Donna Hill - Deception

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This novel is dedicated in loving memory of my

grandmothers: Clotilda Braithwaite and Mary Hill.

You both are always with me.

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

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Epilogue

Oh what a tangled web we weave,

when first we practice to deceive.

—Sir Walter Scott, Marmion

(1808) stanza 17

“Just stay calm. Getting all worked up isn’t going to solve anything,” Terri muttered to her reflection as she partially wrapped her shoulder-length dreadlocks atop her head. Cool brown eyes stared back at her, revealing none of the turmoil that had precipitated her three-month leave of absence from her self-named corporation.

To look at thirty-year-old Terri Powers, no one would imagine what the past two years had done to her. Her New York–based public relations and advertising company had skyrocketed since its inception five years ago. With a minimal staff she had almost carried the company single-handedly. Because of that, she would always blame herself for the miscarriage of her baby. That trauma was compounded by the disintegration of her four-year marriage to photographer Alan Martin.

She took a breath and slipped long silver earrings into her lobes. The reality was, her marriage to the flamboyant Alan Martin was over long before the divorce. She’d just been unwilling to see it. She and Alan were a disaster waiting to happen. Even now she questioned her attraction to him. She’d been young, eager for love and eager to have someone love her back. She had been captivated by his charm, his vision and exuberance. His looks and his blatant sexuality only added to the total facade. So much so that she overlooked and made excuses for his flaws—which, she finally had to admit, were too numerous to mention. Her collapsed marriage she’d begun to deal with. The loss of her baby was something else entirely. A topic which she did not discuss with anyone. Losing her baby had resurrected too many painful memories, and her hopes for a family of her own had died with her child. Although her losses were more than a year behind her, the aftereffects had finally taken their toll and drained her spirit over the months. Pretending that everything was wonderful and right with the world took all that she had left, she thought sardonically.

It was to that end that she’d hired her vice president, Mark Andrews, at a time when her world seemed to be slipping beneath her feet. His résumé was outstanding. He was charming, had a razor-sharp mind, was exceedingly good-looking and had brilliant ideas for company growth. The fact that he vaguely struck some familiar chord within her only endeared him all the more to her.

Over time, she’d given Mark more and more responsibility as the events of her life and the pressures of the job slowly overwhelmed her. Terri finally realized that for her own good and the good of the company, she needed to take a break. Now it was time to go back and reclaim the reins.

Terri frowned as she lightly coated her bow-shaped lips with a soft orange lipstick. Mark had crossed the line and deliberately ignored her instructions. If it hadn’t been for her director of promotions, Stacy Williams, informing her of Mark’s activities, the whole deal would have gone down without her knowledge or consent.

As things stood now, her company was in the midst of negotiations with a man that she wouldn’t give the time of day. Clinton Steele. Everything that she’d ever read about the man set her teeth on edge. He was in the business of buying small African-American companies on the verge of collapse and turning them around for his own profit. From everything that she’d read, he paid the owners nothing near what the companies were worth. He called himself a businessman. Humph! She considered him nothing more than a predator—one whom she would have nothing to do with. To think that he wanted her company to run an ad campaign for him had her head spinning.

Terri strutted down the short foyer and slipped into her heels. Wouldn’t they be surprised to see her returning to work three weeks earlier than scheduled. She smiled. If Mark Andrews and Clinton Steele thought that they would be dealing with the Terri who was haunted by her past, they were wrong. This was Terri Powers—new and improved, rested and rejuvenated. And someone had a lot of answering to do.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Sultry was the only word that stroked all of Clint’s senses when the distinctly feminine voice, coated with just a hint of a Caribbean accent, pervaded the low rumble of male conversation.

“Terri.” Her vice president, Mark Andrews, looked up and rose in greeting, as did his client Clinton Steele. “We were just going over Mr. Steele’s proposal,” Mark added, slipping back into his discarded charcoal-gray suit jacket, in an effort to camouflage his surprise at her unannounced return.

Terri stood in the doorway, taking the moment to assess the man who towered head and shoulders above the six-foot-tall Mark, and was in sharp contrast to Mark’s light cocoa complexion.

Clinton Steele’s reputation preceded him, and from all appearances he confirmed Terri’s image—from the expensive tailor-made suit to the formidable persona. But maybe it was those eyes. They seemed to have a way of mesmerizing you, she thought, feeling herself pulled into the bottomless inky pools that seemed to dance with dangerous lights. But then a flicker of something deeper flashed through those coal-black orbs. An involuntary shudder ran up her spine. Then just as quickly the look was gone and replaced with what Terri believed to be condescension.

She’d seen that look before. Most men were either intimidated or mystified by her ethnic appearance, as though she either withheld or could unlock some great ancestral secret. Her shoulders straightened as she walked into the room.

Clint was immediately taken aback by the quiet power Terri exuded. Her shoulder-length, glistening ebony dreadlocks were not what he perceived to be the coiffure of the cosmopolitan woman. Rather hers was the image of a woman awakened to their nubian ancestry and determined to flaunt it in the most exotic of displays. Her obvious sense of cultural pride intrigued, yet put him off, his own sense of roots having been buried beneath years of equal-opportunity rhetoric, stirring only periodically into the light.