Desire a Donovan. A.C. Arthur

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.

      Chapter 5

      Lyra preferred digital to manually operated cameras. A lot of photographers did nowadays. She didn’t miss the sound of the 35mm, but her heart almost always skipped a beat with the nearly inaudible click of her Nikon D3S. It was one of her favorites because of its expanded buffer and its continuous high-speed frame capability.

      That’s exactly what she needed today to capture the moody and eccentric sultry neo-soul singer Vina Vanell. Vina moved at her own pace in her own little world, no matter how many directions Lyra gave her. Between her stylists and makeup artists and whoever else was in her entourage, she occasionally offered a look or a gesture that was worth snapping.

      Vina Vanell had risen to the top of the charts with her soulful debut release a year ago. Now her photo was on every tabloid front page and her songs were remixed by practically every deejay. Her love life had also taken off on the gossip pages when she left her no name manager and begin a tumultuous affair with the marijuana-smoking, DUI-plagued, newest rapper on the hip hop scene—Jride. To say they were the perfect couple was comical. Vina was twelve years older than Jride, and her music appealed to slightly older fans of R&B, in sharp contrast to Jride’s thuggish crowd.

      But none of that was Lyra’s concern. All she needed to do was get the perfect shots to go with the story.

      “Something by the window would be nice,” she heard herself say, but didn’t hold out hope that it would happen.

      Vina wore a white bodysuit with leopard print thigh-high boots that gave a significant boost to her five-foot-six stature so that she stood almost six feet tall. The long, glossy flowing mane of blond hair cascaded down her back as her lavishly jeweled eyelashes winked at every turn. She looked like a circus act that was just barely tame. Her boyfriend, Jride, hovered in the corner with a cell phone in one ear and a diamond stud as big as Lyra’s eyeball in the other. She had to refrain from rolling her eyes at the wasteful and ostentatious display of money. Her job was to take pictures, not pass judgment.

      “Okay,” she said finally. “I think I have what I need.” And if she didn’t, there was always Photoshop.

      “Ms. Vanell wants to do a wardrobe change,” the skinny little assistant with two cell phones in her hand and the too-tight fake ponytail said without even looking at Lyra.

      “Not today. I have what I need.”

      “She wants to see the photos before they run,” she added.

      “I’ll make sure that happens,” Lyra quipped. When hell freezes over, she thought.

      Packing up her stuff, she was happier than she’d been in the past few weeks as she left the studio, stepped into the elevator and was heading as far away from Vina Vanell and her entourage as she could get. Her cell phone rang the minute she’d stepped off the elevator facing the fading light of late afternoon.

      “Lyra Anderson,” she answered.

      “Hello, Lyra Anderson. This is Dion Donovan calling to see if you’re hungry.”

      She couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I’m hungry. I just finished the most grueling shoot you could imagine.”

      “What? You mean with Vina Vanell? She’s a doll.”

      “If you’re a six-feet-plus-tall man with eyes only for her, I guess she might be. For me, she was a pain in the ass.”

      Dion laughed. Lyra did, too, as she walked to her car. It felt good.

      “So how about some barbecue from Shorty’s?”

      “Now you know I’m not about to turn that down. I can be there in about forty minutes.”

      “Cool. I’m just leaving the office, so it’ll take me about that long to get there, too. Drive carefully,” he said before hanging up.

      “Yes, Dad,” Lyra said with a smirk before opening her trunk and putting her equipment inside. No matter how old she was Dion would always treat her like his little sister. Even after their kiss ten years ago, the kiss that still haunted Lyra’s dreams.