by Amarie Avant
She sighed before following Liam to the bike. He wondered if he should offer to walk. No, a Delacroix wouldn’t readily agree to another person’s request unless it was in his or her favor. Liam considered, But the boy Raven once knew would move hell and high water…
Liam’s long, lean leg slid over his Ducati. He held out his helmet. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Doubt I have a choice.” Raven snatched the helmet. “Thanks.”
“Welcome, and not at all as far as choices go.”
“Suppose it wouldn’t be the first time someone I cared about decided not to give me a choice,” she mumbled the words so low he had to decipher much of them. When he did, it cut to his core.
Her soft body molded to his back, the warmth of her legs around his frame made Liam force himself to concentrate on driving. The warmth between those thighs of hers made him second-guess himself. This wasn’t the time to become aroused by the person he fell in love with. They had yet to be friends, so nothing deeper would transpire. “Hold tight.”
She barely clasped her arms around him. Liam jerked the shift. Raven clung to him. He smiled. Her soft tiny hand reached beneath his leather jacket, sending his hormones into a whirlwind. Instead of caressing his abs, she pinched him. Laughter erupted from Liam’s gut. Before he rode off, he again reminded her to hold tight.
They’d passed by her street, and Raven pinched the bit of skin over his taut bicep in warning. Not taking heed to those hard and rather painful squeezes, Liam rode toward the town limits. The streets weren’t slick, and he was glad his intuition told him it wouldn’t rain tonight. At each jarring in the road, Raven held on tighter.
He took in a deep breath of her fruity perfume. Papayas mingled with the lush mountain scape. Once they got to the sign that read “Brinton,” Liam pulled off the road. He did not intend to tell Raven that he’d traveled this road for much of the year and a half of his junior to senior year.
It was always his plan to return to her. And he had. So many times Liam had returned since starting high school in Brinton.
They got off the bike. Up and to the left were bright lights from Brinton; down below were a few faint yellow lights of Bellwood.
“Wow, Liam, you're hard of hearing, and you’re forgetful. Suppose you don’t recall not ten minutes ago that I requested to go home?”
“You sound irritated, ReRe,” he goaded as they’d once done as children. Now the mention of her nickname was just as taboo as a slam to her character.
“Cut the bullshit, Liam. My house was along this route. I don’t mind walking. That’s what legs are for.” Her pearly white smile was more of a snarl.
“Like I just said, you sound irritated. Guess what? I was very annoyed earlier today. You ignored my calls. Then played–”
“Played?” She zeroed in as if that was the only word she'd heard.
“Let me finish.” Liam looked down at her, gaze sincere. “When we were little, the entire world revolved around you. That’s the only way I would have it. And yes, played. You wouldn’t answer my damn call. Requesting to meet as if Granny wouldn’t let me pick you up.” Though his face was stoic, Liam inwardly smiled. Raven didn’t even like him calling Annette Granny anymore either. Oh well. “You still won’t tell me the name of the asshole who cussed at you, since we’re talking about being forgetful! I've the notion to take you over my legs and swat that ass, I bet you'll listen then. Is that what I should do?”
“Try me, motherfucker!” Raven spat through gritted teeth.
“You act as if I’m a stranger. As if I just kidnapped you,” Liam grumbled as they stood just outside the city limit.
“Damn right you did. No, I don’t know you anymore. And yes, you kidnapped me, Liam. You were supposed to drop me off at home. I know good and damn well you felt me pinching you.”
He forced himself not to smile.
Her eyes sparkled with daggers, as she backed away on the dusty road. “Take me h-o-m-e. I don't need you!”
“Oh, that tone of yours tells me you don't need shit, nobody! But bring your hard headed ass over here; I will correct you, beautiful.” Liam seethed with desire and anger. “Shit, you used to fight for me. It took me all of two seconds when we met at the mall, to see that you've changed—oh but you're sizing me up for differences. Somewhere in there is that girl that doesn't take shit. I don't need that girl to fight anymore. I need her to wake the fuck up and live. See, I care about you enough to spank some sense into you!”
The rage left her. She didn't quite return to the nonchalance that seemed to plague her these days.
“Don’t yell at me. Does it look like I ever got a fucking hero? I was crawling, fighting my own battles. You acted like hot shit, telling Deputy Frank your full name. Who the hell are you? I’ve known you since you couldn’t do one shitty ass push up, so check yourself.”
“Or what?!” Liam’s face was inches away from hers. The tension between them had flown down the highway. Sweet papaya wafted through his nostrils as the breeze sent more of Raven his way. Here she was, in the flesh, ripe for the taking. Her pink tongue dipped out and slid over her bottom lip. The sheer act he coveted, needing to touch her.
Then Liam looked into Raven’s eyes. Really looked. Those orbs were welling up with tears.
“Let me go home, Liam.”
“If there’s something you want, son, you take it,” Grandfather Pierre had said. Liam’s grandfather always used the “son” title for added affect.
His grandfather owned one of the oldest publications companies in the world. The newspaper company had been passed down from Pierre’s own grandfather. When electronic marketing hit, Pierre placed his money in other sources, such as renovating a Parisian hotel. Architectural design had always been his passion, more so than his family’s press enterprise company, which seemed to be a lost cause due to a wave of other new social outlets. The historical site became the first of many D-Hotels across the nation, then Europe, and now spanning every exotic land. Meanwhile, Pierre was able to designate funds from his first few D-Hotels to various publication sources as the Delacroix family legacy. They owned magazines, television channels from basic cable to premium movie channels, and the family’s newspaper company expanded to the internet. The Delacroix custom was branded in his brain. Yet, when it came to Raven, Liam would always cave.
She thought he was different. Yes, he was. But she'd changed too, and not for the better. Raven fucking hates me the thought consumed him persuading him to give up. Leave her alone.
No, she was the only untarnished thing he had in life. He loved her. She was like one of those antique dolls Pierre collected. A doll so intricately designed, with such godlike talent, that it was worth millions of dollars. Those dolls seemed so lifelike, sparkling eyes and all, but no, they couldn’t laugh. He'd give away his own burgeoning fortune to see her smile. Bet every penny she hadn't smiled in a while.
Yeah, he loved her, he would save her.
Not now though. She was too damn stubborn for that.
He started toward the Ducati.
She followed.
CHAPTER 6
Napoleon said “determination makes you invincible.” Mozart, Albert Einstein, William Gates—what did these vastly different human beings from different times have in common?
Determination.
Liam pressed exit on the MacBook video cam. His weekly meeting with his grandfather Pierre had adjourned. Usually a pep talk from Pierre had him grounded and totally focused on his future of heading the many Delacroix Hotels.
The keys to success resided in his determination, yet his brain wasn’t in the game. If he fucked up, Pierre had an arsenal of consultants. Close ones that could be entrusted with the legacy’s mistakes. Things faded to gray when there were mishaps, though. He didn't want to be the reason for any negative repercussions; even errors could be redirected. He also didn't want to fail his grand-père.
Still, Raven consumed his every thought. He'd dropped her off at home last week afte
r the ride on his street bike, and she said not one word. Their argument that night sowed the seed for doubt and guilt. Should he have brought up something so personal as her being numb? Yes, he was the cause.
Liam got up from the computer chair and paced around his dorm bedroom. A chopping sound sliced through the air as he threw a few punches. The aggressive movements helped him make sense of their deteriorating relationship. With each air punch, Liam ruminated on how to get through to Raven. Does she think I abandoned her like her mom?
Liam sunk onto the edge of his bed. Hell, he'd been abandoned, too. Compared to his mother, his nana Estella was a force not to be fucked with. If there was
one thing he’d gotten from Nana’s rules was weight loss. When he arrived in Paris, Estella Delacroix found out that, though he understood some French, he didn’t speak it, and was overweight. Nana didn’t know that he was always overweight as a child, because she’d been an in-demand fashion model and too busy for family.
His life changed for the worst. The chefs implemented a strict diet. All of the grounds workers and housekeepers were advised to speak to him solely in French. Nana bore into him with looks of sheer revulsion until he felt uncomfortable eating.
With a start, Liam shook the scene out of his head.
Sweet, carefree laughter traveled through his closed door. The rigid regimen Liam had to deal with during his freshman, and sophomore year of school vanished. He got up and stepped out of his room. In the living room, Shawn was groping a leggy blonde.
“Oh you're here,” said Whitley.
Liam turned around, and from the open living room-kitchen floor plan, he saw Whitley. Her jean skirt barely covering her creamy white thighs. She gulped down Simply Orange straight from the bottle. She smiled at him, turned around and her ass arched upwards as she replaced the bottle in the bottom of the stainless steel refrigerator. Then she stood up, doughy eyes glued to his.
Liam cocked his head to his bedroom door, and there was the giddy laughter again as she followed.
Whitley had to be at least five-foot-eleven to his six-foot-two. Her slender, long arms closed the door, and she met Liam before he had enough time to sit back on the edge of the bed. To her knees, she fell. Whitley unbuttoned his belt as though it were a competition.
Her warm, wet mouth enveloped his cock, enticingly slow. At the very same time, Whitley’s tongue twirled and savored each inch of him until the head of his manhood grazed her tonsils. Whitley whimpered as if wanting to take in more of him, she batted her eyelashes, looking Liam straight in the eye.
Her head bobbed up and down, catching a rhythm. Liam’s biceps strained, as he forced his mind off Raven. It was maddening. Whitley’s tongue twirled around the nerves of his cock, and then her mouth wanted more, opening wider.
Ready to release, he called out her name.
Whitley sat up and licked her glossy pink lips. Head tilted just slightly, she asked, “Did you just call me Raven? Liam, did you just call me another chick’s name?”
“Yes.” He nodded. It was a mistake, and instead of apologizing, he took the Delacroix way. Liam’s fingers twirled through the hair at the nape of Whitley’s neck. She rose at his command. He stood up behind her. His rock hard body slamming against her back.
Whitley giggled, snatching up her jean skirt.
Baffled, Liam gasped, “Damn, no panties?”
“Nope.” Whitley grinned.
He grabbed a condom from the dresser as Whitley’s slender back arched for him. Liam’s hand caressed the curve at the small of her back, before he slapped her bottom. He gripped her hips and filled up Whitley’s soaking wet pussy in one quick push.
She shrieked with delight. “Liam, God, you're huge!”
His hand pawed her ass cheek before getting good enough leverage. As Liam’s thrusts quickened, Whitley’s palms slammed down on the counter of his computer table. The effect made her back arch even more, and she tightened around him.
Whitley delighted in his frustrations. She met each thrust with her own grunt of desire. His cock slammed inside her over and over, and Liam disconnected himself with the present as he sought release.
“Fuck!” Whitley screamed as Liam continued. With no regard to her, his erection soared in and out of her sleek wetness. His hand gripped a thick shock of hair, making the thrusting movements sync to perfection.
When they’d finished, he sunk onto the bed and slowly removed the condom as Whitley giggled, readjusting her skirt.
Whitley tousled his hair. She always said how much she liked his hair after they’d fucked. This time, she stood there for a moment, eyes glazed over in a dreamy state.
“Hell’s bells, Liam. Well whoever Raven is, God bless her. You always blow my fucking mind, but good Lord, I mean... Call me anytime the two of you hit a rocky patch in your relationship.”
Liam took a deep breath. “If Raven were mine, there'd be no rocky patches. No jeopardizing it.”
As Whitley made her exit, Liam pulled out his iPhone to try Raven once more…
CHAPTER 7
“I doubt that’s something you’re allowed to tell a twelve-year-old, Ray-ven,” Joshua argued, arms folded. For a rude little shit, he was rather smart. His foster mom had warned Raven, saying that besides being borderline genius, he had Asperger’s coupled with a cute little mouth which lacked a filter.
“Probably so.” Raven smiled apologetically for the first time since she’d grabbed his arm a tad too hard. Perhaps her own tongue had gotten away from her as well. She’d dragged him out of the sanctuary. Like hell, there’d be no cussing in front of the other children choir members. As director, this was her show. She pointed a finger at him. “But you’re a smart aleck, so I’ve the feeling you can take it.”
He rolled his eyes.
Her index finger stopped right before his hard gray eyes. The vertically challenged bastard didn’t even flinch. “I have the mind to pop out one of those ever rolling eyes of yours, Joshua. Keep fu…keep trying me.”
He gave her an incredulous look. Yes, she was still on holy ground, but praying about Joshua’s attitude was the furthest thing from her mind. She turned away from him, hands raised in the air, and grumbled.
For a winter’s day, the warmth of the sun soothed her soul. Raven stalked back and forth, high-heeled boots crunching over the grass. She was dressed in an olive green midriff sweater and jeans. She had to look like a nut to Joshua, bangles clanking on her wrists, arms swaying like the willow tree he currently leaned against. This was how she coped.
Two minutes later, Joshua was still planted in his same spot, the same loathing façade. He ran his hand through his blond hair as if the tables had turned and he had decided to teach her a lesson.
Raven stopped before him. “Josh, your foster mom loves you so damn much, kid. So much! You gotta stop with the attitude.” Gertrude won’t leave unless you give her a fucking heart attack!
“Misses Ray-ven, have you ever observed me displaying any affection for her?” The kid asked in a brainy, irate tone. “I’m trying to determine why you’ve come to the conclusion that I care about her. She suffocates me—”
Before he had the chance to rattle off everything his foster mom did, everything which provided him a safe and structured home, Raven cut in. He’d already given his sob story a hundred times over. “Stop it. I’ve known Ms. Gertrude since I was standing where you just were, on that stage as a kid.”
His balls had yet to drop, but his comeback was hard. “Again, feel free to inquire as to if I care. I can’t live with her.”
“Boy, you don’t even know the meaning of live. You can’t live until you’ve been loved. And then you can only love as much as you yourself have been loved.” Raven spoke words wiser than her years. But this knowledge came from experience.
“Says the lady who doesn’t have parents.”
A deep breath of sweet grass drew into her nostrils. She nodded slowly. Throat constricted, Raven worked to get the words out. “All right, Josh. For n
ow, you win, okay?”
With that, he rushed back into the sanctuary, stomping all the way. Raven’s tear ducts burned. What the heck is wrong with me? It wasn’t the first time someone brought up her hopeless life story. Besides, it had been years since she slapped the dog shit out of someone for their mouth. As director of the children’s choir, God had allowed her to reap what she sowed. All those fights to protect a mother who hadn’t wanted her had been for nothing. Only a teenager and she acted like a life coach—better yet, a therapist on occasion.
Raven’s cell phone buzzed on the way into the sanctuary. In her irritation, she didn’t screen the call.
“Can I take you to lunch this Saturday?” Liam asked.
“Well, hello to you, too,” she mumbled, and then held up a hand to calm the children on the stage who’d gotten antsy while waiting for her squabble with Joshua to end. “All right, Liam. You can take me to get a…a hot dog. I assume you recall Granny doesn't cook anything but soul food, so a greasy hot dog at the diner off Main Street.”
“Hot dogs. Roger that.”
“And, Liam, let's keep things simple... please. Just lunch.”
~~~
Raven scampered down the stairs in khaki shorts and the Dallas Cowboys jersey she got from the time her grandpa Otis and his brother, Oscar, took her to a game. Head cocked, she glared at Liam and just how easily he'd inserted himself into her family. She only needed to close her eyes to imagine his voice before his balls dropped, and boy, was everything the same.
Annette hugged him, allowed him to call her Granny, and offered him breakfast.
“What are you doing here so early, Liam? We're supposed to meet at Lucky’s Diner at noon.” As soon as she said it, Raven bit her lip so as not to grimace. Why am I acting like Joshua? Liam isn’t blood.
