Lavish Loving. Zuri Day
London laugh out loud.
“You’re stupid!”
“Sometimes.” He held out his hand. “Ace Montgomery.”
Her eyes slid from his eyes to the extended hand and back. They were the only things that moved. “Like I don’t know who you are.”
“No, like I’m just being courteous and greeting you formally.” His arm remained outstretched.
She placed her small hand in his extralarge one. An electrical shock ran through them.
“Whoa!” Ace snatched back his hand. “Did you feel that?”
“That’s what happens when you touch a lightbulb,” London deadpanned. “Nice talking to you.”
London walked away without looking back. He was exquisite to look at, but the shine faded when he opened his mouth.
That was her first impression. Later that night her publicist yielded her seat in the crowded room so that London and Ace could sit and “get to know each other.” No coincidence, London knew. Her publicist was strategizing. Always on the hunt for a story that would keep her client in the public eye. The flashbulbs that went off shortly afterward confirmed this belief. The conversation that followed led to a better second impression.
In the next half hour Ace came out of his shy, quiet shell and became quite engaging. He flawlessly handled the stream of admirers that came his way but continued to make London his central focus. Impressive. Not easy to do.
Photo ops and interviews pulled them away from each other. When London saw him an hour and two glasses of wine later, she asked the question that had tickled the tip of her tongue all night.
“I have a question for you?”
“Sure.”
“Is the bulge beneath those sexy black boxers you made famous real or concocted?”
“Concocted—good word.”
“You know, like from a sock or a certain vegetable or something.”
A bit of the cockiness London expected oozed through Ace’s megawatt smile. “No, baby. What you see in those pictures is grade-Ace beef.”
London’s look was dubious.
“Don’t believe me?”
“Nope.”
“Want to see for yourself?”
A slight lick of his lips brought moisture to a set of hers.
“Sure, why not?”
He took her hand, led her to an empty bedroom and locked the door. They didn’t come out for two days.
* * *
“London...” Quinn softly nudged her.
“Hmm?”
“Stop thinking about the cute guy and pick up your glass. Diamond wants to propose a toast.”
“Oh. Okay.” London lifted her champagne flute, unaware of when it was placed there or filled.
Quinn and Diamond shared a glance, but she said nothing more.
While others shared a glass from a bottle of the vineyard’s premiere champagne, Diamond, its namesake, lifted a glass of sparkling white grape juice. “To our dearest Papa Dee. May he have half as good a life in heaven as he had here on earth.”
“All of those young beautiful angels in heaven? Papa won’t be resting at all!”
“Right!” London chuckled at Katrina’s comment. They’d crossed paths at their large biannual family reunions but this was her first time really hanging out with this funny, feisty and fearless cousin from North Carolina. For equally carefree London, it was love at first hug.
Katrina’s statement brought much-needed levity to what had been a sad and exhausting day. More than five hundred people, including over one hundred members of the Drake clan, had gathered at the resort to pay last respects to the family patriarch, David “Papa Dee” Drake, who at the blessed age of 104 had earned his angel wings. Three of London’s cousins and two of her in-laws had decided to separate from the throng of friends and relatives still at the resort for some quieter, more intimate bonding before tomorrow, when everyone would start going their separate ways. For a while, funny stories of Papa Dee and recollections from the past two days dominated conversation. But eventually it came back around to London and the cute guy, courtesy of Katrina.
“So, London, who’d you see earlier that had you falling on the stairs?”
“Hopefully not another stalker,” Quinn offered.
“No stalker, thank God.”
And never again, she hoped. London still got chills when she thought of the man who’d followed her from Paris to Milan, all the way to a hotel room in New York. He’d been arrested, deported and jailed, so it couldn’t be him. And again, London thought, thank God.
Burying the thought, she turned to her cousin. “And I didn’t fall, Katrina, not even close. Not even when I climbed the tourist-unfriendly mountain to Papa Dee’s final resting place in my five-inch Choos.”
“Which is why I strongly suggested you choose a different, more appropriate shoe.” The mere implication of a resort imperfection caused marketing and PR director Diamond Drake Wright to bristle, though the discomfort of being eight months pregnant might have contributed, too. “And while only you could have turned that earlier stumble into a graceful, even sexy, curtsy type of thing, you’re avoiding Katrina’s question. So spill the tea. Who was it, and don’t say just some guy, because we’re not buying that at all.”
London shrugged. “Wish I had something juicy to bring to this obviously bored table, but whoever the person was reminded me of a casual friend who lived in Europe. No one you guys would know.”
“Oh, good,” Diamond said, looking around to ensure her next words would be as discreet as she intended. “Because Ace Montgomery is here but wants his stay to remain private.”
“Ace Mon—” Katrina began to exclaim.
“Shh!” Diamond interrupted.
“The model?” Diamond’s sister-in-law Marissa was the quiet one in this group, but even her whisper held excitement.
“The one in the sexy underwear ads!” Katrina whispered. “Oh, my goodness, what’s his room number? It’s about to go down!”
Katrina began to rise.
“No, you’re about to sit down.” Diamond caught Katrina’s arm and gave her the don’t-mess-with-the-pregnant-lady eye. Katrina dutifully sat down. “That’s confidential information only shared with family.” She looked at Katrina. “Something that on second thought may not have been the best idea. This baby obviously has my brain as cramped as my organs feel right now.”
She leaned back to relieve the pressure from her expanded girth. Finding none, she stood.
So did London. “Are you okay?”
“Just too uncomfortable to keep sitting.” She rubbed her stomach. “I think little Jackson is ready for bed.”
London reached for Diamond’s purse. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“That’s okay, cousin. Stay here and enjoy yourself.”
“I was headed to the bathroom anyway.”
“There’s one right behind you.”
“I’d rather use the one in the lobby.” Diamond grunted. “Stop being so independent. I’m going to walk you down.”
Two steps out of Wine and the conversation continued. “No.”
“What?” London asked Diamond, her face a study in innocence.
“What?”