Lyfe’s breath came in short, choppy puffs. Before long, he was completely and utterly lost.
I started slipping into a vortex of pleasure. It became increasingly hard to keep air in my lungs while my body was being assaulted with all these wonderful sensations. Our moans grew into a crescendo that drowned out Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You” playing on the radio.
I cried out and then started trembling violently. Above me, Lyfe unleashed a growl that sounded like something out of the jungles of Africa. A half a second later there was a bright light and then we were floating in a galaxy of stars. It was the most beautiful thing ever.
Collapsing in a heap, he locked his arms around me while I rolled over and peppered kisses across his sweat-slicked forehead. “Thank you,” I whispered.
He fluttered his eyes open. “That’s kind of an odd thing to thank me for, don’t you think?”
I blushed and then was rewarded with more kisses. “Thank you,” I repeated.
He just stamped on a silly smile and said, “You’re welcome. Feel free to ask me to do this with you again any time. Your wishes are my command.”
I giggled. “How about now?”
He blinked. “Now, now?”
“Yeah.” I smirked. “That is … if you’re UP for it.”
We both looked down at his growing cock.
“I don’t think that is going to be a problem,” he said. The front door banged open.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of skinny legs racing up the stairs. (Tess! She probably saw the whole thing!) But that wasn’t our main problem. Mom and Dad came back home early.
“Damn it, Adele! It’s colder than a witch’s titties out here,” my father declared, swiping off his hat.
“Just be glad that we were able to get back before they closed the roads, Rufus,” Momma said. “Just get yourself on in by the fire and I’ll fix you some … “ They froze as their eyes finally landed on the scene before the fireplace.
Lyfe and I were equally frozen.
Then, finally, Daddy thundered, “WHAT IN THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?”
“Uh … evening, Mr. and Mrs. Banks,” Lyfe fumbled out. Hell. I don’t think he could think of anything else to say.
But Daddy brought us back to reality real quick.
“Adele, where’s my damn gun?”
That was cue enough for Lyfe to jump his butt up and make a grab for his clothes. The rest of the sleeve of condoms sliding across the floor didn’t make things any better. Momma looked faint.
Daddy pulled out his shotgun from his gun cabinet next to the grandfather clock.
“Wait, Daddy no!” I yelled, jumping up—naked as the day I came into the world.
“Father in heaven,” Daddy roared and then took aim.
“Rufus, baby, wait!”
Lyfe tried to cram one leg through his boxers but ended up tipping over too much and tripping over the head of the bearskin rug. It was a good thing too because Daddy got off his first shot.
POW!
The buckshot grazed Lyfe’s ass cheeks. “Oww!”
“Rufus, honey, don’t kill the boy!”
“Damn it, Adele. I told you those damn Alton boys were no damn good!”
POW!
Lyfe scrambled low on the floor, figuring it was best to try to dodge behind the coffee and end tables.
“Coming up in here and disrespecting my daughter!”
POW!
“My daughter!”
POW!
“My house!”
POW!
“Daddy, stop,” I wailed.
“You hush up now, child,” Daddy barked. “I’ll deal with you later.”
Lyfe made a dash toward the back glass door. Unfortunately, the next buckshot shattered the damn thing before he could reach it, but that didn’t stop him from diving straight through it and out into the Georgia snowstorm—in his birthday suit with Daddy still hollering and chasing after him …
Buuuuuzzzzzzz!
Corona Banks jumped a foot out of her chair and then slammed her diary that she’d been reading shut. It took another half a second for her to realize that the buzzing was coming from her desk phone. Not wanting the call to go to voicemail, she quickly snatched up the receiver. “Banks Artists Agency, this is Chloe.”
“There you are! What on earth are you still doing at the office?” Margo, her assistant, hissed into the line. “You’re supposed to be here at Rowan’s place for the E! interview. We’re all waiting.”
Corona sprung up out of her chair. How on earth had she forgotten about that? She glanced over at the calendar and there in bold black lettering was indeed this afternoon’s interview. “I’m on my way. Stall them.” She slammed the phone and then glanced back down at the stack of diaries on her desk. She needed to find a new hiding space. The floorboard that she had concealing her stash had been suspiciously moved, and she had a growing fear that someone had found her treasure trove.
With no more time to think about the possible spy, she jammed the books back into her briefcase and rushed out of her New York office. She had more important things to deal with right now than daydreaming about a decade-old love that had never had a chance.
Chapter 2
Corona rushed up the stairs to the SoHo apartment in a pair of fresh-out-of-the-box Louboutins. While she went through the fruitless exercise of berating herself for running late, she had long ago accepted the fact that in all likelihood she would be late for her own funeral. It wasn’t that she was lazy or didn’t plan ahead of time—she just had a tardiness gene somewhere in her DNA. At least that was her excuse and she was sticking to it.
“Is everyone still here?” she asked Margo the moment she bolted through the front door.
Relief washed over Margo’s face at the sight of her boss. “Oh, thank God. The film crew has been here for over an hour. They were just talking about doing the interview without you.” She rushed over to help Corona out of her A-line Mischka coat to reveal her snow-white Gucci pantsuit. “Nice,” Margo said, her eyes widening appreciatively at Corona’s immaculate fashion sense.
“Thanks. I can’t have my fiancé show me up. Call me vain.”
“All right, Vain,” Margo said, shooing her toward the living room. “You just get in there before Rowan starts reenacting his Hamlet soliloquies from his Shakespeare in the park days.”