Yvonne Mitchelson owns a small string of lingerie boutiques. Lately her designs have been lackluster but her partners have the answer: there’s nothing like a love affair to spark creativity. However, past scars have left Yvonne afraid to love or feel.
Michael Benjamin is the epitome of American male: white, affluent, and handsome. He has his own scars given to him by his late wife. He is now one of Atlanta’s most-eligible bachelors and determined to stay that way. Until he meets Yvonne.
Their first night of passion leaves them both shaken. Unable to go back o business as usual, they agree to have a relationship with no commitment required. Love, however, has a way of changing even the best-laid plans.
Excerpt
Michael Benjamin didn’t see the slap coming, but he sure saw the stars afterwards. He touched his cheek gingerly, golden eyes glinting with genuine regret. “I’m sorry, Diedre…”
“Sorry?” the seething redhead repeated, her voice rising several octaves. “First you tell me that the only way I’m going to get an engagement ring is to buy it myself, and then you have the nerve to tell me you’re sorry?”
A heavy sigh escaped him. This wasn’t the way he wanted to end his relationship with the model. He hadn’t meant to snap at her but pressuring him for something he wasn’t capable of giving had brought out the cutting remark.
“I’m not the marrying type,” he said quietly. “I told you that when we started seeing each other. I wish you had believed me.”
His furious ex-lover laughed hollowly. “What woman in her right mind believes a line like that? That was a challenge, not a confession. What you should have told me is what a cold-hearted son of a bitch you are.”
True, but that wasn’t something that could be brought up in casual conversation. Or bed. “Look, I know I’ve handled this badly. Maybe if we went to dinner?”
The statuesque woman who commanded thousands of dollars per photo shoot leaned over his desk, her teal dress revealing the creamy swell of her cleavage. “The only way we’re having dinner together is if they’re serving your magnificent specimen roasted on a stick!”
She stalked to the door, then turned. “Did you love me at all?” she asked, her voice becoming plaintive. “Even just a little?”
He wanted to tell her yes. She was a beautiful, vibrant woman. It should have been easy to love her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t love anyone. “Diedre …”
“Who is she?”
“Who?”
“The woman who ruined you for the rest of us.”
Just like that, memories ambushed him, kicking him viciously in the gut. “I …” he trailed off, unable to speak past the guilt and anger that clogged his throat.
Diedre nodded, as if his lack of answer was answer enough. “I never stood a chance, did I?”
He thought about explaining, but that damned tightness kept his throat securely closed. Wordless, he shook his head.
Diedre sighed. “I know it’s wrong to speak ill of someone I don’t know, but I hate her.” She left without a backwards glance.
Regret mixed with relief as he rose then turned to gaze out the window behind his desk, not seeing the afternoon sunlight. “Sometimes I do too,” he whispered.