J.A. Pierre - A New Dawn: From Rich Housewife to Suddenly Single

by Unknown

  “Sure. Give me half an hour.”

  Chapter Ten

  Usually when he saw Dawn, Brad automatically thought of sex. They’d been taking it slow so far, which he didn’t really mind. From personal experience, he knew once they’d crossed that threshold, she’d want plenty of it.

  He wouldn’t have claimed he was Casanova, but he knew how to keep a woman coming--back for more--and in general.

  Brad barely opened the door and hoped he could make it back to his bed to lay down.

  He’d been sitting up in his wheelchair, waiting for her. She’d taken more time than the half an hour he’d anticipated, and the pain had moved from his stomach to his back. It throbbed. Brad thought the sensations he was feeling must be what a worm felt like when a little kid haphazardly poked a stick at it.

  He hadn’t been feeling quite like himself for the past few days, but the sudden rush of pain in the wee hours of the morning startled him.

  “Come in,” he told Dawn. Her radiant smile disappeared when she saw him. He knew he was barely audible.

  Brad just wanted to lie still and take a couple of sleeping pills so he could go to sleep. Yet, this caused a slight fear. He didn’t want to take more than the prescribed amount within a four-hour time frame.

  He would’ve called his mother or sister, but they’d gone to the Bahamas on a cruise, while his brother was still in Florida after driving them there. His brother’s kid lived there, so he would be staying for a couple of days.

  “You don’t look good, Brad. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the hospital?” Dawn hovered over him. The concern on her face was endearing.

  Brad knew hospitals were where the sick went for help, but he hoped a bowl of chicken soup and a long nap would do the trick.

  He shook his head. “No. I might feel better by the morning. I just need the soup.”

  Dawn sighed heavily. She held up a brown bag in her hand. “I wasn’t sure if you’d have what I needed, so I made a stop at Safeway for some ingredients.”

  Brad leaned his neck to the side.

  “You probably need to lie down. Let me help you.” Dawn followed him and assisted him out of the wheelchair and into bed.

  He could smell the delicious aroma of Dawn’s pot wafting through from the kitchen. Brad smiled. What an ass, he thought to himself about Gary. Better for me.

  He eagerly waited for the bowl of chicken soup. He was convinced it’d make him feel better. His mother had cooked it all the time when he was a kid, and whenever he was coming down with a cold or just needed a pick-me-up, Brad would buy some soup near the salad bar at the grocery store. He’d throw some saltine crackers into his basket since he liked to crumble them over his soup.

  Dawn arrived speedily with a steaming bowl.

  “Oh my.” Brad stopped himself from talking further. There were crackers on a small plate next to the bowl on the tray. They were Ritz crackers but Brad didn’t mind. His woman was taking care of him.

  He sat up.

  Dawn handed him the tray.

  “You know you could’ve been a nurse.”

  Dawn laughed.

  Brad ate the soup and then took two tablets. He became baffled when the pain intensified a few minutes later. Dawn sat on a chair in his room, watching TV. “Babe.” She turned to him. “Trashcan.”

  Dawn shot up and raced around trying to find one. It almost made Brad laugh. “In the bathroom.”

  He was so sorry to do it, but it couldn’t be helped. As soon as the trashcan was brought to him, Brad vomited.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dawn sat in the blue hospital chair beside him. Despite Brad’s bloated stomach and the sharp back pain, a part of him was happy because he wasn’t alone.

  He looked at the white sheet thrown over his legs. “Sorry.”

  Dawn looked up from her iPad. “For what?”

  “This.”

  Dawn looked at him as if he were crazy. “Someone had to drive you to the hospital, and I was there.” She shrugged and turned her attention back to her device. Brad stared at her.

  She glanced up at him coyly and smiled. “Don’t insult me,” she teased. “Would you want a partner who jumped ship at the first sign of sickness? You’ll be fine.”

  Brad choked up with emotion. It was a trait he’d carried since childhood—gratefulness for anyone who made him feel better when he was ill. He closed his eyes and began to doze.

  When he opened them, Dawn was still there.

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “About an hour.” Dawn checked her watch. “The doctor had said they’d have your lab results back in two hours, so we don’t have long to wait.”

  Brad nodded.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  Brad looked at the IV hooked up to his arm. “Yeah, the stuff in here’s working.”

  Dawn smiled.

  When the doctor came back, Brad braced himself. He wasn’t sure what kind of news he’d get.

  The doctor was a young Asian man with a neatly trimmed goatee. “Well, it might not seem like it, but today’s your lucky day.”

  “Really?” Brad wanted to know how.

  “We know exactly what’s wrong with you.”

  “What?”

  “We looked at the medicine you’re taking and, after checking your blood, it seems like you’re allergic to your latest pain reliever.”

  “What?” Brad and Dawn looked at each other. “Are you serious?”

  The doctor, who Brad was sure wasn’t older than thirty-three, nodded. “I’ve already written you a new prescription that should help ease your pain.” He tapped his pen against the clipboard he held. “In the meantime, dispose of any of the pills you have left.”

  Brad sighed and rocked his head back. He stared at the ceiling momentarily before looking at both Dawn and the doctor. “Thanks.”

  The doctor nodded, while Dawn mouthed, “You’re welcome.”

  As great as he thought Dawn was before, she’d proven it. “I’m ready to go,” Brad said when the doctor was out of earshot.

  “Me too.”

  “Oh, now you admit it.” Brad winked at Dawn before he called out, “Nurse!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’ve been feeling so much better since I switched medication,” Brad said. He stroked Dawn’s fingers with his thumb. They sat on Dawn’s patio enjoying a cool summer’s evening. Brad’s wheelchair remained in the backseat of his Lexus.

  He’d inched toward Dawn’s front door and then into her home using his walker. He could only use it for about twenty minutes at a time before his body felt tired and he had to sit.

  “My PT told me that I have to build up my stamina bit by bit as I regain my balance.” He sipped strawberry lemonade from his glass. Dawn listened as Brad told her all about the session he’d had earlier that day.

  She thought the setting sun colored the sky in hues of orange and red wonderfully. Dawn didn’t feel the need to do anything elaborate with Brad. In fact, she looked forward to their low-key dates more than some of the fancier shindigs she’d attended in the past.

  “You’re doing great.” Dawn plucked two red grapes from her bowl and ate them.

  There was nothing she didn’t like about Brad, despite having met him while he was using a wheelchair. He was intelligent but thoughtful of others, well-off financially but humble, good-looking but even more beautiful inside.

  Brad swatted at a mosquito.

  “Oh, it came over to you, huh?”

  Brad smiled. “Yeah.”

  “You want us to go inside?”

  He nodded.

  Dawn got up and went to open the screen door. She took their glasses inside the kitchen, then came back for her bowl while Brad adjusted the walker in front of his body and stood. He made his way inside.

  Dawn’s back felt a bit sticky after sitting outside. “Let’s go into the living room.” She smiled. “The couch will be more comfortable for you.”

  Brad sat on a ch
air in the kitchen. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

  The whole aspect of watching Brad learn to walk again fascinated Dawn. He stood before she could speak.

  “You know, I’m not actually tired. It’s just that my feet have forgotten how much I weigh. That and standing up—it’s strange but my mind has to reorient itself to walking.”

  They got comfy on the couch next to each other.

  Brad put his hand on Dawn’s thigh. “Come closer.”

  She smiled and scooted over.

  “I guess we can sit here and talk to each other, but I’m tired of talking.” Brad wrapped his strong arms around Dawn. He pulled her toward him gently before they kissed.

  Dawn felt a shiver run down her spine. Brad’s kiss felt warm, passionate, and assured. She found herself smiling and he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

  They discovered each other’s mouths and bodies. Brad wasn’t forbidden fruit like Reginald had been when she’d had the fling. She was free to let her heart love Brad without guilt.

  He rubbed her butt and gave it a firm squeeze. Dawn moved closer to him, wanting more.

  Brad moved his hand up then, around to Dawn’s breasts. He caressed them before pulling her shirt over her head. Dawn stood and took off the jean skirt she wore.

  “You can give me a hand?” Brad asked, smiling. Dawn helped him up and he undressed.

  She admired his body structure—tall, fit, and strong.

  She lay on the couch and he moved on top of her. Dawn shifted her legs to give him easier access to her sugar bowl. She was grateful she’d bought a deluxe living room set. She’d debated whether or not to buy it when she first saw it in a showroom because of the hefty price tag. But she loved the huge beige couch and had fallen asleep on it many times while watching TV.

  Brad’s hand caressed her curvaceous body. Every nerve ending felt sensitive to his touch and anticipation began to build. They switched positions so Dawn was on top.

  Brad’s hand journeyed to her panties then he paused at the hem. “I’m telling you this now because it’s true,” he whispered near her ear. “I love you.” Then his hand passed the border.

  Dawn exhaled. She was shaken by Brad’s admission and soon, by the way his fingers moved. “Hmm,” she moaned, unable to form words. Her breath quickened and she wiggled above Brad’s lengthy body.

  He stopped suddenly.

  “Please don’t stop.”

  “The fabric’s in my way.”

  Dawn hoisted herself off, removed her undergarments, then got back on top of Brad, cradling him with her thighs.

  A slow smile spread across his lips. “This is the best view I’ve had in the longest time.”

  “Is it?” Dawn teased.

  Brad nodded. “Your skin is such a delicious shade of dark chocolate. From the first time I laid my eyes on you, I wanted a lick.

  “Who says dreams don’t come true?”

  Brad chuckled. “Well, darling. It’s time for me to make my dreams of you and me a reality.”

  He sat up as Dawn’s body nestled his. The moon would soon come out, but they were oblivious to the outside world. It was a night of realized dreams, passionate lovemaking, and growing love.

  And when the morning neared, their legs remained intertwined with the rising of a new dawn.

  Epilogue

  The first time Dawn saw Brad walk with a cane, he fell within five minutes. He’d tried to walk faster than his body could handle and lost balance. Dawn laughed but Brad didn’t mind, because he thought it was funny too. She helped him up off the sidewalk and they made their way to Brad’s brother’s place for lunch. His brother lived in a high rise condo and they saw a couple chasing each other across the room in another building.

  Dawn thought it was a sign of hope to witness another couple having a good time, oblivious to observers. She’d been noticing a lot of happy couples. Or maybe she tuned into them more because, for the first time in months, she was happy.

  They’d driven to Brad’s new house afterward and looked at paint colors. Brad wanted Dawn’s input. He’d also told her that he wanted to settle down with her and would wait until she was ready.

  They chose a tranquil shade of bluish-green. That’s how Dawn described the paint color to Brad when she recommended it. That’s how he made her feel in their relationship—calm. She knew she’d make that leap of faith with him.

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  The Rich Housewives of Bon Avenue-Book 1

  Chapter 1

  If Camille Graham had her way, she’d get a remote control for her three kids. It would have numerous functions including: go play, please clean up, go to bed now, lower the volume on the TV, ask Daddy, and the most important button of all−be quiet. As it was, her house was noisy all the time. Her kids were all under the age of twelve, the youngest only five years old.

  Camille stood over the stove in her spacious kitchen. She was wearing a pink cotton bathrobe and sponge rollers in her hair. She was tempted to light a cigarette, but had quit a year ago.

  She was making her husband, Donovan, a breakfast of scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and whole grain pancakes. He’d eat it with little to no syrup, as he was into healthy foods. Not because eating healthy was necessarily good for his body. It was more along the lines that healthy eating helped his appearance. And Donovan was always interested in the appearance of things. Camille was beginning to think she was one of his things.

  Her black hair glistened, even though it was in rollers―the effects of daily vitamin consumption and regular deep conditioning treatments at the hair salon. Anyone could tell that her hair was long by the volume of it perched on top of her head. Underneath her bathrobe, she wore a matching black bra and panty set. She would leave for work after she made breakfast and got dressed. A woman’s work is never done, she thought to herself, sighing.

  Camille already knew she’d wear the gray pencil skirt, white Armani blouse, and gray heels to the office. Every Sunday, she organized her work outfits for the week, ironed them, and placed them back on the hangers, hanging up each outfit in the order she’d wear it. With three kids, a successful plastic surgeon for a husband, and a job that sometimes required ten-hour days, she had to be on point.

  “Hey, baby.” Donovan lightly wrapped his arms around Camille’s waist, giving her a peck on the cheek. Then he went to sit at the breakfast table. She smiled. He was a sexy man and, even after three kids and ten years of marriage, he still turned her on.

  They’d had a fantastic evening the night before, attending a friend’s surprise birthday party. The party was a blast, and they’d taken the care-free vibes of the party home with them. Camille’s mom lived with them and by the time Donovan and her reached home, Grandma had tucked the Grahams in for the night.

  “You’re all set for your big presentation?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Donovan rubbed his hands together. “And that breakfast for champions you’re cooking your man will set me straight for the day. You already know airlines don’t give you good food anymore.”

  Camille nodded. “Everyone’s nickel and diming it these days, I guess.” She shrugged, then filled two plates with food and took one to her husband. She was a woman who didn’t mind catering to her man. And why not? Donovan took good care of his family. The year before, when her dad passed and her mother didn’t want to live alone, he had no problem with Grandma moving into the guest room. “You’re her only kid,” he’d said.

  His empathy for her mother deepened Camille’s love for her husband. She sat down next to him at the table. It was 5:30 a.m. and he’d be leaving soon for a morning flight from Maryland to Detroit, where he was the featured speaker on ‘Breakthrough Procedures in Plastic Surgery.’

  Her mother and the kids were still asleep, leaving Camille and Donovan with valuable c
ouple time. The kettle sang on top of the stove.

  “Chamomile or peppermint tea?” she asked, getting up.

  “Peppermint.” Donovan stuffed a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

  Camille felt contented. The week before, they’d had a ballistic argument after Donovan had suggested she have plastic surgery on her stomach. It wasn’t what it used to be after popping out their kids, all weighing over eight pounds at birth. But Camille wasn’t into the idea, especially since her stomach was reasonably flat.

  There were women at her office with no kids who had more belly to show than she did. Camille felt Donovan’s high expectations of how she should look was a result of his profession. To add insult to injury― because his suggestion was like a slap in her face―he also suggested “maybe a little breast implant.”

  Well, who’d told him to say that? That stupid comment was the trigger that set things off. Camille had roamed around their bedroom. She wanted to know how Donovan dare say those things to her. She had given him three beautiful kids. She was back to a size four, the same size she was when they’d met in college. He’d loved her titties before. All of a sudden, he wanted her C-cup to become DD. “Hell to the nah,” she said.

  It didn’t take long before Donovan had reeled back his suggestions and apologized. Later that evening, she’d come home to find the kids out with Grandma and a four-course meal ready. Donovan wanted to make up. And he was a great cook, but cooking was not something he made time for too often.

  What twelve years with Donovan, including their dating years, had taught Camille was that taking the peace offering and moving on was important to a lasting relationship. So she let the whole plastic surgery suggestion slide.

  Still, happily sitting next to her husband this morning, while he was clearly enjoying his wife’s cooking, there was a slight nick in the back of her mind. She wondered if Donovan seriously thought her body, which he’d always praised, was now flawed in some way. But she didn’t bring up the subject, deciding it was best to leave it alone.