These Arms of Mine Read online

  Passion brought them together. Will betrayal tear them apart?

  When Alesha Robinson ended her torrid affair with Derrick Chandler, she gave up the love of her life. Now fate’s giving them a second chance. But when Alesha asks Derrick to save her brother, she never dreams what the scorned multimillionaire will demand in exchange: becoming his wife—in name only.

  Even after Alesha shattered his trust, Derrick never stopped loving her. His strings-attached proposition was supposed to be strictly business: revenge for her cruel betrayal as he rebuilds his public image. Until desire reignites—hotter than ever.

  As the ex-lovers give in to their passion, a marriage of convenience is about to become inconvenient. And Derrick realizes just how far he’ll go to keep Alesha in his bed, in his arms, in his heart—forever.

  “You’ll have to do better than this, or you won’t convince anyone that you’re madly in love with me.”

  He lowered his head toward hers.

  She continued to struggle in vain. His lips were mere inches from hers, and one hand remained around her waist, while the other moved to her hair. He released her silky tresses from their confining clasp, allowing the shoulder-length tendrils to slide over his fingers as he pulled her resisting mouth toward his. As he had known it would, her hair felt like silk against his fingers. His appreciative eyes swept her distraught face thoroughly.

  “I prefer your hair loose, remember?”

  “Mr. Ashton, I don’t care what you prefer.”

  “Oh, but you will care.” Her voice caught in her throat at his softly voiced promise. “Call me Derrick.”

  “No.” She strained against his ironclad embrace.

  “You’ll say my name on moans of passion in just a few seconds.”

  “Never.”

  She knew her denial lacked believability because her voice was breathless and a strange feeling began forming in her suddenly churning stomach.

  “We’ll see.”

  Before she could acidly respond, determined lips closed over hers in a strong caress.

  Books by Judy Lynn Hubbard

  Kimani Romance

  These Arms of Mine

  JUDY LYNN HUBBARD

  is a native of Dallas, Texas, and has always been an avid reader—particularly of romance. Judy enjoys well-written, engaging stories with characters she can identify with and root for.

  Judy has always loved the craft of writing, and her goal is to touch readers emotionally with her stories. She is thrilled to be releasing her first Kimani Romance novel.

  Judy Lynn Hubbard

  These Arms of Mine

  Dear Reader,

  I love it when two destined souls meet and fall in love—even if the road to happily-ever-after is a little rocky. After all, the journey is as important as the destination.

  Meet Derrick Ashton, an alpha male who’s handsome, sensual, successful—and just a tad vindictive.

  Alesha Robinson is beautiful, loyal and selfless and has been given a second chance at happiness, if she can undo the monumental damage her well-intentioned white lies has created.

  Soon she’ll be a new bride, but can she convince Derrick to give her time to make the transition from his wife on paper to his wife in the bedroom? After all, she is an inexperienced virgin, but he won’t believe that—especially since she’s given him every reason to think just the opposite is true!

  Buckle your seat belts!

  Look for my next book, Our First Dance, in July 2012.

  www.JudyLynnHubbard.com

  Twitter: @JudyLynnHubbard

  Facebook: Judy Lynn Hubbard

  To my beloved sister, Carol. I wish you were here to see this day, but you’ll live forever in my heart.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Alesha Robinson took a deep breath and held it in for several long seconds before releasing it slowly. She continued the silent argument with herself to combat the foolhardiness of what she was about to do. She should turn around and go home. She started to do it—for the thousandth time, she started to do it—however, she kept walking, almost running toward her destination, as if she were eager for the impending meeting when nothing could be further from the truth.

  Would he listen to her? Was there a chance in hell that he would understand and forgive her? Was she just fooling herself by thinking she could appeal to his good side? In the short time they had dated two years earlier, she had often been privy to his charm, wit and good humor. He had been a perfect gentleman, someone she had wanted to get to know better, but circumstances had not worked in their favor. For reasons he still was unaware of, she had abruptly ended their relationship without explanation. Would he hold that against her now?

  He had a reputation of being fair and she knew firsthand that he was, or rather had been. But was she remembering a man from a lifetime ago? Did she dare hope that man still existed after the horrible way they had parted?

  She mumbled a slight apology after nearly colliding with another pedestrian on the sidewalk, then continued on her way. She was almost there, and still she had no idea what she was going to say to him. She resolved to cross that bridge when she came to it and continued determinedly on her way to an unscheduled yet overdue meeting.

  She pulled her light coat tighter around her as a biting blast of October wind forced its unwelcomed way in between the gaps of the coat’s loosely tied opening. Absent fingers brushed a stray strand of shoulder-length curly black hair, which had been loosened from its clasp by the teasing gust. What was she going to say? How should she begin? She rehearsed one scenario and then another, and another, yet she still had no idea what would come out of her mouth when she opened it.

  Her hesitant feet suddenly stopped outside the forty-story building that was her destination. Craning her head, she glanced up the tall, foreboding black glass frame. She wondered, would the foe she must now face be as formidable and as unyielding? Lowering her eyes to the front door, she took another deep breath and exhaled it before walking through the double doors to face the fire, uncertain she could evade the scorching that was sure to come.

  Chapter 1

  Derrick Chandler stared in exasperation at the man sitting across from him. Why did campaign managers always have to try to change your life? He listened in annoyance as Cameron Stewart continued to tell him what he must do in order to win the Senate race, which he had recently entered.

  He wondered why he hadn’t just stuck to corporate law instead of throwing his hat into the political arena. He decided the main reason was the city in which he resided—if you were a successful lawyer and lived in Washington, D.C., it seemed predestined that a foray into the world of politics would occur at some time or another.

  Fingers absently tapped his chocolate-colored, clean-shaven chin impatiently and then brushed a piece of lint off the breast pocket of his immaculate navy blue suit. After Cameron talked until he was satisfied, then Derrick would have his say—the other man in the room would not be pleased with what he would hear. He disliked anyone telling him what he should and should not do, and Ca
m was treading on dangerous ground.

  “Derrick, the simple fact is that you need a wife.” Cam succinctly summed up his ten-minute tirade.

  Derrick bolted upright in his chair, his gray eyes growing hard and cold. His voice matched his angry countenance. “And you need a psychiatrist.”

  Cam sighed audibly, not in the least put off by his friend’s frigid tone. “Just listen to me…”

  “No, you listen to me.” Derrick held up a hand forestalling his friend’s words. “I tried the marriage scene once, and we both know what a fiasco that was.”

  “Well, I told you before you married her…”

  Derrick’s darkening eyes stopped Cam cold. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Cameron.”

  “I know, Derrick, but just hear me out.” He quickly continued before his friend could object, “You hired me to increase your chances of being elected and, whether you like it or not, I’ve got to tell you what I think.”

  “Well, I don’t like it, but if you want to hear yourself talk, be my guest.”

  He scratched his lightly bearded chin. “We’re doing great in all demographics except for women.”

  Derrick frowned. “I thought our numbers looked pretty good there.”

  “Pretty good, but if you had a woman in your life, one who could relate with and talk to other women, one on one, about their concerns, I have no doubt our numbers would double.”

  “Wouldn’t a female member of my staff work?”

  “Please!” Cam’s look of disgust elicited a chuckle. “Man, this is America—the land of opportunity, the home of apple pie and baseball.”

  Derrick rolled his eyes. “This sure sounds like a commercial.”

  “With the election a little over a year away, now is the perfect time for you to be seen as someone who has deep ties to the community, someone who has something in common with his constituents, someone who shares their dreams and hopes. The best way to identify with them is to be seen as a family man.”

  “You’re not married.”

  “I’m not running for public office, either.” Cam folded his arms across his chest. “You are and you need someone, and not just any woman—a wife. Just think about it, a built-in hostess for parties and a date ready and willing to go with you whenever and wherever. I know I’m getting through to you.” Cam carefully studied Derrick’s purposefully unreadable expression.

  “Wouldn’t a German shepherd accomplish the same thing as a wife?” Derrick smiled slightly.

  Cam closed his eyes in frustration before quickly opening them again. “Will you try to see my point of view?”

  “No, you try to see mine. I am not going to marry anyone ever again!” He deliberately emphasized each word.

  Cam opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again as a buzz sounded from the phone on the desk.

  Derrick yanked up the handset impatiently. “Yes, what is it?”

  He was more than a little annoyed—he had left instructions not to be disturbed.

  “If she won’t tell you, then tell her I’m in conference and can’t be disturbed!”

  He unceremoniously slammed the receiver back into its cradle. He made a mental note to apologize to Dorothy once Cameron left. He was in a foul mood, brought on by the other man’s ludicrous suggestion.

  Cam was shaking his head disapprovingly. “People skills, Derrick. People skills!”

  “What do I pay you for?” In spite of himself, he almost smiled at his friend’s dismayed tone.

  “To tell you what others dare not.”

  “Well, you certainly seem to enjoy that part of the job.” This time, a genuine smile tilted the corners of his frowning mouth.

  “My mother always told me I love a challenge, and you certainly are that.” Cam picked up his briefcase and prepared to leave.

  “Are we done?”

  “Yes, we’re done. I’ll try to sell you on getting a wife later.”

  “Oh, joy.” Derrick rose to shake his hand.

  “Do you have anything else you need to talk to me about?”

  “No, please go.” Derrick reclaimed his seat behind the desk.

  “See you tonight at seven sharp.”

  As Cam walked toward the door, Derrick grimaced at the thought of another political dinner/debate—he loved the debates, but he detested sitting around with strangers, making senseless small talk over steak or chicken that tasted like rubber and vegetables that had much in common with plastic.

  “How could I forget?”

  “Just be there, and on time.”

  “Anything else, Mom?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. But I don’t have the strength to discuss it with you right now.” He ran a hand over his bald head. “I used to have hair before you and I became friends.”

  “Later, Cameron.” Derrick’s sigh turned into a chuckle at the exasperated look he received before his friend left with a decisive click of the door.

  Alone at last, he laughed out loud and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. He enjoyed needling Cam, almost as much as he enjoyed his newfound career in politics. Best friends since law school, Derrick and Cam looked like brothers—each sharing the same dark coloring, height and build. They had been friendly rivals who had quickly developed a deep, lasting friendship.

  Another chuckle escaped from his lips. Cam was right—Derrick could always count on him to say what others dared not to. He supposed that was one of the reasons he liked him so much. That and the fact that he had always been intensely loyal and dependable—two attributes Derrick valued greatly.

  Picking up from his desktop a manila folder containing information on his running mate, he reclined in his plush black-leather chair as he began to leaf through the pages carefully, familiarizing himself with every detail—it was always best to know one’s opponent better than oneself.

  Curious as raised voices wafted through the closed door to his assistant’s office, Derrick wondered what had prompted the argument. Seconds later, the door abruptly swung open to admit a woman he thought he would never see again—Alesha Robinson. Automatically, he stood and his icy eyes locked with her uneasy ones.

  “It’s all right, Dorothy. I’ll see Miss Robinson.”

  He broke eye contact and nodded curtly in his assistant’s direction. The woman glanced angrily at Alesha before firmly closing the door as she left.

  He felt as if he had been punched hard in the gut, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. Alesha Robinson was here, standing a few feet away from him, looking as beautiful as he remembered. Damn her! Damn himself for wanting to quickly close the distance between them, crush her in his arms and fuse his starving mouth with hers.

  “What brings you to my door, Alesha?” He silently blessed his voice for sounding coolly controlled, when he felt anything but.

  She looked lovelier than he remembered, dressed in a plain white sweater and black slacks. That silky light brown skin of hers begged to be caressed. His fingers itched to oblige. Her thick black hair was pulled back from her face, held in a clasp at her nape. He knew from experience that her hair was soft—softer than anything else this world had to offer. To keep from walking over to her he sat back down in his chair. His eyes then went to her left hand and he wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or angered that no engagement or wedding ring rested there.

  He continued to survey her hungrily. His eyes drank in every aspect of her face, afraid she was a mirage he had to memorize before she quickly disappeared. He had sometimes wondered if the predicament her brother had gotten himself into would force them to see each other again. He couldn’t decide if he was glad or angry that outside pressure had precipitated her return to his life, instead of her own desire.

  Her steps faltered as her eyes refamiliarized themsel
ves with Derrick’s extremely handsome face—she had almost forgotten the effect the mere sight of him had on her. Since their first chance meeting when they had both stopped to help out at the scene of a multicar accident, he had done strange things to her equilibrium. Although currently his face was hard and foreboding, she remembered how his infectious smile could send her heart racing frantically. He sat before her after all this time like a statue—a beautiful bronze statue, she amended. She recalled how unbending his body had been against the yielding softness of hers—they had been the perfect complement for each other in so many ways. That is, until everything had fallen apart by her own hands.

  Her stomach churned queasily and her heart began beating faster and louder in her ears as she stopped just in front of the mahogany desk behind which he sat. Her heart leaped in her chest, but was it from anxiety or happiness at seeing him again? Anxiety, definitely. She was here for business—to ask him for a monumental favor—and for no other reason.

  “Mr. Chandler, I need to speak with you.” She was pleased with the steadiness of her precise and crisply articulated sentence.

  “Why so formal, Alesha?”

  “I’m here to discuss business, Mr. Chandler.”

  She made her voice curt, hoping the tone would end his unnerving inspection of her, which was causing every nerve ending in her body to silently cry out for what she knew from experience was his masterful touch.

  He had an almost irrepressible desire to trace his fingers down that silky skin of hers—it couldn’t possibly be as soft as he remembered. Yet, instinctively, he knew it was. And her full, faintly tinted brown lips—would kissing her still feel like exquisite torture? Pure heaven, that was how he remembered feeling with her in his arms, and he was sure that observation was still accurate.

  She waited uneasily for him to say something, anything. He seemed content to just stare at her. Piercing eyes traveled leisurely over her. What was he thinking? Instinctively, she knew she didn’t want to know. Was he as disconcerted by seeing her again as she was at seeing him? She couldn’t tell—he seemed cold, almost frigid. She felt like fleeing. Why didn’t he say or do something?