Yield to Love Read online

  “Maybe if you didn’t work so hard, you’d have a girlfriend. I think that’s why you don’t want Alexander to have one—because you don’t have one,” she teased. “And you know what they say. Misery loves company.”

  He wagged his finger at her. “You know what else they say? Muzzles come in size extra small.”

  Jade giggled as she pranced from the room. Roque smiled. He knew his precocious pre-teen didn’t take his threats to silence her seriously. That girl was growing up too fast. She was going to be a handful for some guy. He paused.

  Wait a minute. Didn’t I just say the same thing about Marlowe Jones?

  Was Jade growing up to be like Marlowe? Or worse yet, a selfish witch like Natalyn? God, he hoped not!

  Maybe he should take her to the aquarium. Maybe that would keep her well grounded. In another year or two, she’d start talking about boys, and prom, and dresses. He might actually have to take her to the mall. Ugh.

  He picked up his cell phone and dialed the number to his assistant, Brett.

  “Yes, sir,” Brett answered with his usual efficiency.

  That’s what he liked about Brett. He was young but respectful, and he took care of business. Roque used to have a female assistant. In fact, he’d had five assistants in the past four years. But none of them had worked out. The temp agency he used said the women reported he was, what was the word? Cold. He wasn’t cold or mean. He simply preferred to keep his distance. He supposed the agency got sick and tired of him about two years ago, so they finally sent a guy. Brett had been with him ever since. With a man, Roque didn’t have to worry about hormones or crying or petty jealousies.

  “I need a car to pick Ms. Jones up at ten a.m. tomorrow,” he instructed.

  “I’ll take care of it. I’ll use the address we have on file for her.”

  Roque hung up. He knew Marlowe said she didn’t need a car, but he was going to make damn sure she went to that house tomorrow. He had to do everything in his power to ensure she signed the paperwork as soon as possible. She didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would appreciate him taking control, but he didn’t much care. It was time she learned he meant business.

  THREE

  Marlowe stepped from the steamy shower and grabbed a fluffy towel from the heated towel rack. She loved this bathroom. It was custom decorated from the blue cabochons in the glass half wall to the Italian palazzo heated tiles in the floor. That was the beauty of having a brother-in-law who owned a chain of home improvement stores. She could get her hands on whatever her heart desired. It also didn’t hurt that her other brother-in-law was a master carpenter and electrician. He’d single-handedly helped renovate her bathroom.

  When her sisters married, it was almost as though she were getting married, too. She’d gained so much in the way of family. She was content to let Candace and Ronnie be the only ones living in wedded bliss. She couldn’t imagine being tied down to one guy. So far, no man had managed to keep her satisfied—especially in bed. Her sisters teased her about how she ran through boyfriends like water, but if they knew how promiscuous she was, they’d have a heart attack. It wasn’t as if she was addicted to sex or anything. She just had a high sex drive. She kept it a secret, fearful that she’d suffered from the same ailment as her mother. Toye had said it in so many words—her mother had been a ho. Well, not in the literal sense of the word, selling coochie. But she ran after men, and when they didn’t run away from her, she moved them in.

  Marlowe really only remembered one of her mother’s boyfriends. He’d tried to whip her, with a shoe, no less. Candace and Ronnie jumped on him and beat him down. LaReesa had been so pissed off she kicked the guy to the curb. That was the year before she died. Marlowe had all but forgotten LaReesa. In fact, she couldn’t even remember her mother’s face anymore. No one in the family kept any pictures. Her mama didn’t like the camera anyway.

  She stared at her nude body in the full-length mirror. She wasn’t as tall as Candace. Or as curvy as Ronnie. But she was pleased with her body. She worked out three times a week to maintain the firm tone. Someone had once called her skinny-fine. She was blessed with big titties and fifty-cent piece nipples, but she got nothing in the ‘ass’ department. That was okay. She made it work. And she hadn’t had any complaints so far.

  She pulled on a pair of jeans and then stepped into a pair of open-toed pumps. She’d tried wearing flats. She just didn’t see how women could do it. She felt low to the ground with anything less than four inches beneath her feet.

  Before she could finish getting dressed, her doorbell rang. She peered out of the second-story window of her condo. A limo was parked out front.

  “What the hell?”

  She knew immediately it was for her. She grabbed a thin, sleeveless black turtleneck and drew it over her head as she walked toward her front door.

  A slight man who wasn’t much taller than her stood on her doorstep. He was so dark his skin practically matched that of his black uniform and matching hat.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m your driver.”

  “I don’t need a driver.”

  “Mr. Coleman says you do.”

  Marlowe stomped her foot against the concrete. “Unbelievable! That is the most hardheaded, presumptuous man I’ve had the displeasure of meeting. I told him I didn’t need a car! How dare he?”

  The driver shrugged. “You may as well take advantage of the car. I’m already here, and Mr. Coleman is paying me for the day. After all, I do have three kids to support.”

  Marlowe kind of felt sorry for him. “Well, it’s not your fault your boss is a jerk.”

  “Yeah, you’re not the first person to say that.”

  “Okay,” she relented. “Give me five minutes.”

  She dashed back inside, pushed her fingers through her short hair, and applied a pink gloss to her lips. As an afterthought, she pulled a chain link belt through the belt loops of her jeans. Then, she grabbed her purse and locked her front door.

  “Thank you, sir,” she told the chauffeur as he opened the back door of the limo with a flourish.

  “Call me Gator.”

  He smiled and she laughed in reply. The man was bending over backwards to be nice to her. “Okay, Gator.”

  She stuck her head inside the warm interior and gasped when she noticed another person sitting across from her. Her gaze darted to the familiar pair of Indigo eyes. “You!”

  Roque Coleman sat there looking scrumptious in his sable suit and aqua tie. Not one hair of his thick locks was out of place. He was wearing cufflinks again and shoes spit-shined to perfection. Only he didn’t look like the type of man who would let anyone spit near him. He looked like the picture of refinement. The type of man who ate ribs with a fork.

  He flashed her a charming smile. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were riding with a stranger.”

  “And you’re not a stranger?”

  “You met me yesterday.”

  The faint scent of his cologne filled the limo. She swallowed hard, trying not to enjoy the aroma. She’d be damned if she’d enjoy anything about him.

  “That doesn’t mean anything. I’ve known people my whole life and I don’t know everything about them.”

  “I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

  “No response is necessary. I was being facetious.”

  “Let me know how that works for you. In the meantime, are you going to get in or would you like to call even more attention to yourself?”

  Marlowe looked around and noticed a few people gawking at her. She gritted her teeth and slid into the seat, careful to keep her distance from Roque. She wanted to slam the door, but Gator was there to shut it behind her.

  Roque peered at Marlowe from the corner of his eye. She looked good. Wearing a black turtleneck and dark jeans, she could have passed for a cat burglar. But right now, she was anything but cat-like. She was wedged against the passenger side door. Her body language indicated she’d rather be anywhere than
in this limo with him.

  He felt like he should apologize for some reason, but he never apologized, unless it was truly warranted. And most of the time it wasn’t. Instead, he made an attempt to put her at ease.

  “About yesterday,” he began.

  “When you bum-rushed my sisters’ wedding?”

  “Here we go with that again.”

  “Well, what do you expect? You have me trapped in a limo with you. You’re my captive audience, so I may as well say what’s on my mind.” She shot him a cool gaze. “I always do.”

  “I’ve already figured that out.”

  “Good.”

  He tried again. “At any rate, I realize I may have come off…somewhat…pushy.”

  She huffed. “Like a pain in the ass is more like it.”

  “But as I mentioned, I’m working on a deadline and—”

  “And all you care about is your best interests and, of course, making money off my land.”

  “Oh, so now it’s your land?”

  She shifted in her seat and faced him directly. “Isn’t that what you said? Unless there’s another Marlowe Jones with a mother named LaReesa.”

  “Nope. It’s just that yesterday you kept insisting I was wrong.”

  “You still could be.”

  He blew out a deep breath. “You’re not making this easy.”

  “What? Your half-hearted apology?”

  Okay, she’d called him on it. “I admit it needs work.”

  “I can help. How about we ride the rest of the way in silence?” She pulled an iPod from her purse and proceeded to plug the ear buds in.

  “Don’t tell me you plan on ignoring me.”

  “What’s the matter? No woman ever ignored you before?”

  “As a matter of fact, no. Most women find me irresistible.”

  “Hah! Is that before or after you tie them up in your basement?”

  Their gazes collided. For a fleeting couple of seconds, he imagined himself tying her to the high posts of a bed. He would take his time, wrapping her wrists and ankles with his silk neckties. But she wouldn’t be flat on her back. He’d make sure she was spread-Eagle, lying on her stomach before gently pulling her ass cheeks apart and sliding into her from behind.

  His cock stiffened at the thought, which was crazy, because Marlowe Jones definitely was not his type. And he didn’t have bedposts on his California King anyway. He forced the erotic image away.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he said, giving her a patient smile. “Let’s spend the remainder of this ride in silence.”

  She shrugged and then cranked up the volume on her iPod. He heard the muted sounds of some snappy tune playing. Once again, he couldn’t help thinking that any man would have a hard time taming this wild spirit. Thank God, she wasn’t his problem to deal with. He retrieved his laptop from his briefcase and began reading contracts for another project he was working on. If she wasn’t going to talk, he may as well use this time to get some real work done.

  As the sounds of one of her favorite tunes filled her ears, Marlowe snuck a peek at the man sitting to her right. Hints of his citrus cologne teased her nostrils. He smelled clean and fresh. He’d tuned her out now as he worked on his laptop. She watched his long fingers navigate the keyboard. His nails were neatly trimmed and buffed. Not only was this man accustomed to the finer things in life, he was one of the finer things in life.

  She hadn’t meant to make wise cracks about him tying someone up. As soon as she’d said the words, she conjured up a mental image of him tying her to massive bedposts. He was solid muscle. He looked every bit of six-foot-three, two hundred pounds. He didn’t need to tie her up. He could restrain her with his bare hands—and have her at the mercy of his hedonistic whims. She wiggled in her seat, trying to ignore the sudden tingling between her legs. Being tied up was a fantasy she had yet to indulge in. Perhaps under a different set of circumstances, she wouldn’t mind taking a walk on the wild side with Roque Coleman.

  She scoffed to herself. Roque was probably a by-the-book kind of guy in bed. Strictly man on top. He seemed so buttoned up and professional. She felt sorry for whatever female was sexing him. Maybe that was his problem. He wasn’t getting any. She could always tell when someone was having a dry spell. They were too damn uptight, just like Mr. Coleman.

  She hoped this ride was over quick. The sooner she got this out of her system, the sooner she could get back to her life. She didn’t want to think about her mother. Although she hadn’t felt she’d missed much with Candace and Ronnie raising her, Marlowe was still painfully aware of her mother’s absence. She wondered what kind of property Reesa owned. As far as Marlowe knew, her mother had died destitute. Ronnie had just turned eighteen when she passed. She’d had the body cremated.

  Marlowe watched as the scenery changed from her upscale neighborhood to more modest homes, to finally a seedy part of town in a low-income area. It was overrun with row houses, some of them sitting on blocks. The limo drove past a house with the burned-out carcass of an unidentifiable car parked in what could have passed for a front yard—if it had any grass. The hood of the car was removed and the engine was missing.

  A dingy gray film settled over the entire neighborhood. At first, she couldn’t figure why anyone would want to live in this dump. But she realized it probably didn’t start out this way. She could understand why Roque’s company wanted to buy up this land. Without the dilapidated houses, it was prime real estate. Located minutes from downtown and other attractions, it had enormous potential. If she were a developer, she’d snap this parcel up, too.

  The limo turned the corner and pulled onto a street similar to the others they’d passed. An abandoned basketball goal sagged against a house with peeling paint. The warped rim had definitely seen better days.

  She shuddered. This place reminded her of where she’d lived with her sisters for a while. She didn’t recall much. Only that there was a girl who’d bullied her in school. She and some of her friends put gum in Marlowe’s hair. Long, beautiful hair that had to be cut off because the gum hardened in multiple places. After that, Ronnie got a new job and they moved, changing schools in the process. Marlowe was so glad. She knew from a young age she was not cut out for fighting. She didn’t understand why the girls at school didn’t like her. At home, her sisters treated her like a princess.

  Gator parked at the curb of a dilapidated house that looked identical to all the rest of the homes on the street. If not for the number 319 on the porch post, Marlowe didn’t know how anyone could have told them apart.

  “Would you like me to go in with you?” Roque asked.

  For a moment, she was tempted to say yes. After all, this wasn’t the safest area. But she declined. She didn’t want him to think she needed his help. She could manage a crisis on her own.

  She shook her head. “I got this.”

  Instantly, Gator appeared at the window and opened the door for her. She slipped out, and made her way up the battered sidewalk, careful not to get the heels of her designer stilettos stuck in any of the cracks.

  Gator followed at a discreet distance behind. When Marlowe approached the front door with its red peeling paint, she let out a deep breath. Okay, this was it.

  She tried the rusted door handle, but it was locked.

  “Allow me,” Gator said, sidling up to her.

  She watched as he withdrew a credit card from his back pocket and slid it along the interior doorframe. Seconds later, she heard a click, and then the door popped open.

  She turned to him with pursed lips. “I’m afraid to ask where you learned that.”

  “Trust me. You don’t want to know.” He grinned. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

  Her heart thundered as she entered the small house. A musty smell hit her, making her cover her nose and mouth with one hand. She made it several feet before she was stopped in her tracks. She gasped aloud. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The place was littered from floor to ceiling with…stuff. That was the
best way Marlowe could describe the mess. She’d heard of people collecting things, but this was ridiculous.

  Trash. Boxes. Liquor bottles. Soda pop cans. Beer cans. At first she thought Reesa might have been in the process of moving, but when she looked through some of the boxes, there was no rhyme or reason. Rusted tools. Appliances. Knickknacks. Papers. Books. Old shoes. Clothes everywhere. Piled on the floor. Piled on the raggedy furniture. Well, she assumed it was old and raggedy. With so much junk covering every square inch, she could only see the scratched legs and exposed stuffing. Everything was either broken or in a state of repair.

  She made her way to the kitchen. The cabinets were crammed with more junk. Every nook and cranny held something. Rows of empty Mayonnaise jars with the labels still on them took up every inch of counter space. Oversized bags of dog food and empty cans of cat food were stacked along one wall.

  Oh God. I hope there are no cats in here!

  Cats made her wheeze. She patted her purse to feel the reassuring lump of her inhaler.

  She retreated, making her way through the hallway, squeezing past a narrow opening of more boxes and trash. In one of the bedrooms, she rummaged through a closet with the doors removed. There were more plastic bags filled with old, musty clothes. She pulled a stack of boxes from the closet’s top shelf and rifled through the contents. She didn’t know what she was looking for. She only knew most people kept important information in the backs of their closets. She figured Reesa was no exception. She was right.

  A purple and pink scrapbook caught her eye.

  “Property of LaReesa Wilson,” she read aloud. Marlowe thumbed through the oversized book. There were pictures of Candace, Ronnie, and her as babies. Marlowe smiled. They were all so sweet and innocent back then. She flipped through more pages to find photos of her mother in high school. She was wearing a cheerleading outfit. Beneath one of the photos, someone had scrawled, ‘I’m a normal girl with normal dreams.’