“God, I’ve missed you, Chloe,” he moaned, his voice deep with emotion.
He held her tightly from behind and Chloe closed her eyes, caught up in how it felt to be in his arms again. Yes, she had missed him as well and she told him so, but that didn’t resolve their earlier argument. It had kept them away from each other, unable to satisfy the need they created in one another for nearly two weeks.
It wasn’t that she was jealous of Alicia, nor did she even contemplate him being involved with her any longer, but she wanted him to believe her. “What about Alicia?” she asked, as she stepped sideways out of his embrace.
Devon’s face clouded with confusion. “What about her?”
Twirling, she looked at him and saw his face. He truly looked perplexed, as if he didn’t know what she spoke of.
Devon wiped his hand over his eyes. “Chloe, you’re my woman and she’s my best friend. This is a helluva fix y’all got me in.”
“A fix?” Chloe spat. “You’re in a . . . fix, Devon?”
“Yes,” he yelled. “You want me to be angry at her. She wants me to be angry at you. Why don’t you two like each other anyway?”
“What . . . were . . . you . . . mad ... at ... me ... for anyway?” She accentuated each word with a poke of her index finger into his chest. The poking was her trademark when she was mad.
“I wasn’t mad. I thought you were mad at me and I know how quick you are to jump up in my face . . . just like now,” he said with emphasis. “So I gave you time and space to cool off and get over it.”
She stared long and hard at him. “Well you know what, Devon?” she asked, her voice showing the hurt feelings he caused. “You underestimated the time . . . big time.”
He watched her walk past him and into her house, softly closing both the wrought-iron screen door and solid wooden door behind her.
“What the hell did I do now, Chloe?” he asked aloud although he was well aware she could not hear him.
No one got him to deal with his emotions like Chloe, not even Elissa, whether it be anger, humor, passion or tenderness. Depending on her varying moods, she drew a similar response from him instantaneously.
Like tonight, when he kissed her he hadn’t thought about it first. Just looking at her wanting her guests to eat with pleasure, and knowing she put so much time and money out for his family, had filled him with the overwhelming need to kiss her right then.
Why fight the feeling, right?
Once the initial shock and surprised reactions of his friends and relatives had passed and the dinner moved on, he had felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The Chloe that he discovered all along was a woman for him to be proud to have in his life.
Who cared about what anyone thought or said!
Devon actually waited, his stance akimbo, as he looked toward the house. A faint shadow of her tall curvaceous figure passed by the dining room’s long windows. He guessed that she was finishing up clearing the dining room, having refused everyone’s offer of help.
Sighing, he fought and won over the desire to knock on the door, wait for her to open it, pull her into his arms and kiss away her anger. Instead Devon released a long, drawn-out sigh before jogging down the steps. Soon he was in his truck and pulling out of the yard, not even aware of the shadowed figure standing to the window as he drove off.
Chapter Fourteen
As he neared home he noticed Poochie’s car was parked next to his brother’s truck. Not in the mood to see them horny as teenagers around each other, especially with his lady mad at him, Devon headed toward Charlie’s. It was Friday night and as he turned down the short dirt road he saw that the small yard in front of the structure was filled with cars and trucks.
Parking next to his friend Terrence’s purple pickup, Devon spoke to the few men who stood talking outside the small one-room wood house before walking in. One lone lightbulb hung in the middle of the ceiling and four square tables were set up in front of the makeshift bar where Charlie made his sales. The room was stifling hot with all the men crowded inside.
He moved through the crowd, speaking to everyone, as he finally neared his companions Terrence, Sean and Luther. “What’s up?” he greeted them.
“Drove down to see Chloe Bolton’s house. Looks good Dev.”
Devon nodded his thanks to Luther, a tall brawny man who was usually loudmouthed and boastful. He didn’t really care for him but kept his opinions of the man to himself, instead choosing to stay out of his company. He just turned his back to him and spoke with Terrence.
“Haven’t seen you out in a while.” Terrence motioned for Charlie, a wizened old man, to sell him two beers.
Devon accepted the can offered him by his friend, taking a long swig from it before answering. “We wanted to finish the house up early. We cut two weeks off the completion date.”
“I sure as hell wouldn’t be in a rush to get a rich and famous supermodel out of my house,” he joked.
Ignoring that, Devon asked him about his work. Terrence went on to fill him in on the labor disputes at the paper mill where he worked. It was halfway through this conversation that Devon heard Chloe’s name mentioned by Luther.
It was on that conversation that he now focused his attention.
“I ain’t surprised at all to find out she does drugs. My girl tells me that the paper she read said the woman was broke and couldn’t even afford to pay for that big house—”
“You know, Luther,” Devon interjected, his voice cold and hard. “A grown man should have better things to do with his time than gossip like a woman.”
The warning was clear in his voice and any other man would have been wise to heed it. Luther was a braggart, though, and didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of the large group of men, all of whom had overheard.
Devon appeared relaxed in his stance, but his hand tightly clenched the beer can until it began to bend inwards. All conversations in the one room had ceased. At that moment all eyes were riveted to where the two men stood.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Dev.” Luther looked the other man in the eye. “What do you care what I have to say about that rich bitch—”
Devon dropped the beer and swung his fist into Luther’s face in one swift move, landing a solid, jaw-cracking blow. His opponent fell backwards, almost landing on Sean who quickly sidestepped, allowing him to crash with a thud to the dirt floor. Dust swirled up around his large frame.
Luther jumped up quickly and lunged for Devon. The rest of the men would have allowed them to have at it, but Charlie raced from behind the counter to jump between them. He didn’t want them to tear up the place.
“Stop,” he yelled, putting a hand on each man’s chest as they squared off.
“If I ever catch Chloe’s name in your damn mouth I’ll knock the hell out of you again!” Devon pointed his finger toward Luther, his eyes menacing.
“You must be tapping them boots the way you’re acting.”
Devon lunged for him again, right over Charlie’s slight frame. The older man pushed hard at his chest with both hands, showing more strength than Devon would have thought he had. “Cut it out, Devon Jamison.”
Lord knows the people of Holtsville loved gossip and a good fight. Right in front of their eyes both were unfolding. Many were agreeing with Luther about Devon obviously being involved with the beauty. That bit of gossip would spread through the small community like a bad rash.
“Just remember what I told you, Luther,” he warned before pushing his way through the crowd and leaving the shack, slamming the hopelessly erected door on its rusted hinges. He hopped into his truck and turned on the headlights. It was when he moved to turn the key in the ignition that the dull throbbing of his right hand registered in his brain.
“What damn paper?” he muttered as he remembered Luther’s words. He winced as he turned the key and started off down the short road.
∞
Chloe loaded the last plate into the state-of-the-art dishwashe
r conveniently located in the island. Once started, the machine was so quiet she couldn’t even tell it was running. She grabbed a handful of dishtowels and the bottle of window cleaner to wipe down her kitchen table, just as she had in the dining room. The mail still lay there where she left it in a bundle this morning.
Setting the roll of paper towels and glass cleaner down on the table, she picked up the bundle and removed the rubber band. She immediately recognized the bright colorful front page of a well-known and unfortunately successful gossip tabloid paper, The Star Gazer. Slowly Chloe’s eyes widened in shock as she read the bold-lettered front page:
SUPERMODEL CHLOE BOLTON’S DRUG HABIT
LEADS TO BANKRUPTCY
Story on page three (Photos of southern hideaway included)
An obviously doctored photo of Chloe looking haggard, tired and seemingly strung out on drugs was on the cover beneath the caption. Numb with shock, she slid down into one of the chairs at the table. Against her better judgment she slowly flipped the pages to the story inside:
Nearly one year to the date of her retirement the truth has been finally revealed on why Chloe Bolton’s no longer on top. Insiders close to her reveal that she had to retire because her contracts with her modeling agency and Ashanti Cosmetics were not going to be renewed, at their request. It seems her long history of drug use was brought to their attention. The insider, a close friend to the strung out ex-supermodel, reveals that Chloe has been addicted to cocaine for years now, since the death of her mother . . .
Chloe closed her eyes against a wave of pain that swallowed her whole. She fought back the tears that threatened to fall, pressing herself to continue reading. She wanted to be aware of all the lies. Skipping past some information on her accomplishments before her supposed tragic downfall, Chloe read on.
The home is on twelve acres of land that she luckily inherited upon her mother's death. Chloe now resides in the small town of Holtsville in South Carolina.
Sadly the stunning beauty’s drug use has drained most of her financial resources. A friend close to Chloe confirms that the model plans to sell her luxury apartment in New York to offset some of the hefty bills she’s accumulated over the years. Her friends fear she’ll overdose on drugs from the constant abuse.
The modest home in the southern small town is reported to be going on sale and the profits used to pay the builders. The friend states, "She can't even afford to decorate the house she’s so deeply into the drugs and doesn’t care. But once the home is sold, where will she live?”
The rest of the words blurred as bitter tears racked Chloe’s body. Angrily she flung the paper to the floor and stumbled out of the kitchen and back to her bedroom, where she flung herself onto the king-sized bed. Her body trembled as she cried angry, bitter tears that scorched her cheeks. She hugged one of the many down pillows, burying her face in its soft depths and not caring about the makeup that smeared against the white Egyptian cotton.
She had removed herself from the spotlight and now this!
“Lies,” she moaned with a wailing cry. “Nothing but lies.”
∞
The sound of New York life was alive and busy. Tall skyscrapers with brightly lit windows beaconed against the black velvet sky. Cars were bumper to bumper on the city streets below. People moved briskly on the cemented sidewalks.
A lone figure watched this from the window of his luxury apartment. Everything about him spoke of a wealthy New Yorker from the cut of his loose-fitting black Versace leather pants and boots to the Giorgio Armani charcoal velvet coat and matching knit sweater he wore. Urban wealth and sophistication was personified in the expensive modem furnishings of his home and the arrogance evident in his stance.
Sighing, he looked down at the gossip rag clutched in his hand. Angrily he crossed the marble floor of the living room and entered his private office. He noticed none of the mahogany and gray decor as he strode to the phone.
Quickly he dialed the number, the phone ringing just twice before someone answered. “Turner Investigative Services.”
“Yes Turner. I know it’s after hours but I have a job for you. I need you to locate Chloe Bolton for me in . . .” He paused to skim his eyes over the article again. “Holtsville, South Carolina. I want the phone number ASAP.”
“I can get the address for you as well,” the man offered, eager for the work. “And detailed directions if you need.”
“Yeah, you do that. Although I have no intention of traveling to some backwards town in South Carolina. Anyway, contact me when you have the information. I will of course pay you well for your services.”
He hung up the phone, not even waiting to see if Turner had any questions. Calvin felt that there was no reason the P.I. should have any, his instructions had been clear and succinct as to what he wanted. And in the end he always got just that . . . whatever he wanted.
He wanted Chloe!
It angered him that she chose a life in a small southern town. Here in New York, and in all the countries they used to travel to together, were the luxuries they could well afford. He had chosen the wealthy supermodel as his life mate and it would have happened if he hadn’t been caught in the bed with another woman, whose name he could only vaguely remember. She had been only one in the long line of women he’d cheated on Chloe with.
He looked down at the rag in his hand again. Calvin did not believe its claim of her being strung out on chugs and near penniless. Chloe abhorred drugs and was way too intelligent to lose her millions of dollars. No, they were all lies and he knew that. But it proved that she needed him to protect her.
Turner Investigations was a resource he could have used a long time ago to get personal information on her, but he hadn’t wanted to go that route to win her back. Well, now was different. He would get her back and keep her this time.
∞
“What the hell?”
Angry, Anika snatched the tabloid magazine The Star Gazer off the supermarket rack where she stood in the express line to pay for her groceries. When she stopped off to the supermarket around the corner from her house, it certainly had been to get something to fix for dinner, not to be shocked beyond belief by the lies boldly printed on the front page of a rag!
She didn’t even bother to read the story inside, it only expounded on the lies in the headline. Swearing loudly, and not caring that she drew odd looks from the cashier and the other patrons in line, Anika began to dig into the oversized mahogany Coach drawstring bag on her shoulder, shoving all the useless items she carried in it aside in search of her cell phone.
“Damn,” she swore loudly. “Where’s that damn phone of mine?”
When the cashier shot her another odd look, Anika pierced her with a stare. “Do you have a problem?” she asked nastily.
The woman instantly looked away.
Anika dropped the square red carrier holding her items onto the floor and pushed past the people in line ahead of her to leave the store. Her heart ached for Chloe, knowing the bitter lies would hurt her friend’s feelings. Anger burned her and she wished she could get her hands on the throat of the writer of that trash or whoever else was involved.
Using the remote that swung off her key chain, Anika deactivated the alarm on her car. The cell phone lay carelessly on the passenger seat. Avoiding the rising October night winds, she quickly got into the driver’s seat and dialed Chloe’s number. Pushing the neon-lit SEND button, she anxiously awaited as the phone rang with no answer. Eventually the answering machine came on.
“Chloe, this is Anika. I don’t know if you’ve seen The Star Gazer yet but they have one helluva piece of trash story on you in that rag. I know how this crap always upsets you and I want you to call me as soon as you get this message . . . anytime. Let me know you’re okay. I think you ought to sue their sorry asses. Uhm, Chloe just call me.”
Anika pushed the END button on the cell phone and let it drop back to the leather passenger seat. Her appetite was now gone. Turning the key in the ignition she started
the car and drove the short distance home.
Hopefully Mister Devon was worth more to Chloe than a good lay because right now she needed someone to support her. Anika knew that he was what Chloe wanted and needed.
∞
Alicia smiled as she fingered the yellow receipt of the check she deposited in her bank account. “Fifteen hundred dollars more than I had two weeks ago, that’s for sure,” she said with satisfaction.
Calling The Star Gazer had been more profitable than she could ever believe. Effectively she had killed two birds with one stone: she ruined Chloe’s reputation to run her out of town, and she made some money. The pictures she supplied from the twins’ portfolio had given her an extra bonus.
Too good to be true.
They had been more than willing to listen as Alicia had posed as a “friend” over the phone. And she had made sure everyone she knew had heard about the story in the paper, although she let on to no one that she had sold it to the gossip rag. She would not let that get back to Devon.
And she did this all for him . . . well, for them, really.
Tomorrow she planned to “drop by” for a visit to her friends, just to innocently mention the article to check their reactions.
Oh, Chloe knew about it. Alicia made sure of that when she slipped a copy of the paper into Chloe’s mailbox today. She laughed as she imagined the woman’s distraught face. How she hated her and now she got her revenge!
Chapter Fifteen
Chloe heard the phone ring but she ignored it. The pain and betrayal was the same as the first time she had been the subject of the gossip rags. She had been just a few days shy of eighteen and still remarkably innocent, even after three years under her belt in the business. She was now in her early thirties, just one year after retiring from a lucrative career. She was successful, independent, mature and intelligent, and it still hurt like it did all those years ago.
Admission of Love Page 20