THE GOOD MISTRESS II: The Wedding

by Amarie Avant

  Mila scrunched the paper up and tossed it into the wastebasket behind the bar. Oddly, she felt nothing, aside from a deep desire to love the man who had loved her wholeheartedly. She went in search of Blake in the bedroom, though he wasn’t there. She started outside into the freezing cold night, knowing he’d keep her warm.

  Colossians 3: 14: And above all these put on love,

  which binds everything together in

  perfect harmony.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading The Good Mistress II. That means you liked the first book. I am one of those weird people that love writing about controversial things. I’ll let you in on a secret—well, not too secret if you have friended me or are in my group on Facebook. Any who, I’ve been married for almost eight years, and I would’ve been in jail for murder if my husband had a mistress. And here I am, writing a book about one LOL. I know some people read the first book and were pleasantly surprised that Mila wasn’t technically a mistress (while others just didn’t agree with how I setup the story, or just hated her anyway). But you, you’ve finished The Wedding, and my fingers are crossed that you loved it. I love wedding season! If you’re in the Southern California area, and need a plus one for a wedding, let me know. I might be able to attend.

  Now, here’s where I beg and plead. Will you leave a review on Amazon?

  Have you joined my Facebook Group, Amarie Avant Aroused? The ladies in that group are awesome. They give me ideas and tell me what they want. They made me sit my ass down and write this! So, come say hello. Don’t be shy. I’m the shy one.

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  PROLOGUE: Avery Castle

  Bright lights flooded down on Avery; her skin coated in sweat. She pushed a kink of damp, dark hair from her face.

  Just shy of seventeen and dying of a broken heart, Avery frantically signed as she spoke. “My baby?”

  Born deaf, but not mute, Avery was a master at lip reading. However, in times of stress, she found herself lapse into signing.

  Her mother, Verdrena, had made a ruckus when the doctors requested she leave the room. Avery and her mother had a very close relationship, so neither wanted her to leave, but Avery’s baby was in critical condition. Now, Avery was truly all alone. Even the boy who should have been in the room had vanished as well, without a trace, days before Avery had the nerve to tell him that they were expecting. Donavan Hardy had been her everything: fighter of bullies in elementary school, hell, fighter of anybody who had something to say about her being deaf or him being poor in middle school, and fighter of any other guy who wanted to flirt with his girl in high school.

  And now, she realized, after months of hardly eating, hardly surviving, that their son was all she had left, and the baby had just been whisked away by an array of prestigious doctors. She couldn’t lose her child, not after she’d lost the love of her life too.

  “My baby!” The words jarred her diaphragm as she shouted them.

  The profiles of faces hovered above her—two award-winning doctors and their team of nurses. She was in a suite at a private hospital on the outskirts of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It was known around the nation for its advanced technology and being on the forefront of cancer research.

  The best for Avery, her father always said.

  “The little one didn’t make it—” She read the words from the lips of one of the male nurses in the background. He’d been part of the team that had taken her son away, along with a third doctor, mere moments ago. Now he was back, face flushed.

  “My . . . my baby is dead?” Avery bolted up to a seated position. Thoughts swarmed her mind. Her fingers shook so bad that she could hardly sign, which was something she had hated to do while growing up anyway because of her father. He never said anything about her being deaf, but Avery caught on quick that, in his eyes, she was flawed. She didn’t quite know she had a disability until feeling her father’s discomfort. Mr. Castle had too many people to impress for his daughter to “embarrass” him. To further support Avery’s feelings, her father never got around to learning sign language either. So, she’d learned everything about reading people—the movements of their mouths, their body language—every part of a person until she knew the words they thought. But when she was angry, using sign language was an added exclamation point to her argument. Her entire body trembled with paranoia and fear. “My dad—my dad . . . he was nice to me last night . . .”

  “Miss Castle, please . . .” one of the nurses signed, placing a hand on Avery’s shoulder to keep her attention. Yes, her father had even ensured that during this ordeal as he’d called it that Avery had someone available to tend to her every need. She didn’t need the signing, not at all.

  A nurse wearing Star Wars scrubs smirked. “Tsk. Her father is nothing short of a political figure. Like I really want to hear where this conversation is going about Alexander Castle being nice—”

  “Shhh.” Dr. Blaine’s dreadlocks brushed against her thick lips, which were attempting a sympathetic smile. As a family friend, she knew that Avery could read lips.

  Nurse Star Wars chortled. “The little child protégé is deaf, so don’t get so enamored. She already has the masses in love with her as a pianist. And Alexander Castle is not nice.”

  It was true. Avery was phenomenal when it came to her grand piano. Well, she had been before Donavan’s disappearance. Avery Castle, rich girl, loved by all, was an acclaimed pianist even as a child, but Avery didn’t see its relevance here or now.

  Avery reached over and smacked the woman. “I can read lips, bitch. Listen to me! My father gave me tea. It was bitter, and it . . . no, it had honey, so, it was sweet, but it was bitter. Then I woke up in the middle of the night.”

  “Miss Castle, please—” the other doctor said.

  “Avery, you can tell me about it later,” Dr. Blaine assured, visibly concerned about Avery’s statement.

  “No, now! Mary.” Avery addressed Dr. Blaine. “Listen to me! My father killed my baby!”

  Avery clasped a hand on the railing and with the other pulled out the IV. Blood gushed from her forearm. Avery was numb everywhere except for the small gaping hole in her body. The world was on a seesaw around her. Though her vision was swimming, she knew one thing—she had to get up from the bed. She had to get away from . . . her father.

  “AC, I promise to hear you out later. But it’s imperative that you lie down,” Dr. Blaine chided in a soothing tone. She nodded, and the rest of the nurses began to help her hold Avery down.

  “No! My father probably killed Donavan too!” Her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her own palms, while her shoulders were firmly pressed back by the staff.

  Her father had said Donavan was a piece of trash; that he ran with the wrong crowd, sold pot. But Donnie wouldn’t leave her. Blood began to seep through Avery’s fingers. “Mary, Mary, listen to me,” Avery begged Dr. Blaine. This woman was her only hope.

  “I swear to you. I want to hear you out but later,” Avery continued to twist and push away. “Avery, we will have to subdue you,” Dr. Blaine warned.

  “My father murdered Don—”

  Avery felt a soft prick against her shoulder, and then she fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 1: Avery

  Seven years later

  Her Nikes pounded the plush green land as sweat glistened, traveling down her caramel skin. Avery’s mind cleared as the tranquil scenery mellowed her mood, allowing her endorphins to kick in.

  She sprinted over a tree limb, her body curvy but athletic, and then Avery spun around quickly.

  The man behind her had dark eyes that were greedily drinking in the sight of her ample frame in tight shorts and sports bra.

  She assessed him quickly. A windbreaker and pants couldn’t hide that he was built brick by brick of muscle
.

  Her dark brown eyes narrowed, and instantly her left leg came out. The man blocked the kick. He was well prepared. A nanosecond later, his forearm blocked another attempt as if he knew her thoughts and calculated her movements. Before those large hands could take hold of her, five-foot-five Avery lifted her knee. His hands quickly blocked the strike to his cock. The grin, and subsequent dimple that pierced his dark olive skin, implied he’d seen this move coming too.

  Thick, kinky strands of hair whipped Avery’s face as he grabbed her tiny waist. He spun her too quickly. Her yelp vibrated through the vast oak trees. Then Avery’s back was forced against his rock hard body. His erection tested the durability of her Nike shorts.

  A passionate kiss caressed the delicate pulsing of her neck. Avery wriggled away with a cocky smile and turned around.

  “I distinctively recall telling you not to sleep at the old estate, mi amor.” Salvador chided.

  “Mmmm,” Avery moaned, licking her lips. Salvador, a commanding six feet even, with shoulders as broad as they were strong, always made sure her safety came first. She lifted her hand. Her thumb played with the sharp contour of his jawline and the perfect amount of stubble. “I know, I know. We agreed that I wouldn’t sleep at my grandparent’s estate until it’s been fully restored. What if I say, I slept at home?”

  She knew the detective in Salvador was skilled at reading body language, though he didn’t need it now. Avery’s expression, a grin revealing a row of straight, white teeth hinted to her deception.

  “You know what, Avery? I have a notion to pull out my handcuffs. That mansion isn’t fit to be lived in.”

  “Handcuffs? Here? I assumed you were the good cop.” She leaned against one of the expansive oak trees. “Besides, Detective, you investigate major crimes, not reprimanding little ol' me.” Avery cocked her head to the side while holding her wrists together. “Albeit, a bad cop does sound . . . good.”

  “Bad cop, aye?” Salvador stepped closer to her. His Latin flavor filled her with desire. That intense, sable gaze pierced Avery. As he spoke, Avery’s eyes stayed focused on the lips that she found so pleasing.

  “Miss Castle, it is my duty to uphold the law. If something happened to you . . .” His mouth stopped moving; pearly, teeth came down to bite the soft flesh of his lower lip. “There's no doubt that I'd do anything under the sun to avenge and keep you safe.”

  She had no idea what could ever happen to her, especially, on her own land. The area they lived in had the lowest crime rates around. But Salvador’s lips claimed hers as if sealing his declaration. Salvador. Would. Always. Keep. Her. Safe.

  His kisses on her damp neck made Avery’s warm with desire. She wanted him, but whimpered, “I'm stinky. No fair.”

  He pulled away. Salvador looked Avery dead in the eye. “You’re like the bad cop, and I like the dirty woman.”

  Before she could remind him that they were outdoors, Salvador was all over her again. Rationality evaporated from her mind, though she wasn’t truly worried they’d be seen since her family owned acre upon acre behind the vast old Baudelaire estate.

  Salvador bit softly at her flesh again. His large hands staked a claim on the fabric against her voluptuous ass, warning that there’d be no more discussion. With one quick swoop, Avery’s legs wrapped around his narrow waist. He leveraged her between his thick thighs and against the tree.

  Realizing that it wouldn’t be easy peeling Avery out of her running shorts, a low grumble erupted from Salvador as he considered what to do.

  Laughter bubbled from Avery at his frustration as she felt the vibration of his primitive moaning. In response, Salvador’s expression grew hard, sculpting it into pure sex. He readjusted her; his strong hands never leaving her chilled body. It was like he was addicted to touching her supple skin, and therein lay their problem—Salvador’s desire to continually caress Avery’s body. It could be disruptive. She pulled down her shorts and panties, using one heel to push them off. At the same instant, Salvador yanked his own sweats to his knees, exposing his powerful erection.

  He pulled her back onto him, leveraging her against the tree. At the moment his cock greeted her dripping wet slit, she sighed, taking him in inch by inch.

  “Oh . . .” She groaned, her pussy widening for him.

  Avery’s glossy, lavender-manicured fingernails clenched into taut biceps. Her body hungered for more of his. She was so wet for Salvador that each plunge pushed her over the brink into delirium. Avery felt warm breath against her cheek and neck, as Salvador nestled his face to hers. An explosion erupted into her body, sending Avery’s pussy on a convulsing high.

  For a while after, Avery listened as birds chirped; the sunshine shimmied its way through the pine trees to kiss their dampened skin. Eyes closed, head nestled against the tree, Avery smiled in contentment. These moments were what life was made of.

  Salvador pushed her spiraled, disheveled hair from her face with his callused hand. She glanced at him. A lopsided grin appeared on her face. Well, now, what was better than a morning run?

  As they came down from their natural high, Salvador and Avery pulled on their clothes.

  She couldn't stop taking subtle looks at him. They'd been dating for almost two years now. Salvador had just made detective. She knew the next step . . . marriage. There was no doubt in her mind that Salvador had already chosen a ring. One that was just within reach of his pay range but closer to what he hoped would be acceptable by her father’s standards.

  But Avery knew that, to her father, Alexander Castle, there was no such thing as acceptable or standards. The rich didn’t conform. They set the bar. Grandiose was just the beginning of it all. You want it; you get it. Entitlement was king.

  As they walked in silence, Avery considered the timeframe for Salvador’s pending proposal. Would he ask Alexander first? Marriage should have been something to be ecstatic about, but Avery wasn’t feeling excited about it, she was no longer a romantic. Avery continued to remind herself that she was just twenty-four.

  As they walked the few miles back to the old estate, she wished Salvador wouldn’t follow the tradition of requesting her father’s permission for her hand. Anyway, Alexander was more than an ocean away. Avery stopped dead in her tracks.

  I should have Salvador propose to me now. That way, he will not be able to ask my father.

  Of course, the engagement would last another two years, but by then her father would have had to agree to the nuptials, so Alexander could hightail it back to one of the countries he enjoyed frequenting. Yes, it would take time; time was key when convincing her father to allow this or that. A two-year engagement would suffice for her mother as well and provide Avery with the chance to tell her father in her own time.

  Salvador stood before Avery, his sex-laden, dark eyes connecting with hers. “You know, Miss Castle, I have no qualms with screwing you along each and every tree.”

  Avery noshed on her bottom lip, which still held a hint of Salvador’s taste. He leaned down and kissed away the worry that he did not know plagued her because she was a master of concealing her apprehension. His butterfly-light kisses traced her top lip then her bottom lip, at last, consuming Avery’s entire mouth stilling her brain.

  No, Salvador didn’t have to be forced into a proposal, even if she didn’t want him to ask her father for her hand. As thoughtful as he was, whatever he did would be perfect. Avery knew she’d be revealing “how he proposed” at many of her parent’s extravagant galas, and she knew he did too. Salvador’s enchanting notions would captivate her family’s lofty friends, well, the females at the very least. Women loved romance.

  The remedy of Salvador’s lips pulled away. “When is your father returning?”

  “In two weeks? Longer, sooner? He always prides himself on being the closest black man to the president, you know . . . Alex and his power trips. So, who knows when he will be back, who cares?” Avery shrugged as if her father’s ever-changing itinerary meant nothing.

  If her heart w
ere set up to hate a single soul, her flesh and blood would be the one. But she didn’t. People always considered Avery as too nice for her own good. She did too.

  “You are my little bird” The words from the man she once loved came out of nowhere, whispering across her skin in a voice that made her flesh burn with desire and her heart flood with love. Sometimes, it felt as if Donavan were nearby, which would feel like having her heart snatched out all over again.

  Avery forced herself to breathe, wondering why, out of all times, she thought about him now. Why now! I should get married. I should be happy. Marriage . . . would make me happy.

  “Avery . . . Avery . . .” Salvador cocked an eyebrow.

  “Oh, I . . . look.” She nudged her chin toward a monarch butterfly, taking flight from the tall grass.

  He nodded and smiled. “Yeah, good luck for us then. What I was saying was, Alex invited me to dinner the next time he’s in town.”

  Avery paused, eyebrow arched. Even though she was observant, her man was a body language expert by trade. Avery put on a poker face. The detective didn't need to know that she knew that he intended to ask Alex for permission to marry her. Her father only went by that name with good friends. Mr. Castles’ flock of friends were high ranking officials in the army or judges and senators. And even better, he controlled the top ten percent of the rich in America that dealt with the financial economy regarding war. Calculating men who basically made money off war. But Avery had no desire or need to understand the aspects of her father’s carefully selected “friends.” She only cared about Salvador and what the use of her father’s nickname meant for him. She hid the shock she felt. My father hates everybody, but I guess Sal is growing on him.