Barbara Allen met Michael Townsend in a hospital rehab ward, and there was where her dilemma began.

He’d had surgery on his knee and was assigned to her for rehabilitation. Her job was to get him ready to resume his position in the NBA. His job, it seemed, was to get her in a position in his bed.

Why a young, gorgeous, wealthy man like Michael would be interested in a widow old enough to be his mother—and at least ten pounds overweight—Barbara couldn’t fathom. Genetics played a big role in her smooth caramel-brown complexion, but was also responsible for her forty-two-inch hips and forty-C bustline. Maybe that was it, she surmised. Perhaps he had some kinky mother fixation.

Not a chance, according to Michael.

He’d told her on more than one occasion that he thought of her in a lot of ways, but never as his mother….

DONNA HILL

began writing novels in 1990. Since that time, she’s had more than forty titles published, which include full-length novels and novellas. Two of her novels and one novella were adapted for television. She has won numerous awards for her body of work. She is also the editor of five novels, two of which were nominated for awards. She easily moves from romance to erotica, horror, comedy and women’s fiction. She was the first recipient of the Trailblazer Award and currently teaches writing at the Frederick Douglass Creative Arts Center. Donna lives in Brooklyn with her family. Visit her Web site at www.donnahill.com.

Love Becomes Her
Donna Hill

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This novel is dedicated to my Aunt Marjorie who instilled in me from the instant I could read the love of books and writing. Thank you Auntie!

Dear Reader,

Thank you so much for choosing Love Becomes Her, the first book in the PAUSE FOR MEN series. I do hope you enjoyed meeting Barbara, Stephanie, Ann Marie and Elizabeth and the men who love them. Whoever said that moving past forty was time to turn in your pumps, haven’t met “the girlz”!

I had a great time crafting their stories and hopefully bringing you some moments of entertainment and enlightenment. Each of their stories is about taking a stand for yourself and not being afraid when confronted with the obstacles that life throws in your path.

Stay tuned for the next installment, Saving All My Loving, which will feature Ann Marie and her dilemma when her estranged husband, Terrance Bishop, wants to come back in her life. There are more twists and turns in store for Barbara, Stephanie and Elizabeth, as well. But, of course, I can’t give it away. You’ll have to read the book!

Donna Hill

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 1

The winds of change blew a nasty gust of havoc from one end of Morningside Drive to the other. It knocked over unchained garbage cans, rattled windows and stirred up unswept trash. As fate would have it, there were only a selected few whose doors were not only knocked on but kicked in.

Barbara Allen lifted the sheer white curtain from her third-floor bedroom window and peeked outside. The sky was dull gray, the clouds as heavy as a maternity ward of expectant mothers. Stately brownstones were shrouded in fog, reminiscent of a scene out of an old English movie, but the lively radio voices of the KISS FM Wakeup Club playing in the background made the surreal come down to earth.

“Thank God it’s Friday.” She dropped the curtain back into place before sitting on the side of her bed.

She stuck her feet into her thick-soled white shoes, the third piece of her standard white ensemble. Finding something to wear five days a week hadn’t been a problem for close to fifteen years. As a licensed rehabilitation therapist, white was de rigueur.

Barbara enjoyed her work at New York’s Cornell University Medical Center. On the orthopedic unit where she worked, she’d met everyone from the grandmother with a hip replacement to the star athlete with a torn tendon.

She picked up her carryall bag from the foot of the bed and walked into her living room en route to the front door, but stopped short. Two empty wineglasses sat in proud accusation on her coffee table. A hot flash from the previous evening played with her mind: a little wine, some easy jazz, a cool breeze and a man young enough to be her son.

The alarm of her cell phone rang on her hip, its gentle vibration sending an unexpected thrill to shimmy down the inside of her thighs. It had been a long time if the vibration from a cell phone could get her going. Maybe she should have let that young boy stay the night. What he may have lacked in experience he could make up for with energy. She chuckled to herself at the ridiculousness of the notion and wondered what the girls would have to say. What she should have done was never let him within ten feet of her apartment in the first place. What had she been thinking? Hmmph, she knew what she’d been thinking. Fortunately, good sense prevailed and not a minute too soon.

Barbara gingerly picked up the glasses with the tips of her fingers as if they had the power to mysteriously conjure Michael up if she stroked them too hard—like a genie in a bottle. Holding them away from her body she went to the kitchen and deposited them in the sink, but not before being pulled into the watery remains that floated in the bottom of the glasses…warm hands, seductive words, sexual starvation…the kiss…almost. Grrrr. With a shake of her head she pushed the images aside, slung her bag onto her shoulder and headed out. She was much too old to be longing after that young boy as if he was dessert, she scolded herself while locking the front door. But if just thinking about him felt this good, then… Barbara, don’t let yourself get tripped up in those thoughts. Too long in the unholy state of abstinence must be frying your brain, girl.

She trotted down the three flights of stairs, her standard shoulder-length ponytail bouncing behind her. She hurried passed the doors of her sleeping neighbors, careful when passing old man Carter’s door so as not to stir up that maniac fox terrier of his that thought it was a pit bull. The dog was no bigger than a cat, but noisy enough to wake up the whole building. She chuckled to herself. If she didn’t get caught in any unexpected traffic on FDR Drive she should arrive at the hospital in plenty of time to get some coffee and relax before her shift started at eight.

The hospital rehab ward was where she’d met Michael Townsend six months earlier and where her current dilemma began.

He’d had surgery on his knee and was assigned to her for rehabilitation. Her job was to get him ready to resume his position with the NBA. His job, it seemed, was to get her in a position in his bed.

For the life of her, Barbara couldn’t fathom why a young, gorgeous, wealthy man would be interested in her: a widow, old enough to be his mother and at least ten pounds overweight. Well…maybe five. Genetics played a big role in her smooth caramel-brown complexion, but was also responsible for her 42-inch hips and 40-C bust line. She was a solid size sixteen, and with her love of a good meal she knew, without careful monitoring, she could shoot past sixteen and keep right on going. Big women ran in her family on both sides like track stars trying to see who gets to the finish line first. Her mother and aunt on her father’s side were in a constant dead heat.

Maybe that was it, she’d surmised. She was sure Michael must have some kind of mother-separation issue. But he’d told her on more than one occasion that he may have thought of her in a lot of ways, but mother never entered his mind.

She hadn’t said a word to the girls about Michael and it was killing her. She wasn’t sure if she’d resisted telling them out of embarrassment or afraid that they would all agree that she should give in and give it up! What would she do then? She knew she couldn’t hold out much longer and she needed some advice other than her own.

The wind kicked up a notch as Barbara stepped outside. She hurried toward the corner where her car was parked, just as the first fat drop of rain hit her on the tip of the nose.

April, she thought.

By the time she got her ten-year-old Volvo warmed up enough to drive, rain danced furiously against everything it hit.

“This can’t last,” she muttered as she watched the wipers wage a fruitless battle against the deluge.

A sudden rapping on her window nearly had her drawing her last breath. She peered through the foggy driver’s-side window then pressed the button to lower it.

“Stephanie! Damnit, you nearly scared me to death.”

“Open up.”

Barbara rolled her eyes and unlocked the doors.

Stephanie jumped in the backseat. “Whew. Almost drowned out there.”

“What in the world are you doing going out this early? It’s barely 7:00 a.m.”

Stephanie laughed in that way of hers that made you believe that life was simply wonderful all the time. “Going out! Girl, I’m just coming in. Long night.” She laughed again, followed by a delicate yawn.

Barbara shook her head in amazement. Stephanie Moore was the party girl of the quartet and at least four nights out of five she could be found in some nightclub or four-star restaurant with any one of an assortment of handsome, eligible and not-so-eligible men. All work related, she would insist during their weekly Friday-night soirees. And the remaining trio would regularly um-hmmm her with raised brows of doubt.

Stephanie’s job as senior publicist for H. L. Ruben & Associates, one of the most powerful PR agencies in the country, was demanding on a variety of levels, the most demanding of which was keeping the company’s high-profile, high-paying clients happy and scandal free. Suffice it to say, Stephanie was a pro who could put such a convincing spin on a bad situation that you would walk away believing that the bad situation was truly a blessing. And she had the looks to go with the job. She could have easily been a runway model and had done some print work right out of college, but felt it was not her true calling. But she maintained her flair for fashion and her makeup on clear, cinnamon-toned skin, framed with an expensive “I can’t believe it’s a weave,” complete with strawberry-blond highlights that were always a showstopper. Stephanie Moore was a Tyra Banks look-alike without the big boobs.

“So who was it this time?” She glanced at Stephanie in the rearview mirror and swore she saw a small bruise on the side of Stephanie’s neck. It was then that she noticed that Stephanie was actually holding the top of her blouse together. “Steph…is everything okay?” She twisted around in her seat. Stephanie Moore may be a lot of things but disheveled, even at 7:00 a.m., was not one of them.

Stephanie brushed the water from her midthigh black skirt and crossed her long legs. “Yes. Fine. Tired, but fine.” She brought her delicate hands toward her neck. “And to answer your other question, just another wannabe. Cute, though. Where are you headed?”

“Work. Where else?”

“Could you drop me off in front of my building? I need to get out of these wet clothes and take a nap. I was dozing in the cab, and the idiot cabdriver let me out too soon.”

“Steph, you live three houses down.”

“I know, but aren’t you going that way?”

Barbara glanced at her friend again in the mirror. Dark circles rimmed the bottom of her lids as if her mascara had entered into the New York Marathon. “You coming over tonight?” she asked, cruising to stop in front of Stephanie’s building.

“Wouldn’t miss it. What are you fixing?”

“I thought I’d fix my pasta salad. Everyone seems to like it.”

“Yum.”

“What about you?”

“Wine, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I caught that note of sarcasm. Can I help it if you, Ann Marie and Ellie are better cooks than I am? No sense in disappointing you guys with my hopeless dishes.” She puckered her lips. “That was one of Brian’s biggest complaints. I was great in bed, wonderful to look at but I couldn’t boil an egg. Go figure.” She shrugged in her patent dismissive fashion, but her tone lacked its usual sass. “His loss.” She popped the car door open. “Thanks, Barb. See you tonight.”

Before Barbara could respond or ask the questions that hovered on the tip of her tongue, Stephanie had darted out of sight and into her building. For a moment she sat there wondering just what kind of night Stephanie had really had. She turned on the radio and slowly drove off.

She often wished she was more like Stephanie; carefree, secure in her sexuality and not caring much what others thought of her and her choices. Unfortunately she was the polar opposite, hence her dilemma about Michael. And maybe it was just as well.

Barbara arrived with only fifteen minutes to spare before she had to clock in. She went directly to the staff lounge hoping against hope that a fresh pot of coffee would be there to welcome her.

No such luck.

Mildly annoyed, she fished around in the cabinet and took out a can of coffee, determined to get one cup down before what she knew would be a long day ahead.

Just as she poured four scoops of coffee into the coffeemaker, her cell phone rang and not the alarm this time. She glanced down at the tiny, sleek gadget on her hip and saw Elizabeth’s number on the illuminated face. She smiled, snatched it up and pressed the green telephone icon.

“Ellie, hi, what’s up?”

“I’m gonna kill him!” came the ear-piercing voice, followed by the most heart-wrenching sobs Barbara had ever heard.

Barbara jerked back from the phone in alarm. She frowned, lowered her head and her voice. “Ellie, calm down and tell me what’s wrong.” Elizabeth Lewis was one of the most stable, sensible women that Barbara knew. She was never ruffled or derailed by unforeseen events. Ellie was the one who held Barbara’s hand and her head when her husband, Marvin, died. It was Ellie who was the calm during and after the storm, the only one of the quartet who Barbara felt comfortable telling her deepest secrets to…well, except the Michael thing. So, to hear Ellie come unglued truly meant that the stars were misaligned.

“I know you don’t mean that, and who are you talking about? It can’t be Matt. I—”

“Don’t you dare mention that bastard’s name!”

So it was Matt. “Okay,” she said gingerly. “Why don’t you tell me what happened. I’m sure—”

“After twenty-five years, twenty-five fucking years of my life I give to him and he does this to me!”

Her voice had reached operatic octaves and Barbara still had no clue as to what the “nameless bastard” had done. A door slammed in the background, followed by the sound of shattering glass. This was serious.

“Ellie, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

Elizabeth sniffed hard. “I…I have to get ready for my appointment. I’m sorry for calling you like a crazy person,” she said, smoothly sliding back into her calm, in-control self. “I’ll see you tonight.”

The call disconnected, leaving Barbara standing there more confused than when she first heard Ellie’s tirade. She slid the phone back into the case on her hip.

“Barb…”

She turned toward the door. It was her assistant, Sheila.

“Your first patient is here.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right there.” She looked at the percolating coffee, down at her cell phone and then the door. “And it’s only eight o’clock,” she muttered, walking out.

Fortunately, the rest of her day had been pure routine, Barbara mused as she did a final check of her two-bedroom apartment. The food was on the warming tray in the living room, the salad was freshly tossed and sitting in the fridge. Stephanie was bringing the wine, Ellie was always good for dessert and Ann Marie was the Caribbean-cuisine queen. She was sure to add some island flavor to their evening. Their favorite jazz station played softly in the background and a brand-new deck of playing cards sat ceremoniously in the center of the table.

She placed her hands on her hips—satisfied. They should be arriving shortly, she thought. Ann Marie was usually the first to arrive. She had a real thing about being early and was always willing to lend a hand with any last-minute doings.

As if she’d conjured her up, Ann Marie rang the doorbell.

“It’s raining cats and dogs and daughters,” she said, shaking out her umbrella and dumping it in the wastebasket that Barbara used for such occasions.

She helped Ann Marie out of her trench coat. “And daughters?”

Ann Marie turned toward Barbara, and her younger-than-her-years face pinched into a pained expression.

“Raquel turned up on me doorstep last night, complete with suitcases and a long story about leaving ’er ’usband.”

“What?”

“You ’eard me,” she said, sounding more annoyed than concerned about her daughter’s current state of marital un-bliss, her Jamaican accent in full force. She marched off into the living room. “I need a drink.”

“Help yourself.” She followed Ann Marie inside, noting the three-inch heels. Ann Marie was the only woman she knew who wore high heels to the supermarket. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that in bare feet, Ann Marie was no more than five feet tall.

Ann Marie pulled a bottle of Courvoisier right out of her Gucci bag, took the top off like a pro and poured herself a healthy glass before Barbara could blink. She marched off to the couch and plopped down, then looked up at Barbara.

“Can you believe it? She’s moving back in with me for heaven’s sake. What me gon’ do?”

“What are you going to do? What about Raquel?”

She sucked her teeth and waved her hand. “Raquel will be fine at some point. The question is, will I?” She took a long swallow of her drink that made Barbara wince, then began rambling in that rapid-fire way of hers, with her accent so thick you needed a translator to interpret.

Barbara held up her hands. “Hold it, hold it. I’m really not understanding a word you’re saying, Ann Marie.”

Ann Marie paused, dragged in a deep breath and looked up at Barbara with wide, imploring brown eyes set in a rich chocolate–brown face. She ran her hand through her bone-straight midshoulder-length hair. “How in the world am I supposed to get my groove on with my twenty-three-year-old daughter listening to dear old mom knocking boots in the next room? I’m not the church mouse on the block, if you know what I mean.”

Barbara let out a bark of nervous laughter. If that was the worst of Ann Marie’s problems, she ain’t heard nothing yet. Tonight was going to be more than a little interesting.

Chapter 2

Barbara wasn’t quite sure what to say to Ann Marie at the moment, while she gulped down her drink and quickly refilled her glass without taking a breath. So Barbara opted not to press the issue. Knowing Ann Marie, she’d spill it all before the night was over.

“I’m going to start putting the stuff out. Ellie and Steph should be here any minute.”

“I’ll help you.” She put the top back on the bottle, shoved it back down inside her purse then pushed herself up from the chair. “Oh lawd.” She slapped her palm to her forehead.

“What?”

“Left de damn curry chicken right in de car. Chile got me so upset, can’t t’ink straight.”

Barbara chuckled as Ann Marie snatched up her umbrella and darted back outside. She took the salad out of the fridge and put it on the counter next to the dressings. She always did a buffet-style dinner, so everyone was on their own to get what they wanted when they wanted it. She took a quick look around. Ice filled the ice bucket, there was a case of Coors Light in the cooler for Stephanie and four bottles of wine to supplement the wine that Stephanie had promised to bring, for everyone else. But apparently Ann Marie had other plans. Hmm. She’d never known Ann Marie to be a hard drinker and certainly not one to actually carry a bottle of liquor stashed in her purse. The sudden arrival of Raquel must have truly rocked unshakable Annie.

Raquel had been out on her own right out of high school, which Barbara personally thought was much too young, but Ann Marie was adamant about Raquel standing on her own two feet and being a woman. “Can’t be having no two grown-ass women in one house,” Ann Marie had said. “Make for bad business. I’m the only queen in me castle. Ain’t sharing no throne.”

From the day Raquel moved into a small studio somewhere in Brooklyn, Barbara had seen her maybe five times in all those years. One of which had been at her wedding. She’d been a beautiful bride. It appeared as if her husband, Earl, loved the ground Raquel walked on. What was so odd about that day was that Ann Marie seemed more relieved than anything else, as if now that Raquel was a married woman, whatever semblance of care and responsibility she had for her daughter was no longer anything she had to concern herself with. Ann Marie barely spoke of her, as if she were no more than some distant relative as opposed to her only child.

Sad, Barbara thought. It was the one thing she’d always wanted in her life, a child of her own. Someone to love and nourish and watch grow up and become a wonderful human being. In her case, that was never to be. She knew that if she’d ever had children she would have spoiled them rotten and bragged about them to everyone who would listen. Ann Marie, on the other hand…

The doorbell chimed.

Ann Marie held a large tray in her hands and the mouthwatering aroma seeping out from beneath the foil made Barbara’s stomach knot in anticipation. If there was one thing Ann Marie could do and do well, it was cook. The girl put her foot in it every time. And right behind her was Elizabeth.

Elizabeth hurried in with her tray, as well. “Red velvet cake tonight, ladies.”

“Oh my. What’s the occasion?” Barbara stepped aside to let her friends in. “You only do red velvet for something major.” She shut the door and the bell rang again. She snatched it back open.

“Damn, just close the door in my face. I know I only bring wine but I still can beat all y’all in spades.”

Barbara laughed. “Sorry, girl, I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She stepped in and took off her Burberry trench coat and hung it up on the rack in the hall.

She looks much better than this morning, Barbara quickly observed, shutting the door for the final time. Maybe it was just the rain that had her looking so out of sorts. She went into the living room where Ann Marie and Ellie were already seated around the coffee table, snacking on celery sticks and dip.

“Y’all don’t waste any time,” Steph said, announcing her arrival, then taking a seat next to Ellie on the couch. She reached for a carrot. “How’s everyone doing?” She took a delicate bite and looked from one woman to the next.

Ellie sighed.

Ann Marie sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.

“Damn, what did I do?” Stephanie asked.

“Nothing,” they muttered in unison.

Steph glanced up at Barbara for some kind of hint as to what was going on, but Barbara only shrugged in response. “I’ll get the wine.”

“Bring plenty,” Ellie said.

Ann Marie got up and followed Barbara into the kitchen. She lowered her voice. “Don’t say nutin’ to dem about Raquel just yet. Okay?”

Barbara looked at her, perplexed. “Fine, but why not?”

“Me really don’t wan’ talk ’bout it tonight. Still too pissed and upset.”

“Annie, it really—”

Ellie walked in. “What’s taking so long? And what are you two whispering about?”

“Nutin’.” Ann Marie took two bottles of wine and the ice bucket then walked out.

Ellie watched her leave. “What’s with her?”

“I wish I knew.” She put her hands on her hips. “The question is, what’s with you? What was that phone call about this morning? You had me worried.”

“I can’t talk about it right now.” Her eyes suddenly filled and she sniffed loudly. “It’s just so fucking awful.” Her mouth trembled and she covered it with her hand.

That was the second time in one day that Ellie had cursed. It was something she didn’t do and it sounded like a foreign language coming out of her mouth.

“Ell.” She put her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder. “What is it, sweetie?”

She just shook her head. Just then, Stephanie burst into the room.

“Ann Marie forgot the Coors. Are they in the freezer? You know I like mine icy cold,” Steph chattered, oblivious to the cloud of tension in the room.

Ellie sucked in a breath and darted for the bathroom down the hall.

Steph frowned then put her hands on her hips. “What is wrong with everybody tonight? Feel like I’m at a wake and no one told me.”

“Probably the crappy weather.”

“I guess.” Steph sounded unconvinced. She stepped closer to Barbara. “Listen, about this morning. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to the girls.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” Barbara said. What’s one more secret among friends?

Chapter 3

Ann Marie dealt the first hand of spades while the ladies ate, drank and drank some more. Before the first game was finished, two bottles of wine were empty and Stephanie was on her third bottle of Coors. They were on a roll.

“Somebody up in here is cheatin’,” Ellie said, then began to giggle.

“I don’t see what’s so funny. I’m losing,” Stephanie grumbled. “Think I’m being taken advantage of.” She turned the empty bottle up to her lips, frowned then looked around for another one. Not finding one, she pushed herself up out of the chair, stumbled once, righted herself and headed for the kitchen. “The rest of the wine out here?” she yelled.

“In the fridge. And bring some more ice,” Barbara called out.

Ann Marie got up. “I’ll help before her drunk behind breaks something.” She zigzagged her way to the kitchen.

Barbara looked across the table at Ellie. They broke out laughing. Just another Friday night with the girls. A time to let their hair down and act the fool without recriminations.

“Good to see you laughing, Ell. You had me worried.” She finished the last of her wine.

Suddenly, as if someone had slapped her, Ellie howled in some kind of agony that scared the hell out of Barbara and had Stephanie and Ann Marie falling all over each other to get into the living room.

“What happened?” they screeched. They turned accusing eyes on Barbara, who was stunned into open-mouthed and wide-eyed silence as Ellie bawled and railed like a baby.

Ellie jumped up from the table, nearly falling down in the process. She grabbed the edge of the table to keep from going face-first on the floor.

Barbara hurried to her side. “Ell, calm down. What is it? Tell me, honey.” She put her arms around her and led her to the couch.

Stephanie and Ann Marie sat on the floor at Ellie’s feet.

“What got you so twisted, chile?” Ann Marie cooed, patting Ellie’s knee.

Stephanie patted the other knee. “You can tell us.”

Ellie sniffed hard, her body shuddering. “He… he… The bastard!”

“Who? What bastard?” Ann Marie asked.

“Matt!”

“Matthew? Your husband?” Stephanie asked.

Ellie nodded her head hard. “Don’t say his name.”

The three women looked at each other in confusion.

Barbara sat down next to Elizabeth. “Ell, just tell us what’s wrong. Maybe we can help.”

“No one can help me. No one.” She covered her face with her hands and cried harder.

“Oh, damn, she’s drunk,” Steph said.

“Oh, shut up. So are you.” Ann Marie patted Ellie’s knee a little harder.

“I know that.” Stephanie said with conviction. “What’s your excuse?”

“What!” Ann Marie tried to stand up and couldn’t. “You want a fat lip?”

“Who’s gonna give it to me, you?” Stephanie started to giggle. “Take off those damn high heels and I’ll just step over you and be done with it.” She laughed harder.

Barbara cringed. Ann Marie hated nothing more than to be taunted about her height.

Ann Marie snatched off her shoe quicker than a flash of lightning and raised it over her head ready to bean Stephanie. Not before Barbara, seeing disaster unfold, reached out for the shoe before it connected, but instead tumbled in a heap on the floor between the two would-be gladiators.

Seeing Barbara on the floor set them all off into a fit of near-hysterical laughter, until Ellie’s piercing voice broke through the cacophony.

“Have you all lost your mind? Doesn’t anyone care about my problem?”

The laughter stopped as abruptly as it started. Three sets of eyes rested on Ellie’s tear-streaked face.

“We would, but you won’t tell us what it is we’re supposed to care about,” Stephanie murmured.

Elizabeth looked from one concerned face to the next. She swallowed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Matthew wants a divorce.”

Barbara’s mouth opened and all she could say was her dear friend’s name.

Ann Marie whispered, “No,” then covered her mouth.

“Not you and Matt,” Stephanie muttered.

Barbara scrambled up off the floor and sat back next to Ellie. “What happened, Ell?”

Ann Marie sat up. “You bot’ seem so happy.”

“When did this happen?” Stephanie asked.

“This morning. Over breakfast.” She laughed. “Grits, eggs and homemade hash browns just the way he likes them.”

Barbara put her arm around Ellie’s shoulders and squeezed. “Ell, what did he say?”

Ellie drew in a breath. “He said…he can’t live with me anymore. He…doesn’t…love me anymore. He’s in love with someone else.”

“Matt?” Stephanie asked incredulously.

Ellie nodded.

“Who is she? ’Cause it sound to me like she need her arse whipped.”

“Ann Marie,” Barbara scolded. “That’s not going to solve anything.”

“Maybe not, but it would make me feel better.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Stephanie seconded.

“I’ve met her. Sweet young thing. Not much older than our daughter! Can you believe that? Oh God!” she wailed.

“Oh, girl, it’s probably just a fling. A midlife crisis or something. You know how men get. He’ll come to his senses,” Stephanie offered.

Ellie reached for her purse, tucked near the arm of the couch. She opened it and pulled out a thick set of folded papers. “Does this read like a midlife crisis to you?” She sniffed and shoved the papers toward her friends.

Barbara opened them up. It was a petition for divorce. She passed them to Ann Marie, who then handed them to Steph.

Ann Marie pushed up from the floor, crossed the room to where she’d left her purse on the table and pulled out her bottle of Courvoisier. She put the bottle under her arm and collected their glasses. She handed a glass to each one and began to pour. “We need a real drink after that.”

“You ain’t lying,” Stephanie said.

Barbara took a hearty sip that went straight from the pit of her stomach to her head. This really was serious.

Chapter 4

Silence hung over the quartet for a good five minutes as they worked on digesting the startling information that Elizabeth had shared. The only sounds were the wail of Miles Davis’s trumpet on the stereo and the steady beat of rain pounding against the windows.

Finally, Barbara found her voice. “Have you spoken with a lawyer, Ell?”

Elizabeth nodded. “This morning. Right after that bastard left for work.” She sniffed.

“What did your lawyer say?” Stephanie asked.

Elizabeth wiped her eyes to make room for more tears. “He said if I wanted to fight it I could and that basically I could get everything since he…he cheated on me!” she wailed. “I can’t believe it. I had that little hussy in my house.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” Ann Marie said. “Just take Matt—I mean that bastard’s bags and set them on the curb.”

“I don’t know if I even want to live there…too many memories.” She lowered her head.

“But you deserve that house. You put your heart and soul into it all these years. You stayed home so that he could pursue his degrees and his career. You raised your kids there. That’s your house,” Stephanie insisted.

“She’s right, Ell,” Barbara said. “And it’s worth a fortune. I wouldn’t give it up. Let him find someplace else to live.”

Elizabeth sighed heavily. “I guess. Besides, where would I go? I certainly can’t live with Desiree or Dawne, they have their own lives. Ohhh, what am I going to tell my daughters?” She erupted into a new wave of tears and sobbing.

“Your daughters are grown and doing their t’ing. They are mature young women. They will understand. At least you don’t have to worry ’bout dem moving back in wit’ you like some daughters,” Ann Marie said with disgust. “And really upsetting your life.”

Stephanie turned to Ann Marie. “Like who? I know Raquel didn’t move back home.”

Ann Marie sucked her teeth. “Girl show up on me door bag and baggage. What me gon’ do?” She sucked her teeth again.

Elizabeth leaned forward, her red-rimmed eyes wide. “Raquel left Earl?”

Ann Marie looked from one to the other. “Yes.” She muttered something that no one could understand. “Grown chile ain’t got no business moving in wit’ her mudder.”

Elizabeth reached for Ann Marie’s hand. “Annie, something awful must have happened for her to leave Earl. Did you talk to her?”

“Me too upset to talk.” She shook her head.

“But don’t you even want to know what happened?” Stephanie asked, perplexed.

“What can me do even if she tol’ me? Nutin’. What me gon’ tell Phil when he come back next week?”

“Phil!” the trio sang in unison.

“Girl, you have got to be kidding,” Stephanie croaked.

“He’s fine and everything, but that’s your child. What are you worried about him for?” Elizabeth asked.

“I have a one-bedroom apartment for a reason. Don’t keep no company that’s not sharing me bedroom, if you get what I mean.”

“But that’s your daughter, Ann Marie,” Barbara scolded, unable to fully understand Ann Marie’s total lack of concern for her child. It was unreasonable and cruel, not characteristics that she associated with Ann Marie. But when you put folk’s backs up against the wall there was no telling if they were going to come out swinging or singing. She always felt that Ann Marie’s relationship with her daughter was not all that it could be, but this turned her stomach. There had to be more to it than what Ann Marie was saying.

“Yes, she’s my daughter wit’ a ’usband.” She pushed herself up from the floor and fixed herself another drink. “I don’t want to talk ’bout it no more.” She took a long swallow and for an instant her gaze connected with Barbara’s, and Barbara was stunned to see fear in Ann Marie’s eyes.

“You know what’s best for you and your daughter,” Barbara said, letting Ann Marie off the hook. “But don’t let a man come between you and your child. That’s all I’m gonna say besides pass me the bottle. I really need a drink now.”

The women giggled, releasing some of the tension in the room as Ann Marie refilled everyone’s glass. They sipped in silence.

“What would you do if you didn’t want to have sex anymore, but the person you didn’t want to have sex with was your boss?”

The silence was officially broken.

Chapter 5

All eyes turned in Stephanie’s direction. She had a pinched look on her face, as if she’d swallowed something sour, but the look of defiance that generally hovered in her caramel-colored eyes was missing. Barbara immediately thought of the episode that morning and knew her gut feelings about Stephanie had some merit. This she had to hear.

Ann Marie was the first to speak up. “What you say, girl? Your boss? You been doing the do with your boss?”

“Ann!” Barbara admonished. She lowered her voice. “Is it true? You and Conrad what’shisname?”

Stephanie bobbed her head and took a sip of her drink.

“Well, I’ll be,” Elizabeth murmured, forgetting her own drama. “How long?”

“About a year.”

“And you’re just telling us,” they cried off-key.

“It wasn’t supposed to be anything, you know. Just a few dates.”

“Is that how you got your last promotion?” Ann Marie asked.

Stephanie looked at her and rolled her eyes. “I was going to get the promotion, anyway.”

The trio um-hmmmed her.

“Fine.” She jumped up. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not an idiot. I didn’t get to where I am on my back. I work hard for everything I have in the boardroom or the bedroom,” she slurred. “I thought you all were my friends.”

“Damn, she actually looks like she’s gonna cry,” Ann Marie muttered in awe, the four glasses of alcohol making Stephanie look like one of those desert mirages floating in front of her. “Sit down. You’re making me dizzy.”

“Yes, please,” Elizabeth said, rubbing her eyes. “You’re giving me an ache or something.”

Barbara sputtered a giggle. “Oh, what a night,” she sang badly and raised her glass in a toast. “To Ellie, who after twenty-five years of marriage is being kicked to the curb by her philandering husband and a hussy.”

“Hear, hear!”

“To Ann Marie, who can’t get it on anymore, with her daughter in the next room, and is now afraid her stuff will dry up and be no more good!”

Even Ann Marie fell out laughing.

“A toast to Stephanie, who’s been secretly canoodling with her boss and can’t figure out how to say, ‘Boss, I ain’t feeling this no more…but can I still get my raise?’”

Fits of laughter filled the room.

“And to dear old Barbara Allen, who is being pursued by a man young enough to be her son.”

This time even the stereo and the wind outside went silent.

“Stop playing, Barbara,” Elizabeth said. “You would be the last person in the world to fool around, especially with a man young enough to be your son.”

“Yeah. Give me that glass. You’ve had too much to drink.” Stephanie reached for the glass, but Barbara snatched it away.

“We all have,” Ann Marie muttered.

“Why is it so hard to believe that someone would be interested in me?” Barbara shouted, then struggled to her feet. She weaved back and forth for a moment and all eyes followed her swaying motion until she steadied herself. “I’m attractive.”

“Yes, you are,” they agreed.

“I’m still sexy.”

“Um-hmmm.”

“A lot of men would want me.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said.

“Well, did you do it or didn’t you?” Stephanie asked, getting straight to the point.

“Scared.”

“Of what?” Ann Marie asked.

Barbara plopped down on the love seat and stretched her legs out in front of her. “I haven’t been with a man since Marvin died.”

“Ohhh,” they chorused in sympathy.

“Well, it’s like riding a bike. Once you get on, it all comes back to you,” Ann Marie said.

“That’s very true,” Stephanie added.

Elizabeth sniffed. “I wouldn’t know. That bastard was the only man I’ve ever been with.”

“Ohhh,” they chimed.

“I don’t know if I should get involved…like that,” Barbara said. “He’s a patient of mine.”

“It’s not the same thing as doctor–patient,” Ann Marie offered.

“That’s true,” Stephanie concurred.

“How do you feel about him?” Elizabeth asked.

Barbara turned gentle eyes on her friend. “I like him…a lot.”

“So go for it, girl. You only live once. It’s not like you’re going to marry him,” Stephanie said.

“And every healthy able-bodied woman needs some young lovin’ every now and then,” Ann Marie added.

The trio nodded in agreement.

Barbara sighed. “Wouldn’t it be ideal if women could just sit back and pick who they wanted, when they wanted, how they wanted, with no recriminations.”

“Yep! Old, young, very young, married, single, rich, poor, your employee or your boss,” Stephanie said.

“Yeah, and they’d all been previously screened,” Elizabeth said. “And you could find them all in one place.”

“Yeah, like a male supermarket!” Ann Marie joked.

“Or like in a department-store window,” said Stephanie. “You could window-shop for a man. And they would have to be returnable.”

Barbara giggled. “Yes, they’d all be posing in the window, like puppies in a pet shop. Pick me, pick me.” She giggled again. “And the women would pause to take a look at the men and move along to the next window.”

“Um-hmmm.”

“Wish there was a place like that,” Elizabeth said wistfully.

“Shopping for men would certainly keep our minds off of our own troubles,” Ann Marie said.

“But sometimes you just want to look, you know,” Barbara said.

“And if women sat around ogling men all the time…well, you know what they are called,” Stephanie said before finishing off her drink.

“Still, it would be nice if there was a place where you go to look and fantasize and maybe—” Barbara shrugged “—who knows, maybe something would happen if you wanted it to.”

“Um-hmmm.”

They looked at each other, and their faith, love and trust in their friendship stripped away any inhibitions they may have had and they began talking all at once.

They talked and ate and drank until the sun beamed through the windows of Barbara’s apartment. And they’d come up with an idea that was so far-fetched and deliciously exciting that it simply had to work.

Chapter 6

The aroma of frying bacon tickled Ann Marie’s nose. She turned on her side and tried to ignore it. She needed sleep, more sleep. She put the pillow over her head hoping that it would block out the tap, tap, tapping in her skull. She pulled her knees up to her chin. That didn’t help, either, and if she didn’t know better she’d swear someone was calling “Mama.”

Mama! Damn. She sat straight up in bed, the covers falling off her nude body, and her head did a three-sixty. She pressed her palms to her temples, hoping to slow down the spinning.

“Yes,” she croaked. Her tongue felt like a glue strip.

Her bedroom door eased open. Ann Marie pulled the sheet up to her chin.

“I fixed breakfast,” Raquel said. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to.” She stepped into the room, balancing the tray.

Ann Marie looked at her daughter and saw the spitting image of the child’s father; the dark, almost haunting eyes, shadowed by sweeping black brows and a mass of hair that resembled black cotton candy. Oh, yes, Terrance was a looker and so was his daughter.

Raquel gently placed the tray on her mother’s lap. “I’ll leave you to your food.” She turned to go.

Was that a motherly pang she felt tightening her chest at the sad look in her daughter’s eyes? She felt as if she should say something, do something. But she had no idea what.

The door closed quietly behind Raquel. The moment was gone.

Ann Marie toyed with her bacon and eggs. She took a sip of orange juice. What was she going to do about Raquel? There was no way she could let her stay indefinitely. Her mama had put her out on her own at sixteen and she’d never looked back, although she’d wanted to. But her mama had been very clear about having another grown woman in the house beside her. No good, her mama said.

Her situation was different, however. There was more to it than simply having another woman in the house, even if it was her daughter. She sighed and took a bite of bacon. She couldn’t explain it to the girls and she never even voiced her fears out loud. The truth—she was afraid. She couldn’t face the look of disappointment that she knew would linger in those beautiful eyes. So instead of risking that, she would have to make Raquel go, go to wherever it was she needed to be. Anyplace other than here.

By the time Ann Marie finished her breakfast, bathed and dressed, Raquel was gone.

Ann Marie moved slowly through her one-bedroom condo. She checked the living room where Raquel spent the night. Everything was in its place. The smoked-glass tables were spotless, the pillows on the couch were properly fluffed, no dust on the wood floors, and her imported area rug was exactly where it was supposed to be. The bathroom and kitchen were equally as spotless. It was almost as if no one lived there. Almost.

She breathed in deeply the empty air, hoping perhaps to catch at least a brief hint of Raquel’s scent. Even that was absent.

She should be relieved. She put her breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. Oddly, she wasn’t. Walking into the bathroom, she opened the medicine cabinet in search of her bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol. She shook out two gel caps and tossed them down her throat with some water. It would take a good ten to twenty minutes for the full effect to kick in. They’d really tied one on last night and she was paying dearly for it this morning.

Ann Marie frowned, trying to bring the events of the prior evening into focus as she walked back to her bedroom. It seemed that everyone was in some kind of turmoil, as if a cloud of unrest had settled on their quiet block. Ellie with her cheating husband; Stephanie with a boss who wanted more than nine-to-five and good old conservative Barbara being pursued by a boy toy.

She shook her head and laughed. Then snippets of their conversation began to come back to her, something about showcasing men.

Right! She snapped her fingers as the details became clear. A slow smile tipped the corners of her mouth. Yes, even in the light of day their idea was a winner. And if memory served her, she was the first link in the chain.

Picking up her pace, she went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. She’d need to be clearheaded.

While the coffee brewed, Ann Marie turned on her computer in the small room at the end of the hall that she used as an office. She placed her notebook and several empty manila folders on the desk then turned on the printer. To keep her company she popped in a John Legend CD then went to get her coffee.

If there was one thing Ann Marie knew hands down it was a good piece of property—and a man, of course. But finding a true gem of a building and understanding its potential gave her a rush equivalent to sexual expectation.

She smiled to herself as she added Sweet’n Low to her coffee with a dash of canned milk.

Ann Marie had been in the real-estate game for more than fifteen years. Her master’s degree in urban economics helped her to fully appreciate the power of ownership and how easily poor communities can become no more than a memory in a matter of a few short years once an investor with a keen eye discovers the value of a particular area.

She’d been telling her friends for years that they needed to invest in some property. Of course, Ellie was already married with a home, but Barbara and Stephanie came up with one excuse after another why they couldn’t buy.

The area of Harlem where they lived, an area where houses couldn’t be given away ten years earlier, was now so expensive that it was unreachable for most. At least she owned her apartment, and a four-story apartment building on the lower east side of Manhattan that was finally paying for itself after eight years. And she had a town house.

Yes, she’d done well for herself without the help or support of anyone. Her mother putting her out and her leaving Terrance were the best things to happen to her. Yes, they were.

Her throat tightened. No, she didn’t need anyone. And the quicker Raquel understood that the better off she would be.

She took her coffee cup into her office. She had work to do and wanted to have some viable locations to show the girls as soon as possible.

Just as she sat down in front of the computer screen, the phone rang. She let it ring three times while she debated whether or not to pick it up. Curiosity won out.

She picked up the extension off the wall in the office.

“Hello?”

“Hey, baby.”

“Phil.” A fire lit her up inside at the sound of his voice. “Where are you?”

“Still out in L.A. I was hoping to leave on Monday, but things are taking longer than we anticipated.”

“Oh.” She sat down in the leather swivel chair and slowly spun in a circle, cradling the phone to her ear.

“Don’t sound so down, baby. I should be home by next weekend. And then we can spend five whole days making up for lost time.”

She laughed then stopped suddenly. Raquel.

“You, okay? Something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine,” she lied. “Just missing my man, that’s all.” At least that part was true.

“Next time I’ll arrange for you to go with me.”

“I should have come this time. You know how much I love California.”

“I know. But this trip was real work. The director and executive producer have been bumping heads since we got here. The E.P. swears there’s not enough money in the budget for the scenes that the director wants to shoot. So we’ve been scouting out new locations. I think everyone is finally satisfied. I’m pretty hopeful that these scenes won’t take more than a couple of days.”

Good, by that time Raquel would be out of the house.

“So what have you been up to?”

“Hmm, just an evening with the girls last night.”

Phil chuckled. “I would love to be a fly on the wall at one of those gatherings.”

“I bet you would.”

“So, what was it this time?”

She often came back from the girls’ night out and told Phil about some of the things they talked about: finances, the state of the world, vacations, job woes and men, of course. But this time was different. They’d all shown a side of themselves that they’d never revealed before—a totally vulnerable side, a side of hurt and uncertainty. They’d entrusted each other with secrets, and this time those secrets were sacred.

“Hmm, nothing special, just the usual stuff.”

“Okay, well, listen, I have to run. Need to be on the set in twenty minutes. Behave until I see you.”

Ann Marie giggled. “What fun would that be?”

Phil laughed in return. “Talk to you soon.”

“Bye.”

Slowly she hung up the phone. In the year and a half that she’d been with Phil she’d never outright lied to him. What had that storm blown in yesterday?

Chapter 7

Elizabeth sat in the solitude of her ultramodern kitchen. The black-and-white space was equipped with every tool to make even the most resistant cook want to try their hand at being a chef. Cooking was Elizabeth’s passion. She so enjoyed the looks of delight on her family and friends’ faces when she’d present them with a new creation.

She’d transferred her culinary love to her twin daughters, Dawne and Desiree, who ran a small health-food café and grill in the West Village. They did all of the cooking themselves and enjoyed it, and from the booming business they did, so did their customers.

Elizabeth looked around. Her entire home was a showplace. She took pride in creating a special feel and tone to the four-bedroom brownstone. She’d spend hours scouring catalogs or hunting through out-of-the-way shops for the perfect pillow, throw rug, handmade sculpture, quilt or piece of art. Her family and her home were all she had. It was who she was.

Her throat muscles clenched as a single tear slid down her cheek. She thought she had no more tears to shed. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was raw.

Matthew hadn’t even bothered to come home last night, and if he did, she’d been too drunk to notice, and he was long gone by the time she woke up. Just as well.

What was she going to tell her daughters, that she was a failure, another woman who couldn’t hold on to her husband?

Damn you, Matthew! She hurled a mug across the room. The sound of it crashing against the opaque-colored stucco wall was equal to a sonic boom inside her head. She covered her face with her hands and wept.

The ringing front doorbell penetrated her sobs. Through bleary eyes she looked up, confused. It rang again. Her head pounded. She pushed herself up from the chair and went to the front door. It was probably the UPS delivery she was expecting.

“Just leave it,” she croaked through the door. She’d hate for Jeff, her regular delivery guy, to see her in such a mess. The thought of how bad she must look sent her off on another crying jag.

“Ellie, it’s me, Barbara. Open the door.”

“Go away, Barbara.”

“Elizabeth, if you don’t open this door, I’m going to call the police and tell them I smell gas. You know I will.” She waited, determined.

If there was one thing everyone knew about Barbara Allen it was that she was good at her word. The last thing she needed today was to have the police breaking down her door. Elizabeth wiped her runny nose on the sleeve of her robe then reluctantly unlocked the door.

Barbara stopped in shock at the disheveled look of Elizabeth. “What in the devil happened to you?”

Elizabeth ignored the question, turned and walked back into the kitchen. Barbara closed and locked the door then followed Elizabeth inside.

“Ell, what’s going on? You look awful.” She put her purse on the kitchen table. “Did something else happen with…you know who?” She was still mindful of not mentioning the unmentionable one’s name.

Ellie shook her head, her wild and matted hair swinging around her face like an old beat-up mop. “Isn’t being served with divorce papers after twenty-five years enough?” she snapped.

Barbara took the verbal assault in stride. She sat down and waited for Elizabeth to talk. She’d sit there with her friend all day if need be. She reached across the table and took Elizabeth’s hands in her own.

“Ell,” she said gently, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it will be all right. It’s going to hurt like hell, but you will get through it.”

Elizabeth looked at Barbara through swollen, red eyes. “How, Barb? How am I going to make it without him? He and the girls are my whole life. The girls are out on their own.” She slowly shook her head, still in disbelief. “I…thought that now it would be time for me and Matt. Do all the things we didn’t get a chance to do.” Her voice cracked, the pain so intense that it hurt Barbara’s heart. She could kill Matt with her bare hands for doing this to Ellie. She held Elizabeth’s hand tighter, letting her get it all out.

“I’ve never been anything but a wife and mother.” She blinked hard and lost fighting back the tears. “What am I going to do? I’ve never even had to work since college. Matthew took care of me. Oh, God.” She covered her face and broke down, her shoulders shuddering and shaking with the force of her sobs.

Barbara came around the table, dragging her chair with her. She snatched Elizabeth’s hands away from her face and stared into her eyes.

“Now, you listen to me. Snap the hell out of it. If Matthew doesn’t have the good sense God gave him, then you are better off without him. Period. No, you didn’t deserve to be hurt like this, but it happened. Happens every damn day of the week and it’ll keep happening. Now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself. If you do then he’s won, plain and simple.”

“But—”

Barbara held up her hand. “No buts. This is an ugly blessing in disguise. A time for you to take charge of your own life for a change instead of being the extension of everyone else’s.”

“You don’t understand, I—”

“Yes, I do understand. You’re hurt and scared and angry. But you can’t let those emotions paralyze you into inaction.”

Elizabeth started to protest.

Barbara stood and pulled Elizabeth to her feet. “First things first. Take a shower, comb your hair, put on some makeup and get dressed. We have work to do.”

Chapter 8

Barbara hadn’t felt this good about something in a very long time, she thought as she waited for Elizabeth to return. She felt energized and it was just the thing to get each of them out of the slump they’d fallen into. They’d be so busy they wouldn’t have the time to dwell on what ailed them. And it would give her the time and space she needed to think clearly about her and Michael and the invisible line they’d crossed.

Michael had called earlier in the day. He’d wanted to see her. Against her better judgment she’d told him he could stop by for a little while and she’d prepare brunch.

When she opened the door for him and saw him smile at her as if he’d gotten the greatest gift of his life, she kicked her inhibitions to the side. If only for one night, as dearly departed Luther would say. But in her case, if only for one afternoon.

“Come on in. I was just finishing up in the kitchen. Have a seat in the living room and make yourself comfortable.” How she was able to speak as calmly as she did was a mystery to her, especially with her heart pounding at an alarming rate, her stomach in an uproar and her knees about as weak as a newborn’s.

“Let me help. After all, I did kind of bully my way over here.” He chuckled. “It’s the least I can do.”

She shrugged. “Sure. Come on.”

He followed her into the kitchen. “Wow, what a spread.”

She’d prepared honey wings, grilled chicken strips, a tossed salad, yellow rice and peas, codfish patties and a side of potato salad.

She offered up a nervous grin. “I wasn’t sure what you liked.” She twisted her hands together.

“Well, if you wanted to impress me with your cooking skills, it’s a wrap.” He walked over to the counter where the food was laid out. “Definitely impressive and it smells delicious.” He turned to her. “Thanks.” He ran his tongue across his lips, slid his hands into his jeans pocket and leaned against the fridge.

She nodded, sure that if she spoke, her voice would be a squeaky version of Minnie Mouse.

His body took up so much space, she observed absently. At six foot six, two hundred and sixty pounds of sinewy muscle covered in toffee-toned skin, he was all man, even as the slight gleam in his dark eyes and the curve of his wide mouth evoked images of the mischievous boy he once was.

“You want to stay in here or move to the dining room?” he asked with a toss of his head over his shoulder toward the adjoining room.

Barbara swallowed over the dryness in her throat, snapping back from her evaluation. The living room was a little too close to her bedroom. “Um, in here is fine. Then we don’t have to shuffle everything around.”

“Great. So, what can I help you with? Point me in the right direction.”

“The, uh, dishes and glasses are in the cabinet behind you.”

Michael took out plates and glasses and set them on the table near the window in the eat-in kitchen.

Barbara fumbled in the silverware drawer and dropped several forks and knives before finally getting it together.

“There’s a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator, unless you want something else,” she said, setting the silverware on the table.

“Iced tea is fine.”

“I usually do things buffet style, so help yourself to whatever and how much you want.”

Michael loaded his plate with some of everything and ate heartily. Barbara, on the other hand, was playing a game of chess with her food, strategically moving it around on the plate from one position to another.

Michael held his glass of iced tea to his lips. “Not hungry?” His brow rose with his question.

“Guess my eyes were bigger than my stomach.” She started to reach for her glass but changed her mind midway, certain that with her hands going through a bout of nervous palsy, the liquid would slosh all over her yellow linen tablecloth.

“I really like your hair out,” he said.

She patted her hair while looking away. She’d spent forty-five minutes in the mirror with her electric curling iron, trying to put a little bounce in her usual straight, pulled-back style. It must have paid off.

“Thanks.”

“I hope it was for my benefit.” He slowly put down his glass and folded his hands on the table.

“Oh, this. I…wanted to do something different. The other look thing is for work,” she babbled. Geez, where had her conversation skills run off to? They must have ducked under the table, where she wanted to go at the moment.

“I like it. You should wear your hair that way more often.” He took his napkin and wiped his mouth. “The food was delicious. This could become addictive.” He smiled slowly. “If you let it.”

Barbara didn’t know where to look, so she stared at her full plate.

“Maybe next time I can do the honors.”

Her gaze shot in his direction. Next time!

“I fix a mean pot of chili.” He winked.

Chili gave her gas. That would be her way out. “Good to know.” She stood abruptly. “Let me clean up the table.” She reached for his plate. He grabbed her hand. She stopped breathing. Damn, he was fine.

“When are you going to stop running from me?”

“I’m…running. I mean, not running.”

“Of course you are.” He held on to her hand as he came around the table and stood in front of her. “I swear I won’t hurt you. Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask, Barbara, a chance to make you happy.”

“Michael.” Her expression was one filled with doubt. “We come from two different worlds. And—”

“That’s what will make it all the more explosive when those two worlds collide.”

Before she could protest further, he kissed her. Kissed her the way she’d read about, seen on the big screen and daytime soap operas. Kissed her with a tender passion that dampened her panties and had her good sense taking a leave of absence.

She gave in. Gave in to the kiss and gave of herself. She could feel all the knots of doubt begin to loosen as he held her close, his long, hard fingers playing a concerto up and down her spine. She gave in to his warmth, letting it seep into all the places inside her that had been cold for far too long. She gave in to the feel of his erection that pushed with urgency against her pelvis, and she pushed back in the way that she remembered, that sensual before-sex dance that forced you to toss caution to the wind.

His lips moved back from hers and he looked into her eyes.

“I won’t lie to you. I want you. Bad. I can’t break it down any simpler than that. But I want you to feel the same way.” He waited a beat. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised and relieved by her own admission. She took his hand. “Come on. If we stay in here, we might hurt ourselves with the knives and forks on the table.”

Barbara felt the heat of his body as he walked behind her. She was shaking so badly she was certain she would crumble in a heap and this fantasy would come to a grinding halt.

She stopped in front of the door, hesitated for a moment. There’s still time to change your mind, an inner voice whispered.

Michael’s lips brushed the side of her neck. She moaned and grabbed the doorknob for support. Some outside force must have turned the knob because she was frozen in place. The door opened and they stepped inside.

It was like a dream the way he undressed her, piece by piece, tossing each item on the chaise longue.

Barbara wished it was dark in her bedroom. Dim enough to hide her body’s imperfections from his exploring eyes.

As she stood before him, she saw the no longer perky breasts, airtight-stomach and track runner thighs. Instead, she saw the body of a forty-nine-year old woman who had lived life, and life, as it was wont to do, took its toll.

She didn’t want to believe him when he said that she was exquisite, a woman in every sense of the word. It couldn’t be true, her mind said, even as the tenderness of his touch worked to shatter her misconceptions.

“Let me look at all of you.”

No! her body screamed, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t run and hide while his gaze held her in place.

Barbara felt like tender meat on the holiday grill, his eyes the hot coals that cooked her from the inside out until she was ready to be devoured by the hunger that his expression cried for.

She would think about food at a time like this, and giggled nervously at the image dancing in her head.

Michael reached out and touched her right breast and she felt faint. Her eyes drifted shut for an instant then shot open when his fingers began to play with her clit.

Oh…my…God. He’s not going to do that, is he? Oh…yes…he…is!

He was on his knees and his mouth replaced his fingers.

Barbara’s inner thighs trembled and even her firm behind vibrated. She grabbed his shoulders in a death grip to keep from falling on the floor.

Michael languidly rose, nipping her skin as he did.

Somehow Barbara found herself supine on her bed with every nerve ending jumping for joy.

When Michael entered that dark space that had been empty for so long she wanted to shout hallelujah. Instead, she cried out, “Michael.”

Barbara lay curled next to the warmth of Michael’s body. The wonder of what had transpired between them had her thoughts and head swimming upstream. Ann Marie was right. It was like riding a bike. She hadn’t forgotten a thing and learned some new tricks along the way. And when Michael told her again that she was beautiful—she felt it and she believed.

She’d wanted to spend the rest of the day jumping for joy, spinning around naked in her room, reveling in her newfound sexuality. But the practicality of life took root. She’d just made love to a man-child. It felt damn good, there was no doubt about it, and she wanted more and more. That was her fear. So when Michael asked to stay with her for the rest of the day and night, she said no. And then told him on his way out the line that most men give women, “I’ll call you.”

So here she was, still tingling from the afterglow, sitting in her best girlfriend’s house, whose life was in a shambles and she didn’t have the heart to spill her own tale all over Elizabeth’s perfectly polished kitchen table.

Chapter 9

Stephanie listened to the phone ring and checked the number on the caller ID. Conrad. Her heart began to race.

Things had gone too far. Conrad was out of control. She pressed her fist to her mouth as she listened to his voice on the answering machine.

“Steph, if you’re there pick up. We need to talk. Stephanie, pick up. I know you’re home. Your car is parked out front.”

She ran to the window and peeked out from between the slats in the blinds five stories below. Conrad’s silver Lexus was in front of her door.

“Open the door or I’m using my key.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. In a stupid moment of lust she’d given him her spare key so that he could “slip between her and her sheets whenever he wanted.” She would have to get the locks changed and pronto.

She finger fluffed her short do, smoothed her lemon yellow fitted sweater top over her tight jeans and picked up the phone. “I’m here,” she murmured and felt ill.

“I’ll be right up.”

Stephanie sat in the armchair facing the door as she heard the locks release and watched the knob turn. She slid her hand down between the cushion and felt the security of cold metal brush her fingers. She’d shoot him if she had to. Simple as that.

Conrad walked in, all smiles, and when she looked at him, for a moment she forgot everything she’d promised herself to remember; that he was using her, that he’d physically hurt her, that he was never going to leave his wife and that she wasn’t getting any more promotions if she wasn’t putting out any more of her body. He’d made that clear the other night.

Instead, she thought about how he made her feel, how he’d awakened the dormant sexuality in her that had spun out of control, how he’d been the first man in her life to help her experience a real orgasm. That had never happened to her before, until she’d met Conrad. He made her do things that she’d only imagined, and she enjoyed it. And he’d become more demanding as the months progressed. As much as he’d begun to disgust her, he still thrilled her, and that was worse than anything else.

“Hey, baby.” He crossed the room, leaned down and kissed her long and slow.

“Hi,” she whispered when he stepped back.

He looked down at her. “You look tired. Long night?”

That tone was in his voice, the cajoling, demanding tone that preceded the innuendos and accusations.

“Not really.” She shrugged. “Just an evening with the girls.”

“Hmm.” He took his jacket off and tossed it on the couch. “The girls, huh? You sure about that?” His dark eyes grew hard, the line between his brow deepened.

Her breath tightened in her chest. “Of course I’m sure.” She stood. He pushed her back down in the chair then leaned over her, locking her in place with his hands on either side of the chair’s arms.

“Sure there were no guys there?”

“No,” she croaked.

“I don’t believe you.” He pulled her up by the wrist and up to his chest. His arm wrapped around her body. He pressed his lips to her neck and inhaled her scent. “Show me what you did,” he said in an urgent whisper.

“I…didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t believe you.” He bit down on her neck and sucked it gently, then with more urgency. “Show me.” His free hand slid up her sweater. She trembled at his touch.

“Conrad…please…”

“Yes, I know, baby…”

He lowered her to the floor and as much as she hated what he was doing to her body, she couldn’t find the will to resist. Her cries were as much in ecstasy as they were ones for help.

Conrad looked down at her huddled on the floor as he zipped his pants. He smiled as if he truly cared about her. “We have a major new client coming in on Monday. I want you to run the program. You’re the best, and if anyone can land this big fish you can.”

She turned her head away and tried to cover her shame with her discarded sweater, even as her body still throbbed with pleasure.

“And I promise you, Steph, if you get the account, your bonus will be your biggest ever.” He knelt down beside her and with a tenderness that made her heart constrict, he stroked her cheek. “You’re so beautiful, you know that.” His eyes ran over her face. He took his fingertip, placed it beneath her chin and turned her to face him. “Beautiful,” he said again. “And talented…on many levels. That’s why I love you, why I want you at my side.” He lowered his head and kissed her, then abruptly stood.

“I have to go. Son has a basketball game this afternoon.” He adjusted his clothes then picked up his jacket from the couch. “I’ll probably be back tonight. Late. Wait up for me.”

She nodded. He turned to leave. If she could find the strength, she could reach into the chair cushion, take out the gun and shoot him where he stood. Then it would be over. Finally.

The door closed behind him and he was gone.

The sun was beginning to set when Stephanie came to herself and looked around. She’d stayed there curled in a knot on the floor like discarded laundry for hours. She’d lost track of time. Willing herself to move, she pushed up on her hands and knees and slowly stood.

She glanced down at her nude body, the angry red bruises on her stomach and stickiness between her thighs quick and painful reminders. She shivered and not from a chill. She reached for her clothes on the floor, nearly falling over as her head spun. Holding on to the furniture and the walls, she finally made it to the bathroom. She sat down on the lid of the commode and turned on the tub. At least the hot water would wash away the remnants from the outside, but she didn’t think anything could cleanse her battered spirit.

How could she have allowed her life to get so ugly, so out of control? She didn’t know what to do, how to fix it. Too many people relied on her and she couldn’t let them down. There was no way out. If she quit, she knew that Conrad would blacklist her. She’d never be able to work in New York or any other major city again. If she went to the board, no one would believe her, not to mention how humiliated she would feel, having to confess the extent to which she’d participated over the past year.

She was trapped. Trapped by need, trapped by responsibility and trapped by her body. Conrad knew it and pushed all her hot buttons.

But it had gone too far now and she was afraid. She needed a way out, but she didn’t see any open doors in her future.

Her phone rang in the distance. She didn’t have the energy or the desire to get up and get it. She turned off the water to listen to the voice coming through the answering machine.

“Steph, it’s us, me Barbara and us,” she giggled, obviously excited. “We’re waiting for you at my house. Hurry up. And bring your laptop.”

Stephanie frowned in concentration. Waiting for her? What the hell for? Slowly the pieces began to fall into place and a glimmer of hope settled in her gut. Maybe a door was opening after all.

Chapter 10

When the doorbell rang at about eight o’clock, it was Stephanie who was the last to arrive, looking a bit frayed around the edges. Barbara kept her comments to herself as she quickly ushered Stephanie inside.

“You all right, girl?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” She forced a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Hangover. I was, uh, still asleep when you called.”

She put her arm around Stephanie’s shoulders. “Not a problem. We were just running our mouths as usual.”

Barbara looked especially radiant, as if she’d found the secret of the universe and didn’t want to share, Stephanie observed, but she didn’t have the energy or her usual level of curiosity to press for details. Maybe it was the hair. It was out and curled instead of tied in that ponytail she usually wore. Yeah, maybe that was it, a new hairdo.

“Everybody here?”

“All in the living room. Ann has some exciting news. Come on. Stephanie’s here,” Barbara announced as if they couldn’t see that for themselves.

“What happened to you?” Ann Marie blurted out. “You look awful.”

“Thanks,” Stephanie murmured and rolled her eyes. Ann Marie was always the one looking for a dig, but Stephanie was determined not to let her prying eyes or fast tongue get under her skin tonight. She took a seat at the end of the couch and put her laptop on the table. “So what’s with the big powwow? She leaned back against the cushions, looking from one to the other.

Ann Marie spoke up, using her polished British accent that she employed when dealing with her realty clients. “After our discussion last night, I did some research on available property in the neighborhood and found three buildings that could meet our needs.” She pulled out three printouts from her leather portfolio and placed them on the table. “This one—” she pointed to the first picture “—is on One Hundred and Twenty-seventh Street. This one,” she indicated the next picture, “is on One Sixteen. But this one I think is the best.” She passed the picture around. “It’s a four-story brownstone just off Fifth Avenue on One Twenty-four. It has all the original details, a finished basement, an ample backyard, four bedrooms, two huge sitting rooms and an enormous kitchen. But the best news is that it is in foreclosure, which is good for us.”

“What’s the bad news?” Barbara asked, ever practical.

“Well,” Ann Marie dragged out. “It’s in major disrepair. There has been a lot of water damage, the electrical system must be upgraded and it needs a new roof.”

The trio’s hopeful expressions sank. “Oh,” they chorused.

“But there are tons of programs to help buyers with those kinds of repairs,” she added quickly to quell their fears. “The thing now is to get in there, make a bid and get the property. The rest will take care of itself. And because it needs so much work, the asking price is much lower than the other two.”

“How much are we talking about?” Elizabeth asked.

Ann Marie’s lips pinched for a moment, this was always the time when her clients balked. “The asking price is only five hundred and sixty-five thousand.”

“Only!” Stephanie squeaked.

“You’re kidding,” Barbara stammered, visibly appalled.

“That’s more than a half million dollars for a house that’s falling apart,” Elizabeth added, the alarm in her voice almost comical.

They all began talking at once, wanting their point to be heard, and, of course, nothing was.

Finally Ann Marie stood, all five feet of her elevated by her heels, and held her hands over her head. She began a tirade in a dialect so thick that all the other women could do was sit and stare. They couldn’t be sure if they were being cussed out or advised.

Now Ann Marie’s hands were braced on her rounded hips as she told them in no uncertain terms the value of property ownership, the financial rewards, tax breaks and more than anything, their dream coming true.

“We can do this. Just because the house costs that much doesn’t mean we can’t negotiate. Between us four we can make a solid down payment and I can work the numbers so that it won’t break us.” She waited for them to absorb her advice.

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