by Amarie Avant
Mother, call me at your convenience. Love, Liam.
Just then, the door opened. I’ll call back soon. Hands trembling, she placed the phone back in her pocket and slid out of the car. The message would pacify the annoyance of this unscheduled stop.
Strutting inside a marble-and-gold-trimmed lobby, Elise was greeted by name. Pulling on the pearl button of her blouse, she stood in the elevator, headed for the top floor. Walking down the hall of exclusive suites, she took in the carved moldings on the walls before knocking at the door. It opened, and Elise stared at a peridot-beaded gown that made her mama’s eyes twinkle.
“Took you long enough,” Estella said. Her popular Stellar perfume seized Elise’s lungs.
“Papa just told me you were staying here. And then I got the letter which ordered me here.” No affectionate greeting needed, she passed over the threshold. Her parents were separated. Usually Mama stayed at the Chateau de Estella in Burgundy, France. Why is Mama staying here? For years, she’s hated all things Delacroix.
“I thought that twit kept my name out of his mouth. Oh, I was obliged to send the letter. You wouldn't have visited, being that you’re on the same team as that turkey-stuffed, silicone man! And I didn't want you believing yourself important enough to be abducted if I forced you here without warning.” Estella poured a martini at the crystal mini bar.
“Where’s your staff? Surely you don’t serve yourself or open your own doors?” Elise matched her terseness, taking a sip of the drink that was curtly handed over. They got along in two-minute segments. She’d been there for a little over that; it was flight time. “Please refrain from enlightening me about how you must’ve learned to cleanse your own derrière.”
“Sit down!” Estella commanded, taking a seat across from her daughter. The floral bouquet on the coffee table lost the war against the Stellar fragrance. “You travel all around the world. Nevertheless, I have to send a note to get you to visit your own mama.”
“I would have gotten around to visiting … eventually.”
“Sure.” With a devilish smile, she added, “I suppose that’s where Liam gets it from. He can be so kindhearted, and then just like you, ready to throw family at the wayside. Everyone but Pierre.”
Elise rolled her eyes.
“Why must you be such a numbskull? We all suffer; Pierre walks around as king. I’m sure your Pa sends photos of their vacations and bonding. Now, I’ve something of the greatest importance to tell you.”
“What?” Elise brushed imaginary lint from her skirt.
“Raven Shaw and Royael—well, she’s a Shaw, but she should be …” Estella’s voice trailed off, as if in deep thought. Truthfully, she was smarter than most. “Oh, yes, she should be an Anderson. Yes, Royael Anderson. Then again, Liam should too, eh?”
Elise’s yacht-tanned skin turned white. “How do you know?”
“Tsk tsk. Your papa got his start in publications. Your posse was always in our enemy’s gossip columns; drinking, driving, etcetera. Do you honestly believe that we didn’t know?”
Elise rubbed her temple. If this was true, Pierre knew she’d just lied to his face. Royael should be an Anderson. Anderson blood courses through Liam’s veins. I should be a Delacroix-Anderson! But Zane Anderson was married!
“As a child, you’d ruined your papa’s reputation. It took a while for him to concede and have you followed. To think, Pierre was human when I met him. His family just had the one dilapidated newspaper stand. I was the one making money as a model, and my family was wise, old money.” Estella went to pour another martini. As if she could read body language—that yearning in Elise’s eyes—she handed her daughter a refreshed drink. She gracefully sat. “He’s no longer human. All he sees is the affluent. And you, my dear, were an awful adolescent. Nevertheless, he always loved you, always fixed your mistakes, until you met Zane Anderson. You see, he knew when you were pregnant and trying to convince him to dabble in altruism, by helping his old friend, Jonathan’s father, with his law firm. Pierre knew Jonathan was a dead ringer for Zane. Only, Zane didn’t want you. He wanted his wife. Being the man your papa is, he let you call the shots. Rich little girl that has only ever coveted what others have.”
“Mama, stop.” Elise shook her head.
“You’re but a pawn on a chessboard. Pierre sat back and watched, delighted in your manipulation. He’d never been more proud of you than the day you convinced Jonathan that you were having his child. Only you had the audacity to make our Liam a junior. I thought I’d never see the day when Pierre put anything above family. He treats all of his little bastard children with the utmost love and respect. They are all Delacroixs! Royael is a Delacroix, but Pierre allowed you to take the lead on this little scheme.”
Tears rolled down Elise’s cheeks as she tuned out Estella’s laughter. She’d reminisced about Zane for over twenty years. His beautiful face would be forever branded in her mind, all because of Jonathan Lemaître, the look-alike. Truth be told, that was the reason she hadn’t divorced him.
“Then there was that Charlene girl.” Estella winked. “Oh, we know the entire story. Jonathan’s kids fell in love … poppycock!”
Elise opened her eyes and looked around. Mama was gone. Minutes later, Estella returned with an embroidered book, placing it onto her lap. With trepidation, she opened it to find an album with baby photos. She’d never seen Royael before, hadn’t wanted to see her for guilt. Yet one look at the beautiful child’s face and she knew her first and only grandchild.
“You’ve ruined his life. Liam was in love. All you had to do was tell him that they weren’t related! But no, you had to allow Pious Pierre into the game, when he was just as content observing.”
Fingers shaking, she turned pages to a chronology of the child’s life. All photos were taken from a distance or side angle. She flipped until there were just empty pockets. Finally, she set the album on the table as a sob shook her slender body. “I tried.”
“I want to see my great-granddaughter. I want Liam to have the love of his life.” Estella shoved a picture of Raven and Liam holding hands in her daughter’s face. “Look at this! They’re in love, but they’ve denied themselves the choice to love freely because of you.”
Elise tried to slap the picture away.
“You always were an evil child.”
“Ma, no.” Elise scrambled to the floor, putting her head in her mama’s lap as she’d done when Mama used to rub her head and sing French lullabies. The look of hatred in Estella’s eyes scorched her skin. Her voice shook as she sung and unlike the past, Estella didn’t chime in. “Please, Ma. Liam left me a text, forgiving me for the letter. He wants to see me.”
“You have until the Santa Monica hotel grand opening at the beginning of summer.”
“Mama, I haven’t talked to him in years. Liam refused every phone call from me! Allow me more time to make amends.” Looking up from Estella’s lap, she entwined her hands. Her mama’s tense “no” clenched at her heart. Throat thick and heavy, she screamed, “I’ll tell Papa!”
“Good, let the ogre know I’m on his turf, too. Why else would I be at this gaudy hotel?” Estella looked down at her daughter like she didn’t deserve to adorn the floor beneath her feet.
18
Gold. Raven’s legs flashed before Liam’s mind as he flipped the perfect pancake and checked on the sizzling bacon. He thought about their bizarre first week together. Monday night, she’d come home with a vise grip on her purse. Tuesday, she’d slipped in just before dawn. Wednesday, she’d helped him put Royael to bed. He’d watched like an outsider as Raven sang a song he’d never heard before in a familiar tune. Their daughter fell fast asleep. And at that exact second, he knew without a doubt the unconditional love she had for his child.
Taking the pancake off the griddle, he found himself smiling. I am in love with her still.
Liam tried to thwart that thought. Yet Friday evening, they’d had a pillow fight with Royael. He’d considered retracting the “Chihuahua�
� nickname as the two of them sat and watched a Die Hard flick.
That day, Sunday, he’d woken early, needing pancakes to survive her sudden transformation. Placing the crispy bacon on a napkin, he turned off the skillet and poured batter. He walked to the sliding glass wall and leaned on the open partition. Breathing in fresh air, he wondered if her new mannerisms would last. She ran hot and cold. But I'm fucked if she lets down her guard.
His mouth watered as he recalled the first time he'd gone down on her. She'd been the only one. He'd been nervous as fuck, but her shock as he commanded her legs to open wide was everything he needed.
“I’m beginning to think that pancakes and bacon are the only things you can cook.”
Liam turned toward Raven’s soft voice. Arms folded across her PJ shirt, she smiled, appearing well-rested despite her late nights. Maybe that’s it? Raven’s trying to adjust to this place. Smiling back, he hoped she was finally comfortable. They needed a sense of camaraderie for Royael’s sake. He walked to the stove and flipped the pancake just in time.
“You cooked pancakes the other night for dinner, didn’t you?” In fuzzy slippers that matched her pants, she walked over and peered at the thick, creamy batter as he poured another serving.
“Yup,” he replied, their daughter’s favorite line. He wanted to ask why she stayed out late. As far as he knew, the photography school didn’t have classes that ended well into the night. And she worked mornings at the coffee shop.
“Royael is getting chunky. She might look like you did as a child.” She dipped a finger in the batter and smeared it across his cheek. “No more pancakes.”
“Raven.” He laughed, dipping his hand in the bowl.
“Wait!” Raven spoke quickly, eyes bright with laughter. “If Royael gets too chunky to complete her ballet sequences, I'm pointing the finger. Wait—”
He flicked the batter in her direction.
She ran toward the sink, dodging it. She picked up the sink sprayer and turned back around. “You want to play?”
“No, don’t do it.” He put his hands up in defeat. She had that teasing glint in her eyes that he remembered so well. “You started it.”
“Say you’re sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” he replied with a devilish smile.
“All right, sucker.” She let the water spray across his white under shirt. Instantly, the cotton material clung against a plane of hard muscles.
“It’s cold!” Liam grabbed a copper pot from the overhead rack and did a lousy job at blocking her erratic spraying as he walked toward her. Her laughter was contagious as they tussled for the slippery sprayer. Pulling it away, he lifted it behind her and poured it down the neck of her shirt.
Raven’s eyes widened as she giggled so hard she could barely get words out. “Wh-what the hell. That is c-cold.”
“Yup. I know!” He reached past her and flicked the faucet off. Water dripped from their clothes and the onyx counters, forming puddles on the wood floor. Knowing how she always played dirty, he warned, “We’re even. Okay? No more.”
“Truce.” She nodded.
“Truce.” He gave her a hug, patting the water that ran down her back.
“You’re cruel,” she whispered in his ear.
The minty warmth of her words brushing against his earlobe made every nerve ending in Liam's body ignite.
His arms were unable to unwrap from around her. Raven’s hands glided up his neck and his own scaled the contours of her waist. Gripping her hips, he lifted her. In one fluid motion, her legs wrapped around his thick, strong frame. Raven’s wet body compressed against his. Needy lips found their match. Years had done nothing to make him forget his obsession’s satin tongue as theirs danced in hunger.
His hands clenched her hips, pulling her closer. His cock stood at attention in his pants, searing the inside of Raven’s thigh. Imagining the quivering of her pussy wall, Liam yanked down those hideous pajama pants. She licked her lips as his fingers trembled, touching her silk panties. Through the thin shield, his thumb strummed her clit.
Liam’s mouth watered. He craved her. But he wanted to devour her, savoring each inch of her body. Their mouths connected once more. Tongues colliding as his fingers tucked beneath her panties. Raven moaned into his mouth.
Two fingers plunged into her liquid core. Raven’s back arched instantly. Her body pressing against him, hard nipples against his chest. Though curvy, her body was athletic and toned, yet his cock was so much harder against her thigh.
“You're so fucking wet. So tight.” Liam groaned, letting his fingers work more rapidly. He couldn't help it, but he asked the dumbest of questions. “Nobody has tasted your sweet pussy, my sweet pussy.”
Her eyes were shaded. Thoughts of another man, other men, wanting her and touching her made green envy flash before his eyes.
“Raven?”
“Nobody,” she moaned, riding his fingers. “Nobody, Liam, fuck me, baby.”
Her breath became pants as his fingers fucked her. She was wetter than his wildest dreams. Greedy as he was, he wanted wetter. The fucking ocean he had tasted the first time he tasted her. The last time.
“Cum for me, beautiful,” Liam growled against Raven’s hair. “Soon as you cum, baby, I’m going to devour every bit of you.”
He gulped back the need to taste her honey. Voraciousness was how he’d felt every second, every minute, every hour his lips hadn’t touched her. Glossy-eyed with tears of euphoria, she rode the first orgasmic wave. Her mouth opened wide, all pearly-white teeth, yet no sound escaped. She shattered against his rock-hard chest.
Liam knelt before her. His hands gripped the flesh of her ass as he became eye-level with the glistening petals of her core. Those golden legs draped over his shoulder.
“Sh-sh-shit.” Raven’s leg shook as his tongue twirled out and coated her clit with saliva. She clutched fistfuls of his blond wavy hair. Voice husky, threatening even, Raven begged, “Liam, you’re killing me.”
His mouth softly planted on the glossed lips of her labia before his tongue soared out to dip into her once more. He nibbled at the tiny bulb, just enough pressure to make her shudder, and her ass bucked miraculously before him. Like a ravenous wolf, Liam plunged deep inside of her with his tongue. As the tension built in her body, Liam sought her release. His tongue withdrew and then slid home once more.
Her moan was a sound of beauty as a vortex of heady sensations consumed her. Liam stood at that instant. His thumbs hooked into his pajama pants, cock ready to fuck her hard and good—
“Daddy, Mommy, y’all burnin’ the pancakes!” Their oblivious daughter stood just in the arched entryway.
The force field that magnetized them separated when they heard Royael. The faintest bit of his ass disappeared as Liam pulled his pants up. He strode toward the stove to toss the blackened pancake into the wastebasket, and Raven hopped off the counter. Almost stumbling, she snatched up her pants and headed toward the door.
His hand went to his lips, trying to save the feeling. Fuck. Raven’s my half-sister until Lucinda, the maid, tells me otherwise. Biting his lip, Liam banked on patience, since Tyriq was busy. Vincent was the more efficient of the two, but no matter how imperative the truth may have been, Vincent was a last resort.
Liam got off the elevator at work with a carafe full of cappuccino that Raven had made. She’d said he had a top-of-the-line machine, better than the one at her job. She’d laughed when he told her he never had the time to figure out how to use it, and then she'd made him some on the condition that he didn’t give any to his secretary. He'd laughed and shook her hand in agreement. They were like friends. The pancake fiasco behind them.
“Good mornin’, Pat.”
“Good morn-ing, Mr. Lemaître.” Patricia’s silver eyebrows were bunched together. He’d never been late, but then again, she’d never heard his North Carolina accent. Or maybe it could be that he chose to wear a polo shirt and slacks instead of the usual three-piece suit. Either way, her squinted eyes
tracked him to his office door. “There’s a board meeting in twenty minutes. Your files have been placed on your desk. Aretha’s grandson is still sick, so I’ll be available at your request.”
He turned on Gucci loafers. A board meeting? “Cancel it.”
In his office, he took a gulp of the drink and clicked on the calendar icon to find he had indeed inputted a meeting for that morning. After being gone a week to get the girls settled in, he’d made the decision hastily.
Exiting the calendar, he clicked on the Internet and searched Raven Shaw, clicking on the link to her university portfolio. There were different pictures, ranging from people to nature to objects. Some of the nature pictures were familiar; they had a similar setting from the woods behind his house. Continuing, he saw photos of a man with tattoos all over his body. Jaw clenched, he clicked out of those, unamused.
His mind went to the solo she did at church just the day before. He’d liked the songs—except for her solo. The chorus went something like, “I wanna be with you.” Although the lyrics meant being with Jesus, he felt a twinge of jealousy when Raven took a seat at the piano next to Stephen.
Liam tried to focus. Somehow Elise popped into his thoughts. He’d texted his mother, and she hadn’t responded. He bit his bottom lip. I’ve been a fucking asshole to my mother.
RING.
Wondering what he’d do to make it up to her, Liam answered the phone as cheerfully as possible.
“You’ve canceled the board meeting?” Pierre’s voice was as somber as his mood.
“There weren’t any new proposals to discuss. After all the resistance, the blueprints for Chicago have been agreed upon.” Liam sat ramrod straight. “Everything is on track for the Santa Monica opening. The interior design crew has just completed a mockup. It’s been approved.”
“I’ve been told that you took last week off. Did you have a great vacation? Where did you go?” Pierre’s tone fluctuated. He was world traveler, after all, and his interest piqued.
