Yield to Love Read online

  Yield to Love

  Love Under Construction Series: Book 3

  By Chanta Jefferson Rand

  Copyright 2014 Chanta Jefferson Rand

  Smashwords Edition

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  ONE

  “Gabriel Edward Hunt, do you take Candace Jones to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do,” Gabe answered.

  “Candace Denyse Jones, do you take Gabe Hunt to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “I do,” Candace answered.

  The chubby-cheeked minister of St. Andrews Episcopal First Presbyterian Church paused in front of an audience of nearly two hundred people before he addressed the second couple.

  “Victor Miguel Romano, do you take Veronica Jones as your lawfully wedded wife?”

  “I do,” Vic answered.

  “Veronica Lynn Jones, do you take Victor Romano as your lawfully wedded husband?”

  “I do,” Ronnie replied.

  The minister took a deep breath. “Then, by the power vested in me by the state of Florida, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Gentlemen, you may kiss your brides.”

  Marlowe Jones smiled as her sisters instantly lip-locked with their new husbands. Unbelievably, both Candace and Ronnie had found their soul mates within a year of each other. Marlowe had to admit, her brothers-in-law were all good guys.

  Alpha males that had fallen hard for the Jones women.

  We are pretty damn hard to resist.

  The groomsmen all clapped each other on the back, no doubt happy to have escaped the same fate as Gabe and Vic. But these poor guys were about to be cornered by the battalion of single women who were looking for a groom of their own. Sadly, the women here were in no danger of hooking up with any of the men in the wedding party.

  Phil, Gabe’s best man, was a confirmed bachelor for life. Bud, Vic’s best man, was Ronnie’s childhood friend and her best friend, Quatara’s doting husband for over a decade. Cordell, a handsome, young executive who worked for Gabe, was blessed with smooth mahogany skin and a dazzling smile. But any woman vying for a piece of that chocolate would have to fight his boyfriend. Vic’s second cousin, Vinnie “Cro-Magnon” Esposito was hideous. Marlowe would bet all the money in her Roth IRA that the babies had been switched at birth, and Vic’s real cousin was a runway model in Venice. And Jovan, Ronnie’s son, was only thirteen years old—still too young for even the most desperate cougar in the room.

  When her sisters decided to marry in a double ceremony, Marlowe was shocked. The two were as different as night and day. Candace was flashy, sassy, and outspoken. She’d kept her fiancé, Gabe waiting for over two years before she finally set a date. Ronnie was classy, conservative, and always thought before she spoke. She wasn’t prone to rash decisions, but when she met bad boy Vic, she agreed to marry him after only five months of dating. The one thing Marlowe’s sisters did have in common was they were both strong, independent women who knew what they wanted.

  But they weren’t the only women in the Jones family who knew what they wanted. Right now, Marlowe’s attention was being high jacked by a fine specimen sitting in the third row of the church. Olive skin. Piercing blue eyes. Dark goatee. Thick sable hair. To her surprise, he was staring back at her! When their eyes met, he gave her an imperceptible nod of the head. No smile. No wink. Just a nod of his head. He must be the strong, silent type.

  Humph! She had a way of making even the most hardened introvert call out her name in the throes of pleasure.

  She silently berated herself. She should be paying attention to her Maid of Honor duties, which weren’t complicated. All she had to do was stand here and be her gorgeous self. Candace and Ronnie pretty much had everything else covered. The ceremony was over anyway. The passionate kisses of both couples sealed the deal. Now, it was on to the reception, and then in the morning, her sisters would depart on their separate honeymoons, leaving her in charge of Three Sisters Construction for a week.

  Marlowe joined the four other bridesmaids as they trailed after the brides, scooping up the long trains on their wedding gowns. Marlowe and her cousin, Toye, held the train of Candace’s elegant, white lace gown. Ronnie’s best friend, Quatara, and Vic’s sister, Andrea, held Ronnie’s stunning, beaded pale pink gown. This was Ronnie’s second marriage, and she felt weird getting married in white. Vic was so in love with the woman, he wouldn’t have cared if she’d worn red.

  Thankfully, both sisters agreed to have black and silver as their wedding colors. Both of their gowns blended beautifully with the bridesmaids’ silver beaded dresses. Stopping just above the knee, this was a dress Marlowe could get years of mileage out of.

  Ronnie’s personal assistant, Olivia, was the remaining bridesmaid, who for once, followed demurely instead of flossing like a strutting peacock.

  Outside on the steps of the massive church, the guests wished the couples well and threw birdseed instead of rice, at Ronnie’s insistence. Ronnie was always thinking of others. She argued no one should be throwing away food when millions of people were going hungry every day. As the two couples got into separate limos to be transported to the reception, one hundred white balloons were released into the sky. The effect was breathtaking.

  Toye came up to Marlowe, tears misting her gray eyes. “Wasn’t that a beautiful ceremony?”

  “Yes,” Marlowe answered. “And even better was the fact that I only had to buy one dress.”

  Toye shot her a snide look. “You were wrong for that.”

  “No, I was being honest. If you’d have gotten married too, I could have tripled my money on this dress.”

  “Yeah, well with no likely prospects, it’s kind of hard to be engaged.”

  Marlowe felt a pang of guilt. Toye was married years ago, but her no-good husband ran off with some skank hoe. Now, Toye had the pleasure of watching both of her cousins get married.

  “I’ll be thirty-four in less than six months,” Toye moaned. “And I still have no hopes of getting married.”

  Marlowe, at twenty-eight was nine years younger than her oldest sister, Ronnie, and seven years younger than Candace. Marlowe wanted to tell Toye that maybe if she stayed out of folks’ business, she might find a man of her own. Her cousin had a fucked up habit of budding in where she didn’t belong. Instead, Marlowe said, “They say things happen in threes. So, you’ll probably be next.”

  Before Toye could respond, Olivia slithered up to them. The blonde bombshell’s eyes were focused on something in the distance. Her lips, painted with a brilliant red lipstick, barely moved as she spoke. “Ten o’clock, to my left. Check out the beefcake in the gray suit. Damn!”

  Marlowe retrieved her small gold compact from her bra and pretended to glimpse into the mirror, but in reality, it allowed her to fully appreciate the man reflected in the mirror. He was the Adonis she’d seen earlier in the third row. The man was striking, by classic standards. In the bright sunlight, she had a better view of his Indigo eyes and patrician features. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his tailored gray suit. She could tell even from this distance, it was quality. God, she loved it when a man knew how to dress.

  “About time,” Toye huffed. “I was beginning to think there were no interesting prospects at this wedding.”

  “Yeah,” Olivia complained. “You would think with one hundred and seventy-three RSVPs the odds
of at least one fine ass man would be pretty damn high.”

  “How do you know a hundred and seventy-three people RSVP’d?” Toye asked.

  “Don’t forget who wrote the invitations. The P.A. knows everything.”

  Marlowe laughed. Poor Olivia. In the last six months, she’d graduated from Ronnie’s secretary to her personal assistant. She was already running Ronnie’s office as well as her personal life. Ronnie just made it official.

  “I call dibs,” Toye announced, a predatory grin settling across her full lips.

  “I saw him first,” Olivia argued back. “I was only advising you as a courtesy—stay out of my way.”

  “I’m the oldest,” Toye murmured, as her gaze swept over the man’s body. “Always listen to your elders. Plus,” she licked her lips, “his suit matches my eyes. It’s karma.”

  Toye did have unusual gray eyes that seemed to attract men like flies to shit. But neither she nor Olivia were about to claim this prize.

  Marlowe checked her image in the small mirror.

  Makeup. Perfect.

  Hair. Flawless.

  Teeth. No lipstick smears.

  She was ready.

  “Who is he?” Marlowe asked. She watched as the man checked his watch. An onyx and gold cufflink peeped from the cuff of his crisp, white shirt. What a nice surprise. Few men bothered with small details like cufflinks.

  “I haven’t figured that out yet,” Olivia admitted. “Apparently, he’s here solo.”

  Toye was saying something, but Marlowe had tuned her out. Olivia and Toye were attention whores, in the most affectionate sense of the words. The two women talked a good game. Marlowe wasn’t about talk. She was about action. She sashayed in the direction of the mystery man.

  He had an athletic build. Broad shoulders that tapered to a slim waist. She pegged him at around thirty-five or thirty-six. Just her speed. She liked older men who knew their way around a woman’s anatomy. Up close, she could see the fine detailing on his suit. It looked custom-made, the way it molded to his muscular shoulders. The material had to be 300-thread count. The dark goatee framing his lips was groomed to perfection. She liked everything about this one. She hoped he didn’t go and mess it up by being married or gay.

  “I’m Marlowe.” She stuck her hand out in introduction.

  “Roque Coleman,” he answered in a deep voice that wrapped around her like a mink fur rubbing against nude skin.

  Rock? Did he say Rock? What kind of name is that?

  His brief smile was all-business. His cobalt eyes calmly appraised her. No flirting. No unspoken innuendoes. That wasn’t the usual reaction she got from guys. Most of them couldn’t keep from tripping over their tongues whenever she was around.

  The tantalizing smell of his cologne drew her like a hypnotic nectar. A heady mix of sandalwood with citrus undertones.

  Mommy Like!

  “So, are you a friend of Gabe’s or Vic’s?” she asked.

  “Neither.”

  She knew he wasn’t a friend of either of her sisters. She would know if Candace or Ronnie knew any guy this hot! But she asked anyway. “You must know one of the bridesmaids,” she prompted.

  “No, I can’t say I do.”

  Marlowe didn’t bother to hide her growing irritation. “If you don’t know the brides or the grooms, then why are you here? What are you? A wedding crasher or something?”

  He begrudged her a half-smile that might have made him even more devastatingly handsome if he’d bothered to turn the wattage up. “Actually, I’m here for you,” he said.

  “Me?”

  “You are Marlowe Jones, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, you’re just the woman I want.”

  She smirked. “You and half of the other men here.”

  Roque stared at the striking beauty in front of him. Some men might consider her features exotic. Skin that reminded him of the café au lait he drank this morning. Eyes the amber hue of fine cognac. A flawless face graced with high cheekbones and a wide, sensual mouth. His eyes roamed her slender figure. She was top-heavy with a slender waist and narrow hips. The draped neckline of her silver dress dipped low to allow for ample admiration of her cleavage. And he was happy to oblige.

  Yes, she was definitely the woman he was looking for. He’d planned to catch her alone and make his introduction away from the prying eyes of other guests. But to his utter amazement, she’d approached him. That meant she must have seen something she liked. Not bad for a dude who’d just turned forty a few months ago. He still had it.

  He usually liked his women a little less bold and aggressive, but Marlowe Jones might have been someone worth making an exception for. Too bad he was here today on behalf of his company. Good thing he never mixed business with pleasure—or Ms. Jones would be in trouble.

  “I have a proposition for you,” Roque told her.

  “I like propositions, especially when they come in a pretty package.”

  She’d misunderstood his intentions. Most women would have slapped a stranger’s face for approaching them with those six words. But she didn’t even appear shocked. In fact, a spark of interest flashed in her pretty eyes. Despite the deceptively sweet pixie cut hairstyle she wore, Marlowe Jones was a naughty girl.

  And Lord, he liked a naughty girl.

  He pulled a business card from his suit coat pocket and handed it to her. “I’m with Coleman Developers,” he said. “I wanted to speak with you about a business proposition.”

  Disappointment flickered in her irises as he stressed the word ‘business.’ Then, she got serious. “What kind of business?”

  “You have a piece of property on the east side. My company is interested in acquiring the house and the land. I’m prepared to pay you handsomely for your troubles.”

  “A piece of property? Wait a minute.” Her expression changed from confused to incredulous in the span of a few seconds. “You crashed my sisters’ weddings to tell me this?”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it crashing.”

  “You’re not here with anybody, are you? You’re single.”

  “I came alone, yes.”

  He purposely didn’t answer about his relationship status. It was none of Marlowe’s business. All she needed to know was he was willing to pay for her little lot on the east side. All of the other forty-eight residents in the shabby neighborhood had sold except her. Once he had her piece, he could do what he needed to do—put up luxury townhomes with a smattering of retail shops. He’d make one hell of a commission on this if he could have it all built within six months. An aggressive timeframe, but when he had a powerhouse like Crowne Industries offering to buy it, he was damn sure going to make it happen.

  He always got what he wanted. This would be no exception. In his mind, he was doing those people a favor anyway. The neighborhood was an armpit of crime and poverty.

  “Well, the joke’s on you, Mr. Coleman. I don’t own any property over there,” Marlowe informed him. “You’ve got the wrong person. So, you bum-rushed your way in here for nothing.”

  He never got these things wrong. He’d employed people to do meticulous research on all of the tenants. Marlowe Jones was the only one remaining. She owned not only the house, but the land as well. Unusual in this day and age. It had taken months to track her down. If it weren’t for a link to the Three Sisters Construction Facebook page, he wouldn’t have made the connection to her.

  “You’re Marlowe Jones, right?”

  She tossed him an annoyed look. “We’ve already established that. But I’ve never even bought a house, much less any land.”

  “My sources tell me the property is now owned by Marlowe Jones.”

  And by sources, he meant a private detective, named Gator, he’d hired. Gator insisted on that moniker because he likened himself to an alligator when he found his prey. He snapped on tight with powerful jaws and didn’t let go until he got the information he wanted.

  Roque didn’t give a shit what Gator called him
self—as long as he got the information Roque paid for. Of course, being a private dick was only Gator’s part-time gig. The man had a host of other jobs, along with three kids to feed. Roque usually liked dealing with much more professional people, but Gator did as he was told without asking questions. And his information was always spot-on.

  “What do you mean it’s now owned by me?” Marlowe asked. “Who owned it before me?”

  Roque consulted his phone and scrolled to find an email from Gator with the details. “Apparently, it was willed to you,” he said.

  She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I get it. This is part of your lame ass game. You’re about to give me your number now?” She tossed him a sarcastic smirk. “You men are so predictable. If you wanted to trade numbers, all you had to do was say so.”

  He shook his head. This woman was a piece of work. She was obviously used to playing cat and mouse. He had no time for all that silliness. “First off, I assure you, my game is not lame. Second, I don’t have to play games to get a woman to notice me. Third, if I were trying to pick you up, you’d know it. Too bad I’m here on business, or I’d show you how a real man approaches a woman.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I’m on one of those reality TV shows, aren’t I?” She jabbed a finger in his chest, pinning one of the buttons of his silk shirt against his sternum. “This isn’t funny, Roque Coleman.” She shoved his card in his face. “If that’s even your real name.”

  “Why would I give you a fake name?”

  “Nobody names their kid Roque. It’s fake, just like your story.”

  Okay, business or not, she’d crossed the line. “Look, lady. There’s no need for insults. I’m here to discuss the property that you own.” He glanced at the email he’d pulled up. “It was previously owned by LaReesa Jones Wilson Colfax.”

  All the color drained from the woman’s face. Roque’s card fluttered to the ground as Marlowe placed her slender fingers on his forearm to steady herself. Her pretty mouth dropped open and she began to hyperventilate.

  Oh, shit! She’s about to faint.