

Copyright © 2013, 2015, 2016, 2017

J.L. Campbell

Published by The Writers' Suite

All rights reserved. Although this sampler is made up of excerpts, no portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the publisher, except for brief quotations used in reviews or articles

This is a work of fiction. References to events, characters, organizations and places are fictional and the product of the author's imagination. Any similarity to actual events and people living or dead is coincidental.

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Thank you for respecting the author's work

Dear Reader,

Thank you for downloading this Holiday Sampler, which will give you a taste of my writing. Most of these stories are sweet romance, so don't expect a lot of heat.

I hope you enjoy the samples of The Vet's Christmas Pet, Sold! Perfection, and Dissolution, which are set around the Christmas holidays.

I've included Anya's Wish, a complete novella. Then, there's also a little of Chasing Anya.

All samples carry approximately four chapters.

Have fun and enjoy the holidays!

J.L. Campbell

The Vet's Christmas Pet

by

J.L. Campbell

Copyright © 2015 by J.L. Campbell

The Vet's Christmas Pet

The last thing Toni wants for Christmas is more responsibility, but her daughter has other ideas. A near accident not only brings them a dog in need of a home, but puts Toni back in contact with Matthias Laing, a hot-shot footballer from her past, who she'd prefer to stay there.

Matthias can't believe his luck when a lost pooch puts his high-school crush back on his radar. Given an opportunity to grant a wish for Toni's daughter, he can't resist going into Santa mode. Christmas is about to be the merriest one in ages, until Toni discovers the deception surrounding Ridley, her daughter's new pet.

# Chapter 1

Tuesday, December 1, 5:30 p.m.

I watched Matthias' hands, fascinated by his gentle handling of the dog's paw. Then his words pierced the cloud surrounding my brain. "His leg is bruised, but not broken."

"But, it's not my—"

"When you get home, apply some ice to the area for twenty minutes." He smiled, showing an even row of teeth I remembered well. His gesture also reminded me of the small space we'd been crammed into for the last ten minutes. He rubbed the dog's forehead, bringing my attention back to the size of his hands.

"I hope this little guy is smart enough to stay off that leg," he said, "but if not, ensure he doesn't run or jump on it."

"He's not—"

"Talk to Melanie about the bill," Matthias said, handing me the dog, which I wasn't too enthusiastic about touching, since I didn't know where he'd been. At least he seemed clean and didn't smell.

"It's great seeing you again," Matthias added, oblivious to the panic he'd unleashed in my brain.

Bill? I could only hope his fee wouldn't amount to more than I could afford. Doctor's fees on the island were out of the reach of some people and vet bills were even more expensive.

I wasn't even sure I'd hit the damn dog, but Jade insisted that we bring the puppy in because she thought I'd run over it. We should have been home by now, but here we were having a stray dog examined by the last man I expected to meet again in life.

"Can I hold him, Mommy?" Jade said, shifting from one foot to the other.

I looked at Matthias, to be sure it would be okay. When he nodded, I answered Jade. "Sure."

I put the dog in her arms, sighing. What was I going to do with a dog when I could barely take care of the two of us?

I sighed again and that's when Matthias frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"I was trying to tell you this isn't my dog."

His forehead crinkled and one of his eyebrows arched into a questioning expression. "Really? Then how did you end up with him?"

"We were coming down from Jade's school and the dog ran across the road. Jade thought I hit him." I shrugged. "That's why we're here."

Matthias peeled off the gloves he'd been wearing and then scratched the back of his head. The motion of his arm parted his coat and revealed a pale-green shirt and a tie several shades deeper. Spiffy dressing for a dog-doctor, I thought. When our eyes met, he smiled as if he'd guessed what I was thinking.

He scratched his scalp again and frowned. "So, would you like me to keep him overnight while you try and find the owner?"

My eyes widened and I knew I was looking at him as if he'd suggested something illegal. I had no intention of searching for the dog's owner or getting involved with an animal I didn't own, but that left the question of what to do with him.

As if the dog understood what was happening, he tipped his dark head to one side and put on a sad expression, which didn't fool me. He was probably an impostor, because if I was right about his breed, there was some Pit Bull in there somewhere and I'd heard horror stories on the news about them ravaging children. I shook my head, wondering under what unlucky star I'd been born.

Jade clutched the puppy to her chest and whined, interrupting my pity party. "Why can't we keep him, Mommy?"

"Because he's not our dog and his family is missing him."

"No, they're not."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, if they cared about him, he wouldn't be on the street."

"He probably got out by accident."

"See?"

"What?"

"If you care about your dog, you don't leave the gate open so he can escape."

Matthias folded both arms across his chest and leaned against the doorway of the examination room as if settling in for the evening's entertainment.

I flung him a glare, but that only expanded his smile.

"This isn't funny," I said through my teeth.

I threw him another desperate glance or two before he cleared his throat and dialed down his smile. "Tell you what, Jade. Maybe I can try and help your Mommy find his owners."

Ever the realist, Jade frowned. "How are you going to do that?"

Speaking as if he was conversing with an adult, Matthias said, "Well, we can put a community service announcement on the radio and see if anybody comes forward."

Jade considered that for a minute before her brows cleared. "Okay, but won't Ridley be lonely here tonight?"

"Ridley?" I held on to Jade's shoulder to get her to look at me. "Hon, you can't name the dog. He doesn't belong to us."

She squeezed her lips together and put on her stubborn face, which always reminded me of her father. "Every dog needs a name."

"And his family knows what it is."

Jade looked at Matthias as if to invite him to back up her argument. After meeting my gaze for long seconds, Matthias dipped his head.

"What your Mom says is true, but anyway... " Here, Matthias slipped me a glance. "Ridley won't be lonely tonight because we have a few other patients that are staying over."

Jade's eyes went wide. "You mean this is a dog hospital too?"

"Not exactly, but... would you like to look around?"

"Yeah!" Jade shot a fist into the air and came close to dropping the dog, who scrabbled at her uniform with his paws.

A sigh worked its way up from my belly and I glared at Matthias. "We do have to be on our way home."

"I'm sure your husband will understand if you're running a bit late."

Jade now stood between Matthias and me. "She doesn't have one anymore," she said.

Matthias' curiosity was clear when our eyes met, but he was speaking to Jade when he asked, "What doesn't she have anymore?"

"A husband. Mommy said she and Daddy were no longer compati—"

"Never mind that," I said, prodding her toward the doorway.

Amusement brightened Matthias' eyes and curved his lips. It was clear he saw through my evasive action. "Tell you what," he said, "I'll talk to Melanie about the bill and you can wait while I give Jade the tour."

Great, now I'd be wasting more time in Matthias' space when I needed to get home to the one hundred and one things that filled my evenings.

Jade walked ahead of us with the dog still pressed to her clothes, which would be crawling with dog hairs. Good thing she wasn't allergic, but I'd be the one who had to de-hair her clothes before getting them into the washing machine.

In the waiting room, I sat and pulled out my smartphone while Matthias spoke with the woman at the desk. I stopped listening after he pointed to me and said, "Mrs. Barnett's dog... "

As if I hadn't told him I didn't own the stumpy thing, with the brownish-black coat, that had captivated Jade.

Despite trying to focus on my own business, I couldn't help looking up when Matthias left the office with Jade. A little over eighteen years had passed since I last had contact with him, so seeing him earlier had been a shock.

Our conversation had been stilted at first, and Jade's eyes were like shiny marbles as she looked back and forth at us. I could only hope she'd forgotten about that by now, otherwise she'd ask a ton of questions and I wasn't prepared to say much, if anything, about my history with Matthias.

# Chapter 2

Wednesday, December 2, 5:15 p.m.

Toni stood in the doorway, holding on as if unsure she was welcome. My smile was involuntary and I got to my feet and moved around the desk.

"Where's Jade?"

"She's gone to check on Rid—" Toni bit down on her lip to hide her smile, but wasn't successful.

"Caught you," I said, touching her arm.

She stepped out of my reach and slid a glance at the door. "Can I talk to you before Jade comes back?"

"Sure." I pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk and sat in the seat next to her.

She dropped her handbag in her lap and let out a sigh. Her movement stirred the air and teased my nostrils with something earthy that smelled familiar. I squinted for a bit, trying to identify what she was wearing, but abandoned my effort when she spoke. "I can't keep the dog."

I studied her then. "I got Melanie to call in the information about Rid—the dog, but no luck yet."

Toni pushed a hand through her hair, an unruly cloud of honey-brown coils that surrounded her face and gave her an exotic look.

I dragged my gaze away from her plump lips, enhanced by burgundy lipstick, and picked up where my brain cells had stopped working.

"I wouldn't expect you to take care of him permanently. He's well cared for so there's a good chance the owners will turn up at some point. Until then, you can—"

"You don't understand," she said, laying her hand on my arm.

I shifted to face her fully, and she released my arm and gripped her handbag. "We can't afford a dog. Whatever kind of dog that is, demands more care than I can give. There's no way—"

"Mommy, Ridley was so happy to see me!" Jade said, at the top of her voice. She ran into the office and stood next to her mother, her eyes gleaming. "Can we take him home now?"

Toni shot me a desperate look that made me want to reassure her everything would be okay, but I also didn't want to disappoint her child.

"Jade," I said, "Remember I told you I was going to put something on the radio to try and find Ridley's owner?"

She nodded, but her smile faded a little. "Did anybody come?"

"They might not have heard the announcement yet. We have to be patient."

She slid a look at her mother before facing me. "Can Ridley come home with us meantime?"

"No, hon, you know we don't have room for a dog."

"Yes, we do," Jade said, turning to eyeball Toni. "He can sleep on the back verandah."

"And what are we going to feed him?" Toni asked, passing a hand through the hair at the back of her neck.

"The same thing we eat."

She pulled Jade to her side. "Hon, we can't just take somebody's dog."

"But you almost killed it."

The expression on Toni's face was priceless. Her eyes popped wide and her mouth fell open.

I banished my smile when her gaze found mine.

Toni sighed and rolled her eyes. "The dog ran in front of the car."

"Good thing we stopped because he needed a new home and we have space."

"Hon, I already told you—"

"Mommy, we can't just leave Ridley here." Jade spun to confront me, hands on her hips. "Since this is a dog hospital, you need the space, right Dr.... "

"Laing."

Toni rubbed her forehead and closed her eyes as if arguing exhausted her.

"Maybe there's a way I can help."

Toni's eyes opened and she looked at me as if I had the answer to all of life's problems. At best, what I could provide was a stop gap. "I can let you have a bag of dog chow, which should last until we find Ridley's owner."

My solution didn't seem to impress Toni, who stared at me as if what I said didn't make sense.

Jade threw her fists in the air. "Yeah!"

"Not so fast," Toni said. "Could you keep the dog one more night just in case the owner turns up early tomorrow?"

Jade's mouth drooped and she frowned at Toni. "But, Mommy—"

Toni stopped Jade's words with one tilt of the eyebrow.

"Sure," I said, "it won't be a problem."

I hadn't had much of a chance to say anything to Toni, but I had plenty on my mind. We hadn't seen each other in more years than I cared to remember and I was beyond curious about her marriage, among other things. Her comment about being unable to take care of the dog hinted that she was stretched financially, but by looking at her, I couldn't tell.

Her clothes were tailored and even though I didn't study that kind of thing, I knew enough—from the women I went out with—to recognize quality leather when I saw it. Her shoes and handbag came from matching leather and her work suit was cut from high-quality linen.

Our eyes met then and I hoped she wouldn't figure out what I was thinking, but the worry in her gaze distracted me and I brought my attention back to our immediate problem.

"Let me keep Ridley tonight," I said, raising a hand to stop Jade's protest. "Just to make sure his leg is going to be okay."

Jade looked at Toni and then back at me as if she suspected we were in cahoots. "Okay, just for tonight."

Toni shook her head and closed her eyes while I struggled not to smile. "Jade, can I talk to your mom alone for a minute?"

"Sure, I'll go check on Ridley again and tell him bye-bye." She gave her mother what I considered a warning look before leaving the office and closing the door.

Toni rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. "I don't want her to get attached to that dog and I definitely don't want to be responsible for any animal."

"If we don't hear from the owners, we'll probably have to send it to the JSPCA to see if they can find a home for it." I waited another few seconds before continuing, "Will it be that much of a bad thing for you to keep Ridley if we don't find the owner? I mean, Jade seems to have a love affair going on already."

She shook her head. "We just can't. What am I gonna do with Rid—the dog when I'm off at work?"

"You could—"

Holding up one hand, she said, "Don't even go there. I just can't."

I didn't say anything more, but I sensed Jade wouldn't be a pushover and all I'd been trying to tell Toni was that I could arrange for a friend of mine with a dog-sitting business to keep the dog until she settled into a regular schedule.

I got up and went to the other side of the desk where I called Melanie and told her we'd be keeping the dog another night. When I hung up the phone, Toni took her eyes off me.

Good. I hoped she hadn't had her fill, because I was a long way from being satisfied with looking at her. Toni had matured into the striking woman I knew she'd become.

In my final year of high school, she'd caught my eye, but we never got anywhere. She was a year behind me, quiet and studious, and I was part of the school's football team. The popularity that came with being part of the squad meant I had the attention of more girls than I could handle and somehow after one botched date with Toni, I'd never been able to get her to go out with me again.

Seeing her yesterday had been like a walk down memory lane, but in vibrant colors.

Now that she'd popped back on my radar, I'd do anything to keep her from disappearing again—even to the extent of making sure the dog became a fixture in her life.

# Chapter 3

Wednesday, December 3, 5:00 p.m.

Jade tugged my hand and shifted her feet, impatient to see Ridley. Her shuffling only made me grip her arm tighter while I spoke with Matthias' receptionist.

Melanie smiled at Jade and then nodded, giving her permission to cut through the doorway, to one side of the room that led to the area where they kept their four-legged patients.

When I turned my attention back to Melanie, she returned my smile. "Is Matt—Dr. Laing in office?"

She shook her head.

I didn't understand the disappointment that coiled in my stomach, but I kept my ears tuned to her words. "He should be back within five to ten minutes though."

My heart made a weird twisting motion and since I didn't have a choice about waiting, I told her thanks and went to sit on one of the chairs lining the alcove across from the reception desk. I nodded at an older couple, with an ancient Shih Tzu, who sat across from me. They said good evening, while their dog growled.

Just the sort of disturbance I needed after a long day at the office.

I got out my Kindle and told myself I'd catch up on my reading while I waited. Although I didn't want to admit it, I was fooling myself thinking I could concentrate on any story. A host of issues crowded my mind and demanded answers that I didn't have this minute.

Could I persuade Matthias to keep the dog?

How would Jade take the coming separation?

And then there were the ever-present financial challenges. When Dane and I split up, he'd made it clear I could have the house we'd acquired together, but he also told me I'd have to continue paying the mortgage alone. At first, we had a heated argument about it, because as I pointed out, I'd be raising his daughter in that house, but he was just as insistent he'd be buying his own place eventually and couldn't take on that part of our living expenses.

The fact that I was in a decent job as an office manager worked against me. The laws in Jamaica weren't overly-generous to women and I couldn't force him to pay for our living space when I was making what many would consider a good salary. Since I loved the house and didn't want Jade uprooted, I'd had to sacrifice many of the things I enjoyed, but the stability was worth the setback.

The financial losses we'd suffered from a bad investment sat like a boulder between my shoulders and five years later, I was still feeling the effects. My decision to invest our money, under advice from a financial consultant, and the resulting loss had ruined my marriage to Dane. Well, what was left of it anyway.

Raising Jade on my own wasn't easy, but the rewards made each day worth living. She was bright and well-adjusted and that was more than enough reward for me.

The chimes on the front door let me know someone had entered the office and somehow, before I raised my head, I knew Matthias had walked into the building.

He didn't see me immediately and after greeting Melanie, he took the handful of messages she passed to him. When Melanie pointed toward the corner where I sat, Matthias shifted sideways and his gaze rested on me.

My breath stopped for a second and I did nothing about returning his greeting. Then I gulped some air and returned his smile. "Hey."

"Good to see you," he said, waving me toward him.

My eyes went to the couple and I got up, relieved I wouldn't have to wait, but still.

"It's okay," Matthias said when I stood next to him. "They're seeing Brad, my partner."

That eased my discomfort and I followed Matthias to his office.

"Where's Jade?" he said, dropping the bag he'd been carrying.

"I'll give you one guess."

He laughed, zapping the air from my lungs again. He'd always been attractive, but with a bit of age on him, Matthias' charisma was magnified by a thousand percent. His neat, but thick eyebrows and brilliant smile in a dark-chocolate face set my heart racing.

"So did you hear from the dog's owner?"

"You could at least let me sit down properly."

"Sorry, I just want to get all this sorted out quickly."

"If the owner doesn't come forward, we could keep Ridley for you during the days for maybe a week or so, until he's settled in."

"Why would you do that?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Jade likes the dog and if you're keeping him—"

"I don't want to keep him."

After he stared at me for a bit, I relented. "What's gonna happen to him if we don't take him?"  
Matthias rested both elbows on the chair arms and covered his lips. "I do some work for the JSPCA, so I could ask them to take him."

"What happens if they don't find a home for him?"

He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes said it all.

"What would prevent you—apart from the financial and housing concerns—from taking him?" Matthias said.

I let my gaze shift to the open door before I made a verbal response. "I'm not shallow or anything, but he's not the best-looking dog I've ever seen and then there's his breed. He looks like a Pit Bull. Haven't there been a couple of incidents in the news where they've attacked children?"

His indulgent smile made me feel silly, but before he could respond, Jade ran into the room, talking so fast her words ran together. "Ridley is just a puppy, he wouldn't hurt anybody."

"That's true, Jade." Matthias addressed me, placing his hands on the desk. "Contrary to the stuff you hear on the news, the breed is fairly easygoing. It's the owners who turn them into monsters."

My doubt must have been obvious because he continued. "When he's old enough, you can send him to obedience school and... "

I stopped listening because clearly, Matthias hadn't heard me say we couldn't afford a dog, much less obedience lessons. I perked up when Jade grabbed my wrist.

"Mommy, please. Doctor Matthias said he'll help. Please, can we keep Ridley?"

The look I gave Matthias was far from pleasant, but I got the feeling he was amused, rather than resentful of my attitude. I pushed my fingers through my hair, wondering how the heck we were going to manage this dog issue.

"Here's an idea," Matthias said, "if you give me your address, when I'm done for the evening I'll come and check on Ridley to see how best you can accommodate him."

He had to be kidding, but before I could get a word in, Jade pumped her fists and put both hands on his desk. "Thanks, Doctor."

I opened my mouth to ask Jade to take her hands off the glass, knowing she'd leave a couple of grubby handprints, but I was too late. When I got my mouth open, not only had she left smears on the desk top, she'd also given Matthias our address.

"That won't be necessary, Matt—Doctor."

"It's no trouble," he said, smiling. "It's something I do for my pet parents."

I didn't believe him, not for a minute, but now I had another worry. Did he plan to charge for the visit? Maybe not, since he hadn't given me a bill yet for Ridley. I wasn't sure why Melanie hadn't produced one, but I wasn't going to ask. The Lord knew I had enough worries without going into a session of 'would he' or 'wouldn't he' over what Matthias was likely to do.

"Can we take him now?" Jade asked.

I shook my head, thinking how similar she was to her father at times. As long as her business was sorted out, she wanted to move on to the next thing.

"Let's take a look at him," Matthias said, getting to his feet.

I was standing when he came around the desk and he put a hand to my back to guide me to the door.

His touch disturbed me, not because I experienced any lightning bolt that had to do with sexual tension, but because my body went hot and I feared I'd break into a sweat.

He reached behind the door and shrugged into a white smock.

Relief spread through me because that gave me a chance to put some distance between us.

Jade shot away from us, and I allowed Matthias to walk ahead of me across the foyer despite his protests. With any luck, he'd give us the green light to go and I'd be out of his space, hopefully after convincing him it wasn't necessary for him to visit us this evening. It was bad enough I now had responsibility for a dog I didn't want, but Jade and I didn't need Matthias coming into our home to disrupt our routine.

# Chapter 4

Wednesday, December 3, 7:15 p.m.

When I turned away from the half carton Jade had lined with an old tee-shirt for Ridley, Toni stood behind me.

"You want something to drink?"

"Sure. What d'you have?"

"Coconut water and lemonade."

"I'll have some coconut water, thanks."

Toni must have felt my eyes on her as she left us, and not wanting to be caught staring, I moved closer to where Jade hugged Ridley to her chest. "He'll be okay if you put him down, since he needs to strengthen his leg."

"You're sure it will be okay?"

I squeezed her shoulder. "Of course, I'm sure. It's my job to know."

She put him down on the makeshift bed and then looked at me over her shoulder. "You think he wants something to eat?"

I kept my serious face on because Jade was earnest. "Remember I told you we fed him just before you came to pick him up?"

With one hand she beckoned to me, peering around me at the same time.

I stooped to her level and tipped my head toward her.

Whispering way too loud, she asked, "D'you think his real owner will come and get him?"

"I don't know yet. Let's give it a few more days, okay?"

She nodded, her puff of hair bobbing on top of her head. "I hope they don't bother."

When my eyebrows climbed higher, she smiled. "Ridley will be happy right here."

I didn't doubt it, but I also didn't want to give her false hope. "He may have to go home, so don't get too crazy about him yet, okay?"

"Yeah." She scratched the back of the dog's neck and nodded while he rubbed against her hand.

My words didn't make a lot of sense to me because anybody with a good pair of eyes in their head could see she was in love. To take her mind off Ridley, I pointed to the door. "I notice you have a goldfish. You want to introduce us."

She rolled her eyes. "You know that's not possible."

While I wondered about her maturity for her age, Jade took my hand and we went inside to a corner of the living room where a foot-long tank was set on a metal table.

"That's Phyllis."

I hunched over and looked at the lone fish now facing us with its fins going double time.

"How d'you know it's a girl?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I got a boy and a girl from the pet shop, but Phillip died. Phyllis has that patch on her side."

"She looks lonely."

Jade nodded. "Yeah, but Mommy is too busy to get me another one, so—"

"Here you go," Toni said from somewhere behind me.

I stood straight and she took a step back. Now that she wasn't wearing a work suit and heels, she seemed slimmer but not that much shorter.

"Have a seat," she said, pointing in the direction of a deep-green sofa and the center table, where she'd left a frosty glass and a plastic tumbler.

"Jade, go wash your hands."

The little girl ran out of the room, yelling. "Be back in a minute, Doctor."

Toni pointed the remote at the television and lowered the sound before speaking to me. "So, is Ridley's accommodation okay?"

"Yes, he'll be fine and his leg is gonna be fine. Tomorrow—"

Jade plunked herself down beside me and picked up the orange tumbler. "Mommy promised to leave the light on in the kitchen so he doesn't feel afraid."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that," I said. After a sip of the ice-cold coconut water, I put the glass back on the table. "What time are you bringing him around tomorrow?"

Toni's mouth opened and she frowned. "I don't want to take advantage of the situation, so—"

"It isn't a problem. Ridley will be lonely, so you should ease him into being alone all day rather than throwing it at him all at once." I hoped she'd buy that explanation without seeing through my desperate attempt to stay in touch with her. In my best doctor's voice, I added, "He'll thank you for it and when you pick him up, you can get an update on what we've found out."

I thought she was getting ready to protest, but all she did was rub her forehead before looking at me. "Okay."

Although she tried to hide it, I felt the anxiety coming off her. I wasn't sure why she was so reluctant to let the dog stay, but maybe she was overthinking the financial part of things.

Without making it obvious, I looked around. The cream walls were uncluttered and only a huge metal clock hung on one wall. A what-not across the room housed an array of photos that captured Jade at different stages. The furniture was heavy and of good quality and even I didn't have a television as huge as the one mounted on the wall. When I picked up the glass again, my gaze settled on Toni and I could swear she knew what I'd been doing.

"You've got a great place here."

She nodded in acknowledgement and looked away, but not before I saw something in her eyes that made me curious.

"It's cost me dearly."

The edge of bitterness to her voice reminded me that her marriage was in question. Only the greatest willpower kept me for looking at her hand. Suddenly, I couldn't remember if she wore a ring, but I desperately needed to know in that moment.

The news came on then and I asked her to turn up the sound.

While she did, I examined her hand. A plain gold band, weighed down by diamonds, circled the ring finger of her left hand.

Disappointment settled in my stomach and I forgot about the news while searching my mind. Was she simply separated, or was she divorced and if she was, why was she still wearing her ex-husband's ring? My gaze went back to the ring as if magnetized by it and when I shifted, Toni's eyes met mine.

She curled her fist, and I knew she'd seen me staring at her hand.

I didn't want to make her more uncomfortable than she was, so I looked at my watch and got to my feet.

Toni threw a glance at the television and then at me, clearly puzzled, but she asked no questions.

I wasn't about to clue her in on my reason for leaving now, but I was sure of one thing. She'd gotten away from me years ago because of my stupidity. This time, I wouldn't make it easy for her to disappear from my life.

If you enjoyed this sample from The Vet's Christmas Pet, download a copy on any network of your choice.

Christmas looks dismal this year for Feechi Anoduro, until she meets Carsten Raimes at an auction. The wealthy businessman asks for her help with an event he's planning, but Feechi has reservations, because the last time a man asked for her help, she wound up disillusioned and pregnant.

She has no time to waste on a man who's clearly out of her league, especially when she has immediate problems that need solving—a fifteen-year-old clunker that needs to go on a scrap heap and the dog her son has fallen in love with that they cannot afford to keep.

Carsten enjoys a challenge any day of the week, and when he's introduced to Feechi, he sees a potential addition to his business team. But Feechi has other ideas and is hard to convince. Seducing her with a job offer doesn't work, so Carsten gets personal, but Feechi isn't sold on anything he has to give.

As he alternates between work and play to get her attention, Carsten's attitude changes and suddenly he can't bear to be without this special woman, who makes him want things he never considered important before she came into his world.
Chapter 1

Feechi's hand wavered as she took the platinum credit card from the man who'd been watching her all evening. If she weren't sitting in an alcove inside The Venetian's ballroom with other people close by, she'd have been more nervous.

While she didn't think the stranger would do her any harm, each time his intense stare settled on her, her nerves went into overdrive. She had the urge to check if she had lipstick on her teeth, if her hair was out of place, or whether her white blouse had food stains down the front.

Earlier in the evening, she'd glanced at his auction card as he registered. His writing was bold and masculine, reflecting his character.

She'd thought his name was as unique as the man himself—Carsten Raimes. Now, his scent drifted across the desk—subtle but undeniably potent—surrounding her in a delicious cloud. He smelled like soap, with floral and citrus notes, that made her want to breathe in deeply and let the aroma go to her brain. Instead, she sat up straighter and glanced at the figure on the pre-written invoice.

Six hundred thousand, plus a twenty-five percent buyer's fee. Jamaican dollars—which had less value when converted to U.S. dollars—but still a lot of money in her world. It took everything in her not to look up at him, or scowl for that matter.

Her professionalism took over and she swiped the credit card, tore off the slip from the portable machine and waited while he signed his name.

"Here's your copy," she said, handing it to him. She gestured toward one of the casual workers. "Carl will assist you with moving the carpets."

She handed Carl the yellow copy of the invoice before raising her head to address the man who still hadn't moved.

"Thank you very much." His lips twitched and then settled into a mocking smile, as if he felt her disapproval but didn't care. "You're very efficient."

She let her face imitate a smile she didn't feel. "Thanks. I'm paid to be."

"It's a little more than that, I think." He glanced at the papers in his hand before holding the credit card slip square with the corner of the larger sheet in a silent request for her to staple both together.

While she did that, her employer for the evening walked up to the table. Feechi assisted Marlon Banks whenever he had an auction, which was at least once per month. She'd had her fill of spoiled, rich people, but continued working with Marlon because he paid her well and the auctions never lasted more than four hours.

Marlon and Carsten Raimes shook hands and moved a few feet away while she dealt with the next customer.

It never ceased to disturb her mind that while she struggled to pay her bills, people spent oodles of money on scraps of material destined to be trampled on the floor. She knew a thing or two about the origin and value of the carpets, but still found it a ridiculous waste of money.

While she waited for the older woman in front of her to sign the payment slip, Feechi's attention strayed to her right where the men stood talking.

Carsten Raimes looked straight at her and then back at Marlon, who stood at the same height as he.

She got the feeling he was talking about her and confirmed it when Marlon glanced at her and grinned.

A curl of pleasure spread in her stomach, but she quickly killed the urge to smile. Whatever they were talking about was their business and if it concerned her, one of them would tell her.

She took her copy of the credit card slip from the customer, thanked her and stapled it to the invoice. When the woman walked away, Feechi stifled a yawn, wondering how many other buyers were left to process. She'd run a fair number of credit cards but knew the entire lot of carpets hadn't been sold. As usual, a couple of instances had cropped up where the buyers had told Marlon they'd bring certified checks to his office in the morning.

It was half past eight and Jack would be ready for bed. She sent up a prayer of thanks for her sister, Dee, who had been watching Jack this evening.

He could be a handful and things had been even more hectic in the two weeks since they'd had Max in residence. The Yorkshire Terrier and Shih Tzu mix had taken over their house and stamped its personality in all the wrong places—the beds, cupboards and sofas. And she hadn't yet decided whether they were keeping him.

Jack was sure they were, but Feechi hadn't been able to let him down yet because he wasn't a demanding child and didn't ask for more than she could afford. With Christmas on the horizon, she had to decide quickly what she was going to do with the dog. If Max stayed much longer, Jack would expect him to stay and that hadn't been the plan when she first took him home.

The body blocking her view woke Feechi from her mental absorption. She tipped her head back and put on her business face when Marlon spoke, gesturing to Carsten Raimes, who stood behind him. "Feechi, Carsten would like you to help him with an auction next week."

Her eyebrows rose before she could stop them. "I'm not sure if I'm—"

"Of course you can."

She wanted to glare at Marlon or slap him in his bald head, which was a pipe dream. He was generous and respect was due, but he could give her a chance to get a 'maybe' or a 'no' in edgewise.

Marlon stepped aside and invited Carsten forward. "Carsten Raimes, meet Feechi Anoduro. Feechi, Carsten."

"Nice to meet you," she said, getting to her feet and putting her hand into his. His hand was large and warm, despite the air-conditioning.

"Interesting name for someone with a Jamaican accent."

Rich and mellow, like warm honey. That's what his voice brought to mind.

She smiled in acknowledgment of his comment. "My father's responsible for that."

His eyes narrowed, but before he said another word, she spoke keeping her gaze away from Marlon. "I'm not sure I'll be available to help you at such short notice."

"The auction is next Thursday in this hotel at 5:00 p.m."

"That may be sticky for me," she said, glancing at Marlon and silently urging him to keep his mouth shut.

Carsten released her hand, which she curled into a fist as she sat. She hadn't realized he was still holding on to her.

He slid one hand inside his jacket, and she watched him, hoping he wouldn't ask for her help again. She needed the money, but wasn't sure if she wanted to work for a man she didn't know. Her attention shifted to Marlon, who clapped Carsten on the shoulder and backed away. "See if you can help him out, Feechi. Carsten's the best in the business."

The man in question met her eyes and his lips twisted as if he could guess her thoughts.

"You're wondering how what he just said can be true if you've never heard of me before."

She nodded and took the card he held out to her. Cream linen stock with his name in bold print, along with a telephone number. The card was enigmatic in its simplicity. Just like the man standing before her. Everything about him looked expensive, but was understated, as if he didn't want to call attention to himself.

That made him something of a puzzle. Men like him were all about themselves and usually everybody else had to know it too. He wasn't handsome, but his deep-set eyes, golden-brown skin and well-defined lips made him distinctive.

"I've lived in America for the last ten years and only recently came back home."

Another thing for her to puzzle over. He didn't sound as if he'd lived anywhere but in Jamaica. She landed back in the present when his brow tipped in a questioning way.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Can you meet me here for drinks tomorrow evening and I'll tell you what I do and how I want you to help?"

"I may not be available."

"Our discussion won't take long." His soothing baritone was persuasive and when he paired it with a disarming smile, she caught her breath and swallowed hard.

"Like I said, I'm not sure I can come, but what time are we talking about?"

"Half past five."

She nodded, but still didn't commit.

"D'you drive?"

Her smile was brighter than she wanted it to be, but of course she couldn't share what was so funny.

"Yes, I do."

"Well then, I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"But—"

"We'll talk tomorrow. You're more than competent and I need another pair of hands. We can make it work."

His quiet insistence sucked her breath away. He hadn't been rude, simply firm, but she wasn't used to having decisions made for her.

"Well see," she said, just for the heck of it.

His gaze met hers and after a moment she realized he'd seen through her ruse. She didn't care though. She'd only just met him and wasn't about to let him force her into anything.

Her phone buzzed against her leg, which meant either Dee or Jack was calling.

"Excuse me," she murmured while getting the cellular from her pocket. A glance at the display had her smiling.

She looked up at Carsten. "Is that all?"

He dipped his head once and turned away.

While she watched him, she put the phone to her ear. "Yes, Jack."

"Are you coming home soon?"

"You'll be asleep when I get there."

"Max and I can wait until you come."

She bit her bottom lip, holding in a smile. "You and that dog. Go to bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"But Mommy—"

"I'm serious and if Dee says a word about you giving any trouble, you'll be in hot water with me."

A heavy sigh was his first response, before he gave in. "All right. G'night, Mommy."

"'Night, hon."

She gathered the few unclaimed invoices left on the table, laid them in the file jacket and dropped it in the plastic box she lifted from the seat next to her. When she straightened to her full height, Carsten Raimes stood opposite her. Over the table, he held out a brochure. "If you can't come, please give me a call, but in the meantime, have a look at that to get a better idea of what my business is about."

"Thanks." She glanced at the thick stock before raising her eyes to his.

"See you tomorrow," he said, striding away from the table.

Taking a couple of steps, Feechi poked her head into the room where the auction had been held. Only Carl and Marcus were inside, moving the carpets that hadn't found buyers.

Within twenty minutes, she settled the credit card machine and checked off the invoices against the amounts collected. Everything added up exactly, but she'd drop by Marlon's office for a final tally in the morning.

After getting his attention and handing the box to him, she was ready to leave. They walked down the passage together and as they passed through the swanky lobby, fitted with black and white futuristic furniture and abstract paintings, she spotted Carsten coming out of the coffee shop with a logoed brown bag in one hand. She wondered what was inside, since he didn't seem like the sort who'd have a sweet tooth.

Marlon stopped to speak with Carsten and she continued on her way to the parking lot.

When she sat in her Subaru, she remembered Carsten's question about whether she drove. She drove all right. This fifteen-year-old clunker was her means of getting around. She and Dee often joked it was a miracle the car still ran. It looked fair-to-fine on the outside, but its innards were another matter.

She turned the key in the ignition and waited as it rattled, shimmied and whirred to life. Patting the steering wheel, she murmured, "That's it, Helen. You can do it."

She pulled out of the parking spot and swept past the entrance where Carsten and Marlon stood talking. Marlon waved at her, which forced her to toot the horn. Carsten stood with one hand in his pocket, flashing a smile which probably wasn't meant for her.

The car rolled toward the security post and thankfully, the guard raised the bar before she had to come to a stop. The dual entrance/exit was on an incline and within sight of where the two men stood. If she'd had to come to a dead stop, the car would have shook and rattled, which would have been embarrassing.

The moment Feechi hit the road, her shoulders relaxed and she turned the radio to a station playing Christmas music. November had barely stepped in, but the island's radio stations had started blasting Christmas carols since October.

Though it was stressful to think about the holiday season that early on her meager budget, the music lifted her spirit and took her mind off the problems she'd been ignoring. There was the station wagon that needed servicing and Max, Jack's sidekick he'd soon have to give up.

She still hadn't figured out a way to prepare Jack and didn't want to think about how disappointed he'd be when she told him they couldn't keep Max.
Chapter 2

"So, Feechi." Carsten narrowed his eyes and tipped his head to one side. "Did I pronounce that right?"

When she nodded, he continued speaking. "Tell me a little bit about yourself."

Her first instinct was to remind him they were there to discuss business, but that would have been rude, so she sipped from her glass of lime squash while deciding what to tell him. Since this was sort of a job interview, she was only obligated to discuss details that concerned him.

"I'm thirty. My day job is at a shipping company. I'm an admin assistant, and you know I work for Marlon on the side."

"How did you meet him?"

"He's friends with my boss, so when he was looking for someone to help with the auctions, he told him about me."

"You come highly recommended then."

"You could say that."

She scanned the area where they sat, across from the bar in a recessed space that gave the impression it was designed for privacy. The hotel's black and white theme was toned down to a creamy, beige-and-deep-brown furnishing scheme. People in work clothes sat around them, some using laptops, others conversing over beer mugs and winding down for the weekend.

When Feechi's eyes rested on Carsten, she realized she'd been avoiding him. His long-sleeve shirt, open at the neck, hinted that he'd discarded his tie before meeting her.

His presence wasn't threatening, but something about him made her nervous. It could have been his silence or the way he studied her, as if he found her fascinating and what she had to say was important to him. His lips moved and it took her brain a moment to decipher his words.

"Did you look at the brochure?"

"Yes, I did." She took another sip of her drink, relieved that she'd scanned the brochure before getting out of the Subaru.

Carsten raised the mug of beer to his mouth and tilted his head back while he made half of the beer disappear.

She didn't know him well enough to comment on his thirst level, so she let that pass and kept her smile to herself.

"So then you understand my line of business."

"I notice that you auction other items as well."

"Yes, but I specifically need your help with the carpets. I have a new shipment and prefer not to have the lot beyond a certain time frame, that's why I need you."

The emphasis he put on the last three words made her gaze lock with his. His stare was unblinking and made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't tear her eyes away. Her voice was husky when she spoke. "So I gathered, but why d'you need my help? What happened with your last assistant?"

A moment went by before he answered. "She was running her own gig on the side, skimming here and there, if you will."

She reassessed him, taking her time over it. His eyes revealed nothing, but from the way he crimped his mouth she gathered he wasn't willing to share any additional details. If she was going to think about working for him, she needed to know more.

Her next question popped from her lips before she'd formed the thought properly in her mind. "What did you do about it?"

"You don't want to know," he said.

A chill ran up the back of her neck and without conscious thought, she tightened her grip on the glass. His steady appraisal made her want to shrink, as if she planned to rob him or something. She didn't shake her head at her stupidity, but came close to it. She'd never done a dishonest thing in her life, so didn't like feeling as if he were accusing her of something. Before she got carried away, she reminded herself that he hadn't, but she wondered what on earth he meant by his last statement.

It sounded ominous.

Did he have the woman locked up or something worse?

She didn't have the chance to follow her thoughts, because he was talking again. "Marlon assures me you're honest, which is why we're here."

"How long d'you anticipate the auction will last?"

He shrugged, calling her attention to his shoulders. "Three, maybe four hours."

Carsten wasn't huge, but he was tall and she found men with some height on them attractive. She frowned and concentrated on her next question. "How much are you paying?"

When he answered, she blinked but said nothing until her mouth caught up with her brain. "What did you say?"

Carsten repeated the figure he'd quoted in a matter-of-fact tone.

Her brows contracted as she examined him.

He had to be joking, but his eyes weren't twinkling and there was no hint of a smile around his mouth.

Not for a minute did she believe her time wasn't worth what he was offering, but the sum he quoted was generous. Excessively so. Impressive enough to make her question his motives.

"Why?"

He shrugged again. "Why not? You get what you pay for. That's something I believe in."

Briefly she wondered if he'd been stiffing the employee who robbed him and nearly fell off the chair when one side of his mouth lifted and he answered her question. "No, I paid her just as well."

"So why did she rob you?"

He smiled, and that's when she realized she'd said what she was thinking.

"Who knows why people do the things they do?" He met her eyes again. "At a guess. I'd say because she could."

"Were you in a relationship with her?"

"You don't pull your punches, do you?"

"Were you?"

A smile was the last thing she expected, but that's what she got. In the next moment, Carsten's amusement died and he made her wait for his answer.

He sat forward and before he spoke, the piped music changed to something soft and dreamy, distracting Feechi.

"No," he said, "I was not seeing her or anything close to it."

"I wasn't accusing you of anything."

"I never said you were." He swallowed another mouthful of beer before he added, "But I couldn't help but guess exactly what you were thinking."

When she raised one brow, he added, "Your expression gave you away."

She hid behind her drink, trying to find a way back to the business they were supposed to be discussing.

He saved her from running her brain to a wreck when he asked, "Would you like another drink?"

She swallowed the last of the lime squash and then declined his offer. "This is fine. Thanks."

With a raised hand, he caught the attention of the waiter who served them and settled their bill in a few minutes. Carsten got to his feet, stashed his wallet in his back pocket, and waited while she got up and dropped her handbag over her shoulder.

He put out a hand to indicate that she should go ahead of him.

She moved forward, conscious that with him behind her there was no way of telling where his eyes were focused. The twinge of discomfort that came with the thought didn't last. None of the men she knew were so circumspect that they'd avoid what she suspected he was doing. From the way he'd been studying her, she doubted he'd be the exception.

Outside the hotel entrance, Carsten stopped and faced her. "Where's your car?"

She hesitated before answering, since she didn't want to be a bother.

"It's not here, is it?"

"Why d'you say that?"

"Well, you're not even looking for it, which means you didn't drive it here."

"Okay, you caught me. I was going to call a taxi."

His expression changed and instead of the smile she expected, he said, "Don't bother. I'll drive you home."

"But—"

"It's no problem." He raised the car fob and pressed the button. "I'm parked over there."

Feechi wasn't sure what she expected, but the Toyota Land Cruiser fit Carsten to a tee. The black four-wheel-drive was high and spacious, and probably cost more than she earned in a year.

After helping her inside, he got into the driver's seat, started the engine, and then asked, "You're comfortable?"

She told him yes, while watching him trying to find the radio station he wanted. He settled on one playing a love song.

"Where d'you live?"

"Queensborough. D'you know where it is?"

"Yes. I don't live too far away."

She gave him the address and grabbed her handbag that threatened to fall off her lap when he swung the SUV onto the street. "Where are you?"

"Up the hill," he said.

Somehow, she expected him to mention a community in Kingston 8, where most of the rich had their homes. Not to say Red Hills wasn't impressive, but she'd expected something different.

Her neighborhood was a quiet one, which thankfully hadn't been affected much by the increasing criminal activity around the area.

"You live alone?"

His voice startled her and it took her a few seconds to figure out what he'd asked.

"Oh, no. There's my sister and my son."

Briefly, his eyes cut to her. "You have a son?"

"That's what I said."

He laughed. "Sorry. It's just that you look younger than your age and too young to be a parent."

"Obviously, you haven't lived in this country for a while."

"I haven't been away so long that I don't remember the lay of the land."

"D'you have any kids?"

He shook his head. "No, I haven't had the time to settle into a serious relationship."

She wondered how old he was, but figured if he was keeping company with Marlon, he had to be somewhere around thirty-five, or older. Although he wasn't involved by the sound of it, he probably had a dozen women on speed dial. The thought soured her stomach and she warned herself to stay out of his business.

A while later, he turned onto the road where she lived. She squinted and homed in on a beige fluffball streaking across the asphalt.

Jack came through the gate and looked up the street, but didn't step off the sidewalk. His mouth opened wide, and Feechi was certain he was yelling Max's name.

"That's your son?" Carsten asked as he slowed the vehicle.

"Yes, and he's in deep trouble because he knows he's not allowed on the street."

"Well, if he's chasing the dog... "

"Yeah, and I'll have a thing or two to say to that dog too."

She swung her head to look at Carsten when she realized what she'd said. Carsten might think her strange for saying something like that, but Max knew when he did something wrong and when he was in trouble. Not that it stopped him from misbehaving.

Suzanne, her friend since high school, had discussed all his idiosyncrasies before she left the island, but what she hadn't explained was that Max was always getting into something he shouldn't. His beige facial hair and soulful brown eyes hid the chaos he could unleash because he had the energy of a mischievous puppy.

She directed Carsten toward the house, still watching Jack, who stuck something in his shorts pocket before picking up the dog and going back the way he'd come. He looked up when he stood on the sidewalk and the van stopped next to him. The eyes that everybody claimed were identical to hers opened wide and his mouth formed an O. Hurriedly, he swung away from the vehicle and put Max down in the yard. Then he shut the gate as if that would wipe out what he'd been doing before she got there.

She bit one corner of her mouth, muting her smile when Carsten looked at her. "The poor guy knows he's in trouble up to his ears."

"Thank you," she said, facing him. "I really appreciate this. I'll give you a call when—"

"Are you dismissing me, Feechi?"

Her name on his lips stole her breath for a few vital seconds.

He made it sound like a caress, taking his time with the vowels in the middle.

She licked her lips to give herself time to come up with a response. "Not at all. We'll talk on Monday."

"If I don't hear from you, I'll call." His words, softly spoken, seemed to carry a slight threat.

She didn't need to answer because he got out, stopping at the front of the vehicle to speak to Jack before coming around to open the door.

She slid out and went to stand on the sidewalk, where he joined her.

"Thanks again," she said, stepping back to open the gate.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your son?"

When Carsten mentioned him, Jack climbed onto the bottom rungs of the gate. "I'm Jaquan."

"That's an interesting name."

"Mommy says it means a loving spirit."

"Thanks for sharing that. Why don't you get down off there since Mommy needs to come inside?"

"Okay." Jack jumped down and shook the hand Carsten offered through the grillework.

When Jack opened the gate for Feechi, Max jumped and twisted around his ankles as if he thought there would be another outing. Jack shushed him and faced Carsten.

"What's your name and why are you bringing Mommy home?"

"Because we had a meeting and it was getting late, so I gave her a ride."

"That's a good reason," Jack said, nodding at Carsten.

"Where is Dee?" Feechi asked on her way through the gate, which she made a point of closing behind her.

"She's around the back with the hose."

"So she doesn't know you've been outside."

Jack scratched the back of his neck. "No, but I opened the gate because I lost my marble and Max got out."

"Next time call Auntie, okay?"

He nodded and then grumbled. "Then Mad Max won't run into the road."

She faced Carsten over the gate. "Thanks again."

His knowing expression said he was aware of her evasive action. "Nice meeting you, Jaquan."

Jack waved while Max barked and put his front feet on the gate as if he resented being left out of the conversation.

"It was good meeting you too, Max," Carsten said.

Feechi took Jack by the hand, turning him toward the verandah, but he waved over his shoulder. "Hey, you didn't tell me your name."

"It's Carsten."

Jack stopped, despite Feechi's gentle urging for him to keep moving.

"What does it mean?"

He shrugged. "I don't know if it has a meaning, but I'm sure if it does it won't be as interesting as yours."

Jack laughed and waved a second time. "We'll talk about it when you come back again, right Mommy?"

Feechi gave Carsten a polite smile, but read the amusement in his eyes. Her expression must have given her away, because without saying a word between them, Carsten knew coming to their house again wasn't happening any time soon if she had anything to do with it.

Chapter 3

Feechi aimed her handbag at one of the sofas and headed to the kitchen. The cozy space where she'd always liked chatting with her sister didn't distract her from her mission.

With Jack and Max trotting on her heels, she went through the back door and stepped onto the small verandah. The grille hung open and her sister stood with her back to the house.

The two of them were almost the same height, but according to their mother, Feechi resembled her father more, which didn't thrill her at all. As far as she was concerned, their plump lips, expressive eyes and lush hair, marked them as their mother's children. She put her absent father out of her mind and walked toward her sister.

"Dee, I'm home."

She looked over her shoulder, her locks swinging in time with her movement. "I know. I heard."

"You need to keep a closer eye on your tag team here."

Dee covered the end of the hose with her thumb, directing the spray at the roots of the oleander bushes that lined the yard. "What did they do this time?"

"You mean apart from being out on the street?"

"You're kidding me, right?" Dee's gaze went to Jack, who stood close to Feechi. "Jack knows he's not supposed to go beyond the gate."

"But Auntie, my marble fell on the sidewalk and that's why I opened the gate and then Max ran outside and—"

"That's when I drove up."

Dee cocked one brow. "You got the car back from the garage?"

"No, but that's beside the point."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't watching him like I should. Thank God there wasn't an accident or anything."

"I keep telling you, you trust Jack too much."

"Come on Fee-Fee, he's only seven years old and he's such a good boy."

Feechi snorted and rolled her eyes as Jack inched toward the side of the house. "Yes, of course, but you know what happens when he and that dog... "

"Yeah, that dog you keep threatening to get rid of," Dee said, while walking toward the pipe.

"Yeah, that." Sighing, Feechi crossed the yard and went back inside the kitchen, where she got a glass of lemonade out of the fridge and sat at the dining table.

She kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes while her mind went back to the meeting she'd just finished. Before her thoughts could wrap around Carsten, something attacked her foot, pulling a yelp from her.

The dog's sharp teeth were clamped around her big toe. "Max!"

She jiggled her foot and he let go, licking her toes as if to make up for what he'd done.

Leaning sideways, she looked under the table into Max's face.

His head was angled to the side and he wore an innocent expression.

She shook her head. "I'm not buying that act."

Max stretched then laid his head on his paws, and she could have sworn the dog smiled before she let go of the table and sat up straight.

Dee and Jack walked into the kitchen, singing a silly song she had taught him last week.

After locking the door, Dee sat opposite Feechi. "You're not eating?"

"In a bit."

Jack went past them on his way to the living room and within seconds, Max scrabbled from under the table to follow him.

"Where are you going?" Feechi asked Jack.

"To watch television."

Glancing at her watch, Feechi said, "Okay, I'll be there in a while."

"Max and me will be fine."

"Max and I."

He said something Feechi didn't catch, but she didn't doubt he was being cheeky.

Across the table, Dee propped her chin on her hand, her gaze expectant. "So who took you home?"

Before she answered, Feechi swallowed a couple mouthfuls of lemonade. "Is there a reason you're asking?"

"Nothing other than the fact that I saw a Land Cruiser parked outside our gate. Who was that?"

"I thought you were occupied."

"I was, but when anything drives up, I gotta check who's outside." She chuckled and folded her arms. "Plus, I heard you grousing at Jack and Max was putting up a racket."

"When is that ever different?"

"Anyway, who's the owner of the van?"

"A guy I met."

"Just some random guy?"

"Not exactly."

"Come on, you're just being difficult and secretive."

"If you must know, I met him yesterday."

"Is this the start of something in the relationship department or am I to be disappointed yet again by something as boring as a business associate?"

"You need to get a life and forget about those romance novels and your unrealistic expectations."

"Well, at least they keep me occupied." Her eyes shone as she asked. "So who is this guy?"

Feechi took a deep breath and then smiled. "Like I said, I met him at that auction I went to yesterday."

"This sounds promising."

"Don't get your hopes up. We were only out on business."

Dee moved one hand in a fanning motion. "Tell me more."

"He wants me to help him with an auction he's having."

"That's all?" Dee sucked her teeth. "Man, your life is the same shade of boring as mine."

Feechi laughed and picked up her glass. "You're beginning to sound desperate, little sister."

"I have time on my side, it's you I'm worried about."

"To hear you talk, anybody would think I'm over the hill."

"You might be pretty soon, if you keep not getting any dates. You're all of thirty, in case you forgot."

"Thirty isn't old and it's not like I see guys lining up to take you out."

"I'm single by choice, as you well know."

"So am I, as you well know."

"But I'm not bitter and it makes me worry about you."

"For your information, I am not bitter."

"Yes, you are. You just won't admit it."

Feechi rubbed her forehead and prepared to get up. "Look, I'm perfectly happy the way I am. Dennis is wherever he is and Jack and I are doing just fine."

"I know all that. What worries me is that you haven't gotten past what Dennis did."

"I'm a long way past that waste of space, okay?"

"If you are, why haven't you been on a date in well, forever?"

"I'm taking things slow."

"Seven years is a long time to be taking things slow."

"Nothing happens before the time, so I'm prepared to wait to find out if there's a Mr. Right out there for me."

When the words fell out of her mouth, Feechi slammed the door on Carsten Raimes that opened in her mind. Then she stood up from the table at the same moment her phone started ringing.

Jack met her in the doorway, lugging her handbag.

"Thanks, hon."

She dug around inside and came up with the phone, just as it stopped ringing. While she squinted at the number, Jack took the bag back into the living room. She was about to put the phone back on the table when the screen lit up again. Puzzled, she hit the call button and put the cell to her ear.

"Yes, can I help?"

"It's Carsten. I'm outside your gate."

"Why?"

A couple of seconds went by before he said, "I have your lipstick."

"Really?"

"It must have fallen out of your handbag."

She remembered grabbing on to her bag when he left the hotel premises. It must have fallen out then.

"I'll be there in a minute," she said.

"Where are you going?" Dee asked, getting to her feet.

"Out front."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. I dropped my lipstick in Carsten's van."

Feechi shoved her feet back into her shoes, crossed the living room and was at the front door when she realized Dee was on her heels.

"Why are you stalking me?"

"I want an introduction."

"That's the last thing you're getting today, so you might as well stay with Jack."

"Not even if you were paying me," Dee said, leaning against the door jamb.

Grumbling and sucking her teeth Feechi turned away, by which time Carsten had gotten out of the vehicle and opened the gate. In three strides, he stood at the grille.

Feechi met him there, wishing he'd waited in his van. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who had a helpful streak, but he'd just shattered that theory.

He opened his hand and the gold tube sat in his palm.

She lifted it, trying not to touch him, and was at the point of opening her mouth to say thanks when Dee spoke over her shoulder.

"Hi, thanks so much for coming back. It's a pleasure to meet you."

While Feechi fought not to strangle Dee, Carsten smiled, sucking her breath away.

He stuck one hand through the grille. "Nice to meet you... ?"

"Oh, I'm Hadiya. Dee for short." She shook his hand, cheesing hard. "You have a gentle touch, but your hands aren't soft."

Feechi rolled her eyes. "You have to forgive my sister. Whatever comes to her lips is exactly what she says."

This time, Carsten laughed. "No need to apologize. You can't do better than an honest person."

"That's me," Dee said, giggling. "As honest as they come, but of course there are some who have a problem with that."

Feechi didn't answer. Instead, she gave Carsten a brilliant smile. "Thanks again. Have a good weekend."

"Same to you both."

He walked toward the gate, his pace unhurried while she wondered what would give him reason to rush anywhere.

She didn't want him thinking they were taken with him, so she grabbed Dee's arm and pulled her toward the doorway. When she looked over her shoulder, Carsten was watching from the van. One of his brows tipped up and he nodded.

She returned his gesture and waved as he pulled away.

In the living room, Dee flopped on their overstuffed sofa. "I like him."

"Shhh." Jack waved at them and then pointed to the television.

Max gave a little yip and resettled his head on his paws.

Feechi met Dee's eyes and couldn't hold in the laughter that streamed through her lips. "You didn't spend even two minutes in his company, so you can't know if you like him."

"Mommy, you're talking too loud."

"Sorry, Jay-Jay. Blame your auntie."

He sighed and turned the sound up, using the remote.

"Doesn't matter," Dee said, "you can tell a lot about a person by a handshake and looking into their eyes."

Still smiling, Feechi sat on the adjacent sofa. "Okay, so tell me what you know about Carsten from your momentary contact with him."

"His stare is open, which tells me he's honest. His handshake could have been a lot firmer, but he was gentle because I'm a woman. That tells me he's considerate and obviously, he likes honest people."

"Being in his line of business, he would."

"What does he do?"

"Auctions, among other things."

"And what is your business with him?"

"Are you my mother?"

"Speaking of which, she called."

"What did she want?"

"She was just making sure we're coming to see her on Sunday. I told her we would."

"Fine, it's not as if we wouldn't go anyway."

"You know Mom. She has to cover her bases. Anyway, back to Carsten, what business are you in together?"

"We're not in business." Feechi shrugged and pulled her hair into a knot. "He's asked me to help him with an auction."

"And you said?"

"That's none of your business."

Dee lowered her voice. "It is, when I hear you complaining about money every day."

Her gaze fell on Jack before she continued her lecture. "I'm not worried about you though. You're sensible, so you'll make the right decision. He looks generous too, so you should be okay."

"You certainly know a lot about this man who just pitched and flew out of your world."

"You know I have a good nose for people, so you're just being stubborn."

To herself, Feechi admitted her sister was right. Although Dee had only been twenty when Feechi met Dennis, she hadn't liked him much and her doubts about him had proved correct. Dennis was a user, who was only interested in furthering his medical career. Feechi had been too taken in by him to see beyond her infatuation.

"I have to think about this some more. I think he likes me, but if I have to work with him it'll make things awkward."

"You need the money and he needs help so this isn't a decision that's hard to make."

"You're right." Feechi got to her feet and picked up her handbag. "I have to talk to him on Monday."

"Just ensure you make the best decision." Dee winked and then chuckled. "You know I'm here for Jack, if that makes it easier to decide."

"You never give up, do you?"

Dee shook her head. "Nope, not when it concerns my sister and there's a hot guy involved."

Chapter 4

Seconds after she let out her breath in a slow blast, Feechi stapled the last credit card slip to its matching invoice. After that, she settled the point-of-sale machine.

The auction had gone well, with Carsten surprising her by helping the staff all evening. The only thing he hadn't done was sit at her side and assist with the collections.

He stood just outside the doorway, hands in his pocket while talking to the last customer who'd already paid his bill.

In the other room, one of the workers loaded a dolly with a heavy chest-of-drawers.

Antique or not, it was monstrous, but what did she know? The customers had only been too happy to bid on outrageously expensive furniture she didn't particularly like.

As she'd browsed the furniture on display, she'd been fascinated with a love seat she could see herself relaxing in with a good book. Nothing else had taken her fancy. She'd been running her fingers lightly over the back of the beige floral material when Carsten startled her.

"You have good taste."

"It's lovely, but I bet it's expensive as all get out."

His gaze ran over the carved wood at the back in an assessing way. "Fairly."

They'd chitchatted about some of the other pieces, until he led her to the small room where she'd be working and clarified the critical aspects of what he'd hired her to do.

Now, he shifted and pulled his hands out of his pockets. He laughed and then folded both arms over his chest, tightening his shirt sleeves against his muscles. Her stomach jolted as she imagined what his bare arms would look like—lots of golden-brown skin stretched tight over his impressive muscles, most likely.

She dragged herself back from fantasy land when he laughed again, a mellow sound that encouraged her to join him.

Since she wasn't being paid to think about him, Feechi angled her head the other way and occupied her hands with stacking the items she'd used for the evening.

Carsten came to stand next to her and glanced at his watch. "That was our last customer."

Feechi exhaled deeply, relieved to be at the end of the work day. "I need to explain some stuff to you, then pack up this stuff and we'll be good to go."

She flipped open the auction file she'd used and picked up the sheet on which she'd listed all the invoices, corresponding lot numbers, and payments. After she explained what she'd done, Carsten took the papers and studied the notes she'd made, along with the settlement slip listing while she stacked the stationery into a plastic container. When he was finished, he handed the sheet to her. "It seems okay to me. What time will I see you tomorrow?"

"What time d'you get to office?"

"Seven o' clock most days."

Her eyebrows swept up before she could stop them.

"I get up early," he added.

"Fine, I'll swing by around half past seven and we'll finalize the accounts then."

"That works for me."

She looked away when he opened the portfolio he'd left beside her earlier in the evening, and continued gathering the items on the table. When she finished, he was waiting.

He held out an envelope. "Thank you. You did a great job this evening."

"I enjoyed it," she said. "It was hectic, but the clients were easy to deal with. Mostly."

"Good. I'm happy if you're happy."

His words jarred her a little, but she didn't respond. What on earth did he mean by that?

She didn't have time to focus on his words because he picked up the box and gestured for her to go ahead of him. For some reason she didn't understand, Feechi did not want him walking behind her.

The minute they entered the corridor, she stepped to the side and allowed him to catch up with her. As they passed the entrance to the main auction area, Carsten stopped Feechi with a hand on her arm. He said nothing, but poked his head through the doorway. "You all right, guys?"

The two men inside the room stopped loading the trolley and greeted him with a smile. "Yes, Mr. Raimes."

"Good, see you tomorrow."

Their voices faded and Feechi didn't hear what they said in return because she was busy assessing what Carsten's touch was doing to her. Her temperature hadn't jumped or anything like that, but her whole body felt as if she was somehow suspended, waiting for something. His thumb moved over her skin and she dragged in a hurried breath while her gaze swung to his.

Carsten cleared his throat and moved his hand to her back, gently urging her forward. "Come."

He said something else, but it didn't register. When he spoke again, she woke up. "Huh?"

"I was asking if you have a ride."

"Uh, I... no."

"Your car's still in the garage?"

"No. Dee has it." She smiled before finishing her sentence, "she has a date with Jack."

"I see," Carsten said, smiling as if he understood. "Well then, I'll take you home."

"You don't have to put yourself out of the way."

"You're forgetting I don't live far from you."

There was nothing she could say without sounding ungrateful so she kept quiet while he pushed the door open and waited for her to step into the night air.

She drew a deep breath and tipped her head backward. The sky was dotted with stars as if someone had sprinkled a handful of the heavenly bodies and they had settled in random clusters. A high wind buffeted them, but that was normal at this time of year.

The walk to Carsten's van gave her the chance to distance herself from him and enjoy the evening air.

He unlocked the vehicle, dropped the box inside and then came around to where she stood.

"I just had a thought," he said. "I didn't have lunch, so I'm starving. Would you mind having something to eat with me?"

She opened her mouth, trying to come up with an excuse not to, but couldn't find one. "Okay. Sounds good. I haven't eaten in a while either."

"I'm glad I don't have to fight you over this. I'd have been disappointed and that much hungrier if I had to take you home before getting something to eat. Let's go back inside."

She didn't move, because she was curious. "Why did you think I'd say no?"

"It took you a little time to respond to my question, plus I didn't know if you'd eaten."

The alarm on the van popped as they walked side-by-side into the hotel. The restaurant was situated to the left of the lobby, which Feechi thought was an odd place, but then maybe not, since The Venetian catered to patrons who were not staying in the hotel.

They were seated immediately in the air-conditioned eatery that was dominated by mirrored columns and plants.

In no time, a waiter stood at Carsten's elbow asking if they cared to have a drink.

"Fruit punch," she said, in response to Carsten's raised eyebrow.

He ordered a beer and then opened the menu. A moment later, his voice cut through the background music. "Are you ready to order?"

"Have you eaten here before?" Feechi asked.

"Yes. Lunches mainly."

"What would you recommend from the menu?"

"The food is excellent, but I like the curried goat and oxtail more than anything else."

She hesitated over her choice, but her gaze kept going to the braised oxtail. It had been a while since she'd eaten any and suddenly, the aroma of beef and chicken around them set her stomach growling. No way did she want to choose one of the most expensive things on the menu, but what the heck, he could afford it and hadn't he suggested it by endorsing it?

"I think I'm gonna have the oxtail," she said.

He closed the linen folder and laid it on the table. "Good choice. I'm having the goat."

The waiter delivered their drinks and got on with taking their order. As he walked away, Carsten said, "I have a question for you. Are you happy where you're working?"

Her brows pulled together for a fraction of a second before she replied. "I would say so. I enjoy what I do and I have good people around me."

She waited a moment before asking, "Why d'you want to know?"

"Because," he said, "I want to steal you away."

"Since you don't exactly know me, d'you mind telling me why?"

"You're good at what you do and besides, you brought me some luck with this auction."

"How d'you figure that?"

"We sold almost everything. That doesn't happen every day, so I'm happy to assume you made the difference."

She lowered her chin and met his gaze, letting him know she was aware he was buttering her up. "I'm sure you don't do business on the basis of luck."

He chuckled, which made the corners of his eyes crinkle. "That's true, but you impress me. A lot."

Suddenly, she had to know if what he'd put in her envelope matched his promise. She felt for the handbag on her lap. "Remind me of what you said you'd pay me for this evening?"

The figure he quoted was staggering. Same as the first time he'd told her.

She brushed the hair away from her face and quelled her shock with a mouthful of fruit punch before she could get a word out. "You did hear what I said when I told you what Marlon pays me?"

His answer came with a smile. "Yes, and you're worth every dollar. I believe, as we say, encouragement sweetens labor."

The waiter arrived with their dinner, which prevented her from having to make any kind of response.

With a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, Carsten told her all talk about business was suspended until after dinner.

To Feechi's surprise, she was able to relax in his company and enjoy the food. The helpings were generous and she could not finish the herbed potatoes, steamed carrots and string beans served with the oxtail.

Carsten ate the way she expected a man would, which pleased her. Somehow, she thought he'd be more delicate in his mannerisms, but he clearly enjoyed his food. His hands dwarfed the cutlery, which she found heavy and clunky. His plate was nearly empty when he finished eating, proof he'd been telling the truth when he said he was hungry.

Their gaze collided and she thought he was going to make a comment about the way she'd been studying his plate, but he went in another direction.

"So tell me, what would prevent you from working for me full-time?"

She laughed, noting that Carsten didn't crack a smile. "Wouldn't you say my day job is a big deterrent?"

"What would prevent you from leaving?"

"I did say I liked my job."

"I'll pay you twice whatever you're earning."

"That's bribery."

"I do what I have to when it comes to business."

His offer was tempting, but she'd learned the hard way that some men said whatever was necessary to get the result they wanted.

Of course, she could use the extra money he was offering, but there was the fact that they were attracted to each other. He hadn't said anything to indicate that she interested him, but the mere fact that she even thought they had a thing between them wouldn't make for a good work situation.

"I don't see that working out, you employing me, I mean."

"Why wouldn't it?"

She stared into his eyes, now certain he was as drawn to her as she was to him. Smiling gently, she said, "If you can't figure it out then you're not as smart as you seem."

He leaned forward, giving her a smile that had her squirming. If he didn't stop looking at her like that she'd burst into flames in a minute.

Carsten touched her hand, dragging her gaze to where his honey gold skin contrasted with her darker complexion. The distraction brought her back to earth.

"If I can't persuade you to change your mind yet," he said, "then I may as well ask you to go out with me."

"What d'you mean by yet?"

"Exactly that. I'm not giving up. I never give up."

"Never?"

"Ever," he said, softly. "So about that date, let's settle some details."

If you enjoyed this sample from Sold! download a copy from any network of your choice.

Perfection

After six months of serial breakups with her two-timing boyfriend, Natasha is ready to give relationships a break. Malik has no plans to give up and schemes to get her back, but his efforts throw his cousin in the middle of his campaign. Natasha doesn't need another guy messing with her brain, or her plans for the future, but Karim is different from anyone she's ever met. The fact that he's off-limits deepens her guilt over her attraction and puts her judgment into question. Can she move beyond the mistakes of the past and trust someone who's no angel?

Karim is back in Jamaica for the summer and has no plans to tie himself to anyone, because girls are complicated and he's been burned a time or two. He's knee-deep in responsibility as a result of a thoughtless act that changed his life. But Natasha is a girl with a difference, who makes him want things he has sworn to give up. Will she give him the time of day and will she want him when she finds out about his past and the present he wants to keep hidden, but can't? 
Chapter 1

Natasha

Saturday, June 2, 12:30 P.M.

This time, I'm going to kill Malik.

I swallowed around the knot in my throat, but its twin made matters worse in my belly. I wouldn't be able to eat a bite of what the hotel staff was now serving.

On the other side of the shaded patio, Malik continued to skin and grin with my classmate, Cherise, as if he didn't care or realize how bad it would look to everybody.

I'd never have invited him to Dad's wedding if I thought he'd pull something like this. Not that I could have told Dad not to invite him, since our parents had been friendly for years. Fact is, Malik should have been sitting with me, not getting close and personal with someone else when he already had a girlfriend. Said girlfriend being me.

"Natasha ... " My aunt's mouth moved, but I had no idea what she said.

I nodded and she smiled, so I guess that was enough to satisfy her. Her husband, whom I had met only once before today, put an arm around her and they laughed at a comment he made. They had flown in for the wedding and would leave the island on Monday.

Kelleigh, my sister and friend, watched me from the other side of the table. With narrowed eyes, she studied Malik while sipping water from her glass.

As the breeze lifted the strands of hair brushing my forehead, it reminded me of how crazy my morning had been. I'd made it to the salon on time for my appointment, but long after I finished I had to hang around listening to the women chatting their business because Mom was late picking me up. That left next to no time for me to get ready and when I finally arrived at the hotel, I was rushed and edgy. To top things off, I wasn't early enough to get a seat close to Malik.

In my eighteen years on earth, I'd never been able to figure out why my mother couldn't get her act together. Her entire life revolved around work, which was the main reason she and Dad split up, and she hadn't learned anything from losing her husband.

My gaze crept back to where Malik sat. Why Dad had invited Cherise and her family was something only he could explain, because our families weren't close.

Cherise's laughter knifed the air, setting my nerves on edge. Didn't she know it was vulgar to behave that way at a wedding, and what had Malik said that was so funny?

Malik's eyes met mine and he smiled and waved as if everything was all right. Obviously, he'd forgotten our blow-out on Thursday.

Cherise looked my way, brushed the hair away from her face and waggled her fingers as if we were tight.

She was cute in a brown-skinned Barbie doll kind of way and just as anorexic.

Her smile widened, and she reminded me of a cat that had caught a lizard and was playing with it before gobbling it down.

Bitch

She'd always been full of herself and the fact that her father was a doctor. As if there weren't thousands of doctors in Jamaica and as if he wasn't just a G.P.

The people around me clapped, pulling my attention back to the head table, where Dad sat with Auntie Annette. Dad winked, and I smiled at him. He deserved to be happy after being with Mom, who didn't have a clue how to have fun. Auntie Annette wasn't that much different from my mother, but at least Dad had made an impact.

Today, she looked as happy as the Virgin Mary would have been with baby Jesus. The aqua blue, off-the-shoulder dress and her hair that was pulled into a loose style at the back of her head made her look elegant. I'd had a hard time convincing her the dress was the right choice, but the moment I saw it, I knew it was her.

Auntie Annette and Dad met two years ago when I was going through a bad time. After a nasty run-in with another girl at school, the guidance counselor recommended that I go to a therapist. Auntie Annette had been bitchy at first, and still had her moments, but I'm sure she loves Dad.

Another round of applause went up, and I clapped although I didn't have a clue what the Master of Ceremony had said.

I caught a flash of peach out of the corners of my eyes as Cherise walked away from the table with Malik behind her. He'd been to the barber overnight and looked sharp, thanks to his neat hairline and tailored navy suit. Malik disliked formal clothes, so he wasn't wearing a tie.

My gaze didn't leave him while I thought about following them. It took me only a minute to make up my mind and I reached for my purse and got up from the table.

Kelleigh moved her head back and forth in a negative gesture.

"Excuse me," I murmured, ignoring Kelleigh's signal.

My aunt nodded and smiled at me as if I was the best thing she'd seen since landing in Jamaica.

I spun away from the table, careful not to tip over in my three-inch heels. I wouldn't live it down if everybody saw me sprawled on the concrete with my dress over my head and my panties on display.

Malik and Cherise walked down the cement path chatting and giggling, or more to the point, Cherise was the one doing that idiotic snorting that got on my nerves.

Malik touched her arm and then pulled away, but I could swear she edged left, walking a bit closer to him. Then she let out one of those irritating barks that passed for laughter.

What would I say if either of them turned and saw me?

I threw that thought out of my head. It was a free country. I could say I was heading for the ladies' room.

At the entrance to the lobby, I stopped and let them get farther ahead of me. They turned right and I assumed they were going to the washrooms.

I had stopped in the ladies' room when I first got to the hotel, certain that I looked as untidy and uneasy as I felt. In the mirror, my white, strapless dress and makeup looked fine, but convincing myself others would see the same thing was hard.

A door opened with a heavy whoosh, bringing my mind back to the lobby. I took that to mean Cherise had gone into the bathroom or someone had come out. I tipped my head to the side for a look around the corner, and that not-quite-nauseous feeling came back and settled in my tummy. Malik was waiting across the corridor, leaning on the wall as if he had nothing better to do with his time.

Although the lobby was cool, thanks to an unseen air conditioner, sweat gathered in my armpits and made them clammy.

A few guests were seated in the waiting area, flipping through magazines or chatting, while the receptionists were busy with other people at the counter. I was grateful, because otherwise my stalkerish behavior would be obvious. Closing my eyes for a second, I thought about why I was doing what I was doing.

Malik and I had been together since I was sixteen. After two years, I was starting to see a side of him I didn't like. What did he plan to tell me after his return trip with Triple D or the Doctor's Diva Daughter as we called Cherise in school?

I was in the middle of sneaking another look at Malik when he turned his head and almost caught me spying on him. I pressed my back to the wall and then straightened to take another peek. The door opened again and I knew I had to decide which way to go. Otherwise, they'd break the corner and find me playing the stalker, but I did want Malik to know I had seen them. Before I could change my mind, I stepped away from the wall and around the corner with my chin high in the air.

My shoulders sank when I didn't see Malik, but by the time I drew another breath, I was eye-to-eye with the two of them. Where the wall to my right ended, the recessed entrance to the washroom began.

Cherise stood close to the wall, smiling into Malik's face. He stood with his arms pressed to the tiles on both sides of her head. His lips were so close to hers it was impossible for him to say a word without sucking up some of her air.

That knot in my stomach swelled into a tangle of rope that jerked and twisted, making me want to heave. I could have asked what the hell he was doing, but then he'd see the tears now burning my eyes and there was no way I'd allow that to happen. Not that he had a chance of seeing me since he was still sharing air space with Cherise.

I went past as if I didn't see them, but before I pushed the door, I looked sideways. Malik's face now rested against Cherise's as if he was whispering. Over his shoulder, her eyebrows asked why I was staring. I knew then she'd been waiting a long time for this.

I tilted my head back, hating myself for feeling the way I did over a nineteen-year-old boy who didn't know his mind.

Thank goodness, there was no one in the humongous tiled space that served as the bathroom. I yanked a handful of facial tissue from a dispenser and blew my nose. Then I pressed another sheet under my eyes, trying not to smudge my eyeliner.

I dumped the tissue and turned toward the mirror, pulling myself up to stand straighter. After fussing with my hair, I reapplied wine-red lipstick and then practised a smile. I got my purse off the counter and sauntered to the door.

To hell with Malik.

If Cherise wanted him, she could have him because I'd had it with him.

Chapter 2

Natasha

Saturday, June 2, 12:40 P.M.

I marched out of the bathroom, hoping Cherise and Malik had found somewhere else to get their smooching on.

The space they had occupied was empty.

My shoulders sagged; thank God I didn't have to deal with either of them. The only good thing in this situation was that I'd caught Malik in the act.

When I got back to where I'd been sitting, my aunt and uncle had their heads together giggling up a storm. An empty glass stood in front of my aunt, which meant she'd had been going hard at the champagne. A waiter refilled her glass while I sat down, looking sideways to where Malik was seated, but trying not to be obvious.

Kelleigh pressed her lips together and sent a glare in Malik's direction. In her beaded, off-the-shoulder dress and with her hair piled on top of her head, she reminded me of a princess. She'd brightened her face with a touch of makeup, reminding me how pretty she was when she bothered to spend time on her appearance.

I sent another sneaky glance toward Malik and Cherise, who were settling in their seats.

The two of them were over there behaving as if they hadn't just been rubbing lips and noses.

By this time, all the guests had been served and were chowing down on stuffed chicken breasts and baby potatoes in a creamy, cheese sauce. I sat there staring at the food, which the kitchen staff had arranged in such a stylish way, it made me reluctant to eat. In any case, my stomach squeezed in on itself as if someone had grabbed it in their fist.

"You okay?" Auntie Bev asked, her round face folded into a concerned expression.

"I'm good," I said, stabbing at one of the potatoes I wished was Malik's head. I looked up then and met his eyes.

He had the decency to stop grinning long enough to see I wasn't happy with him. The boy had the nerve to put on the injured puppy expression he had a habit of wearing whenever he did me wrong and was called out.

I couldn't wait to have a private conversation with him, not that we were on good terms or anything, but he needed a wakeup call.

I shook my head and laid down my fork. Why was I even thinking about a conversation with him when I had decided not ten minutes ago, I was done putting up with his foolishness?

Dad had told me often enough I deserved nothing but the best from any guy who claimed he liked me, and had backed up his words by showing me how a lady should be treated, as he put it. I had no reason to take what Malik was dishing out. I wasn't ugly, nor was I desperate.

The thought made me sit straighter in my chair and refuse to even glance in his direction. I was going to eat some of this food even if it blocked my throat going down.

By the time I ate half of the chicken, the MC was dropping hints that Dad and Auntie Annette were going to leave, since they were driving to Montego Bay and wanted to get there before dark. A few catcalls came after that announcement as well as cheers and laughter. On the other side of the table, Kelleigh wore a doting expression as she smiled at the happy couple—her mother and my father.

Playing to the guests, Dad slipped his arm around Auntie Annette's shoulder and pecked her on the cheek.

"Kiss! Kiss!"

I wrinkled my brow. What on earth was wrong with these fully-grown people? I expected adults to behave better, but then they were entitled, being at a wedding and all.

Dad obliged them, taking Auntie Annette's chin and deep kissing her. While the guests went wild, I rolled my eyes. Dad wore a wide smile while Auntie Annette wiped lipstick from his mouth. His grin made me all mushy inside. He so deserved this after Mom.

A while back I would have been mad as hell at the thought of him having a new wife, but Auntie Annette had proven herself, and Dad had done everything to make me comfortable and secure over the past two years. Mom was another story. Her life was all about herself, with room for no one else.

Auntie Annette rose from the table, waving at us. Dad took her by the hand and they came to our table.

Kelleigh and I got up, and they folded us into a group hug. When I stepped back, Dad touched my cheek. "You'll be okay?"

I nodded and gave him a big smile to put him at ease because he'd been worried about Mom and me getting into another argument during the time he'd be away.

"I'll be perfectly fine," I said, wriggling my eyebrows. "You should be thinking about all the fun you're going to have."

Although she'd been talking to Kelleigh, I swore Auntie Annette's skin got a little darker as she flushed and looked at her hands. Talk about being prim and proper, but then I didn't expect anything else. Auntie Annette talked about sex in terms like 'intimacy' and 'having relations'. She'd be shocked if she knew how much I knew about that good stuff—the theoretical side anyway.

Dad squeezed my arm and shook his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

I didn't answer, but giggled and gave him a side hug.

"After we change out of these things, we'll be on our way." Looking across at his sister, he said, "Beverly will take the two of you home."

I gave Dad a look meant to remind him I was an adult. "We decided that earlier today."

"Sorry, Sugar... I'm just making sure."

I shot him another warning look and he chuckled along with Kelleigh. He'd stopped short of calling me Sugar Dumpling in public. Again.

Dad had a little trouble recognizing I was no longer fifteen and had earned the respect that went with being an adult. Granted, I was in lower sixth, but still. A girl deserved some props for getting to my age without any major incidents.

I grabbed Auntie Annette in a hug and whispered in her ear. "Make sure you keep him busy, so he'll give those spreadsheets a break."

She squirmed and gave me one of those stop-saying-stuff-like-that smiles and slid her hand into Dad's. He kissed me on the forehead, ignoring my eye roll and then whispered. "I'll call when we get there, Sugar D."

He walked away with his arm around Auntie Annette, whispering in her ear.

I watched them go, hoping life would offer me more than the scruff of manhood sitting on the other side of the patio.

It turned out he was no longer where I thought he was because when I sat and looked down, I was staring at a pair of familiar size ten shoes. I closed the cutlery, pretending Malik wasn't standing at my elbow.

"Good afternoon," he said to Kelleigh, Auntie Bev and her husband.

They greeted him and started a conversation I tried my best not to hear. He pulled out another of the wrought-iron chairs and sat as if anybody had given him the go ahead to join us. For want of something to do, I sliced off a piece of chicken and chewed it, without making a face. It was awful now that it had gone cold.

"So you're gonna pretend I'm not here?" he mumbled.

"I know you can't be speaking to me."

"Only people with mental problems talk to themselves, so I must be talking to you."

After swallowing the last bit of chicken breast, I sipped water before responding to Malik. "I don't know how you can be having a conversation with me when we're not on speaking terms."

"Don't tell me you're still upset?"

I thought hard before picking up the fork, because if I did I'd probably stake him with it. Under my lashes, I stole a look at my aunt. She and her husband stared at us, forgetting their manners. I cleared my throat, and Auntie Bev said something to her husband, which restarted the conversation on their side of the table.

Malik stared at me the same way he had earlier, but I was past being fooled by the stale victim act he pulled each time he did something to hurt me. My gaze dropped to his plump lips and I was surprised he wasn't wearing any of Cherise's lipstick. He'd probably wiped it away sometime between their bathroom visit and coming back to the table.

"I saw you," I said.

His eyes went wide and innocent and his perfect eyebrows asked what I was accusing him of this time.

"Don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

He dragged out another injured party expression and I wanted to hit him with my purse. "I passed you all snuggled up with Triple D outside the bathroom, but you were so busy you couldn't come up for air."

He touched my arm. "Nats, I—"

I yanked my hand off the table. "And don't try selling me any bullshit. If you do, I'll stab you in the crotch with my fork. You and I have nothing more to talk about, so keep right on moving."

I ignored the outraged silence on the other side of the table and knew my aunt would be having a talk with Dad about what I'd said, but right now, I didn't give a shit.

Kelleigh was used to these clashes between us and didn't have a high opinion of Malik. Her eyes seemed to be dancing while she drank champagne, but I knew she'd have my back if Malik decided to be a nuisance.

I wanted him out of my face and gone for good. All of the things I'd taken from him over the past two years were suddenly too much to bear.

He made no move to leave, but I was past being polite. "I'd like to finish eating. Would you please go find the sewer you crawled out of and leave me alone?"

"How you gonna talk to me like that, huh?"

"Just get away from me, Malik."

"If that's what you want," he said, still acting as if I was doing him wrong.

"I'd like that very much, Casanova."

He stood and then asked. "So when can we talk?"

My patience abandoned me. "I have nothing to say to you. I'm done."

"What d'you mean, done?"

Ignoring my aunt's gaping mouth, I met his eyes. "I'm sick and tired of you."

I pointed to his table. "Triple D is about to break her neck looking for you."

His nostrils opened wide and then went back to their normal size, but he didn't say anything.

I knew that look, the one that said he wasn't done laying out his case, but I didn't want to hear it and wouldn't let him waste my time. I went back to chewing dead-cold chicken with the consistency of carpet fiber until Malik walked away without saying another word.
Chapter 3

Natasha

Sunday, June 3, 12:30 PM

The honking of a car horn shattered my concentration. I lay in bed reading and trying to avoid Mom.

She'd been getting on my nerves and I'd only been back at home since yesterday evening. For someone who was totally absorbed with work, that woman made nitpicking an art form. Everything in the house had to be just so and it wasn't as if she had a social life or visitors.

Three short blasts came from the car horn again and I knew it had to be Malik. He was classless like that. My mind was telling me to keep him waiting, but the noise factor changed my mind.

Mom would have a thing or two to say about my hoodlum friends coming around to disturb the neighborhood, and that's exactly what Malik was doing. The repetitive beat of rap music also came from the front of the house and since the building was set far back from the sidewalk, Malik clearly had his stereo set to an eardrum-shattering level.

I sat up, dragged down my jeans shorts, and put on my slippers. On my way to the door, I stopped in front of the mirror and with a few brush strokes made my hair look less like a bird's nest.

Mom was halfway down the passage to my room, wearing what I called her huffy look. I didn't wait for her to speak, but raised my hands in surrender. "I'm going, I'm going."

She made a U-turn and followed me through the corridor to the living room. A cluster of anthuriums in pink, red and white stood in a crystal vase on the center table, and it had always been that way. I'd been warned away from my mother's vases and flowers since I was old enough to walk. Destruction and disaster could sweep though our family, but the flowers were a regular feature of our life. When there were no anthuriums available, Mom replaced them with whatever was in bloom.

I opened the front door, taking the keys for the grille on the verandah off the hook. As I walked to the gate under the blazing sun, I questioned my sanity. Why was I even giving this boy the time of day? Dad would have a fit if he knew I was going to talk to Malik, considering his behavior. At the gate, I shied away from touching the hot metal. My tank top offered no protection and the heat wrapped around me, burning the skin on my shoulders.

The longer I stood on the driveway, the more irritated I grew. After I shot him a killing glare, Malik turned down the music and leaned sideways to see me. "We're going to Hellshire," he said. "You coming?"

I've been told many times that I'm snarky, so I swallowed the first thing I wanted to say.

As usual, Malik was traveling with a carful of hoodlums or waste men as people in our age group call idlers. Knowing the kinds of friends he kept, I didn't waste my time saying hello to them.

As far as I could tell, three other men sat in the car. One of them I hadn't seen before, but I didn't give him a second look. He wouldn't be anybody I'd want to know.

I folded my arms, wondering if something was wrong with Malik's brain. He was still sitting in the car, as if he expected me to come to him. I raised one of my eyebrows and stood taller.

A moment later, he stood on the sidewalk in front of the gate. "You never hear me?"

"What?" I put both hands on my hips and rolled my eyes. Malik always lapsed into Patois to impress his brainless friends.

He slid a glance at the car and leaned closer. "I was asking if you didn't hear what I said."

"Of course I heard, but I don't know why you think I'd be interested in a shouting match with you."

He came closer and threw a glance over his shoulder. "Are you coming to the beach?"

"Malik, are you slow in the head or something?"

His eyebrows dropped lower in a scowl and he put his hands on the gate. A second later, he let go of the hot metal. "What you mean by that?"

"I'm sure I told you yesterday that we were no longer a couple."

He smiled, showing his brilliant-white smile, compliments of the dentist he'd seen regularly over the years. "I know you were upset, but things can't end like that between us. Come to the beach with us and we can talk about it."

I cocked one eyebrow. "You can't be that clueless."

"What d'you mean?"

"You want to make up with me and turn up at my house with a carload of men?"

"I'm dropping them off when I leave here. The only person coming with us is Karim, my cousin."

"Whatever. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm sure Triple D would be happy to go. Maybe you should ask her."

Malik's mouth opened as if he couldn't believe I'd just told him no. "You're serious?"

"As a judge."

He took one step away from the gate. "You do know we have to talk about us."

"Like I said, whatever."

Malik walked around the Honda Civic and got in. The guy in the back looked at me, his full lips curved into something that might have been a smile. I knew he was curious by the way he tilted his head toward me. There was something in his eyes that made me focus on him. The boy didn't have the good sense to look away, but raised one eyebrow as if I was the one being impolite and doing all the staring.

I could have been wrong, but I assumed he was Malik's cousin.

If that was the case, Malik would probably lie to him about what had happened between us. Fact was, I didn't care what he told him.

Malik was yesterday's news.

Chapter 4

Karim

Sunday, June 3, 12:35 P.M.

After being away from Jamaica for the last three months, I was dying to break loose and have some fun. The trip to the beach was more than welcome. I hadn't been near the sea since I left Jamaica in March.

I hoped Malik's girl wouldn't take forever to be ready. If I could believe him, she'd be packed and ready to go in a flash. When I asked why he hadn't called her before we left his house, he didn't answer and I didn't press the issue.

As she came down the driveway, it was obvious she was mad as hell. Her tank top and shorts covered honey-colored skin I wanted to touch.

She held a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun. When she took her hand away, this brother paid attention. The girl was pretty; nice eyes, normal eyebrows—none of that penciled-in stuff—and a saucy-looking mouth.

I wondered if all of that hair was hers, but as if she felt me looking at her, she turned in my direction.

Malik quit yelling through the window and got out to talk to her. From the way she held herself, I knew she was giving him a lot of attitude and apart from the honking, I wondered what Malik had done. Her eyes met mine while she spoke to him, frowning as if she wanted to crucify him.

I smiled at the idea and took my eyes off her before she got the wrong impression. I'd been burned once already. I didn't need any more problems.

A couple of minutes later, Malik flung himself in the seat and grumbled over his shoulder. "She nah come."

That didn't surprise me. Her body language said she was pissed. I didn't mind. Having a girl along would have killed the vibe, since I was alone. I reminded myself that I didn't need a female hanging around. I was fine just the way I was.

Malik pulled away from the curb, cursing under his breath. One of the guys said something I didn't hear, which teed off Malik and he sucked his teeth. "She just never wanted to come."

While they ragged him, I thought about the shitload of stuff that had gone wrong in the past two years and all the reasons I loved coming back to Jamaica. Seconds later, I was thinking about why I hated coming back. It hadn't always been that way, but time and circumstances had changed everything.

If you enjoyed this sample from Perfection, download a copy from any network of your choice.

Dissolution

Sherryn Allbright is the envy of her peers. She is a wife, mother, and successful business woman, but her life turns topsy-turvy when a woman leaves a child on her doorstep, claiming her husband is the father. Denial is useless, for the boy resembles Reece too closely not to be his offspring.

Sherryn is ready to end their marriage and blames Reece's problems on his old neighborhood—a Kingston ghetto. If he'd sever ties there, he wouldn't be caught up in baby-mother drama.

When the boy's mother is murdered, Reece becomes the prime suspect and things go haywire for the Allbrights, whose lives will never be the same.
Chapter 1

Sherryn wanted to close the door on the proof of her husband's infidelity, but there was no going back.

She avoided looking at the child in front of her, whose cupid's bow of a mouth and tawny eyes confirmed that he shared the same genes as her children. But the similarity ended there—his ashy skin, underweight body, and wash-worn clothes pointed to a lack of concern for his well-being and appearance. The woman with him smiled—a smug grimace that deepened Sherryn's suspicion.

She didn't hide her distaste at the sight of the snug tank top holding in a belly about to surge out of control, or the denim skirt that did little to cover a pair of lumpy thighs. A lustrous, blonde weave complemented the woman's caramel complexion, and false eyelashes emphasized the spite in her gaze.

A quick scan tagged her as the stereotypical product of one of Kingston's ghettos. For timeless seconds, Sherryn felt as though she was stuck in an early 1900s silent film. The wind stirred the flowers and shrubs in the front yard, dried leaves blew over the lawn, and a car drove by, but she heard nothing.

Then the dancehall queen look-alike pushed the little boy forward, dragging Sherryn back to the unthinkable scene unfolding on her doorstep. "Tell Maurice him can have him pickney."

Sherryn suppressed a shiver by pulling her shoulders back. She stood tall, squeezing the doorknob as a shipwreck victim might cling to a life-saving piece of flotsam. After a glance at the boy, she whispered, "Oh no, you're not leaving him here."

"You ca'an decide dat. Since Maurice won' take care of him, him can keep him."

The woman dropped a knapsack, and spun away with an exaggerated wiggle of the hips and the jangling of gold-plated jewelry, to saunter down the driveway to the gate, where a marked taxi waited.

Ghetto rat! Why leave her child on my doorstep like unwanted baggage?

The boy's bottom lip trembled and he blinked hard several times. Sherryn's chest heaved, and she struggled to slow her breathing. It wouldn't help either of them if she fell apart. Pressing her lips together to keep her focus, she picked up the threadbare knapsack and touched his shoulder. "Come with me."

She left him sitting on the sofa inside Reece's office.

Over the years, Maurice had been shortened to Reece. The inane thought reminded her that she had spent half her life with a man she doubted she would ever really know, and here again, was proof.

The purpose for leaving the boy in Reece's study was twofold. First, he was hidden from her, as if he didn't exist and second, Reece's world would spin off its axis—just as hers had—to find his secret tucked away in his private space. She hoped the experience turned out to be as gut wrenching and devastating as hers.

In the living room, she perched on the edge of the settee and hugged herself. She tilted her head back and stared at the high ceiling. Then she skimmed the familiar paintings, family portraits and oddments, absorbing all that meant home and family.

Everything she'd invested in her relationship with Reece lay in invisible pieces around her like shattered glass.

Cold and sterile on the inside, she sighed, forced herself to get up and climb the stairs to their bedroom. Once there, she lay down and allowed the tears to fall, searing her sinuses and then her eyes. Other than anxiety over her children when they were ill, and tears shed while watching sad movies, no drama had touched her life.

And now this.

She wasn't sure how much time passed before she heard Reece's Land Cruiser throttling in the yard. He was home on one of his afternoon stopovers. Her heart thumped painfully at the confrontation to come.

She hurried into the bathroom to wash her face, staring into her dull eyes before returning to sit on the bed, facing the doorway. She ran an unsteady hand over her close-cropped hair and glanced at her watch, surprised to find that two hours had slipped away since she answered that fateful knock at the door. Briefly, she spared a thought for the boy. He had to be hungry.

Concern fled as Reece bounded up the stairs, calling her name. The door opened, and the energetic man at the center of her world entered the room. He crossed the patterned tiles in a few steps. "Sher, you never hear me calling you?"

She met his eyes, sure her expression would tell him something had gone wrong.

"Sherryn, what happen'?"

She stood up, willing herself not to scream or lash out at him for destroying her near-perfect life. Instead, she said, "It's not what, but who."

He attempted to touch her, but she edged away, ignoring the hurt and bewilderment in his darkening eyes.

"Come downstairs," she said, not waiting to see if he followed.

His footsteps fell heavy on the wooden treads behind her.

Sherryn blinked hard to prevent fresh tears from forming as she turned left at the bottom of the stairs. She paused outside his study and sucked in her belly to pull herself upright. Then she turned the knob on the door and it swung inward to reveal the boy curled up on the settee. He was asleep with a thumb in his mouth.

She pushed sympathy aside and composed herself. Reece's breath bathed the back of her neck, and he grunted in what she supposed could only be surprise.

She faced him and spoke to his pinstripe shirt through the obstruction in her throat. "Don't bother to say anything. I don't want to know."

She brushed past him, and on the way out of the house, picked up her keys from the table in the hallway.
Chapter 2

Reece had sensed that whatever lay inside his study meant the end of eighteen years of happiness. When Sherryn opened the door, shockwaves pulsed across his brain.

The result of one regrettable encounter lay asleep on his couch.

Now he understood her coldness. Panic forced sweat out through his pores and he wiped a sleeve across his forehead, but kept his mouth shut. Anything he said would make little sense and serve to tee Sherryn off, but he swore in his mind to kill that piece of trash, Gloria. She'd done this deliberately, because he refused to play along with her latest bit of blackmail.

Hoping he was trapped in a bad dream, he passed one hand over his mouth while his stomach churned.

Sherryn mumbled indistinct words and glared at him with glittering eyes before hurrying out of the house.

That was no dream.

Certain he would go mad, Reece stalked around the massive desk, along the edges of the carpet, past the bookshelves and the sofa. He refused to think about the implications of the child's presence, thereby avoiding thoughts of losing Sherryn.

He couldn't face that possibility. Death was better than forfeiting his home and family.

He sank into the executive chair, his heart beating a heavy tattoo in his chest. The discomfort was such, he wondered if he was having a heart attack.

Moving at the speed of an old man, he dragged himself out of the seat to pace aimlessly, his mind a blank space. The enormity of the situation left him numb and he couldn't think. What was he going to do? The boy stirred, rubbed small hands over his eyes and pulled himself upright.

Unable to contain his resentment, Reece glowered at him. The child shrank into the settee, his knees drawn up to his chest. Reece wanted to tell him to get his sneakers off the sofa, but instead shut his eyes to calm himself and get rid of the frown he wore. None of this was the boy's fault. He, Reece Allbright, was the stupid adult who had created the current mess in a moment of drunken weakness.

Intuition had warned him a hundred times since the boy's birth that this day would come—for all his wishing it wouldn't. The day had arrived, taking him by storm and leaving him with a sense of powerlessness he hadn't felt in more years than he cared to remember. He tried to root himself in the present by running a hand over his prickly chin. His voice was loud in the silence.

"You hungry?"

The boy shied away, looking ready to dart out the room and hide, but instead he nodded.

"Come."

They walked down the passage and through the dining room, which adjoined the kitchen. There, further dread settled over Reece at the sight of a fire engine on one of the tiled counters. He stared at his son—he had no doubt the boy was his—and tried to work out what he was going to tell his other children. His stomach clenched again because he had no solution.

"Sit down."

Reece made a tuna sandwich and placed it in front of the child he wished had never been born.

The boy crammed the food into his mouth, apparently too hungry to remember his fear.

On the way back from the refrigerator with a glass of apple juice, an idea hit Reece. He'd take the child back to the tenement yard where Gloria lived before his kids got home and started asking questions. Justin, his eldest, would take one look at the boy and know he was a relative.

Disappointment and hurt were sure to come, if he did nothing to derail Gloria's plan.

Disgusted with himself for his cowardly approach, Reece flung a napkin at the boy.

"Wipe yuh hand and mouth and come."

He grabbed the knapsack from his office and rushed out the door with his sixth offspring.
Chapter 3

Sherryn adjusted the mirror to get a better view of the kids in the back of the van. She had just completed her rounds and picked them up from their schools.

Sixteen-year-old Justin had Melaine, his thirteen-year-old sister, in a headlock. Their younger sibling, eleven-year-old Celia, had her face hidden in a book, while Kyle—the baby at three-years-old—chattered non-stop to himself in the booster seat. Brandon, who was super-mature for his six years, played a video game in the passenger seat beside her.

Her insides ached as if a debilitating disease had ravaged her. What had possessed her to give in to Reece's wish to have so many children? And if she didn't stand strong, he wanted to round out the family with a sixth Allbright. Her lips curled in disgust. He had obviously made time to complete his family elsewhere.

Reece had no relatives worth staying in touch with, so together they had fulfilled his desire to have a complete family unit. One corner of her mouth twitched at his single-mindedness, but what was there to be amused about? The joke was clearly on her.

What am I going to do?

Kyle, catching her eye in the mirror, giggled and hid behind his fingers. In return, she made a funny face. He laughed—a joyous sound that pushed away the unpleasant thoughts.

She didn't regret giving any of them life. They were good kids. Their father was the one who had wrecked everything. Images of Reece naked with that woman flooded her mind, filling her vision. How many times had he been in her bed over the years? Did he love her?

She forced herself to focus on the road when Brandon, along with his brothers and sisters, shouted, "Mom!"

She'd missed hitting another passenger van by inches.

"Oh, God," she whispered and then apologized to the children over her shoulder, while ignoring the string of swear words the wronged motorist hurled at her.

She whispered a prayer of thanks, only to see two police officers riding up behind them.

One pulled alongside the Toyota Noah and pointed toward the sidewalk. Sherryn parked and reached for her license and registration, hoping to avoid a ticket. The heat of the afternoon sun intensified with the van at a standstill. She swiped her forehead as sweat covered her skin.

One officer got off his bike and crowded the window, peering inside the vehicle. "Good afternoon, Ma'am. You aware you just run the red light?"

Sherryn settled her thoughts and hoped the children wouldn't take her to task for the humdinger of a lie she was about to tell. "Yes, officer. I wasn't paying attention because I thought something was wrong with the baby."

She pointed to Kyle and put on her best penitent expression. "That's how I ran through the light. Officer, please, don't ticket me. You understand how it is when you have so many children in one vehicle... "

The policeman removed his dark glasses and slipped one of the arms into his mouth, eyeing her from her hair to the jeans covering her legs. In a low voice, he said, "We can sort this out easy, easy. Leave a t'ing wid me and mi partner, nuh?"

Reece would have a fit at what she was about to do, if he knew, but who cared what he thought? She reached into the space between the two seats and rifled through the handbag for her purse. She pulled out a crisp, blue thousand-dollar note bearing a picture of one of the island's past Prime Ministers and deftly folded it into the policeman's hand that rested on the window.

"Respec', Ma'am." He stepped away from the van, smiling. "And remember to keep yuh eyes on the road."

She eased into the traffic and mere seconds passed before Justin exploded. "You shouldn't give him nutten! Damn thiefin' police!"

She looked at him in the mirror. He knew how much she disliked when he spoke badly, but he often did it to irritate her. "Excuse me?"

He sat back, grumbling. "Daddy woulda handle him differently, fi real!"

"That's how they're teaching you to talk in school these days?"

Refusing to give up, he continued, "Mommy, you know that's why they harass people on di road. You shouldn't give him a dollar."

She sighed. Why did this have to happen today of all days? "Justin, you're right, and I'm wrong. I shouldn't have done it, okay? Now, relax."

Their eyes met in the mirror. "Just don't say anything to your father."

He avoided her by squinting at his watch, and she smiled, knowing he was unwilling to be in cahoots with her when he could score points with his father.

Justin sprawled on the seat in his khakis, arms folded, defying her in silence.

She stopped watching him, disturbed by how much he resembled Reece, but then all their children did. Somehow, they all inherited his amber eyes and the distinctive shape of his mouth. Justin and Brandon also shared the deep bronze undertone of his skin. The others had her dark-honey complexion.

Sherryn gripped the wheel tight to keep her mind on the road, but something occurred to her. If their home was destined to go topsy-turvy, she had some groundwork to do.

"Um, guys." She glanced behind her. "Your father may have a visitor."

Brandon raised his head, frowning. "So?"

"Well, he's a-a relative."

Justin leaned forward. "You mean like a cousin or something?"

She nodded and chanced a peek in the mirror.

Justin frowned at her. "But, Mommy, where this cousin come from all of a sudden?"

"Your dad will explain," she said, hoping to stem his questions.

Justin resumed his position, but the taut way he held his body said he wasn't satisfied.

Sherryn cursed on the inside, wishing she knew how to brace them for the coming upheaval.
Chapter 4

Reece was gone when she returned.

The children spilled out of the van with their belongings, oblivious to her turmoil. She reached in to release Kyle from his seat, grateful for the reprieve. What could she say to Reece?

The stuff and nonsense he'd filled her ears with over the years now worked out to be just that. So much for his promises of never cheating because theirs was a special kind of love.

She used to insist he was a man and couldn't keep his word to himself, much less her, but he swore he had never touched another woman since their marriage. That turned out to be a devastating lie. How many others had he told her?

After eighteen years, their passion for each other was alive as ever—or so she'd thought. With their vibrant love life and hectic family schedule, where had he found time to maintain another relationship?

Obviously, he carved some out of his busy days.

Kyle's hands caught her in the face.

She'd zoned out and hadn't lifted him from the seat.

He struggled to get out. "Mommy?"

"Yes, hon?"

"Want sleep."

He crawled into her arms and rested his head on her shoulder.

Holding him close, she abandoned her mental wandering and took him to the bathroom.

In the water, Kyle came to life, darting behind the shower curtain to hide. She teased him, directing the shower spray at his tummy. He squealed, as he did every time they played this game.

After a quick soap and rinse, she wrapped him in a towel and carried him to the room he shared with Brandon. She listened with one ear while he nattered about his day in pre-school and sang the nursery rhyme he'd learned, the desire for sleep forgotten.

Hand-in-hand, they walked to the kitchen, where all the kids congregated as soon as they changed out of uniform. Celia was the exception. She usually grabbed a snack and locked herself in the bedroom she shared with Melaine. She'd read for most of the afternoon and then have to be reminded to do her homework.

Having settled Kyle with a tuna sandwich—for he currently refused to eat anything else—Sherryn restored order to the kitchen.

Miss Emelyn, their household helper, had not come in that day. Her son was in trouble with the law again for beating up his girlfriend.

When Sherryn finished wiping the counter, she reminded Justin, Melaine and Brandon to clean up after themselves and Kyle.

In her bedroom, she faced the mirror trying to unclog the pipeline to her brain. She needed some sort of game plan. But what? She didn't have a clue where to start. She felt like all the other women who had invested their time raising a family, only to find their spouse had moved on to discover new and exciting relationships elsewhere.

She supposed she could be dramatic and throw Reece's things out on the doorstep. But to what end? Did she really want him to leave? Did she want to start over on her own? No. But how could she live with him, knowing he had been in another woman's bed, spilled his sperm inside her and worst of all, started another family outside of the one he'd promised to love and cherish?

Her eyes smarted and she sniffed, feeling sorry for herself. How long had he been sleeping with that ghetto woman, and without a condom too? What did she give him that he wasn't getting at home?

A chill ran over her skin and anger twisted her face. Though she hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, she needed to make a doctor's appointment. What if he'd brought home something more serious than an STD? Something she wouldn't know about until it was too late?

Reece had pulled himself out of the ghetto, but hadn't lost his taste for the women.

Her breath puffed out in a slow stream and she blinked hard, wishing her thoughts would stop churning. She felt like a fool. Humiliated. Didn't want to see him or talk to him. She couldn't avoid him forever, but what was there to say?

If you enjoyed this sample of Dissolution, download a copy of the book from any network of your choice.

After five years in a dead-end relationship, the last thing Anya needs is a man to upset her ordered existence. A quiet, Christmas season with family is all that's on her agenda, until her job puts her in contact with Christophe Mondesir, who refuses to play by her rules.

Caught between an interfering ex, a secret that gives her anxious moments, and a man with the power to make her forget promises to herself, Anya faces more complications than she can handle.

If her ex would stay gone, she might take a chance on romance with the man determined to spin her world off its axis. But the obstacles in her way leave Anya stuck in a groove with work as the main diversion from her problems.

Only Christophe's resolve to win her love makes the difference between Anya staying in a rut and pursuing her dreams.

Anya's Wish is the prequel to  Chasing Anya.

The man across the table had a soothing voice that washed over Anya in a hypnotic rhythm. It had the same effect as the pastel-themed mural that covered one wall of the boardroom. Absorbing and fascinating.

What would it be like to have his breath warming her skin while he whispered in her ear? He definitely wasn't Jamaican. His accent held a trace of something exotic, but she couldn't place his country of origin. What was it he'd said when he took her hand?

Christophe...Christophe Mondesir.

But that didn't tell her anything. He could be from one of several islands in the region. French Guiana, Haiti, Martinique, St. Maarten, Suriname...

A hand landed on her wrist, putting Anya's mind back where it belonged. Squarely on business. Karen angled her body toward Anya and smiled. "That's within Anya's area of expertise, she'd be better able to answer that."

Anya shuffled the papers in the file and hoped it wasn't obvious that she hadn't been paying attention. Heat flooded her neck and flushed her cheeks, but with her deep cocoa skin, nobody would notice.

She looked sideways at Karen under her lashes. Still smiling at Christophe and the other man across the table, Karen barely moved her lips but spoke so Anya could hear what she said. "Insurance for security team."

Sucking in a deep breath, Anya rifled through the papers as if searching for something specific. She placed a sheet on top and glanced at it for a second, to give the impression that the information was connected to what she was about to say. "There are several companies that will be happy to provide health and life insurance benefits for your guards."

Comfortable now that she'd hit her stride, Anya outlined what the brokerage had to offer.

When she finished, the managing director of Fidelity Security Services met her eyes and gave a slight nod. He was sixtyish with salt and pepper hair and a matching moustache. She let her gaze slide to Christophe, who was watching her.

Chief Financial Officer.

That was his title. Funny how information about him kept coming in dribs and drabs since they'd been introduced. What was it about him that short-circuited her brain?

His lips curved, and she blinked. Once. Twice.

The smile transformed his face. A pair of dimples appeared, which pulled an answering smile from her. Christophe's mouth moved again, and she caught the tail end of his sentence. "...be able to make a decision based on your presentation."

The older man got up, indicating that the meeting was finished. "We'll be in touch," he said.

He picked up the copy of the proposal Anya had given him and left the board room. Christophe gathered his papers and stood.

Anya and Karen did the same, lifting their handbags and portfolios. They both walked to the door, where Christophe held it open.

Karen went ahead of Anya, who met Christophe's eyes briefly. She wasn't sure, but thought he might be as fascinated with her as she was with him. When she stepped past him, she caught a whiff of something herbal that pleased her senses. She liked a man who didn't saturate himself with too much scent.

"I'll walk you to the outer door," he said.

She squeezed the folder to her chest and nodded. "Thanks."

The deep-blue carpet extended around several corners, and the group soon emerged at the glass door that secured the executive offices. Christophe slid a card through a metal sleeve attached to the door and let them out.

"Thanks again," Karen said, walking away.

"I'll talk to you later in the week," Christophe said, holding out his hand.

Anya slipped hers into his, meeting his eyes. She opened her mouth to respond, and forgot what she wanted to say. Taking a step back, she slid one palm down the skirt of her suit, got her brain in gear and said, "Sure."

She continued toward the floor exit, aware of the time lapse between walking away from him and the hiss from the door's hydraulic arm as it closed.

Karen waited by the elevator around the corner, a sly smile in place. Her eyes shone under her bangs and she grinned.

"What?" Anya said, hiking her shoulders.

"I think Monsieur Mondesir has zee hots for you," she said in an exaggerated French accent.

"Right," Anya said, tipping her head back to watch the changing numbers above the elevator door.

"Don't think I can't see that you have a thing for him too."

Anya got on the elevator, hoping Karen would let the topic go, but that turned out to be a vain hope.

"You need to start living again. When was the last time you went out with anybody?"

"Well, let's see," Anya said, striding across the lobby toward the front door. "There was last weekend when I partied with the group from the office."

"That doesn't count," Karen said, while trotting to stay in step with Anya as she crossed the parking lot.

"It does in my book," Anya said. "There was Gregory, Patrick—"

"Don't be dense," Karen said, dropping into the passenger seat of the Toyota Corolla. "You're one of the most gorgeous women I know. Tall and sexy, with that Amazon-appeal thing you have going on. I'd love to be a man-magnet like you, and here you are, letting that mmm-mmm goodness go to waste."

She let out a shriek of laughter, which almost ruptured Anya's eardrums. "It's a good thing our body parts don't shrivel up and fall off from lack of use. Otherwise, some of us would be missing a few vital bits."

Despite wanting to keep a straight face, Anya laughed. "I'm gonna miss you when you leave, but Lord you can be such a nag."

Karen buckled the seat belt and then patted Anya's shoulder. "That's true, but I'm getting on your nerves for a good cause."

"Whatever," Anya said, turning the key in the ignition.

The ride, which should have taken ten minutes, stretched to twenty because of the lunch time traffic. For an island of just over four thousand square miles, Jamaica had way too many vehicles.

Anya released her breath in a long hiss when she pulled into her parking spot at the brokerage. The air conditioning in her car was on the blink. Just her luck, with the sun on the way to being blindingly hot. The only respite came from the seasonal breeze wafting through the window.

A dash up the cement walkway and through the plate glass door put Anya inside the cool foyer.

"Talk to you later," she said to Karen, who waved in reply and headed to her department.

Anya entered her tiny office and sat behind the desk, kicking off her heels. She picked up the messages her assistant had left. As head of department in the client services division, she could depend on having an endless stream of customers who wanted to discuss one issue or the other.

Today was no different. She sighed, knowing she'd have to return some of the calls before she had anything to eat. She'd probably have to grab a sandwich at her desk, having neglected to do the smart thing and buy lunch while she'd been out of office.

Her new assistant rapped once on the open door. Monica had been with the company for six months and had worked in reception and then customer service, before joining the claims department. Sighing at the thought of the lunch she wouldn't get to eat, Anya waved Monica into the room. "What's up?"

"I have several messages from Mr. Binns," she said, shifting from foot-to-foot.

Frowning, Anya asked, "Is there something else?"

"Yes." Monica came closer and held out a file, standing farther than Anya could reach. "It has to do with his vehicles. I mean his policy."

Anya hid a smile but didn't point out that was the only reason Mr. Binns had for calling. Monica was afraid of her, possibly because of how firm she sometimes had to be with the brokerage's clients.

Last week, Anya was sure Monica's eyes were going to fall out of her head while she listened to Anya telling one client that she wasn't prepared to do prison time over any back door deals. Monica had turned unblinking eyes on Anya, who told herself that her assistant would learn that she didn't bite, although she had plenty of bark.

Anya knew how far she could go since her boss, Mr. Gonsalves, had confidence in her and gave her a free hand. He'd been in the business long enough to understand that some customers took extreme routes to save a dollar. He also knew Anya was dedicated to her job.

She reached for the file, which forced Monica to take another step toward the desk. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"Did he leave a specific message?" Anya asked.

"OMD," Monica said, putting a hand to her mouth.

Anya opened the file and tipped her head to one side. "What?"

"Sorry," Monica said. "I meant it's on my desk."

Anya refused to comment, but watched Monica back out of the office and scuttle past the open window blinds. Her short stature, sharp features and quick movements reminded Anya of a mouse.

Monica returned a moment later with a message slip, which she shoved into Anya's hand.

A scan of the detailed note perplexed Anya. She pulled the file closer and examined the sheet on top. After she flipped the page, Monica shifted. Brows creased, Anya studied the file and then looked at the message again.

"Can you get Romaine over at Royal Insurance on the phone, please?"

"Sure," Monica said before darting away.

Usually, Anya made her own calls, but needed a minute to absorb what she was seeing. It was something she hadn't noticed before today, but should have. She'd also used the request to get Monica out of the room. She had the feeling Monica would have stood there all day if she hadn't given her something to do.

Monica put the call through to Anya within a moment. Ten minutes later, Anya wrapped up the conversation and completed her notes. After that, she called Mr. Binns.

When she ended the call, she sat with her eyes closed, rubbing her forehead. In the eight years she'd been in the insurance business, she'd seen many things. Even now, clients still managed to surprise her.

Before she forgot, Anya picked up the handset and dialed the extension for one of the agents.

"Hi, Racquel. Mr. Binns tells me you're dealing with his latest claim. How come?"

"Misha is his assigned rep, but she was handling some other stuff, including that new account for the shipping company. She asked me to help her with it."

"The paperwork seems to be in order, so I expect we'll hear from Royal Insurance shortly."

"I did everything the way she told me to and I've helped her with that account before, so..."

Anya's phone buzzed inside her bag and she leaned sideways to pick it up off the credenza.

"That's fine. I have a call coming in."

By the time she got the cellular out, it stopped ringing. A glance at the display soured her mood. Her ex had called. She wondered what he wanted. Since he never knew when to give up, she could expect to hear from him again. Before the thought was complete, the phone rang. She answered, keeping her tone neutral. "Yes, Andrew, what d'you want?"

"My car insurance is due for renewal. Can you handle it for me?"

She sighed. "It's better if you deal directly with an insurance company. As you well know, I can't do you any favors since your company no longer uses this brokerage for its fleet."

"But, can't you do anything..." He let his voice drop to a whisper. "For old time's sake."

He'd used that pitch often enough to fool her into doing silly things in the past. Like taking him back each time he'd strayed. Thank God she'd grown immune to his wiles. She rolled her eyes. "Andrew, get a grip. You're the last person I'd do any favors."

"I'd think the man in your life for so many years would be entitled to a few perks."

She could have made a comment about his reference to the word man and himself in the same sentence, but didn't. Why prolong what would be an argument she couldn't win.

"You no longer hold that space, so I don't know why you're presumptuous enough to think I'd do anything for you."

"We both know how you feel about me, although you prefer to deny—"

"Stop right there," Anya said, giving in to her temper. "You must have knocked your head somewhere and had a case of amnesia. That's the only reason you'd think I'm still interested in you."

"You might not be honest enough to admit your feelings, but I know better..."

While he droned on, Anya wondered what she'd ever seen in him. He was selfish and immature from the get go. Her thoughts turned to the man she'd met earlier in the day. Hard to tell what kind of man he was from one meeting, but he seemed considerate.

In her mind's eye, she pictured his hands. His fingers were long and the nails short and clean. What would his hands feel like trailing over her skin?

He was good-looking, had a lot of height on him—just the way she liked her men. Although lanky, he was sturdy enough for her taste.

She chuckled over her daydream. It had been ages since she'd let herself fixate on a man. That thought wiped away her smile. She didn't have the time or inclination to get involved with anyone. Not after Andrew.

"...laughing about?"

"Huh?" She tuned in to Andrew, who was still talking.

"You've always been ungrateful," he said. "You should be thankful I'm even speaking to you after what you did."

Knowing what was coming next, Anya cut his rant. "You're like a blasted boil on my backside. You're such a pain and always turn up at the most inconvenient times. I don't need this aggravation. I can't help you."

After she slammed the phone down, Anya hoped nobody in the offices around had heard her ranting. Andrew always affected her that way and yet, he wouldn't stop calling.

Two years had passed since their disastrous relationship ended and he still hadn't let go. So many angry words exchanged and unforgivable acts of violence committed, and he refused to stay gone.

With one hand, she lifted the hair away from the back of her neck and massaged her scalp.

She was at her wit's end as to what to do about him. It had become a full-time job to field his calls and keep him at a distance.

She was beginning to think that only an intervention from God would make him stay away for good.

Anya's attention kept straying to the scene below the balcony. At night, the lights in and around Kingston were breath-taking, but nowhere as fascinating as the man sitting across the table.

Over the past two weeks, she had seen Christophe several times to finalize the details of the insurance for his staff. The meetings took place at his office and each time, Christophe had walked her out of the building. On one occasion when they met after five o' clock because of her schedule, he'd seen her to her car.

She hadn't thought anything of it, even though a security guard was assigned to the parking lot. After all, it was late-November and night fell much earlier and as he'd said, his Mama trained him well.

By the time they settled the policy coverage, Christophe had worn down her resistance. When he asked her out to celebrate closing the deal, she agreed to have dinner with him. Although she made it a point not to mix business with pleasure, Christophe was the exception. Somehow, he'd gotten past her defences. Truth be told, his attentiveness made her say yes.

His eyes told her that he was really into her. Not in the way of a man looking for a quick romp, but with the interest of someone who appreciated her femininity. He wasn't like the men on the street who ogled her bust and butt. If he'd done it, she hadn't caught him. In his eyes, she saw admiration for the total package she presented.

She couldn't say why she accepted his invitation after swearing off men. Perhaps she was bored or felt like defying her own rules. Plus, Andrew continued to be a nuisance. Her last run-in with him was during the middle of the week and he'd been arrogant enough to tell her that no matter how hard she tried to deny it, they shared a connection that wouldn't ever be broken.

That link he kept harping on was still too painful for Anya to think about and she refused to dwell on the negative. She'd done too much of that since their breakup.

Christophe had asked her out at the right time. Only a slight lifting of the eyebrows had told her that he was just as surprised when she said yes.

He touched her hand, disturbing her thoughts.

"You're miles away," he said. "Everything okay?"

She had no reason to neglect him. Christophe was good company, so she made an effort to stay focused.

His hand still rested on hers, and trying not to be obvious, Anya pulled hers away and picked up the glass of Port.

In the dim light from the nearby lamppost, Christophe's eyes gleamed and he smiled. If Anya didn't know better, she'd believe he'd seen through that move. It wasn't that she didn't want him to touch her, but it was best to keep him at a distance. A glance around the verandah reminded her that she was safely surrounded by other diners.

The waiter came to her elbow, which forced her to sit back to allow him to remove the plate. She was grateful for the reprieve as Christophe's eyes continued to question her.

She followed the waiter's movements as he removed all evidence of the main course. Seconds later, she was looking at the dessert menu. Christophe passed, but Anya decided to have a slice of rum and raisin cheese cake.

She treated her taste buds to a generous helping, while Christophe stirred the tumbler of Appleton VX by moving it around on the tabletop.

"Anya," he said, "why did you agree to have dinner with me?"

Although startled by the question, she took her time laying the fork on the plate. Then she had a sip of water. "What d'you mean?" she asked, putting down the glass.

"Exactly what I said. I'm not, as they say, feeling you."

That forced a laugh from her. It wasn't what she expected from him.

He grinned in reply. "What? I might be conservative, but I live in the real world."

She chewed another bit of cake while considering what to say.

He waited, one hand moving the glass in slow circles.

Although she wasn't one to discuss her emotions, she did want them both to be on the same wavelength. She surprised herself when she spoke. "Apart from the fact that I like you, you're very different from the man I used to see."

"Should I take that second part as a compliment?"

Laughing, she said, "Definitely."

"In that case, I'm going to press my advantage. When are we going out again?"

"What about next Friday night?" she said, wondering what on earth was going on with her. Where was the cautious woman who'd been dead set against getting involved with anybody?

"I'll plan something special," he said, displaying his dimples again. His black dress shirt and the dim light played up his ultra-white smile.

Head tilted to one side, Anya studied him. His hair needed trimming, and lay flat against his scalp where the breeze touched it. She'd bet it was soft to the touch. His features were fine, except for his full lips, which were shades darker than his cinnamon complexion and made her want to...

"...you said yes a second time," Christophe said.

"Huh?" She'd been caught off guard again. What was it about this man that made her lose bits of time?

A half smile claimed her lips. What she was experiencing had little to do with Christophe. She'd been having these episodes for at least two years. All he'd done was help to move her thoughts in a more fascinating direction.

"I said I'll make sure our date is special so you won't regret going out with me again."

Goosebumps took over her skin and she went still. She didn't want him getting stuck on her. "I hope you don't plan to go out of your way for me."

"Let me worry about that, okay?"

With that said, he changed the subject. In the pause that fell after their discussion about the chances of Jamaica's football team making it to the next World Cup, Anya asked, "Where are you from originally?"

"Are you saying I haven't perfected my Jamaican accent?"

"Almost, but not quite. Certain things you say sound different, plus there's the way you phrase your sentences."

"D'you mean to say I sound weird?"

She chuckled and then took a sip of water. "I rest my case."

He looked at her as if waiting for something. She wasn't sure what that could be, but pressed ahead to satisfy her curiosity. "What languages do you speak?"

"I learned French in school, but the woman who took care of our home taught me Kreyol. It's what most Haitians speak."

He continued when she frowned. "My parents are professionals, so most of the time, we were with the housekeeper."

"We?"

"My brother, sister and me."

"When did you come here?"

"I was ten." His tone and closed expression implied that he wouldn't say more.

She took the hint, wondering if she'd get the chance to ask him any more questions to do with his childhood. Not that she had any idea why she wanted to know.

"Am I permitted to ask questions?" he said.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Anya played with the pendant on her choker. "What d'you want to know?'

"Your family. Tell me about them."

She let her shoulders relax. "My father's dead and my sister lives at home with my mother. We have no other close relatives."

"What d'you do for fun?"

That took her by surprise and it was a while before she said anything. It would sound strange to tell him that all she did was read and eat ice cream.

Karen's advice to start living again had some merit now that Christophe had asked that question. It forced her to think. Her best friend, Camille, had been telling her the same thing for ages.

Anya had gone from being a party girl to a full-time hermit. She met Christophe's gaze, conscious that she hadn't answered the question.

"I work long hours."

He smiled, distracting her. "I asked what you do for fun. Working hard isn't an excuse not to enjoy yourself."

"I spend time with my best friend, who lives in Mandeville."

"Isn't that fifty miles away?"

She nodded. "We talk on the phone each week."

Speaking of which, she had to give Camille the 411 on this date. She'd be glad to hear Anya hadn't started the weekend trying to take the color of the walls at home, as she liked to say.

"Oh." Christophe sipped from the tumbler, staring at her over the rim.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing." He spread both hands wide. "It just seems that having fun is not part of your agenda. We'll have to change that."

Assuming I keep you around long enough.

Christophe met her eyes, and she swore he knew what was going on in her head. Either he was intuitive, or the rum from the cheesecake was messing with her brain.

"I can be tenacious when I put my mind to it," he said, as if in response to her unspoken thoughts.

She didn't ask what that meant, since she had no intention of getting caught up in anything long-term. Much easier to enjoy being out with him and avoid overanalyzing things.

His gaze dipped to her plate. "You're ready to go?"

She nodded. "It wouldn't be wise to have any more of this cake. The chef was a tad heavy handed with the rum.

Chuckling, he said, "Don't worry, you'd be safe with me even if you got drunk and disorderly."

"I'll hold you to that if I ever drink more alcohol than I can tolerate."

While he paid the bill, Anya gathered her purse and the wrap she'd put aside. The evening had turned out warmer than expected.

On the way to her apartment, she listened to Jazz instrumental on the radio. The silence between them felt natural, with no need for words to clutter it up. She gazed through the window, keeping an eye out for homes and businesses that had already hung pepper lights. Although she had no plans to put up a tree, she liked the cheerful character the lights gave the city, plus the boost they gave her spirit.

By month end, Mama would insist that Anya and Celeste help her decorate the Christmas tree, but for many families, high electricity bills put a damper on the holidays.

When the Camry pulled up to her door, Anya wondered what to expect. So much time had passed since she'd brought a man to her house that she'd forgotten the moves. Good night kiss? Peck on the cheek? A hug?

Christophe took the burden of that decision from her by kissing her cheek. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver snaking through her tummy. She inhaled the light musk of his cologne and closed her eyes, thinking he was done. But no, his lips brushed hers and he whispered. "Bònn nui, cherie."

He stepped away, and all she could do was nod. She waited until he got into the car before she closed the front door.

She leaned against it, still feeling the slight pressure of Christophe's kiss.

It was a pity she couldn't keep him around for long. He was just the sort of man she needed to break her drought.

"I wish you'd cut all this cloak and dagger business and tell me what's going on," Romaine said.

"You know I like to have all my facts in place before—"

"Hang on a second," he said.

Anya waited while Romaine had a muffled conversation at his end before coming back to her. "I gotta go. Have an emergency. Call me on this tomorrow."

"Obviously, you don't have a life, otherwise you'd know today is Friday," she said.

Romaine chuckled. "Some of us aren't as lucky as you. I have to work this weekend."

"Have fun," she said, laughing when he threw a swear word at her in a playful tone.

She'd been working with Romaine Wells for a while now. He was tall and dark-skinned, with a wicked sense of humor. Romaine was also serious about his work.

Although they got along, Anya had never accepted any of his invitations to go out. Knowing she could be hard to get along with when things weren't going in her favor, she didn't want to risk wrecking a wonderful friendship.

She ran a hand through her hair, glad she'd been able to wrangle an appointment at the salon yesterday after work. Her sleek do gave her face a lift and as she always told Camille, if you look good, you feel great.

She was looking forward to spending the evening with Christophe and wondered what he had planned. Twice this week, she'd spoken to him, and he'd refused to say what they'd be doing. The only thing he'd said was that she was to dress casual and carry a sweater, just in case.

She couldn't figure out what he had up his sleeve and not knowing had played havoc with her mind. She was unsettled and excited by turns, which wasn't the usual for her. Andrew had been so predictable, after a few months he'd bored her senseless. Besides, he'd stopped courting her once he got her into bed. Why she'd been stupid enough to hang on to him for five years she couldn't say.

She closed the file labeled Binns Manufacturing, her mind resting briefly on the research she'd postponed until today. They had landed a couple of large accounts in the last two weeks and she'd had to put off the close look she'd been taking at Arnold Binns' account.

Too bad today was Friday. A few short weeks ago, she'd have stayed late to continue working on the file, but not today. If she could, she'd teleport herself home to unwind before Christophe came for her. She picked up her keys and handbag, while sending up a quick prayer that traffic would be light.

Five minutes into the ride to her apartment, Anya knew she'd made a good decision. The roads weren't clear, but traffic moved in a steady flow. Give it a few minutes and it would be bumper-to-bumper—one of the many challenges of getting around the capital city, Kingston. The advent of December meant the streets were busier than ever. The shoppers weren't out in full yet, but the dolled-up storefronts beckoned those with money to spend.

Pleased with her timing, Anya slid into her designated parking spot. She locked up and raced inside the apartment in record time, taking off her heels on the way to the bedroom. Stripping off came next and then a leisurely shower. After that, she lay down to chill. The clock on the bedside table told her an hour-and-a-half remained before Christophe was due at her door. He'd get there at seven. Again, she tried to guess where they'd be going. Dancing? A movie? A walk along the seashore? Nah. Too farfetched.

She switched on the television and tuned in to a channel showing music videos, but it wasn't long before her mind strayed.

Christmas was a few weeks away, so she wouldn't change the drapes just yet. The patterned, peach fabric matched the sheets and bed cushions. Her bedroom was a haven and deservedly so, but Anya couldn't help thinking that so much beauty and comfort was wasted on one person.

The combined weight of her non-existent love life and unresolved issues with Andrew tried to seep over her. She changed the channel, hoping to find something to hold her attention. Maybe she'd have a snack.

In the kitchen, she found a half-eaten bag of plantain chips and poured a glass of orange juice to wash them down.

Since she didn't want to get in a hurry and start sweating, she laid the sleeveless cotton dress on the bed and got busy with her hair and makeup.

When she rose from the dresser, she was pleased with the result. Her twenties had raced by and she was almost thirty-two, but was at her peak in terms of looks and physical condition. She didn't exercise much, thanks to her mother's good genes. Thankfully, the ice cream she ate in vast quantities hadn't yet started showing on her figure.

She shimmied into the dress, zipped it up and spun in front of the full length mirror in the corner.

Not bad, she thought.

She'd gathered her purse and shawl and slipped on her sandals by the time Christophe knocked at the door. At least, she assumed it was him.

"Coming," she yelled, stopping to spritz on perfume.

One twist of the lock and she had the door open. Christophe turned to face her, suave in a ribbed sweater with jeans and smelling delicious. After laying the full four hundred watts of his smile on her, he touched her shoulder. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, tongue-tied without knowing why. This was new territory for her and to think she believed she had everything figured out.

He waited for her to lock up and then guided her to where he'd parked. After seating her inside the Camry, he hit the main road, heading downtown.

What was in the business district at this time of night, she wondered. "So, you're still not saying where we're going?"

"You'll find out soon enough," he said reaching for the dashboard. Music flowed through the speakers and surrounded them. Although it wasn't familiar, it pleased her ear.

"Haitian music?" she said after a minute.

He nodded. "Méringue."

She relaxed and enjoyed the melodious voice of the man who sang what sounded like a ballad. Her curiosity hit a new high when they continued onto the airport road. Where on earth could they be going?

Fifteen minutes later, she sat up when they turned into a boatyard on the Palisadoes Road. A man closed the gate behind them and told Christophe where to park.

Christophe helped her out of the Camry, locked up and took her arm as they moved toward the dock. She held back a comment, wondering if she could believe where her thoughts were leading. If she was correct, in another second she'd be asking herself where Christophe had been all her life.

A boat with the name Desdemona painted on the side bobbed next to the pier. From the deck, a muscular man in casual clothes greeted Christophe. He got off the boat and came toward them. "You're right on time."

With a hand to her back, Christophe introduced her. "Meet Desmond Minto, my good friend."

"Nice to meet you," Anya said, wondering if he was the owner of the boat.

"Good to meet you too, I've heard a bit about you," he said, smiling.

"I hope it's all good," she said, sliding a glance toward Christophe.

"Not to worry," Desmond said, turning to the boat. "Christophe would never trash anybody, much less a woman."

Desmond lifted a hand in a silent invitation for them to board the boat.

The sight of it up close gave Anya a twinge of discomfort. The last time she'd been on any kind of vessel was during her childhood when she'd gone on a trip to Port Royal. Her dad had gotten a man who owned a teeny-tiny boat with an outboard engine to take their family to Lime Cay for a picnic. That was a long time ago and her father was long dead, but the memory made her nostalgic.

She glanced at Christophe, a frown wrinkling her brow. A boat ride was something a man did with that special woman in his life. She wanted to pull away from Christophe, who had his arm around her, but didn't see how she could do that without letting on that something was amiss.

She must have had a moment of madness when she convinced herself it was possible to see such a special man and not get attached. One thing was true. It was way past time for her to stop playing dead.

To Anya's surprise, when they climbed aboard, someone was sitting on deck. Desmond introduced the petite woman as Janelle. They exchanged small talk until Desmond invited them to sit while he got them underway.

The boat was fitted with plastic, drop-down sheeting intended to enclose the deck during bad weather. Tonight, hardly a ripple disturbed the water, but Anya unfolded her shawl and drew it around her body. Although she wasn't cold, she knew the night air could turn chilly. Christophe pulled her to his side, and she watched the moonlight shimmering on the water.

"Does he have someone steering this thing?" she murmured, keeping her eyes on Janelle, who now stood at one side of the boat with Desmond.

Chuckling, Christophe tugged her ear. "He's doing it or should I say, it's on automatic pilot."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. I'm just thinking you move in some serious circles."

"Hmm."

It was her turn to ask a question. "What does that mean?"

He laughed low in his throat. "Nothing. You're a one-of-a-kind woman, so is it strange that I'd pull out all the stops to make sure you have a good evening?"

She pretended her shawl was slipping and used that as an excuse not to answer. This man was making her all sorts of uncomfortable. So much for thinking she knew what the hell she was doing.

She fixed her gaze on the water, hoping Christophe didn't expect an answer.

"Relax," he said, squeezing her arm.

She thought it awkward to join their host, who now had his arm around Janelle, so she tugged Christophe's hand until he stood beside her on the opposite side of the boat.

"How big is this thing?" she asked.

"Fifty feet."

"D'you fish?"

"Not often."

"When was the last time?"

"A month ago."

"Where are we going?"

Shaking his head, he said, "I'm still not saying."

She should have known better than to think she could throw him off guard. "This better be good," she grumbled.

"Be patient, we'll get there in a few minutes."

That turned out to be true. Within ten minutes, they stood on the dock watching the boat leave. Before they got to shore, Christophe told her Desmond would be back for them in a couple of hours.

"So, where d'you want to eat?" He angled his head toward the nearby hotel. "There, or somewhere else?"

She pointed in the direction of the town. "One of the restaurants down the road is fine. I eat in established places every day."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

Hand-in-hand, they strolled down the street. Anya had always been wary of Port Royal. The earthquake that sank the city had happened in the 1600s, but one never knew. It would be just her luck to be trapped here when the next one struck. She hoped it wouldn't be tonight.

The salty tang in the air and constant breeze was a pleasant change from Kingston. Anya didn't miss the city's backdrop of blaring horns and reggae music blasting from sound boxes on street corners.

The restaurant was a casual affair with tables inside and outside the building. The owners had strung pepper lights around the edge of the roof and on the supporting poles, no doubt to ring in the Christmas season.

Anya chose to sit under the stars and enjoy the gentle breeze, while Christophe paid for their meal inside the restaurant. A lively group of half-a-dozen people sat close by, laughing and sharing drinks.

The wash of the waves was audible from Anya's table. She found herself working up an appetite as she breathed deeply of the sea air.

Dinner consisted of fried fish and bammies—small wafers made from pressed cassava. These were fried until golden brown. Christophe had ordered Steamed Fish & Okra, which Anya thought yucky and told him as much.

"It's healthier than the greasy food you're having," he said.

Making a face, she replied, "You only live once."

"Which is why I'm trying to make this time count."

She laughed and a moment later, he joined her, pleasing her ear with the sound of his amusement. When their laughter died, Christophe patted her hand. "Never mind me, you'll learn that I eat healthy. Most of the time, anyway."

"And you'll find out that I have exactly what I want when I want."

His gaze roamed her upper body before he smirked.

Anticipating what he might say, she spoke before he did. "Be careful what you say to me. I can be lethal."

He raised both hands, palms out. "All I was going to say is that it'll take some doing to spoil your figure."

A slow tide of heat climbed her neck and she looked away, willing herself not to give in to the silly grin trying to break free.

She had a few sips of fruit punch, enjoying the air currents that kissed her skin. It wasn't often that she came this close to the beach. Camille and Karen would be shocked into silence when she dropped news of this outing on them. What a way to change the status quo.

She wondered how Christophe could possibly top this night. She could see herself enjoying the coming holiday if he stuck around. These days, Christmas consisted of dinner at her mother's house and doing battle with her sister, who refused to listen to anything either of them told her. Not Anya's idea of fun, but it was better than sitting at home, trying to avoid issues she didn't want to face.

Looking at his watch, Christophe said, "Desmond will be back soon. We should go."

He helped her to her feet and hand-in-hand, they strolled the way they'd come. The security guard greeted them when they returned to the dock, and left them after a moment.

The breeze picked up and Christophe moved to stand behind her, sliding both arms around her waist. She stood stiffly at first, but relaxed as the wash of the water against the shore soothed her jumping nerves.

"You sure he's coming back shortly?" she asked when the security guard went past them a third time.

Dipping his head to hers, Christophe pointed to the sea and the approaching boat. "Man, you're impatient. D'you ever relax?"

"I can, now that I know I'm not stranded in earthquake territory without a ride."

With a hand slung over her shoulder, Christophe chuckled. "One thing is sure. I'll never be bored when I'm around you."

Filled with contentment, Anya closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. This time, he wore a light musk.

The boat pulled in and Desmond gave her a hand on board. On the ride in, she snuggled against Christophe, lulled by the movement of the boat and the steady thud of his heart. She didn't feel the need to talk, but listened as Desmond and Janelle murmured by the side railing. When they kissed, Anya looked away.

Back at the marina in Kingston, she thanked Desmond and waved goodbye to Janelle. Motorized traffic was light, but the street corners were busy with clusters of men playing dominoes and hanging out at bars. As they got closer to her apartment, fewer people were on the roads.

At her door, she thanked Christophe for a wonderful evening.

"I aim to please," he said, before kissing her forehead.

She looked up at him and answered the question in his eyes, by tipping her chin toward him. He placed a light kiss on her cheek and traced a path to her lips. His hand came up to grasp the back of her neck and slide into her hair. Her mouth opened, inviting him to taste her.

Moments later, when he raised his head, Christophe's whispered, "You have some powerful magic going on, woman."

"I could say the same thing about you."

He stroked her cheek before kissing her there. "Bònn nui, cherie. Pran swen tèt ou."

"What did you say?"

"Sorry. I told you to take care of yourself."

"I will and thanks again."

"No problem. I'll call."

Long after he left, Anya stood inside the doorway unable to move. Her plans to keep Christophe at bay had flown straight out the window, without her consent.

Anya frowned at the sheet of paper and flipped a few pages. Then she looked from her assistant to one of the customer service representatives. "Racquel, do you remember when Mr. Binns filed this last claim?"

Racquel ran her hands over the front of her jacket before responding. "I believe it was September."

"Couldn't have been, since his policy wasn't in force then."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Anya didn't offer any other explanation, but remembered there had been a two-month lag between the date the policy ended and was renewed. Mr. Binns had been pulling tricks like that for years. Why her boss, Mr. Gonsalves, kept signing him on as a client she couldn't say. She'd focused on the matter before her when Racquel's voice cut into her thoughts.

"Maybe you're mistaken, because I remember—" Racquel squinted as if trying to recall the details. While she licked her full lips, her gaze flicked toward Anya. "Um...he sent in the renewal payment before the accident."

Anya looked at Monica, who offered a shrug as if to say she didn't have a clue what was going on with the account.

The documents on file supported Racquel's words, but Anya knew her clients and their quirks. While spinning through the leaves to find the copy of the insurance certificate, she gave no hint that she believed anything was wrong. "Well, everything seems to be in order here, so I'll call Romaine."

Racquel nodded and stood, towering over the desk. Where Anya was tall, Racquel had the height of a netball player. Her lips drew back from her teeth, imitating a smile, but she wouldn't meet Anya's eyes. "Uh, let me know when the payment is approved, so I can notify Mr. Binns."

For the second time, Anya frowned. Since when did she need to be told how to do her job? She put the file aside, but the moment the two women left her office, Anya picked up the phone and got Romaine on the line.

"This might seem like a weird request," she said, "but can you check on the renewal date of the policy for Binns Manufacturing?"

"Sure. What's that problem child up to now?"

"I'm just doing some fact-checking."

"Hang on a sec, I should have the file around here somewhere since payout is pending."

After an age of listening to drawers opening and closing and papers rustling, Romaine came back to her. "Now that's strange."

"What?" Anya asked, using her elbows to pull her body closer to the desk.

"The renewal date is earlier than usual. Not sure why that is." He paused for a few seconds. "Does that mean he had a conversion and paid up early this year?"

"Fat chance," Anya said, but her flippant tone belied her concern. Mr. Binns wasn't the most upstanding guy in the world and wasn't averse to cutting corners to get what he wanted. Anya hoped he hadn't received help from her staff, but the dread filling her belly said otherwise. "Tell you what, I'll check with my accounts department and you do the same, okay?"

"Mmm," Romaine said. "Talk to you soon."

After disconnecting the call, Anya sat staring at the file. Had something shady been done by her staff and if it was, how was she going to prove it?

Anya lay beside Christophe on the sofa, her head resting on his shoulder. While they watched an action-adventure movie, she played with his fingers.

He'd called and invited himself over and on the way, he picked up seafood meals for both of them.

Over Curried Shrimp, she'd listened to Christophe speaking in that fascinating accent. The bottle of white wine she'd dug out of the fridge had mellowed her mood and quieted her doubts about spending more time with him.

The man thought of everything. Apart from food, he'd come armed with movies. When she asked how he knew she owned a DVD player, he'd responded by saying that everybody and his mother owned one.

While she was supposed to be watching the television, Anya's eyes settled on the Christmas tree she'd set up earlier. It wasn't the real thing, but it made her apartment feel as if someone lived there. Having a visitor had shaken things up a little.

In the past couple of years, she hadn't bothered putting up a tree because she sometimes stayed overnight at her mother's house after Christmas dinner and remained there until after Boxing Day. Her bare apartment only served to remind her that she was single and lonely.

She'd made some bad choices, which hit hard especially during holidays. Ages ago, she'd believed Andrew was the man for her and that they would start a family, but that was a pipe dream.

Her gaze settled on the Poinsettias at the foot of the tree. She hadn't been able to resist buying the plants when she passed them on the sidewalk outside the flower shop next door to her office. Peach was her favorite colour, and she found Poinsettias and Roses in that color irresistible. On Monday, she'd take one of the Poinsettias to work to brighten up her space.

Her thoughts shifted to the man she was with. Christophe was good company and so thoughtful. Too perfect when she thought about it. Apart from his persistence, she hadn't yet seen his feet of clay, but he had to have faults she hadn't yet seen.

He touched her cheek, nudging her head toward him. "What has you so occupied?"

"Your feet of clay," she said, without thinking.

His brows shot higher and then he laughed. "You mean to tell me that while we're supposed to be having fun, you're thinking about my deficiencies?"

"Well, since you brought them up, what are they?"

He turned down the volume on the television and rested his chin on her hair. "I've been told I'm stubborn and sometimes uncommunicative."

"What about relationships? How d'you handle conflicts?"

"I try to stay away from them. Only a fool doesn't realize you can't win an argument with a woman."

She poked him in the side. "You forgot to say you're a smartass."

"I've been called worse," he said, ruffling her hair.

He was silent for a while, then breathed deeply. "And you, Anya, what are your faults?"

"You sure you wanna hear?"

"Try me. I already know you can be slippery and that you want to be in control all the time."

"What d'you mean by that?" she asked, looking him in the eyes.

"Just that you don't seem to like surprises."

"I can take them or leave them."

The indulgent expression on his face stole her breath.

"So to get back to those faults..."

She folded her hand over his, where it lay on her stomach. "My temper is short. I'm impatient and I don't suffer fools gladly."

"You sound like a drill-sergeant."

"Whatever."

He let his fingers explore her tummy. "You're too feisty for your own good."

"I know you like it like that."

"Sure of yourself, huh?" he whispered, warming her ear with his breath.

She turned her head, and his lips were a hairsbreadth away. "Most of the time."

She looked into his eyes and then let her eyelids close. He touched his lips to hers, while his fingers roamed the skin hidden by her tee-shirt. She moved closer and he touched the tip of her tongue with his. Groaning into his mouth, she caressed the side of his face. While his tongue tangoed with hers, Anya's fingers slid into his hair. Just as she thought, it was soft to the touch. With her fingertips, she made tiny circles on his scalp.

His hand cupped the underside of her breast and strayed across the fabric of her bra. She squirmed and turned to face him, giving him more room to explore. His tongue made a warm trail between her ear and shoulder, while his thumbs worked some sensuous magic under her shirt.

The material was halfway up her stomach when the phone rang. Christophe kissed his way to her lips and smothered her mouth with his.

Eyes closed, she did her best to block out the buzzing of the telephone, but Christophe eased away and sat up. "Whoever it is, isn't going away, so you better answer."

Grumbling about inconsiderate callers, she lunged toward the other arm of the sofa and grabbed the phone off the end table. "Yes?"

"What took you so long?" Andrew asked.

"You better have a good reason for calling," she said. "What the hell d'you want?"

"Why so hostile? I'm just checking in with my favorite lady. Remember we never settled the insurance for my car."

"D'you know what time of night it is? Obviously, you don't understand what it means when someone says no, and to get lost and stay gone."

It took all of her willpower, but she dropped the phone back in its cradle without going violent.

Sighing, she laid her head against the back of the chair. Andrew had just done what he did best—spoiled her mood with a few words.

"Trouble in Camp Anya?" Christophe asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Without looking at him she said, "I'm gonna slap you silly if you say one more word."

"Problem boyfriend?"

She rolled her head sideways to look at him. "Didn't I just threaten you with violence."

He put that bone-melting smile on display again. "I don't scare easily."

Shaking her head, Anya said, "That was my ex, who refuses to admit he's in my past and uses any excuse to annoy the crap out of me."

"Maybe he's still in love?"

She rolled her eyes. "Give me a break. We're like gasoline and matches. Guaranteed to cause destruction when we're thrown together. Damn stalker."

She laced her fingers with Christophe's and wriggled closer. "Sorry about that."

He didn't say anything, but moved sideways and pulled her with him until they lay chest-to-chest. With one hand, he stuffed one of the cushions behind his head. The other, he used to press her cheek to his chest. He murmured close to her ear. "These things happen. There'll be other times."

She wondered how he could be so selfless, considering that the proof of his arousal was pressed against her stomach. Sighing again, she let herself relax. Andrew had just killed any hopes she had for an exciting end to the evening, so she might as well settle for enjoying Christophe's company.

She stared at the television, while Christophe made slow circles on her skin. Perhaps things had worked out for the best and Andrew had prevented her from making a mistake.

She kept forgetting that she didn't intend to fall in love with Christophe, but if she was honest, she'd admit to being a far way down that road already. If she could have one wish, it would be that she had the freedom to do exactly as she pleased with Christophe, but life was never that simple.

Anya slid her purse under her arm and moved toward the door. Dance music, chatter and laughter surrounded her. The more her co-workers drank, the louder they'd become as the evening wore on. The Christmas party was in full swing, but she had other plans.

She made sure Mr. Gonsalves and the members of the board of directors had seen her while giving their usual speeches and thanking the staff for their hard work during the year. It was only the fifteenth, but the company had gone ahead with the party since the directors sat on other boards and had various functions to attend over the season.

The decorator had done a fantastic job with the eight-foot tree and the cream-on-gold decor. The wine had flowed and the food was good, plus the bonus the owners of Grange Insurance had granted was generous. Still, Anya couldn't wait to get moving.

Outside the door of the conference room she ran into Karen, who personified elegance in a navy pantsuit. She grabbed Anya's arm. "I wonder where you're stealing off to so early."

"I have a date," Anya said. "Is that a crime?"

"You forget you're the one who acts as if having fun is a crime?" She wriggled her eyebrows. "Make sure wherever you're going, you have a good time."

The emphasis she'd placed on the word good made Anya laugh. "Mind your own business."

Karen worked hard, was funny and made the office a lively place. She'd be migrating in the new year, which made Anya a bit sad.

"Catch you tomorrow," Anya said.

Karen waved and gave an exaggerated wink. "Enjoy your night."

Anya hurried out of the building to avoid running into anybody else. She let out her breath when she sat in the Corolla, and dumped the purse on the passenger seat. One look at the dashboard clock and a grin spread over her face. It wasn't yet nine o' clock, which meant she'd get home in plenty of time to meet Christophe.

He'd wanted to go out, but she convinced him to stay in for another movie night. This time, they'd watch a romantic comedy. She'd insisted on choosing the movie. None of that car-chase-shoot-'em-up action for her tonight. If she was in luck, they'd get to finish what Andrew had interrupted a week ago.

She got home within ten minutes, driving like a bat out of hell to get there before Christophe. The first thing she did was plug in the lights on the Christmas tree. Then she stood back to savor her handiwork. The candy canes, miniature Santas and elves lifted her spirit. She left the overhead bulb off to better enjoy the rice lights on the tree as they winked and went from pink to purple.

A sprint into the bathroom for a speed-of-light shower and a change of clothing ensured that she was ready for her visitor.

At nine o' clock, Christophe's car drew up to the sidewalk out front. Anya flipped the light switch and opened the door, wearing a stupid grin, but try as she might it wouldn't go away.

Christophe stepped over the threshold, slid one arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "You smell nice, but then you always do."

She inhaled his cologne, which reminded her of ocean breezes. "I could say the same for you."

His other arm came from behind him and he presented her with an orchid, loaded down by purple and white blooms. "This is for you."

"Why?" The word slipped out before she could push them back.

His eyebrows did an elevator rise and his shoulders followed. "Do I need a reason to buy you flowers?"

Hands cradling the pot, Anya said, "It's not flowers..."

One side of his lips lifted and Christophe let his brows do that climbing thing again.

Feeling foolish, she snapped. "You know what I mean."

With both hands in the air he said, "I never uttered a word."

Moving toward the kitchen, she spoke over her shoulder. "That look on your face said everything you didn't."

"At least I was smart enough not to say a word."

She cut her eye at him and spoke over her shoulder. "Did you eat?"

"I'm fine. I left space for the popcorn though." He spoke above the television, which he switched on and by the sound of it, threw his keys on the center table. "I'm waiting Miss Davies," he sang.

"Just slip the movie in," she yelled from the kitchen. "It's on top of the DVD."

From the cupboard above her head, she grabbed a packet of popcorn and put it into the microwave. While it popped, she got two glasses out and filled them with lemonade. By the time she left the drinks in the living room and returned to the kitchen, the popcorn had thirty seconds left.

She leaned on the sink, thinking how good it felt to have a man inside her house. Sure, they hadn't made any dying declarations of love, but Christophe was more than a little taken with her.

Although she had gotten over her serial breakups with Andrew, it took a while before she got past the reason for their final falling out. Sometimes, she thought she'd never cross that particular hurdle. Too late, she'd found out that Andrew was irresponsible and didn't want the same things as her.

A familiar fog tried to move over her, but Anya pushed it aside. She had no reason to let the past spoil the present. She'd sort out her thoughts later. The microwave beeped and she transferred the popcorn to another bowl, got a handful of napkins and put a smile on her face.

Determined to snap out of her funk, Anya sat next to Christophe, balancing the bowl on her knees.

Christophe had timed her well as he'd just started the movie. His arm on the back of the sofa came to rest on her shoulder and she pecked his jaw.

"What did I do to deserve that," he asked.

"I'm feeling generous," she said, holding popcorn to his lips.

"I could get used to this sort of treatment," he mumbled around the mouthful.

Between laughing over the antics of a lovelorn spinster, and Christophe's hilarious comments, Anya enjoyed the evening.

While the credits ran, Christophe fondled her ear. "Thanks for entertaining me tonight."

"You're welcome. You make a good guest."

His eyes twinkled and she guessed he was going to say something feisty.

"And you're not half bad when you stop asking questions," he said.

She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her by pressing his lips to hers.

Taken by surprise, she did nothing.

His kiss grew more insistent and she closed her eyes and let him lead. While Christophe cupped her cheek with one hand, his tongue did a slow, sensuous dance with hers. As her temperature inched upward, he pulled back to press tiny kisses to the corners of her mouth.

"You taste yummy," he whispered.

"Must be all that buttery goodness from the popcorn."

He chuckled and she joined him. "Sorry, I couldn't resist that one," she said.

"Come here." He hugged her and spoke into her hair. "You have such a smart mouth."

"That's cuz..."

A slow flick of his tongue around the shell of her ear dissolved all rational thought.

"You were saying?"

Anya couldn't see his face, but heard the amusement in his voice. Even if she'd tried, it would have been impossible for her to utter anything that made sense.

"Your tongue on strike?" he whispered.

This time, he took the lobe of her ear into his mouth, nipping gently. She let her head fall against his neck, while he did things to her ear that made her want to rip his clothes off right there on the sofa and not give a damn about the consequences. After all they were two consenting adults.

His lips came back to hers and her heart thrummed hard and loud.

Christophe went still.

"What?" she murmured.

"The door," he said. "Someone's trying to hammer it in.

So that's what that was.

Wondering who the hell that could be, Anya sat up and frowned at the blue television screen across the room.

She tugged her tank top over her shorts and told herself to be polite to whoever stood on her doorstep. Most likely, one of her neighbours needed something. Whatever it was had to be important, since it was close to eleven o' clock.

She pulled the door open and forgot how to speak, while staring at the man in front of her.

On the other side of her doorway, Andrew leaned against the doorpost as if he had a right to come calling.

Anya tipped her head sideways, struggling to understand why he was there. "Did you get a night pass out of hell to come and torment me?"

He grabbed at her arm, but she stepped backward.

"Don't be like that," he said, moving through the doorway.

"If that isn't the case, then it means you're spying on me."

"Why would I do that?"

She felt Christophe's presence and knew he was going to speak before he said a word.

"Anya, is everything okay?"

From the sound of it, he was standing a foot or so behind her.

"I'm okay," she said with a slight turn of the head.

"Who's he?" Andrew asked.

Anya grabbed his arm and tried walking him backward through the door. "None of your damn business."

Andrew shook her hand off him. "Anything to do with you is part of my business."

Keenly aware that she had to watch what she said, Anya paused before opening her mouth.

"I appreciate your concern, but we are over." She spoke in a near whisper. "You have no excuse to turn up here at this time of night, unless you're watching me. If you keep this up, I'm going to call the police."

When Andrew laughed, she had a mind to hit him. Instead, she poked him in the chest and kept walking until he stood on the step outside.

"I don't care what you think you're doing, but if you turn up at my door again, you're going to be sorry."

"No, you're the one who's going to be sorry if you keep running around with that Haitian. You might catch something you won't be able to cure."

She squeezed her eyes shut and then stared up at Andrew. "What did you say?"

"You heard me."

"I should put my fist into your face, but I won't. Who I sleep with is none of your business and turning up on my doorstop won't stop me from living my life. I'm so over you."

She stood akimbo and spoke in a furious whisper. "And by the way, you certainly are well-informed about someone you supposedly don't know. That is illegal. You have no business digging into his affairs. You're damn out-of-order."

Christophe slid his arm around her shoulder. "I think you should leave now," he said. "Anya obviously doesn't want you here."

Andrew scowled. "Who gave you the right to butt in?"

"I did," Anya said, looking at Christophe. "Please, give me a few minutes."

When Christophe walked away, Andrew smirked as if he'd just won Cash Pot numbers.

"Don't stand there grinning as if you belong here. I'm sick of repeating myself." As she spoke, her spirit sank to the level of her toes. "Why can't you concentrate on whoever you're seeing and leave me alone?"

"You know why I can't." He walked toward the parking lot and then came back. "We'll see what he has to say when he knows everything about you."

Although she wanted to slap his big forehead and put a dent in it, Anya restrained herself by holding on to the doorjamb. "And we'll see what you do when the police turn up to haul you to jail for stalking."

She shut the door before he could respond and leaned her forehead against it.

Before she realized what he'd done, Christophe gripped her shoulders and turned her so her forehead rested in the curve of his neck. His hands slipped under her shirt to caress her skin.

She couldn't face him yet, but wondered what she'd done to deserve this thoughtful man. His comforting touch brought tears to her eyes. She let them fall, unsure of where she stood with Christophe now that Andrew had done his worst.

She didn't know how long they stood in the passage, holding each other. Eventually, Christophe pulled her toward the sofa and made her sit. He faced her, using his thumbs to wipe away her tears.

"It's late, so I won't give you a hard time over this, except to say that man takes up too much of your time for someone who's supposed to be part of your history."

She tried to speak, but Christophe pressed a finger to her mouth.

"He also has too much control over your life. I'd ask why, but I sense it's something private." He stared deep into her eyes. "Until you take back control from him, you'll never be rid of him."

"I..."

This time, he stopped her words with a kiss. "I don't want to pressure you into making any promises you can't keep, but you need to decide what you want."

He kissed her again, a slow, sweet exploration that almost made her forget her dilemma. She touched both sides of his face and he spoke into her mouth. "Mwen regret sa."

"What did you say this time?"

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything."

"I know."

He palmed his keys and got to his feet. She walked to the door with him, fighting the depression that was stealing over her. She raised her head to apologize again, but he stopped her, tipping her chin up with a finger.

"N a wè pi ta," he said, and smiling slightly added, "I'll see you later."

She closed the door and dragged herself into the living room, wishing for what she couldn't have. She'd waited so long for someone to come along after Andrew—although she'd decided that relationships weren't for her. Now that she'd stepped out of her comfort zone, Andrew had ruined things for her.

Shaking her head, she corrected herself. She was responsible for everything that happened this evening. If she'd set firm boundaries, Andrew would have backed off long ago.

Her behavior was strange, considering that she was decisive when it came to every other aspect of her life—but there was the hold he had over her that might never be broken if she wasn't careful.

She picked up the bowl and glasses and put them in the sink. While she washed them, she considered Christophe's words. He hadn't said good night. He'd said see you later. How much later would that be, she wondered.

The quiet, yet intense tone of his words hinted that he wouldn't tolerate what was happening between Andrew and her. At least, not while he was in the picture.

She turned on the tap and watched the water spraying into the sink, but her mind wasn't on washing dishes. Every word Christophe had said before leaving resounded in her head.

Staring at the stainless steel drain board, Anya asked herself how it was possible to lose Christophe before she even had him.

Anya shifted the miniature Santa Claus on the desk. Karen had given it to her, insisting that Anya could take a lesson or two from him.

If she hit the button between his feet, he'd sing White Christmas and gyrate in a circle. The figurine and a Poinsettia were the only concession Anya made to Christmas, in her office space.

The tree that had been the centerpiece for the office party had been moved to the lobby and the doorways overrun with garlands. It seemed all her co-workers wore bright smiles and were chockfull of Christmas cheer. She wanted somewhere to hide to avoid dealing with the joy and revelry both at work and on the street.

Even Mama had gone overboard on the Christmas decorations. Between Anya and Celeste, it had taken three hours before Mama was satisfied. Her joy over the fact that they had worked together without a fight breaking out didn't put Anya in a better mood. Neither did the tubs of Pistachio and Rum & Raisin ice cream she'd consumed each evening. She could definitely relate to Scrooge.

A week had passed and except for a phone call after her run-in with Andrew, Christophe hadn't spoken to her.

"So, how are you doing today?" he'd asked the next morning.

Not wanting him to think she was a weakling, she chose to be vague. "I'm just fine."

"I wanted to be sure."

"You can put your mind at ease."

"Good. Take it easy. We'll talk."

As the days went by and he didn't call, she accepted the fact that he was putting space between them. Although she tried not to think about the reality of the situation, she couldn't help missing Christophe. He was so different from any man she'd ever dated.

She looked at her watch. It wasn't even time to start working, but she'd come to the office early to keep her mind off him. Hard to believe he occupied so much space in her head, considering that she hadn't wanted to let him into her life in the first place.

She still had twenty minutes to go before work started, but was in no mood to do anything. Her girl Camille would be up though. Pulling out her cell phone, she speed dialed Camille's number.

"Something has to be wrong for you to be calling this early," Camille said.

"Is that any way to greet me?"

Camille snorted and Anya could picture her bright eyes, wide smile and that tiny gap in her front teeth. "I know something's up. Man trouble?"

"You know me too well," Anya said.

"If I don't know your habits after twenty-odd years, what does that say about me? Anyway, what have you done this time? Didn't you say things were going well with your new main squeeze?"

"Yeah, until that fart-hole, Andrew, showed up."

Camille's silence preceded her usual comments about Andrew. "How many times have I told you to avoid that man?"

"It's not for want of trying."

In two minutes, Anya brought Camille up to speed on her run-ins with Andrew.

"You need to get rid of him for good. He's bad for you. D'you realize you get depressed every time he appears?"

"It's not like I'm calling him."

"I'm tired of knocking it into your head that he's a nasty habit you've had way too long. What d'you have to show for letting him eat up five years of your life? Stress? Aggravation?

"I'll tell you this for the last time. If you don't find a way to cut him loose, he's gonna be the death of you."

At a loss as to why she was making excuses for Andrew, Anya said, "I think he keeps coming around because he's not over that episode either."

"I don't give a rat's behind about his feelings. You're the one who suffered most from that disaster. For once, think about yourself. I dunno if you've noticed that every time you're about to make some progress, he comes sniffing around."

"Almost as if he really is spying on me," Anya whispered.

It was true that Andrew seemed to know each time she was interested in someone. The last time she'd been on a date, he'd shown up at her apartment just as the guy was leaving, on the pretext that his car had broken down around the corner.

The time before that, he'd turned up at the restaurant where she was dining. He'd sauntered over to the table and wouldn't go away, which forced her to introduce her dinner partner. That was the first and last time she'd been out with that man.

"Look," Camille's voice ended Anya's trip into the past. "I know you two have some history and issues that you're not dealing with too well, but if you don't kick Andrew into the past where he belongs, you're going to be a train wreck. Mark my words."

She sighed and her voice grew softer. "Have you thought about seeing a therapist like I suggested?"

Anya shook her head, forgetting that Camille couldn't see her. Then she aired her thoughts. "No. I just don't want to talk—"

"I know you don't, and I'm sorry to bring up things that are best forgotten, but it's going to haunt you forever if you don't work through what happened."

Anya nodded because she couldn't deny that Camille was right. Now she was sorry she'd called. Fact was, until she put the mistakes she'd made with Andrew where they belonged, she'd never heal. Knowing she'd feel worse if she rehashed her memories from two years ago, she shut down her thoughts.

Monica darted into the doorway and rushed toward the desk with a file in her hand.

One day, she's going to give me heart failure, Anya thought.

She used the opportunity to end the call with Camille. "Gotta go, Cam. Time to earn some dough."

"Have a good day and think about what I said, okay?"

"I will," Anya said, but had no intention of doing anything but finding a way to avoid Andrew.

Smiling at Monica, who shifted from side-to-side in her high heels, Anya greeted her and took the file.

"Mr. Wells from Royal Insurance is holding on the line. I brought you the file he mentioned, in case you need it," Monica said.

Anya smiled her thanks, picked up the phone and pressed it to her ear with one shoulder. "What's up Romaine?"

"Anya, we've found some irregularities to do with that policy for Binns Manufacturing."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

She rubbed her forehead, hoping that any wrongdoing had gone on at the insurance company, but knew better since this particular client was involved.

"It turns out that someone backdated the insurance certificate. The accident also happened before the regular renewal date on the Binns Manufacturing policy."

"I kind of suspected something was out of place, which is why I asked you to check things on your side."

"What d'you think my agent has to gain except for the loss of his job and a possible prison term? Not that things will get that far, 'cause he's related to the boss."

"The only benefit I can see are a few dollars," Anya said. "If his plan had worked, Mr. Binns would have collected money equivalent to the value of the car that was written off."

Romaine didn't respond, which gave Anya a chance to think. Immediately, her mind went to Racquel's behavior the last time she'd had her in the office. Assertive and yet evasive.

"Did he say who he was working with from this office?" Anya asked.

"He's had contact with two of your agents and wouldn't give us any information at first. After his uncle threatened to have him locked up, he told us it was Racquel Sommers."

Just as she'd thought. "I'll wait for official correspondence from you before I do anything. Can you get me something today?"

"Are you kidding? This is at the top of my priority list."

After he hung up, Anya stared at the desk pad. Repercussions would come from what Racquel had done, and Anya had to find a way to avoid as much fallout as possible. Her boss, Mr. Gonsalves despised dishonesty in any form and preferred keeping his business out of the public eye.

While she waited for Romaine's correspondence, she went through Mr. Binns' file again, wondering what could have motivated Racquel to do what she'd done. Over the years, Anya had received generous offers to look the other way on matters to do with her clients' claims, but she'd never taken any bribes. It was important to her to be able to look at herself in the mirror with a clear conscience.

Romaine was as good as his word and got the letter and report to her within an hour. Armed with the data, Anya rang her boss and arranged to meet him in the boardroom.

They got there at the same time and while Mr. Gonsalves studied the file Anya had given him, she watched him out of the corners of her eyes.

Mr. Gonsalves' mottled, olive complexion and watery aquamarine eyes gave away his age. His hair was way past thin and his hawk-like nose and close-set eyes made him resemble a bird of prey, but Anya knew he was harmless. At heart, he was a decent man and a good boss, if a little on the stingy side.

When he cleared his throat, Anya concentrated on the matter at hand.

"Have you given her any hint that you're on to her?" he asked.

Shaking her head, Anya said, "I've questioned her about the account several times, but haven't said anything to tip her off. Of course, it's been more than an hour since I spoke with Romaine."

Mr. Gonsalves head tipped forward and he looked at the file again. "Well, there's no sense putting off what's to be done. Can you get Miss Sommers in here?"

Anya nodded and went to the phone on the credenza, where she rang Racquel's desk.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Racquel, can you meet Mr. Gonsalves and me in the conference room?"

In the silence that lasted a few seconds, Racquel's breathing came fast and heavy. Her voice was shrill when she responded. "What's the meeting about?"

With her back to Mr. Gonsalves, Anya spoke into the phone. "Don't give me any attitude about this, just get over here."

Anya sat across from Mr. Gonsalves again, wondering how he would approach this particular problem. If she knew him as well as she thought, he'd want to keep it quiet. She could hear him saying that public knowledge of a fraudulent act involving the company would be bad for business. Since he hadn't told her what he planned to do, Anya would have to wait to see how he handled the situation.

After tapping the door, Racquel entered the room, looming taller than ever in a black pantsuit and high heels. She licked her lips and approached the mahogany table. To Mr. Gonsalves, she said. "You wanted to see me?"

He nodded. "Please sit."

The moment she did, Mr. Gonsalves straightened his tie and spoke, his cultured accent more pronounced than usual. "We've discovered some irregularities with the Binns account. I'm not going to accuse you of anything, nor put up with any protests about your innocence. The evidence before me is enough."

Racquel's lips parted, but Mr. Gonsalves held up one hand.

"Luckily for you, the insurance company won't be pressing charges against your cohort. You, however—"

"But this is unfair," she said. "You haven't even—"

"Spare me the theatrics, Miss Sommers. Just be glad I'm not calling in the police. Clean out your desk and be out of the building within one hour. By that time, the accounts department will prepare any payment that's due to you."

She rose and pushed the chair away with the back of her knees. Before leaving the room, she flung Anya a glare as if to say she was responsible for the loss of her job.

Over her shoulder, Racquel spat, "You'll be hearing from the Labour Ministry."

"Right." Anya muttered. "As if."

Mr. Gonsalves lurched to his feet and slid the file across the table. "Please set up an emergency meeting with Mr. Binns for this afternoon. Get Mr. Deans to attend, as well as Mr. Wells. We'll deal with Mr. Binns at that time."

"Will do," Anya said, but didn't move. In a minute she'd call Romaine. Mr. Deans was their head of security and was just around the corner. She'd speak to him on the way to her office.

Clearing up this business had given her little satisfaction. If Mr. Binns could get away without paying his premium for months, that's what he'd do, and if he could get an undeserved payout, he wouldn't hesitate to take it.

Pity she hadn't picked it up earlier. She'd been too focused on the man she didn't intend to keep, but had lost anyhow.

Her mind shifted to Andrew and his habit of interfering in her affairs. Being sick of him didn't come close to describing how she felt. The next time she laid eyes on him, she was likely to do something irrational.

She'd come a far way, bearing in mind the altercations with Andrew years ago that had landed her in trouble with the police. If Christophe hadn't been with her last week, she might now be facing assault charges. This latest caper had gone past the limit of what she could take and she didn't plan to suck up any more of Andrew's crap.

While going through the choices she had, Anya gathered her things and walked back to her office.

After tracking down Mr. Binns on his cell phone and pushing aside a couple of flimsy excuses, she got him to confirm a two o' clock meeting.

She ended the call and sat drumming on the desk pad. For some time, she stared at the plastic Santa Claus on the desktop as if she'd find the answers to her problems in the bag of toys slung over his back. It wasn't long before she decided to do what she'd been thinking about all week. She'd wait until day's end and if she was lucky, things might work in her favor.

The meeting with Mr. Binns started on time. Their security chief took the seat next to him, while Anya, Romaine and Mr. Gonsalves sat on the opposite side of the table.

Romaine explained that the policy and claim were invalid because the insurance certificate had been falsified.

Mr. Binns, a light-skinned mountain of a man objected before Romaine finished his opening statement. "I didn't come here to be accused of breaking the law. It's not my fault if your employees made a mistake that's to my advantage."

Anya all but rolled her eyes. Either he had some cojones the size of Kingston on him, or he was delusional.

"You can decide how we treat this," Mr. Gonsalves said. "I'd prefer to avoid any publicity, but if you wish to keep up this pretence, you will be charged with bribery, among other things, and have your name in the newspaper along with the details of the case. It's your choice."

Romaine handed Mr. Binns a file. "Inside is a disclaimer. I need you to sign both copies."

Mr. Binns read the document, breathing like an enraged bull. He slapped the file on the table, wrote his signature and flung the file toward Romaine.

Mr. Deans, the head of security, gave Mr. Binns a warning look.

He sat back in the seat, sweating although the room was air-conditioned.

Mr. Gonsalves smoothed his combover and put on a stern expression. "Needless to say, we'd be happy if you took your business elsewhere and don't expect a refund on the premium you've paid to date. It's just enough to cover the administrative fees you've racked up."

"That's unreasonable, not to mention excessive," Mr. Binns said.

"Consider yourself lucky that we haven't called in the police," Romaine said, closing the file.

Mr. Binns left without saying goodbye, yanking the sides of his jacket together over his bulging stomach. After a moment, Mr. Deans followed.

Romaine patted Anya on the shoulder. "A pleasure working with you, as always. With your instincts, you should be working for the police. If you hadn't asked questions, we wouldn't have picked up on what was happening."

Mr. Gonsalves shook Romaine's hand. "Thanks to you two, we've saved both companies' reputation."

"Glad to be of service," Romaine said.

The two men left the board room and Anya decided to go out for lunch. She hadn't eaten because she wanted to get the meeting out of the way. She also needed time away from the office to think.

At the nearest Chinese restaurant, she ordered a bowl of Chicken Suey Mein. After she ate, she got on the phone and made the most important call of the day. Then she returned to the office, hoping the rest of the afternoon flew by.

She had plans she couldn't wait to put into action.

The lights on the tree winked in a hypnotic pattern, fast and then slow. The star at the top blinked nonstop, adding to Anya's fascination. Who knew positive vibes could come from just looking at a Christmas tree?

There was more to it than that, but Anya was keeping her fingers crossed until Christophe got there.

Christmas Eve was a couple of days away and if she played her cards right, she'd have some joy coming her way. She hugged herself, letting a smile creep across her face. Even the meaning of Christophe's name tied in nicely with the season. Bearer of Christ or holding Christ within.

He'd certainly made her take a deep look at her herself. Shaking her head, she wondered how she'd come so far from her roots. She'd always loved Christmas, but so much had changed since her father died and her relationship with Andrew turned sour. She hadn't even told her mother that she'd met a man, yet Christophe had changed everything.

As if her thoughts conjured up her expected guest, someone knocked on the door. In two seconds she was there, holding it open.

"Thanks for coming," she said.

Giving her a smile that made her warm and gooey, Christophe said, "You summoned me, so I came."

He closed the door and leaned against it, as if he had all the time in the world to spend with her. The aroma of soap, plus his polo shirt and jeans told Anya he'd had a shower before coming to her.

She folded both hands and looked him in the eyes. "I should be mad with you."

Christophe tipped his head forward. "I wonder why."

"I didn't invite Andrew here and I think you know that. If you weren't coming back, you should have said so."

Showing her those dimples again, he shook his head. "I never said that. I remember telling you that you should take control from that man."

"It sounded like goodbye."

"I know you know I'm not the kind of man who'd leave for good without telling you."

"Do I?" Despite her confusion, Anya smiled. The sight of him made her so darn happy. "Are you saying you would have contacted me if I hadn't picked up the phone and called you?"

"Eventually, but I was waiting to see how long you'd take to call."

"I wonder why," she said, using his words.

He closed the gap between them, slipping both arms around her. "I also said you had to decide what you want and I waited for you to make that decision." He kissed her ear. "And you did."

He turned her toward the living room and led her to the sofa. "You've grown on me. I missed you."

"I missed you too," she said, sliding closer on the seat. "I can't agree with your method, but what you said was true."

"Which part of it?"

"The part about taking control."

He touched her cheek. "We can't shut the door on what has gone before, but life is simpler if our past relationships stay where they belong."

"You're right," she said after a moment. "I guess that means I won't have any jealous women turning up to challenge me for your affection."

He chuckled. "Trust me, that's not likely to happen."

"Anything you say, Mr. Mondesir."

"So what d'you have planned for me this evening?"

"Beyond getting you over here, I didn't plan much further than that."

He laughed and picked up the remote off the center table. "So much for thinking you had everything worked out to the last detail."

"Ever hear of playing things by ear?" She squeezed his arm and tugged his earlobe. "Would you like some fruit cake?"

"I thought fruit cake was reserved for Christmas Day," he said.

"Not where I come from. My mother makes a mean fruit cake and she starts baking weeks before Christmas."

She got a plate from the cupboard and loaded it with the traditional dessert. After filling two glasses with Sorrel, she unloaded everything on the center table.

When she sat, Anya picked up the plate and glanced at the television. A nativity play was in progress. Since she'd seen it before, she left the set on. It wouldn't be a source of distraction.

She held a forkful of cake to Christophe's lips. "You ready?"

Christophe nodded, and she slipped the fork into his mouth.

Closing his eyes, he chewed slowly and then swallowed. While he did, Anya helped herself. The combination of fruits, nuts, rum and wine was heavenly. Kinda-sorta the way she felt having him around.

She stopped chewing.

What would it be like to just let go and see where things went between them? She'd been mulling it over all week and believed she'd made up her mind when they spoke on the phone, but she was still holding back.

For two years, she'd convinced herself she didn't need a man and shouldn't risk getting involved with anyone else. Christophe had helped her change that way of thinking and she'd started wishing for what she once considered to be out of her reach. A man who'd understand and cherish her.

As always, she shied away from zeroing in on the sensitive information about herself that she'd have to share with that man, if she ever found him. Harboring secrets that had the power to affect others was never a good thing.

She patted Christophe's thigh, but didn't look him in the face. In the short time she'd known him, the man had turned her world on its ear and changed her perception of relationships.

It was time to let go of her insecurities. She had several hurdles to cross if things turned serious, but he was here now and her secrets could wait.

"Am I getting any more of that cake or d'you plan to eat it all?" he asked, pulling her closer.

"You're lucky I have more where this came from, otherwise you'd have to beg."

He picked up one of the glasses and had a swig of the sweet, burgundy drink. When he put the glass down, he took the plate from her hand.

Using one finger, he lifted her chin and touched his lips to hers. She stared into his eyes and let her eyelids droop. Gently, Christophe invaded her mouth. The thorough and unhurried exploration pulled a moan from her throat and left her panting.

Nuzzling her neck, Christophe asked, "Had enough?"

"Not nearly," she said, returning his smile.

"You're in luck," he said, "'cause I've got a lot more where that came from."

The two of them gave in to laughter, and Anya slapped his arm. "You're full of it, you know that?"

"I hope what I'm full of is exactly what you need," he said, before kissing her again.

Eyes closed, Anya savored the heady taste and feel of his lips. The man had done the impossible. He'd changed her outlook, along with what she thought she needed, and he'd done it in such a short time. She had everything to gain by opening her heart to him and for the moment, all she'd wished for was hers.

She didn't know what the New Year would bring, but Christmas was going to be a blast.

For now, that was enough.

Now on Amazon

Been there. Done that.

Feisty and independent, Anya Davies lives by her own rules. The one thing she's hell-bent on avoiding is a conventional relationship, thanks to her abusive ex who refuses to stay in the past. The second complication in her life is a secret that condemns her to constant guilt and a solitary life. A series of near misses and escalating threats are a third and worrying factor. Only a special man would understand or live with Anya's challenges and demands.

Casual sex...so not having that.

Enter Christophe Mondesir. Two years ago, Anya dumped him without explanation. An accidental meeting shoots Anya back on Christophe's radar. He refuses to be denied and plans to breach the fortress Anya has built around her heart—if she'll commit to more than a casual liaison. He's also determined to find out what she's hiding. That's if the stalker who's after Anya doesn't end her life first.
Chapter 1

Anya dug her nails into her palms, but relaxed her fingers before she cut herself. Willing her heart to slow its gallop, she raised her head.

Like metal drawn to magnet, her eyes found Christophe Mondesir. He stood on the opposite side of the showroom with a woman. As though sensing her presence, he looked up from the display, scanning the room until he focused on her. Recognition lit his eyes. His dimples winked at her and he nodded.

Instead of acknowledging him, Anya gazed into the display case, where the watches stared back at her from well-ordered lines.

Despite the chill from the air-conditioning, heat rushed to her skin and blood pooled in places she wanted to forget still existed. The hair on her neck made her hot. Outside, the temperature hovered near furnace level, making her dread the trek back to her car. It wouldn't do to return to the office sweaty and smelling frowsy.

She murmured to herself, a disturbing habit she'd picked up lately. "I should be relaxing on the beach right now. Maybe someplace in MoBay or Negril." She glanced across the store. "Anywhere but here."

She couldn't help noticing that Christophe's companion had a few years on him. The woman wore a tailored suit and was no doubt some kind of professional. Perhaps a lawyer or an accountant, like him?

They paused over the ring display where Anya had stood moments ago. Angling her head just so, she spied on them. The woman pointed at an item inside the lighted showcase and seconds later, Christophe lifted a hand to summon a shop attendant.

She walked over, opened the case and allowed the woman to try on a set of wedding bands. Shards of light reflected off the stones when she held her hand up to display the rings.

Christophe was getting married.

Something about his fiancée stirred Anya's memory, but she couldn't pinpoint where they might have met before.

The petite woman angled her head toward Christophe; her head only came up to his chest. She smiled and said something, to which he nodded in response. How well matched they are, Anya thought, dragging her gaze away. Even the soft curls in the woman's hair were a reflection of Christophe's. All too well, Anya remembered the sensation of his hair brushing her skin.

She bumped against the display case and stumbled. When she righted herself, she threw a self-conscious glance around the store and edged sideways to the necklaces in the neighboring showcase. As if she could concentrate on them.

Her thoughts chattered to life. You have no right to be jealous. You let him go, remember? She tossed her hair. "Who's jealous anyway?" she mumbled.

A moment later, she hissed air through her teeth, glared at Christophe, and hurried to the door. Her behavior was ridiculous because her absence would make no difference to him. After all, their relationship had ended before it started.

She glanced at her reflection in the tinted, plate-glass window of the store two doors down. A willowy female, stiff as a board, whisking past with long strides, as though someone was chasing her.

The aroma of fried chicken hovered in the air, and her stomach rumbled. She slowed her pace. Should she try another store or buy lunch and go back to the office? With one foot poised to step down into the parking lot, she made her decision. Better to avoid bumping into Christophe again. She could buy a watch anytime.

She crossed to the other side of the plaza and joined the queue inside Island Grill. Within five minutes, she collected her meal and was back in the scorching heat.

After dropping her handbag behind the front passenger seat, she nibbled fried green plantains, enjoying the air-conditioning. Moments later, her hunger slipped away and she put aside the logoed paper bag. While she wiped her fingers on the printed napkin, she faced the gnawing worry that stole her appetite. Her anxiety wasn't connected to anything tangible, but had lived with her now for a solid month. Before that, she'd faced mounting depression, which stayed with her, like wispy threads of half-formed mist on a cold morning. The only difference was that mist dissipated with the sun's rising. Whatever had drifted over her life and into her psyche was not going away. Not by a long shot.

She leaned on the steering wheel—forehead pressed against her hands—and closed her eyes. A tap on the window startled her and she sat up. A dreadlocked stranger wearing a red, gold and green knitted tam leaned toward the glass, peering at her. He mouthed something at her and despite her hesitation, she rolled the window down.

"You all right, dawta?"

She nodded, eyeing his yellowed teeth. "Yeah, thanks."

He raised a hand in a brief salute. "Just checkin' to mek sure yuh okay."

She smiled. "I appreciate it. Have a good day."

The Rasta man walked away, and her mental wandering continued.

She was beginning to think she needed help, although mental health professionals were expensive. That aside, she didn't want to face the scary truth that she might have psychological problems. Added to that, to admit to seeing a psychiatrist in Jamaica was as good as admitting that she was mad. Discomfited by the flippant remarks she'd made over the years about people who suffered from mental illness, Anya massaged her temples. Those careless comments had come back to bite her.

She eased her midnight blue Suzuki Jeep out of the plaza and headed back to work. At the office, she left the food in the vehicle and entered the building, waving at the receptionist. The open hall beyond the front office was crammed with lines of identical desks and chairs. Anya thought of the employees in the vast room as worker bees, whose efforts formed the lifeblood of the brokerage.

She spent a few moments exchanging small talk with a couple of her team members, and then slipped into her tiny office in the back corner of the claims department of Grange Insurance Brokers. Behind her desk, she shrugged out of her navy jacket and hung it over the chair, preparing to deal with any matters that had come up in her absence.

She sighed at the sight of the label on the file at the top of her 'In' tray. Riley, Maureen – Excelsior Enterprises. A note stuck to the jacket with a paper clip indicated that Miss Riley had called and expected to hear from her.

Anya rang the owner of the handwriting and one of the brighter agents in the department. "Monica, what did Ms. Riley want this time?"

"She wanted to know if you spoke with Top Class Motors and whether you got any other quotes."

"Did you give her the information you have so far?" Anya asked, scanning the clutter in her cubbyhole of an office.

"No, since you prefer to document everything, I stalled her."

"Thanks. Draft a letter and include the quotes we have so far. Let her know we won't be approving a Mitsubishi windscreen when there are comparable ones from other suppliers at much better prices."

"Sure, but I wish you luck when she finds out she won't be getting a spanking new windscreen with a Mitsubishi logo on it."

"You can say that again," Anya said, "She'd better take what Mutual Insurance is offering, otherwise she'll be dodging both the police and traffic through the cracked windshield. It's her choice."

"I'll email the draft ASAP."

"Thanks."

"YAW, Anya,"

Anya took a few seconds to figure out that message. You're always welcome.

She turned off the intercom, chuckling at Monica's latest addition to her repertoire. She had a language of her own, composed of acronyms made up from ordinary phrases, which she slipped into conversations—though only she knew the meanings. This habit amused and exasperated Anya by turns.

Anya flipped through the other files and returned calls to clients, saving the most difficult one for last. Unfortunately, Miss Riley called before Anya got around to her and started their conversation with her usual rant. At the first pause, Anya stopped drumming on the desk and got in a sentence. "As I told you, we've got the quotations and are in the process of preparing a letter, which you should have by tomorrow, at the latest."

"I'll believe you when I see it. I can't imagine what is taking so long. You collect people's money gladly and when it's time to pay out a dollar, it's hell for the customer. I'll certainly be reconsidering my insurance coverage. I might just find another broker."

In two years of doing business with Miss Riley, Anya had heard the same speech many times. She stopped listening. When a sharp click cut her thoughts, Anya pressed the hands free button, muttering. "This woman is something else. She goin' to be the death of me, if she don't give me a mental breakdown first. What she needs is a man."

Anya snickered at her diagnosis, long convinced that older, single women like Miss Riley grew cantankerous over time with no one to take the edge off their sterile lives. Anya's good humor faded as she remembered her thirty-fifth birthday, which was approaching at a gallop. She had neither a chick, nor a child, as her mother would say, and no man, having sworn off them after her disastrous relationship with Andrew.

Her friendship with Christophe came later and started out on a promising note, but fizzled when she decided not to take it further. Two years had gone by, but she still missed him. He'd treated her better than most of the men who'd passed through her life, and would make some woman a great husband, but marriage wasn't for her. She was better off by herself. Her experience with Andrew had taught her well.

A glance around the florescent-lit office confirmed it was time to do something about the accordion files taking over every flat surface, including the carpet. She admitted she wasn't up to that task just yet.

She inspected her hands; her nails needed refilling. With the weekend coming up, she considered driving down to Mandeville for a visit with her best friend, Camille. Time spent with Camille, Quinn and their young son, never failed to centre Anya and boy, did she need some peace to still the ruckus inside her. The only thing that daunted her was the long drive back to Kingston. She had too much time to think then. Inevitably, she overstayed and started back much too late because Camille and she saw each other so infrequently, and talking on the phone wasn't quite the same.

She'd had a tough time adjusting when Camille married and moved fifty miles away. Before her marriage, Anya used to stop by Camille's apartment to talk, as and when the mood struck her. Now, Camille was out of easy reach.

Her other best friend, Penny, had died, and cultivating new friendships did not rank high on Anya's list of things to do before she died.

A fleeting picture of her sister, Celeste, crossed her mind and Anya wondered what she was up to, other than fulfilling her personal crusade to put their mother into an early grave. At twenty-four, she still lived at home, didn't keep a job longer than six months and couldn't stay out of trouble.

Anya grimaced and put her family out of her thoughts. She had more than enough to keep her occupied. When she got up to return the files to the row of cabinets outside her door, the telephone rang. "Claims Department, Anya Davies speaking."

His voice, with the faintest hint of a foreign accent, rolled over her like a welcome breeze in the heat of summer. "Hello, Anya, it's Christophe."

She forced herself to put aside her fascination with the way he always pronounced her name using a distinct emphasis on the second syllable, wondering what he wanted after so long. "What can I do for you?"

"Been taking care of yourself?"

"Yes, I'm good."

"Seeing you today reminded me that I need your help."

"You saw me today?" she asked, all innocence.

"Yes, in the jewelry store, I could have sworn..."

"I was a bit distracted, so I didn't spot you. Anyway, what d'you want?"

She drew a notepad in front of her and attacked it with a pen.

"The company just bought a new fleet of cars and we need to insure them." He hesitated. "Because of the high value on them, we may—will need some financing."

"So you need me to find an insurer who will allow monthly premiums and you also want me to arrange financing for that, right?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay, I'll come up with a shortlist of companies. I should be able to give you a proposal within two to three days. Is that okay?"

"Yes. That's fine." He paused. "So everything's all right with you?"

She stared at the slashes of ink scored into the paper before laying down the pen. She had drawn a triangle, split down the middle with heavy lines.

"Yes, everything is just fabulous," she said.

"Anya, would you think about going out—"

She hung up the phone, ending the flow of his words midstream. In one jerky movement, she ripped the page from the pad and flung it in the bin. Good thing she'd nipped that in the bud. It was senseless to get entangled with Christophe again. By the sound of it, he was going to get personal, no matter that he was engaged.

The idea of another solitary evening at home depressed her, so after she called her contacts to ensure the rates she had were still current, she stayed to prepare a comparison list. In the morning, she would ask Monica to incorporate the information in their standard proposal.

Sighing, she slumped in the padded chair. Why couldn't Christophe let things be? Sure, they had met through the company, but couldn't he have gone to another broker since they weren't exactly on speaking terms after their break-up? Pity she didn't own the company or she would have sent him on his way.

Easier than dealing with him.

She gripped the edge of the desk and sat up. The sooner she got the information he wanted, the sooner she would be rid of him.
Chapter 2

Anya stared at Christophe's hand that rested on the desktop. A graceful finger traced the words across the page while he read a section of the proposal she had prepared. While she looked at his hands, her mind took a field trip. Both his sleeves were rolled up, and on his left wrist, a flat, gold-on-silver watch tangled with the soft hairs. She shivered at the memory of them brushing over her skin—but that was in the past.

His index finger tapped the paper, bringing her out of her trance. Her gaze lifted to his and then shot to the scribbled telephone numbers dotting the desk pad. She brushed at non-existent matter to keep her hands occupied.

He'd caught her staring, but nothing in his expression said he'd followed the direction of her thoughts.

"So basically," he said, "what we need to do is decide which payment option suits us best."

She nodded, admiring the contrast between the peach shirt and his dusky skin. "As soon as you make a decision, I'll ask the finance company to prepare a contract and you can start paying the premiums right away."

"Great."

He moistened his lips, but didn't speak. The steady hum of the air-conditioner grew loud in the stretching silence. Anya shifted and adjusted the collar of her linen shirt, unsure of what was going on in his mind. Perhaps he was thinking, with his eyes fixed on her. But no, his eyes didn't have the glazed look of one deep in thought. He was looking straight at her.

That wasn't a good sign.

Her gaze took panicked trips around the room and she was close to the point of snapping at him when he spoke. "You never explained exactly why we had to stop seeing each other."

Anya opened her mouth to respond and came up with nothing. She rested her palms on the desk and started over. "Well...I...there were issues."

He nodded once. "Of course, there were issues, but only you seemed to know what they were."

"Are you engaged?"

He shifted and turned an ear toward her. "What?"

"Never mind," she said and sank into silence.

In a minute she would go to the bathroom to check if she'd sprung a leak in her brain. Had she really asked him that?

Thankfully, he hadn't heard her question.

Trying hard not to gnaw her synthetic nails, she avoided connecting with the composed man sitting in front of the desk. A seed of annoyance burst into life as she avoided his expectant gaze. What did he want her to say?

Except for fleeting moments in traffic, she hadn't seen him in ages. The first few times he'd driven past, she had brain freeze, but realized that in a city as small as Kingston, she'd see him sometimes. Now here he sat, getting ready to muddy the water of her stagnant life. She drew a deep breath and got ready to skirt the subject. "Well, ah, time has passed, so..."

In the seconds following her non-statement, Anya acknowledged that Christophe didn't intend to swallow the bait her open-ended words created. When his voice drifted over her, she fixed her attention on the pencil cup, willing her gaze to stay there.

"I agree, but we do have some unfinished business. I—"

She put aside her aversion to dealing with emotional matters head-on and stopped him by raising both hands with her palms facing outward. "No, we don't. I just can't deal with this right now."

His eyebrows lifted. "So, when's a good time?"

Panic and fear raked her scalp. How about never?

He waited, giving no sign that he had to be anywhere else today.

Anya stared at him, doubting her mental stability more than ever. How or why had she convinced herself to part ways with him? Christophe was the sort of man she'd needed after Andrew. But she'd wasted time pining after Andrew—a man who refused to admit that he was unable or unwilling to commit to one woman—and lost Christophe, who would have helped her move forward with her life.

A sigh left her lips.

Christophe had always been stubborn. Why did he insist on making her face facts she didn't want to think about?

He startled her when he spoke. "Well?"

The way she sat implied that she had closed herself off from him, so she unfolded her arms and placed her hands on the desk. If she was going to avoid the complications he'd cause, she might as well deal with the situation now. She cleared her throat and peered at him. "Christophe, are you engaged?"

For a second, Anya thought he was going to smile, but he didn't follow through. "Why would you ask that?"

Pretending that she wasn't interested, she said, "The man in the jewelry store yesterday was picking out rings."

"I thought you were distracted."

She struggled not to let on that she'd lied. "I didn't know that was you."

To her relief, he didn't call her on that. But the question remained. Why shop for rings with someone he wasn't about to marry?

He smiled before he spoke. "To answer your question, no, I'm not engaged."

He leaned forward. "Now that we've settled that matter, I have two tickets to the football match between Jamaica and Peru this weekend, will you come?"

Anya thought for a few seconds before making a quick decision. Maybe she'd get the opportunity to dig into his business a little bit and it wasn't as if she had anything to do. She hid the sneaky smile trying to break loose, and nodded. "Sure."

She had some skill on her and could get the answers she needed, but it would be impossible for him to pin her down at the National Stadium amid thousands of noisy, football enthusiasts. Clearly, he wasn't thinking about that.

"You live same place?"

She shook her head, scribbled her address on the back of a business card and gave it to him, careful not to brush his fingers.

"Thanks. I'll be in touch." He got up, smiling. "See you on Saturday."

Anya nodded, mesmerized by the warm smile she remembered so well.

She watched him leave the office, hoping the commotion in her head would lessen with something this big on the front burner.

His thin, graceful build stirred emotions she preferred to remain unnamed. Sighing, she reminded herself that their date was headed nowhere. She wouldn't commit to anyone. Her circumstances ruled out any such thing. She planned to enjoy their outing, and hoped Christophe would be content enough in her company that he'd forget about rehashing the details of their relationship.

She put aside the file jacket labeled Fidelity Security Services and cupped her face in her hands, studying the navy-leather desktop. Minutes ticked by while she repented her rash decision.

Nothing good could come of it.

The door swung open and Monica dashed into the room. The gust created by her movement lifted the pale-blue blinds. They flipped down when she sat.

Anya opened the first file within reach. "D'you have to move like a tornado all the time? You frightened the hell out of me just now."

Monica grinned. "You know me. I move like lightning to stay OTOT."

"And one day you'll crash like thunder." Anya's brows drew together. "What's OTOT?"

Anya held up a hand and rolled her eyes. "Never mind."

On top of things. Like she wished she was in her pathetic life.

She took the file Monica held out, laying it open on top of the one she'd just grabbed.

Had she really told Christophe yes? Under her breath she said, "Stupid must be my middle name."

Monica droned on while Anya studied the document in front of her. She blinked and looked up at Monica, who perched on the seat watching her. "So, what d'you think I should do about the claim?"

"Huh?"

Anya prided herself on being professional, so it made her uncomfortable to think that while Monica was discussing business, her mind was roaming elsewhere. What had possessed her to agree to a date? She was setting Christophe up for more disappointment.

Her gaze settled on the purple blooms of the orchid that sat on the table in the corner. Christophe had given it to her, and it had lasted a lot longer than their time together. Did he remember when he bought it for her, and had he seen it when he stood in front of the desk?

She had a sudden, urgent need to be alone.

"Monica, um, I need to make a call," Anya lied. "Can you come back in a half-hour or so?"

"Sure."

Monica's cocked head and concerned expression told Anya her strange behavior was obvious.

When she was alone, Anya let her thoughts take over. She'd be stupid to think she could distract a man as intelligent as Christophe Mondesir with silly excuses.

"This date will get him out of my system once and for all," she told the room.

She pushed the hair from her forehead and rubbed both eyes, willing the weight inside her chest to go away, and her inner voice to be silent, but her thoughts ran on unchecked. That's right, keep on fooling yourself.

She pushed the chair back, got up and stepped away from the desk. She'd go see what the team was up to—as if they needed watching.

Yeah, distract yourself and run away, like you always do.

"Shut up," Anya mumbled.

She shrugged her jacket on and walked out of the office, her composure in place. Inside, she berated herself over the stupidity of giving Christophe the chance to destroy the fragile peace she'd worked so hard to win during the past two years.

She stood in the doorway, tapping her chin with a fingernail. She didn't have the luxury of playing around. It would destroy her. She had no choice but to call off their date. Having made the decision, she nodded and relief brought a smile to her lips.

Avoiding Christophe was best for both of them, so that's what she'd do.

Chapter 3

On the way home, Anya stopped at her mother's house. After dinner, they talked in the sun-splashed kitchen as they had for many years. When her mother cleared her throat purposefully, Anya hoped she wasn't in for another earful of Celeste's latest adventures.

She should have known better.

Mama touched her arm. "Celeste is losing her mind. I'm almost a hundred percent sure she's dealing with a married man." She cracked her knuckles and shook her head before speaking again." Look how many young men in Jamaica and she have to pick up with somebody's husband."

The more upset Mama became, the further she'd descend into Patois.

Anya laid her hands on the placemat and tried to stop Mama's rant. "I hope you're not telling me any of this in the hope that I'm going to say anything to her. She won't listen to a word from me, as you well know."

"Yes, but—"

"I can't take on anything else right now, Mama. Celly has to learn from her own mistakes. It's how you raised her, letting her run loose all over the place. She obviously thinks life is about partying and having a good time. Well, I have news for her. When she get inna some real trouble, tell her don't call me."

Mama's eyes pleaded in tandem with her words. "Penny was involved with a married man and you see what she did? She killed herself. You want the same thing to happen to your sister?"

Although Penny had died nearly three years ago, Anya often thought about her. Penny had gotten pregnant and found out afterward that her boyfriend was married. She'd committed suicide to escape the problems with her lover's wife, and her death had devastated Anya and Camille.

Anya stared into her mother's lined face. "Mama, you didn't raise any idiots. Celeste is old enough to know exactly what she's doing."

"But if you talk to her as a big sister, maybe it would help."

Anya doubted Celeste needed to hear any more preaching. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself in the same position as Penny, having relationships with unsuitable men. The only advantage for Celeste was that she already had a shrewdness that Penny never learned and which did not sit well on a young woman.

The front door opened and after a few seconds, the subject of their conversation walked into the room.

"Hey, Mama." Celeste's eyes cut to her sister. "Anya."

"Celeste. What you been up to lately?" Anya asked.

In her uniform of close-fitting tank top and skin-tight jeans, Celeste looked good. Once again, Anya envied Celeste her sleek figure. She was elegant without trying. The glossy braids with blonde highlights stretched past her waist and complemented her flawless cocoa-toned skin. The only thing marring her beauty was the petulant expression she wore whenever she was in the same space as Anya.

Celeste approached the table with a smooth stride and an air of antagonism. She believed they talked incessantly about her—which was mostly right, thanks to Mama—so Anya prepared for her sister's habitual paranoia. She didn't have long to wait.

Celeste speared their mother with narrowed eyes. "I bet you been telling her my business."

Anya snorted and sucked her teeth. "The only business you have is to find a job and start being responsible."

"I pay my share of the bills and you don't live in this house, therefore, you have no say in what goes on here."

Despite her intention not to answer, Anya shot back, "Yeah, you pay your share of the bills, but out of somebody else's pocket. If you had any ambition, you'd get a job and stop sponging off some woman's husband."

Celeste put a hand on her cocked hip. "You know what your problem is? You don't have a man or a life, so you come over here to get in other people's business." She spun to look at their mother. "Mama, why you keep inviting her here? Why you don't send her home to her stupid fish so she can stop makin' my life miserable."

Anya clenched her jaw, pushed away from the table and slipped the plate she'd used into the sink. "I'll talk to you later, Mama."

She brushed past Celeste and stalked to the Jeep. When she sat inside, she fluttered her fingers at her mother, who came to stand in the doorway. Mama waved back, wearing a tense smile.

Anya conceded another victory to Celeste. She knew exactly how to gouge Anya's most painful wound, but Anya would never admit that her sister's words cut deep. The pointlessness of her existence was something she didn't care to dwell on.

In her discussions with Camille, Anya never admitted that with time she'd gained a better understanding of what had motivated Penny to end her life. Thoughts of suicide dogged Anya every day. The nameless, accompanying fear and a sense of approaching disaster didn't help her state of mind.

Was she having panic attacks? Over what? Maybe seeing Christophe had made her anxious. She tried to remember what she'd read about the symptoms, but came up blank. She'd have to do some research.

She spied the Devon House sign coming up on the left and turned into the property on impulse. A famous landmark, the premises housed various businesses, including the home of what Anya considered the best ice cream on the island.

She parked, spent more time than necessary inside the shop deciding which flavor she wanted, and then indulged her craving by settling on Butter Almond.

As a diversionary tactic, the ice cream detour didn't quite work. Her thoughts continued to churn in a restless tide, giving her no respite, and the crunchy waffle cone went flat and tasteless. Her shoulders drooped at the thought of the mental battle to come as evening stretched into night.

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A Note from the Author

Thanks so much for downloading this sampler. I hope you enjoyed this taste of my writing and that you'll try some of my other stories that include romantic suspense and women's fiction. Your feedback is important and helps other readers make an informed decision on whether to pick up a book or not. Feel free to post a couple of lines to express your thoughts on this sampler. Many thanks for taking the time. I appreciate you!

About the Author

J.L. Campbell is an award-winning, Jamaican author who writes romantic suspense, women's fiction, new and young adult novels. She has written over thirty books, is a certified editor, and also writes non-fiction. Feel free to join her mailing list for news and updates http://eepurl.com/n29ZH.

Contact

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Other Books by J.L. Campbell

Savor the taste of tropical living by sampling these other stories set mainly on the island of Jamaica.

Romantic Suspense (Island Adventure Series)

Anya's Wish (free novella)

Chasing Anya

Contraband

Taming Celeste

Grudge

Hardware

New Adult

Perfection

Fixation

Persuasion

Women's Fiction

A Baker's Dozen-13 Steps to Distraction (novella)

Dissolution

Distraction

Retribution

Absolution

The Thick of Things (In Medias Res Book 1)

Young Adult

Christine's Odyssey

Saving Sam

Short Story Collections

Don't Get Mad...Get Even (free)

Don't Get Mad...Get Even: Kicked to the Kerb

Contemporary Romance (Sweet Holiday Series)

The Vet's Christmas Pet

The Vet's Valentine Gift

The Vet's Secret Wish

Sold!

Cupid's Gift

Blindsided

Contemporary Romance (Par for the Course)

The Short Game

The Long Game

Lady Guardians: Bankrolled
