Billionaire Brothers 2 : Love Has A Name
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Authors: S. Ann Cole
Love Has A Name
Book Two of the Billionaire Brothers Series
S. Ann Cole
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2013 S. Ann Cole
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Cover Art by Paul Beeley : Create Imaginations
Table of Contents
Dedication
F
or you VB,
Always, always, always for you…
Appetizer
Sweet Sins
By: S. Ann Cole
As I sat in the garden,
She said to me,
“
Taste and see
.”
She was beauty
She was lovely
She was everything to me
She was mine
She was divine
She was everything to me
She was love
She was joy
She was everything to me
“
Taste and see
,” said she.
From her delicate hands,
I took…
I bit…
I tasted…
What I tasted was
sin.
She smiled at me,
Knowing she’d win
Satisfaction in her grin
Yet, I bit again,
And Again.
Over eternal life,
I chose her sweet sin.
Because…
She was the sun,
Had me undone,
She was everything to me
She was real,
Made me feel,
She was everything to me
Again I bit,
And then I knew,
With that last bite,
I knew…
She owned me.
Sweet sins…
She owned me.
Preface
‘
F
railty, thy name is woman
’ has always been a line of Shakespeare’s
Hamlet
that I detest.
I never even went about trying to understand why the word
‘woman’
was perpetually aligned and used in conjunction with the word
‘weak’.
Were women weak? Were they truly? Were women made to be submissive — eventually?
A woman can play the card of independence as well as she wants, engulf herself in all things ‘manly’, prove equality and flaunt her ‘strength’. But at some point, she has to acknowledge the fact that no mortal will ever be able to reshape what God has molded.
It’s said that women were
made
to be submissive to men. Was even given stern commandments to do so. Women were made
for
men. Not the other way around. After all, were she not literally made from a man’s rib? How, then, can a woman ever say that she is equal to, or more than, a man?
For every woman who holds that notion, the realization comes one day that she isn’t. That day when she bumps foreheads with that one person who has the power to make her melt, dissolve, frazzle just by breathing, she
knows
. For every woman, there is
that
one man.
That
one man who wields ultimate power over her, no matter how strong, independent or in control she thinks she is.
That
one man, she soon finds out, is whose rib she was made from …
This I know. Yet, I still ponder,
is frailty woman’s name
?
I
“
O
h my God, Axia, please tell me you’re at the gym?”
Trudy had left the gym no less than fifteen minutes ago and headed straight for work, so as she gushed down the receiver the minute I answered it, I wondered why she was phoning me instead of working.
“Wherever else would I be?”
“Well I need a favor.
Please.
It seems when we were playing tug–of-war with my handbag earlier, my damned thumb-drive fell out. And that thumb-drive has the freakin’ presentation I’ve been working on all month, and the meeting for that presentation, Axia, is
now
!” she intoned. “Please, can you find it and get here in, like, five minutes? Do that crazy driving thing that you always do to get to places fast.”
“‘Sakes, Trudy, you’re so messy. You’re always losing something. And don’t you know you should always have more than one storage for important docs? How uncoordinated you can be! I just stepped off the treadmill and I’m half-dressed and icky an —”
“Goddammit, Axia! Will you just shut your ever-berating pie-hole and find the damned drive? I don’t care how sweaty or busy you are. If you’re not here in ten minutes, then our friendship is terminated!”
The line went dead.
I scowled at the Blackberry in my hand. Only Trudy could get away with addressing me in such a manner. She was my best friend and I didn’t feel the compulsion to control her. True, I might have gotten carried away with the berating, and was maybe just a weeny bit inconsiderate at her desperation for my aid. But Trudy knew me well, so she no doubt had expected some shit-slapped answer from me.
Sweat dripped from my face, and my skin glistened from its sheen; the results of a one-hour mountain climbing on the treadmill. Using my towel to dry the sweat from my face, I went in search of the thumb-drive to help my damsel in distress. The bright orange thing was found sitting in solitude on a workout mat.