Desire a Donovan Page 4

  “Ever the drama queen,” Lyra said, just as her cell phone rang. She looked down at it and frowned. “It’s Mark.”

  Regan nodded and stood. “And I’m leaving.”

  “Go ahead and bail on me. That’s what you always do,” she whined.

  “This is your pity party, and you’re about to be a runaway bride. You can catch me up later when we have dinner. I already made reservations for seven. Don’t be late, and change your clothes, please.”

  Lyra waved Regan out of her office just as she answered the cell phone. “Hey, Mark.”

  “Hey, sweetheart. Just wanted to check and see how everything was going on your first day.”

  Mark was very considerate.

  “Oh, it’s going fine. I was just meeting with Regan, going over the upcoming shoots and deadlines. I have to go to Friday’s game, and I’m doing a shoot tomorrow, so I’ll be pretty tied up this week,” she said, just in case he wanted to get together to talk about the wedding. For a guy, Mark was very excited about planning a big, lavish wedding. A little too excited.

  “Okay. Well, I guess if you have to work. I wanted to go over to my parents’ and get started on some of the wedding plans.”

  Lyra knew him like she knew each line in the palm of her hand. It wasn’t hard though, by the end of the month Mark’s new assistant would probably know him just as well. And yet she still felt closer to Dion.

  “Sorry.”

  “No, don’t be. I understand this is your career. But don’t make any plans for next Saturday. My mom wants us to come over for dinner.”

  Lyra groaned. “The Donovans are having their annual Wish Upon a Star charity ball that Saturday. All the family is expected to be there.”

  There was a pause on the phone, and Lyra knew that Mark was thinking she wasn’t really a member of the Donovan family, although he’d never say that to her. While they’d been in L.A., he’d constantly reminded her that the Donovans were not blood, that what Janean did was out of charity and that it was time she lived her life without clinging to them.

  “You haven’t been there for the past ten years. I’m sure they won’t miss you for one more,” he argued.

  “The difference is I’m staying in their house now. They’ll expect me to be there.”

  “And that’s another thing. We can get an apartment until we find a house. You don’t have to stay with them.”

  “I know that, Mark. I can get my own apartment for that matter. But it means a lot to Janean that I spend some time with them after being away for so long.”

  “I’m starting to feel like your mother where the Donovans are concerned. It’s just not healthy the way they’re attached to you and you to them. You don’t belong.”

  “And just where do I belong?” she asked, as the headache that had been a dull pain after her argument with Dion began to ramp up a notch.

  “Calm down, sweetie. Listen to what I’m trying to say. You and I come from regular families who go out and work hard to make a way for themselves. We’re not from money and privilege.”

  “But your salary just made you a millionaire before your thirtieth birthday. That doesn’t exactly make you a ‘regular’ guy.”

  “That’s money I earned, Lyra. Not money that was given to me. It’s different. They’re different. And you shouldn’t spend your time trying to fit in with them.”

  His words hurt, mainly because she’d been telling herself that most of her life. She knew the Donovans were different, knew that they weren’t part of her family. So she didn’t need Mark to remind her of that fact.

  “Go to dinner at your mother’s on Saturday and give her my apologies. I won’t be there.”

  “Wait,” Mark said hastily. “Don’t hang up angry. I don’t want us to fight, not about this anyway. I’ll take you to the charity ball, and on Sunday we’ll spend the day with my parents. Okay?”

  Lyra was quiet. Her elbows were propped up on her desk and she began to wonder why she didn’t just end things with Mark. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. Because it was just like Dion had said, she needed to grow a backbone.

  * * *

  “What’s on your mind?” Sean asked the moment he stepped into Dion’s office and closed the door.

  Dion looked up from his desk then stared down at the Rolex on his left wrist. “Meeting’s not for another fifteen minutes.”

  Sean nodded walking closer to the desk and taking a seat in one of the guest chairs. “That’s why I came early to ask you what’s going on?”

  Spreading his palms on the desk, it was apparent to Dion that Sean had something on his mind. He realized that he wasn’t going to get to finish reading the distribution reports he’d just received from Sean’s assistant.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you think is going on, because I’m sure you have some little idea roaming around in that head of yours,” Dion said, sitting back in his chair and looking directly at his brother.

  They were close, almost like twins but not. They even looked alike—they were both tall with slim, muscular builds, and they both had the same caramel complexion that their mother had. Sean was the studious brother with runway-model looks, a square jawline and a cleft chin, and dreamy eyes that girls loved to stare into. Dion almost laughed as he remembered back in high school girls said exactly that about his younger brother. On the other hand, he was the athletic one with rugged good looks and a bad-boy image that made him attractive to a totally different type of girl. Still, there was no denying that the Donovan men were just as attractive and just as unattainable as their cousins in Las Vegas.

  “Lyra’s downstairs with Regan. I hear she’s got her assignments and plans on hitting the ground running.”

  Dion rubbed his chin. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “It’s a very good thing for Infinity, since Lyra’s a phenomenal photographer. We’re more than lucky to have her on board, and it’s good for Lyra because I think she missed being around family.”

  “So it’s a win-win all around.”

  “I think you know that,” Sean suggested.

  “Just spit it out, man,” Dion said.

  “Okay, since you want me to spell it out,” Sean said with a frown. “Mom says she’s talking about getting married later in the year, to that internet company guy.”

  “I know. His name’s Mark.”

  “He’s the one she left to go to L.A. with.”

  Dion nodded. “The one and only.”

  “And now they’re back and getting married.”

  “You’re wasting time going over facts we already know.”

  “Then how about we talk about the one we both keep skirting around?”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You don’t like Mark whatever his name is. You don’t want Lyra to marry him.”

  Dion sighed. “Sean. Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t say what you’re thinking. Who the hell is this guy and what are his real intentions toward Lyra?”

  “They’ve been together for years. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “Really? You think so? Because from what I saw of her last night, she looks like she’s undecided.”

  Now that had Dion’s attention. “I didn’t see that.”

  “Because you were too busy trying to ignore her, which I don’t really understand at the moment. Each time Mom asked her about the plans for the wedding she clammed up. When Regan asked her when they were going shopping for dresses, she changed the subject. What woman do you know isn’t ecstatic about planning their wedding and ready to talk about the preparations until they’re blue in the face?”

  Sean had a point. One that Dion hadn’t considered because he didn’t want to hear about Lyra’s wedding plans any more than Lyra wanted to talk about them. He’d never liked Stanford, the
internet guy, and disliked him even more for taking Lyra away and convincing her to marry him. But that was his issue, not Sean’s.

  “Look, Lyra’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”

  “What if she’s not seeing things clearly? You know how women can be. Don’t you think, as her brothers, we at least owe it to her to check things out, make sure she’s making the right decision?”

  No. Oh, God, no. Because if Dion found out Stanford didn’t have Lyra’s best interests at heart, he’d kill that bastard. He only needed one more excuse to beat that pompous wannabe to a pulp.

  “I don’t want to interfere. Besides, Lyra’s got bigger problems than that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Paula’s back.”

  Sean pinched the bridge of his nose, something he often did when he was stressed. “God, why can’t that woman just disappear? Haven’t we given her enough money to do that?”

  “You know money for people like her is another kind of drug. Every time she gets a little she needs more. I told Lyra to stop enabling her.”

  “And what’d she say?”

  “She told me it’s her mother, just like she always does.”

  “It’s a pity she’s still holding on to that tiny shred of hope. So you don’t want to do anything about Mark and we’re supposed to sit back and let her mother hold her hostage for money day in and day out. Is that your plan?”

  Dion thought about it a minute. There was a limit to what he wanted to tell Sean, because the last thing he wanted was to involve his brother. But he’d considered what his brother had said, and had thought about nothing else all morning.

  “I’ll deal with Paula.”

  “And Mark?”

  “I have a feeling he’s going to trip up sooner or later. Lyra may be foolish for falling into her mother’s trap, but she’s not a fool when it comes to men. She knows what she wants and what she doesn’t. She’ll make the right decision when the time comes.”

  Dion hoped like hell his words were true, because he didn’t know if he could stop himself from standing up and objecting when the preacher said, “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  There was a knock at his door and they both acknowledged the meeting was about to begin. Sean cleared his throat and straightened his tie.

  “I’ll follow your lead on this, but know that I’m still worried about her,” he said.

  Dion tried to disregard his brother’s concerns. “You worry about everything, man. Chill out a little. It’ll do you some good.” It would do them both some good, because if Sean was worried then that was not a good thing.

  Chapter 5

  Lyra preferred digital to manually operated cameras. A lot of photographers did nowadays. She didn’t miss the sound of the 35mm, but her heart almost always skipped a beat with the nearly inaudible click of her Nikon D3S. It was one of her favorites because of its expanded buffer and its continuous high-speed frame capability.

  That’s exactly what she needed today to capture the moody and eccentric sultry neo-soul singer Vina Vanell. Vina moved at her own pace in her own little world, no matter how many directions Lyra gave her. Between her stylists and makeup artists and whoever else was in her entourage, she occasionally offered a look or a gesture that was worth snapping.

  Vina Vanell had risen to the top of the charts with her soulful debut release a year ago. Now her photo was on every tabloid front page and her songs were remixed by practically every deejay. Her love life had also taken off on the gossip pages when she left her no name manager and begin a tumultuous affair with the marijuana-smoking, DUI-plagued, newest rapper on the hip hop scene—Jride. To say they were the perfect couple was comical. Vina was twelve years older than Jride, and her music appealed to slightly older fans of R&B, in sharp contrast to Jride’s thuggish crowd.

  But none of that was Lyra’s concern. All she needed to do was get the perfect shots to go with the story.

  “Something by the window would be nice,” she heard herself say, but didn’t hold out hope that it would happen.

  Vina wore a white bodysuit with leopard print thigh-high boots that gave a significant boost to her five-foot-six stature so that she stood almost six feet tall. The long, glossy flowing mane of blond hair cascaded down her back as her lavishly jeweled eyelashes winked at every turn. She looked like a circus act that was just barely tame. Her boyfriend, Jride, hovered in the corner with a cell phone in one ear and a diamond stud as big as Lyra’s eyeball in the other. She had to refrain from rolling her eyes at the wasteful and ostentatious display of money. Her job was to take pictures, not pass judgment.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “I think I have what I need.” And if she didn’t, there was always Photoshop.

  “Ms. Vanell wants to do a wardrobe change,” the skinny little assistant with two cell phones in her hand and the too-tight fake ponytail said without even looking at Lyra.

  “Not today. I have what I need.”

  “She wants to see the photos before they run,” she added.

  “I’ll make sure that happens,” Lyra quipped. When hell freezes over, she thought.

  Packing up her stuff, she was happier than she’d been in the past few weeks as she left the studio, stepped into the elevator and was heading as far away from Vina Vanell and her entourage as she could get. Her cell phone rang the minute she’d stepped off the elevator facing the fading light of late afternoon.

  “Lyra Anderson,” she answered.

  “Hello, Lyra Anderson. This is Dion Donovan calling to see if you’re hungry.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I’m hungry. I just finished the most grueling shoot you could imagine.”

  “What? You mean with Vina Vanell? She’s a doll.”

  “If you’re a six-feet-plus-tall man with eyes only for her, I guess she might be. For me, she was a pain in the ass.”

  Dion laughed. Lyra did, too, as she walked to her car. It felt good.

  “So how about some barbecue from Shorty’s?”

  “Now you know I’m not about to turn that down. I can be there in about forty minutes.”

  “Cool. I’m just leaving the office, so it’ll take me about that long to get there, too. Drive carefully,” he said before hanging up.

  “Yes, Dad,” Lyra said with a smirk before opening her trunk and putting her equipment inside. No matter how old she was Dion would always treat her like his little sister. Even after their kiss ten years ago, the kiss that still haunted Lyra’s dreams.

  As she got behind the wheel and started up her car, Lyra let her mind wander back to the time when she was young and Dion was young and they were both into exploring what feelings might be between them, or at least she’d been into exploring her feelings. The jury was still out on what Dion had been thinking that day.

  It had been Lyra’s senior prom and Dion’s senior year at Columbia. He’d come home early, since the last couple of months of the semester were a free ride for him, as he’d completed all his requirements early so that all he had to do was wait for his graduation day. Mark had taken her to the prom, since they’d met the summer before. If she hadn’t met Mark, Lyra probably wouldn’t have even gone to the prom. Parties, flashy clothes and stupid high school activities weren’t really her thing. But Mark had insisted, he’d sworn she’d regret not going for the rest of her life if she missed her senior prom.

  Well, as it turned out, the music sucked, the food was bad and everybody already knew who the prom king and queen were going to be—Regan Donovan and Joshua Lang. All of the Donovan children went to public school, despite the money and prestige the family had. The Donovans still had a down-to-earth sensibility that reflected their good upbringing and compassion for those less fortunate. So while Regan had been ecstatic about prom, Lyra had just gone along for the ride. A ride
that was as boring as the last cycle on the merry-go-round before the carnival closed.

  She’d insisted Mark take her right home, foregoing the after parties, including the one Regan was throwing at the Ritz-Carlton. She just wasn’t in the mood to party. In fact, she hadn’t been in the mood for much lately, her mind had been on something else—more like someone else.

  Dion had come home that Christmas and stayed until the first of February. In that time she’d felt differently about him. Of course, he’d changed since he’d been away at college. He was older, and had settled down as much as Dion could settle down. He was definitely the partier of the Donovan boys and took every opportunity he could to have a damn good time. His brother, Sean, studied and worked his butt off his first year at Columbia.

  But that wasn’t the only change. It seemed, at least to Lyra, that Dion looked different. His cocoa-brown eyes seemed darker, more intriguing, and his body had morphed from a tall and slightly built physique to that of a tall, muscular Adonis. She’d caught him coming out of the bathroom after a shower one morning with a towel wrapped around his hips and her entire body had gone haywire. Her seventeen-year-old breasts had ached in the tiny B-cup bra she wore, while the juncture between her legs throbbed incessantly. Her mouth had gone dry instantly so that she’d barely been able to mutter good morning before half running down the hall to the safety of her own room. It had been terribly embarrassing, at least for her.

  She’d fought off Mark’s sexual advances for the billionth time since they’d been dating. No, it wasn’t anything inappropriate considering they were healthy teenagers. She just hadn’t been in the mood to kiss him or be touched by him and that was most likely due to the fact that she wanted desperately to be kissed and touched by someone else.

  The minute she’d let herself into the house she’d been nearly startled to death when he spoke.