A man she loved beyond reason.
A baby girl she already planned on buying a shotgun to threaten horny boys with.
A family of love instead of blood.
She smoothed her thumbs over his cheekbones, caressed his beautiful mouth that could curse worse than a sailor, utter the loveliest words, and give her the sweetest pleasure.
"It's too late?" she whispered.
"Like four months too late."
"Good."
"You're stuck with me."
She kissed him, long, tender, deep.
"Good."
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Acknowledgments
At the risk of sounding as though I'm accepting a Grammy (I promise no foam fingers, gold-toothed posse, or flashing girly bits), thank You, God, for blessing me with Your creative spirit every morning I sit down to write. I couldn't do this without you. More importantly, I don't want to do it without you.
To Gary, for enduring my endless texts and calls with baseball and pregnancy questions. And for just being you. That long walk down the aisle to "Here and Now" was the best road trip ever!
To Debra Glass and Jessica Lee. You two are my creative rocks. You ground me, support me, and knock me in the head every so often. Love you both so much!
To Sergeant Stephen Wyatt for all of the invaluable information about police procedure.
To Daddy-thank you for helping me to be a bigger person.
To Katie Reus for an awesome book cover quote, your friendship and selflessness. You now-and will forevermore-rock!
To Tracy Montoya, my editor extraordinaire. I know you're reading this going, "You don't have to mention me in every book." But umm … yeah, I do. For me not to mention you would be like Hall not thanking Oates. Like Bono not thanking U2. Like Frodo not thanking Sam. I can go on and on … You push and challenge me to do better-to be better. And I thank you for it. And I thank you for always believing in me as a person and writer. Tissue, please …
About the Author
Naima Simone's love of romance was first stirred by Johanna Lindsey, Sandra Brown and Linda Howard many years ago. Well not that many. She is only eighteen … ish. Though her first attempt at a romance novel starring Ralph Tresvant from New Edition never saw the light of day, her love of romance, reading and writing has endured. Published since 2009, she spends her days-and nights- creating stories of unique men and women who experience the first bites of desire, the dizzying heights of passion, and the tender, healing heat of love.
She is wife to Superman, or his non-Kryptonian, less bullet proof equivalent, and mother to the most awesome kids ever. They all live in perfect, sometimes domestically-challenged bliss in the southern United States.
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Other books by NAIMA SIMONE …
Secrets and Sins series:
Secrets and Sins: Gabriel
Secrets and Sins: Malachim
Secrets and Sins: Raphael
Secrets and Sins: Chayot (Coming July 2014)
Watch for the final book in the "Secrets and Sins" series
Secrets and Sins: Chayot
Coming July 2014 from Naima Simone
Chapter One
Jesus. Aslyn crossed her arms and briskly scrubbed her chilled skin. A Peeping Tom. At her window. Watching her without her knowledge. She hadn't seen the little bastard, but her neighbor had spotted him at the side of her house before he'd hauled ass across her backyard. Now the police were in her living room, questioning both her neighbor and her about the incident.
Her stomach dived for her feet before reversing its course and screaming toward her throat. She battled the fear back down until it was a small knot in her belly instead of the suffocating fist in her windpipe.
Get a grip. She peeked out the dark window as if she could spot and catch the pervy son of a bitch. Odds were the person peeking in her house had been some pimply faced, oversexed teenager bored with his video games and hoping to glimpse real-time tits and ass. Or even a dirty old man with an open trench coat and his penis in his hand. The peeper could've been anyone … anyone but another Quinton Lakes. A shudder rippled through her at just the thought of the lunatic who'd broken into her dressing room, killed her assistant, and attacked Aslyn six months ago. Terror and revulsion crawled across her skin. She stopped breathing. Because if she inhaled, she could still smell the oily pomade in his hair. Could choke on the overwhelming lemon verbena odor of his cologne. Could gag on the cold, wet glide of his lips down her face …
No. She jerked, inhaled a sharp breath. The loud, angry retort reverberated in her head, snapping her back to the here and now. No. Stop borrowing trouble. How could she ever expect to heal, to reclaim the independent, fearless life she once led if she kept imagining bogeymen where there weren't any?
Besides, what were the chances she would have another obsessed-crazed-fan? She was a concert pianist for God's sake, not Madonna.
She turned away from the window, arms still wrapped around her torso. As if the cold assaulting her originated from the central air instead of from inside her. Not that the scene currently playing out in her living room inspired any warmth. Two uniformed officers with their notepads out, their shoulder walkie-talkies occasionally squawking as they conferred with her next-door neighbor. The same next-door neighbor who'd appeared on her doorstep quietly ordering her to call 911 because he'd witnessed someone sneaking around outside her house.
Chayot Grey.
Shay-oht. Unusual. Unique. As unusual and unique as the man. A slow, sinuous heat wound through her body, chasing away the chill that had taken up residence in her bones. The curious melting softened and evaporated the metallic bite of old memories and fears. Lord, he stole her breath away. Like he should be handcuffed, read his Miranda rights, and carted away for pilfering the air from her lungs.
He was huge. Not cauliflower-ears-and-steroids huge, but tall. Basketball player tall with wide shoulders, slim hips, and long, muscled legs that his lightweight summer sweater and dark-blue jeans emphasized. But it wasn't his height or muscled frame that'd had her gaping up at him like a demented Kewpie doll when she'd first opened her front door. Nope. That honor rested solely with his face. She blinked, as if even now she couldn't accept what her twenty-twenty vision perceived. She'd traveled the world, seen her fair share of good-looking men. Hell, she'd dated one for nearly two years. But Chayot Grey-with his jaw-length gold-and-brown waves, beautiful hazel eyes, and full, sensual lips-made her cheating, I-hope-you-get-warts-on-your-dick-and-it-falls-off ex-boyfriend look as though he should slap on a mask and stalk an opera house.
As if sensing her study of him, Chayot lifted his head, his steady gaze meeting hers.
Holy freaking God, the man is gorgeous.
Chay's stoic expression never changed, but surprise flashed in his eyes. Low snickers punctuated the room, and her eyes widened.
"Oh, shit. Did I just say that out loud?"
More chuckling. Chayot slowly dipped his chin.
She cringed. Flames scorched her neck and cheeks. Jesus H. Christ, they must all think I'm a bubbleheaded idiot. They were in her home responding to a peeper call, and she was ogling the witness. Where was that floor-opening-up-and-swallowing-you-whole wand when you needed it?
Flipping their pads shut, the officers thanked her neighbor for his cooperation, then approached her.
"Ms. Jericho," the younger of the cops said. "We'll put out a BOLO with the description of the man Mr. Grey gave us. Also, we'll have officers on patrol drive by your house, keep an eye out for suspicious activity. If you hear or see anything, please don't hesitate to contact us."
She nodded. "I will. Thank you so much for your help."
Both officers nodded before leaving. She stared at the closed door for a long moment, avoiding the man standing silently in her living room. Swallowing a sigh, she gathered her courage-and pride-and faced Chayot, a strained smile and apology on her lips.
"Listen, I'm sorry about"-she twirled her fingers-"that. Believe me, I've been told I have no filter. I didn't mean to embarrass you."
Those steady light eyes didn't waver. They didn't soften or flirt. If a woman had humiliated herself by blurting out how beautiful he was, her ex, Lorenzo Argiolas, would've been preening, his dark eyes smoldering with sensual invitation by now. But not Chayot. He just continued to stare at her, his shuttered gaze and unsmiling mouth revealing none of his thoughts.