lights in his house went out.
Oh, shit, Darius thought. Holding his breath, he prayed for the best and prepared for the worst.
CHAPTER 3
Ashlee
Rocking little Darius in her arms, Ashlee kissed his lips, then laid him across the back car seat. The royal-blue baby blanket covered his lower body. Folding a pair of sweatpants into a makeshift pillow, Ashlee slightly propped his head, then fingered his thick curly hair. Six months had passed since the day she’d given birth. The same day he’d first and last seen his father. That would change when Darius got home.
Ashlee sang, “You light up my life, you give me strength to carry on…hum, hum, hum, hum…” until little Darius’s round hazel eyes became heavy, heavier, then gently closed. Their son was the new love of her life. His golden-tanned complexion was a perfect blend of her pale and Darius’s melt-in-her-mouth caramel-sugary skin. The shape and color of their son’s eyes were an exact replica of Darius’s mom’s.
“Wait here, my precious baby,” Ashlee said, rubbing his hand.
“Mommy’ll be back soon. This time with Daddy.”
Leaving the black rental SUV in Darius’s circular driveway, Ashlee grabbed her purse, quietly closing the car door. “Oh no.” Reopening the door, she lowered the window a half inch, then reclosed the door.
A few steps toward the front entrance, Ashlee yelled, “Ooohh,” then covered her mouth while shielding her eyes. Blinding lights beamed across the lawn. Kneeling on the GO AWAY mat, she rummaged inside her purse.
“Okay, wallet, credit card holder, lipstick. Shit!” The teeth of her comb lodged underneath her fingernail. Ashlee sucked her middle finger, then pulled out her keys.
“Please let this work.” Boldly she shoved the silver metal ridges into the lock, twisting to the right.
Click.
“Yes!” Entering Darius’s home through the front door, Ashlee stood in the foyer. An enormous topless painting of Fancy hung on the wall above. “Uuhhh. How disgusting!” Critiquing the image, Ashlee thought Fancy was as beautiful as the day she recalled meeting her for the first time at a fund-raiser Darius had taken Ashlee to. And while Ashlee would love to say the painting was airbrushed, she knew it wasn’t. A woman that gorgeous, another woman never forgot.
Long breezy hair fluttered side to side with each sensuous sway of her shoulders. Immaculate glowing skin. Peachy, perky, gravity-defying breasts that stood alone separated by nature. Sexy engaging brown eyes with hypnotic lashes batting like she was taking snapshots of Darius. Darius had pretended not to notice Fancy’s perfect size 7. Now he claimed she was carrying his baby. Fancy was probably the reason Darius had dropped Ashlee off in such a hurry, then left that night to return to the fund-raiser after-party.
Was that seventy-five-thousand-dollar check Darius donated and Ashlee had placed in Fancy’s cotton-soft meticulously manicured hand for Fancy? Or Byron’s philanthropic organization?
A man could easily pass another woman off as a friend or pretend she was a stranger, all along knowing he’d fucked her before, sometimes the night before. Ashlee had been that woman once when Darius had introduced her to Ciara. Had Darius fucked Fancy while Ashlee was living with him? What difference did that make now? Fancy had everything, including Darius.
More curious about Fancy than Darius, Ashlee roamed about Darius’s home in search of what she didn’t know. Anxiety, fear, and trepidation tripled-attacked her as she impatiently awaited his arrival. What would she say? How would she react if Darius was more concerned about Fancy’s feelings? Ashlee was already on the edge, and any form of rejection would push her into insanity.
“Why can’t I turn off the radio?” rang from her cell phone, indicating that Darius was calling. Hastily she answered, “Hey, how are you?”
Reclining on Darius’s plush golden suede sofa, Ashlee entertained his pathetic attempt to control her again. Not this time. Terminating their conversation, she said, “I’ll see you when you get home. Bye, baby,” then ended the call.
She rose angrily from the couch, and then the beaded train on Ashlee’s wedding gown traced her footsteps throughout the house. Cautiously entering Darius’s weight room, Ashlee froze in front of the ceiling-to-floor mirror. Tension wrapped her chest and shoulders in an invisible harness. Disappointed, she scolded herself, “I shoulda made a beautiful bride. Coulda been the perfect wife. Woulda become a fantastic mother.”
Mother, mother, mother, echoed in her mind. Fancy was carrying Darius’s baby. Was it a girl? A boy?
Gripping the cold iron bar propped parallel above her head, Ashlee reflected on the first time—over a year ago—when Darius screwed her in the same room she now stood in feeling dejected. Tears flowed over her cinnamon lipstick into the crevices of her mouth.
That evening, a while back, Ashlee had entered his workout room. “Darius, Ciara is on the phone. She said it’s important that she speaks with you right now.” Ashlee handed Darius the cordless.
Darius coldheartedly answered, “I’m busy. Let me call you back,” then tossed the phone to the floor.
When Ciara called back, Darius said to Ashlee, “Don’t answer that. I’ll call her when I’m done. Come here. Let me teach you how to work on your upper body.”
“No, thanks. I have to get dressed. Maybe next time,” Ashlee said, rejecting Darius’s offer.
“It’ll only take a minute. Hold on. Grab each side.”
With the bar suspended above her head, Ashlee did as Darius had instructed.
Unexpectedly Darius cupped her breasts. Brushing her hair aside, he pressed his lips gently against the nape of her neck. Then he whispered ever so seductively, “I want to make love to you, Ashlee.”
How could she deny him? Darius was every woman’s dream came true.
She remained silent. Her fingers loosened, but not wanting to sever his touch, she didn’t release the bar. Her hips curved backward into Darius’s thighs as Darius pressed his long hard dick into her spine.
“You won’t regret it,” Darius whispered. “I promise.”
Lowering the spaghetti straps on her silk nightgown, exposing her breasts, Darius teased her pink nipples, then passionately made love to her from behind on the weight bench. Straddling his muscular thighs outside hers, Darius massaged her clit with his long fingers. The head of his dick navigated through her pussy as if he’d been there before. But he hadn’t. He poked, then stroked, her deep, inside and out, until she came at his command. “Aw, damn. I’m cumming Ashlee. Cum with me.” She had cum and somewhere along their blissful journey Darius detoured leaving her for another woman.
Staring in the mirror at her tattered image—dressed in all white—Ashlee knew if Darius had showed up at his wedding, he wouldn’t have married Fancy. Ashlee had prepared her “if anyone knows why this man and woman should not be joined in holy matrimony let him speak now” speech. But no, Darius ruined her presentation. His limo never arrived.
Taking a brief intermission from the video replaying in her head, setting her purse on the floor, and picking up a twenty-pound dumbbell, Ashlee stepped back from the mirror, once, twice, three times, then resumed her thoughts. “I do,” she would’ve said, entering through the church doors, posing in the back aisle with a veil hiding her face.
Every guest would’ve turned. Stared. And in unison would’ve said, “Aahhh.” Then the mumbling would’ve started. At a snail’s pace, she would’ve commanded their attention as she stepped, then paused. Stepped, then paused again all the way down that aisle, the aisle she should’ve graced instead of Fancy. Standing face-to-face with Darius, Ashlee would’ve politely uncovered her face and said, “This man is already married.”
He was. To Ciara Monroe-Jones. Darius had married Ciara before changing