Blissfully Yours

Their exotic island idyll is only the beginning…

Who’s the real Saturday Knight? Is she the tempestuous, in-your-face star of Divorced Divas, the small screen’s hottest reality series? Or is she the sultry, au naturel temptress Brandon Gilliam meets in Jamaica? It isn’t long before the New York director and the woman known off set as Ayana are sharing a passionate interlude that he never wants to end.

Back in the city, Ayana gets a reality check—when her sexy isle lover turns back into the no-nonsense director on her show. If the secret about her romantic interlude with Brandon gets out, it could ruin her career as the single vamp fans love to hate. There are people who depend on Ayana and the financial gains earned through her TV persona. Is she willing to risk everything for a seductive fantasy, or could what she shares with Brandon be the truest bliss of all?

“Oh, my God, are you all right?” asked a handsome man, straddling a bright orange Jet Ski. “I’m so sorry, but I didn’t see you. What are you doing floating all the way out here by yourself?”

Ayana glanced around the vast body of water and didn’t see the beach. She had drifted out farther than anticipated. “I hadn’t planned on floating this far—guess the waves carried me away,” she said, treading water.

He reached out his hand to her. “Get on. I’ll take you back to shore, so you don’t have to swim so far.”

She brushed her hair out of her face, rubbed the salt water out of her eyes and looked up into his face. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Behind a pair of dark aviator shades was Brandon. “Uh…sure.” She took hold of his hand, climbed out of the water and settled on the back of the Jet Ski. Ayana wrapped her arms around his bare chest and held on tight as he sped off.

“Where are you staying?” he yelled.

With the Jet Ski creating a cascade of waves and the roar of the motor, she could barely hear him. “What’d you say?”

“I said where are you staying?” he asked more loudly.

“Just keep straight,” she responded, finally hearing him.

He doesn’t know it’s me.

VELVET CARTER

is not just the name of a luxurious fabric, but it’s also the name of one of the world’s leading writers of “exotica.” She’s a prolific novelist, who paints pictures with her words. Velvet has her finger on the pulse and knows how to make your heart race with her tantalizing stories filled with romance and seduction. Her novels have been translated into German, and released in London to critical acclaim. Velvet uses the world as her muse, traveling the globe for provocative inspiration.

Blissfully Yours

Velvet Carter

Dear Reader,

I’d like to thank you for purchasing Blissfully Yours, my first of many novels under the Harlequin Kimani imprint. I had an absolute ball writing Blissfully Yours. The characters I created seemed more like close friends than fictional people….

You might notice a piece of yourself in Ayana, who is multifaceted, resourceful and fiercely independent. Brandon is such a strong yet sweet man that I wanted to immerse myself in the novel and date him! Since that wasn’t possible, I left the dating to Ayana, who does a fantastic job of showing Brandon around her native island of Jamaica. They party on the beach, have romantic picnics in the Blue Mountains and make love with the sounds of the ocean as a soundtrack. I hope that Blissfully Yours transports you to a romantic state of relaxation.

Velvet

To those who found bliss when they least expected,

and to those who are still joyfully looking!

Contents

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

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 1

Ayana awoke to a gentle breeze flowing through the screened French doors of her parents’ Jamaican hillside home. The delicious smell of ackee and saltfish tickled her nose as she stirred underneath the white cotton sheet. She yawned wide and stretched her long limbs before climbing out of bed. Today was her last full day in Negril and she planned to make the most of her time before heading back to her hectic New York life.

She showered and dressed in cutoff blue jean shorts, a T-shirt and flip-flops. Ana—as she was known in Jamaica—pulled her long raven hair into a ponytail before trotting down the small back staircase that led to the kitchen.

“Hmm, something sure smells good,” Ana said to her mother, who was laboring over the stove.

“I made ya favorite—ackee and saltfish, callaloo and johnnycakes,” her mother answered in a thick Jamaican accent.

Ayana looked at the plate of food that her mother had dished up. “Ma, I can’t eat all of that.” Having lived in New York for more than ten years, Ayana had adjusted her eating habits and now ate mostly salads, fish and very few carbs.

“Ya too skinny, gurl. Gotta fatten ya up.” Mrs. Tosh was a traditional Jamaican mother who believed in eating heartily at every meal.

“I’m not skinny, Ma. I still have plenty of thighs and a butt,” she said, looking over her shoulder at her full rear end.

“Yeah, ya are. Don’t argue wit me, gurl. Sit down and eat.”

Ayana didn’t say another word. There was no use in debating. Her domineering mother always got the last word, so Ayana sat at the wooden kitchen table and ate every morsel. She then polished off her mega breakfast with a cup of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. She had to admit that eating some of her favorite childhood dishes felt good and satisfying.

“Ma, do you wanna go with me over to New Beginnings?” New Beginnings was a local women’s and children’s shelter that Ayana helped support with generous donations of her time and money.

“Me got no time to go to the shelter today. Got too much housework to do,” she said, taking Ayana’s plate and rinsing it off.

“Ma, I bought you a dishwasher so you wouldn’t have to stand there and hand wash every dish. Where is the dishwasher, anyway?”

“Why ya waste ya money?”

Ayana just shook her head. She never stopped trying to spoil her parents, but they were simple people and didn’t want the modern gifts she bought. “I don’t consider buying my parents gifts a waste of money. Ma, you and Dad struggled for so long. Now that I’m in a position to make your lives a little easier, that’s what I’m going to do.” Ayana had her own stubborn streak, a trait she’d inherited from her mother.

“Go on, gurl.” Her mother waved her away and continued washing dishes.

Ayana kissed her mother goodbye, went to the living room, grabbed her sunglasses and keys off the parson’s table near the front door and left. She hopped on her canary-yellow Vespa and took off down the winding road. The lush hillside, dotted with hibiscus and white bougainvillea, whizzed by. Ayana loved jetting around Negril on her scooter. She had driven one ever since she was a teenager. The open air was refreshing and helped to clear her mind. This was where she’d fled to two years ago after her nasty, well-publicized divorce. Ayana thought back to that time.

* * *

“If you walk out on me, you’re not getting one red cent!” Those were the last words her ex-husband, millionaire Benjamin Lewis, the founder and CEO of BL Industries, had said as Ayana left their sprawling Long Island mansion. The estate was set on three manicured acres, complete with a pool, tennis court and guest house.

Although Benjamin ran one of the world’s leading electronic manufacturing companies, making millions in the process, he was a tightwad. After three years of marriage, Ayana had become sick and tired of adhering to his strict budget. He had given her a weekly allowance of two hundred dollars, much less than she had made when she was his secretary. He only increased her allowance when he wanted her to buy expensive outfits for their black-tie affairs. Benjamin loved parading her around. To him she had been nothing more than a trophy wife.

Ayana had become tired of being treated like one of his prized possessions. She couldn’t take any more of his selfish ways and filed for divorce, citing cruel and unusual punishment. While the proceedings wore on, Ayana had spent her days in a tiny studio apartment on the Lower East Side, sparsely furnished with a futon, throw rug and nine-inch television.

A few days after she’d moved there, the phone rang, startling her out of her sleep. She’d reached for the cell and pressed Talk. “Hello?”

“You are still asleep? It’s eleven-thirty,” Reese, Ayana’s best friend, had said.

“What’s up?”

“You need to get out of that apartment. It’s a beautiful sunny day, so let’s go to lunch at that new restaurant in the Village.”

“I don’t have money to waste on lunch. All my cash is going toward attorney fees.”

“What happened to all that jewelry Ben gave you?”

“I have a few pieces here. But the rest is in my safe-deposit box. Why do you ask?”

“You need money, right?”

“Of course I need money. You of all people know how stingy Ben was,” Ayana had said, sounding irritated.

“Instead of sounding like a wounded victim, you should sell some of that ice.”

“I’m not selling my jewelry. That’s the one thing Ben did right. He may have been a frugal SOB as far as giving me cash, but he didn’t hesitate giving Tiffany, Cartier and Harry Winston his plastic. He loved telling his business associates how much he spent on my jewelry. It was like a competition to see which man could spend the most on their wives.”

“Girl, you have a fortune sitting in the bank collecting dust.”

“Like I said before—I’m not selling anything. I like my jewelry.”

“Have you ever heard of paste?”

“No. What’s paste?”

“Basically, paste is leaded glass made to look like diamonds and colored stones. I know a place where you can take your jewelry, have it copied and then sell the originals.” Reese had once worked in the Diamond District as a sales clerk, and she still had connections on Forty-Seventh Street.

“I don’t know, Reese. This jewelry is the only thing of value I have left. If I sell it, then what?”

“You’ll be able to pay your bills and not have to wait for the divorce settlement to get some much-needed cash.”

Ayana had digested her friend’s words. Reese made perfect sense. Ayana thought about the five-carat diamond engagement ring, set in platinum and sitting in the safe-deposit box. The ring that she had once treasured and wore with pride had little meaning now that her marriage was over. “I guess you do have a good point.”

“I have an excellent point. Besides, you’ll still have the same jewelry designs to wear—they just won’t be the real thing. This jeweler is so good that no one will be able to tell the difference.”

“Okay. I could actually sell my wedding set and a few other pieces. That should hold me over until the divorce is final.”

That afternoon, Ayana had gone to the bank and taken her five-carat engagement ring, diamond-encrusted wedding band and sapphire necklace out of the safe-deposit box, then met Reese at the jeweler’s shop on Forty-Seventh Street. A week later, she’d picked up the pastes and couldn’t believe how authentic the pieces looked. She’d sold the originals, making enough money to sustain herself for the duration of the proceedings.

* * *

“Ana! Ana!” yelled the children from the shelter when they saw the yellow scooter pull into the yard.

New Beginnings was near and dear to Ayana’s heart. The small, privately run shelter relied on donations from generous patrons, and Ayana was at the top of that list. She didn’t have any children of her own and considered the kids at the shelter her babies.

“Hey, guys! What’s happening?” Ayana hopped off the scooter, gathered as many children into her arms as she could hold and gave them all a huge hug.

“Now, now, chilrin, leave Ms. Lewis be. Go now and do yo work,” Marigold, the shelter’s administrator, said as she came into the yard waving her hands and shooing the children away.

“Did you get the shipment yet?”

“All dose big boxes come, and me didn’t know what to do wit all dose clothes.” She smiled. “We thank ya.”

“You’re welcome. It was no problem. All I did was collect clothes from friends of mine who were purging their closets.”

“Ya do more than send clothes. Ya send checks too, and dey help keep dis place going.”

Ayana looked a bit embarrassed; she didn’t like when Marigold praised her for helping. The shelter needed assistance, and she was just glad that she was now in a position to help.

“And dat stuff you send look brand-new. Some of dem tings still had da tags on ’em.”

“Yeah, I know. I only select clothes that are gently worn, if not new. Did you see the note attached to that blue dress? It’s for you.”

“I saw it, but dat dress is too fancy fo me.”

“It’s only a sundress.”

“Yeah, a sundress by Ralph, uh...uh...”

“Lauren. Ralph Lauren.”

“Where me gonna wear some designer dress to? After me husband die, I don’t go out much.”

“Well, you never know what life has in store. Maybe you’ll get invited to a party or asked out on a date. It’s always good to have a go-to dress in your closet.”

“I no want no date. James was de love of me life and after he die, a piece of me died too.”

“Marigold, you’re still a good-looking woman, and I’m sure James wouldn’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life.” Ayana sympathized with her friend but always tried to be encouraging.

“James did tell me not to pine away for him for too long,” she said with a sorrowful look in her eyes.

“See what I mean. James wouldn’t want you spending every night home alone.”

“Okay, okay, me keep Mista Lauren. Ya wanna come in fo some lunch? Me make kingfish stew and coco bread.”

“No, thanks. I already ate. I have to go back home and pack. I just came by to see if you got the clothes and to see you and the kids.”

“We hate to see ya go.” Marigold gave Ayana a warm hug.

“I hate to go, but duty calls.”

The truth was, Ayana wasn’t looking forward to returning to New York, but her hiatus was over. The reality show that she starred in was resuming filming in a few days. She had spent two glorious months in Jamaica, eating her mother’s home cooking, taking long walks on the beach and meditating at her favorite place high in the Blue Mountains. The serenity and beauty of the island, and being surrounded by people who loved her, had rejuvenated her soul. Now Ayana was ready to resume her hot-blooded persona and tackle another season of Divorced Divas.

Chapter 2

“We’ll be starting our descent in the New York area shortly, so please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

Ayana heard the flight attendant’s announcement through the lavatory door. She looked in the mirror and was satisfied with her transformation. Gone was the girlish ponytail, replaced by a long, flowing, platinum-blond lace-front wig. She’d traded in her island uniform of cutoff blue jean shorts, sleeveless T-shirt and flip-flops for a sexy black-and-white Tom Ford pencil skirt that hugged her full hips. The matching chiffon blouse with blouson sleeves was secured around her slim waist with a wide black leather belt dotted with silver studs. Black-and-white layered necklaces and a pair of five-inch strappy platforms completed the high-maintenance look. She applied a double coat of ruby-red lipstick to her perfectly made-up face to add a pop of color. Ayana gathered her belongings and put them back in her Prada tote. She exited the lavatory and returned to her seat in first class.

“Would you like anything else before we land?” asked the attendant.

“I’ll have a glass of champagne. Actually, make it two.”

After the attendant brought the drinks, Ayana drank the two flutes of bubbly and readied herself for any photographers or reporters who might be waiting for her once she deplaned. Divorced Divas led in the ratings due to Ayana’s prima-donna persona. The gossip rags were always trying to get dirt on Saturday Knight—Ayana’s name on the show—and stalked her on a regular basis. The latest story going around town was that Ayana was the reason Erick Kastell—her love interest on the show—had fled the country.

“Welcome to New York, and thanks for flying with us today. You are now free to use your cell phones,” the pilot announced once they’d landed.

As the plane taxied to the gate, Ayana called Reese. “Hey, girl, we just landed. Where are you?”

“In the car, waiting outside of baggage claim.”

“Okay. See you in a few.”

Once the doors opened, Ayana put on a pair of oversize shades, retrieved her carry-on from the overhead bin and strutted down the pedway, into the terminal and out the door.

“Saturday! Saturday Knight! Look this way!” a photographer yelled, snapping pictures as she strolled past.

“Saturday, is it true you’re the reason Moses Michaels left his girlfriend, Lisa?” a reporter shouted.

“Have you read Lisa’s tweets? She’s calling you a home wrecker,” another reporter blurted out.

Ayana didn’t even glance in their direction, though that didn’t stop them from blurting out questions.

“Is it true that you and Moses Michaels are dating?” another reporter shouted.

Moses Michaels was the hot single moderator of the reality-show circuit. He and Saturday had gone out a few times, but it had not lasted.

She kept walking, looking straight ahead as if they weren’t there. She saw Reese’s black Benz and concentrated on making it to the car without acknowledging the annoying paparazzi and reporters.

“Hey, girl, welcome home.” Reese turned to kiss Ayana on the cheek. “Well, it isn’t such a good welcome with the media stalking you and accusing you of breaking up Moses and his girlfriend,” Reese said as Ayana settled into the car.

“Their claims are totally untrue. Moses had broken up with his girlfriend before we’d started to date. Anyway, Moses and I are now just friends. The lies remind me of my nasty divorce,” she said, remembering the highly publicized proceedings.

* * *

During the divorce trial, reporters and photographers had lined the steps of the courthouse, begging for interviews and snapping pictures. Salacious details of their marriage had made interesting headlines. Ayana had been embarrassed to read about their rather unorthodox love life.

Benjamin had leaked photos of Ayana dressed as a dominatrix, beating him with a whip. He’d accused her of dominating him against his will. It had incensed her. The entire bondage and sadomasochism idea had been his. Benjamin had bought her the black latex catsuit, platform boots and whip, and he’d even made her watch an instructional DVD to teach her the nuances of BDSM. Ayana had resisted at first, but Benjamin had insisted. He’d said it was the ultimate thrill to have her beat him. But he’d backpedaled in court, playing the victim. He’d even produced pictures of bruises on his back.

In addition to the accusations of sexual abuse, Benjamin had accused Ayana of spousal abandonment, saying that she spent months in Jamaica. On the stand, Ayana did admit to visiting her parents. However, it was Benjamin who’d insisted that she extend her stay, saying that since they didn’t have children, there was no need for her to rush back home to New York.

His team of highly paid attorneys had earned every dime of their retainer, working overtime to paint a negative picture of Ayana. Her attorney had presented her case, stating to the court that Benjamin willingly withheld funds from her, making her practically lead a destitute life, except for the times when they were out together. Her case was weak in comparison to Benjamin’s. And as the weeks had dragged on, Ayana became worn out. With her funds dwindling and her emotional state deteriorating, Ayana had agreed to settle. Initially, she had been seeking half of the money he’d made while they were together but then realized that Benjamin was willing to fight dirty in order to keep from paying Ayana her share. To put an end to the spectacle and move on with her life, she’d settled for a fraction of the estate, signed the divorce papers and never looked back. Although the proceedings had been emotionally draining, one good thing had come out of the ordeal—a job.

Little did Ayana know that tracking her divorce proceedings was show creator Ed Levine, who had struck gold with his string of reality TV shows. He had been looking to staff Divorced Divas, his latest undertaking about divorced women of millionaires seeking a second chance at love. He had seen Ayana on the news and in the papers and had become taken with her. Ayana was tall, attractive, stylish and well-spoken—all the ingredients of a television star. He’d contacted her attorney and set up a meeting.

However, Ayana had had no interest in exposing her life on camera. Being in the media during the divorce was enough, so she’d turned down the meeting. Ayana’s post-divorce plan was to reenter corporate America. The only problem was her limited experience. Her last job had been as Benjamin’s administrative assistant. She’d dusted off her résumé, made calls and tried to set up interviews to no avail. Her skill set wasn’t the problem; being the former Mrs. Benjamin Lewis was. Apparently, he had put the word out and blacklisted her.

In need of an income, Ayana had asked her attorney to contact the producers. Their initial meeting had gone well, except for one glitch. Ed had wanted Ayana to play the role of the good girl, but he had filled that role after she had turned him down. The only slot left to fill was that of the “diva.” Ayana had been reluctant but was in dire straits and needed money badly, so she’d accepted the role along with the stage name. A year later, Saturday Knight was a household name. Luckily, the show wasn’t broadcasted in Jamaica. Ayana couldn’t stand the thought of her family knowing that she degraded herself on camera for a living. She hated her job but was determined to make it work. Ayana read about reality stars branding themselves, launching clothing, perfume and cosmetics lines and even going on to costar in prime-time network series and movies. Some of them were making millions, and that was exactly what she planned to do.

* * *

“So are you well rested and ready for another season of Divorced Divas?” Reese asked as they drove along the FDR.

“I am rested, but the thought of another unnecessary catfight makes my stomach churn.”

“Girl, what’s up with that? Why do people love to see grown women acting like teenagers, fighting and yelling at each other?”

Ayana hunched her shoulders. “Wish I knew. Seems the more controversy on the show, the higher the ratings.”

“Does the creator of the show even know your true personality? You’re the nicest person anyone could ever meet.”

“Yeah, he knows, but for Ed, it’s all about ratings.”