Forever, Mr. Black (Tainted Black #3)

by Shanora Williams

  My vows were just okay, but his? Oh my goodness. His were filled with words I never thought I’d hear the real Mr. Black say.

  This wasn’t the rugged, hardcore Theo Black that grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. This wasn’t the damaged and lonely man I found in the garage.

  This was someone who had grown into something greater than I could have ever imagined.

  I was never going to forget his vows.

  “Chloe,” he’d said, no cards in hand. He’d memorized it. He still had my hand in his and was stroking it with his thumb. “I could go on and on about how much I love you. Seriously, I could. I could repeat those words every single day, for the rest of my life, and I wouldn’t get tired of doing so because they are the truth. And it’s not that I just love you. I am in love with you, even after all these years. You’ve given me so much hope—so much to look forward to in this lifetime. When I was at the very bottom, you grabbed my hand and picked me right up. When I was at my loneliest, you were there for me. When I felt like I had lost it all, you held my hand and you showed me what it meant to be loved. You showed me that I would never be alone as long as I had you.” He was smiling hard now, still misty-eyed. “I know we’ve had some rough patches and spent way too much time apart. I know sometimes you questioned whether or not I would stay, but I can guarantee you right now that I am here, Chloe. And I am not going anywhere. Not ever again. You are my Little Knight—the young, beautiful knight that saved me, and brought so much light into my world. And this time, I want to be yours. Even if I’m not your knight in shining white armor, I will take the black. Because in the dark, pitch-blackness was where I found you. With all the darkness I had inside me, you transformed that and filled me with gold. Bright, blazing gold.” He squeezed my hand, his tears falling now. “You gave me two beautiful babies. You gave me something worth living for. For that, I will never be able to repay you. With you, I am free, and with you, I will die a free man, too. I don’t care about our differences or what people say. All I care about is you, Chloe Knight. The love of my life. The sun in my sky. The heaven I’ve always sought. You are my family now. My life. And I will never be able to repay you for giving this old man another shot at life and love.”

  There was no way in hell I could control my tears. I was a blubbing mess. Seriously. It took me several seconds to calm down. After having Joanna and Sophia, I’d become more emotional. Every little thing made me want to cry.

  But when we said “I do” and the priest declared us man and wife—when I became Mrs. Chloe Black—I kissed him with all I had in me. I felt the fire burning through my veins—a blaze I knew would never go away.

  Because he was mine.

  My tainted, beautiful, perfect man.

  We’d gone through it all. We’d seen the ups and the downs.

  And on this day, we were here. And we couldn’t have been luckier.

  So, this was joy, huh? This was what all those romantic movies and novels I read were all about. Well, they were right. There was no way to explain this feeling.

  The bliss.

  The power.

  The love.

  We had two beautiful girls. I still had my best friend, Izzy, and he had his daughter. We were a family. One big, happy family.

  Finally.

  Our reception was a true celebration. Everyone had a good time. I sat side-by-side with him, danced with him. I was whole-heartedly in love with him.

  During our slow dance, he was beaming like the sun.

  “What?” I murmured, feeling the eyes on us, completely ignoring them.

  “Just can’t believe you’re officially mine now,” he said, his forehead dropping on mine.

  “I always have been,” I whispered back.

  “Always will be?”

  “Always,” I answered.

  He kissed me and the crowd hooted and hollered, mostly the men that worked for him that, I’m certain, were drunk by now.

  I grinned behind the kiss. Embarrassed as hell? Yes. But I didn’t pull away.

  This was life. This was perfection. I never, ever wanted this moment to end.

  “I love you, Chloe,” he told me as he held my waist and tugged me closer. “Forever and always, baby. I am free with you.”

  The End

  THANK YOU!

  If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading Theo & Chloe’s story!

  I’d like to introduce you to a new set of characters, Cane & Kandy in a project I’m working on called Wanting Mr. Cane. This is another younger woman/older man love story, only this time, Cane (our Hero) falls for his best friend’s daughter. It’s a juicy little tale that I can’t wait to share soon!

  In the meantime, you can read the first six chapters on the next few pages, so keep going!

  WANTING MR. CANE

  ONE

  KANDY

  I remember the very first day I met Mr. Cane.

  I was only nine years old, but I remember exactly what I saw and how I felt when I first laid eyes on him.

  A shiny black car pulled into the driveway of our two-story home, parking only a few feet away from me. I was sitting on the tire swing in the big tree on the front lawn, wearing dingy-white chucks with rainbow laces, jean overalls, and knee-high pink socks. I was covered in grass stains after playing hide-and-seek with Frankie earlier that day.

  I squinted my eyes and watched as the car door swung open and the sole of a shiny, black dress-shoe planted itself on the pavement. My eyes shifted over to the navy blue slacks he wore, then up to the white button-down shirt that was rolled at the sleeves, revealing strong, inked forearms. And then I found his face. He stood tall, shoulders broad, a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. He rolled his neck, and I swear I could hear the crack of it from where I sat.

  I don't think he saw me right away, but I saw him. He was too busy looking at the house, probably impressed by it. I really liked that house too.

  The man shut the door behind him and when he took a step to the side, I noticed a tattoo on the curve of his neck. RISE. I could see the word from the short distance away, in bold script.

  His jawline was sharp, the stubble scarce on his face. There was ink on his hands and all over his arms, some dark, some colorful. His brown hair was tapered on the sides and in the back, the lengthier part at the crown gelled back. If I were to guess, I would have assumed he was no older than thirty. Maybe twenty-six or twenty-seven?

  He inhaled and then exhaled, taking off his sunglasses, and when he finally turned his head to the left, his eyes landed right on mine.

  His face didn't change.

  He almost seemed unbothered by my presence . . . or like he already knew who I was.

  Too bad I didn't know him at all.

  He walked toward the hood of his Jaguar, still eyeing me, head in a slight tilt, a small smile on the corners of his lips. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a carton of cigarettes, plucked one out, and then stuck it between his lips. A lighter was in his other hand and he lit the cigarette in a flash, taking a hard pull from it.

  I frowned at him. "You shouldn't smoke," I said, pushing back, lifting my feet, and easing into a light swing. "It's bad for you."

  He continued puffing, sitting on the hood of his car. "You should mind your own business."

  I stopped swinging, planting my feet on the ground. "Who are you?"

  "A friend."

  "You're not my friend. I don't know you," I challenged.

  "Maybe I don't want to be your friend, and maybe I don't want to get to know you."

  Okay. This guy was being a real jerk. I stood up, narrowing my eyes at him. "I'll tell my Dad. You're not even supposed to be in front of my house."

  At that, he smirked and stood tall, looking at me beneath thick eyebrows. He waved his free hand at me. "Go on. Tell him."

  My heart was pounding now. I'd never had an adult talk to me this way. I panicked, running for the house before he could do something crazy, like stop me, or trap me, kidna
p me, or something. I didn't know who he was. For all I knew he could have been here to kill my entire family.

  "Dad!" I screamed, bursting through the front door. The soles of my shoes pounded into the wooden floorboards as I ran down the hallway. "Dad!"

  Dad popped his head around the corner of the kitchen, brows heavily stitched. "What, Kandy? What is it?" he asked, concern etching his face.

  I clung to him, throwing my arms around his waist.

  "Kandy, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Mom asked from the fridge, rushing my way a soon as she shut it.

  "There's a—a man standing out there. He's smoking a—and he told me to mind my own business!"

  "What?" Dad immediately pulled away, handing me over to Mom, who cupped my face and then reeled me against her.

  The doorbell rang and Dad looked at her, worry creasing at his forehead. "Stay in here," he told me, and I was really scared then.

  My instincts were right. He was a bad guy. Good thing I ran.

  Mom pulled me even closer as Dad stepped around the corner to get to the living room. I heard things rustling around and then he came back out with his police gun, tucking it in the waistband on the back of his pants.

  "Oh, no," I whispered. Daddy was going to kill that man. He didn't like anyone messing with me. He'd always threatened that if someone ever hurt me, physically or mentally, that he would make the person pay for it.

  Dad had his hand wrapped around the gun the entire time, even as he looked through the peephole. But when he peered out, a soft chuckle escaped him and he immediately lowered his guard.

  Wait. What?

  "Jesus, Kandy." Dad looked back at me, letting out a heavy sigh.

  "Who is it?" Mom asked, still worried.

  Dad reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open. And there he stood, the strange smoking man with the tattoos and olive skin.

  "Cane!" Dad let out a hard, coarse laugh. "What the hell, man? I almost pulled my gun on you, thinking you were some stranger messing with my daughter!"

  Cane?

  Cane, the stranger, laughed. "Did I scare her, really?" He stepped into the house and I held Mom tighter. "I was only kidding, Kandy. I know who you are. I know all about you."

  My eyebrows were pinched. I was still mad at him.

  Cane held up a bottle of wine he had in hand, looking at Dad. "I brought you guys something to go along with dinner."

  "Oh—Cane, that was sweet, but you didn't have to," Mom said, pulling away and walking over to grab it. She smiled at him and he returned one.

  No, Mom! What the hell are you doing! Stay away from him!

  "Please. It's not like me to show up for an occasion empty handed. It was the least I could do. That's our number one selling brand, too. You'll love it. Not too sweet, not too bitter. Derek has told me all about your love for wine."

  Mom blushed. Seriously, she blushed. Why was everyone falling for his charm but me?

  Cane dropped his gaze to me again. "I even brought something for you, little one."

  "I don't want it," I muttered back, crossing my arms.

  "Kandy—" Mom started to scold me, but Cane shook his head, softly smiling.

  "It's okay. I scared her. She just has to warm up to my twisted sense of humor."

  He walked my way with slow, measured steps, and when he was about an inch away, he knelt down on one knee, digging into his pocket and pulling out a red bag. A sticker with the word Tempt was on it.

  "Can you guess what it is?" he asked softly.

  I blinked down at the bag. I was more curious than angry at that moment. "No. What?"

  "Chocolate." He handed me the bag. I gladly took it, but still stared down at it like it was puke in my palm. "Your father told me you love chocolate. There's lots more where that came from, Bits."

  "Bits?" I questioned, nose scrunching as I met his eyes. I noticed they were a mixed shade. Gray and green. Pretty. They reminded me of the marbles I collected with the colors inside, clear all around with the color in the middle.

  "Your name is Kandy, but all I'm getting is bitterness. Bits for bitterness," he said.

  Dad laughed behind him and I felt my face turn hot.

  "What do you say, Kandy?" Mom asked, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears.

  "I don't even know his name, Mom," I groaned.

  "Mr. Cane," she replied.

  I sighed, trying hard not to roll my eyes. Yes, I was glad about the chocolate, but I was still upset with him. "Thank you, Mr. Cane," I mumbled.

  Mr. Cane stood up straight and Mom and Dad walked around him, Mom announcing, "The steak is still grilling but should be done soon! I'll put the wine in the freezer to get cool!"

  "Get settled in and me out back for a few beers," Dad said to him, pointing toward the deck.

  "Alright." Mr. Cane walked past me, tossing a wink my way. "Don't worry. You'll warm up to me soon enough. Enjoy those chocolates, Bits."

  I smashed my lips together, my face burning hot again.

  My heart fluttered in my chest.

  My palms were sweaty.

  I was afraid for my life out there, the stranger-danger bell chiming in my head, but not anymore. No, now it was just . . . a weird, bubbly sensation running through me. One I couldn't fully describe.

  I'd never known what having a crush felt like before that day. I didn't understand the tingle in my chest, or the tumbling in my belly. I couldn't understand why I was so speechless, or why my face suddenly felt so hot. I didn't know what the hell I was feeling, and that freaked me out.

  But there was one thing I knew for certain. I knew this man was no good. I knew he was bad. He didn't make good first impressions—well, not with children anyway.

  He was overly confident, and he was a smoker, which Mom always told me was a bad habit. He was a jerk—no, if I was being honest, he was a straight-up asshole. I knew he probably cared more about himself than anyone else—he just gave me that sort of impression.

  And despite knowing all of that, I still developed a crush on Mr. Cane.

  And I didn't like it. I didn't like it one bit.

  TWO

  KANDY

  My love-hate relationship with Cane grew in size, dwindled, and then blossomed again with each passing year. It was like watching cycles of clothes washing inside a washing machine, the back and forth, wishy-washiness. The same routine over and over again.

  He came around at least twice a month for dinner, always with a new bottle of wine his company had created, some Belgian chocolates—some caramel-filled and some not—and his smart-ass mouth.

  The only reason it wasn't a full-blown hate-hate relationship was because he brought me sweets every time.

  By age thirteen, I felt I was getting too old for the gift of chocolates. I'd finally hit puberty, had gotten my period months ago, and like all teenage girls assumed when they were thirteen, I was pretty much a "woman" now.

  I remember the day he came to our home with two bags instead of one.

  "You can keep it. I won't eat them," I told him when he offered them. "They'll screw up my diet." My parents were nowhere in sight, both in the kitchen preparing the food while I sat in the living room reading.

  "Bits, I brought this chocolate for you, just like I always do." He tossed them onto my lap. "Don't break the tradition. Eat it."

  "And if I don't?" I challenged.

  He rolled his neck, and it cracked. I was so sick of that damn neck roll. Then again, a lot of things made me sick of people at this age.

  "Give it to a friend for all I fucking care." He turned his back to me. It was interesting. He would only curse when my parents weren't around. But around them, he was practically a saint.

  "God, you're so annoying," I muttered.

  "Right back at you, Kandy Cane," he said without looking back.

  I was pretending to be the careless teen—you know, the one where nothing ever fazed her and she just shrugged everything off? Yeah, that definitely wasn't me and it wasn't working.

&nbs
p; Every time he called me Kandy Cane, I wanted to squeal. I wanted him to say it over and over and over again. His voice was like silk, smooth and delicate. It was deep and, somehow, hypnotizing. He constantly joked with me and my parents about how my name went so well with his. To be honest, I liked it. Too much.

  When he walked out back with my parents, I went up to my room, storing the chocolates in the drawer of my vanity, like I always did. I would eat it at night—some before bed - or I'd take some to school and share it at lunch with Frankie—but I was never going to tell him that.

  These chocolates were too good to pass up and when I did some research online and saw they were $15 a bag...well, I couldn't be that much of a bitch by wasting them.

  I found out a lot about Cane during my research on Tempt, too.

  He'd launched Tempt, the infamous wine and chocolate company, when he was only twenty-five years old. By age twenty-seven, he'd won many awards for his wines, and was ranked #1 in a popular magazine, which boosted the Tempt name and it's sales. Celebrities began posting images of his wine, and it slowly became a household wine brand.

  He was featured in an entrepreneur magazine for Miami, his face all over the cover, and there was even an article about how he got started. There was nothing about his personal life, though, or his family, which left me curious because even with us, he hardly spoke about his family or personal life. He did speak of a sister and that she lived in Hollywood and wanted to be an actress, but not much else. He was seventeen years older than me. It seemed like such a big number, but at the same time, not too far off.

  I began to warm up to Cane several years later, though. Around seventeen, I'd gotten over most of my hormonal nonsense, and not only that, he began bringing me pens and notebooks from his job, along with the delicious chocolates. They all had the word Tempt on them, his company's name. I loved to write, and I loved collecting pens, so getting them was a true pleasure, even more so than the chocolates.