Intimate Intuition Read online

  Letting it all go, I pull his form against my chest and wrap my arms around him, putting my face into his neck. “No, God no. I want you. I want this. It’s just I don’t want you to regret making this leap when you weren’t totally over what happened with Sarah.”

  He holds me tightly. “Baby, I’m never going to be over what happened to Sarah. It’s always going to live in the back of my mind, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy. Have a family with a beautiful woman who’s kind, sweet, talented, a great fuckin’ cook, an even better baker, but more importantly, a woman of substance. I want that in my life. After being alone, I’ve finally realized I deserve my own slice of happiness, and that’s what you do for me.”

  “I make you happy?” My words sound raw and rough, and tears threaten at the back of my eyes.

  “Dara, I haven’t seen the sun in more than three years. Then you came along. And baby, you shine so bright I’m blinded with its glory. I never want that warmth to leave me. Ever. So, I’m gonna hold on to it. Hold on to you. Let you keep me in the light.”

  “I’m falling for you.” I admit my half truth because the real truth is I already have, but this is a good first step.

  One of his arms locks around my waist, the other shifts up my back, his hand curling into my hair, thumb pressing my chin up. All I see are pools of green. Love and happiness beaming down at me.

  “That’s good, real good, because I’m falling for you too.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later…

  “Yo’, there a Dara up in this house?” a woman’s voice calls from the front of the bakery.

  Ricky pops his head into the back where I’m frosting more buttercream and raspberry cupcakes and hooks a finger over his shoulder before disappearing. I finish the last two. My man’s favorite. Silas loves him some raspberry, and I love putting a smile on his face, so I’ve added a new raspberry item to my regular list of treats each week. He’s shown his appreciation in multiple ways, most of them with his tongue or his cock. Therefore, treats are brought upstairs on the regular, and with this second trimester libido, I am a happy woman.

  I wipe my hands on my apron and head out to the front. The bakery is packed as usual. A bunch of patrons I recognize. My mama picking up tables and chatting up the customers. Same as she does in every store we own. She likes to be in this one, not only because I’m here but because it’s where they started. So twice a week, Mama helps out, mostly hanging out, shooting the breeze with the customers, sharing her sage wisdom along the way. This system works for me. I love having my mama close.

  She smiles at me and tends to the table of yogis we all know. Crystal Nightingale and Jewel Marigold have been co-owners of Lotus House but are getting to the place in their lives where they want to retire, explore the world even more than they already have, and dote on the younger generation. Part of their regular routine is to hit the bakery in the afternoons. I make special vegan treats for them, which keeps them not only coming back but buying me out of those treats because they love to bring the remainder home to their husbands. Win-win.

  I wave over to them and then nudge Ricky. “Who called for me? I know a lot of people here.” I snort-laugh, giving him a wry smile.

  He points over to two well-dressed black women standing off to the side, behind the line of people. I make eye contact with the younger one and smile. Her eyes widen, and she smacks the arm of the older woman with her. The other woman is relatively tall, thin, and wearing a purple tunic-style silk blouse and matching pants. Her hair is cut in a sleek black bob that sways as she turns around. I immediately see the resemblance. Pale-green eyes set against dark, mocha-colored skin in a face that looks exactly like the man I love.

  Holy shit! This must be Silas’s mother.

  I swallow, wipe my suddenly clammy hands along my apron, and exit at the counter bar, lifting it up and letting it fall back down.

  The two women push through the crowd and stand before me.

  “You can’t be Dara. You’re a sista’,” the young woman says with a hint of awe and distrust. Her aura is screaming leery, which I can’t fathom because she doesn’t even know me.

  “Half, yes. Not sure what else,” I admit freely because I’ve got nothing to hide about my ethnicity. Mostly because a person’s color does not matter one iota; it’s the breadth of their character that speaks to who they are.

  The young woman stares, mouth gaping, before her eyes scan my body head to toe and land squarely on my bump. At sixteen weeks, I’m definitely showing, much to Silas’s great delight. Even if I wasn’t, the new apron Mama bought me that reads “Baby Baker” with a picture of a cartoon baby holding a cupcake right over my small bump definitely gives it away.

  “You’re Dara?” the older woman asks, as though I didn’t make that clear by coming over to them.

  “Yes, ma’am. And you’re Silas’s mom.” I hold out my hand and smile. “I’m so excited to meet you. I wish Silas had told me you were coming in. I would have planned something special, more coverage for the store, but as you can see…” She ignores my hand, so I use it to gesture toward the line. “We’re pretty busy.”

  “You most certainly have been busy…skank.” The woman standing next to Silas’s mother says that last part under her breath, but I still catch it.

  “Excuse me? I didn’t quite hear you.” My voice shakes, but I otherwise hold it together, though not by much. My heart is squeezing tight, my breath coming in shallow starts, and my palms are starting to sweat again.

  “Oh, you heard me. Gold-digging whore that you are.” Her dark-brown eyes, nothing like Silas’s, scan me, and she scowls. “Figured it would be a white girl.” She sneers. “Silas prefers milk-white blondes, or didn’t you know that?”

  I take a step back, instinctively holding my hand over my baby.

  “Whitney! Have some class,” Silas’s mother scolds, though she doesn’t exactly apologize for her daughter’s behavior.

  “Mama, he knocks up some sista, basically bails from his family for three months, up and sells his house, disappears with a woman named ‘Dara’ who works in a bakery. A fuckin’ bakery, Mama! When my brother is the head of a multi-million-dollar record label, and we show up, and she’s actin’ all timid and sweet. Pa-leeze. Look at her.” She holds a hand out toward me.

  And that’s when the room turns ice-cold. The chill coming from behind me. “What did you say about my child?” My mama puts her hand around my waist, cinching me to her side.

  I swallow the tears crawling up my throat and raise my hands. “It’s okay, Mama. This is Silas’s mother and obviously very protective sister, Whitney. I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name, Mrs. McKnight?” My mother squeezes my shoulder, giving me her strength, knowing what his sister said cut me to my core.

  “Darlene McKnight.” She offers her name but nothing else.

  “And what’s this I heard about you thinking my baby is a gold digger? ’Fraid to tell you ladies, but my baby owns this bakery and is the legacy of our franchise. ’Sides, when it comes to the baby making, it takes two to tango. Your boy was all over my girl. Still is. Happily, I might add.”

  “Mama, please. Don’t wade in,” I plead quietly.

  Whitney places her hands on her hips and puffs up her chest. “Admit it. You trapped him.”

  “Trapped who?” The deep voice I love so much comes barreling through the bakery door and the patrons at the back. He sidles up to me, tugging me into his side from my mother’s. She lets go willingly, a wicked smirk on her face.

  “Dara, baby.” His beautiful eyes meet mine, and I look away. Then he turns to his mother and sister. “Mom, Whit? Care to explain what’s going on here?”

  Whitney, full of hubris and a lot of attitude, adjusts her chest like a snake about to strike, her neck whipping back and forth with sass. “Met your girl Dara you been hidin’. Seems you knocked her up and never cared to mention that to the family. Why? Because you’re scraping the gold digger off? God willing.”


  “Whitney!” Silas growls and gets right in her face. “What the fuck you say? I’ve spent sixteen weeks getting Dara to commit to me, not the other way around! Yeah, she’s carrying my baby. Yes, we didn’t plan it, but obviously the Big Guy above did.” His voice is filled with righteous indignation.

  “And what about, Sarah!” she screeches, eyes filling with tears. “What about your dead wife and baby?”

  Silas’s body goes ramrod straight, and his aura turns a smoky gray bordering on black. He’s about to unleash a wrath unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

  “How dare you bring up Sarah and our baby. I loved her.” He points his finger directly into her chest. “I loved our baby.” He pokes at her chest again, and she takes a step back. “But that was three years ago. Three freakin’ years!” His voice is barely lower than a lion’s roar and filled to the brim with pain and anger. “Dara came into my life, and I’m finally living!” He points to her again. “After three years. Finally, I have something to look forward to.”

  “She’s taking advantage of you!” she hollers directly in his face.

  Jesus, this family can be volatile.

  Silas locks his hands to his sister’s shoulders. “Don’t you see, Whit? I’m taking advantage of her!” He swings an arm out toward where I’m standing, and he may as well have shot an arrow into my heart. “She’s giving me everything, and I’ve given her nothing! But I’m changing that. We’re getting a house together, having a baby, and one day when I convince her that I’m worthy of her love…I’m going to make that woman my wife!”

  Another arrow to the heart, this one filled with hope.

  “Now get the fuck outta her bakery and don’t come back until you’ve got a lengthy apology on that spiteful tongue.”

  Tears slip down Whitney’s cheeks. “But Sarah…”

  “Is. My. Past,” he grates through his teeth. “Dara. Is. My. Future.” He shakes his head. “I thought when you helped me clean out her stuff, told me to move on, that you’d be happy for me.”

  “Not by knockin’ up the first ho who spreads her legs!”

  I cringe and tuck into my mama, who reclaimed me the second Silas went on his tirade.

  “It’s okay, baby. She doesn’t know you. She thinks she’s protecting her brother. Sad to say, she’s making a grievous mistake. One she’s going to regret.”

  “Maybe I should…”

  Mama shakes her head. “No. You are Silas’s woman. You stand by your man no matter what. Good and bad. Even if the words hurt. You let him take care of those hurts. Trust me, baby?” she whispers as Silas talks quietly to his sister.

  “I trust you, Mama.”

  Darlene McKnight’s eyes are on me, head tipped to the side. She takes a step forward. “My daughter has a vile temper and a foul mouth, though she means well.”

  “Looks like something her mama should be settin’ straight,” my mother says sternly.

  Darlene purses her lips and then taps the bottom one with a red-tipped nail. “I do believe you are right. I’m sorry we had to meet this way, but you can understand how we’d get off on the wrong foot with our boy keeping things under wraps, picking up and moving in with a woman we hadn’t even met yet. Now I see that you’re carrying his baby, which I’m sure has its own story.”

  “It does. One I’ll let Silas share, if he chooses.” I firm my chin but hold tight to my mother, needing her support.

  “Respect that. My apologies for the harsh words my Whitney has spoken. I, on the other hand, would very much like to get to know you and my very first grandbaby.”

  I nod, not sure what else to do.

  “Go!” he says low and threatening to his sister, who stands tall and strong, her pride controlling every movement. Silas spins around facing his mother. “Ma, this is not okay. This is not how you were supposed to meet Dara and her family. I wanted to sit you down, share with you the good news once we knew everything was okay.” His shoulders are high, and his entire body is poised to strike. His face is a mask of frustration and anger.

  “And is the baby okay?” Darlene asks.

  “Yes!” He runs a hand through his close-cropped hair and closes his eyes. “Can we talk about this later? I’m so angry, and I need to take care of Dara. Whitney said some seriously hurtful things, none of them true. Christ! Lil’ mama, I’m sorry.” He turns to me, both hands on the back of his head, his eyes wild and torn. He doesn’t know whether to stay and fight, cut and run, or fling me over his shoulder and take me away from here. None of which will make the problem go away.

  I make the decision for him. In front of everyone. My mother. His mother. Even his misguided, mean sister.

  Walking the handful of steps, leaving the comfort and safety of my mother’s arms, I walk over to him, reach up, and grab both of his wrists where he was holding his head. I bring his hands to my chest, where I dip my head to kiss his fingertips one at a time, watching while the tension seeps out of him with each press of my lips. A single touch is all he needs. Beautiful.

  “Just us three. Me, you, and our baby. Remember? We can handle anything as long as we stay strong.”

  He closes his eyes, releases my hands, and pulls me into his arms.

  “I love you, Dara. Baby, I fuckin’ love you,” he admits for the first time.

  Our matching green auras merge, and it feels like sunlight bursting through the thick fog, his anger dissipating along with my sadness.

  Silas finds my lips and takes my mouth in the softest, most life-altering kiss ever. I can taste the truth in his words, even though he didn’t seem ready to say them. I can feel his heart pounding against my chest. See the despair and need in his eyes for me to accept him.

  Love him.

  Want him.

  I hold both of his cheeks and stare into his eyes. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted. I love you, Silas. And it will be okay. This too shall pass, and in its wake, we’ll still be three.”

  He shakes his head, kisses me hard, and then runs his lips down my neck, kissing me everywhere he can as he goes. My cheeks, neck, collarbone, between my clothed breasts, down to my belly, which I knew was his destination.

  “Nope. Not just three. Watch out, my queen. After this one, we’re trying again. Right away. Want a handful of your children, with caramel-toned skin and blue eyes.” He rubs his chin and face over my bump. “Love you too, lil’ one.” He kisses the bump once more before standing up and hugging me. Hard. So hard I never want to leave his arms.

  “And she’s free,” Darlene whispers, but Silas’s arms lock around me, and he stuffs his head into the crook of my neck as his mother continues to speak. “Sarah is finally free to move on because she knows you’re loved, protected, and living your life as you’re meant to. Happy and free.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Seeing your own aura: Sit in front of a mirror. Make sure the background behind you is a light, neutral color. Then focus on the outline of your body. Your life energy will be visible in a blurred-out, clear-type haze. Use all of your focus on just the outline. After a few minutes, a color will present itself. That’s the color of your aura at that time.

  SILAS

  “Dr. Hart, I swear to God, I don’t know if I can ever talk to Whitney again. The shit she spewed to Dara…” I shake my head and pace behind the couch.

  As usual, Dr. Hart is sitting primly and properly in her chair, watching me fret. One of her hands resting over her very pregnant belly. She’s got to be due any day now. Sarah was seven months along when she died, and her belly was not that large.

  “Silas, I understand that you’re hurt and angry, but you have to keep in mind, Whitney was presented with a replacement of her best friend.”

  “But she’s the one who told me to move on! Helped me do it!”

  Dr. Hart nods. “Yes, but she was doing so in the figurative sense. The physical stuff, like donating her clothes, packing up her things. Her heart hadn’t let her go either. Probably because none of you dealt with Sarah’s death complete
ly before being presented with the death of your father. That’s a lot for one family to handle. It’s easier to sweep those feelings of grief under the rug and focus on other things, such as your company and one another.”

  I stop behind the couch and brace both hands on the back, curving my shoulders and dropping my head forward. “Whit and I are tight, doc. This is a blow. I want her happy about Dara and the baby, but I’m afraid she hates her.”

  “She doesn’t hate her. Whitney doesn’t know Dara. Give it a bit of time. She will learn to accept Dara into the fold, but she has to let go of her own upset over her best friend dying, her brother moving on with another woman and having a family that isn’t Sarah’s. You’ve accepted this, and it took some time for that to happen.”

  “I still miss her. Every day. But I love Dara and our baby too.” My skin itches, feeling prickly and clammy with the admission.

  “And you’re allowed to. What you feel for Dara and your unborn child doesn’t replace what you had with Sarah. Different women.”

  “I’ll say. Sarah was so white she glowed in the dark.” I grin. “Dara’s caramel-colored skin, though, her insanely blue eyes against that skin tone, her body. Doc…” I suck in a breath between my teeth and bite back the desire to gnaw on my knuckle. Dara’s beautiful stacked little body makes me crazy. Her rounding out more with my child, I’m hard all the time. All I have to do is be near her, and I’m fighting off a raging erection.

  Dr. Hart laughs. “I’m glad you’re attracted to your woman, especially in pregnancy. That, I can relate to.” She rubs her bump in a big circle.

  “When are you due again? I know you told me when we started. I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

  “I think you’ve had a bit on your mind.” She grins. “Two weeks, which is part of what I need to discuss with you today. I’ll be heading out on maternity leave next week. I’m having a good friend and exceptional therapist see the clients who need to continue therapy in my absence.”