never arrive early for a date. Ten minutes late is just about right. You can tell a lot about a man based on how he reacts to a woman being fashionably late.

I make my way into the steak house, and I sense eyes on me as I enter. It’s confirmation for me that I look good. And in my black sheath dress, with my hair in big, soft curls and my makeup done in the smoky, dramatic look that’s so popular these days, I’m looking especially hot. I suppose that even as wary as I’ve been of dating, I definitely miss sex and am open to seeing where the night might lead.

The hostess smiles warmly as I approach her. “I’m meeting someone,” I say before she can speak. “Mark Wick—”

I stop talking because I notice him. Rather, he has seen me and is now standing, waving to me from his table in the center of the restaurant beside three decorative palm trees.

“There he is,” I say cheerfully, and walk toward him.

Mark remains standing until I reach the table, which is beneath a beautiful, circular skylight. We greet by kissing cheeks. And then his eyes roam over me from head to toe, and I can tell that he likes what he sees.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” I offer him a sweet smile.

“No worries at all. I hope you don’t mind, I ordered us some wine and appetizers.”

He has passed the first test, not making a big deal out of my tardiness.

Mark’s eyes sweep over me once more. “Wow. You look amazing.”

“Thank you.”

He pulls my chair out for me and once I’m sitting, helps push it back under the table. Gentleman, I think. Definitely a plus.

He is staring at me with an almost wondrous expression on his face. I wonder what that’s about—until he says, “It’s kind of amazing that we haven’t ever spoken before. I’ve heard of you, of course, and we’ve been at some of the same events … “

“Crazy, isn’t it?” I say.

The conversation that follows is easy, and Mark is definitely the kind of eye candy I can stare at all night. I never really noticed how attractive he was before. I suppose before I only had eyes for Adam.

No, it’s more than that, I realize as I assess him. If I’m not mistaken, he’s slimmer than he used to be. Slimmer and more toned. He was never fat, but I can tell that he has worked out to get into better shape.

“I’m excited about the new magazine,” Mark is saying. “Hip-hop culture is so prevalent, I’m surprised it took us this long to try to penetrate the market.” Mark has just told me that it was his vision to begin a new magazine, Hip Vibe, and that his father finally agreed.

“So it’s your baby?” I ask.

“Yep. I’m in charge of everything. Getting it off the ground, overseeing editorial. I’m having a blast with it.”

“Congratulations,” I say. “I’m sure it’s very rewarding to see your dream come to fruition.”

“Two more months and it hits the stands.” Mark grins, then takes a sip of his red wine. “You know Rugged? The rap artist?”

“Yes, of course.”

“He’s on the cover of the first issue. We did the photo shoot a couple of weeks ago. Amazing shots, I tell you.”

“Just Rugged? Or is he with his fiancée?”

“Just Rugged. He wasn’t engaged then. Though in a future issue, we’ll likely do a story on him and Randi. I already talked to him about having one of our photographers at the wedding.” Mark sips more wine. “Anyway, enough about me. I’ve been doing all the talking. Tell me about you. Your mother said you’ve been doing a lot of charity work.”

Hearing Mark speak so passionately about his career, I can’t hold back a small frown. This has been a bone of contention in my life for a while. I keep feeling as though I’ve missed my calling. Like I’m not doing the one thing in my life that will totally fulfill me.

“Yes,” I tell him, but I don’t say that I haven’t done much charity work in the last year. I haven’t had the stomach to show my face at too many high-profile events, knowing what people have been saying about me and my failed engagement. “But lately, I’ve been contemplating what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. Charity work is great, but I want to find something more … I don’t know … personal?”

“What do you like to do?”

I draw in a breath, consider the question. How can I be thirty-one and not know how to answer this question?

“I like helping people,” I finally say.

“In what capacity? What are you passionate about?”

“I suppose I can see myself mentoring kids, or counseling.” I pause, stif ling the embarrassing thought that has come to my mind. The sad truth is, I never gave much thought to a career outside the home. I always figured I would be married by now, a wife to someone, perhaps already a mother.

Adam has taken that dream from me.

No, I tell myself. He has not taken that dream from you. The dream is simply delayed.

“What?” Mark is looking at me oddly.

“I guess—if you want to know the truth, I always thought I would be a wife and mother. Yes, I would do volunteer work. Get involved with charitable organizations to help people. But I always thought my primary focus would be my husband and children.”

“I know you were engaged to Adam Hart,” Mark says softly.

“Yes.” In so many ways that seems like ancient history, and yet Adam was such a big part of my life. “I have no regrets over my breakup with him. I want to make that clear.”

“No regrets?”

Mark raises his eyebrows slightly as he asks the question, and I get the sense that he is asking me something entirely different.

“I don’t want to talk about Adam,” I quickly say. Want to kill your chances with a new guy? Go on and on about your ex.

Thankfully, the waitress arrives with our appetizers, helping to quash any further talk about Adam. We dig in to our cheese mashed potatoes and onion straws. As I pour myself more wine, I go on to talk about some of the good news in my life—the fact that Annelise is having a baby and how excited I am that I’ll become a godmother. And when I ask Mark to tell me more about the publishing business, he doesn’t hesitate to go into detail about every aspect of his work.

He talks a lot. Much more than most guys I know. Which is kind of nice because there are no lulls in the conversation.

My steak was outstanding, and I’m so full, I pass on dessert—even though the options look fabulous. Mark passes on dessert as well, and asks for the check. Ten minutes later, we are strolling out of the restaurant. A real gentleman, Mark walks me to my car.

I retrieve my keys from my clutch, and then we stare at each other awkwardly for a few moments. I giggle nervously, wondering if he plans on kissing me. I wouldn’t mind. It’d be nice to kiss him, see if there are any sparks.

Mark steps toward me and slips an arm around my waist. I do feel some butterf lies. I don’t know if I’m imagining them, or if I’m desperate for them to be there, but I feel something.

“I really enjoyed getting to spend time with you,” Mark says. “I’ve been looking forward to going out with you for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He grins down at me. “In fact, I’m not ready for the night to end.”

I blush, tickled that he likes me. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What did you have in mind?”

He raises a suggestive eyebrow. “The Ritz-Carlton hotel is next to the restaurant … “ He gestures to it with a jerk of his head. “Hmm?”

I know that earlier I thought I wouldn’t mind if the night led to sex, but I’m rethinking that. I like Mark, and I want to get to know him better before going to bed with him.

“How about you call me, and we’ll plan another date,” I suggest.

“You know, I heard some things,” Mark says in a lower voice. He gives me a pointed look, his eyes sparkling beneath the street lamp.

I begin to get an odd feeling. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t have to play the good girl with me.

I heard about some of the stuff you and Adam were into. I liked it. I love a girl who can get her freak on.”

His words are like cold water being thrown in my face. Is this why he wanted to see me? He wanted to go out with me because he’s heard about my sordid sexual past with Adam?

“Exactly what things are you talking about?”

Mark chuckles softly. “You don’t have to be shy where I’m concerned,” he tells me. “I love it. I love it dirty.” And then he puts his mouth to my ear and whispers, “What was it like the first time you tasted another pussy?”

I push myself out of his arms so violently that he actually stumbles from the force of it. I stare at him, mortified. I cannot believe what he has just said to me.

Is he for real?

“Claudia? What is it?” he says, and has the nerve to look surprised.

“You’re a pig,” I tell him. “I’m not—I’m not the kind of girl you think I am. I didn’t do those things.” Not that I owe him any explanation. In fact, he’s the one who owes me one.

“Tell me that’s not why you asked me out,” I forge on. But I already know the answer. He’s not the first guy to be curious about the fact that I did some racy things, something Adam clearly spread to the world in an attempt to humiliate me. Unless the source was someone else—someone who happened to see me at the swingers club when I went there with that jerk of an ex-fiancé.

Mark stares at me, saying nothing, which in itself is all the answer I need. He’s not simply curious—he was hoping to get lucky.

“Ma’am, are you okay?”

I turn at the question, surprised to see an older African-American gentleman standing there. Mid-fifties, I would guess. He has a look of concern on his face as his stare volleys between Mark and me.

“I—I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I begin to back toward my car door. “Thank you.” I quickly press the button on my remote key to unlock my BMW, thankful that the stranger is keeping watch to make sure I’m fine.

And then I am scrambling into my car and driving away from the restaurant in haste. If only I could put the incident out of my mind as quickly as I am putting distance between me and Mark.

I make my decision, right then and there, to swear off sex. I’m a woman with needs, but I do not want to engage in another sexual relationship just for the sake of physical enjoyment. I did that in Vegas—and I don’t have any regrets about it—but I do regret where I let myself go with Adam, just to please the man I thought I was going to marry.

And I especially hate that the stigma of it has clearly followed me to this day. It’s as good a reason as any to abstain from sex.

Yeah, celibacy is looking really good right now.

Not for religious reasons, though I certainly understand the moral reasons for waiting until you’re married to lose your virginity, and perhaps things are much simpler when people do. The religious argument suddenly makes sense to me. There’s no doubt in my mind that sex outside of marriage has complicated the heck out of my generation.

But because of what I did with Adam, how I let him convince me to do things sexually that I never wanted to do … this is why I no longer want to jump right into bed with anyone.

And there’s something else, something I can never confess to either Lishelle or Annelise. Something I am more ashamed of than the sexual acts I was convinced to try.

I had an abortion.

At the time, being involved with Adam but not engaged, I knew how it would look to have a child out of wedlock. And so did he. But if he had given me any encouragement, I would have kept the baby. Instead, he drove me to the clinic where I had the procedure done. Problem solved.

Only it’s something that’s haunted me from time to time over the past couple of years. And now that Annelise is pregnant …

Well, now I’m feeling even worse about the decision.

I know I have to forgive myself, that I can’t turn back the clock, and most of all, I’m truly happy that I never married Adam. So logically, I know I’m better off without his baby.

Emotionally … That’s a different story.

Will I ever be a mother?

Will I ever be a wife?

Perhaps it’s just a phase I’m going through, one that I’ll get over once Annelise has the baby. I’m going to be the best aunt ever. There’s no doubt about that.

I drive with a heavy foot—until I realize that if I don’t want a speeding citation, I’d better slow down.

So I do. I have to get over the disastrous evening with Mark, put it past me and forget the blow to my ego.

When I was dating Adam we lived in Buckhead, but now I’m back at my parents’ place in Sandtown. Sandtown is an affluent area southwest of the city, where a lot of the African-American elite reside. It’s where I grew up, and I love the area—but every time I head back there, a part of me feels like a failure.

I’m supposed to be married and living in Duluth.

Irritation washes over me as I drive south on Peachtree Road. I’m annoyed with myself. Perhaps it’s the date with Mark—which has served to emphasize how my reputation has been tainted—that has me thinking of supposed-to-be. Because honestly, I haven’t been pining over our breakup. I’m elated that I didn’t take a doomed walk down the aisle with him.

It’s just … It’s just that I wish I weren’t single.

My gaze wanders to the right. And suddenly I see something that gets my attention. Two people standing on the sidewalk, arms flailing. My first guess is that one of them might be drunk. But as I get closer, I realize that the two people—a man and a woman—are having some sort of dispute.

The female looks young, while the man she’s with is definitely older. Her father?

I drive on, but find myself looking in my rearview mirror. Within seconds, I am making a U-turn. What if that man isn’t a father, but someone else? I know that I can’t leave this young woman who might be in danger.

In the restaurant parking lot, a stranger had intervened to make sure that I was okay. How can I not do the same?

I drive slowly as I double back, eyeing the girl and the guy. When I see the girl pulling her arm violently from the man’s grip, it is clear to me that yes, she’s in trouble.

My tires squeal as I make the quick U-turn to put me back onto the side of the road where they are. The sound causes both the man and woman to jerk their heads in my direction. No sooner do I brake to a stop at the curb, I am out of the car, charging forward without thinking. It doesn’t occur to me that what I am doing could be potentially unsafe.

“Hey,” I say, forceful. The guy—way too old to be with this girl, who’s only got to be in her early twenties—stares at me with an annoyed expression. My gaze goes from him to the girl, who is definitely cowering. My gut tells me that this isn’t a father dealing with an out-of-control daughter, but something else.

“Are you okay?” I ask the girl.

“Mind your own business.” This from the man.

I walk straight up to the girl. “Are you okay?” I repeat.

The shake of her head is slight. She’s afraid of this man.

“Look, lady.” The guy is pissed. “This is a private matter.”

I whirl to face him, putting my body between him and the frightened female. “How old are you?” I ask, an accusation.

“What?”

“You should be damned ashamed of yourself.” I turn to face the girl. “Come with me.”

“Excuse me?” the man says, outraged.

“I’ll take you someplace safe,” I go on. “Anywhere you want to go.”

The girl nods, and we begin to move. I don’t even notice that the man is approaching me until he has a firm hold of my arm. “If you know what’s good for you—”

I pull my arm from him so harshly that he actually staggers backward. I’m not sure where I’ve gotten the courage to be so tough. This isn’t me. I’m out of my element. But I stand up to this man, one who clearly likes to dominate young women.

“Touch me again, and it’ll be the last thing you do.” I’m amazed at the words that come from my mouth. Did I hear that line in a movie? When the hell have I become this kick-ass type of chick?

As I begin to doubt my feigned bravado, the man takes a step backward and even raises both hands in an attempt to show me that he isn’t dangerous.

I’m amazed that my words have had their intended effect.

“Sasha,” the man says, his tone soft. He is trying the nice-guy approach now. “Sasha, you know I didn’t mean it.”

I place a hand on Sasha’s back and guide her to my car. Looking back over my shoulder, I give the jerk a warning glance. It says, Don’t even think of making a move, you piece of shit.

I open the passenger door and Sasha climbs inside. Then I quickly round the car to the driver’s side and get behind the wheel. Thank God, the man stands on the sidewalk and watches, not making a move to come toward the car. Quickly, I shift the gear stick in my car and send the BMW flying into traffic.

I drive for about a minute without speaking. Then I glance at my passenger, whose eyes are focused on her lap.

“Hey,” I say gently. “You’re okay now.”

She faces me. Nods.

“Was that guy your boyfriend?”

Another nod.

“He’s a bit … old. Don’t you think?”

“Maybe.” Sasha’s voice is soft, vulnerable.

Sasha’s phone rings. In her eyes, I see fear. It must be the boyfriend’s number.

“Don’t answer it,” I tell her.

Sasha worries her bottom lip, clearly torn and unsure what to do. “Don’t,” I reiterate. “Whatever happened, let him cool off. At least.”

Sasha raises the phone, and I mentally scream, No, no, no! But instead of answering the phone, she presses the button to turn it off.

Good, I think. That’s good.

Another minute or so passes. I’m not sure what to say to this girl. I don’t want to come off as preachy, but I also want her to know that she can open up to me. “I’m Claudia, by the way.”

“Do you always run to people’s rescue like that?” Sasha asks.

“Actually, never.” Thinking of my actions, I’m still surprised. “But I couldn’t keep driving … not when it looked like you needed help.”

The girl nods.

“Where should I take you?” I ask.

She tells me an address south of midtown.

“You don’t live with him, do you?”

“No.”

“Good.” I pause to negotiate a turn. “Where we’re going … it’s someplace safe?”

“Yeah. My sister’s place.”

She’s younger than I first thought, no more than twenty, and I can’t help wondering where her parents are. Not in the picture? Deceased, maybe? And how is it that her sister is allowing her to be out with a man more than twice her age?

There’s a story there. “Listen, if you ever need to chat. Or if you’re ever in trouble and want to talk to me, I want you to know that you can call me.”

“Why?” Sasha asks, sounding skeptical.

Why indeed? I have never done anything like this before. But something about this girl speaks to me. I’m not sure why.

“Because we all need someone to talk to from time to time. I’m a good listener.” I smile.

The girl nods, then looks forward again. After a while, she tells me to turn right. I do, and she continues to guide me the rest of the way to her sister’s building.

It’s not posh, but neither is it run-down.

Her fingers curl around the door handle. Before she can open it, I say, “Wait a second. Let me put my number into your phone.”

Sasha hands me her phone, and I enter my name and number. As I pass it back to her I say, “I don’t know what the deal is with your boyfriend, but it’s obvious you were afraid of him. If he comes around tonight—or any other time—don’t be afraid to call the police.” I’ve got a pretty good idea what this man is like, and he reminds me of Annelise’s sister Samera’s ex-boyfriend, Reed. Men who feel like they possess you are the most dangerous of all. There’s no telling what they’ll do. “Or, like I said, you can call me. Whatever you do, be safe.”

I wonder if my words have gotten through to Sasha at all, or if she’s going to exit my car and immediately call the man I rescued her from. It wouldn’t surprise me.

But as much as I fear she’ll do that, I also know that the hard sell to stay away from him—words from a stranger, no less—might just have the opposite effect on her and send her running right back to him.

So I drive away from her sister’s apartment, happy that I’ve done a good deed. One that has helped—at least somewhat—to dull the memory of my date with Mark.




Chapter four

Annelise


“I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO ESCAPE,” CLAUDIA SAYS. “I’m not going to meet anyone in this city who doesn’t know about my engagement to Adam. And … some of the things we did. Everyone’s so damn interested … as if they’re all virgins, or something. Probably all closet freaks themselves,” she adds with a scowl.

“Exactly,” I tell her. “Please, sweetie, don’t let them get to you. Mark is clearly an asshole, and it’s better that he let you know his true nature on your first date, rather than your tenth.”

“I know.” Claudia sighs. “All the same, maybe I ought to leave Atlanta. Move to California, or Seattle. Or heck, Timbuktu.”

Claudia is downright miserable. After she told me about her date with Mark, I suggested we go shopping for shoes at DSW. Shopping always lifts Claudia’s mood.

But not today. No matter how many times I tell her to stop worrying about what people think, I know she can’t help it. Raised in an elite African-American family, appearances have been important to the Fishers for generations. Even if Claudia personally couldn’t give a crap, her family puts the kind of pressure on her about her public profile that is hard to ignore.

And knowing that she was looking forward to meeting Mark, given that he’d be the kind of guy her family would approve of, I can’t help feeling bad for her. She didn’t deserve to be treated like a whore last night. Claudia’s beautiful both inside and out, and I want nothing more than to see her find a man who will love and adore her.

“Don’t let what Mark said get to you,” I tell her. “Obviously he’s a slimeball.”

“If only he were the only one who saw me as some perverted whore. But there was that other guy, remember? He didn’t come right out and say what Mark did, but he was curious about what I’d done with Adam. Obviously word has gotten around. And it’s not even like I did anything extra freaky. You know the fucking rumor mill. Sure, there was that bartender … but that wasn’t my idea, and I was cornered into doing that.”

I notice that a woman is lingering near me and Claudia, clearly eavesdropping. I’m sure our racy conversation has intrigued her.

“Can I help you with something?” I say sweetly, and the woman quickly hurries in the other direction. When she is out of earshot I continue speaking to Claudia. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but please try to put it out of your mind. And for God’s sake, don’t blame yourself. What happened with Adam happened. Really, it’s not even that big of a deal. People just like to talk.”

“Especially in my circles.” Claudia takes a low-heeled sandal out of a box and slips her foot into it. She examines the way it fits her, then frowns and takes the shoe off. “Seriously, I need to get away.”

Her words give me an idea. Maybe that’s exactly what she needs—what we all need. “You know what? We should plan a trip.”

“Getting away will be nice … but I’ll still have to return home. Maybe I should go to Europe for six months.”

“And miss your goddaughter being born?” I say, shooting her a stare. “No way.”

“I know. I can’t do that.” Claudia forces a smile, but it’s weak. “I love you for caring. But I’ll be okay.” The grin widens, begins to resemble something genuine. “I will be, promise.”

I head back to my photography studio after my shopping break with Claudia. I have an elderly couple coming in an hour for fiftieth-wedding-anniversary portraits, an aspiring model after that. Not a very busy day.

It’s the kind of day where I have time to think, and that’s what I’ve been doing—thinking about Claudia’s offhanded comment about getting away.

Going on a trip—anywhere—will do her a world of good. Not to mention Lishelle. Getting out of Atlanta while the city is buzzing over Rugged’s engagement will be ideal for her. Especially since she sent me a text letting me know that she’s no longer interested in Damon.

Maybe we can go to one of those adults-only resorts. Sure, people likely head to places like that with hookups in mind, but there have to be at least a few happily-ever-after stories. And if the only thing that comes of the vacation is that my friends flirt, have fun, maybe even get laid … well, that’ll do a lot for their dismal states of mind.

I am sitting at my desk, pondering exactly what to do, when the door chimes sing. Whipping my head in that direction, I see one of my favorite people entering my studio.

“Hey, Jared,” I say as I rise to meet him.

“Hello, gorgeous.” His eyes lower to my belly. “Wow, look at you. Pregnant!”

“Five months.”

Jared hugs me. “Congrats.” And as we pull apart, he asks, “Have you set your wedding date yet?”

“Hmm.” My smile is pure saccharine. As much as I love Dom, I’m not sure I want to take another walk down the aisle. When you’ve had a marriage crash and burn, it makes you a bit wary of the institution. I was raised in a very religious household, and always believed marriage was the only way. But despite my ex-husband’s own Christian upbringing, he didn’t feel he owed me fidelity.

No, Dom and I don’t need to make it legal in order to be happy. Not that Dom necessarily shares my opinion. And his mother, an Italian Catholic, definitely wants to see us married before the baby is born.

“Not yet,” I tell Jared.

“Make sure I get an invite.”

“You know you will.” I playfully cut my eyes at Jared. Surely he hasn’t shown up to talk about my marital status. I wonder if he has good news for me. “Did you catch him yet? Wishful thinking, I know.”

Jared shakes his head. “No, sorry.”

No, of course not. Too much time has passed for that to be likely. “Then what brings you by?”

“I was in the area. Figured I’d check in on you. See that everything is okay.”

Jared has been checking in occasionally for the last five months, when there was a robbery at my studio. I wasn’t here at the time—thank God—but I came in one morning to find the place ransacked. Photos were trashed, and my most expensive camera equipment was stolen. When I called the police, Jared was one of two officers who came out to investigate.

“Everything’s good,” I tell him.

“I see that,” Jared says, eyeing my belly. “You never mentioned this the last time I was here.”

“I wanted to make sure I was far enough along before announcing it to the world.” I’m pretty certain that Jared developed a bit of a crush on me after our first meeting, which was why he showed up again just days later. He’s gorgeous—about six foot two, with caramel-colored skin, serious muscles in all the right places—and if I wasn’t happily involved, I’d absolutely have been interested in dating him. But, considering I am in a relationship, when Jared asked me if I wanted to get a coffee, I gently let him down. Right then and there, his flirting stopped. In fact, now he likes to tease me about when I’m going to marry Dom.

Jared’s respectful, which I like, a real decent guy. I have often thought that Jared might be perfect for Lishelle, but the timing was never right to introduce them.

But now …

“Still looking for that special someone?” I ask, an idea coming to me.

“Still single,” Jared confirms.

I tsk. “In a city like Atlanta overrun with available women, it’s hard to believe a guy as hot as you hasn’t found one to settle down with.”

Jared shrugs. “The women here—at least the ones I’ve run into—aren’t looking for something real. They care about the kind of car you drive, and what you’re going to buy them.”

“Superficial,” I say. And I can’t deny that what Jared says is true. I’ve seen it myself. Here, women are all about designer shoes, designer bags, high-end cars. I like pretty things as much as the next girl, but I’ve never been about being with a guy for what he can do for me financially.

“Been there, done that, and I’m not getting married only to get divorced again. I’d rather be single than settle.”

“Preaching to the choir, my friend,” I say. It’s the reason I haven’t wanted to jump into marriage with Dom. I love him, and he’s great to me. But there’s the little thought in my mind, the fear: What if something goes wrong?

Claudia and Lishelle tell me that I’m being overly paranoid, and point out that Dom is not Charles. I know they’re right. And now that I’m pregnant, Dom and I will be connected for life, whether we want that or not.

“Whatever happened to the brother you were supposed to bring by? You remember—you were supposed to do a photo shoot with him?”

“Right, right. Why don’t we set up an appointment. I’ve got time off coming in two weeks, so no excuse.”

“Wait. Did you say that you’ve got time off?”

“Ten days.”

My mind is churning with a sinfully delicious idea. “Any plans?”

“Other than rest and relaxation?”

“I mentioned to you that I want you to meet my friend. Lishelle—the one you’ve seen on the news?”

“Right.”

“And you have a brother. And I’ve got another friend.” I’m speaking more to myself now, the idea taking full shape in my mind. “This could be perfect.”

“What could be perfect?”

I grin. “Take a seat.”

On Sunday, once I’ve got confirmation that Jared and his brother are in, I drop my little bombshell on my friends while we’re at Liaisons.

“I have a surprise for you,” I announce.

In unison, both Lishelle’s and Claudia’s eyebrows lift in curiosity. But Lishelle is the one to speak. “What kind of surprise?”

“The kind that’ll take us away from Atlanta for a while,” I reply.

“A trip?” Claudia asks. “Like a weekend getaway?”

“No, like a real trip. To Jamaica. Or Mexico. Or heck, even Paris.”

“As long as it’s not Vegas,” Lishelle quips, reminding us all that our trip to Vegas, while fun, had had a dark side.

“Listen, my stomach’s grumbling,” Claudia announces. “Let’s get some food and continue this conversation.”

So we head to the buffet spread, and I make sure to satisfy my craving for hot pancakes smothered in butter and syrup. Hey, I’m eating for two.

Back at the table, I don’t want the subject of the trip to be forgotten. So after I’ve devoured a good portion of my pancakes, I say, “I’m serious about going away. What do you say, ladies? A week in the Caribbean? If we go to Mexico, maybe you two can find your own Miguel.”

Claudia, Lishelle and I have all been impressed with my sister’s boyfriend, Miguel, whom she met when we were in Costa Rica trying to find information on some of my late husband’s illegal activities. Miguel has been the dream boyfriend—romantic, attentive and incredibly hot. He was instantly smitten with Samera and has remained smitten—an impressive feat, judging by the guys in the past who haven’t been able to handle Samera’s hard edge long-term. I guess that edge is to be expected of a girl who was raised in a strict religious home, rejected a lifestyle she found to be hypocritical and ended up working as a stripper. These days, she’s back at school studying to become a paralegal.

“Okay, now I’m intrigued,” Claudia says. “I’d almost be willing to let my family disown me if I could find a man who adores me as much as Miguel adores Samera.”

“Lishelle?” I say. “Are you game?”

“When are you talking? In a couple of months? Because I’ve got work.”

“In a couple of months, no one’s going to let me get on a plane.” I raise an eyebrow. “Everyone at your station loves you, Lishelle. They always allow you flexibility. You’ve got some vacation time coming, don’t you? I’m sure you won’t have a problem getting a week off.”

When neither Lishelle nor Claudia speak, I say, “Come on. This may be our last trip together for a long, long time.” To emphasize my words, I rub my belly. “Seriously, we need to get away now. In a couple of months I won’t be able to get around much, and if I’m going to go anywhere, I want to enjoy it. It has to be now.”

“You’ve got a point … “ Lishelle agrees.

“I’m going—with or without you,” I threaten. “But what kind of trip would it be without my two best girls?”

And suddenly, I begin to tear up. Yes, part of it is hormones. I’ve become incredibly emotional since getting pregnant. But it hits me just how much my life is going to change.

“I’m not going to be able to take off for girlfriend trips for a long, long time,” I say. “If ever again. Even our Sunday brunches … I don’t know that I’ll be able to do that anymore.”

“Maybe not right away,” Claudia says, “but you’ll be bringing that baby out to meet us every week—even if we have to change the brunch spot to your place.”

I wipe at the tears that have fallen down my cheeks. “Ignore me. Pregnancy throws your emotions out of whack.”

And though I didn’t plan the tears, I’m glad they fell. Because I need my friends to say yes. I need them going on this trip with me.

If they don’t go, it’ll blow the surprise I’ve arranged. The kind of surprise that might lead to their own happily-ever-afters.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Claudia asks.

“Hell, yes, I’m serious.” I brush at more tears. “Clear your schedule for the first week of October. We’re going away.”

“That’s two weeks from now,” Lishelle says.

“Exactly.” It has to be then, because that’s when Jared and his brother are available. “Two weeks is plenty of time.”

“We don’t even know if there’ll be availability with such short notice,” Lishelle points out.

“There are plenty of resorts in the Caribbean. Mexico. There’ll be space somewhere.”

Lishelle scowls. “Wait—I think Terrence might have vacation then.”

“Make it happen,” I tell her. “I remember having to twist your arm to get you to go to Vegas, but you had an amazing time, didn’t you?”

“Hey … can’t a girl ask any questions?”

“You can ask questions, but you can’t say no,” I tell her. “Consider this the last hurrah, if you will.”

“I’m game,” Claudia says. “My schedule is painfully clear.”

“Maybe it won’t be, after Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Claudia asks.

“Why not? The Mayan Riviera is beautiful. I’ll go home and start checking on packages right away.”

I stare at Lishelle, waiting for confirmation from her. “All right, I’m in. I’ll ask for the time tomorrow.”

“And if they give you any problems, you have me call them,” I say. “No one wants to deal with an irate pregnant woman.” I narrow my eyes playfully. “That goes for both of you too.”

Claudia smirks. “Point taken. We’re going to Mexico!”

“Or else,” I add in a mock-threatening tone. And then, “Seriously, guys, we’re going to have an amazing time. The absolute best.”

“I’ve got a plan,” I say in a singsong voice as I enter the Pine Lake home I share with Dom. “I think I may have the perfect men for—” I stop abruptly as I round a corner into the family room and see Dominic’s mother sitting on the armchair near the window. “Oh.” I quickly quash my frown. “Hello.”

“Hello, Annelise.” Mama Deanna, as I call her, is sitting on the armchair and knitting something white. She eases herself up to kiss me on both cheeks, the way they do in the old country. “My darling, how are you? How’s the baby?”

Mama Deanna speaks with a fairly thick Italian accent, most of her words ending with an a sound. How’s came out as howsa. She’s short, about five feet two, and round.

“Where’s Dominic?” I ask.

“I sent him to get groceries. You no have no vegetables, no fruit.” She tsks. “You need this stuff now that you’re going to be a mother. Don’t worry—I’m going to help you take care of yourself and my grandchild.”

Mama Deanna pats my arm, as if to say that there’s nothing to worry about because she’s here.

I don’t bother to tell her that I was planning to come home and draft a grocery list. I’d rather not say anything that will draw any attention to my perceived flaws.

And speaking of flaws, I glance around, noting that the place seems considerably cleaner. So clean that the camera bag I had in the corner of the living room is no longer there. “Mama Deanna, have you seen my black camera bag?”

“Oh, yes. I put it in a box in the garage. The place was too messy.”

Turning, I roll my eyes. In the past, Dominic’s mother has come for a week at a time, and I hate to say it, but I have counted the days until she left. I like the woman, don’t get me wrong. It’s just … well, she can be overbearing. I always hear from her that I’m not feeding Dom well enough and a host of other offenses—including the big issue, that we’re living in sin.

I head to the garage, where not only do I find my camera bag in a cardboard box—dumped as if it is garbage—but I see a number of envelopes. All of the bills that Dom and I have to pay. At least I know where the stuff is, so I don’t bother to take it out of the garage. I have no doubts that if I do, Mama Deanna will see to it that she “tidies up” once more.

I go back into the house and into the kitchen, where I pour myself a tall glass of orange juice. “So, how long are you staying?”

“Until you have the baby.”

I almost spit out the mouthful of orange juice. “W-what?”

“You need me now,” Mama Deanna explains. “I’ve had four babies. I know just what to do.”

She’s staying for the next four months? Did Dom know about this? I head into the foyer, where I left my purse and retrieve my cell phone. I plan to call him and ask exactly that. But before I can, I hear the sound of the garage door opening.

I open the door leading into the garage. I’m standing there as Dom gets out of his Audi. He is grinning, but it falters. Probably when he notices the expression on my face.

“Annelise—”

“She’s moving in for four months?” I ask.

“We never had a conversation about her moving in for four months.”

“But she is moving in, isn’t she?”

“She said she wants to help out, yes. And I don’t think it’s a bad idea.”

I show him the box with our bills and my camera equipment. “This is her idea of cleaning up,” I point out. “If she keeps this up, we’ll never find anything.”

Dom opens the trunk and begins lifting out the groceries, which are packed in reusable tote bags. “She means well.”

“You should have talked to me. Run this by me.”

With two heavy bags in his hands, Dom closes the trunk and then walks toward me. When he reaches me, he leans forward to give me a kiss. “She showed up out of the blue.”

“You had no clue?”

“I was talking to her last week, and she said that she wanted to come and help out while you’re pregnant. I had no clue she was going to show up today. And it’s not like I could send her away.”

I sigh softly. “No. Of course not. But she told me she’s staying until I have the baby. I know she’s your mother, but—”

Dom cuts me off with a quick kiss on my lips. “It won’t be four months.”

“It might be. Now that your father is gone, there’s no reason for your mother to go back home.”

Dom kisses me again. “I don’t want you worrying about my mother.” And this time, his tongue slips into my mouth. The kiss is harder, and I can’t help moaning against Dominic’s lips.

He lowers one of the bags, slips his hand under my skirt and trails his fingers up my thigh to my thong. He strokes my clit through the lacy fabric, moaning as he does.

Just as my body begins to feel aroused, I break the kiss and step backward, then swat him playfully. “And that’s the other thing—with your mother around, we won’t have any privacy. And you know how much we like our privacy.”

“That’s why we have to sneak in time where we can get it. Mmm … you’re already wet. I love how horny you are now that you’re pregnant.”

He gives me a long, heated look, and I know he’s considering screwing me right here in the garage.

The idea actually turns me on.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow.

“No!” My voice is an urgent whisper. And when Dom lowers the second grocery bag, I add, “Your mother is on the other side of that door!”

“She won’t come out here.”

“You’re crazy.”

Dom smiles. “Crazy for you.”

He advances, snakes a hand around my wrist. His other hand goes back beneath my skirt, and within seconds, is teasing my pussy.

“Why, Dom?” I ask, but the question comes out as a breathy moan, one that only encourages him.

“Because you’re fucking hot,” he whispers into my ear as a finger slips inside my pussy.

“Good Lord … “ I grip his shoulders.

He slips another digit inside me, pleasing me with hard, fast strokes. Suddenly, I don’t care if Dom’s mother opens the door and enters the garage. I want Dom right now.

“Here?” I manage to say weakly. “Or … the car …?”

“Is the SUV unlocked?” Dom asks as he kisses my neck.

“Yes … “ He pushes a third finger inside me. “Oh, yes … “

After torturing me for a few more seconds, Dom pulls his hand from my pussy and steps back. His grin is victorious. “Come on.”

I shoot a glance at the garage door as he takes my hand and leads me to the Cadillac Escalade. Thankfully, it has dark-tinted windows, so if Mama Deanna decides to come into the garage, she won’t be able to see anything.

As I start to climb into the backseat, Dom pushes my skirt up around my waist. Makes sense … less time maneuvering in the backseat.

He playfully swats my ass, and then he gets in next to me. Instantly, his hands go to my shirt, yanking the cotton fabric upward until it is over my breasts. He wastes no time lowering his head to one breast, gently biting my nipple through the lace.

“Damn you, Dom,” I say—a weak protest that he has me in this compromising position when his mother is all too close by.

“Maybe you’ll like this better.” He pushes the lace out of the way and draws my hardened nipple into his mouth.

I grip his head and try to keep the cry of ecstasy locked in my throat. My breasts are far more sensitive now that I’m pregnant, and sucking on my nipples is a sure way to turn me on.

His tongue flicks up and down over my nipple, driving me crazy. And then he grazes it with his teeth before suckling me with fervor.

I’m wet. My pussy is throbbing. I need to have him inside me.

“Fuck me, baby,” I beg. “Now!”

It takes a bit of maneuvering, but soon, one of my legs is stretched into the front-seat area, while the other is perched high against the backseat. Dom makes quick work of unbuttoning his jeans and dragging them far enough down his hips. I reach for his cock, hold it as he lowers himself onto me. And then I guide it into my opening.

“Fuck, Dom,” I utter as he fills me. “Oh, God.” I’d always heard the rumors that some pregnant women enjoy sex even more than before, and I know that to be true. My whole body is assaulted with intense pleasurable sensations as he fucks me.

He pulls out, plunges into my pussy again. I watch him do that over and over, my body hotly aroused. He knows just how to give it to me.

The next time Dom’s cock enters me, he reaches deep, pushing as far as he can go. I gasp in carnal delight.

“You know I love you,” he whispers.

“I know … “

When he pulls out of me, I sigh in protest, but then his mouth is on my nipple, suckling me hard. His fingers find my pussy and massage my clit in urgent strokes. Soon, I’m feeling my orgasm building.

Dom thrusts into me again, his fingers still on my clit as his cock pleasures my pussy. And then I’m digging my fingers into his back as I start to come hard.

Dom kisses me as I come, I’m sure to quiet me. I wrap one leg around him and arch my pussy against him as I ride the wave.

“I love you,” I tell him, my breathing ragged. “Oh, baby … “

Soon, Dom is grunting and thrusting hard, and then falling against me as he succumbs to his own orgasm.

For a good minute, we lie there, Dom still inside me, my leg still wrapped around his ass. I wipe sweat from Dom’s forehead.

Slowly, our breathing begins to return to normal. He kisses my arm. I kiss his throat.

And then his mouth finds mine, and we neck deeply, his tongue playing over mine in a way he knows I love.

“I guess we’d better get inside,” Dom finally says as he eases his body off mine.

“You’ll have to unpack the groceries. I’m heading straight for the shower.”

Dom nods as he pulls up his jeans. “Hey—I think we solved the privacy problem. We can always sneak into the garage.”

I smack his stomach. “Don’t joke about that.”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Dom says, flashing me his übersexy smile. When he smiles like that, I’d be willing to buy a swamp from him if he promised it was good land to build a house. Lord, how I love this man.

“All right,” I say after a minute. “I won’t make a big deal of your mother being here.”

As much as Mama Deanna gets on my case, I’m not about to have Dom put his mother out. And in a way, I am envious. At least his mother is here. I have no clue where my mother is. The last I heard from her, she was in a Bible compound somewhere in Alabama or Mississippi. My mother is a religious fanatic—and I don’t mean that she’s someone who loves God and takes religion seriously. No, she’s one of those Bible-thumping, over-the-top, always-judging-people-for-their-shortcomings kind of religious nuts. I get the feeling at times that she’s not allowed to make calls out of the compound without permission.

At least that’s what I tell myself to explain why I hear from her once a year if I’m lucky.

Out of the car, I follow Dom to where he left the two grocery bags. “Remember I told you that I was thinking about going away with Claudia and Annelise?” I say.

“Yeah.” Dom picks up both totes.

“Well, we’re planning something for the end of the month. Jared—the cop I told you about—and his brother, Chad, will both be going. Here—let me take a bag.”

“I’ve got it. You get the door, and I’m fine.”

Dom is chivalrous that way, so I don’t argue. I simply open the door and hold it for him as he enters the house.

Mama Deanna is once again sitting in the armchair and continuing to knit what I assume is something for the baby. The television is tuned now to some afternoon game show. Mama Deanna is talking to the television, telling the woman on-screen to pick box number two.

“Hey, Ma,” Dom says as he heads into the kitchen with the groceries. His mother raises a hand in greeting, but continues to give advice to the contestant on-screen, as if the woman can possibly hear her.

I follow Dom into the kitchen, worried that my clothes look disheveled compared to earlier. “I think we’ll try Mexico,” I say. “But I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going up to shower.”

“Okay.”

I ease up on my toes and give Dom a quick peck on the lips, and then I hurry upstairs, hoping Mama Deanna hasn’t figured out that Dom and I were having sex in the backseat of the car like teenagers.

Not that we’re not entitled. It’s our house after all, and we’re adults.

But I know that while Mama Deanna is here, she’s going to sit in that armchair in the living room as if it’s her own personal throne.




Chapter five

Lishelle


I AM LYING ON MY BED, COMPLETELY NAKED, MY vibrator in my hand.

I need to get off.

I could have returned Damon’s calls—he has left me three messages—but I know that fucking him again will only make me feel hollow. All I really want is the physical release, and a good one. Damon’s cock just won’t do it for me.

And for some reason, I want to be thinking about Rugged when I come. I’m not sure why.

Maybe it was that annoying footage they kept playing over and over again at the station, of Rugged and Randi at some party in Atlanta, that has him on my mind. The only thing I know for sure is that I’m naked and aroused, and I’m not going to deny indulging my thoughts of Rugged to get off.

As I’ve said, I didn’t dump him because of the sex.

I spread my legs. Stroke my clit. Take a deep breath.

I feel a little silly, and almost change my mind. Seriously, why am I doing this?

But then I remember Rugged’s tongue, which always got me off, and his impressive cock. I close my eyes and stroke my pussy again.

I conjure Rugged’s image, remembering the first time we fucked at his house in Buckhead. We were parked in his SUV, I was sucking his cock, excited about the fact that we were finally going to fuck. He’d been pursuing me, making his interest in me clear, and I was looking forward to taking him to bed.

We couldn’t get out of his vehicle and into the house fast enough.




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