Another Woman's Man (3 page)

X
avier Hughes was used to his fiancée, Constance, looking bored. Whenever they were at dinner parties or when he talked about his busy day at work as general counsel at Allen Enterprises, her eyes would glaze over. She'd glance at her nails and mutter something about needing a manicure, then she'd get up and walk away minutes later. That's just the type of girl she was. Despite her name, concentration and consistency weren't Constance's strong points.

But Xavier wasn't too happy seeing her looking bored now while they were in bed together, particularly while they were in the middle of foreplay and he was trying his very damn best to make her moan and her toes curl. Instead, Constance gazed at the ceiling above her, absently twirling a brown lock of hair around her finger and staring at the blades of his ceiling fan like they were the most fascinating objects in the world.

Xavier raised his mouth from her breast, leaned back on his elbows, and grimaced. “So I guess this isn't working for you?”

She tore her eyes from the ceiling fan and looked down at him. “Huh? Oh, no, pumpkin, I like it. It feels . . . nice.”

“Nice?”

A word you used to describe the weather, but not a word that a man wanted to hear while he was sucking on your nipples.

She must have realized that this wasn't the response he was hoping for.

“I mean
very
nice, pumpkin.” She pushed herself up and lay back against the pillows stacked behind her. “II mean . . .”

Xavier grumbled as he climbed back to the head of the bed. He rolled onto his side and looked down at her, his hard-on now fading faster than the dying embers in his bedroom fireplace. “What's wrong?”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Why do you think something's wrong?”

“Because you're lying there . . .”

Like a corpse,
he wanted to say, but he caught himself.

He didn't want to start an argument. They had argued before about her being unresponsive in bed. The last time they did, she had stalked out of his bedroom in a huff—buck-naked. He had to chase her down as she threw open his front door and walked into the hallway. She had been mere milliseconds away from giving all his reserved, elderly neighbors a free peep show. Constance had even threatened to call off the wedding. Xavier had to apologize and beg her to calm down and come back.

He certainly didn't want to repeat that little episode.

“You're obviously not into it tonight,” he said diplomatically. “Something's on your mind. What's wrong?”

She pursed her lips and he gazed at her profile. His eyes scanned the outline of her perfect button nose, perfect pouty lips, and perfect dark eyes in the shadows of his darkened bedroom. Constance Allen had always been a head turner. At least, Xavier had always thought so, ever since that first day he met her when she was thirteen years old and he was fourteen, and her father, Herb Allen, had introduced them at one of his soirées.

“I wonder what she's like,” Constance finally said, her eyes returning to the ceiling fan.

“What who's like?”

“Dawn . . . my half sister. I wish I was there when he met her.”

So that's what's eating at her,
Xavier thought.

Constance and her mother, Raquel, were surprised to hear about the existence of Herb's other daughter, Dawn. The two women had found out about Dawn only a few days ago, after Herb announced that he and Xavier had gone to her gallery in Washington, D.C. Since then, Constance had been bugging Xavier for details about her half sister, though Xavier admitted there wasn't much to tell. He had only met her for a few minutes.

Constance tugged the bed sheets over her bare breasts and pouted. “He invited you! He invited
you
to go and not Mom or me!”

“But I'm his lawyer.”

“
So what?
Daddy's company has a
team
of lawyers, Xavier. You're the only one he took with him to meet her. You know your relationship is different. He trusts you! You don't have to pretend with me.”

Xavier couldn't argue with her.

His relationship with Herb was different. Xavier's father, Malcolm, had once been part of Herb's legal team—the top legal counsel at Herb's software company. His father and Herb had become friends, going on golfing trips together and taking their families on group vacations. But Malcolm died suddenly from a heart attack when Xavier was seventeen years old. Herb took the young man under his wing, seeing Xavier as the son he never had. By the time Xavier graduated from law school and passed the bar, he had a corporate legal job waiting for him at Herb's company, and his friendship with Herb only grew stronger. Now he was Herbert's lawyer
and
confidant, offering him a listening ear when Herbert needed it.

“I came to the gallery with him because he asked me to . . . but they talked alone,” Xavier explained, though Constance still pouted. “I was there to keep him from changing his mind and leaving.”

And it hadn't been easy. On the drive to the gallery, Herb had waffled back and forth over whether he should see Dawn. Xavier had never seen his mentor riddled with so much anxiety or self-doubt. He hadn't been sure if Herb was going to tell him to throw his Audi into reverse and drive him back home.

“But one of us should have been there, pumpkin!
We're
his family!” Constance continued to rant. “He's an old man dying of cancer! I mean what if . . . what if she's some horrible bitch, you know? What if she's some user who wants Daddy for his money? Maybe she expects him to foot the bill for her from now on!”

Xavier squinted at his fiancée in disbelief. This from a woman whom Herb had indulged almost her entire life?

Even the indoor heated tennis court at Herb's estate had been for Constance. Herb had built it six years ago when Constance decided to take up tennis as a new hobby. Of course, this was after Herb had built the private dance studio for her when she decided to become a ballerina, and then changed her mind again and decided to become a champion swimmer. For that, he had an Olympic-sized swimming pool built on the property in the effort to help her train. Then there were the purebreds he purchased and horse stalls he had built two acres from the estate because Constance decided to become an equestrian. But she deserted that aspiration two years later. Needless to say, Herb was happy to spoil Constance, regardless of the cost. He had done it for years, doting on her and adoring her tirelessly. But now Constance wasn't the only child anymore.

Xavier was starting to suspect that Constance found the prospect of no longer being the only crowned princess in Herb Allen's heart a little intimidating.

“Baby, I'm sure she's nice. She seemed like a good person who wouldn't take advantage of him,” Xavier reassured Constance softly, running a finger along her nutmeg-colored cheek. “Don't assume the worst.”

Constance turned onto her side and faced him. “Why do you think that?”

“Why do I think what? That you shouldn't assume the worst? Well, because it's—”

“No, you said she seemed nice, that she's a ‘good person. ' I thought you told me you barely spoke to her.”

Constance was narrowing her eyes at him, waiting for his reply.

“I
did
barely speak to her. Dawn and I only spoke for a few minutes.”

“And you got
all
of that from talking with her for a few minutes? It sounds like she made quite the impression on you, pumpkin.”

Constance was smiling, though he could tell she was far from happy. He had seen that smile before. The last time she had smiled this much, it was seconds before she stomped toward his bedroom door in her birthday suit.

Her syrupy-sweet smile tightened. “
Did
she make an impression on you?”

He thought back to Dawn Gibbons and when he first spotted her in the gallery. She had been chatting with another woman on the other side of the room before she had turned, noticed him and Herb, and walked toward them.

No, she didn't walk,
Xavier thought, correcting himself.
She glided.

Where Constance had the traditional, perky beauty of any Miss USA, her half sister Dawn's beauty was more mature, exotic, and almost regal. She had looked around the room like an African queen surveying her kingdom. He thought her dark skin shone under the gallery's overhead lights like she was lit from the inside, and her large, dark brown eyes were expressive and alluring. She didn't have a bad figure either: round hips, long legs, and pert breasts that pushed against the front of her maroon sweater. When he and Herb followed her to her office, he saw that the back of Dawn looked just as good as the front. He had to remind himself that it was an emotional moment for her and Herb. He shouldn't be ogling her but respecting the gravity of the situation. Besides, it wouldn't look good if he was caught staring at his future sister-in-law's ass.

So did Dawn make an impression on him? If Constance wanted the honest answer: Yes, of course she did . . . to the point that the image of Dawn was still firmly implanted in his brain. But Constance didn't want the honest answer tonight. He knew that.

“She was okay,” Xavier lied with a forced casual shrug.

Constance must have accepted his answer. Her painted-on smile disappeared and she flopped back onto her pillow again.

“I wonder when Daddy has plans to see her again,” she mused.

“I heard next week.”

Constance's mouth fell open.

“They're supposed to meet at some—”

“You knew that and you didn't tell me!” Constance cried. She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at the ceiling, now fuming.

Damn!
This was going downhill fast. There had to be a way to salvage their romantic evening.

“Baby, look . . .” He took a deep breath. “I don't know why you're obsessing about this.” He leaned down and lightly kissed her shoulder. “Just let it go.”

“I can't let it go! She's my half sister, pumpkin! How can I not obsess about it? Of course I want to know everything I can about her! Mom wants to know everything she can too, but Daddy's keeping us in the dark for some reason!”

“Maybe he's being vague on details because he's getting to know her. He only met her about a week ago. He probably knows only a little more about her than you do. Let him do it in his own time.”

She didn't say anything for a very long time after that, making Xavier grumble to himself in frustration. He punched the pillows behind his head and adjusted them before reaching for the remote control on his night table. If they weren't going to have sex, then he was going to watch the game replays and catch the scores on
SportsCenter
. He certainly wasn't about to endure another minute of her angry silence.

Xavier pressed one of the remote buttons and the flat-screen television over the fireplace turned on. He lost himself in the anchors' banter.

“Can
you
do it?” Constance suddenly asked minutes later.

“Can I do what, baby?” he answered distractedly, frowning at the basketball play onscreen. “Damn, he should have made that shot,” he mumbled.

“Can you find out more about Dawn for us?”

At that, his interest in the game recap abruptly dissolved. He turned around to face Constance again. She was gazing at him innocently, making him wonder if she realized exactly what she had just asked him.

“You want me to do a background check on your sister?”

“Half sister!”
she corrected him, like the designation made much of a difference. She trailed her index finger over the dark curly hairs on his chest. “You said yourself that you're Daddy's lawyer. It's only right that you protect his interests. And he's going to be your father-in-law pretty soon. You're practically family now, pumpkin!”

“Baby, I can't spy on her!”

She rolled her eyes. “It's not ‘spying'! I wouldn't put it that way! It's . . . it's . . .” She paused and considered the right words. “. . . doing research.”

Research? Yeah, right!

Xavier was getting more and more wary of this conversation. How had a night of lovemaking turned into a discussion about how to find out information on Dawn Gibbons?

“Please, pumpkin,” Constance begged, lightly kissing his lips. “Do it for me?”

He shook his head. “Just think about it.
Think
about what you're asking me to do. Don't you think it's a little . . .”

His words trailed off when she threw back the bed sheets and climbed on top of him. Xavier sucked in a shaky breath, seeing his beautiful fiancée in all her tempting, naked glory.

Constance slid down the length of his thighs, lowered her head, and kissed his chest. “But Mommy and I would be ever so grateful, Xavier.” She kissed his navel before giving it an enticing lick. “Ever so grateful,” she whispered, sending a blast of warm air against his stomach, making the muscles clench.

Damn!
She was playing dirty, and he could see he was quickly losing this battle.

“Look, I'm not going to spy on her, but maybe I . . .” His eyes lowered as he watched her kiss a trail down his stomach to his groin. “Maybe I can find out a little bit about her . . . if it'll . . .” He stifled a moan as her mouth descended even lower. “If it'll make you feel better.”

“Thank you, pumpkin.”

Once her deliciously warm, wet mouth closed around his manhood and started to suck, Xavier lost all coherent thought. He knew he had agreed to do something, but he couldn't remember what. But why bother to remember? It was better to lie back and enjoy the ride.

D
awn paused underneath the green awning and glanced at her reflection in the glass door. She adjusted her purple beret and smoothed her bangs before tugging the door open.

She had taken her sister Stephanie's advice and chosen for her first “date” with her father a place where she felt most comfortable. It was one of her favorite D.C. haunts—Big Ben's, a small tea shop on the outskirts of Georgetown. She had come here often during her undergrad days at Georgetown University and still visited every now and then when she had a hankering for one of her favorite scones and some Earl Grey tea, or when she wanted to escape the sometimes-claustrophobic atmosphere of Chesterton, Virginia, where she and the rest of her family lived.

Dawn looked around the shop in search of her father.

The owners of Big Ben's took the name literally. More than two dozen replicas of the iconic Big Ben clock were sprinkled around the room in the form of figurines, statues, and posters. Several Union Jacks were hanging from the walls and ceiling. A red telephone box was in a corner. Even the floor mat at the front door was emblazoned with the words “Keep Calm and Carry On” with the British royal crown above it. Dawn had always gotten a kick out of the place because of how quirky it was.

She did another sweep of the room and finally spotted her father. While most of the customers in the shop were wearing casual clothes—jeans, cable-knit sweaters, boots, and wool coats—her father was the only man wearing a suit and tie.

Overdressed like the day I met him
, she thought with a small smile.

He sat at a table in one of the far corners, sipping from a porcelain teacup. As she drew closer she noticed a biscuit sat on the paper napkin in front of him. Beside it was a leather-bound photo album.

He still looked sickly, but she could tell he was a man who would not allow illness to make him neglect his appearance. Everything on him from his tie to his calfskin shoes was impeccable.

Her father slowly looked up. When he saw her, he reached for his bamboo cane and started to rise from his chair.

“Please, no! Don't get up,” Dawn said, waving him back to his seat. She removed her coat and pulled out the chair across from him. She tossed her coat over the back of the chair and sat down. “Thank you for coming.”

“No, thank
you
for inviting me. I was hoping you would agree to see me again.”

Dawn clasped her hands in her lap. Father and daughter fell into an awkward silence. Her eyes scanned over him while he continued to stare at her eagerly. Again, she was taken aback by the idea that
this
was her father. He had made her. She shared DNA with him, and yet he was barely more than a stranger to her.

“So,” Dawn said, after clearing her throat, “I see that you didn't bring your bodyguard this time.”

“My bodyguard?”
Her father squinted in confusion then his face brightened. “Oh, you . . . you mean Xavier! No, I didn't think it was necessary for him to be here this time.”

“Oh, well, that's . . . that's good. I'm glad he doesn't feel like he has to protect you from me anymore,” she said with a forced laugh.

Dawn didn't know why, but she was a little disappointed that Xavier hadn't come this time. She had been thinking about the stuffy handsome lawyer off and on for the past week.

Well, maybe a little more than off and on,
she thought, correcting herself. Actually, Dawn had thought about him more than she cared to admit. Again, she didn't know why. He wasn't her type and she had already resolved that men were too complicated to try to pursue anything with them right now. But still, he lingered in her memory like a fish bone stuck between her molars; she couldn't get him out of her mind.

“The usual, Dawn?” a waitress asked as she walked past their table.

Dawn snapped out of her thoughts. She looked up and nodded. “Yes, thanks, Tracey.”

“So they know you by name. Do you come here often?” her father asked.

“For the past twenty years or so. But I came here a lot more when I went to Georgetown.”

“You went to
Georgetown?
” He shook his head in bewilderment. “You
are
a very smart woman, aren't you?”

She looked up from the teacup and blueberry scone that the waitress sat in front of her. Dawn cocked an eyebrow as she shook out a napkin and tossed it across her lap. “Did you expect me not to be?”

“Well, frankly, I didn't know what to expect. I would hope that any child of mine would be as accomplished as you are and as intelligent. And might I add, as beautiful,” he said softly, making her cheeks warm at his compliment. “That's what any father would dream of. But I . . .” He hesitated. “I wondered if your mother would encourage such things, or if she would—”

“Focus more on catching a rich husband and popping out babies?” Dawn said, finishing the sentence for him. She took a bite of her scone.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I don't wish to insult your mother, Dawn. That isn't why I'm here.”

Too late,
she thought flippantly as she chewed. Though the truth was, her father wasn't far from the mark on this one. Yolanda Gibbons considered lessons on how to ensnare a wealthy man as important as any algebra class Dawn had taken. She expected the same level of excellence in both endeavors.

“How is your mother, by the way?” he asked.

She appreciated his attempt to be polite. “She's fine . . . very busy, actually. She's getting married in a few months.”

Her father gaped. “Married?
Again?
”

Dawn nodded.

“When I met her, she had already been married twice.”

“Oh, she's had a few more since then. This will be her fifth . . . no . . .” Dawn paused, closed her eyes and counted off the long list of her mother's ex-husbands. “I think this is her sixth husband.”

“
Sixth
husband?”

“Don't look so shocked,” Dawn quipped as she sipped her orange-scented herbal tea. “It happens. I've been married twice myself.”

“Twice?”
She could see him struggling to control his features, struggling not to judge her. “Well, perhaps number three will be Mr. Right.”

Dawn shook her head and chuckled, setting down her teacup. “I highly doubt that.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't believe there
is
such a thing as Mr. Right, and frankly I don't have time to find out. I certainly don't have time for a third husband.”

When it looked like her father was about to mount an argument in reply, she held up her hand. “Anyway, enough about me and my love life. Tell me something about yourself, Herb. I'd like to know more about the man who made me.”

“What would you like to know?”

“Where did you grow up, for one? What were my grandparents like? What were you like as a teenager? Are you married? Do I have brothers and sisters?”

He smiled. “Well, I've been married for thirty-one years to a lovely woman. Her name is Raquel. We have a daughter named Constance.”

Constance and Raquel . . .
Dawn didn't like the sound of those names. They sounded better fit for the villains in soap operas than extended family that she might meet in the future.

“What are they like?”

“Oh, Raquel is wonderful, just wonderful! When I met her at a country club thirty-two years ago, I knew she was the woman for me. She used to be a television correspondent before she retired. She's very poised, yet very direct. Constance didn't fall far from the tree. She's a beautiful, delightful girl.” He laughed. “I'm afraid I spoil my Connie mercilessly. I have since she was little. But I love to give to the ones that I love, and she's my only child, so . . .”

Dawn flinched. Her father paused at her reaction, suddenly realizing what he had said. He looked horrified.

“I'm so sorry, Dawn!” He reached across the small bistro table and placed his wrinkled, dry hand on top of one of hers. “Sweetheart, I didn't mean that. I know I have
two
daughters. I really meant—”

“That's all right, Herb.” She shook her head and pulled her hand away. “I get it.”

She got that she had been pushed to the back of his mind for the last thirty-seven years while he lived his life and built a family of his own. She was trying to be adult about it, but part of her envied Constance, and she hadn't even met the woman.

It wasn't that Dawn felt neglected. She had her own very sheltered childhood. Her mother had made sure that she and her sisters got everything they needed and mostly everything they wanted, but Dawn had always felt the emptiness of not having her father around. She had once wanted the affection and protection of a father that money couldn't buy. Meanwhile, her
real
father had been doting on Constance, showering his “only” daughter with his adoration and attention.

Dawn shoved aside her hurt for now.
What's done is done. The past is in the past,
she reminded herself.

“Please keep going. Tell me more,” she insisted.

He wavered, looking as if he wasn't sure if he should continue.

“Where did you grow up?” she asked, trying again to draw him out.

“Well, I'm . . . I'm a boy from Detroit who made good. I grew up poor in this little run-down . . .”

Herb then began to tell Dawn the story of his life. She found out that the album he brought with him contained pictures of dozens and dozens of relatives. They hunched over the pages together, examining the pictures and laughing at the stories he told. She found out that he was a man who had pulled himself up out of poverty. He had worked his way through college and grad school and eventually started a multimillion-dollar software company back when most people didn't own computers. And she was shocked to find he dabbled in art back in the day.

“My work was nothing compared to the ones you sell in your gallery,” he admitted humbly, “but I've handled a paintbrush or two in my day.”

He told her more about Raquel and Constance. She wished she could say the more she heard about them, the more she looked forward to one day meeting them, but in actuality, she felt the opposite. His wife sounded overbearing and his daughter sounded like a pampered princess who was accustomed to getting her way. He added that Constance was getting married in the spring, and when he started to rave about how beautiful the wedding and bride were going to be, Dawn had to quickly change the subject. She just couldn't take it anymore.

Dawn told him a bit more about herself and her family. She avoided talking about her mother, since it seemed to be a touchy subject. She regaled him with stories about her sisters and their antics that made him almost delirious with laughter.

“Would you look at that sunset?” he said softly after she finished one of her stories. His gaze was focused over her shoulder at the shop's floor-to-ceiling windows.

Dawn turned in surprise to see a bright orange sun descending behind the darkened city landscape. “
Sunset?
We haven't been sitting here that long, have we?”

Her father pulled back one of his shirt cuffs and glanced at his Rolex. He raised his gray eyebrows in surprise. “We've been here for three hours and fifteen minutes, to be exact. I didn't know it was that late either.”

“Oh, I'm sorry!” She pushed herself away from the table. “I didn't meant to—”

“No! No, please don't apologize. I enjoyed myself.” He grabbed his cane and bit by bit rose to his feet. “But I really must be going.” He grinned. “Dawn, I had a wonderful time today.”

She tugged on her coat. “So did I.”

And she meant it. She did have a good time speaking with him and learning more about him. She thought he was a fascinating man and very humble, despite his many accomplishments. He also had a great sense of humor. She was glad she had come to meet him.

“We should do this again,” he said, leaning on his cane and gazing up at her.

“We should.”

They began to walk toward Big Ben's glass door, stepping aside for a couple who had walked into the tea shop.

“Why not next weekend?” her father asked.

“Why not what next weekend?” Dawn answered distractedly. She tugged on her calfskin gloves then buttoned her coat. She pulled out her cell phone.

“You should come to Windhill Downs!”

She looked up from the messages on her phone screen. “What's Windhill Downs?”

“My property . . . my estate . . . that's what we call it. You should come there! In fact, why don't you come next weekend and have dinner with the rest of the family? We throw a Christmas Eve bash every year, but we try to also have an intimate dinner—family only—the night before that.”

Dawn stopped midmotion. Her slender fingers hovered over her phone. She gaped. “An
intimate dinner?
” she choked. “Next . . . next weekend?”

He nodded eagerly.

Oh, hell,
Dawn thought. It was one thing agreeing to meet her long-lost father. It was a completely different matter having dinner with her father, stepmother, and sister at “Windhill Downs.” Shouldn't she be slowly eased into this? She wasn't sure if she was ready to take on the whole family right now.

Dawn stared down at her father, trying to find a delicate way to decline his invitation.

“I'd be honored to have you there, sweetheart,” he said softly.

Dawn grimaced.
Damn it,
she thought. How could she possibly say no?

“Sure, uh . . . give me the address and the time and I'll be there.”

“Wonderful!” her father exclaimed.

Dawn lowered her phone back into her purse. She wished she could be equally excited. She wondered what her sisters would think when she told them about this one.