All I Want Is You (Kimani Romance) by Dara Girard Page A

nook.
    It would work, Monica thought with a satisfied sigh as she turned from the window. He hadn’t asked to see her studio again, and she hoped he’d forgotten about it. A light tapping on the window caught her attention, and she saw that a light drizzle had started to fall. She opened the window and inhaled the scent of crisp, damp air and wet grass. She loved rainfall. She’d beenborn during the first rain after a two-month drought. Her parents believed she’d brought them luck, and she did.
    From a little child, her beauty garnered attention. Her mother gave credit to her Native American heritage for her height and good skin. Her father claimed her African-American ancestors had given her her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. But neither tried to take credit for her most unique feature—extraordinary hazel eyes that could at any given time be either emerald or gold. The women on both sides of her family had thick long hair, but hers cascaded down her back like an onyx river.
    It was her grandmother who first saw her potential to make money and urged her mother to put her in modeling. Money was tight so her mother readily agreed. Monica didn’t even need to audition. Her mother took a snapshot and sent it to a few agents. Within days they had offers and within a week she was working. At six her childhood freedom came to an abrupt halt. Soon she was supporting the family with her work in print ads and commercials. She’d never been allowed to do what other kids did. She was kept indoors like a china doll. She was allowed to swim to keep toned but she could not climb trees, ride a bicycle or go skating. Nothing that could lead to scraped knees or elbows. Her skin had to be perfect.
    Her mother and grandmother hovered over her like two protective hens, and she knew her importance to them and the family budget. She was the light while her younger sister, Nikki, was almost a shadow. Her sister didn’t seem to mind, because she was free to bea regular child. She could go to the park and the playground. She even went to the local school while Monica was given lessons at home. Nikki would leave the house and come back with tales of her adventures at the jungle gym or school, and Monica eagerly listened to a life that couldn’t be hers.
    It had been over a year since she’d last seen her sister, at Delong’s funeral. Nikki had been cordial to Delong. She found him fascinating but never really liked him. He’d discovered Monica at fifteen. He was a wealthy artist who first mentored her then became her lover and finally her husband. He exposed her to a world beyond her Oklahoma and New Jersey childhood. He made her more than a model. Through his guidance and brilliance he made her an icon. She was featured in music videos, movies and art exhibitions. She developed a clothing line and had enterprises in perfume and cosmetics. Together they owned several cars and five homes.
    “But none of them are you,” Nikki once said when she came to visit Monica’s New Jersey residence.
    “But I love them. Especially this one,” Monica said, wanting to convince her sister of her happiness.
    “It’s not a true home,” she said, casting a glance at the stained glass and arched windows. “Your spirit and personality aren’t anywhere in this house. You’re just part of the collection.”
    “I’m his wife, not his possession.”
    “You think he knows the difference?”
    “You just don’t understand him.” She knew Nikki couldn’t. Few people could. Delong was larger than life—a bold and passionate man. Their marriage wasn’tnormal, because Delong wasn’t a normal man. She knew there were other women but it wasn’t often, and she was his wife and that’s what mattered. When he strayed, he always came back to her with gusto. Besides, she needed him kept occupied because she had her own career and busy schedule, which at times could be exhausting. She knew there would never be any children. Taking care of Delong