Be My Forever

Make It Marriage Book 2

Nia Arthurs

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

BE MY FOREVER

Copyright © 2019 Nia Arthurs

Written by Nia Arthurs

Cover by Oliviaprodesign

(V1)

Also by Nia Arthurs

Caribbean Crush Series

His Exception

Her Deception

The Complication

Grudging Hearts Series

Forever Loving You

Forever Craving You

Forever Claiming You

Make It Marriage Series

Be My Always

Be My Forever

more coming in 2020

Sign up for the Nia Arthurs mailing list

About This Book

- Rule #1 My best friend's kid sister is off limits.

- Rule #2 Refer to the rule above.

- Rule #3 No matter what, don’t even dream about touching Venus.

I know how lucky I am to be an honorary member of my best friend’s family.

It’s just that every time I think about Venus, I start wanting more.

Good thing I’m an expert at keeping my distance.

That is… until danger forces Venus to move in with me.

Now it’s harder to ignore her sweet laugh, her soft brown eyes, her sexy smile

And that moan, the one she makes over my breakfast pancakes—

But I can still keep my hands to myself.

I follow the rules. Draw the line at ‘just friends’.

Then she presses her sweet mouth to mine.

And all those rules turn to dust.

Suddenly, it’s clear.

She’s too damn tempting to resist.

Contents

1. Troy

2. Venus

3. Troy

4. Venus

5. Troy

6. Venus

7. Troy

8. Venus

9. Troy

10. Venus

11. Troy

12. Venus

13. Troy

14. Venus

15. Troy

16. Troy

17. Venus

18. Troy

19. Venus

20. Troy

21. Troy

22. Venus

23. Troy

24. Venus

25. Troy

26. Venus

27. Troy

28. Venus

29. Venus

30. Venus

31. Troy

32. Venus

33. Troy

34. Venus

35. Venus

Epilogue

Be My Darling

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Author’s Note

Stay In Touch

Also by Nia Arthurs

One

Troy

Venus grips the table, hands on either side of the cake. Gold bracelets shimmy to her slim wrist. She’s laughing. Her shoulders shake. Thick curls dance across her back.

Damn, that slinky red dress—the same tint as her reddish-brown hair.

She looks stunning.

More than that.

She’s…

Everything.

My fingers curl into fists.

Nails press into the palm of my flesh.

I let the pain hold, linger. Use it to bury how desperately I want to touch her.

How wrong that feeling is.

How slowly Evan will kill me if he finds out I’m staring at his baby sister with more than friendly affection.

Venus gathers her curly hair with one hand so it’s out of the way. It’s too thick to be tamed. Springy coils pop out of her firm clutch and feather the side of her face.

She bends over. Arches her back.

That thin scrap of fabric—how the hell is that little thing called a dress—shifts.

Plunges.

Lower.

So low her tits are practically hanging out.

I clench my jaw.

Fight the fury crawling over my back.

I sense the shift in the air.

The way the other guys are staring at her.

Drooling over her body.

The way I want to.

Nine times nine is eighty-one. Ten times ten is a hundred…

I thump my finger against the side of my pants as I count in my head. If I don’t get my crap together, I’m going to smash a few skulls. And maybe fracture my knuckles. Can’t head to the studio tomorrow with a cast on my wrist.

Evan grabs Venus and tries to shove her head in the cake.

She smacks him away. Laughs. Realizes her hair isn’t staying still and tosses the mass of it over her other shoulder.

Her smile beams, more brilliant than the eighteen tiny flames above the eighteen sparkling candles.

Her brown eyes lift.

Slam into mine.

A corner of her lips tilt up. Guess what I’m wishing for?

She’s flirting with me.

Or maybe I’m so desperate I’m seeing what I want.

Either way, nothing’s happening.

But if it did…

She’s legal.

It would be legal.

To date her. To long for her.

She’s been a dirty temptation until now, but today these feelings are…

Well, I can’t say they’re squeaky clean.

They’re not.

Never were.

The things I want to do to her…

Damn, what am I thinking?

Venus is too precious.

So’s her family—Evan, Mrs. G, Papi.

I have no one else.

They’re the only people I’ve got.

The only family who cares.

I’m not going there.

Even if her lips make my body throb as they part, ever-so-slightly, to blow out the candles.

Even if her eyes catch mine when she straightens. I just wished for you to take me upstairs.

My heart thunders in my ears.

Not. Happening.

Applause and cheers break out.

Venus is pulled into the arms of some jock with a huge head and a crew cut.

I bristle.

Evan frowns. He doesn’t like the guy either—for slightly different reasons than me—but Venus told him to take his concern and shove it. She and Jock Guy have been dating on-again, off-again for the past two years.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough.” Evan succeeds in prying the teenager, whose eyes are gleaming with lust—evidence in his pants to prove it—away from Venus.

I’m glad he stepped in because I was two-seconds away from taking care of the problem myself and I wouldn’t have been that gentle.

My scowl deepens.

Venus can’t stay single for a day without those over-sized, hormonal man-babies sniffing around her. Touching her. Wanting her.

And I get it.

I do.

She’s beautiful. Kind. Smart. Funny. And innocent… but in a way that begs to be soiled.

Like right now…

She’s looking at me again. Thick eyelashes flutter. Up. Down. A slender finger—pink nails flashing tiny diamond studs—slips into the cake. An upward thrust gathers white frosting on the tip.

She pulls it out. Licks it gently. Her eyelids fall together as she lets out a soft, little moan.

My body buzzes.

My veins hum with desire.

I hate the distance.

Hate the fact that she’s on the other side of the table.

I’m desperate to be closer.

Desperate to show her what I can do with my tongue.

See her tremble.

Hear her moan for me…

See, this is why I shouldn’t have come.

Eleven times eleven is one twenty-one. Twelve times twelve is one forty-four.

It’s not working.

Air. I need air.

While Evan scolds his sister for putting her hands in the cake and she sassily snaps back that it’s her cake and she can do whatever the hell she wants with it, I head outside.

Mrs. G stops me halfway, her dark hands filled with plastic plates and a pack of forks wedged into the crook of her arm. An offer to help springs to my tongue, but I swallow it back.

I’m getting out.

Going back in will result in me doing something stupid.

Like striding right past her mother, her brother and everybody… and sucking the frosting off Venus’s perfect, Cupid’s-bow lips.

“T, where are you going?” Mrs. G slants me a concerned look. “Don’t you want to taste the cake?”

I do, but not off a freaking plate.

“Need to make a call.” I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and wave it in her face as evidence.

“The gallery?”

“Yeah.” The lie falls uncertainly off my lips.

She nods. Stares at me like a proud mama bear. “I’m so glad people are recognizing your talent, T. It’s about damn time.”

I force a smile. Gesture to the door.

“Oh, right.” She giggles and walks past me to set the plates on the table.

I keep going. Right through the front door. Out. Past the stoop. Straight onto the basketball court.

This place is like home to me. My only constant in a world that kept spinning out of control.

I played ball like hell here, sweat dripping down my face and into my eyes.

I got my knees, arms, and elbows bruised.

Got it patched up—Mrs. G crooning about how I should be more careful.

Papi cheering for me and then equally for Evan from the porch.

Venus waddling away from her Barbie dolls to hog the ball and demand we include her.

Back in those days, she was just Evan’s little sister.

His annoying kid sister.

The one we complained about constantly.

The one we hid from so we didn’t have to deal with her.

We grew up and she was still that little kid to me.

Six months ago, things started to change.

No… ‘started to’ makes it sound gradual.

It wasn’t.

Things shifted in a second.

A snap.

Like I got whacked in the head and wires in my brain fell out of place, nerves got jostled and suddenly, Venus Miller was a woman.

A woman I wanted so badly it hurt to breathe.

She’s taken over everything—even this sacred place where I used to shoot hoops for hours until the world made sense.

Now, when I close my eyes, I see her here. The grown up version. Sitting on the whicker patio sofa. Foot tapping to the Vybz Cartel song in her headphones. Textbook in her hands. Wide smile stretching her cheeks.

I shake my head.

Try to dislodge the memories.

I need the old Troy back—the one who’d be utterly disgusted by any sexual thoughts towards Evan’s kid sister.

I need a way to get Venus out of my head.

But I’m running out of ideas. I’ve tried school, work, plowing through women, taking a break from plowing through women.

It all goes to hell when I see the little twinkle of mischief in her brown eyes. The way the light glistens against her brown skin. The wide lips, that coy, come and get me hair toss. Like she knows how badly I want my hands in her hair and my lips crushing hers.

The screen door slaps. “Hey.”

I turn. Face Venus. “Hey.”

She approaches me, her stride long and confident. Once she’s a couple inches away, she stops and cocks her hip. There’s something in her eyes. Boldness. Like she knows how badly I want her. Like she’s about to drag me to the tool shed, roll that dress up her thighs and beg me to take her.

I take a step back instead.

I don’t need this.

I can’t handle this.

“Mom told me to bring you cake.”

My eyes bounce to her empty hands. Back to her eyes. “Where’s the cake?”

“Get it yourself.”

“You came all the way out here just to say that?”

She takes a step forward. “Had to prove a point.”

“You should be a lawyer.”

“I hate courtrooms.”

“But you like winning arguments.”

She flashes a soft grin. Doesn’t bother denying it.

Truth is, I have no idea what Venus will be. She’s crazy talented, crazy smart… boy crazy.

“There’s something I need to ask you.”

My hands tremble. Kiss me, Troy.

Be my first, Troy.

My pants tighten.

My fingers, my lips, my tongue—every inch of my body wants to be her first.

Fourteen times fourteen is one ninety-six. Fifteen times fifteen is two twenty-five.

“Where’s my gift?” She cups her hands and lifts them. Head tilted up, she blinks innocently.

“Your gift?”

“Evan said you got paid for that art exhibit. And I already checked in the gift pile. Your gift’s not there.”

An easy grin twitches my lips.

That’s so… Venus. Her ability to piece things together is uncanny.

“What if I said I got you nothing?”

“Liar.” She surges forward. Her hands flutter around my pants.

Close.

Way too close.

I snag her arms, bind them behind her back, and tug her against my chest.

It’s a bad move. Touching her like this.

I can hear her breath thickening. Feel her body trembling. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Eyes darken. I’m almost certain touching me is having the same effect on her.

Damn. I need to go home. Need a cold shower. Maybe a thousand.

She tosses her hair. It tickles my chin. Peering at me from the corner of her eye, she whispers, “I felt it.”

My heart freezes.

No, she didn’t…

Not…

“There’s a box in your left pocket.”

I push her away.

She stumbles. Gains her balance quickly. Moves into my personal space again. “Give it to me.”

“So impatient.” I huff. Dig into my pocket. Hand it over just to get her off my scent, out of my space, before she decides to touch me again and really feels the effect she has on me.

Venus opens the box and gasps. “Troy…” She pulls out the necklace. It’s gold. Dainty. In the shape of a sun. Inside, it’s got a marble painting of the planet Venus. I did the artwork myself. Took me weeks to get the colors and texture right. She won’t see it unless she looks.

So she probably won’t ever see it.

And that suits me just fine.

Knowing it’s there. Knowing a little piece of my heart will be hanging over hers—is enough.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes. Turns. Sweeps her hair off her neck. “Put it on.”

I clear my throat. Push her away. “Ask Evan later.”

There’s no saving Venus from my filthy thoughts if I touch her again. No holding me back if I feather her hair to the side, wrap my arms around her chest, and lean in to grab that tiny clasp.

Her eyes narrow in annoyance.

I pissed her off.

Not my intention, but it’s for the best.

To keep my distance.

To keep my place in this family that accepted me when I had nowhere else to turn.

The door opens. Jock Guy stands, bracketed in the light. “Venus, what’s taking so long?”

“I’ll be right there.”

He keeps standing in the doorway. Staring at me. Hands on his hips. Eyes boring into my back like he can read every dirty thought in my head and wants to clobber me for it.

Venus lifts a hand at him. “Just give me a minute, Bruce.”

His name is Bruce? Wow.

Bruce grudgingly steps back and closes the door.

Venus turns to me. Her eyes are gleaming. “It’s my birthday.”

“I know.”

“It’s my birthday, Troy.” She says it again like it’s supposed to mean something. Like I’m supposed to do something.

I’m just barely restraining myself right now.

What the hell does she expect from me?

Venus shakes her head. Steps forward. “Don’t move.”

I look down at her. At the determination in her eyes.

She grabs my chin. Her fingers dig into my jaw.

The wind picks up. Tugs my too-long hair and bats it around my forehead.

Venus pulls my head down and presses a long, lingering kiss on my cheek. The slight dampness of her mouth sizzles against the heat of my skin. Maroon-painted lips graze over my stubble as she takes her sweet, slow time pulling back.

Her flowery fragrance surrounds me.

Her eyes are closed.

My heart is pounding against my chest.

It’s the most sensual cheek kiss in the history of humanity.

“Happy birthday to me,” she murmurs.

“Venus…”

“Thanks for the necklace.” She holds the box high and struts back to the house.

I watch her hair swish from side to side. Watch the gentle sway of her hips.

That dress…

Damn.

This won’t work.

I need Venus Miller out of my head.

Two

Venus

Eight Years Later

“How are you still Cupid?”

Kayla glances up at me as the door smashes against the wall of her office. She’s got her glasses on the tip of her nose and a not this again expression on her face.

I stomp into the room. Flop into her couch. “I paired Holly and Rasheed this week. Victor and Amy last month. Haus and Amanda. Frederick and Lucy. I’m on fire. How are you still Cupid?”

“Venus, take deep breaths.”

I narrow my eyes at her here kitty, kitty tone. “You’re distracted. You share a bed with a super hot, super ripped billionaire who’s blowing your mind every night. If there’s any time to dethrone you, it’s now.”

“Huh.” Kayla smirks. “Plotting against me?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Nice to know what you’ve been doing.”

“Well, I know what you’ve been doing…” I arch an eyebrow.

Kayla blushes. She’s got light brown skin that exposes every thought in her head and this time I can tell she’s thinking of Brendon Humes—corporate heir and her outrageously doting boyfriend—naked.

“Or I should say who you’re doing.”

She waves away my teasing with a hand. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

“About Brendon?” I ease to the edge of my seat. “If you’ve got details, feel free to share.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not Brendon. I’m talking about work.”

I groan in disappointment. “Tease.”

She pretends not to hear me. “It’s not just the quantity of matches that count.”

“Then what?” I huff. These past few weeks, I’ve been schmoozing my butt off, helping clients, recruiting new ones and doing everything I can to force Make It Marriage HQ to acknowledge my greatness.

I’ve heard nothing from up top.

Zero.

Zip.

It’s like a conspiracy against me.

“It’s not quantity, it’s quality.”

“Quality?” I flick a curl out of my eyes. “Who determines the quality of our matches? We treat everyone as equal whether they’re black, white, rich or poor. It’s why I signed on to this gig.”

“True, but the high-profile cases…” She lets her words drift. Stares at me like I’m expected to piece the puzzle together.

And I do.

My lips part with a gasp. “Normal people. I’ve only been matching regular, everyday folks.”

“You want attention?” She snaps her fingers. “Recruit and match someone high-profile. It’s free advertisement. Corporate loves the attention and the good press. Wala.”

I smack my forehead. “It’s been staring me in the face all this time.”

Kayla shrugs, eyes sparkling.

It’s good to see her doing that.

Sparkle.

She used to have a thing for power blazers and pitiful, woe-is-me, the-world-sucks expressions.

Now, well… she still rocks power suits, but it’s not armor. It’s just a fashion choice.

And I like that.

I like when women express themselves however the hell they want.

I don’t like being passed over by said woman in the purple power suit when I’ve worked my butt off.

“But where am I going to find someone high-profile?”

“I thought you had a few high-profile guys on speed dial? Ask one of them.”

“They don’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because?” She eyes me. “They’re eligible men, aren’t they?”

“Yes, I’ve confirmed that.”

“You’ve con—” Kayla frowns. “How?”

“What?”

“You’ve…” She makes a motion with her hands. Clicks her teeth together. “You know?”

“Yeah.”

“All of them?”

I think about it. Nod again.

“Oh?”

“But they’re itch-scratchers.”

Kayla snorts. “Itch-scratchers.”

“Great in the bedroom. Not so great in relationships.”

“Wow.”

There’s no judgment there.

Well, maybe a little.

Kayla tries, but she doesn’t understand me. The restlessness I feel. The chaos in my head. No one got it. No one could quiet the noise.

Except…

I huff. Drum my fingers against the arm of the chair. My nails make a skittering sound against the fabric. I got them done yesterday. In pastel blue. Goes amazing against my cocoa-complexion. Balances the red in the undertones of my skin.

“What about that guy?”

“What guy?”

Kayla taps her silver nails on the desk. “The one you recruited years ago when you first joined the agency. The one who’s a famous painter now.”

My body stiffens.

My heart beats out of time.

“What’s his name?” Kayla murmurs. Tilts her head down. Dark hair flows to the shiny surface of her desk.

Troy.

“Troy.” She snaps her fingers. “You said he’s like a brother to you.”

Lies. He’s not my freaking brother.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“He’s already engaged,” I whisper. Spit the words out. They’re bitter against my tongue.

“Oh. Bummer.”

She has no idea.

I push up, out of the chair. “I’ll handle it myself.”

“Are you upset?”

“No.” I realize how brusque I sound and soften my voice. “Thanks for the tip.”

“If you need help, I can ask Brendon if any of his friends—”

“Save it. I’ll beat you on my own.”

“I’m rooting for you.” Kayla pumps her fist and slants me a sincere, enthusiastic smile.

Yeah, she will.

Freaking sweetheart.

I slink back to the office I used to share with Hilary—who up and got married last year (little backstabber)—and lock the door behind me. Free from prying eyes, I let out a breath and wilt.

Troy.

Just thinking about him tears me up inside.

Those dark eyes. That brown hair. The rugged jaw. Those soft lips—

I’m not doing this.

Not today. Not ever.

I’m over him.

And, clearly, I wasn’t someone he needed to get over.

Troy moved halfway across the country after my eighteenth birthday and rarely spoke to me after.

I saw him once… at Papi’s funeral.

And again, last year when he announced that he was engaged to some trust fund baby with an appreciation for the arts.

Yeah right.

I googled her. Stalked her Insta and YouTube channel. It was all Gucci this and Prada that and look at me I’m so beautiful.

She doesn’t have a sensitive bone in her body.

Appreciation for the arts my backside.

The only thing Brook Van-Strusser has appreciation for is Troy’s—

My phone buzzes.

It’s my brother.

EVAN: Ma said stop by the house.

ME: I’m busy.

EVAN: She said you tried that excuse last time.

ME: Not an excuse. It’s the truth.

I chew on a nail.

My chest feels like someone is sticking their hand in and churning through blood, vessels and arteries.

Troy does this to me.

I slap my chest.

The phone chirps.

EVAN: Your funeral.

I sigh loudly.

My brother’s annoying, but he’s not wrong.

No one gets summoned by Mom, ignores it and lives to tell the tale.

I haven’t seen my family in a while.

It’s not that I’m avoiding them.

Okay, so we live in the same city and I rarely point my Uber driver to the suburb where I grew up, but that’s not on purpose. I just…

Things are different now. Mom and I have never seen eye-to-eye, but it got worse when Papi died. My grandfather was the only adult who shot straight with me.

No matter what I did, he never jumped on the Venus is a Screw Up wagon.

After his funeral, I couldn’t bring myself to come around the house anymore. It hurt too much. I missed him.

Still do.

EVAN: Why haven’t you been answering my calls?

I trot around to my desk and fold myself into the chair.

My phone buzzes again.

EVAN: I’ve got news.

Since I’m not in the mood to work, I humor him and dial up his number.

Evan answers on the first ring. “She’s alive.”

“Very funny, Evander.”

My brother groans.

I grin triumphantly. Mom loved ancient history and mythology growing up. She chose Venus—after the goddess and Evan, short for Evander—a cultural hero in Roman mythology.

Growing up, Evan hated his full name. It got so bad, he printed letters every year to remind his teachers that he preferred the shortened version.

I think the animosity towards his name is stupid. ‘Evander’ sounds cool, but it comes in handy when I’m on ‘annoying little sister’ duty. Helps me put him in his place without much effort.

“Keep talking smack and I won’t tell you the news.”

“What news?” I plant my palm on the desk and swing my chair around.

Make it Marriage is located in an old business district. Mom-and-pop shops flood the streets. Skyscrapers pepper the horizon, but colorful fabric awnings hover nearby like a warm blanket.

“It’s about Troy.”

I freeze.

The air gets hot. Heavy. Smothering.

The phone almost slips from my fingers.

Why is this man’s name popping up everywhere today?

I clear my throat. Hope my voice doesn’t give my feelings away when I say, “What about Troy?”

“He’s coming back.”

“Back?” I slam my heels into the ground just as my heart slams against my ribs.

“Back home.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“Why?”

“That—I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

My eyes squeeze closed. “Is he… already married?”

“No.” A pause. “I really shouldn’t be doing this.” Evan sucks in a deep breath.

My knee jitters. “What? Evander? Just freaking tell me.”

“Evan.”

“Evan.”

“Now say ‘Evan is my hero’.”

“I’m not saying that.”

The phone rustles.

“Tell me.”

“She broke off the engagement.”

The floor falls away beneath my feet.

Evan sighs. “Troy’s wedding is cancelled.”

Three

Troy

I tug my shirt over my head. Drop it to the ground. Listen to the fabric pool in satisfaction.

Brook used to hate that. Used to yell at me—‘why can’t you put your damn clothes in the hamper like a normal human being?’

But Brook’s not here.

So I drop my shirt on the floor like a freaking animal.

It feels good.

Feels way too good.

To the point I’m wondering what I was doing with her for so long. What I was doing proposing to her. What I was doing getting married to her.

I knew we weren’t that compatible, but she was freaking gorgeous and the sex…

Lust clouded my judgment.

My bare feet pull against the warm, hardwood floors.

Another thing Brook would have complained about.

She liked tiles. Marble. Glass. Granite.

No hardwood.

It was too… warm.

Too… earthy.

She preferred cold and uncomfortable furniture. Stiff couches. White rugs. Pretty to look at, not so satisfying to touch.

I toss my bag on the couch. The rest of my stuff will be here later, but I’ve got enough essentials to take a shower.

I need one.

I’ve been sweating all day. Moving. Making calls.

Starting over is a lot more hectic than I thought it would be.

But in some ways, it’s easier.

Or maybe it’s where I’m starting over.

Back home.

People that I love all around.

Venus’s face comes to mind.

I shake my head. Push it off. It’s been eight years.

Things have changed.

I’ve changed.

Whatever obsession I had with her back then is gone now, tamed by my maturity and life experience.

I hop in the shower. The water’s warm.

I tilt my head. Let the stream gently massage my neck and shoulders. Close my eyes.

There’s a picture on the back of my eyelids. Brook under some guy on the bed—our bed. The pure Egyptian cotton sheets pulled to her chest. Sky-blue eyes sliding to the ground.

She got caught.

Bareback.

Red-handed.

Embarrassing.

For me.

I’d known she was acting shady, but I shrugged the feelings off. I believed her when she said he was just a friend. When the texts rolled in at three a.m. and she swore it was spam.

I’m an idiot.

At least I got out before we got married.

That would have been a disaster. Chained to her in the eyes of the law. A messy divorce. A public laughing stock.

I shudder to think of it and grab the soap to get my mind off it.

After my shower, I wrap a towel around my waist. Cinch it firm. Head outside with a hand fluffing my hair and the other browsing my cell for a text from Evan.

He said he’d stop by after work.

Hope he gets here soon.

I’m in the mood for a drink.

Catching up with my best friend is long over-due. We’ve kept in touch, but the visits cross-country weren’t as often as either of us would like.

I take another step.

Stop short when I hear a soft, feminine gasp.

My eyes barrel up.

Right into a pair of deep brown irises.

My heart jumps to my throat.

I’ve got to be dreaming.

That can’t be…

It’s… Venus.

I blink a couple times, but she’s still there. Staring at me.

She looks different in person.

Not that the pictures I happened to peek at over the years weren’t gorgeous.

But up close…

Some things haven’t changed. Same warm brown skin with red undertones. Same mischievous twinkle in her eyes. Same lips. Cupid’s bow—thick at the top, full at the bottom.

Damn, those lips.

I lick my own, a desperate attempt to calm down.

Her reddish-brown hair looks softer. Longer.

My fingers twitch. The old urge to run my fingers through her curls is still there, still alive and kicking.

Venus tilts her head. Her lips inch upward as the awkwardness of the moment tinges with something else. “You work out?”

“What?”

She juts her chin forward. “You’re jacked. You didn’t used to…” She stops. Shakes her head. “Wow.”

I stare at her.

My heart’s beating like crazy.

Blood’s rushing south fast.

I scramble to make sense of Venus. Here. In my house.

While I’m naked.

I shuffle back. “What are you doing here?”

Brown eyes slam into me. “Heard you got dumped.”

“What?” My eyebrows hike.

“Evan told me the wedding’s off.”

My eyebrows scrunch. I told Evan the wedding was canceled, not who called it off. The bastard assumed.

Not that I’ll be correcting the assumption.

Brook begged me to keep her cheating a secret. Claimed it would ‘ruin her image’.

And I know she’s all about appearances.

I shake my head. Focus on Venus. “How’d you get in?”

“Front door was unlocked.” She steps closer. The scent of her—something light and flowery—messes with my head. Makes my stomach tighten. Makes my heart flutter.

It’s still happening.

She still gets me light-headed.

Damn.

I take another step back.

There’s only a towel between her and what my body wants to do.

More space.

I need…

“Welcome home, Troy,” she says.

I stop and stare at her.

She blinks thick eyelashes. Watches me with a small, uncertain smile. “I missed you.”

Damn. That look. Those eyes.

Nothing’s changed.

Nothing’s freaking changed for me.

But there’s no way in hell I’m entertaining thoughts of sleeping with Venus Miller.

She may be gorgeous. Dark eyes. Long legs. And—

Not helping.

Clothes. I need to take her clothes off… no, put mine on.

I need clothes on.

Talking to her naked isn’t helping.

And if she sees what’s going on under this towel…

I’m like a teenager again.

Can’t even control myself.

It’s freaking pathetic.

I’m thirty-three years old. I built a graphic design business from scratch. I’m an acclaimed painter with work featured in art galleries all over the country. I’ve fallen in love. Proposed. Gotten cheated on.

Life’s slapped me in the face more times than I can count.

I’m old enough to know better.

I’m not giving in to the spell of the little girl who used to put make-up on me.

“I’ll, uh…” I swallow. Clear my throat. “Give me a minute.”

“Wait.” She surges forward. Touches my arm.

It’s a slight graze, but it sends warning bells stampeding through my body.

Five times five is twenty-five.

Damn. Do I really need to resort to this again?

Venus slants a lock of curly hair behind her ear. “Can I get a hug?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

No. The answer is hell to the no.

For obvious reasons.

I’m naked.

She’s hot.

Eight years and I’m still mind-blisteringly attracted to her.

She’s my best friend’s treasured sister.

“I…” My body cuts in. Yes. Hold her. Take her clothes off. See what’s under that sexy little mini-skirt.

Lord no.

“I’m wet.”

“I don’t care.” She waits for some other objection.

I have none. Too busy wrangling the swirling thoughts in my head.

Venus takes that as a sign of consent. Surges forward. Wraps her arms around me. Her hands slip against my side. Gather together at my back. Pull me closer.

So close I’m sure she can tell I’m not impervious to her presence.

And I’m not.

Not now.

Not eight years ago.

She feels so freaking perfect. So soft against me. Or maybe that’s because my body’s so hard.

Blood pumps faster in my veins.

This is wrong.

So wrong.

She’s…

I fist my hands at my side to keep them from sliding up her skirt. She’s doing this because she trusts me. She trusts me not to fling her against a wall, pin her there with my hip and thrust her panties to her ankles.

Even buck-naked, she trusts me not to touch her.

To treat her like a sister.

To respect her.

Even when the thoughts veering through my head are doused in so much filth they’d be blurred if filmed on screen.

So I hold still.

I don’t touch her because if I do…

Yeah, I don’t touch her.

But I’m aware of every inch of her body. Her chest scraping against mine. Her toes straining on the tips as she rises to reach me. The strain it must be causing on her calves.

My body throbs.

It’s too much.

She’s… too…

I want her.

So I push her gently away and check the front door to make sure the coast is clear. If Venus snuck in, Evan can too and if my best friend finds me embracing his kid sister like this, staring at her like this…

Venus’s arms return to her side. Her body shuffles away from mine.

I’m still buzzing everywhere.

My body’s still tuned to her, still rushing from every place she brushed.

It was a hug, not a freaking orgy.

Even if I’m naked, it’s not that big a deal.

I’ve done worse.

Much worse.

With more women.

Why am I so breathless?

“You smell good.” She chuckles hesitantly. Backs away a step. “You look good.” She moves back again. “From what Evan tells me, your business is doing good.”

I don’t know what to say. Her tone has shifted from admiring to thoughtful. Like we’ve transitioned from reunited friends to a police inspection.

“What?”

Brown eyes flit up. “You still want marriage?”

“Huh?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.” I run a hand through my hair. A wife. A family—one that’s way less jacked up than mine—it’s been the dream since… forever.

She jabs her chin down like she just came to some grand conclusion. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She lets out a deep breath. Meets my eyes. “I need a favor.”

I tilt my head. Anything.

Years ago, there was nothing Venus asked that I didn’t deliver. She had me wrapped around her little finger way before she had me panting for her touch.

“Meet me for coffee tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she turns and stops at the door, “I’m going to find you a wife.”

Four

Venus

I’m going to find you a wife.

No. I haven’t gone crazy. And it’s not some ploy to get under his pants—or towel, as the case may be.

I’m not the wife Troy’s going to marry.

Even if I wanted to.

And I don’t.

I’m not delusional.

Desperate? Maybe.

I’ll give you that.

But those feelings aren’t something I can control.

The moment I saw Troy, I wanted to touch him.

Instantly.

Like my body had been waiting for that moment, holding it’s breath for that moment, since… forever.

The thought of not putting my hands on him almost tore me to pieces. So I gave in to it. I pressed myself to that big, muscular body and soaked him in like the first drop of rain after a drought.

I rasped my hands along the smooth skin of his back. Felt the plains of hard muscle and bone beneath my fingertips. Inhaled the scent of brown orange body gel and something else. Something pure Troy.

I welcomed him home.

As a friend.

Just a friend.

And that’s all we’ll ever be. All Troy will ever allow.

That unreciprocated hug told me more than a thousand rejections. The moment I wrapped my arms around him, Troy fisted his hands at his sides and held himself so stiffly I thought he’d break in half if I squeezed him any harder.

I wanted to cling to him and all he wanted to do was shrug me off.

Even now, eight years later, Troy doesn’t see me as a woman.

And that’s fine.

Whatever.

Do I look like I care?

I’m grown and over my schoolgirl crush.

Now, I’m a matchmaker on a mission.

My mind thumbs through the eligible, high profile females in the system as I hustle down the street.

Judy Carter?

She’s a media darling. Charity worker. Daughter of a Supreme Court judge.

I imagine her standing next to Troy. Smiling up at him for the cameras.

Nah…

My heels click against concrete.

Winter Quan?

She’s the C.E.O. of her own luxury pajamas company. Really bright and chatty. She’d get Troy’s passion for both business and the arts. They’d really click.

But just as friends.

My skirt slaps my thighs.

I peek over my shoulder. My eyes graze the stop sign. The trees bending over a fence. A bird skittering by a lamppost. The feathery creature’s twittering breaks the silence.

I’m alone.

Troy isn’t coming after me.

Not that I expect him to. He’s probably still frozen in the middle of his living room, a gorgeous statue, deliciously naked except for that towel, dark hair limp and clumping on his forehead, water dripping down his abs to his—

Ahem.

Business.

This is just business.

And if I get to spend a little more time around Troy while I fix him up with his future wife, well, it can’t hurt.

A dog barks in a neighbor’s yard. The sun is beating down on me. I stick the flat of my hand against my forehead for shade and hustle down the street.

Familiar landmarks catch my eye. The Jamaican restaurant Mom ordered from almost exclusively when we immigrated here. The liquor store. The park where Troy and Evan played ball with the other neighborhood guys on Sundays.

Sometimes, after their game, Troy would push me on the swings.

I’d laugh and scream ‘higher’.

He always made me soar.

Well, not always.

At first he and Evan used to run away from me, but I was persistent if nothing else. Mom was on my side back then. She forced Evan to take me along wherever he went.

Eventually, they tolerated me.

But Troy…

He was always kind, even when he was annoyed.

Those deep, dark eyes always made me feel… important. Like I—we were the best things to ever happen to him.

And he was the best thing that ever happened to me.

Shoving the memories away, I turn the bend. A familiar bungalow squats at the opposite end of the street. Whipping back around, I mentally measure the distance between Troy’s place and my old home.

Troy moved close to Mom’s.

That proximity is on purpose. He’s been a part of my family since… well, as long as I can remember.

It’s why his abrupt decision to leave after my eighteenth birthday made no sense.

And… also why I tried to fight my feelings like mad when I first fell for him.

If he were any other guy, I wouldn’t have cared that he was eight years older or that he saw me as just a kid. I would have done everything in my power to change his mind.

But Troy’s…

He’s so important.

It wasn’t worth the risk or the damage it would do to the dynamic between us all. And losing us… it would have ruined him.

The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt my first love.

So I held it in as best as I could.

I did a damn good job.

Troy still has no idea how I feel—I mean felt, past tense.

And, as long as I’m living, it’s going to stay that way.

* * *

The porch creaks as I mount the wooden steps. Hibiscus plants bloom in earthen pots next to the door. The flowers grow abundantly in Belize and the first thing Mom did when we moved to America was plant them.

The screen door is locked so I pound on it with my knuckles. “Ma!”

Shuffling sounds.

A moment later, the door bursts open. An object—that looks suspiciously like a slipper—hurls past my head.

My life flashes before my eyes.

I feel the gust of wind as it shoots by my face and lands on the second step with a thud. Mom meant for that to miss. There’s no way I would have dodged the missile if she intended for it to smack me.

“Glad to know you’re not dead.”

“Was the shoe necessary, Ma?” I sigh and step into the house.

Dark eyes narrow on me. “You disappeared for weeks without so much as a text. I should have done worse.”

“I’ve been…”

“Busy.” She rolls her eyes, which is an art form for Caribbean women. “Too busy selling women to their sugar daddies?”

Here we go again. “Mom, that’s not what our agency—we don’t sell women. We match like-minded people with their soul mates. We’re not johns. We don’t ‘pimp’. Not unless you call arranging a meeting between a sweet teacher and a shy hedge fund manager to talk about their hopes and dreams… ‘pimping’.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “You know exactly who’s paying for these services. It’s all shady. Don’t try to pretty it up.”

“Mom…”

She flaps her T-shirt like she’s trying to cool down. “I spent so much money on that damn Economics degree and you’re letting it go to waste.” Mom paces to the left. “Do you know how expensive college tuition is?”

“Yes.” She never lets me forget it.

“Then at the very least, you should have become a doctor like your brother.”

At the very least… “Mom, you can’t just become a doctor.”

“You’re smart enough to.”

“Medicine isn’t my passion.”

“And pimping is?”

“Matchmaking. It’s called matchmaking.”

She shakes her head. “It’s called Letting My College Degree Go To Waste.”

I rub my forehead. She doesn’t understand. She never understands. “See, this is why I—”

Mom’s huff of disappointment cuts me off. “What?” She plants her hands on her wide hips. “That’s why you moved out?”

Yes. “No. Of course not.”

“It’s what you were going to say.” She points an accusing finger.

I bite down on my lip to keep my temper in check. With gritted teeth, I ask, “What did you summon me for?”

Mom goes quiet.

“What, Mom?” I let the frustration seep into my voice.

She fiddles with a lock of her short, straight hair. Despite the shedding, the breakage and the dryness it’s caused, Mom’s dedication to relaxers is rock-solid. One of our major arguments when I was a teen was my decision to wear my hair natural.

‘Feggy’ was what my mother called my natural hair in Creole.

‘Crazy’ was what she called it around non-Caribbean company.

“Did you eat?”

I stare at her.

“Did you?”

“Only breakfast,” I mumble.

“You always do this, Venus. Do you think you’ll blow up like me if you eat three meals a day?” She gestures to her substantial girth. Dark eyes narrow. “I made your favorite. White rice and stew beans with fried fish. Eat.”

My stomach grumbles.

Mom’s got supernatural hearing because a corner of her lips tilts up in victory. “Don’t bother telling me you’re hungry or busy.”

“I wasn’t.”

She snorts yeah right.

I follow Mom to the kitchen. The smell of authentic Caribbean cooking unfurls around me, dragging me back to my childhood. I don’t remember much about Belize, weirdly. But I do remember how much I enjoyed the food.

Mom darts around, filling a large plate with rice and beans for me.

I watch her, my elbow slipping against the plastic covering the small dining room table. She puts her all into plating my food, as if she’s been waiting for this moment since we last saw each other.

Warmth spreads in my chest. We don’t really get along—our personalities just don’t mix well, but I’ve never doubted for one second that my mother loves me.

Not one.

It’s just… I can’t live with her.

Mom sets the plate in front of me and I dig in. The beans are soft and flavorful. Practically melt against my mouth. Ecstasy.

I groan in pleasure. So good.

Mom taps her blunt, brown fingers on the table. They’ve got callouses and wrinkles. The hands of a woman who did manual labor for twenty-five years to achieve the American dream.

“Troy’s here,” she blurts.

I almost choke on a fish bone.

Mom hands me a glass of water, which is blurry thanks to the tears in my eyes. “Ma!” I choke.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head.

“We’re having family dinner next weekend.” She slants me a be there or die look. “Family. Meaning everyone. I don’t want to hear that you’re busy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” My mind whirs.

So… my brother knew Troy was here.

Mom knew too.

The fork clinks against the plate.

The only person Troy didn’t talk to was me.

Five

Troy

I talk Evan into meeting me at the park. His lab coat flutters against his brown skin. Underneath the coat, he’s in a button-down shirt and pressed black pants.

At least he’s wearing sneakers.

Evan follows my line of sight and smirks at his shoes. When he glances back up, his eyes are mischievous.

The same twinkle Venus has.

Not that they look extremely similar.

My best friend has darker skin and broader features.

But the eyes are the same.

Evan grins, his lips stretching across his face. “I would’ve kicked your butt in Crocs too. Don’t worry.”

I scoff and toss him the ball.

He catches it soundly. Bounces it on the concrete with one hand. Shrugs out of his white coat with the other.

The sun lowers in the sky.

Kids move in and out of the playground.

It all fades to background noise.

Nothing outside this game, outside this court and this basketball hoop exists.

I win the first round.

Evan’s stubbornness forces us to play a second.

Then a third. Then a fourth.

The sun sets.

The streetlights flick on.

Evan heaves a breath and grabs his kneecaps. “Damn, Troy. You’ve been prepping for the NBA or something?”

“Or something.” When Brook and I used to argue, instead of raging on her, I let my frustration out on the court. Towards the end, I spent most of my free time perfecting my three-pointer.

Evan shoots me a look. A brotherly, concerned you’re freaking me out, man look. The one he used to give me back when we were kids.

The one he gave me the day we first met.

“You have any lunch, New Guy?”

“No. And piss off.”

“Shut up. No one tells me when to take a piss. Now here, Mom made too much rice and beans. Take some of mine.”

“Troy?”

“Water?” I divert his attention. Shake the memories off.

Evan pants hell yeah.

I gesture to the duffel I brought with me.

Evan trudges to the bleachers.

I turn the ball in my hands. Adjust my body in line with the hoop. Bend my knees. Aim. Let the ball drift from my fingers.

Swoosh.

Perfect.

Nothing but net.

Evan’s dark eyes flit to mine. He grips the water bottle in his taunt fingers. “You want to talk?”

“About?”

“Why you’re flogging my behind your first day back?”

I scowl not really.

But Evan doesn’t care.

He guzzles the water. Wipes the little bit that dribbles on his chin with the back of his hand. “Let me guess. Brook?”

No. Venus.

I suck in a deep breath.

Shrug one shoulder in a loose, I don’t give a damn gesture.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You just attacked the court like it stole your girl. That’s not the sign of someone with a balanced and healthy mindset.”

“Didn’t know you studied psychology.”

The snark fails to get Evan off my back.

“So you got dumped?”

I freaking didn’t. “Ev…”

“Everyone’s been heartbroken at one point or another.”

Sure.

“There’s plenty of fish in the sea.”

Yeah.

True.

But there’s only one fish with reddish-brown hair that frizzes and curls however the hell it wants to. Only one with bright, come and get me eyes and a soft mouth just begging to be kissed.

Only one Venus.

Damn.

I rake my fingers through my hair. Scrape my nails against my scalp. Squeeze my eyes shut.

Please. Please. Just get out of my head.

Evan stares at me. A stunned chuckle skitters past his lips. “Oh.”

“Oh?” I stop. Arch an eyebrow.

“You’re still not over her.”

“Her?”

“Brook.”

Venus.

My lips purse.

I can’t exactly tell him that. I can’t swagger over to Evan and admit, ‘I saw your sister today. She still makes my blood boil the way she did eight years ago. Remember then? When she was eighteen? Barely legal?’

Evan grabs the edge of the bench. “You know, women can be tricky…”

“I don’t need a lecture.”

“You should go after what you want.”

“Damn, Evan. Shut up.” I stalk over and snatch the water bottle from him. The water’s cool. I can feel it going down my throat and pooling in my chest.

“And she’s gorgeous.”

She is.

My mind trails back to that tiny skirt Venus was wearing when she stormed in today.

“A woman like that, you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off.”

“Sounds like you want her.”

He slants me a glare. “Don’t be stupid. I’m trying to see things from your perspective. Showing you why you shouldn’t give up.” He sulks as if deeply offended. “Even if I was single, I’d never take my best friend’s girl. It’s against bro-code.”

“Ev, we’re over-thirty.”

“Bro-code doesn’t have an expiration date.”

I kind of wish it did. Lusting after my best friend’s little sister is against bro-code too. If he and Brook get together, maybe I can guilt-trip him into letting me and Venus…

The hell is wrong with me?

“Just throw her over your shoulder and remind her why she fell in love with you. What’s so hard about that?”

He wouldn’t be this encouraging if he knew who I wanted to throw over my shoulder.

Damn. I can’t imagine the fall-out if Evan even suspects that I’m into Venus.

“You were engaged for a while,” he says.

I groan.

When will the conversation end?

Evan’s gotten chattier with old age.

“A hundred bucks says she’s not over you. Just find the problem and fix it. Moping doesn’t go well with your complexion.”

In spite of my inner turmoil, warmth hits my chest. That’s a running joke in the family.

Over twenty years ago, I showed up at Mrs. G’s house with bruises no one else could see. Evan’s mother fed me, took care of me and insisted that I smile. ‘Smiling goes better with your complexion,’ she’d say.

It used to make me feel so important. Loved. Seen.

Then I grew up and realized almost everyone looks better when they smile. It still brings back good memories though.

"And if that doesn’t work out?”

“I’ll ask Venus to set you up with someone nice.”

I stiffen. “Did you two plan that?”

“Huh?”

“Venus stopped by the house today.”

“I know. I gave her the address.”

I easily ignore the fact that Evan gave Venus my address without asking. We’re family in his eyes. There’s nothing we need to hide. No reason Venus can’t walk into my house while I’m in nothing but a towel.

“So what did she want when you saw her?” he asks.

Me. My arms around her. My body pressing her into the bed.

Wishful thinking.

Stupid thinking.

I stare at my black shoes instead. “She offered to”—I cough because it’s so ridiculous—“find me a wife.”

“Figured.”

“You figured?”

Evan bobs his head. “Setting people up is all she thinks about.” He frowns darkly. “Well, when she’s not messing with jerks.”

“Messing with?”

“Screwing.”

We both scowl at the same time.

“Anyway, she’s good at what she does and she’s gunning for a promotion at work. Said she needed to match ‘high-profile’ clients to get it. The kid practically squealed when she heard your wedding was off.”

“Wow.”

Evan squirms at my expression. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s not happy you’re miserable. She’s just… she’s Venus.”

She’s Venus.

Some things never change.

I leave Evan and head back home with that phrase running through my head.

Some things never change.

Like the park where we played ball every Sunday.

Like the quiet in this tiny neighborhood.

Like the love that ties this family to me—Mrs. G as my stand-in mother; Evan as my blood brother, the man I’d follow to my death, and Venus…

She’s my…

Damn.

I can’t say sister.

I freaking won’t.

The house is still.

I don’t bother turning on the lights. If I do, the moment I do, I’ll see Venus standing there, smirk on her lips, sweet voice crooning, “Welcome home, Troy.”

I block the thought.

I take firm steps to my room.

Push the door into the frame.

Grab my headphones, blast my best tortured rock music, pull the easel out of the corner and try to lose myself in the blank canvas before me.

Art is more than my career.

It’s my release.

I find my identity, my peace, when my fingers are speckled with paint and the chaos moves from my head to a canvas.

There’s just me and the paint and the music.

With this brush in my hand, I know what I’m doing. I’m in control. There’s nothing in my mind but the next stroke. No doubts, no fears, not my mom’s windy voice or my own self-loathing.

It’s all about the art itself. The mark I’m leaving on the world. Something that will stay behind long after I’m gone.

It’s a trance. It holds me in its lock for hours or minutes. I’m not sure. Time doesn’t matter here.

There’s a chirp.

My phone.

Probably Evan offering more unwanted advice.

I set the brush down.

Step back.

Study what I’ve done.

Something heavy hits my chest. My pulse picks up at an alarming rate.

There’s the outline of a woman on my canvas.

Not just any woman.

It’s Venus.

Six

Venus

My phone is blowing up with texts from Evan.

EVAN: Find another project.

EVAN: It’s too complicated. Even for you.

EVAN: He’s still hung up on his fiancée.

EVAN: It’s a waste of time.

ME: I’m still going to help him.

EVAN: You just want a promotion.

ME: It’s a win-win.

EVAN: No, it’s not. He’s into Brook. You’ll lose.

ME: That a challenge?

EVAN: I’m worried about both of you.

ME: I’m your sister. You should only care about me.

EVAN: Don’t do it, V.

ME: I haven’t yet.

EVAN: But you will.

ME: How do you know?

EVAN: Because you convinced me to sign up and I wasn’t even looking for a relationship.

ME: You and Corrine are perfect together.

EVAN: Not the point.

Ah… sweet, sweet Corrine.

If not for me, she never would have found my dork of a brother and fallen in love with him.

And it almost didn’t happen.

My brother fought me tooth and nail, refusing to admit he needed or wanted expert help with his love life, but I wore him down—I’m starting to think of persistence as my superpower—and fed his name into the Make It Marriage database.

Three months later, Kayla introduced him to Corrine. They hit it off and have been together ever since.

He still hasn’t thanked me for that.

EVAN: There are surgeons at the hospital. I’ll hook you up.

ME: Did Troy tell you he was hung up on Brook?

EVAN: Lots of options. Women love doctors, right?

ME: Enough about the surgeons. Tell me about Troy.

EVAN: It was all over his face.

EVAN: The guy’s got it bad.

ME: I don’t care.

EVAN: You’re making a big mistake.

ME: My favorite kind.

EVAN: Promise you won’t come crying to me when things don’t work out the way you want.

ME: I won’t.

EVAN: You will.

ME: It’s what big brothers are for.

EVAN: You’re annoying.

ME: That’s what little sisters are for.

EVAN: I’m serious. Promise you won’t get hurt.

My breath hitches in my throat.

I can picture my brother now—dark hands gripping his phone, thick wrinkle between his bushy eyebrows, teeth snagging on his bottom lip.

Does he know about my old crush?

I rub my forehead and cringe.

Why else would he say that?

But he never mentioned it before, not even to tease me.

I thought…

ME: Don’t worry. I’m over it. Troy’s just a client.

EVAN: Promise me, V.

I suck in a deep breath.

My brother’s concern is a tad over-done.

But sweet.

I purse my lips. Lift my phone. Mouth the words as I type. “Promise.”

* * *

There’s a knock on my front door.

Muting the television, I push off the couch. “Who is it?”

No answer.

I frown and tiptoe to the door. Pressing close, I peer through the peephole.

Nothing.

Weird.

I start to turn away, but a niggling feeling in my chest tells me to check properly.

The door creaks as it opens further.

I poke my head out. Look to the left and right.

The light in the hallway is dim.

Shadows sneer at me, but there’s no one outside.

Goosebumps climb my skin.

I push the sensation back with sheer will and allow my rational side to take the driver’s seat. Maybe I misheard. Maybe it’s a prank. Either way, I’m safer inside than out here.

I pull back and start to close the door when something small and yellow catches my eye. It’s stuck to the surface of the door, right under the peephole.

My brows furrow.

I lean out further and grab the end of it.

It’s a sticky note.

I pry it off with trembling fingers. Hold it up to the light. Study the surface.

It’s crumpled. Like someone held it tightly in their fist before smoothing it out on the door. Black words crawl over the paper. Small, cramped and nearly unreadable.

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

You have one week.

The hell?

I turn the paper to the back.

Nothing.

Study the front again.

Huh?

I tap my foot on the floor and puzzle through the message. Tell the truth?

To whom?

About what?

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

You have one week.

Was this meant for me? Maybe the sender got his or her apartment numbers mixed up.

And what if they didn’t?

Then…

I don’t know.

Is this some kind of threat? I run through a mental checklist of people who’d try to scare me.

No one jumps out.

I’m selective about who I invite into my life, and especially who I invite into my bed. It can’t be anyone in my circle or in my little black book.

So could it be a client? I roll through the list. No one I matched or failed to match would level threats and even if they did, they’d never resort to something as rudimentary as a sticky note.

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

You have one week.

My head starts to ache.

No way was this meant for me.

It’s utter nonsense.

I crumple the note and stick it in the trash.

Closing my door, I lock it securely and return to my room.

The silence is extra loud.

Anxiety skitters up my back.

I glance over my shoulder, suddenly uncomfortable in my own house.

Tell the truth.

I grab my headphones and drown myself in dancehall music to chase away the fear. Shaggy’s voice croons in my ear, calling me his darling angel. I close my eyes and I’m on a beach somewhere, coconut trees blowing in the breeze and the Caribbean Sea lapping at the sand.

I fall on top of the bed and pretend nothing else matters.

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

My eyes pop open.

You have one week.

What’ll happen when that deadline is up?

I wrench the headphones off. Glance around the apartment. “I’m not scared.” I tell the shadows outside my room. “You don’t scare—”

Something rings.

I scream like a banshee, my tongue curling and my voice yodeling like a Swiss monk.

Then I stop.

Realize it’s my phone.

My heart’s beating a mile a minute.

So much for playing it cool.

Smashing my lips together, I grab the cell.

Glance at the screen.

It’s Troy.

Shooting straight up, I clear my throat. There’s no way I’ll let him hear how freaked out I am.

Troy was even worse than Evan when it came to Over-protective Older Brother duty. I don’t need to give him any more reasons to see me as a kid who’s frightened of her own shadow.

I pause my music and answer his call. “Hello.”

“Hey.” His voice is like candy to my ears. The tension in my shoulders and back release almost immediately.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

My lips purse. “I think we’ve greeted each other sufficiently. You mind getting to the point?”

He chuckles.

My fingers tighten into fists on top of my thigh. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Something.”

He pauses. I can hear him breathing on the other end of the line.

I grip the phone tighter. My pulse slows until I’m breathing in time with him.

In. Out.

It’s ten times more calming than Shaggy. And I freaking love Shaggy’s music.

“Troy,” I pull the phone closer, “tell me.”

“You’re still…”

“What?”

“Venus.”

My breath hitches. “Is that your version of a compliment?”

“It is.”

“Tell me more.”

“Well,” his voice takes on a warm, toasty timber, “I would, but I didn’t call to stroke your ego.”

I melt in my blankets. Just hearing his voice is stroking me in other, more glorious ways. “Wuss.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“You thought I got nicer with age?”

“One can hope.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re not a disappointment, Venus,” he says in that quiet, thoughtful way. “Never.”

My eyes squeeze shut.

You’re not a disappointment.

That simple affirmation warms me everywhere. It’s like liquid comfort pouring over my body, seeping through my pores. Down to my soul.

He always knows what to say.

It’s why I can’t get over him. He makes it so damn hard.

Does he know?

Does he know what he does to me?

Get yourself together, Venus.

It’s been eight years. I’m the only one he didn’t bother calling when he moved to town, yet here I am, melting all over again.

Why am I so pathetic?

Troy coughs and, when he speaks again, it’s with a distant tone. “I wanted to discuss what you said earlier at the house.”

My body goes rigid. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Troy…”

“I appreciate the thought, Venus. I do, but I’m not looking for—”

A scratching sound grabs my attention.

Fear strikes my heart.

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

Is someone trying to get in?

I rise from bed.

My knees are shaking.

The darkness outside my bedroom looks thick and evil.

“Venus?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Uh…?” My throat goes dry.

The scratching gets louder.

I ease out into the hallway and move toward the kitchen.

I’m empty-handed.

Maybe I should grab a baseball bat or something.

“Hey.” Troy’s voice in my ear gives me courage. If I get knocked out, he’ll probably notice the sudden silence and rush over. Right? “V, what’s going on?”

I lean over the sink and catch a glimpse of a shadow outside my window.

“Troy…” My voice wobbles.

“What?”

A face flashes. It’s dark brown with green eyes and whiskers.

I jump back and cover my mouth.

The animal meows.

It’s a cat.

I almost peed my pants over a feline.

“I’m here.” I rub my forehead.

The threat’s gone, but I still feel like I’m about to get pounced on.

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

“Sorry, I just… something scared me.”

Silence again.

Troy’s voice deepens. “You don’t scare easy.”

“I’m fine.” My voice cracks.

“Are you?”

I cringe. Guess I wasn’t very believable.

“Talk to me,” he says in a firm, I’m about to knock somebody out if I don’t get answers tone.

“I’m just tired,” I lie.

“Venus—”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” I hang up before he can reply.

My stomach churns.

I flip on all the lights in the house before returning to my bedroom.

You should have told him about the note.

But then… what? Troy would have swooped in and done the big brother routine while I sat back and bit my nails, once again reinforcing his opinion of me and my immaturity.

I set my phone down and turn my attention to writing a report on my most recent client.

I’m a grown woman dammit!

I can vanquish the Boogeymen—real or imagined—on my own.

Seven

Troy

The dial tone blasts in my ears.

I stare at the phone with a frown. “Did she just hang up on me?”

The screen goes blank.

Silence rings loud and accusing.

I set my cell down and glare at the easel. It’s empty. I took the canvas with Venus’s image and locked it away with all the others.

I probably shouldn’t keep it.

Probably shouldn’t keep any of them.

They’re evidence of my obsession. Would be better to burn it. A ritual cleansing. An exorcism, if you will. Something to get Venus’s haunting beauty out of my head.

But I just can’t bring myself to do it.

Not in the mood to paint, I grab my tablet and it’s accompanying pencil, hoping to do some work for my graphic design business.

As I put the tip of the pencil to the screen, my thoughts veer to my phone call with Venus. I can’t shake this uneasy feeling in my chest.

Her voice during that call—

The way her breath had thickened—

It’s probably nothing.

I ease back into the sofa and smear an azure blue shade across the white digital square.

I’m sure I don’t have to worry.

Everything’s fine.

It’s not my concern if it isn’t.

Yet somehow, I find myself heading to my room for a rumpled pair of jeans.

Then I’m grabbing my keys and wallet.

After that, I’m heading to my attached garage.

This is stupid, I think as I jump into the car.

You’re overreacting, is what flies through my mind when I pull up in front of Venus’s apartment twenty minutes later.

She’ll tell you to mind your own business.

A valid point.

And an instruction she used to yell at me a lot—peppered with her own brand of creative curses—back when I’d out her for sneaking off to parties at one in the morning.

Don’t, Troy.

I push my car door open.

Turn back.

I take the stairs.

The next thing I know, I’m standing in front of Venus’s door.

Half of me has no idea what I’m doing, and the other half…

The lower half.

It’s insistent on seeing Venus.

Not a good sign.

When it comes to that woman, I try to ignore the lower half of me. Most of the time, it works. I’m not held ransom by the member in my pants. There’s such a thing as self-control, rational thought, and common sense.

Still, Venus’s voice over the phone…

Something’s wrong.

I need to see her.

Whether it’s the ‘I taught this girl to drive’ side or the ‘I want this woman in my bed’ side of me, I can’t ignore the pull.

But I should.

My fingers curl into fists.

I poise my knuckles over the door.

A little further…

Damn.

I yank my hand back. Shake my arm out at my sides.

What the hell am I doing?

Venus didn’t ask to see me. She doesn’t want me butting into her life. After eight years, I barely have a right to be in it.

Leave now while she’s still clueless.

I have no business playing with fire when there’s an easel in my bedroom filled with the outline of her gorgeous face.

Lines. Boundaries. Freaking Great Wall of China. I need it now.

My eyes glance up at the lights on the ceiling. One buzzes. Another flickers. They need to be replaced. The strange, greenish glow casts everything in an eerie sheen like the lighting for a horror movie.

I pull my hoodie over my head. Tomorrow, I’m calling Venus’s building manager and launching an official complaint.

If he doesn’t change the lights, I will.

A door opens behind me.

The sound creaks loudly in the nighttime silence.

I take a step away from Venus’s door.

“Hey, you!” A voice croaks. “I warned you. If I catch you lurking around again, I won’t let it slide.”

I stop and look over my shoulder, an eyebrow arched.

There’s a scrawny older woman with big brown eyes and rollers in her hair staring back at me. She’s got a plastic bag clutched in her claw-like hands and a fierce look on her face.

“Ma’am?” I spin completely around.

She leans back. Fidgets for the glasses strung on beads resting on her sagging chest. Once the glasses are balanced on the bridge of her nose, she studies me like she’s peering through a smeary telescope. “Oh.”

I tilt my head.

“Are you…” she looks me up and down, “a friend of Venus?”

“More like family.” Sort of.

“Is that so?” She hefts bony shoulders. “My bad.”

“No need to apologize.”

“It’s these darn glasses. I took you for someone else.”

“Who?” A boyfriend? My hands fist at my sides. “Has someone been hanging around Venus recently?” I try to keep my voice casual, but the neighbor’s got sharp ears.

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Her next look is pointed. Why should I trust you?

I raise my hands. “I’m a friend.”

“You said you were family.”

“Family friend.”

“Got a picture?” Her voice is raspy, like she smokes a couple packs before breakfast.

“Of us?” I fiddle around for my phone.

She waves a hand. Forget it. The glasses chain rattles against her pointed cheekbones as she waddles toward me. “It’s about time I let someone know.”

My heart thuds. “Know… what?”

“Twice this week, I came out to toss my trash and saw someone staring at her door”—she points to Venus’s apartment—“without moving.”

Something eerie creeps up my skin. “They were just staring?”

“Yeah. Like they wanted to go in but didn’t have the guts.”

“Did they know you were watching?”

“Not the first time, but the second…” She nods.

“That’s when you warned them not to come again?”

“Because it was creepy. Last thing I need to see late at night is someone acting weird in this damn hallway.” She shakes her head. “Stupid lights keep flickering. Makes me feel like I’m in one of those Friday the 13th movies.” She plants her hands on her hips. “And you know black folks are always the first to go in those movies.”

I pin my lips together. “Did you get a look at the guy’s face?”

“Unfortunately, I didn’t see a face.” She shrugs. “He was covered up from head to toe. Black hoodie. Baggy jeans. Motorcycle gloves.”

“Motorcycle gloves?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“And he was a good runner.”

“Anything else?”

She clears her throat. “That’s all I can remember.”

“Have you told Venus?”

“I said I would, but I forgot.” She stares sheepishly at the floor.

Irritation seeps into my voice. “You forgot? What if—” someone’s after her. The thought sickens me. I finish lamely. “She should know.”

“Thing is, we don’t really talk and I don’t want to get in her business if he’s some kind of suitor. You understand? I didn’t mean any harm.”

I nod. It’s annoying, but I get it.

“He’s not”—she rubs her hands together, leans closer—“I don’t have to be concerned, right? All he did was stare at the door and then leave. She’s not in any trouble, is she?”

There’s no clear answer to that question, so I just nod to her trash bags. “Would you like me to take those out for you? Spare you the trip?”

“Would you? The dumpster’s in the alley on the right side of the building.” She shoves the bags over as if she’s been waiting for this offer all day. Fluttering her eyelashes, she sighs. “I’m sure Venus has nothing to worry about with such a handsome man by her side.”

I force a smile and offer my business card. “Let me know if you see anything else.”

“I will.” She waves.

My fingers tighten over the bags.

I press my lips together.

My footsteps thump against the ground.

Anger tightens my veins with every step.

If some creep is targeting Venus…

I head down the stairs and leave through the front door.

He’s been staring at her door late at night.

My feet thump against concrete.

Whatever his intentions, it pisses me off.

I turn the bend.

Am I overreacting? It could be the neighbor is misunderstanding the situation. She admitted to not wearing her glasses and not seeing the guy clearly. It could be Evan for all we know.

Don’t be ridiculous. What the hell would Evan be staring at her door for? He’d just go in.

Good point.

But the alternative makes me want to whisk Venus into a tower and lock her up.

Not that she’d stay there long.

If I know her, she’d find a way to escape.

The woman would make a terrible prisoner.

I notice the dumpsters shoved against the brick wall on the side of the building. The alley is cast in shadows. The streetlamp around the bend barely sheds any light here.

I slide my hands beneath the lid and toss the trash. Just as I’m about to slam the lid closed, something glints in the darkness.

I push the lid back before it closes and peer inside.

There’s a knife on top of the trash.

My breath thickens.

Under the knife is a pair of brand new motorcycle gloves.

Eight

Venus

Usually, I love going to work. Today, it’s a drain. The greetings of my co-workers fly way over my head. All my thoughts are churning around my neighbor’s words when she caught me before heading to work this morning.

'Someone’s been staring at your apartment at night.’

A shudder works its way up my spine.

The note dances through my mind.

Tell the truth and shame the devil. You have one week.

The message is carved in my brain.

No. I’m not doing this.

Some random weirdo isn’t going to get the best of me.

It’s a new day.

The sun is shining.

I can see all the shadows and they’re hiding nothing.

Harmless.

A joke.

It’s time to earn my promotion and move on with my life.

Emphasis on life.

No axe murder is waiting in the wings.

I’m not being stalked.

It’s all just a misunderstanding.

My phone brightens with a message.

TROY: Where should we meet?

“Crap. Troy!” I slap a palm to my forehead.

After my neighbor’s unsettling revelation this morning, I completely forgot about him.

Okay, that’s not exactly true.

I can’t forget about Troy. It’s not humanly possible. But he did get buried beneath the panic for a while.

ME: There’s a café next to my work.

A knock jerks my head up.

The door eases open and Kayla slides in.

I sit straighter in my seat, stunned to see her. I’m usually the one who sneaks into her office and bothers her, not the other way around.

Kayla nods hello. Motions to the chair.

I gesture go ahead.

She takes a seat and studies my face with her sharp brown eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She smirks.

“What?” I peer at her. The sunlight dances over her brown skin. The woman is glowing. I’m instantly jealous. “Did something good happen?”

“No, I’m just… happy.”

I grin wickedly. “Because of Brendon and his big—”

“Venus.” She slants me a look.

I shrug. “I was going to say bank account.”

Kayla rolls her eyes. “That is so not what you were about to say.”

I force another smile. Try to make this one genuine.

I can do this.

I can act like the past twelve-hours never happened.

No one’s been staring at my door.

No one posted a weirdly worded note talking about truths and devils.

I can make dumb jokes.

Business as usual.

“I bet Brendon would give me details if I asked.”

“If he were that type of guy, I never would have fallen for him.”

“True. He’s obnoxiously in love with you.”

“I know.” She giggles.

I smile along. For real this time.

In this line of work, it’s easy to act like happily ever afters are a dime-a-dozen. But the truth is, falling in love is the easy part. Staying in love is what requires hard work—from both parties.

It’s a relief to know that Kayla’s found someone willing to go the distance for her. It’s what she deserves.

“So,” I lean back in my seat, “what brings you to my humble office?”

“I came to give you this.” She pulls a folder from her purse.

“What is it?”

Kayla slaps it on my desk. “Files from the vault.” She arches an eyebrow. “Our top tier clients.”

“You’re kidding.” My jaw slacks.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

“Never.”

“I figured you could use a leg up.”

I glance at her face. “Love’s turned you into a total wuss.”

“Should I take it back then?” She starts to pull the file across the desk.

“No.” I scramble for it. “But I didn’t need your help. I’m already working on Troy.”

“The famous painter. Nice. I looked him up yesterday. He’s hot.” Her skin turns red. “And I’m saying that as a purely platonic and uninterested observer.”

“Hear hear.” I knock my fist on the desk.

This is why I’m friends with Kayla.

Woman has good taste.

“Are you sure you can work with him though?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“He’s exactly your type.”

My brows shoot high.

She tilts her head. “You told me your dream guy was tall and strong with eyes that scream broken soul and paint on his fingers. Pretty much describes Troy, doesn’t it?”

I snort. Try to play it off. “Because he’s a painter?”

“Because he’s Troy. There’s something in his expression. Something that makes you want to give him a hug.”

“He’s had a hard life,” I admit, thinking of his mother. As much as I enjoyed having Troy around growing up, I knew every time he was with my family instead of his own, things were bad.

Troy only acted strong and unaffected.

Inside, his heart broke every time Leena let him down.

Which was often.

And then she died and left him.

Even if she wasn’t a good mother, she was all he had.

It’s a wonder Troy turned out so decent given the crap he’s been through.

“Hey.” Kayla raps her knuckles on the table.

I jerk my head up.

She stares me right in the eyes. As if she knows. As if she sees something I don’t. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course.”

“But—”

“What?”

Kayla winces. “Nothing.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” I toss my hair over my shoulder. “But it’s not a possibility. I do have some standards you know. I never sleep with clients. Ever.”

Though a few have been interested.

And I mostly flag those men as incompatible with the program.

I draw the line at messing with men I’m supposed to match. Make It Marriage is my dream job. I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.

Not even if the man on the other side of my desk is Troy.

“Okay.”

“I’m meeting Troy later.”

Kayla returns to the couch. “Think it’ll be easy?”

“To match him? Of course. I already have someone in mind. Someone from our regular files. Charisma Ellington. She’s a former ballerina.”

“Not to match him. To convince him.” She smirks. “With looks like that, it’ll be easy to find a woman willing to patch up his broken heart. He’ll probably hit it off with any woman.”

My stomach drops.

My throat tightens.

I have to watch Troy with other women. Which is fine.

But watching him date and touch her? Having to listen as he tells me all about falling in love with someone else?

Get yourself together, Venus.

This is freaking happening.

I’m the one who’s setting him up.

I need to grow a pair. There’s no way I’ll get through this if I fall apart at the start.

I clear my throat. “I’m pretty sure he’ll agree to whatever I say.“

“Someone’s cocky.”

“Trust me.” He’s the least of my problems.

I bite down on my bottom lip as the yellow note shoves its way into my mind.

Shame the devil…

Kayla’s expression shifts. A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows. “You look worried. Is everything okay?”

I drop my fingers to the desk.

Tap.

Should I tell her about the note and the fact that someone’s in love with my apartment door?

Tap.

But what can Kayla do? It’s not like she’s the police.

Tap.

Should I go to the police? What do I tell them? ‘Hi, someone left a vague and obscure note on my door and they stand in my hallway at night? I’m scared. Arrest everyone?’

Not a very strong way to build a case.

“It’s fine.” I shrug off my unease. “I’m just… eager to get to work.”

“Guess that’s my cue.” She stands with a sigh. Her blazer tapers softly to her waist. She shakes her hair back with a gentle toss of her head. “Let me know if you need my help.”

“I’ve got it. But thanks.”

She nods and leaves.

As soon as the door closes, I collapse against my desk.

Breathe in.

Out.

Try to find the peace in the chaos like the yoga instructor from my first and last session at the community center instructed.

Inhale.

The yellow sticky note flashes in my mind.

Exhale.

Troy dating some other woman…

My eyes pop open.

New plan.

I ignore both problems until I can’t anymore.

Good thing I have a full schedule this morning.

* * *

By the time I’m done with my last consultation, I realize I’m going to be late for my meeting with Troy.

Thankfully, the café’s right next-door.

I head outside and slip my shades on.

Even with all the crap going on, I’m unnaturally giddy.

Because of Troy.

It’s been years since we’ve sat and talked—just the two of us.

I look forward to catching up with him.

Just seeing his face.

Being in his company.

I missed him.

He’s always been my…

The hair on the back of my neck stands to attention.

I stop.

Turn around.

The sidewalk isn’t very crowded. My eyes scan the perimeter for anything out of order.

There’s nothing.

Weird. It felt like someone was watching me.

“Don’t be so paranoid, Venus,” I mumble to myself. Straightening my shoulders, I strut to the coffee shop.

As I draw near, I catch sight of Troy. It’s hard to miss him. He’s tall. Italian-supermodel handsome. Right now, he’s got his face tilted toward the sky and the sunlight bathes his skin in gold.

My fingers tighten in my skirt.

The beat of my heart skitters louder than my heels hitting the sidewalk.

Forget this.

If I have to choose between a weird stalker and letting Troy go, I’ll choose the stalker.

Every. Single. Time.

Nine

Troy

The sky is blue. The wind is gentle. The sun shines brightly, warming my face.

It’s a gorgeous day.

Picture perfect.

I take a moment.

Stand on the sidewalk.

Suck in a breath.

I missed this place. Everything about it. The weather. The people. The community. All those years growing up, bouncing from one place to the next, nowhere felt like home ‘till Mom and I stumbled here.

Leaving eight years ago broke my heart.

But I made it.

Now, I’m back.

A different man.

One people look in the eyes.

One they respect.

It was something the fourteen-year-old me could only dream about. ‘Guy from the wrong side of the tracks makes his triumphant return’. It’s every bit as glorious as I imagined.

It’d be perfect.

If not for Venus’s nighttime admirer and the knife I found in the dumpster.

“You shooting an ad or something?” a voice chimes.

I drop my chin. Notice Venus standing to my left. A wry grin flirts with her plump mouth, lips painted a brilliant shade of red. Her hair is parted at the side and sweeps across her forehead.

My eyes slowly fall down her neck to her blouse—that’s open one button too far—the checkered skirt and the knee-high boots.

She looks like a naughty, sexy student.

Which isn’t something I should be thinking given our history.

My history.

My darkness.

The feelings I have but would be crazy to act upon.

She steps forward. Tilts her head so her curls fall the other way. Well?

Sunlight glitters in her eyes. Golden rays point to the skin peeking out from the open collar of her shirt.

Just one look at her chest is all it takes for my engines to rev all the way up.

Since when did Venus look so damn sexy?

Pushing away my attraction, I fill my tone with annoyance. “I was waiting for you.” I check my watch. Tap my shoes against the pavement. They’re worn. Paint speckled. I didn’t dress up for her. I made a conscious effort not to. “You’re ten minutes late.”

“Sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“I got caught up.”

“With what?”

Her eyes skitter. “Work stuff.”

“You could have sent me a text.”

“I rushed here instead.”

“Late.”

“Yup.”

“You work right next door, Venus.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She tosses her hair dismissively. “You can punish me later.”

You can punish me…

My body tightens. An image of Venus over my lap, receiving that punishment, parades through my mind.

Six times six is thirty six.

“Let’s head inside. I need coffee and not that tragic, mud water that Kayla makes.” Venus nods to the door. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” I’m ready. I can have a decent conversation with Venus without picturing her naked. I can make it through this small meeting without looking like an idiot.

Grabbing the door from her, I hold it open so she can pass through.

Venus shoots me a look. I opened it for you.

I shrug. Too bad.

It’s not a diss. She’s a lady and I’m a gentleman.

Doors get opened by me. Period.

Venus slides by with a huff.

Inside, the café’s painted blue with lots of white frames. Plastic snowflakes dangle from the ceiling. Tiny lights wind around the front counter. We’re hit with an immediate blast of cold air and the rich scent of coffee.

My eyes dart to Venus who wraps her arms around herself. She notices me looking and chuckles self-consciously. “Wrong day to wear silk.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks as she shivers. Silk isn’t the problem. The woman’s barely wearing anything.

“Here.” I shrug out of my hoodie and drop it roughly over her shoulders.

She looks up at me with a smile that almost knocks my heart straight out of my ribs. “Thanks, Troy.”

Someone’s trying to kill her.

The phrase slams me back to reality. Does a better job than multiplication ever could.

I glance away and nod to the short line in front of the counter. “Over there.”

We get in line.

She’s in front of me. Close enough that the fabric of the jacket brushes against my chest. Close enough that her flower fragrance winds around me.

The thump of my heart is louder than the pop-rock music in the background.

My body’s already on high alert, straining toward her.

Must have Venus.

She flips her head around. Curls fly with the movement, softly caressing the underside of my chin. “Troy.”

“Yeah?” My voice is husky. I can’t help it. Can’t help how crazy she makes me, even if I know it’s wrong.

“I’m sorry.” She bites down on her bottom lip. Staring at them is torture. She glances up, her gaze demanding my attention. “For being late. I know you’re busy too.”

It’s such a mature thing to say, to do.

She apologized.

Not the Venus I remember.

The first signs of a crack.

“Did something happen?” I ask, unable to keep the note of worry creeping into my voice. Hoping that she says ‘no, I’m completely fine. There’s no one bothering me. I have all the happiness I deserve.’

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Glances at the customers in front of and behind us. Both eyebrows hike. Later.

Damn.

She knows something.

Her neighbor must have squealed.

I nod.

She leans back. “So what are you working on right now?”

“My latest book cover?”

She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m not asking about the day job.”

“It certainly pays.”

“Because you’re hot.”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling, but my chest warms.

The compliment feels good.

At least from her.

Still, I set her straight. “I’m good at what I do.”

“And you’re hot.” She pokes me in the side with her elbow. “I’m sure that helps.”

“No one cares what the graphic designer looks like.” I arch an eyebrow. “It’s not like my face is on a cover.”

“It could be.” Her gaze moves across my shoulders, over my chest, down my waist to my shoes. She lowers her voice, almost as if she’s musing to herself. “I’d buy that book.”

I snort.

Her eyes find mine. She grins. Joyfully. Playfully.

Venus has always been a fun girl.

The life of the party.

More energetic that I could ever be.

I can’t let anyone hurt her.

“But I’m talking about your true passion, not the one that feeds your obsession for stocks and bonds.”

“It’s not an obsession. It’s good business practice. A diverse financial portfolio is always a smart choice. Especially in a career based on the arts. Things can shift so easily.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please stop.”

“I’m a big fan of saving.”

“Ew.” She makes a face like I just told her to eat cat droppings off the floor. “And don’t try to change the subject.”

“I didn’t.”

She pushes out her bottom lip you were. “Now that you’re back home, are you working on a new exhibit?”

My nerves tighten. “Uh…”

“Here’s an idea.” She cups her chin and points a finger at her face.

I tease her. “You want the art critics tearing me to shreds?”

“Hey.”

I smirk.

“I always wanted you to paint me.” She licks her top lip. “We have an insanely talented painter in the family, but I’ve never gotten a portrait.” When she sees me hesitating, she tacks on. “It doesn’t have to be on canvas. Even just a sketch…”

“Hm.”

“Troy.”

“What?”

“When will you paint me?”

Damn.

This woman.

She’s never gotten a sketch, but I drew many. Hundreds.

Venus sitting on the porch, her head lifted towards the stars in rare, quiet contemplation.

Venus in the couch, devouring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb, her knees tucked to her chest and her plump lips chomping on a Belizean-style ideal.

Venus at the beach.

Venus in a bathing suit…

Venus without the bathing suit…

I pinch her cheek. “You’re too ugly.”

“Ha.” She jerks her face out of my reach and shoots me a defiant look. “I’m hotter than you.”

“That’s a stretch.” I tease. “Considering the competition.”

The line moves.

It’s our turn.

I order the iced coffee. Venus orders some ridiculously complex drink with extra pumps of foam and vanilla.

While the barista runs off to fill the order, she faces me.

I arch an eyebrow. “Really?”

“What?”

“That was a lot of words to describe ‘sweet coffee’.”

“Make fun all you want. My frappe will blow your mind.”

I smile.

She smiles back.

My heart burns.

Touch her.

I fist my hands to resist the urge.

It’s a relief when the barista hands us our drinks and we move to one of the tables in the corner.

I sit across from Venus.

It’s enough space to wrangle my thoughts and put them back in the Do Not Touch box where they belong.

She takes a sip of her coffee and the moan of pleasure that slips through her perfect lips has those feelings jumping back out like chickens escaping the coop.

She’s distracting.

She’s…

I need a freaking therapist.

“Alright.” I push my coffee away. “Let’s get to business.”

She stares at me, her lips still stuck on the straw.

I squeeze my eyes shut at the imagery that pops up then. Push the words out while I’m still a functioning, responsible adult who remembers the bro-code. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” Her eyes widen.

“Make It Marriage. I’ll agree to be matched.”

Venus taps her finger on the table. Her nails are blue. “Troy.” She swallows visibly. “Are you okay? Like, you’re not sick or anything? Right? Is there something I should know?”

“But there’s a catch.” My voice trembles.

This part…

Is incredibly stupid.

But there’s no other alternative.

Not when it comes to keeping her safe.

Surprise knits her brow. “A catch?”

“Move in.”

She coughs, brown eyes filling with shock.

I stare at her.

My voice deftly hides the nerves I feel. “I’ll get you that promotion, if you move in with me.”

Ten

Venus

My heels tap the floor. My tongue slides over the top of my teeth. Troy’s offer floats in the air between us like some kind of outrageous cartoon cloud, no rhyme or reason to its existence.

Move in with me.

I take a sip of my coffee to buy some time. Pinch my arm under the table.

‘Move in with me’ sounds mind-bogglingly close to ‘Venus, I love you. Marry me’—the latter being my dream since I was nine.

Not that it’s still my dream.

I’ve matured.

Troy and I are friends.

Just friends.

That’s all we’ll ever be.

And that’s great. Really, it’s awesome.

Except when he flies out of left field asking me something a boyfriend would.

A steady boyfriend.

One I’m outrageously, deliriously in love with.

It’s the farthest thing from what we are.

Such words should never leave his plump and kissable mouth.

The pinch doesn’t wake me. I dig my fingers harder into my skin, stretching it almost painfully.

Still nothing.

Except a ridiculous ache in my arm.

The coffee loses its taste.

I give up on drinking it and set the cup back on the table.

Troy is still watching me. His brown eyes are steel. The chiseled jaw, hard as granite. Like the sculptures in the art museums he used to drag me and Evan to. Like a weapon.

Strike the option that he’s joking. Troy’s expression is a man going to war. Way too serious to be pulling my leg.

And this isn’t his style of humor anyway.

Maybe he’s got a concussion? Or he’s mistaking me for his ex, Brook?

I press my lips into a smile. A calm that’s not a good idea smile rather than the yes, yes, I’ll move in with you; should I start buying my ring smile that wants to pop out. “Where did that come from?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“So the next logical step was to offer me room and board?”

“The world’s a scary place.” He leans forward. Right into the pocket of sunshine streaming through the window. The light hits his cheekbones. Turns his tan skin an angelic shade. Frames his brown eyes and thick lashes in a perfect honey tone.

“I’m aware of that.”

“It’s dangerous for a single woman to live alone.”

I try to keep my voice steady, but it doesn’t quite make it. “I know.” Recent events prove that particular theory. “But that’s my problem.”

“It’s mine too.”

“Why?”

Troy’s eyes fix on me.

It’s not a look I can read.

“Move in with me,” he says again.

No.

Hell no.

A thousand times no.

I know my limits. Living in close quarters with the man I’ve had a crush on since forever is like skipping through a minefield blindfolded.

Something will explode.

Probably my self-restraint.

Definitely my heart.

There’s not a reason in the world that’s worth the risk of—

“I know someone’s been watching your apartment. ”

My eyes flit up. “You talked to Ms. Shayla?”

“We met by chance.”

“You did.”

“Yeah.”

A knot forms in my stomach. “And?”

“She told me about your little visitor.”

Little visitor? That’s a non-creepy way to say it.

Stalker. Door Pervert. All acceptable terms.

Little visitor?

That’s like calling a burglar casing the joint a little house admirer.

Troy’s lips drop into a thin line. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…”

“Or Evan.”

“He’d freak out,” I mumble.

The way Troy’s freaking out.

The way I am.

Fear tackles my heart like a drunk and bitter ex pouncing on the new and younger wife.

The emotions I’ve been running from all morning flood my bones, washing away the false sense of calm and control I thought I had a lock on. Anxiety overwhelms me. Pulls at me. Pushes me under.

It’s sickening.

I fight the helplessness as best as I can. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Venus…”

“Troy.” I lick my lips. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Honestly. I don’t know what my neighbor told you, but she’s a little old and she can’t see that well—”

“I found a knife in the dumpster.”

That shuts me up.

A knife?

Like the weapon used to chop onions and stab people?

“So what?” My voice is as shrill as a whistle.

My bravado’s a sham.

No one’s convinced.

Still I push on. “So you found a knife in the dumpster. It doesn’t mean the knife is meant for me. Did you find a note or something?”

My voice cracks on the word ‘note’.

Tell the truth and shame the devil.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Scrub the message from my mind.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I could be blowing this out of proportion. I hope to God I am. But I don’t want to take that chance. Not with you.”

Not with you.

Damn.

He’s being sweet and caring because someone might be trying to kill me.

Not because he wants me close. Under the same roof. The distance between our bedrooms about five steps apart.

He folds his arms over his wide chest. “I think we should tell Evan.”

“Not yet.”

“But—”

I slant him a don’t go there look. “It’s my life. I’ll tell my brother when I’m ready.”

He holds my stare.

I don’t back down.

Troy blinks and grinds out, “Fine.”

He’s not happy about it, but I don’t care. This is a game of strategy and I’m aiming for self-preservation. If Evan finds out, he’ll tell Mom and then they’ll both be breathing down my neck. At that point, I’d rather be stabbed by whoever’s stalking me.

“We’ll keep it quiet for now. Hopefully, having you close by will be...”

“Safer?”

“Smarter.” He arches both eyebrows don’t argue with me.

Too bad.

I love arguing.

“I still have to go to work. The gym. The grocery store. If someone’s after me, moving won’t stop them.”

“It’s better than doing nothing.”

“You can’t be with me twenty-four-seven. Even if you tried, you’d drive me crazy.” Because I’d want to touch him and kiss him and other things a matchmaker shouldn’t dream of doing to her client.

His lip twitches, but Troy doesn’t smile. “Suck it up. That’s the only way you’ll get what you want from me.”

“My promotion.”

He nods.

“So...” I tap my blue nails on the table. “You’ll really agree to the matchmaking?”

He shrugs. “Thought that would sweeten the deal.”

“Good call.”

“I’m not saying I’ll get married.”

“Still time to change your mind.”

“We’ll see.” He frowns. He’s back to ‘Broody Troy’. The ‘Me Against The World’ Troy.

Hesitantly, I put my hand on top of his. “I’m sorry about Brook.”

“It’s fine.”

“As someone who also uses that term when it doesn’t apply, I call BS.”

He smiles.

Brown eyes lock on where my fingers rest on top of his wrist.

I look there too.

His hand is almost twice the size of mine with slender fingers—today, free of paint. I’m used to men with blunt hands, but Troy’s are neat, slim, almost pretty. As captivating as the artwork they create.

Against his pale fingers, the red undertones in my skin are especially pronounced.

It’s weird.

In the best way.

“Are you really okay?”

“Are you asking as a matchmaker or a friend?” he rumbles.

“Both. I won’t be able to make a match if you’re hung up on your ex.”

His eyes meet mine. “I don’t have feelings for Brook.”

My breath hitches.

There’s something…

His eyes…

It’s so intense.

My fingers dig under his so I’m half-holding his hand.

He doesn’t pull back.

My pulse picks up.

Relax, Venus.

I’m touching him as a friend.

Just a friend.

That’s all.

“If you ever need to talk…”

“I know who to call. Yeah.”

“And I’ll be right down the hall.” I ease my hand back. Wrap it around my coffee cup.

Already, I miss touching him.

Arranging Troy’s love life was a tricky concept before. Now that I’m considering living with him…

The challenge multiplied.

But I can totally do this.

Troy’s like Channing Tatum or Idris Elba. An untouchable celebrity who’s suddenly within reach. If Channing Tatum showed up at my door tomorrow, I’d faint and fan-girl, but that doesn’t mean we’re ever going to happen.

“Brace yourself. I’m good at what I do.” My voice returns to its usual, confident tone.

“Hopefully, not too good,” he mumbles.

“Having regrets already?”

“Just wondering if offering myself up on a platter was necessary. Your safety is enough of a reason to move in.”

It’s not.

I know three things for sure—I’m a damn good matchmaker; Mom’s rice and beans are the best in the world; and Troy Maddox is my biggest weakness.

The possibility of slipping into his room and jumping him just increased by three hundred percent.

Alone, it’s not worth the risk.

Not for something as vague as a note and a random knife in a trash can.

I tilt my head.

A week’s enough time to figure out who’s behind this.

I can keep my hands to myself for five days.

I smile. “First, we need to do a consultation. Just to update the info you gave years ago when you first joined the database.”

“No problem. I’ll schedule an appointment.” He rises to his full height.

I tip my chin up to look at him. “Are you leaving?”

“I have to meet the movers at the studio.” He nods to my cup. “But first, I’m walking you back to work.”

My heart jumps.

I shush it back to submission.

I’m moving in to Troy’s house, not his bed.

If I slip up, I’ll have to face more than my brother’s wrath.

I could lose my job.

And that… is a risk I refuse to take.

Eleven

Troy

Green, red and yellow peppers fall into the frying pan. I push the spoon around, mixing the peppers with the sliced onions. The vegetables hiss as the oil bubbles. I tilt the package of cubed chicken. Breast meat tumbles into the pan.

A door opens.

Footsteps thud. “Smells great.”

Venus glides toward me in a tank top and tiny red shorts.

She’s clothed, but she might as well be wearing nothing.

Or maybe the truth is it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing. My body reacts to her as if she’s fully naked anyway.

The air in the room thickens.

My eyes zip to the legs on full display. They’re long. Dark. Perfect.

She rakes slender fingers through her curls, flicking water as she lifts the ends and tosses it back down.

Her hair is dripping wet.

Water slides down her neck to her shoulders.

She looks relaxed. At home.

Typical Venus.

She steps into a room and makes it her own, no matter where she is.

Even now, without makeup and those gorgeous brown lips bare, she commands my attention.

Damn. She’s so beautiful.

Too beautiful.

My pulse hammers in my veins.

I force my gaze on the pan. Shove back the desire careening through my head.

She’s Evan’s kid sister.

She’s like family.

I can’t…

“What are you making?” She draws closer. Stops beside me in front of the stove. Peers over my shoulder.

The scent of her unfurls like a flower in bloom.

Her chest brushes my back.

A long curl falls against her cheek.

My heart thuds.

That tank top is too freaking low cut.

“Thanks.” I swallow.

She inhales deeply and then steps back. “Your shower’s awesome by the way. From now on, I’m using yours instead of the one in the guest room.”

I shoot her a really look.

Venus hops on the counter. “Yes, really. Don’t be stingy. I’m a guest.”

“I don’t want you traipsing in and out of my bedroom,” I grumble.

She grins mischievously. “Why? Afraid I might see something I shouldn’t?”

I grunt.

“What’s that?” She cups a hand to her ear.

I grunt again.

“Any proper objections? I don’t speak in mono-syllables.”

“My privacy.”

“Was subject to invasion when you asked me to stay here.”

I set the spoon down. Turn to her. Press one hand on the counter next to her leg. “Don’t use my bathroom.”

“Is there a dead body in there?”

“Venus…”

“Because if it’s just your body you’re trying to protect—”

“What?”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Is that so?” I smirk.

“Um...” Her gaze falls to my pants. Her eyes darken. She bites down on her bottom lip. “Not that I’ve seen your—it’s… I mean… I’m just saying.”

“That you’ve seen one before.”

“Right.”

I laugh.

She’s usually so in control and that mouth of hers… it can get very dirty. Venus is many things but ‘shy’ is not one of them. Seeing her so baffled, it’s adorable.

And thinking that I’m the one putting that extra red in her brown cheeks…

I lift my hand from the counter before I slip it between her legs and give her something to be coy about. Forcing my attention on the slightly burning chicken, I add some sauce and stir.

“Need any help?” Venus asks.

I peer at her from the corner of my eye. “Not sure if I can trust you.”

“Hey,” she plants her hands on her hips, “just because you were mom’s prodigy in the kitchen doesn’t mean I’m a failure.”

“It kind of does.”

She makes a fist. “My skills were too evolved for anyone to understand.”

“Another way to say you can’t follow a recipe to save your life.”

“Rules are boring.”

“They keep things in check.” Like feelings I shouldn’t have. “They keep you safe.”

“Safe is boring.”

“Not when your life’s being threatened.”

“Like mine is?”

“Yeah.”

She frowns. “Give me something to do.”

“You can shred the lettuce.”

Venus scoffs that’s beneath me.

I shrug take it or leave it.

With another loud sigh, she stalks to the lettuce and peels off the leaves.

I grab the flour tortillas I bought from the store and set them on the table, assessing her work as I pass by. “Not bad.”

“That sounds like you expected me to mess up.”

“Somewhat.”

She grips a fistful of lettuce in both hands. “I’m seriously offended by your lack of faith in me.”

“Not you. Just your cooking.”

“Whatever. At least I’m pretty.” She flutters her eyelashes.

“Can’t eat pretty.”

A lettuce comes charging at me.

“Shut up, Troy.”

I chuckle.

“Anything else?” she asks, pushing the lettuce away.

“Drinks?”

“Water. I’m on a cleanse.”

“For what?”

“My diet. I’m trying to slim down.”

“You?” I eye her. The woman is trim and thick in all the right places. “What part of you needs to change?”

“My thighs are hippos.” She slaps the limb in question.

I narrow my eyes. “That a joke?”

“Look at a hippo.” She lunges her leg. “And look at this.”

I could wrap one hand around those thighs and the fingers wouldn’t connect, yes. But that’s exactly how I like it.

She looks nothing like a hippo.

“I see that look.” She traces an invisible circle towards my face. “But I’m not asking for your opinion. Just tell me what you want.”

You. “A beer.”

She nods and grabs the drinks from the fridge.

I set the plate of warmed tortillas on the table. “You know you’re beautiful.”

Venus freezes.

She’s bent over the silverware drawer. A moment ago, she was rummaging through the forks and spoons, the metal clinking together as she haphazardly parted them.

The silence is telling.

I walk up to her. “You’re stunning.” Quietly. “There’s nothing you need to change.”

I see her back stiffening.

The little pulse in her throat.

Shuttered breaths.

Reaching over her, I select a spoon.

My arm brushes her side. Pulling back slowly, I flip the spoon in the air and catch it.

Venus straightens, her expression strained. In a blink, it’s gone and she’s smiling. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I won’t go easy on your cooking.”

“Here I thought I was being slick.”

Her laugh fills the room, pulling color into the air.

I can’t help the grin that climbs my face in response. It’s so good to see her smile. To make her smile. “Let’s eat.”

We bring everything to the table and dig in.

Fajitas are messy. Not exactly romantic when beans squirt everywhere and fingers get sticky with guac.

Having dinner with Venus reminds me of the good old days, back when Papi was alive and Evan dragged me to his place for good food and even better company.

“Mmm.” Venus groans as she chews another bite. “I’m saying this from a purely professional standpoint.”

I arch an eyebrow.

She pats her stomach. “We’re definitely stressing the fact that you can cook to your future dates.”

Dating someone else is the last thing I want to talk about right now.

Which is odd.

That’s a stipulation of Venus’s stay here.

I wipe my fingers on a napkin. Focus on the more important matter. “Let’s talk about that stalker. Do you have any enemies? Anyone who’d want to do you harm?”

“Trying to change the subject?”

I shrug. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Oh Lord.”

I shoot her a dark look. “Ex-boyfriends are the first suspects in investigations for a reason. Can I get a list?”

“Can I get a list of your hopes and dreams first? Oh, and your deepest fears. Throw in your favorite positions in the bedroom and we’ll be good to go.”

I smirk. “We could take a look at disgruntled clients. Maybe someone whose match didn’t work out?”

“I’d also like a pee sample.” She taps her chin. “Just to make sure you’re clean.”

I stare at her.

She blinks innocently.

I laugh. “Fine. We can talk about it another time.”

“No, I’m serious about that pee sample.”

“Can we not discuss urine when we’re eating?”

Venus snorts.

I pick up the fajitas with my hands, trying to eat around my smile.

Dinner with Venus is the highlight of my day.

Having coffee with Venus was a close second.

Every moment in her company is like edging up to sunshine on a cold day.

I love the sound of her laughter. The way she eats like food is going out of style. The way she moans with pleasure…

Damn. That moan—

Bringing her home was a selfish decision.

Knowing she’s here, safe and sound, is for my peace of mind more than hers.

I couldn’t sleep last night thinking her stalker would graduate from simply staring at her door to trying to break in.

Tonight, I won’t be able to sleep knowing she’s just a door down from me.

But that’s a struggle I’ll gladly live with.

“Ah,” Venus leans back and pats her stomach, “that was good.”

“Thanks.” The compliment warms me.

Growing up, gratitude was a foreign concept.

I took care of Mom, paid the bills and took care of the house. All I got for my troubles was scorn and a couple bruises from her string of ‘boyfriends’—fellow meth heads who needed a trailer to crash in.

“No wonder you’re Mom’s favorite,” Venus mumbles, dragging my thoughts back to her.

I point to the television. “Want to watch a movie?”

“Pride and Prejudice?” She beams.

“I was more thinking Deadpool.”

Venus makes a face. “I’ll compromise. We can watch the Colin Firth version.”

“How is that a compromise? It’s still Pride and Prejudice.”

“Yeah, but it has undertones of sexual tension.”

“Wow.”

She smirks.

I just shake my head.

I see her love for classical literature hasn’t died.

Pride and Prejudice was her favorite eight years ago too.

“V, the Colin Firth version is six hours.”

“You can’t handle it?”

I chuckle. I’m a night-owl.

She’s the one used to falling asleep at eight on the dot.

“It’s you I’m worried about. It’s pretty late.”

It took a while for her to pack.

Not that I expected any less given her obsession with clothes and shoes.

Venus’s suitcases filled the trunk of my car and my backseat.

“So?” She rushes to the living room. “It’s Colin Firth. It’s worth it even if I have to tape my eyelids open.”

“Such devotion.”

She shrugs of course.

I clean up the kitchen and head to the living room with my tablet, hoping to get some work done while the characters on screen talk in polite English and cast longing glances at each other for six hours straight.

Venus sneers at my workstation and grabs it from my hands. “Oh no. Mr. Darcy is worth your full attention.”

“Sounds like torture.”

She pokes a finger in my side. “Secretly, you love it.”

I glance at the time. It’s almost midnight. “I bet you won’t be able to get through this movie, V.”

“You really want to make that bet?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

Venus grabs the remote. “You got yourself into this, Maddox. Game on.”

Twelve

Venus

I’m in a hammock.

Nets made of rope and steel.

I hear a grunt.

My eyelids part slightly.

That’s not a net around me.

They’re arms.

Strong arms.

A T-shirt sleeve.

Troy’s.

He rocks me ever so gently as he mounts the steps to the second floor. Footsteps thud in a swift rhythm. He’s heading down the hallway.

My eyelids press together.

He shoulders my door and eases us inside.

I open my eyes again.

The room is dark.

Pitch black.

I should tell him I don’t sleep in total darkness, but I’m too tired.

Also… that’s embarrassing.

My nightlight’s a secret I’ll take with me to my grave.

Troy sets me on the bed.

His fingers whisk the back of my knees as he lets my body go.

He’s staring at me with eyes cast in shadows.

I wonder what he’s thinking?

A beat passes.

He’s still there. Still watching me.

Does he think I can’t see? That I won’t remember?

It’s dark in here, but there’s a sliver of light coming from the hallway.

Troy reaches out.

Touches one of my curls. It’s whisper-soft. His hands are shaking as if he can’t bring himself to trace even one strand.

I stir.

He pulls back like I bit him. Lets loose a tortured sigh.

His body pivots.

He’s about to leave.

Wait.

I don’t want him to go.

Not yet.

My arm shoots out. I snatch the hem of his T-shirt. “Is the movie over?”

He turns back. His voice is low and rumbly. “You lasted twenty-minutes.”

Liar. There’s no way. Elizabeth had already started flirting with Mr. Wickham by the time my eyelids went heavy.

Troy’s quivering smile tips me off.

He’s teasing me.

“Nice try.” I scrunch my fingers into his T-shirt. Tug him closer. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You fattened me with fajitas.”

His half-smile makes me want to yank him to the bed. “No one forced you to devour three tortillas and the placemats.”

“Very funny.” My finger slips beneath the T-shirt. Skims a stretch of taunt abdomen before hitting the hem of his sweatpants.

It’s unintentional, but I don’t move.

It’s just one finger.

One tiny inappropriate gesture.

I meet his eyes. “Either way, I lost. So…” I slip another finger in. This one’s not a mistake.

Blame it on the fact that I’m half-conscious.

High on beans and guac.

Or old memories.

Whatever.

I want to touch him.

Just for a moment.

I lower my voice and whisper, “What do you want?”

His gaze drops to my lips. I feel it more than I see it.

My heart thuds.

Electricity crackles in the air. Something dark and heavy and forbidden. Something hinting that I’ve been wrong about Troy. About his feelings. That I’m not a little kid to him anymore.

Then he smiles, amused.

My hope crumples.

“You should brush your teeth,” he says, laughter crackling in his tone.

I drop his shirt.

Flop back into bed.

He’s dead-set on acting like an annoying older brother. “Go away.”

His laughter taunts me. “Good night, Venus.”

Keeping my face turned, I lift my hand and flip him off.

Deep chuckles get quieter as he walks out and then they eventually fade.

When he’s gone, I bury my head in the pillow and release a muffled scream.

* * *

It takes me a while to go back to sleep that night.

Not a surprise given I took a nap on the couch. And then I flirted with Troy only to get shot down.

Which is a good thing.

We’re matchmaker and client.

I shouldn’t have let one finger slip under his shirt, much less two.

But I’m not thinking about that.

Tell the truth. Shame the—

Not thinking about that either.

I get some paperwork done until my eyes are dry and gritty. When I’m ready to fall asleep, I leave all the lights on and jump into bed.

Sleep comes quickly, but it’s no relief.

He’s in my dreams again.

It’s been a couple months since my subconscious pulled me into this familiar-yet-unfamiliar room. I know what will happen like it’s the back of my hand.

In my dream, I roll on my back. Watch the ceiling.

There are plastic stars there. The little glow-in-the-dark ones. They look chipped and worn. As if they’ve been there for years. As if they don’t light up anymore. They’re too exhausted.

A door creaks.

It’s loud.

A cheerful song plays in the background. I don’t know what kind of song it is or what it’s saying.

All I know is terror.

Pure, unfiltered fear.

Footsteps approach.

It feels like my body jumps with each thump.

A man’s shadow falls over me.

Please…

I can’t see his face, but his presence is enough to send ice slicing through my veins.

And… that’s usually where the scene will end.

Like a movie running out of footage.

Plastic stars. A faint song. A door creaking. And a man.

Usually the sound of my own whimpering would wake up.

And I’d turn on all the lights, hoping to chase away the shadows until the dream has no hold on me.

It’s just a dream.

That’s all it is.

I hope.

Not knowing where or how or why that scenario keeps playing in my head is it’s own torture.

I keep saying I need to see a therapist.

A priest.

A hypnotist.

Someone.

But I’ve never found the time.

Or maybe I’m just scared.

Maybe I don’t want to find out why I have dreams of a man slipping into my room when he’s not supposed to. A man who makes my body shut down and my teeth clamp so hard on my bottom lip that I draw blood.

There’s really no happy endings in situations like that.

Call it cowardice or self-preservation, I’d rather not know.

But tonight is different.

Because tonight, the bed dips when I’m fighting to escape the room with the stars. Fingers dig into my shoulders and shake gently.

Tonight, when I fling my eyes open, hoping to see the bright lights inside my bedroom and the emptiness that assures me what I’ve just experienced wasn’t real—I see something even better.

Troy.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod.

It’s a blatant lie.

Every time I have that dream, I’m reminded that—somewhere in my memories—there’s a man creeping into my room and I am not, under any circumstances ‘okay’.

“Nightmare?”

My eyes flicker up. How did you know?

“You were crying.” He lifts a finger.

I glance down and see a teardrop balancing daintily on the tip of his pointer.

“Oh, I…” Sniffing, I run the heel of my hand over my cheeks.

“Was it the stalker?” His voice deepens. Thick eyebrows are angry slashes over his narrowed eyes.

I say nothing, choosing to let Troy believe that I’m upset about a vague threat rather than an even more dangerous, faceless enemy that lies buried in my subconscious.

“See.” Brown eyes assess me intently. “You act strong, but I know this craziness got to you.” He takes a glass of water from the nightstand and lifts my hand. Guiding me firmly, he wraps my fingers around the cool glass. “Have some water.”

“Thanks.” I drink. Lick my lips.

The tightness in my chest starts to loosen.

Troy’s banished the shadows.

The dream is nothing but a strange, distant flash in my head now.

“What time is it?”

He shrugs. “Early. You should get back to sleep. You were up till late.”

“How do you know that?”

“I heard you shuffling around.”

“Ah.” I take in the hoodie he’s thrown over his T-shirt and sweatpants. “Where are you going?”

“For a run.” He stands.

I scramble to my knees. “Can I come?”

“You?” He slants me a dubious look.

“Yes, me. Who else?” I throw my blanket off and slide my feet on the ground. Going back to sleep is out of the equation and I need some fresh air. “What? You think I don’t exercise?”

“I know you exercise, but I thought you preferred…”

“What?”

“Zumba.” He utters the word like it’s a foreign planet.

I laugh. “I bet you wouldn’t be able to handle it if you ever did a Zumba Cardio session with me.”

“More bets? Aren’t you tired of losing?”

“I lost one. Don’t get cocky.”

He smiles. And then it fades. He’s back to being concerned. “Are you sure everything’s alright? There’s nothing I should know about? The stalker… all he did was stare at your door, right?”

I think of the note. “I’m fine.” I push his shoulder. “Out. I need to change.”

“You want a protein shake?” he asks, taking a step toward the door.

“No thanks. I don’t usually eat in the morning.”

He slants me a scolding look. “You will now.”

My stomach tightens.

That…

He’s so damn bossy, but it’s wrapped up in such good intentions.

I can’t even hate him for it.

Still, I refuse to give him the upper hand. “I’ll eat or starve if I want.”

That earns me another glare, but he doesn’t argue. “Meet me outside in ten.”

“I will.” I follow him to the door and then lock it tight.

My thoughts race as I pull out a sports bra from my yet-to-be-unpacked suitcase.

I’ll tell Troy about the note. Eventually.

When I’m sure the stalker and the scribbled messages are connected.

For now, I’ll focus on what I can control and…

I’ll enjoy spending time with him.

Thirteen

Troy

My sneakers pound the concrete. I inhale deeply as my body takes over and starts to speed up. Pulling back, I shorten my stride and fall in line beside Venus.

We’re doing a twenty-minute mile. Laughably slower than my preferred pace. Much faster than hers.

My mind quiets as I push the ground away.

I spend hours curved over a desk or an easel every day, so exercise is an integral part of my life.

More than that.

It’s an emotional life vest.

When I’m running, all my problems fade away.

The fact that I’m pushing thirty-five with no marriage and no kids to make a home with?

Gone.

The fact that my mom died before I could afford to put her in rehab?

Gone.

The fact that my agent wants to arrange an exhibit next month and all I can paint is Venus?

Gone.

When I’m in gear, nothing else matters.

Not my loneliness. Not my ex. Nothing but my heart pumping and the breath pulling into my lungs.

To my surprise, Venus and I complete the mile, quiet and in sync.

The sky is bursting with red, orange and pink by the time we stop to catch our breath and hydrate. There’s no water fountain on this route, but I came prepared.

I offer my water bottle to Venus for the first sip.

She shakes her head, gasping for breath.

Her hands grip her hips.

She bends slightly over. Messy curls fall past her shoulders and hide her face from view.

I drink deeply, eyeing the runners passing by. This is a popular route and it’s starting to get busier, which is why I usually plan my runs a half-hour earlier so I don’t have to see too many people.

Trees dance in the breeze.

A gentle wind cools the sweat on my neck.

I slip out of my hoodie and tie it around my waist.

I’m not the only one who’s decided to strip. A shirtless guy runs by, his knees hiking and his headphones secure in his ears.

I expect him to move on smartly like all the rest.

To my surprise, the guy doubles back.

He brazenly jogs in place, his eyes locked on Venus as she bends over.

I glare at him and then place my hand on her shoulder. “Your turn.”

“Thanks.” She straightens.

Shirtless Guy leaves.

I let out a breath, although I’m sure he won’t be the last to ogle her. That shapely body demands attention and she’s offering more than an eyeful in her tiny sports bra and tight, red running shorts.

That outfit should be illegal.

At least on her.

Those legs—

The low-cut bra—

“Done.” She hands the water bottle back. Smiles.

Her cheeks are flushed. More red than brown thanks to the exercise.

Her eyes sparkle.

My body thrums. It likes what it sees.

I swipe the bottle lid open and pour the rest on top of me. The water is cold as it runs down my face, neck and shoulders, but it fails to cool the heat racing through my veins.

Venus swipes her hair back and lets it fall. “You good?”

I’d be better if we were back home and I could have you to myself. “Of course.”

“You look red.”

“Not as red as you.” I point to her cheeks.

“That’s genetics.” She lifts her chin proudly, slipping into her Caribbean accent. “I’m always red.”

I smirk.

This is good. She’s calm. Smiling. Sweaty. Half-naked…

Not the point.

She’s got her bounce back.

I was worried.

When I passed her room and heard whimpering this morning, I thought for sure someone had broken in.

It was only a bad dream, but it revealed just how vulnerable Venus is.

She acts tough. She’s good at that. But it’s only a front.

I’ve got to protect her.

From the creep who’s after her.

From myself…

She pulls out her phone. “Would you take a picture?”

“Of the skyline?” I joke.

She rolls her eyes. “Of me, Troy.”

“Are you going to post it?”

“No, I’m going to print it out and use it as toilet paper.” She slants me a duh look.

I raise a brow and hold on to her phone. “Maybe you should stay off social media for a while. Just in case.”

“Excuse me?”

“We don’t know if your stalker is dangerous or not. Giving them your location will be like leaving breadcrumbs right to your door.”

She tilts her head. Licks her bottom lip. Thinks about it. “You have a point.”

“I usually do.”

“Give it. I’ll still take the picture.”

“Venus—”

“I won’t post it.” She throws her mass of curly hair over her shoulder. Brushes at the flyaway curls that stick to her cheek. “My hair looks a mess.”

“How?”

She motions to the frizzing coils.

“You look stunning.”

“I’m sweating everywhere.” She tugs at the strap of her sports bra. “I wish streaking was legal.”

My throat constricts.

My chest burns.

Venus.

Naked.

That’s all my brain needs to hear.

Visuals…

So many beautiful visuals.

She barks out a laugh. “Troy, you should see your face.”

“Just take the damn picture,” I grumble.

“Fine. Fine.” She smiles.

Snap.

I hand the phone back. “Done?”

“No.” She frowns as if I’ve deeply offended her. “Another one.”

I purse my lips.

It’s getting really crowded out here.

I’m itching to get back home.

Take a cold shower. Maybe two.

Get on with my day.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Wait.” And like the flip of a switch, she drops the goofy grin. Tilts her head. Hands in her hair. Chin tilted coyly as she shoots the camera smoldering I know you want this eyes.

My fingers slip off the shutter button on screen.

I swallow.

Snap.

Venus drops her hands and strolls over to me. “Let’s take one together.”

“No.”

Absolutely not.

I’m raging hot for her when she’s three feet away.

I don’t need Venus Miller any closer.

“Why not?” She keeps walking.

“Social media is overrated.”

“I’m not posting this.”

“Which is even more reason not to take it.”

“Stop being such a grouch.”

I scoff. “A grouch?”

“Would you prefer ‘curmudgeon’?”

“Now that’s just insulting.”

“I’ll make sure you look good.”

“I always look good.”

“Then prove it.” She gestures come here.

My legs start moving and pull the rest of me along.

Venus smiles in excitement.

She’s getting oddly hyped about this.

It’s just a picture, at least… it’s just a picture to her.

In my case…

Having her trim body, slick with sweat, pressing up into me…

It’s more than a picture for me.

I get as close to her as I dare. “So what do we do? Silly faces or something?”

“Just smile, you doofus.” She gives me a pretty one as example.

I try to follow her lead, but it just feels unnatural.

Venus snorts. “Loosen up, Troy.” She rises on her tiptoes. Her arm reaches out as far as it can go. “And can you crouch a little? You’re too tall. I can’t get you into the shot.”

“Let me.” I cup the cell phone. Half of my body shelters hers in a sort of hug. “Better?”

Her voice is quiet. “Yeah.”

I try to ignore her and focus on making my smile more natural.

Snap.

Then I look down at her. She’s staring into my eyes with this strange, curious expression.

Snap.

I blink in surprise.

I hadn’t meant to take that picture.

That’s enough.

When I start to pull back, Venus stops me. “One more.”

I nod. Turn my face forward to position my thumb over the shutter button. Press.

The moment I do, Venus hauls on my shoulder and presses a kiss to my cheek.

It’s warm.

Firm.

Sensual.

Damn. Those sexy cheek kisses.

She gave me one the night of her eighteenth birthday too.

Turned me into a freaking wreck.

Her eyes meet mine. “I slipped.”

I nod.

It doesn’t make sense, but I’ll wrap my brain around that excuse somehow.

She’s beautiful and she’s wearing tiny shorts and a sports bra and how the hell can I scold her for slipping?

Venus clasps her hands. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“And thank you.”

“For?”

“Letting me stay at your place. Even if you’re slightly over-reacting, I know you’re just looking out for me.”

Yes.

That’s exactly what I should be doing.

Looking out for her.

Like the family friend that I am.

Like the brother Evan is to me.

Venus tilts her head. Reddish-brown hair scrapes her small shoulders. “Race you home?”

I snort. “Like you could ever—”

“Go!” She flashes me a mischievous grin and takes off.

Little minx.

I lengthen my stride and catch up to her easily.

“Cheaters never win,” I taunt as I leave her in the dust.

Then I head back to her because she’s attracting way too much attention running alone.

We get home.

Separate to our own showers.

I finish first and make breakfast, but even with cold water still shivering my skin, I haven’t washed away the imprint of her touch.

Venus needs to match me with some other woman fast.

Because if she doesn’t… I might end up falling for her all over again.

Fourteen

Venus

Troy drives me to work. He’s not saying much, which is typical.

But neither am I.

Which is… not typical.

I shouldn’t have kissed him.

It was a mistake.

An impulsive one, yeah.

But one I should have caught and nipped in the bud instead of giving in.

Now, I head into Make It Marriage, aware that I need to find our agency’s best offer of a soul mate, but really wishing I didn’t have to match him with anyone but me.

Hoping to procrastinate, I stop in Kayla’s office.

“Knock, knock,” I grumble as I step inside.

She swings her chair around and pops out, greeting me with a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good?” I sneer.

“Someone’s in a bad mood.”

“I’m always in a bad mood,” I correct her, stomping inside and slouching in the armchair.

“Let me guess. You haven’t found someone for Troy Maddox?”

“No, but that’s my number one task this morning.”

“Well, I’ve got something that might cheer you up.”

I groan. “Kayla, unless it’s the picture of Brendon that we’ve been talking about—”

“That you’ve been talking about.”

“… I really don’t need your help.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking.” She hands me a small envelope.

I gasp. “Did Brendon propose?”

“No.” She laughs. “Not yet at least. That’s an invitation to a Humes Corp charity gala.”

I whistle.

Brendon and his dad are power players in the business sector and all of their galas are super exclusive.

“Once you match Troy up, give him this. The gala will have full media coverage. Once he and his match show up together, it’s game over.” She smiles. “Besides, I thought this would be more natural than arranging a magazine article.”

“Kayla, I love you. If Brendon doesn’t marry you, I will—”

“Thanks, V. But I like men.”

“I was going to say, ‘match you with another hunky billionaire who’s generous in bed’, but you know what? I take it back.”

Kayla laughs.

I whip the invitation through the air. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Now go find Mr. Maddox his dream woman.”

I slip out of Kayla’s office.

With every step, the wind drips out of my sails. This opportunity, with any other client, would be a dream come true. The culmination of everything I’ve worked for. A stepping stone to the top of the ladder.

But Troy…

Ugh.

This is so annoying.

I sigh. Make myself a pot of coffee. Check in with the receptionist. Fiddle around on social media for ‘research’.

When I can’t put it off any longer, I open Kayla’s stolen file.

My fingers reverently pull the flap aside.

Beautiful headshots look back at me. The company’s top tier clients.

We’ve got white women. Black women. Latino women. Asian women. Tall. Short. Thick. Thin.

All professional women who can hold their own in a business setting. Women with opinions and bank accounts and houses in their names who expect to be treated with respect. Women who could run the world if they had the time.

Many of the women who sign up to Make It Marriage have no flaw except that they’re looking for mature men who won’t play with their feelings or wring them for every cent they have.

Seems like low standards, but even that threshold keeps a lot of hot, substance-less guys out of the game.

People like Troy and my brother—who see women as equals but protect and provide both physically and emotionally—are vastly outnumbered by charlatans.

I should know.

I’ve dated charlatans exclusively.

Which suits me since I’ve never once fallen for the men I sleep with.

Ever.

They’re in my bed at night and out before I wake up in the morning.

The moment I sense anybody catching feelings, they’re off the list and out of the rotation.

I’ve been called ‘unfeeling’ before.

Maybe I am.

It’s certainly hard for me to build any lasting relationship with the opposite sex.

The only man who’s ever made me feel more than mild interest is Troy.

And we all know he’s off-limits.

“Come on, Venus. Get your head in the game,” I mumble.

Shuffling through the files, I try to take my personal hat off and wear my bonafide matchmaker Baptist church first lady bow and frill hat ensemble.

Pulling out Troy’s old file, I compare his answers to the questions on personality, preferences, faith and values and line them up with the replies of the women in the top tier.

There are a couple matches—some I’d expected based on what I know of Troy and others not so much.

I’ll narrow it down when I talk more in depth with him and the prospective girlfriends but, for now, I can work with this.

I stretch my hands to the ceiling and arch my back. My gaze falls on the neat row of portfolios lined up on my desk.

Troy’s soul mate could be staring up at me from any one of these headshots.

I squeeze my fingers as a blast of complicated emotions run amok in my chest.

The smaller this list becomes, the closer I’ll be to losing him.

Not that I ever had him but still.

It’s bitter-sweet.

My phone chimes.

I have two messages. One from Evan and one from an unknown number.

I open my brother’s first.

EVAN: Dinner tonight. You in?

I run my thumb across the screen.

Corrine is delightful and she cooks like the celebrity chef that she is.

Hell yeah, I want to be at their apartment tonight.

I’m grinning as I type out my reply.

ME: I’ll be there.

ME: With embarrassing pictures of you, as promised.

EVAN: Traitor.

ME: Corrine needs to know the truth.

EVAN: What truth??

ME: Your child might come out looking like Steve Erkel.

EVAN: I think you meant Stefan.

I chuckle, recalling the classic Family Matters gag where the nerdy, glasses-wearing, high-suspenders-loving main character transformed into his hot and swagalicious alter ego, Stefan.

ME: Should I bring anything?

EVAN: Just that crazy appetite. Corri gets all weird and emotional when people don’t eat all her food.

I smirk.

That won’t be a problem with me.

My stomach’s already rumbling thinking of what Corrine will serve tonight.

Scrolling away from my conversation with Evan, I open the text from the unknown number.

Anticipation for the evening melts into shock.

My fingers tighten on the cell phone.

UNKNOWN: Say anything and you’re as good as dead.

My eyes pop open.

I re-read the statement.

What the hell?

My leg starts jumping underneath the table.

I fist my hands.

Who is this?

ME: Who are you?

UNKNOWN: You are a liar.

ME: And you’re a coward. Give me a name and let’s talk in person.

I probably shouldn’t taunt this idiot.

But damn.

A girl’s trying to navigate her complicated love life. I don’t need a lunatic on my tail.

That drama is for the white people in Lifetime movies.

“Come on, you jerk.” I shake my phone, pretending it’s the person on the other end of the line.

Silence.

I check again.

No more messages.

I don’t get it. I really don’t.

Who did I piss off so much that they’d threaten me like this?

I get up and pace my office.

Could it be one of my exes?

I rub my forehead. If it is, should I call them up one-by-one asking if they have a problem with me?

My phone buzzes.

I pounce on the desk and unlock it with my thumb.

There’s a new message on-screen.

UNKNOWN: Why’d you move out of your house?

Chills race over my skin.

How did he know that…?

Unless…

It’s him.

The guy who glued the note on the door.

The guy who’s been casing my apartment.

My heart is pounding wildly.

I’m scared.

Crapless.

Until now, all I had to fear was Ms. Shayla’s account and a yellow sticky note. Today, I’ve got physical proof that someone wants to kill me and it is… not a good feeling.

I’m not a perfect person.

I get that.

I’m a little crude. Maybe a teensy bit on the self-absorbed side. And I’ve broken a few hearts. But who hasn’t?

Seriously, every woman has that one guy.

The one that they’ve said ‘hell no, not in a million years’ to. The guy who would’ve loved them to death, but they didn’t make the cut.

Is my guy taking his revenge?

And what’s the truth I should confess in that scenario? That I’m a superficial woman who likes hot, broken painters that are eight years older than me and wear paint-speckled shoes? Sorry, not sorry?

I don’t want to die.

I’m too young to die.

And it’s crazy that I even have to consider the fact that someone is out there, right now, plotting my demise.

My phone rings.

I yelp.

Calming my racing heart, I inch over my desk and peer through narrowed eyes.

It’s Troy.

I pick up in relief. “Thank God. It’s you.”

“Are you that happy to hear from me?” he asks, laughter in his tone.

I don’t reply.

“Venus?”

“Troy…”

His voice grows serious. “Venus, what happened?”

“I…” Tears flush my eyes as I push the words into the air. “I just got a text.” I pause a beat. “Someone wants me dead.”

Fifteen

Troy

I clasp Venus’s elbow as we leave the police station. She shifts closer to me. Her shoulder brushes my chest. Her hair flutters against the front of my T-shirt.

She’s so fragile, even when trying to be strong.

My grip on her tightens.

Damn. This is no good.

I just want to cradle her forever.

Wipe every tear.

Kiss the strain off her gorgeous face.

Promise her that nothing and no one will ever touch her. Not while I’m standing.

But I can’t.

Not because I don’t want to.

Because I can’t make those promises.

Because the terror running through my veins, the outrage, the fury, it’s beyond that of a concerned family friend.

I grind my teeth.

Family friend or no, when I get my hands on the bastard who’s threatening her…

“Thanks for coming with me,” Venus says, lifting her chin and meeting my eyes.

“It didn’t do much good.” My voice is rough.

Our police visit was a complete bust. After showing the frazzled officer the texts and the note that Venus conveniently kept hidden until now, he dismissed us with a few patronizing lines about pranks and pissed off ex-boyfriends. Didn’t even ask any serious questions. He just told Venus to ‘be careful’.

That’s it.

Apparently, texting someone they’re ‘as good as dead’ no longer warrants an investigation.

So we wrote a report.

They filed it.

The end.

A shabby piece of paper is the most they can do to protect her.

Oh, how could I forget?

We were also advised to return if there were more threatening messages or an ‘escalated event’.

These guys want Venus to be attacked before it’s worth their time.

I should head back in and overturn some desks. Show them an escalated event.

“Troy.”

I blink. Return my attention to her.

Venus grips the hem of my T-shirt. Brown fingers curl into the fabric. The very tip of her nail grazes my stomach. “Are we going to Evan’s now?”

“Now?” My frown deepens.

“Yeah.”

“We should head home.”

“But Corrine is cooking.” She pushes out her bottom lip.

I stare at Venus in shock.

Someone’s trying to kill her and she’s worried about food?

I shake my head. “You know what? You’re right. We should go to Evan’s.”

Her jaw drops.

I take her hand. Start down the step.

She remains in place. “Why are you suddenly agreeing with me?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“No, it’s freaky.”

“I have a hidden agenda.”

She smirks. “Not very hidden if you blurt it out like that.”

“We need to tell Evan. Everything. It bothers me that we’ve kept him out of the loop this long.”

Her expression tightens. “No.”

“Yes.”

“It won’t do him any good.”

“Someone’s threatening his sister. It’s past the point of good or bad.”

“He’d go crazy. Try to lock me in a tower or something.”

“A decision I’d support one hundred percent.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No I’m not.”

She huffs. “No wonder you two are best friends. You’re both bossy and annoying.”

“You just realizing that?”

“I’m not going to tell Evan and I’m not going to stay home all day.”

“Venus—”

“I refuse to let this crazy person”—she lifts her phone—“determine my life when they can’t even make up their mind. One minute I’m supposed to tell the truth. The next I’m supposed to keep quiet?” She rolls her eyes. “I won’t stop living because they’re off their meds.”

Yeah, but crazy stalkers are the most dangerous.

I sigh. Glance around. The shadows all look eerie.

We’re standing in front of the police station, but I don’t feel at ease. I won’t until Venus’s stalker is behind bars.

Giving her hand another tug, I nod to the car. “Let’s get off the street first.”

“Fine.”

We head to my truck.

I open the door for her. Close it. Check over the hood for suspicious activity. There are none. Hustling around the hood, I climb into the driver’s side and lock the door.

Venus chuckles. “Did you train for the Secret Service while you were away?”

“Ha ha.” I grab the steering wheel tight.

“You don’t need to be so paranoid.”

“That prick knows you’re not at your apartment anymore, Venus. How the hell do you think he figured it out?”

“Lucky guess?”

Anger bubbles in me.

All my frustration, all my fear, it bursts out in a rough, “This isn’t a freaking joke.”

My voice is louder than it needs to be.

I see Venus flinch. And then her lips tighten. A little wrinkle appears between her eyebrows.

Letting out a breath, I rub my scruff with the heel of my hand. “Please. Please, V. You need to take this more seriously. I don’t know what I’d do if anything”—I stop. It’s too close to the truth. To a truth that she’s not ready to handle. That would destroy everything. “You need to be safe.”

“Troy…” Venus’s voice is soft. A corner of her lips hitches up. “You know why I’m not scared?”

I look at her.

In the dimness of the car, her eyes shine with an emotion I can’t understand.

“Because,” she sucks in a breath, “because I have you.”

My heart thuds.

For a moment, all the air is sucked out of the car.

All I can see is Venus’s shining eyes—dark and compelling.

Her plump lips.

Damn. Those lips.

I want her.

I need her.

More than I need to breathe.

More than I need to paint.

But it’s not worth risking our friendship. Or my friendship with Evan. My place in the Miller family. Her job at Make It Marriage.

It’s better to protect her. Like her from a distance, even if she’ll never be mine.

She’s so important to me.

We’re friends.

I can’t mess that up.

So I turn away from her.

Start the car.

Drive.

Without saying a word.

Sixteen

Troy

“It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” Corrine extends her hand. It’s pale and slim. Dotted with freckles. Just like her cheeks and forehead.

“No, the pleasure’s mine.” I squeeze her hand affectionately. “Evan called me every day to get advice before your first date. He was that eager to impress you.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t be dropping my secrets.” Evan strolls into the living room and shoots me a cool it look. “She fell for my manliness and swag. Can’t have you bursting the bubble.”

“Swag? Where?” Venus presses a hand to her forehead as if she’s searching for something in the distance.

I smirk.

Inside, I worry.

She’s still acting like nothing happened.

Like the threat looming over her head is not a big deal.

I’m forcing myself to respect her and follow her lead. As she so eloquently points out, it’s not my life. If this is how she wants to cope, I’ll work with it.

“I didn’t know about that.” Corrine laughs. Her red mouth matches the vibrant color of her hair. Green eyes sparkle. She wraps a slim arm around Evan’s neck. “Why were you nervous, babe?”

“You were out of my league,” Evan mumbles. “How could I not be nervous?”

“Aw!”

Venus nods. “At least he knows.”

“Either way, you look good together,” I say. And I mean it. Evan’s turned into a complete sap who wears his heart on his sleeve.

It’s nice.

Being in love is nice.

It’s what comes after that’s a pain in the butt.

“It sounds cheesy, but I don’t remember life before this woman.” Evan gives Corrine major heart eyes.

I chuckle.

“And who set them up?” Venus tosses her curls over her shoulder as she points to her face. “Who? Who?”

Evan smirks. “Is there an owl in here?”

Corrine giggles.

Venus scowls. “No, just an idiot.”

“At least I’m not ugly.”

“Your mama.”

Evan slants her a bored look. “We both have the same mother.”

Corrine stares between Venus and Evan with a slightly pained smile on her face. It’s that am I supposed to laugh or referee look.

I catch her eye and shrug. It is what it is.

Evan and Venus fight like cats and dogs, but it’s born of playful affection.

Venus adores her brother.

Evan would crack skulls for his sister. A few guys from Venus’s graduating class carry scars as evidence.

Nobody messes with Venus and gets away with it.

Not on Evan’s watch.

That’s why telling my best friend about Venus’s current dilemma is such a good idea.

And why letting him in on my feelings for his sister is not.

The door thuds.

Venus whirls around. “Corri, you expecting someone else?”

“I invited Kayla and Brendon,” she explains, yanking the door and admitting two more people.

I recognize Kayla immediately. She’s all over Venus’s social media. Has been for the past four years.

I mentally run through the captions that strike a chord in my memory.

Dancing with my best friend—that one under a picture of Venus in a risqué outfit, arm slung around a grimacing Kayla who’s holding tightly to an empty shot glass.

Teaching her the basics—next to an image of Kayla watching the film, Othello.

My work wife—in all caps under a snap of Kayla and Venus in an office at Make It Marriage.

Yeah, it’s safe to say I’m familiar with Kayla.

At least the Social Media Kayla.

The guy at her side is a total mystery. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with silver eyes and square-framed glasses.

“Brendon.” He shakes my hand.

“Troy.” I nod.

As the ladies break off and start chatting excitedly to one another, we talk about the weather and fantasy football.

His vibe is down to earth and casual, so I’m surprised when Venus tugs me away a few seconds later and whispers that Kayla’s boyfriend is a billionaire.

Brendon overhears us and groans. “Really, Venus. You had to tell him?”

“Come on. How many people can say they’re friends with someone in the Forbes 400? I’m an attention seeker, Mr. Humes. Have some mercy.”

My eyebrows pull together. “Wait. Humes. You’re Brendon Humes?”

“That’s me.” Brendon smirks. “And you’re Troy Maddox.”

“You know me?”

“Yeah.”

“Should have said something.”

“I assumed that you didn’t want to be fawned over.” He arches both eyebrows at Venus.

She tilts her head and flips him off.

I smirk.

Brendon returns his attention to me. “I’m a big fan of your work, man. I almost drained the family fortune trying to win your latest piece at the La Fountina charity auction.”

My cheeks warm.

I’ve been painting for a long time, but the fact that people still find value in my work… it amazes me.

There’s a part of me that feels I don’t deserve it.

I’m just a kid from the trailer park.

Son of an addict and her pimp.

Junior varsity basketball player that got kicked off the team after the coach found him with drugs in his duffel bag. Drugs that he’d confiscated from his mother that very morning.

People like Brendon Humes, who were groomed in the lap of luxury spend thousands on my work.

It’s crazy.

It’s…

I don’t know. Unnerving.

And it shouldn’t be.

It should have sunk in by now. I’m older. More settled in who I am and what the world has to offer.

But it hasn’t gotten easier.

Every art exhibit, I’m a nervous wreck. Wondering if that day is the day I’ll be exposed as a fraud and everyone who purchased my work will want their money back.

Venus hooks her fingers around my elbow.

The gentle touch stirs me back to life.

Her eyes meet mine. “He is talented, isn’t he?”

“Oh yeah.” Brendon bobs his head. “Insanely.”

“Don’t compliment him, Brendon.” Evan snorts. “Or we’ll have to break the door to fit his head through it when he goes home tonight.”

Corrine sends him the evil eye. “Stop insulting our guests, Ev.” Turning to us, she points to the table with a flourish. “Food’s ready. Let’s eat.”

We gather around the table.

But we don’t eat.

We feast.

I fork pasta into my mouth, one side of my brain pushing to absorb all the pleasure sensors my tongue is sending out and the other following the robust conversation around the table.

It’s clear this group has dined together before, and although I’m new to the party, it doesn’t feel like I’ve missed a day.

I almost forget the threat breathing down Venus’s neck.

Until Kayla checks her phone and drops her fork.

It clinks against the side of her plate.

Grabs all our attentions.

Lifting both hands, she frowns. “Uh-oh.”

Corrine shushes Evan.

The table slowly falls silent.

Brendon leans forward, one arm hovering over the back of Kayla’s chair. “What’s wrong, babe?”

“I just got a text from Eva.” Brown eyes shoot up as she explains, “That’s one of my clients.”

Venus takes a sip of her wine. “The one with the chronic shyness?”

“Yeah, she’s only met her boyfriend in person once.”

Evan’s nose scrunches. “Sounds complicated.”

“It works for them.” Kayla lifts her phone. “She sent me this.”

“What am I looking at?” Evan muses.

“It’s a screenshot of a review on TheOne.com.” Kayla pulls her hand back and swipes. “Someone went on a one-star rampage targeting Make It Marriage.”

Venus shrugs. “Not the first time.”

“It’s not?” Corrine blinks.

“No. Finding a match can take time. Some people expect their Prince Charming by midnight and walk away when their carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”

Evan snorts. “That would make you the fairy god-mother? Those poor Cinderellas.”

“Shut up, Evander.”

I smirk.

“Rita Meeks. Meeks.” Kayla taps her chin. “Who’s that? I don’t think it was a client…”

Venus rubs her temple and looks at the ceiling in thought.

“What did they say in the review?” Brendon takes the phone from Kayla and reads. “Oh. ‘You are a liar.’ ‘You’re as good as dead.’ How creative.” He shakes the device high. “Doesn’t this count as verbal assault?”

I stiffen.

Those messages…

They’re similar to the texts she received earlier.

My eyes shift to Venus.

There’s a smile on her face, but it’s cracking.

It wouldn’t seem suspicious to anyone else. But I haven’t taken my eyes off her all evening.

Kayla laughs and grabs her phone back. “We get these like once a month. They never mean anything. We’ll just report them to the site. If we’re lucky, they get taken down.”

I hear Kayla talking as if she’s far away.

All I can see is Venus.

Her brown fingers curling into the table.

Her nostrils flaring.

Her chest rising and falling dramatically.

That message isn’t something to be brushed off.

And that name means something.

Who the hell is Rita Meeks?

Seventeen

Venus

After dinner, I head to the bathroom and wash my hands.

The moment the door closes behind me, I let my smile go flat.

I grip the edge of the sink.

Dig my fingernails into the porcelain.

Suck in a deep breath.

Rita Meeks? Why is that name so familiar?

My hands are shaking.

I press firmer into the sink.

I thought I could handle this.

I thought I could pretend that I’m fine.

But I’m not.

I’m terrified.

Keeping it together during dinner took more from me than I was willing to give.

Somehow, I played my part. Made a few jokes. Laughed when I was supposed to. But I couldn’t quiet that niggling fear in the back of my head.

Someone wants you dead.

Corrine’s dinner was bomb, but I didn’t taste any of it.

I run my fingers beneath the pipe. Let the cool water brush against my skin. Turn off the spout. Grabbing the tube of lipstick from my purse, I touch up my make up.

There. I look put-together and aloof. No one will be able to tell how shaken I am inside. Not unless they dive a little deeper.

And I won’t let anyone get that close.

Not even Troy.

After I dry my hands, I open the door and move outside.

Someone’s blocking the hallway.

Brown hair. Brown eyes. Broken bad boy. Heartthrob.

Troy.

He’s so big and broad-shouldered I can’t even wiggle my way past.

Dark brown eyes burrow into me.

Uh-oh.

I hold up a hand and hiss, “Don’t you dare ask me if I’m okay.”

“I won’t.” He takes my hand. Slender, pale fingers curve around my wrist. With a tug that warns he’s capable of full on dragging me if he had the mind to, Troy pulls me back into the bathroom. Slams the door. Whirls around.

Levels a glare so fierce the air is sucked out of the room.

My stomach tightens.

He’s so damn handsome.

And so damn close.

This space is way too small for the both of us.

My chest brushes his.

My thigh is a whisper away from his legs.

I ease back.

My back hits the sink. The porcelain juts into the base of my spine.

Troy leans forward. Almost hovering over me.

My body tingles with awareness.

And then it starts to throb.

Ideas flash in my head.

Me, naked.

Troy, naked.

I could reach for his belt.

It would be so easy to unbuckle. Loosen it. Unbutton it.

Shed a layer.

Get one step closer to feeling his skin, all of him, against me.

I need it.

If only to take my mind off the craziness.

But I push my fingers into my palm.

Press so hard my nails pierce skin.

I force myself to hold still.

To watch him, to burn for him and do nothing.

This is not the time to be affected by Troy.

That wrinkle at the bridge of his nose. The slanted eyebrows. The worried frown.

Even if I threw myself at him, he wouldn’t be moved.

He’s here on business.

He’s seen through my façade.

Maybe I haven’t been as good at hiding my feelings as I thought.

Throwing out a short laugh, I try to shrug off the tension in the air. “Did you want to use the bathroom?”

“You know why I’m here.”

I toss my hair breezily. “Sorry, I don’t.”

“That message.”

I press a hand to my chest. “You heard Kayla. We get messages like that all the time.”

“It’s too similar.”

“So?”

“Meeks…”

I cringe. Again, I’m hit with the feeling that the name sounds familiar.

“See?”

“What?”

He moves closer.

I step backward, but there’s nowhere to go. Not unless I climb on top of the sink.

I shift from one foot to the next.

Tap my fingers against my thighs.

Listen to the rustle of fabric as it hits my skin.

Troy’s hand brushes my hip.

My heart beats double time.

My thighs clench together.

I want him touching me. I’ve been thinking about it way too much.

He presses his palm into the counter, right next to my waist. “That name means something to you, doesn’t it?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what’s with the deer-in-headlights expression?”

I shoot him my best ‘dazed’ look. “You mean like this?”

He doesn’t even smile. “Who is it?”

“I-I don’t know.”

He arches an eyebrow really?

“I’m telling the truth.”

He shifts his weight. The movement presses his thigh into mine, pinning me in place. “Well, it’s got to be a client. They targeted the matchmaking agency after coming at you.”

“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse.

It’s hard to speak.

To think.

Coherence is not an option.

If I could just have him...

I wouldn’t ask for anything else.

I grit my teeth.

Force my mind to focus on the name.

Rita Meeks.

“I know I’ve heard that Meeks title somewhere before but…” Lightning bolt. I gasp. “Victor Connors.”

Troy stares down at me. “Who?”

“He was one of my clients.” Excitement grows inside me like a ball swelling up in water. “Uh, he was divorced. Nice guy. A little clueless, but a couple coaching sessions ironed out the kinks.”

“And?”

“I matched him of course. He just needed pointers on how to interpret the language of women. Guys don’t get that what a woman says from her mouth is just the surface level. They need to dig deeper to find out what she’s saying from her heart and—”

“Venus.”

I startle.

Troy’s lips are quirking a little. “The point?”

“Oh.” I drag my gaze away before I give in to the urge to kiss him. “His ex-wife was a Meeks. Rita Meeks. He warned us that the divorce hadn’t been amicable and that she’d dragged out the proceedings despite the fact that they’d been separated for two years.”

“You think she’s upset that you matched him?”

“It could explain why she wants me to die.”

“Have you met her?”

“No. I only know what Victor revealed during our sessions. He said she liked partying and came home drunk every night. There was an incident with a male stripper, which was one of the reasons he filed for divorce.”

Troy grimaces.

He must know how that feels.

Being cheated on.

I should have been more sensitive.

Quickly, I add, “But I matched him a few weeks ago.” I rub my chin. “Why is she just striking now?”

“Maybe she just found out.” Troy narrows his eyes. “Maybe he told her that you were the one who set up his new relationship. And now she’s stalking you.”

Relief coils in my chest.

We got you now, you bastard.

The mystery’s been unraveled.

The culprit has a name.

Rita.

I can finally get to ask her what the creepy note on my door was about.

I grin.

Troy scowls. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because that’s great.”

“Great?” He frowns harder, looking even more grouchy and miserable than usual.

I lean into him. “We know who we’re after. This nightmare is almost over.”

His eyes soften. “You’ll be safe.”

“I’ll be safe,” I whisper.

“And,” he clears his throat and takes a giant step back, “you can move back home.”

The words hang in the air, dark and heavy.

Move back?

I barely made it in.

I shake my head. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Rita might be innocent.”

“Singing a different tune?” He smirks.

“I only got to use your bathroom once.”

“Stay out of my bathroom, Venus.”

“You’re the one who dragged me in here.”

He opens his mouth, probably to tease me about how I hadn’t been complaining before, when there’s a knock on the door.

Kayla’s sweet voice croons, “Venus? You good?”

Troy’s expression tightens.

I glance at him and then at the door with panic.

We’re alone.

In the bathroom.

A man and a woman.

A client and a matchmaker.

Damn. This doesn’t look good.

I’m innocent.

Sort of.

Technically.

Emotionally? Mentally?

Not so much.

In the safety of my imagination, I’ve had my hands all over Troy.

My flesh-and-blood hands are technically clean, but it won’t seem that way to Kayla.

I know how she is.

Those perceptive eyes will see right through me.

But it’s not like I can ask Troy to go duck into the shower.

Or should I?

To my surprise, Troy strides ahead and opens the door.

Kayla’s jaw drops when she sees us both standing there.

Her eyes whip from Troy’s indifferent expression to my, undoubtedly, guilty-looking one.

I bite down on my bottom lip, hard.

“Hi.” I wiggle my fingers.

Troy doesn’t bother with a greeting. He nods at Kayla and then heads down the hall, taking his sexy presence and all the electricity in the room with him.

I try to follow.

Kayla slips into the bathroom and closes the door.

I’m trapped. Again.

My fingers roll together.

My heart is still beating fast.

I’m still throbbing.

It’s not like Troy touched me.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I can’t meet Kayla’s eyes.

A mixture of shame and…

What is that? Embarrassment?

I feel exposed.

It’s a potent mixture in my chest.

“You want to explain what that was about?”

“Not particularly.”

“Venus…” In that one word, I hear her frustration, her concern and all her worry.

“It’s not what it looks like, okay?” I push past her. Maybe my exit won’t be as cool as Troy’s, but I need to get the hell out of there.

Kayla snatches my arm before I walk out.

My feet plunge into the tile.

I stiffen, staring straight ahead.

“Venus, he’s a client,” Kayla hisses.

“I know.”

“You can’t—”

“I know that too.” I turn to her. Drop my eyes to her fingers.

She loosens her grip.

I wrench my arm back and stalk through the door.

She doesn’t have to tell me.

My body, my mind—every part of me knows—I can never have Troy Maddox.

Eighteen

Troy

My early morning exercise routine does jack to get my mind off Venus. I’m still susceptible to her. To the little things—like her laughter, her fragrance, her habit of biting down on her bottom lip when she feels cornered.

The way she did yesterday when I pressed her into the sink.

She’d felt so soft.

Looked so star-struck.

Enamored, even.

I’m glad she couldn’t see into my head.

She would have seen how much I want her.

It’s dangerous.

I’m walking a tight rope and I’m about to plummet.

Any second now.

No safety net beneath me.

Venus is…

She’s…

Everything.

My desire’s only grown worse knowing she’s relying on me.

Knowing I mean something to her.

What?

I don’t know.

Doesn’t matter.

I’m something.

Even if that ‘thing’ is just a bulletproof vest.

I’ll gladly stand in front of her. Take the pain for her.

Just to see her smile.

That soft and gentle grin.

Or the dark and seductive smirk.

All equally tantalizing.

Just thinking about her plump lips gets my engines revving. It’s a hell of a lot more enjoyable than sweating through squats and deadweights with the latest stock numbers in my head.

Nothing wakes my muscles more than Venus does.

I set the weight back into its cradle and wipe my hands on the side of my pants. I’m in the garage today. Figured I’d stick close to home instead of leaving Venus alone.

Whether that’s for her safety or my own peace of mind, I’m not sure.

I can’t help the obsessive side of me that she’s awakened.

I mean, it was always there, but now…

It has a way to be released.

Protection-mode on.

Dial turned up to ten.

Just like it was back when I was a kid and looking after my mother.

She spent half her time high as a kite or screwing losers. I lost track of the times I’d come home to a trailer rocking on cement blocks and loud, obnoxious moaning.

Her boyfriends of choice were devoid of personality and character.

Except one.

He was full of diseases.

Probably gave her the STI she died from.

It’s not a pretty thought.

Even though she was a pretty woman.

Beautiful.

Everyone said so.

I remember her face every time I look in the mirror. I have her dark hair. And her brown eyes.

The same habit of keeping things inside.

The same bitterness.

Mom always blamed the world for her problems—the government, the public worker who wouldn’t give her any more stamps, her boyfriends.

And I…

I blamed her.

For everything.

Took a long time to stop hating her.

No, hate is a strong word.

I… resented her.

Deep inside, I wanted her to be better.

I wanted our lives to be better. Something close to Evan and Venus’s. Something warm, happy and safe.

I knew it was possible.

I knew it didn’t take much.

Mrs. G wasn’t rich or influential. She cleaned houses for years. But I was so proud of her. Sometimes, I wished she could be my mother. I spent enough time at her place it was starting to feel true.

Then I’d go home.

To the real world.

To the one that was cold, hard.

And Mom would disappoint me all over again.

I still remember the day I finally accepted that things would never change—the day she brought her drug dealer home. The sounds they’d made in the room. The feeling of utter hopelessness as I cleaned up all the needles.

When the drug dealer left, he slipped me a hundred, messed my hair and told me to buy myself a few maxi condoms.

Condoms.

I was eleven.

As soon as the door closed, Mom took the money from me and slipped it in the pocket of her robe.

I didn’t say anything.

I just looked at her. She was shaking from withdrawal and avoiding my eyes.

It struck me then.

I realized she’d die in this state. Probably in a bed with a jerk like the guy who’d slapped the hundred in my hand and told me to get rubber instead of snacks or a video game.

That’s the moment I gave up.

Sometimes, I wonder if I’d done enough.

Would she have changed if I’d grabbed the hundred out of her hand and insisted we buy groceries instead of drugs? Would she have listened if I’d fought harder to be enough for her?

If I’d been better at school or good at sports, maybe I would have mattered more than that desperation for her next hit.

Maybe not.

Letting go was self-preservation.

I was a kid. Not her therapist.

It’s hard to imagine making any other choice. Even if it’s easy to beat myself up for the decision I did.

I toss my towel over my shoulder and let out a deep breath.

Mom’s gone.

As messed up as my childhood was, I’m at peace with it.

For the most part.

On the way to the main room, I pass the stack of paintings I’m keeping stored here while Venus is staying over. They’re the ones she shouldn’t see. I make sure to lock the garage door securely before heading to the kitchen.

The smell of coffee is calling my name.

Venus is at the table, a mug and a plate of eggs in front of her. She’s wearing a fitted white top and a flouncy little skirt.

I grab a bottle of water despite the urge to go straight for the coffee. “Morning.”

“Morning.” She rests her chin in her hands. “Someone’s been working hard.”

“I work out everyday.”

“I’m not talking about your muscles.” She rises. Folds her arms over her chest. “Rita Meeks?”

I shrug.

She smirks. “You’re a social media detective. Consider a career change. Troy Maddox, PI?”

“How do you know I was looking her up?”

It’s her turn to shrug.

“You used my bathroom, didn’t you?”

Her eyes spark. “I happened to see your research this morning, yes.”

I narrow my eyes. “It was a dead end.”

“I hit a snag too.” Venus leans against the counter. “I called Victor, but he hasn’t been in contact with his ex-wife for weeks and he says she’s not at the house either.”

“I bet she’s still in the country. It shouldn’t be that hard to track her down. We have to get access to her accounts. Prove that she’s the one who sent the texts.”

“Oh, you’re a hacker now?” Venus smirks.

It lights me up inside. “No, but Brendon’s best friend is. Teale Landry. I shot him a message last night.”

“You work fast.”

“I rush the unpleasant so I can savor the good.”

She tilts her head. “Sounds like a line from a fortune cookie.”

“I just made that up.”

“Hm.”

“Are you ready for work?”

“Almost. I made breakfast.”

I glance at the charred-looking eggs. “I’d rather not take any chances.”

She laughs.

I smile in response. Move closer. Enjoy the sound as it fills the air, the brightness in her eyes, the gentle shake of her shoulders.

“Rita’s not getting away with it.”

Her eyelashes fall softly. “I wasn’t scared.”

“Right.”

“I wasn’t!”

I sit around the table. Stretch my legs. “It’s almost over.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.” She tilts her head. “Don’t forget your end of the deal. You’re getting set up soon.”

I frown.

That part of our agreement was a big mistake.

There’s no way I can invest even a crumb of attention in any other woman when my head’s so full with thoughts of Venus.

She studies me. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t want to do it?”

No. I want you. I don’t want anyone else.

But that’s not an option.

Venus isn’t on the table.

Even if I want her there.

Her skirt at her ankles.

Her legs spread apart…

I’m not thinking about that.

Focus, Troy.

I clear my throat. “There’s a lot going on right now.”

“True.”

“We need to catch Rita.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I’m booked solid for cover designs. My agent wants a new exhibit.”

“Sounds like a lot.”

“I wouldn’t have much time to dedicate to dating. It would be unfair to that woman.”

She nods. “Very unfair.”

Silence falls between us.

Even to my own ears, it sounds like an excuse.

If Venus were my woman, I’d drop everything to spend time with her.

My business, my paintings—she would be my priority.

This has nothing to do with my time and everything to do with my hesitation to have anyone else.

“You know,” Venus’s eyes slide to the floor, “if you’re so busy, we can put off making a match.”

My eyebrows hike.

“Just until things calm down.”

“Right.”

“Or...”

“Or?”

She clamps her lips together. Or never.

That last part hovers in the air.

A whisper of a promise.

A thread of mutual understanding.

My heart beats faster. I’m starting to think I’m not reading her wrong.

That Venus wants me as much as I want her.

It can’t happen.

It won’t.

The faster we both accept that, the better.

But I still smile like a fool when I say, “Postponing would be great.”

Nineteen

Venus

I hum as I skip into work after breakfast. My co-workers stare at me like I’ve gone crazy, but I don’t care.

My strides are long and bouncy. “Janet, is that a new sweater? It looks fabulous.”

“Uh…”

“Bye!” I flutter my fingers.

Ten more steps to my office.

Another group of co-workers approach.

“Asia, please tell me where you did your hair. It’s stunning.”

“Thanks.”

I flash her a smile.

She gives me a hesitant one back.

Five more steps to my office.

The mailman exits the break room.

I wink at him.

He blushes.

Three more steps to my office.

I stop short of doing a little twirl and open my door.

Sunlight streams through the windows.

I suck in a deep breath and glide to my desk.

The files Kayla gave me—the one featuring top tier female clients—waits on the surface. I open my drawer, drop the files inside, and bump it closed with my hip.

I’ll find some other high-profile couple to match.

It doesn’t have to be Troy.

It’ll never be Troy.

I’m about to move out of his house, but I was deluding myself to think I could give him to someone else.

Not give.

He was never mine.

He’s still not.

But…

What?

I’m not sure.

I don’t want to think about it too deeply. It just felt like we’d taken a teeny-tiny step toward each other this morning and I couldn’t be more ecstatic.

Who knows?

Dropping the matchmaking agreement today. Sneaking into his bed tomorrow. The opportunities really are endless now that I don’t have the matchmaker-client boundaries breathing down my neck like a giant prison ward armed with a taser gun and a grudge.

The promotion isn’t going anywhere.

There are tons of ways to skin that cat.

No offense to cats.

I grab my laptop to do some research when there’s a hesitant knock on the door.

“Come in,” I call and glance up, expecting to find my new officemate. There were whispers around Make It Marriage that HQ had hired a new, up-and-coming matchmaker.

But it’s not my mysterious co-worker.

It’s Kayla.

“Hey.” My grin stretches across my cheeks.

Kayla’s lips stay flat.

I really don’t care. We left Corrine and Evan’s dinner yesterday on a… tense foot, but I’m in such a good mood that nothing could bring me down.

“Hey.” Kayla slips inside. Her heels hit the floor. She walks past the sofa and stands directly in front of my desk.

I crane my neck to meet her eyes. My grin deflates a little. “You look serious.”

“I did something.”

“With Brendon?” I grin wickedly. “That position? The one in the video I sent—?”

“With Troy.”

All the mischief leaves my body like it got hit with a sucker-punch. “What?”

“I’m sorry. It was for your own good.”

I rise slowly. All humor gone. “What. Did. You. Do?”

“I matched him.”

My jaw drops.

For a moment, the words don’t even make sense.

Kayla sighs. “I set him up.”

As if on cue, my phone starts buzzing.

I don’t answer.

“Charisma Ellington. Former ballerina. Sweet human being. Troy is everything she’s looking for on paper and I’m sure they’ll get along even if they don’t click romantically—”

“Why the hell did you match Troy?” I bellow.

Kayla winces.

“How could you betray me like this?”

“Betray you? Venus”—she smacks her hand on the desk—“three days ago, you were moaning about losing the promotion and doing everything you could to be noticed.”

“So?”

“So I told HQ Troy and Charisma was your match. I did that for you.”

“Call them back. Tell them you made a mistake.”

“It’s too late. The clients have already been called and informed. It’s just a matter of arranging their schedules so they can meet.”

I don’t know whether to scream at her or throw something.

Two minutes ago, my world had seemed so bright.

Now?

“I told you I wanted to arrange it myself.”

“You did. Charisma was your suggestion.”

I glare at her. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.”

“So why did you—?”

“Because you wouldn’t have,” she says quietly.

I suck in a deep breath. Partly because she’s right and partly because I need a moment to corral my anger.

I’m seconds away from body-slamming my best friend.

“I saw the way you were looking at him yesterday.”

I laugh bitterly. “You can’t be serious.”

“It was all over your face, Venus. You have a giant crush, but it’s not reciprocated.”

“You don’t know that.”

“So Troy likes you back?” She wrings her hands and looks genuinely worried.

“Not…” I wince. “Not necessarily.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No.”

“Why not? You’ve never been afraid to go after what you want.”

I ball my fingers into fists. “He’s my brother’s best friend. It’s complicated.”

“That’s not enough to keep you from hesitating.” She shakes her head. “You’ve tried something, haven’t you?”

I think of my eighteenth birthday. All the hints I dropped leading up to then.

Kayla sighs. “I get that he’s hot, but is he worth throwing away all that you’ve worked for?”

“I don’t know,” I snap. “But it was my choice to make.”

“Venus—”

“Get out of my office, Kayla.”

“I only did it to help you.”

“I know. I…” I squeeze my eyes closed. “Please, just leave. I can’t look at you right now.”

She drops her head. Stares at her shoes. “I don’t understand you.”

I fling my hands down. “What?”

“You.” She glances up. Stares me in the eyes. “You call me your best friend, but I don’t know you. I don’t know what makes you tick or laugh or cry. You’re always in my business, but you hold me at arms-length. You tell stupid jokes and you act like nothing in the world matters, but I know that’s not the real you. You don’t trust me with that version. ”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve never let me in, Venus. You don’t let anyone in.” She inhales deeply. “You’re right. What I did was… questionable. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back, but I did because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Troy would never hurt me.”

“Not intentionally. No.”

I fold my arms over my chest.

“Yesterday was the first time I saw you act that… I don’t know, starry-eyed. You let him close. He has power over you. You gave it willingly. And he doesn’t even realize. That’s dangerous. ”

I say nothing.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Silence.

Kayla sighs, turns and walks slowly out.

The door shuts.

I rake my fingers through my hair and kick my legs.

My head throbs.

Just like that, it’s all complicated again.

But this morning…

Me and Troy.

I hesitate. Chew on a fingernail.

Was there a ‘me and Troy’ this morning?

Did I just make it all up in my head?

He didn’t want to be matched way before I moved in.

He was engaged to someone else just a few weeks ago.

I was the one who pushed the matchmaking angle.

And I was also the one who interpreted our conversation this morning to mean more than it did.

All Troy admitted to was being busy. And I heard ‘I like you, Venus. I only want to date you, Venus.’

Kayla was sneaky and way out of line, but she has a good heart and a good point.

I’m seeing things I want to see.

Hearing things I want to hear.

I’m deluding myself.

Troy’s got no real feelings for me.

My phone chirps again.

I answer. “Troy.”

“Venus, hey.” There’s a car horn in the background. Sounds like he’s in traffic. “I just got a call from the Make It Marriage office. They found me a match. Is there some mistake?”

I hesitate.

Tears crop in my eyes.

Damn. I want him.

But he doesn’t want me.

Nothing I can do will change that.

“Venus?”

“It was a mistake.”

He sighs in relief. “Good. I—”

“But I’m not going to undo it.”

There’s a screech of brakes skidding to a stop and then, “What?”

“I just had a conversation with Kayla.”

“And?”

“And I got a lesson in reality.”

He doesn’t respond.

I press a hand to my chest, glad he can’t see my face when I mumble, “Can you keep the original agreement?”

“I…”

“Go on the date.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Those words tear my heart right out of my chest.

Impale me like the impact of a thousand spears.

This isn’t what I want.

This is the opposite of what I want.

Please say no. Insist you won’t. Give me a hint that I’m not alone in my feelings. Let me pretend. Even a crumb will do.

There’s a long pause.

I fling silent prayers heavenward.

Something rustles on the other end.

Troy’s voice rumbles. “Okay.”

Twenty

Troy

This place is full of artwork. Knock-offs. There’s no way that’s a Tousana original on the wall.

But it’s the thought that counts.

Can’t expect a steakhouse to afford premium paintings.

Besides I’m not here to be picky.

Candle light flickers. Soft golden lamps throw just enough light to illuminate my date across the table.

Charisma.

Cute name. Cute girl.

But she’s not Venus.

She’ll never be Venus.

My fingers tap the table.

The fork next to my wine-red cloth napkin rattles.

I still can’t believe I’m here.

Sitting across from some stranger I got matched with eight hours ago.

We’re five minutes into our date, but I’m not registering anything.

I’m thinking about Venus. The determination in her voice when she urged me to go on the date. The knife that lodged in my gut when I agreed.

Charisma picks up a piece of bread with her dainty fingers. “Troy?”

I blink.

Return my attention to her. “Sorry?”

“I said ‘this is a nice place’.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Long day?” She chuckles.

“You can say that.”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have insisted we meet this soon. I just…” She tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, “really wanted to meet you.”

“Ah.”

“I can’t believe that Troy Maddox is a member of Make It Marriage and that they’d match you with me…” Her smile brightens her blue eyes. She’s gushing. “This is a dream come true.”

“I see.”

“My father’s an art buff. He almost fainted when I told him about this.”

“Hm.”

“You’re lucky I talked him down or you’d be dating us both tonight.”

A missed opportunity.

Maybe I would have clicked more with her dad.

No.

That’s unfair.

There’s nothing wrong with Charisma.

I’m the one whose head is a mess.

I force interest into my tone. “Are you close to your dad?”

“Oh yeah. He’s like my best friend.” She blushes. “But don’t misunderstand. I’m not some Daddy’s girl. There are lots of things about me that my dad doesn’t know.”

“Like what?”

She leans down. Far enough that I can see down her dress.

Nice view.

I’ll give her that.

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Her eyes flash. “But I know what I want.”

Me.

Charisma wants me.

My hands in her hair.

My body pinning her to a wall.

I press my elbow against the table. Try to drum up some interest in the woman sitting across from me. The woman Venus thinks I have the highest chance of falling in love with.

She’s pretty. Cheerful, in that I grew up sheltered and adored by my family way.

I try to imagine Charisma shredding lettuce for fajitas in my kitchen. Going running in the mornings wearing nothing but a sports bra and tiny shorts. Teasing me about the paint on my clothes.

Try to picture her in my room. Pressing her into my bed. Scrunching that dress high. Unhooking her bra.

The vision flits through my mind. For a moment.

Then it’s Venus in my head.

Her bra in my hands.

My fingers inching up her skirt.

Those plump lips stretching in a come here smirk.

This is a disaster.

I’m supposed to be looking for ways to connect with Charisma. Thinking of flirty things to say. Picking up on her vibes. Doing all I can to cinch that invite back to her place. Hear her scream my name.

But that’s the last thing I want to do.

Still, I try to fake it. “Do you?”

She laughs. Takes a sip of her wine. Boldness flits through her eyes. “If the rumors are true, you’re a talented man.”

“Are we still talking about my artwork?”

She laughs again. “Am I too forward?”

“Confidence is sexy.”

“That’s refreshing to hear.”

“How so?”

“You’d be surprised how many men are turned off by aggressive women. They prefer the traditional, ‘be seen not heard’ type.” She rolls her eyes. “So old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned has its perks.”

She giggles. “Let me guess. You stand by your duty to open doors.”

“And pay on the first date.”

“So if I wanted to pay tonight…?”

“Not going to happen.”

“And the second date?”

“Is that an invitation?”

“I’m trying to be coy.” She grins. “Is it working?”

I clear my throat. We’re getting way ahead of ourselves. I don’t see this going beyond tonight.

I raise a hand. Grab the waitress’s attention. Gesture to Charisma.

She orders another glass of wine and a fish platter.

I order whiskey and steak.

“An amazing artist. A gentleman.” Charisma sighs contentedly. “I think I might be impressed if you cook too.”

“You’re already impressed.”

Her smile widens. “Yeah?”

“I’m very perceptive.”

“Not humble though.”

No. Not so much.

I meet her gaze. Struggle to find the connection we ‘potentially’ have—something to latch onto.

There’s a lot on paper.

She’s hot. Smart. Funny.

But the only woman on my mind is Venus.

And that’s foolish.

Charisma’s right here.

It’s not like one date is enough to know for sure whether or not we’ll work.

I sip my whiskey. It’s rich. Perfect.

Charisma follows my lead. Slips her wine glass between her mouth. Watches me over the rim. Red wine sloshes around the glass. Her throat bobs daintily.

She sets the glass back on the table. Slips her tongue out. Traces it slowly over her bottom lip and then her top.

I watch her little show, but it does nothing to get my blood pumping.

“So…” She thrusts two fingers over the stem of the glass. Twirls it around. Shoots me a we don’t have to stay here for dessert look. “Did you always want to be a painter?”

“No. I was into basketball.”

“An athlete?” She does a slow sweep of my body. “You must have gotten all the girls.”

“More attracted to the letterman jacket than me.”

“Still,” her eyes fall to the table, “tragically, I would’ve never been on your radar.”

“A bold woman who pays for the second date? I think I would have seen you around.”

She laughs. “Is that so?”

I shrug.

At the moment, I’m half-checked out of the conversation.

The date’s failing and it’s my fault.

But I can’t drum up the energy to try harder.

I finish my whiskey.

Run my gaze over her.

The low-cut neckline of her tight red dress should excite my body.

But it doesn’t.

She shoots me a sly look. Her chuckle is flirty but nervous. “What was your move? Under-the-bleachers or the backseat of your truck?” She tilts her head. “No, let me guess, a rigged truth or dare and an empty upstairs bedroom?”

“I plead the fifth.”

“No fair.”

“High school was a while ago.”

“And now?”

“You guess.”

“No games?”

“None.”

Her eyes gleam.

She’s picturing me naked. In her bedroom. In the backseat of my car.

She wants me.

I see it all over her face. She’s licking her lips like I’m her next meal.

That should be enough.

She’s pretty. Willing to be used.

I’ve never been one to turn down the invitation of a beautiful woman.

But now…

Her leg brushes against mine. Again.

It’s intentional.

She’s making her move. Making sure I know she’s available.

Under ordinary circumstances, I’d touch her back.

Let the conversation veer to a whisper. Hint at what I’d do to her back at her place.

But…

Her touch feels so wrong.

There’s no way I can go through with it.

All I want to do is go home.

Because home… is where Venus is.

Twenty-One

Troy

The woman isn’t here.

I throw my bathroom door open. Check behind the glass shower.

My gaze desperately scans the bath.

Fancy showerhead. Tiled walls.

No Venus.

My heart pounds in my chest.

Where the hell is she?

I pass her empty bedroom again. Down the stairs. Check the kitchen. The garage.

The house is dark.

Silent.

It’s eleven o’clock.

I check my phone.

No messages.

I dial her number.

No answer.

Panic echoes in my head.

Curses shoot past my lips with every thud of my shoes.

Did she get kidnapped?

I left her alone.

Damn.

I should have never…

My head’s about to explode.

I start to dial the police when I hear a car pull up in the driveway.

Clinging to hope, I charge the window and push the curtains aside.

There’s a flashy convertible parked on the street.

The door opens. A shapely leg slips out of it. That shapely leg is followed by another. Short, grey mini-skirt. Sheer tank top plunging ridiculously low. Long, reddish-brown curls tossed to one side of her shoulder.

She glides down the path.

Her heels click against pavement.

I get to the front door and yank it open, catching her just before she inserts her key.

The sight of her knocks the breath out of me.

Every thought…

Every harsh word…

It shatters.

There’s Venus, hovering in the dark night and backlit by the silver moon.

The porch light glimmers over her curls, her eyes, that gorgeous brown skin. She’s dressed to kill.

But she’s alive.

She’s safe.

I let the relief roll over me for a second. Then anger barrels to the forefront.

“You’re home already?” Her eyes meet mine. A dare. A challenge. Have a problem?

Hell yeah. “Obviously.”

“Hm.” She slips past me. Tosses her keys on the table in the foyer.

Where the hell were you? Who the hell was that in the convertible? Did he touch you the way I want to?

“I called you.”

“Yeah?”

My voice is cutting. “I thought something happened.”

“It didn’t.”

I can feel my heart pounding—anger? Something else? “I told you not to leave the house.”

She moves to the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Pours herself a glass of water. “You don’t own me.”

She takes a sip.

This woman…

I’m about to lose my damn mind.

“I never said—” I grit my teeth. “It’s for your own safety.”

Her eyes bounce around. “Last I checked this wasn’t a prison. I can come and go as I please.”

“We still haven’t found Rita Meeks yet.”

Venus snorts. “I’m not scared of her.”

I step forward. “Do you think this is funny?”

She opens the fridge again. “Is beer all you have?”

“Venus.”

“I’m feeling some wine.”

Why the hell is she acting like this?

Tamping down on my frustration, I turn away. Open the wine cooler. Pull out a bottle. Offer it.

She grabs it with a frown. “You want some?”

I shrug.

I’m not a wine guy.

I bought that bottle for her the day after she moved in. A sort of welcome home gift.

Venus moves to the counter. Opens the bottle.

The cork wiggles free with a pop.

She grabs two glasses.

Pours.

The sloshing sound is the only thing I can hear above my deep breathing.

I’m still trying to keep it together.

Trying to remember that she’s not a kid.

She’s a grown woman. An adult.

One who can come and go as she pleases.

Who makes her own decisions.

Even stupid ones. Like leaving the house at night when someone is threatening her.

I can’t yell at her just because she pissed me off.

Just because I’m jealous.

Venus takes the wine and the glasses into the living room. Sinks into the couch. Motions for me to join her.

I sit. Accept the glass from her.

Our fingers touch.

Skin sliding against skin.

My body lights up.

Everything I wanted to feel with Charisma and didn’t.

“How was your date?” Her voice is low. Casual. As if my answer means absolutely nothing.

“Why?”

“I’m your matchmaker, remember? I ask these things.”

“You’re not on the clock right now.”

“I’m always on the clock.”

“Not with me.”

“I’m asking as a friend.”

I glance up. “Who was the convertible?”

“You first.”

“Date was nice. Convertible?”

“An ex.”

I try to hold a poker face. I don’t know how well I’m doing.

“What else?” She kicks her heels off. Faces me. “It was just nice?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you seeing her again?”

“Save the analysis for tomorrow.”

She smiles. It softens her face. Lights up her eyes.

Looking at her, it feels like a giant wrench just pinched my heart.

I’m so freaking gone.

I frown. “I thought something happened when I got home and didn’t see you. You should have texted.”

She flutters a hand. “Sorry.”

“Sounds genuine.”

She chuckles. Sets the glass down. Scoots over to me.

I lean back.

Venus tilts her head. “Did you...?”

“What?”

“Take her home?”

“We drove separately.”

Her eyebrows narrow. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

I give her a slow once-over. “What are you asking?”

“Something private.”

“As a matchmaker?”

“As a friend.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

Happiness flits across her face. Then it’s gone. Back to open scrutiny. “Did you try anything else?”

“Like?”

She moves closer to me.

Her fingertips skim the back of my knuckles. “This.”

Just like that, my body responds.

Her hand’s on top of mine.

It’s nothing.

Just a simple graze.

But I feel that touch everywhere.

Feel heat spreading south.

Throbbing in my pants.

My voice is rough. “No.”

Another scoot.

Her leg presses against mine.

“What about her? Did she try”—her palm reaches out. Slides up my thigh. Dangerously close to somewhere it shouldn’t be—“this?”

My heart is pounding.

My chest can barely contain it.

It’s taking all my self-restraint to stay still. To keep my hands where I can see them. Not disappearing somewhere that would get me into trouble.

I dig my fingers into the couch. “No.”

She pulls back suddenly. Then yawns. Her hand settles around my shoulder. “Not even this old trick?”

“Her?”

“You.”

“No.”

“Hm.”

“I’m a gentleman.”

She smirks. Leans closer. Her breath warms my ear. “You’ve got no game.”

It’s a tease.

We both know that’s not true.

She’s smiling.

Border-line giddy.

She’s happy I didn’t touch Charisma.

I need to know the reason.

Damn.

No I don’t.

“What about you?” I arch an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t a date.”

“He was an ex.”

“So?”

I feather one of her curls with my thumb. Comb it behind her ear. Let the side of three fingers caress her cheekbone. “Did he…?”

“Maybe.”

Envy colors my voice. “Kiss you?”

“Tonight? No.”

“Something else?”

“Demonstrate.” She closes her eyes. Tilts her chin up.

I stare at her.

My fingers tremble.

She wants to play this game, but I know my limits.

The moment I touch her…

It’ll get real.

I can’t flirt with fire.

I run straight through the blaze.

“Forget it.” I inch back.

She follows me. Wraps her slender fingers around my neck. Yanks me down.

Plump lips collide with my cheek.

Her eyes flutter closed.

Her chest brushes my upper arm.

Dark fingers slide down to my collar bone.

That sweet, sweet mouth…

She pulls back. Stares at me through half-hooded eyes. “That’s all we did.”

“You kiss every guy like that?”

She tilts her head. Plays innocent. “Like what?”

Like she wants to be dragged to the nearest bedroom and ravished.

My tongue trips over itself.

“You know,” Venus’s voice fills the silence, “I had the biggest crush on you growing up.”

I lick my lips.

Where is she going with this?

She laughs. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“Subtle isn’t your style.”

“True.” She sighs. “For a long time, I wanted you to be my first kiss. Did you know that?”

News to me. “No.”

She bobs her head. “It’s true.” Another tinkling laugh. “I waited and waited, but then I said screw it and just got it over with.”

I flinch. “You made the right choice. Even if things were different, I’d still be eight years older.”

“So? Your age doesn’t bother me.” She shrugs. “Neither does your past. Or your broodiness.”

“My broodiness?”

She brushes my shoulder with her fingers. “I knew everything about you—the good and the bad—but I still chose you.”

Damn. Those words.

I didn’t even know how much I wanted to hear them.

Yeah, it’s history.

But it still means something.

“If I had to do it all over again—teenaged angst and all—I’d still choose you.”

“Venus…”

She looks up at me with those dark eyes. “I know.”

Does she? There are a crap-ton of reasons why this can’t happen.

Evan.

Her job.

My sanity.

She smiles up at me. “I just… I thought you should hear it. At least once. You’re—”

I smother her lips with mine.

She’s soft.

Supple.

Impatient.

Her touch electrifies my body. My heart. My head. My veins.

My hands slide down her lower back.

I drag her body against mine.

Kiss her fiercely.

Intently.

Damn, she’s so sweet. Like wine. Like Venus.

Her mouth parts with a soft moan.

Her nails scrape against my scalp.

Her fingers press into my back, leaving delicious indentations.

It’s like she’s been saving up for this.

Like every private longing is snapping free and pouring all over me.

My hands rove her body.

Eager.

Out of control.

One hand slips under her blouse.

She gasps as my fingers graze her torso.

She climbs into my lap. Straddles me. Rocks her hips against mine. Digs her fingers into the collar of my shirt for balance.

There are only a few layers of fabric between us.

It’s far too much.

I need her on her back in the sofa, looking up at me like I’m everything she’s ever wanted.

Because she’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

In the background, a cell phone peals.

Venus holds me tighter in response ignore it.

I’m happy to do so.

The ringing is incessant.

It shrieks and pierces the air, demanding attention.

Venus rolls off me with a sigh. “You should get that.”

I run a hand down my face. Nod.

My cell phone is in the kitchen.

As I walk to get it, I wonder if I should thank the person on the other end or cuss them out.

Maybe both.

With each step, reality pounds into my head.

Venus just…

I…

We crossed a line.

A major one.

I can’t double back from that.

Not without…

I don’t know.

What the hell did I just do?

I rub my forehead.

Lean over the table.

Spot the name blaring across my cell phone screen.

“Is it Evan?” Venus yells from the living room with a note of I’m going to kill him ringing in her voice.

“No.” I glance up. “It’s Teale.”

Her expression stalls.

I lift the phone and answer. “Hello?”

“Troy.”

“Hey. Did you find Meeks’ location?”

He pauses. “Yes… we need to talk.”

Twenty-Two

Venus

There’s a glass of water next to Troy’s computer. A handsome man fills the screen. He’s got stunning blue eyes and the kind of bad-boy good looks that can melt hearts and panties.

Not that I’d throw mine into the fray.

I’ve got my own underwear-melting hunk right in front of me.

Case in point.

I just slipped away to change while Troy set up a video-conference with Teale.

Sexy times are over.

Now that I’m in shorts and a tank top, I can focus on whatever news Teale has for us.

Troy pulls out a chair. Motions for me to take a seat.

His eyes are cold, serious.

No hint of the scorching hot kiss lingers in his expression.

Except for the tiny bit of my brown foundation that rubbed off on his face.

I choose not to point that out.

It’s cute.

I like leaving my mark on him.

“Thanks for waiting for me,” I say.

Teale Landry’s voice is strong and sure, despite his pixelated face on screen. “No problem, Venus.”

I nod.

Teale and I met briefly a year ago, when he stormed Make It Marriage and demanded we pair him with Zania, who is now his lovely wife, but I don’t know him personally.

What’s important is he found Rita and this drama is one step closer to being over.

I fall into the chair.

Teale nods. “Troy, did you get my e-mail?”

“It just got in.” He types something out. “Is it the pdf ‘Tag Map’?”

“That’s it.”

Troy tilts the laptop back to me so I can see the screen.

There’s a map on it.

“Teale, what am I looking at?”

“We traced the numbers. Took a little while, but we pinged a general location. That’s the dot on the green map. Two of three texts were sent from there.”

I peer at the lines. My eyes flit up. “Rita?”

Teale shakes his head. Dirty blond hair flops across his forehead. “Well…”

“Well?” Troy frowns.

“There’s something weird. Three things actually.”

I lean forward.

“Those messages weren’t sent from Rita Meeks.”

“How do you know?”

“The number wasn’t US registered.”

“What?”

Troy grunts. “Sounds like a professional job to me. Do you think she had help?”

“I think…” Teale sighs. “I think we’re dealing with someone else entirely.”

Troy glares down at me. “Did you piss off someone in the mob, V?”

“Of course not. At least… I don’t think so.”

“Wait, there’s more.” Teale waves to get our attention. He sounds like the overly cheerful spokesman on an infomercial. But instead of incredible value, I’m getting double the bad news. “Do you see the other dot? The red one?”

I glance down. “Yeah.”

“There was another phone.”

I blink rapidly. “I don’t understand.”

“Two phones. Two distinct senders. Both internationally registered numbers. Zip code: Belize. That’s what I found.”

Troy stiffens.

I breathe deeply.

This just got… way more confusing.

“You’re saying someone—two some-ones… from my home country… contacted me?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” I mumble. “I left Belize when I was four and I never went back.”

Troy leans over me to see the computer. “Something doesn’t feel right.” His chin brushes my shoulder. “Something… tell me some good news, Teale.”

“We’ve got a name.”

I brace myself. “Why do I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming?”

“But…” Teale hesitates.

Something deep in my psyche screams a warning. My entire world is on the verge of destruction.

“He’s in prison.”

Troy freezes.

I can feel his muscles tensing around me.

Feel the air shifting.

Darkening.

“For what?” I croak.

“Child molestation.”

A sucker punch.

A full on whack to the stomach.

I can’t breathe.

“It’s possible someone else is using his phone and the account’s only in his name, but there’s also a possibility…” He stares intently at me, willing me to fill in the blanks.

I do.

But it doesn’t make sense.

“Why would a rapist text me? Why would…?” I suck in a deep breath.

“Why would he tell you to keep quiet?” Troy pushes away from me. Paces the kitchen.

“He’s up for parole in a few days.”

My head whips up.

A line from the note parades through my head.

You have one week.

“I’m still tracing the second number. We’ll have more information in a couple days.”

“Thanks, Teale,” I whisper.

He pulls his lips in. “I’m really sorry, Venus.”

“No. You gave me answers. And,” I sniff, “at least I’m not blaming Rita Meeks when she’s not guilty.”

He nods.

Signs off.

Feeling helpless and confused, I close the laptop lid.

Troy’s anxious footsteps thud in the silent room.

“Troy…” I turn. Dig my fingers more firmly around the handle of the chair. “Do you think… was I—?”

“Let’s wait for more information before we jump to any conclusions.”

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth.

That recurring dream…

The man in the star-covered room. The one I’m afraid of.

There’s a reason I’ve been seeing wisps and pieces of the same dream for all my life.

Because it’s not a dream.

But… is it reality? Flashbacks? Gnarled truths and fiction trapped in my brain, clamoring to get out? To be free?

My heart thuds.

I don’t remember.

But maybe that’s the point.

I don’t want to remember.

My brain did everything it possibly could to protect me.

The dream was always too vague to make sense of.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe I’m repressing those memories intentionally, so I don’t have to deal with them.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Try not to cry.

The mystery claws at me, more painful than I could ever imagine.

I’m lost. I’m also angry.

Why now?

As if I don’t have enough problems to tackle, there’s an ugly scar in my past that I can’t even remember? Someone’s threatening me, instructing me not to remember. I—

A gentle touch quiets the noise.

My eyelids flutter open.

Troy’s kneeling in front of me, his eyes soft and caring.

His hand rests on my knee.

“What do you need, V?”

“I…” My voice cracks. “I don’t know.”

“Should we call Mrs. G?”

“Later.” I stand. My legs are wobbly.

Troy sees my struggle and he holds me.

I cling to him.

To the only thing that makes sense.

He stands strong. Ropes a hand around my waist. Supports me as we walk up the stairs.

I let him lead.

I’m suddenly too tired to even think right now.

He doesn’t take me to my room.

We go to the bathroom instead.

Three steps.

I’m at the sink.

He removes his hand from my waist. Takes one arm. Slides his hand down until he’s gripping my wrist.

Troy turns on the faucet.

The water gushes out. Hits the sink with a loud hiss.

He pulls my hand under the stream, washes the first one. Then the second.

Next he hands me my toothbrush. Squeezes the paste on top.

When I struggle hard to brush my teeth like a normal person because I’m too busy trying not to cry, he holds the end of the toothbrush and finishes for me.

“Spit,” he says quietly, pointing to the sink.

I do.

“Here.” He hands me a cup of water.

I gurgle.

Wash out my mouth.

Spit again.

Troy grabs a towel. Tenderly dries my hands. Then my face.

I close my eyes. Feel a tear fall.

He’s so gentle.

And I…

I’m so overwhelmed I can’t even handle that.

“Come on,” he whispers huskily. That voice tells me everything. Tonight’s revelation is a ticking bomb for him too. This isn’t easy for him to swallow.

I stare at the back of his head as he leads me forward.

Thick brown hair.

Broad shoulders, strong enough to shelter me from any storm.

To bear the weight of the world.

A task he carried out bravely ever since he was a kid.

Troy grew up taking care of his mother. He stood in line to collect food stamps. Bought the groceries. Got clothes from Goodwill. Missed out-of-state basketball games because he couldn’t afford them. And he didn’t complain.

Things got better when he met us. Still, he carried such heavy responsibilities at home.

I hate that I’m burdening him.

Hate that he has to take care of me.

Hate that I’m anything like his mom.

I wiggle my hand free when we get to my bedroom door. “I’m fine.”

“As someone who uses that word a lot when it doesn’t apply, I call B.S.”

He’s throwing my words right back at me. That draws a smile.

He steps closer. “I’ll tuck you in.”

“It’s not—”

He swoops me up, bridal style. Into his arms. Pulls me close.

Our faces only inches apart.

Brown eyes burn into me. “Argument over?”

I nod.

Fighting requires the kind of energy I just don’t have.

Troy carries me to the bed. He balances one knee on the mattress.

It dips. He lowers me onto the pillow. Steps back. Turns to leave.

I snatch his wrist.

He stops and glances over his shoulder.

“Stay,” I beg.

He turns completely. A flicker of uncertainty crosses his face.

I pat the side of the bed. “I’m not going to try anything.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

I scoot back.

He sighs. Kicks off his shoes. Gets in with me.

I cuddle close.

He holds me tightly.

His arms are comfortable.

I fall asleep.

That night, I dream about the room with the plastic stars again.

The door opens and the footsteps thud slowly.

The weird, cheerful music plays again.

I shake in fear again.

Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.

Then I wake up.

Dripping in sweat.

Terrified.

My heart pounding.

Troy pulls me in. He’s still sleeping, but his lips find my forehead. Places a gentle kiss there.

It’s instinctual.

Like he’s paying attention even when his eyes are closed.

I soak him in. Press myself as close to him as I can.

The terror slinks away.

I stare at his face.

He blinks. Meets my eyes. Are you okay?

I nod.

For now.

But Troy won’t be here all the time.

Sooner or later, I’ll have to face the monsters in the closet alone.

Troy kisses my cheek. Settles his chin against the side of my face. “I’m not going anywhere, V.”

My heart thuds even harder.

It’s the right thing to say.

And damn if that doesn’t make me fall for him a little more.

Twenty-Three

Troy

I leave Venus sleeping in bed.

Sunlight steals into the room.

Sharp rays of shimmering gold.

It points to the bed.

To Venus.

She’s curled up in the sheets, her mouth slightly slacking. Slender hands are pressed beneath her brown chin. Voluminous curls spill all over the pillows.

It’s my fault.

I should have remembered that she wears a bonnet to bed. Hopefully, her hair’s not too tangled.

I rub my chin. Then the bridge of my nose.

My head’s aching like I didn’t sleep a wink last night.

Damn. This is pathetic.

A promise, a hug and a wash was all I could give her yesterday.

Today, that won’t be enough.

Not with everything she’s going through.

There’s got to be more I can do for her.

Something tangible.

Something that will drain all the anger building in her veins.

And mine too.

The fury…

The rage…

I need to tear someone up—preferably the pedophile who texted her, threatened her, did Lord knows what to her…

Fumbling for my phone, I check for new messages.

TEALE: Fred Bateman.

TEALE: That’s the name on the registered account.

TEALE: Still working on the second number.

I sigh.

ME: Thanks.

I want to look him up, but I choose to make breakfast instead. That bastard’s profile will always be there.

I flip the last pancake and slide the crackling bacon into a plate.

My phone rings.

I check the screen, hoping it’s Teale.

But it’s not.

It’s Evan.

Guilt flogs my chest.

I press IGNORE and set my phone face down.

Last night, I kissed Venus.

A mistake.

I shouldn’t have touched her. I can’t have her.

And I can’t look Evan in the eyes knowing my desire for her won over my loyalty to him.

Soft footsteps pull me out of my thoughts.

Venus stands at the base of the stairs in her little shorts and tank top. Messy curls dangle over her left shoulder and back. She yawns sleepily. Slender legs shuffle toward me.

My heart turns over.

I want her.

Every inch of her.

Her soul.

Her secrets.

Her darkness.

I’d take them in my hands. Treasure them. Because they’re a part of her.

I’d protect her to my dying breath.

I’d love her until she forgot every thought.

But my love isn’t what she needs.

Not when her world is turning over.

She gets closer. Looks up at me with those deep brown eyes. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

“You made breakfast.”

“Yeah. You hungry?”

“Not really.” She frowns. Stares at the ground. Then she meets my eyes again. “But I wouldn’t want your hard work to go to waste.”

I offer a strained smile.

She pulls out a chair. Sits.

I clear my throat. Struggle to find our way back to normalcy. “Are you going into work today?”

“I have to pay for my apartment, even if I’m not living in it.” She reaches for a pancake.

I slide the syrup closer to her.

She thanks me with a nod. “Besides, I have to get revenge on Kayla for matching you with someone behind my back.”

“Kayla?”

“Yup.” Venus takes a bite. Munches. Swallows. “Did you think I set you up with Charisma last night?”

I lean my elbows on the counter. “You are my matchmaker.”

“True.”

“Not a big leap.”

“I guess you’ll just have to fire me. In this case, I don’t want to be good at my job.”

A knot tightens in my stomach. “Venus…”

“Don’t.”

“I’ve thought about this.”

“That’s your problem.” She side-eyes me. “You think too much.”

She looks so damn appealing. Even when she’s being saucy.

“There’s a lot to consider.”

“Like my brother? He’d get over it eventually.” She sets her fork down. Stares at me like she’s gearing up to fight. “And my job? I’m good and I’ll get that promotion some other way. If it’s the no-dating-a-client thing, I’ll just get fired. Any other objections?”

She’s stubborn.

Damn. I adore her.

Even if I have to be the mature one between us.

“You love your job.”

“Some things are more important.”

“Still…”

“What? What else is there? I’ve already told you I don’t care about your age. Unless…” Her smile wavers. The gleam in her eyes fades. “It’s because of what we found out last night. About what might have happened to me…”

“Hell no.” The fact that she’d even think that breaks my heart.

“Then why? I’m not crazy.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “You kissed me last night. I didn’t force you.”

Can’t argue with facts.

So I say nothing.

Her eyes pop open. Brown. Vulnerable. Trusting. “You want me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

No sense hiding it.

Wanting Venus has never been the problem.

“But things aren’t that easy.”

“Who cares?” She laughs darkly. “My life is a freaking mess right now. I have no idea what’s real and what’s fake anymore, but the one thing I do know”—she stares into my eyes—“is how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt about you.”

I study the slight tremble in her words. The red-rimmed edges of her eyes. She’s coming undone.

I want to find all her broken places and hold them together. I need it as much as I need my next breath. As much as I need her to be happy. As much as I need anything.

“Come here.”

She stops. Appraises me.

I motion at her.

She moves out of her chair and climbs into my lap.

I slide my arm around her waist.

She rests her head on my shoulder.

I inhale her scent.

She fits so perfectly. Feels so right in my arms.

“You, Papi, Mrs. G, Evan—you’re the only people that gave a damn about me. You know that, right?”

“I know,” she mumbles.

“I don’t want to lose you. Any of you.”

She sits up. Her hair tumbles over her eyes. She holds it back with a hand. “You won’t.”

“You’re too important to me.” I move a stubborn curl that pops out of her grip back with my fingers. “I want to be careful.”

“You want to go slow? I can do slow.”

I give her a disbelieving look.

“I can.”

“And Evan…”

She groans. “Can we put off telling him for a bit? I want to live long enough to sleep with you.”

I chuckle. Touch her shoulder. “We should tell him. Today.”

She groans again.

“At least about everything else that’s been going on.”

She thinks about it. Holds out a hand. “Deal.”

I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Pull her in. Seal the deal with a kiss.

Her lips are soft.

Pliable.

“Mm.” She pulls back. Wraps an arm around my neck. “I like this already.”

There are a million reasons why this is wrong.

But I nod.

Because the truth is…

“I like it too.”

Twenty-Four

Venus

“Knock, knock.” My door eases open. A brown paper bag with Brew Drop’s logo on the center pops into sight.

“No one’s home.”

“I brought an apology,” Kayla says, everything but her arm still hidden behind the door.

“Cinnamon buns?” I scoot out of my chair and strut around my desk.

She shakes the bag. “Among other things.”

“Hm.”

The door opens. She shuffles through, her eyes on me.

“I didn’t say you could enter.”

“My arm hurts.” She rotates her shoulder as if I’m to blame. “And people were watching.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “You think bringing me breakfast is enough of an apology?”

“It was all I could think of.”

“You lack creativity.”

“I’m not you, okay. I don’t…” she gestures to the paper bag, “do this.”

I laugh.

“What?”

“You’re cute. I see why Brendon likes you.”

“I told him what happened yesterday. You should know that he called me out on your behalf.”

“I’m sure he softened the blow later too.”

She blushes. “There was that, but I got the message. I was out of line and—”

“Troy and I are dating,” I blurt.

Her jaw drops.

A big, cheesy grin spreads on my face.

So much crap has happened.

There’s more in store.

But I’m stupidly, foolishly happy.

And I needed to share it with someone.

“Venus, that’s… great.”

I tilt my head. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“No. I mean that. It’s just so sudden. How did… I mean…”

“We were talking about his date last night.” I lean against my desk. “We both got jealous. It forced us to face the truth. In a sense, we owe it all to you.”

“You’re welcome. I guess.”

“But you still suck for going behind my back like that.”

She winces. “Noted.”

“And…” I drop my gaze to the floor, “about me being closed up—”

“Oh, no. Venus, please. Forget I said that. It was low. And I’m the last person who should be accusing anyone of keeping secrets. That was so hypocritical.”

I shake my head. “You were right. I do have a habit of holding people at arm’s length. I don’t know. I just… I have a problem with trust. It’s why all the guys on my rotation never stick around for long.”

“The Itch Scratchers?” She smiles.

“Right.” I swallow hard.

Problems with intimacy.

It’s a symptom of childhood abuse, but I don’t want to think about that right now.

I’d rather fantasize about Troy.

And all the ways I plan on speeding up this ‘go slow’ agreement we’ve struck.

“With Troy, it’s different. He’s always been around. I’ve been in love with him since as long as I can remember. He’s like a part of me. It’d be ridiculous to hide something from myself.”

“I’m happy for you. Honestly. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

“But,” she chews on her bottom lip, “what about the company? He’s still technically a client. If they find out you two were together on the job…”

“I’ll hand in my resignation if I have to.”

She gasps. “Venus, no way. This is my fault. I sent in Troy’s match. If anyone’s getting fired, it’s me.” She jerks her chin down. “I’ll sort everything out. I promise.”

“Okay.” I happily open the bag and grab a cinnamon roll.

She gives me the dark eye. “Aren’t you concerned? I could get fired.”

“Your boyfriend is a billionaire. I think you’ll survive.” I chuckle. “Even if you’re fired, he can buy the entire company.” I plop into the chair across from her and kick up my legs. “Let me know when you clear that up. ”

Kayla scowls.

I chew happily.

“Well, thanks for forgiving me. I guess.”

“You’re welcome.” I sigh contentedly. “You should mess up more often. I like getting snacks personally delivered.”

Kayla shakes her head, but a corner of her lips tilts up. “Troy has his hands full.”

“He sure does.”

Still half-smirking, Kayla leaves.

I make a few phone calls to check up on clients and then I text Troy.

ME: Did you call Evan yet?

My phone rings almost immediately.

I pick up, my body melting into the armchair as his voice rumbles over me.

“Hey.”

Ah…

It’s like a magic spell.

Any time I hear or see or think about Troy, nothing else matters.

“Hey.” I twirl my hair.

“I was just about to call you.”

“To say something dirty?”

“Something dirty.”

I chuckle. “Now whisper it.”

He lowers his voice. “Something dirty.”

I laugh so hard someone knocks on my door asking if I’m alright.

“I’m fine!” I yell to my concerned co-worker and then I mumble into the phone, “People will think I’ve gone crazy.”

“If they think that, they’re slow on the uptake. You’ve always been crazy.”

“And what does that make you for wanting a crazy woman?”

“An idiot?”

I bark out another laugh.

I can hear Troy smiling on the other end even though I can’t see him. “I just wanted to check up on you. See how your day was going.”

My heart melts.

He’s so freaking sweet.

How the hell am I supposed to keep myself from jumping him the minute I get home?

“Kayla just dropped off some cinnamon rolls.” I glance at the paper bag on my desk. “She apologized.”

“You accepted it?”

“Yeah. She’s my best friend.”

“I’m glad.” He pauses. “I told Evan to meet us at Fernando’s tonight.”

“That little Mexican restaurant?”

“We can go somewhere else if you like.”

“No, that’ll work. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay.”

The conversation’s over and I have work to do. I’m sure he does too, but we both linger on the phone.

I roll my eyes closed.

Picture his handsome face. His chest. His rows of abs. That delicious V going down to his...

“What are you thinking?” Troy asks.

“About my hands all over you.”

“Where exactly?”

“Mm… if I tell you, you’ll want me home for lunch.”

“You mean dessert?”

“Uh-uh, Mr. Maddox. This doesn’t count as going slow.”

“No, it doesn’t.” His voice is low, sexy. “We can make an exception.”

“How convenient.”

“Fine. You can suffer.”

“I still have my fantasy.”

His voice is crackling with wicked intent. “Not as good as the real thing.”

My breath thickens.

My body starts to cry out for his touch.

I need cold water.

Fast.

Troy. You freaking tease.

“Still holding out?”

“Admit it,” I whisper. “You can’t do slow either.”

“That a challenge.”

“To see who can lose first?”

He laughs again. “I’ve got a meeting with my agent this evening. I won’t be able to pick you up so I’ll meet you at home later. Be careful.”

“I will.”

“I’m serious, V. Call me if there’s anything suspicious. I don’t care what. You stub your freaking toenail. You call me, okay?”

“Don’t worry.”

A reminder for an appointment pops up on my laptop.

“I have to go. See you later.”

We hang up.

I sigh dramatically.

Talk about a sucky turn of events.

Troy won’t be home till later? I was so looking forward to seeing him. Touching him.

Then a smile grows on my face.

Oh well.

It’ll give me plenty of time to get ready.

I have an outfit in mind that’ll test the limits of that rock hard… restraint.

* * *

Troy’s meeting ends up going over. He calls me, a note of worry in his voice—almost as if he’d ditch the meeting if I so much as hint that I need him.

I do.

I need him more than anything.

But he’s a busy man with galleries clamoring to show his work and publishing houses knocking his door down to get him to design their book covers.

I have to share him with the world.

With the people who adore him.

Deservedly so.

The man is crazy talented.

Speaking of… where does he keep all his paintings?

Since I’m ready, I pad through the house, looking through the rooms I haven’t snooped in yet.

Troy has a garage off the side of the house, but it’s locked.

Weird.

I remind myself to ask him about it later.

My phone chirps.

EVAN: Need a ride, sis?

I text back without thought.

ME: Yes, please.

I press SEND.

Then it hits me.

Evan doesn’t know I live with Troy.

Scrambling faster than I ever thought I was capable of, I try to text him back, but he hits me with a response.

EVAN: On my way.

Deciding to just meet him at my apartment, I grab my purse and shoes. Hail a taxi. Tell the driver to step on it.

When I get to my apartment, I head up the stairs.

The familiar passageway makes my heart thud.

Someone—I still don’t know who—put a note on my door less than a week ago.

So much has happened since then.

It feels like I’m walking through this corridor a completely different person.

The door looks foreign to me.

I don’t want to go inside.

Don’t want to relive that moment.

I turn to leave and spot my neighbor.

“Ms. Shayla!” I wave.

Her eyes brighten. She clumsily moves for her glasses. “Venus. What a lovely surprise. I haven’t seen you around lately. ”

“I’ve been staying at a friend’s.”

“Is it because of—” She gestures to my door.

I chuckle self-consciously. “Oh, well…”

“It worked. I haven’t seen that stalker since you left. Oh, I almost forgot!” She scrambles back to her apartment. “A box got delivered for you.”

“Really?” I scrunch my nose.

I don’t remember ordering anything.

“Let me get it.”

Ms. Shayla waddles into her house, still talking. I can hear her voice from outside, though it sounds distant.

“I wanted to call your young man. Who was it? Troy? But I couldn’t find his business card. I’m always losing things. Forgetting things. My body’s not as young as I feel. ”

My chest warms.

I’m locked on that one phrase.

Your young man Troy.

Yes, he is.

Mine, mine, mine.

Mrs. Shayla appears again, holding a box. “Here you go, dear.”

“Thank you.” I accept it from her.

With one last wave and a smile, I head outside to wait for Evan.

Vehicles cruise past.

Street lamps blink to life.

Dusk wanes and night takes over.

I shuffle from one foot to the next, my fingers rasping over the box wrapped in simple brown paper.

Curious, I decide to open it before Evan arrives.

I tear off the lid.

Inside, there’s a worn teddy bear. One eye missing. Stuffing popping out.

It’s old and smelly.

I scrunch my nose. “What the hell?”

There’s a note.

A yellow sticky pad.

Fear skitters up my neck.

I glance around.

Shadows dance in the distance.

The wind howls eerily.

With trembling fingers, I turn the note around.

Read it.

Please tell the truth.

You have two days.

My stomach plummets to my toes.

A roaring starts in my head. Builds and builds until it’s a keening wail.

I drop the box.

Step back.

No.

Please.

Whatever this truth is, I don’t want to remember.

Twenty-Five

Troy

I sprint through the doors of the restaurant. Past the hostess at the podium. Straight into the main hall.

It’s loud and boisterous.

The décor is all bold colors to match. Red, green and white. Maracas on every table. Big bowls of tortilla chips. Happy smiles. Laughter. Beer.

I glance around the tables, searching for one face in particular.

Through the dimness, I spot Venus in a form-fitting red dress. Her head is down. She’s got her fingers in her lap and her back slouched.

Evan’s words when he called me fifteen minutes ago runs through my head.

“She said she won’t talk until you get here.”

I stalk forward. “What the hell happened?”

Brother and sister look up.

“Troy.” Evan stands. Slaps my back. “What’s going on, man?”

“Hey.” Venus offers a watery-smile.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She gestures for me to sit. “I just… didn’t want to have to say this twice.”

“Say what?” I demand.

She gestures to the booth.

I sit beside her instead.

Evan takes the seat across from us. His eyes flit from me to Venus. “So what’s the big news?”

“There’s… something I’ve been keeping from you.”

She takes a long pause.

I lean forward. Whisper, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”

Tearful brown eyes meet mine.

My chest thuds.

I want to absorb her into me.

Cradle her in my chest where no one can touch her.

A loud groan grabs my attention.

Evan covers his mouth with a fist. “Don’t tell me… are you two…?”

Venus freezes. “No.”

I tap my fingers on the table, impatient. “Yes, we are.”

“What?”

“I like Venus. She likes me. Now…” I shift firmly toward her. In a softer voice, I urge, “Tell me. What’s wrong?”

Venus’s eyes widen.

“Y-you’re dating? Since when?” He sputters. “Dude, that’s so—”

“Yell at me later,” I snap.

Evan gawks.

“Venus,” I take her hand, squeeze it lightly, “when Evan called, I almost… my heart dropped. Talk to me. You were fine this morning.” I pause. Terror fills my veins. “Did you remember something?”

She shakes her head. “Sort of.”

Evan tears his eyes off me and focuses on his sister.

“I never told you.” She glances up. Looks at me. “Any of you. But… since I was a kid, I’ve been having this dream.” She wets her lips nervously. “I’m in a room, lying on my back. There are stars on the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark ones.”

I wince.

Damn. I don’t want to hear this.

Don’t want to hear that she was hurt as a kid.

It’s what she’s gearing up to say.

I can feel it.

“The door opens.” Tears swim in her eyes. “And a man walks in. I’m so scared, but I can’t move.”

My hand rises. Touches her back. Rubs a slow circle. I’m here.

“V… what are you saying?” Evan croaks.

She puts a shoebox on the table. Uncovers the lid.

There’s an old stuffed bear inside.

Is that supposed to be her harasser’s version of a dead rat?

A threat?

A warning?

“For so long, I told myself that dream meant nothing. I thought…” Her voice breaks. “But it’s not. It’s a memory. I remember that stuffed bear.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I just do.” She pulls out a sticky note. “And someone needs me to.”

I frown. The note is similar to the one she found on her door a few days ago.

Please tell the truth.

You have two days.

“What the hell does this mean?” I growl.

“I think I might know.”

Venus and I glance across the table.

“V,” Evan looks sick, “do you remember our old babysitter?”

“No.”

“Back in Belize, Mom had us stay at a daycare. It was run by a Christian couple. They went to the same church and they took care of a lot of the members’ kids.”

“I-I don’t remember.”

“You were young. Maybe two years old when we started going. I’d meet you there after school.” Dread pools in Evan’s eyes when he turns to me. “They had a nap room. There were…” his Adam’s apple bobs, “those stupid plastic stars on the ceiling. They’d fall off every once in a while.”

My fingers curl into fists.

Bits of my research on Fred Bateman skid through my head.

Assistant pastor. Wife worked as a baby-sitter. He sometimes helped with the kids.

Young victim. Prison sentence.

Too much is lining up.

“You hated going.” Evan whimpers. “You…” His voice cracks. He ducks his head. Blinks rapidly. “You were three. It started all of a sudden. I remember how much of a fuss you put up when Mom dressed you to go to daycare.”

I feel wetness building in my own eyes.

Evan slams his fist on the table.

Glasses clink together.

“I hated you.” He sniffs. Brokenly, he mutters, “I thought you were spoiled and selfish. Couldn’t you see that mom was working her butt off? That she was having a hard time with Dad gone? I told you to shut up. Sometimes I’d hit you…”

Venus is crying.

I pull her to me.

She feels so fragile.

I want Evan to shut up.

But she needs this.

We all need to hear so we can find the culprit. So this madness with the notes and the threats can stop.

“Then, a few days before you turned four, Mom suddenly pulled you out of the day care. A week later, we were packing up our stuff and moving to the States.”

“Because of the…” I can’t say it. “Because of the scandal?”

He nods. “I didn’t find out until years later. Papi let it slip when he was drunk. The reason we came to live with him. The reason we had to leave Belize… was because of what happened back then.”

“To me,” Venus whispers.

“I-I don’t know. That part was never clear. I was too scared to bring it up. I thought… it wasn’t something that affected you. You were happy. You were better off not even remembering.”

“But I did,” she cries softly.

It breaks my heart.

Every. Single. Tear.

More than anything, I want to take that pain away.

Sucking in a breath, I take Venus’s hand and whisper, “Let’s go home.”

“I’ll take you,” Evan says.

“I’ll do it.”

“No, I insist.”

I slant him a look. “She’s living with me.”

Evan stops in his tracks. Stares at me. Long and intense.

Slowly, he ducks his chin. “I’m still coming with you.”

I nod.

Venus rides with me.

Evan drives behind.

She doesn’t say much.

Neither do I.

When we get inside, she whispers that she needs some space and heads to her room.

I wince when the door slams shut.

She shouldn’t be by herself.

Not right now.

I want to be with her, but I also want to respect her wishes.

The doorbell chimes.

Evan.

I swerve, heading the other direction.

He steps in when I open the door. “Where is she?”

“In her room.

He starts for the stairs, his expression thunderous.

I slam my palm to his chest.

Not enough to hurt. Just enough to get his attention.

“She wants to be alone,” I say quietly.

Evan bobs his chin down twice. Presses a thumb to the corner of his mouth. Turns.

Suddenly he whirls back around, fists high.

He clobbers me in the chin.

I stumble, almost losing my balance.

Stars dance in my eyes.

It blindsided me.

I should have expected it, but I’m still shocked.

“The hell were you thinking?” He pokes a finger in my direction. “All this crap was going down and you didn’t call me? Not even a damn text?”

I don’t defend myself.

Venus wanted to handle it alone. I barely got my behind in her business.

But Evan won’t want to hear that.

And frankly, it doesn’t matter.

What’s done is done.

“And then,” he barks out a dry laugh, “I find out you’re dating her behind my back? My baby sister?”

“I’ve liked her for a long time, Ev.”

“Screw you. You knew Venus had it bad for you and you ran halfway across the country.”

“For the art scholarship.”

“Bull. You would’ve never left our family. You ran because she was annoying you.”

“Listen to yourself.” I step toward him. My brows lower. “Does that even make sense? I left because she was barely legal and I loved her, man. I didn’t want to mess up. I didn’t want to hurt her or hurt your family.”

Evan’s eyes widen.

I turn away. Run a hand through my hair. Inhale a deep breath.

Silence reigns.

He speaks quietly from behind me. “I’m not going to apologize for hitting you.”

“It’s fine. I deserved that.”

“You should have called me.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m her brother.”

“Of course.”

He stumbles back. “You call me.”

“I promise I will from now on.”

He claps my shoulder.

I face him.

His eyes are tearful. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through. How do you even process—?” He sniffs.

I nod in understanding.

Evan’s my best friend.

Venus owns my heart.

This family was all I had.

They’re still all I have.

I’d do anything, anything to protect them.

I just don’t know how.

Twenty-Six

Venus

I angrily toss my tears away. Emotions collide in my chest—anger, pain, hurt.

I hate that everything feels so out of my control. Hate that strangers are manipulating my life. Meddling. Stirring up a part of me that I buried for a reason.

The truth is killing me.

Someone wants me to share it. Someone wants me to stuff it.

Screw them both.

They have no right to stampede through my world and leave a mess.

I grab my cell phone.

Check through my old texts.

SENDER 1: You are a liar.

SENDER 1 : Say anything and you’re dead.

The bastard.

I call the number.

Just like last time, it rings and rings.

No answer.

But I don’t give up.

I’m not scared anymore.

I’m pissed. And now I know exactly what they’re trying to shut me up about.

The phone clicks.

Goes to that annoyingly professional voicemail.

I call again.

“Answer the damn phone, you creep!” I shriek.

In my head, the echoes of that stupid dream play on repeat.

I hear the thud of his footsteps.

Fred.

Fred Bateman.

The footsteps have a name, a face.

The line clicks.

No answer.

Dial again.

That awful song that always plays in the background makes sense now. It’s probably from a kid’s program—one of those cheesy, popular ones. Day care. Kids programs. Stupid, high-pitched songs.

Click.

“The number you are dialing is not answering…”

I roar. Grab the chair by the desk. Toss it.

It crashes into the door. Clatters to the floor. Wheels spin like a top gone awry.

I call again.

“Venus!” Evan yells.

They’re downstairs.

They probably heard the noise.

No, they definitely heard it.

The sound of rushing feet and worried grunts tells me they’re coming up.

“The number you are dialing is not answering…”

Again.

“You can’t hide from me,” I hiss.

The knob rattles. Someone’s trying to get in.

Fists thud against the wood. “Venus, open up.”

That’s Troy.

I imagine his face—reddening skin, brown eyes wide, eyebrows knotted. Please let me in.

I can’t.

Not yet.

I ignore them.

All I want is my life back.

I’m seething. Crackling with righteous anger.

Did Fred Bateman hurt me? Did he touch me? Or did he just…

Either way, I’m suffering.

He’s the cause of that pain.

I pace my bedroom.

My door rattles.

A loud bang shatters the air.

It’s followed by a crackling splinter.

They’re ramming their shoulders into the door.

Trying to break it down.

“Venus!” Evan calls. “Answer me so we know you’re alright.”

I chew on my lip. Try to block them out.

It’s all driving me crazy.

All this noise.

All this uncertainty.

The phone keeps dialing.

That stupid song keeps repeating.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Click.

I freeze.

There’s no voicemail message.

I connected.

Someone’s on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

Soft breathing is the only reply.

But that’s enough.

“I know you’re listening.”

“Venus!” Thud. Thud.

I turn away. Glare a hole into the wall. “I remember. Hear me? I remember, you bastard.”

The knob rattles violently.

Another thud.

“I know what you did.”

Quiet laughter.

It sounds heavy but feminine.

I pull the phone away. Stare at it in shock.

It’s a… girl.

“Big mistake, Venus,” she taunts.

“What? Who are—?”

The line goes dead.

My bedroom door bursts open. Evan and Troy stumble inside, both their eyes zipping to me and the chair I knocked over. Evan’s holding my door knob in his hands.

Troy scrambles to my side first. “Are you okay?”

I stare at him.

My emotions swing from fury to helplessness.

No.

No I’m not.

* * *

“Her name is Gloria Bateman,” Teale says, looking at us over a carton of freshly baked red velvet cupcakes.

I can’t even appreciate the scrumptious desserts (courtesy of his hot and talented pastry chef wife, Zania). Instead, I nibble around the edges and then lean forward.

“The person on the phone last night?”

“Right.” Teale nods. If possible, he’s even more striking in person.

“The newspapers I read mentioned her.” Troy leans back. Spreads his arm over my chair. Glances at me You okay?

I return his look. Smile slightly.

He raises an eyebrow tell me when it gets overwhelming.

I nod.

Turn away.

Roll my eyes at Teale.

Troy and my brother have gone into full over-protective mode—something I expected since the beginning—but the breathing-down-my-neck syndrome got extra intense after my call.

Thank God Evan has to work.

But Troy’s schedule is flexible.

And he’s decided to spend all of his Saturday with me.

I love his company, but it’s… overwhelming.

Especially when I keep getting this unsettled feeling about Fred Bateman and that deadline in the note.

It keeps jamming into my head.

Turning me into a shell of myself.

“Gloria stood by her husband through it all.” Teale frowns. “She didn’t believe the accounts and insisted that he was innocent. She’s been visiting him at the prison often. Three days ago, she bought a plane ticket to America.”

“To see me?”

“That’s my guess.” Teale hands me a file. “And this is the owner of the second number. Her name is Ina Gillet.” He pauses. Pushes out the word. “She was the victim.”

My heart cinches.

Tell the truth. Shame the devil.

“It explains the note,” Troy mumbles. “And the teddy bear.”

“She wants me to say something before Bateman gets out of prison.”

“Has she tried contacting you outside of the notes and the one text message?”

“No.” I shake my head. Open the file. Stare at the picture of a heavy-set girl with dark skin, short hair and guarded eyes.

“These are the photos we found of her online.”

Troy leans over and touches the one at the top. “That fits the description Ms. Shayla gave of the stalker.”

I skim past one of Ina wearing a hoodie and motorcycle gloves.

There’s a close up of her with dark eyeliner and a facemask.

“She seems to be into the edgy look,” Troy observes.

I nod. “It explains the motorcycle gloves you found in the trash can.”

“But why the knife?”

“And why hasn’t she come out and seen me in person yet?” I bury my head in my hands. “I need to talk to Mom. Find out what she knows. It feels like I’m missing something.”

“I’ll keep you updated if we find anything more,” Teale says.

We thank him and leave, waving at Zania behind the counter as we do so.

The door jangles happily as it crashes closed.

I squint at the sunshine, the blue sky, the fluffy clouds.

The world looks way too happy and light for the darkness I’m battling through.

“You okay?” Troy asks, taking my hand.

“Tired.”

“You didn’t get much sleep last night.”

I wish I could say he was the one keeping me up, but I haven’t felt like touching anyone since realizing my dream was reality.

And that scares me.

I’ve slept around, but it never meant anything.

Nothing outside of an itch to scratch.

My heart was stone-cold.

Waiting for one person.

Troy.

And now I can’t seem to find the part of me that was so desperate to be with him because it’s buried under all this crap.

We walk to the car.

Troy opens my door. “About your mom…”

“What about it?”

“Could we postpone that conversation for a day?”

I mentally calculate. Tomorrow’s the last day of the deadline written in Ina’s note. The day before Bateman’s released from prison. “Why?”

“I want to take you somewhere.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

I groan. “I hate surprises.”

“Not my problem.” He grins. His eyes sparkle. Deep laugh lines frame his lips.

Yum.

Little by little, Gloria Bateman’s threat, Ina’s stalking and that confusing Did It Happen or Not puzzle of my past fade.

Troy’s so damn handsome.

And he’s finally here, holding my hand, asking me out on a surprise date.

After so many years of pining and hoping and pretending I’m over him, Troy Maddox is mine.

I can kiss him.

Touch him.

Run away with him at a moment’s notice on a Saturday afternoon.

That’s been my dream.

And now that’s a reality too.

Even if it’s hard, I want to find a way past the storm to enjoy the sunshine. Just for a minute.

“Okay.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m all yours.”

Twenty-Seven

Troy

The top of my convertible stretches back into place with a quiet whirr. I shut the engine. Venus pulls the sun visor down and brushes through her hair with a horrified expression.

“Troy, what did you do to my hair?”

“You asked to put the top down.”

“And you listened.” She gasps. Slender hands disappear into her coils. “My curls don’t do windblown.”

“You look gorgeous.”

She arches an eyebrow yeah right.

I give her a slow once-over. Everything—from the messy hair to her warm brown skin to that sexy, white cotton dress with the big buttons down the front—calls to me.

But that’s an unfair statement.

No matter what she’s wearing, this woman drives me out of my mind.

Venus is too busy fussing with her reflection to notice my thirsty perusal.

Which is good.

I planned this spur of the moment trip to distract her. We have a lot to juggle right now. It’s been non-stop drama smashed into a small time frame. Just for tonight, I want her to forget everything else. Give her a damn break.

If her biggest problem is how her hair looks, then I’m on the right track.

Venus slaps the visor back in place. “Where are we?” Her eyes catch on the boxy building with sleek lines and big glass windows. Mannequins stare with soulless eyes, plastic hands rasping sophisticated dresses.

“Somewhere that specializes in evening wear and cocktail dresses.” I rest my elbow on the steering wheel. Smirk at her. “And you are going to pick one.”

“Just one?”

“As many as you want.” I chuckle.

“I’m kidding. One is more than enough.” Her eyes light up. “Is this the surprise?”

“Part of it.”

“Let’s go.” She throws her door open and gallops to the front of the store.

We’re greeted by the owner—a fan of mine. When I walk in, I spot two of my paintings placed meticulously on the walls.

“Troy.” Avery Madeline glides toward me. Her paper-thin cheek touches mine in a swift air kiss. “And this must be the lovely Venus.” Avery greets her with another bout of air kisses and then gestures to the dressing room. “This way, please.”

The room is brightly lit. There’s another one of my paintings, along with a door that I presume is the dressing room. Workers in stiff black dresses set tea on a table.

Venus shoots me a look. I read it easily. How expensive is this place?

I smile in response and settle back with one of the delicate teacups.

Avery wastes no time. She tugs on Venus’s arm. “Come, dear. Let’s get you dolled up.”

“Have fun,” I mouth.

Venus grins, looking both confused and excited.

I throw one leg over my knee and pull out my tablet. I came prepared to get some work in while I wait.

A few minutes later, Avery slides into view. Winks. Gestures to the dressing room. “Dress Number One.”

A moment later, Venus emerges wearing a burgundy dress. The top is some mix of mesh and lace that manages to look both dangerously sexy and sophisticated. The skirt fits her like a glove, showing off all her curves.

My tablet slips from my hands when I see her.

Like a fool, I scramble to catch it before it cracks on the tile.

Avery giggles, her grey and black hair swishing. “I think this is a top contender.”

Venus runs her hands down the seams. “I like it too. Troy?”

I can’t speak so I just nod.

Damn.

Yes.

Hell yes.

But if she wears that, I won’t be able to drive.

They head back inside and try on a few more outfits—all stunning, all well crafted and elegant—but the first one is the clear winner.

“I almost want to put it back on,” Venus shares through the dressing room walls.

“You need to.”

“Why?”

“That’s a surprise too.”

She’s quiet. Probably wondering if she should press for more information. I’m glad when she decides to just roll with it.

This next stop is one I think she’ll enjoy and I’m excited for her to see it.

We leave Avery’s store with more air kisses and a couple bags filled with the other dresses that Venus loved.

Back in the car, Venus touches her hair. I asked Avery to have a hair stylist familiar with black hair on hand to do an elegant style and the look came out great.

She’s mouth-watering from head to toe.

“Now I’m about to burst with curiosity.” Venus leans over the console and gives me puppy dog eyes.

I force my gaze away. “Have some patience.”

“No.” She pouts. “Tell me now. What’s the big surprise?”

I flick my indicator. Merge into the freeway. Put on the headlamps. Night fell while we were at Avery’s and the city is alive with neon.

“You’ll see.”

Fifteen minutes later, I pull up to the Broadway theatre. The moment Venus spies the block letters on the billboard, she squeals. “No.”

I drive up to the valet. “Yes.”

She turns to me, eyes wide. “Troy…”

“Pride and Prejudice the Musical.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not a joke.”

“You’re… I…” She’s speechless.

It’s freaking adorable.

“We’re right on time.” I wink. “You ready?”

She hauls the door open.

There’s a gust of wind.

All I see is a pair of heels hitting her generous behind as Venus beats a fiery trail to the doors. I barely have time to toss my keys to the valet and get the ticket so I can hustle to catch up with her.

The foyer is already filling up with other Pride and Prejudice fans, but they all turn and watch Venus as she strides by.

Whispers flurry.

Looks of admiration bounce from every corner of the room.

I smirk proudly as I hold my hand to the small of her back and lead her up to our seats.

Yes, I’m with the most beautiful woman in the room.

And yes, she’s mine.

We get into the theatre.

Venus gasps, breathless from the sheer size of the room and the stage.

“It’s spectacular,” she whispers.

I nod, my heart full from just watching her.

Her eyes are shining.

Her smile is huge.

I’d say my mission to distract Venus is a rousing success.

* * *

“That was amazing. Seriously,” Venus gushes as we check in at the hotel near the theatre.

“It was alright.”

Her eyebrows scrunch. “I’m going to let that pass because you’re hot and you planned the perfect day for me.”

I chuckle. Swipe the curl dangling over her cheek. “Was Mr. Darcy hotter than me?”

“Are you kidding? The answer is a clear and resounding yes.”

“Hm.”

She slides her hand down my chest. “But you’re a close second.”

“How do I beat the competition?”

“Doubloons?” She plays with the button on my shirt. “A British accent?”

I laugh.

The woman at the front desk glances between us. “Two rooms?” she asks with clear disbelief. Bushy eyebrows hike. Eyes glimmer with meaning. “Sir?”

I nod.

She sighs like I’ve just made the biggest mistake of my life.

Which, seeing Venus in that dress, is a reasonable conclusion.

“Alright,” she mutters. Your loss.

I accept the key cards with a firm smile.

It’s none of her business, but her intentions are pure and so are mine.

Tonight, I got Venus to smile and I also got her to eat—something she’s been avoiding the past few days.

It bothered me how much her portion sizes were shrinking and Kayla tattled that she wasn’t leaving work for lunch either.

After the show, we stopped by a pancake house and I made sure Venus ate every drop in her plate.

Now, I’ll take her to her room and leave.

No pressure.

This weekend wasn’t about what I could get but what I could give her.

And… hopefully, I got her to push all the ugliness away from her mind for a few hours.

As we head to the elevator, I hold her hand and satisfy myself with that innocent touch.

Venus makes no move to draw any closer.

Understandable.

According to my research, people who suffered abuse as a child often have trouble with intimacy. We still have no definitive proof that Venus was a victim of Fred Bateman, but it’s heavy on her mind right now. I’m sure she’s processing those feelings as if the abuse was a fact.

I’m not going to push.

I’ve been her friend for twenty-two years.

I can give her as long as she needs.

The elevator doors open.

I walk Venus to her room. Hand her a card. “This is it.”

“Yeah.”

“My room”—I jut my chin to the door across from her—“is right over there. Call me if you need me.” I step forward. Plant my hands on her shoulders. Press a kiss to her forehead.

Damn.

Even that small touch.

Her skin feels so soft.

Her scent…

That body…

I force myself to pull back. “Goodnight.”

One step is all I get before Venus whispers, “I need you.”

I freeze.

She leans against the door, watches me with a wicked smirk. Then she opens the door and slips inside, leaving it open.

My heart thuds.

I whirl around.

Three steps.

I’m inside.

Venus closes the door firmly. Locks it. Sashays toward me. In the dimness, her eyes gleam like black marbles. “Did you really think I’d let you go?” I watch those lips—a come and get me red—stretch. “Troy.” She leans forward. “I don’t want to go slow anymore.”

“You lose.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

That’s all I need to hear.

I’ve waited eight years. She’s teased me. Flitted out of reach. Drove me so crazy I’d need a strait jacket.

I finally have Venus Miller right where I want her.

I’m not letting her go tonight.

Twenty-Eight

Venus

My fingers grip the white sheets tightly, twisting them into thick clumps. A throaty moan teeters past my lips and I pant, catching a mouthful of fabric as my face presses firmly into the bed.

Troy’s fingers move from my hip and he flips me over, staring into my eyes. The connection is so strong, so… intimate. It’s more—way more—than anything I’ve felt in my entire life.

Because it’s Troy.

Because my heart is his and his is mine.

He presses a wet, desperate kiss to my lips.

Claiming my body.

Claiming every muscle, every vein, every cell.

I hold him tighter. Press my thighs to lock him in place.

He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.

And more.

So much more.

The kiss slows.

So does his pace.

It’s like music.

Sweet and low and sensual.

Something only lovers can hear.

My heart is so full it’s ramming against my chest.

Moving in tandem with his strokes.

Troy. Troy. Troy.

A rhythmic chant.

A heavenly refrain.

And that hazy territory—the place where I thought a woman like me could never enter, that place where love and obsession get blurry and forever feels like it’s not long enough to love someone—I’m there.

I’m bursting with it.

I never want to leave.

Twenty-Nine

Venus

Morning comes.

We check out of the hotel, but we’re still basking in that glow. Touching. Making eye contact. Smiling.

A caress there. A hand on the thigh there. Like lovers on their honeymoon.

“Need me to drive?” I ask Troy, sticking my hand out of the convertible and lifting my face to the breeze.

He glances at me. “I’m good.”

“You barely got any sleep last night.”

“Who’s fault was that?” he teases.

“I’d say we’re equally responsible.” I peer through my small circle sunshades at the blue sky. Today, I played it safe and braided my hair in one thick plait. There will be no crazy, windblown curls today. “Did you tell Evan about the trip?”

“I had to get his permission.”

I snort. “You didn’t. That’s so archaic.” I fold my arms over my chest. “And if he’d said no, would you have listened?”

“Of course not. It was more of an honor thing. To get his blessing.”

“You should have been more worried about getting mine.”

“Oh, I knew I had yours. Subtlety isn’t your thing.”

I smack him.

But his shoulders feel so good and broad, so I end up caressing him instead.

Besides, he’s not wrong.

When it comes to Troy, I go a little crazy.

“He’s still getting used to us.” Troy drives with one hand on the wheel and tugs my arm so he can merge our fingers together. “And he’s cautious.”

“Why? We’ve both dated people before.”

“But not each other. If something goes wrong and he has to choose between his best friend and his sister…”

“He’ll choose his sister.”

“Probably.” Troy’s voice is gruff.

Losing me and my family would crush him.

It can’t happen.

If there’s even a slight possibility…

I sigh. “You think we’re doing the right thing?”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter. I can’t stop.” He glances over. “Can you?”

“No.”

He brings my knuckles up to his lips for a kiss.

I turn our hands over and kiss his hand too, making sure to give him more than he’s given me.

Troy is the man I want.

And he’s never going to lose my family.

Because I’m never going to leave his side.

Thirty

Venus

Family dinner at Mom’s feels quiet and awkward. No one knows what to say, how much to share. We’ve been dealing with a whirlwind of craziness, and Mom’s been only a couple blocks away, completely oblivious.

Forks scrape against plates.

Chewing.

Quiet grunts of appreciation.

The food is amazing as always, but I’m not hungry.

The deadline ends today.

A pedophile gets out of prison tomorrow.

I still have no clue where Ina is.

And I still don’t know exactly how Gloria Bateman plans to get me back for my ‘big mistake’.

Somehow, I have to find a way to ask my mom if she knows anything about that daycare tragedy.

And I’m not looking forward to it.

Mom tosses her fork down. “Why is everyone so silent today?” She presses her lips together. Gives Evan the eye. “Evander?”

“Mom?” My brother jumps.

“What’s going on?”

Evan’s eyes flit to me. “N-nothing.”

“Troy.”

“Mrs. G,” Troy shovels more rice and beans into his mouth, “this stewed chicken is amazing.”

“I don’t want to hear ‘bout no chicken,” Mom snaps. She goes into full Creole.

We all cringe.

When Mom’s Belizean accent gets harder, somebody’s getting whupped.

The fact that we’re all adults means absolutely nothing to her.

Mom’s Jamaican slipper and leather belt don’t give a damn.

“And that!” She points to his neck. “I’ve been trying to be polite and not stare, but what is that on your neck, young man?”

Troy’s fingers jump to his throat.

I glance up and cringe.

There’s a small, quarter-sized bruise on his neck, just above his collar.

For some reason, I didn’t notice that before.

Evan catches my eyes over the table, a deep frown on his face. A hickey? Really?

I cringe.

“You’re not in high school anymore, Troy. There’s no reason a grown man should be walking around with a bruise on his neck letting the whole world know he’s been with a woman.”

Troy ducks his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And who’s the hussy that sucked so hard she left a mark? I thought you broke up with that Brook woman?”

Evan chuckles.

I kick him under the table. “Mom, you can’t call people ‘hussy’ anymore.”

“Would you prefer the term ‘tart’?”

Troy barks out a laugh and then covers it with a cough.

I glare at him. “Slut-shaming, really?”

“A duck is a duck is a duck.”

“Ma, whoever she is, she’s someone’s daughter.”

“She clearly grew up with no home training if she’s going around like that. Sucking on…” Mom lets out an astonished laugh. “If I ever heard you did something so trashy—”

I take a sip of Kool-Aid. “It was me.”

Mom freezes.

Evan stiffens.

Troy goes pale. He nudges me. “Venus…”

“I’m the one who gave Troy a hickey.” I turn to him. Gently caress the bruise. Smile softly. “I don’t know. I kind of like leaving my mark on him.”

Mom’s expression turns thunderous. “Venus Olivia Miller!”

“I’m gonna,” a chair scrapes and Evan—the coward—slinks away from the table, “uh…” He holds his stomach, “I need to use the bathroom.”

Troy scrambles to do damage control. “Mrs. G…“ Her narrowed eyes flit to him, full of flames and wrath. He visibly caves in but pushes on bravely. “The thing is, Venus and I have feelings for each other and we—”

“You.” Mom pokes a finger in my face. “How could you be so disgusting?”

“Me?”

“Troy is like a son to me—”

“And I’m your daughter.” I tap my chest. “Your biological daughter.” I flop back in my chair and scoff. “Although sometimes, I have my doubts about that.”

Mom scrambles up. Throws herself over the table. Raises her hand to slap me.

Troy grabs her wrist first. “Mrs. G, please hear us out.”

“Let me go!”

“I want you to know that I care about Venus. We both have liked each other for a long time—”

Mom wrenches her hand free and shakes her head. “Every time I think you couldn’t possibly disappoint me more, you find a way.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I smile coolly, despite how much her words hurt.

It’s not that I’m immune to it, but there are callouses on my heart from the words she’s hurled before. Now I can brush them off without breaking down.

Troy, as the golden boy of the family, isn’t used to it. His face crumbles with horror. “Mrs. G, please.”

“Now,” I fold my hands on top of the table and cut off his desperate plea, “since I was honest with you, it’s your turn to be honest with me.”

Her chest heaves.

I stare her down. “What happened when I was three? Why did we run from Belize?”

Her expression tightens. She says nothing, but there’s a shift in her eyes. Fear. Guilt.

“I know about Fred Bateman. I know what he did.” I swallow because, all of a sudden, the stress of the past few days is slamming into me and I can’t act as unaffected as I’d like. “I know those dreams I told you about when I was younger… happened.”

“No.” She shakes her head desperately.

“I know I was there, in the nursery, when he came in.”

“Stop!” Mom shrieks. “It didn’t happen. He never touched you.”

I jump to my feet. “Is that what I told you, Mom? Or is it just what you wanted to believe?”

“He didn’t!” She screams, her eyes wild, darting back and forth.

“How do you know?”

She plants both hands on the table. Her mouth trembles. Her arms bend like they can’t support her weight. “You were my baby. My little girl. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“You weren’t there.” It’s not an accusation.

But she winces as if I slapped her. “I had to work. I couldn’t… I had to do everything I could to keep a roof over your head and food on the table. No one was helping me. I did it all on my own. How could I have known…?”

“Mom.” I swallow. Push the words out. “What… did… I tell you?”

“You-you said…” She shudders.

“Mom!”

Troy puts a hand on mine.

I glance at him.

His brown eyes hold my gaze. Patience.

I suck in a deep breath. Nod.

“You said Uncle Fred—that’s what he wanted you kids to call him…”

Nausea stirs my gut.

How disgusting.

Despite my roiling stomach, I nod. “Go on.”

“You said he would come into the room during second nap time.”

Troy frowns. “Second nap time?”

“Usually, around four or five, when the other kids had been picked up, they’d put you down to sleep again. I never questioned it. I…” She rubs her forehead. “I was just grateful they’d keep you so late. Sometimes I had to work long hours. It was convenient. I never thought—Lord, it never entered my mind that anyone would…” She bowls over.

“It’s okay, Mrs. G,” Troy whispers.

Mom dabs at her eyes. “He would come into the room, you said. And he would pick Ina up. Lead her out to somewhere else. She would cry. She didn’t want to go. And when she came back, her clothes would be on funny and she’d be crying harder.” Mom sucks in a deep breath.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “Did he ever…take me?”

“No.” She croaks out. “I went to the station the night he was arrested. He said… it was only that other girl.”

“And you believed him.”

“I asked you too.” A fat tear drips down her cheek. “You said no. I asked you a million times when we found out. If he touched you, if he… you always said no. You were just scared.”

“So why don’t I remember?”

“The police came. They kept asking you all these questions. You were so traumatized. You said you didn’t know. After a while, you said you didn’t remember. I wanted you to believe that. To forget about all of it.”

Relief courses through my veins.

All the speculation.

All the back-and-forth.

The monster in my dreams didn’t touch me.

“Then why did we leave?”

“Because I wanted to be as far away as possible. People kept talking about it and dragging your name into it. You and Ina were always the last two at the day care together. Everyone thought you’d been hurt too. I didn’t want you to grow up with your story already written. I wanted you to have a new start.”

It’s overwhelming.

So many pieces are falling together.

My dreams were always hazy because it never happened to me, but I was there. I was a witness.

“It didn’t happen. But it…” Mom cries. “It could have. And I didn’t know how to deal with that. How to deal with you.”

I brush a tear that falls down my own cheek. No wonder Mom and I always clash. Her words were harsh, but it wasn’t out of hatred… it was out of guilt.

It all makes sense now.

But Ina…

Poor Ina.

“I need some air.” I push out of my chair. Plod to the door.

Troy starts to come after me. “Venus!”

Mom shrieks and clutches her head.

Her entire body folds in half.

Troy’s attention diverts to her. “Mrs. G!”

I escape through the front door. Jog down the steps. Head… I don’t know where. Just out. Away from it all.

My feet pound the sidewalk.

I’m happy he didn’t touch me, but I feel guilty at the same time. My head’s full of dark thoughts. As dark as the night that’s pressing around me.

I cross the street.

Mid-way, something roars.

Then there’s light.

Two pairs.

Like wolf eyes creeping through a fog.

A car comes barreling at me.

The driver slams his foot on the gas.

It’s not stopping.

It won’t stop.

There’s no time to run.

No time to scream.

I close my eyes and brace myself for impact.

Thirty-One

Troy

The screen door slams shut.

Venus is gone.

I hesitate, my arm around Mrs. G and my eyes on the door.

Evan’s footsteps pound an urgent rhythm.

He emerges from the hallway. When he sees Mrs. G, his eyes go wide. “Mom!”

“Go! Take her to the living room. She needs to lie down.”

Mrs. G groans pathetically. Tears are drying on her cheeks.

It was a hard conversation. For her.

But especially for Venus.

My head whips toward the door again.

“Evan…” I urge Mrs. G forward.

“Yeah, sure.” Evan reaches out. I stop just short of shoving my stand-in mother at her son.

As soon as she’s in Evan’s grip, I bolt for the door. “Venus!”

Five steps.

Down three stairs.

The lawn is empty.

Dusk is settling. Pink skies. Puffy clouds.

My sneakers crunch grass.

It’ll be dark soon.

Damn it. Where is she?

The road is clear.

No one in sight.

Silence.

Not even a dog bark.

How the hell did she disappear so quickly?

I pull out my phone to dial her up when I see an incoming call from Teale.

Part of me wants to ignore it.

I hesitate. Pick up. Keep walking. “Teale, now’s not the best—”

“Fred Bateman is dead.”

I skid to a stop. Hold the phone tight. “How?”

Teale sighs. “Heart failure.”

“Heart—“

“The day before his parole. Can you believe that?”

“It’s…” I want to say ‘great’, but I have a feeling I shouldn’t break out the champagne yet. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“You’d think his concerned wife would buy a plane ticket back to Belize almost immediately, right?”

“Right.”

“Wrong. Gloria Bateman is still here. She’s got her cell phone off so I can’t track her, but…”

I curse.

He catches on quick. “Where’s Venus?”

“I’m gonna have to call you back.”

I cut the phone.

Start running.

“This doesn’t feel right,” I mumble, glancing both ways before going with my gut and heading toward my place.

I turn the bend.

There’s Venus.

She’s crossing the road. Heading for the park up ahead.

I breathe out in relief.

Open my mouth to call her name.

The sound is drowned by a vehicle tearing around a corner and speeding toward her.

For a moment, I freeze.

Watch as if it’s some cruel movie playing in front of me.

Venus in the middle of the road.

A car gunning straight for her.

The engine roars.

Tires scream against tarmac.

The driver saw her, right?

There’s no freaking way…

It takes me two seconds to realize that lunatic has no intentions of stopping.

I scream her name. Pump my hands at my sides. Sprint toward her.

Even before I take my first step, I know it’s a lost cause. I’m too far away. The car’s speed will beat my desperate strides in a heartbeat. But there’s a delusional part of me that won’t stop. Can’t stop.

I lean forward.

Pray like crazy.

And just before the inevitable collision, there’s a blur.

Someone catapults forward. Knocks into Venus. And the two go rolling into the bush.

Thirty-Two

Venus

Someone flings me aside with a grunt. I land painfully on my back. Grass pokes through my shirt and itches my skin. I blink up at the sky—now more dark blue than orange.

Another groan sounds.

I glance to my side and spot a large figure in a black hoodie, sweatpants and motorcycle gloves.

My rescuer.

For a second, I assume it’s just a random guy playing hero, but when she turns, I see her face.

It’s a girl.

Not just any girl.

Ina.

I scramble up, my body still trembling with shock and adrenaline. “Are you okay? Here.” I stretch out. “Take my hand.”

“I’m fine.” She tries to stand on her own. Fails. Stumbles. Grips her ankle.

“Venus!” Troy appears suddenly. He grabs my shoulders. Checks me over with frantic eyes.

“I’m okay. I’m okay.” I brush him off.

He faces Ina. “Hey.”

She nods shyly.

He offers his hand. “Let me help you up.”

She shakes her head.

Tires squeal in the distance.

The mysterious vehicle disappears from sight.

“Who was that?”

“Probably Gloria Bateman,” Troy mumbles.

I arch an eyebrow what the hell?

“How did you know?” Ina rasps.

Troy glances at me. Then at her. “She’s out for revenge.” He pauses. “Fred Bateman is dead.”

* * *

We take Ina to the hospital. And by ‘we’—I mean Mom and I. Both Troy and Evan keep their distance because of Ina’s skittishness.

It’s awkward.

I won’t lie.

Thankfully, it’s not a long drive and Mom doesn’t say anything offensive.

She doesn’t say much at all.

It’s surreal. A few hours ago, we were screaming at each other. Unveiling the secrets of my dream. It was a horrific experience for me to remember, but for Ina…

I’m swinging between gratitude, guilt and total confusion.

Why was she stalking me?

Why did she rescue me?

And, most importantly, what does she want from me now that Fred Bateman is dead?

After the doctors check her over (it’s just a sprained ankle) and Mom leaves to cover the bill (most likely an excuse to run from the thick silence and overarching discomfort in the room), I get a chance to ask.

Pulling up a chair to the edge of the cot, I smile gently at Ina. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She avoids my eyes.

“It’s just you and me now.”

She nods slowly.

I study her round face and down-turned lips. “You wrote the note.”

Another nod.

“And the teddy bear?”

Confirmation again.

Ina rubs her thick fingers together. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Lord, don’t. That’ll make me feel even worse.”

She arches an eyebrow you?

“I should have remembered sooner. Spared you the stress of flying all the way here and torturing yourself—”

She shakes her head. “I should have talked to you instead of…”

“Stalking?” I smile to let her know there’s no hard feelings.

She clears her throat. “You moved out of your apartment.”

“And you texted me about that.” I lean forward. “The note, the teddy bear and the text—why all the vagueness? Why didn’t you just tell me who you were?”

“Gloria.”

“Bateman’s wife.”

Her face tightens. “She threatened me. Said she’d kill me if I reached out to you.”

“So you kept it a secret.”

“I tried to. But… I also wasn’t sure how to approach you. It’s been twenty years. And you… I… it’s not like we were friends.”

No. I was just a witness to one of the darkest seasons in her life. Too young to understand what was happening, but too perceptive to be okay with it.

“I needed your help, but I wasn’t sure how to ask. After watching you for a few days, I could see that you weren’t affected like I was. You were… happy. Had friends. A nice job. A man. It wasn’t a stain in your soul. And knowing what I had to face everyday, I kept wavering on whether I should drag you into it.”

“What exactly did you want me to do?”

“Testify at the parole hearing,” she whispers. “You never did back then. You never went to court, but you knew.” She glances up, tears in her eyes. “You knew what he did to me. He didn’t deserve to get out of jail. He deserved to rot in prison.”

The air crackles with her rage.

That wound is still raw and painful, even after all this time.

My guilt multiplies. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. You were only four and I—your mom made the right choice taking you away. At least you had one who cared.”

My heart hurts for her. “What happened… after?”

Her shoulders hike to her ears. “With me? Nothing. I went to school. Graduated. Went to therapy. I—tried to forget.”

“But you couldn’t,” I whisper.

“Something like that,” she sniffs, “I just… you take one day at a time. There’s nothing else that you can do.” She pats her stomach. “Except eat. Which I did. Obviously.”

It’s a joke.

She cracked a joke.

I smile. I’m in full admiration mode.

It’s been thirty minutes since we officially met, but I can tell already that Ina’s stronger than she gives herself credit for. Life hasn’t been easy, but she’s forging on, refusing to give up.

“I like you.” I lean back in my chair. “Is that weird?”

She ducks her head. Twin dimples flash in her smooth, brown cheeks. “Even though I stalked you?”

“I’ll overlook it.” I grin. “Though the knife in the garbage can was a bit much.”

Her eyes widen. “How did you know?”

I arch an eyebrow. “That was really yours?”

“I wanted to use it to break in, “she admits.

My jaw drops. “To my apartment?”

“Not to steal anything.” She waves her hands defensively. “Just to put the note inside the door rather than leaving it out for anyone to see.”

“You thought breaking in was a better idea than talking to me?”

She shrugs. “I was desperate. When I heard Bateman was considered for parole, I had to do something. Then Gloria sought me out, trying to get me to say I’d forgiven him.” She snorts as if the idea is ludicrous. “When I cussed her out, she threatened me. Said not to get any ideas and I… well,” she cringes, “that’s when I told her about you. About my plan to find you and… you know the rest.”

“Gloria sent me threatening texts.”

“Yeah, she found out I’d come to see you for real and lost it.”

“She tried to run me over.”

“I know.”

“Thanks for the save, by the way.”

“It wasn’t entirely selfless. I thought I still needed you to testify.”

I chuckle. “Painfully honest, but I’ll take it.”

She smiles.

I smile back.

Mom enters the room. She shrugs her purse over her shoulder. My eyes flicker to hers. There’s determination in their dark brown depths.

“Well, I covered the bill. You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Ina inches off the bed and balances on one leg.

I rush to help her.

Mom frowns. “Where are you headed now?”

“Now?” She shrugs. “Probably back home.”

“Is there anything pressing back in Belize?” Mom asks. “A job? A boyfriend?”

“Mom…” I shoot her a cool it look.

She ignores me.

“No.” Ina shakes her head. “I worked at the grocery store, but I put in my resignation before I came here. And there’s no—” she stumbles over her words. “I don’t really date.”

Mom nods thoughtfully.

Her eyes are churning.

It’s a look that’s familiar. The one she gave Troy the first time Evan brought him over for dinner.

“Have you eaten?”

“No, ma’am.”

Mom turns swiftly on her heels. “Lunch is getting cold. We should hurry back home before the gravy congeals.”

“Ma’am?” Ina shifts uncertainly.

“You’re staying for dinner.” Mom arches an eyebrow. Have a problem with that?

I pat her shoulder. Whisper, “Just go along with it.”

“Oh. Um… thanks.”

Mom whirls around. Marches out. The door slams shut behind her.

Ina glances at me. “Why do I feel like I’ve been bull-dozed?”

“It’s just the beginning.” I slide a hand into my pocket. “My mom is bossy. Opinionated. Loud. Way too loud. She’s obsessed with turning me into a doctor and have I mentioned how loud she is?”

Ina’s eyes soften. “But you love her.”

“Well, yeah.” I smirk. “She’s my mom.”

“And she cares.” There’s sadness in her voice. A world of hurt. “At least you have that.”

“Sorry to break it to you, but I sense you’re about to face the same problem too.”

Ina bites down on her bottom lip as her eyes fill with hope.

We head to the door.

I sling my arm over her shoulder to help her balance and push the door open. “So… how do you feel about studying medicine?”

Thirty-Three

Troy

Silver moonlight bounces off reddish-brown hair as she glides onto the concrete.

Venus is breathtaking with that soft make-up and that silky cream gown. I can’t take my eyes off her.

My fingers trail her lower back. Rasp against soft brown skin. This dressed-up Venus is a version of her that I’m quickly becoming obsessed with.

If it’s even possible to crave her more than I already do.

She turns. Glances at me over her shoulder. Her curly hair frames her face. “You look hot.”

“Is ‘hot’ the only compliment in your vocabulary?”

“I have more colorful descriptions, but it’s not appropriate for a public setting.” Her gaze trails down to my pants. Then she glances up. Winks.

I laugh.

“See that.” She narrows her eyes. “Don’t smile in there.”

“Don’t smile?”

“And don’t… gah. Why do you look so gorgeous in a suit?”

“My apologies.”

“You need to get some paint on it. And mess up your hair.”

“Not sure that would work.” I cock my head to the side. “Given how hot I am.”

She groans. “Let’s show our face for an hour and head back to your place.”

“My place?” I nod at the doorman and press myself against her as we shuffle into the room. “Why not yours?”

“I forgot my key.”

“Liar.”

“Fine. I prefer your house. It’s annoying that I had to move out in the first place.”

I smirk.

A few days ago, Venus returned to her apartment. It was a decision I lamented, but I understood. Moving out was the only way to appease both Evan and Mrs. G.

Not that it matters.

Venus spends the same amount of time at my place as she did back when she was living there.

“Oh wow,” she mutters when we enter the ballroom. Its décor is gunning for extravagance and succeeding. Cream walls. Thick carpet. Sleek red curtains. Cherry tables.

The room is packed.

My tie immediately feels like a noose. These mindless networking events aren’t my style.

I glance down at Venus to see how she’s faring, but she doesn’t seem nearly as distressed. Her head bobs to the music and her eyes brighten on something in the distance. “There’s Kayla and Brendon.”

I glance the way she’s pointing.

They’re beaming.

You’d think this was their engagement party rather than the Humes’ annual charity gala.

“Hey, guys.” Venus waves when we near them.

Kayla smiles brightly and gives Venus a hug.

Brendon bumps my fist. “Sup.”

I nod at him.

Kayla glances up at me with guilty eyes. “Hey, Troy.” She plays with her extravagant diamond necklace. “Uh, I wanted to apologize for the whole matching you with someone else thing—”

“It’s fine.”

She sighs. “Really?”

“I heard you took the rap so Venus didn’t get in trouble.”

“She did.” Brendon laughs.

“At least you didn’t get fired.” Venus clutches her bag to her chest. “Or I would have felt awful.”

“Oh, well… er— I did.”

“What?”

“I did get fired.”

“But it’s okay because I took care of it.” Brendon swings his arms around her and gives her a soft kiss.

“What does that mean?” Venus demands.

Kayla goes completely red. “Um…”

“Make It Marriage is now a Humes Corp asset.” Brendon shrugs proudly.

“You’re kidding! You own our company now?”

“I don’t…” Kayla begins.

“She does.” Brendon kisses her again.

I raise both eyebrows, impressed. “Congratulations.”

“Oh… uh… thanks.” Despite her blushing cheeks, Kayla smiles happily. “We have the same board and everything. It’s just… I’m only the C.E.O.”

“Don’t you just love nepotism?” Venus teases.

Brendon grins. “Hey, she earned it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Someone calls them away. The couple waves and leaves to their hosting duties.

“Can you believe that?” Venus shakes her head. “I’m friends with the new boss.”

“I’m sure you won’t take advantage of that whatsoever.”

“Of course not.” She grins wickedly. “Although”—a finger climbs to fix my collar—“I’m thinking of asking for my own office instead of having to share. You know.” She leans closer and whispers, “For privacy.”

Her brown eyes dazzle.

She’s wearing the pendant I gave her. The one in the shape of a sun with the planet Venus painted on the inside.

All the memories of that time eight years ago washes over me.

How much I’d wanted her. How much she’d tortured me with her smile, her laughter…

And tonight, she’s in my arms.

Her laughter, her smile—they’re mine.

Mine to treasure forever.

My breath thickens.

Every vein in my body is screaming for Venus.

I want to tear off that dress.

I want to plant my hands on her thighs.

I want to pin her to the wall and take her until she can’t walk.

But none of that is in the cards.

At least not while we’re in front of the city’s wealthiest.

She smiles like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. “Want to dance?”

“Not really.”

“Yes, you do.” She pushes out her bottom lip. “Please.”

My legs cave before my brain can outline all the reasons why being the first and only couple on the dance floor is a bad idea.

We move in front of the orchestra.

I put my hands on her lower back and hip. She winds her arms around my neck.

Damn, she’s so soft. So sweet.

I pull her closer, swaying to the jazzy rhythm.

It’s just me and Venus.

No one else matters.

No one else can fill me up so much.

“Nice moves, Maddox,” she teases, her fingers brushing the back of my neck.

I respond by squeezing her closer. “Just don’t step on my toes.”

“Funny.” She sighs contentedly. “Ina called me this morning.”

“Your mom’s sending out school applications?”

“For nursing school.” She chuckles. “I warned her.”

“And how’s Ina’s Visa application?”

“There’s no reason she won’t get the student Visa or the scholarship.” Venus chuckles. “Although, I think she’s starting to regret agreeing to live with Mom. It’s a lot.”

“To you.” I mumble into her hair. “But to someone who’s never experienced that kind of love…”

She glances up. Looks at me with those gorgeous brown eyes.

I run my thumb over her cheek. “It’s everything.”

“Hm.” Venus lifts my hand. A silent instruction to spin her.

I do. Then I grab her waist and drag her back to me. “You know, it’s the man that’s supposed to lead.”

“We only let you think that.”

I dip her. “Is that so.”

She grins. “I like when you’re on top of me.”

“You trying to start something?”

“Are you brave enough to finish it?”

I pull her up. “Dare me.” Dare me to ravish you right here, right now.

“No, thanks. I don’t want to get arrested for public nudity. Not unless we spend the night in the same jail cell…”

I chuckle. “About Ina, I think staying here for a while is a safe bet. Gloria Bateman might be a problem if she goes back to Belize alone.”

Although Gloria was arrested here, she was let off with a warning and deported back to the Caribbean. If she was pissed off enough to try and run Venus over with a car, I don’t want to imagine what she’d do to Ina.

“We’re all aware. And Ina seems content here anyway.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I.”

The song ends.

I tug her hand. “Ready to go?”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.”

“More than enough time.”

“Why the rush? Have something you’d rather be doing?”

You. “I have a surprise at home.”

“Oh.” She licks her lips. “I have one too.”

“Mine’s better.”

“We’ll see.”

After seeking out Kayla and Brendon again to let them know we’re leaving, Venus and I head out.

I tap my finger against the steering wheel as I drive.

She notices. “Are we going on a trip again?”

“No, this surprise is a little more personal.”

“So’s mine.” Again with that wicked grin. “I think you’ll like it.”

I suck in a deep breath. “I hope you like mine.”

I turn into the driveway. Get out. Open her door for her.

“This way.” I point to the garage and press a button.

The door rises.

I nudge her inside and flick a switch. Silver lights blink to life. Music plays from hidden stereos. And the paintings…

Venus gasps. “That’s…” She walks to the nearest one. Points. “That’s me.”

“Yes.” They all are.

Her heels click against the concrete.

She moves forward. Surveys every one with growing reverence. “Troy…”

“These are from eight years ago.”

Her jaw drops. “Eight?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time I picked up my brush, you were all I could see. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get you out of my head. Off my easel.”

She stops at the painting of her in the nude. Her lips curl up. “You painted me like one your French girls, huh?”

“Titanic.”

“I’m surprised you got that reference. You memorized the movie?”

“Not really…”

She gasps. “Did some thirsty fan use that line to flirt with you?”

“Let’s focus on the painting, shall we?” I cup her shoulders and turn her around to face the wall.

“Did you ever paint anybody else like this?”

“No.”

She assesses me for a second. Then she smiles. “You’ve got a good eye.” She points to her chest in the painting. “Although my body’s changed since then. You need to do an update.”

“Do I?”

“Oh yeah.” She faces me. The light flickers against her skin. “Your work is breathtaking.”

“Not more than the real thing.”

“True.” She tilts her head. “My turn.”

“What’s your surprise?”

She plays with the collar of her dress and backs up slowly, her hips swaying. “It’s something irresistible.”

“Hm.” I step forward, my hands already outstretched toward her.

She dances out of reach. Laughs. “You’ll have to unwrap it to find out.”

My gaze slides lazily down her tight dress and lands on the zipper at the back.

“Back then,” she licks her lips, “I didn’t know how you felt or we could have…”

I stop her with a kiss. “I know.”

She leans into my touch as I run my fingers down her neck, tracing the neckline of her dress. “In any case, it was worth the wait.”

“Really?”

“Hell yeah.”

I lean forward and press my lips to hers again.

It’s a slow kiss.

I’m teasing her and she likes it.

Venus moans into my mouth. Pulls back with a needy groan. “One more?” Before I can answer, she grabs me closer. This kiss heats me up from my toes to my head. My teeth scrape her bottom lip. Her tongue twirls with mine. Her moans tremble down my throat.

The kiss is a confession.

I want you. I love you. I’m never letting you go.

I rub her thigh. Inch her dress higher.

Higher.

Higher.

Lacy fabric hits my thumb.

My body is buzzing.

I can hardly take it.

When she looks up at me like I’m her entire world—

When she slips out of that dress—

Damn.

Best. Surprise. Ever.

Thirty-Four

Venus

The sun bursts through Troy’s bedroom window.

A gentle wind flutters the blinds. Tickles his messy hair. Raises cold seeds on my skin.

He stretches his arms over his head as he wakes up.

His eyes open. Blink once. Twice. Meet mine. “Morning.”

“Morning.” I cup my chin in my hands. “You look cute when you sleep.”

“You were watching me sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Weirdo.”

I smirk.

He pushes himself up to a sitting position. I lick my lips as I watch his abs ripple with the movement.

Troy.

Maddox.

Is.

Freaking.

Hot.

I’m thinking of getting that phrase tattooed on my—

“You have work today.”

“I do.” I let out a sigh. One of those I wish I could stay with you all day moans.

“Want breakfast?”

“I want you.”

He arches an eyebrow. “That can be arranged.”

“But,” I pull to my feet, “I have to do my hair.”

Troy nods. He understands what that means. My hair requires patient attention and time.

Lots of time.

His eyes slide down my body—over the sheer lingerie he’d tossed last night and I’d put back on this morning. “Or,” he reaches for my hand, “you could just throw it into a bun.”

“Mm.” I let him drag me to the bed.

The mattress dips.

Gravity rolls me down and crushes me to his chest.

“Or do one of those turban things. You know? With the head wrap?”

“I see.”

He wraps a finger around a curl. “Or wear it wild like this. Own it.”

“Convincing.” I kiss Troy quickly and push up before I get lost in his intoxicating touch. “But no.”

He chuckles. Runs a hand down my stomach. “I lost.”

“Society’s expectations and the workplace dress code won.”

He grins. “I’ll make coffee.”

While I run a shower—yes, Troy’s shower because it’s bomb—he makes breakfast. I emerge in a fun, sheer top and a black mini-skirt, hair tamed.

Troy whistles when I walk out and strike a pose. “Damn. You’re playing with me, right?”

“Wrong. This is how I dress for work.”

“And the male clients—?”

“Are all business. Anyone steps out of line,” I mark an invisible line at my throat, “get cut.”

“Hm?”

“What?”

The way those brown eyes are searing me…

He steps forward.

Yanks me up.

Drops me on top of the counter.

My thighs and butt hit the marble surface with a smack.

Bacon crackles in a pan.

Coffee drips into a cup.

It’s all domestic background noise. A track playing to the rhythm of my skittering heart.

My hot, shirtless boyfriend watches me.

Leans in.

Presses both hands on either side of my thighs. “What are you wearing under that?”

My body trembles.

Heat flares in my core.

I’m gonna be late for work.

* * *

“You’re late,” Kayla admonishes when I walk in to her office that morning. Well, her new office. It’s huge with giant windows and it’s own private coffee machine.

Hell yeah. This’ll be my new favorite hang-out spot.

I jump into the couch. “Blame Troy. The man can’t stop touching me.”

“Before you start, I don’t need to know the details.” She holds up a hand.

“Crap. I was so looking forward to telling you all about last night and that new toy we…”

Kayla cringes.

I snort. Drop it. "So why did you summon me here, Boss?”

“Geez, don’t—nothing’s changed.”

“You’re signing my checks now, Boss.”

“And if you want that solo office, you’ll call me Kayla.” She smirks.

I grin.

Nepotism all day long, baby.

“So I am getting my own office.”

“You’ve worked harder than everyone else here. You should have gotten one a long time ago.” She arches an eyebrow. “But… lock the door. I don’t want to walk in on anything.”

I grin wickedly. “No promises.”

She rolls her eyes.

There’s a knock on the door.

Kayla brightens. “Come in.”

A stunning, dark-skinned woman with slender, graceful features and a beaming smile, enters the room. She’s wearing a ‘Black Girls Rule’ T-shirt and shredded skinny jeans.

“Ms. Kayla?” Her voice is heavier than I expected. Raspy. A sexy Tina Turner type. Wonder if she sings?

“Amina, welcome.” Kayla stands and greets the newcomer with a handshake. “This is Venus Miller, our expert matchmaker. V, this is Amina. We scouted her from Black Love Matters.com. It took a lot to convince her to make the shift.”

“You’re a hard woman to say no to, ma’am.”

“Just ask her boyfriend,” I tease.

Kayla slants me the side-eye. “We look forward to working with you.”

“Same here.” I shake her hand next. “I’m guessing you’ve got the secret sauce on recruiting the city’s top black singles?”

“It’s my superpower.” She winks.

I poke a finger in her direction. “I like her already.”

“Here at Make It Marriage, we don’t discriminate. We match all races. It’s about love, not skin color.”

I arch an eyebrow at Kayla.

She ignores me, totally in ‘Boss-mode’. “But we are excited about your skill set and experience, Amina.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll show you your office.” I hook my hand in hers and steer her out of the room.

Amina whispers in my ear. “She doesn’t really mean that, does she?”

“What?”

“I won’t have to match like,” she makes a face, “interracial couples or anything?”

I frown. “You have a problem with mixed-race couples?”

If she does, I don’t see how she’ll last long here.

More and more clients are opening up to dating outside of their race.

And personally both Kayla and I are with white men. We’ve gotten our share of stares and looks, even in this culturally diverse city so we’re both sensitive to comments about interracial romance.

If Amina has issues with that…

“No, it’s,” she ducks her head, clearly flustered, “I’m just not used to it. There’s nothing wrong—I’m not… I believe people should love whoever they want.”

“Then you’ll be fine.” I pat her shoulder. “And don’t worry. Men are men, no matter what they look like. Here at Make It Marriage, we focus on character and values rather than appearances. I think that’s something every woman from every race can relate to.”

“Oh.” She seems unsure.

I stop at her office—which is actually my old office. “This is you.”

“Thanks.”

I shake her hand. “Look forward to working with you, Amina.”

“Sure.” Her expression is tight. I recognize that look. It’s a did I make the right decision look.

I shrug and return to my office, wondering the same thing.

Time will tell.

Thirty-Five

Venus

Grunts echo in the cool night air. Rubber hitting concrete. The swoosh of a net. A fist pump. A loud cheer.

Coming from me, of course.

“Go, baby!” I put two fingers to my mouth and whistle.

Mom smacks me so hard I lurch forward. “Stop that noise, Venus.”

“Mom,” I groan, “he just shot a three-pointer.”

“So? This isn’t the NBA.”

I catch Troy’s eye as he runs back on the court. The sleeveless jersey shirt bellows in the wind. His shorts flap against his strong, hairy thighs.

Lord… those thighs.

I love seeing him in athletic wear almost as much as I love seeing him in that paint-speckled jumper he uses when he’s painting.

Though… nothing beats how much I love seeing him naked.

And how much I love being naked with him.

Doing things that naked people do…

Troy grins. Blows me a kiss.

I catch it. Press it to my heart.

Ina groans. “You two are obnoxiously cute.”

“Thanks.” I flutter my eyelashes. “We try.”

Ina’s been at Mom’s house for a little over three months now. She’s starting her first day of university tomorrow and Mom demanded we all come over for a celebratory dinner.

Rice and beans. Fried fish. Fried plantain.

A Belizean feast.

Yum.

The guys decided to work off their dinner with a basketball game, but I plan on working my food off tonight.

Just me and Troy.

I grin as I watch his strong arms ripple in the moonlight.

Oh yeah. He’ll be getting sweaty all over again.

Ina glances at me, a question mark in her eyes.

I shrug.

She shakes her head. Faces the game. Lets out a quiet, ‘go, Evan and Troy’.

It barely squeaks in the wind.

She’s still shy around the guys, but she’s warming up to them more and more.

Being with our family, she’s blossoming.

Just like Troy did so many years ago.

Ina keeps thanking Mom as if she saved her life but, if I’m honest, we owe a lot to her. She’s a sweet girl with a sharp wit hidden under all the goth-slash-grunge clothes and that painfully shy exterior.

We’re friends.

More like sisters.

I’ve been stopping by Mom’s more often just to hang out with her.

Ina’s also calmed Mom down quite a bit. She’s given her purpose and I don’t think Mom will admit how much she was missing having someone to take care of in the house.

Footsteps pound the concrete.

More grunts.

Stars twinkle overhead.

Tree leaves cheer in their special way.

The guys head to the opposite end of the court.

Troy bends his knees. Lets the ball fly.

Nothing but net.

I go wild, screaming my head off.

Corrine sucks her teeth. She’s sitting at Mom’s feet getting her hair braided into corn-rows. It looks… um… interesting on her sweetly freckled face, but home girl is working it.

I cover my mouth and holler at Evan, “Don’t quit your day job, bro!”

“Evan’s just tired from working an eight-hour shift at the hospital,” Corrine says, flicking her eyes up to Mom for approval.

“That’s true.” Mom nods.

“Hey, if your man is crap on the court, he’s crap on the court. Just accept it.”

“Excuse me?” She feigns offence with a dramatic hand to her chest.

“Troy’s tired from setting up his new art exhibit and running his thriving graphic design business, but you don’t see him complaining.”

“Flex, girl.” Ina bumps my fist.

Mom rolls her eyes, but a pleased smile teases her lips.

She considers Troy her own son and his accomplishments are hers too.

Sometimes, I think the woman loves him more than she loves me.

Not that I care.

Troy is inching up to number one on my list too.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t bet,” Ina mumbles, flashing Corrine a look.

“It’s been years, but Evan hasn’t been able to beat Troy yet.”

“Poor guy.”

Corrine glares at us.

I laugh and wrap my arms around Ina.

She pats my hand, smiling contentedly.

The game continues.

Troy kicks Evan’s butt until he cries for mercy. Evan comes running with his tail between his legs and collapses beside Corrine.

“Babe, he cheated.”

“Sore loser,” Troy teases. He walks up to me. Bends over for a kiss.

I give him a peck.

Mom is watching.

And also… Ina’s uncomfortable around PDA so we all try to be accommodating.

He pulls back and tugs a lock of my hair. “No bets this time?”

“I’m tired of taking Corrine’s money.”

His chest heaves as he inhales a breath. Brown hair flops against his forehead. “You’re being sweet.”

“You’re a good influence.” I wink.

“There. Done. How does she look?” Mom points to Corrine’s head.

Ina blinks rapidly.

I force a grin. “It’s… something.”

“My baby is hot,” Evan growls.

I pretend to gag.

Mom gets up and stretches. “Oh, these old bones aren’t what they used to be. How about we head inside and pop open that bottle of wine Troy brought?”

“Sounds good to me.” Corrine takes my brother’s hand. As they head inside, I hear her mumble, “You really like it?”

“Babe, you’re stunning. A freaking work of art. I want to take you to my old room right now and…” The rest of his words are lost as they disappear inside, but I catch the drift.

Ina sticks her thumbs up at Troy. “Good job out there.”

“Thanks. And good luck this semester.”

She dimples. Heads inside.

Troy offers his hand to help me up. I take it, but I don’t stand. I kiss his knuckles instead, letting my tongue swirl against his sweaty skin.

“Mm, salty.”

“You freak.” He hauls me up and kisses me soundly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I hum against his lips.

His hips pin me to the post.

Wood digs into the base of my spine.

I rasp my fingers against the back of his head.

My thighs clamor closer to him.

Troy…

He tastes so good.

Even when he smells like cologne and sweat.

“New painting concept. Instead of just me, you paint us together.”

“Naked?”

“Duh.”

Troy links our fingers together. “You’re something else.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

“I do.”

I beam.

We walk up the stairs together.

The wind gently tugs on my hair.

The scent of Mom’s hibiscus bushes carry me back to the past. Where Troy Maddox was my secret crush. My heart’s burning desire. My everything.

Now…

Well, now Troy is that and so much more.

We head inside, joining the family that taught us both how to love.

I hold his hand tightly, promising once again, that my love for him—our love for each other, is never going to change.

Epilogue

Ina

Dear diary,

I can’t believe I still have to write in this stupid book.

I’m fine.

Okay, I’m not fine, but I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need a diary to deal with my emotions.

Not that Mrs. G cares.

She’s even worse than my therapist back in Belize. And she’s forcing me to see a therapist over here. Sheena is just as pushy. No wonder she and Mrs. G are old friends. They’re both always trying to ‘get me to open up’.

I get that Mrs. G is concerned but…geez.

I should have listened to Venus when she warned me about her mother. Mrs. G can be a little… okay a lot—overbearing.

But…

Is it wrong that I love that?

Having someone care that much about me is like a fairytale.

Even when she yells at me for not standing up for myself, I just want to give Mrs. G a hug.

Because I can see that she’s doing it out of love for me.

And that feels…

Freaking amazing.

They all are.

Evan, his girlfriend Corrine, Venus and Troy.

Can’t say I’m not a little jealous. They’re all crazy in love.

Especially Troy.

He’s over-the-top, would-take-a bullet-for-her, in love with Venus. He’s always following her around, looking at her, smiling at her. It’s like he can’t believe that she’s right in front of him. Like she’s everything he’s ever wanted.

And I want that for myself.

Someday.

If I ever…

No, I WILL get over this.

Venus says she’ll match me up with someone nice. Whenever I’m ready.

I’m not ready yet.

For now, I’m satisfied watching her tiptoe around with Troy, trying not to get caught sneaking around in her old bedroom.

Mrs. G would flip if she ever found out how often they do that.

Or maybe not.

The bed is old and creaky.

The headboard bashes right up against the wall.

It’s not like they’re quiet.

I think Mrs. G’s intentionally pretending not to know.

It’s funny.

They’re cute.

Someday, I’ll…

Someday…

I’ll find someone who loves me like Troy loves Venus.

Anyway, that’s not happening for a looong time. And I’m okay with that. Perfectly okay. When I’m ready, love will find me.

I think.

I hope.

Alright, I think I’ve written enough.

Goodbye for now.

Grudgingly,

Ina

* * *

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Be My Darling

Chapter 1

Chandra

“I give ‘em three years tops.”

My heart lurches.

I wrench my eyes away from the newly married couple on the dance floor. Twist my neck to level the drunken idiot my most withering go to hell stare.

“What?” A burly white guy tips his champagne flute to his smirking lips. “You think I’m giving them too much credit?”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on”—his eyes drop to the name card in front of my gold-rimmed plate with a perfectly proportioned meal of steak and vegetables—“Amina. We can be honest. It’s just you and me here at the Singles table.” He jerks his chin to the dance floor. “Our other colleagues are in the process of hooking up with each other or drinking off their loneliness.” He flutters his fingers in the direction of the open bar.

I scoff. Unbelievable.

“Do you have any idea how rude you’re being?”

His eyes meet mine. “No.” He leans his elbow on the table. “But I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me.”

“We’re at a wedding.”

“Whaaat? I had no idea.” Brown eyes widen. Flecks of amber and honey break up the soulful hue. “No wonder they keep playing John Legend. I thought the playlist was super chill for a rave.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Depends on your definition of humor.”

“I’m dying of laughter.”

He chuckles. “Please don’t die on my account.”

I study his pale cheeks and dark brown eyebrows.

This guy isn’t drunk.

He’s just obnoxiously stupid.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” He smirks.

“I’ll bite. Why are you counting against them?”

He folds his arms over his chest. They’re massive arms. Covered in a solid navy dress-shirt. Long sleeves. Suspenders.

A basic white bro.

All that’s missing is a backwards baseball cap and a beer can.

“It’s not me that’s against them.” He points up. “There’s a higher power at work here.”

I snort. “You’re bringing religion into this?”

“Statistics.” He spreads his fingers. They’re big. Blunt. Like the rest of him. “Probability.”

“Wow.”

“Ever wonder why we throw huge parties, invite hundreds of people, and drop loads of cash just to sign a government document?”

“Because… capitalism.”

His laugh lights up his dark eyes.

My lips tremble in tandem.

I don’t know why I’m humoring him.

Seriously.

The guy is way too condescending to be worth my time.

But I lean forward anyway. “Why?”

“We’re minions.”

“Alright then.”

“We’re here to cancel all reasonable doubt.”

“Doubt?”

“Forever is a longtime.”

“It’s romantic.”

“It’s a prison sentence.” He cocks his head. “A ball and chain. They need validation from us to calm that niggling voice telling them to run as far as they can.”

“You’re a pessimist.”

“That or a genius.” He flashes a wide smile.

There’s a dimple in his cheek, right under the corner of his bottom lip. A feature so adorable seems out of place on his conventionally attractive face.

“You’re speaking your opinion as facts.”

“Doesn’t matter one way or the other. Evidence is on our side.”

“You’re saying I, by being here, am the villain of the story.”

“The villain is society. You’re just the minion.”

“Are you high?”

“Perceptive.”

“Then tell me,” I nod to the couple swaying on the dance floor. The groom has his arms wrapped around his new wife’s waist. The bride is pressed against him, her silk veil kissing his velvet tux.

Kishana and Corbin.

An adorable couple.

I matched them two years ago, back when I was working at Black Love Matters.com. They’re the last of my long-term relationship clients to get married.

Only took them two years.

I couldn’t be prouder. Evidence in the loads of napkins I blew through during their moving wedding ceremony.

“What are they—“ I point at Velma and Corbin, “thinking right now?”

He taps his chin. Narrows his eyes. “‘All my friends are here. What will they say if I back out now?’” He tips his head in my direction. You?

“‘I can’t wait to start the rest of my life with my soul mate’.” I arch an eyebrow top that?

“If that version makes you feel better…”

“Neither of us can read minds. Unless you’re about to tell me you have superpowers.”

He motions to his face. “My power is superhuman good looks.”

I throw my head back and laugh.

This guy’s crazy.

There’s no way he’s serious.

No way.

“So,” he leans back, smug, “who are you here for? The bride or the groom?”

“Both.”

“You knew them as a couple?”

“I made them a couple.” How’s that?

He nods, impressed. “So you are the villain.”

John Legend’s crooning tries and fails to wash his garbage from my ears. “How many refills have you had?”

“Contrary to your desperate assumptions, I’m neither drunk nor high. Crazy?” He winks. “Maybe a little. But that’s a symptom of boredom.

“Too bad. I’m having a great time.”

“I’m going to believe that because I feel sorry for you.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re obnoxious?”

“Not quite so blatantly.”

“Hm.”

He shrugs. “I’m curious.”

“About why I’m still entertaining this conversation?” I take a sip of water. He’s blunt and cute—not my type, but still.

The wedding just got a little more interesting.

He smiles. The dimple peeps out. “About your skills.”

“As a matchmaker?”

“Yeah.”

“So what?”

He raises a brow. “Care for a demonstration?”

“My time is expensive.”

“You think I can’t pay?”

I give him a once-over. His fingers are clean and trimmed, but they’re rough. Calloused. Could be because he’s a gym rat or because he does manual labor for a living.

Moving my gaze back to his eyes, I lift a shoulder. “Unlike some people, I don’t judge a person without getting to know him first.”

“Now when did I do that?”

“You gave them—“ I jerk my chin in the bride and groom’s direction—“three years together.”

“Which is rather generous considering most marriages fall apart in the first two.”

I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “It’s like talking to a brick wall.”

“How about a dance with a brick wall?”

I snort. “Right now?”

He pushes away from the table. As he straightens, I realize that he’s much taller than I anticipated.

Much.

Definitely over six feet.

The guy’s a bulky, painfully pale lumberjack—minus the crazy, unkempt beard and flannel.

“Yeah.”

“No thanks.”

“You scared?”

“Of course not.”

“I dare you.”

“What? You think this is third grade?”

“I triple-double dare you.”

Another laugh breaks free.

Ridiculous. “Can you keep up with me?”

“Only one way to find out.” He holds his hand out.

It’s big, of course. Covered with a fine sprinkling of light brown hair. When I set my fingers in his, the shock of my dark skin against his palm is overpowered by how much his hand dwarfs mine.

He wraps his fingers around my wrist. Yanks me toward the dance floor. Firm. And fast.

The DJ shifts to Aretha Franklin. Her heavy, raspy voice croons about love and forever.

Two words that were meant to be together.

That so often get torn apart.

Ugh.

I don’t want to think like that.

Fairytales have substance.

Like gossip, they’re based at least partially on the truth.

The world’s such a dark and ugly place. I breathe and move and take on each new day because I believe that love exists. Even if—as my dance partner so forebodingly pointed out, no… as my own attempts have proven—it doesn’t last.

He wraps his arms around my waist. “What are you thinking?”

“That you’ve got two left feet?”

“Come on.” He makes a face. Rocks me to the right. “We haven’t even started properly yet.”

“First impressions, bro.”

“Bro?” He arches an eyebrow.

“I never got a name.”

“So you went with Bro?”

“I can call you Jo. Mo. Bo. Which do you prefer?”

He chuckles. Spins me. “Matt.”

“Amina. But you knew…” something in the distance catches my eye—“that.”

Matt notices my expression. He turns his neck, his gaze starting to move over his shoulder.

“No.” I grab his face. Hold it in my palm.

My heart thunders.

Unbidden, my eyes zip back to him. He’s as handsome as ever, standing tall and proud in a navy, three-piece suit. Designer if I know him.

And I do know him.

At least I thought I did.

What the hell is Gavin doing here?

“Amina?” Matt mumbles.

My body tightens.

A knot winds tightly in my head.

An alarm screams in my brain. Loud and shrieking.

I’m not running away.

Not again.

As long as I don’t think about the night he—

No.

I’m over it.

Done.

“Um,” I run my tongue over my top lip.

“What?”

I study Matt’s face. Hesitate.

Not running might cause a fight.

Especially if I use a weapon like this.

“Amina?”

My eyes flit over his shoulder.

A heavy breath gets caught in my throat.

Gavin’s staring right back at me, his eyes drilling into my head.

He saw.

He saw me and—

I suck in a deep breath. Glance desperately at Matt. “Kiss me.”

His eyes widen.

A figure moves toward us. A shadow in a navy blazer. Steady footsteps. Laser gaze.

My heart beats like crazy. “I dare you.”

“What?”

My eyes return to the edge of the crowd. Meet Gavin again.

His jaw cricks. Fingers tighten into fists.

Something painful explodes in my stomach.

Something toxic and ugly.

Panic.

I’m not ready.

I can’t—

Big hands grab my face. Fingers so pale they’re almost translucent. Carrying the fragrance of something earthy and manly. Unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

The hands force my head away from Gavin.

Then I’m falling into a pair of light brown eyes.

Matt’s eyes.

And those are Matt’s lips.

Pink.

Pink lips.

I’ve never kissed someone with pink lips before.

What am I—

I can’t kiss some stranger.

Some white man I don’t know.

This isn’t…

My body slams against his as Matt pulls me close.

“You dared me,” he growls.

He warns.

And then he kisses me.

Chapter 2

MATT

Her lips are full. Soft.

Back at the table, I’d wondered.

Not for long.

I’m not a creep and it was clear she was nothing but amused by me. The way the quiet, studious types always seem to be when I open my mouth.

But now, my mouth is on hers.

And I don’t have to imagine what her lips feel like.

Damn, they’re really as soft as they look.

Tastes like cocoa butter too.

She pulls back with a quiet “mmm”. Like she just sampled the best coffee this side of the Americas. Like she was waiting for that moment.

Thick lashes bounce up. Down. Up again.

A slender arm slides around my neck.

Her fingers brush my ear.

My body buzzes, pressing closer to her. Not quite getting the memo that this is happening randomly and thus deserves an explanation.

Nah.

My body’s not worried about explanations. It’s talking a whole ‘nother language.

‘Beautiful woman’—Caveman style.

That’s all the reason it needs to send blood rushing south.

I swallow. Inhale a deep breath.

I’m not an animal.

And there’s clearly a good story lurking here.

I force my mind to hunt it out as a distraction from the mayhem that closed-mouthed kiss sparked inside me.

Trying not to be obvious, I glance to the side.

There’s a crowd around us. Dancers. Wedding guests in bare feet. Cheeks flushed. Half-drunk.

No one’s paying us much attention.

Except for one.

A tall, dark-skinned guy in a fancy suit. He’s not dancing. He’s a stone statue in a sea of waving arms and gyrating bodies.

And he’s staring at Amina. Staring at us.

He looks pissed.

It’s carefully controlled—smoldering beneath his twitching lips and his trembling fists—but I can feel it.

Takes one to know one.

Hell, if not for my high school wood-working teacher and my love of carpentry, I’d be gnashing my teeth and stomping around like Fancy Suit every day.

I arch an eyebrow at Amina. “Ex?”

Her eyes train on me. They’re slightly narrowed. Crinkling from her I’m so in love with you smile. “Ignore him.”

The instruction’s delivered through gritted teeth, but it’s clear enough for me to understand.

Okay.

Ignore the huffing and puffing dude trying hard to act like seeing Amina with me isn’t driving him nuts?

Easy.

I can focus on her instead.

Plenty to admire.

She’s gorgeous.

I noticed that the moment I caught her breaking down in snot and tears as the bride and groom exchanged their wedding vows.

It was a social observation.

She’s an attractive woman. Slender. Elegant. Sophisticated.

All facts.

I didn’t linger.

Didn’t think I needed to.

Until I saw her sitting around my table—dark skin glowing like there’s a fire inside her that can’t be contained, shoulders ramrod straight, eyes sharp, lips curling up.

The way they are now.

I train my eyes on her. Let a sigh break free from my mouth as her fingers slide up and down the back of my neck.

“Matt?”

“Hm?”

Her nails lightly scrape my hair. “Is he gone?”

I don’t want to look.

Because a part of me doesn’t want to let her go.

Crazy.

I don’t know where that’s coming from. And if I inspect too closely, I’m sure any excuses I throw up will fall apart. So I don’t bother going deeper than the surface.

I’m enjoying the company of a beautiful girl.

Doesn’t have to get any more complicated than that.

Amina darts a quick look over. Her lips tighten. She doesn’t have to say anything for me to know he’s still there. When she rattles off a curse, I know our game is far from over.

So we’re making her ex jealous?

I’m down.

And right now, I’m liking any excuse to touch her.

I run my finger down her cheek. “Baby, have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Once or twice.”

“You’re a freaking vision.”

“Oh, Matt…”

The way she says my name.

Like I’m the only thing she wants.

Is she a matchmaker or an actress?

She’s a little too good at playing the part.

Good enough that her seething ex can’t stand still any longer.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. Hear the gravelly I’m being polite cause we’re in public tone my dad used to level on us when we were kids. “You mind if I cut in?”

It’s the ex.

I’ve got three inches on him, but he’s a solid mass and it wouldn’t be an easy fight.

Hopefully, it won’t come to that.

For Amina’s sake.

Something tells me she roped me into this little show to avoid the drama.

I turn around with Amina in front of me. She stiffens, her back sharpening and pressing into my chest.

“Calm down,” I whisper in her ear, right before I press a kiss to her lobe.

She gasps a little. Melts against me.

Is that pretend? Fake?

It felt real.

But then I barely know her.

Turning to her ex, I lift my chin and drape an arm over Amina’s chest.

His eyes dip to where I’m holding her. His scowl deepens.

I shrug. “Sorry. I don’t want to share.”

His stare hardens. He turns his attention to Amina. “We need to talk.”

She reaches behind and wraps a hand around the scruff of my neck until we’re connected from the shoulders down.

She’s soft.

Damn.

But I’m not.

And the closer she tugs me…

The DJ’s shifting the music away from smooth souls to some sensual number more suited to a club. As if her body’s spiritually connected to the music, Amina starts moving to the rhythm.

Freaking hell…

She’s too good at that.

Her hips brush mine.

Her thighs…

Her booty…

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” she snaps, still going to town on me.

I brace her hips.

My heart beats wildly.

This is not how I expected the night to go, but I have no complaints.

“Amina…” His voice crackles with aggression.

The ex is still standing there.

Still staring at her like he owns her.

I want to call him out on it. But holding Amina is ten times more appealing that a pissing contest with the bastard (yes, I’ve already decided he’s scum; I don’t need the full story).

I lean into her. “Babe…”

“Yes, baby?” She moans.

I lower my head. Bury my face in her neck.

She inhales deeply, arching her back as I trail a kiss down her throat. Her fingers slip down my face to the top of my button down, tugging me into her as she exposes more of her neck to me.

I stop mid-kiss. Let my nose brush her dark skin. Then I glance up. “Can’t you take a hint, bruh?”

“Bruh?” He slides a hand into his tailored pocket. Chuckles darkly. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Amina, stop this nonsense and come with me.”

I snap to my full height. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Hey.” Amina drops her arms and turns to face me. Her voice lowers so it’s barely audible above the music. “What did I tell you? Ignore him.”

“I’m trying, but he’s got such a punchable face.” I flit a look up. Make sure he hears me.

Amina pouts and wraps her arms around me. “Try to contain yourself, baby.”

“Only because you asked nicely.” I ease toward her.

She reaches up and meets my lips for another quick kiss.

It feels like the most natural move in the world.

Still doesn’t make any sense.

Did I drink that much tonight?

The ex scoffs. “Cut it out, Amina.”

“Cut what out?” She tilts her head. “Can’t you take a hint, Gavin. I’m with my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Gavin snorts. “Stop playing. I know you’d never get with”—he looks me up and down—“a flour bag, Frosty the Snowman reject.”

A flour…

I bark out a laugh. “That’s funny.”

Amina cuts me a look.

I shrug. “It is.”

“You were just about to punch him three seconds ago.”

“Come on.” I curve my fingers around her waist. Brush the fabric of her silky red dress. Yank her back against me. Where she belongs. At least in this sphere of pretend. Remember, Matt, it’s only pretend. “A good joke is a good joke, baby.”

She rolls her eyes, but a smile plays on her lips. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy for you.”

“And I’m so hot for you.” She curls her fingers into my shirt again. “Want to get out of here?”

“Amina, don’t you walk away from me.”

“Yeah.” I keep her body pressed in front of mine, just in case her jerk of an ex thinks he can grab her hand and play tug of war tonight.

Not that I’d lose.

“I can’t wait to get you alone,” she purrs, loud enough that he can hear.

It still does things to me.

Even knowing she doesn’t mean it.

I’m losing the line between pretend and reality.

“Amina!”

I push her along, wrapping my arms around her and taking big, clumsy steps to the exits.

The night is cold.

Heavy breeze slaps me in the face.

It’s not exactly the cold shower I need, but it’s a decent substitution.

As soon as we’re in the parking lot, she pushes me away.

I let her go, feeling the emptiness like an Amina-sized ache.

“Um…” She digs a finger into her hair. It’s beautiful. Coiffed into this tamed afro with sparkling pins holding it together. “So… um… thanks. For that.”

I stare at her, dark skin bathed in silver moonlight and eyes darting to the side in awkwardness.

Two things become abundantly clear.

Wherever that line between real and fake is, it’ll only take a couple steps to cross it.

And… if that happens, there’s not a chance in hell I’ll find my way back.

* * *

Be My Darling coming soon.

Author’s Note

Venus intrigued me from the first book in the Make It Marriage Series. She seemed flighty and wild, but I knew there was a depth to her that was just begging to be uncovered.

Her relationship with Troy—an unrequited love on the outside and mutual pining on the inside—soaked deep into my soul. I wanted to dig beneath the layers to the heart of their hesitation: failure.

And that’s a truth that keeps us all bound… not just in romantic relationships, but in every aspect of our lives.

When circumstances seem insurmountable and everyone is saying that it can’t be done, it’s easy to give in and give up. It’s easy to let go of that dream in the name of keeping the peace.

But just like Venus and Troy don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks about their age difference, I encourage you to pursue that dream you’ve been nurturing in your heart. Go for it. You were made to do it. You were born for that moment. Don’t die with that book or that song or that business still buried in your heart. Venus, Troy and I believe in you. You’ve got this.

Until the next whirlwind BWWM romance.

Love,

Nia

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More books about strong yet vulnerable black women and the diverse men who love them are coming soon.

Also by Nia Arthurs

Caribbean Crush Series

His Exception

Her Deception

The Complication

Grudging Hearts Series

Forever Loving You

Forever Craving You

Forever Claiming You

Make It Marriage Series

Be My Always

Be My Forever

more coming in 2020

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