Make You Mine

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Epilogue

Tamara Lawson snuggled down deeper in the spot on the sofa where she lay cuddled against her husband's strong side. “This is nice,” she sighed, resting her hand on his strong muscled thigh.

“Yeah,” Kendrick answered, letting his own hand caress her hip as they watched their favorite movie,
Love Jones
, on the wide-screen television in their living room.

“Everyone should be this happy.”

Kendrick stiffened; his internal alarms immediately rang like a fire drill.

Tamara slipped her hand beneath her husband's T-shirt, rubbing his muscled chest in the slow, circular motion that she knew he loved. “Caress and Julius should be this happy.”

“Tam-Tam,” he warned, knowing exactly which direction the conversation was headed. It was a road well traveled for them. “Baby, please. Let's not go there, like you tell me all the time.”

“What?” she asked innocently, as she sat up to look at him. “Caress and Julius are both single. Caress isn't seeing anyone now, and Julius isn't in a serious relationship. I think they'd make a cute couple—”

Kendrick used his hand to pull his wife back toward him and lightly tapped her hand on his chest to remind her that she had stopped the massaging. “Problem is, Tam-Tam, you're the only one who thinks so. Caress has begged you, Julius has bribed you, and now I'm asking you: stop trying to hook them up.”

Tamara sighed as she settled back against his warmth and continued her rubbing of his chest. “A'ight, Kendrick.”

He moaned in pleasure at the feel of her hands, letting his head fall back on the couch. “Promise?”

Secretly, Tamara crossed her toes. “Of course I promise, baby.”

“Six hundred and ten…twenty…thirty…fifty…and seventy. Damn.”

Caress Coleman looked down at her life savings, frustrated that no matter how many times she counted the money that was pitifully stacked on her small dinette table the sum would remain the same: six hundred seventy dollars. Oh, and fifty-three cents.

Big damn deal.

Caress dropped her head in her hand and reassessed the scenario.

Yesterday had been her last day as the administrative assistant for Sanctuary, a non-profit drug abuse shelter. Last week her boss informed her that the organization's grant funding her administrative position would not be renewed. Without the grant money, the funds were not available to pay Caress's salary.

Well, since she was laid off she of course went to file for unemployment benefits. Well, surprise surprise. She qualified for benefits, but the weekly check amount wasn't going to be enough to cover her bills. Not nearly enough.

“Think, Caress…think,” she ordered herself, eyeing first the stack of money and then the notepad listing all of her bills for the month. Usually she would split the payments in two, but living check to check would soon catch up to her without the next check to rely on.

She was going to have to rob Peter to pay Paul.

“Damn it,” Caress swore again. She had been counting on unemployment benefits to tide her over until she found another job.

Caress was definitely feeling the unrelenting pressure of being stuck between a rock and a hard place. “Why didn't I carry my butt to college?” she asked herself aloud, just as someone rang her doorbell.

Caress folded the money into the side pocket of her purse and scooped up the change to toss in as well.

“Coming,” she yelled out, leaving the tiny kitchenette of her studio apartment to make her way to the front door.

“Who?” Caress lifted up on her toes to peer out the peephole with one slanted ebony eye.

“Girl, it's Tamara. Open up this door with your scary self.”

Caress smiled at the sight of her best friend, Tamara, childishly sticking out her tongue. Dropping back down on the soles of her size six feet, she stepped back to open the metal door. “What's up, girl?”

“Nothing much.” Tamara breezed into the small studio like sunshine. “What happened with your unemployment?”

Caress followed Tamara to the second-hand leather sofa bed in the middle of the studio. “What I'm supposed to get ain't nearly enough to keep me afloat.”

“What?” Tamara shrieked, dropping her small leather purse on the coffee table.

Caress leaned her petite frame back against the sofa. “That's exactly what I said.”

The two friends fell silent, both lost in their thoughts. Caress and Tamara had been good friends for the past few years. They met when Tamara moved into the studio apartment next door. Even though they were as different as night and day, they immediately clicked. If anything, their differences seemed to draw them closer. While Tamara was loud, carefree, and friendly, Caress was more reserved and quiet, preferring to be seen rather than heard. Even when Tamara met and married Kendrick, moving into his one-bedroom apartment across town, the two women had remained thick as thieves.

“Caress, you know I'd help…”

Caress waved away any attempts Tamara made at offering her money. “You and Kendrick have bills of your own. I'll be all right, so don't offer because I won't take it.”

Tamara knew that Caress's independence was a positive and negative trait. Growing up alone within the foster care system since she was two, Caress had learned early to fend for herself and depend on no one. But Tamara was her friend, and although she couldn't afford to spare much, she would gladly give Caress something if she'd just take it.

Knowing the direct approach wouldn't work, Tamara wisely changed the subject. “Let's go to the movies or something,” she offered, reaching for the folded newspaper atop the coffee table.

“Sorry, but I'm not in the mood to roll third wheel.”

Tamara snapped the paper open, casting a slick glance in Caress's direction from the corner of her eye. “We could double.”

Caress looked to the heavens. “Does this Julius have any idea how much of a fan he has in you?” she asked sarcastically, already knowing exactly who her friend wanted her to date. “Ever since I finally kicked Bobby to the curb a few months ago, you've been trying to hook me up with this mysterious Julius.”

For two years Bobby whirled through Caress's life, leaving her fifteen thousand dollars in debt because she was foolish enough to co-sign for his car and credit cards. She had finally told his part-time-working, no-time bill-paying behind to get out of her life. That had been her last foolish attempt at love and she wasn't about to grab a flashlight and go out looking for more.

Tamara opened the newspaper. “All I'm saying is that you're both single with a lot in common.”

“Like what?” Caress asked pointedly, fixing her piercing ebony eyes on Tamara.

Tamara feigned extra interest in the newspaper. “Like, uhm, uhm—”

“Yeah, I thought so.”

“It's just a date, Caress, something to take your mind off your troubles for one night.”

True, if she didn't occupy herself she would stress about her situation all night long. It was amazing just how much your eyes stayed glued to the ceiling at night when you were contemplating unpaid bills. Although she could definitely use a diversion, Caress looked doubtful. “I don't know, Tam-Tam.”

“Come on, girl. It'll be just four friends hanging out.” Tamara smiled and nudged Caress with her shoulder. “It's just one night. What's the worst that could happen?”

Caress shot her best friend a withering look.

 

“Smile for me, baby. Think of your man, your mama, or those shoes you saw at the mall.”

The nude svelte model did just as Julius Jones commanded. If she supplied the look, he would supply top rate photos. He was one of the top photographers in the tri-state area. Between his freelance work for some of the most elite fashion and beauty magazines in the country, he had an impressive list of clientele clamoring to come to his Jersey City, New Jersey, studio for their head shots or family photos.

“One more, Karina,” Julius said loudly, his eye gazing at her through the lens before he rapidly snapped several more shots. “Okay, that should do it.”

Julius handed the camera to his assistant who liked to be called Boo. Julius would only address him by his given name of Dwayne. There was no way he was going to call a grown man Boo, especially one who was so openly gay that Julius wondered if Dwayne was a cross-dresser in his spare time. Either way Julius didn't care. The only thing that mattered to him was Dwayne's skill with a camera and his ability to do the job as his assistant, and the man was excellent at both. Julius had no complaints. They were cool.

Julius walked across the length of the converted warehouse he used as his office and studio. At his desk he picked up some proofs to sort through. Suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“I can't wait to see the finished photos, Julius.”

He turned his head to find Karina closing the chocolate leather curtain that blocked his office off from the rest of the lengthy studio. The up-and-coming supermodel looked willow and beautiful in a short silk kimono that did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that she was nude beneath it. Funny how the sight of taut nipples pressing against the thin silk was more erotic to him than seeing her completely nude.

With a warmth in his eyes that could rival a fire, Julius gave her a long, leisurely look that was filled with intent. “I just hope I do you justice.”

Karina took a bold step toward him, lifting her hand to caress the ever-present stubble on his cheek. “I just hope I'm able to do you.”

“Hey, Jules,” his assistant called through the curtain.

“Dwayne,” he threatened at Dwayne's use of the nickname Tamara gave him. He never once looked away from Karina as she sucked leisurely on her index finger in a decidedly provocative move.

“Oops! 'Cuse me,
Julius
, telephone.”

He just shook his head. “Hold that thought,” Julius told her.

Karina laughed huskily, pulling her finger from her mouth to outline his full bottom lip. “That's not all I'll hold.”

He leaned past her to pick up the cordless phone on his desk, the ringer of which had been shut off. “Julius Jones here.”

“Hello there, Julius Jones. Tamara Lawson here.”

“What's up Tam-Tam?” he asked, keeping his eyes on Karina as she draped herself across the top of his neatly organized desk.

“Favor.”

“What?”

“Double date. Kendrick, you, me and—”

“Let me guess…Caress, right?” Julius drawled, as Karina began the foreplay without him.

“Yes. Look, she got laid off and I thought a night out with some friends would lift her spirits. You game?”

Julius pulled a chair over and sat down to watch Karina's show, automatically straightening the crease of his black slacks.

“Jules?”

“Huh…what?” he asked, distracted as Karina played in the soft, moist folds of her feminine core.

“Look, you owe me.”

“Not tonight, Tamara,” he told her sternly. “Besides, I have to finish packing. You know I leave for Africa in the morning.”

“As anal as you are?” Tamara mocked, with a laugh. “You've probably been packed since last week.”

She was right. “Look, I just can't tonight. Trust me on this.”

“Jules.”

“No, definitely not tonight,” he insisted, as Karina began to purr like a kitten being stroked.

“Jules.”

“Tamara, not—”

“Julius,” she finished softly.

He massaged his five o'clock shadow, which he kept neat and taped up with a weekly trip to his barber. He always rubbed his beard when he had a choice to make. A sure thing with Karina or a mercy date with Tamara's unemployed friend.

“Stop rubbing that sorry beard and say something, Jules.”

He laughed softly at her astuteness. They'd been friends since college and she knew him well…too well. “This is one helluva favor you're calling in. You…just…don't…know.”

Karina trembled and purred softly with her own climax, boldly looking him in his eyes as she did. Julius swallowed over a lump in his throat. “Oh, you owe me…
big
time.”

 

Frustrated, Caress yanked the shirt over her head and threw it on the open sofa bed with the rest of her discarded garments. For the past thirty minutes she had struggled with what to wear. Not that she was trying to impress Mr. Julius Jones, photographer extraordinaire. She just liked to look her best at all times.

Clad only in a denim skirt and her lace bra, Caress surveyed her slim wardrobe. Even when she was working she didn't have much money to buy new clothes the way she wanted, but she tried to buy a few nice pieces that could be switched up.

Caress turned and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror hanging on the inside of the closet door. She absolutely hated the odd shape of her body. She wished her breasts were more the size of cantaloupes than plums. Some might say more than a mouthful was a waste, but Caress could only laugh at that. She definitely wanted to graduate out of the itty-bitty-titty committee, especially with her wide hips, shapely legs, and full bottom. She caught all kinds of hell trying to buy a two-piece outfit when her top was a size medium and her bottom a large.

Stepping closer to the mirror, Caress leaned in to study her face. A lot of people likened her to Jennifer Lopez, but she didn't see the resemblance. Sure, they both had classic Latin features and long straight dark hair, but Caress was only half Latina while J. Lo was a full-blooded Puerto Rican. Caress's skin tone was definitely darker, and her hair had to be permed to maintain its polished straightness, both testaments to the African-American part of her heritage.

And it was a heritage she wanted to know more about.

She let her eyes drift across the studio apartment to the picture frame holding all the history she had in the world. It was a shame.

If not for the faded photograph of a Latin man and a Black woman stuck in her meager belongings when she was carried to Child Protective Services as a toddler, Caress wouldn't even know she was mixed. Her mother died when she was two. With no other family available to take her in, she became a child of foster care. Unfortunately that's all she knew of her lineage. Was her Latin side Cuban, Puerto Rican, Dominican, or maybe Mexican? Was her Black side Jamaican, African, or American?

Questions and more questions.

Growing up without a past does that for a person.

Brushing off her sadness, Caress turned and reached into the pile of clothes on the bed for the long-sleeved V-neck shirt she discarded earlier. She pulled on the fitted top and then reached into her small closet for her black knee-length boots—it was a cool October night and the boots should be fine. “Not bad for thirty bucks,” Caress told herself, as she sat down on the sofa bed to pull them on. “Not bad at all.”