Terrell was the exact opposite. He was a talkative extrovert who commanded attention everywhere he went and was the perfect host for these rounds of family fun.
“Next question,” Terrell said, holding up a card while standing between his cousin Diamond and her husband, Jackson, whose hands were poised below bright red cowbells that served as buzzers.
“Name a side—”
Jackson clanged his bell. “Patricia!”
Men groaned. Women laughed. Julian smiled.
Terrell placed a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “The question is about a side dish, dude, not a side piece.”
Jackson feigned shock. “What kind of man do you think I am? I thought you were going to say sidekick.” He winked at Julian.
“Who’s Patricia?” Diamond crossed her arms in mock anger.
“Who cares?” Faye, the wife of Julian’s cousin Dexter, asked. “Finish the question so Diamond can answer and we can win the game!”
Julian studied Faye’s serious expression. She looked as if she were preparing to treat a patient rather than watch the ladies take a round of Family Feud. He hadn’t gotten the chance to know her well but felt a shared camaraderie with the doctor, even though her title was MD instead of PsyD. In their last conversation, he’d discovered her heart for the less fortunate and had promised that once his internship ended and he started up his private practice, he’d offer monthly free counseling sessions at her clinic in San Diego. Since then he’d talked with his mother and decided to do the same on a more regular basis at the community center his family had built in their hometown. Every member of the family contributed in some way, including Terrell’s twin sister, Teresa, who along with Faye and two women from Pierre’s side of the family were now laughing and high-fiving at the women having beaten the men.
All of the couples were well matched, he reasoned, observing their effortless interactions. Even those with opposite personalities, like Faye and Dexter, who was as easygoing and extroverted as she was serious and subdued. Their dynamics reminded him of his own relationship. Nicki Long, his on-again, off-again girlfriend since college, was a private but sociable butterfly and professional dancer who fluttered seamlessly and graciously throughout life both on and off the stage. Watching the other couples made him miss her even more than he had since moving back to Paradise Cove three months ago.
Dexter walked by Julian and bopped him on the head. “Thanks a lot, genius!”
A nickname, but also the truth. Julian’s IQ was near genius level—part of the being special his grandmother Claire had alluded to when he was a babe.
“For what? I wasn’t even playing.”
“That’s his point,” Terrell deadpanned, taking a seat beside Julian. “We needed that sharp mind of yours to best those conniving women. Now we’re going to have to endure their endless ribbing for the next two years. All because of you!”
“No, because of Jackson and his sidekicks.”
“Don’t put all the blame on me.” Jackson was more than ready to defend himself. He looked pointedly at Terrell. “I’m not the one who named sparrow as a bird that people eat.”
“Hey.” Terrell shrugged. “Chicken, turkey and duck had already been mentioned. Those are the only ones I...” His voice trailed off as he looked beyond Julian. “Is that who I think it is?”
Jackson looked up. “Who do you think it is?”
“Julian, isn’t that your girl?”
Julian turned his head in the direction Terrell and Jackson were focused.
Nicki? He slowly rose from the chair as a tall, fit woman wearing a bright yellow maxi and a devilish smile walked toward him. She was with his youngest sister, London, who, given the look on her face, had obviously been in on the surprise.
He held out his arms to wrap her in a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Milo decided to let us enjoy the holiday after all.”
“The same director who works y’all for twelve hours a day, the one you questioned had a heart?”
“Yep. Guess there’s something beating in there besides a drum after all. I texted London to surprise you and caught the first plane out.”
“Surprised?” London asked, her smile widening.
“Delighted.” His eyes drank in Nicki like a parched man guzzling water. “Let me take you around to meet everybody. Are you hungry? Can I get you a drink?”
Nicki laughed. “Okay, yes and yes.”
“Hey, Nicki!”
“Hello, Terrell.” She accepted his hug.
“You remember Atka, Teresa’s husband.”
“Of course. My mom still raves about your company’s salmon that I had shipped to her house.”
“And my cousin Jackson.”
Nicki waved. “Hello.”
Both were actually in-laws, but the Drakes disregarded that fact. Family was family. After going around to those nearby, Julian reached for Nicki’s hand and headed toward the food tent. “We’ll say hi to my parents and then get something to eat. You look beautiful, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
“You feel good, too. In fact—” he pulled her closer “—why don’t we make our plates to go and find a more private place to...enjoy the meal?”
“Are we still talking about food?” she teased.
“Definitely not.”
“Ha!”
Exactly thirty-nine minutes later, Julian and Nicki had successfully and surreptitiously left the farm, driven to a four-star hotel and checked in. Here, within the confines of a single room with a king bed, the quiet, studious doctor showed the wilder, passionate side that few would imagine. The door had barely closed when he reached for the hem of Nicki’s maxi and backed her up to the bed.
“Julian, wait!”
“Shh. No talking.”
They collapsed on the bed. Julian planted several kisses across Nicki’s face before plunging his tongue into her mouth, his hungry, scalding kiss outmatched only by an ever-hardening shaft grinding against her thigh for proof of his ardent desire. He broke the kiss and tugged at her dress. She lifted her hips enough to free the unwanted material from beneath her body, then pulled the dress up and over her head and tossed it to the floor. His shirt quickly followed. Then pants, bra and undies. Julian groaned and delivered another hot kiss before his mouth left hers and went on a journey along the skin he’d missed immensely since Nicki’s last visit to Paradise Cove over a month ago. He nibbled the sensitive area by her collarbone before inching down to modest breasts, pulling a hardened nipple into his mouth even as his hand traveled lower to Nicki’s shaved treasure. He slid a finger along lips already creamy and teased her pearl with his fingertip even as his tongue caressed her other nipple.
“Ah!”
Her cry of pleasure made him smile as he continued to cherish every inch of her body with the same focus and attention to detail that he applied in professional life. Positioning himself between her legs, he scooted farther down, planted kisses on her pelvis, down her inner thighs, his tongue on a languid journey down the length of a leg solid and defined from years of lessons in tap, modern and jazz. She pulled her legs up and away from him, parted them in a perfect inverted split in the air. Her exposed, rock-hard pearl sent a clear message of what she wanted next.
He got the memo and without hesitation drew the nub into his mouth and then plunged his tongue inside her. Swirling, tickling, licking her joy trail as though it were chocolate ice cream. She ground herself against him. Short bursts of breath hinting of her impending climax. Just as she erupted, he replaced his tongue with several inches of hard passion and continued loving her.
Julian wasn’t a dancer, but one couldn’t tell. A disciplined workout regimen and martial arts training kept his six-foot-one-inch frame in shape, ready for several rounds of lovemaking. Finally, after Nicki’s thir
d orgasm, he gave in to his own shuddering release. A thin sheen of perspiration covered them both as he folded back the flowered spread, pulled away the cool white top sheet and covered them.
“See how much I missed you?” he asked, using his finger to smooth strands of dampened hair behind Nicki’s ear.
“I felt how much.” Her face was turned away from him, but Julian heard the smile in her voice.
“You sure I can’t talk you into leaving New York, moving to the West Coast and ending this notion of a long-distance relationship? I can’t see not having you, not having this—” he caressed her booty “—on a regular basis. Can you?”
Nicki turned to face him. “I almost died this month without having you around to do what you do, and very well, I might add. Of course I want to be with you. But you know I can’t. I’m not the lead in this show, but it is Broadway. When are you coming to see the show?”
“I don’t know, but I’d love to be there opening night. When does it start?”
“Next month.”
“August? Isn’t that unusual?”
“It’s rare. Most shows open during the fall. We’re hoping that being one of the few new shows next month will translate into a strong box office showing. What about you? Ready to open for business?”
“I already have a few clients. The office will open in two to three weeks, depending on how quickly I can hire an assistant. Mom worked with an interior designer friend to create the type of environment I want—professional and relaxing at the same time. It’ll be finished by the time I get back in town.”
“From here?”
“No, from Chicago. I fly there for a conference that begins on Wednesday.”
“Office up and running, clients on the schedule. Sounds like the transition from intern to private practice was easy.”
“There were challenges.”
“Obviously none you couldn’t handle.”
He smiled, swiped the tip of her nose. “What’s your point?”
“The point is that you can make opening night, maybe even bring some of your family along. It’s going to be a great show. The Rapunzel fairy tale has been done before, but never like this.”
“With Rapunzel rapping her lines? I think not. Bet those DJs in the ’70s talking over beats had no idea what a revolution in music they were creating, a style that would end up on Broadway and take over the music world.”
“The genre has definitely outlasted its critics. The show involves hip-hop, jazz, even country. It will appeal to a wide audience, which is why I think the chances of A Hair’s Tale succeeding on Broadway are very good. It’s a limited run right now. Only sixteen weeks. But if it remains as popular as it is now, the show can get extended indefinitely. Have an unbelievable run, like The Lion King, Phantom and Cats. As long as it’s on Broadway, I want to be playing my role!”
“You’re dramatic.” A caress suggested it was a part of her that he enjoyed. “I’ll tell them about it, see if they want to join me.”
Nicki turned, her gaze loving as she took a finger and outlined Julian’s thick brows, his aquiline nose and Cupid’s bow lips. “Thank you, Doctor,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome, my private dancer,” he cooed, brushing his hand across her long, silky tresses before pulling her into his arms, kissing her deeply and silently vowing to find a way to permanently shorten the distance between them.
Copyright © 2017 by Zuri Day
Super Rich. Super Sexy. Super Addictive.
SECRETS OF THE A-LIST
You won’t want to miss a single installment!
The wealthy Marshall family are untouchable. Or so they thought.
Keep reading for the first episode in this explosive family drama!
Can’t get enough?
Read all 12 episodes in this scandalous and sexy new serial!
Episode 1
Episode 2
Episode 3
Episode 4
Episode 5
Episode 6
Episode 7
Episode 8
Episode 9
Episode 10
Episode 11
Episode 12
Secrets of the A-List Box Set, Volume 1
(contains episodes 1-4)
Secrets of the A-List Box Set, Volume 2
(contains episodes 5-8)
Secrets of the A-List Box Set, Volume 3
(contains episodes 9-12)
When you have it all, you’ll do anything to keep it...
SECRETS OF THE A-LIST
(Episode 1 of 12)
Joss Wood
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Prologue
“He’s in the hands of the trauma surgeon.”
“Status?” The words were supercharged verbal bullets. This information was well paid for—to hell with politeness.
“Bad. Head injuries, broken bones. He was thrown from the vehicle as it hit the guardrail. If he’d been wearing his seat belt, he would’ve been part of the fiery wreck at the bottom of the cliff.”
“Has the family been informed?”
“Not yet,” the EMT replied. “I presume one of the nurses will make those calls in the next few minutes.”
“Have the press gotten wind of the story yet?”
Imagining the young woman glancing toward the entrance to the ER—her brown eyes would be scanning the hallway for the more familiar members of the press corps. “Not yet, but they will soon. News that Harrison Marshall is in critical condition will spread like a California wildfire.”
A few low curses escaped. “Prognosis?”
The EMT remained silent, in preparation to deliver the bad news, and sucked in a deep breath. “Not good. Prepare yourself.”
Prepare yourself. Pity that suggestion didn’t come with a how-to manual.
The Fixer disconnected the call and looked down at the hand clutching the cell phone, noting with annoyance the trembling fingers holding the expensive phone in a tight grip. Breathe, dammit. He’s not dead.
Not yet, anyway.
The Fixer swiped a thumb across the screen of the smartphone and looked at the call log, realizing the last conversation they’d shared was probably shortly before Harrison’s Bugatti Veyron made its acquaintance with the highway’s low guardrail. According to another source on the payroll, a California Highway Patrol officer, the responding officers had few doubts that this was anything but an accident—the Pacific Coast Highway had seen many cars leave its surface thanks to its unforgiving twists and bends—but, because Harrison Marshall was Harrison Marshall, world-renowned hospitality entrepreneur, his accident would attract investigation. And attention.
Attention the Fixer did not need.
At least the authorities wouldn’t find Harrison’s last call suspicious, as there would be records of twenty other calls from Harrison to this cell number this week alone. With luck the authorities would assume that the much-ticketed Harrison had been speeding again and lost control of his car when he threw it around a treacherous bend.
Nobody had to know that there was a strong possibility that Harrison’s past—their past—had finally caught up with them.
The Fixer walked across the second-story living room and onto the upstairs balcony to grip the wrought-iron railing with a taut grip. Casa de Catalina, named after the wife of the first owner of this property, a wealthy real estate baron, had views of both the Santa Ynez Mountains and the Pacific Ocean. Like everything else at Casa Cat, as it was fondly called, the views were world-class. The Fixer idly wondered how much money Harrison and Mariella had spent restoring the sprawling century-o
ld mansion. The budget probably matched the GDP of a small third-world country. It was huge, tastefully decorated, luxurious and rich...the hub of the Marshall empire. Would Harrison see it again? Could he be allowed to?
Alive or dead could be worked with, but brain injuries would be, well, difficult. To say the least.
The Fixer stared down, eyes bouncing from the bright blue pool to the red tiles of the guest cottage and the contrasting greens of the landscaped garden, not taking in any of the details of the opulent estate. Had Harrison asked for something someone wasn’t prepared to relinquish? Had he stumbled on a secret someone was prepared to kill for? Could someone closer to home have accidentally-on-purpose caused his car to leave the Pacific Coast Highway?
Or was this, simply, an accident?
The Fixer didn’t know, and that lack of knowledge grated, frightened. Knowledge was power, and the Fixer was always, thanks to the Marshall-Santiago empire, in the right place at the right time to acquire that knowledge—privy to so many private conversations and all sorts of shenanigans. All it took was a whispered suggestion that a stubborn and embarrassing problem could be solved by bending the rules—for a hefty fee—and word got around.
With Harrison’s “accident,” the spotlight would be very firmly focused on the Marshall family. Fuck. This news would be the leading story everywhere. The Fixer had no doubt that the Marshalls would rally together and face this challenge as a united front, but there was a strong possibility that the secretive nature of what they did would be revealed. No problem was unsolvable, however, as they had proved over the years. They’d dealt with vengeful wives and pissed-off discarded mistresses, bad business deals, royal muck-ups in foreign countries. They’d yet to fail, and now wasn’t the time to start. Not when so much was at stake.
Every problem held a solution, and the Fixer recognized the need to step away from the fear, the worry and the emotion of the situation. When one looked at Harrison’s accident as a problem, it was easy to see that the quickest and most efficient solution was for Harrison to wake up and talk—or for him to die. Harsh but true. This was one of the few situations when money, dammit, was not the answer. It would help, it would conceal and confuse, stir up the already muddy waters, but a broken body needed time and skill and luck to heal. For today, the Fixer could try to contain the situation. A waiting game would be played, with eyes and ears wide open.
A Touch of Love Page 21