Sudden Desires Read online

  Sudden Desires

  (Sweet Promise #1)

  Shanora Williams

  Contents

  Copyright © 2015 Shanora Williams

  Other Books By Shanora Williams

  1. FOLLOW SHANORA

  2. ONE

  3. TWO

  4. THREE

  5. FOUR

  6. FIVE

  7. SIX

  8. SEVEN

  9. EIGHT

  10. NINE

  11. TEN

  12. ELEVEN

  13. TWELVE

  14. THIRTEEN

  15. FOURTEEN

  16. FIFTEEN

  17. SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  18. EIGHTEEN

  19. NINETEEN

  20. TWENTY

  21. TWENTY ONE

  22. TWENTY TWO

  END OF PART ONE

  FOLLOW SHANORA

  Copyright © 2015 Shanora Williams

  

  All rights reserved. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the publisher, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  Published October 2015

  Editing by Librum Artis Editorial Services

  Cover Art and Design by SK Hartley

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  Trademarks: This book identifies product names and services known to be trademarks, registered trademarks, or service marks of their respective holders. The author acknowledges the trademarked status in this work of fiction. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Other Books By Shanora Williams

  Standalones:

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  Tainted Black

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  BEWARE Series:

  * * *

  BEWARE

  BEWARE 2: The Comeback

  * * *

  FireNine Series:

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  Who He Is

  Who We Are

  Who I Am

  Who I’m Becoming

  * * *

  Hard to Resist Series

  * * *

  Hard to Resist

  Hard to Hold On

  Hard to Forget (1.5)

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  ONE

  Griffin

  * * *

  My wife is unappreciative.

  She’s neglectful and selfish.

  Whatever I do for her is never good enough.

  If I bring her flowers after I’ve had a long day at work, she scrunches her nose, reminding me over and over again that she hates them. I know she hates them, but I always figured it’s the thought that counts.

  “They only get in the way, and then they die and we’re left with a withered mess,” she’d say.

  Regardless¸ I’ll have Arianna toss them in a vase and leave them on the counter in the kitchen.

  There are times when I’ve busted my ass on a deal at work, staying up late at night, making calls for hours, and then flying from Miami to New York to finish the job.

  I’d get a hotel, shower, jump into some relaxing clothes, and the only thing I’d want is to hear is my Colette’s beautiful voice.

  I can admit that it is usually late when I make the calls (around midnight) but I know she’s awake. She paints a lot for the gallery. She’s a late worker, hardly even sleeps because she’s always creating something.

  I’d call and she’d answer, claiming she’s too busy to talk. All I want is an “I love you, I miss you, hurry home”, but I don’t get that. Frankly, with Colette, I get nothing whatsoever anymore. I can’t even remember the last time we had sex.

  That trip to Cancun, I think?

  It was a vacation I’d planned four months ago, in April, but she didn’t enjoy it. She complained about there being too many tourists and not enough “breathing room.”

  We spent most of our time in the hotel suite, and so it was pretty much obligatory for us to have sex. We were alone in the room and drank a few glasses of expensive wine. We both needed it.

  I guess the fun was good while it lasted.

  We could blame it all on our sexless marriage, or the fact that we’ve been together for ten years, married for seven of them, and bored for the past five, but either way, I try. I really do.

  Like today. I’m in the kitchen. It’s my day off. A pot of coffee has been brewed, French toast, bacon, and eggs all set up on the table.

  I sit at the table with my tablet, reading the latest on stock numbers. NASDAQ is dropping again. Trouble for me. Lots of calls to return tomorrow.

  I’m sure my associates are flipping their wigs right now.

  I sigh, and then I hear footsteps coming towards the kitchen. When I look up, it’s Colette.

  She looks good, hair up in a tight gold bun, her makeup simple—just around the eyes. Mascara and eyeliner, a bit of concealer, and lip-gloss. She’s wearing workout gear, earphones plugged in her ears. She’s humming some tune by Lana Del Rey.

  She sees me at the table and blinks, confused. Pulling out an earphone and frowning, she asks, “What is all this?”

  I stand from the table and meet at her side. “It’s called breakfast, Colette. Join me.”

  “Oh no.” She shakes her head and waves a hand with disapproval. “No, honey. I can’t eat that fatty food. I’m dropping ten pounds for the salsa competition next month, remember?” Her voice is winded as if she’s worked out and is tired already. She rubs my arm, and disappointment sweeps through me but I step away, nodding as if I understand. Honestly, I don’t. A little bacon won’t hurt anybody, right?

  “Okay,” I murmur. But really I’m thinking, whatever. “Have fun. Keep it tight for me.”

  She laughs. “These days, as a woman, I have to learn to stay in shape for myself. My dance instructor, Rico, tells me that my body is my temple. I should take care of it. Worship it. And then there’s you to consider too.” She laughs.

  It’s meant to be a joke, but it’s a shitty one.

  “Hmm. I guess.”

  She plugs her earphone back into her ear, picks her keys up off the key holder, and then collects herself at the garage door. When it swings open, I expect her to turn back and say goodbye, see you later. Maybe one of those I love you’s. Like I said before, I don’t get any of that anymore.

  She just leaves.

  The door shuts, and I stare it for several seconds before swinging my eyes over to the food on the table. I haven’t eaten yet. I waited for her to join me.

  I’m sure it’s no longer warm, so I put two slices of French toast and bacon on a plate and toss it in the mi
crowave.

  Arianna steps into the kitchen with a broom in hand. She has her black hair pulled up into a ponytail, her tan face crinkling with the wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks.

  She observes the kitchen, her dark-brown eyes then dropping to meet mine. “Mrs. Boyd is gone already?”

  “Yep,” I sigh. The microwave beeps and I take out my food.

  “You made this?” Arianna asks.

  “I did. For Colette.” I meet her eyes as I sit at the table. She looks down at me, pity swimming in her eyes. I don’t need it, so I hold my hand out, offering her some. “Come on, Ari. Take a break. Eat with me.”

  She smiles. “I can wait until lunch. Are you sure?” she asks, hesitant.

  My lips press, forming a stiff smile as I pick up my fork. “Positive. Have as much you want. Someone might as well enjoy it, right?”

  She grins, taking the chair across from me. She grabs a stack of French toast and eggs, the orange juice, and asks for me to slide the syrup across the table. She digs right into her food, nodding and smiling. “Good,” she garbles out, mouth full.

  I smile, and as I watch her eat, somehow it makes my stomach churn, the smile slipping away from my lips.

  This isn’t supposed to be what my mornings consist of. Sharing breakfast with my housekeeper instead of my wife? How did it get to this?

  What am I doing wrong?

  I have a great cock. I give good, deep strokes. I know it. I blow Colette’s brains out every time we fuck—whenever that happens anyway.

  I treat her like a queen. I give her whatever she wants.

  I come home weary almost every night when I don’t have to travel and if her back aches, I massage it, relieving her stress even though I’d just been wrapped up in my own.

  I care for my wife, I do, but I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  Being alone.

  Feeling abandoned.

  Feeling like I’m always wrong.

  I want my wife back. I want her to try too. I want the same love I express in return. I want us to be happy again.

  That’s not too much to ask, is it?

  My phone rings on the glass table, pulling me out of my cluttered thoughts. I look down, spotting Kelly’s name on the screen. Kelly is my personal assistant. Unfortunately, Kelly is also man.

  Colette wasn’t comfortable with my first assistant, a blonde bombshell I had to admit, but I didn’t think of her that way. Her name was Olivia. We worked together; she kept up with my shit. She was way more organized than I could ever be.

  She was really good at her job, but I had to let her go, all because my wife didn’t want to wonder about how I spent my late nights at work… and also because she’d complained to my father-in-law.

  I answer the phone with a sigh. “Kelly?”

  “Sir,” he says into the phone. “The owners of Stratford and Clark are here a day early.”

  “What?” I sit forward in my seat. “What made them want to come today?”

  “I’m not sure. I told them it was your day off and that I am only here to double-check on a few files, but they won’t accept. They want to settle the deal with Quarter Banking today or they think the deal will crash. They seem to be in a bit of a rush, too. Well… one of them.”

  “Okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m coming in. Tell them to give me twenty. Try and keep them satisfied.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I hang up, sliding my cellphone into my pocket and pushing my chair in. Arianna looks at me with big eyes. “Everything okay?”

  “Yep. Fine.”

  “You’re going to work?” she asks, picking up her orange juice.

  “Yes.” I shrug. “No days off, right?”

  She looks disappointed, giving me that motherly look she always does when I seem a bit overwhelmed. I guess that’s why I adore Arianna. She reminds me of my mother.

  She’s kind, sweet, and understanding. She doesn’t judge me—not even Colette. She sees the best in people, a quality I wish I had. “Everyone needs days off, Mr. Boyd. Especially you.”

  “Yeah, well… not today. I’d much rather be working than spending my free time chasing after Colette… though I’m sure she doesn’t care.”

  “She loves you,” Arianna assures me as I shrug into the jacket.

  There she goes… always seeing the good. She’s witnessed firsthand the damage Colette can do with her words and actions and yet she still defends her. And no, it’s not because she works for us. It’s just how she is. She’s one of those people that always looks towards the bright side.

  “Yeah, well, I’ll wait until she shows me proof of that.” I pick up my keys from the key hook by the garage door. “See you later, Arianna. Enjoy the rest of your breakfast.”

  She nods with a press of her lips.

  I step out, jumping into the Maserati and starting the ignition. It’s a fifteen-minute drive to get to Boyd Enterprises, an extra five with the Florida traffic.

  I’m certain I can make it in twelve.

  I step into the building, feeling a sense of pride as I’m greeted by a few employees.

  The women smile and bat their eyelashes at me. Most of my female employees are drop-dead gorgeous, allowing me a little stare here and there.

  It comes in handy on days like this, when my wife is doing everything possible to avoid me.

  Unfortunately they don’t work anywhere near my floor or office. No ogling throughout the day for this man.

  They work on the other floors, assistants of the men or women who handle stocks for smaller companies. Or “beginners” as we call them. The smaller ones are usually just starting out. I only handle the larger ones.

  I hit the elevator, pressing the quarter-sized button for floor sixteen. The very top floor. The doors start to close, but a female voice fills the area, catching my attention. “Wait! Hold the elevator!”

  I press the button and shoot my hand out between the doors before they can meet.

  A woman appears outside the elevator, out of breath. She stumbles into the elevator on six-inch heels when the doors slide completely open, rushing her way to the opposite corner of me.

  Panting, she fixes her silky brown locks and then her shirt. Her eyes are fixed on the buttons of her blouse as she mutters, “Damn it,” beneath her breath.

  I straighten my tie, looking her way. Now she’s making me feel disheveled. Her button has popped, a pair of full, perky breasts on display.

  She starts to look up but I look away immediately before she can catch my eye..

  “Sorry,” she murmurs when the doors finally close.

  “For what?” I ask without looking at her.

  “For holding you back.” She fidgets and is quiet for a moment. “I know exactly who you are. You own this place, right?”

  My brows draw together and I finally look over to her. Out of all the colors out there, I’m not expecting to meet eyes as blue as hers. They’re basically see-through—like glass—like I can see right into her soul… only something about her doesn’t allow complete access. They’re aqua, just like the ocean water we live only miles away from.

  “Yeah,” I finally say when she cranes her neck a bit, awaiting my response. To keep myself from looking any more foolish, I extend my arm and offer a hand. “Griffin Boyd. Owner of this goose chase,” I say, smiling.

  She returns it. “Angelina Clark.”

  “Clark?” My eyebrows lift. “You’re here with Stratford and Clark?”

  “Yes,” she says rather quickly. “Well, I’m here on my brother’s behalf. Stratford wanted to get the deal wrapped up today while my brother wanted to play nookie with his lady-friend.” She rolls her eyes. “Sorry—I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” She makes a face, one full of embarrassment. “Since we are associates for the time being I trust you not to say anything.”

  “Not my problem or situation,” I say.

  “Anyway, I’m sort of his side-kick with all of this, only I know more about this job. Dad
only handed him the top position because he figured a ‘man’ needed to play the role as co-founder and CEO.” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “We’re twins.”

  “I do see the resemblance. He never told me he had a twin.” I look forward again, watching the floor numbers go from twelve to thirteen. “Running late?”

  “No. I’ve been here.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and I catch a whiff of her scent. Honey and vanilla, a touch of lavender. “I ran out to the car. Forgot one of my folders.”

  “Oh.”

  She sighs, doing the same as I do and looking ahead. Through the corner of my eye I can see her stealing glances of me. Even in her high-heels, she is still pretty short.

  During our entire ride up, I try getting myself to not think of what is in plain sight.

  Her body.

  That figure.

  Her face.

  This girl, Angelina Clark, is fucking stunning.

  She dresses clean, sporting a nice tan blouse and a pencil skirt. Her hair is done nearly to perfection, her smile contagious. Wicked straight teeth and the most striking blue eyes I have ever seen.

  This woman’s looks alone could bring any man to his knees. Powerful sex appeal that would make the same man commit murder in order to keep her. What was God thinking when he created her?

  “Do you think Quarter Banking will give in?” she asks. “We’re all a little skeptical of it, if I’m being honest.”

  “I’m not sure. They seem hesitant now. I’m sure it’s because they saw the drop in the NASDAQ. But don’t worry. This deal wouldn’t have gone the way it did without Stratford and Clark’s persistence. Just a little more pushing and we’ll have them.”