Czytaj książkę: «Every Chance I Get»

“Business is the only thing
between us,” Misha said resolutely.

“Is it?”

Misha knew Talib was right behind her without needing to look back and prove it to herself.

“Is it, Misha?” The back of his hand trailed the curve of her spine. His finger curled into the belt around her robe in case she had any thoughts of moving away.

Talib spun Misha around gracefully and placed his mouth on hers. Her tongue thrust eagerly against his, giving just as much fire as he gave. She was so absorbed in the kiss that she hardly noticed him lifting her up against his body and carrying her in the direction of the bedroom.

Finding her nude beneath the robe, Talib took full advantage. He kissed his way down Misha’s neck and up again, almost painfully aroused by the supple curves on her slender body. Her bottom was full and molded perfectly to his palms when he cupped them. Her breasts were firm, flawlessly rounded mounds that beckoned his lips, teeth and tongue.

Having had his fill of kissing for the moment, he ventured lower.

ALTONYA WASHINGTON

wears many titles. Aside from Mom, her favorite is romance author. Crafting stories and characters that are sexy and engaging with a fair amount of mystery really keeps her busy. When AlTonya’s not writing, she works as a library assistant and as social secretary to an active son—a job that demands the bulk of her time.

Every Chance I Get
Altonya Washington

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

This is the book so many of you have been asking for. Since his appearance in Hudson’s Crossing, many of you have been captivated by my sexy Brit, Talib Mason. The history between him and our heroine, Misha Bales, has simmered in a sea of unrest for far too long. It’s time for their attraction to be confronted and conquered.

Readers have asked why I chose to make Talib British, and plenty of others have told me just how happy they are about it. It was actually quite exciting to craft another non-American hero, which I’ve done before in other stories. And like before, I’ve had the best time with everything, from the speech patterns and language to the more alluring elements that lurk seductively below the surface of his British persona.

Let’s find out if Misha can hold her own against a man as delectable as Talib.

Be sure to let me know what you think. Email me at altonya@lovealtonya.com and visit my website, www.lovealtonya.com.

Best,

AlTonya

To the readers who wanted more Talib. Here he is!

To the Romance Slam Jam organizers and participants, the book clubs and the LoveAlTonya webgroup.

You all have been such a phenomenal force in my career in so many ways. I wish you continued success in all your individual endeavors.

I feel honored and blessed by your support.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Prologue

August 2005

New York

Talib Mason planned on finding a ticket plastered to his windshield by the time he returned to the parking lot. He didn’t give a damn, of course. So what if he parked on the curb and dangerously close to a fire hydrant? He’d already done well enough to reach his destination without wrecking the car along the way.

He’d spent the better part of the day cursing himself for letting the argument with Misha get so far out of hand. He slammed the elevator button with his fist. To accuse her had been unfair. That story could have only been leaked by someone with inside knowledge. But he had accused her, and he’d been at his cruelest while he’d done it. The things he’d said…

It felt like his heart was about to crush his ribs. It’d been pounding viciously ever since he’d spoken with her assistant.

At that time of night, the corridors of St. Joseph’s Hospital were almost completely silent. The third-shift nurses were either making rounds or engaged in light conversation while gathered around their station. Conversation ceased, though, when the four women at the nurses’ station caught sight of the man who rushed from the elevator and bounded toward them. The fact that he appeared as provocative as sin did nothing to mask the outrage darkening his expression.

“Misha Bales.” Added to his dark expression was the abrupt tone in his voice. The tone was unavoidable, given his fear that he was about to lose her. The usually seductive level of his British-laced brogue came across as harsh and dangerous.

Given the circumstances, the nurses were hesitant to release any information. They exchanged uncertain glances. This did nothing to soothe Talib’s temper, already teetering close to the edge of explosion. Silently he warred with himself, gripping the edge of the counter as he bowed his head. Security was but a button’s push away as he was sure the nurses were well aware. Thankfully, the world wasn’t completely against him.

“Talib? Talib, is that you?”

He heard his name and saw Dr. Lettia Breene approaching the station.

The lovely full-figured obstetrician wore a concerned frown as she could all but feel the tension in the air. “I hope you’re here for a checkup.” She took note of his haggard appearance, then asked the nurses, “What’s going on?”

Talib responded first. “Misha’s here, Lett.”

“Misha?” Lettia turned back toward the nurses.

RN Connie Wesley checked a book on the desk and nodded. “Car accident, Dr. B.” She looked toward her colleagues who were all nodding.

“It was about four hours ago,” Nurse Adrian White added and passed Lett the report on Misha. “The EMTs said she had to be pried out of the car.”

“Jesus,” Talib moaned.

Lett set aside the chart and put a hand on his shoulder. “What room is she in?”

Minutes later, Talib was being directed toward the unit where Misha was being treated. The six-foot-plus former linebacker had to lean on the doctor when he saw Misha bandaged and resting in the dim room.

“God,” Lettia whispered. She was just as devastated as Talib was, shaking her head slowly in disbelief.

“It’s my fault.” Emotion had rendered Talib’s voice raw.

“Shh…” Lettia rubbed his back. “Honey, blaming yourself won’t do either of you any good.”

“It’s my fault.”

“Talib—”

“Don’t tell her I was here.”

“But, Talib, she’ll—”

“Swear it, Lett.”

“Honey, why?”

“Just swear it, Lettia.”

She nodded, even as she searched his face in wonder. “All right,” she said when he took her shoulders.

Satisfied, he turned back to Misha. She was already uncommonly small and the bed she occupied looked gargantuan with her in the middle of it.

“Will she…be okay?” His voice wavered while he brushed his thumb across the bruises darkening her jaw and cheek.

Lettia nodded, easing a hand into the pocket of her white coat. “From what I read in the chart, everything points toward her making a full recovery. It’s gonna take time though. She banged herself up pretty badly.”

Talib leaned in close to study Misha intently, as if he were trying to memorize her features—battered as they were.

“Remember, you swore not to tell her I came here.”

“Tal—”

“Lettia.”

“I won’t.”

Gingerly, Talib kissed an uninjured area on Misha’s forehead. “I love you,” he whispered against her skin, and then left the room.

“Tal…Tal? Talib…” Misha was stirring mere seconds after the door closed.

Lettia glanced over her shoulder, debating on whether to go after Talib. Instinct told her that a line had been crossed between the couple and it was best to let things be.

“Talib…I…I’m sorry.”

“Honey, shhh…” Lettia spoke near her friend’s ear.

Misha rolled her head slowly across the pillow. She frowned, trying to open eyes that were swollen shut.

Lettia pressed a hand to her hair. “Shh…honey you need to rest. Shh…”

“He has to know I’m sorry. He has to know it….” Her words could barely be heard as they tripped past her bruised lips.

Lettia kissed the spot Talib had earlier. “He does, hon. He does.”

Chapter 1

Present Day

Asher and Riley Hudson’s Bedford home swelled with talk and laughter. Guests filled practically every room of the lovely two-story Southwestern styled house. People were still arriving, their vehicles circling around as drivers searched for parking space on the stadium-size lawn.

The guest list may have been a tad lengthy for a baptism, but no one wanted to miss out on the chance to meet the newest and cutest Hudson. The fact that a baby was the guest of honor put all parents in attendance at ease. No one had to search for a sitter since all kids were welcome. The younger children had a wonderful time breaking in Ahmad Hudson’s elaborate playground set while the older ones enjoyed several rounds of basketball on the two courts the property boasted. For adults and kids alike, the gathering was a sheer delight.

Happiness loomed over everyone. Everyone, that is, except the guest of honor’s godparents. Thankfully, a fair share of business-talk intermingled with the afternoon’s events, occupying Talib and Misha just enough to keep their thoughts and eyes off one another.

Such was the case when Misha stood near the bar cooing with her godson/nephew and nuzzling her nose to his cheek.

“Already got the man buyin’ you drinks, huh?”

Misha laughed at Tony Geraldson’s remark and gave the baby a tiny bounce. “A woman’s gotta train a man early,” she told the heavy-set bartender.

Tony laughed when the five-month-old in Misha’s arms cooed as though he were voicing his opinion on the matter. Misha’s dark eyes glinted merrily but she tilted her head when it appeared the baby was looking elsewhere. Turning, she discovered what had sparked the child’s cheerful outburst.

“Talib.” Her glee vanished.

“Misha.” His voice was soft. “You need help here?” He was already leaning close to tickle his nephew’s cheek.

Misha bristled when the scent of his cologne teased her nostrils. “We’re good.” Her voice was tight yet her expression softened when she looked back down at the baby.

It was easy for Talib to take note of the vinegar in her voice and he smiled. Knowing he was playing with fire, he moved a tad closer. “Shouldn’t you ease up a bit?” His dark gaze spanned the length of the bar.

“Counting my visits?” She rolled her eyes. “Could you hurry with that ginger ale, Tony?”

“Got it right here, Misha.”

She turned and gently set Ahmad in his uncle’s arms. Without another word, she took her drink and stormed off.

Talib pressed a kiss to Ahmad’s forehead and watched Misha disappear into the crowd. “Now I’ve done it, haven’t I, mate?” He chuckled as the baby seemed to coo in agreement.

“What the hell do you mean, you’re sorry?” Misha had bolted away from Talib only to have her temper freshly stoked when her best friend forbid her to leave.

Riley cringed and waved her hand to ward off Misha’s frustration. “I hope you don’t whine like that around Ahmad. ’Cause I’ll bring him over for you to deal with if he ever starts it.”

Misha folded her arms over the draping bodice of her dress. “Well, I’ll be happy to take him home with me right now. I just can’t stand to be here for another minute. No offense.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Riley didn’t veer from her task of adding more hors d’oeuvres to a platter while lecturing Misha at the same time. “And is it the party or Talib you’re running away from?”

“Oh come on now, Riley.” Misha reached over to swipe two of the goat-cheese pastries from the platter. “You know, this is some thanks I get after all my understanding about you and Asher.”

“Dammit,” Riley hissed, almost cutting her finger upon listening to Misha. “Right. Understanding. Well, if understanding means feeling kicked around by your best friend, then I guess you were tremendously understanding.”

“Motherhood has made you cold.” Misha’s tone was matter-of-fact.

Riley finally took pity and turned to cup her friend’s face. “What’s this really about?”

Misha pulled Riley’s hands away. “It’s really about him being here. Him being back in my life, so to speak, after six years when he’s supposed to be back in Phoenix. Even if it is just temporary.”

“Right.” Riley puffed her cheeks nervously and turned back to the goat cheese spread.

“Hold it.” Misha grabbed Riley by the chain belt at her waist. “Spill it.”

“I really need to get this stuff out—”

“Riley!”

“All right!” She set the knife on the counter. “Well, you already know he’s here helping Asher with the new office.”

“Right. And?”

“And…he may be here awhile.”

“What’s ‘a while’? Weeks?” she probed when Riley wasn’t forthcoming with an answer. “Months? Months, Riley?”

“Oh, stop it, please.” Riley propped a hand to her hip. “You knew this wasn’t something that could be done overnight.”

“Just tell me he’s definitely going back to Phoenix and not moving out here.” Misha leaned against the counter and rested her face in her hands. She looked up when Riley didn’t respond right away.

“He’s definitely going back to Phoenix and not moving out here.”

“Humph.” Misha’s lashes fluttered as she rolled her eyes. “I’d be better off asking Asher.”

“Ha! Like he’d tell you anything Talib asked him not to. Those two are thick as thieves.” Riley shrugged and turned back to the platter. “I used to think we were thick as thieves.”

“What are you talking about?” Misha’s tone was absent as she worried over Talib’s next move.

Riley tucked a clipped lock of her hair behind her ear and grimaced. “When are you gonna share the real and full story on you and Talib?”

Misha stopped biting her thumbnail and frowned at her friend.

“I know there’s more you haven’t told me.”

“What more is there to tell? You know the messiest part of it all.”

“That you went down an ugly road.” Riley went to put the spread back inside the refrigerator. “That’s all you told me and to this day I’ve got no idea what that means.”

“Jeez, Riley, do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Yes. You bet I do when I see you this way. Running from a man isn’t something you do. I’ve seen you pounce a lot of brothers but never run from them.”

Misha’s wrapped hair covered her face more fully when she bowed her head again. “They weren’t Talib.”

“Will you promise to come and talk to me if you need it?” Riley decided against putting on more pressure and extended her hands.

Misha accepted the offer and kissed her friend’s cheek before they hugged.

“This is the most important thing anyone will ever tell you, man. Fumble is the worst word in the English language.”

Talib and Ahmad were catching the last quarter of a pre-season football game while they relaxed in the den. Talib occupied one of the deep suede armchairs and propped his feet up on an ottoman. Ahmad was beginning to doze from his cozy position near his uncle’s chest.

“What’s goin’ on, fellas?” Asher greeted when he found the two camped out before the television. “What’s the score?” He tickled Ahmad’s cheek then chose a spot on the other armchair.

“Twenty-eight, twenty-one. Not in our favor,” Talib announced.

“How’s Wade?” Asher referred to one of their newest clients, Nevil Wade.

“Sharp as usual, but the bloke can’t do much with the so-called help he’s got.”

Business consumed the conversation for several moments. In the midst of it, Talib kissed his nephew’s head and passed him over to his dad.

“So why’re you holed up in here?” Asher queried when a commercial broke into the game. “Tons of people out there are wanting a second of your time.” He tossed his tie over his shoulder and settled in more comfortably with Ahmad. “I’d appreciate the truth,” he tacked on. Seconds passed before he accepted there would be no response from his friend. “You and Misha avoiding each other when you want to be right next to each other…seems pretty stupid.”

“I’ve been considering more exposure for the new branch.” Talib slipped his feet back into the polished tan wing tips he’d been sporting.

“Are you crazy? We’ve been getting exposure left and right.”

“Print exposure.”

Asher smiled. “What have you got in mind?”

The look Talib slanted was answer enough.

“Hell, man, why don’t you just go and talk to her?”

“That’s all I want.” Talib stood and walked over to lean against the tall pine bar in the room. “But she wants no part of it—of me.”

“That’s a lie, you know.” Asher’s voice was light as he nuzzled his son’s hair.

“I’m not so sure it is, Ash.” Talib studied the invisible pattern his index finger traced into the bar top. “She’s more than angry with me. I suspected it before, but now I know.”

Concern shadowed Asher’s light eyes. “You know what?”

“She’s terrified.”

“Of you?”

“I think so. No, no, that’s not right.” Talib pushed off the bar and strolled the room. He stroked the silky whiskers darkening the honey tone of his face. “No, I don’t think she’s terrified. I’m bloody sure as hell of it.”

Misha found solace on a secluded bend along the back porch. She wiggled to a more comfortable position on a cushioned seat and heard a crinkle from the paper she accidentally sat on. She smiled, finding several outdated newspapers belonging to their competition. Silently, she commended Riley’s thoroughness. The girl always liked to see what the other guy was doing, so she could take it one step further—one step better. Despite that, Misha felt her approval waning when she saw a copy of The First Beacon.

Misha placed aside her disgust and browsed the paper. But it just returned full steam when she saw that the Beacon had added a new section to the paper. That week’s edition boasted the debut of “The Word on Entertainment” by editor Justine Duke.

“That shady wench.” Misha seethed with anger as she conjured the image of her former colleague and greatest enemy. The woman’s irresponsible reporting had caused several upsets between Riley and Asher. Not to mention the upsets between Misha and Talib.

Misha felt her anger gradually taper into anticipation. The need for a slice of revenge was rising sure and steady.

“There you are!” Gloria Reynolds’s firm voice filled the area when she waltzed around the corner. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Well, you found me.” Misha made room on the lounge chair and watched as Gloria angled her tall, curvy frame next to her.

“The baby’s baptism is turning out to be the biggest business party of the season.”

Misha had to laugh at the woman’s excitement. “I’ll bet you’ve got enough scoops to keep The New Chronicle thick for the next year.”

“I won’t deny that.” Gloria gave a quick toss of her auburn locks. “But it’s not The New Chronicle I’ve collected the biggest scoop for, but The Stamper Court.” She spoke of the new publication Riley had been slated to run with Misha as her chief editor.

Intrigued, Misha sat up a bit straighter on the lounge chair listening as Gloria talked of a feature on Hud-Mason.

“We’ve already got Asher’s and Talib’s blessings to run with the thing. The co-owners are eager for as much exposure as possible.”

Misha knew that wouldn’t be difficult for them to obtain. Talk of the successful agents was everywhere. Even the advertising world had caught the fever. Talib’s and Asher’s faces were gracing everything from NYC subways to billboards in Times Square.

Misha noted that an exposé would be great for her and Riley’s new publication which was garnering almost as much talk as Talib’s and Asher’s new venture.

“Are we talking more of a background piece or something more specialized?”

Gloria bit her thumbnail and considered the question. “Oh, this would definitely be more specialized.”

Misha reached for her phone to input notes, but realized she’d left it in the baby’s nursery when she first arrived at the party. “Well, I can put Coyt Parsons on it.” She ran down the project in her head. “He’d love the opportunity. He certainly does have a flair for flashy writing and this would probably call for just that.”

“You may want to wait on that.” Gloria scooted to the edge of the lounge. “The board is gonna insist on you handling it.”

“Why?” Misha moved to the edge of the lounge, as well. “I’m an editor, Gloria, not a writer. Trust me, I know my limits.”

“That may be, but you writing the story was the one thing they insisted on.”

“Right.” Misha leaned back and regarded her publisher with clear suspicion in her tilting onyx stare. “Is this what Riley and me are gonna have to look forward to with our new publication? Will the brass always insist on how we should handle our stories?”

Gloria was about to respond, when she paused and looked past Misha. “Not our brass, hon.” She patted her hand to Misha’s knee and stood.

Misha followed the direction of the woman’s gaze to Talib Mason.