“What do you say?”
“Do you work over all your clients like this?”
“Only the ones named Dana Leigh Meadows.” He brushed a fleeting kiss against her forehead. “Born on February 7.” His cheek settled against her head. “Successor to Meadows Media.”
Choose love. “You know I don’t do anything halfway.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
Dana grabbed Kent’s face and hungrily reached for his mouth. Her imagination of a rekindled kiss couldn’t have been any better than the real thing. He wrenched away from her mouth and delivered wet adulation to her chin and behind her ear, before she launched her counterattack on his lips.
“Let’s sneak away,” Dana coaxed.
“Where to?”
“Follow me.” She led him out the doors leading to the patio. As he helped her over various garden structures, they giggled like drunken college kids—minus the alcohol.
Chapter 11
Dana felt like a schoolgirl bringing home her first boyfriend to meet her mother. Oddly enough, it was the first time that her mother had met a significant other in her life.
“Oh, hello, dear.”
“Hi, Mom.” Dana couldn’t stop her mad giggling. She kept her hand clasped in Kent’s.
“I’m Elaine, Dana’s mom. You are...?”
“Kent Fraser. I’m an executive coach, currently working for Meadows Media.”
“Well, Kent Fraser, good to meet you. Honestly, I haven’t seen my daughter smile like this in a while.” She shook his hand. “I’ve been telling her about mixing pleasure with a touch of business. Didn’t realize that it already was happening. Good for you, sweetheart.”
“Mom!”
Kent had a good laugh at Dana’s expense.
Her mother primped herself in front of the large mirror mounted in the hallway. “Ronald is coming soon. So I won’t be back to cramp your style.” She winked boldly at Kent.
A car horn sounded.
“Let’s do dinner soon. Love you, honey.” Dana’s mother hugged her, then she pushed her daughter away and swept Kent up into a tight embrace.
“Good to meet you, handsome. Love the accent. You should keep it.”
Dana walked with her mother to the door.
“He’s the one, isn’t he?”
Dana shrugged. Not once had she ever confided the intimate details of her life to her mother. She hadn’t ever had so much of a girl-talk moment with her mom. Plus, she didn’t want to jinx anything.
“March to your own beat, love.” Her mom patted her cheek and headed toward the car, where Ronald waited patiently for the colorful character who was her mother. After Elaine said something to him, he emerged and took big long strides toward Dana with arms outstretched. In one giant scoop, he engulfed her in a bear hug and spun her around as if she was a child.
“Proud of you, kid.”
When he was finished, he returned to the car with a satisfied smile on his face at their successful stopover. Dana had stopped reading anything into these drive-by visits. There were no rules about parenting. She had learned to accept what she had, different though it might be. Every time she met her mother and Ronald, she repeated that to herself, hoping one day she’d believe it.
“Are you okay?” Kent came up behind her, molding his body to hers.
Dana shut the door. His closeness, touching his body, having something strong to lean back on, felt good.
“You seem sad.”
She turned to face him. “Not really.” She shook off anything that might resemble close to dreary thoughts that were a downer. “Can we get back to us?”
“As long as there aren’t more Meadows family members about to jump out at me.”
“Can’t promise that. We are a mighty bunch. Actually, it’s my job to bring us all together for Grace’s birthday party in November. Now that is a bigger feat than leading Meadows Media.”
“I’d say that you’re up for either job.” He hoisted her up with his hands, supporting her butt while her legs wrapped around him. “I’d say that the skills are the same.” He peeked around her as he carried her down the hall and up the stairs.
Dana didn’t bother to tell him where to go. There wasn’t much to the house. Eventually he’d find her room in the tiny cottage.
“On the right.” Okay, so she couldn’t wait any longer.
She fell away from him onto the bed as if she was about to make angels in the snow. Unbuttoning her top, she wished that she’d worn a blouse that only needed to be slipped over her head. Instead, she ripped open the shirt, sending the last few buttons flying across the room.
Her bra took less time, but still landed in the growing pile on the floor. For every piece of clothing she stripped off, Kent added one of his own. His latest attempt led to him hopping on one foot as he pulled off his sock.
Dana sat with her knees drawn up. Being the first one naked had its advantages. Watching Kent extricate himself from his socks and other clothing was a lovely sight. His muscles at work, flexing and tightening, were like an art exhibit. She preferred his lean physique rather than thick muscles that other men got from long hours at the gym.
Her admiration also took in his tight backside and taut thigh muscles. It was all she could do not to grab his butt every time he walked past her. She was no expert on the intricacies of the anatomy. But she was darn sure that she knew a top specimen, arousal and all.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Scared?”
“Depends on what you’re going to do?” He playfully shielded his arousal. “You look like you’re going to devour me.”
She beckoned to him with her finger. “I’m ready for lunch.”
“Be careful what you ask for.” His voice dropped low and became velvety-soft.
As he eased onto the bed, straddling her, his body felt poised, ready for liftoff. He continued mounting her until she reclined under him.
Dana boldly rotated her position under his body for their mutual enjoyment. The man was desirable from head to toe. She could never tire of his sexual aura. She wanted to savor every inch of his body.
Before she could begin to pleasure him, his tongue set the pace. Hot and wet, he bathed her clit, titillating the nub until she moaned. While his tongue took point, his fingers flanked her opening to tease her labia into submission. She writhed like a woman glad to be under his power.
Flickers of his tongue softly beat a rhythm between her legs. Whatever carnal call he wanted, she was willing to shout. His tongue circled her entrance, warming it up for later. All her blood rushed to fulfill the call, flooding her nerve endings and sensitive flesh.
Softly she touched him, rubbing his sac and planting her mark of ownership on it with wet kisses. Instantly, his body reacted, tightening under her constant onslaught. While he conquered the apex between her thighs, she promised nothing less as she mercilessly teased his shaft. Kiss after kiss, long languishing licks, and suctioning his tip, she aimed to please.
“I’m going to have a blackout if I’m not in you in the next second.”
“Well, come on, baby. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”
She waited impatiently for Kent to slide on the condom before pulling him down onto her. He hoisted her legs practically to her ears and drove his shaft deep within her. Her moans increased with intermittent calls for a harder pace. He pounded. And she sucked him in. Her walls tightened like a mold along his length. She clenched his butt cheeks, digging in her nails, egging him on.
Deep. Hard. To the point.
She didn’t know who was sweating more. But their friction had reached combustible levels. Their bodies slid across each other. Her breasts crushed against his chest. The heat they generated triggered a current as strong as a riptide
between her legs. No time to think. No time to react.
Her hands gripped the headboard slats. Truly, she felt as if she was floating off the bed. Her equilibrium had malfunctioned. Her body short-circuited. Even her moans had turned into loud cries as she endured repeated spasms of release, in waves of pleasure that were short, long, and anything in between. Her neck arched and she had to close her eyes to keep them from crossing. The man wouldn’t stop to allow her to catch her breath. His tongue played with her nipple as she spilled to the last drop.
Only then did he release. She was too weak to endure his torture again. She’d been drained to within an inch of her life. Standing wasn’t an option. Sitting would require her to be strapped upright to a chair. All she wanted was to bask in the afterglow of phenomenal lovemaking.
Kent whispered in her ear, “Don’t forget our meeting with Grace this afternoon.”
“Hush. Get some rest. I may need one for the road.”
“Your wish is my command.”
* * *
Grace didn’t hide from much in life. That was not a natural trait, she realized, when she bothered to recollect her younger days. Yet now she stood outside the formal living room where Henry and her sister, Jen, were chatting. Grace suspected that her sister was quite aware that she hovered. Jen never failed to share her critical remarks about her sister to whomever, even to Grace’s husband. What could she expect from her older sister who held a grudge for over sixty years, from back when Henry had been her own fiancé?
“Oh, Grace, did you need something?” The maid hovered, eager to be of assistance.
Grace waved away the solicitation, irritated that she’d been involuntarily announced. Pasting on a fake smile, she stepped into the room with a ready greeting for Jen.
Henry was used to his wife’s theatrics and ignored her.
“Grace, I was surprised to hear that you had a reception on behalf of Dana. I wasn’t informed,” Jen remarked.
“Why should you be?”
“The rest of the family does own a sizeable amount of stock. Must I keep reminding you?”
“How could I forget what I gave to the family? What has that got to do with you being informed about the reception?” Grace swept her irritable gaze to Henry. Why didn’t he warn her? Jen always had something to complain about. Lately, she was hell-bent on staying abreast of every move in the company. “I wanted my colleagues to meet Dana.”
“You can’t babysit her forever, you know.”
Grace tried to be patient. Her sister was eighty-four and her mind was fortified with steel. They could fight with the energy of teens. But she didn’t want to fight, especially not about the company or Dana. Her youngest granddaughter was off-limits when it came to family battles.
Jen didn’t heed the no-fly zone. “If Dana isn’t the right one, then pick someone better suited. Your eldest daughter, for instance.”
“Verona?” Grace turned her steely cold gaze on Jen. “What is the point of this conversation? Has Verona said something that should be shared with me?” It killed her to have to ask Jen if her own daughter had come to her. Crossing into each other’s territory had been a constant in their lives.
When it came to Verona, Grace’s sister had gone rogue and corrupted her daughter’s mind against her mother. At age eighteen, Verona had run off to sing with an R&B group—and Jen had helped her. When she returned home, Verona was pregnant, and gave the baby up for adoption. Even though she orchestrated Verona’s eventual marriage to the “respectable” Jasper—with whom she had had Fiona—Grace knew, deep in her heart, that Verona had exacted payback in the most hurtful way.
“She hasn’t said anything. I was just looking out for her concerns.”
“No need,” Grace responded, emphasizing both words with restraint.
Henry cleared his throat. “Jen had a few ideas for your birthday party.” His smile wavered under his wife’s pointed irritation over his efforts.
Grace wasn’t so easily mollified. Tension between the three had overrun the room with swirling hot and fierce emotions.
“I think we should have a movie of the family shown at the party,” Jen suggested.
“That’s an excellent idea,” Henry cheered. He always wanted for her to make up and move on with Jen.
Each time, Grace tried, but Jen’s bitterness and her stubbornness were oil and vinegar to her.
“In order to have a family movie, you have to have a family who would cooperate with it.” Grace pulled at her sleeves and sniffed. She couldn’t guarantee that the family would attend the party, much less go on record to share memories. Every last one of her children had some wound that she supposedly caused or contributed to.
Party or not, she found insincerity or forced exaltations on her behalf repulsive.
“Let me work on it. Please.”
“Many hands...Grace.” Henry wiggled his eyebrows at her, his not-so-discreet sign for her to play nice. Her dear husband was such a pushover. All of his daughters and even the grandchildren had him wrapped around their fingers. Everyone doted on him too much.
She loved his ability to transcend the family wrangling and issue his mantra: everyone must remember they were family. Maybe that reminder was having negative effects on her daughters, who treated each other with mild interest like strangers on the same train.
Grace reminded them, “Dana is spearheading the efforts to get everyone on board. She’s been in touch with her younger cousins. Figured the young people might have the better sense. Maybe you can work with her.”
“That’s an even better idea.” Henry had taken to wiggling his eyebrows at Jen.
Grace coughed to hide her smile at Jen’s discomfort. Her husband wasn’t any better when he realized what he’d done. Was he looking at her for help? Or was he checking to see if she’d caught him? He was too sweet for his own good.
“Was there anything else, Jen? Is everything okay at the house?” Jen had moved into their parents’ home. Well, she never moved out of it. Once they died, she’d taken over the home in a nearby city. Grace didn’t visit much. When she had to, the trip was usually brief.
“I have contractors coming to the house to update a few rooms. Nothing too drastic.”
Grace listened, with half an ear, as Jen detailed the work.
Many times she wished that their relationship wasn’t so strained. All this time certainly hadn’t made water pass under the bridge. For decades, progress had been frozen solid, like ice. Grace would admit that it was understandable, given her actions.
Eloping with Henry sixty years ago had sent shock waves into their universe. The cataclysmic event ripped apart lives, dreams and family.
Jen had been the beauty, the one with promise to be married well and spread their genes. She was the one prepped to be a good doctor’s wife with hundreds of recipes in her arsenal and a figure that was gorgeous and primed for babies.
While nature gifted Jen with all the fine attributes that a young woman of that time needed, the well was all dried up for Grace. Her hair hadn’t grown down to her shoulders. Her features were blunt and wide. Being tall wasn’t too bad, but thinness had never blessed her. Whether she ate a lot or not enough, her limbs remained solid and heavy. Her feet couldn’t seem to stop growing. “Plain Grace” was one of her kinder nicknames.
Her parents didn’t put any stock in her abilities to nab a decent soul. Secretarial school was the plan after high school. After all, what man without major issues would want her? Not even eligible bachelors at church raised a hand to take her to the occasional social function. Her caustic tongue got her in trouble. She couldn’t rely on someone to come and sweep her off her large feet. So, the next best thing was to be able to earn a living. Although her parents undervalued her worth, Grace thought this would be the best medicine for what ailed her.
She went t
o secretarial school, got her skills and a job. Once the money flowed into her hands, she set about gaining her independence. No one noticed or cared about her growing success. At the time, Jen had nabbed a promising pre-med student named Henry Meadows. Their courtship had been vigorously encouraged on a time frame that could give a person whiplash.
Grace had entered college to study business and paid her own way. She spent her time staying out of the fray with her head buried in books. It just so happened that Henry was also looking to escape the whirlwind events that were about to forever change his life.
Several times, they’d bump into each other on the back porch, away from the drama, and head into their soon-to-be private world. He’d commiserate and she’d listen until she felt confident enough to share her opinion.
“Grace?” Henry nudged her back to the conversation.
“I also want to have the garden overhauled.”
“Not a problem.” Grace was curious as to why the major changes, but she didn’t want to show any major interest. Getting into Jen’s business tended to end with accusations tossed at Grace about her intervening and meddling. The routine was that Jen would say what she wanted and Grace would write the check—no questions asked—out of her prolonged sense of guilt.
“I want your party to be held at my house.”
“What?” This was definite cause for Grace to meddle.
Henry interjected, “Jen is planning to invite a lot of guests.”
“Then I want a private party for just the family. Like a breakfast party.”
“What?” Grace rapped her cane on the floor. Words were failing her. She needed her thoughts to settle down and her nerves to do the same. Her mouth worked itself into a straight indomitable line. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not? All you have to do is come and play the queen.” Jen crossed her legs. All this time, nature had still been kind to her, with her good health and her seeming agelessness. Her only bitter regret was that she’d never had children. Although several suitors came over the years, she had found fault with each.
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