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Lyra didn’t know she could still blush, but the heat in her cheeks said she hadn’t grown out of that habit. The Donovans had always told her of her Native American heritage, to which Lyra simply smiled and nodded. She’d never known her father, and her mother, Paula Anderson, certainly wasn’t Native American. She was an African-American, and had grown up in the Lemon City area of Miami, which was known for its large community of Haitian immigrants. But that’s where Mama Nell, Lyra’s grandmother, had lived, so that’s where Paula grew up until she felt like she was old enough to make it on her own. But Lyra’s mother thought she was grown the minute she learned to talk, and at age thirteen Paula took to the streets because Mama Nell’s restrictions were too strict for her.
Lyra didn’t really grow up in one place in Miami, seeing as how Paula dragged her to whatever dirty couch or boarded-up row house she could find in her search for her next high or next john, whichever she was fiendin’ for at the time.
The brothers, Bruce and Reginald, had been standing near one of the windows in the airy room, but with all the commotion they turned to look at her. Reginald with his round face and dark eyes smiled a toothy grin, and she walked to him quickly, falling into his thick arms. “Hi, Uncle Reggie.”
“Hey, Peanut. Carolyn’s right, you’re prettier than you were when you left.”
Being the smallest of the Donovans’ children when they were growing up had earned Lyra the nickname Peanut. The cousins had come up with their own nicknames for her.
“Thanks,” she replied before letting her gaze settle on Bruce Donovan. Tall and broad-shouldered, his medium-brown complexion blended handsomely with the graying mustache and beard.
He reached for her and she walked easily into his embrace. Of all the Donovan men, Bruce held a special place in her heart. He’d been the only father she’d ever known, and there were nights when she’d lain awake in the pretty pink room she had upstairs and thanked God for blessing her with him.
“Hi,” she said in a whisper.
“Hi to you, too, little girl.” He hugged her tight, just as he had on the tarmac that day she left to go to L.A. Over the past ten years he and Janean had called and written to her regularly, sending pictures, asking if she needed anything. She’d needed them both terribly, but had refused to admit it.
“I missed you,” she admitted, with her cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of his dress shirt.
“Missed you, too. You stayed away too long and I don’t like that,” he chastised lightly.
Pulling away she looked up into those familiar warm eyes. There was always love and understanding there, no matter what she’d done, he always looked at her the same way. “I know. But I’m back now.”
With long fingers, Bruce tweaked her nose. “You bet you are. And you’re staying put this time.”
Lyra wasn’t too sure about that, but figured it was better to keep the thought to herself. Instead she just smiled.
“What are you all standing around for? Take a seat, we’re about to bless this food so we can—” Janean abruptly stopped, as her husband, Bruce, with his hands on Lyra’s shoulders, turned her around to face the door that led to the kitchen.
There she was, the woman who was responsible for all that Lyra was. She still wore her church clothes, a plum-colored silk dress that hung on her marvelously mature body as if it had been cut especially for her. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun and her cherublike face bore just a light sheen of makeup. Even though she was ten years older, she was even more beautiful than Lyra had remembered.
“Hi, Ms. Janean,” she said, then cleared her throat because for a second she swore she sounded just like that ten-year-old girl Janean had seen at Easterntowne Elementary School.
Janean Donovan had no words, and that was saying something, since she had always been talkative and opinionated. But now she stood silent, her hands holding the handles of a pot with steam billowing upward. She took a step toward Lyra and Lyra took a step toward her. Sean stepped in and took the pot along with the potholders out of Janean’s hands. She wiped them on the stone-gray apron splattered with what looked like flour.
“My baby” was what she finally whispered, lifting her hands and clapping them against both Lyra’s cheeks. “My baby’s come home,” she repeated, her eyes clouding with tears.
Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest as her own eyes threatened to well up. “My pretty little girl all grown up.”
“I really missed you,” Lyra readily admitted, falling into Janean’s arms, resting her head on her shoulder in a familiar gesture. Lyra couldn’t even begin to remember how many times she’d cried on Janean’s shoulder, how many times Janean had whispered that everything would be all right, or how many times the woman and her family had actually made everything all right.
“I really missed you, too. Don’t you ever stay away that long again,” she told her.
“I won’t,” Lyra promised, realizing at that very moment how much this family really meant to her.
“Can we eat now? I’m starving. Minister Moore preached for a solid hour today and I’m still not sure what it was about,” Parker complained.
“That’s because you never pay attention,” Carolyn told her son as they moved around the table to take their seats. “You probably don’t even know the scripture he quoted from.”
“What matters is that I showed up in the first place,” Parker said in his own defense.
“It’d be good if you could get something out of showing up, son,” Uncle Reggie said, holding the chair for Carolyn and scooting her in before taking his own seat.
Regan laughed. “I’m surprised he showed up at all.”
“Right,” Savian added. “I wonder what young lady we have to thank for getting him into the house of the Lord today.”
“Doesn’t matter what got him there,” Carolyn said. “As long as he showed up he can receive a blessing.”
“That’s right,” Parker agreed with a nod.
“Even though I think he’d have to stay awake in order to do that,” Carolyn finished. “Next time you’ll know what Minister Moore’s preaching about if you stop yawning and nodding off.”
By then everyone was laughing and taking their seats. Everything felt like the good old days. And then the entire Donovan family joined hands as Bruce began the prayer for the family meal. Dion, who sat right beside Lyra, just as he used to all those years ago, took her hand. Lyra’s fingers nervously entwined with his and her traitorous body warmed.
Everything was not like the good old days, and that’s what had kept her away all those years. It was also, damn her wayward emotions, what had brought her back.
Chapter 3
She was on the dock looking out as the moonlight’s illumination danced along the water in sparkling ripples. He’d known she’d be right there, staring as if she were in her own little world, just like she used to.
Tonight Dion had been ambushed with memories, and he wasn’t at all surprised. Three days ago he’d found out she was coming home, even though she hadn’t been the one to tell him. That little omission stung, he’d readily admit. They’d been thick as thieves as kids growing up, even though he was four years older than she. But the minute he’d realized she loved to ride bikes, jump wheelies and climb trees as much as he did, Lyra had been one of his best buddies. For as much as he could be best buddies with a girl. Sean, on the other hand, never had much time for dirt bikes and running races, playing football and wrestling until somebody’s face was being ground into the dirt and they had no other choice but to cry mercy. No, as kids that was fun for him and Lyra, and they’d both enjoyed it.
Then things had changed and they’d made that one fatal mistake—or rather, he’d made that one mistake. For ten years he’d kicked himself for kissing Lyra. Now there was a part of him that was kicking himself for not doing more than kiss her.
“So I hear you’re finally going to marry him, huh?” he asked when his own silence was threatening to give him ideas that would only get him in more trouble.
She turned just as a slight breeze whisked past them lifting the ends of her curly hair slightly. She wore slacks and a tank top. The coral hue of the top added a vibrant tint to her burnt-orange complexion, giving her a more alluring quality than he knew she was aiming for. Gold bangles cuffed each of her wrists, matching the gold hoops at her ears. She looked so young standing there, so vulnerable.
“Good news travels fast,” she said with a shrug.
“It took you long enough to set a date. I thought you’d have gotten married as soon as you left with Stanford.” Saying the man’s name—even if it was only his last name—left a bitter taste in Dion’s mouth, but he did it anyway. He had to prove to himself that he could say the name of the man who would now and forever hold Lyra’s heart without screaming bloody murder and hurting someone in the process.
She slipped her hands into her pockets and shrugged. The act made her pert breasts rise and fall, and Dion swallowed hard. She was his little sister. He’d do well to remember that. Hadn’t that been what he’d been telling himself since the day he first noticed she had said breasts in the first place?
“I didn’t leave to marry him. We just left together.”
Dion nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home today? The last time you emailed me you said you were looking for another job.”
“I found one.”
“At Infinity? If you wanted to work there all you had to do was let me know. You’ve been so hell bent on being independent, making your own way in the world, I thought I was abiding by your wishes by leaving you alone in L.A.”
She smiled and it was like a sucker punch to his gut. It was taking an amazing amount of self-control for him not to get closer to her, to touch her, one more time.
“Since when have you abided by anybody’s wishes but your own, Mr. Donovan?”
“There’re a few people I’d go the extra mile for,” he answered trying to keep this reunion as light as possible.
Dinner had been trying. She was sitting so close to him, laughing, talking with that voice that he heard in his sleep too many nights to count. Now they were standing out here in a place where they’d had so many conversations before, talking about her upcoming wedding of all things.
“I had to come back. This is where it all began, after all,” she said, then turned to the side to look out at the water again. A boat filled with young party-goers passed by in the distance. Drinks were raised as the passengers waved like they knew Dion and Lyra personally. The waters along Key Biscayne were filled with cruise ships or yachts at all times of the day and night.
“You met him here that last summer when you interned at a small newspaper.” It was a statement, one that had stuck in his mind since she’d told him all those years ago. “Then you left to go to L.A. with him four months later.”
She nodded. “Then we broke up a year after that.”
“Because he wanted more than you did,” Dion added. Lyra had called him late one night needing to talk about the breakup. It had been uncomfortable for Dion, just as thinking about her with any man was. But Lyra was his closest friend and he was hers. No way was he going to let something as small as jealousy keep him from being there for her?
“He wanted it all, marriage, house, kids. I wasn’t ready for that.”
“But you are now?”
“We’ve been back together for two years now. I think I’m ready.”
“You think?”
She faced him again, looked up at him like she couldn’t believe he’d said that.
“I’m getting married, Dion. Do you have a problem with that?”
Did he? Hell yeah, he did. But it was his problem and nobody else’s. He’d wanted Lyra for so long, and yet beat himself up about wanting her that way. His mother would definitely not be pleased and the rest of his family would no doubt frown upon him looking at Lyra this way. They’d bash him for playing with her emotions, setting out to hurt her, since that’s what they assumed he did with all his female friends. They wouldn’t be happy about their seeing one another. Dion knew this, and that’s why he’d pushed her away ten years ago.
But if nothing else, he had to be honest with himself. He had a huge problem with Lyra marrying someone else when he wanted her all to himself.
“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” he lied as smoothly as the rays of moonlight shimmered on the water, as easily as he had said it the day he told her to leave for L.A. He lied to his best friend and miraculously found it hurt even more this time than it had before.
“Good,” she said with a weak smile. “Mark and I are looking for an apartment, but until then your mom wants me to stay here. I’m starting work tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see you at the office.”
She started to walk away like she was going to brush right past him when Dion reached out and grasped her by the elbow.
“I—” he started to say, then stopped.
“What?” she prompted.
He gritted his teeth and let the words dissipate from his mind. “I’m proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. You’re a great photographer and you’ve become a beautiful woman,” he said honestly.
Her smile was genuine, touching her brown eyes the way he remembered it did when they’d been laughing together as teenagers. “Thanks, Dion. That means a lot to me. Good night.”
“Good night,” he said reluctantly, letting her walk away. Again.
* * *
“Where am I supposed to live?” Paula Anderson asked with one bony arm propped on an even slimmer hip.
Lyra sighed, not wanting to go through this again. She didn’t need this aggravation on her first day of a new job. She was sick and tired of dealing with her mother’s selfishness and irresponsibility. Immediately, guilt washed over her and she closed her eyes, counted to five and then reopened them.
“You can get a job,” she said slowly. “I’ve given you all the money I can. I just moved across the country. Don’t you realize how expensive that is?”
“Girl, don’t give me that BS. And don’t forget I know who you really are. Now you might think you’re all high and mighty, out there foolin’ those rich folk, but you ain’t any better than I am.”
After years of hearing the same story, it was a wonder Lyra had any pride, or self-confidence for that matter. But she did, and she owed that to the upbringing of Janean Donovan.
“I don’t have any money.”
“You got money. I know they probably got an account set up for you and everything. That woman’s been so in love with my child for years. It’s a damn shame. Got kids of her own but still gotta go out and try to steal somebody else’s.”
“Well, if somebody else had been taking care of their child, maybe another woman wouldn’t have to.” Lyra’s reply was quick, her reflexes even quicker as she caught Paula’s long narrow fingers just as she tried to slap her across the cheek.
“I told you not to put your hands on me again,” she said with carefully tempered anger.
“And I told you not to forget who birthed you.”
They were locked in a stare-down, something that had happened too many times before. Paula wanted Lyra to bend to her will, to do whatever she said, whenever she said it. Lyra wanted Paula to get a damned clue. She was a grown woman and long over her mother’s drug-addicted ways and bitterness.
Sadly, none of that meant Lyra didn’t love her mother. After all, this was the woman who gave birth to her and for a little while the woman who’d taken care of her. Then one day everything just went totally wrong. They were kicked out of their small apartment with only the clothes on their backs, so Paula had to do what was necessary to make sure her baby ate, at least that’s the reason she gave Lyra for turning tricks in dark alleys while Lyra kept watch on the corner. But that was then. Over the years Lyra had become adept at leaving her past where it belonged, in the past.
“I’m not giving you any money. You know how to take care of yourself,” Lyra answered seriously and turned to walk away.
Paula had cut her off just as she was about to walk into the Excalibur Business Center that was owned by the Donovans, the headquarters of Infinity as well as DNM—Donovan Network Management. Now, Lyra wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. It was a secure building, she knew. Nobody was getting onto that elevator and upstairs without an ID badge or a phone call from the building’s security. Paula didn’t want to see any of the Donovans, that was for sure. Their relationship was not good, never had been, no matter how much Janean had tried.
“Don’t walk away from me, gal,” Paula said. Her Southern drawl usually came out when she was drunk or high—or some combination of the two—and when she was pissed off, which by now, Lyra knew she was.
A long time ago, Paula would ask Lyra for money—beg a little, cry for a couple minutes, and then Lyra would give her what she wanted. Then there’d be sloppy kisses, empty promises and quick goodbyes—a routine Lyra had grown to despise. But Lyra was done with that. If she counted the money she’d given her mother over the years, it would easily amount to a few thousand dollars. And that was nothing compared to all the money the Donovans had given her to stay away and leave Lyra with them. So part of the debt she owed this family was her mother’s. The other part was her own, and she was ready to start repaying it.
“Don’t threaten me, Paula. We’ve been there and done that. I’d think by now you’d know the limits.”
“You sure got a smart mouth. I bet if I come over there and smack the taste out of it, you’ll know who’s boss.”
The bright morning sunshine glittered over Paula’s fiery red hair, which was shaved close like a man’s. Leopard-print pants looked as if they were painted on her slim legs while the black shirt she wore slipped off one shoulder and hung loosely over a boyishly flat chest. She looked like she could have been about twelve years old. And if there had been a strong wind, she’d fall right over. A brief pang of regret touched Lyra’s heart at the sight.
“But that’s not going to happen now is it?” a masculine voice said.
Both their heads turned as Dion approached. Lyra instantly wanted to disappear. She hated for Dion to see her mother like this, to be reminded of where she came from.
“Well, looky here.” Paula tried to whistle but her two front teeth were missing so the sound was empty and produced more spittle than air. “You done growed up, boy.”
Dion only nodded at Paula then looked to Lyra. “Go into the building,” he told her. He could be such an arrogant ass at times. And other times he could be her savior. That was a role Dion always loved playing. Still, he should have known better than to think she’d just obey him.
“I’ve got this under control,” she said.
“No. I’ll handle it,” he countered.
“You her shining knight?” Paula asked, her speech slurring even more as she stumbled toward Dion.
Lyra rolled her eyes. Dion reached out a hand to catch Paula as she leaned into him but nearly missed him entirely. “I’ll call you a cab, Paula. Then you need to disappear. For good,” he said with a finality that made Lyra quietly gasp.
He was right, her mother needed to go. This was her job, her new life. She didn’t need or want her here.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Paula said straightening herself up and flattening her palms on Dion’s chest.
He wore a suit today, a gray double-breasted Armani—Dion loved just about anything Armani—with a crisp white shirt and bold peach tie with tiny flecks of silver. The sight of her mother’s slim hands, bony wrists and veiny arms on him made her stomach churn.
Lyra stepped over, clasping her mother by the waist and pulling her away. “Just go, Paula. I’ll call you later.”
She didn’t miss Dion’s frown at her words, but chose to ignore them.
“I’ll leave when I get what I came for,” Paula huffed.
Lyra rolled her eyes skyward. This was not the way she wanted to start her first day at Infinity. Hell, it wasn’t the way she wanted to live her life. But silly her for thinking she had any control of that. “Here,” she said digging into the side zipper of her purse and pulling out the cash she’d stuffed there yesterday after tipping the cab driver who’d picked her up at the airport. “Just take it and go.”
Paula fingered the money and looked up at Lyra with a frown. “You call me later,” she said, then looked over at Dion. “You still sharp, boy—sharp as a tack. That’s why that girl’s trying to get you to put a ring on it.” Throwing her head back Paula laughed as she sashayed her pitiful backside out of the parking lot.
“She’s still guilting you into giving her drug money,” Dion said from behind as Lyra rubbed her fingers against her temples.
“This is an old conversation,” she said. Taking a deep breath she turned around and walked right up to Dion. “It’s not your concern. I can handle my mother.”
Dion nodded and fell into step beside her, heading to the double glass doors of the building. “By giving her whatever she wants so she’ll leave you alone. That’s a good way to handle her. It’s like feeding a stray cat because you don’t want to see it starve. It’s going to keep coming back, Lyra. I know you know all this already.”
Lyra reached for the door and yanked it open. “Then why do you insist on saying it over and over again?” she said, glancing over her shoulder before walking through.
Dion followed her inside. “Because you never listen,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. “She’s never going to leave you alone until you make her.”
Spinning around to quickly face him she asked, “And just how do I do that? How do I turn my back on the only family I have, Dion?”
He stopped cold, looking her dead in the eye. Then his voice lowered. “I thought we were your family.”
Lyra sighed. This was how this conversation always went with them. Dion told her what to do, she argued about it, then he made her feel like crap because deep down she knew he was right. “You don’t understand,” she said finally. “I just want to move on. I just want to do my job and live my life without all these problems clouding it.”
Dion started walking ahead, waving at the two guards who manned the front desk. Lyra followed behind him, waving at the guards, as well. They’d let her in because she was with him. Later today they’d get a memo from human resources with her name, a photo ID and the department she worked in. Tomorrow morning when she walked in alone, they’d smile and greet her just as they had Dion. That’s how it worked in the world of the Donovans, a world she’d tiptoed around in for most of her life.
“You don’t want problems, then deal with them, Lyra. Stop acting like the victim here, because you’re not.”
They were in the elevator now, a seething Dion standing beside her, briefcase clasped in both hands in front of him. She could smell his cologne, felt the waves of warmth as his scent wafted to her nose, down the back of her throat, into her chest, and downward until she was completely full of him.
“Stop acting like an asshole, Dion. Oh, I forgot, you can’t help that.”
He chuckled. “Calling me names isn’t going to solve your problem.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, since you know so much, tell me what is going to solve my problem?”
“Grow a backbone,” he said just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Until then Paula and needy people just like her are going to walk all over you every time.”
He stepped off the elevator and Lyra wanted nothing more than to follow him and keep the argument going, but that would be futile. She was always the one to get upset, to yell and scream and develop a mega headache trying to prove her point to Dion Donovan. And he was the one who kept a cool head, a sarcastic tone and deflected each and every argument she came up with. Some things never changed.
Chapter 4
“Tomorrow is the Vina Vanell shoot. She’s on the October cover with a feature story that coincides with the release of her new CD.”