Sometimes Naughty, Sometimes Nice

by Kimberly Raye

  She wanted so much to believe him. Maybe Albert was right when it came to relationships. Maybe a little opposition spiced up the mix rather than doomed it to failure. Maybe Beau would still love her regardless of who she really was.

  Maybe he would love her because of who she really was.

  Maybe not.

  Either way, she was determined to let it all hang out. For better or worse.

  “I can sew on a button,” she rushed on, “but that's the extent of my expertise with a needle. I don't mend socks or knit or crochet. I can't stand Howard Stern. I love Top Forty music and I love to sing along with the radio even though my voice sounds like a teenage boy going through the change.”

  He grinned. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “I snore sometimes.”

  “I already knew that.”

  Her cheeks burned, but she kept going. “I like to stay up and watch cheesy late-night dating shows. I'm not a big crier, but I do break down sometimes during an old movie or when I've had a particularly bad day at the office. And speaking of movies, I actually like those teenage high school flicks and”—she drew in a deep breath and gathered her courage—“I like Freddie Prinze, Jr.”

  “We can't all be perfect.” When she frowned, he grinned again and reached for her spoon. He took a bite of ice cream. “Not bad.”

  “But you don't love it.”

  “I don't have to. I love you, Xandra.”

  “But I've got gray hair.” There. She'd said it.

  “I don't see any gray.”

  “Not there.” Her glance went south. “There.”

  “Welcome to the club.”

  “You're saying that you have gray hair down south?”

  “I'm saying that I'm getting older. We both are. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Maybe so, but I'm still far from the perfect woman.”

  “So am I.”

  She couldn't help but smile. “I'm being serious. I'm going to get old and I might get fat or lose my hair, or all three.”

  “And I'll love you anyway.”

  “You say that now, but—”

  “But nothing. I'm not just saying it. I mean it.”

  “How do I know that? How can I really know? And even if you do feel it now, maybe it won't last. Maybe your feelings will fade. How can I know that it's for real, and it's forever?”

  “I guess you'll just have to trust me. Just like I'll have to trust you. Unless you don't love me.” Worry touched his gaze and his mouth drew into a thin line. “Is that what all this is about?”

  She shook her head. “I just want you to see the real me.”

  “I see the real you. I always have. Ever since that night in the back of my daddy's Impala. I took one look at you and said, here's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.”

  “Right. You were in a hurry to get it over with.”

  “Is that what you think?” He shook his head. “Baby, I took one look at you and you looked so hot that I couldn't control myself. You looked so curvy and sexy in that miniskirt.” He shook his head. “I'd never seen you wear a miniskirt before. You'd always been all covered up with those baggy clothes, he admitted.”

  “I'd always been fat. But then I lost twenty-five pounds on my going-away diet. Not that anybody noticed.”

  “I did, but not until you peeled off those clothes,” he admitted. “That's when I saw you in a different light. It shook me up and turned me on and that's why I was so quick on the trigger.”

  “Because you wanted me?”

  “Because I wanted you. I still do.”

  “I'm wearing baggy clothes now.”

  “It doesn't matter, because I don't see the clothes. I see what's underneath. I see the woman. In the gleam of your eyes. The fullness of your lips. I feel her in the softness of your skin and the tremble of your hands.” He kissed her then, just a feather-light press of his lips on hers. He tasted like warm male and sweet chocolate.

  Her heart pounded and her blood rushed and her knees actually trembled. But there was more, as well. There was a warmth in her chest, a certainty deep in her gut.

  “Now say it. Say that you love me.”

  “I do.”

  “I want to hear the words.” His expression grew serious. “I need to hear them.”

  She stared into his eyes and saw the emotion there that mirrored her own, and that's when she knew beyond a doubt that he was it. The One. Then again, she'd always known it because he'd looked at her just the same on that dark moonlit night, she'd just been too young and naive to recognize it.

  She saw clearly now. This was the real thing. Him. Her. The two of them. Forever and ever.

  “I love you,” she told him. “I love you so much.”

  “Now that's all I really needed to know.” And then he pulled her into his arms and gave her a real kiss.

  Epilogue

  It won't work this time,” Jacqueline told her executive producer after listening to the woman recite viewer statistics for every hit reality show, from The Bachelor to the entire Survivor series, to American Idol. “I'm not doing it.”

  “There's nothing to do,” Barbara told her. “The damage is already done. Like it or not, the Smart Dating series was a huge success. So much so that we've got thousands of entries pouring in every day for the next round. Women nationwide want to utilize the Jacqueline Farrel method to find their own happily ever after.”

  “But I don't do happily ever after.” She shook her head. “I will not be a party to any sort of wedding, reality or otherwise.”

  “You don't have to do anything. Just show up, smile, and be a fixture, like you're about to do right now.” She motioned to the open ballroom doorway and the festivities going on inside. The live broadcast of the official engagement party for the ten out of sixteen women who met their soul mates utilizing Jacqueline's Smart Dating advice. Inside, several cameras rolled, broadcasting the official announcement to millions of viewers. Five-and-a-half million—two million more than Cherry's average viewing audience for her Mr. Perfect series.

  She shook her head. “I won't do it. I don't now, nor have I ever, condoned marriage. It would make me a hypocrite. A fraud. A liar. A—”

  “—good mother,” Donovan finished for her as he came up next to her. “She'll do it,” he told Barbara. “Just give us a few minutes, then she'll make an appearance.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Xandra is inside.” He motioned to the ballroom. “Xandra and Beau, and they're waiting to tell us something.”

  “What could possibly be that important that they would come on national television just to tell us…” The question trailed off as she had the sudden image of her little girl standing on top of a wedding cake. But not just any cake. A big frosty white number with lots of tulle and bows and a tiny little noose strung around the little bride's neck. “I think I need a drink of water.”

  Donovan signaled a nearby waiter while Jacqueline fought for a deep breath. Okay, so maybe she didn't need water. She needed air. Lots and lots of air.

  “This can't be happening.”

  “It's happening, darling. So just calm down and accept it. Your youngest daughter is getting married, and she's announcing it on live national television with the other daters. It's her way of standing up and saying that she believes in marriage.”

  “But I don't.”

  “She's not you, dear. She's entitled to her own beliefs and she's proud of the fact that she loves Beau and he loves her.”

  “That's no reason to do something so foolish.”

  “Maybe it is.” At her sharp look, he shrugged. “Maybe marriage isn't so bad.” He motioned toward the festivities inside and Jacqueline turned to catch a glimpse of her youngest daughter standing with the tall, dark, handsome man who'd nearly run her over on the front porch. “Xandra certainly looks happy with Beau.”

  “She does look happy,” Jacqueline admitted as Donovan's hands worked their magic on her tired, stres
sed shoulders. “Of course, it could just be an illusion. Or brainwashing. Or simply sex. It's all so new to her so maybe they've got just a bad case of lust for one another.”

  “If that's the case, then what's Skye's excuse? She looks every bit as happy as her sister.”

  Jacqueline's gaze shifted to Skye who held on to her husband's arm and laughed at something he said. “It's the brainwashing, I tell you. That Clint is a smooth operator. He's still got her under his spell.”

  “I don't know. She looks genuinely happy to me. Radiant even.”

  “Nonsense. Only pregnant women look…” Her gaze swiveled to Donovan's. “You mean she's—”

  “—pregnant.” He smiled. “That was the other reason you have to make an appearance tonight. She plans on making the announcement and she wants you there.”

  “Why, that's wonderful! And, of course, I'll be there. Why didn't you just say so in the first place? I can endure anything, even an engagement party, for the sake of my future granddaughter.”

  “What about for the sake of your future grandson?”

  “Are you trying to tell me she's having a boy?”

  “She's not having a boy.”

  “Thank God.” She waved a hand at her flushed cheeks. “For a second there, I thought I might faint.”

  “She's having two boys. Twins.”

  The word echoed in Jacqueline's head. Boys. As in not girls. As in…Oh, no.

  The floor tilted and everything swam, and then Jacqueline felt herself falling. She never reached the floor, however. Two strong arms swept her up and a few heart-pounding moments later, she felt the soft cushions of a nearby sofa.

  Everything was so soft and warm and male, that she stopped thinking for the next few minutes and she simply lay there, her eyes closed, her nostrils tuned in to the musky scent of Donovan. She heard voices, but they seemed so far away and it really was better just to keep her eyes closed. She concentrated on breathing while Donovan instructed a waiter to bring some smelling salts.

  Good. She needed to smell something besides the delicious scent of cologne. Because if she smelled it for much longer, she would be lulled into submission and she might even believe that everything would be all right as long as she had him by her side.

  “Here are the smelling salts, sir.” The deep voice drew her attention away from her frantic thoughts and she waited for the sour smell to bring her to her senses. But instead of a smell, it was the waiter's next words that did the trick. “I hope your wife is okay.”

  Jacqueline cracked one eye open and glared at the waiter. “I am not his wife.

  The waiter blushed and Donovan grinned and Jacqueline opened her other eye to glare full force at the young man.

  “I'm sorry,” the boy stammered. “I mean, I just figured you guys were married.”

  “We are no such thing.” She struggled into an upright position. “We coexist in peace and harmony and mutual respect, which is more than I can say for most married couples.”

  “I think we've been straining the peace and harmony aspect lately,” Donovan said as he stepped back and extended a hand to help her up. “Then again, we could get back to the peace and harmony if you would just admit that you need me.”

  “I do not need you.” She ignored his help and pushed to her feet, grasping at the edge of the sofa when the floor seemed to tilt. “I need food,” she said when she managed to regain her balance. “I need water.” Her gaze met his. “But I do not need you.” She gave him a look that would have sent most men running, but he simply smiled at her.

  “Careful, honey, you're liable to kill me with all this sweet talk.”

  “I should be so lucky.” She ignored the urge to smack his smiling face, or worse, kiss him right then and there in front of God and a dozen television cameras. She was Jacqueline Farrel, acclaimed sexologist and womanist, and she didn't go around leaning on men or kissing them or needing them, for heaven's sake.

  She celebrated her femininity and gave advice to women regarding the same, and reality engagements and weddings aside, this was still her show, and there was still hope. Eve had yet to buy into the whole marriage propaganda thing. Xandra getting married meant that she would probably be giving Jacqueline grandbabies in the not too distant future. Possibly girl grandbabies. And Donovan could still learn to put down the damned toilet seat and pick up his socks.

  Okay, so maybe that was stretching the whole hope concept a bit far.

  “Shall we go join our daughters?”

  “On one condition.” She eyed him.

  “What's that?”

  “You learn how to put the toilet seat down, or I'm buying a case of super glue.” Where she lacked in faith, she made up for in coercion skills.

  “Maybe you just need to learn how to put the seat up.”

  “And maybe you'll be living by yourself because I'll be moving in with my mother.”

  “I suppose I could make an effort. You have been washing my back here lately and while that isn't exactly what I had in mind when I moved in with you, I'm all for compromise.”

  “Dare I ask what you did have in mind?”

  “Dare away, but I don't think you really want to know. Or do you?”

  The seconds ticked by as she stared up at him and into him and saw…Uh-uh. No way. No how. Not this woman. Not ever.

  “We really should get inside,” she blurted. “The girls are waiting.” She slid her arm into his.

  As they stepped forward, Jacqueline could have sworn she heard him hum the wedding march. She was this close to pulling away and running for her life, but then his hand closed over hers and everything faded except the warmth of Donovan just to her right and the sight of her three beautiful daughters just up ahead.

  And for the first time in a long time, Jacqueline Farrel felt like smiling.

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Kimberly Raye lives deep in the heart of Texas with her very own cowboy, Curt, and her young children. She's an incurable romantic who loves Sugar Babies, Toby Keith, and dancing to Barney videos with her toddler. You can reach Kimberly on-line at www.kimberlyraye.com, or write to her c/o Warner Books, 1271 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

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  Sweet as Sugar, Hot as Spice

  AVAILABLE IN MASS MARKET AUGUST 2005.

  Chapter One

  She was totally screwed.

  The truth struck Eve Farrel as she stood beneath the blazing spotlights near center stage and listened to her youngest sister vow to “love, honor and cherish…”

  This revelation had nothing to do with the fact that she was wearing a tea-length yellow tulle dress and matching satin pumps in front of both a live television audience and several million dedicated Get Sexed Up! home viewers; and everything to do with her mother, the show's host and, like Eve, an unwilling witness to the enslavement ceremony being broadcast in the name of ratings. Jacqueline Farrel sat in the front row and stared at Eve as if she were the last pair of Anne Klein slingbacks at a Macy's half-off sale.

  Make that a very bright, peppy, vibrant, yellow pair of slingbacks.

  Okay, so maybe the get-up had just a little to do with the sick feeling in the pit of Eve's stomach. She didn't do bright or peppy or vibrant. Rather, she lived in black, from her thigh-high patent leather boots and her favorite Elvira dress, to the usual thick layer of eyeliner rimming her eyes and the nail polish dulling her fingertips. Black reflected her artsy personality, and her unconventional attitude.

  Even more, her mother hated black.

  Which was why it had become Eve's signature color at the age of fourteen, when she'd dyed her platinum hair Clairol's Raven No. 102 just an hour before the family's annual Christmas picture. Jacqueline had turned the same shade of red caused by her severe allergic reaction to shellfish. Then she'd rushed off in a huff to rethink her decision to have children in the first place. And to contemplate lawsuits against the hospital that
obviously had switched her second daughter at birth. And to plot revenge against her life partner and the man obviously responsible—Jacqueline didn't have any loose screws on her side of the family—for their oddball daughter.

  Thoughts aside, controlling Jacqueline had been so dismayed she'd run the other way and given her daughter some much-needed space.

  Needless to say, Eve had been shocking her mother ever since.

  Up until last year, that is, when her oldest sister, Skye, had one-upped Eve by doing the unthinkable—she'd waltzed down the aisle with the hottest driver to ever do a Pep Boys commercial. Now her youngest sister, Xandra, was smiling and letting her significant other slide a platinum wedding band onto her ring finger on live television.

  Xandra had planned to hold the ceremony at a hotel in Houston, but then the producers of Get Sexed Up! had approached her with an offer she couldn't refuse. The “Smart Dating” segment they had recently aired, which featured Jacqueline giving dating advice to single women, had been so successful that several of the participants had not only nabbed a man, but were on their way to the altar. The producers had asked Xandra and her fiancé, Beau, to take part in the show's Valentine's Day special—a reality multi-wedding, complete with an in-studio ceremony and a complimentary reception at the posh Beverly Hills Hotel. Xandra had agreed because it would guarantee her mother's presence on the most important day in her life.

  Jacqueline Farrel was the show's host, after all. Contractually, she had to attend, even if it went against her entire philosophy—namely that marriage was the worst evil, second only to terminal illness. Lasting relationships weren't built on a flimsy piece of paper but a solid foundation of shared interests, mutual respect and great sex—the infamous Holy Commitment Trinity for which she'd become famous. Obviously, however, she'd failed to enlighten two of her three offspring.

  But all was not lost. She had one single daughter left to save the Farrel name and serve as a shining example to Womanists everywhere. She had Eve.