“But Michelle, you’re a brilliant writer. I’m sure you nailed it. And if your publisher didn’t agree, do you think they’d put so much effort into the launch campaign? At the end of the day, they want to make a profit.”
“I guess you’re right…” Her attention drifted to the one-hundred-inch, wall-mounted television, her lips twisting as if in deep thought.
It was just her pre-release day jitters. Kyree had seen it with the last two Littlest Dreamers books––her wondering if she had connected every thread, if they’d gone with the right illustrations, if the messaging would be received well by both children and caregivers. Of course, everything would go well, he knew, and he also knew she would be back to herself the moment the first review came in.
He finished the last two bites of his omelet and set his fork on the empty plate, but Kyree didn’t even have time to think about getting up and taking his dishes into the kitchen before Noah––the efficient butler, a man in his late forties––appeared behind him, subtly clearing his throat with his arm outstretched.
“Thanks, Noah.” Kyree handed him his plate.
“My pleasure, Mr. Johnson. Would you like another cappuccino?”
“Definitely. That would be great.”
“Right away, sir.”
Kyree was still getting used to being waited on when he visited Michelle, and he didn’t want to give the staff extra work, but he could certainly use a second coffee today. Besides, Corinne made the best cappuccino.
As Noah moved briskly toward the kitchen, Kyree glanced around the family room. It was larger than his entire two-bedroom apartment, yet it felt cozy, furnished with comfortable sectionals, large, cushioned chairs, and thick Persian rugs across a white-oak floor. Mid-morning sunlight streamed through tall windows, bathing the twelve-foot Fir tree in yellow hues, while logs crackled in the stone fireplace nestled between built-ins, displaying family photos and leather-bound books.
His eyes skipped over the seven LaCrosse children––ranging from six to twenty years old––scattered across the room, each absorbed in their own little world as they enjoyed their leisurely morning. Erik III sat next to Kyree, scrolling through his phone with a pair of massive headphones on beneath his white hoodie and an everything-bagel loaded with smoked salmon, arugula, capers, and cream cheese on a plate in his lap. Angled toward each other in two armchairs, Matthew and Tiffany played video games on their tablets while Tiffany ate orange slices. Lost in a book, Rayna lay across a collection of paisley floor cushions near the fireplace, her white Santa hat askew, her untouched bowl of oatmeal keeping warm near the stone hearth.
The youngest two, Fiona and Nicholas, in matching footsie pajamas with moose antlers on the hoods, were sprawled haphazardly on the carpet at Michelle’s feet, watching Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey on the TV. They tapped their toes and fingers, and wriggled their little bodies to the music, while Princess––a small ruby-colored Cavalier King Charles Spaniel belonging to Nicholas––sneakily pulled pieces of chicken sausage from his young master’s abandoned plate.
Erik, Michelle’s husband, sat on the other side of her, his newspaper opened on his lap. Dean of Medicine at Granite Falls General Hospital, and founder of The Cross Border Health Initiative, he usually exhibited high energy and wry humor, but today, he was brooding.
Unease had been pouring out of him all morning––a clear indicator that yesterday’s crisis was still not resolved. Kyree hadn’t missed the disappointment in Erik’s grey eyes each time his gaze wandered to his oldest child, Precious, sitting in isolation on the cushioned window seat, her thumbs feverishly typing on her phone.
A sophomore at Harvard University, she was whip-smart, full of opinions, and engaging. Yet, she had hardly said anything to Kyree since he arrived this morning––wouldn’t even look him in the face. It hadn’t taken him long to guess that Precious was the epicenter of her father’s meltdown yesterday, and the reason Michelle had asked him to stay at Hotel Andreas last night.
Last night.
The memory of Zuri was immediate and visceral, pulling Kyree straight back to the velvet heat of his hotel room, and flooding him with white hot desire. A shiver ran through him as he recalled the curve of her body and the sharp, electric spark of her skin against his. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, willing the moment to linger, to breathe, to bloom again.
He’d struck gold last night, in more ways than one, Kyree thought, stretching out his legs under the oak coffee table. Bored out of his mind, he’d been sitting in his suite, channel-surfing on the wall-mounted TV, when he’d been expecting to be with Michelle and Erik and their adorable, rumbunctious kids. Not one to sit idly for any length of time, Kyree had taken a shower, dressed, and gone downstairs.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t imagined running into her again, but he still couldn’t believe his luck when he wandered into L’Antra, and there she was: radiant, sensuous, and alluring…looking like a cup of sweet hot cocoa in her brown hues, and her smooth skin glowing under the lights. When her molten brown eyes had locked with his across the crowded room, Kyree had known then that his Christmas wish had been granted.
Lust had driven them into his bedroom at first, but somewhere between the hallway and the twisted sheets, it had morphed into something far more intimate, and too bright to ignore.
Kyree longed for the kind of love his parents, Dwayne and Layla, shared––the instant, all-consuming connection his dad had described feeling when he’d first laid eyes on his mom. He was a broke, but charming, recently laid-off electrician, and she his flirtatious case worker, and twenty-eight years and three kids later, despite the hardships of raising a family in a rough neighborhood, they’d never lost their spark.
That’s what Kyree wanted. And that’s what he’d felt the moment he saw Zuri walking off the elevator.
Just then, Noah returned with his cappuccino––an “L” dusted in cinnamon atop the thick creamy layer of foam. He took a sip of the hot drink, almost as desperate for the caffeine boost as he was for Zuri.
Kyree knew she was out of his league. He’d spent enough time around prep-school-educated, trust fund kids at Princeton University, his alma mater, to recognize the type, and Zuri fit the bill. Her Greenwich, Connecticut roots, the red Christian Louboutin pumps, the rose-gold, diamond-encrusted Rolex––all trappings of a rarefied lifestyle she was obviously accustomed to.
Yet, he desperately wanted to see her again, wanted to know more about her, wanted to be certain that what he’d felt wasn’t just in his head.
He could kick himself for not leaving a note for Zuri with the concierge on his way out this morning, but he had been in a rush to get to Michelle’s after she’d texted him to come for breakfast and, admittedly, a little too embarrassed. He was sure the entire hotel staff knew all about what had gone down in the LaCrosse’s suite last night. He didn’t want to give them anything else to gossip about.
Kyree had lain in bed, his mind racing through every minute with her––those beautiful chocolate-colored eyes, the way the left side of her mouth lifted slightly when she smiled, and her scent, warm and sweet with a hint of vanilla, wrapping around his thoughts like velvet.
“Kyree!”
The sharp sound of his name cut through his thoughts, and he turned to find Michelle watching him with raised eyebrows. He shook his head, clearing the fantasy of Zuri from his mind. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you wanted to come into town with us tomorrow. I’m taking the little ones ice skating with Rayna in Poplar Square after their dentist appointments.
