The Ramseys Boxed Set

by Altonya Washington

  Daphne’s face rivaled her teary eyes for redness. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “So you’ve said- repeatedly.” Marcella bent slightly while taking the girl by the shoulders. “And I believe you. Sometimes it’s just easier to agree with a jackass so they’ll leave you the hell alone and let you get to the real story.”

  Daphne’s lips twitched on an unexpected smile, though she was still rather wary. Subdued and silent, she fell in step with Marcella Ramsey and watched the lovely gracious woman covertly as they headed toward the main house. Marcella tossed out greeting to her guests and instructions to her staff without ever marring the coolness of her expression.

  “Now tell me why Miss Corin would think you were doing questionable things at my party?” Marcella asked once they were settled to matching gold armchairs in the parlor off from the foyer.

  Daphne sucked her teeth. “Because she’s a stupid old bat.”

  “Agreed. Any other reasons?”

  “Because… Babydoll Monfrey is my mother.”

  “Ah…” Marcella re-positioned herself in the chair. “Right and if I’m not mistaken that’s a fact you can do nothing about.”

  Daphne bristled. “Doesn’t matter to some.”

  “That’s true- it matters quite a bit to some.” Marcella waved over the maid who’d arrived with the tea she’d requested upon arriving in the house. “But it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Why?” Daphne blinked, still on edge though her voice had taken on a softer tint. “I haven’t done anything to earn your trust.”

  “Well listen to you,” Marcella drawled as though impressed. Silently, she took deeper note of the completely adult words coming from the child in her midst and accepted that the girl had leaned far too many adult things in her youth.

  “Daphne, there are people many people in life who offer kindness without ever expecting anything in return.” Ice crinkled in the tall glass coolers when Marcella poured the tea. “I admit it may seem hard for you to believe that considering… but it’s true.” Setting aside the pitcher, she leaned over to cup Daphne’s face in her hands. “Remember that.”

  The two sipped tea and munched lemon crisps for a long while. In Daphne’s opinion it was the longest, most wondrous time in her life. The parlor was cool and quiet with the energy of the party shut out past the crystal clear windows lining the plush comfortable room.

  It was like a dream, but better because she was awake and thoroughly enjoying the reality of it. She studied her hostess with increasing interest as well.

  Marcella Ramsey was; in many ways, the queen of all she surveyed with grace and beauty on top. Even still, the woman was far more than that. She had a generous and understanding soul. She was a lady through and through. This was a lady one should aspire to be like. Even a girl such as herself, Daphne thought.

  As with all good things, they inevitably come to an end. Far too soon, one of the housemaids intruded on the parlor solitude to inform the lady of the house that Babydoll Monfrey was at the front gate for her daughter.

  Daphne observed the maid. There was no distaste on the woman’s face or in her voice when she spoke her mother’s name. Daphne realized that it took nothing more than Marcella Ramsey’s escorting her inside to grant respect from the servants.

  “Thank you, Miss Marcella.” Daphne rose from the chair with a sudden grace. She left the room with her head high.

  All the while Daphne resigned herself to the thought- to the vow that she would have this life. She’d command respect with the beautiful grace that Marcella Ramsey had shown her that day.

  But that day was far off, she acknowledged. If she hoped to greet it, she’d have to use all she’d learned from her present lot in life to acquire it.

  ***

  Catrina stood watching her father’s male employees load the heavier items into one of the Jeffries Catering work vans. Feeling completely useless and ‘girl like’ she decided to at least try and offer some assistance. She focused on the big grease tub she’d dumped earlier and decided it couldn’t be nearly as heavy now. It was void of all the grease that had settled to the bottom before being dumped and pressure washed at the rear of the Ramsey estate.

  She walked over and gave it a tug. No; not as heavy as it had been, but it’d still take a bit of doing for her to get it on the van. Catrina blew at her bangs while straightening to draw her hair into a tighter ponytail. She put her best foot forward only to have her efforts allayed.

  Noticing the pair of larger male hands grasping the sides of the tub, Catrina stood prepared to declare her feminine strength. When she looked up, all words flew from her mind.

  He was even more gorgeous up close, she discovered recognizing the boy she’d seen watching her earlier. Now within touching distance, she saw that his skin was as rich and flawless as it’d appeared before. His complexion was like molten molasses poured over strong features that would only strengthen and define as he grew older.

  His eyes were deep-set, black and unwavering with an intensity that had her swallowing around the lump clogging the way. Catrina tried to clear her throat but only managed to sound like a duck strangling on a pebble. He smiled and her heart leapt in a purely… ‘girl like’ fashion when she glimpsed the dimples along either side of his mouth. Those attributes combined with the cleft in his chin were the stuff of which the sweetest dreams were made.

  “Catrina Marie!”

  Catrina’s lashes fluttered around mahogany eyes when her mother’s voice boomed. Regretfully, she acknowledged her star-gazing had reached its end. She bit her lip, having caught his pitch stare raking her slender form. He then reached for the tub and hoisted it effortlessly onto the back of her father’s van.

  “Thank you?” her appreciation was given softly, the words left hanging on a question in hopes that he’d give her his name.

  “Damon.” He obliged with a slow smile.

  Her mother’s voice loomed once more in the distance with her name and something about being fast.

  “Thank you Damon.” She raced toward the van then. Before stepping in though, she looked around to see if he might be there maybe…watching her.

  He was.

  R

  ~CHAPTER THREE~

  Briselle never would’ve believed she’d enjoy helping her mother perform the chores her business required. As the local seamstress and laundress, Sybil Deas; owner of Sybil’s Seams, had crafted a well respected name for herself. Black and white clients sought Sybil Deas ‘magic’ on everything from their daughter’s first cotillion or Sweet 16 to their son’s wedding or banquet uniforms for their servants. The woman was in high demand and ran her business with a deftness no one could dispute.

  Briselle was no exception, but that day her interest in her mother’s business simply involved its requirement for manual labor. Working until her muscles ached and her hands cracked from dryness, seemed to be the only thing that would keep her every waking thought off Westin Ramsey.

  God, he actually wanted her to pick up and move clear across the country! Not that she didn’t want to, but… she loved him, desperately it seemed at times. She wouldn’t survive it if he was ever disappointed in her.

  Disappointed was exactly what he’d be if they moved away, married and she still couldn’t provide him with the child she knew he’d want. Although he said all the right things… ‘you’re all I want- enough for me…nothing could ever change my love for you…’ she knew that was his heart talking and she loved him all the more for it.

  Still, he was a Ramsey-the eldest son in a powerful group. West was expected to lead the family into a new era. The same would be expected of his child.

  Briselle hissed an oath when she cracked her third nail of the day. Grimacing, she studied the massacred manicure that looked nothing like the dazzling display she showed off during the Ramsey gala almost a week ago. She hadn’t heard from Westin since and knew he was waiting on a response to the way they’d left their last conversation.

  Yes
, was the only response she wanted to give. Silently she cursed again. This time the profanity was directed at herself for putting their relationship in such a state.

  The guttural roar of a truck motor drowned everything then, including the thoughts in her head. Her glossy flipped hair bounced about her face which brightened at the sight of her father arriving home for lunch. Leaving the sewing table, Briselle rushed out to meet Elton Deas, savoring the strength and security in his embrace.

  “Whoa,” Elton’s deep voice rumbled when his daughter flung herself against his chest. In tune to her mood, he allowed several silent moments of nourishing hugging.

  “What is it, sugar?” He finally queried.

  “Nothing Daddy.

  Elton wasn’t surprised. The response was standard whenever he questioned her mood. Still, she did manage to intrigue him when; in a shuddery tone, she asked if she could ride into town with him after lunch.

  “That’ll be fine, baby.” Elton pulled back and kissed Briselle’s forehead and then grabbed his hat off the long front seat of the truck. “Where you headin’?”

  “Ramsey.”

  ***

  Jeffries Catering reigned; not only in providing its customers with the best delicacies for their get togethers, it reigned as one of the best restaurants in Savannah. The establishment drew patrons from every walk and race of life. The place had gone from being a one room lean-to where meals were boxed after being prepared in King and Rosa Jeffries’ modest home, to a huge warehouse locale. The dining room could hold almost 80 customers with room for an additional 50 in the add-on King had recently constructed.

  It was a place where social clubs held monthly meetings and businessmen met for lunch pow-wows. It was a place where people came to blend in with the crowd- making it the perfect spot for Marcus Ramsey and Charlton Browning to discuss their latest illegal endeavor.

  “I still don’t like him comin’ in on the job, man.”

  “Hell Charlt, you jealous?” Marc teased then laughed when Charlton gave him the finger.

  “I just don’t like the goody two shoes he always wears- job’s too big to be worryin’ over whether the cat can handle it.”

  “It’s Jeff’s way- always has been.” Marc shrugged beneath his navy dress shirt. “What’s the real problem, Charlt? We’ve all done shit together before.”

  Charlton kicked the toe of his loafer against the leg of the table. “Petty shit, pissin’ around. This is big and we all realize that.”

  Marc smirked. “You really wanna include Jasper in that?”

  Laughter rose between the two young men.

  “Hell nah,” Charlton wiped a laugh tear from his eye. “Not always the smartest tack.” He chuckled. “Brainy folk…lots of book sense and not a lick of common.”

  “And that’s why we can trust him.” Marc munched on a few more fries. “Plus, he’s curious- itchin’ to get his hands on all that chemical stuff.”

  “Which brings us back to your boy, Jeff. This chemical deal is big- lifting shit from a lab. If we get caught-”

  “Hey, hey- don’t jinx the fuckin’ thing already.”

  “Hell man, you need to understand what’s at stake here.” Charlton’s dark gaze was as focused and as hard as Marcus’s. “I know you and Jeff been friends since dirt n’ diapers but if he flakes out at the last minute, we’ll all do serious time if we get caught.” He reclined against the hardback and toyed with the straw in his glass. “I doubt even your last name could save you.”

  “Well I can’t just kick him off the team now.” Marc muttered his expression sulky.

  “What if he kicks himself off?” Charlton continued to stare at his glass. “Would you bring in another hand?”

  Slowly, Marc straightened in his chair, contemplated the possibility and then shook his head. “Jeff’s cool.”

  “Man-”

  “Hold it.” Marc waved off Charlton’s voice like it was an annoying bug. “Now if he backs out. If, then I’ll take care of it, cool?” He grinned and waved toward the front of the room while Charlton shrugged. “Here comes the rest of the crew now.”

  ***

  Georgia arched her back, grinding her hips in a sultry move that sheltered more of Felix’s tongue inside her body. Biting her bottom lip, she lost her fingers in his soft, wooly hair and clenched to bring his handsome face deeper between her legs.

  Felix raked a massive hand along her toned thighs and grunted his pleasure when he felt her coming against his tongue. He heard her swear as she often did when she climaxed before she was ready. Her fingers ceased massaging his scalp and began to tug- a silent order that he take her fully.

  Of course Georgia was used to getting what she wanted and when she wanted it. When Felix didn’t respond accordingly, she simply added a bit more forced to her tugs in his hair.

  Felix thrived in the knowledge of the power he held over the dark lovely in his arms. He knew that refusing to give in just then would only increase her hunger and add more fire in her responses to his touch.

  “Son of a bitch,” she growled and tried to buck him off her.

  Felix met the words and her movement with a harsh slap to the side of her thigh. His heart soared when he heard her throaty laughter. He continued feasting only to have her resume the tugging in his strong hair. Without ceasing the ravishing thrusts of his tongue, he grabbed her wrists, pinning them to her sides upon the makeshift pallet in the middle of the hay-strewn barn loft.

  “Son of a bitch,” Georgia hissed again then, her words still carrying on amusement. Pushing him away was the farthest thought from her mind as a potent orgasm slashed through her.

  Only then, did Felix back away. His tongue claimed her mouth as his sex claimed hers. Georgia felt seconds away from a third explosion of desire when he imprisoned her hands above her head and added more zest to his strokes…

  Much later, Georgia lay sprawled across him, reveling in the tone of his licorice skin, eyes and hair. Her nails raked the chiseled beauty of his torso before her tongue charted the same path.

  “I’ll kill you if you ever fuck another woman,” she promised while her tongue made lazy circles around his nipple.

  Felix chuckled though silently acknowledge that she was just that passionate (and mean) to do it. “Unless you changed your mind, it’s gonna be hard for you to know who I fuck.”

  Georgia’s walnut brown stare was at first blank and then grew sharp as her memory recovered. “I can’t believe you’re still stuck on that.”

  “Mama’s getting’ closer to the end of her rope with Pop.” Felix’s baritone voice was softer as he scanned the semi-dark expanse of the loft.

  Georgia sucked her teeth. “Men stray and women take ‘em back- she’s gotta live with the consequences of her actions.”

  Felix laughed despite his mood. “Anybody ever tell you, you’re a hard bitch?”

  “Who you callin’ hard?” She’d taken no offense to the ‘bitch’ part. Sobering then, she propped her hand to her cheek while bracing weight on her elbow. “Sometimes a woman has to be a bitch if she expects to survive all the bullshit a man can and will take her through.”

  “Does being a bitch keep a woman from doing stupid things?”

  Georgia tugged a tuft of hair from his hair. “Yes-lots of times. It keeps her from sleeping with a man she knows is no good for her, or it allows her to give in and say ‘to hell with the consequences’. It allows her control- to say enough is enough and mean it.”

  “God,” Felix held a hand to his forehead and stared up at the ceiling. “I hope Mama reaches that last part and soon.”

  A frown tugged at Georgia’s sleek brows and; for the first time, she tuned into the true fear lacing his voice. “Is she in trouble?”

  Felix shook his head on the hay. “She hates my dad almost as much as she hates Miss Belle.”

  “Belleina Stone? Why? Because of Jasper?”

  Felix’s midnight stare snapped to Georgia’s face. “What the hell do you know about Jasper?�
�

  “Well hell boy, everybody knows Jasper is Mr. Joe’s son. You really had no clue the whole town knew?” Her gaze was wide with disbelief. Leaning closer, she toyed with his hair. “Anyway, it’s obvious y’all are brothers- hair’s just different. Jasper’s got that silky stuff and your roots are straight from the motherland.”

  “That a complaint?” He laughed when she tugged his afro.

  “No,” she sighed while straddling him. “I like it rough.”

  “Really?”

  “Try me.” She taunted, seconds before they dissolved into another rapacious love session.

  ***

  Marcella Ramsey slammed the icebox door with such force she knew at least a half dozen of her eggs had cracked. She could’ve cared less.

  “How long you gon’ make me deal with the pouting Marcy?”

  She bristled at the sound of her husband’s voice. “You’ll just have to forgive me Quent.” Her voice was phony sweetness. “Ain’t everyday a wife learns her husband hates one of their children.”

  “God Marcy,” Quentin groaned, pushing aside his coffee mug. “I love the boy, it’s the trust I have a problem with.”

  Marcella began to wipe down the counter top. “Can’t be one without the other.”

  “That’s when it’s between lovers. A parent’s love is unconditional.”

  The natural perfect arch of Marcella’s brows raised a notch. “Is that a fact?” She propped a hand to the side of her white pedal pushers. “Is that why you’re sending your oldest son off to usher in this damn new Ramsey era while leaving your next eldest to sulk and accept it?”

  Quentin didn’t bother to tell his wife that their second eldest son would sulk wherever he was sent. She’d never seen Marcus for what he really was. Perhaps it was because she’d chosen his name similar to her own. She was completely blind when it came to the boy, Quentin thought. He knew it was killing her to have him at odds with the child.