Read Queen of His Heart Online
Authors: Adrianne Byrd
Queen of His Heart
NATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR
QUEEN OF HIS HEART
To Eliot
My Rock
To my family and friends, thanks for all the support and love that you've given me. To my editor, Evette Porter, thanks for loving my stories. To my wonderful fans and readers, thank you for allowing me to do what I do. It's always a pleasure to entertain you.
I wish you all the best of love,
Adrianne
“A
ll a single girl needs to be happy is a strong vibrator and a lifetime supply of Energizer batteries.”
Keenan lurched forward and nearly spit out his drink as the voices of a group of women at another table floated over a wall of fake foliage at Las Brisas restaurant in downtown Los Angeles.
“Girl, you ain't never lied.” Another woman chimed in. “The last time I had a man do right by me, I was wearing a training bra.”
A chorus of giggles followed while Keenan dabbed water from the front of his shirt. Normally he didn't make a habit of eavesdropping, but as it was he'd been anxiously waiting for his afternoon appointment for more than forty-five minutes, and the women's conversation had him cracking up.
“I don't know, girls,” the one with the sexiest voice spoke up. “I'm not ready to give up on men just yet. Despite all the drama they've put me through I still want that pie in the sky. The ring, the house, the childrenâ”
“The heartbreak, the drama, the divorce, the custody battle,” another woman cut in. “Jalila, your problem is that you don't recognize the world has changed. There's no more Mr. Rights out there. There's only Mr. Right-Now.”
“And your problem, Martina, is that you keep choosing to listen to your body and not your heart.”
“You damn right. I'm all about the pleasure and satisfaction. Wham-bam, thank you, sir. And if he's real good, I'll leave him a tip on the nightstand.”
“You're incorrigible,” the voice he recognized as Jalila's chided.
“Whatever. Deep down you girls know I'm right,” Martina continued. “Especially you, Jalila. All that pining away you do on the Internet. You just need to face facts. Men ain't no good. Particularly in
this
town. You either use or get used.”
“Jalila, don't pay this chick any attention. She ain't right. I'm happily married and I want the same for you, girl.”
“Thank you, Fantasia,” Jalila said. “I need all the positive vibes I can get.”
“Oh, that's right,” Fantasia continued. “You have a date tonight.”
“With who?” Martina demanded.
“With Richard,” Jalila claimed. “Remember, I told you about him Monday?”
“RichâYou mean that guy that picked you up at the gas station? Ha!”
Keenan smiled as Martina's laugh echoed off the walls like a starter pistol.
“Girl,
that's
your problem. You just can't say no. You let all these geeks and freaks pick you up whenever wherever. It don't make no sense.”
“There's nothing wrong with meeting a man at a gas station. Besides he was really sweet,” Jalila reasoned. “At least I know he has a carâunlike Keith. I had to drive over fifty miles
one way
to pick him up for our dates, and then he'd always either lost or forgotten his wallet. Then, to top it all off, he insisted on calling me Kulula.”
“Humph. That tells me he's used to dating strippers with liquor names like Alize, Dom, Moët and Cristal,” Martina sassed. “You should have just installed a stripper pole and made you a few dollars on the side.”
Keenan noticed that Jalila's laugh was different from the other women's. It was light, lyrical and contagious. So much so that Keenan turned and tried to take a peek at her through the fake plants.
“It wasn't
that
funny,” Martina said when Jalila's laughter continued.
“Well, Keithâ¦uhmâ¦
did
have a stripper pole in the middle of
his
living room.”
The table erupted with loud shrieks and laughter. Other diners looked around but the women were too deep into their conversation to notice.
“Did you give the pole the old college try?” Fantasia inquired.
There was a long pause and then, “Just once.”
More shrieks and laughter.
“And I almost broke my damn neck,” Jalila added.
Keenan spotted a sizable hole with a view through to the other side, and his gaze immediately landed on a face that was so poetically beautiful that for a few seconds he found it hard to believe that he wasn't dreaming. Big doe-brown eyes, flawless skin and a smile so breathtakingly beautiful that he instantly reached for his business card. Surely, being in this town, the beauty was either a model or an actress.
“I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting,” a low steely baritone said.
Keenan jerked around as if he'd just been caught with his hand inside the cookie jar. When he recognized his afternoon appointment, he relaxed and forced a smile. “Steven.” He stood up and hovered above the other man's six-foot-one frame. “I'm glad that you could meet me this afternoon.”
“Not a problem. It was great being able to get away from the studio for a little while. I hope that I didn't keep you waiting long.”
“Not at all.” They shook hands just as the table behind them erupted with laughter again. Keenan glanced over his shoulder, longing for another look at the beauty.
“Sounds like they're having a great time,” Steven commented, taking his seat.
“Looks that way.” Keenan sat back down and signaled for his waiter. “So what's the verdict from the focus group? Is
The Royals
going to make the fall lineup?”
Before Steven could answer, the giggling women rounded the corner, adjusting their purse straps and huddling together as they headed out of the restaurant.
Keenan's eyes found Jalila just as she glanced in his direction. Her gaze raked over him and a soft smile touched her lips. While she and her friends walked past his table, he was vaguely aware that Steven was prattling on about the television pilot his company, A.M. Production, had produced, but damn if he could force himself to listen. Despite the fact that it had taken him weeks to nail down this luncheon, and that he'd had to wait over an hour for Steven to show up, all he could think about right now was stopping this gorgeous woman from walking out the door and never seeing her again.
His gaze followed the curvy beauty. He guessed her height to be about five foot ten. Her thick hips and plump backside were usually seen only on red-beans-and-rice sistahs from the Deep South and were, quite frankly, hypnotizing.
“Keenan.” Steven snapped his fingers and cut into Keenan's thoughts.
“What?” He jerked his head back toward Steven and blinked.
“I was telling you about how I don't think
The Royals
is a good fit for the network at this moment.”
“Great!” He slapped Steven on the back. “Can you excuse me for a minute?”
“I, uhâ”
“I'll be right back.” Keenan launched from his chair and performed a sort of walk-run out of the restaurant.
Hurry. Hurry. His heart pounded wildly in his chest and his stomach looped into knots. When he rushed past the hostess stand and out the front door, he made it just in time to see Jalila pull out of a parking spot in a champagne-colored Mercedes.
“Hey! Hold up!” He raced over, risking being run over.
Jalila frowned and rolled down her window. “May I help you?”
“YesâUhmâ¦hey. How are you?”
Her brows stretched up. “Fine.”
“Uhm. I know this may sound strange but, uhmâ¦are you a model or an actress?”
She rolled her eyes at what was clearly one of the most clichéd lines in this town. “Are you for real?”
“Look. I'm a producer.” He pulled out his business card and passed it to her. “I have plenty of connections in this town and I'd love to work with you.”
Jalila reluctantly took the card so she could be on her way. “Thanks. I'll keep it in mind,” she lied and pressed the power-window button.
“Wait. I'm seriousâ”
She hit the accelerator and sped off.
Keenan jumped back in time to avoid injury. “Damn.”
Â
Jalila shook her head. If she had a dime for every time she'd heard that line, she'd be rich. She glanced in her rearview mirror and stole another look at Mr. Producer. Too bad, she thought. This guy was really good-looking. He was extremely tall, physically fit, and he was wearing the hell out of that suit.
A horn blared and Jalila slammed on her brakes before plowing into Martina's convertible at the parking lot's entrance. She placed a hand over her heart and drew in a deep breath. “Damn. Pay attention, girl.”
“I
had a nice time,” Jalila Goodwyn whispered, smiling.
Richard, the latest Friday-night adventure, stepped up onto the low-lit porch. He slid his arms around her waist and then splayed his hands over the high end of her curvy butt. “How about you invite me in for a little nightcap?” he asked, flashing his blindingly white teeth.
Jalila closed her eyes, mainly because his halitosis, mixed with her date's overindulgence in garlic this evening, was practically singeing her nose hairs. Too bad, because the guy wasn't
that
bad-looking. He was a little over six feet tall with a peanut-butter-brown complexion, but he was also proof positive that if you have a little head fat you can't pull off the whole black-Kojak look.
Still, bad breath and head fat aside, Jalila's body responded to Richard's touch because of one overriding and important factor: she hadn't had sex in two years.
Two years
.
Twenty-four months
.
Seven hundred and thirty days
.
“What do you say?” Richard asked, pulling her close so she could feel his arousal. All three inches of itâbut it would have to do in a pinch.
What the hell, she could give him some Listerine and turn out the lights, right? Standards be damned. Her body was hypersensitive and starved for sex. A deadly combination when wading through L.A.'s shallow dating pool. Her body didn't care that Richard didn't have a
good
job, that he was a music manager without any clients or even that he didn't have his own place. At forty-two, he still lived at home with his parents. He blamed the bad economy. Jalila suspected it was his lack of ambition. But hell, she didn't have to tell anyone about tonight. Right? Even if her best friend Martina pressed her for details, she could lie. Why couldn't she, for once, be one of those women who just did a wham, bam, thank you, sir and then kick him to the curb?
“One drink,” she said and then whipped out her house keys. Her libido practically gave her a high five and then performed a victory dance while she fumbled with the front-door lock.
Just get him upstairs and turn out all the lights
. Maybe if she was lucky she could convince herself that she was making love to Idris Elba.
Whoo. Now
that's a fine brotha I wouldn't mind knocking dents into the headboard with
.
She slipped her key into the lock and because it tended to stick, she gave the door a good shove and nearly tripped over her own feet.
“Easy now. Easy.” Richard's hot breath seemed to curl the tiny hairs at the back of Jalila's neck. “There's no rush. We've got all night.”
Pleeze. You have thirty minutes tops before I shove you back out of the door and pretend that the whole date never happened.
“I sure hope that you got plenty of baby oil, girl,” Richard hummed into her ear. “I wanna show you how I play slip and slide.”
Jalila's plastic smile dropped and her hyperescalated libido took a major hit over that crude remark.
“When I finish rocking you with this ten-inch pole, you'll be screaming my name, ma.”
10 inches?
Had she misjudged? Her smile returned.
Woof! Woof!
Richard jumped. His hands shot straight up into the air.
Woof! Woof! Grrr!
Jalila rolled her eyes. “Cujo, it's all right. He's with me.”
Her usually friendly two-hundred-pound Great Dane Cujo's growl deepened. He hunched down low and even flashed Richard his pearly-white canine teeth.
“Whoo. Damn, girl. What are you doing with such a big dog?”
“Oh, he's not
that
big.” Jalila grabbed Cujo by the
collar and attempted to pull him away. Cujo refused to budge and continued to growl.
Richard's hands remained in the air while a look of pure terror covered his face. “I don't think she likes me.”
“She is a he.” Jalila tugged again. “Come on, boy. Let's go out in the yard.”
Richard dropped his hands.
Cujo barked and moved forward, pulling Jalila a few feet with him.
Richard's hands shot back up as he fell back against the door.
“Cujo!” Jalila offered Richard an apologetic smile. “I'm so sorry about this.” She pulled the dog again, this time successfully getting him to come along.
“Sure. Sure. No problem.” This time, Richard slowly lowered his hands and then expelled a breath when it looked as if he was actually going to survive this encounter.
Jalila rushed Cujo toward the back door. “I'm not going to let you ruin this for me,” she hissed. “I'm getting laid tonight and that's that!”
Cujo barked, and she could've sworn that he was calling her crazy.
“You don't get a say in this,” she told the dog, opening the back door and ushering him out. After shutting the door, she turned around and forced herself to relax. After working seventy-hour weeks for the past two years to get her spa and cosmetic line up and running, she deserved this one, didn't she? She just hoped that this joker was at least half as good as he claimed. Even as she hoped, doubt crept up her spine.
Richard strolled into the living room. “Is the coast clear?”
“Yeah.” She chuckled. “Sorry about that.” She removed her sweater and tried to steal a sneak peek at the man's inseam. There was nothing that even hinted at ten inchesâor five for that matter. Was it too late to fake a headache and give him the heave-ho?
“Ah, checking out the goods,” Richard snickered, catching Jalila in the act.
Jalila rolled her eyes. How did her life come down to this? She was supposed to be married by now, with a house filled with children and an adoring husband who made her breakfast in bed every Mother's Day. She had made such meticulous plans ever since Santa had brought her a Barbie Dream house when she was eight years old. Living happily ever after wasn't just the last line in some fairy tale for Jalila. She saw true love every day by watching her parents. Their constant kissing and touching and laughing was an inspiration to all her childhood friends.
She couldn't wait to find her own Prince Charming. Once, back in junior high, she'd thought she'd found him. Jeffrey Becker. Hands-down the flyest boy in school. Every girl bent over backward to get his attention. Some slipped notes in his books and in his locker, others baked brownies and tried to pass off Rice Krispies treats as generations-old family recipes.
But it was Jalila who had caught Jeffrey's eye and had kept it all through junior high and high school. The trouble had come when Jeffrey was accepted at NYU while she had elected to attend UCLA. It had been a
bittersweet separation. The young couple had vowed they would alternate visits on holidays and spring and summer breaks. Jalila's plan was for them to get their degrees and then walk down the aisle six months later for a beautiful Christmas wedding.
Jalila hadn't counted on someone else catching Jeffrey's eye.
And she certainly hadn't considered the possibility of that other person being another man.
Not until she received
that
devastating news did Jeffrey's insistence on waiting until they were married to make love make sense. Before that, she'd chalked it up to Jeffrey being a true gentleman. He respected her. He adored her.
Nope. He was gay. His tear-filled confession included detailing how he'd used their relationship to ward off any suspicions about his sexuality.
Ouch.
So there went all Jalila's plans. When she was unceremoniously dumped back into the dating pool, Jalila discovered that she was ill-equipped to navigate through the seemingly endless line of misogynists, momma's boys and downright losers. And now that she'd just passed her thirtieth birthday, she was no better off or closer to landing a husband than when she'd first started.
“Now, what does a brotha have to do to get that drank, gurl?” Richard asked, pulling Jalila back to the here and now. His long arms returned to encircle her waist.
It didn't go past Jalila's notice that as the night wore
on, Richard's country roots were showing. He was twanging left, right and center now.
“Maybe we can even put on a little Teddy P.” He chuckled and started singing. “Turn off the lightsâ¦and light a candle.”
Jalila rolled her eyes. The brotha couldn't even sing.
“How about a couple of mojitos?” she offered, peeling herself out of his arms. At least there were mint leaves in those.
“Sounds good to me,” Richard said, swatting her on the butt.
Jalila jumped, but clamped her teeth together as she waltzed over to the bar.
“Damn, gurl,” Richard said, glancing around. “This all you?”
“It's all me.” She boasted. She loved her Mediterranean villa with its sweeping canyon view. It was spacious and elegant and dotted with colorful paintings by her favorite artists.
“What do you do again?” He pivoted around on the hardwood floor.
Figures. He didn't hear a word I said all night.
She drew in a deep breath. She really needed that drink now. “I own and operate a day spa off Rodeo.”
“How much you pulling down to afford something like this?”
What the hell?
“Oh, I do all right.”
“Sheeeit,” he continued, touching the leather couch and picking up expensive knickknacks around the room. “I know this place gotta be costing you a pretty penny in this town.” He glanced back at her. “Where
do I submit my application for a sugar momma?” Clearly, he was trying to pass the comment off as a joke, but there was an unmistakable glint of seriousness in his eyes.
She chuckled but didn't find the question the least bit funny. A few minutes later, she handed him his drink.
“Thanks, baby,” he said, accepting the glass with a wink.
Jalila gulped down her liquid courage and then returned to the bar for a second round. This time she doubled up on the rum.
“Where's your bathroom?” Richard asked, setting his own empty glass down and removing his jacket.
“You'll have to use the one upstairs,” Jalila informed him as she moved toward the stereo. “The one downstairs is being renovated. Once you get to the top floor, just go straight down the hallway. It's the last door on your right.”
“Be right back.” He winked.
“I can hardly wait.” She plastered on a fake smile. Jalila watched as he jogged up the stairs and once he was out of sight, she picked up the rum bottle and took a couple of chugs straight. “Idris Elba. Idris Elba,” she chanted, but her usually active imagination was having a hard time fitting the handsome actor's face onto Richard's shoulders.
Instead of selecting Teddy Pendergrass as Richard had suggested, Jalila had to go with her magic man, Maxwell. If his
Urban Hang Suite
couldn't close this deal, then she would just need to hang it up. The bass line of the opening track instantly put a smile on her
face. At the same time, the rum started to hum oh so nicely through her veins. She was definitely back in action.
But by the time the intro to the third song poured through the speakers, she wondered what was taking Richard so long. On the fourth song, she got up from the couch and decided to go upstairs to check on him. The bathroom door was open, but Richard was nowhere to be seen.
Jalila frowned. What did the guy doâjump out of the window?
Thump
.
She turned. The sound was coming out of her bedroom. Stealthily, Jalila followed the sound. Her heart hammered inside her chest. Seriously, how well did she know this guy? What if she caught him trying to steal her blind? What was she going to doâwave a finger at him? Maybe she should go for backup?
But of all the scenarios that played in Jalila's head, she was totally unprepared to find Richard's grown butt sitting in the center of her walk-in closet, taking long, deep sniffs of her beloved Prada shoes.
“What in the hell?”
Richard's head snapped up. Guilt changed his face from dark brown to damn near cranberry-red. “I, uhâ”
She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing.
He tried again. “I was just, uhâ”
“Out,” she thundered, pointing in the direction he needed to take.
“Whoa, hold up.” He jumped to his feet. “I know this looks bad.”
“You're sniffing my shoes!”
“Okay.” He shrugged. “So a brotha got a little thing for women's feet. And c'mon. You've been teasing me all night in those pretty scandals with your red-tip toes peeking out.”
Jalila looked down at her neatly pedicured feet.
“Woman, the things I want to do to those toes,” he said, practically salivating.