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My tenth novel—this is dedicated to my main guy. Mommy loves you, Masee!
Contents
Acknowledgment
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Acknowledgment
I thank God for instilling in me my love of books and
writing. I thank Him each day for providing the life,
health and strength to create and for finding me a worthy
recipient of this blessing.
Chapter 1
“Calm down, Zakira, just calm down.”
The words replayed themselves again and again. She practically chanted the phrase in the silent hallway, lit only by the myriad of Christmas candles lining the walls.
For weeks, the terrible, yet familiar nightmare had intruded on Zakira Badu’s dreams. There was no way she would get back to sleep anytime soon. She hurried down the black carpeted stairway, rubbing her hands across the sleeves of her short, pink satin robe. The kitchen was only a short distance away, and a cup of warm milk was always the perfect remedy for sleeplessness. Zakira’s small feet padded the plush carpeting. Several tendrils of her naturally thick, waist-length hair were matted against her temple and neck. She tugged at the clinging locks and sighed. The dreaded dream was having the worst effect on her. The frazzled nerves and edgy moods were both frightening and frustrating.
The lower level of the lovely Richmond, Virginia, home was dark except for the electric holiday candles arranged in every corner of the living room and along the hallway that led to the kitchen.
The spacious state-of-the-art kitchen was void of any light, but that didn’t faze Zakira. She spent most of her time in that portion of the house. In a matter of minutes, she had the refrigerator door open, quickly selected a carton of milk from one of the side shelves and kicked the stainless steel door shut. From the overhead pan rack, she grabbed a small gold-bottomed pot and headed to the stove.
Once the milk was set to warm, Zakira leaned back against the oak kitchen island. She hugged her petite form and watched the stove burner turn orange from the searing heat. Then, closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to return to the disturbing dream.
The same nightmare had haunted her for weeks and she could not understand it. The strange thing was that the “nightmare” really wasn’t that at all. It was more of a vision. A recurring vision. In a candlelit room was a man dressed in black and lying flat on some surface that she could not make out. The man’s identity remained a mystery. The closer she moved to the unfamiliar form, the more out of focus it became.
Uttering a low groan, Zakira pushed her hands through her hair and massaged her scalp. She was so engrossed by her dark thoughts that she did not hear the front door open and shut. The sound of another body moving around the house went unnoticed.
The milk on the stove had finally simmered long enough. Zakira removed it as though in a daze. She set the pot aside and was reaching for a mug, when a pair of arms extended out of the darkness to envelop her in a steely embrace. Zakira forgot everything and began to struggle as her captor lifted her from the polished hardwood floor.
Zakira’s legs and arms flew wildly as she tried to wrench herself out of the iron hold. Her breath caught in her throat and prevented her from screaming. Her shock, combined with the pungent aroma from the man’s leather jacket, overwhelmed her ability to fight harder.
The man placed her atop the wooden counter and, from there, Zakira bravely looked into the face of her attacker. When she spied the wide, white grin and shoulder-length dreadlocks, she raised her hand and placed a cracking slap to the man’s face.
“You damn fool!” she breathed.
Surprised by his wife’s actions, Malik Badu brought one large hand to the side of his handsome, dark face. He massaged his cheek, until the slight sting had vanished. “Zakira, what—”
“What the hell are you doing, sneaking in here like that?” she cried, pounding her fists against the front of Malik’s jacket. “Do you know how much you scared me?”
Malik rubbed his hands along the side of Zakira’s thighs. “Shh…baby doll, I’m sorry,” he soothed.
“You should be! I really don’t need you playin’ ‘Let’s attack Zakira’ tonight. Especially, when I just had one of those damn dreams,” she finished, wiping a tear from her cheek.
Malik bowed his head, his long lashes closing over his grayish-black gaze. “Come here,” he said softly, pulling Zakira against him and rocking her slowly. When her breathing had returned to normal, he pulled away and glanced behind him. “Is that what the milk is for?”
Zakira nodded. Malik’s gaze narrowed as he cupped his wife’s dark chocolate oval face and pressed a soft kiss to her full lips. He smiled, hearing her soft moan when the kiss became more heated.
Zakira tilted her head back and opened her eyes. Malik broke the kiss to trail his lips down the side of her neck. His hands ventured beneath the satiny material of her robe. She squeezed his shoulders when she felt his hands grasp her buttocks tightly as he lifted her from the counter.
“Forget the milk,” he whispered in her ear and pulled her even closer. “I know a better way.”
Instinctively, Zakira locked her legs around his lean waist as he carried her from the kitchen. Her hands pushed the heavy leather jacket from her husband’s broad shoulders. It fell to the floor and was forgotten while they journeyed upstairs.
Only a few moments seemed to pass before Zakira felt herself being lowered onto the bed. Slowly and seductively, Malik unbuttoned her thin nightshirt and pushed it from her slender shoulders. His intense stare trailed across every inch of newly exposed skin, as though her nude body were a sight unfamiliar to him. His strong fingers curled around the waistband of the lacy panties she wore and he tugged them away.
Malik, however, had yet to remove his own clothes. He simply leaned across Zakira and massaged her soft skin.
“Mal…” she whispered, throwing both arms above her head and closing her eyes to savor his touch. The caress made her forget everything, except how wonderful she felt at that moment.
A sigh of disappointment escaped her lips when he ended the delightful massage. He replaced his hands with his mouth. Zakira moaned shamelessly beneath the touch of his wide, sensuous mouth gliding across her body.
Beginning with the column of her neck, he moved downward. Zakira still had her arms thrown overhead and gasped when she felt his lips pressing sweet kisses into the softly scented pit of her arm.
“Malik please…” she urged, as she tried tugging his sweater over his back.
In response, he pulled her hands away and pressed them to her sides. “Shh,” he soothed, his warm breath fluttering against her skin.
She arched her body closer to his mouth. Long, heavy dreads grazed her skin when his lips touched the hardened tip of her breast. He released his grip on her wrists, and she instantly pushed her fingers through his hair.
Malik squeezed one breast as his lips feasted on the other. The simple, erotic caress robbed Zakira of her breath. She desperately wanted to feel his bare skin against hers. Once again, she moved her hands over his gray wool sweater. Suddenly, she requested that he undress by tugging at his broad shoulders.
A roguish grin touched Malik’s gorgeous face and he again pinned Zakira’s hands to her sides. He continued the caress, his lips moving onward from her breast to trail her flat stomach. Zakira’s hips rose from the bed when she felt Malik’s mouth touching the center of her body. Her lips parted as she pushed her head deeper into the pillows and enjoyed the caress.
The intensity of the kiss increased moment by moment. The expertise of the intimate caress was overwhelming. He knew exactly how his wife of three years liked to be touched. He never hesitated to give her what she wanted. In many ways, he played the willing slave in their bedroom. Every sexual request or fantasy was eagerly granted.
The soft groans expressed on Zakira’s part soon turned to cries of pleasure. Malik never veered from his task and Zakira was soon experiencing an intense orgasm. He finally pulled away and watched her quiver from the incredible sensations coursing through her.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” Zakira ordered later, without opening her eyes. She could envision Malik sitting above her, still fully clothed and smiling.
Of course, she was right. Malik continued to grin as he watched Zakira yawn before she drifted back to sleep.
Slowly and carefully, so he would not awaken her, he eased off the bed and headed to the bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him, he began to disrobe. Pulling the heavy sweater away from his chiseled torso, thoughts of Zakira filled his mind. Lord, how he loved that woman. She was his life, and he prayed he never lost her. Moreover, he prayed she never lost him.
A lazy smile brightened Zakira’s face when she woke the next morning in her husband’s arms. She was surprised that they had slept so soundly, especially when they usually woke in a tangle of covers, arms and legs. Not wanting to disturb the moment, she snuggled deeper into Malik’s embrace and sighed.
Malik woke the instant he felt Zakira wiggling against him. When his grip tightened on her arm, she looked up.
“Morning,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the strong line of his jaw.
His haunting gray tinged stare narrowed. “Tell me about this dream.”
“Malik…” she sighed, trying to pull away.
“Zakira…” he repeated in a warning tone, as he tightened his hold.
She grimaced and closed her eyes. “Baby, what does it matter now? I feel a lot better this morning.”
“What about tonight?” Malik challenged, a slight frown beginning to form between his thick black brows.
She seemed to consider his question for a moment. Then she tensed and tried to sit up.
Malik, however, had made up his mind. He wasn’t going to let her get away so easily this time.
“Let me go,” she softly ordered when he pinned her beneath him on the bed.
His grip was unyielding. “Zaki, do you realize you were so caught up in that damn dream last night, that you didn’t even hear me come in the house? Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way, but either way I’m gonna find out what’s upsetting you.”
Zakira’s huge brown eyes searched Malik’s narrowed darker ones. What she saw there convinced her he would not let up until she came clean. Finally, she nodded and he released his hold on her. She sat up in bed and focused her gaze on the burgundy-and-black comforter covering the bed.
“Um…it’s really just a vision or…something.”
Malik rolled his eyes. “Zakira…” he said once again. His tone warned her to be truthful.
She raised her hands defensively. “It is. I swear it. I see a man laid out, dressed in black. There’re candles everywhere. Unfortunately, the closer I come to him, the foggier the scene becomes.”
“And that’s it?” Malik questioned as he propped himself on an elbow and watched her.
Zakira nodded. “That’s it. I guess it freaks me out so much because it all just looks so eerie, you know?”
He shrugged one huge shoulder and pushed himself to a sitting position. “I think maybe you just saw a movie or something that scared you,” he reasoned.
Zakira was not convinced. “I’ve never been spooked by a movie before. I don’t see why that would bother me now.”
“There’s always a first time,” Malik decided, watching Zakira consider the possibility. A small smirk tugged at his mouth and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her mouth.
“So, what time are we leaving on Thursday?” Zakira asked, turning on her stomach and resting her head on Malik’s pillow. She watched him pull back the covers and get out of bed.
“Thursday?” he asked.
Zakira closed her eyes and grimaced. “The food festival? California?” she replied, her soft, melodic voice going flat.
Malik selected a black, long-sleeved shirt from his closet. “Damn, Zaki, I thought you were just teasing about that.”
“Don’t even try it, Malik Kuame Badu. You promised.”
“Don’t get excited,” Malik soothed, waving one hand in the air before he once again disappeared into the closet. “We really didn’t discuss it that much. I thought you were just making a suggestion.”
Zakira toyed with a cotton-soft lock of her thick hair. “I suggested it because I wanted us to go. You agreed and said you’d take care of the tickets and everything,” she reminded him in a weary tone. Getting away in the midst of the Christmas madness was a treat she was looking forward to.
“I’ll get on it soon as I get to the restaurant,” he promised, his deep voice muffled from the closet.
“Never mind,” Zakira groaned, pushing herself up in the bed, “I’ll handle it. This is the closest we’ll probably get to taking a vacation. I don’t plan on missing out.”
“You’re the best, Zaki.”
“Mmm, so I’ve been told.”
Malik emerged from the closet carrying a pair of wine-colored slacks and a matching jacket. He tossed them to the chair where the black shirt lay. “So what’cha got planned for today?” he asked.
Zakira swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Not much. I’ve got some things I want to try out in the kitchen, so I’ll probably be there most of the day. After I handle our travel arrangements,” she added pointedly.
Malik grinned. “You should bring that stuff into the restaurant when you get it together,” he ordered, heading across the room to the bathroom.
Zakira shook her head. Her husband never passed on the chance to get her more involved with his business. Malik had just begun working on the restaurant when they met five years ago. Zakira had been interning for a Richmond consulting firm when he arrived one day for an appointment with a friend of his who also worked for the firm.
He had seemed hooked from the moment they met. The two began dating, and Zakira was very impressed by the smart, young, instinctive businessman. She was even more taken by Malik’s fierce dark looks, his six-foot-plus height, his large, muscular build, and the thick dreadlocks which, at that time, only grazed his cheeks. When he smiled, his grayish-black, slightly slanted eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile instantly triggered deep dimples.
As Zakira got to know Malik, she discovered he was often viewed as intimidating and unapproachable. While his appearance unsettled most people, his wife felt just the opposite. Many marveled that such an overpowering soul could be with so gentle a soul as the sweet and kind Zakira.
For his part, Malik was completely bound to his wife. He didn’t think he could ever become bored or disillusioned with her. Besides Zakira’s fantastic looks, her mind was immensely intriguing. The intelligent twenty-nine-year-old woman had a quick mind for business and her savvy frequently rivaled his. That was one of the reasons he constantly encouraged her to take more of an interest in the restaurant. Badu’s was Malik’s creation, but he wanted to run it with his wife by his side. Perhaps one day, was her usual reply.
“Malik! The airport limo’s here!” Zakira called, as she sprinted upstairs. When she got to the bedroom door, she almost collided with her husband.
“Ready?” he whispered, patting his hand against her waist.
Zakira smiled. “Mmm-hmm. I’m just gonna check and make sure we didn’t forget anything.”
“You mean make sure I didn’t forget anything?” Malik teased, before kissing her neck and patting her waist once more. “Hurry up,” he ordered.
Zakira headed to the picture window that overlooked the herb garden on the east side of the yard. She checked the side locks, then sprinted over to the bathroom door to take one last look.
“Uh-huh, just as I thought,” she muttered, spying Malik’s valise on the black marble counter. She grabbed the small piece of luggage and was about to head out, when she noticed a prescription pill bottle beside it. The label noted Malik’s name, recommended dosage and the amount of available refills for a drug she had never heard of. Confusion etched on her face as she caressed the clear slender bottle.
“Zaki, let’s move!”
“Coming!” she called, slipping the small cylinder into the valise before she rushed out of the bathroom.
San Diego, California
The eighth annual Restaurateurs’ Retreat was being held at the Shepherd’s Inn, a serene resort complete with lofty breathtaking views of the Pacific. Restaurant owners and critics alike were on hand for a weekend of sampling the latest, most creative and decadent dishes.
“Mmm…Malik, promise me we’ll take a drive along the coast before we leave?”
“Whatever you want.”
Zakira turned from their bedroom balcony. She watched her husband searching the tiny valise he had carried since they left the airport’s limousine. She bit her tongue to keep from asking what he was looking for. She already knew. Dammit, what are those pills for? she silently questioned herself.
When Malik disappeared into the bathroom, she cast her suspicions aside and inspected the rest of the plush suite. The color scheme was an elegant white on gold, with thick ocean-blue carpeting throughout. Still, the heart-stopping view of the Pacific was what held her captive. The sight of the waves crashing against the huge stone boulders clustered along the west bank of the resort produced the most soothing sound. She closed her eyes and imagined making love with her sexy husband amidst the thunder of the ocean rolling across the massive rocks
“Stop it, Zaki,” she ordered herself, stepping back into the room. In a matter of minutes, she had located the room service menu and ordered a small feast. She had just slipped into her favorite purple terry robe when Malik left the bathroom.
He offered no explanation for his obvious mood and went about changing into his own comfortable attire. Zakira ventured back out to the balcony with a copy of the festival’s program in hand. She had browsed halfway through it, when Malik joined her outside.
“Damn,” he whispered, as blown away by the view as Zakira had been.
She smiled. “I know, right? I could definitely get used to this.”
Malik took a seat on one of the cushiony white armchairs and propped his bare feet against the white iron railing. “Don’t tell me you’d trade East Coast livin’ for this?”
Zakira set the program on the short iron table next to her chair and shrugged. “I think I could live here.”
“California, Zaki?”
“What? It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, this is beautiful, but the rest of the state…”
“Oh, stop, there are some very lovely areas here. Which is why I’ve often suggested that you expand your business here.
Malik’s deep chuckles rose. “Remember what I said about you becoming more involved in my business? Forget it.”
Zakira threw her head back and laughed. “Fair enough,” she conceded, moving out of her chair. “I’m going to put my hair up. Room service should be here soon. I didn’t think you’d be in the mood to go out tonight, so I ordered in.”
Malik caught her hand when she stepped past him. “Thanks,” he said, pulling her to his lap. His big hands cupped her small face as his lips touched hers.
Zakira gasped, allowing him the entrance he sought. She kissed him with equal passion, arching herself against his wide, bare chest. Her nails grazed his flawless dark skin, and her legs trembled when his hand tested the softness of her inner thigh.
The doorbell sounded. Malik’s eyes searched Zakira’s face with an intensity that almost frightened her. Then, as though he were waking from a dream, he shook his head and smiled.
“I better get that,” he whispered.
Zakira eased off his lap. “Um, I’ll just be in the bathroom,” she told him, praying her weak legs would carry her that far.
Zakira found the suite a bit darker when she emerged from the bathroom. The setting sun offered the only illumination. Slowly, she retraced her steps to the balcony.
“Malik…” she sighed, eyeing the seductive transformation.
A cozy round table set for two had been placed in the center of the balcony. Candles offered a golden warmth that seemed to intensify the fiery orange glow from the retreating sun.
“Thought we’d take advantage of a West Coast sunset,” Malik explained, as he finished filling their wineglasses.
Zakira smiled and turned her eyes toward the sun. “I knew you were impressed.”
Malik offered no response and simply walked over to hold her chair. When Zakira took her seat, his fingers brushed the nape of her neck in one fleeting motion.
“I’m glad you talked me into this.”
“So, you’re admitting I had to talk you into it, huh?” Zakira questioned later, as they ate thick slices of chocolate cheesecake in bed. The room was lit by the glow of the huge moon. In the distance, crashing waves provided a sound more romantic than the most heartfelt song.
“We needed to get away. I know I did,” Malik admitted.
Zakira set her cake on the bedside stand and turned to rest her head on Malik’s bare chest. “Is something going on with the business?” she asked.
Malik squeezed her shoulders. “What makes you think that?”
“You seem to be under a lot of stress. I thought maybe it was business-related.”
The room was bathed in darkness, but Malik’s frustration showed. “The business is fine.”
Zakira heard the soft edge to his reply and debated whether to inquire further.
“Damn, this is so relaxing.” Malik sighed, drawing Zakira more tightly against his powerful frame. “I wish we could stay longer than a weekend.”
The quiet, peaceful tone of his voice robbed Zakira of her desire to mention anything that might ruin the moment. She pressed a kiss to one of his bulging pectorals and closed her eyes. The calming roar of the waves several feet below eventually lulled them to sleep.
“This is incredible. What is it?”
“Canapé Ricotta, ma’am.”
“Come on, there has to be more than ricotta cheese in this thing,” Zakira marveled and popped another one of the exquisite pastries into her mouth.
The young dark-haired man behind the red-and-white-painted boot, beamed. “It’s actually a blend of several cheeses along with a butter and herb sauce. The flavor of the ricotta cheese is most pronounced, hence the name.”
“Outstanding,” Zakira complimented once more. “Baby, you should try this,” she told Malik when he arrived at the booth.
“Hit me,” he requested, opening his mouth for one of the canapés. “Not bad,” he said as the pungent blend of herbs and cheeses triggered his taste buds.
“So, where were you?” Zakira asked, once they had moved on from the Italian food booths.
Malik’s grin triggered his dimples. “There’s a Louisiana soul food booth back there,” he announced.
Zakira glanced across her shoulder. “You’re kidding?”
“Mmm-mmm.”
“Why didn’t you come get me? I could go for a bowl of hot gumbo right about now,” she said, pushing her hands inside her quarter-length olive-green sweater jacket.
Malik slipped one arm around her waist. “I thought we could go there for lunch—they’ve got a restaurant here at the resort.”