Two classic Kappa Psi Kappa novels from Essence bestselling author ADRIANNE BYRD

TWO GROOMS AND A WEDDING

Ambitious Washington, D.C., attorney Isabella Kane has big dreams that include marriage to equally ambitious Randall Jarrett. But on the way to the altar, she meets a luscious hunk, and for just one forbidden night she chooses to indulge her deepest passions….

His mystery lady was gone by dawn, but political strategist Derrick Knight can’t stop thinking about her. So when she shows up as his fraternity brother’s fiancée, he’s stunned—but determined to stake his claim. He wants Bella for his own bride!

SINFUL CHOCOLATE

Charlie Masters has no plans to change his heartbreaker ways. Then some troubling news from his doctor gives him pause for regret…and six months to make things right with all the women he’s wronged. Most of the women don’t believe him, but one has a knockout sister offering him a taste of heaven.

Gisella Jacobs is busy launching her new chocolate shop when delectable Charlie comes knocking at her door. Her friends warn that he’s trouble, but his touch is as velvety-smooth as her lightest truffle. And when something so wrong feels this right…how can a woman resist?

Wedding Chocolate

Two Grooms and a Wedding

Sinful Chocolate

Essence Bestselling Author

Adrianne Byrd

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Two Grooms and a Wedding

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sinful Chocolate

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Copyright

Two Grooms and a Wedding

Adrianne Byrd

Prologue

Arlington, VA

“Isabella Elizabeth Kane, what do you mean you’re engaged to two men?”

With her head planted between her legs, Isabella waited for the nausea to pass. It wasn’t going to happen anytime soon—especially not while her mother, Katherine, screeched at her.

“Answer me, young lady!” Her mother stomped her foot. “Do you realize the mess you’ve made?”

In response, Isabella released a long winding groan. Under the circumstances, it was the best she could do. Heck, she didn’t understand how she’d gotten in this mess either. Well, she did, but it was all so unbelievable that she didn’t know where to start.

Crash!

Isabella jumped from the bed, hiked up the hem of her white beaded Badgley Mischka wedding dress and raced to the bedroom window of her parents’ two-story home. Her mother and Isabella’s team of bridesmaids/sorority sisters followed suit.

Outside, rolling around on the lush green lawn before hundreds of friends, family and Capitol Hill’s most powerful elite, Isabella’s two fiancés, Derrick Knight and Randall Jarrett, duked it out as if a world championship title was on the line.

Reverend Williams, bless his heart, jumped in to pull the men apart, but his efforts landed all three in the Lady Justice stone-garden water fountain.

Everyone gasped in horror.

“No. No. No. This can’t be happening,” Isabella fretted, turning away from the window to pace around the room like a mad woman. “Oh, God. What am I going to do?”

No one had an answer to that—especially since no one knew how she had managed to get herself engaged to two men at once.

“Izzy,” Keri Evans, Izzy’s best friend, spoke up. “You’re going to have to do something.”

Talk about an understatement.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

All the women jumped and gasped at the sudden hammering on the bedroom door.

“Isabella, open this door!” her father, Senator Tyler Kane, roared.

Shrinking from the rattling partition, Isabella returned to the bed and tucked her head between her knees again. Meanwhile, her mother rushed to the door.

“Everybody out!” her father barked.

The command was met with the loud rustle of silk as her bridesmaids bolted. Isabella wished she could join them, but she no longer trusted her legs’ stability to carry out an escape attempt.

The Senator, as he was affectionately called, slammed the door behind the women. Waves of heat pulsed from him and, if Isabella wasn’t mistaken, the floor trembled as he stalked toward the bed.

“Well, little lady?”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she croaked down at the pearl-colored carpet.

“Sorry? I have spent twenty years on Capitol Hill,” he began, his voice laded with anger. “And I’ve never once been embroiled in a single scandal. Now my own daughter has managed to destroy my record in one afternoon. This is an election year for God’s sake!”

“Tyler, calm down,” her mother instructed softly.

“How can I be calm? The media is here.”

Isabella’s head snapped up and for her trouble the room spun. “Oh, Daddy.”

“Don’t ‘oh, Daddy’ me. You need to get out there and fix this.”

Fix it? How on earth could she do that?

A quick knock and Keri rushed back into the room. “They’re on their way up.”

“Who?” her mother asked.

“The fiancés.”

Isabella sprang to her feet, thankful they still worked after all. “Stop them! Don’t let them come up here.”

“Stop them?” Katherine questioned. “Honey, you can’t stay up here and hide all day. You’re going to have to talk to them.”

“No. I—I can’t,” Isabella said, bordering on panic.

“By God! As much money as I have spent on this wedding, you’re getting married today.”

“To which one?” her mother asked.

“Derrick/Randall,” her father and Keri answered in sync and then glanced at one another.

Only her mother thought to ask, “Well, which one do you love?”

“What the hell does love have to do with any of this?” the senator thundered. “She’ll marry who I say to marry!”

“Tyler!” her mother screeched.

“What?”

Keri stepped forward. “Izzy? It’s your decision.”

Before anyone had the chance to refute the statement, the bedroom door banged open and Isabella’s two bloodied and soaking wet grooms spilled inside.

“Randall, get out of my way!”

“Like hell, Derrick!”

Isabella leapt behind Keri, hoping to use her as a human shield while the men continued to scuffle.

Her brave father stepped forward and ended the tussle with the powerful boom of his voice. “Stop it, both of you! If you break one thing in this house, I’ll have you both thrown in jail!”

The angry grooms sprung apart, but their heated glares continued the war.

“Isabella?” her father prompted and all eyes turned toward her.

Randall, her first fiancé, pulled his shoulders back and stood erect. His handsome face stared at her with confidence. “Will you tell this man—” he indicated Derrick, who stood to his right “—whom it is you wish to marry.”

Isabella’s eyes shifted to her second fiancé who towered over Randall by three inches and possessed shoulders as broad and strong as mountains. “Bella?” His dark eyes implored. “Tell them it’s me you love.”

Tears crested her eyes as she opened her mouth, but her throat clenched closed beneath everyone’s expectant gazes. And then she did the one thing no one expected...she fainted.

Chapter 1

Washington, D.C.

Seven months ago...

“Isabella Kane, will you marry me?”

A series of gasps traveled around the large dining table at Maestro restaurant. Handsome Randall Jarrett smiled his newly acquired veneers at his girlfriend.

Isabella dropped her fork and fluttered a shaky hand across her heart. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. Surely she hadn’t heard her boyfriend of eight weeks correctly.

“We’re perfect for each other,” he added, clutching her hand.

Perfect, she noted. Not “I love you with all of my heart” or “I’m crazy about you and I can’t see myself living without you.” Just a calculated “we’re perfect for each other.”

Isabella stared down at a breathtaking two-carat princess-cut diamond and had a hard time pushing the word “no” through her lips. How could she? Before Randall she had never had a serious boyfriend her entire life—let alone someone as gorgeous as Randall notice she was alive.

“Isabella?” Randall questioned with an awkward chuckle and then glanced at his parents and potential in-laws. “You’re not going to leave me hanging here, are you?”

Isabella smiled; at least she tried anyway, and waited for the right words to come.

And waited.

And waited.

“Sweetheart?” Isabella’s father spoke up and touched his daughter’s elbow. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“I think she’s in shock,” Randall injected with a nervous titter. “It’s not every day a woman gets a marriage proposal.”

Her parents joined Randall in his awkward laughter, giving Isabella sufficient time to break her silent trance.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It’s all so...unexpected. We’ve only been dating two months.”

“Well,” Randall’s stepmother, Eunice, piped up. “I, for one, thought Randall would never settle down.”

Embarrassment darkened Randall’s face. “Mother.”

“What? It’s true,” Eunice said and smiled. “And frankly, I don’t think he could have made a better choice.”

“Amen,” the other parents chorused and then clinked their champagne glasses together in a quick toast.

So they had all known he was going to propose.

Isabella’s face warmed beneath their open praises, but she couldn’t help but feel Ms. Eunice stretched the truth a bit—well, actually, quite a lot. Fact was, Randall Jarrett with his athletic, six-foot-three body and creamy, peanut-butter skin could have snagged any woman he wanted off looks alone. His wealth and ambition were bonuses.

What surprised Isabella was that he wanted her—a school-teased ugly duckling who’d survived her adolescence by burying her head in books. Before she knew it, she had sailed through high school without attending a single sporting event or prom. A late bloomer, she couldn’t even fill her paltry “B” cups until she was a freshman in college. But luckily, she finally found a home with Delta Phi Theta sorority, where brains were exalted more than beauty.

Still considered a plain Jane, Isabella couldn’t believe the direction her life shifted.

Randall, still on bended knee, held up his free hand. “We can’t celebrate just yet. I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“Well, of course she’ll marry you,” Katherine assured in her honeyed southern voice. “Isabella knows you two are a perfect match.”

Everyone murmured in agreement and glasses clinked all around. Again, Isabella noticed no one said anything about love.

“If it’s all the same,” Randall said. “I’d like to hear her answer.” His dark, almost black eyes bored into Isabella.

The table fell silent as Isabella swallowed the invisible lump in her throat while maintaining a synthetic smile. The war between love and common sense raged in both Isabella’s heart and mind, and on this night, this very important night, there was no clear winner.

After one last nervous glance around the table, Isabella took a deep breath and rode to Randall’s rescue. “Yes. Of course, I’ll marry you.”

Both sets of parents erupted in cheer, while Randall plucked a diamond ring from its velvet box and slid it down her slim finger. Honestly, it was the prettiest shackle she’d ever seen.

The senator leaned over and wrapped an arm around her waist and planted a kiss against her left cheek.

“Baby girl, you’ve made me so proud.” He gave her a hearty shake and rewarded her with another kiss.

For the first time that night, Isabella’s smile was genuine. She lived to make her parents proud, and tonight they looked just as proud as when she’d graduated class valedictorian from high school and summa cum laude in both college and law school.

All her life Isabella had done what was expected of her and being the only daughter of a prominent senior senator, great things were indeed expected. After obtaining her law degree from Yale, she interned at the White House. There she met Randall, a straight-laced, ambitious attorney who’d swooped into her life with the speed of a locomotive and then disappeared just as quickly. Three years later, he popped up again while she hammered into tax law with Smith, Bryant and Smith, LLC.

Sure, she was dazzled by his attention. The man was exceedingly handsome and came from a powerful and wealthy family, qualities her parents approved.

However, after a few dates, when the newness of Randall wore off, Isabella realized there wasn’t much there. No sparks, no romance...no nothing. In fact, she suspected Randall was trying to construct an ideal power couple instead of searching for a true soul mate.

She suspected her father was doing the same.

Many times, she wondered what Randall saw in her. She wasn’t ugly, but she certainly wasn’t beautiful either. She’d seen pictures of Randall’s ex-girlfriends. They all looked as though they should’ve had long careers in Hollywood or on the runways of Milan.

Isabella had often thought that the only pretty thing about her was her name.

Her mood flip-flopped for the rest of the night and passed by in a blur. There were smiles, laughter and champagne—lots of champagne. Not until her buzz kicked did Isabella relax. It also afforded her the opportunity to detach and watch the swirling excitement as if everyone was talking about someone else’s life.

Not her own.

Randall caught her in the act and leaned over to ask, “Honey, are you feeling all right?”

The mindless chatter stopped and everyone refocused their attention on her.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’m deliriously happy.”

Smiling, Randall squeezed her hand while his dark eyes sparkled. “You can’t be any happier than I am.”

He was certainly right about that. But who knows? Maybe she would grow to love him.

And in Atlanta...

“Derrick, will you marry me?” Meghan Campbell stared up at her boyfriend with tear-glossed eyes. In her hands a black velvet box held a platinum band nestled in its center. “I know this comes as a surprise,” she laughed. “But...I’m hoping you know in your heart of hearts, as well as I do that we belong together.”

Derrick closed his eyes and expelled a long breath. After a nice evening out with his Kappa Psi Kappa Fraternity Alumni, he had not expected to come home to this. In hindsight, maybe he should have.

“You don’t have to answer right now,” Meghan rushed to say. “Just...think about it. I mean, we’re happy, right? We have so many things in common. So why not get married?”

“Meghan—”

“Derrick, I know you’re scared to settle down,” she continued. “But you don’t have to be. We don’t have to get married right away. If you want we can have a long engagement. You know, so you’ll have time to get used to the idea. We can even wait a few years to have children.”

Setting his new Distinguished Service Award on top of the coffee table, Derrick fingered his tie loose and then stood from the leather sofa in order to put distance between them. “Meghan—”

“Derrick, please. I—”

“Meghan, stop. Please.” He drew a deep breath and forced himself to stare into her sad brown eyes. “I can’t marry you,” he said as gently as he could. “I love you, but I’m not in love with you.”

Snapping the velvet box closed, Meghan choked on a sob, while her entire body imploded before his eyes.

Derrick returned to her side, kneeling on the living room’s plush carpet and pulling her trembling body into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Meg. I never meant to give you hope. I’ve always been upfront with you.”

Meghan tilted her head, her eyes swimming in tears. “Maybe you could grow to love me?”

Sullen, he shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He halfway expected more tears, prepared himself even. What he received instead was a burst of anger.

“You’re sorry? Sorry?” With one strong shove, Meghan sent Derrick reeling backwards onto the floor. “Is that all you have to say after three years—you’re sorry? Screw you!”

“Meg—”

“Don’t! You lied,” she screeched, jumping to her feet.

“I never—”

“Not with your words but with your actions. You’ve always made me feel special.”

“You are special to me.”

“You showered me with gifts, offered me security. You’ve done everything to give me hope that I would be Mrs. Derrick Knight one day. My father is a Baptist minister. I’m supposed to get married.”

Derrick wished with all his might that he could love her the way she wanted to be loved, but he couldn’t make his heart do it. He couldn’t lie to her or to himself.

Wailing, Meghan kicked over the coffee table, and even sideswiped a lamp on an end table as she stormed across the living room. “I wasted three years waiting for you!”

“I don’t consider them a waste,” he offered as he climbed to his feet, only to dodge a flying vase aimed at his head.

“I just bet you don’t! I’ve done everything a good girlfriend should do. I’ve been faithful—”

“I never asked you to do that,” he said. “We agreed that this was an open relationship.”

Meghan’s eyes widened. “You’ve been sleeping with other women?”

“We agreed—”

“Asshole!”

Another vase soared through the air. When it crashed inches from his head, a few shattered pieces ricocheted into his eyes. “Ow! Meghan you’re being unreasonable.”

“You’re damn right I am.” She snatched her purse and coat from the foyer’s closet and then turned to give him a final glare. “I never want to see you again. I hate you!”

Derrick watched as she snatched open the front door and flinched when she slammed it behind her. It rattled in her wake. “Well that went well,” he mumbled under his breath.

He looked around the high-rise apartment and realized he should be grateful she didn’t cause more damage. When he broke up with Mya, he had to hire a decorator to repair the place.

Sighing, he walked to the center of the room and picked up his award. A corner of the plaque had broken off, but it was nothing he couldn’t fix. After another glance around, he promised himself he would clean the mess up in the morning before his flight to Washington. Right now, he just wanted to climb into bed and put this whole fiasco behind him.

In his bedroom, Derrick peeled out of his clothes, showered, and then slid between the bed’s satin sheets. After two hours, he was far from dreamland. All he could see was Meghan’s angry tears.

And Mya’s.

And Genie’s.

And Lana’s.

Exasperated, he flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. They had all loved him. They had all expected a wedding ring. But he wasn’t in love with any of them.

“Maybe it’s time to face the truth,” he said into the darkness. “Love just isn’t in the cards for me.”

Chapter 2

Isabella didn’t float home on a cloud and she doubted she would dream of any happily-ever-after with her newly minted fiancé. Instead, Isabella wondered about the mess she got herself into.

“What do you mean, he proposed? You were supposed to break up with him,” Keri thundered into the phone.

“I know. I know. But what was I supposed to do? He had invited our parents to dinner. Everyone was sitting there staring at me.”

“You were supposed to say no.”

Isabella sighed, and slumped onto the bed. She heard a loud rip, jumped up and ran to the mirror to see a long tear in the back of her dress. “Just great!”

“What happened?”

“Uhm. How soon do you need your green dress back?”

“Izzy, you said you’d be careful!”

“I know. I know.” She sighed. Why was she always such a klutz? “It’s just a small rip,” she lied. “I can fix it.” Balancing the phone between her shoulder and chin, Isabella struggled to reach the back zipper. When it jammed halfway down, she opted to pull the silk dress over her head, which caused her to lose her precious balance, drop the phone and crush her toes.

“Ow. Ow, ow.” She hopped around the room blind on her good foot. Once the throbbing eased, she shouted down to the floor, “Just a sec, Keri.” Isabella wiggled and pulled and after a few long seconds managed to work her way out of the dress. “I’m back.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. I dropped the phone.” She sat on the edge of the bed and reached to take off her shoes when one heel came off in her hand. “Uhm, about your shoes...”

“Izzy!”

“I’m sorry. I just...I’m just sorry.”

“Forget the shoes. What are you going to do about Randall?”

Isabella checked behind her before easing back onto the bed.

“Isabella, are you there? Hello.”

“I’m still here,” she mumbled.

“So what are you going to do? I mean, you’re not going to go through with it, are you? You’re not in love with Randall.”

“I could learn to love him.”

“What?” Keri shrieked. “Please say you’re joking.”

Isabella sighed. Was she joking? Really, what was wrong with falling in love after marriage? Does true love really exist? Hell, she didn’t know anymore.

“Izzy?”

“I don’t know, Keri. Randall is a good catch and it’s not like there’s a line of men banging down my front door. There never has been.”

“Don’t say it like that. What about that guy you met at the library?”

“You mean, Arthur? That was years ago. We went out one time and all he talked about was reaching some ridiculous level in some video game. Besides he had too many no’s.”

“He had too many what?”

“No’s. No job, no car, no money and most importantly no personality. Consequently, he got married last year.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. I was hard up enough a few months ago and called him again.” Isabella grabbed a toss pillow, covered her head and proceeded to scream.

“Izzy? Izzy?” Keri shouted.

When her brief moment of anxiety and frustration passed, Isabella removed the pillow from her head and placed the phone back against her ear. “It’s all right. I’m back.”

“Okay. So Arthur is off the list. No big deal.”

“No big deal? What does it say about the world when he can get hitched and I, an intelligent woman with a damn good job...and somewhat decent looking can only get asked out once every three years?”

“Izzy, stop putting yourself down. You’re a pretty girl. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

How come she only heard those words from her parents and friends? Acidic tears burned the backs of Isabella’s eyes. The truth was the truth. She wasn’t beautiful and she should count herself lucky Randall Jarrett ever gave her the time of day. “Randall would make a good husband.”

“So you’re just going to settle?”

“I didn’t say I was settling.”

“That is exactly what you’re saying. You’re letting Randall and your parents run your life.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, please. Your parents chose your college, law school, your condo, half of your friends and now they have thrown you into Randall’s arms.”

Isabella groaned at having the truth tossed back at her. The great thing about Keri was her wonderful way of telling it like it is. Sometimes she was a little too blunt, but love it or hate it, everyone always knew where they stood with Keri.

Sometimes Isabella wished she was more like her best friend. For one thing, Keri was gorgeous. Whenever she walked into a room, everyone noticed. Then there was Keri’s no-nonsense attitude. She had no time for fools, or “dawgs” looking for a quick score.

“Take control of your life, Izzy,” Keri said. “Do something. Stand up for yourself. This is your chance before they marry you off and pump you full of kids. Call Randall tonight and tell him you can’t marry him.”

“But—”

“No buts. Do it now. Tonight!”

Isabella fell silent while a knot looped and tightened in her chest. “Time to get a backbone,” she mumbled.

“That’s my girl,” Keri encouraged. “Call him and then call me back,” she instructed.

Isabella nodded and then rolled onto her back. “But what if he’s not there?”

“Izzy!”

“Okay. Okay. I’m calling right now.”

“Good. You’re doing the right thing.”

Then why did it feel like she’d swallowed a fifty-pound lead rock? Isabella disconnected the call, and stared at the phone. Just call him, she told herself. Her hands itched and her fingers tingled, but still she couldn’t make the call.

Five minutes went by.

Ten minutes.

Twenty minutes later, Isabella reached for the phone, but after punching in one number, she hung up.

“I’ll call him tomorrow.”

Tomorrow she’d know what to say.

* * *

Derrick strolled through the doors of Herman’s Barbershop flashing a wide smile and bobbing his head in greeting to the Saturday morning regulars. For nearly twenty-five years Derrick had been coming to the small shop.

A few men tossed a “Yo, Derrick,” his way and he volleyed a “Whassup?” back at them.

Herman Keillor, a tall, robust man, who was in his early seventies, had owned the shop through some hellish times. Most customers came for his wonderful stories. Not only had Herman given Derrick his first haircut when he was just six, but the old man had often bragged about giving Derrick’s father his first one as well.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming this morning,” Herman boomed from across the room.

“I always keep my appointments,” Derrick said, shuffling across the room, dodging stretched out legs and chunks of shaved hair lying across the floor. “I do have a flight in a few hours, so we’re going to have to make this quick.”

“Bobby!” Herman shouted. “Get out here and sweep some of this hair up.”

A second later, Bobby, Herman’s seventeen-year-old great-grandson rushed from the back of the shop with a broom and quickly got to work.

Men in the neighborhood filtered in and out daily, but Saturday remained the shop’s busiest day. Six barbers, ranging from old school to new school donned burgundy barber jackets with Herman’s name scrawled on the back. Despite residing in a red brick building that had clearly seen better days, Herman’s Barbershop looked brand smacking new on the inside.

“Here. Have a seat,” Herman instructed and reached for a black cape.

Derrick took his seat in the offered leather chair and made himself comfortable.

Herman’s was the place to be to discuss women, politics and sports. It was a place where men were free to be themselves, get and give advice or just plain bond with one another.

On the suspended television set, some NASCAR race was well on its way, but none of the brothas were paying it any attention.

“Why do you have this stuff on?” Derrick asked.

“Cable is acting up. It’s either this or Sponge-Bob,” Herman cackled.

“Then never mind.” Derrick laughed.

The bell above the shop’s door jingled and Derrick looked up to see his buddy Stanley Patterson race inside.

The regulars greeted the lanky redhead with affectionate nicknames ranging from “Breadstick” to “Red” and even “Whitey.” A couple of the new clients glanced at Stanley as if they were wondering if he was lost.

“Hey, you beat me here,” Stanley said, panting. “I figured you and Meghan would still be celebrating your getting that award.”

That comment caught a few ears and Derrick groaned. “Meghan and I decided to move on.”

“What?” Stanley thundered. “Why? I thought you two had something going.”

“It just didn’t work out,” he said and hoped that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

“Did she find out about the others?” Stanley asked.

“My man Derrick be laying the pipe down for real,” Bobby chuckled with a note of admiration.

“Humph,” Herman grunted his disapproval.

“We had an open relationship,” Derrick stressed. Why was everyone forgetting about that major detail?

“Hey, you can pass her my way.” J.T., the neighborhood’s merchandise peddler, said while showing off a tray of fake Rolexes to potential customers. “I saw you two at Phipps Plaza some time back. You sure know how to pick them. Lawd knows you do.”

“You got that right,” Stanley cut in before Derrick had a chance to answer. “Thick and curvy with a booty out of this world.”

“Stan,” Derrick hissed, trying to shut him up.

“What, man?” His buddy laughed. “Everyone in here knows how you roll. You hook up with the finest women in the A-T-L. You’re the man.”

Bobby stopped sweeping to ask, “How do you do it? Do you have a line or something?”

Just like that Derrick was the center of attention. Bobby looked like he was ready to bust out a pen and paper to take notes.

“Nah. It’s nothing like that,” Derrick answered modestly.

Disappointment crept slowly across Bobby’s face and Derrick had the distinct impression the young man was suffering from a mild case of girl troubles. It wasn’t hard to guess why. Acne blanketed the boy’s face and his thick black-rimmed glasses looked as though they were a borrowed pair from his great-grandfather.

“It’s not important the number of women you get,” Herman said. Undoubtedly, he’d noticed Bobby’s sullen expression, too. “It’s finding that one special woman. This knucklehead—” he thumbed Derrick on the back of his head with a plastic comb “—is gonna realize that one of these days.”

Derrick smiled and shook his head.

“Be still,” Herman instructed.

Herman’s declaration didn’t seem to cheer Bobby any—in fact, it only won a few chuckles around the shop.

“I’m serious,” Herman insisted gruffly. “You young folks.” He tsked under his breath. “You just don’t know what’s important anymore.”

“And what’s that, old man?” someone questioned near the front door.

“Family,” Herman said.

Derrick had mouthed the same answer and shook his head again. The guy by the door must have been new to the shop. The regulars knew Herman never missed an opportunity to climb on his soap box about how young men today where turning their backs on the traditional black family.

“It breaks my heart seeing all these beautiful sisters roaming around here raising these babies by themselves. It’s a damn shame,” Herman said.

“Hey, I don’t have any baby mommas,” Derrick said, feeling the need, once again, to defend himself. “And since I’m not ready to settle down, I make sure I practice safe sex.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Stanley added.

“Safe sex or no sex?” J.T. asked.

Another round of snickering ensued. Stanley’s normally pale face bloomed a bright red. Still, it was amazing no one called his Irish friend out or ragged him about trying to date across the color lines. Derrick suspected it was because Stanley was not only a friend of his but was also a member of the Kappa Psi Kappa fraternity. The only white boy to do so.

Being a Kappa man gave Stanley mad respect in the neighborhood since the fraternity did a lot for the community.

“Shoot,” J.T. chuckled. “It just don’t feel the same with a condom.”

“It’s gonna feel worse when you catch something you can’t get rid of,” Herman huffed, and then added under his breath, “Lawd. Lawd. Please help these knuckleheads running around here.” He clicked on his razor and started grooming Derrick’s edges.

Minutes later, Bobby finished sweeping, Stanley was rapt into the NASCAR race and everyone else returned to their little pockets of conversations. However, Herman’s thoughts were apparently still stuck on the previous discussion.

“Let me ask you something,” the barber asked suddenly. “Are you happy?”

“Pardon?” Derrick asked, not sure whether he understood.

Herman turned off his razor. “Are you happy?” he repeated.

Again, Derrick didn’t really know how to answer. “I, uh—”

“Uh-huh.” Herman clicked his razor back on and went back to edging up Derrick’s sides. “Let me tell you something while you’re ‘not ready to settle down.’ Men and women were put on this earth to procreate. Marry and multiply. It breaks my heart to remember all the things we as a race had to overcome just for the next generations to become more lost than they ever were.”

Derrick squirmed in his seat.

“All anyone talks about is money, fast cars and loose women.” Herman tsked again. “We used to come in here and talk about how to advance the race. Now everyone’s just hustlin’ and only thinking about themselves,” Herman said.

“I’m far from being a hustler,” Derrick laughed, trying to lighten the old man’s mood. “You know how long I’ve struggled to make a success as a political strategist, bouncing back and forth to Washington. It’s a lot of hard work, long hours.”

“Uh-huh,” Herman said, unimpressed. “Nice slogan to put on your gravestone. Much better than something like: Derrick Knight—a wonderful husband and father.”

Derrick swallowed.

“Let me tell you something, son.” Herman clicked off his razor and turned the chair so that their eyes would meet. “There’s nothing on earth better than the love of a good woman. You think you’re a success now? Man, that’s nothing compared to what you could do with a soul mate in your corner. Someone to hold you up when you don’t think you can stand any longer. It’s not about who has the deepest curves or the thickest backside, but someone who, when you look into her eyes, her soul speaks to you down in here.” He thumped Derrick’s chest, indicating his heart. “Love like that is better than some fancy job or fast car. Love like that is what it’s truly all about. I know it and your father knows it, too.”

Derrick’s parents, now retired and living it up in Florida, shared a love that inspired everyone who knew them. But none of this changed the fact that Derrick had never experienced this ground-shaking love his parents shared.

Never.

Chapter 3

“You didn’t tell him,” Keri accused, marching into Isabella’s apartment. “I should’ve known you would chicken out.”

Isabella cringed and shut the door behind her steaming best friend. “I was going to call him...I just couldn’t figure out what to say.”

“You say: ‘Sorry, Randall, but I can’t marry you.’ See? Simple,” Keri said.

“Simple for you maybe.” Isabella shuffled from the door and into the kitchen. She opened and slammed cabinets, while she prepared her morning coffee.

“I don’t know why I even bother. You’re never going to grow a backbone.” Keri slumped into a chair at the kitchen’s island. “From now on you’re on your own. I’m keeping my two cents to myself.”

“C’mon. Don’t be like that.” Isabella turned to her friend. “I need you in my corner more than ever.”

“Need me to do what? Watch you throw your life away and marry the wrong man simply because you’re too afraid to hurt anyone’s feelings?”

“That’s not what’s going on.”

Keri lifted a dubious brow and crossed her arms.

“Okay, it’s sort of like that.” Isabella turned toward the coffee maker and hit the brew button. In truth, up until now, she really hadn’t minded her parents making all the decisions for her. Mainly because at twenty-seven Isabella still didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up. How crazy was that?

In a sense, her parents gave her the much needed direction in life. As it turned out, Isabella was a damn good tax attorney. Maybe—just maybe, her parents really did know what was best for her—including who she should marry.

“I’m going to do it,” she said softly, making a decision and ignoring Keri’s narrowing gaze. “I thought all night about it and...well, I do have some feelings for Randall.” She nodded more to convince herself than her best friend. “We’re good friends and plenty of therapists and psychotherapists say that’s the foundation for a strong marriage. Love will come.”

“Nothing like putting the cart before the horse,” Keri said.

Isabella’s chin thrust forward while her intense gaze leveled with Keri’s.

“Oh, God. You’re serious.”

“Love isn’t like the movies,” Isabella said, and then added in a sullen whisper. “At least not for me. If I turn this down, there’s a strong possibility that I could end up an old maid.”

“Oh, stop it,” Keri snapped. “There’s no such thing anymore. We’re the same age. You don’t see me rushing to the altar with the wrong man.”

“That’s because you have options. You’ve dated more men this year than I’ve dated my entire life. The rules for beautiful people are different from the plain Janes of the world. Beggars can’t be choosey.”

Keri stepped forward and placed a hand against her shoulder. “Izzy—”

“Don’t.” Isabella drew back, breaking contact. “I’m not trying to put myself down. I’m just facing facts. And the fact of the matter is: a proposal from Randall Jarrett is like winning the marital lottery. He’s handsome, successful—”

“Okay. Okay.” Keri said and threw up her hands. “Stop trying to sell him to me. You’re marrying him not me. I’m just going to buy a big-o tub of popcorn and watch this fiasco from the sidelines.”

“Keri—”

Her hands ascended higher in surrender. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

“Good.” It was an obvious lie, but Isabella lacked the bravery to call her on it. But there was one thing she needed her best friend’s help with. “Uhm,” Isabella drawled and then swallowed the gigantic lump lodged in the center of her throat. “I, uh—”

Keri lowered her hands, but then crossed her arms while her eyebrows played a game of see-saw. “What? Surely this can’t get any worse.”

Isabella jabbed her hands onto her waist.

“I mean, better,” her best friend corrected. “It can’t get any better.”

Isabella trudged past the arctic sarcasm. “Randall doesn’t know I’m a virgin.”

“Surely, it’s not hard to guess.”

“Will you please be serious?”

Keri’s laugh erupted like a machine gun’s rapid fire. “I was being serious.”

Clenching her jaw in mutinous silence, Isabella poured coffee into a ridiculous-size mug with the logo: Geeks do it better!

Keri read the mug and just shook her head.

“It’s meant to inspire,” Isabella said after following her gaze.

“Of course it is,” Keri said with a roll of her eyes. “So, what’s your point? Randall doesn’t know you’re a virgin. And?”

Her feelings still bruised, Isabella shook her head. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Izzy, spit it out before I strangle you.”

Squirming while her face scorched with embarrassment, she plunged ahead. “I don’t want to disappoint Randall. You know...on our honeymoon.”

“As long as you have a pulse, it’s fairly hard to disappoint a man in bed. And for some, a pulse is highly overrated.”

Isabella’s patience finally snapped. “Will you please be serious! I’m pouring my heart out to you and you think it’s amateur night at the comedy club.”

Keri’s hands shot back up into the air. “My bad. What is it that you want me to do?”

“Teach me,” Isabella said simply.

“Teach you what?”

“You know...how to, uhm, spice things up on our honeymoon.” One look into her friend’s amused face and Isabella regretted she’d ever brought it up, but Keri’s next words surprised her.

“All right. You have yourself a teacher.”

* * *

There were times when Derrick hated his job.

And flying to Washington in the middle of a thunderstorm was one of those times.

“You look green,” Charlie Masters, one of his best friends and frat brothers, shouted from the pilot seat. “If the storm is bothering you, why don’t you just sit back and close your eyes?”

A jagged bolt of lightning appeared to strike dangerously close to the airplane’s small wing. Derrick wondered how he let his buddy talk him into flying in this small death trap instead of him going commercial. These tiny things had a habit of dropping out of the sky.

“How the hell can you see where you’re going?” Derrick snapped, trying to hide his fear. He didn’t have much success given how the rain and the wind tossed the plane around like a paper kite.

“Relax,” Charlie said with an irritating chuckle. “I’ll have you on the ground in about twenty minutes.”

Derrick’s hard gaze speared his all-too-calm buddy. “You forgot to add alive and in one piece.”

Charlie’s hazel-green eyes twinkled with amusement. “Well, I’ll do what I can.” He laughed.

Derrick groaned because the alternative, punching the pilot, wasn’t a smart idea. Out of the six tight-knit Kappa Psi Kappa fraternity brothers, Derrick and Charlie’s friendship went all the way back to diapers—simply because their mothers had been best friends for over forty years.

The women had married around the same time and had even delivered baby boys ten days apart. The boys grew up thick as thieves. But where Derrick tended to be more aloof about his handsome looks, Charlie milked his GQ status for all it was worth with the ladies.

The plane’s turbulence worsened and Derrick’s hands tightened on the sides of his chair. “Charlie, land this damn thing.”

“Roger that!” Charlie tipped the wheel shaft down and the plane tilted into a nose dive.

Derrick shouted a list of profanities.

Charlie, the jerk, laughed.

An hour later, a frazzled Derrick and a happy-go-lucky Charlie checked in to the Hamilton Crowne Plaza off 14th and K Streets. The front desk clerk questioned Derrick several times as to whether he was all right.

Derrick grunted while Charlie slapped him on the back. “He’s just fine,” Charlie laughed. “Just needs to learn how to relax.”

Derrick shrugged off the heavy hand and cut a narrow gaze over his shoulder, however, the end result just further amused his traveling companion.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Charlie mused as they walked down the hallway of the fifth floor to their suites. “I got you here in one piece, didn’t I?”

“Barely,” Derrick muttered, stopping before room 519 and cramming his card key into the electronic lock. “I’m renting a rental car and driving back.”

Charlie’s bark of laughter rumbled through the whole floor as he stopped at room 521. “Now don’t be like that.”

Derrick entered his suite and back-kicked the door. He could still hear Charlie after the door slammed. “It’s time to get a new set of friends,” he mumbled under his breath as he plopped his suitcase and overnight bag onto the bed and then realized he’d been given a double instead of a king-size bed.

“Just great.” At six foot six, a double meant he would either have to sleep diagonally or put up with his feet hanging off the bed—something he absolutely hated. “Don’t sweat it,” he coached. “You’re only going to be here for two days.”

He waltzed over to the window and opened the blinds. The view of the powerful political town was magnificent. The earlier thunderstorms had disappeared but left the day a blurry depressing gray. “Two days,” he reminded himself. “It’s probably going to be a living hell.”

* * *

Isabella wandered through the aisle of the Capitol Hill Bookstore’s Health and Wellness section, praying that she wouldn’t bump into anyone she knew. Her lame disguise of being dressed head to toe in black—complete with a black duster raincoat, black oversize sunglasses and black fedora hat only seemed to draw more attention to her.

“Relax, relax,” she mumbled and searched crammed bookshelves for the list of books Keri instructed her to buy.

A salesperson popped out of nowhere and asked, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

Isabella gasped and nearly jumped out of her skin before whirling around and physically blocking the bookshelf to prevent him from noticing the titles she was looking at. “Uh, no. I, huh, am just looking around.” She beamed a nervous smile.

The employee stared at her with his eyebrows gathered at the center of his forehead. “All right. Well, just let me know if you need anything.” He crept backward away from her like he was afraid to turn his back on a crazy person.

It wasn’t until she was alone in the aisle again that she expelled the air burning in her lungs. “All right. Just grab the books and get out of here,” she coached, snatching books like a wild hurricane.

Her arms full, Isabella performed a sort of walk/run from the back of the bookstore up to the cashier counter. The only problem was there was a long line snaking around a gold post labyrinth. She lowered her head and mumbled a curse.

The giant in front of her turned around. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

Isabella’s knees nearly folded at the incredibly sexy baritone rumbling from above her, but no way was she going to glance up so he could get a better view of the books in her arms. Instead, she pretended like he hadn’t spoken to her.

Sure enough, at her silence, he turned back around.

She chanced a peek over the rim of her dark sunglasses only to be startled by the sheer size of the man’s broad shoulders and Texas-size back that narrowed into a trim waist. For a fleeting moment, she wished he wasn’t wearing the long leather coat; she had a sneaking suspicion that the man probably had a nice butt.

Isabella’s cheeks heated at the idea.

“Next in line,” the bored, robotic cashier called out and everyone in line took a small step forward.

When Isabella stepped to where the potential hunk previously stood, she caught a whiff of the most seductive male cologne she had ever smelled in her life. It was so heavenly. She closed her eyes and imagined floating on a cloud. She drew in a deep breath and was unaware that her feet were moving on their own accord.

That is until she smacked into the Goliath’s back. “Oh.” Her eyes sprung open and her arms tightened on the books she nearly dropped. “Sorry,” she mumbled, casting her eyes downward again.

A long silence, and then, “Not a problem.”

Good God, she could listen to this man talk all night.

“Next, please.”

The line crept forward.

Isabella’s gaze returned to the man’s backside and then slowly traveled down to the man’s large feet. What had Keri said a man’s shoe size represented? Surely not...oh, my. She struggled to gulp down the rising lump in her throat. Not to mention, it felt as if someone had shut off the air conditioner.

Guilt pricked her conscience. Why on earth was she salivating over a faceless stranger when she was newly engaged to one of D.C.’s most prominent bachelors? She laughed at herself and shook off the effects of Mr. Tall, Dark, and undoubtedly Handsome’s hypnotic cologne and waited patiently for her turn at the cashier counter—which turned out to be another humiliating experience altogether.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” the cashier asked, fluttering an amused smile at Isabella once she started reading and scanning the titles.

“Yes. Yes, I did,” Isabella said and fumbled for her credit card from her purse.

One book the clerk picked up caused Isabella to turn a bright red. “Uhm,” the clerk said. “You’re going to love this one. My husband and I have the audio book.”

“I’m sort of in a hurry,” Isabella whispered.

“Oh. Of course.” The woman turned off her friendly persona and quickly scanned the rest of the books. “Do you have a member discount card?”

Isabella’s mystery man departed from the cashier next to her with a departing, “Have a good evening.” And Isabella caught a quick glance at the man’s handsome good looks.

The two cashiers and Isabella followed his departure with slack jaws and dreamy expressions. It wasn’t until he disappeared out the glass door and into the gray afternoon that they were finally freed from the spell he’d cast.

“Oooh, girl. If I wasn’t married,” Isabella’s cashier said to her colleague. “I’d jumped his bones right here at the counter.”

“Shoot. Didn’t you hear how he was flirting with me? I think he likes big girls.”

Isabella cleared her throat.

Her cashier’s face turned stony. “Your total is $98.54.”

Isabella handed over her credit card and rushed through the remaining transaction. As she grabbed her bag, she caught the cashier’s whispered words to her colleagues. “Now that’s an uptight one. No wonder she needed those books.”

The women giggled and then shouted, “Next in line!”

Humiliated, Isabella forced one foot in front of the other and slipped out of the bookstore.

“Stop, thief! He snatched my purse,” a woman screamed.

Isabella barely had time to glance up before a lanky teenager plowed into her like a defensive linebacker. She was swept off her feet in an instant and when slammed backwards onto the concrete, every ounce of air rushed out of her lungs.

“Hey, let go of me,” a boy squeaked somewhere near.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” came that familiar, sexy baritone.

Isabella opened her eyes, but quickly closed them again because of the light drizzle splattering against her face.

“Over there, officer,” a hysterical woman cried.

Isabella groaned as she sat up. Everything ached—muscles and bones she had long forgotten about.

“All right. We got him. Thanks for your help, sir.”

“Don’t mention it,” sexy baritone said.

“Ma’am, are you all right?”

The voice was now directly above her and it had the same effect on her as it did in the crowded bookstore.

“Ma’am?”

Isabella opened her eyes to see a giant hand extended toward her. Her gaze slowly climbed upward until she stared into a face that wiped all thoughts of her fiancé from her mind.

Chapter 4

Derrick grew increasingly concerned about the dazed woman on the wet concrete. She made no attempt to get up so he wondered whether she’d broken anything in that nasty fall. “Maybe I should get you to the hospital,” he said. “You don’t look too good.”

“Huh? What? Oh.” She blinked and shook her head. “I’m all right.”

He didn’t believe that for a second.

“Oh, God,” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with horror as she glanced around at the books scattered around her. She frantically started snatching them up.

“Here. Let me help you,” Derrick said.

“No! No. I got it.”

Too late. Derrick picked up The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Amazing Sex and Sex for Dummies. “Interesting reading,” he joked.

The woman’s sienna-hued complexion paled to a sickly brown. “Those are personal.” She snatched the books out of his hands and then tried to lumber awkwardly to her feet.

Ever the gentleman, Derrick placed a guiding hand against her elbow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Forget about it,” she mumbled and turned with her arms loaded down with books. “Taxi!”

“Wait. Aren’t these yours, too?” He bent down and retrieved her ruined hat and broken sunglasses. “Just keep them. Taxi!”

He laughed. “Don’t be silly. Here you go.”

A yellow cab drove up to the curb, which held about two feet of water, and caused a mini tidal wave to splash up and drench the hurried woman.

Derrick’s laughter was out before he could stop it and when she slowly pivoted to meet his amused gaze, he couldn’t remember ever seeing someone look so adorable.

“Sorry. It’s not funny,” he said in an attempt to smooth things over, but he didn’t wipe the smile off his face.

Mute, the woman twirled back toward the cab. However, she now had a difficult time trying to open the back door with an armload of books.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

“That’s all right. I got it,” she lied.

Derrick ignored her blustering and opened the cab’s door and gestured for her to hop in. “After you,” he said gallantly.

She rolled her eyes at his flair of dramatics and Derrick couldn’t help but remain intrigued by the woman.

With a loud huff, she climbed into the cab.

He quickly followed suit.

“What are you doing?” she asked, scooting over to the other side behind the driver before he sat on her.

“Sharing a cab,” he said amicably. “You don’t mind, do you?”

She clinched her jaw and looked at him like she absolutely did mind.

“Great.” Derrick shut the door without waiting for her answer.

“Where to?” The cab driver asked the question as he clicked on the meter.

“Okinawa Sushi & Grill,” they answered in unison and then cut startled looks at each other.

“Well.” Derrick settled back in his seat. “Looks like something else we enjoy.”

“Something else?”

He didn’t answer, but his gaze dropped to her bundle of ruined books while she tried to stuff them back into the bag.

She sucked in a breath and jerked her gaze away.

He chuckled, amused by how easy it was to fluster the young woman. While she wasn’t looking, he took the time to assess his riding companion. Average height. Average weight. Add it all together, it somehow equaled adorable.

He couldn’t pull his eyes away from her.

“Will you please stop doing that?”

“Hmm?”

She faced him again and he discovered that she had perhaps the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen. They framed her brown eyes beautifully.

“Stop staring at me,” she ordered with a sharp thrust of her chin. “It’s rude.”

He smiled, unable to help himself, really. “Sorry,” he said, but made no attempt to stop. “Oh, by the way, name’s Derrick Knight.”

Rolling her eyes, she returned her attention to the passing gray scenery while scooting farther away from him.

“Speaking of being rude,” he began. “Are you ever going to thank me for helping you?”

That caught her attention. He was amazed she didn’t get whiplash trying to meet his gaze again.

“Excuse you?”

Derrick’s lips curled higher as he flashed his winning smile. “Forgive me for my stuttering problem, ma’am. It’s apparently worse than I thought.” Her eyes narrowed and drew attention to her cute pudgy nose. He had an insatiable urge to give it a little tweak.

“You want me to thank you for knocking me flat on my butt—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He waved his finger. “The purse snatcher knocked you down. I caught him and then helped you up and uh...helped you gather your books.” He straightened in his seat and crossed his arms. “I’m a hero.”

“A very modest one,” she droned sarcastically.

He popped the collar of his raincoat. “Well. What can I say?”

They arrived at their destination and Derrick stopped her the moment she reached for her purse. “The fare is on me.”

“I can pay my half,” she protested.

“I’m sure you can, but I’m much too much of a gentleman to allow you.”

“Allow?”

He nodded and handed the cabbie a couple of twenties. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you,” said the driver.

Derrick’s mysterious companion bolted from the cab, and he found himself having to rush to catch up to her. “Hey! Where’s the fire?”

The woman quickened her pace without sparing him a glance or answering his question.

“If you worry that I’m some sort of stalker, let me assure you I’m not.”

“You could have fooled me.” She sprinted through the restaurant’s door and scanned the place to see if she saw her mother.

He laughed, though he had to admit his behavior was a quagmire to himself. “Listen. I know we didn’t exactly meet under the ideal circumstances, but uh—”

“There you are, Mr. Knight.”

Derrick turned and smiled at Congressman Jamison Scott. “Hello, Congressman.”

At that moment, Isabella caught sight of her mother waving from the other side the restaurant.

Derrick regretfully watched her slip away. Later, he realized, he never caught her name, but he could have sworn he saw an engagement ring.

* * *

“This is positively going to be the wedding of the season,” Katherine droned from across the table. “Of course, I think we should have it in Martha’s Vineyard, but your father insists on having it at our Arlington estate. What do you think?”

When Isabella didn’t answer, her mother prodded her. “Isabella?” She waved a hand in front of her face.

“Huh? What?” Isabella hadn’t heard half of what her mother was rambling about the wedding.

“The wedding?” her mother said. “I asked whether you wanted to have the wedding in Martha’s Vineyard or in Arlington. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t understand why we can’t just have a small ceremony,” Isabella said, popping two pain pills into her mouth. “At this rate, I would prefer it if we just went to the courthouse and do this.”

Katherine’s face twisted in horror.

“It’s just an idea,” Isabella retracted.

“It’s a terrible one,” Katherine said, reaching across the dining table for the travel-size tube of pain medication. “This is the social function of the year for the Kanes.”

“I think you’ve said that already.”

Katherine pursed her lips together and then tried another tactic. “Well, your father is on cloud nine about this political merger. A highly publicized wedding with the Jarretts in an election year is just what he needs to get the voters to forget about his backing that Davis Bill.”

“I’m not cattle,” Isabella mumbled and resumed playing with her smoked sea bass.

Her mother chased the pills with the rest of her champagne and then returned her attention to Isabella. “What was that, sweetheart?”

“Nothing.”

“Of course, I think a lot of it has to do with Randall reminding your father how he used to be when he first arrived on the Hill.” Katherine leveled a sweet smile at her daughter and then reached over and cupped one of her apple-plump cheeks. “My baby. I can’t believe you’re about to get married. Where has the time gone?”

Isabella smiled back at her mother and covered the hand on her cheek with their own. A measure of happiness bloomed in her heart. She loved being the cause of her parents’ happiness. It was almost worth marrying someone she didn’t love.

“I think it’s time.”

Confused, Isabella stared at her mother. “Time for what?”

Katherine cleared her throat. “You know. Time.”

Isabella stared.

Her mother lowered her hand and shifted around in her chair. After making a few cursory glances over her shoulder, she leaned forward.

Still at a loss, Isabella followed suit and leaned closer as well.

“Time for...The Talk,” Katherine whispered. “You know.”

“The Talk?”

Her mother nodded and resumed looking uncomfortable in her chair.

Finally, it hit Isabella. “Oh.” A rush of heat surged through her. “Oh. The Talk.” Now it was her turn to shift uncomfortably. “That’s okay, Mom. There’s no need for that. It’s okay.” She reached for her untouched champagne and downed the contents in a single gulp.

Stricken, Katherine pressed a hand against her heart. “Isabella Elizabeth Kane, don’t tell me that you’ve...that you’re no longer...you know.” She whipped her head around; making sure again no one was listening, and leaned forward to whisper, “A virgin.”

The pain medication lost the war with Isabella’s raging migraine. She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. “Of course I am,” she whispered, equally appalled.

Her mother almost collapsed with relief. “Oh thank goodness. I knew I raised a good Baptist girl.” She finally picked up her shoulders and straightened in her chair. “In fact, I’m sure it’s one of the qualities Randall likes about you. You’re so pure and innocent,” her mother prattled on. “A man knows the difference between a woman you play with and a woman you marry—especially a political man.”

Isabella went back to feeling like cattle. For the past week she’d tried to convince herself that Randall’s proposal was based on love or at least a serious case of like, but her mother dismissed those notions with the same ease in which she’d told her that Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny weren’t real.

Pressing her lips together, Isabella tuned out her mom and went back to pushing her food around her plate. She lost her appetite over an hour ago. Not that her mother would notice.

“Isabella,” Katherine snapped.

“What? Huh?”

Her mother’s fork tumbled from her fingers. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said,” she accused.

Isabella started to deny the charge but then decided to come clean. “Sorry. I just...have a lot on my mind,” she offered with a smile. “You know: the wedding and all. What were you saying?”

Katherine still looked put out, but continued in a low voice. “I was talking to you about your honeymoon night.”

Isabella fought all that was holy not to groan and roll her eyes.

“When your father and I—”

“Mom,” Isabella cut her off. Despite being twenty-seven, and being the product of her parents’ coupling, Isabella didn’t want to imagine her parents ever having sex. “I know it’s important for you to have this conversation with me, but I really don’t think I can handle it.”

Katherine looked hurt.

“It’s just...awkward,” Isabella covered. “Maybe I should learn about it like everyone else—from my friends.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Please not from that Wakey girl.”

“Waqueisha.”

“Whatever. She’ll probably tell you to charge for it.”

“Mom.”

Katherine waved her hand in the air. “Fine. Talk to your friends. But take my advice: it’s best to lie still and recite the alphabet. It’ll be over before you reach Z.”

“Mother.”

“Alright, alright.” Her mother tossed her hands up in the air. “That’s all I have to say.”

Isabella sincerely hoped so.

Chapter 5

“You never caught her name?” Charlie repeated.

“I know. I haven’t crashed and burned that badly since elementary school,” Derrick told his friend at the hotel’s bar while he tried to understand his disappointment every time he thought about the shy, skittish woman.

Charlie gave his buddy a good hearty pound on the back. “Well, don’t beat yourself up about it. We all have one off day every once in a while. Never happened to me, but I’ve heard stories.”

Derrick laughed. “Of course not.”

“Drinks are on me, old man,” Charlie chuckled. “It’s probably all downhill from here. From now on you’re going to have to start prowling for dates at the local bingo halls.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m just saying.”

Derrick let the fact that Charlie was the eldest of the two by ten days slide because today Derrick’s game was indeed off. He took another deep pull from his beer bottle and imagined for the umpteenth time what his little drowned rat would’ve looked like with dry hair and makeup. He hated he couldn’t see what dangerous curves lay beneath her bulky, black trench coat.

But then there was that moment in the cab when their eyes had met. He felt...something. It wasn’t sexual, though there was no question he had been attracted to her. It was...

“It’s not about who has the deepest curves or the thickest backside, but someone who, when you look into her eyes, her soul speaks to you down in here.”

Derrick gulped hard at the sound of Herman’s gravelly voice floating in his head. He looked at the three empty bottles lined on the bar and decided he’d had too much to drink.

“Oh, it’s just as well,” he mumbled. “The last thing I need to do is screw up another woman’s life.”

* * *

Nestled in bed, Isabella pored through her clinical sex books with a growing sense of disappointment. Where was the hot, spicy or even juicy stuff that was going to make her a star in the bedroom? All her life, she’d heard how sex was such a big deal; from the whisperings in high school bathrooms to hormone-charged sorority sisters to every cable show in America.

Sex was a big deal.

True, she wasn’t completely clueless. She knew the logistics, but not what unlocked passion. And passion was what she and Randall desperately needed.

Or at the very least a spark.

Derrick Knight’s dreamy hypnotic eyes blazed to the forefront of her mind and her body tingled in response. Handsome failed to describe a man like that and undoubtedly women were reduced to silly putty beneath his twinkling gaze. She would have been too if it hadn’t been for her complete mortification for toting sex how-to books around town.

The phone rang, snapping Isabella out of her make-believe conversation.

“Hello.”

“Mahogany is on HBO,” Rayne, another close sorority sister sing-songed over the line.

Isabella quickly searched among the books for the TV remote.

“You got it?” Rayne asked.

“Just a sec.” Isabella found the remote and quickly tuned in to the spot where “Do you know where you’re going to?” floated through the speakers.

“I love this movie,” Rayne sighed.

“Yeah. Me, too.” Isabella snuggled farther into the comforter and wished that she had a mug of hot chocolate.

“I heard you were engaged,” Rayne said. “Congratulations.”

Isabella winced. “I’m sorry. I meant to call everyone, but things are a little crazy around here.”

There was a long silence and then, “I’m a little confused,” her girlfriend said softly. “I thought things weren’t that serious between you two. Last I heard you were, uhm—”

“Going to break things off,” Isabella finished.

“Yeah.”

Isabella would have to prepare an answer to this question, something better than the truth.

“What do you mean you can learn to love him? This is the twenty-first century,” Rayne said once Isabella finished her story. “The only reason women should marry is for love.”

Isabella glanced at the TV screen just as Diana Ross and Billy Dee Williams were embroiled in a heated argument. “Life isn’t like the movies.”

“Your family is pressuring you to do this, aren’t they?”

“No.”

Silence greeted the lie and Isabella had to backtrack a bit. “Not really.”

Rayne clucked her tongue.

The friends returned their attention to the movie. Out of the many personalities of Isabella’s close sorority sisters, she and Rayne were the ones with the most in common: highly intelligent, but shy introverts who were often pressured to the whims of their families.

On screen, came one of the famous lines from the movie.

“Success means nothing without someone you love to share it with.”

Isabella and Rayne sighed dreamily.

“Life should be like the movies,” Rayne commented. “Every woman should be rewarded with a nice happily-ever-after with a man as handsome as Billy Dee.”

Or Derrick Knight, Isabella thought, but said aloud, “Amen.”

When the credits finally rolled, the ladies said their goodnights and hung up. Isabella cleared the books off the bed, grabbed her teddy bear and curled into her pillow; but as she drifted off to sleep, she imagined that she wore Diana Ross’s large white fur coat threading through the crowd at the end of Mahogany but the man guaranteeing that he could get her old man back was the exceedingly handsome Derrick Knight.

* * *

Randall Jarrett was a happy man. Not only was his career on track, he had closed the deal on obtaining the perfect political wife. He smiled while he lathered up in the shower. Senator Kane was a force of nature on Capitol Hill and Randall wanted to be just like him. Who knows? Maybe he would be the next Obama.

Already the Kanes and his parents were spreading the news to their family and friends. His phone had been ringing off the hook from stunned ex-girlfriends and old fraternity brothers. Charles and Taariq thought he needed to get his head examined for turning in his single’s card so soon. Hylan and Stanley just couldn’t stop laughing.

The only call that was missing was from his ex-best friend and frat brother Derrick. Randall and Derrick hadn’t seen or talked to each other in years—ever since Randall caught Derrick in bed with Christina Faye, his girlfriend and first prospective wife. Derrick had fed him some cockamamy story about how nothing had happened, but Derrick’s reputation made the declaration impossible to believe.

Boys will be boys, especially when the object in college was to score with as many women as possible, but Christina had been different. Randall had issued a “hands off” alert, but Derrick just had to stab him in the back.

But everything had worked out. He had Isabella now—and she would be the perfect politician’s wife.

His mood only brightened as he whistled and enjoyed the bathroom’s acoustics. After he scoured every inch of his six-foot-three frame, he stepped out of the shower and began dancing in front of the steam-covered mirror.

“I see you’re in a good mood.”

Randall jumped but then smiled at his long-legged visitor. “I have every right to be in a good mood, sweetheart. You’re looking at the future president of the United States.”

“Oh. Are we having that dream again?”

“A dream that’s going to be reality. Mark my words. Give me 12-15 years, tops.” He removed the towel from his waist and then snapped it against her ample bottom.

Randall’s curvy guest just glared. “I can’t believe you did it.”

“C’mon.” Randall squeezed toothpaste onto his toothbrush and began scrubbing his extremely straight pearly-white teeth.

“If you’re going to marry her, then I can’t see you anymore,” she said.

Randall stopped scrubbing and turned his incredulous gaze toward her. “Why?” he asked, and then spat into the sink.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“But we talked about this,” he said. “I have to marry Isabella. She is the perfect choice for my career. She has the breeding, a good reputation and hell, I think the girl is still a virgin. It doesn’t get any better than that.”

“Well, thanks a lot!” His girlfriend turned on her heel, and stomped away.

“Aw, hell.” Randall turned on the water and quickly rinsed out his mouth before racing after her. When he had caught up with her, she had damn near reached the front door.

“Come on, baby.” He twirled her around to face him. “What’s gotten into you? We’ve been over all of this before.”

“You just don’t get it. Do you stop and think for one second about how all this makes me feel? What about me? I’m the one that should be your wife. I’m the one you’ve been screwing the last three years. I’m the one that puts up with your bull day after day.”

“Bull?”

“Yeah, bull.” She snatched her arm from his firm grip and then stabbed him in the chest with an acrylic nail. “Everything is about your career. The right school. The right job. The right wife. What am I, chopped liver?”

“No, baby.” Randall lifted the hand planted in the center of his chest and brought it up to his lips to kiss her fingers. “You’re my heart. You know, I can’t live without you. You’ll always be in my life.”

“What—as your mistress?”

“As my true love.” He pulled her stiff body into his arms. “You know how the game is played. I’m striving to be one of the most powerful men in Washington, and I can’t do that without you in my corner.”

“Then put a ring on my finger.”

“I can’t, baby. Not with your father’s criminal record, and that bit of shoplifting you did back in high school.”

“I was a teenager,” she protested.

“What about that concealed weapons charge when you were in college?”

“It wasn’t my gun. My ex-boyfriend—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’d be crucified in the media and my career would be over before it ever got started.”

“Jesus, Randall. What did you do, run a background check on me?” She tried to wiggle out of his arms, but he refused to let her go.

“Of course I did.” He laughed. “I’m not taking any chances, and I don’t like surprises.”

“Let me go.” She shoved at his chest while angry tears spilled over her thick lashes and raced down her cheeks. “Damn you. Let me go!”

Determined for her to see reason, Randall tightened his grip. “Baby, I’m doing this for the both of us,” he cooed and rained a few kisses against her turned cheek. “Trust me. I’m going to always take care of you. I promise.”

To his surprise, she began to sob.

“But I don’t want you to marry her,” she whined.

“I know, baby.” Randall kissed her again. Slowly the fight drained from her body and he held her as she slumped to the floor. He gently pushed her thick mane of curls and tilted her chin toward him, so that their eyes could meet. “I want you to remember that even though I’m marrying Isabella, it’s you that I love. Understand?”

A small whimper passed through her lips and Randall smiled and then proceeded to make love to her on the foyer’s hardwood floor.

Chapter 6

After a month, Isabella slowly warmed to the idea of marrying Randall. At the very least, she was enjoying the attention her diamond ring brought. Family members, friends and even strangers would stop her and gawk at the sparkling jewel. Most of the women would cast coveted glances over at Isabella. They took in her plain attire, her uninspired hairdo and her clean but makeup-less face. She knew the question dancing in their minds: How did a plain Jane like her land a prize like Randall?

Isabella basked in their jealousy—mainly because beautiful women had never been jealous of her before. The whole experience was rather...nice.

This night, however, Randall and her parents were hosting one incredible engagement party. All of her father’s big political movers and shakers on Capitol Hill put in an appearance and her fiancé looked as though he’d won the lottery.

She, however, endured an endless line of she-wolves. Randall’s legion of female admirers smiled in her face and congratulated her; but the moment they walked away, their constant buzzing behind their pretty manicures launched Isabella’s insecurities to an all-time high.

“She better keep a tight rein on Randy if she knows what’s good for her,” Felicia Ledford buzzed to her girlfriend as she sashayed past Isabella.

“Oh, just ignore them,” Keri said, taking her by the arm and leading her to the bar where her other sorors, Rayne and Sylvia Graham, were already nursing their drinks. “They’re just jealous.”

“I guessed that much,” Isabella mumbled.

Keri rolled her eyes and shook her head. “If you’re going to be a politician’s wife, you’re going to have to develop tougher skin.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Well, your mother is right—for once.” Keri glanced around and drained the rest of her drink. “In this town when they sense weakness, they move in for the kill.”

Realizing the truth of her best friend’s words, Isabella stiffened her spine.

“That’s my girl,” Keri praised. “Now let’s see if we can get ourselves another drink. Bartender,” she called.

“There you are, Izzy,” Waqueisha Tenney, another sorority sister, rushed over to the bar in a tight, gold metallic dress and surveyed the four women. “Looks like you guys have found the best place to hide.”

The Italian bartender placed two cocktails in front of Keri and Isabella.

“I’ll have what they’re having,” Waqueisha said, and then leaned over to whisper in Isabella’s ear. “Girl, I hate to tell you this, but your parents sure know how to throw one boring-ass party. I figured you guys would have Jay-Z or Akon bumping in here.”

Isabella laughed. “Yeah, right. You know Randall doesn’t like rap music.”

“Then what does he listen to—Tony Bennett?”

Isabella hid her answer beneath a loud cough.

“What? I didn’t catch that.”

“Alabama,” she blurted.

Her two friends stared at her, and then Waqueisha asked, “You mean the country group?”

“They’re not so bad...once you get used to them,” Isabelle lied, shrugging.

After another long stare, her friends covered their crooked smiles by turning up their cocktail glasses.

“Next time,” Waqueisha said when she came up for air, “you come to me and I’ll hook you up with a real party.”

“Speaking of which,” Keri jumped in. “Where’s my invitation to that Kidd Rhymes release party in Atlanta? Everyone’s buzzing about it all over the blogs.”

A smile exploded across Waqueisha’s face. Her event planning business had taken off in the last two years with Kidd Rhymes being her biggest client to date.

“Hey, if you girls are willing to fly down, I’ll be glad to hook you up.”

Excited, Keri bounced on her toes and sloshed her drink. “Are you kidding me? Hell yeah, we’ll come.”

“Keri,” Isabella hissed, too aware that her best friend’s near squeals drew curious eyes in their direction.

“You’ll come too, right, Izzy?” Keri asked, ignoring the subtle hint to calm down.

“Well, I—”

“You have to come,” her sorors implored, their eyes begging.

“It’ll be your last hoorah before you officially become a politician’s wife.”

“You mean my first, don’t you?” Isabella joked. Both of them knew full well she was not the party type—especially when it came to attending some big rap party. She could already see herself holding up the walls, afraid someone would and wouldn’t ask her to dance.

Her girlfriends’ faces fell in obvious disappointment, triggering Isabella’s need to fix things.

“Well, I’m not saying ‘no,’” Isabella covered, but was quickly interrupted before she could say anything else.

“Isabella,” Randall said, rudely sliding in between her and her friends. “We’re supposed to be networking. What are you doing hiding at the bar?” His arms wrapped possessively around her waist as he leaned in and whispered, “This is an important night, sweetheart. It’s imperative we leave a good impression with these people. Any one of them could be my ticket into office.”

Despite her irritation, Isabella clamped her mouth shut. Behind him, her sorority sisters rolled their eyes, expressing exactly how she felt.

However, her troubled emotions must have still shown on her face because Randall’s next instruction was for her to “smile.”

From across the room, she caught her father’s eye and she forced the corners of her lips upward before quickly taking another gulp of her cocktail. She was definitely going to need plenty of drinks.

Keri gave Randall a pointed look and then maneuvered around him. “C’mon. Let’s do like your fiancé says and mingle.”

Isabella didn’t have it in her to protest and allowed her friend to direct her away. However, she did catch Randall’s irritation from the corner of her eyes. “Why did you do that?” she hissed at Keri.

“Why do you think?” Keri snapped back. “I can’t stand that man.”

“Keri—”

“Look, he wants you to mingle. We’re going to mingle. Ah, Senator Winfield.” Keri stopped and offered the Ken-doll look-alike a stunning smile. “So nice to see you.”

Winfield perked up and returned the favor. After he imparted his congratulations to Isabella, his attention returned to Keri, despite the narrowed gaze from his wife.

Isabella, still enjoying the slight buzz from the champagne, glanced around the crowded room. It was her party and yet she felt like the loneliest woman in the room. Everyone appeared to be having a great time. She, on the other hand, wondered how much longer before everyone would go home.

“I don’t know how she did it,” a female’s voice floated over to her. “She must be one of those closet freaks. You know how buck wild Randall is in the bedroom.”

Isabella twisted around, trying to see who was talking.

“Girl, don’t I know it,” a short brunette near the fireplace confided. “Randy was the best lover I ever had. I want to scratch his fiancée’s eyes out. I mean really—her?”

“I know,” the voice said. “But if I know our Randy, he bores easy. Soon as he gets tired of her, he’ll come running back and I’ll keep the sheets turned down.”

Isabella dropped her champagne glass, swiveled toward the two mysterious women, but ran smack into a waiter carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. A collective gasp rose from the guests as something with teriyaki sauce ruined her aqua blue cocktail dress.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. Kane,” the waiter apologized profusely.

Slowly, Isabella lowered her gaze to the horrendous mess and felt tears brim in her eyes. However, before she had a chance to open her mouth, her mother along with her team of sorority sisters rushed into action. She was directed out of the room and shuffled upstairs to her old bedroom.

“Find something quick,” Katherine commanded, throwing open the walk-in closet doors.

Problem was that Isabella hadn’t lived in her parents’ home since she graduated from high school and there wasn’t anything presentable to wear in her old closet.

Rayne and Waqueisha unzipped the back of Isabella’s dress while Katherine, Keri and Sylvia combed through a wardrobe that should’ve been donated to the Salvation Army at least a decade ago.

“What about this one?” Isabella’s mother produced an oldie but goody Easter ensemble that rendered everyone else speechless.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Katherine surmised.

“Do you have anything in your closet she can wear?” Keri asked Katherine.

It was an innocent question, but the obvious answer stared Keri in the face. Isabella wore an average size eight while her mother would challenge anyone to a duel if they suggested her size eighteen frame was any higher than a twelve.

Waqueisha balled her hands on her hips. “Well, unless we’re going to snatch the curtains down and pull a Scarlett O’Hara, we’re going have to use one of your dresses, Ms. Kane.”

A few minutes later, Isabella stepped into one of her mother’s black sequin numbers and looked as though she was eight years old and playing dress up.

It was the perfect moment to have an emotional breakdown.

Boxes of Kleenex magically appeared and everyone patted Isabella on her back and head like she was a stray puppy.

“There, there. Baby, what’s wrong?” Katherine asked.

Isabella just sobbed louder and mopped at her face. How could she tell them the horrendous things those women had said downstairs? How could she tell them that she was beginning to have second thoughts about marrying Randall while she was at her own engagement party?

“Is it the dress?” Katherine asked. “I can go search for a different one.”

Seizing on the convenient excuse, Isabella bobbed her head and then slumped with relief when her mother raced back out of the room.

“Okay. She’s gone.” Keri turned Isabella from the mirror to face her. “What’s really wrong?”

Isabella wanted to hold it in, but before she knew it the words burst from her explaining about the two women downstairs. Four angry masks covered her sorors’ faces before they all started removing their earrings.

Waqueisha pivoted on her heels. “Oh, we can handle this for you right now. Girls, let’s roll.”

“No. No.” Isabella grabbed Waqueisha by the wrist. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t go beating up Randall’s ex-girlfriends—even if we knew who they all were.”

“What the heck are they even doing here?” Rayne asked.

“We should scratch their eyes out,” Keri snapped.

“C’mon,” Sylvia laughed. “One of the hottest bachelors in town? It’s a woman’s natural instinct to come and see who’d finally roped him into marriage.”

“And then laugh when they see me,” Isabella moped, snatching a new Kleenex from the offered pink box.

“Aww, now,” the sorors chimed sympathetically.

Isabella shrugged away from them and turned to face the mirror. “Just look at me.” She was a bigger mess now that her tears had ruined her makeup. “How did I land someone like Randall?”

“It’s not the how that’s important,” Rayne said. “Only that you did.”

“But I want to look like someone that belongs on Randall Jarrett’s arm. And more importantly like someone who knows how to keep him.”

“Just like you wanted to prep for your honeymoon?” Keri asked, crossing her arms.

“Say what?” Waqueisha asked.

Keri quickly brought the other girls up to speed.

“You told her to buy some books?” Rayne and Waqueisha asked, incredulous.

“Figured she needed to start with the basics,” Keri defended.

Waqueisha rolled her eyes. “You need a new sex teacher and hot makeover. Lucky for you I’m available.”

The girls nearly choked on their laughter.

Waqueisha ignored them both. “You’re coming to Atlanta for my party, right?”

Isabella hesitated, but then decided why not and nodded.

“Great. While you’re there I’m going to teach you how to rock Randall’s world and give you a top of the line makeover.” She took Isabella by the shoulder and turned her back toward the mirror. “Mark my words. When you return to Washington, you’re going to be a brand-new woman.”

Chapter 7

“Absolutely not,” Randall shouted, appalled. “I forbid you to go gallivanting around Atlanta with those loose Delta Phi Theta sisters of yours. Need I remind you that we’re supposed to be planning a wedding?”

Isabella stopped listening after the word “forbid.” In the seconds that followed her back stiffened and her face grew hot. Before she knew it, she was up on her feet and stalking toward her fiancé with her hands on her hips. When Randall turned from his office desk to wag a finger, he jumped back, surprised to see her so close and doubly surprised to see the anger glaring up at him.

“What do you mean you forbid me to go?” she said in a near growl. “You don’t own me.”

Randall blinked.

Isabella drew a deep breath and took a step back. She didn’t know whether it was the excessive amount of alcohol she had—three drinks—or residual anger from Randall’s ex-girlfriends showing up at her party. All she knew was that she was tired of being pushed around. “You know what?” she said, wiggling her engagement ring off her finger. “I think I made a mistake.”

“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Randall tossed up his hands, refusing to take the ring back from her. “Let’s slow down. I thought we were just having a discussion?”

“No. You were ordering me around like you thought this damn ring meant I was bought and paid for,” she hissed and then threw the diamond at him. Never in her life had she stood up to anyone like this. She found the experience exhilarating. Pivoting on her heels, she marched toward the door of Randall’s private study, but Randall made it there first and blocked her exit.

“Okay. Okay. Let’s calm down,” he said with clear panic written all over his face. “Obviously, I didn’t handle this well. I’m sorry.”

More like he was thinking about what a broken engagement would look like in the papers. “Move out of my way,” Isabella said calmly.

“You’re mad.”

“No shit.”

He jerked, stunned by the uncharacteristic language. “Fine. Fine. Go to Atlanta, if it means so much to you.” He acquiesced as if she held a gun to his head.

She stared at him, enjoying the feel of her newfound power. “Why did you invite your ex-girlfriends to the party?”

“What?”

Surely, he wasn’t going to play stupid. “They were all over the place, buzzing around hinting about...” She drew another breath; her courage waned at the thought of discussing his sex life.

“Hinting about what?”

“You know.” She straightened her shoulder. “How good you are—you know—in bed.”

He stared for a long moment and then finally burst out laughing. “Is that what all this is about? You’re jealous?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“C’mon, Isabella. I know you’ve never...but you can’t be that naïve. I’m thirty-two. Of course I’ve...dated around.”

“You mean slept around.”

He cocked his head at her; a bemused grin still on his face. “It’s all in the past.” He stepped forward and settled his hands on her shoulders. “I’m marrying you. Those women are only jealous and are trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“But why were they here at our engagement party?”

“C’mon. This is Washington. You know you don’t burn bridges in this town. Some of the women I’ve dated are some powerful women in their own right. What would it look like if I didn’t invite them?”

He smiled, but he looked like a cheap car salesman when he did it.

“Tell you what,” he said, dropping one arm and sliding the other across her to cradle her in a hug. “Go to Atlanta. Consider it a mini-vacation. If being with your friends is going to cheer you up then I’m all for it. But when you get back, I expect us to knuckle down on planning this wedding. I was thinking something like April 8th. What do you think?”

She didn’t say anything. She wanted him to release her.

“Good. Good,” Randall said, taking her silence as a yes. “Now why don’t you go home and get you some rest, uhm?” He looked down at her; his cheap car salesman’s smile still in place. Again, he took her silence as an agreement and he leaned down and planted a kiss in the center of her forehead.

When his arm finally fell from her shoulder, she headed toward the door.

“Wait. Wait.” Randall glanced around the floor and then rushed over to the other side of the room and retrieved her ring. “Don’t forget this.” He held up the diamond.

Isabella stared at it and then at Randall. “You keep it.” She opened the door and strolled out.

* * *

Whatever freedom Isabella felt was short lived. By morning, she woke with cotton mouth, a migraine and a massive hangover. After she managed to crawl out of bed and shuffle toward her morning shower, she wondered how long it would be before her father would send her mother over to fix her broken engagement. An hour or two at most.

While she stood motionless beneath the steaming hot water, she replayed the events of last night and smiled at the image of her throwing her diamond ring at Randall. The man truly looked as though he was about to have a heart attack.

She snickered and then wished that she would be able to conjure one tenth of last night’s courage when her mother came calling. Looking for her when her cab dropped her off, she had the foresight to take the phone off the hook. If she hadn’t, she would have been besieged by phone calls.

Finally clean and somewhat alert, Isabella shut off the shower, dried off and slipped into her favorite robe and made her way to the kitchen.

Only someone was already waiting for her.

“You look well rested.”

“Daddy.”

“Coffee?” he asked, holding up her favorite mug.

“Sure,” she said. This was really serious if her father came to handle her himself. “Black. No sugar.”

“I remember.” He poured two cups. “I heard you and Randall had quite a fight last night.”

There wasn’t going to be any beating around the bush.

“Those things are normal,” her father said. “The stress of planning a wedding can do those things.”

“I don’t...” C’mon. You can do this. “There’s not going to be a wedding.”

“Of course there is,” her father countered without missing a beat. “You just have wedding jitters.”

Isabella stared up at her father, swallowed whatever retort she had since his tone made it clear that this wasn’t up for discussion.

The senator walked out of the kitchen to hand her coffee. “It’s hot.”

She accepted the mug. “Thank you.”

Her father smiled. “You know how much this—arrangement means to me, don’t you?”

Isabella didn’t answer.

“This wedding is bigger than you. I mean, Randall has so much potential.” He placed his fingers beneath her chin and forced it up so that their eyes remained level. “And so do you. If everything goes as planned, we can put you in the White House. Think of all the good you could do. The power and influence.”

“But he’s not in love with me,” she whispered.

“Hmph. Love is...overrated—especially in a marriage. Love is fleeting and painful. And it always disappoints. But a marriage built on sturdier things: friendship, respect and a commonality have the potential to last. A different kind of love can be cultivated from that. You and Randall have more in common than you think. You could do great work together.”

With every word her father spoke, Isabella felt her heart break more and more.

“Go to Atlanta,” her father said as if granting her permission on an elementary school field trip. “Have some fun with your friends and when you come back, I’m sure you’ll see things my way.”

Chapter 8

“I think I’m ready to settle down,” Derrick blurted to his frat brothers in the middle of halftime of an Atlanta Falcons game.

Stanley hit the TV remote’s mute button and all eyes zoomed to Derrick.

“Not you, too,” Charlie moaned.

Derrick frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t heard? Your old boy, Randall, got engaged,” Charlie informed him. “Damn shame.” He shook his head and turned to Taariq. “Pass me those chips over there.”

Derrick bobbed his head—not totally surprised at the news. “So he’s finally found the nation’s next First Lady?”

“Apparently,” Taariq said, handing Derrick the bowl of chips. “When I talked to him the girl sounded about as exciting as a game of cricket. I kept trying to pump him for information, and all he said was how well-connected her family was and how perfect her personality was for the whole political game. We all know that’s code for—”

“She’s a dog,” the frat brothers chimed together.

Derrick fell silent as he listened to his brothers discuss his ex-best friend and pretend he wasn’t bothered by being cut out of Randall’s life. To this day, he couldn’t believe his old friend actually believed he’d had sex with Christina Faye. Sure Randall had found them in bed together—naked, but Derrick had been clueless of how she’d gotten there. After Christina sobered up, she admitted that she was too drunk and had climbed into the wrong bed.

A simple mistake.

Randall didn’t buy it and ended his relationship with both of them. Hell, because of Derrick’s reputation, no one bought the story. But it was the truth.

Nothing happened.

“I’m happy for him,” Derrick finally said and meant it. He glanced around. “Frankly, I think old Randy may be onto something.”

His boys stared at him with their mouths hanging open.

“It’s just a thought,” he added with a shrug. “Every man must surrender sometime.”

“We’re too young to surrender,” Taariq said sternly.

“Yeah,” Hylan cosigned. “Besides, you’re like a living legend or something. If you retire—” He glanced at the others. “It affects all of us.”

“Oh, cut me a break.” Derrick turned up his beer bottle and took a long, hard swig. “Nobody wants to be dirty old men marrying women half their ages.”

“Don’t forget rich,” Charlie said. “And I don’t see anything wrong with being eighty and married to a twenty-four-year-old.”

“Yeah,” Hylan jumped in again. “Rich makes a difference.”

“Speak for yourself.” Stanley found his voice. “The only reason Amanda Easton went out with me was because I know Derrick. Same goes for Jennifer Givens or Monica Kingsley. The sistahs wouldn’t give me the time of day if it wasn’t for you.”

“Then maybe you should consider going back to your side of the fence. You catch my drift?” Taariq chuckled. “Hanging out with us is never going to make you a brother. You know this, right?”

Stanley scrunched his face as his neck turned beet red. “Yeah, I know that.” He rolled his eyes, but was unable to wipe the hurt completely from his face.

“Sorry, man. I just— I don’t know. All this partying is just getting old,” Derrick said.

“Herman has finally gotten into you, hasn’t he?” Taariq accused.

“That or that one chick you were grinding on at Visions the other night,” Charlie guessed. “She wouldn’t happen to have a sister or a cousin—”

“Hell, I’ll date her momma,” Stanley crackled, joining in on the high-fives. “Leave it up to Derrick to score with the finest woman in the place.”

“Hell, the one I caught should be having my baby,” Charlie chuckled and then tossed back the rest of his beer.

“You know how I do,” Hylan said, pumping his chest.

“I scored two fly honeys who had to be gymnasts,” Taariq boasted. “Their mounts and dismounts were worthy of gold medals.”

Laughter roared and a few of the guys pounded Taariq’s back in congratulations.

Only Stanley, with his tall lanky frame and flaming-red hair went home alone, but his boys were good about not commenting on it.

When the fuss died down, everyone returned their attention to Derrick.

“Seriously,” Charlie asked. “You’re really trying to break ranks with that chick?”

“Nah.” Derrick shook his head. “Denise was beautiful and all,” he admitted. “But we were just dancing. I’m not going to see her again.”

“Then you won’t mind if I try to hit it?” Stanley asked.

The boys tried to muffle their laughter, but failed.

Taariq leaned over and wrapped a muscled arm around Stanley’s thin neck. “C’mon, man. You know better than playing with grown folk’s toys.”

Stanley reddened and laughed good-naturedly.

“Actually,” Derrick said. “Denise is married.”

“Ooh,” his boys winced.

“Tough break,” Hylan said, shaking his head. “Course you know, married chicks are off the hook. They’re less clingy and they’re some other cat’s problem.” He tossed back the rest of his beer and then released a long belch.

As Derrick’s laughter died down, his mind drifted over Herman’s constant lecturing. For years, he had laughed off the barber’s lectures, but now he couldn’t get the old man’s words out of his head.

But monogamy? Heck, did he even have it in him? One woman—for the rest of his life?

“Uh, oh,” Hylan said, snapping his fingers in front of Derrick’s face. “I think we’re losing him.”

The weight of everyone’s gaze landed on Derrick again and he quickly blinked out of his trance. “C’mon, guys. Haven’t you, at least, thought about it?”

“Sounds like we need to do an intervention,” Taariq said somberly. His eyes still trained on Derrick. “He’s forgotten the BBD golden rule.”

Stanley nodded. “Yeah. Never trust a big butt and a smile.”

“Cut it out.” Derrick plunged his hands into the bowl of potato chips and took another swig of beer. “You can’t go the rest of your lives living and partying like drunken college students. It’s time to grow up, settle down—even have a few kids or something.”

“This is more serious than I thought,” Charlie said.

His three buddies sat back and glanced at each other.

“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it,” Hylan quipped. “It’s not broke, is it?”

Derrick hedged, wondering how to tell his boys the truth. Men didn’t talk about feelings. Well, they could express anguish or joy about their favorite sports team. Anger was celebrated especially if it was attached to plans of vengeance, but tedious soliloquies about longing, loneliness or emptiness was a definite no-no.

“Derrick?” Stanley elbowed him.

“Nah.” Derrick shook his head and flashed everyone a quick plastic smile. “No. It’s not broken.”

* * *

After a week in Atlanta, Isabella regretted agreeing to let Waqueisha give her a complete makeover—especially now that every bone and muscle in her body ached in revolt.

“Very good,” the striptease instructor praised from the front of the classroom. “You all are doing much better today.”

Better must’ve meant they hadn’t had to call the paramedics, Isabella thought. Of course, if she had to put in another full hour of bending, twisting and sliding down a slippery pole it might be her turn for an emergency room trip.

Cookie, the instructor who looked more comfortable on a stripper pole than walking, glided up beside Isabella and helped her arch her back and extend her leg higher. “That’s it. Just like this.”

Nothing about the supposed erotic pose made Isabella feel the slightest bit sexier and neither did the other class participants, judging by their pained expressions.

“C’mon, ladies. Work with what your momma gave ya.”

Isabella groaned and shot a look over at Waqueisha, the teacher’s pet. “Are you sure all of this is really necessary?”

Waqueisha sprang high onto the pole, flipped upside down and flashed a bright smile. “Oh, yes. When you come back from your honeymoon, you’ll want to name your first kid after me.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Isabella mumbled under her breath.

Somehow, probably through the grace of God, she managed to make it through the rest of the class and collapse into a heap on the floor.

Waqueisha laughed and pulled on Isabella’s arms for her to get up.

“I can’t move. Just leave me here to die.”

“Hey. You’re the one that wanted to do this, remember? We can quit at any time.”

Remembering her humiliation at her own engagement party, quitting wasn’t an option. Whether or not she did go through with this wedding, she vowed to become the kind of woman who knew how to keep her man happy in the bedroom. She wanted to be more than a political trophy.

Isabella released one last groan and then climbed back up onto her ridiculously high-heeled shoes and draped a towel around her sweaty neck.

“That’s m’girl,” Waqueisha praised. “Let’s get you over to Monique’s, so we can pick you out some wonderful lingerie pieces. Nothing says sex kitten like silk and lace.”

Isabella perked. Finally, something fun. After waving goodbyes to their exhausted group, Isabella allowed Waqueisha to pull her out of the workout room and across the gym.

Derrick, drenched in sweat while running five miles on the treadmill, caught a glimpse of a familiar face and temporarily slowed his pace. In a flash, he lost his balance, hit the console and then fell backward on the spinning belt.

Taariq and Charlie, who were running on opposite sides of him, shut off their machines and quickly came to his rescue.

“Dayum, man. Are you all right?” Taariq asked.

Derrick hardly heard them as he peeked around their legs in the direction he had last seen Isabella and then jumped to his feet when he didn’t see her.

On seeing that he was fine, Charlie laughed. “D, I’ve never seen anyone bust their butt like that.”

Their comments drifted in one ear and out the other as Derrick sprinted off to make sure what he’d seen wasn’t a mirage.

Taariq and Charlie looked at each other and then chimed together, “Must be a woman.”

Derrick weaved through treadmills, step machines and one corner of the free weights section in chase after what logic told him was impossible. He made it to the railing that lined the second story gym and peered down to the first floor.

Nothing.

“I must be going crazy,” he chuckled. Turning away, he saw Isabella, rounding a corner on the lower floor. “It can’t be.” Derrick raced down the stairs.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” a few gym members shouted in his wake.

“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder, but refused to slow down. Derrick caught a glimpse of an outfit: short shorts, halter top...and high heels?

“Hey, wait!” he shouted, but the woman rounded another corner.

Derrick picked up the pace until he was at a full run and then raced through the first door he came upon. Before his brain registered his mistake, sonic waves of hysterical screaming pierced his eardrum.

Shutting his eyes, he performed a 180 and raced back out of the women’s locker room, apologizing the whole way. Once he was safely back out into the hallway and before a long wall of windows, he saw his mysterious woman from Washington, or her look-alike, climb into a SUV. Before he could reach the door, the vehicle peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared into traffic.

Chapter 9

Isabella’s makeover went from bad to worse.

Lingerie shopping turned out to be one of the most humiliating experiences of her life. But after hours with Waqueisha and the best-looking drag queen she’d ever seen, Monique, Isabella’s B cups were pushed up to C and her flat behind had been upgraded to bootylicious.

“What happens when I have to get naked?” she innocently asked. “Don’t you think this is false advertising?”

Monique rolled her eyes and cradled her hips. “Honey, after you do your little striptease number, your man is only going to be interested in getting to one thing.”

“Amen to that,” Waqueisha co-signed and gave the boutique owner a high five.

Isabella couldn’t stop glancing at her image and feeling like a fraud.

Handing over her credit card, Isabella charged a ridiculous amount of money for very little material. Next stop was Prestigious Hair Salon.

“I don’t know,” Isabella said after hearing what the stylist, Aubrey, had planned for her long locks.

Aubrey cradled Isabella’s shoulders and leaned close so their gaze would meet in the mirror in front of them. “Sweetheart, trust me. You’ll be looking fierce when I get through with you.”

Isabella looked over at Waqueisha, who was talking and texting half of Georgia in preparation for the Kidd Rhymes CD release party that night. “I don’t know,” Isabella hedged.

“Hold on just a minute,” Waqueisha told her caller and then lowered the phone to speak with Isabella. “Izzy, trust my girl Aubrey. She’s the best.”

That was not the support Isabella was looking for.

“What do you say, girlfriend?” Aubrey asked.

“Okay,” Isabella said through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it.”

An hour later, Isabella was in tears.

“It’s orange!”

“Now calm down,” Aubrey said, trying to shush her and calm her growing hysterics.

“I can’t calm down,” Isabella screeched. She jumped out of the stylist’s chair to edge closer to the vanity mirror. Maybe it was just the lighting.

No. Her hair was orange.

Isabella pivoted toward Waqueisha who stood frozen with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. “I can’t go anywhere with my hair looking like this!”

“Uhm. Er.” Waqueisha blinked. “It’s actually...kind of...cute.” She glanced at Aubrey. “Sort of a golden auburn.”

“What?” Isabella swiveled back to the mirror, but through her tears her hair looked like a pumpkin.

“Honey, don’t panic.” Aubrey jumped into action and led her back to the chair. “If you don’t like it, we can tone the color down a little.”

“A little?” Why had she trusted this stranger with her hair? She would have been better off if the woman had shaved her bald. She couldn’t stop the tears even if she tried. Once they started, it looked like there was no end in sight.

“Trust me. I’ll take care of it,” Aubrey promised, glancing over at Waqueisha.

Waqueisha, however, stood staring at Isabella’s orange hair with bulged eyes and a slack jaw. What could she say?

An hour later, Aubrey had not fulfilled her promise. And when she at last consulted the product she was using she discovered the hair color was permanent and not temporary as she had originally thought.

“Oh, Isabella. I’m so sorry,” Aubrey apologized profusely.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix my hair,” Isabella sobbed.

“We can always buy you a wig,” Waqueisha suggested.

“Or I can give you a nice little cut and you can rock a slanted bob,” Aubrey tossed in.

Was she serious? After screwing up her hair color, did this woman really think Isabella was going to trust her with a pair of scissors?

“No, thank you. I think you’ve done enough.” Isabella snatched the cape from around her neck.

But Waqueisha placed a restraining hand against Isabella’s shoulder. “We have to do something with it.”

“I am. I’m going to find a pharmacy and buy some black hair color and change my hair back.”

“You can’t do that,” Aubrey and Waqueisha exclaimed.

Isabella blinked at the force of their protest. “Why not?”

“Because your hair will fall out,” Waqueisha advised gently and then pried the cape out of Isabella’s tight fingers. “You know the color is not that bad.”

If she was lying, Isabella couldn’t detect it.

Waqueisha finished snapping the plastic cape around Isabella’s neck and then took her hand into hers. “It’s just a radical difference because we’ve never seen you with much color. But trust me. After a nice cut and a visit to the M.A.C. counter, you’re going to look like a new woman.”

“I already look like a new woman: Rainbow Brite’s black sister.”

Aubrey laughed but quickly clammed up after twin smothering glares from the sorority sisters.

Waqueisha gave Isabella’s hand an affirming squeeze. “Trust me.”

Isabella reluctantly settled back in the stylist’s chair and tried to prepare for the worst, if there was such a thing.

Chapter 10

“I’m not going,” Isabella declared after staring at the stranger in the mirror for the past hour. She had signed up for a makeover—not to look as though she’d enlisted in the federal witness protection program where she could only be identified by fingerprints.

“Of course you’re going,” Keri said, sliding a gold hoop earring through her ear. “You look fabulous.”

Waqueisha bobbed her head in agreement as she slipped into a red backless number and then jumped into a pair high-heel pumps.

Instead of Waqueisha’s place, they had all agreed to dress at the downtown Ritz Carlton because it was closer to The Zone—where the CD release party was being held.

“You didn’t do all this hard work for nothing. Just think of tonight as a practice run for when you return to D.C.”

“I show up like this and I’ll probably be disowned and Randall may not give his ring back.”

“Sounds like a win-win situation,” Keri said and glanced at her watch.

Isabella didn’t miss the “amen” looks that passed between her sorors. In truth, since she had removed her ring, it felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She would enjoy her small time of freedom—at least try to anyway. She rubbed the bare space on her ring finger again, dreading when she’d have to put the pretty shackle back on. And she would have to put it back on. Her father would see to it.

“We better get a move on, girls. We’re running late.”

Isabella twisted and turned in a white Chanel number better suited for the red carpet. Her bright hair color did look better with the slanted bob and her new makeup transformed her from ordinary to...different—at best. She took another long look at herself in the mirror. “I’m not going,” she announced. “I can’t.”

“C’mon, Izzy.” Keri wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave them a hearty squeeze. “You’re going to have a good time.”

“Trust me,” Keri insisted with another hearty squeeze. “Would I steer you wrong?”

* * *

Derrick and his boys entered through the doors of The Zone ready to play. One look around at the exotic décor let everyone know that no expense was spared. But what drew every man’s eye were the scantily clad women in pearl thongs and breast pasties.

Stanley sighed and looked like he was ready to start drooling. “Did we just die and go to heaven?”

The boys laughed.

“Stan, my man,” Hylan said, wrapping his arm around Stanley’s pencil thin neck. “If you can’t score tonight, you won’t have to ever worry about when to retire your playa’s card. We’ll take it from you.”

During a rumble of laughing agreement, Stanley turned ten shades of red.

“Thanks, guys. No pressure.”

“Go get ’em, tiger.” Taariq pounded Stanley’s back and then gave him an encouraging shove.

“Drinks?” a feminine voice floated from behind them.

Derrick turned toward a smiling ebony beauty wearing the themed pearl thongs and pasties. After nodding his appreciation of her feminine curves, Derrick placed his drink order.

“Looks like someone’s not so sick of the game anymore,” Charlie chuckled before placing his own order.

Derrick didn’t bother to defend himself. Just because he was getting tired of the playa’s life didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a fine woman when he saw one.

Minutes later, the guys separated and melted into the crowd. A few times, Derrick made it onto the dance floor with barely-twenty-one Kidd Rhymes groupies dropping it like it’s hot. Though he was having a good time and enjoyed the couple of drinks that had already hit his bloodstream, Derrick longed for something more.

* * *

Isabella felt like a fish out of water the moment she entered The Zone. Seeing so many hip and beautiful people milling about pushed all of her insecurity buttons. Who was she kidding? She could never blend in with this crowd. She was a straight-laced tax attorney and daughter to one of the most powerful men in Washington.

She didn’t belong here.

“Relax,” Keri shouted over the ridiculously loud music. “You look like you’re ready to turn tail and run.”

That was exactly what she wanted to do.

“Yeah, loosen up,” Sylvia shouted above the music.

Waqueisha tapped her on her left shoulder and also yelled, “I gotta go play hostess. Have a good time.”

Before Isabella could say abracadabra, Waqueisha disappeared into the crowd.

“Drinks?” a honeyed baritone questioned.

Isabella turned and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the waiter’s mountain-size and chocolate-covered muscles. She might have licked her lips at his cut abs and his itsy-bitsy loincloth, but she wasn’t sure.

“Sure,” Keri responded first. “I’ll have you in a tall glass.”

“Make that two,” Isabella co-signed and then blushed at hearing the words come out of her mouth.

Keri and Rayne laughed at her boldness.

“Look out, Atlanta,” Keri boasted. “Izzy is letting her hair down tonight.”

The waiter winked at Isabella and she nearly died in embarrassment.

“Make it two grape martinis and walk away slowly so we can drool.”

“You got it,” the waiter said with a wink and then did exactly what Keri bided.

“I can’t believe I said that.” Isabella covered a hand over her face.

“I’m proud of you,” Keri said, bumping her hips against Isabella’s. “There just might be hope for you yet.”

Encouraged, Isabella brightened and tried to relax.

That was also when she saw him.

There, bumping and grinding against a Ciara look-alike, was the incredibly handsome Derrick Knight. Isabella blinked once, twice and then finally a third time before she believed her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.

Keri followed her stare.

“C’mon. Let’s dance,” Keri whispered in her ear, giggling before she grabbed hold of Isabella’s wrist and dragged her toward the dance floor.

“No. Wait,” Isabella protested.

Keri marched on, giving no sign that she heard or felt Isabella trying to dig in her heels.

Keri ignored the fact Derrick was in the middle of getting his groove on and tapped him on the shoulder.

Isabella’s breath hitched when he cast a glance over his shoulder and froze.

“Hey, Good-looking,” Keri shouted, beaming her pearly whites. “Care to join us?”

Isabella noticed the woman he’d been dancing with spear Keri with a contemptuous glare, but another man quickly stepped in and she resumed dancing as if nothing happened.

Keri started dancing too, but Isabella couldn’t get her brain to issue orders for her hips and feet to start moving.

Derrick smiled, undoubtedly reveling in Isabella’s discomfort. “I’d love to join you.” He took the middle spot between her and Keri and started swaying his hips.

Isabella tried not to stare, but watching him move accelerated her body’s temperature and dried her palate. She desperately needed a drink.

“What’s the matter?” Derrick chuckled. “You don’t know how to dance?”

From behind him, Keri was bugging her eyes and rolling her hands trying to get Isabella to join in on the fun.

“It’s easy,” he said, settling his large hands on her hips. “Just follow my rhythm.”

She tried. Honest to goodness, she did, but the feel of his hands on her body caused a near sensory overload.

Derrick moved closer. “Like this.” He moved her hips from side to side.

Isabella followed his lead and after a few beats, he drew their bodies even closer, until the tips of her breasts brushed against his hard chest. She drew in a small gasp and lifted her gaze to his intense stare. After that, the rest of the world melted away.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” he murmured. “I thought I would never see you again.”

Neither did she, but she didn’t tell him that—mainly because she seemed to have forgotten how to talk.

He continued on as if he hadn’t noticed she’d been struck dumb. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you didn’t like me. But just in case I did say something foolish to offend you, I hope you’d now accept my apologies.” His gaze again slid over her body. “Forgive me, but was your hair orange the last time we met?”

Gasping yet again, Isabella stopped dancing and lifted a hand to her short bob.

“It’s—” Derrick struggled for the right word. “Different.”

Isabella whirled around on her heel with intentions to march away, but Derrick’s hands returned to her waist and he spun her around so in the end, she’d made a complete circle.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He chuckled. “You’re not running away from me this time. At least not until we’re finished dancing.”

At long last, she managed to unglue her tongue. “Dance with—” She glanced about; but was surprised, though she shouldn’t have been, to see Keri had disappeared.

“C’mon now. I can’t be that repulsive,” Derrick said, following her gaze. “Before meeting you, I found that most women liked my company.”

“Then I’ll leave you to your fan club,” Isabella replied bitterly and then made another attempt to strand him on the dance floor.

“My, my, my. That’s quite a temper you have there.”

“What? I do not!” she snapped and then during his resulting laughter realized that her tone contradicted her words. “Oh, whatever.” She made a third attempt to escape, but his firm hold was having none of that.

“Let go,” she growled and despite the loud music she knew that he had heard her.

Derrick ignored the order. “If I let go, you’ll run away.”

“That is the idea,” she said sweetly.

“And the reason I’m not letting you go.” He shared a magnanimous smile. “Looks like we have a stalemate.”

Isabella couldn’t remember ever being so angry. Who did this idiot think he was?

“So why did you change your hair?” Derrick asked, ignoring her narrowed gaze and darkening face. “I liked it long...and black.”

“Nobody asked you what you liked,” she spat.

Derrick shrugged, never missing a beat while moving to the music. “I just figured that you’d like a man’s opinion. I imagine it’s the reason for this drastic change in your clothes and makeup. That or you’re looking for a drastic change in careers. A lady of the evening, perhaps—or video vixen?”

His words completed her humiliation and tears stung her eyes.

Seeing her distress, Derrick stopped his teasing and loosened his hold. “Oh, I’m sorry. I—I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No? Telling a woman that she looks like a hooker was meant to be a compliment?”

He winced and finally stopped dancing. “I’m sorry,” he said, and truly looked as though he were. “I was just trying to say I liked you the way you were.”

As quickly as his harsh words had wounded her pride, the new ones had mended it and even caused a warm flush of pleasure to blaze through her body.

Derrick’s keen gaze caught how the apples of her cheeks darkened and he was pleased that he’d finally wrangled his way onto her good side. “All’s forgiven?”

When Isabella lifted her tranquil maple-brown eyes to his, a strange rush of emotion flooded his senses. His brain scrambled, trying to make some sense of what was happening to him; but the only answer that seemed to fit came from an old familiar voice.

When you look into her eyes and her soul speaks to you. That’s a love worth dying for.

Derrick broke eye contact to search for her engagement ring. At the sight of her bare, slender fingers, his smile bloomed wider. “What do you say we head over to the bar?”

Her hesitancy frightened him a moment. What could he really do if she’d said no? After she made a few cursory glances around her, she responded, “One drink.”

He complied with a simple nod and then led her off the dance floor with one arm still locked around her waist in silent possession. However, it took a little work finding a spot at one of the club’s multiple bars.

“Two Incredible Hulks,” Derrick yelled to the bartender.

“Two what?” Isabella inquired.

Derrick turned up the charm to full blast. “Trust me. You’ll love them.” He moved his stool closer so he could have her all to himself in a private alcove. Instead of getting upset, this time his mysterious woman smiled.

“So when are you going to tell me your name?”

She hesitated. “Isabella.”

He repeated the name and then shortened it to, “Bella.”

“I guess anything is better than Izzy,” she confessed. “My friends call me that.”

His brows quirked in surprise. “If you don’t like it, why do your friends call you that?”

“Old habit. I let them get away with it in college and it stuck.” She shrugged. “I guess I was hoping it would grow on me.”

“And it hasn’t?”

She laughed as she shook her head. “I hate it.”

“Your drinks, sir.” The bartender set the radioactive-looking drinks down on the bar. “Enjoy.”

Derrick lifted his drink and proposed a toast. “To your new nickname ‘Bella.’ May you think of me every time you hear it.”

Isabella laughed at the absurd proposal, but lifted her drink anyway. Together they took their first sips, their gazes locking above the rim of their glasses.

She couldn’t describe the charge of emotions his smoldering black gaze caused nor could she rationalize why this gorgeous man seemed so interested in her. Even with her enhanced figure, there were bigger breasts and bigger booties to chase on the dance floor. Yet, Derrick Knight seemed to only have eyes for her.

It was a glorious feeling and it was one that she hoped to enjoy for at least a little while longer.

“So,” Derrick said, setting his drink aside. “Read any good books lately?”

Isabella choked.

Chapter 11

“I think your daughter is having second thoughts,” Randall complained, pacing around Senator Kane’s desk. Now that he’d spat out the words most heavily on his mind, the muscles around his heart nearly squeezed him to death.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the senator said, not bothering to glance up from his piles of paperwork. “Isabella knows how much I want our families to join forces. This is the perfect political move.” He finally glanced up. “For both of us.”

Randall bobbed his head in agreement, but Kane’s words failed to ease his anxiety. After all, he wasn’t marrying the senator.

“You know it would have helped if you had tossed in a few words about love when you proposed.”

Randall took great care to not bust out laughing—but love? Cut him a break. Anyone who had known him more than five minutes, knew that Isabella Kane was not his type. He was a T&A man, leaning heavily toward the A part. While Isabella wouldn’t scare anyone out of a dark alley, she also never roused his lust either.

“I was nervous,” Randall offered weakly. “Plus, she left me on bended knee for so long I began to take root.”

The senator dismissed the event with a low growling grumble.

“Isabella has been down in Atlanta with her sorority sisters for nearly a week and she has not called me once.” Randall continued to worry. “I, on the other hand, have left message after message.”

“Ah.” Kane finally lifted his chin and removed his reading glasses. “Now we get to the truth of the matter. Has my daughter managed to wound your pride? Perhaps you care for her more than you like to admit?”

Careful not to offend, Randall chose his words wisely. “Of course I have feelings for her. We’re engaged.”

The senator leaned back in his massive leather chair. “In this town, love and marriage have very little to do with anything. I’m sure you’ve learned that much.”

Hell, he had learned it in childhood. Leon Jarrett, a crafty lobbyist turned congressman learned the importance of marrying up when he left Randall’s mother, whose great crime was being the daughter of a man who owned some shady strip bars in Alabama, for his stepmother, Eunice Temple. Eunice had the good fortune of graduating from Oxford and had a political lineage that ran all the way back to the first African-American congressman, Joseph Rainey.

The right political pairing was crucial to one’s career.

“You’re really worried about this thing, aren’t you?” Kane asked. His keen gaze studied Randall.

“I just don’t like any surprises. That’s all.”

The senator nodded. “Very well. I’ll have another talk with her and reinforce my stance on the marriage.”

Randall relaxed. One thing he knew about his fiancée was how much of a daddy’s girl she was. “Thank you, sir.”

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