by Naomi Chase
Her grandmother set down her needlework, then reached over and gently patted Tamia’s hand. “Don’t fret so,” she soothed. “Brandon loves you, chile.”
“Maybe, but that could change,”Tamia mumbled miserably. “There’s only but so much deception he can take.”
“Yes, but you should never underestimate the power of a man’s love.”
Tamia held her grandmother’s gaze for a few moments, then sighed. “I hope you’re right, Mama. Because I’ve never loved any man the way I love Brandon. I’d be lost without him.”
“Umm-hmm.”
Tamia kissed her grandmother’s hand and held it against her cheek, savoring the familiar warmth and softness of the old woman’s skin. “I wish you could have met him, Mama,” she said with a tender smile. “I think you would have loved him. He’s a good man.”
“I know he is,” Esther concurred.
“How do you know?”
“You wouldn’t love him if he weren’t. You may have given your body to that rascal Dominic, but you knew better than to give him your heart.” Mama Esther smiled sadly. “If only your mama had guarded her heart better.”
Tamia was silent, thinking of her late father, who’d abandoned her and her mother when Tamia was a little girl. Over the years, she’d often reflected on how different her life would have turned out if Emmett Luke had been remotely interested in being a husband and father. If he’d stayed in the picture, her mother wouldn’t have met Sonny Powell, the sadistic monster who’d wreaked havoc on their lives. If Lorraine had never met Sonny, Fiona wouldn’t have been born.
And maybe that wouldn’t have been such a bad thing.
Pushing aside the dark thought,Tamia watched as her grandmother’s deft fingers wove blue yarn between her needles.
“What are you knitting, Mama?” she asked curiously.
Mama Esther paused, lips pursed thoughtfully as she eyed her unfinished handiwork. “I’m not sure.”
Tamia laughed. “What do you mean? You don’t know what you’re making?”
“I think it’s a baby’s blanket.”
“Really?”Tamia grew still. “For who?”
Her grandmother frowned, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
The two women fell silent, pondering the possibilities.
After another minute, Mama Esther prodded gently, “So what are you going to do about your sister?”
Tamia exhaled a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t know, Mama. Part of me knows that turning her over to the authorities would be the right thing to do. But another part of me is afraid of what will happen to her if the truth comes out. What if she’s sent to prison for the rest of her life? Or what if she gets the death penalty?” Chilled by the thought,Tamia rubbed her hands up and down her arms to banish the goose bumps that had risen.
“I’m so torn, Mama Esther. I don’t know what to do.” She eyed her grandmother imploringly. “I was hoping you’d give me some guidance.”
Mama Esther shook her head regretfully. “I’m afraid I can’t, Tamia. You have to bear this cross, because you’re the one who’ll have to live with the consequences of whatever decision you make. But until you decide what to do, baby, you’re gonna remain in prison.”
Tamia frowned. “What do you mean, Mama? I’m not in prison anymore. I was acquitted over a week ago.”
Mama Esther arched a dubious brow. “Then why are you still dressed like that?”
Tamia glanced down at herself, startled to discover that she wore the drab prison uniform she’d hoped to never see again.
“That’s strange,” she whispered. “I wonder why—”
But when she looked up again, her grandmother was gone.
Tamia’s eyes snapped open, sweeping desperately around her sun-drenched bedroom.
“Mama Esther?” she called out hopefully.
It took her several dazed seconds to realize that the entire conversation had only been a dream—a dream that left her feeling bereft and lonely for her grandmother.
Rolling onto her back, Tamia flung an arm over her forehead and blew out a long, deep breath.
Suddenly her cell phone rang.
She hesitated for a moment, then reached across the nightstand and picked it up, grimacing when she saw Shanell’s number on the caller ID. She considered letting the call go to voice mail, but she knew her best friend would only phone right back.
Heaving a resigned sigh, Tamia pressed the talk button. “Hey, girl.”
“Hey, yourself,” Shanell said suspiciously.“Why do you sound like you just woke up?”
“Um, because I did.”
“What? It’s after nine o’clock! Have you forgotten that Mark and I are supposed to be picking you up for the ten a.m. service?”
“No.” Tamia hesitated. “Listen, girl, I’m not going to church this morning.”
“Why not?”
Tamia wished she could tell Shanell the truth—that the pastor she revered was a lying, cheating, hypocritical scumbag who paid women for sex. But she’d promised to keep Honey’s secret, and a promise was a promise.
So she settled for saying, “I’m just not feeling Bishop Yarbrough’s ministry.”
“So that’s it? After attending one service, you’re done?”
“Afraid so. But you and Mark enjoy yourselves, and I’ll holla at you later.”
Before Shanell could utter another word of protest, Tamia ended the call.
“Good morning.”
Tamia looked across the room to find Honey standing in the open doorway with a spatula in her hand. Her hair was wrapped in a colorful satin scarf, and she wore a pink, two-piece pajama shorts set and fuzzy bedroom slippers.
“Hey, baby girl.” As Tamia sat up in bed, she gave Honey a teasing look. “I hope you weren’t planning to sneak in here and bludgeon me to death with that spatula.”
Honey laughed, shaking her head. “I was just about to start breakfast.”
Tamia raised a brow. “Can you cook?”
“Are you kidding? Girl, I can burn in the kitchen! My grandma taught me everything she knows.”
“In that case,” Tamia drawled, “maybe you’ll earn your keep after all.”
Honey eyed her hopefully. “Does that mean I can stay a while longer?”
“I didn’t say all that.” At Honey’s deflated look, Tamia grumbled, “We’ll see. Now go on and get breakfast started. I’m starving.”
Honey grinned broadly. “Yes, ma’am. Coming right up!”
As the girl headed back to the kitchen, Tamia’s thoughts turned to the dramatic events of last night. After Brandon left, two police officers had arrived to take Tamia’s statement, which they would use to file charges against Dominic. As Tamia answered the officers’ questions and allowed them to photograph her bruised throat for evidence, she’d felt as if she were having an out-of-body experience. Several hours later, she still couldn’t believe that Dominic had shown up at her apartment in flagrant disregard of the restraining order. And then he’d had the nerve to choke and threaten her, proving that he was even crazier than she remembered.
Although she’d thoroughly enjoyed watching him get manhandled by Brandon, she knew there would be repercussions down the line. Dominic was a conniving, treacherous motherfucker who wouldn’t rest until he’d taken Tamia and Brandon down with him.
Frowning at the thought, Tamia picked up her cell phone and called downstairs to the front desk. After identifying herself, she said crisply, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to call tenants when they have visitors?”
“Yes, Miss Luke,” the attendant confirmed meekly. “I apologize for what happened last night. Mr. Chambers has already spoken to my manager and expressed his, ah, displeasure. As I explained to both of them, Mr. Archer told me he was here to see another tenant on the same floor—”
“Who?” Tamia demanded.
“I’m not at liberty to say,” the man mumbled apologetically. “But the tenant confirmed that she was expecting Mr. Arch
er, so I had no choice but to let him get on the elevator. If I’d known about the restraining order, I would have personally escorted him to the apartment he was visiting. Rest assured that your safety is very important to us, Miss Luke. You have my word that nothing like this will ever happen again.”
“I hope not,” Tamia said tartly.“I’ve only been living here a week, and the three visitors I’ve had were allowed upstairs without my clearance.”
“If you’re referring to Mr. Chambers, I did try to reach you last night when he arrived, but you didn’t answer your phone.”
Because a lunatic was holding me hostage, Tamia thought darkly.
“Since his name is on the lease,” the attendant continued, “I figured you wouldn’t mind if I let him up.”
“Wait a minute.” Tamia had gone still. “Whose name is on the lease?”
“Mr. Chambers. Your apartment’s in his name.”
Tamia was stunned. “It is?”
“Yes. Didn’t you—” The attendant broke off as someone spoke to him in the background. After muttering a curse, he came back on the line sounding dismayed and apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Miss Luke. You weren’t supposed to know that. Christ, I’m such an idiot.”
A huge, elated grin had swept across Tamia’s face. She couldn’t believe it. Brandon had set her up in the luxury apartment. Not one of Lou’s clients. Brandon!
On the other end of the phone, the distressed man was muttering anxiously, “I am so gonna lose my job over this.”
“No, you’re not,” Tamia assured him. “I won’t say anything to Mr. Chambers.”
“You won’t?”
“Nope. He obviously didn’t want me to know, so we’ll keep it that way.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Believe me,” Tamia said wryly, “I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
The man breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Miss Luke. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“I will.”
After ending the call, Tamia sank back against her pillows with a dreamy smile on her lips. Brandon had provided a home for her. Despite the way she’d hurt and betrayed him, he’d still cared enough to ensure that she had someplace to live. And not just any place. One of the nicest, most expensive residences in Houston.
Mama Esther’s imaginary words whispered through Tamia’s mind.
Never underestimate the power of a man’s love.
Chapter 24
Brandon
The sharp click-clack of high heels against Italian marble announced Brooke Chambers’s arrival before she reached the open doorway of the den, where Brandon and Beau squared off across an antique chessboard. The two brothers had struck identical poses, an index finger to their temples, broad shoulders hunched over the board.
“Oh, good, you’re both here,” Brooke said briskly. “Now we can get—”
Brandon and Beau held up a finger, cutting her off midsentence.
Huffing an exasperated breath, she marched over to the table to see which player was winning.
“Your move,” Brandon prompted his brother.
“I know.” Beau’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the board, mentally strategizing how to avoid getting checkmated.
Grinning smugly, Brandon leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head, and stretched out his long legs. “Any day now.”
Beau shot him a dark glance.
Another minute passed as he silently debated his next move.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Brooke muttered impatiently.
“Hey!” her brothers protested as she rearranged pieces on the board, sealing Beau’s fate by capturing his king with Brandon’s knight.
As Brandon began laughing, Beau glared at their sister. “What the hell’d you do that for? The game wasn’t over!”
“Oh, please!” Brooke scoffed. “Brandon clearly had you in check. I don’t have time for you to sit there prolonging the inevitable. I have a meeting to conduct.”
Fresh out of church, Brooke wore a cream two-piece skirt suit that hugged her voluptuous figure and complemented her gorgeous mahogany complexion. Her makeup was flawless, and her shoulder-length black hair was perfectly flat-ironed, not a strand out of place.
Like her older brothers, she’d earned a law degree from UT. But after spending one year at a large law firm, she’d realized that she was better suited for planning social events than litigating cases. So she quit her job and became a consultant to Houston’s movers and shakers, quickly establishing herself as a socialite, fund-raiser, and corporate power broker whose services were sought by everyone who was anyone.
It was only natural that Brandon, Beau, and Dre had turned to her to coordinate the agency’s scholarship fund-raiser gala to benefit inner-city youth athletes. As expected, Brooke had tackled the project with her usual zeal and multitasking prowess. She’d chosen the perfect venue and caterer, scheduled guest speakers, created and distributed publicity materials, mailed out invitations, and secured an arsenal of VIP donors. And now, with the event just a month away, she’d called a meeting that afternoon to hammer out last-minute details.
Beau sauntered over to the polished bar tucked into a corner of the expensively furnished den, one of many such rooms that composed the sprawling Mediterranean-style estate the three siblings had been raised in.
“Anyone want a drink?” Beau offered.
“Nah, I’m good,” Brandon declined.
“I’ll have my usual.” Brooke shot a glance at her Cartier wristwatch and scowled. “And where is Dre? He told me he’d have no problem attending the meeting since the Texans have a bye this week.”
Brandon chuckled, rising from the chess table to claim the oversized armchair before Beau beat him to it. “Since he has the day off, he probably decided to sleep in late.”
Brooke was already whipping out her BlackBerry and speed-dialing Dre’s number.
“Deondre Kendrick Portis,” she enunciated in the cool, no-nonsense tone she reserved for unscrupulous vendors who attempted to overcharge her clients, “where the hell are you?” She paused, one foot tapping impatiently as she listened to his response. “If you’re not here in thirty minutes, I will personally drive over there and drag your ass out of—What? You’re on your way? That’s what I thought.”
As she snapped her phone shut, Brandon glanced over and caught the quick curl of a feminine smile that had his eyes narrowing.
Briskly clearing her throat, Brooke stepped out of her Prada pumps and lowered herself onto the antique sofa with her long legs folded beneath her. “I don’t want to have to repeat things, so we’ll wait until Dre gets here.”
“That’s cool,” Brandon drawled, using the remote control to turn on the giant plasma television, “but if Mom and Dad get here before Dre, we’re eating lunch first. I’m starving.”
“Me too.” Beau walked over and handed his sister a glass, then sprawled on the sofa beside her with his Hennessy and Coke.
After sampling her martini, Brooke divided a reproachful glance between her brothers. “I know I missed church last week because I was out of town, but why weren’t either of you there today? Didn’t we promise Dad that we’d attend service every Sunday until the election?”
“I never promised anything,” Beau countered defensively. “I’m a sports agent, so Sundays are reserved for attending my clients’ games. The only reason I’m not in Florida right now is that I got back from New York late yesterday, so I needed to catch my breath.”
Brooke snorted. “Give me a damn break. We all know you spent the night screwing your latest jump-off, and that’s why you couldn’t get up for church this morning.”
Beau grinned unabashedly. “What can I say? The woman has skills.”
Brooke smirked. “You’d better hope that’s all she has.”
Beau laughed. “Don’t be jealous just ’cause you ain’t getting any.”
“Oh, please. I’m not jeal
ous of you and your sexcapades. Unlike those gold-digging hoochies you mess around with, I have too much pride and self-respect to open my legs for every asshole who buys me a drink. Besides,” she added with cool hauteur, “I’m Brooke Chambers. So you know damn well I can have any guy I want.”
“All except one,” Beau taunted, smirking into his glass before downing his drink.
Brooke blushed, darting a nervous glance toward Brandon.
He raised a brow at her. “Is there something you wanna tell me?”
“Not at all.” She tucked her hair behind one ear, a telltale sign that she was lying. But before Brandon could probe further, she turned the tables on him. “So what’s your excuse for missing church today?”
He eyed her suspiciously another moment, then turned his attention to the football game between division rivals Dallas Cowboys and New York Giants. “Not that I owe you an explanation—”
“I’m just asking,” Brooke protested.
Brandon shrugged dismissively. “I just didn’t feel like going today. It’s been a long week.”
“Well, your absence caused quite a stir. Cynthia and her parents cornered me after service to ask me where you were. Apparently they were suspicious because you and Tamia were AWOL today.”
“Tamia?” Beau repeated quizzically. “Has she started going to Redeemed Life?”
“She visited last Sunday—her first Sunday outta the joint.” Brooke sounded wickedly amused. “I can’t believe I missed all the drama.”
“Damn. So did I.” Beau stared at Brandon. “What’s going on, man? You hooking up with Tamia again?”
Brooke snorted. “He’d better not, unless he wants to be disinherited and disowned. I saw Mom and Dad talking to the Yarbroughs after church, and they didn’t look too happy.”
Beau grimaced, shaking his head at Brandon. “Are you sure you wanna be here when they get home?”
Brandon was beginning to wonder. He wasn’t in the mood to hear another lecture about Tamia, especially after he’d spent a restless night battling the urge to drive back to her apartment to finish what he’d started earlier. One taste of her sweet pussy was all he’d needed to remember why he was still addicted to her.
