For You I Will

by Donna Hill

  “He wants to see you.” Crystal stood in the doorway. The arrogant tilt of her brow was gone and a heaviness hung beneath her eyes.

  “Thanks.” She walked toward the door. Crystal stopped her.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  They stepped outside.

  Crystal studied the floor, then finally looked Kai in the eyes. “I get it.”

  “I don’t. What do you mean?”

  “I finally understand. It’s over between me and Anthony. I saw how he looks at you. He never looked at me like that.” She emitted a sad laugh. “I’m sure that was more my fault than his. I didn’t give him any space to love me like that. I wanted the glitz and the glamour and not the work that it takes to make a marriage or a relationship work. The thing is, I know I haven’t changed. I’m still the same self-centered bitch I’ve always been. And that’s okay. There’s always someone out there willing to put up with me...at least for a while. I fooled myself into believing that I could get Anthony back. It was stupid.” She drew in a long breath. “I guess what I’m saying is, make him happy. He deserves it.”

  Kai was so taken aback by Crystal’s admission that she was at a loss for words as she watched Crystal walk away.

  “What was that about?” Tiffany asked.

  “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  Chapter 27

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Anthony crooked his finger to beckon her to his bedside.

  Kai happily complied and gently sat down on the side of the bed.

  “You’re everything that I want.”

  She leaned down and kissed him. “Bet you say that to all the girls.” She giggled. “I have a couple of patients this morning. Then I’ll be back.”

  “Go. Go. I’ll be fine. Jasper can keep me company.”

  “See you soon.” She kissed him again and walked out of her bedroom.

  Since his release from the hospital, Anthony had been staying with Kai during his recovery. His wound was healing nicely and he was getting the mobility back in his arm. But he had a few more weeks of rehab ahead of him.

  They spent their days talking and walking along the beach, visiting shops in town, having homemade dinners and making love gently.

  He knew that at some point, sooner rather than later, he was going to have to come to a decision about his future, their future together.

  Being with Kai like this was something he never expected. He thought he’d be bored out of his mind without the thrill of the chase, the excitement of life in the big bad city. There was still a part of him that fed on the action of his job, but the need for it wasn’t the same. Harrison was pressuring him. The election was two weeks away. He’d have to go back soon, but not before Kai’s showing at the gallery.

  * * *

  “You excited?” Anthony asked while Kai helped him with his tie.

  “Terrified is more like it.”

  He lifted her chin with the tip of his finger. “You’re sensational. Your show is going to be a major success. They will love you...just like I do.”

  Her heart leaped. “If you say so.” She smiled.

  “We better get going.” He put one arm in his jacket and draped the other side over his shoulder. His arm was still in a sling.

  “Even all banged up you’re still pretty damned sexy.”

  “Bet you say that to all your patients.”

  “Yep!”

  He playfully swatted her rear. “Let’s go before I get other ideas.”

  By the time they arrived at the gallery, the guests were already starting to arrive. Kai felt as if she was at the Oscars.

  Anthony took her hand. “Ready?”

  She drew in a breath. “Ready.”

  They walked inside and Kai was instantly overwhelmed at seeing her work displayed on the walls. It was really happening.

  “There you are.” Tiffany hurried over to her friend and kissed her cheek. “This is just too fabulous. Girl...you really did it.”

  Kai beamed with happiness. “I still can’t believe it. And look at all these people.”

  “Believe it, baby,” Anthony whispered in her ear.

  Before long, both levels of the gallery were filled to capacity. Drinks flowed in the reception area and every few feet someone came up to Kai to congratulate her on her work. The gallery owner told her that she’d gotten multiple offers to buy her work. It all seemed like a dream.

  The one photo that everyone seemed to gravitate to was the blown-up photo of Anthony on that rainy afternoon. The power of it was undeniable. She named it The Solitary Man.

  Anthony slid his good arm around her waist. “Told you.” He kissed her cheek.

  She grinned. “Yes, you did.”

  By the end of the night, twenty of the thirty photos had been sold and the owner wanted to set up another show in the fall. There were multiple bids on The Solitary Man, but it was the one that Kai would not sell.

  * * *

  “I am so proud of you, baby,” Anthony said as they lay in bed together that night. “You are absolutely amazing.”

  She turned in his arms to face him. Her eyes moved slowly over the face of the man that she loved, knowing that these weeks of bliss would soon come to an end. He’d have to return to New York City and get on with his life. Just as he wanted her to fulfill her passions, she wanted the same for him. It would be painfully hard, but she’d deal with it. She’d do it for him. That’s what love was about.

  “I want to talk with you about something,” he said into the soft recess of the dimly lit room.

  Her stomach tightened. “Sure.”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and soul searching these last few weeks. Being with you, being here wasn’t what I expected.”

  She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that she understood that he needed to get back to his life, but she held her tongue this time.

  “Harrison wants me to come back.”

  Her heart thumped.

  “And I’ve decided that it’s not what I want to do.”

  “What?” She sat up and turned on the light. “What do you mean it’s not what you want to do? That’s your career, your life. It’s what you worked so hard for. It’s—”

  He put a finger on her lips.

  “It doesn’t matter if I can’t be with you.”

  “You could commute. You could... We could...”

  “No. I know what I want. I think it hit me when I really looked at that photograph you took of me. The Solitary Man. That man epitomized loneliness. Lost in a sea of uncertainty. I don’t want that man to be me any longer.”

  “But your career. The district attorney job.”

  “I’d give it all up for you. I will. Just say that you’ll put up with me. Say it.”

  “I can’t let you do that for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’d come to resent it and me.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? I’m pretty good at looking at the evidence. And all the evidence points to me loving you from the bottom of my soul and not wanting to spend a day or a night without you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I have a tidy little trust fund and I’ve made enough money to hold me over for a while until I set up my practice here.” He grinned.

  “Here? You’re going to practice here?”

  “Yep. So what do you say? You think you can put up with me everyday for the rest of your life?”

  “W-what are you saying?”

  “It’s not what I’m saying. It’s what I’m asking. Be my partner. My friend, my muse, my lover, my wife. Will you?”<
br />
  She cupped his face in her hands and all the love she had in her heart poured from her eyes. “Yes, for you, I will.”

  * * * * *

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading the Harlequin Kimani Arabesque title, For You I Will by Donna Hill.

  For your consideration, we have included the first four chapters from two of Donna’s previous titles: Harlequin Kimani Arabesque’s Touch Me Now, the prior book in the Sag Harbor Village series, and Harlequin Kimani Romance’s Mistletoe, Baby, a hot holiday office romance. We do hope this proves to be an enjoyable reading experience for you.

  All the best,

  The Harlequin Kimani Team

  Touch Me Now

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Prologue

  It was late afternoon. The lunch crowd, what there had been of it, was gone. Business was slow, slower than usual for this time of year. Everyone was hurting, it seemed. She’d been let go from the paper months earlier, but had been lucky enough to pick up a few extra hours at Jack and Jill’s, the local lounge and jazz spot in the West Village, and she had begun to build a pretty solid list of clients from her massage business thanks to Brent.

  Thoughts of Brent brought a smile to her face and a rush of sensual excitement through her veins. There were times when she still wondered how she’d gotten so lucky. Brent had women running after him like a buy-two-get-one-free sale at Macy’s. But she was the one that he wanted. He’d proved it to her time and again, and there wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t tell her that he loved her or did something to show her.

  She wiped down the tables and glanced with a sense of awe at the dazzling diamond on the third finger of her left hand. In six months she would join the ranks of her girls Melanie and Desiree and become a married woman. She’d picked out her dress. Simple and elegant, Desiree had said. It was going to be a small, intimate wedding—only their really close friends and immediate family. Melanie had offered her place at Sag Harbor for the wedding and reception. Layla couldn’t wait to be Mrs. Brent Davis.

  “Daydreaming again?” Mona asked, sidling up next to her. Mona Clarke ran Jack and Jill’s, and in the six months that Layla had worked there, they’d become more than employer and employee—they’d become friends. Mona completely understood that Layla’s job at the lounge was only temporary and that her real love was the art of massage, the power to heal through touch.

  Layla turned and a shy smile teased her full lip-glossed mouth. “That bad?”

  “Yes, very,” Mona said, with her fist on her hip. “Hey, I got this.” She took the cloth from Layla’s hand. “It’s slow as maple syrup in here today. Why don’t you go on home to your man, see what he can do about that cheery disposition of yours,” she teased.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah, go ahead. Unless you really need the tips you’re not going to make today. Go, go, practice some of your massage techniques on that fine specimen.”

  Layla wiggled her brows. “Hmm, maybe I will.” She gave Mona a quick kiss on the cheek. “I owe you,” she called out as she hurried to the back to get her purse.

  “See you on the weekend.”

  Layla stopped at the local market on her way home and picked up some fresh vegetables and seasonings for a stir-fry meal and a bottle of Brent’s favorite wine. She still had a few hours to prepare everything before Brent got off work. She wanted things to be extra special. In fact she planned to take Mona up on her suggestion and try out a new massage technique on him that she’d been mastering and maybe that new Victoria’s Secret lingerie that she’d splurged on. A wicked thought tickled her belly.

  With her purchases in hand she strolled the four blocks to her apartment, intermittently stopping to check out the window displays at boutiques and artisanal shops along the way.

  She climbed the stairs to her walk-up and came to a dead stop at the front door, momentarily alarmed by the sound of movement inside until she heard Brent’s voice. She let go a breath of relief. Calling 911 would have really screwed up her afternoon. Brent home early? The surprise was on her.

  Layla turned her key in the door all ready to leap into Brent’s arms, but came to a grinding halt when she saw Brent and two suitcases in the middle of the floor.

  He slowly turned to her with his cell phone still at his ear. There was a look in his hazel eyes that defied explanation. She’d never seen it before or since—her own terror, disbelief and pain reflected in someone else’s eyes.

  All he said was that he was sorry. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t love her. He never wanted to hurt her. He was leaving.

  She was certain she’d screamed, thrown things, demanded answers—maybe she’d even begged him not to leave. Who knew? None of it changed anything, anyway. He was gone.

  What was she going to do now with the pieces of her heart scattered all over her hardwood floors and her soul on the other side of the door walking into a life without her?

  Chapter 1

  One Year Later...

  Summer came early to New York. Memorial Day was three weeks away and the temperature was already in the low eighties. If this was any indication of what the next three months would bring, it was going to be a long, hot summer in the city.

  Layla Brooks sat on the sill of her third-floor walk-up apartment of the prewar building that faced Washington Square Park. She peered out of the smudged window at the entanglement of humanity on the streets below. Absently she fanned herself with the stiff white envelope that boasted a Sag Harbor address—a world away from where she lived in the West Village.

  The West Village was known for its eclectic blend of people, styles, food, excitement and entertainment. Those were the things that drew her to this slice of New York City life, that and her cushy job as a journalist for the View. Her beat was New York lifestyles, and in search of the next salacious story, she haunted some of the best and the worst locales in the city.

  It was simply ironic how things got twisted all around and she became her own headline: laid off, unemployment running out, and working two nights a week as a hostess at Jack and Jill’s, one of the local blues lounges. All things considered, she was better off than a lot of folks. She’d saved her money over the years and invested wisely, thanks to the wise counsel of her godmother Carolyn Harte. The paper had given her a decent severance and in the year that she’d been out of work, she’d finally finished up her classes in massage therapy. It had been an on-again, off-again process for nearly five years. Now she was fully certified in rehabilitation therapy and deep tissue massage, and she had even taken a special course two years earlier in tantric massage, which was how she’d met Brent Davis, her former fiancé.

  Brent was the manager of a tantric massage studio tucked away in a three-story town house on the Lower East Side. He’d trained her—personally. There was no question that in the right hands the eroticism of the human touch was mind-blowing. Unfortunately, Brent felt the same way—about everyone. She’d been naive and in love, engaged to be married to the man of her dreams and too blind to see that Brent didn’t only have “hands” for her. It had taken her a while to push that part of her life to the back of her head. But the hurt would rear its ugly head every now and again when she’d see couples hugged up together, whispering to each other, and know that the evening would end with them in bed together—while she would roll around alone on empty sheets.

  The upside was that Brent was good at what he did and he’d taught her everything she needed to know to be just as good a masseuse as him, if not better. She had a few regular clients and the extra income was great. The idea of owning and running a studio became more intriguing day by day. But with the economy still on shaky ground, she wasn
’t quite ready to take the leap. At least not yet.

  She stopped fanning herself and flipped the envelope over. She ran her finger beneath the flap and tore it open, then pulled out the stiff off-white postcard inside.

  It was the invitation she’d been expecting, embossed with the Platinum Society logo. It was the kickoff party of the season coupled with Desiree and Lincoln’s fifth wedding-anniversary party, hosted by Layla’s godsister, Melanie Harte. Although the festivities were more than a month away, Mel always planned way in advance.

  Desiree Armstrong was her sorority sister and dear friend. They still laughed about all the fun they used to have as students living in the Big Apple. So when Desiree married Lincoln Davenport and moved out to Sag Harbor to open her art gallery and help out with his bed-and-breakfast establishment, The Port, Layla and Desiree didn’t see each other as often as they once did, but Layla could always find a reason to visit Sag Harbor.

  She’d spent most of her summers on the Harbor. Her godmother, Carolyn, the cofounder of the Platinum Society—a high-class matchmaking service—made sure that she kept an eye on her precocious daughter, Melanie, and Melanie didn’t go far without Layla. They’d grown up rubbing elbows with the people that the average person only saw on television and in the news. Melanie and Layla were trained in the areas of entertainment, money management, travel, fashion and knowing how to mix and mingle with anyone from the man on the street to the president of the United States. Like Melanie, Layla could speak three languages fluently and had traveled to Europe and Africa before she was eighteen. And if Layla had her way, she would have married Melanie’s gorgeous brother Alan, even though he always thought of her as the “cute kid” and his little sister’s friend.

  She smiled as those good memories rushed to the surface. She hopped down from the sill just as a truck backfired below and let off a plume of smoke into the muggy air.

  Yes, it would be great to get away. A change of scenery, hanging with her girls and enjoying a blowout party was just what she needed.