by AC Arthur
There was a long pause and for a minute he’d thought she wouldn’t send it. No, he’d actually thought he was a fool for requesting it. An immature fool who was letting his hormones get the best of him.
But then her response came in the form of a picture.
He felt like a kid on Christmas morning, his thumb actually shaking as he pressed the button to open the picture.
your hands felt like heaven last night
And she was heaven-sent. If there were hot as sin African women lying naked in a bed in heaven. Her face wasn’t in the photo and it really only showed her leg, all the way up to her hip, gloriously bare. But apparently that was enough for his attention-starved libido.
The hard-on which had been slowly growing before this exchange, began to now throb painfully. He could end this ridiculously self-imposed torture. Stop texting her and attempt to go to sleep with a hard dick and his relief probably miles away. He could force himself to stop thinking about Zera and to not let her invade his life the way she had the first time. He could do it. He’d walked away and left her in his past before. There was no reason why he couldn’t do it again. Except that this physical need for her was too potent to ignore and because what he wanted more than the control he was famous for, was the pleasure he knew would only come from her.
I want to touch you again. all of you.
Once more she took a while to respond.
I’ve missed you.
He ached for her.
I can be there in minutes. give me your address.
no.
That response had come immediately and Dane frowned. What the hell was going on with her?
is there someone else?
His fingers had moved stiffly as he’d typed that question.
no
Another quick reply.
then why?
Dane waited for her response but it never came and when he woke the next morning it was with a curse on his lips. Not only did he still have an amazingly irritating erection, but now his phone battery was also dead.
At close to six o’clock in the evening, Zera sat on a bench in the garden of Musée Zadkine. With one leg crossed over the other, her gray Eddie Bauer backpack close to her right hip, and the barely used iPad on her lap, she waited for the incoming Skype call.
It was so peaceful here, cuddled between immaculately manicured lawns and shrubbery, and the stark distinct flare of sculptures by the Russian born, Ossip Zadkine. Zadkine had once lived in the house behind where Zera now sat. He’d also worked there and upon his death the place was turned into a museum. One of the many in the 6th Arrondissement that Zera had frequented since Emmet’s death.
When she awakened yesterday morning, it was to a persistent knocking on her door by Ines, an up and coming model who lived on the lower level of Zera’s apartment building.
“You get deliveries from suitors early in the morning. I am jealous.”
Ines was just an inch or so shorter than Zera. French-born, with long brown hair and expression-filled brown eyes, Ines was a European beauty that was about to take over the fashion industry.
Zera had taken the long-stemmed white rose from Ines, running her fingers over the dethorned stem as she thought about what it meant.
“Not at all,” Zera had replied. “I am still as single as you are.”
“But someone is interested,” Ines replied as she turned to leave. “That is more than I have right now.”
Ines had begun singing as she traveled down the hall and then the stairs. It was a Cardi B song that Zera detested, so she yelled “thanks” and quickly closed her door.
With the message received, Zera was now in the secluded spot of her choice, awaiting Aasir’s Skype call which always came at 6pm the evening following the day she received the rose. Aasir only used disposable cell phones whenever he called her directly. And when they met via Skype, which she was hoping to do now, she used an iPad that was registered to Ines’s grandmother.
Zera tapped her fingers on the screen of the iPad. Her cell phone was in her pocket and she’d turned up the volume on the ringtone, just in case. It was very quiet here at this time of evening, so she didn’t have to worry about not hearing the call. Especially if no call came through.
With a heavy sigh she closed her eyes and tried once again to remain calm. The past couple of nights she’d been restless and not just because of the news of Debare’s death—although that was going to change the course of so many things on the horizon. Dane’s text messages had aroused and confused her. How was she supposed to do this again? She could not resist him. She’d tried really hard last night and to an extent she supposed she’d won, but Zera knew that would be short-lived.
There was no doubt that she wanted him, and he apparently wanted her. But what would happen after they satisfied that need? Where would that lead them? To more lies, Zera thought. She’d always be lying to him, just as she had before. There was no other option, and Zera hated that fact. She hated that to do what she knew she was meant to do, she had to give up what a part of her recognized as something very special.
Her cell phone rang loud enough to wake the dead and Zera jumped before pulling it out of her pocket to answer. She checked the screen and saw with immediate disappointment that it was not Aasir.
“Hi Ines,” she answered.
The willowy thin woman with the husky voice, answered in her deep French-accented voice.
“Hello, Zera. Where are you?” she asked.
“I’m running some errands,” was Zera’s quick response.
“We were going to have dinner. Did you forget?”
Zera had forgotten.
“Sorry, I meant to call you to cancel. Have to get some things done,” Zera told her.
“That is okay. Also, I told the guy that stopped by looking for you that you would possibly be back in an hour. Guess that will be a bit longer now. He said he would not mind the wait.”
Zera froze at Ines’s words.
“What guy?”
“He was here just a few moments ago. That is why I thought to call you to remind you about dinner and tell you that he was here.”
The iPad almost slipped from Zera’s lap as she uncrossed her legs and sat up straighter on the bench.
“Who was it? Did he leave a name or contact information?” she asked.
“No name. Just dark glasses and a frown when I said you were not here. He did smell good,” Ines said.
Zera was much more concerned with who would show up at her apartment looking for her when nobody was supposed to know where she was. She quickly stuffed the iPad into her back pack and closed it.
“If he comes back, ask questions Ines,” Zera instructed.
“Fine. When do you think you will return?”
That was a good question. Zera didn’t plan to return. Not now.
“I will call you back. Remember, ask questions if he returns.”
“Should I send you a text message?”
“No!” Zera replied and then sighed as she realized she’d practically yelled at Ines. “I mean, no that won’t be necessary. I will call you back but it may be from a different number, so just answer all calls tonight.”
“Are you kidding? I always answer all calls. Never know when the one that will have me on a jet heading to another, better paying photo shoot might come.”
Ines was getting job after job, but she had yet to hit the big runways for the famous Fashion Weeks. Zera knew that they were coming for her even if Ines was a bit impatient.
“Right. Okay. I have to go. Answer your phone,” Zera instructed.
She disconnected the call. She put the iPad in her pack and slipped the strap of the backpack onto her shoulder before she stood. Her steps were halted by a noise. Zera looked around the garden. The sculptures that she’d once looked at with interest, now seemed creepy—their tall elongated forms casting shadows over an area that she hadn’t seen before. She immediately turned and headed back inside through the French doors of
the museum. Today she was wearing leggings and an old denim shirt and tank top, tennis shoes and a black baseball cap. Pulling the cap down further on her head, she moved fast, thoughts of getting back to her car foremost in her mind.
Once she was out of the museum and on the sidewalk, Zera tried to blend in with a crowd of people that were coming up behind her, but before she could, she spotted him. He was across the street, leaning against a dark gray car, legs crossed at the ankles, dark sunglasses covering his eyes. Zera didn’t know how she knew it was him, and she didn’t know exactly who he was, but her steps hastened. The car park was farther than she’d liked to consider as she moved through the people on the sidewalk, while looking over her shoulder.
He was no longer leaning on the car.
She cursed and started to run. Her phone was in her hand, all she had to do was make a call and all of this would stop. She would be safe and this would be over, finally. But Hiari would still be missing. Zera kept running. She came to the car park and pushed through the door, taking the stairs two at a time to the level she was on. Zera heard the screech of tires the minute she turned down the aisle where her car was parked. She moved as fast as she could, but the car was coming, headlights blaring through the dim area. Turning quickly she knelt by the passenger side door and used her key to unlock it. The car was turning around. Zera climbed into her car, moving over the console to get into the driver’s seat. With shaking hands she managed to start the ignition and backed out just as the other car had turned and floored the gas. He was going to run right into her. The impact might not kill her but would definitely cause a great deal of damage to her and the car. She turned the steering wheel and stepped on the gas. Her car whirled around and she drove out of the car park with the other car right behind her.
Paris traffic was no playground, but Zera had been mastering it for years now, so she managed to get at least six cars ahead of the dark sedan that was after her now. She weaved in and out of traffic, going against all the rules of the road until she could turn down one street and then another and another. Twenty minutes and what seemed like half her lifetime later, Zera glanced in her rearview mirror and almost sighed with relief when she no longer saw the car.
But she didn’t stop driving and she didn’t dare circle back to return to her apartment. They never worked solo. So whoever had knocked on the door to her apartment building was probably still there waiting for her return. These two, because she knew there were two—the one who had been so casually leaning against the gray car, and the one who had already been waiting for her at the car park—would not stop looking for her either. If they were sent for her, not following through on that order wasn’t an option. Unsuccessful assignments most often lead to painful deaths.
Zera knew that rule all too well.
She drove fast, her heart thumping as she tried to think of what her next step would be. She couldn’t call anyone, couldn’t go back. Not now. So instead, she went forward, to the only place she’d ever been able to find comfort.
Chapter 6
Dane sat on the couch in the suite at the Hôtel San Régis where his first face-to-face meeting with Roark, Ridge and Suri Donovan was taking place.
This hotel was an obvious upgrade from where he was staying, but Dane had purposely selected his hotel. He hadn’t wanted any extra attention during this trip and it was close to two of his favorite sights to see in Paris—the Eiffel Tower and the Seine. As his trip was to be a bit of pleasure combined with business, Dane was aiming for comfort. The San Régis was a five-star hotel that specialized in discretion. Roark had advised Dane via email that he’d reserved two suites for all of the meetings they had scheduled.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person,” Suri said after the four of them had sat in silence for the first ten minutes after Dane entered the room.
“Likewise,” Dane replied with a nod in her direction.
She was twenty-eight years old. At five feet tall, she was clearly the shortest of all the Donovans in the room. Her hair was an array of curls clustered to one side beneath a short brimmed black hat. She wore a black and white striped jacket and form-fitting black pants with high-heeled black boots. Her lipstick was bright red and her brown eyes were full of laughter. She was a recent graduate from Cambridge where she’d studied art history and economics.
Dane had done his homework on all of the Donovan family members.
“We’ve heard a lot about you,” she continued with a heavy British accent.
“I can imagine,” Dane replied. He did not imagine that everything they’d heard about him was complimentary.
Suri chuckled. “It was not all bad. Actually, Bailey speaks highly of you. And I can tell you that means something because Bailey can be quite hard to impress.”
“You’re right about that,” Ridge added with a shake of his head.
Ridge was the middle child. His complexion the same chocolate-brown hue as his sister’s. He wore a low-cut neatly trimmed beard like his brother, but also had black dreadlocks that were twisted in some fashion at the top and held together with a band at the nape of his neck to hang down his back. He was dressed in dark gray slacks, a royal blue shirt and matching gray vest. Ridge was also a graduate of Cambridge where he’d studied law.
“We know everything that happened back in the States,” Ridge continued. “And for the record we think you got a shabby deal. Your parents did you wrong from the start but we do not get to choose them, now do we?”
“No,” Dane replied as he considered those words. “I guess we don’t.”
He was beginning to think he might like these newfound cousins.
“What matters is that we are family and that we have some new business to tend to,” Roark, the oldest of these Donovan children interjected.
This one was everything Bernard had told Dane he would be and a little more. As the oldest child of Gabriel and Maxine Donovan, Roark had just turned thirty-eight last month. That made him two years younger than Dane, who had a birthday coming later this year. Roark stood six feet even, one inch shorter than Ridge. His complexion was much lighter than his siblings, the hair on his head and beard jet black. He wore a navy blue suit, of which the jacket lay neatly over the arm of the chair where he sat across from Dane.
“A focus on clean energy is a great idea. It is a new and upcoming market and we are prime to make our already lucrative companies, even stronger, from this venture,” Roark said.
Dane nodded, ready to get down to business. “I agree. Now, there are just a few details that we need to iron out before we begin with the interviews.”
At those words, Dane reached into his briefcase which he’d set on the floor beside him when he took his seat, and grabbed the folders he’d prepared before he left the States. He gave each one of his cousins a folder and their meeting officially began.
It was four hours, dinner, drinks, and an invitation to London to meet his Aunt Maxine, later, when Dane finally arrived back at his hotel. Roark was returning to London tonight because he had more meetings at the office in the morning, but Suri and Ridge were going to stay in the reserved suites at the San Régis. They’d invited Dane to lunch tomorrow and instead of immediately declining, he’d told them he would call them in the morning. He supposed, for them, it seemed normal to have lunch with their cousin. Perhaps it was more like a family reunion for them since they were the only part of the Donovan family that did not live in the U.S. For Dane, the casual connection wasn’t normal at all.
Dane’s family life had been a little different from what he suspected the rest of the Donovans had experienced. His mother, Roslyn, had a personality disorder but had managed to raise Dane and his sister Jaydon, in a loving home. She sent them to private schools and made sure they had everything they needed, all between mini-mental breaks where she would rage, scream and lock herself in her bedroom for days at a time. As Dane had gone through the things in Roslyn’s New York apartment, he’d found a box of her private papers. Among the papers
were unfilled prescriptions for an anti-psychotic drug and two versions of Dane’s birth certificate. One which named him Dane Henry Ausby and the other, Dane Henry Donovan. From the time he was five years old his mother had told him that he was a Donovan. The DNA test that Bernard had taken last year finally proved Roslyn’s claim. It had taken Dane weeks to ensure that his correct birth certificate was now the only one on record.
Dane doubted very seriously that Roark, Ridge or Suri, or any of his other cousins, had to deal with a situation like that. So yeah, his idea of family was very different from theirs.
Now, Dane stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall to his room. It was just after nine in the evening. He wondered what Zera was doing. This time two nights ago, she’d been in his arms as they sailed along the Seine. A part of him wanted her in his arms again, while the other—perhaps, smarter—part thought he should definitely steer clear of Zera on this trip. The alarmed look on her face the other night after she’d taken that call should have been enough to convince him that there was a lot about the woman that he just did not want to know. Like her connection to Emmet Parks. Shaking his head, Dane reached into his jacket pocket for the key to unlock his door.
He was definitely going to stay away from Zera. He didn’t have time for whatever games she was most likely still playing. Dane opened the door. He stepped inside and frowned. Something was wrong. He knew it the moment the door closed with a loud thud behind him.
“I wanted to see you,” Zera said and licked her lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about our last conversation.”
Dane stared at her, trying to keep the magnitude of the shock at seeing her sitting in the chair near the window of his hotel room, to himself.
He moved slowly, setting his briefcase down near the round table and additional chairs. “How did you get in here?” he asked.