by A. C. Arthur
Because there was a man involved, a man who had been intimately involved in her life for the past ten years, while Dion had been hundreds of miles away sleeping with women whose names he could barely remember.
Speaking of which, Katrina had called the office four times for him already. He’d switched his cell phone to silent because she continuously called it, as well. He’d told her it was over and didn’t really know what else to say to her. But it was clear she wasn’t taking that very well. It had been years since he’d had a messy breakup, and he really didn’t feel like going through one now. What he wanted was time to deal with Lyra. He wanted to spend time with her, to make her see that they could be perfect on paper just as she thought she and Mark were. It sounded juvenile, but Dion didn’t give a damn. He knew what he wanted and he wasn’t about to let her walk out of his life again.
The knock on his door only made him frown even more. He’d told everyone he didn’t want to be disturbed. Apparently, someone hadn’t listened. With a huff he stood and walked over to the door, ready to deliver some choice words to whoever was bold enough to bother him. When he opened the door, staring back at him was Mark Stanford. Dion paused momentarily. “Come in.”
Mark walked past him and Dion closed the door behind him. He had no idea what this visit was about. Then again, he did. Even though he didn’t think the man was right for Lyra, Dion had to respect Stanford as an intelligent brother on the come up. He’d worked at Zuratech as a program manager in L.A. and just recently had taken over as CEO of LinearSearch, a growing search engine that was reportedly going to take the internet by storm.
He was an inch or two shorter than Dion, about fifty or so pounds lighter, but was impeccably dressed in a suit, tie and well-shined dress shoes. Mark took a seat in one of the guest chairs while Dion moved around his desk to sit in his own chair.
“How’s it going, Mark?” he asked in a voice as calm and controlled as he could muster.
“Well,” said Mark, in an even more controlled reply, “I want to talk to you about Lyra.”
Mark had thrown down the gauntlet, so to speak. He was here for a reason, probably to stake his claim and to tell Dion to back off. He’d come in person instead of sending a message via Lyra or calling on the phone. Dion had to respect the man’s gumption. Even if this was a battle he fully expected to win.
“It’s great to have her back home and working for the family where she belongs,” he said, knowing Mark didn’t care for either situation. To make matters worse, Dion added a smile and had the pleasure of watching Mark’s eyes grow darker.
“We’re getting married. She’ll be moving out of your parents’ home soon. I just wanted you to understand that our goal is to start our own family as soon as possible. I know she values her job here and I don’t want to interfere with that. But I don’t want her overworked, either.”
Wow, Dion thought. Mark continued to surprise him.
“I can assure you that I have Lyra’s best interests in mind at all times. She’ll be fine.”
“She’s already stressed, trying to do a good job to impress you and your family. She feels like she owes you people something and it’s wearing her down. I want that to stop.”
Did he just say you people? Dion’s smile quickly turned into the frown he’d had just moments before Mark had interrupted.
“We’re Lyra’s family, don’t forget that. I understand that you’re engaged to her. But we’ve known her a lot longer than you have. I think we know what’s best for her.”
“Your family’s taking advantage of her,” Mark accused. “And especially you.”
Slowly, Dion leaned forward letting his elbows rest on his desk and twining his fingers together to try to resist the urge to reach out and punch Mark in the face.
“Let’s cut to the chase here, Mark. You’re threatened by my relationship with Lyra. Correct?”
Mark didn’t appear the least bit fazed by Dion’s cool tone. He looked him directly in the eye. “I don’t like your relationship with Lyra. You manipulate her every chance you get, and I’m here to tell you I’ve had enough.”
“Lyra is very important to me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, and I don’t plan to change that in any way.”
“I’m asking you man to man to stand down. She’s not your responsibility anymore. She’s mine.”
The last was said with a smirk that really made Dion’s fingers itch. He hadn’t punched anyone in years, but he would come out of hibernation for Mark Stanford. Then again, physical violence wasn’t necessary. They were both men, who just happened to want the same woman. At the end of the day, the choice would be Lyra’s. And no matter what, Dion promised himself he’d respect her final decision. But he’d never walked away from a challenge in his life, and today wasn’t going to be any different.
“If she’s yours you have nothing to worry about,” he said smiling once more. “Now is that all you wanted to say?”
Mark stood. Dion followed suit.
“Leave her alone,” Mark said, adjusting his suit jacket and buttoning it. “Or you’ll be sorry.”
“Don’t come in my office and threaten me, Mark. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
“Likewise,” Mark said, before turning and walking to the door. He let himself out quietly but didn’t have a chance to close the door as Sean and Parker were apparently on their way to see him. After his brother and cousin walked in, Dion sat down heavily in his chair.
“Why do I have the feeling we just interrupted something?” Parker said, his usual grin replaced by a more concerned look.
“Wasn’t that Mark Stanford?” Sean asked closing the door. “Lyra’s fiancé?”
Dion nodded. “The one and only.”
“What did he want? I’m sure it wasn’t to ask you to be the best man at his wedding,” Parker said, lamely attempting a joke.
Dion faced both of them and said with a lightness that baffled him. “To stake his claim on Lyra, and to tell me to back the hell off.”
“Was that necessary?” Parker asked.
Sean eyed Dion, then sighed. “Yeah, I think it was.”
“It wasn’t necessary because I’m not intimidated by him” was Dion’s calm reply. “I can’t help it if the man’s insecure.”
Parker chuckled.
“Is there a need for his insecurity?” Sean asked.
“Come on, we’re talking about Lyra. She’s family,” Parker interjected.
But Sean held Dion’s gaze, giving him a knowing look without saying a word.
With a nod Dion conceded, “It might be.”
“What?”
“Jeez!”
Sean and Parker’s responses came simultaneously.
“Are you kidding? You’re messing with little Lyra?”
“Parker,” Sean said. “She’s a grown woman.”
“She’s the little twerp we’ve been teasing forever” was Parker’s reply.
“What she is,” Dion said, “is old enough to make her own decisions. If she doesn’t want Stanford, then she doesn’t have to marry him.”
“And if she wants you?” Sean asked.
Dion shrugged. “It is what it is.”
Sean was shaking his head. “Don’t mess with her, man. Mom will kill you if you break her heart.”
“Why does everyone think the worst of me when it comes to women? I’m not always out to break their hearts,” Dion implored.
Sean and Parker looked at each other, then back at Dion.
“You’re not?” Parker said with a grin. “You’re in the headlines every six weeks or so for doing precisely that. Come to think of it,” he said, tossing a tabloid onto Dion’s desk. “Take a look at yesterday’s headline.”
WEDDING BELLS FOR PLAYBOY DONOVAN?
The headline was big and bold over
a picture of Dion and Katrina leaving a nightclub.
“This is bull!” Dion said, pushing the paper away.
“But it proves our point,” Sean replied. “Lyra is not to be played with, Dion. You wouldn’t sit by and let any other man mess with her emotions. I’m not going to sit by and watch you do it.”
“What if I’m not messing with her emotions? What if this is real for me?” Dion asked, for the millionth time in weeks believing in his heart that what he felt for Lyra was real. More real then he’d ever thought he’d feel for any woman.
“Then Stanford’s fighting a losing battle. He’s no match for a Donovan,” Parker said, his expression now seemingly serious.
Chapter 11
When Lyra got the call she wanted to scream. It was one hell of a homecoming, but she shouldn’t have expected anything less. Outside of being an addict, her mother was a total drama queen. Her mother’s call crying and babbling about being hurt and feeling like she was dying was probably a hangover from some drug or drinking binge. Even after almost twenty years of filling her body with toxins, it wasn’t too far-fetched that her mother would be feeling something close to death.
It was that thought that made Lyra jump out of bed, slip on sweatpants and a T-shirt and head to her car. Now she was driving the streets of south Miami, beyond the glitz and glamour of South Beach and the nightlife. Her windows were rolled down and cool air slapped against her face, almost freezing the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. She was so sick of this. It was like a horrible memory all coming back. Her mother was in trouble again, and she—the child—was rushing to help her. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. She wasn’t supposed to be the one picking up the pieces all the time.
And yet here she was.
Turning into the driveway of some dilapidated house, Lyra cut the engine and wiped at her eyes, taking deep breaths over and over again. She couldn’t count, her mind was too clouded, her thoughts too furious. Instead she snatched the keys out of the ignition and got out of the car. Heading to the house, she went straight to the back door and into the darkness.
No, she’d never been here before, just decided to follow the sounds she heard once she was inside. It was a low, moaning sound, and when she finally entered in to another room and stepped over whatever was lying on the floor she found her mother curled in a fetal position just beneath the window. The glare from a street light illuminated her form, and Lyra fell to her knees beside her.
“Mama? Mama?” she called to her. “I’m here. It’s Lyra.”
Paula’s response was a high-pitched wail as she turned over onto her back. Lyra noted the clothes her mother wore were too small—a halter top that barely covered her small breasts and skintight pants that were now sliding down her narrow hips.
“It hurts, baby,” Paula wailed.
“Yeah. I bet it does,” Lyra replied grimly. Slipping her arms beneath Paula’s, she lifted her mother until her wobbly legs held her in an upright position. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“I wanna go home, baby. You remember home?” Paula said, her head rolling onto Lyra’s shoulder as she tried to walk.
“I remember, Mama.” Lyra did remember, although she didn’t want to. She remembered the one-bedroom apartment she and Paula shared and the great dinners they’d have around the first of the month before all the money ran out. She remembered watching the small black-and-white television while Paula sat at the table with the one wobbly chair and the other one that only had three legs so they had to prop it up with cinderblocks. Paula would be working out formulas to play her numbers—she swore they’d be rich someday. Look at them now.
They were at the door when Paula bent over, yelling in pain. Her fingers clenched Lyra’s arm until Lyra wanted to scream right along with her. “Okay,” Lyra said when the pain in her arm subsided only slightly. “We should get you to a hospital.”
“Nooooo, I wanna go home,” Paula cried.
“In a little bit. Let’s get you feeling better first.”
Fastening her mother into the front seat, Lyra pressed the backs of her hands to her eyes. She would not cry again. She would not stand here in the dark of night and cry over the pitiful state her mother was in. It wasn’t her fault. It was Paula’s choice. Lyra wasn’t a child anymore, she shouldn’t still carry this type of guilt, this pressure to take care of the woman who should have been taking care of her. This was not how life was supposed to be.
But it was what it was. And Lyra had always known that.
Slipping into the driver’s side seat a little more composed, she drove her mother to the hospital emergency room and checked her in.
Three hours later, Paula was sleeping quietly and being treated for an apparent overdose. The toxicology report still hadn’t come back by the time Lyra needed to leave the hospital to go to sleep before work the next morning. Her mind was whirling with memories and regrets and anger, so much so that the idea of going back home and crawling into her bed held less and less appeal. Instead, she found herself pulling up in front of the Marquis, one of Miami’s newest condo developments, and pressing the code at the gated entrance to ring Dion.
“Hello?” He sounded groggy, most likely asleep, since it was after two in the morning.
“Hi. It’s me.” Lyra hesitated a moment. “Can I come up?”
Her answer was a buzzing sound that opened the gates. She drove inside and parked in the rear of the garage, which was designated for visitors. There was a back door that she had to be buzzed into before she could head to the front desk and tell them of her destination. From there, Lyra headed directly to the elevators. Just before she could step into the elevator, Lyra heard a clicking sound, but when she turned there was nobody there. With a shrug she boarded and pressed the button that would take her to the ground floor. From there she’d have to go around the corner to the elevators that would take her to the tower suites where Dion lived.
He was standing at the door the moment she stepped off the elevator. Lyra paused, swallowed hard and tried to remember why she’d come here in the first place.
No man should look this good at this ungodly hour. But Dion did. He’d pulled on basketball shorts that hung a little low on his waist. She knew he’d just put them on because he slept in the nude. Years ago when he’d first revealed that fact Lyra hadn’t been turned on. Now, her nipples ached at the simple knowledge.
His eyes were a little red because he’d been asleep. But his chest was perfectly chiseled, his abs so sculpted he could have been on the cover of a fitness magazine. Eventually she took a step into the hallway because the elevator doors were about to close her back in. Still, she was swallowing and trying like hell not to be attracted to this man. She didn’t need lust or imaginary emotions getting in the way. She needed her friend.
Dion moved to the side, letting her walk past him into the condo while he closed and locked the door quietly behind her.
The pale gray drapes covering the floor-to-ceiling windows were drawn tightly, and her shoes made a muffled sound walking across the hardwood floors. There was a sofa, a love seat and two accent chairs, all in the same contemporary design, all black. In the center of the floor were two leather-covered cube cocktail tables covered with proofs from Infinity Magazine, no doubt.
Running her fingers through her hair, Lyra sat on the sofa and lay back against the pillows, which were surprisingly soft.
“What happened?”
She heard his voice but hadn’t heard his approach. Her eyes were closed, and to tell the honest truth, she was afraid to open them. Her body felt like it was on fire, every inch of her was burning. She wanted to touch him, to be near him, to kiss him. It was ridiculous, and it was making her edgier than she already was.
“My mother.”
His sigh was loud, which prompted Lyra to quickly open her eyes. “Please, don’t start it,”
she said, as she looked over at him. “I can’t take it tonight, Dion.”
He looked at her long and hard, like he was trying to decipher her mood before proceeding. Finally he nodded and asked, “What did Paula do this time?”
“She almost died,” Lyra replied.
“What?”
It was her turn to sigh as she pulled herself up letting her elbows rest on her knees. “She called me. I went to the address she gave me and found her balled up in the fetal position on the floor. I took her to the hospital and they pumped her stomach. There was some type of toxic-laced drug in her system. They haven’t identified it yet, but they’re sure she was poisoned.”
“They’re sure it isn’t drugs?” Dion asked, as a split second of anger slid across Lyra’s face.
“All they said so far is alcohol.”
“So where is she now?”
“At Cedars. They’re keeping her for observation, then she’s being admitted to rehab. And before you say it,” she said, holding up a hand to ward off his words because she knew exactly what they were going to be. “She promised she’d see it through this time.”
“She’s made that promise before.”
“I know that, Dion. I don’t need you to remind me.”
“Okay. Okay. Just relax,” he said, sliding closer and putting his hands on her shoulders. The minute he started to rub Lyra wanted to moan. She wanted to lean against him and just melt into the magnificence of his fingers.
“She didn’t die. She’s going to be fine.”
Lyra nodded. Tears stung the backs of her eyes but refused to fall. She’d cried for Paula so much in her lifetime she didn’t know if she had any tears left for the woman.
“Why do you keep getting so worked up over her?” Dion asked quietly, his fingers still blessedly doing a great job of relaxing her.
“She’s my mother” was her simple reply. “What else can I do?”
He didn’t respond.
“I know she hasn’t been the best mother. Hell, she might actually qualify for an award for being the worst. But she is who she is. She’s never tried to be anything else. On some level I think I have to accept that. You know what I mean?”