Praise for

kayla perrin’s

Getting Even

“This story of exquisitely plotted revenge will have

every woman who has ever been ‘done wrong’

quietly cheering…This is sexy erotica.”

—Library Journal

“Well plotted and with an appealing chick-lit sensibility…

that’s not to say it lacks heat—it definitely doesn’t.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Getting Even is one wild ride!…Perrin is an author who belongs on your must read list. Don’t miss Getting Even!”

—RomanceReaderAtHeart

“Fans of contemporary girl loves boy, boy mistreats girl,

girl avenges mistreatment tales will want to read

this hot, spicy novel.”

—Harriet Klausner

“[A] writer that everyone should read.”

—Eric Jerome Dickey

Kayla Perrin

Getting Some

www.spice-books.co.uk

This book is dedicated to the girlfriends

I know I’d have a blast with in Vegas:

Diane Kurtz, Melinda McGowan, Brenda Mott,

Leslie Gray and Heidi Familia

Maybe there’s a trip in our future?

Part One

Revenge is sweet…but now what?

One

Samera

Sometimes, life’s a bitch.

And when I say a bitch, I mean that literally. Like life is some crazy woman hovering over the universe, dealing with a bad case of PMS. She could let you be happy, but she’s got killer cramps at the moment, and if she’s got to suffer, you’re damn well going to suffer, too.

So instead of giving you easy choices—like a clear path that’s right, versus one that’s obviously wrong—life is gonna mess with you. Present you with two paths you can see yourself taking, but you must choose one of them. And no matter which one you choose, you’re going to feel bad.

Hell, I know what I’m talking about. I just chose Path B, which is the path my heart told me I was supposed to take. I should feel a sense of resolve right now, a sense of peace. I should have a smile on my fucking face because I’m taking fond memories with me from my vacation, but instead I feel like shit.

I just left a guy who likes me—no, adores me—probably completely heartbroken in Costa Rica.

“Miguel.” I say his name out loud, and his image pops into my mind. His beautiful, bronzed body and smoky eyes. That gorgeous smile of his, which is both sexy and sweet at the same time. My face flushes as I remember other things about him—like how eager he was to please me in the bedroom, to give me one mind-numbing orgasm after another.

Is it possible I’ve made a mistake? I wonder as I stare out the small plane window, craning my neck for one final glimpse of the beautiful country where I spent the last two weeks of my life. Have I made the wrong choice?

Choosing to leave Miguel and get on a plane heading back to the States was the hardest thing I ever had to do. One minute Miguel and I were moving full steam ahead to what I thought would be a serious commitment. The next, my fucking louse of an ex showed up claiming he still loved me—and I bought his lies, effectively changing my destiny with Miguel forever.

Reed, my ex, actually tracked me down in Costa Rica, like he was Brad Pitt showing up at the end of the movie to claim his girl. He complicated the shit out of my relationship with Miguel. But even though I got wise to his game—realizing that Reed hadn’t changed, he just didn’t want to lose me— I had to accept one very certain fact: clearly, I didn’t love Miguel the way a man deserves to be loved. If I did, Reed couldn’t have walked back into my life so easily. And I care too much for Miguel to let him settle for half of my heart.

Knowing that, however, doesn’t make my decision any less painful. I really like Miguel, and I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for him. But I’m just not ready to make the big Love Commitment with him—or anyone for that matter—so it was far better that I leave him now than that I stay and break his heart in a couple months.

I had to be fair to Miguel. If I didn’t ultimately want what he wanted, I had to let him go.

Still, I wonder if I’ll ever meet another man like Miguel. When I told him I had to leave him, he was so friggin’ understanding. I’m used to guys punching holes in walls and cussing a blue streak when I break up with them. But Miguel—despite being sad—simply told me that I had to do what my heart told me I should.

Right now my heart is aching. I’m not sure what that means.

Moaning softly, I bury my face in my hands. Suddenly I wish I were back in my hotel room at the gorgeous oceanfront Marriott resort, Miguel’s body on top of mine, his cock deep within me, and my legs wrapped around his waist. I want him whispering words of passion to me in Spanish as he did for much of my two weeks in his country, making me scream his name as I come.

That’s what I should be doing. Instead, I’m sitting in coach class on a Delta Airlines flight, staring out the window like a lovesick fool, with the worst case of melancholy gripping my heart.

I glance to my left. The guy beside me, probably early sixties, wriggles his eyebrows when he sees me look his way. I roll my eyes and look past him, behind me. And that’s when I notice a dark-haired man who reminds me of Miguel. He’s with an attractive blonde, and the two appear to be totally in to each other. I watch them for a moment as the man whispers something into the woman’s ear. Her face flames and she laughs, and that’s all it takes for my brain to open the door holding back all my memories of Miguel and the time we shared.

Once again, I turn to the window, but I don’t see the view. In the theater of my mind, I’m seeing me and my Spanish lover. The first time he stripped off my clothes, then ate my pussy until I screamed. How incredible his cock felt when he entered me as I was coming.

It had been the first time, and yet we had connected on a level I can’t say I’ve experienced before.

My mind fast-forwards past the first time to the most memorable—at the Tabacon Resort. Miguel took me to the most beautiful place in the world, the most romantic. I picture us in the resort’s stunning hot springs, secretly screwing as people strolled by on the paths, our bodies submerged in warm, bubbling water.

As long as I live, that sexual memory will remain forever etched in my mind. Hands down, it was my most romantic experience. From the magnificent beauty of the natural hot springs and lush foliage at the base of the Arenal volcano to a hot man whispering Spanish words of love in my ear, I know that experience can never be duplicated.

My nipples start to ache as I think about the moment Miguel covered my breasts with his hands—then his mouth—once I slipped my bikini top off. The guy knows how to suck a nipple, with this sort of gentle reverence that turned me on more than I thought it could.

I steal another glance at the couple a few rows behind me. Now they’re kissing, so much in love that they don’t mind showing it to the world.

What would Miguel do if he were here with me on this plane?

I would be the first one to make a move, I’m sure. Not that he wouldn’t want to, but I’m more brazen when it comes to sex. I would tease Miguel with my fingertips, stroking his inner thigh from his knee on upward, not stopping until I reached the bulge of his cock.

I imagine Miguel’s reaction—the look of pleasant shock spreading over his face. “Princessa, what are you doing?”

I glance around, make sure that there are no flight attendants nearby. “What do you think I’m doing?” I ask as I begin to undo the snap on Miguel’s jeans.

A combination of a chuckle and sigh bubbles up in his throat. He places his hand on mine, as though to stop me, but I know better.

He wants this, too.

“That old couple across the aisle is asleep,” I tell him. “The people in front of us can’t see us, nor can the people behind.” I maneuver Miguel’s cock out of his pants, but make sure it’s covered with the small blue blanket supplied by the airline. Then I whisper in his ear, “Tell me you don’t want to feel my lips on your cock right now.”

“Princessa, you are crazy.”

“Yeah, and you love it.”

I unsnap my seat belt, quickly look around to make sure no one is heading our way, then reposition my body so that it looks like I’m resting my head on my lover’s lap. And then I flick the tip of my tongue over Miguel’s hard penis.

He shudders, but doesn’t stop me. The way he pushes up his hips tells me he doesn’t want me to stop. His cock is as erect as a flagstaff in my hand.

“My, my, you really want this,” I whisper as I lift my head to his. “Your semen is already coming out of your cock.”

Miguel moans softly and strokes my hair.

“All I have to do is lie like this, hold the blanket like this…” I readjust my body so that my face is in his lap again. “And everyone who walks by will think I’m taking a rest on your lap. Meanwhile, I’ll be giving you the best head you’ve ever had at 20,000 feet in the air.”

Miguel murmurs something in Spanish, and now tangles his fingers in my hair. That’s his subtle way of telling me he is giving me total control, that I can do to his body whatever I please.

So I do. I can’t bob my head up and down his cock without arousing suspicion, but there are other ways to give great head. I run my tongue around the top of his shaft over and over again, before taking the tip into my mouth and sucking on it. I brush my lips against his hard length, then flick my tongue over the same area of flesh, before gently tugging on his skin with my teeth.

Miguel breathes heavily, as though he’s fighting a moan, and the more he does, the more I want to forget discreet and go at his cock with total abandon. I get a little bolder, taking his penis deep in my mouth to the back of my throat and holding it there. I tighten my lips around him and suck steadily, as though trying to draw out his sperm into my hungry mouth.

After a moment, Miguel’s hand stills on my head. “I cannot take any more of this,” he whispers.

I raise my head. Kiss him softly on the lips. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck?”

“You are serious?”

Now I run my fingers through Miguel’s dark hair. “You know I don’t joke when it comes to sex.”

We neck openly now, and I am so turned on I want to lie back, spread my legs, and let Miguel fuck me.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

The words penetrate my brain, jarring me out of my fantasy. I open my eyes to see the man sitting in my row staring at me with concern.

“You okay?” he asks. “You kind of sound like you’re moaning.”

My cheeks flame with embarrassment. “Something I ate, I guess,” I lie. Then I turn back to the window and stare outside.

I can’t believe how caught up in my fantasy I got. But then again, I can.

Maybe I’m being too friggin’ dramatic about the whole situation with Miguel. I mean, it couldn’t work with him. End of story. Period. Forget that the attraction between us was totally hot. Sex isn’t everything—and I can’t believe I’m even thinking this—but it isn’t.

Maybe Miguel has already found himself a new woman. Perhaps another tourist, whose heart will beat a little faster when he flashes that gorgeous smile of his…

The very thought makes my throat constrict.

You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.

Best-case scenario, when I get my life together, say in five years, I’ll call Miguel and he’ll still be single, still have the hots for me. We’ll get together like no time has passed at all, start tearing at each others’ clothes before our lips even touch…

Why are you doing this to yourself? Anger flares inside me, and I yank down the window’s blind. I can no longer stand staring out at the idyllic view, because it’s messing with my brain.

Seriously, what is wrong with me? When did I become such a sentimental fool? Now is not the time to think about Miguel and what might have been. I have to concentrate on myself. Start thinking about what I want to do with the rest of my life. Trust me, that’s a huge hurdle I have to overcome. Until now, I’ve worked as a stripper. I didn’t go to college, and I passed high school with less-than-flying colors. It’s time I start to think about my future, because I don’t want to be taking my clothes off for a living when I’m fifty years old.

Quite frankly, I should be thanking Reed for being such an asshole. He’s the manager at the club where I worked, and I dated him for months—until I found out that he was screwing another dancer behind my back. But if he hadn’t fucked someone else, I’d still be in Atlanta now, still working at his club, still thinking I couldn’t strive for anything more than that. So he did me a favor by setting me free, and making me concentrate for once on me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not ashamed of being a stripper. But I’m fully aware that a girl can’t make a lifetime career in that field of entertainment.

I try to avoid the gaze of the guy next to me as I glance around for a flight attendant. The Fasten Seatbelt sign is still lit, and no one has announced that we’ve reached our cruising altitude. But, fuck, I want a drink already. That and a cigarette. Liquor will have to suffice until we touch down in Atlanta and I can find a smoking lounge at the airport.

I don’t want to feel this way, so conflicted. But worse than feeling conflicted over leaving Miguel, I don’t want to admit that if I hadn’t gotten my hopes up about Reed when he showed up posing like a Knight in Shining Armor, I’d probably have thrown caution to the wind and stayed with my Latin lover in Costa Rica.

Yeah, I need a drink. Scotch preferably, but I’ll take anything.

Anything that helps numb me from thinking about the fact that I probably left the best thing to ever come into my life back in Jaco, Costa Rica.

* * *

Hours later I’m standing outside of baggage claim at the Atlanta Hartsfield airport, waiting for my hot-pink suitcase when I hear, “Hey, sis.”

I turn around to see my sister, Annelise, her smile so bright it just might blind me. She’s wearing her hair down as opposed to in a ponytail, and her long blond locks are tossed over one shoulder. It’s clear to me just by looking at her that not only is she getting laid, she’s getting laid good.

She certainly deserves to be happy after the crap her husband put her through, but the reality that she’s getting some has me missing Miguel even more.

“It is so good to see you again.” Annelise wraps me in a warm hug. “How are you?”

“All right.”

“Uh-oh.” Annelise’s smile falters as she breaks our hug and stares at me. “You don’t sound all right.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why do you look so glum? You should be invigorated,” she adds with a wink. “All that time you spent with that hot stud.”

“Yeah, well.” I don’t say anything else. I’m not sure what to say. I know it wouldn’t have worked with Miguel, but I still feel like crap.

“Oh my God.” My sister’s eyes light up. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”

I don’t answer as I watch my luggage go by me. I push past two fortysomething women standing together, excusing myself as I do, to grab the suitcase before it gets too far.

The moment I turn around, I notice that my sister’s eyes are narrowed. There’s genuine concern on her face.

“Did he hurt you?” she asks when I return to her side. “He was seeing someone else? Oh, no. Don’t tell me he was married!”

“He wasn’t married. He didn’t hurt me.” I extract the suitcase’s handle. “Can we go now?”

“You don’t want to talk about it.” Annelise states the obvious.

“Which way?” I ask.

“This way.” Annelise starts for the doors off to the left, but slows so I can catch up to her. “Hey, I know what it’s like to not want to talk about something. When it hurts too much to even think about it. But just know that whenever you do want to talk, I’m here.” She rubs my back. “Okay?”

I can’t believe myself. Just the act of Annelise giving me support has me almost ready to burst into tears. I hold them in check—barely.

Which is why I know I’m nowhere near ready to tell her about Reed, how he showed up in Costa Rica and told me he still loved me, and how I stupidly fell for the line like a moron. If I get into the story here, I think I’ll have a meltdown.

So I change the subject, asking, “How’s Dominic?”

“Amazing,” Annelise responds right away, her face lighting up like a neon sign.

“In other words, the sex is good.” I manage an actual smile.

“Good?” Annelise pauses before she heads out the automatic doors and whispers, “Sam, the sex is…out of this world!”

“Wow.”

“Total romance cliché, I know. But, Sam, it’s the absolute truth. I had no clue sex could be this amazing.”

“So I take it you’re not missing Charles,” I joke as we start out the door toward the parking lot.

“Charles. Ugh.” Annelise makes a face of pure disgust. “I hope he rots in jail for embezzling money from the Wishes Come True Foundation. Never in a million years would I think the man I married could be such a heartless son of a bitch. To steal money that goes toward helping terminally ill children…”

“What’s happening with that?” I ask. I’ve only been away for two weeks, but it seems like much longer. A lifetime, in many ways.

“I heard Charles was begging for a plea bargain. Claimed the embezzlement wasn’t his idea.”

I snort at that.

“Exactly. He can keep dreaming, because with the evidence they have against him, he’ll be lucky if the sentence is lenient.”

“The evidence you found in Costa Rica,” I say proudly. It was Annelise’s bright idea to search her husband’s tropical condo when she learned it existed. Honestly, I never thought my sister had it in her to become a modern Agatha Christie. With Charles, she accepted substandard treatment. She became a wimp under him, if you ask me. Always wondering what she could do to please him, how she could spice up their love life to keep him happy when he suddenly didn’t want sex from her. It was no surprise to me that he’d been screwing someone else for quite some time.

“And it was so much fun,” Annelise admits.

“Wasn’t it, though? And when Charles showed up at the condo…”

“I know! I thought it was over, right then and there.” Annelise pauses as she chuckles. “I can’t believe that was my life, not some HBO movie.”

“Did you talk to a lawyer yet, see if you can get any money from the house?” I ask. “After how you helped break the case, the last thing you deserve is to get screwed over in this.”

Annelise nods as we approach her Volvo. “I have. Claudia set me up with one of her uncles, and he’s really great. He seems optimistic, but I don’t want to hold my breath.”

“Claudia’s the spoiled rich one, right?”

Annelise frowns as she meets my gaze. “Spoiled?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t work, her parents pay for everything.”

“So?”

“So I’d say that’s pretty spoiled.”

“Well she’s not,” Annelise says in defense of her friend. “Claudia does a lot of charitable work, as many rich people do. That was what she was going to do when she married Adam—devote her life to charitable causes. But then he screwed her over and the wedding was off.”

Annelise opens the trunk for me, and I hoist my suitcase into it. Suddenly I smile. The two of us here like this, doing things that sisters normally do on a day-to-day basis—it’s nice.

Even having a bit of a disagreement, as sisters often do, is welcome. Because it means we’re communicating.

I should point out that my sister and I haven’t been exactly close. She’s older than I am, and for most of our adult lives she’s looked down on the choices I’ve made. Like the decision to be an exotic dancer. But in the last couple months, our relationship has gone through a marked change. We’re talking. Communicating again without judging each other.

In short, we’ve become friends.

We probably have a long way to go, but I’m hopeful about the future. At least when it comes to my sister, that’s one relationship that’s working out.

Two

Annelise

The moment my eyes open, I do what has become part of my morning routine over the past couple of weeks. I glance to my right, see my lover’s naked body and smile.

My how times can change.

If you’d told me six months ago that today I’d be getting sex regularly and that my best friends and sister would be the ones now going without, I would have laughed in your face. No, I would have cried. That’s how pathetically miserable my sex life was with my husband.

I had a husband who, after we’d been together for ten years, stopped touching me. Completely. Didn’t want to make out, much less have sex. He started treating me like I was his grandmother in terms of the sexual contact between us, and I, like a fool, began blaming myself for his lack of sexual interest in me.

They say hindsight’s twenty-twenty, and it’s so easy for me now to see exactly how much of a lying ass Charles was. To think I bought his I’m-so-stressed-I’m-impotent line. At the heart of the matter, really, was my religious convictions and deeply held belief in till death do us part. Being raised by a religious fanatic mother, I’ve lived much of my life being concerned that if I do the wrong thing, I’ll burn in hell for eternity.

To my credit I can say I remained committed to Charles until I learned he was cheating on me and cheating the kids of the Wishes Come True Foundation, where he was a member of the board. I took my vows seriously when I married him, even though he didn’t deserve my love. And I feel no guilt about moving on with someone else while I wait for my divorce, enjoying sex for the first time in nearly a year and a half.

Life is good now.

No, I think, glancing at Dominic again. It’s great.

In many ways it seems like much more than two weeks have gone by since I dove headfirst into a relationship with him. Call me a romantic fool, but everything feels right between the two of us. We gel in every way.

Dominic is renting the top floor of a town house in Buckhead, which is where I’ve been living since my relationship with Charles ended. It’s a nice place, but small, and we’re already talking about finding a place of our own and officially moving in together. Things are moving fast, but it doesn’t feel that way. It’s not like I wouldn’t have stayed in my matrimonial home a while longer, especially since Charles was arrested and carted off to jail so I wouldn’t have had to share the home with him. But I had to leave the house, as it was seized by the authorities. They’re investigating it as a possible proceed of crime. Scary, I know. Because if they deem it is a proceed of Charles’s criminal behavior, I will likely lose everything I should have gained from the house. Considering Charles and I bought the house five years ago, I know it isn’t. At least, I think it isn’t. But I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t really know Charles at all, which means I can’t be certain about what my future holds financially.

And this is where the situation gets worse. My lawyer has told me that, proceed of crime or not, my house might have to be sold in order to repay the victim—the Wishes Come True Foundation. My lawyer and I are awaiting word on this very matter, but the bottom line is that despite being entitled to half of my house, I might get nada. Zilch. Not one red cent. Sometimes I feel so much anger that I want five minutes alone with Charles in a room—me, Charles and the meat cleaver I’ll use to disfigure him.

Then I think about the fact that were it not for Charles being the con artist he is, I wouldn’t have met Dominic, the auditor investigating the embezzlement. And meeting Dominic has been the best thing for me.

If not for Dominic, I’d be homeless right now. Not that I couldn’t stay with Claudia or Lishelle, but what can I say? I can’t resist the lure of a hard cock every night and every morning. Until Dominic decides to kick me out—which I hope he doesn’t!—I’m going to be staying with him.

Tilting my head to the right, I peer at Dominic’s face. I love all those angles and grooves. The man is too darned sexy. His eyes are still closed, and the steady sound of his breathing tells me he’s still asleep. My eyes venture lower, to his naked body uncovered by our sheets. Like every morning, Dominic’s penis is erect.

I reach for it. Touch the tip ever so lightly. When Dominic doesn’t stir, I take his cock into my palm and stroke it. Now he moans softly, but still doesn’t wake up.

All I have to do is touch him and I’m turned on. I want more of him.

Unable to resist myself, I ease my body down the bed and position my head over his cock. A quick glance upward tells me Dominic is still asleep.

He won’t be for long.

I hold his cock steady and slip it into my mouth. Dominic’s body jerks slightly, an involuntary reaction. I move my tongue slowly around and around the tip of his shaft before I draw it deeper into my mouth.

Hearing a deep moan now, I look toward Dominic’s face. His eyes are still closed, and I don’t know if he’s in dreamland or realizes that this wet dream is reality.

I run my tongue up and down the length of his shaft, then lower, to his testicles.

“Baby…” Dominic’s voice is groggy.

As I look up at him, I grin. “Morning.”

“I thought I was dreaming. Shit, what a nice way to wake up.”

I don’t answer, instead using my mouth to skillfully torture him. I suck on the tip of his penis like it’s a big, juicy lollipop, and soon, Dominic is groaning loudly.

He reaches for my shoulders and urges me forward. “Climb on top of me.”

I do so, straddling my legs over Dominic’s hips.

“I meant my face,” he tells me. “Climb on my face.”

Just the thought of it elicits a moan from my throat. I’m not sure anything gets me off more than sitting on his face and looking down at him as he’s got my clit in his mouth.

As I move my hips upward, to Dominic’s face, he grips my ass with one hand while the other goes to my pussy. He runs a finger along my folds, then grins at me.

“So wet, baby. Before I even touched you.”

His mouth is close to my vagina as he speaks, and his hot breath makes me quiver.

“I could probably come before you even lick my pussy. Just looking down at you like this, knowing how close you are…”

“Really? So you don’t want me to do this?” Dominic’s hot tongue flicks over my nub.

“Mmmm…”

“Or this?” Now he covers me with his mouth and suckles—hard and strong.

My hips buck and my right leg shakes. “It’s too much…it’s too intense…”

He pulls his mouth away but massages my nub. “You’re so wet,” he murmurs before laving me with his tongue. “I love how you taste… Can’t get enough… Say this pussy is mine…”

The delicious friction of his tongue has me panting. “My pussy…is yours. Only yours.”

Dominic slips a finger inside me before suckling my clit again, and this is when I start to unravel. I look into his eyes, and our gazes lock as he sucks on my pussy gently this time, making these soft, slurping sounds.

Sweet heaven, I come. Come hard. Arching my back, I cry out from the pleasure of my orgasm. My hips writhe against his mouth, as if desperate to be free of the exquisite torture, but he holds me in place. Still he tortures me with his teeth and tongue, still pleasures me with his fingers, making the orgasm as sweet as any I’ve ever experienced.

My body drained, all I can do is whimper. Dominic whips me over onto my back, finds my center with his cock, and enters me with one blinding thrust. My whimper turns into a loud moan. Already I’m at the edge of another orgasm.

Dominic rams me hard, giving me no mercy. And I don’t want mercy. I want exactly this—passionate and crazed fucking.

Knowing I’m about to lose control, I grip the bedsheets and lock my feet around his waist as I go over the edge. This time, Dominic swallows my moans with a kiss. My entire body shudders as my orgasm passes through me like a giant wave.

And then Dominic rolls over onto his back, taking me with him. His cock, still burrowed inside of me, reaches me at an even deeper place. He holds my hips firmly and guides me back and forth, back and forth, over his crotch. My clit, already sensitive, responds to the friction of skin against skin.

“Dominic, baby…I’m gonna…” He takes one of my nipples into his mouth and hungrily sucks it. I’m lost in an ocean of overpowering sensations. “Oh, baby. I’m gonna come…again!”

I barely get the words out before my body explodes. This orgasm is the absolute sweetest, the most intense. I throw my whole body backward, squeeze Dominic’s legs for support, and ride this wave of pleasure while I ride his strong, hard cock. His hands cover my breasts and I hear his deep groans. I know he’s close.

“Look at me,” he rasps.

With effort, I throw my body forward and gaze down at the man I love.

“Yes, that’s it. Fuck, you’re hot. So beautiful.”

Dominic’s hips buck slightly, and he grips me harder. I can see in his eyes the moment his orgasm takes control of him.

Now I kiss him, swallow his moans of passion as his seed spills inside me.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

His words express everything I feel.

I stroke his face and say, “I know, sweetheart. And I love you, too.”

After we make love, Dominic and I take a quick shower together. He has to head off to his office, and I…well, I don’t know what I’ll do. Ever since the news broke about Charles, my business has dropped to practically nil. Even some people who’d already booked photography sessions with me canceled. I was ready to refund all of their initial deposits, but Dominic told me that wasn’t a smart business practice, and if people were going to fire me because of my husband’s actions, they were far too judgmental and didn’t deserve their money back. I followed Dominic’s advice, even if I have mixed emotions about it. It’s not in my nature to be so hard-nosed when it comes to business—which is likely why I haven’t been more successful.

At least Dominic’s brother, Sebastian, has hired me for his September wedding, and he and his fiancée have booked a great package. But I need more business than that.

Maybe I’m crazy, but I’m not nearly as stressed about the demise of my business as I should be. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that crying about something will get you nowhere. I’ve decided to take a moment in my life to pause and reflect before moving on. Oh, I have every intention of making my business the success I’ve always wanted it to be. But I need money to do that—to advertise, especially—and right now I can barely afford to pay the property’s rent.

It could be because of my religious upbringing, but I’m going to have faith that everything will work out.

As Dominic dresses, I slip into a silk robe. I lie on the bed and watch him. I like to watch him. And not just because he’s got the body of a god, but because I take immense pleasure in watching him do the simple things he does every morning when he gets ready for work.

It gives me a sense of security, I suppose. And the sense of intimacy I so craved with my ex.

“Whoo, you are looking hot!” I exclaim. He’s dressed in a neatly pressed white shirt, open at the collar, and a pair of black slacks. He looks as amazing with his clothes on as he does with them off.

He smiles softly at me, meets me at the bed, then lowers his head to mine and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. When he pulls away, I moan.

“You know I have to get going,” he says.

“I know. That doesn’t mean I want you to.”

Normally Dominic and I would engage in a bit more sexual flirtation, but today, he eases himself off the bed, gives my hand a kiss, then heads out of the bedroom.

Hmm. Odd.

I scramble off the bed and follow Dominic to the front door. I give him a big, openmouthed kiss that promises there’s plenty more where that came from. But Dominic doesn’t respond the way I expected, with the usual growl from his throat, the one that tells me he hates having to leave me when what he wants most to do is get me flat on my back.

Now I really have to wonder what’s going on.

“Dom?” I step back to fully look at him. “Honey, is something wrong?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem…yourself.”

“I’m just wondering about the future.”

Panic stirs inside me. “Meaning?”

“If you’ll still love me as much in a couple months as you do right now.”

Now I laugh. Is he actually insecure about my feelings for him? I move toward him, take one of his hands in mine, and slip it beneath my robe. Then I force his fingers to touch my naked pussy. “Ask me again if you think I won’t love you as much in a couple months.”

“Seriously, Annelise. Things will be coming to a head soon. With me testifying against Charles.”

“Oh. That.” I wave a hand, as if to dismiss his concern. “I couldn’t care less what you do to Charles in the courtroom. The son of a bitch deserves it.”

“You say that now, but when you see me on the stand—”

“I wasn’t planning to be in the courtroom, if that makes you feel any better.”

“I guess a little.”

Every time I’m around Dominic, I want to touch him. Literally, I can’t get enough of him. I’m like a teenager in heat.

I run my hands through his black hair. “I know something else that would make you feel way better.” I wink at him. “But I’d have to get down on my knees, right here in the doorway. The neighbors might talk. But, hey, I’m game.”

Dominic shakes his head as he looks at me, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re a total nymphomaniac.”

Am I? I certainly am not the same woman I was when I was married to Charles. But almost a year and a half of no sex will make any woman a sex-crazed maniac.

Of course, a guy like Dominic does wonders for a woman’s libido, as well.

Dominic gives me a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’ll see you later.”

“I’ll be here.”

* * *

For about a minute after Dominic leaves, I wonder if he’s being truthful. Or if he’s keeping something from me that I need to know. Then I brush those thoughts aside.

“Don’t bring your baggage from your marriage to this relationship,” I tell myself, thinking of the advice the Oprahs and Dr. Phils of the world would dole out. The truth is, Charles did a number on my self-esteem when he didn’t touch me for nearly a year and a half. But just because Charles was a liar doesn’t mean Dominic is. I have to take what Dominic tells me at face value, not start questioning anything unless there’s a real reason to.

I busy myself with household duties like dusting, laundry and cleaning the toilets. And as I do, a smile creeps onto my face. No, I’m not trying to set the feminist movement back forty years. I’m just saying that it feels right, being in Dominic’s home, doing housework like we’ve been together forever.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what’s at the heart of my insecurity with Dominic. I don’t know him well enough to know all his quirks and nuances. The two weeks we’ve officially been a couple is hardly enough time to discover all that.

And not enough time for me to be totally secure about where our relationship will head, no matter how much I know I’m totally into him.

“You know he’s into you,” I assure myself as I head to a large, leafy plant with a duster. There haven’t been any middle-of-the-night calls, any hushed whispers as Dominic talks to a mysterious person on the phone. And perhaps more important, I haven’t had any hang-ups when I’ve answered the phone.

The telephone rings and I jump, then chuckle at the coincidence of having thought about telephone calls before it actually rang. I hurry across the living room to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Annelise?”

“Yes,” I answer, somewhat guarded.

“Annelise, it’s Nick Foster.”

“Oh, hello.” I settle into a leather armchair, wondering what my divorce lawyer has to tell me.

“Do you have any time to come and see me today? Say in a couple hours?”

“Sure,” I answer. “You have news?”

“I think it’s best if we talk in person.”

I can’t imagine what my lawyer wants to tell me, but already I’ve got a bad feeling. The fact that he wants to see me in person probably means that he’s got bad news for me.

I wince. Damn, this isn’t what I was hoping for. I need money. For my business and my day-to-day life. Yes, my friends have helped me out, and because I’ve been staying with Dominic I haven’t really needed much. But still. I want to be able to make it on my own. No more relying on a man.

The next two hours pass in slow motion, with me dreading going to my lawyer’s office but knowing I don’t have a choice. Even when I arrive at his office, I have to encourage myself to get out of the car.

“Bad news or not, you have to get this over with,” I mutter.

I finally open the door and exit the car.

“Annelise.” Nick Foster, a tall and attractive black man, stands when his secretary ushers me into his office. He pumps my hand from across his desk. “How are you?”

“Truthfully? I’m a little bit stressed about what you’re going to tell me.”

“Stressed? Don’t be stressed.”

“I am…unless you tell me otherwise. That I don’t need to be.”

Nick cracks a smile as he sits in his chair. He opens a folder on his desk and says, “You don’t need to be.”

Now my heart leaps with hope. “Are you saying—”

“I’ve got great news for you, Annelise. Your portion of the house—it’s all yours.”

My hand is shaking as I raise it to my mouth. “Oh my God. This isn’t a joke? This—it’s for real?”

“It’s for real. The matrimonial home will be sold, and you’ll get exactly half of the proceeds.”

“And Charles?”

“His half will likely have to go toward repaying the Wishes Come True Foundation, but I can’t be sure about that.”

“And my half is absolutely safe. The courts or whoever can’t change their minds tomorrow?”

“Basically, your house was a joint asset before Charles’s fraud. You aren’t guilty in that crime, and the courts agree that you shouldn’t have to lose what is rightfully yours. Charles has victimized enough people. You can put your house on the market as soon as possible.”

I blow out a shaky breath. “Wow. So this is over?”

“Not entirely.”

My face drops. “No?”

“Your divorce still needs to be finalized.”

“Oh. Right.” I chuckle. Compared to getting over this hurdle, the dissolution of my marriage seems like a minor detail to deal with.

“And, to that end, I’m meeting with the judge next week. I’m going to ask that he expedite the process, given everything. You were married to a liar, a cheater, a thief. Clearly, you want the union absolved as soon as possible.”

“Exactly.”

“I think this will go our way.”

“I wish it could be over tomorrow.”

“Understandably. But at least we’ve gotten past the biggest hindrance.”

“Thank God.”

“Now, there’s still the issue of Charles’s other assets. Until the state has figured out what it’s doing, I can’t make you any promises. However, based on what I’ve been able to learn, it looks like much of his property and other assets were most likely purchased with stolen money.”

“I don’t care about the rest of it,” I tell him, meaning it. “As long as my portion of the house is safe.” I pause, happiness filling my chest. “Oh, Nick. Thank you.”

“I’m just the messenger.”

“Oh, you’re more than that. I know you’ve been making calls on my behalf. Lobbying for me.”

“You’re a victim in this, just like the children from the foundation.”

“Thank you.” I reach across the desk and shake Nick’s hand. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

I can’t stop grinning.

“Now, I can handle getting a real estate agent for you. Or you can do it. Whatever you like.”

I’m already paying enough money per hour for Nick’s services. There’s no need to let him handle aspects I can deal with myself. “I’ll call someone. Hopefully the house will sell right away.”

“I have a friend who’s a real estate agent, and I can put you in touch with him if you like. He can deal with the legal issues of selling the house that are required in this situation, given its special circumstances. He can control the money and cut you a check for your half directly, minus his commission, of course.”

Of course. People might have your best interests at heart…for a cost.

But I can’t worry about that, especially since the reality is that, despite any commission I’ll have to pay, I stand to collect a pretty penny. Charles and I bought that house when we were first married five years ago, and house prices in our neighborhood have gone up greatly since then. We paid off the mortgage after one of Charles’s large class-action cases settled, which means I should walk away with some sizable cash. Likely a little over three hundred grand after the commission is paid.

Three hundred thousand dollars! With that kind of money, I can easily invest what’s necessary into my business.

“Annelise?”

“I’m sorry.” I know that, as I meet Nick’s eyes, I’m grinning like a fool. “What were you saying?”

“I’ll let you know what the judge says about expediting your divorce.”

“Great.”

“I don’t anticipate any problems.”

“I can’t thank you enough for all your help, Nick.” Of course, I’ll owe him a pretty penny as well, but now I can afford to pay him! And it’s money well spent.

“That’s my job.” He closes the folder. “Please, when you get an offer for your house that you want to accept, let me know.”

“Absolutely.”

I reach across the table and shake Nick’s hand again.

When I turn to leave, I’m so high on happiness that I practically float out of the office.

Three

Lishelle

I have got The Headache from Hell. I rub my temples and groan as I stare at Linda Tennant, my station manager. She’s sitting on the armchair in my dressing room, while I’m on the folding chair in front of the mirror. The makeup artist recently finished doing my face for the six-o’clock news.

“I’m just saying,” Linda says, “you need to give me more than this. Some sort of concrete direction.”

“All I know is that it needs to be a pledge drive.”

“A nationwide pledge drive,” Linda says, her tone doubtful.

“Yes,” I respond without hesitation. “I’d really like to coordinate this with our sister stations across the country. That’s what will make this fund-raising effort unique—as well as raise much more money for the Wishes Come True Foundation.”

“I’m not saying it isn’t a great idea…in theory. But a nationwide fund-raising effort—that’s going to take time. Honestly, by the time we all coordinate schedules, it could be a year before this event takes place.”

“A year?” I all but gasp. “That’s way too long.”

“I’m giving you my opinion.”

“But we need to do this now. Strike while the iron is hot. The embezzlement story has been big news across the country. This is when people will be more likely to give—a lot.”

“I hear you. And we can definitely try to do something on our end. It’s the coordinating it with our sister stations that’s going to be tough.”

“We’ll work it out,” I say confidently. How, God only knows. But I want to see this happen. Soon. Before everyone forgets about the tragic turn of events the foundation faced. Now is the time that people will happily dig into their pockets and give. But a year from now? Who knows?

“I’m open to whatever ideas you have,” Linda says.

“I’ll get you something.” If it means I have to start making calls to all of our sister stations across the country, then I’ll do that.

When Linda leaves my dressing room, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t like what I see. Even with makeup, the dark circles under my eyes are noticeable. I haven’t admitted this to any of my friends, but I haven’t been sleeping well since Glenn screwed me over. And I’ve been far more stressed than I thought I would be.

I was able to exact some delicious revenge on my ex-boyfriend, but I realized after that, that the greatest reward would be doing something to benefit all those kids. My friends Claudia and Annelise agreed. Which is why I’m hell-bent on seeing this nationwide fund-raiser come to fruition.

I sigh and turn away from the mirror. Am I expecting too much? Should I coordinate a local fund-raising drive and forget the grandiose plans?

But that’s not what I want. This means a lot to me. I want more than anything to see something positive come of the heartache my girlfriends and I suffered at the hands of the men we loved. And I can’t think of anything more positive than raising money for the terminally ill children who were robbed.

Of course, it also helps that every moment I spend thinking about how I’ll make this fund-raiser happen is a moment I’m distracted from the memory of just how badly my heart was broken.

Two days later, I’m more than ready to get together with my girlfriends at our regular Sunday brunch spot. I arrive at Liaisons to see that Claudia and Annelise are already there, three mimosas on the table.

“Thank God,” I say as I slip into the booth beside Claudia, already reaching for my drink. The mimosa goes down smooth, hits the spot inside me that needs to be soothed.

“And we’re chopped liver?” Claudia asks playfully.

“Oh, hi, you two.” I smile sweetly as Annelise rolls her eyes.

“It’s been one of those weeks,” I explain. “The planning for our pledge drive is stressing me out. My station manager is basically saying that we can’t coordinate a nationwide effort—at least not in the time frame we want to do this. I want to prove her wrong, but I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“It’ll work out,” Annelise says.

Her carefree attitude irritates me slightly. “That’s very Pollyanna of you, but this shit is turning out to be harder than I’d hoped.”

“And I understand that,” Annelise tells me. “I guess I’m just saying that for today you should try to relax, put everything negative out of your mind. Things have a way of working out despite how much we fret over them.”

I examine her then. Annelise has been looking really happy lately, despite the uncertainty in her life, but today she looks especially so. I ask her, “Something going on that I should know about?”

“Oh, yeah,” Claudia chimes. “Annelise has some amazing news. And so do I.”

“Well, spill it.” I sip my mimosa. “I could use some good news, even if it’s not mine.”

Before Annelise can speak, a woman shows up at our table. I’m a little surprised that it’s not Sierra, the cute Asian girl who has been our regular waitress for as long as I can remember.

“Have you made up your minds?” the stranger asks.

I glance at Claudia and Annelise, wondering if they feel the way I do—unhappy that there’s this new woman at our table. They don’t seem particularly perturbed, but I am.

“Um,” I begin cautiously. “Who are you?”

Beside me, Claudia forces a chuckle. “Our waitress, silly. Lishelle, this is Apple.”

“Apple?” I stare at the woman, a tall, skinny, dark-haired woman who looks too conservative to have such a ridiculous name. “Your name is Apple?”

Apple giggles as she nods. “According to my mother, she was drinking apple martinis the night I was conceived.”

“So she got drunk and got knocked up,” I comment dryly.

Annelise’s eyes grow wide with horror. “Lishelle,” she admonishes.

“I’m just saying…I thought only movie stars gave their kids names like ‘Apple’ and ‘Orange’ or ‘Banana.’”

Claudia places a hand on my wrist. To everyone, it must look like a subtle show of affection. But Claudia actually squeezes my wrist—hard. “Looks like you were already drinking before you got here,” she jokes.

“I can go through our specials,” Apple says. “Of course, we have the buffet—”

“Which is what we always have,” I point out. “Sierra would know that.”

“We’re going to have the buffet,” Annelise quickly says.

“What happened to Sierra?” I ask. “She sick or something?”

“That’s something else we didn’t get to tell you yet.” Claudia’s grin is far too syrupy. “Apple tells us that Sierra apparently fell hot and heavy for some guy, and she’s moved to L.A. to be with him.”

“What?” I practically shriek.

Apple shrugs apologetically, as though this is her fault. Or rather, as though I think this is her fault.

“I’m happy for her,” Annelise comments.

“She just fell for some guy? Didn’t we warn her? Didn’t she hear us bitch enough about men and how you can’t trust them?”

“Can we…not do this?” Annelise gives me a pointed look.

A frustrated breath oozes out of me as I look up at Apple. “It’s just that…for the longest time, Sierra has been our waitress. She always knows what we want.”

“Lishelle, it’s okay.” Claudia lays a hand on my arm. “Apple here is perfectly capable of taking care of us.”

I glance up at Apple. “Of course. I just didn’t…expect you.”

Apple nods, seeming to accept my half-baked apology. “So, three for the buffet…can I get you anything else?”

“Coffee,” Annelise answers.

“And another round of mimosas,” I add. “Lord knows that one won’t be enough today.”

When Apple disappears, Claudia looks at me and scowls. “Could you have been any ruder to that waitress?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. Then I rub my temples. “The thing is…” I don’t finish my statement. I’m not entirely sure what I wanted to say.

“The thing is what?” Claudia prompts.

“The thing is…” My voice trails off on a sigh. “So much has changed lately. For once I’d like to see something stay the same. Something be…fucking consistent. Fucking reliable.”

Annelise fixes me with a mothering look she’s so good at giving, then says softly, “Oh, hon.”

And I swear, that simple look is my complete undoing. I feel my eyes start to mist, and I have to look away before I start bawling like a baby.

“Sweetie.” Claudia’s touch is now gentle. “What’s really going on with you?”

I don’t answer right away. I can’t. I feel foolish for even thinking what I’m thinking.

“You’ve always told us everything,” Annelise says. “Same as we do with you. Don’t hold back now.”

“Okay. I’m just gonna to say this. And I know this will sound weird, but hear me out.” I pause before dropping my bombshell. “I kind of miss Glenn.”

Startled gasps explode from my friends.

“I know. I told you it would sound weird. And I don’t mean that the way it actually sounded.”

“Huh?” Claudia asks before she and Annelise exchange confused looks at my double talk.

“Let me explain what I mean,” I go on. “Glenn screwed me over big-time, so there’s no way in hell I miss him. What I miss is being with a man. I miss being excited about someone. Since my divorce from David, I didn’t give a shit if I ever fell in love again. Then Glenn came back into my life. And he made me so many promises. He went to elaborate lengths to con me. That house he was supposedly going to buy—”

“Lies, Lishelle,” Claudia says. “All of it. Glenn Baxter doesn’t deserve to breathe, much less have you missing him.”

“Honestly, I know how this must sound, but I don’t miss him. I guess I miss being with someone. First my marriage fell apart. Then my relationship with Glenn spontaneously combusted. Glenn made me hope again. Want a man again. And now…” I sip my mimosa. “Suddenly I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever find someone I can trust, who won’t fuck around.” I down the rest of my mimosa. “You know what? Forget I said that. I have no clue what’s gotten over me.”

Claudia and Annelise are silent for a long moment, then Claudia says, “For what it’s worth, I understand what you’re saying. I was with Adam for four years. It’s hard to accept that we’re not together anymore,” she confesses. “Not that I miss him—what he did to me effectively killed my feelings for the bastard—but the pain he caused? That’s still there.”

“This is getting way too depressing.” I glance around for a sign of Apple, who I hope to spot with our second round of drinks. “We’re clearly better off without these guys in our lives.”

“But you’re both grieving,” Annelise points out. “And there’s no shame in that.”

“You’re right,” I say, the understanding of what I’m experiencing helping to chase away some of the sadness. “That’s exactly what we’re doing. Going through a grieving process.”

“Totally,” Annelise agrees.

“I never thought of it that way,” Claudia adds.

“I’m lucky,” Annelise continues. “I’ve had Dominic to help me get over any of the hurt Charles caused me. You two…I say you both need a palate cleanser—a hot fling or a new man. Someone to help make the memories of your relationships distant ones.”

That’s the last thing I need, but I don’t say that to Annelise. I have no interest in getting into the sack with some new guy for a meaningless night of sex.

“You said you have some good news,” I remind her, remembering that Annelise had mentioned that before I got all dramatic. “Are you and Dominic getting married?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Claudia says, the word full of sadness.

“I didn’t mean that to sound so final, if it did,” Annelise tells us. “We’ll definitely wait until my divorce from Charles is finalized before thinking of that step. Which is fine with me. What I want to tell you is what my lawyer said when I saw him today.”

I suck in a sharp breath. For the past few weeks, we’ve all been hoping and praying that she’ll get good news regarding her house with Charles. That she won’t lose her portion of it because her husband decided to rip off terminally ill children. “You said it’s good news?”

A smile spreads across Annelise’s face. “I can’t believe it, but I get to keep my half of the house!”

“Oh, Annie.” I clasp my hands together. “That’s the best news.”

“I know.” She can’t stop beaming. “I’ve been feeling a bit guilty, though. Wondering if it isn’t fair for all the proceeds from the house to go to the charity. But it’s not like I don’t need to live.”

“And you had no part in Charles’s scam.” I reach across the table to grip her hand. “Honey, take the money and run. Put some into your business, invest some, find a place to live.”

“Oh, I don’t think she and Dom will be parting ways anytime soon,” Claudia says.

“Not likely,” I agree. “But you keep some of that money under lock and key. Never let yourself be in a situation again where a man can fuck you over because he’s got the money and you don’t.”

“I won’t.”

I shift in my seat, sitting a little higher. “That was truly good news. My spirits have lifted already.”

“And you haven’t even heard my news yet.”

I turn to my right and face Claudia. “If you tell me that you’ve found another man, I will whoop you upside the head. I don’t want to be the only single one.”

“A man. Right.” Claudia laughs sardonically. “That’s a good one.”

“Then what could possibly be your good news? Adam is going to jail, too? No, if that news had broken, I would have heard it.”

Adam, Claudia’s ex-fiancé, who formerly held the position of president on the board of the Wishes Come True Foundation, was investigated for any possible connection to the embezzlement but was found to have no involvement. Still, when the news of his drug use and sexual fetishes came to light—thanks to our plan of revenge—he resigned from the board amid great scandal.

“No, this isn’t about Adam. But it is about the foundation.”

“I’m listening,” I tell Claudia.

“You know one of my cousins is a music producer, and as such, he obviously has lots of connections.”

“Right.”

“Well, I was talking about our desire to help the Wishes Come True Foundation, and he had an idea. He said that if we want to make this fund-raising effort work, we need to get some big names attached to it.”

“Which is a great idea, yes,” I agree. “But getting someone—”

“Let me finish.”

I mime pulling a zipper closed across my lips.

“Well, Morgan talked to Rugged—you know, that hot new rap artist from Atlanta—about the idea of possibly participating, given that this is his home town, and—”

“And he said yes?” Excitement washes over me.

Claudia nods. “He wants to do it.”

“Yes!” I pump a fist in the air. “This is exactly what we needed. Some celebrity to headline the event.”

Across the table Annelise is grinning, too. “It gets better,” she practically sings.

“Really?” My eyes flit from Annelise to Claudia. Then I notice Apple in my peripheral vision.

“Here are your drinks.” Her face looks flushed as she deposits three mimosas and three mugs of coffee onto the table. “I’m sorry, I got busy with other tables. I didn’t mean to bring them out this late.”

She’s looking directly at me as she offers this explanation, as though she expects me to bite her head off.

“That’s fine,” I tell her.

Nodding nervously, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You haven’t gotten food yet.”

“We’ve been gabbing,” Annelise explains. “We’ll get to it.”

When Apple walks off, I say to Claudia, “Okay, what’s this even-better news?”

“Right.” She grins. “Well, Rugged likes the idea so much that he said he’d ask other rap artists, like 50 Cent, Ludacris and some others, if they’d like to get involved as well. Maybe do a ‘rap artists support the cause’ type of event.”

“You know what, I will never feel sorry for myself again,” I proclaim, smacking the edge of the table as I do. “I came in here feeling so shitty, but life is still good. There are still good people in the world.”

“Exactly,” Annelise agrees. “I told you things have a way of working out.”

“Can you believe it?” Claudia’s eyes are beaming with happiness. “We’re gonna make this happen. And we’ll raise a ton of money for the foundation.”

“Lord, I hope so.” I reach for my second mimosa. “I’m so passionate about this now, ya know?”

“We know,” Annelise agrees. “And we’ll do right by the children who need this money so desperately.”

“Oh, and Rugged is getting into town tonight and would like to set up a meeting,” Claudia goes on. “Talk to you at least, Lishelle, as your network will be hosting this. Or we can all meet him. Whatever you’d prefer.”

“It’d be great if he could come to the station. Meet with me and my station manager.” My mind races as I think of how this is exactly the boost we needed. “And you’re welcome to come, too, of course. Or I could handle the preliminary meeting. Whatever you think is best.”

“We’ll figure it out by tomorrow,” Claudia assures me. “In the meantime, my stomach is growling.”

“Yeah, mine’s pretty angry too.” Annelise chortles. “And if I keep drinking on an empty stomach…”

“Say no more.” I rise. “Let’s head to the buffet.”

I know the moment that Rugged enters the studio. I hear the excitement in the air. Even a couple of squeals.

I’m in my office, but I don’t move. I sit casually at my desk, a current tabloid open on my lap. It’s trash, I know, but I read it to escape the reality of the heartbreaking stories I often report on the news.

My door is ajar, but someone raps on it nonetheless. “Lishelle?”

“Come in.”

It’s Carmen, one of the production assistants, and she’s grinning from ear to ear. “Rugged is here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I took him to the green room. Is that where you want to meet him? Linda says she’ll be at least ten minutes. I didn’t want to leave him waiting.”

I glance around. My office looks presentable. “Why don’t you bring him here?”

Carmen disappears, but less than five seconds later, she pops her head back in my door. “Can I ask you something?”

I lower my magazine to my desk, but don’t close it. “Of course.”

“I know this is going to sound silly, but I’m a huge fan of his. I thought he was hot on television, but in person he’s even more attractive. Wait till you see him.”

“What exactly is it you want me to do?”

“Ask him for his autograph for me. Please, pretty please.”

“I don’t get it. You’ve met him. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Because I’ll die!”

Whatever, I think. But I say, “Sure.”

A few minutes later Carmen reappears with Rugged. Her face is flushed—clearly she’s blushing. I’m completely shocked, since I never figured Carmen the type to listen to rap music, much less be a huge fan of Rugged’s. Hell, I’m not a big fan of rap. I have caught glimpses of Rugged’s videos featuring women in barely there bikinis on late-night TV, and I wasn’t exactly impressed. But for the cause of raising money for charity, I’m happy to embrace the idea of working with him.

“Lishelle, this is Rugged. Obviously.” She grins and nods, her unkempt bangs bobbing with her bouncing head.

My God, what has gotten into her?

“Rugged, this is Lishelle Jennings.”

I close the tabloid and toss it onto my desk. Then I rise from my chair and cross the room with my hand extended. Rugged meets me, takes my hand in his and shakes it.

And surprisingly, when our hands touch, I feel a jolt of heat. Something about Rugged has sparked a sexual reaction in me, one I didn’t expect.

“Hello,” he says.

Swallowing, I pull my hand away. “Hello.”

I don’t miss the way his eyes skim over my body. How can I—the move is so bold.

And makes a sex-starved woman like me think about riding a large, hard cock…

I clear my throat and add, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m a fan.”

“I’ma fan o’ yours, too.”

Behind us, Carmen is standing stupidly, like she’s frozen in place. Of course, she wants an autograph.

“Rugged, would you mind signing an autograph for Carmen? She’s one of your biggest fans.”

Now Carmen’s eyes widen in alarm. Rugged glances over his shoulder at her.

“She’s much too modest to ask you,” I go on. “Isn’t that right, Carmen?”

“Um…well, I didn’t want to bother you.”

“No bother,” Rugged tells her. “You got a piece of paper? Or do you want me to something else—like your shirt?” Rugged’s eyes move to Carmen’s breasts, which look bountiful beneath her thin, cotton T-shirt.

“Um.” Carmen’s response is shaky. “My…my shirt?”

“I’ve got a Sharpie.” I go back to my desk, scoop it up, and pass the black marker to Rugged.

After Rugged signs his scrawling signature on her shirt, Carmen can’t stop saying thank you as she backs her way out the door. When she’s gone, I move to the door and close it.

“So,” I begin without preamble. “You’re interested in helping out with the pledge drive I’m planning.”

“Definitely. When Morgan called to tell me about it, I was excited, man. The city of Atlanta’s my home. And the people here, they been good to me. I wanna give somethin’ back.”

“Please, sit.” I gesture to the leather chair at my desk. As Rugged settles there, I sit in my own chair on the opposite side.

“Have you had any thoughts about how to participate? I’m thinking you could come into the studio, join me on TV as we appeal to people to open up their wallets.”

“That all you want? Yo, I was thinkin’ of doin’ a concert or somethin’.”

I perk up at that. “A concert?”

“Yeah, a summer concert. Maybe Labor Day Weekend, or wheneva you want. I’ll do a concert, and all the proceeds will go to the kids.”

The idea is so brilliant I could kiss this guy. “That’s fucking amazing.” I cover my mouth and mumble, “Excuse my Spanish.”

“And see, what I was thinkin’ was that some of my homies could hold concerts in other parts of the country. Maybe ten, fifteen major cities. One big ‘Give back to da kids’ event. Ya know? We could raise some serious fuckin’ cash.’ Scuse my Spanish.” He grins.

I am so excited by this idea, my heart is beating seriously fast. “You think it will work?”

“I’ma try my hardest to help out. We gonna do this, we do it big.”

“I like the way you think.”

There’s a pause, then Rugged asks, “What else you like?”

The question catches me off guard—but the slight upturn of the rapper’s mouth, plus the way he’s rested his thumb in the loose waistband of his jeans above his crotch, makes it clear I didn’t misunderstand the inflection in his voice.

He’s just propositioned me.

“Excuse me?” I ask. I try to sound appalled, but the truth is, I’m not. In fact, my panties just got wet at Rugged’s words. There’s something about a guy who goes for what he wants that is a huge turn-on.

“I’m a fan, Miss Jennings. I like you. A lot.”

“And how old are you?” I ask, my tone much like that of an adult questioning a child who’s been caught throwing rocks at her window. “Nineteen? Twenty?”

“Twenty-fo’.”

“Oh.” I force a laugh, trying, I guess, to hide my sudden sexual anxiety. “Like that’s old enough.”

“It sho’ is,” Rugged tells me confidently.”

My entire body flushes with carnal heat. My nipples ache and my pussy starts to throb. And I realize that the thought I had, that I wasn’t interested in a meaningless fling with some guy, is a lie. I’m more than interested.

Suddenly, my body needs sex.

I steal a quick glance at Rugged’s crotch, try to judge by the bulge how big his cock is.

I like.

“Old enough fo’ what you need,” Rugged adds, this time drawing his bottom lip between his teeth when he finishes his statement.

“And how do you know what I need?” I ask. My body is attracted to his, but I’m unwilling to let go. I don’t know why.

“I heard about how that guy played you.”

Great. “And you’re offering me what? Your penis as a way to solve all my problems?”

I expect Rugged to be offended by my comment. Instead he says, “If that’s what you want…”

Wow. This guy is really serious.

So I decide to call his bluff. Play with him a little. “What am I supposed to do? Suck it or drop my pants?”

“Whateva gets you off.”

Either could get me off…

The knock on the door has us both sitting up straight. I clear my throat, then say, “Come in.”

Linda opens the door, grinning. She enters the room, her hand outstretched. “Hello, Rugged. It is so great to meet you.”

Rugged shakes her hand. “Same here.”

“I guess I’ll cut right to the chase,” Linda says. “Have you come up with any great ideas?”

“Actually,” I begin slowly. “We’ve come up with an excellent plan. I’m really excited about it.”

I fill Linda in on Rugged’s fantastic suggestion, and by the end of my spiel, she can hardly contain her enthusiasm.

“I love it!” she exclaims. “You think we can make this happen?”

“I’ma try my best. Rap artists are always gettin’ bad press. We do this, it’ll show America we got good hearts, too.”

Rugged glances my way with that statement, like he’s trying to prove a point to me. Does he have a good heart? Or is he willing to ‘give back’ just because that’ll get him good press, and therefore sell him more records? Not that it matters to me. I just want people to support the cause, by whatever means necessary.

I tune out for the next few minutes while Rugged and Linda discuss possibilities, thinking of how he propositioned me and wondering if he was serious. And fuck, I can’t believe how wet I am. How much part of me wanted to lock the door and offer him my pussy. It is still throbbing, so much so that I ache to stroke my clitoris.

I ponder the possibility of fucking Rugged when Linda’s gone, because I’m pretty sure he won’t reject that idea. A quick fuck, or a blowjob—guys don’t say no to an offer like that, even if the woman is a stranger. Why would Rugged?

And that’s exactly the problem. Because Rugged is a star, women probably line up to do that for him now, whereas before they’d have smacked him for daring to be so crude.

I don’t want to be as pathetic as one of his crazed female fans.

He might have me thinking about sex, but I’ll get myself off like I normally do. Or I’ll find someone else to fuck.

I hear Linda say something about Rugged having his manager call her, that they can go over some preliminary details.

“How does that sound, Lishelle?” she asks me.

“Sounds like a plan,” I say, though I haven’t been paying close attention to their chat. I’ve been lost in my thoughts about Rugged.

“All right, then.” Linda shakes Rugged’s hand once more. “We’ll be in touch. I’m really looking forward to this.”

“Me, too,” Rugged concurs.

When Linda disappears, Rugged gets up and closes the door, then turns his hot gaze onto me. One side of his mouth lifts in a grin. “Now, where were we?”

“Finished,” I tell him, and smile sweetly when he looks a bit surprised.

“But I thought—”

“Thought you were gonna get some? You want to impress a grown woman, you have to step to her in a different way.”

“Ah, you’re gonna play hard to get.”

“I’m not playing anything.” I pause, let my rejection sink in. No, I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to act like one of his groupies. “I hope this isn’t going to affect your willingness to see this fund-raising effort through to its fruition.”

“’Course not,” Rugged tells me, but his voice is clipped.

Oh, he’s not a happy man. Inwardly, I beam. Honestly, did he expect me to drop to my knees just because he’s a star?

“Great,” I tell him, and place my hand on his arm. He throws a quick glance at my hand, then meets my eyes—as though he’s hopeful that my touching him means I’ve changed my mind.

I lead him to the door and waste no time in opening it. “Thank you so much for coming in to meet with me and the station manager,” I tell him, all professional. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.”

Four

Claudia

“Mmm, baby.” I writhe against the hot tongue licking my pussy. “Oh…that feels so good. Yes. Right there.” My body grows warm all over, starts to tingle. “Right there!”

My eyes fly open, and I see darkness. My hand is in my panties between my legs, two fingers resting on my wet, engorged clitoris. For a moment I’m confused.

And then I realize I was dreaming.

I groan, disappointed to have been pulled from my dream at the best moment. Groan because I’m disappointed my dream wasn’t reality, that there isn’t a gorgeous man between my thighs ready to make me come.

I close my eyes, stroke my wet pussy and hope to recapture the sensations I was experiencing in the dream. I try to imagine Taye Diggs going down on me, then Shemar Moore, then a few other hot actors I like. But I can’t hold a single image long enough, like my subconscious won’t let me enjoy my carnal urge to get off.

After nearly a minute, I give up. My body is still aroused, but I can’t get my mind to that place where I can reach orgasm.

I want a man, not my fingers. A man stroking my clit. A man’s teeth grazing it. A tongue so far inside my pussy it’s driving me crazy.

I might not miss Adam, but I do miss the sex. And with Adam the sex was frequent, and passionate.

My body craves that—with a real lover.

Rolling onto my side, I glance at the digital clock on my night table. It’s 6:18 in the morning.

Once again I close my eyes, this time trying to sleep. But after five minutes of tossing and turning, I know that I can’t.

I’m still aroused.

I need to fuck.

Slowly, I rise and turn on the bedside lamp. I open the drawer on my night table and reach down to the bottom, beneath various papers, until I feel my vibrator. I pull it out, and go back into the drawer for the DVD I want to watch.

When Adam and I were together, we watched lots of porn—at his suggestion. Most of it was simply raunch, one guy after the next getting sloppy blow jobs and spraying semen all over some woman’s face. Those didn’t appeal to me, and I suggested to Adam that he find something a bit more appealing to couples.

That’s what this DVD is—a movie of various sexual scenes, all featuring couples.

I like this one because the women get just as much attention to their needs as the men do. Guys eat pussy—and lots of it. They suck on tits like they want to make a woman come that way.

I turn on the television, making sure the volume is low, then insert the DVD into the machine. As I make my way back to the bed, my clit starts to pulse, anticipating what it’s going to experience.

Using the remote, I fast forward until I find a scene that will get me off. It’s an up-close view of a vagina and the man’s mouth that is all over it. The angle allows me to see every explicit detail.

I push my nightshirt up and my panties down, slip two fingers between my folds and settle them on my clit. But I don’t start stroking myself—not yet. I want to enjoy the graphic visual, the way a woman enjoys the build up of foreplay.

So with my free hand I begin playing with a nipple, pulling it and tweaking it until it is fully aroused. Waves of carnal pleasure sweep through me. My eyes are glued to the television, taking in every delicious moment of that hungry mouth devouring pussy.

And when the man pulls the woman’s folds apart, completely exposing her clitoris, I start to stroke my pussy in earnest. The man flicks the tip of his tongue over her again and again, until the woman starts to cry out. As she does, the man completely draws her nub into his mouth and sucks on it.

My heart rate picks up speed—and so do my fingers. I rub them over my clit in a circular motion, creating delicious heat. Now I am the woman onscreen. Her pleasure is my pleasure.

My lover pulls my clit deep into his mouth and suckles on my clit. The sounds of pleasure he makes excites my entire body. I’m breathless as he stops sucking on my clit and runs his tongue along my opening. The next instant, he slips two fingers inside, pulls them out and licks them, then moans happily and plunges his tongue into my vagina. Fuck, that’s so hot.

As the man’s tongue goes deep into the woman’s pussy, I insert two fingers into my own.

It’s wet, and warm. I stretch my fingers inside, but it doesn’t reach where I need to be touched. On the screen, the woman is screaming with the onset of her release. The man is fingering her now while sucking on her clit. After a moment, the man moves his body upward and starts to deep throat the woman—not what I want to see.

With one hand I grip the remote and rewind the scene, while with the other I grab the vibrator. It’s shaped like a massive black cock, and for now, it is my lover.

“Eat that pussy,” I say softly as I ease the cock inside of me. I don’t turn it on. Not yet. For now, I enjoy every sensation this life-like cock brings me.

My pussy throbs out of control as I watch the way the man suckles on the exposed clitoris. Fuck, that guy knows how to go down on a woman.

“Eat that pussy…” I plunge the cock inside me, gasp as I wiggle it around. My God, that feels amazing. With my free hand, I play with my pussy, massage my nub until I have to bite down on my bottom lip to suppress my moans.

I continue to thrust the cock in and out, in and out. It’s large, and fills me completely.

“Yes, baby…” I murmur, stroking my engorged nub. “Fuck, yeah…”

The woman on the television screen screams when she starts to orgasm, and I watch. Watch the guy draw the clitoris fully into his mouth as she writhes in ecstasy. Watch him thrust his fingers in and out of her pussy as he continues to eat her.

And then my body jerks, a sudden orgasm gripping me with its sharp talons. The walls of my vagina close around the cock, pulsate against it as my body explodes.

For the next minute or so, I simply lie there, my body spent from my release. The sound of my heavy breathing mixes with the faint sound of fucking emanating from the TV. I reach for the remote and turn the movie off.

Then I pull out the vibrator, head off the bed and go to my bathroom to clean up.

When I’m back under my covers, I snuggle against my pillow and try to summon some of the warmth I felt during my orgasm.

I can’t.

Later that morning, after I eat breakfast alone in my kitchen, I decide that I must get out of the house. First, I call Annelise, but she doesn’t answer, so I call another friend, Risha. We’re not extremely close, but occasionally go to the spa or hair salon together where we can spend a few hours gossiping.

Risha is home, and we make plans to meet an hour later at the spa we frequent downtown. I tell her I’ll call the spa to schedule pedicures, and that she’ll hear from me only if we can’t get an appointment.

An hour later, Risha is heading to the building’s steps as I park in an available spot on the street. I toot the horn, and she glances over her shoulder. When she sees me, she smiles and waves.

I finish parking and get out of the car. Risha rushes toward me, her arms outspread.

We hug, air kiss.

“Wow, Claudia. You look amazing.”

“I do?”

“Yes. Really amazing. Your hair—you put auburn highlights?”

“Subtle highlights. I was tired of the jet black.”

“Well, seeing how happy you look, no one would know you so recently broke up with the love of your life.”

It’s exactly that kind of comment that irks me where Risha’s concerned, and one of the reasons I’ll never consider her a close friend. She simply doesn’t get me.

I don’t worry about it, because she fulfills a purpose in my life. I never have to go to the spa, or shopping for designer clothes, alone.

Risha opens the spa’s heavy door, then gestures for me to enter. “After you.”

I walk in. The hostess at the front greets me with a warm smile. “Hello, Ms. Fisher, Ms. Taylor.”

“Hello,” Risha and I say in unison.

“You can come right this way.”

The long-haired brunette leads us around the corner and to the back of the salon, where the pedicure tables are set up. I recognize Alice and Bree, the women who will give us our pedicures, as they’ve worked on us before.

Alice, who’s working with me today, instructs me to take my sandals off and slip my feet into the warm, bubbling water. I do, and beside me, Risha does the same.

“How’s Ryan?” I ask Risha.

“He’s great,” Risha answers. “Passed the Bar, and he’s interviewing with a few firms in Atlanta. Also some in New York.”

“So he might be moving?”

“We might be moving.”

“He popped the question?” I ask excitedly, my eyes already searching for the rock on her left hand I must have somehow missed.

“No, not yet. But once he accepts a position with a firm, I’m sure he will.”

“Right.” I nod, hoping for Risha’s sake that Ryan is planning exactly that. That he doesn’t turn out to be another Adam.

I glance at Alice, an attractive and plump woman in her mid-forties, who is scrubbing my feet. She grins at me like buffing people’s feet is what she’s happiest doing. I don’t believe it is, though. I mean, it can’t be. I wonder if she’s aspired to greater things in her life, and why she settled on this career path.

The sound of voices has me turning to my left to see who is about to join us in this portion of the salon.

And that’s when my stomach takes a nosedive.

Hell, no! What’s that bitch doing here?

“Who?”

Risha’s question lets me know I voiced my thought out loud.

“Ah, Arlene…” Risha nods in Arlene Nash’s direction, who happens to be the woman who immediately got involved with Adam when our relationship ended—if not before.

Arlene sees me. Flashes me a smug look as she wriggles her fingers in the pretense of a warm greeting.

Risha huffs. “What is her problem?”

“Hell if I know.”

To my horror, the hostess leads Arlene to the far back of the shop where Risha and I are.

“Oh, God,” I mumble.

Moaning in frustration, I look to my right as Arlene is seated in the leather pedicure chair on my left.

Risha’s lips twist in disapproval.

“Hello, ladies.”

Arlene’s nasally voice has always irritated me, that and the way she walks around with her head held higher than everyone else’s, like she’s extra special.

“Hello,” Risha responds, in an exaggerated airy tone— the tone of fake affection she reserves for people she doesn’t like.

For a moment I debate simply ignoring the bitch. I mean, why pretend we’re friends when we’re not? But after a couple seconds, I paste a sugary smile on my face and turn to her— the only greeting I can find it in my soul to give her. Arlene and I were never friends, but after I saw her at my fiancé’s place in a serious lip lock with him only days after we’d broken up, I knew I could never keep up the pretense of being civil to her.

That decision was solidified when Arlene starting flaunting the rock Adam gave her shortly after our own engagement ended.

A minute passes. I pretend to be completely absorbed in the issue of Black Hair magazine I scooped up before I sat down.

“Have you heard from Adam?”

My head turns to my left so fast, it’s a surprise I don’t get whiplash. “Excuse me?”

“I hear he’s spending time in D.C.,” Arlene tells me in a tone that says she’s proud to be sharing information I likely don’t know. “He’s apparently exploring work opportunities. I figure he’ll make a permanent move there, given his political ambitions. Especially since he’s got family there he can stay with.”

“His cousin, Milton. Senate aid. Yes, I know. Adam and I were together for four years, remember?” My tone is testy, but I can’t stop myself.

“Of course.” Arlene plasters a fake smile on her face. “Look, I figured you’d want to know what he’s been up to.”

“Really? And why is that?”

The water sloshes around Arlene’s feet as she shifts her butt in her chair to fully face me. “Because we share a common bond—whether you want to accept that or not.”

This enrages me. Arlene’s gall at acting as if she and I have both suffered equally at Adam’s hands.

As Alice begins to buff my feet, I say to Arlene, “We have nothing in common.”

“He hurt both of us.”

“And you seem like you still want to him back, even though the whole world knows he’s a perverted freak. What Adam does with his life doesn’t interest me in the least. He could be starring in gay porn in D.C. for all I care.”

Arlene’s jaw flinches at my words, and I know I’ve hit the nail head-on. Tsking, she shakes her head. “So bitter.” She pauses. “Bitter enough to spew nasty lies?”

I slam the magazine down on my lap. “Tell me, Arlene—how long were you fucking my fiancé before we broke up?”

I expect shock from Arlene. Instead, her face fills with smugness. “If you’d been able to satisfy him, he wouldn’t have ended up in my bed.”

“You bitch. I more than satisfied Adam.”

Risha grips my arm. “Claudia—”

“Adam was a freak, okay?” I feel everyone’s eyes on me—Alice’s, Bree’s, the stylists’ at the other end of the salon and their patrons—but I don’t stop. “A pathetic freak who liked all kinds of disgusting sex. When I found out about that, I knew I could no longer be with him. But you—how many times have you been engaged again? Three? Four? At least I’m not desperate enough to settle for anyone.”

Arlene glances around uneasily, though her eyes flash fire. “Adam was right about you. You’re bitter because he dumped you, and you started those rumors about him to ruin our relationship.”

I laugh out loud at that. “Yeah, that’s how it happened. And here I thought you were just desperate to finally get married, why you were so willing to settle for my rejects. But you’re really as much of a freak as Adam, aren’t you? You two really should get married. You deserve each other.”

Arlene’s gaze is venomous, but she doesn’t respond.

I pull my feet away from Alice, apologizing as I do. “I don’t think I can stomach sitting here any longer. Something foul in the air is getting to me.”

Arlene quickly stands and steps out of the bubbly water soaking her feet. “I’ll save you the trouble. I’ll leave.”

As Arlene slips her wet feet into her sandals, I casually lift the magazine off my lap. But I don’t open it. Instead I face Risha.

She offers me a “You go girl!” smile, then squeezes my hand in support.

When I arrive home—which happens to be an apartment within my parents’ very large house—I kick off my shoes, then head straight into my bedroom. I fluff my down-filled pillows and settle my back against them, sighing as I do. That’s the only moment of repose I allow myself, because I need to seriously bitch to my two best friends about Arlene Nash. Hopefully I can get both Annelise and Lishelle on a three-way conference call.

I reach for the phone on my night table, but it rings before I can pick it up.

I lift the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”

“Claudia?”

My back straightens at the faint sound of the male voice on the other end of my line. Surely, it couldn’t be…

“Adam?” I ask cautiously.

There’s a pause, and in that moment of silence, I almost hang up. But then I hear, “No, this isn’t Adam. It’s Greg. Greg Rutherford.”

Greg Rutherford? I frown, wondering why the name sounds familiar, but not recognizing who it is. Then it dawns on me. Greg Rutherford is a guy in my social circle whom I see out at various charity events.

“Oh, hello,” I say, relieved. “Greg, how are you?”

“I’m good. Good.”

“To what do I owe the honor?” I ask, though I already have a sneaking suspicion.

Another pause, long enough that I have to wonder if he heard my question. “Greg?”

“Um, sorry.” I hear some nervous laughter on his end. “Didn’t your mother tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She gave me your number. Said you were, uh, interested in getting together. With me.”

“She said what?” I practically shriek. I know my mother has been desperate to marry me off, but how could she?

“I’m sorry. I thought…”

I want to tell Greg to stop apologizing, just be a man and express what he wants. But I see an image of his face and the brown eyes he hides behind thick glasses, and suddenly feel sorry for him. Almost sorry enough to spare his feelings, lie to him and tell him that yes, I did want to get together.

But that would accomplish nothing.

So I go for the truth.

“Greg…I don’t know if my mother told you or not, but I recently ended a relationship.”

“I know. You were engaged to Adam Hart.”

“Right. And…and I’m not anymore. The last thing I’m interested in doing is dating.” I don’t add that even if I weren’t nursing a broken heart, I wouldn’t be interested in dating him.

In short, I’m letting him down easy. Giving him a way to save face.

“Say no more,” Greg says.

“You understand?”

“I went through the same thing when my marriage ended. I know what you’re going through.”

“Of course.” I suddenly remember hearing the surprising news that he and his wife parted about a year ago.

“That’s why I thought…well, I wondered. You know, if you ever wanted to get dinner sometime. Do something to take your mind off your troubles…”

I appreciate the gesture, even if he isn’t my type. “Maybe in a couple months,” I tell him.

“Why don’t you take my number? Call me. Whenever. If you want, of course.”

Greg rattles off his number, and I jot it down.

We end the call, and no sooner do I drop the cordless handset on my bed, than I shoot to my feet. I head out of my apartment through the door that connects to my parents’ house by way of their kitchen.

I find my mother upstairs in the laundry room, standing at the counter folding towels. Seeing me, she smiles brightly.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

I walk into the room, saying, “I just heard from Greg.”

“Oh, he called.” Her hands rest on the pile of unfolded bath towels and face cloths. “Did you make a date for dinner?”

“What were you thinking?” I ask her. “Greg? He is totally not my type.”

“Which is exactly why I thought he’d be perfect for you. You haven’t exactly chosen wisely before.”

My mouth falls open. “How can you say that? You liked Adam! You couldn’t wait for me to marry him!”

“That’s not exactly true. I always had reservations about your union. His father is a womanizer, and that’s a trait I believe runs in the family.”

“You never said—”

“I was hopeful, but proven wrong. I’ve come to terms with that now.”

I eye my mother skeptically. I’m not sure I should believe her. She was helping me plan the most lavish wedding Atlanta’s black society would ever see. Why would she do that if she didn’t think I’d be happy with Adam?

“But Greg,” my mother goes on. “I’ve never heard a bad thing said about him, nor his father or his uncles. And from what I can tell, they absolutely adore their wives.”

“That’s because they have no choice,” I quip. “They aren’t exactly the most attractive guys in Atlanta.”

My mother stops folding a large white towel to gape at me. “Claudia Fisher. I did not raise you to judge people by their looks.”

“Mom, it’s true.”

“It’s also true that Greg is a well-respected doctor.”

“A plastic surgeon. Hmm, I wonder if he’s ever thought of going under the knife himself.”

“That’s awful!”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…”

“Just that you like all the pretty boys—boys like Adam Hart?”

“Well. Yeah,” I answer honestly. “Besides, Greg’s divorced.”

“With no children. No baggage to tie him to his ex. For a man his age—”

“I’m not interested,” I stress. “The truth is I’m not really interested in anyone.”

Now my mother moves toward me. “If you tell me that you still have feelings for Adam—”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Good. Because given everything you learned about Adam, you need to count your blessings that the two of you didn’t marry after all.”

“I know that. Hell, I was the one who was engaged to him.”

“My point is that Adam is the kind of man you cut out of your life with a clean slash—and you don’t look back. And you certainly don’t shed any tears over him.”

“I haven’t.” Okay, so that’s a bit of a lie. I’m only human. I was in love with Adam for four years. When you really care for someone, it’s not easy to turn off your feelings for him overnight. That said, it took me about a week to really move past him, come to the realization that the motherfucker was a piece of shit I was better off without.

“I’m not saying Greg’s not a nice guy,” I go on. “Clearly he is. But…but I’m not attracted to him. You’re attracted to Daddy, aren’t you? You don’t want me to marry someone simply to say I’m married?”

My mother meets my eyes with a steady gaze. “You’re not getting any younger.”

Wow, that floors me. Renders me speechless.

But only for a moment.

“I’m not going to settle,” I tell my mother, my anger toward her barely contained. “I will never do that.”

And then I turn and walk out of the laundry room. I am seriously tempted to run, but I don’t want to give my mother the satisfaction.

When did my marital status become her biggest concern? What about my happiness?

I know she means well. But still.

When I reach my apartment, I make sure to lock the door behind me.

I’m not sure what rattled me more—my run-in with Arlene or my chat with my mother. I only know that I need to vent, so I grab my cordless handset off my bed and call Annelise. I put her on hold while I call Lishelle, hoping to connect her on a three-way call. But Lishelle doesn’t pick up, which means I can’t have a serious bitch session with both of them at the same time.

“Annelise, you still there?” I ask when I press the link button to connect back to her.

“I’m still here. You okay?”

“I’m pissed.” I take the next few minutes to fill her in on the chance meeting I had with Arlene Nash. “Do you believe that bitch’s nerve? I’m not sure what she was trying to do.”

“Rattle you, obviously. And it worked.”

“What pisses me off is that she admitted she was sleeping with Adam while we were still together. While we were engaged. That whore.”

“She’s that kind of woman. Some are simply like that. They get off on thinking that they can steal your man. People like her make it their life’s mission. What they don’t get is that if they can steal a guy from someone he supposedly loves, he’s not worth having. Trust me, I think Charles’s lover has learned that the hard way.”

“I know.” A sigh escapes my lips. “I shouldn’t let her even get to me. And then there’s my mother. It’s like she thinks I’m a failure because I don’t have a man in my life.”

“She didn’t say that?” Annelise asks, a hint of horror in her tone.

“Well, not exactly. And I know she doesn’t really think that. But she’s trying to set me up with this guy who is so dull…” I blow out a frustrated breath.

“You want to get together?” Annelise asks me.

“I want to get out of town.” It burns me to know that Adam is in D.C., getting on with his life like he never hurt me. He was never charged with embezzlement in the scandal surrounding the Wishes Come True Foundation, but I hope he can’t outrun the tainted brush of scandal. And secrets have a way of coming to light in a town like D.C.

“Out of town, hmm?”

“It’d be nice. Get away from Atlanta and do something fun. Everywhere I go in this city, I feel like people are staring at me. Pitying me because I didn’t get to walk down the aisle.”

“I’m sorry.”

I run a hand through my hair and groan. “I’m the one who’s sorry. Here I am going on and on about my problems, not even asking you how you’re doing.”

“I’ve been great since my visit to your uncle’s law office. Hey, why don’t we get together? We can have a drink at some happening spot. Listen to some good music, maybe even dance a little. Liven up our Tuesday night.”

For a moment I seriously consider Annelise’s offer. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’d be really bad company.”

“No you won’t,” Annelise protests.

“Yes,” I insist. “I’m in one of those moods. I’m gonna stay in and stuff my face with junk food. Rain check?”

“Of course,” Annelise agrees.

When I end the call, I sit on my bed and inhale several deep breaths. I try to center myself, to de-stress.

But after five minutes, I don’t feel any better. I feel glum, listless.

Kind of like I’ve lost my groove.

Part Two

Gettin’ our groove back

Five

Annelise

After talking to Claudia, something clicked. The reality that not only did I need to do something to uplift my friends and my sister, but that I could.

Dominic and I are getting along well, and I’m in love. For me, life is good. But it’s hard to share my excitement about him with my friends and sister when they’re all suffering from broken hearts.

Life can change in an instant, and in my case, it definitely did. First, for the worst—when I learned Charles was cheating on me. Then, for the better—when I learned I would be getting the money I deserved from my house. And even though only five days have passed since the house has been listed, there are already two serious offers, which has driven the price up beyond what I was asking.

The point is, I have money. Well, very soon I will. And I’mgoing to use some of it to surprise Samera, Claudia and Lishelle with exactly what they need.

A vacation.

It’s high time that my friends and I go away. Get out of Atlanta and do a girlfriend trip. Someplace fun, like Mexico. Or maybe the Bahamas. Or Vegas.

The very idea of planning this—especially as a surprise— has me giddy. I head to the kitchen to grab the phone book and start looking up travel agents. But as my fingers skim the heavy book, I decide against making calls.

I’m going to head out to the mall and walk into an actual travel agency, have a live travel counselor give me glossy brochures and lots of suggestions.

Dominic is at work, so I jot a note and leave it on the kitchen table in case he gets home before I do. Then I grab my purse and head out the door, determined to change the course of the future.

If Stella could get her groove back on the sun-drenched beaches of Jamaica, why can’t we?

By the next week, I have everything all planned. I’ve booked a surprise getaway to Las Vegas at the beautiful Venetian Hotel. I’ve splurged, but I figure my friends and sister are worth it. And considering my house just sold for over $800,000, I can afford the expense, which I charged to my credit card until my cash comes in.

My sister isn’t working, and neither is Claudia, so I know they can leave with only a moment’s notice, but I had to call Lishelle’s television station and secretly book her some time off. Thankfully, her station manager agreed, stating that Lishelle could use some R&R. And Lishelle won’t be able to give me any excuses about why she can’t go.

I’m excited. Not only did I book the trip to Vegas for this Thursday, two days from now, I got us tickets for the Thunder from Down Under our first night there—a popular touring show from Australia featuring the hottest male strippers. It’ll be a fun way to start the trip, to help us let loose. I’ve got a few other ideas in mind as well—some sinful ideas along the line of “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” In a way, I can’t believe the scandalous ideas I’ve come up with, considering I grew up as a prude, but those days are behind me.

I wasn’t kidding when I told Lishelle and Claudia that they need a palate cleanser to get over Glenn and Adam. They need to get laid. And I can’t think of a better place than Las Vegas to help make that happen.

I’m beaming as I hold the telephone receiver to my ear.

“Hello?” my sister says.

“Sam, hi.”

“Annelise?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“You sound incredibly happy. Of course. Dom.”

“And you sound…like you need a break.”

“I had a break in Costa Rica. I came home feeling worse.”

“How does Las Vegas sound?”

“Like an expense I can’t afford right now. I’ve got a bit of savings in the bank but until I find another job, I’ve got to be frugal with my money.”

“You don’t have to worry about the money. I’m paying.”

“Like you can afford that.”

I take a moment to fill Samera in on the great news that I’ll get even more money than I expected from the house. “See, so you have no excuses.”

Samera hesitates before saying, “I don’t think I’d be much fun.”

“You’re going,” I inform her. “I’ve already booked your flight.”

“Annie!”

“I did. I had a feeling I’d have to. Non-refundable. So, you can’t say no.”

Samera moans. “Annie, you shouldn’t have.”

“But I did. Hey, you’re the one who insisted on going to Costa Rica with me. Said we needed to bond as sisters. That trip was the best thing we ever did. Vegas…we’ll bond even more.”

“You sure know how to drive a hard bargain.”

“We leave bright and early on Thursday.”

“Thursday!” Samera exclaims.

“Actually, we don’t have an early-morning flight. We’re booked on Delta, scheduled to leave at close to 1:00 p.m. We’ll arrive in Vegas around two in the afternoon—”

“This Thursday?” Samera interjects. “As in two days from now?”

“That’s the date. July twenty-sixth.”

“You’re serious about this.”

“Absolutely. Start packing!”

Next I call Claudia, who resists the idea at first, until I tell her that the trip is paid for—and that Lishelle is going, too. I don’t mention that my sister is also going, because the truth is, Claudia doesn’t know her well, and I don’t want to give her a reason to turn me down. After about five minutes of arm twisting, Claudia agrees to the impromptu getaway, though she sounds somewhat reluctant.

I expect the most resistance from Lishelle, and when I call her at the station, she cuts my suggestion off midsentence.

“I can’t. Gotta work.”

“Actually, you don’t have to—”

“You know I always work weekdays. I can’t book off Thursday and Friday last minute. I’m free Saturday and Sunday, which would barely give me time to fly to Vegas and back.”

“Lishelle?”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t let me finish. You don’t have to go to work because I booked you off from Thursday to Sunday.”

“What?”

“Okay, I’ll be clearer. You don’t have to go in on Thursday. And your next day at work will be Monday—July thirtieth.”

“How—”

“I spoke with Linda Tennant last week because I didn’t want you to have any excuse to say no. Plus, I wanted this to be a surprise.”

“And Linda said yes?” Lishelle asks, her tone saying she’s surprised.

“She did. And quite frankly, she sounded relieved that I was taking you away somewhere. According to her, you’ve been moping around, not at all like your usual self.”

“Moping around?”

“Her words.”

“I ought to smack her. But, if she says I can go, then fuck, I’m outta here.”

“Oh, Lishelle. We’re gonna have a blast,” I tell her, relieved that she’s down with the idea of getting away. “Sin City, watch out!”

“I hear that. Four days of drinking, gambling…”

And a little something extra, I think.

“You’re a doll. How much will I owe you?”

“Nothing! This is my treat.”

“No, I can’t accept—”

“You can and you will. I’ve got an excellent chunk of change coming my way, probably in the next couple weeks.”

“All right, girl. If you insist.” She still sounds uneasy.

“You can buy the drinks,” I tell her.

“You’re on. Look,” Lishelle says, “I have to get going. But we’ll talk tomorrow at least.”

“For sure.”

I squeal with happiness, and so does she.

“So much to do,” Lishelle says. “So little time.”

“I know, I know. Talk to you later.”

No sooner do I hang up with Lishelle, than I head to the kitchen and snatch up the Yellow Pages. I flip through until I find listings for limo services, and I book one for early Thursday that will pick each of us up.

“Okay,” I say to the person who has confirmed the pickup. “Thursday morning at 8:00 a.m. Thanks a lot.”

“You sound happy.”

I whirl around at the sound of Dominic’s voice. He’s leaning against the wall at the entrance of the kitchen, holding his blazer casually over his shoulder.

He looks sexy as hell.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I get up from a chair at the small kitchen table and float toward him, my arms outstretched. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Our lips meet first before we fall into a warm hug. Dominic kisses the top of my head before releasing me.

“What are you up to?” he asks.

“Booking the limo for our ride to the airport Thursday morning.” I told Dominic about my plan for the trip last week. “And I told all the girls today. Everyone’s onboard.”

Dominic settles onto the chair I vacated. “So that means you’re leaving me.” He reaches for me and pulls me onto his lap. “For four whole days.”

“Four long days. I know.”

Dominic brushes my hair over one shoulder, his fingers skimming the back of my neck as he does. The gentle touch sends shivers of pleasure down my spine. “What am I going to do? All by myself?”

I gyrate my hips against his crotch. He’s already hard, and that makes me wet. “I wish I could take you…”

Dominic cradles the back of my head with his palm and urges my face closer to his. I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he leans his mouth close to my ear. “Guess we’re going to have to fuck our brains out until you go. Then pick up where we left off when you get back…”

As his teeth graze my earlobe, I moan with pure pleasure. My ear is a definite hot zone on my body, as Dom knows very well. He adds his tongue, flicking it on my earlobe slowly.

“Are you going to miss this?” he whispers.

“You know damn well I am.”

“Know what I love about your ear?” He nibbles on it briefly. “I love how the lobe is so much like your clitoris. It’s fleshy.” Flick. “Soft.” Nibble. “And when I suck on it—” Dominic does exactly that, suck on my earlobe until I am whimpering, and he groans excitedly. “When I suck on it, your body quivers the same way it does when I suck on your sweet pussy.”

Now, Dominic picks up his game, alternately sucking and nibbling my earlobe the same way he does to my pussy. My sex is instantly moist and pulsing with need and anticipation.

His mouth is pressed right to my ear when he whispers, “Are you taking your vibrator?”

“Forget my vibrator.” I ease my body up and stroke Dominic’s hard cock through his pants. “This is what I want to remember while I’m in Vegas. This is what will get me off at night when I think of you.”

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