by Amarie Avant
She hurried down the steps with a half-naked Calum at her heels. “So who is he, Raven? I’m not a fan of breaking up a happy home, but you didn’t convince me you actually had a boyfriend.”
“Stephen is my… my best friend,” she grumbled, rounding the second landing. The sound of the double doors slamming below indicated that Stephen had made it outside.
Once they reached the bottom, Raven’s hands pressed against Calum’s chest. “This is where I leave you.”
“Oh, c’mon, Raven. I’m a fucking fan of love. Let me explain the situation. Like I said, I don’t fuck women in happy relationships.”
“There is no situation. There is no relationship. He’s just a friend, and he sure as shit isn’t going to want a half-ass explanation from another man!”
She turned and hurried for the door, but not before hearing Calum say, “Well, if you keep insisting he’s just a friend, I vote for us to continue…”
Heart in her throat, Raven stepped outside. She glanced up and down the street. Her lungs almost burst until she noticed Stephen’s Yukon parallel parked a little ways down the street. One high heeled boot before the other, Raven quickly approached the SUV and tried to open the passenger door. It was locked. She rapped on the window. He pressed the automatic unlock button.
“What do you want?” Stephen stared at the steering wheel, jaw tense. A tiny vein pulsed on the side of his neck.
“Stephen, please. For four years I’ve told you it’s better for us to be just friends…” An imaginary fist wrapped around her throat.
“Do you still need a ride home?”
“Stephen…”
“Nah, see I’m not into that ‘just friends’ bullshit. Not today, ReRe.” His voice strained while using her childhood nickname. “I’ve already said what you and William have going is a joke. That’s not love.”
She had no comeback to the truth.
“And that shit I just saw upstairs.” He pointed toward the building, eyes bugging. Stephen had never cursed in her presence; his reaction made her eyes widen, too. His glower latched onto hers. “I’d never disrespect you like that. That guy doesn’t give a crap about you. I love you. I love you.”
Tiny prickling started in the corners of her eyes. Why’d he have to make such a declaration? How could she explain that friends made the worst lovers when she couldn’t even think straight? If only she could tell him about Liam. Yet she’d become involuntarily mute at the thought of uttering what Liam had done to her aloud, and to someone she cared so much about.
He leaned back, large frame filling up the driver’s side of the car. “Now, if you don’t need a ride home, Raven, please get out.”
She took a deep breath, mumbled an apology, and slunk out of the car.
“Fuck,” Raven mouthed under her breath as she walked back toward the studio.
Her Granny Annette’s voice was clear as day in the back of her head. ReRe, you could be happy if you wanted to.
Raven’s thumb rubbed against the side of her index finger. She normally sat in her grandpa’s warm leather chair to think. She didn’t want to think about plunging from the deep end or the possibility of falling madly in love with Stephen as she once done with Liam. It probably wasn’t possible at all.
If she was guilty of anything, it was that she loved Stephen enough to save him from herself! Maybe the dissolution of a friendship was best?
Chapter 2
Liam Lemaître
“What if it was a scam?” Aretha stood before Jonathan Liam Delacroix Lemaître Jr, her long silver dreadlocks held back by a leopard scarf which matched her dress.
“Then it was a scam, obviously.” Liam Lemaître arched an eyebrow, reached beside her, and pressed the elevator button to the rooftop restaurant they would be dining in.
Not ten minutes ago, they were exiting the tailor shop, which was a block away from Aretha’s favorite restaurant. They had relieved the driver before his custom-made fitting and chosen to walk to lunch.
On their way, a young mother was begging her son to leave an expensive specialty toy store. The boy cried loudly, wanting a wooden toy train. But it wasn’t his outburst that made people look. They were in Dallas, but a few blocks north. Their attire, by certain standards, didn’t belong. At least, that’s what blared on the store clerk’s face as he glowered through them with contempt.
In a split second, Liam calculated the kid’s age. He had to be about five. Liam’s own son would be roughly that age, if Raven had kept him… or had they conceived a girl?
As the mother pried her son’s hands from the glass door, Liam had intervened.
Now, Liam gestured at Aretha with a debonair wave as the shiny gold elevator doors opened. Each time his eyes landed on a kid, boy or girl, he thought about the child Raven aborted. And then, Liam Lemaître had realized that of all the material things in the world he had—and he had lots—his assets honestly didn’t add up to shit. Though his mind was on one of the greatest sorrows in his life, Liam smiled through his pain. His executive assistant wasn’t pleased with how altruistic he’d just been. Or his disinterest in the fact that the mother-son duo might have been a con.
“All right, say it was a scam. It is Christmastime, which increases the odds in your favor. Let’s say the kid is a blossoming actor, the mom returns the gift for hard cash, the rest of those rich bastards staring down their noses in the store are distant relatives of Scrooge, and I, myself, was taken for a few measly bucks—”
“In the normal scheme of things, two hundred dollars is far from a few measly bucks, but continue,” Aretha said.
He chuckled softly as the elevator zipped up the building. “And what about the other times someone is in need? If I allow myself to muddle over one person’s antics, someone who truly needs or deserves something is at a loss.”
“Oh,” she scoffed, getting off the elevator. They sauntered down a passageway of lush green foliage to the maître d'. “That’s life, honey. People window shop on a daily basis. On another note, are you burrowing yourself in that glass cabin in the woods this weekend because that dreadful Camille is coming to town? Now, I’m always advocating for you to go out—without it revolving around a business chat or paparazzi cameras—except when it comes to gallivanting with Camille.”
Liam considered that as they were quickly escorted to a table overlooking uptown Dallas. He often stayed at the penthouse in his hotel two blocks down the street. When he craved solitude, he went to the home he had made for himself in the woods that encompassed acres of land. Aretha had been Liam’s only guest, which was due to a mishap by the interior designer while Liam vacationed in Australia.
“I’ll stay in the city.”
Now it was her turn to laugh as a waiter pulled out her chair. “Thought so. Do you know I often envision you as a younger, and albeit handsome, Santa Claus? And then you delight in brainless models. It all just ruins my image of you as perfect.”
“Glad that I have yet to exceed your expectations.” Liam laughed boisterously. He enjoyed his assistant’s company; they were always in a debate. Some of the topics revolved around the Victoria Secret model, Camille Kerr.
“Sure, you’ll continue to try.”
“True. But, my environment must always encompass pretty things. That’s why you’re my assistant.”
“Humph, I’m an old woman.” She smirked, but her dark skin flushed a bit.
Liam turned to the server. “Glass of red for the beautiful lady, scotch—no rocks—for me.”
Aretha’s eyebrow arched. “Too soon to celebrate?”
“Nah, never too soon. But I’m sure you’ll still be able to assist after a glass or two of wine. I believe in you.”
Aretha’s iPhone chimed. “Ah, let’s see here. I knew there were a few things I’d have to force you to do. You lock yourself in that large office or are busy all day with the fleet of hotel architects these days. Let’s see… Oh, your grandmother called.”
Liam pulled at his thick eyebrow hair in thou
ght. “You want me to return my Nana’s call during lunch?”
“Probably the best scenario. Seeing is believing, in my opinion. But I’ll schedule it in your phone for later as long as I have your word.” Aretha smiled triumphantly, holding out her hand for a firm shake. Sometimes he seemed forgetful. Only when it involved family.
Estella Delacroix, Liam’s Nana, always had excuses as to why she hadn’t been present during much of Liam’s life. She’d once been a high fashion supermodel, so he understood reliving her glory days came first. Truth be told, growing up with Annette Shaw as a grandmother figure had made Liam long for the care of his own grandmother. And then he turned fourteen, and his mother forced him to live in France.
“No need, I’ll call Nana later.” He could still faintly feel the powerful sting of how Estella had pinched his cheeks in disgust. Now he was six-foot-four, two hundred forty-five pounds of raw muscle. But he didn’t want to thank Estella for that. Not at all.
“Liam…”
He picked up his menu, not in the mood to talk about how easy it was to alienate people. “C’mon, are you ordering the salmon, or, I believe the halibut is on the menu today.”
“Liam, she’s your grandmother.”
Why didn’t I just hire a slutty secretary who’s still good for something? “Okay.” He placed the menu back on the table. “Did you purchase a birthday gift?”
“Yes, two months ago. Her birthday was two months ago. Estella called then, too.” Aretha paused. “For months on end she has insisted that she has something very pertinent to tell you about your family.”
He straightened his black silk tie. It was always easy to speak with Aretha. On a few occasions, she’d taken him home for a home cooked meal. Being personable came with the territory of working 24/7, but this was an uncharted subject.
~~~
Later that evening, Liam scrolled through the contacts on his phone for Estella’s phone number. He stood on the patio outside of his penthouse. The bright nightlights of the city twinkled. Just as he was about to make the call, his doorbell chimed. Hoking the cell phone onto one of the wicker couches, Liam stepped inside onto the Italian marble to open the door.
As soon as he did, red glossy manicured hands flew out, clasping his strong jaw and chiseled cheeks. Camille’s lips were latched onto his in seconds.
Fucking the Vicky Secrets supermodel always seemed like a Nascar race. She didn’t cuddle; he didn’t mind. She was his little bit of “coloring outside the lines” in a world that required the media and all of his time.
They found a way to alternate from playing dom; exert control and beg for mercy. His hand yanked the back of her ponytail as he deepened the kiss while they stumbled down the hall toward his bedroom.
With each step they made, bumping into glossy Venetian walls, or backing into canvass art, they kissed wildly, passionately.
And then Liam dropped Camille on his bed. She laid down with a naughty laugh. With her legs wide open, those stripped-silk panties gave him a peekaboo of her wetness. But he needed to get off.
“I miss those fucking lips, Camille.” He rubbed his thumb across the plumpness of her mouth.
“I know you do.” Her red lips puckered around his thumb. Camille sucked him all the way into her mouth with such force. A barbarous grown vaulted from deep within his abdomen. Her motivation wasn’t to be reckoned with.
Liam unbuckled his pants. Camille got onto the floor as he sat on the accent chair. Her dark brown eyes were hypnotized by the sight of him. She opened up wide, the satin head of his cock sliding across her lips.
“Take it all, Cam. Let me fuck you all the way down your throat,” he said, voice dropping to a deep rumble.
With each thrust, her mouth expanded for more thickness, more length. He twined his fingers around her hair, and began to pull just slightly in order for her to catch his desired rhythm. The moaning and slurping of her relaxed jaw made him lean back in comfort.
“That’s what I want, Cam,” Liam told her. “Those fucking lips are beautiful.”
With her tresses coiled around his knuckles, Liam fucked her face harder, faster. Her gag reflex was so impeccable that when she took each hit to her tonsils, it felt like she was massaging his cockhead. And at this point, every mistake he’d ever made with the only woman he ever loved was gone to him.
Like a piston, his dick plunged in and out of Camille’s mouth at a rapid rate. Noting the swell of his cock beginning to pulsate, Camille squealed in delight. The first wave surged straight down her throat. That magical mouth held steady as she milked the long warm spurt.
Chapter 3
Mommy’s here, Mommy’s here, mommy’s here for you today… I love you… I love you… Don’t you love me too…
Raven sang to Royael as the just shy of five year old cuddled in her arms. They lay in the toddler’s bed which had ballerina décor all around it. Raven was a tad uncomfortable, with her legs draped over the end of the short bed. She wanted to cry as Royael sniffled.
Royael’s hazel eyes were shut, and her butterscotch skin had red blotches from crying. After a while, Raven stopped singing the song she’d made up for her daughter, and closed her own eyes harder, so as not to cry.
Jesus, why do I keep allowing this to happen? Royael had won Glitz and Natural, but the supreme title had been just out of her grasp. For her child’s sake, she hated all things pageant. Royael had been three when they were approached in the mall about joining the pageant world. After all the horror stories and reality TV shows, Raven had said no. But she soon relented. These days the pageants were an addiction to her daughter.
~~~
The next morning, Raven woke with a stiff neck. Royael had awoken a few times through the night. Her daughter refused to get into her full-sized bed, always complaining that there was something under it. So, to the tiny toddler bed Raven went. And she spent much of the night there. Now it was barely the crack of dawn. Raven pulled out her sewing kit and got to work on a new outfit for the next pageant Royael was signed up for.
A few hours later, her cell phone rang.
“Hey, Damien,” Raven’s voice smiled into the receiver for the man who’d technically become her stepfather. The casting agent had married her mother Charlene a few years ago after Charlene’s overdose.
“Did you stand your mot—Charlene up?” He asked, still becoming accustomed to not using the maternal title, though Raven had insisted. For all intents and purposes, she’d welcome him as a father before embracing her own mother, her own blood.
“Not exactly,” Raven said, multitasking, nudging the cell phone onto the crook of her shoulder in order to talk and stitch at the same time. “Around the crack of dawn, Royael woke up and played me. She’s worried about the Christmas Eve pageant in a few days. I’ve been suckered into adding extra ruffles to Royael’s latest and greatest ensemble. If my child doesn’t win Glitz, we’re all suffering. I actually texted Char about thirty minutes ago letting her know I’d be late. Okay, Mr. Mediator?” she joked.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. I am…” Raven sighed, “actually trying.”
“I know, you’re both doing well. Just a force of habit. I should be back for Royael’s pageant this weekend. Maybe I’ll bring her a present…”
Raven smirked, glaring at the Annette’s sewing machine. “No gifts, no spoiling. The last time you brought her something from Rodeo Drive, she kept pronouncing ‘Rodeo’ like a country hick and listen to that about fifty-two times, and you’ll be so over it.”
He laughed into the receiver. “I get the picture, but there’s no such thing as spoiling a kid.”
Damien sent his love before they hung up. It took her another hour to complete the tulle ruffles on the hot pink dress, and set it aside. This was the hundredth time she’d told herself to stop signing her child up for pageants. Private photography school was expensive. A job at the coffee shop was a godsend, but only when people tipped well, which wasn’t often.
Raven dared not step into her daughter’s bedroom. She loved to watch Royael sleep, but waking the diva up would be a problem in itself.
Dressed in her signature pair of distressed jeans, leather boots, and a red flannel, Raven descended the stairs of the condo she and her grandmother owned. She hadn’t thought to touch the check Liam left her to abort Royael, but half of it came in handy when they moved to Dallas for a better oncologist for Otis. The other half seemed to diminish by the second as the years passed.
~~~
A half hour later, Raven’s box-shaped car pulled up to the wrought iron gates of a complex with multi-million dollar homes. She punched in the code and pulled in. There were three story houses to the right, and rolling lawns as far as the eye could see to the left, where snotty old men played golf.
The vacation home her mother brought came as a surprise to Raven, since Charlene spent much of her time in Hollywood for the hit show DECEPTIVE DESIRES. Charlene had first told her about the rush buy in Dallas after the couple brought up the fact that they were pregnant. Char probably thought Raven would have an issue with it, feeling replaced, which was so far from the truth. A new baby meant more family for Raven, if Charlene allowed the half-sisters to interact.
Damien always facilitated their relationship. Raven still got teary eyed when thinking about all of the baby items he’d brought over after finding out she was pregnant. They’d only met once before, when he told Raven about Charlene’s overdose.
She pulled up to a stone home, its backdrop a vast man-made lake. The home gave a bit of serenity to her otherwise attention-seeking mother.
After getting out and meandering up the long, windy walkway, Raven knocked on the glossy black door. She rang the bell. After a few minutes, Raven knocked once more.
“Maybe she stood me up? Dammit if I don’t mind,” Raven grumbled. She started to back away, thoughts of Stephen on her mind. It had been a week since he’d caught her with Calum. She’d tried to talk to him during the choir rehearsal, since he was the piano man, but he’d kept it strictly business on Tuesday evening.
