Be My Always: A BWWM Romance (Make It Marriage Book 1)

by Nia Arthurs

  Damn, that slinky red dress—the same tint as her reddish-brown hair.

  She looks stunning.

  More than that.

  She’s…

  Everything.

  My fingers curl into fists.

  Nails press into the palm of my flesh.

  I let the pain hold, linger. Use it to bury how desperately I want to touch her.

  How wrong that feeling is.

  How slowly Evan will kill me if he finds out I’m staring at his baby sister with more than friendly affection.

  Venus gathers her curly hair with one hand so it’s out of the way. It’s too thick to be tamed. Springy coils pop out of her firm clutch and feather the side of her face.

  She bends over. Arches her back.

  That thin scrap of fabric—how the hell is that little thing called a dress?—shifts.

  Plunges.

  Lower.

  So low her tits are practically hanging out.

  I clench my jaw.

  Fight the fury crawling over my back.

  I sense the shift in the air.

  The way the other guys are staring at her.

  Drooling over her body.

  The way I want to.

  Nine times nine is eighty-one. Ten times ten is a hundred…

  I thump my finger against the side of my pants as I count in my head. If I don’t get my crap together, I’m going to smash a few skulls. And maybe fracture my knuckles. Can’t head to the studio tomorrow with a cast on my wrist.

  Evan grabs Venus and tries to shove her head in the cake.

  She smacks him away. Laughs. Realizes her hair isn’t staying still and tosses the mass of it over her other shoulder.

  Her smile beams, more brilliant than the eighteen tiny flames above the eighteen sparkling candles.

  Her brown eyes lift.

  Slam into mine.

  A corner of her lips tilt up. Guess what I’m wishing for?

  She’s flirting with me.

  Or maybe I’m so desperate I’m seeing what I want.

  Either way, nothing’s happening.

  But if it did…

  She’s legal.

  It would be legal.

  To date her. To long for her.

  She’s been a dirty temptation until now, but today these feelings are…

  Well, I can’t say they’re squeaky clean.

  They’re not.

  Never were.

  The things I want to do to her…

  Damn, what am I thinking?

  Venus is too precious.

  So’s her family—Evan, Mrs. G, Papi.

  I have no one else.

  They’re the only people I’ve got.

  The only family who cares.

  I’m not going there.

  Even if her lips make my body throb as they part, ever-so-slightly, to blow out the candles.

  Even if her eyes catch mine when she straightens. I just wished for you to take me upstairs.

  My heart thunders in my ears.

  Not. Happening.

  Applause and cheers break out.

  Venus is pulled into the arms of some jock with a huge head and a crew-cut.

  I bristle.

  Evan frowns. He doesn’t like the guy either—for slightly different reasons than me—but Venus told him to take his concern and shove it. She and Jock Guy have been dating on-again, off-again for the past two years.

  “Alright, alright. That’s enough.” Evan succeeds in prying the teenager, whose eyes are gleaming with lust—evidence in his pants to prove it—away from Venus.

  I’m glad he stepped in because I was two-seconds away from taking care of the problem myself and I wouldn’t have been that gentle.

  My scowl deepens.

  Venus can’t stay single for a day without those over-sized, hormonal man-babies sniffing around her. Touching her. Wanting her.

  And I get it.

  I do.

  She’s beautiful. Kind. Smart. Funny. And innocent… but in a way that begs to be soiled.

  Like right now…

  She’s looking at me again. Thick eyelashes flutter. Up. Down. A slender finger—pink nails flashing tiny diamond studs—slips into the cake. An upward thrust gathers white frosting on the tip.

  She pulls it out. Licks it gently. Her eyelids fall together as she lets out a soft, little moan.

  My body buzzes.

  My veins hum with desire.

  I hate the distance.

  Hate the fact that she’s on the other side of the table.

  I’m desperate to be closer.

  Desperate to show her what I can do with my tongue.

  See her tremble.

  Hear her moan for me…

  See, this is why I shouldn’t have come.

  Eleven times eleven is one twenty-one. Twelve times twelve is one forty-four.

  It’s not working.

  Air. I need air.

  While Evan scolds his sister for putting her hands in the cake and she sassily snaps back that it’s her cake and she can do whatever the hell she wants with it, I head outside.

  Mrs. G stops me halfway, her dark hands filled with plastic plates and a pack of forks wedged into the crook of her arm. An offer to help springs to my tongue, but I swallow it back.

  I’m getting out.

  Going back in will result in me doing something stupid.

  Like striding right past her mother, her brother and everybody… and sucking the frosting off Venus’s perfect, Cupid’s-bow lips.

  “T, where are you going?” Mrs. G slants me a concerned look. “Don’t you want to taste the cake?”

  I do, but not off a freaking plate.

  “Need to make a call.” I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and wave it in her face as evidence.

  “The gallery?”

  “Yeah.” The lie falls uncertainly off my lips.

  She nods. Stares at me like a proud mama bear. “I’m so glad people are recognizing your talent, T. It’s about damn time.”

  I force a smile. Gesture to the door.

  “Oh, right.” She giggles and walks past me to set the plates on the table.

  I keep going. Right through the front door. Out. Past the stoop. Straight onto the basketball court.

  This place is like home to me. My only constant in a world that kept spinning out of control.

  I played ball like hell here, sweat dripping down my face and into my eyes.

  I got my knees, arms, and elbows bruised.

  Got it patched up—Mrs. G crooning about how I should be more careful.

  Papi cheering for me and then equally for Evan from the porch.

  Venus waddling away from her Barbie dolls to hog the ball and demand we include her.

  Back in those days, she was just Evan’s little sister.

  His annoying kid sister.

  The one we complained about constantly.

  The one we hid from so we didn’t have to deal with her.

  We grew up and she was still that little kid to me.

  Six months ago, things started to change.

  No… ‘started to’ makes it sound gradual.

  It wasn’t.

  Things shifted in a second.

  A snap.

  Like I got whacked in the head and wires in my brain fell out of place, nerves got jostled and suddenly, Venus Miller was a woman.

  A woman I wanted so badly it hurt to breathe.

  She’s taken over everything—even this sacred place where I used to shoot hoops for hours until the world made sense.

  Now, when I close my eyes, I see her here. The grown up version. Sitting on the whicker patio sofa. Foot tapping to the Vybz Cartel song in her headphones. Textbook in her hands. Wide smile stretching her cheeks.

  I shake my head.

  Try to dislodge the memories.

  I need the old Troy back—the one who’d be utterly disgusted by any sexual thoughts towards Evan’s kid sister.

  I need a way to get Venus out
of my head.

  But I’m running out of ideas. I’ve tried school, work, plowing through women, taking a break from plowing through women.

  It all goes to hell when I see the little twinkle of mischief in her brown eyes. The way the light glistens against her brown skin. The wide lips, that coy, come and get me hair toss. Like she knows how badly I want my hands in her hair and my lips crushing hers.

  The screen door slaps. “Hey.”

  I turn. Face Venus. “Hey.”

  She approaches me, her stride long and confident. Once she’s a couple inches away, she stops and cocks her hip. There’s something in her eyes. Boldness. Like she knows how badly I want her. Like she’s about to drag me to the tool shed, roll that dress up her thighs and beg me to take her.

  I take a step back instead.

  I don’t need this.

  I can’t handle this.

  “Mom told me to bring you cake.”

  My eyes bounce to her empty hands. Back to her eyes. “Where’s the cake?”

  “Get it yourself.”

  “You came all the way out here just to say that?”

  She takes a step forward. “Had to prove a point.”

  “You should be a lawyer.”

  “I hate formal attire, stuffy places, and black clothes.”

  “But you like winning arguments.”

  She flashes a soft grin. Doesn’t bother denying it.

  Truth is, I have no idea what Venus will be. She’s crazy talented, crazy smart… boy crazy.

  “There’s something I need to ask you.”

  My hands tremble. Kiss me, Troy.

  By my first, Troy.

  My pants tighten.

  My fingers, my lips, my tongue—every inch of my body wants to be her first.

  Fourteen times fourteen is one ninety-six. Fifteen times fifteen is two twenty-five.

  “Where’s my gift?” She cups her hands and lifts them. Head tilted up, she blinks innocently.

  “Your gift?”

  “Evan said you got paid for that art exhibition. And I already checked in the gift pile. Your gift’s not there.”

  An easy grin twitches my lips.

  That’s so… Venus. Her ability to piece things together is uncanny.

  “What if I said I got you nothing?”

  “Liar.” She surges forward. Her hands flutter around my pants.

  Close.

  Way too close.

  I snag her arms, bind them behind her back, and tug her against my chest.

  It’s a bad move. Touching her like this.

  I can hear her breath thickening. Feel her body trembling. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Eyes darken. I’m almost certain touching me is having the same effect on her.

  Damn. I need to go home. Need a cold shower. Maybe a thousand.

  She tosses her hair. It tickles my chin. Peering at me from the corner of her eye, she whispers, “I felt it.”

  My heart freezes.

  No, she didn’t…

  Not…

  “There’s a box in your left pocket.”

  I push her away.

  She stumbles. Gains her balance quickly. Moves into my personal space again. “Give it to me.”

  “So impatient.” I huff. Dig into my pocket. Hand it over just to get her off my scent, out of my space, before she decides to touch me again and really feels the effect she has on me. And then it will all go to hell.

  Venus opens the box and gasps. “Troy…” She pulls out the necklace. It’s gold. In the shape of a sun. Inside, it’s got a marble painting of the planet Venus. I did the artwork myself. Took me weeks to get the colors and texture right using such a tiny, delicate canvas. She won’t see it unless she looks.

  So she probably won’t ever see it.

  And that suits me just fine.

  Knowing it’s there. Knowing a little piece of my heart will be hanging over hers—is enough.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathes. Turns. Sweeps her hair off her neck. “Put it on.”

  I clear my throat. Push her away. “Ask Evan later.”

  There’s no saving Venus from my filthy thoughts if I touch her again. No holding me back if I feather her hair to the side, wrap my arms around her chest, and lean in to grab that tiny clasp.

  Her eyes narrow in annoyance.

  I pissed her off.

  Not my intention, but it’s for the best.

  To keep my distance.

  To keep my place in this family that accepted me when I had nowhere else to turn.

  The door opens. Jock Guy appears, bracketed in the light. “Venus, what’s taking so long?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He keeps standing in the doorway. Staring at me. Hands on his hips. Eyes boring into my back like he can read every dirty thought in my head and wants to clobber me for it.

  Venus lifts a hand at him. “Just give me a minute, Bruce.”

  His name is Bruce? Wow.

  Bruce grudgingly steps back and closes the door.

  Venus turns to me. Her eyes are gleaming. “It’s my birthday.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s my birthday, Troy.” She says it again like it’s supposed to mean something. Like I’m supposed to do something.

  I’m just barely restraining myself right now.

  What the hell does she expect from me?

  Venus shakes her head. Steps forward. “Don’t move.”

  I look down at her. At the determination in her eyes.

  She grabs my chin. Her fingers dig into my jaw.

  The wind picks up. Tugs my too-long hair and bats it around my forehead.

  Venus pulls my head down and presses a long, lingering kiss on my cheek. The slight dampness of her mouth sizzles against the heat of my skin. Dark lips graze over my stumble as she takes her sweet, slow time pulling back.

  Her flowery fragrance surrounds me.

  Her eyes are closed.

  My heart is pounding against my chest.

  It’s the most sensual cheek kiss in the history of humanity.

  “Happy birthday to me,” she murmurs.

  “Venus…”

  “Thanks for the necklace.” She holds the box high and struts back to the house.

  I watch her hair swish from side to the side. Watch the gentle sway of her hips.

  That dress…

  Damn.

  This won’t work.

  I need Venus Miller out of my head.

  Chapter 2

  Venus

  Eight Years Later

  “How are you still Cupid?”

  Kayla glances up at me as the door smashes against the wall of her office. She’s got her glasses on the tip of her nose and a not this again expression on her face.

  I stomp into the room. Flop into her couch. “I paired Holly and Rasheed this week. Victor and Amy last month. Haus and Amanda. Frederick and Lucy. I’m on fire. How are you still Cupid?”

  “Venus, take deep breaths.”

  I narrow my eyes at her here kitty, kitty tone. “You’re distracted. You share a bed with a super hot, super ripped billionaire who’s blowing your mind every night. If there’s any time to dethrone you, it’s now.”

  “Huh.” Kayla smirks. “Plotting against me?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  “Nice to know what you’ve been doing.”

  “Well, I know what you’ve been doing…” I arch an eyebrow.

  Kayla blushes. She’s got light brown skin that exposes every thought in her head and this time I can tell she’s thinking of Brendon Humes—corporate heir and her outrageously doting boyfriend—naked.

  “Or I should say who you’re doing.”

  She waves away my teasing with a hand. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

  “About Brendon?” I ease to the edge of my seat. “If you’ve got details, feel free to share.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not Brendon. I’m talking about work.”

  I groan in disappointment. “Tease.” />
  She pretends not to hear me. “It’s not just the quantity of matches that count.”

  “Then what?” I huff. These past few weeks, I’ve been schmoozing my butt off, helping clients, recruiting new ones and doing everything I can to force Make It Marriage HQ to acknowledge my greatness.

  I’ve heard nothing from up top.

  Zero.

  Zip.

  It’s like a conspiracy against me.

  “It’s not quantity, it’s quality.”

  “Quality?” I flick a curl out of my eyes. “Who determines the quality of our matches? We treat everyone as equal whether they’re black, white, rich or poor. It’s why I signed on to this gig.”

  “True, but the high profile cases…” She lets her words drift. Stares at me like I’m expected to piece the puzzle together.

  And I do.

  My lips part with a gasp. “Normal people. I’ve only been matching regular, everyday folks.”

  “You want attention?” She snaps her fingers. “Recruit and match someone high profile. It’s free advertisement. Corporate loves the attention and the good press. Wala.”

  I smack my forehead. “It’s been staring me in the face all this time.”

  Kayla shrugs, eyes sparkling.

  It’s good to see her doing that.

  Sparkle.

  She used to have a thing for power blazers and pitiful, woe-is-me, the-world-sucks expressions.

  Now, well… she still rocks power-suits, but it’s not armor. It’s just a fashion choice.

  And I like that.

  I like when women express themselves however the hell they want.

  I don’t like being passed over by said woman in the purple power suit when I’ve worked my butt off.

  “But where am I going to find someone high profile?”

  “I thought you had a few high profile guys on speed dial? Ask one of them.”

  “They don’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…”

  “Because?” She eyes me. “They’re eligible men, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, I’ve confirmed that.”

  “You’ve con—” Kayla frowns. “How?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve…” She makes a motion with her hands. Clicks her teeth together. “You know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “All of them?”

  I think about it. Nod again.

  “Oh?”

  “But they’re itch-scratchers.”

  Kayla snorts. “Itch-scratchers.”