Page 2 of Forbidden Vow

1

Darius

Darius drove his body forward, pounding each time, hammering deeper, pushing himself harder. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he could feel the skin tightening around his eyes as he pushed himself higher, reaching for some sort of escape. He couldn't erase the image of his father lying in that casket. Darius Kent, firstborn son of tech giant Lexington D. Kent, could barely accept that his father was gone. How was he supposed to endure the reading of his first hero’s final words?

Though far from perfect as a man, Lexington had adored his three sons, trained them to lead, and taught them the importance of a father guiding his sons. To Darius’s mother, his father had been a womanizing bastard. The rag papers splattered his exploits on the front pages till the day his mother died and beyond. It was his father’s excess consumption of the feminine variety that had destroyed their bond. Five years ago, would Darius have sped away from the Kent estate if he had known he’d never share another chess game or split a vintage wine with the family patriarch?

He wasn't sure.

And that reality fueled Darius’s pain and doubt about the decision he’d made to relocate to their United Kingdom-based headquarters. Without his father forging the direction of the Kent Empire, the responsibility now fell upon his broad shoulders.

Did he want the mantle?

Having had enough with rehashing a past he lacked the power to change, and an unchartered future, he pushed the thoughts under a mental border. Refocused, he channeled his strength into the thick cords of muscle covering his abs and thighs, punishing his body, barreling towards oblivion.

"Take it easy, baby, there isn't much space in here," the nameless woman meeting his hips giggled.

Fined-crafted oak shelves stacked high with reams of printer paper, toner cartridges, and legal pads covered the walls. No gunmetal gray DIY metal units for the prestigious C. Drake Law Practice.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he panted. A large majority of the firm’s clientele had legal representation from the second the sperm fertilized the egg. The Drake firm had been representing the Kents since before the Kennedys held the White House.

“Ah,” she giggled.

“None of that,” he warned. No way did their current activity warrant sappy ohs and ahs. The blonde bent over in front of his six-foot-two frame wasn't his type. Creamy skin, more tan than his own, covered her lower back, leading to shapely curves and long fashion model legs.

“I knew you were a prince charming.”

Darius chuckled. Most men would consider this woman a gift from heaven. He could see her appeal at first glance, but being with her felt all wrong. She was too caricature. The kind of woman television and social media plastered in discount Viagra ads—too flirty, too silicone-filled, and too 1990's Valley girly. And her scent, a combination of floral bouquets and citrus, clung to her skin, making his nose itch. He liked a hint of warm and sultry on his women.

"Told you we’d have a good time, beautiful.” He never promised. Not anymore. Like a wispy aberration, long dark locks, caramel brown eyes, and smooth brown skin took shape, clouding his vision. Some years ago, he'd forced his mind and body to overlook all the differences, how other women failed to measure up to her.

"You're big fun, Darius," she moaned, the sound was rehearsed to his trained ear, the reference to his manhood falling flat against her teen idol fan girl giggle.

Yes, he had slept with more than a sample size of heiresses, lingerie models, and screen actresses to recognize a performance. And she knew his first name. Figures.

“You too," he said automatically, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. Of the three Kent men, his two younger brothers Gregor and Galvin were double trouble for women and the tabloids. The twins soaked up the TMZ invasion. Darius held the enigmatic recluse title.

At thirty-eight, Darius knew women targeted wealthy men in a way reminiscent of a vampire and a deer. They targeted, tracked, and then sank their fangs deep on the takedown. He had a Google alert on name, just to keep pace with all the bullshit leaked to the media about his family. Today, he appreciated the distraction, but he could never be prey...not again.

Standing at the gravesite yesterday, he might as well have thrown a part of his heart into the ground and buried it along with his father. Though half a decade had ski-sloped by, he never fathomed he would, without warning, lose the most influential man in his life. Did he blame his father for the riff? No, he blamed her—the executive assistant—for what happened.

It made him resent what she'd done all the more. These days, all he needed was a willing body beneath him to take the edge off, to help him forget. In fifteen minutes, he'd be seated in an antique leather chair in front of a centuries-old hardwood desk listening to the reading of his father's last will and testament. All he could think about was how much he wanted her beside him, sharing his grief.

Yesterday’s funeral procession did a tape rewind; Raven walking down the aisle at the church, her appearance as riveting as the aerial creature that shared her name. Long legs that he remembered thrown over his shoulders carried her closer to the one man they both loved. His father had driven a wedge between them and plunged a stake through Darius’s chest, trapping him in a perpetual state of agony. With her head held high, unshed tears glistening, she kept her sorrow-filled gaze on the motionless figure in the pillowy death cradle. Why the hell are caskets filled with satin decorative pillows? There’s nothing pretty about death. Especially when cancer sneaks up like a thief in the night, leaving emptiness and devastation in its wake.

As for Raven, her sole focus rested with his father.

He watched. With trembling hands, she touched the mask of Lexington Kent's face for the last time.

The very air in the sanctuary had vibrated with her tangible grief. Darius wanted to be angry, but witnessing her devastation had broken through the betrayal. Something in his chest tightened, the anger crumbled. Her expressive eyes brimmed with pain, so deep the pool drowned him in her sorrow. Seated in the first row closest to the aisle, he’d lifted his hand, reaching for her. Wanting to comfort her. Raven avoided looking at him when she turned to leave, though he seemed incapable of tearing his gaze elsewhere. His fingers ached to touch her. How could she be so cold toward him?

Questions. Always questions.

Why had she done what she did?

Darius believed they were in love, him for the first time. They could have built a family, given his father a grandson or daughter to carry forth the Kent legacy. He'd never considered fathering a child until Raven entered his life. The whole ordeal had soured him on commitment.

Now, he was about the stick and move.