by Donna Hill
Her head was spinning.
“I’m...actually returning Rafe’s call. After I came by the house he called me wanting to know if it was me at the hospital and his house, and what was I doing in DC. I didn’t get his message until I landed in Florida.” She paused a moment. “There was a part of me that believed I could never let him go. But when I saw him with you, the way he looked at you, the way you looked at him, I knew it was time. I came by the house to tell him that and see him for the last time. He’s happy and in love with you, and all he and I ever wanted for each other was our happiness. He’s an incredible man and when he’s all in, he’s all in. Take care of him. He deserves it more than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“I will.”
“Avery, you okay? What are you doing up?” He rubbed sleep from his eyes as he stood in the arch of the doorway, silhouetted by the moonlight.
Avery drew in a breath and slowly stood. She crossed the room and handed him the phone. “Someone needs to speak with you. It’s okay.” She kissed his cheek and returned to the bedroom. This time she slept through the night.
Epilogue
The first weekend in June arrived in spectacular fashion. The cloudless sky was coupled with a hint of a warm breeze, which was just enough to lift a curl, stir the blooms that lined the walkway leading into the church or ruffle the tulle skirts of the bridesmaids. After months of planning, near losses, breakups and makeups, the day they’d dreamed about had arrived.
The white velvet runner led from the door of the church to be met on either side of the altar with five-foot urns overflowing with Sprengeri ferns, and bridal veil, mixed with Queen Anne’s lace and light pink and lilac roses. The pillars and pews sprouted feather-light ferns and baby’s breath, giving the entire space a fairy-tale feel. Melanie Harte, long-time family friend, matchmaker extraordinaire and premier party planner, had worked with Dominique to decorate the church and plan out the reception, which was to take place later at the Lawson mansion.
There was no getting away from the press, but Avery no longer cared as she exited the stretch limo—a vision in white, diamonds and pearls—and was hustled into the church by her bridesmaids, to shouts of “turn this way,” clicks of reporters’ cameras and what would certainly be cell-phone video.
They entered the church vestibule and were directed by an attendant to the ladies-in-waiting room.
“Perfect,” Dominique announced the instant they opened the door.
Two overstuffed couches, comfy side chairs, a portable rack for hanging clothing, a food cart with light snacks and bottles of ice water and ceramic white bowls of floating calla lilies waited for them, and a full bathroom finished off the area.
Avery’s gown rustled softly as she entered and looked around. Her throat tightened. She turned to Dominique, who was busy fussing with the flowers. She placed her hand on Dominique’s shoulder.
Dominique turned, wide-eyed. “Everything okay?” The beaded bodice of her cocktail dress twinkled under the lights.
“Dom,” she turned toward her sisters-in-law to be, “Lee Ann, Desi, I really... I can’t thank you all enough. I know I was being bitchy and difficult in the beginning, but none of this,” she looked around and waved her hand, “would have happened without you.” She put her arm around Kerry. “While Kerry was keeping my head screwed on straight and making sure that I didn’t run away from the most wonderful man in the world, ya’ll were here making all this happen.” She took a breath and blinked hard to stem a flow of tears. “Thank you.”
“You’re family,” Dominique said. “And Rafe’s our big brother. He loves you and we love you, too.”
“And don’t even start crying and messing up your makeup,” Desiree said, surprisingly fit only two months after having her twins.
“Besides,” Lee Ann added, “we were just happy to get that man settled down with someone who could tame that wild side. Now you can deal with him!”
The sisters laughed in agreement.
Avery sniffed and laughed along with them. She was ready and one thing she knew for sure was that her new sisters would have her back.
“Make sure that you eat a little something,” Lee Ann advised. “So you don’t get light-headed.”
“I will. Promise.” She turned and was awestruck at her reflection in the full-length mirror.
Kerry came up behind her and placed her hands on Avery’s shoulders. “Ready?” She adjusted Avery’s tiara.
“Girl, I’m more than ready to marry my man.”
“You and me both!”
There was a light knock on the room door.
“Come in,” Avery called out. She turned around on the stool. Her father stepped in. “Dad.”
“Look at my baby.” He smiled in admiration.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Kerry whispered and then eased out with Rafe’s sisters.
Horace Richards stepped fully into the room. “You look beautiful. Just like your mother.”
Avery drew in a deep breath. “I wish she was here.”
“She’s watching over you, sweetheart.” He pulled up a chair and sat. “I know I haven’t been the best father—”
“Dad, you don’t—”
“No. You need to hear this. I don’t think I ever got over losing your mother. We had our troubles, but I loved her. I guess I believed that if I allowed myself to love you like I should have, I’d lose you, too. So I kept my distance, closed off my heart. I was hard on you. But I still only wanted the best for you. I wanted you to be tough, independent so that you could never be hurt.” He paused. “And I’m sorry. So very sorry. I love you, sweetheart, and you now have someone to love and care for you. The way it should be.”
“Oh, Daddy.” She leaned into his arms and pressed her cheek to his. This was what she’d wanted all her life. To hear him say those words, and she finally understood with vivid clarity that they were more alike than different. She’d fought off love and being loved the same way her father did.
Kerry poked her head back in the door. “They’re getting ready to play your song.”
Avery straightened and beamed at her dad. “You ready to give me away.”
Horace stood. “Never. But I know you’ll be in good hands.”
* * *
The bridal party was led in by Lee Ann and Justin, followed by Desiree and Spence, and Dominique and Trevor. Then the maid of honor, Kerry, and best man, Quinten, walked in to Luther Vandross’s “Here and Now.” Once in their places, the attendants opened the doors to the sanctuary. The congregation rose to their feet as Rafe and Avery’s wedding song, “When I’m With You,” began to play.
When Rafe set eyes on Avery, walking down the aisle on the arm of her father, it felt like a dream. He’d never seen her look more surreal, more magnificently beautiful as she appeared to float along the white runner that led to the altar.
The fitted gown embossed with hundreds of hand-sewn pearls and splashes of diamonds hugged her body, save for the dangerous right-side split that stopped mid-thigh. The tiara crown sparkled beneath the lights, but nothing was brighter than the smile she held for her husband to be.
When Avery stood to face Rafe at the altar, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. This was it, their moment. They’d been through hell and back. They’d survived.
“Dearly beloved...”
Branford and Jacqueline sat in a place of honor as she tried and failed to stem the tears that rolled down her cheeks. Branford turned to his sister, took her hand and held it.
“Who gives this woman to this man?”
Horace stepped forward, gazed lovingly at his daughter. “I do,” he said with a catch in his throat. He kissed her cheek and stepped aside.
“Do you, Avery Aleise Richards, take Raford Beaumont Lawson as your husband...?”
“I do.”
“Do you, Raford Beaumont L
awson, take Avery Aleise Richards as your lawfully wedded wife...?”
“The rings please.”
Avery turned to Kerry and took the ring for Rafe. Quinten handed Rafe the ring.
“I understand you have something to say, Rafe,” the minister said.
Rafe took Avery’s hand and slid the blinding diamond on her finger. “Avery, I knew the moment I met you that you were meant for me. I just didn’t know how much. You’ve stuck with me. Understood me, made me believe after all that had happened that I could love again. You made me want to live life again. When I’m with you, I know that anything is possible, and I can’t wait to start our life together and all the possibilities. I love you, cher.”
Avery could barely keep the tears from her eyes. “Rafe.” She took his hand and slid on the platinum-and-diamond band. “I was scared, difficult to deal with and unsure. I thought all I needed in life was a career. But you never gave up no matter how hard I pushed you away. You just kept on loving me. I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and basking in your love for me. We can accomplish anything together. Our love is unbreakable. When I’m with you, I know that there is a God because He gave me you.”
“Now, by the powers vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. Please salute your bride.”
Rafe took Avery in his arms and kissed her as if there was no one else in the world except them, and she melted into the embrace of her husband, knowing that today was the first day of the rest of their lives, and together she knew they were in for an adventure.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Pleasure in His Kiss by Pamela Yaye.
Pleasure in His Kiss
by Pamela Yaye
Chapter 1
Karma Sullivan didn’t know who was shouting inside her swank, full-service beauty salon, Beauty by Karma, but she was going to find out. Balancing the books would have to wait. Her customers were probably having a spirited discussion about sex and relationships, but things had obviously gotten out of hand. It sounded as if World War Three had broken out on the main floor, and since nothing mattered more to Karma than maintaining the elegance and dignity of her salon, she dropped her pen on the April spreadsheets, and shot to her feet.
Her gaze fell on the mahogany desk across the room, and her shoulders sagged. Karma could only wonder where Jazz was. She’d met Jazmine “Jazz” Figueroa at cosmetology school six years earlier, and they’d bonded over their love of fashion, pop culture, Idris Elba movies and exotic cuisine. Hiring the gregarious esthetician to be the manager of her beauty salon was a no-brainer. Karma enjoyed working alongside her bestie, and thought they made a formidable team. Unfortunately, her happiness had been short-lived. Jazz used to be a model employee, who gave a hundred percent to Beauty by Karma, but these days she came to work late, spent more time on her cell than with clients and left early. And when Karma spoke to Jazz yesterday about her concerns she’d mumbled an apology, then quickly changed the subject.
A deep, husky voice filled the air, yanking Karma out of her thoughts and back to the present. What in the world? Has everyone lost their minds? Beauty by Karma was a ritzy, high-end salon in the Hamptons, not a barbershop in the hood, and she wasn’t going to let anyone ruin the peaceful ambience. Since the salon’s grand opening, Karma had worked tirelessly to get her business off the ground, and her efforts had paid off. She had A-list clients, a successful beauty blog millennials couldn’t get enough of and tens of thousands of social media followers.
Yanking open her office door, she marched down the hallway, her lush, purple-hued tresses cascading around her shoulders. She’d paired her short, off-the-shoulder sundress with gold accessories, and even though she’d gained weight while vacationing with her girlfriends in the Cayman Islands in January she felt beautiful in the flowy, Gucci dress. Still, she was starting The Raw Food after her birthday. Yesterday, she’d received an email from the Hamptons Women’s Association informing her she’d been nominated for the Businesswoman of the Year award, and Karma had been so excited she’d danced around her office. Wanting to look fit and fabulous for the July banquet, she’d hired a personal trainer, and was going to eat healthy for the next three months even if it killed her. And it would. Karma loved junk food, drank wine every night with dinner and was a self-proclaimed chocoholic. The last time she’d exercised Obama was still in office, and when her trainer suggested Karma take an aerobics class five days a week she’d burst out laughing. It was going to be hard going to the gym and changing her poor eating habits, but Karma was determined to get in shape.
Classical music was playing in the background, but it did nothing to soothe her mind. Karma loved hip-hop music, could rap with the skill and finesse of Yeezy, but since her customers preferred Bach to Kanye West, that was what they listened to during business hours.
Entering the salon, a smile curled her lips. The grand opening was eighteen months ago, but every time she entered the shop she felt a rush of pride. Beauty by Karma was her “baby,” the only thing that mattered to her. Decorated with comfort and luxury in mind, the space had chandeliers dripping with crystals, cushy designer chairs and exquisite African artwork. Glass vases filled with colored roses beautified the twenty-five-chair salon, and black-and-white photographs of her celebrity clients were hanging on the mauve walls.
There was a buzz in the air, and when Karma saw the chocolate hottie standing at the reception desk, she understood why every woman in the salon—including the cosmetic heiress, a trophy wife and a marketing executive—were licking their lips and fanning their faces.
Someone whistled, and Karma overheard a Broadway actress murmur in Spanish, “¡Señor, si tuviera un hombre que se pareciera a eso en casa, nunca dejaría la casa!” A giggle tickled her throat. I agree, she thought, hiding a smirk behind the stoic expression on her face. You’re right! If he was my man I wouldn’t leave the house, either!
Her legs wobbled, as if they were about to give way, but she didn’t lose her footing on the gleaming, hardwood floor. Caught off guard by her physical attraction to the man with the chiseled face and muscled body, she couldn’t think or speak. Was at a loss for words. Shocking, considering Jazz had affectionately nicknamed her Yabbermouth the day they met, but when he glanced in her direction Karma’s tongue fell limp in her mouth. Having worked on magazine photo shoots and music videos, she was used to meeting attractive men, but the longer she stared at him the harder it was to control her X-rated thoughts. Suddenly, perspiration drenched her forehead and breathing was a challenge.
Karma checked him out on the sly. The man had it all. Flawless, cocoa-brown complexion? Yes. Perfect teeth and a defined jawline? Yes. Boyish good looks, and more muscles than Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson? Yes, yes, yes! There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe how gorgeous he was, and for a moment Karma was starstruck, consumed with desire. He was wearing a striped polo shirt, knee-length shorts and white sneakers, but he carried himself like a man in a designer suit, and Karma was so anxious to meet him she moved through the salon faster than an Olympian speed walker.
“You have to do something,” the stranger fumed, addressing the receptionist. “This is important. Very important. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t.”
His cologne, like his voice, was captivating, and listening to him made Karma tingle from her ears to her toes. Swallowing hard, she mentally chastised herself. Told herself to get a grip, and quit lusting after the man with the piercing gaze and ripped physique.
Joining the receptionist, Abigail Reese, behind the front desk, Karma offered her right hand in greeting, even though she knew touching him would push her horny body over the edge. Driven to succeed, she’d put her career above her personal life, and although her girlfriends teased her about being celibate, Karma loved being single and had zero desire to settle down. Why would she? Relationships sucked, and her ex-boyfriend had proved that even humble, sens
itive men with good reputations couldn’t be trusted.
Her gaze returned to the stranger’s face, and zeroed in on his thick lips. Oh my. I bet they could do some serious damage. Tingles flooded her body, pricking her skin. Karma couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, but if Mr. Tall-Buff-and-Dreamy invited her to his place she’d say yes in a heartbeat. It was an outrageous thought, considering she didn’t even know his first name, but her body had a mind of its own, and it wanted his hands in her hair, on her breasts and between her legs—
“Who are you?”
Startled by his curt tone, Karma broke free of her thoughts and met his gaze.
“Hello,” she said brightly, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. “I’m Karma Sullivan, the owner of this fine establishment. How may I help you?”
“You’re the owner? Finally. It’s about time you showed up.”
Ice spread through Karma’s veins, chilling her to the bone. Put off by his cold demeanor, she dropped her hands to her sides, and pinned her shoulders back, radiated confidence even though his rigid stance was intimidating. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I’m Morrison Drake, Reagan’s uncle...”
He reached into his back pocket, took out his wallet, then raised his driver’s license in the air. Scanning it, Karma committed the details to memory. According to the information on the card, he was six feet six inches, two hundred and twenty-five pounds, with dark brown hair and eyes. Morrison was thirty-four years old, and he was born on...August 2...
Overcome with emotion, sadness stabbed her heart. Morrison shares the same birthday as my mom. Needing a moment to gather herself, she took a deep, calming breath. Thinking about Carmelita’s tragic death six years earlier always made her cry and since she didn’t want to break down at the salon, she willed herself to keep it together.
