All My Tomorrows

by Rochelle Alers

  She touched the thin scar along the right side of his back. “How did you get this?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Pressing her breasts against his chest, Lydia smiled. “We have all night, darling. Talk to me, Kennedy.”

  “My biological father needed a kidney.”

  She listened as Kennedy bared his soul, telling her everything about his childhood, the unrequited love affair between Marvin Kennedy and Diane Fletcher. His voice softened noticeably when he spoke of Philip Anderson, the man who’d become his father and mentor.

  “Why did you give Marvin a kidney?”

  Turning over on his back, Kennedy stared up at the ceiling. “I was the only compatible donor.” He closed his eyes. “I could’ve said ‘the hell with you,’ because of how he’d treated my mother. But then I had to ask myself what if? What if I’d needed an organ and no one came forth to help me? My dad always told me, ‘Think of the other guy, son, before you say or do something. If you don’t like it, don’t do it.’”

  “How is Marvin?”

  “He’s recovering—albeit slowly.”

  “How are you doing?”

  Kennedy threw an arm over his head. “I’m also recovering. I’m tired most of the time, but I’m told that’s normal for someone who has lost an organ. I’m glad I won’t begin coaching until the next school year.”

  “We don’t have to get married this year, Kennedy. I’m more than willing to wait until the spring.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not.”

  Lydia stared at his stoic expression. “How about New Year’s Eve?”

  “Where?”

  “Cabo San Lucas.”

  A smile spread across his face like the brilliance of the rising sun. “We can reserve several villas, fly everyone in a couple of days before, then marry on a yacht. How does that sound to you?”

  Rising on an elbow, she stared down at him, complete surprise freezing her features. “When did you come up with this idea?”

  “I researched Cabo San Lucas online, then contacted a travel agent who gave me the names of villas in the area.” He met her gaze. “If you don’t like the idea, then we could brainstorm together.”

  “There’s no need to brainstorm, darling. I love your idea.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “You do?”

  Leaning closer, she kissed him. “I do, I do, I do,” she whispered over and over, knowing she would repeat the words again in another four weeks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Lydia Charlene Lord stood beside Kennedy Marvin Fletcher, repeating her vows under a half-moon and a star-filled sky. A warm breeze off the Pacific Ocean stirred the fabric of a pearl-colored, bias-cut silk crepe Narciso Rodriquez slipdress-styled wedding gown. The unembellished beauty of the gown reflected her unique personality—simplicity.

  She glanced up at Kennedy through her lashes and a secret smile softened her glossy lips. Their gazes met, fused, communicating a love that promised yesterday, today, and all of their tomorrows.

  The ship’s captain told Kennedy he could kiss his bride, shattering the hypnotic spell. Lowering his head, he circled her waist, pulled her up close to his chest, and kissed her, sealing his promise to love and honor her all the days of their lives.

  Clutching a bouquet of gardenia, white roses, tulips, and peonies, Lydia trembled as the realization that she was now a married woman swept over her. The man holding her to his heart was the one in whose arms she wanted to go to sleep and wake up every day, whose babies she wanted to bear, whom she wanted to stand beside her during her successes and failures, whom she would grow old with, whom she would love forever.

  “Darling,” she crooned softly, “we’ll continue this later.”

  “I can’t wait,” Kennedy whispered close to her ear.

  Hand in hand, they turned to greet everyone who’d flown thousands of miles to witness their nuptials. All of Charles and Etta Mae’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren were in attendance along with Diane and Philip Anderson, Roger and Grace Evans, Neil and Rachel Lane and their daughters, Ethan and Joanna Bennington and their three children, and Mustafa. Kennedy had become Mustafa’s legal guardian as his foster father.

  Now that he’d become a father, Kennedy had softened his attitude toward Marvin. He invited him to the wedding, but Marvin declined, citing health limitations.

  Charles Lord extended his arms to his youngest child. She walked into his embrace, her arms encircling his waist. “You look beautiful, baby girl.”

  Tilting her head, she smiled at him. “Thank you, Daddy.”

  He kissed her cheek. “Be happy, baby girl.”

  She nodded. “You know I will.”

  Kennedy pressed the flesh, kissed scented cheeks, slapped broad backs, and laughed loudly when teased about his wedding night. He’d kept his promise not to make love to Lydia until they were married. Sharing a bed or a shower on occasion tested the limits of his self-control, but he was resolute in his pledge.

  The yacht floated over the calm ocean waters as a live band launched into an upbeat dance number that had everyone swaying and reaching for partners. Champagne and nonalcoholic beverages flowed from fountains as white-jacketed waiters passed out hors d’oeuvres to wedding guests who would welcome a new year on the ocean, under the stars in a foreign country.

  Lydia found herself in her husband’s arms as the clock ticked away the old year. She removed her veil and the three-inch strappy sandals, dancing barefoot on the smooth surface of the boat deck.

  He spun her around. “Did I tell you how much I love you today, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  Resting her head on his shoulder, she inhaled the hauntingly sensual fragrance of his cologne clinging to the fabric of his dinner jacket. “No.”

  Easing back, Kennedy stared at her. “I didn’t?”

  “Not as Mrs. Fletcher.”

  He pulled her close again, chuckling softly. “I’ll be certain to show you later, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “I can’t wait. And I promise not to take advantage of you,” she teased.

  “Use me, darling. You won’t get a complaint from me.”

  Kennedy stopped when he felt someone tugging on his jacket sleeve. It was Mustafa. “Are you asking to cut in?”

  Mustafa had discarded his tie and suit jacket. Kennedy had selected him to be his best man. “No. I want to know if it’s all right if I go back home with Chaz and Micah.”

  “You don’t want to hang out here with us?”

  “No. Please, Daddy, can I go back with them?”

  Lydia and Kennedy went completely still, their stunned gazes fixed on the boy whom they hoped to legally adopt in the near future. It was the first time Mustafa had called Kennedy Daddy. Lydia looked at her husband as he struggled to conceal his shock.

  Kennedy reached out and cradled the back of Mustafa’s head. “Yes, son. You can go back with them. I’ll call the airline and have them change your ticket.” He smiled at the joy shimmering in his son’s eyes. “Are you too big to give your dad a hug and kiss?”

  Mustafa shrugged a shoulder. “I guess not.”

  Kennedy went to one knee and put his arms around Mustafa. Lydia pulled up the hem of her gown and braced a hand on her husband’s shoulder, her arms covering his around the boy.

  Mustafa hugged the man and woman who he prayed would become his mother and father for real and forever. He smiled at Kennedy, then Lydia. “You’re the best dad and mommy in the world.”

  Quintin, professional photographer and commercial artist, raised his camera and captured the tender, poignant family scene for posterity.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  Turning, Quintin showed Victoria the image he’d captured on his digital camera. “What do you think?”

  Victoria stared at yards of silk crepe from Lydia’s gown flowing over the polished deck, the expression of serenity on Kennedy’s face as he pressed a kiss to Mustafa’s forehead, and the wide grin on Mustafa’s face as he reveled in the lo
ve of his parents.

  Blinking back tears, she smiled up at her husband. “It’s beautiful, Quintin. You should think about painting it, then give it to them as an anniversary gift.”

  Quintin lowered his head and kissed his wife. “When did you get so smart?”

  “I’ve always been smart, Quintin Lord. I was smart enough to stand still long enough for you to catch me.”

  “I thought you were chasing me.”

  Her eyes widened. “I never chased you, Quintin Thomas Lord.”

  “Yeah, you did, Vicky. Let’s go ask Lydia.”

  “Don’t you dare bother her now. We’ll settle this later.”

  “How much later?” Quintin asked.

  Going on tiptoe, Victoria kissed his mouth. “A lot later,” she crooned.

  Quintin managed to get off three more shots of his sister, his brother-in-law, and his nephew before they rose to their feet. He smiled. His sister had gone to camp to supervise a kitchen and had fallen in love.

  Pride swelled his chest. Lydia told him she’d given herself two years to decorate her home and have a baby all before Lady Day’s grand opening. With any other person he would’ve thought her crazy to put that much pressure on herself, but not Lydia. She had more ambition, determination, and competitiveness than any of the Lords.

  There was no doubt Kennedy Fletcher had his work cut out for him, but something told Quintin his new brother-in-law was up to the task. He was the only one who’d bested them at their game.

  Quintin glanced over at Lydia again. She and Kennedy stood off from the others, holding hands. When she turned and raised her face to accept her husband’s kiss, he averted his gaze.

  He went in search of his wife and children. The new year was fast approaching, and he wanted to hold on to his loved ones like the image he’d captured with his camera.

  “Five, four, three, two… Happy New Year!” the ship’s crew and wedding guests shouted loudly.

  Lydia curved her arms under Kennedy’s shoulders and buried her face against his warm throat. “I love you, Kennedy.”

  He tightened his hold on her slim waist. “I love you, too.”

  It was much later, after the yacht had docked and they retreated to their villa, that Lydia and Kennedy were able to demonstrate the depth of their love over and over again.

  * * *

  The flickering flames from dozens of votives reflecting off whitewashed walls competed with the glow of the moon that silvered every light-colored surface.

  Lydia’s gaze was fixed on the man sitting on the side of the bed on a rooftop terrace waiting for her. A smile parted her lips as she closed the distance between them. Kennedy had kept his promise that they would not make love again until their wedding night. Their wedding night had come along with new beginnings. It was a new year and they were husband and wife. A warm breeze lifted the delicate fabric of her nightgown before it settled back around the curves of her slender body.

  Kennedy stood up, extending his hand. It had only been months, but unknowingly he’d been waiting years for this moment. Lydia Lord-Fletcher was his love, his wife, and his life. Everything he did, every decision he made he thought of her first.

  He smiled when she placed her slender hand in his; he pulled her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. She had worn it up for the wedding, but now the heavy strands grazed the nape of her neck.

  “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” he whispered close to her ear.

  “Four months,” Lydia whispered against his bare shoulder.

  “No, baby. All of my life.”

  Curving her arm under her husband’s shoulders, Lydia leaned into him. “I can’t wait any more, darling.”

  Lydia didn’t want to wait and neither did he, but they would have to wait because Kennedy wanted their coming together to last as long as possible. The weather was perfect, the setting perfect, and the woman in his embrace also perfect. Bending slightly, he swept her up in his arms and placed her gently on the bed, his body following her down.

  Lydia closed her eyes and let her senses take over. She heard the soft lapping of the ocean as it washed over the beach, the fragrant scent of the frangipani and orchids growing in abandon, and firm muscle and sinew under her fingertips.

  Kennedy’s hands were everywhere: her hair, her throat, her breasts, and between her legs. Her breathing deepened as his weight and smell enveloped her in a sensual spell from which she did not want to escape.

  Gathering the hem of her nightgown, Kennedy eased the silken fabric up her legs, thighs, waist, breasts, over her shoulders and then her head. She gasped when his mouth covered one breast, then the other, his teeth tightening on the nipples. He moved down the length of her body and staked his claim at the apex of her thighs. His hands and mouth had her writhing on the bed, as her breath came in long, surrendering moans.

  Tears filled Lydia’s eyes and flowed down her cheeks as gusts of desire shook her from her head to her toes. “Please… please…please.” Her pleas floated upward and were carried out into the Mexican night on a tropical breeze.

  Kennedy heard the soft pleading and moved up the length of Lydia’s body. He knew she was close to climaxing and he wanted to join her when ecstasy hurtled them beyond reality.

  Parting her legs with his knee, he eased his sex into her hot, wet body, groaning audibly as her flesh closed around his, squeezing and holding him until he exploded in a downpour of fiery sensations.

  Once he was able to move, Kennedy reversed their position. Passions spent, they waited until their breathing resumed a normal rate, and still joined fell asleep as contentment and peace flowed between them.

  This night was only the beginning—the beginning of all of their tomorrows.

  EPILOGUE

  Two years later…

  The sports world A-list turned out for the grand opening of former Ravens running back Kennedy Fletcher’s wife’s restaurant Lady Day.

  Food critics were impressed with the décor, the ambience, and the eclectic menu prepared by executive chef Lydia Fletcher and assistant chef Neil Lane. Lady Day, named in honor of Baltimore’s own Billie Holiday, is located half a mile from the Inner Harbor and claims an intimacy missing in most dining establishments. Reservations are suggested if you want to experience the most glorious dining experience.

  Lydia fell back on a mound of pillows and kicked up her legs. “We did it, darling.”

  Kennedy placed the newspaper on the bedside table and reached for his wife. “You did it.”

  He closed his eyes and nuzzled her neck. His life was better than he ever could’ve imagined. Lydia had opened her Lady Day. Mustafa Johnson was now legally Mustafa J. Fletcher and in another three months they would increase their family by one when Lydia delivered a baby girl.

  Kennedy’s life had changed dramatically since meeting Lydia. He taught high school biology and coached the football team. He alternated checking Mustafa’s homework and attending school-sponsored extracurricular activities with Lydia.

  Whenever Mustafa stayed over at his cousins’ during a school holiday or break, Kennedy and Lydia retreated to the house in the woods to rekindle a flame that never seemed to burn out.

  Kennedy placed a hand over his wife’s belly. He smiled when he felt the movement. He couldn’t wait to meet his daughter. He’d promised Lydia he wouldn’t spoil her, but he knew that was one promise he had no intention of keeping.

  * * * * *

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  HIS SAN DIEGO SWEETHEART

  by Yahrah St. John

  Hotel manager Miranda Jensen needs to marry to inherit her grandfather’s fortune. The treasurer of the San Diego Millionaire Moguls chapter, Vaughn Ellicott offers her the perfect solution. Will Vaughn choose to turn their make-believe marriage into a passionate reality?

  Keep reading to get a glimpse of

  HIS SAN DIEGO SWEETHEART.

  Vaughn Ellicott, Jr. sliced through the crashing surf at San Diego’s Black Beach on his custom-m
ade surfboard. Surfing was his own piece of heaven and gave Vaughn the freedom he desperately craved after the rigors of Navy life as a lieutenant. For a decade, he’d done as he was instructed because that was what his father, Commander Vaughn Ellicott, Sr., expected of him. But now, Vaughn did what he wanted to do and surfing was as natural to him as breathing, even though at six foot two, he towered over some of the other surfers. When he was in the water, he felt an inner peace with Mother Nature as he challenged himself on the waves. He saw the waves as opportunities to lose himself and find himself at the same time.

  And he had found himself. Five years ago, he’d started a company, Elite. After he began designing his own wet suits, other surfers had begun showing interest in his work. Seeing a business opportunity, he’d formed Elite and sold his wet suits online. From there, sales had skyrocketed. His high-end scuba gear company now sold dive computers and any other gear a surfer needed, from surfboards and bags, to leashes and wax. The fact that his business interests mirrored his passion was perfect for Vaughn.

  Even though it was nearly the weekend, it was long past time for him to depart the beach. Vaughn should have left thirty minutes ago. He was due to attend a meeting of Prescott George—the Millionaire Moguls club, as the press liked to dub them. The nickname had been given to them because their national organization was comprised mainly of millionaires. The club had been formed in the 1940s by Prescott Owens and George Rollins. Today, Prescott George’s numbers had grown into the thousands and there were chapters all over the world. Vaughn was proud to be a member and the treasurer of the San Diego chapter.

  Emerging from the Pacific Ocean carrying his surfboard, Vaughn began peeling off his wet suit when a pair of feminine eyes caught his gaze. She was giving him the once-over. And he didn’t mind the attention; he was used to it. In social circles, he was a sought-after millionaire bachelor with an impressive seaside estate. And on the beach, he was looked up to because of his fearlessness and passion for the sport.

  Vaughn had no trouble attracting women. Any kind of woman. So much so that he couldn’t get a moment’s peace. Women adored his physique which he spent a great deal of time honing, and his impressive assets, but Vaughn had yet to find one worth keeping around. They all seemed a little too eager to be with a Millionaire Mogul, and so he dealt with them with a long-handled spoon, engaging only when he wanted companionship or needed physical release.