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  From the first time until now, he'd always enjoyed the hunt. Stalking the prey was exhilarating, though he knew his teacher would disagree.

  “You're such a sissy,” he could hear Sean saying.

  His friend had never thought much of him. From his first day in school, Sean had taunted him, first with his words, then with his fists.

  “Mama's boy, mama's boy!” Sean had chased the six-year-old around the playground.

  He had been horrified. “Why are you doing this to me?” he cried.

  “Because you're nothin’ but a mama's boy.”

  He hadn't known what to do. It was the first time he'd been away from home and his mother at the same time. They had both shed inconsolable tears as she dressed him for school that morning. As he cried, “Why?” his mother had explained that it wasn't her choice, the law made her do it. Their tears had continued as they left the house, and his mother walked him down the blocks, past abandoned buildings to the school that looked as if it should have long ago been condemned.

  From the moment his mother left him, the taunting began. He'd endured countless days of terror as he ducked and dodged, trying to escape the wrath of Sean. He was no contest for the older, bigger boy and went home daily with bloody lips and fresh cuts. It didn't help when his mother went to school to complain. He would never identify his assailant, fearing that the beatings would worsen.

  Desperate, he finally found his own way to make peace.

  “If you leave me alone, I'll do your homework.” His lips had trembled as he spoke.

  Sean's fist stopped mid air. “You'll do my homework … every day?”

  He'd nodded quickly.

  “But, I'm in the fourth grade. You're only in the second.”

  “That's okay, I'm very smart.” The words quivered from his mouth.

  A slow smile came across Sean's face. “What about mathematics?”

  “That's my best subject,” he'd replied, his confidence suddenly building.

  His life changed that day. No longer did he live with the fear that had consumed him for over a year. Instead, the seven-year-old became “the scholar” in one of the most notorious neighborhood gangs, led by Sean Thomas's sixteen-year-old brother—the Bedford Boys. “The scholar” now had an automatic ticket for protection from anyone in one of the toughest areas of the city.

  A car pulled up next to him, and honked. “Are you coming out, buddy?”

  The man quickly turned on the ignition and pulled the car away from the curb. Careless, he thought as he shook his head. No one should see him outside of her home.

  He slowly drove up the street and looked at her townhouse in his rearview mirror. It didn't matter that he had to leave—if today wasn't the day, so be it. Patience was what he had to practice. Everyone said that was a virtue.

  “How poor are they that have not patience,” he recited Shakespeare's line aloud.

  His favorite writer was correct. It didn't matter if he showed her today, tomorrow, the next day, or the next. He would have his chance, and when he finished, she would know for sure that he was a man.

  Chapter 9

  Girl, this place is laid!” Sasha exclaimed, as she bounded up the stairs to the living room of Anya's tri-level townhouse. She dropped her bag, and raised her head, looking up at the fifteen-foot ceiling. “Wow!”

  “This is the main level. The family room is downstairs,” Anya said, as Sasha followed her through the dining room and kitchen, which were decorated in the same black-and-white décor as the living room.

  “The bedrooms are up here.” Anya led Sasha upstairs. “There are three of them. One I use as an office, and this one”—Anya swung open the double doors—“is your room.”

  “You have got it going on.” Sasha tossed her garment bag onto the wrought-iron bed, then went to the window and pushed aside the sheer white curtains, allowing the late afternoon sun to shine freely into the room. Sasha looked onto the patio, which was trimmed with colorful mums and impatiens that bloomed even in the middle of the California winter. “I love this. I could stay for a year!”

  “How long do you plan on staying?” Anya asked.

  Sasha shrugged. “I haven't decided. But don't worry, if I get in your way I'll go to Madear's. She'd love to have me stay with her so she could lecture me on all the things I've done wrong.”

  “You should call Madear and let her know you arrived safely. We could go over there this evening.”

  Sasha sat in the cotton-damask chair that faced the window. “Not today. Give me a chance to get settled.”

  “Okay …” Anya dragged the word out. “You sound like you're mad at Madear.”

  “Our grandmother doesn't like me.” She put up her hands before Anya could protest. “Save your breath, it's true. You just don't know the whole story.”

  “What story?”

  Sasha went to the window and stared at the blooming flowers. “You remember Miss Mattie?”

  Anya nodded. “She's still Madear's best friend.”

  “One summer when I was visiting, Miss Mattie brought some pictures that she'd taken of us to Madear.” Sasha took a deep breath. “Madear looked at a picture of me and said, ‘That chil’ sure is black and ugly.’ “ Sasha paused, shaking her head. “My own grandmother said that.”

  Anya frowned. “I can't imagine Madear saying anything like that.”

  “I heard her. I had just walked into the kitchen. There was Madear holding the picture, and shaking her head like she was disgusted.”

  Anya was silent for a moment. “Do you think you could have misunderstood?”

  Sasha shook her head strongly. “I understand English.”

  “It doesn't make sense. You look more like Madear than any of us.”

  “Only ten shades darker. That's the part she hates.” When Sasha turned to Anya she was smiling. “For a lot of years, it hurt. But I don't trip anymore. Haven't you heard, Black is beautiful. And I am so comfortable in my skin now. My dark-chocolate lovely skin,” Sasha said, with her hand on her hip.

  Anya hugged her cousin. “I love the way that sounds.” She leaned away from Sasha and playfully rubbed her head. “So it's only your hair that's a challenge now, huh?” Anya teased, anxious to change the subject.

  Sasha turned to the mirror and smiled at her reflection. “Do you like it?”

  “It looks good on you.”

  “It was the final page of my life with Gordon. He liked my hair long, so when I cut it, it was my sign of complete freedom. I cut that man right out of my hair!”

  Anya giggled. “Why don't we go out to celebrate the new Sasha Mitchell Clarke Mitchell?”

  Sasha sighed. “I'd rather stay in tonight.”

  “I thought you were eager to become part of the L.A. scenery. You've got to experience L.A. on a Saturday night.”

  “Tonight I'd love to crash.”

  Anya shrugged. “Okay, I just want you to have a good time.” She turned to the window and let her eyes drift along the parked cars. There wasn't a person in sight. Still, she pulled the curtains closed.

  “Don't worry about me,” Sasha said, as she looked at the business card she'd just taken from her purse. She stared at the name—HUNTER BLAINE—printed in bright red on the white linen paper. “I plan on nothing but good times. Anyway, what about you and the writer? Don't you have plans?”

  “I haven't spoken to him today,” Anya said, and resisted the urge to run and check her messages.

  “Call him. I can't wait to meet the world-famous author.”

  Before she could respond, chimes echoed through the house.

  Sasha's eyes scatted around the room. “What's that?”

  Through the curtains, Anya saw the cream-colored Land Cruiser in the visitor's spot. “That's Braxton.”

  “Whoa, this man is strange. What other sounds does he make?”

  Anya laughed. “That's the door.” She bounded down the stairs and tried to hold her smile when she opened the door.

  “Hey, you.”
<
br />   “You cut quite a dashing figure,” she said, holding the door open wider. Braxton was decked out in the Armani tuxedo she'd helped him select for the Image Awards.

  He smiled. “So do you.”

  Anya glanced down at her jeans and T-shirt, then smiled back. “I can't compete with you right now.”

  He moved so close to her that there was barely space for the air between them. “If I have my way, that'll change. I'm going to seduce you into going with me.”

  “Where?” Anya asked softly as his light brown eyes held hers.

  He leaned forward, set his lips upon hers, then jerked back when he heard the coughing. “Oh” was all he said, as his eyes moved from Anya to Sasha.

  Anya grabbed Braxton's hand. “This is my cousin, Sasha. Remember I told you she was coming?”

  “Yeah.” He held out his hand to Sasha, who was leaning against the banister. “It's nice to finally meet you.”

  She slapped his hand playfully. “Give me a hug. From the look of the ring on my cousin's finger, we're family.” As they hugged, Sasha said, “I've heard great things about you.”

  “I guess she didn't tell you about last night.” He lifted Anya's hand and kissed it. “I'm sorry, honey.”

  “Maybe I should go to my room and unpack,” Sasha said, as she sank into a chair across from them. “Seems like this might become a private moment.”

  “You don't have to leave.” Braxton led Anya to the couch. “Apologies should only be in private if you don't mean them.” When they sat down, Braxton lifted Anya's hands to his lips. “Forgive me for last night. When the woman I love has success like that, I should have been right by her side.”

  Sasha sighed. “How sweet!”

  “You're going to have to give up your front-row seat, cousin dear,” Anya said. “I need to talk to Braxton.”

  “Sure,” Sasha said, and started up the stairs. “Pretend like I'm not even here!” she yelled down to them. “Just do whatever you would if I weren't here.”

  When Braxton heard the bedroom door close, he said, “I'm really sorry I wasn't there for you. Sometimes it's just hard being engaged to a superwoman.”

  Anya raised her eyebrows. “What about you? I can't open a magazine without seeing your face.” She squeezed his hand. “And that makes me proud.”

  “I'm proud of you too, but it's different. You're comfortable in all situations. I'm not like that. But,” he said, taking her face into his hands, “that's no excuse, because last night was your night. I should have been there.” His fingers glided down the side of her face. “I want to make it up to you. Get into your most dazzling dress.”

  Her eyes gleamed. “Where are we going?”

  “I'm not telling.”

  She hesitated. “This is Sasha's first night. I can't leave her alone.”

  “You'd better go with your man!” Sasha shouted from upstairs.

  “Sasha!”

  “It wasn't like I was up here listening.” Sasha was still not in their sight. “I was just… coming down … to get something to … drink. I'm thirsty.” She finally bounced down the stairs and sat on the arm of the couch. “It sounds so romantic and from the looks of your man here,” she paused, motioning toward Braxton, “umph, umph, umph. Anya, he looks like he's ready to take care of some serious business.”

  After a moment Anya said, “If it's really okay with you.”

  Sasha nodded.

  “But what should I wear? Something long or short? Give me some idea of where we're going.”

  Braxton's smile widened. “Long might be better, but it doesn't matter. Just wear your mink.”

  “Hey, now,” Sasha exclaimed, pushing the palms of her hands toward the ceiling.

  Anya stood and started toward the stairs.

  Sasha said, “So tell me, Braxton, what happened last night?”

  Anya glanced over her shoulder and saw Sasha sliding onto the couch. “None of your business, Sasha,” Anya scolded. “Don't ask any questions. Just keep Braxton company while I get ready.”

  Sasha grinned widely. “It'll be my pleasure. You just take your time, cuz!

  Chapter 10

  Anya read the name: Obsession. With a slight frown, she took Braxton's hand and followed him up the metal stairs. At the top, six white-gloved men dressed in black uniforms greeted them. Although Anya wasn't sure who they were, she could tell one was the captain and the one with the large white hat was obviously a chef.

  “Good evening, Mr. Vance.” The captain shook Braxton's hand.

  “Captain Norris, nice to meet you. This is my fiancée, Anya Mitchell.”

  The captain bowed. “Welcome aboard the Obsession. We are here to provide you with every pleasure you desire. Would you like some Dom Perignon?”

  Braxton shook his head. “No thank you. I ordered sparkling cider.”

  Anya smiled casually and pulled her mink tighter. She glanced around the deck as if she frequented ninety-foot yachts all the time. She didn't want to give any hint to the crew, who remained standing in place, that she was trembling with excitement.

  “Would you like a tour, Miss Mitchell?” the captain asked.

  “That would be nice,” she said in her most casual voice.

  She took Braxton's hand, as they followed the captain up the brass-railed staircase. “What is this?” she whispered.

  He responded only with a smile as they stepped through sliding glass doors.

  “This is the Ocean Room,” the captain said, with a sweeping gesture. “The main chamber on this yacht.”

  This time, Anya could not hide how impressed she was. The spacious room resembled a lounge in Trump Tower. Everything was ash-white, from the deep-piled carpet to the Queen Anne-style couch, matching chairs, and English lamps—even the oak coffee table had been stained to match. An ash-white baby grand piano at the far end added to the grandeur. Fine crystal glasses lined the wenge-wood bar and matched the vases filled with fresh-cut flowers that were throughout the room. The last of the day's light peeked through the full picture windows, but overhead recessed lights provided most of the light in the room.

  “This is beautiful,” Anya whispered.

  They stopped next in the master stateroom. The Royal Suite was filled with more luxuries than she had at home. The king-sized platform bed was trimmed in gold and matching cabinets were built in along the walls.

  The captain opened the double-door armoire. “Should you want to use this room,” the captain said without a hint of judgment, “everything you need is in here.” He pointed out the large-screen television, along with the entertainment center. The captain led them into the full-sized bathroom with two gilded-faucet pedestal sinks. “This is a whirlpool tub and if you should have need of them”— he opened the walk-in closet—”there are complimentary bathrobes.”

  In awe, Anya and Braxton followed the captain throughout the rest of the yacht, each room more luxurious than the last. There were two other staterooms, a library that was reminiscent of an English study, lounges throughout, and a spacious galley.

  Finally, the captain took them by a small elevator to the top deck. “This is the Solarium.” Both Anya's and Braxton's eyes opened wide as they looked around the glass-enclosed pool area with a panoramic view of the sea. The captain pushed a button, and Anya and Braxton raised their heads and watched as the ceiling retracted. “As you can see, this area is perfect for all kinds of weather.”

  Shaking their heads in amazement, they followed the captain back to the Ocean Room, which was now bathed with the flickering light of candles. One of the staff was standing behind the bar holding fluted glasses filled with sparkling cider.

  “Mr. Vance, we have dinner set for nineteen hundred hours. Is that all right with you?”

  Braxton calculated the time and looked at his watch. That would give them an hour. “Yes.” He nodded and passed a glass to Anya.

  The captain showed them the button that would summon any one of them. Then, they were left alone.

  Anya s
lipped out of her coat, revealing the garnet slip dress she was wearing. The ankle-length dress had a front slit ending a few inches above her knee. The velvet hugged her healthy curves and revealed her toned arms. A single strand of pearls graced her neck.

  Braxton whistled. “You are gorgeous, my love.”

  “Thank you,” she smiled, sipping her cider. She was glad she hadn't let him see what she was wearing before they'd left. Moving to the couch, she snuggled into the generous cushions. “Honey, this is incredible.”

  His grin showed that he was pleased and he sat down next to her. “I would do anything to make you happy.” He caressed her bare arms and kissed her gently. She leaned back into him.

  They silently sipped their drinks and watched the Marina homes slowly pass by, as the yacht slipped into the Pacific Ocean.

  Braxton sighed. “When I was growing up, I could never imagine something like this,” he said. Anya nodded, but remained silent. At times like these, he was talking as much to himself as her. “I couldn't see beyond the next foster home. But I knew one day things would be different.” He was quiet for a moment, and she felt his arms tighten around her. “That's why I thank God for you, Anya. We are going to have the family I never had.”

  His hands were clasped around her middle and she lifted them to her lips. But still, she remained quiet, letting Braxton reflect on all he'd accomplished. After a few minutes, she said, “I am so proud of you.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”

  For the next hour, they chatted, making wedding plans and enjoying the starlight twinkling on the sea.

  At exactly seven o'clock, the captain led them to the dining room. The mahogany-paneled chamber was lit by candlelight. The table, designed to seat twelve, had been set with Waterford crystal and silver cutlery. After blessing the food, Braxton motioned to the waiter.

  They began with lobster bisque so smooth, it barely touched Anya's tongue before it slid down her throat. A crabmeat cannelloni followed, then roast duck with wild rice for the main course. The waiters hovered nearby, though out of sight—until Anya or Braxton's plate was empty or a glass only half-filled. By the time they were shown the dessert tray, Anya was sure she'd burst from just looking. But Braxton chose the double-chocolate mousse cake.