Once you’ve kissed him...

The sexy, fast-living heir to a multimillion-dollar news-and-entertainment dynasty, Dion Donovan is the man every woman wants. Despite his playboy rep, Dion’s heart belongs to Lyra Anderson. He’s never forgotten the kiss they shared... right before she left Miami for a new life in L.A. Now she’s back, a successful photographer—and more desirable than ever. And this time, Dion’s not letting her get away.

You’ll never forget him.

Lyra will always be grateful to the family who took her in and raised her like one of their own. But it’s her childhood friend Dion who’s haunted her for the past ten years. Working together at the Donovan magazine empire makes Lyra crave Dion’s embrace even more. She knows the pitfalls of falling for the seductive bad boy. She also knows that loving this special Donovan may be worth every risk.

“Who do you want to kiss?” he asked.

Lyra closed her eyes.

She wanted his kiss, Dion’s—the one person who had vowed to protect her like a big brother all her life. She wanted his familiar lips on hers—the same lips that had shared numerous fudge pops with her because they were their favorites.

“I—” She couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell him in words. Then again, she didn’t need to. Dion and Lyra had always had a close relationship, from the moment she’d first set foot in the Donovan house. She’d related to him even more so than to his mother, who had brought her home. They were always in tune with each other. Now was no different.

Dion’s hand snaked around her neck and tilted her head while he dipped his head closer—so close his breath grazed her lips.

“Do you want me to kiss you, Lyra?”

Her mind screamed no! But her body melded against his in defiance, her hands going to his biceps where her fingers dug in and held on tight. “Yes,” she whispered, and then one of her many dreams about Dion came true.

As her eyes fluttered shut and fireworks exploded inside her head, Dion’s lips touched hers with a soft sweep. Then both his hands were cupping her face, pulling her closer. She stood on tiptoe to reach him as his lips slanted over hers again.

ARTIST C. ARTHUR

was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, where she currently resides with her husband and three children. An active imagination and a love for reading encouraged her to begin writing in high school, and she hasn’t stopped since.

Determined to bring a new edge to romance, she continues to develop intriguing plots, racy characters and fresh dialogue—thus keeping readers on their toes! Visit her website at www.acarthur.net.

Desire a Donovan

A.C. Arthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To the readers who continue to share how much they love the Donovans.

Dear Reader,

It’s time to introduce a new lineup of Donovans! Yes, there are more of those dark, dangerous and delicious men, and this time we’re going to Miami to meet them.

Dion Donovan is definitely a lady’s man, more out of habit than by choice. But there’s one woman who’s always had his heart. And now is the perfect time to tell her—except Lyra Anderson is engaged to someone else. Of course, a Donovan isn’t about to let a minor glitch like that stop him. If ever you’ve believed in true love, Dion and Lyra are the couple to read about. Their love has spanned years of growing pains, relationships, heartbreaks and disappointments and is now struggling to be reborn.

I so enjoyed writing about this new branch of the Donovans and introducing you to another part of the family tree. This is such a strong and loyal family with scrumptious men and the strong women who love them. I hope you’ll enjoy them as much as I do.

Happy reading,

A.C.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

Miami: ten years ago…

“Give me a reason why I should stay, Dion.” She looked into his eyes, which reflected a serious, intense gaze that furrowed his brow slightly.

Lyra knew that look well, had stared into those eyes more times then she could count. But today was different. She was different, and their circumstances were undeniably different. What had transpired between them after the prom a month ago had changed everything. It had been an ordinary Saturday night—indigo sky, no stars and a warm summer-night breeze. She was talking to her best friend in the entire world after one of the worst nights of her life.

But just like the shifting tides along the stretch of beach behind what locals called the Donovan Big House, Lyra’s and Dion’s lives would forever be changed from that moment on. If Lyra were inclined toward clichés, she would say that now was her moment of truth. Since she prided herself on being a realist, she decided it was her day of reckoning instead. Dion Donovan did not love her. At least not in the way she desperately wanted him to. And that, for Lyra, was a huge problem.

“You should do what’s best for you, Lyra. I’ve always told you that,” he’d said.

She sighed, gave a little chuckle because his words weren’t totally unexpected.

“Is that your way of telling me to go?” she’d said.

The clench of his jaw was the only telltale sign that this wasn’t as easy for him as Lyra thought.

“I’m telling you that it’s time you start thinking of yourself, taking care of you and what’s important to you. Photography is important, it’s all you’ve been doing and talking about since I’ve known you,” he’d said.

There was a breeze that morning as they stood on the balcony of the mansion, where Lyra had enjoyed growing up the past ten years. It was a sprawling estate in south Miami that boasted all the luxury and opulence of this branch of the Donovan family tree, who were making their mark in the entertainment industry. Although they were close, the West Coast Donovans were into oil and casinos.

“I can study photography anywhere” was Lyra’s response. She grimaced inside at the thought of how needy it sounded.

“I want you to have the best, you know that. The best schools… .” He cleared his throat. “The best life.”

Lifting her head she met his gaze once more. She looked him in the eye, and yet he was brushing her feelings away. Her heart would break but she would survive, because she didn’t know how to do anything else.

“Then tell me to go.”

He extended his arm as her heart hammered in her chest. Dion gently traced his fingertips along her jawline, hesitating slightly as he approached her lips. Of course her lips parted. She wanted his kiss again, had wanted it with a desperate hunger since that night. But he wouldn’t give it to her. She knew that as well as she knew that in an hour she’d be on a plane to Los Angeles—alone.

“Go,” he said finally. “Go and be happy.”

Lyra had no idea whether it was fury or the onrushing pangs of hurt that overwhelmed her, but she gave him a curt nod and turned her back to him and rushed back into the house. All she knew was that she was going to take his advice. She was going to leave Miami and make a life for herself—on her own terms—and be happy. Without the man she loved.

Chapter 1

Family dinners at the Big House were usually entertaining. Tonight, however, Dion Donovan knew this one would be even more so. He knew the announcement that his mother, Janean, was going to make would be delivered with all the formality and fanfare she possessed. He hadn’t liked it when he’d heard the news earlier in the week and he disliked it even more now.

Entering through the large white double doors, Dion inhaled deeply and immediately felt at home. It made perfect sense, considering he’d grown up in the lavish Key Biscayne estate with his family.

Dinner at his parents’ house was a monthly affair, a usually uneventful evening with his younger brother and sister that kept his parents, Janean and Bruce Donovan, from focusing on the fact that he was still happily single. This afternoon would be different. It wasn’t just a normal family dinner. All the Miami Donovans were invited, including his uncle Reginald and aunt Carolyn and their three children. It always took place once a month on a Sunday afternoon, after everyone had returned from church. There was plenty of food and laughter and just plain family fun. Any other Sunday afternoon, Dion might have looked forward to the gathering. Today, he simply hoped the familial conversation would hide what was truly on his mind.

“Hey, man, expected to see you earlier,” said Sean Donovan. Dion’s younger brother by three years greeted him in the foyer, no doubt having been booted out of the kitchen by their mother for sneaking a taste of the food.

Dion shook his brother’s hand. “I had a few things to go over for tomorrow’s meeting,” he said. “I’ll be tied up in the morning, so I wanted to make sure I had time to review everything I want to discuss.”

Sean nodded. “We’re meeting at one o’clock in your office, correct?”

“Correct.”

Dion was the editor in chief of Infinity Magazine, a quickly growing publication that focused on up-and-coming African-American businesses, entertainers and the movers and shakers in the black community. Bruce Donovan, along with his brother Reginald owned the DNT Network, a cable television company, which in addition to launching Infinity Magazine also owned Donovan Management Company, a literary, sports and talent agency that handled more than a hundred clients.

The Donovans in Las Vegas—Everette and Henry—were in the oil business and had also founded an international charity. Thus far, Dion Donovan’s family in Miami had focused their efforts on the media and entertainment fields, and it was proving to be quite profitable.

Sean was one of the managing editors at Infinity and reported directly to Dion. They’d experienced the usual sibling rivalry growing up, and Sean and Dion’s working relationship was often as intense as their family dynamic. Still, they kept their eyes on the prize—Infinity was in their blood and no matter what their disagreements were they always managed to pull together to make the best decisions for the magazine and the family.

“I’ve been working on that new distribution deal, so we should discuss that,” Sean said as both men walked toward the living room.

The living room was one of the largest spaces on the first floor of the house. Although it was a place for family gatherings that was furnished in a modern European style—with beige, deep-cushioned Italian leather sofas, lush dark-brown rugs, light oak coffee and end tables and a massive bar along the far wall—it still had a comfortable feel. The space was dubbed the centerpiece of the Big House by the Donovan children when they were young. The fact that the house was situated directly on the water with its own private dock and a breathtaking view made them think they were some kind of royalty—black royalty, as Janean would often say.

“Good.” Dion nodded. “That’s exactly what I want to talk about, moving the magazine forward for all of us.”

Dion fixed himself a drink as he talked.

Sean took a seat on the recliner. “You okay?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that?” Dion responded with a frown. “Of course I’m okay.”

Sean observed his brother in the calm, careful way he always had. “Then why are you fixing yourself a glass of rum? You hate rum.”

Dion looked down at his glass and was about to say something, but put the glass down instead. “Preoccupied, I guess.”

With a knowing nod Sean kept staring, a look that Dion knew meant he didn’t believe a word he’d just said. It was that way with him and Sean. The three-year age difference didn’t really matter; sometimes they seemed as close as twins. He could complete Sean’s sentences and pick up on his moods, just as Sean could read him. The two Donovan boys were known for their good looks and wealth. They were also smart, both having graduated from Columbia, their father’s alma mater. Janean loved and spoiled her boys as much as Bruce would let her, but she’d always wanted a daughter. The day she brought home Lyra Anderson, she found just what she’d been looking for.

Sean and Dion weren’t thrilled about having a sister, but over the years they had grown to love her like a sister and keep a protective eye on her. They treated her just like she was related by blood, and in return she treated them and their parents like family.

Still, the fact remained that Lyra wasn’t their sister. And that, Dion had realized years ago, was a big problem.

“I’m cool,” he said trying to assure Sean. When his father walked in, Dion welcomed the distraction. “Hey, Dad,” he said, turning away from Sean toward his father.

“Dion! Sean!” the elder Donovan said in his booming voice as he made a beeline straight for the sofa. “Your mother has had me working all day, like some kind of hired help.” He rubbed his hand down the back of his neck and plopped down like he’d been dying to sit and relax all day.

Bruce Donovan was a tall, broad man, who had just a sprinkling of gray hair peppering his otherwise short dark brown curls. The gray gave him a distinguished look that only added to the impeccable reputation that Bruce was known for. More often than not he wore dress pants and a dress shirt—with or without a tie, depending on his schedule for the day—but he had a laid-back attitude that often disarmed his colleagues and made them think he was a pushover, which he definitely was not.

“You know how she is when it’s the family dinner night,” Sean said, chuckling.

Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know why. It’s just the family. Everybody knows what the house looks like on good and bad days. You’d think she was entertaining the king and queen or some other foolishness.”

“Why doesn’t she hire a maid?” Dion asked—a question he already knew the answer to. Still, it bothered him that his mother, at sixty-one, was working like a woman half her age.

“Now you know that’s not going to happen,” Sean replied.

“And don’t you let her hear you asking about it, either,” Bruce chimed in with a warning glare that belied his amusement. “She’ll bust your butt for even uttering the idea that she needs help with this house.”

Dion laughed along with his father and his brother, enjoying the family joke. It had always been that way with his family. They could laugh and cry together and talk about anything. Bruce and Janean had long ago taught them to be open and honest in the Donovan household. The thought made Dion’s stomach knot with regret. He hadn’t been honest with himself years ago, and because of that he’d ruined what might have been the best friendship he’d ever had. Now she was coming home, and Dion didn’t know how he was going to handle that.

* * *

Lyra was going home.

She’d stepped off the plane at Miami International, taking a commercial flight rather than the private jet the Donovans had offered. When she’d left ten years ago, it had been on that private jet, taking her across the country to begin her new life. Now she was back, and everything was different. She had no idea if that was going to be a good or bad thing.

Knocking on the door felt strange, but Lyra lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it clang against the door. All the while she took deep steadying breaths, drawing upon everything she’d learned in yoga class about centering herself and clearing her mind. When the door swung open, all that centering and mind-clearing fled as she was quickly scooped up into strong arms and spun around so that her feet didn’t even touch the floor.

“Little Lyra! You’re back!” Parker Donovan said in his smooth as silk voice that was lined with the barest hint of humor. Parker was Reginald and Carolyn Donovan’s oldest son, Dion and Sean’s first cousin, and one of the many big brother figures Lyra had while growing up.

“Hi, Parker. You can put me down now. I’m not Little Lyra anymore,” she said, unable to contain her laughter as he set her petite five-foot-five, one-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame down on the floor again.

“You still look little to me,” he said, continuing to smile at her and giving her a soft punch on the shoulder. “Just a bit more tanned, but still little and pretty as ever.”

Lyra smiled up at him, remembering his cool gray-green eyes and dark skin tone. Several of the Donovan men had the same eyes, which only added to their attractiveness. From a distance she could hear the laughter and chatter of the other Donovan family members. Sunday dinners for the Donovans were a must to attend, and the only acceptable excuse was death or being as close to death as one could possibly be.

“Gang’s all here, huh?” she said, knowing she was stalling.

“You know how these dinners go,” he said with a shrug.

And she did know, Lyra thought as she looked around. The décor had changed a bit, much more modern than it had been when she’d left, but still warm and welcoming. She glanced around the foyer, across the shining champagne-and-gold marbled floor, up the winding staircase with its thick banister and wide stairs. Her room used to be all the way down the hall to the left. She had a huge canopy bed, a window with a small balcony, plush carpet, lovely draperies, a desk, a closet full of clothes and practically everything a girl could ever want—even if she wasn’t a member of the Donovan family, biologically speaking.

“And the prodigal daughter returns.”

Lyra heard his voice and felt warmth spiral through her spine, sliding downward like a warm waterfall. She needed another moment, another couple of minutes or an hour to gather herself before seeing him. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like she was going to get it.

“She’s all grown up now, man. Doesn’t she look good?” Parker asked, and Lyra wanted to kick him as she had so many times in the past. He always did have a knack for saying what others wanted kept quiet. His playfulness was a big part of his adorable personality, but right now was a pain in her behind. She slowly turned, having decided it was time to face the inevitable.

“Hey, Dion,” she said with all the casual aloofness she could muster.

He walked toward her. He still had the tall muscular body she remembered as if it were yesterday. He didn’t smile. His look was much more intense. Dion Donovan stood at least six feet six inches tall, with a honey complexion, short-cropped black hair and a swagger that said he looked good even if you didn’t want to admit it. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that hugged every inch of his eight-pack and wrapped around his thick biceps like candy coating.

“Hey, Lyra. It’s good to see you,” he said as he came closer.

He was going to hug her, Lyra knew. Not as eagerly as Parker had, but he would wrap his arms around her, because that’s how the Donovans were with family. And she was family, she reminded herself. She’d grown up in this house, had been taken in because her own mother couldn’t seem to get her act together. Janean and Bruce Donovan had raised her as one of their own, giving her every advantage and expecting just as much from her as they did their own children. She owed them everything.

She especially owed them the respect of not pining after their eldest son as if he were the only man on earth that could make her body hum with arousal. Even though, the fact still remained, he was.

“It’s good to see you, too,” she managed as soon as his hands brushed her shoulders and he pulled her up close. He smelled wonderful—some expensive and insanely sexy cologne that she knew would stay with her for days to come.

“I missed you,” he whispered in her ear and Lyra remained silent.

She wouldn’t say the same, couldn’t tell him how much she’d missed him. It was pointless, and she’d made a promise not to move backward. Her new life was her future. Reviving feelings from the past was a futile and emotionally self-destructive exercise, and that was something she refused to engage in. But she’d missed the hell out of him, too.

Chapter 2

Food was everywhere, on fine china platters and crystal and silver condiment bowls and trays along the length of the eight-foot mahogany table covered in an antique-lace tablecloth. Candied yams, homemade macaroni and cheese, corn bread, a huge baked turkey, glazed pineapple ham, mashed potatoes, corn bread stuffing, green beans and corn was more than Lyra could take in in one glance. The dining room hadn’t changed much since she’d left. The massive table was still in the center of the room with chairs all around it, the large china cabinet that spread across the expanse of champagne-colored walls was filled with expensive china patterns, even though several of the pieces were being used on the table and the sideboard, which held even more food.

The atmosphere felt homely, warm and welcoming, and the people sitting and standing around the table greeted her in a way that echoed those feelings.

“You’re back!” Regan Donovan was across the room in seconds, her long arms wrapping around Lyra before she could do anything but smile.

Lyra stumbled back a step as Regan embraced her. “Hey, Regan. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Oh, my God! When I got your email I was ecstatic. You know we need to get together so we can catch up. We can’t do that here with everybody around, but I want to hear everything that’s happened in L.A. And I mean everything,” she said, her large expressive eyes indicating that she wanted to hear things Lyra couldn’t talk about around the rest of the Donovans.

“Let her go, Regan. The rest of us would like to say hello, too.” Savian, Regan Donovan’s older brother, pushed her aside.

“Hi, Savian,” Lyra said, welcoming a hug from the quiet and reserved Donovan cousin, who rarely ever smiled. But there was still a warmth and sincerity evident in his hazel eyes.

“Hey, kiddo. I see you survived it out there in la-la land.”

“I did.” She smiled, pulling away from him. “It wasn’t so bad,” she said biting her inner cheek to keep from blurting out how bad those years away had really been. It wasn’t anybody’s business she’d told herself. She’d left to pursue her goals to become a photographer. And in that regard, she’d done pretty damned well for herself. It was everything else that had fallen apart.

“Well, you look fabulous,” said Carolyn Donovan, a tall, slim woman with a warm chocolate complexion and hair that had a silvery glow. She was beautiful and looked elegant in her cream-colored linen slacks and pale pink blouse. Her hair was flawless as usual and just barely grazed her shoulders. Her eyes smiled as she reached out to hug Lyra.

“Aunt Carolyn, it’s good to see you.”

“Yes,” Carolyn said when she released Lyra from her grip, putting her hands on Lyra’s shoulders as she continued looking her up and down. “Just fabulous. The sun’s kissed your skin so you look even more Native American then you did when you were a little girl. And you’ve blossomed.”

Lyra didn’t know she could still blush, but the heat in her cheeks said she hadn’t grown out of that habit. The Donovans had always told her of her Native American heritage, to which Lyra simply smiled and nodded. She’d never known her father, and her mother, Paula Anderson, certainly wasn’t Native American. She was an African-American, and had grown up in the Lemon City area of Miami, which was known for its large community of Haitian immigrants. But that’s where Mama Nell, Lyra’s grandmother, had lived, so that’s where Paula grew up until she felt like she was old enough to make it on her own. But Lyra’s mother thought she was grown the minute she learned to talk, and at age thirteen Paula took to the streets because Mama Nell’s restrictions were too strict for her.

Lyra didn’t really grow up in one place in Miami, seeing as how Paula dragged her to whatever dirty couch or boarded-up row house she could find in her search for her next high or next john, whichever she was fiendin’ for at the time.

The brothers, Bruce and Reginald, had been standing near one of the windows in the airy room, but with all the commotion they turned to look at her. Reginald with his round face and dark eyes smiled a toothy grin, and she walked to him quickly, falling into his thick arms. “Hi, Uncle Reggie.”

“Hey, Peanut. Carolyn’s right, you’re prettier than you were when you left.”

Being the smallest of the Donovans’ children when they were growing up had earned Lyra the nickname Peanut. The cousins had come up with their own nicknames for her.

“Thanks,” she replied before letting her gaze settle on Bruce Donovan. Tall and broad-shouldered, his medium-brown complexion blended handsomely with the graying mustache and beard.

He reached for her and she walked easily into his embrace. Of all the Donovan men, Bruce held a special place in her heart. He’d been the only father she’d ever known, and there were nights when she’d lain awake in the pretty pink room she had upstairs and thanked God for blessing her with him.

“Hi,” she said in a whisper.

“Hi to you, too, little girl.” He hugged her tight, just as he had on the tarmac that day she left to go to L.A. Over the past ten years he and Janean had called and written to her regularly, sending pictures, asking if she needed anything. She’d needed them both terribly, but had refused to admit it.

“I missed you,” she admitted, with her cheek rubbing against the soft cotton of his dress shirt.

“Missed you, too. You stayed away too long and I don’t like that,” he chastised lightly.

Pulling away she looked up into those familiar warm eyes. There was always love and understanding there, no matter what she’d done, he always looked at her the same way. “I know. But I’m back now.”

With long fingers, Bruce tweaked her nose. “You bet you are. And you’re staying put this time.”

Lyra wasn’t too sure about that, but figured it was better to keep the thought to herself. Instead she just smiled.

“What are you all standing around for? Take a seat, we’re about to bless this food so we can—” Janean abruptly stopped, as her husband, Bruce, with his hands on Lyra’s shoulders, turned her around to face the door that led to the kitchen.

There she was, the woman who was responsible for all that Lyra was. She still wore her church clothes, a plum-colored silk dress that hung on her marvelously mature body as if it had been cut especially for her. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun and her cherublike face bore just a light sheen of makeup. Even though she was ten years older, she was even more beautiful than Lyra had remembered.

“Hi, Ms. Janean,” she said, then cleared her throat because for a second she swore she sounded just like that ten-year-old girl Janean had seen at Easterntowne Elementary School.

Janean Donovan had no words, and that was saying something, since she had always been talkative and opinionated. But now she stood silent, her hands holding the handles of a pot with steam billowing upward. She took a step toward Lyra and Lyra took a step toward her. Sean stepped in and took the pot along with the potholders out of Janean’s hands. She wiped them on the stone-gray apron splattered with what looked like flour.

“My baby” was what she finally whispered, lifting her hands and clapping them against both Lyra’s cheeks. “My baby’s come home,” she repeated, her eyes clouding with tears.

Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest as her own eyes threatened to well up. “My pretty little girl all grown up.”

“I really missed you,” Lyra readily admitted, falling into Janean’s arms, resting her head on her shoulder in a familiar gesture. Lyra couldn’t even begin to remember how many times she’d cried on Janean’s shoulder, how many times Janean had whispered that everything would be all right, or how many times the woman and her family had actually made everything all right.

“I really missed you, too. Don’t you ever stay away that long again,” she told her.

“I won’t,” Lyra promised, realizing at that very moment how much this family really meant to her.

“Can we eat now? I’m starving. Minister Moore preached for a solid hour today and I’m still not sure what it was about,” Parker complained.

“That’s because you never pay attention,” Carolyn told her son as they moved around the table to take their seats. “You probably don’t even know the scripture he quoted from.”

“What matters is that I showed up in the first place,” Parker said in his own defense.

“It’d be good if you could get something out of showing up, son,” Uncle Reggie said, holding the chair for Carolyn and scooting her in before taking his own seat.

Regan laughed. “I’m surprised he showed up at all.”

“Right,” Savian added. “I wonder what young lady we have to thank for getting him into the house of the Lord today.”

“Doesn’t matter what got him there,” Carolyn said. “As long as he showed up he can receive a blessing.”

“That’s right,” Parker agreed with a nod.

“Even though I think he’d have to stay awake in order to do that,” Carolyn finished. “Next time you’ll know what Minister Moore’s preaching about if you stop yawning and nodding off.”

By then everyone was laughing and taking their seats. Everything felt like the good old days. And then the entire Donovan family joined hands as Bruce began the prayer for the family meal. Dion, who sat right beside Lyra, just as he used to all those years ago, took her hand. Lyra’s fingers nervously entwined with his and her traitorous body warmed.

Everything was not like the good old days, and that’s what had kept her away all those years. It was also, damn her wayward emotions, what had brought her back.

Chapter 3

She was on the dock looking out as the moonlight’s illumination danced along the water in sparkling ripples. He’d known she’d be right there, staring as if she were in her own little world, just like she used to.

Tonight Dion had been ambushed with memories, and he wasn’t at all surprised. Three days ago he’d found out she was coming home, even though she hadn’t been the one to tell him. That little omission stung, he’d readily admit. They’d been thick as thieves as kids growing up, even though he was four years older than she. But the minute he’d realized she loved to ride bikes, jump wheelies and climb trees as much as he did, Lyra had been one of his best buddies. For as much as he could be best buddies with a girl. Sean, on the other hand, never had much time for dirt bikes and running races, playing football and wrestling until somebody’s face was being ground into the dirt and they had no other choice but to cry mercy. No, as kids that was fun for him and Lyra, and they’d both enjoyed it.

Then things had changed and they’d made that one fatal mistake—or rather, he’d made that one mistake. For ten years he’d kicked himself for kissing Lyra. Now there was a part of him that was kicking himself for not doing more than kiss her.

“So I hear you’re finally going to marry him, huh?” he asked when his own silence was threatening to give him ideas that would only get him in more trouble.

She turned just as a slight breeze whisked past them lifting the ends of her curly hair slightly. She wore slacks and a tank top. The coral hue of the top added a vibrant tint to her burnt-orange complexion, giving her a more alluring quality than he knew she was aiming for. Gold bangles cuffed each of her wrists, matching the gold hoops at her ears. She looked so young standing there, so vulnerable.

“Good news travels fast,” she said with a shrug.

“It took you long enough to set a date. I thought you’d have gotten married as soon as you left with Stanford.” Saying the man’s name—even if it was only his last name—left a bitter taste in Dion’s mouth, but he did it anyway. He had to prove to himself that he could say the name of the man who would now and forever hold Lyra’s heart without screaming bloody murder and hurting someone in the process.

She slipped her hands into her pockets and shrugged. The act made her pert breasts rise and fall, and Dion swallowed hard. She was his little sister. He’d do well to remember that. Hadn’t that been what he’d been telling himself since the day he first noticed she had said breasts in the first place?

“I didn’t leave to marry him. We just left together.”

Dion nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home today? The last time you emailed me you said you were looking for another job.”

“I found one.”

“At Infinity? If you wanted to work there all you had to do was let me know. You’ve been so hell bent on being independent, making your own way in the world, I thought I was abiding by your wishes by leaving you alone in L.A.”

She smiled and it was like a sucker punch to his gut. It was taking an amazing amount of self-control for him not to get closer to her, to touch her, one more time.

“Since when have you abided by anybody’s wishes but your own, Mr. Donovan?”

“There’re a few people I’d go the extra mile for,” he answered trying to keep this reunion as light as possible.

Dinner had been trying. She was sitting so close to him, laughing, talking with that voice that he heard in his sleep too many nights to count. Now they were standing out here in a place where they’d had so many conversations before, talking about her upcoming wedding of all things.

“I had to come back. This is where it all began, after all,” she said, then turned to the side to look out at the water again. A boat filled with young party-goers passed by in the distance. Drinks were raised as the passengers waved like they knew Dion and Lyra personally. The waters along Key Biscayne were filled with cruise ships or yachts at all times of the day and night.

“You met him here that last summer when you interned at a small newspaper.” It was a statement, one that had stuck in his mind since she’d told him all those years ago. “Then you left to go to L.A. with him four months later.”

She nodded. “Then we broke up a year after that.”

“Because he wanted more than you did,” Dion added. Lyra had called him late one night needing to talk about the breakup. It had been uncomfortable for Dion, just as thinking about her with any man was. But Lyra was his closest friend and he was hers. No way was he going to let something as small as jealousy keep him from being there for her?

“He wanted it all, marriage, house, kids. I wasn’t ready for that.”

“But you are now?”

“We’ve been back together for two years now. I think I’m ready.”

“You think?”

She faced him again, looked up at him like she couldn’t believe he’d said that.

“I’m getting married, Dion. Do you have a problem with that?”

Did he? Hell yeah, he did. But it was his problem and nobody else’s. He’d wanted Lyra for so long, and yet beat himself up about wanting her that way. His mother would definitely not be pleased and the rest of his family would no doubt frown upon him looking at Lyra this way. They’d bash him for playing with her emotions, setting out to hurt her, since that’s what they assumed he did with all his female friends. They wouldn’t be happy about their seeing one another. Dion knew this, and that’s why he’d pushed her away ten years ago.

But if nothing else, he had to be honest with himself. He had a huge problem with Lyra marrying someone else when he wanted her all to himself.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” he lied as smoothly as the rays of moonlight shimmered on the water, as easily as he had said it the day he told her to leave for L.A. He lied to his best friend and miraculously found it hurt even more this time than it had before.

“Good,” she said with a weak smile. “Mark and I are looking for an apartment, but until then your mom wants me to stay here. I’m starting work tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see you at the office.”

She started to walk away like she was going to brush right past him when Dion reached out and grasped her by the elbow.

“I—” he started to say, then stopped.

“What?” she prompted.

He gritted his teeth and let the words dissipate from his mind. “I’m proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. You’re a great photographer and you’ve become a beautiful woman,” he said honestly.

Her smile was genuine, touching her brown eyes the way he remembered it did when they’d been laughing together as teenagers. “Thanks, Dion. That means a lot to me. Good night.”

“Good night,” he said reluctantly, letting her walk away. Again.

* * *

“Where am I supposed to live?” Paula Anderson asked with one bony arm propped on an even slimmer hip.

Lyra sighed, not wanting to go through this again. She didn’t need this aggravation on her first day of a new job. She was sick and tired of dealing with her mother’s selfishness and irresponsibility. Immediately, guilt washed over her and she closed her eyes, counted to five and then reopened them.

“You can get a job,” she said slowly. “I’ve given you all the money I can. I just moved across the country. Don’t you realize how expensive that is?”

“Girl, don’t give me that BS. And don’t forget I know who you really are. Now you might think you’re all high and mighty, out there foolin’ those rich folk, but you ain’t any better than I am.”

After years of hearing the same story, it was a wonder Lyra had any pride, or self-confidence for that matter. But she did, and she owed that to the upbringing of Janean Donovan.

“I don’t have any money.”

“You got money. I know they probably got an account set up for you and everything. That woman’s been so in love with my child for years. It’s a damn shame. Got kids of her own but still gotta go out and try to steal somebody else’s.”

“Well, if somebody else had been taking care of their child, maybe another woman wouldn’t have to.” Lyra’s reply was quick, her reflexes even quicker as she caught Paula’s long narrow fingers just as she tried to slap her across the cheek.

“I told you not to put your hands on me again,” she said with carefully tempered anger.

“And I told you not to forget who birthed you.”

They were locked in a stare-down, something that had happened too many times before. Paula wanted Lyra to bend to her will, to do whatever she said, whenever she said it. Lyra wanted Paula to get a damned clue. She was a grown woman and long over her mother’s drug-addicted ways and bitterness.

Sadly, none of that meant Lyra didn’t love her mother. After all, this was the woman who gave birth to her and for a little while the woman who’d taken care of her. Then one day everything just went totally wrong. They were kicked out of their small apartment with only the clothes on their backs, so Paula had to do what was necessary to make sure her baby ate, at least that’s the reason she gave Lyra for turning tricks in dark alleys while Lyra kept watch on the corner. But that was then. Over the years Lyra had become adept at leaving her past where it belonged, in the past.

“I’m not giving you any money. You know how to take care of yourself,” Lyra answered seriously and turned to walk away.

Paula had cut her off just as she was about to walk into the Excalibur Business Center that was owned by the Donovans, the headquarters of Infinity as well as DNM—Donovan Network Management. Now, Lyra wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. It was a secure building, she knew. Nobody was getting onto that elevator and upstairs without an ID badge or a phone call from the building’s security. Paula didn’t want to see any of the Donovans, that was for sure. Their relationship was not good, never had been, no matter how much Janean had tried.

“Don’t walk away from me, gal,” Paula said. Her Southern drawl usually came out when she was drunk or high—or some combination of the two—and when she was pissed off, which by now, Lyra knew she was.

A long time ago, Paula would ask Lyra for money—beg a little, cry for a couple minutes, and then Lyra would give her what she wanted. Then there’d be sloppy kisses, empty promises and quick goodbyes—a routine Lyra had grown to despise. But Lyra was done with that. If she counted the money she’d given her mother over the years, it would easily amount to a few thousand dollars. And that was nothing compared to all the money the Donovans had given her to stay away and leave Lyra with them. So part of the debt she owed this family was her mother’s. The other part was her own, and she was ready to start repaying it.

“Don’t threaten me, Paula. We’ve been there and done that. I’d think by now you’d know the limits.”

“You sure got a smart mouth. I bet if I come over there and smack the taste out of it, you’ll know who’s boss.”

The bright morning sunshine glittered over Paula’s fiery red hair, which was shaved close like a man’s. Leopard-print pants looked as if they were painted on her slim legs while the black shirt she wore slipped off one shoulder and hung loosely over a boyishly flat chest. She looked like she could have been about twelve years old. And if there had been a strong wind, she’d fall right over. A brief pang of regret touched Lyra’s heart at the sight.

“But that’s not going to happen now is it?” a masculine voice said.

Both their heads turned as Dion approached. Lyra instantly wanted to disappear. She hated for Dion to see her mother like this, to be reminded of where she came from.

“Well, looky here.” Paula tried to whistle but her two front teeth were missing so the sound was empty and produced more spittle than air. “You done growed up, boy.”

Dion only nodded at Paula then looked to Lyra. “Go into the building,” he told her. He could be such an arrogant ass at times. And other times he could be her savior. That was a role Dion always loved playing. Still, he should have known better than to think she’d just obey him.

“I’ve got this under control,” she said.

“No. I’ll handle it,” he countered.

“You her shining knight?” Paula asked, her speech slurring even more as she stumbled toward Dion.

Lyra rolled her eyes. Dion reached out a hand to catch Paula as she leaned into him but nearly missed him entirely. “I’ll call you a cab, Paula. Then you need to disappear. For good,” he said with a finality that made Lyra quietly gasp.

He was right, her mother needed to go. This was her job, her new life. She didn’t need or want her here.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Paula said straightening herself up and flattening her palms on Dion’s chest.

He wore a suit today, a gray double-breasted Armani—Dion loved just about anything Armani—with a crisp white shirt and bold peach tie with tiny flecks of silver. The sight of her mother’s slim hands, bony wrists and veiny arms on him made her stomach churn.

Lyra stepped over, clasping her mother by the waist and pulling her away. “Just go, Paula. I’ll call you later.”

She didn’t miss Dion’s frown at her words, but chose to ignore them.

“I’ll leave when I get what I came for,” Paula huffed.

Lyra rolled her eyes skyward. This was not the way she wanted to start her first day at Infinity. Hell, it wasn’t the way she wanted to live her life. But silly her for thinking she had any control of that. “Here,” she said digging into the side zipper of her purse and pulling out the cash she’d stuffed there yesterday after tipping the cab driver who’d picked her up at the airport. “Just take it and go.”

Paula fingered the money and looked up at Lyra with a frown. “You call me later,” she said, then looked over at Dion. “You still sharp, boy—sharp as a tack. That’s why that girl’s trying to get you to put a ring on it.” Throwing her head back Paula laughed as she sashayed her pitiful backside out of the parking lot.

“She’s still guilting you into giving her drug money,” Dion said from behind as Lyra rubbed her fingers against her temples.

“This is an old conversation,” she said. Taking a deep breath she turned around and walked right up to Dion. “It’s not your concern. I can handle my mother.”

Dion nodded and fell into step beside her, heading to the double glass doors of the building. “By giving her whatever she wants so she’ll leave you alone. That’s a good way to handle her. It’s like feeding a stray cat because you don’t want to see it starve. It’s going to keep coming back, Lyra. I know you know all this already.”

Lyra reached for the door and yanked it open. “Then why do you insist on saying it over and over again?” she said, glancing over her shoulder before walking through.

Dion followed her inside. “Because you never listen,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. “She’s never going to leave you alone until you make her.”

Spinning around to quickly face him she asked, “And just how do I do that? How do I turn my back on the only family I have, Dion?”

He stopped cold, looking her dead in the eye. Then his voice lowered. “I thought we were your family.”

Lyra sighed. This was how this conversation always went with them. Dion told her what to do, she argued about it, then he made her feel like crap because deep down she knew he was right. “You don’t understand,” she said finally. “I just want to move on. I just want to do my job and live my life without all these problems clouding it.”

Dion started walking ahead, waving at the two guards who manned the front desk. Lyra followed behind him, waving at the guards, as well. They’d let her in because she was with him. Later today they’d get a memo from human resources with her name, a photo ID and the department she worked in. Tomorrow morning when she walked in alone, they’d smile and greet her just as they had Dion. That’s how it worked in the world of the Donovans, a world she’d tiptoed around in for most of her life.

“You don’t want problems, then deal with them, Lyra. Stop acting like the victim here, because you’re not.”

They were in the elevator now, a seething Dion standing beside her, briefcase clasped in both hands in front of him. She could smell his cologne, felt the waves of warmth as his scent wafted to her nose, down the back of her throat, into her chest, and downward until she was completely full of him.

“Stop acting like an asshole, Dion. Oh, I forgot, you can’t help that.”

He chuckled. “Calling me names isn’t going to solve your problem.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, since you know so much, tell me what is going to solve my problem?”

“Grow a backbone,” he said just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Until then Paula and needy people just like her are going to walk all over you every time.”

He stepped off the elevator and Lyra wanted nothing more than to follow him and keep the argument going, but that would be futile. She was always the one to get upset, to yell and scream and develop a mega headache trying to prove her point to Dion Donovan. And he was the one who kept a cool head, a sarcastic tone and deflected each and every argument she came up with. Some things never changed.

Chapter 4

“Tomorrow is the Vina Vanell shoot. She’s on the October cover with a feature story that coincides with the release of her new CD.”

“And she just announced her engagement and confirmed her baby bump with rapper Jride,” Lyra finished Regan’s sentence typing notes into the calendar on her iPad.

Regan was an editor at Infinity. She mainly focused on the celebrity aspect of the magazine, leaving the business profiles and features to her brother Savian. Regan had always loved the glitz and glamour of Hollywood growing up. Lyra remembered spending endless nights at her house, where they dressed in all Regan’s pretty gowns and pretended they were walking the red carpet. Lyra always hated that, standing and posing, smiling and gesturing. She would’ve much rather been on the sidelines with the paparazzi getting the perfect shot, not arriving in a limo and wearing a designer dress.

“You know about that, huh?” Regan asked, crossing one long, evenly tanned leg over the other, showing off another one of her passions, shoes. They were platforms, copper and black in a lace print with five-inch heels that only added to Regan’s already-tall stature.

“I hear things,” Lyra said with a smile.

They were in her office. She had an office, Lyra thought with an inward smile. In L.A. she’d been working for Jacque Landow, one of the best-known photographers around. Then Mark had gotten the job offer in Miami and announced he was coming back home, about ten seconds after he asked her to marry him. A twinge of nervous energy slid over her and she sat up in her chair, focusing more on the calendar than she needed to.

“Then Friday there’s the Heat game. They’re in the NBA Finals, so getting good shots of the Big Three is crucial.”

“Right,” Regan said nodding. “And next Saturday’s the gala. Have you gotten a dress yet? Probably not. I know how you hate shopping, even though I’m loving that blouse you’re wearing. I have the coolest royal blue mini that would be perfect with it, because those pants aren’t doing a damned thing for you.”

That was Regan, too, the fashion guru, and forever trying to be a stylist for Lyra.

“I like what I’m wearing. It’s comfortable and professional so it works just fine.”

“If you’re a nun,” Regan joked.

Lyra didn’t laugh but did look down at her gray Ann Taylor low-ride pants and sensible black pumps. Her top was a crisp white button-down with sleeves she’d folded because they were too long and she hated when her clothes interfered with her photography. She’d taken only a few shots this morning after Dion had left her at the elevator. The shots were mostly of the office, no one in particular, just things that caught her eye. She’d been eager to feel the camera in her hands, to hear the click of the shutter capturing a moment in time.

“I like my outfit,” she murmured again.

“Of course you do. So listen, what about the wedding? When’s the big day? And what are we wearing? I’m putting in my bid right now for fuchsia. I look great in pinks.”

Lyra had to smile at that. Regan Lorae Donovan looked great in a dirty lamp shade and wrinkled sheet. She was a classic beauty, not stunning or striking, but still good-looking. On the other hand, Lyra saw herself as cute, not plain Jane or someone to write home about, but reasonably attractive. When she stood next to Regan, Lyra figured her cuteness was ratcheted up a couple notches, but that wasn’t something she strived for. Being in the spotlight was not important to Lyra.

“Not sure,” she answered glibly, and knew in that instant she’d said the wrong thing.

“What do you mean ‘not sure’?” Not sure about the date or not sure about marrying Mark?”

Now Lyra had two options—she could lie and say she was simply not sure about the date and Regan would immediately know she was lying. She’d push even harder to get the truth. Or she could simply fess up and finally confide everything that had been weighing on her mind.

“Both. Kind of…” She sat back in the chair and waited for Regan’s barrage of questions that surprisingly didn’t come.

“You don’t want to marry him.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“You’ve been with him off and on for around nine years, but you don’t want to marry him?” Regan continued.

“You make it sound so awful, like I’m a terrible person or something. I’m just a little undecided.”

Regan nodded, tapping a finger to her chin and pursing her frosted lips. “Let’s just add up the pros of Mark Stanford. He’s damned fine, and I mean fine with a capital F. He’s now CEO for one of the fastest-growing social-media sites, so he’s hella rich. He knows everyone that is anyone and he’s crazy about you.”

“And the cons?” Lyra asked hoping Regan could come up with more than Lyra had.

“Hmm.” She thought for a minute, her chin-length chestnut hair moving slightly as she tilted her head. “He drives a Hummer, which is by far one of the ugliest SUVs I’ve ever seen.”

Lyra erupted with laughter, which led to Regan doing the same until they were both almost in tears. Leave it to Regan to make her laugh when she was really down.

Taking a deep breath Lyra finally confided, “I just don’t know that I’m ready to marry him. Like, I know that one day I want to be married and to spend the rest of my life with the man of my dreams—or at least a man that I’m madly in love with. But I don’t know that it’s Mark. Do you understand that?”

Regan nodded. “I do. So what now? Are you going to tell him or go through with it because you think it’s the right thing to do? I know how you are. If you think you’re going against some unwritten rule or some nonsense, you’ll walk on hot coals or cut off your own hand.”

“Ever the drama queen,” Lyra said, just as her cell phone rang. She looked down at it and frowned. “It’s Mark.”

Regan nodded and stood. “And I’m leaving.”

“Go ahead and bail on me. That’s what you always do,” she whined.

“This is your pity party, and you’re about to be a runaway bride. You can catch me up later when we have dinner. I already made reservations for seven. Don’t be late, and change your clothes, please.”

Lyra waved Regan out of her office just as she answered the cell phone. “Hey, Mark.”

“Hey, sweetheart. Just wanted to check and see how everything was going on your first day.”

Mark was very considerate.

“Oh, it’s going fine. I was just meeting with Regan, going over the upcoming shoots and deadlines. I have to go to Friday’s game, and I’m doing a shoot tomorrow, so I’ll be pretty tied up this week,” she said, just in case he wanted to get together to talk about the wedding. For a guy, Mark was very excited about planning a big, lavish wedding. A little too excited.

“Okay. Well, I guess if you have to work. I wanted to go over to my parents’ and get started on some of the wedding plans.”

Lyra knew him like she knew each line in the palm of her hand. It wasn’t hard though, by the end of the month Mark’s new assistant would probably know him just as well. And yet she still felt closer to Dion.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I understand this is your career. But don’t make any plans for next Saturday. My mom wants us to come over for dinner.”

Lyra groaned. “The Donovans are having their annual Wish Upon a Star charity ball that Saturday. All the family is expected to be there.”

There was a pause on the phone, and Lyra knew that Mark was thinking she wasn’t really a member of the Donovan family, although he’d never say that to her. While they’d been in L.A., he’d constantly reminded her that the Donovans were not blood, that what Janean did was out of charity and that it was time she lived her life without clinging to them.

“You haven’t been there for the past ten years. I’m sure they won’t miss you for one more,” he argued.

“The difference is I’m staying in their house now. They’ll expect me to be there.”

“And that’s another thing. We can get an apartment until we find a house. You don’t have to stay with them.”

“I know that, Mark. I can get my own apartment for that matter. But it means a lot to Janean that I spend some time with them after being away for so long.”

“I’m starting to feel like your mother where the Donovans are concerned. It’s just not healthy the way they’re attached to you and you to them. You don’t belong.”

“And just where do I belong?” she asked, as the headache that had been a dull pain after her argument with Dion began to ramp up a notch.

“Calm down, sweetie. Listen to what I’m trying to say. You and I come from regular families who go out and work hard to make a way for themselves. We’re not from money and privilege.”

“But your salary just made you a millionaire before your thirtieth birthday. That doesn’t exactly make you a ‘regular’ guy.”

“That’s money I earned, Lyra. Not money that was given to me. It’s different. They’re different. And you shouldn’t spend your time trying to fit in with them.”

His words hurt, mainly because she’d been telling herself that most of her life. She knew the Donovans were different, knew that they weren’t part of her family. So she didn’t need Mark to remind her of that fact.

“Go to dinner at your mother’s on Saturday and give her my apologies. I won’t be there.”

“Wait,” Mark said hastily. “Don’t hang up angry. I don’t want us to fight, not about this anyway. I’ll take you to the charity ball, and on Sunday we’ll spend the day with my parents. Okay?”

Lyra was quiet. Her elbows were propped up on her desk and she began to wonder why she didn’t just end things with Mark. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. Because it was just like Dion had said, she needed to grow a backbone.

* * *

“What’s on your mind?” Sean asked the moment he stepped into Dion’s office and closed the door.

Dion looked up from his desk then stared down at the Rolex on his left wrist. “Meeting’s not for another fifteen minutes.”

Sean nodded walking closer to the desk and taking a seat in one of the guest chairs. “That’s why I came early to ask you what’s going on?”

Spreading his palms on the desk, it was apparent to Dion that Sean had something on his mind. He realized that he wasn’t going to get to finish reading the distribution reports he’d just received from Sean’s assistant.

“Why don’t you tell me what you think is going on, because I’m sure you have some little idea roaming around in that head of yours,” Dion said, sitting back in his chair and looking directly at his brother.

They were close, almost like twins but not. They even looked alike—they were both tall with slim, muscular builds, and they both had the same caramel complexion that their mother had. Sean was the studious brother with runway-model looks, a square jawline and a cleft chin, and dreamy eyes that girls loved to stare into. Dion almost laughed as he remembered back in high school girls said exactly that about his younger brother. On the other hand, he was the athletic one with rugged good looks and a bad-boy image that made him attractive to a totally different type of girl. Still, there was no denying that the Donovan men were just as attractive and just as unattainable as their cousins in Las Vegas.

“Lyra’s downstairs with Regan. I hear she’s got her assignments and plans on hitting the ground running.”

Dion rubbed his chin. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“It’s a very good thing for Infinity, since Lyra’s a phenomenal photographer. We’re more than lucky to have her on board, and it’s good for Lyra because I think she missed being around family.”

“So it’s a win-win all around.”

“I think you know that,” Sean suggested.

“Just spit it out, man,” Dion said.

“Okay, since you want me to spell it out,” Sean said with a frown. “Mom says she’s talking about getting married later in the year, to that internet company guy.”

“I know. His name’s Mark.”

“He’s the one she left to go to L.A. with.”

Dion nodded. “The one and only.”

“And now they’re back and getting married.”

“You’re wasting time going over facts we already know.”

“Then how about we talk about the one we both keep skirting around?”

“And what’s that?”

“You don’t like Mark whatever his name is. You don’t want Lyra to marry him.”

Dion sighed. “Sean. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t say what you’re thinking. Who the hell is this guy and what are his real intentions toward Lyra?”

“They’ve been together for years. She knows what she’s doing.”

“Really? You think so? Because from what I saw of her last night, she looks like she’s undecided.”

Now that had Dion’s attention. “I didn’t see that.”

“Because you were too busy trying to ignore her, which I don’t really understand at the moment. Each time Mom asked her about the plans for the wedding she clammed up. When Regan asked her when they were going shopping for dresses, she changed the subject. What woman do you know isn’t ecstatic about planning their wedding and ready to talk about the preparations until they’re blue in the face?”

Sean had a point. One that Dion hadn’t considered because he didn’t want to hear about Lyra’s wedding plans any more than Lyra wanted to talk about them. He’d never liked Stanford, the internet guy, and disliked him even more for taking Lyra away and convincing her to marry him. But that was his issue, not Sean’s.

“Look, Lyra’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”

“What if she’s not seeing things clearly? You know how women can be. Don’t you think, as her brothers, we at least owe it to her to check things out, make sure she’s making the right decision?”

No. Oh, God, no. Because if Dion found out Stanford didn’t have Lyra’s best interests at heart, he’d kill that bastard. He only needed one more excuse to beat that pompous wannabe to a pulp.

“I don’t want to interfere. Besides, Lyra’s got bigger problems than that.”

“Like what?”

“Paula’s back.”

Sean pinched the bridge of his nose, something he often did when he was stressed. “God, why can’t that woman just disappear? Haven’t we given her enough money to do that?”

“You know money for people like her is another kind of drug. Every time she gets a little she needs more. I told Lyra to stop enabling her.”

“And what’d she say?”

“She told me it’s her mother, just like she always does.”

“It’s a pity she’s still holding on to that tiny shred of hope. So you don’t want to do anything about Mark and we’re supposed to sit back and let her mother hold her hostage for money day in and day out. Is that your plan?”

Dion thought about it a minute. There was a limit to what he wanted to tell Sean, because the last thing he wanted was to involve his brother. But he’d considered what his brother had said, and had thought about nothing else all morning.

“I’ll deal with Paula.”

“And Mark?”

“I have a feeling he’s going to trip up sooner or later. Lyra may be foolish for falling into her mother’s trap, but she’s not a fool when it comes to men. She knows what she wants and what she doesn’t. She’ll make the right decision when the time comes.”

Dion hoped like hell his words were true, because he didn’t know if he could stop himself from standing up and objecting when the preacher said, “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

There was a knock at his door and they both acknowledged the meeting was about to begin. Sean cleared his throat and straightened his tie.

“I’ll follow your lead on this, but know that I’m still worried about her,” he said.

Dion tried to disregard his brother’s concerns. “You worry about everything, man. Chill out a little. It’ll do you some good.” It would do them both some good, because if Sean was worried then that was not a good thing.

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