by A. C. Arthur
In The Arms Of A Donovan
By
A.C. Arthur
An Artistry Publishing Book
IN THE ARMS OF A DONOVAN, Copyright © 2016 by A.C. Arthur
First Edition: 2016
www.acarthur.net
All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and incidents (in either a contemporary and/or historical setting) are products of the author’s imagination and are being used in an imaginative manner as a part of this work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, settings or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Croco Designs
Dear Reader,
I know by now you are more than ready to know who Dane’s father is and if he’s really a Donovan. Some of the Senior Donovans are ready for that discovery as well. Others, I think would rather have this entire situation go away. As I indicated a couple of books ago, this family is about to truly be tested. The things that will come at them in the next three books will either divide and conquer or rebuild and strengthen what was started with two Donovan brothers more than fifty years ago. There will be lots of surprises and some new players on the scene, so be prepared!
Both Amber and Brandon will bring a dynamic to this family that I felt hadn’t been explored yet. Amber, her family and their story will face a very real problem that’s raging in our society today. I specifically wanted to address this situation because there needs to be an awareness in order for there to be treatment and hopefully healing.
As for Brandon, his battle has always been with himself. With his level of intelligence and ambition, it would seem so easy for him to overcome and move forward, yet, his struggle was so real and so deep. I love this Donovan family and writing these last stories I’ve really enjoyed pulling back the layers of each one of the Donovan children to show that no matter how much money and success they all have, problems still linger, secrets fester and hurt and disappointment become an all too common denominator.
We’re coming to the end of this Donovan journey and I remain forever grateful to each of you for embracing this family and loving them as much as I do.
As always,
AC
Prologue
Wednesday
38 Years Ago
Houston, Texas
The doorbell rang.
Albert Donovan sat behind his desk in his home office staring at a spreadsheet which reflected the last quarter’s earnings for Donovan Oilwell. Thirty-three years after his grandfather, Rowan, and his brother Charleston Donovan started the oil company in Beaumont, Texas, and only one year after graduating from college and starting as a junior executive in the marketing division, Al was now a senior executive supervising the company’s fiscal growth.
Just two months ago, Al and his new bride Darla had moved into this beautiful ranch-style home in Katy, Texas. With money from his trust fund that had come into his full possession when he’d turned twenty-one, Al married Darla Kenner, the daughter of Barton Kenner who owned the Kenner Barbeque sauce chain. They’d fallen fast in love after meeting at some country club event Al’s father, Isaiah, had insisted his son attend. Isaiah Donovan was a stickler for keeping up with the community and running in the circles that at one time African Americans weren’t included in. Once Donovan Oilwell had grown to be a substantial competitor in the oil business and Rowan and Charleston Donovan had finally turned the reigns over to their sons, Isaiah, Aaron, Abraham and Cephus, there had been clear guidelines for what the Donovan men would do and how they would act. They would always display integrity and command respect. Their ancestors would expect nothing less. They would mingle with the upper class, but never forget where they came from by reaching out to help those less fortunate in any way that they could. Thus, the Donovan philanthropic endeavors began with Isaiah’s sister Bridgette, who they called Birdie.
Al hated attending parties and rubbing elbows with the political brass in Houston, but if he ever planned to run the company, he had to be familiar with the games that were sometimes played in the arena of the rich and powerful in Texas. His father had introduced him to so many people, sometimes it was a struggle for Al to remember them all. However, he had no problem remembering the very pretty Darla, whose maternal grandfather had been a part of the Shawnee Native American tribe. She was beautiful with her amber colored eyes and sun-kissed complexion. As the oldest of Isaiah and Dorethea Donovan’s children, Al had never been considered smooth and debonair like his brothers. He was the intellectual one. Handsome in his own right, carrying on his father’s medium brown skin complexion and his mother’s calm eyes, he preferred being out of the spotlight. Whereas, Henry, Bernard and Everette were much more personable and tended to command most of the attention when they entered a room. The younger brothers, Reginald and Bruce, were smart and handsome and had always stuck together as if the two of them had some special bond like their twin uncles—Aaron and Abraham.
It was Darla who Al called for when the doorbell rang for a second time. When she still did not answer, he remembered that she’d told him she was going to the book store. Not wanting to be just a housewife, Darla had opened a book store in the city, not far from the Donovan Oilwell headquarters. The store would officially open in four weeks, so there was lots of work to do and Al was proud of Darla for having the courage to start her own business, when it would have been simple to sit back and spend the money her father had given her and/or Al’s money.
He walked with his slipper-clad feet moving quickly over the polished wood floors until he could answer the door, just as the bell was chiming once more.
“Well, Albert Donovan. I thought you weren’t going to let me in,” she said before walking right past him into the foyer of his home, uninvited.
Al closed the door before turning to face her. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked the woman whom he immediately recognized from college.
Her name was Roslyn Ausby and she’d been madly in love with Henry.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a drink before you start in on me?” she asked with the lift of a very elegantly arched brow. “Isn’t that the polite thing to do?”
“I want to know why you’re here. Henry’s in Vegas and he’s getting ready to get married,” Al told her.
She was walking towards him, with that same smile he’d always seen her give Henry across her face.
“You always did the right thing, Al. I remember Henry telling me that you told him he should break up with me if he didn’t want a commitment,” she said.
“That was none of my business,” he told her.
“Fine. Then offer me a drink and I’ll tell you what is your business,” she quipped. “And just because you’re probably my favorite of the Donovan brothers that I’ve met so far—besides Henry, of course—I’ll give you a hint as to why I’m here. You have a very pretty wife, Albert. Wouldn’t it be a shame if she returned home to find me standing this close to you?”
She was standing very close now, Al thought as he hurriedly took a step back and then to the side. “One drink,” he told her and walked until they were in the study.
If Darla came back while
Roslyn was still here, Al would hear the front door open and close and he’d have time to leave Roslyn in the study while Darla went into another room of the house. He was already planning how he could prevent the two from seeing each other, because there was no way he wanted a woman like Roslyn Ausby near his wife.
“I’d like a vodka on the rocks,” she told him. “Join me.”
He didn’t want to join her. Roslyn was a slippery one. He’d told Henry as much the first time he’d met her at a frat party. She was still just as tall, slim and sexy, as she’d been a couple of years ago. Henry had continued to date her and Al suspected that his brother had fallen a little bit in love with the woman with the wide, exotic eyes and brilliant smile. She’d been as popular on campus as Henry and Bernard had and while the Donovan brothers had their choice of any number of women while they’d been in school, Roslyn only had eyes for Henry, and for a time it seemed his brother only had eyes for her.
Al poured them both a drink, because right about now he needed one. Roslyn wore a tight emerald green dress that stopped at her knees and dipped low between her breasts. Her heels were very high, her legs bare. She smelled like sin which made sense because she looked like it too. Al took a swallow of his vodka before walking Roslyn’s glass over to her.
“Have a seat, Al, let’s reminisce.”
She’d sat in one of the leather chairs in the center of the room. Al took a seat in the one across from her. He put his drink on the table because for some odd reason his hands had begun to sweat.
“I saw Henry and he told me about the wedding,” she said quickly.
“I know,” Al replied. “He told me, too.” Which was the very basis for Al’s nervousness. If Henry and Roslyn had the tension-filled parting a couple of days ago that his brother had relayed to him, then there was no reason that Roslyn should be here in Houston to see him. Unless she wanted something. Bernard always thought Roslyn was an opportunist looking to get her hands on the Donovan money. Al hadn’t wanted to believe that, but her mere presence now had him wondering.
“Oh he did, huh. Your brother is full of surprises,” she said. Then she leaned forward, letting her legs part slightly as she looked over to Albert. “What else did he tell you?”
Al shook his head. “Nothing. Just that he ended it once and for all between you two.”
“Oh, is that right?” Roslyn laughed.
Al wasn’t sure but he thought her legs parted even farther. They had to because now he could see just a wisp of black silk between her thighs. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Well, Al, you know I’m not about to chase your brother. If he wants to marry Ms. High Society, then let him. Who cares?” she was saying when Al opened his eyes again.
This time Roslyn was sitting back in the chair with her legs crossed. He almost sighed with relief, but then he noticed how high up her dress had traveled. A very good portion of her thigh was visible, so much so that Al’s mouth went dry. He reached for his glass then, bringing it to his lips and this time drinking until it was gone.
“So since I’m a free agent now,” Roslyn began speaking again. “I was wondering if you could give me a job. Nothing spectacular, just a receptionist to start with and then I can work my way up in the company. I hear you’re the only brother that was smart enough to go into the family business.”
Al nodded and blinked. “Yes. I work for Donovan Oilwell,” he said and then licked his lips.
Roslyn stood. He could see her moving, even if the sight was a little fuzzy. Al closed his eyes and tried to refocus. Roslyn was moving, coming closer he thought. He tried to stand then. Al wanted to tell her to leave because he wasn’t feeling well, but she was right there, straddling him and touching a finger to his lips before he could move.
“You more than work there, Al, darling. You’re gonna be Donovan Oilwell one day. And guess what?” she said leaning in closer.
Al thought he felt moistness on his lips. Was she licking his lips?
“What?” he heard himself say, but it was like a distant echo in his now foggy mind.
“I’m gonna own a big chunk of that company too,” she whispered into his ear.
Al thought he felt her tongue there too. Then he imagined her hand was between his legs. His body was reacting, he was becoming aroused by this woman that wasn’t his wife. His head hurt. Needle-pricks agitated his eyes and he thought he might be going blind. But no, he could see Roslyn lifting her dress up and over her head. He saw her bare breasts and knew the moment he was definitely in trouble was when she leaned forward, offering them to him.
Chapter 1
Present
December 26th
Miami, Florida
Bruce and Janean Donovan’s dining room was full of people. Of family, as they’d all gathered to hear what they thought would be answers to all of their questions. Bruce wasn’t so sure they’d feel any better when they left. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he sighed heavily. It was the moment he and none of his brothers had wanted to come to fruition. The time when they’d have to tell the secret they’d all agreed years ago to hide.
His wife, his best friend, and the woman he’d cherished above all else, sat in the cream colored dining room chair, in front of him. The Seniors had decided that last night was the best time to share the secret with their wives. None of them wanted the women they loved to be shocked and upset in front of their children. Janean’s hands were folded on the marble table top, the diamonds from her wedding rings glittering in the streaks of sunshine that filtered through the bay window. Beside her, because they’d had to bring in extra chairs to accommodate everyone, Carolyn sat with a similarly solemn posture. Reginald, as it seemed they’d always been as the youngest of the Senior Donovans, stood right beside Bruce, his hands in his pockets as he stared out at the rest of the family.
Across the long table the other Seniors stood behind their wives: Henry, Bernard and Everette, with Beverly, Jocelyn and Alma. The chairs along the two sides of the table were also filled with wives and fiancés, their husbands standing dutifully behind them: Savian and Jenise, Parker and Adriana, Regan and Gavin, Dion and Lyra, Sean and Tate. Across the other side of the table were: Linc and Jade, Adam and Camille, Trent and Tia, Ben and Victoria, Keysa and Ian.
More chairs lined the wall as the women sat beneath abstract art portraits in colors matching the soft beige, peach and cream décor. Brynne, Max and Deena, Noelle and Brock, Brandon and Bailey were situated there. Standing beside his daughter was Albert, looking weary and distressed about what was about to happen. Bruce felt more compassion for his oldest brother, knowing that he’d already lost so much because of this secret.
“Why don’t we start with what happened last night,” Trent began when no one else was jumping at the opportunity to speak.
Bruce wasn’t surprised. Henry’s middle son had always been an extrovert, with a good head on his shoulders and a penchant for taking care of business. He hated that this time, the business was about this family and something that the Seniors could have probably prevented.
“Did you find out more?” Dion asked Trent.
“Yeah,” Trent replied. “Dev and I were up half the night going over every inch of that room and talking to the staff there.”
Bruce took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he recalled what had happened last night at Savian and Jenise’s wedding reception. The festivities had begun in grand style as the Donovans arrived at Briza on the Bay, one of Miami’s premiere wedding venues. Then, unfortunately, their celebratory moods had been undeniably darkened.
“It didn’t take long for the event manager to crumble under Dev’s unique interrogating skills. He was paid twenty five hundred dollars to set up the screen and the video and to play it at the time he’d been told,” Trent stated evenly.
“Who the hell paid him to do that?” Savian asked, his hands gripping the back of the chair where Jenise sat.
Trent looked down the table to his father, then ba
ck to his cousins. “The guy received all of his instructions via email. The money was wired to his bank account, half two days before the wedding and the other half about ten minutes after the video played. I sent an email from the manager’s account as soon as he told us about it, calling whoever was responsible out.”
“As only my brother could,” Adam said with a nod of his head.
Trent replied with an agreeable nod to his younger brother. “You got that right. I told that sonofabitch to show his face.”
“And did he?” Jenise asked.
She was a lawyer, Bruce thought. So she would have questions and she would be looking at this through eyes of what was prosecutable and what was not. Or rather, in their case, what would be defendable and what would not.
“He replied almost immediately. The clock that came to your house last night, Aunt Carolyn, it was his gift to us. To remind us, he said. Again, he’d only had to pay one of the florists to take it in with the flowers and other stuff they were delivering for the wedding. Money is definitely a motivator.” Trent was the epitome of restraint as he spoke, his broad shoulders squared, eyes level on whomever he decided to look at. His arms were folded over his chest in a stance that also spoke of his military training.
“Remind us of what? Who the hell is this coward and why is he taunting us with vague warnings and cheap gifts? If he has something to say why doesn’t he just confront us and get it over with?” Regan slammed her palms down on the table when she spoke.
Gavin, Regan’s boyfriend, covered her hand with his, pulling it away from the table and holding it securely. “Why don’t we just let him tell us everything he knows,” he said to her calmly.
Regan was pregnant, as was Lyra. They were both in their second trimester. Lyra, because of a previous miscarriage, was at a higher risk of premature labor and ultimately bed rest. While Regan, because of her quick temper and her tendency to do too much in all circumstances, was also at risk of developing high blood pressure and other complications. The family was terribly excited about the pregnancies and even more prayerful that they would make it to a healthy and happy ending for all.