Heavenly Match

by Niobia Bryant

  Anika closed her troubled mocha eyes. Monique didn’t even need to finish filling her in on the details for her to know it was bad. Pain became clearly etched in her face. “How badly is she hurt?”

  “Her face is swollen and she’s crying.” Monique became quiet for a moment before she continued. “It was Mark again.”

  “She told me at her last session that she hadn’t seen him since she first came to us that night six months ago. He damn near threw her out a window!” Anika shouted, now terribly frustrated. She understood all too well the vicious and confusing cycle of makeups and breakups that batterers and their victims put themselves through.

  “She’s only willing to talk to you. You want to wait till morning to get this straightened out?”

  “Is she pressing charges?”

  “No.”

  Anika shook her head in disbelief, her wide eyes filled with many emotions as she forced herself to breathe deeply. “I’m on my way.”

  She hung up the phone and quickly strode back into her bedroom suite. She threw on a velour Sean John track suit over her PJs and slid on her Nikes. Anika remembered her granny’s advice on how to handle a man with a “hand problem.”

  “Just take both of your hands, grab them privates, and lean back. He’ll learn to solve that problem.”

  “If only it was that easy, Gran,” Anika said softly as she tore out of the house.

  Chapter 2

  Slow Down

  Jamison Contractors was jointly owned and operated by the twins. It was a business, and a legacy, left to them by their father. With the combination of their architectural degrees and their inherited abil­ity in carpentry they had turned the small company into a larger and more financially successful business venture over the years. Surely Daniel Jamison, his loving wife, Reena, and their grandmother Nana Lil, looked down with pride at their prosperous “boys” from where they rested in heaven.

  Both Deshawn and Devon—who was the oldest by just a matter of minutes—used to live in the sprawling three-story house left to them by their parents. The brothers had worked hard to convert the upper stories into a pair of separate suites, each complete with a sitting room, a bedroom, and a spacious bath. Contractors with architectural degrees from North Carolina State, they had successfully done most of the conversions themselves.

  For years the brothers had enjoyed bachelorhood in their expansive house, relishing in their privacy but still able to live together under one roof. Needless to say, they both had many a tawdry story to tell.

  When Deshawn contracted a viral flu, Nana Lil had come to stay with her boys, taking temporary resi­dence in their spacious guest bedroom on the first floor. They both found it distasteful having women staying over every other night while Nana Lil was in the house, so the trail of ladies stopped immediately. She had chastised them enough before she moved in about treating their home like a cathouse.

  After the week it took Deshawn to recover, they had both begged her to remain living with them. With her presence came three full meals every day, a sparkling clean house, lots of wisdom, and love. Besides, they figured they could keep an eye on her as well.

  So she closed up the charming three-bedroom cottage she once shared with their grandfather and moved in with them. Now she was gone, having died of a ruptured aneurysm two years ago, and Deshawn still felt uncomfortable about bringing a woman home. Her presence was everywhere. Sometimes he felt like she was there looking at him with “the stare.”

  With Nana Lil gone and Devon happily married to Chloe down the road, Deshawn felt alone in the big house most of the time. Still, he had no thoughts leaning toward marriage. In all his years, he just hadn’t found the woman who stimulated him enough to settle down. He was beginning to doubt that he ever would.

  After almost two years, he had tired of the purely physical relationship he shared with Poochie and he had no desire to know her outside of the bedroom. What time they didn’t spend having sex in odd places was spent arguing because of her jealous tirades. The tumultuous relationship had started to drain him. It became more hassle than fun and so he ended it. She wasn’t marriage, or even girlfriend, material anyway. She was nothing like Chloe and it would take a woman of that caliber to tie him down for eternity.

  He had never seen his twin so happy. Since Devon married Chloe, it was the most Deshawn had seen his ever-brooding twin smile. Devon’s disposition had never been as open and friendly as his twin’s, but love had changed him. The right woman had changed him.

  He’d had a mild crush on Chloe when she first arrived in Holtsville. What man hadn’t? She was a gorgeous supermodel. Luckily, after their first meeting the two had developed a close friendship and any ideas of bedding her had vanished with ease. Her heart belonged to his brother from the giddyup.

  And now they were going to have a child.

  No, Deshawn just wasn’t as lucky as his twin.

  The sun began to claim the velvety night sky, transforming it to a lavender hue with streaks of blazing orange. Stretching his lean muscled form in the bed where he lay on his stomach, his head buried under the multitude of down-filled pillows, Deshawn turned over and flung back the covers. He exposed his glorious nude and chiseled physique as he rose, his male member heavy and erect, awkwardly pointing away from his body.

  With a groan he padded barefoot to his private bath, moving with strength and ease. It was only after he relieved himself that his erection eased. “Damn,” he swore softly, feeling tired with his eyes still half closed with sleep, knowing he would need his ritual steaming hot shower to feel energized. Turning on the water, he immediately stepped under the pulsating spray.

  Deshawn listened to The Tom Joyner Morning Show, as he did every morning, while he dressed casually in black Reebok sweatpants and a loose-fitting sleeveless tee that showed off his muscular, sinewy arms. He put on socks and sneakers, finishing his morning routine by brushing his closely faded hair. He pulled a matching hooded sweatshirt over his head as he left his bedroom. He knew he should straighten up the mess he just made, but he left it until later. “The joys of the single life,” he said with a cocky smile.

  Deshawn whistled as he jogged down the stairs, rubbing his rock-hard abdomen as his stomach grumbled loudly.

  But Deshawn didn’t head for his own kitchen. Instead he grabbed his keys from the table at the foot of the stairs and left the house, hopping into the cab of his truck to head straight to Chloe and Devon’s. He ate all of his meals there. Hell, if Chloe didn’t insist on buying food for him at the grocery store when she went shopping, his cupboard and refrigerator would stay bare.

  Why cook?

  Chloe was pure genius in the kitchen and their door was always open to him. He even had his own set of keys. But since that time he had happened upon them having a rather heavy petting session in the pool, he preferred to knock first.

  This morning, he had barely balled his hand into a fist to rap on the sliding glass door of the patio when Chloe appeared. She was still dressed in oversized cotton pajamas covered with teddy bears and looked adorable.

  “Mornin’,” he said loudly, his charming grin in place as he rubbed his hands together briefly to knock off the winter chill. “Just in time, I see.”

  As always his sister-in-law had one helluva spread laid out on the glass and wrought-iron table. Fluffy butter-soaked pancakes stacked high, scrambled eggs golden with cheese, crisp slices of slab bacon, and hash browns smothered with onions and pep­pers. The sights and smells caused his stomach to rumble loudly again.

  “Hungry?” Chloe asked dryly with an indulging smile, knowing full well that Deshawn had a ridicu­lous appetite.

  “And you know that,” he assured her, his eyes eager as he piled his plate high.

  Chloe’s slender figure moved gracefully over to the intercom, which ran throughout the entire house. “Dev, come on and eat, before you know who cleans us out, baby,” she said, holding down the TALK button as she eyed her in-law.

  “Is he here alr
eady?” Devon’s disbelieving baritone voice was clear and succinct through the speaker.

  She raised a brow as Deshawn ignored everything but the disappearing food on his plate. “He’s on his second stack of pancakes,” she warned her loving husband.

  Seconds later, Devon walked briskly into the kitchen, still pulling his long-sleeved T-shirt over his head. “Don’t you ever cook?” he asked his twin, before pulling his wife toward him for a brief but tender kiss they both enjoyed.

  “For what?” Deshawn asked simply, before shoveling a spoonful of eggs into his supple mouth with a playful wink.

  Chloe looked at the two men who now sat at the table. Separate they were gorgeous, but together their identical good looks were devastating. Their caramel complexions were unmarred; their strong, muscled physiques, pure perfection. Both kept their jet-black wavy hair freshly cut in low fades that made their masculine features more pronounced. Although they were identical in looks and some intricacies, Chloe had only felt an instantaneous attraction to Devon.

  She poured each twin a tall glass of orange juice with lemon before taking her seat. She fixed herself a small plate, not really hungry because she was in the throes of morning sickness. It was funny how her nausea lasted all day long.

  Deshawn took large gulps of the citrus drink, watching over the rim of his glass as his twin rubbed his massive hand over Chloe’s newly cropped short hair before gliding down to massage her lower back. They can’t keep their hands off each other. “That was good, ’lil sis,” he told her with honesty, taking a final bite of his bacon.

  She nodded, her beautiful face somewhat pained as she took a small sip of her juice to settle her stomach. “Thanks, Shawn.”

  Deshawn watched her closely with his deep-set ebony eyes. “Morning sickness?” he asked needlessly.

  The couple both nodded. “Promise you’ll go see Dr. Adair before we leave for New York Friday,” Devon told her, his lean handsome face a mask of concern and love.

  “New York?” Deshawn asked, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin.

  “Yeah, Chloe has a photo shoot she refuses to cancel, so I decided to go with her. Things have slowed down for the winter anyway,” Devon answered his brother, resuming his breakfast as Chloe’s wave of nausea passed.

  Deshawn’s handsome face was comically pained. “No advance notice? What am I supposed to do for my food? Will you cook a bunch of stuff and freeze it?” he asked. His wildly successful smile was in place, along with the lone deep dimple in his cheek.

  Chloe threw a napkin at his face. “Don’t flash that thing at me, because this is one woman it doesn’t work on.”

  His twin laughed, his coal eyes bright. “You need to find a woman who’s good in more than just the bedroom.”

  “What else is there besides good sex?” Deshawn asked smugly.

  Devon smiled wolfishly at his brother, until Chloe elbowed him sharply in his side with a one-eyed stare that would’ve made Nana Lil proud. “There’s love and commitment,” he rushed to answer as he rubbed his new injury.

  “Not all the time. Until then I’m enjoying my freedom.” Deshawn stretched his muscled arms above his head, before quickly flashing Chloe that killer smile again.

  He’s really endearing, she thought. I’ll let him sweat it out some more.

  “One hundred dollars,” he offered boldly.

  “Make the check out to The Haven,” she answered quickly without blinking an eye. He offered and I’m damned sure gonna take it with all the groceries he eats up around here.

  Devon dropped his head to hide his smile, knowing full well that Chloe had already planned to look out for his brother. They had discussed that very fact in bed last night.

  “No problem,” he said, smiling in victory.

  Chloe attempted another bite of eggs, before childishly licking her tongue out at him. “Anika will get a kick out of this.”

  “How is your little uppity friend from Jersey?”

  She shot him an irritated look.

  Deshawn envisioned her. A woman who truly lived up to her surname. Tall and voluptuous with a true hourglass figure and a face that was unrivaled. And those lips. God, he could suck on them forever. At the very first sight of her he had wanted her so badly that he could’ve torn that lovely lavender creation from her bronzed skin and ravished her right there in the middle of the reception.

  Then she made a fool out of him in front of Chloe, Devon, and whoever else was in earshot of their rather unforgettable conversation. She had looked him boldly in the eye, held his hand, caressed his cheek . . . and then shot him down with cold sarcasm.

  It had shocked the hell out of him, rendering him speechless.

  Deshawn began to grin wolfishly. It had been a year and he still wanted the beauty so bad that he could taste her. During that time he had often thought of the infinitely sultry Anika Foxx. His sporadic calls were more an attempt to force himself into her thoughts than actual wooing. She had visited Holtsville twice for the weekend, and each time, by some cruel twist of fate, he had been out of town.

  She created a desire in him that he had to sate. She offered him something he hadn’t come across in a long time ... a challenge. Her actions at the reception were like a dare to him. Get me if you can.

  And he could get her if he could be near her.

  “I can’t wait to see her,” Chloe was saying, when he refocused on them. “I’m glad she’ll be staying with us at the penthouse.”

  Deshawn’s deep-set obsidian eyes widened slightly with Chloe’s innocent disclosure, but he said nothing. The perfect opportunity to seduce Anika had fallen right into his lap, but he had to play it right or Chloe could ruin everything. “Want me to wash these dishes?” he asked suddenly, saying anything to purposefully change the subject from the trip to New York and Anika.

  Devon’s and Chloe’s eyes widened comically, seeming to pop from their sockets. They both looked at him as if he had an extra eye in the center of his smooth, unwrinkled forehead. In unison the couple began laughing hysterically, collapsing against one another.

  “Wooo.” Chloe sighed, wiping tears from her cat shaped eyes. “Now, that was a good one, Deshawn.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Devon asked. “I actually believed him for a hot second.”

  Deshawn joined them in their laughter, but his thoughts were definitely elsewhere.

  ∞

  Over the last couple of years, Deshawn had built a small stable a few hundred yards beyond the garage and purchased several horses from a breeder in West Virginia. Needing some physical exertion, and relishing in the rare Indian summer day, he threw a saddle onto the back of one of his quarter horses and led it out of its new sturdy wooden structure.

  Easily, Deshawn swung his body onto the saddle and set off for a fast-paced ride over his land. He felt at one with the beast as he controlled it with his muscled thighs and a strong grip on the reins. The feel of the wind against his face was invigorating. The sweat pouring off of his body felt like a cleansing rain.

  He slowed the horse down to a walk to cool both the beast and himself. Following a whim, he nudged the animal toward the highway in front of his home, riding it at a slow trot along the grassy edge of the road. The late February sun felt good against his face and neck, warm but not scorching.

  He was just about to steer the horse in the opposite direction when he caught sight of Poochie’s crimson-red Honda Civic coming around the curve. “Aw, hell,” he muttered darkly, tempted to ride off into the woods to avoid her.

  It had been a year since their breakup and Poochie refused to give up trying to reconcile. He was not in the mood for one of her confrontations.

  Poochie screeched to a halt beside him. Deshawn had to tighten his grip on the reins to control the horse as she flung open the car door and unfolded her curvaceous frame.

  Her hazel eyes appraised his masculine form. “How you doin’, Deshawn? I haven’t seen you in a minute. We need to play a little catch-up. ” She paused, pouting her fuc
hsia-tinted lips. “Why don’t you come to my house? My mama’s working second shift at the plant.”

  Deshawn’s virile body betrayed him when she slid her hand up his leg to grasp his muscular thigh, but he fought away the temptation. “Naw, that’s okay.”

  Poochie’s pink fleshy tongue froze in its movement to moisten her lips.

  “I’ll see you around, Poochie, okay?”

  “Don’t you miss me?” she asked, her voice petulant and childlike.

  Deshawn swallowed back a wave of irritation at her immaturity. “Don’t start.”

  Poochie purred deep in her throat. “I think I’m going to have to convince you to come and see me sometime.”

  Deshawn sighed. “I doubt it.”

  Poochie could do all she pleased, but he still wasn’t interested. There was a certain Foxx hunt that he had to begin.

  Chapter 3

  Not Looking

  How deeply can hatred run in one man?

  Deep as centuries-old wells, deep as the Atlantic Ocean, deep as the ebony hue of the midnight sky. That’s how deeply he hated Anika. He wanted her to die at his hands.

  For years, with nothing but time available to him, he plotted, planned, and dreamed of the particulars: when, where, and how. Each day the scenario changed, every vision more violent than the last, pleasing and pushing him on. Maybe strangling her in the bedroom of that nice town house where she lived, or pushing that flashy car into a brick wall until it crushed like an accordion with her inside, or blowing up that man-hating job of hers.

  Each scenario changed but two factors didn’t: the who and the why. He was going to kill her because he wanted revenge.

  Pulling the collar of his worn trench coat up around his ears, he squinted his hate-filled eyes nearly closed as he peered at Anika’s town house across the street. He walked by slowly. He knew she was inside because he had memorized her schedule after following his prey since his release from prison.

  His steps faltered as her garage door slowly opened. Tensing, the fingers of his right hand closed around the cool metal of the gun in his pocket. With a darting tongue he licked the nervous perspiration from his upper lip.