Pride and Consequence

Pride and Consequence
AlTonya Washington

Could they begin again?Zakira loves her man, Malik, more than life itself. His prowess in the bedroom is rivaled only by his talent in the kitchen. The successful restaurant they run is as satisfying as their passionate marriage. But when devastating illness strikes Malik, his stubborn pride becomes their undoing. He leaves her…Devastated, Zakira dedicates herself to Malik's legacy, the restaurant. But when he returns, fully recovered…and ready to reclaim her and their business, Zakira is stunned. The desire still burns hot between them, but there's anger, too. Now Malik will need more than soul-searing kisses to win her trust and her wounded heart. He will have to make her believe in them…again.

Pride and Consequence

AlTonya Washington

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

My tenth novel—this is dedicated to my main guy. Mommy loves you, Masee!

Contents

Acknowledgment

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

Acknowledgment

I thank God for instilling in me my love of books and

writing. I thank Him each day for providing the life,

health and strength to create and for finding me a worthy

recipient of this blessing.

Chapter 1

“Calm down, Zakira, just calm down.”

The words replayed themselves again and again. She practically chanted the phrase in the silent hallway, lit only by the myriad of Christmas candles lining the walls.

For weeks, the terrible, yet familiar nightmare had intruded on Zakira Badu’s dreams. There was no way she would get back to sleep anytime soon. She hurried down the black carpeted stairway, rubbing her hands across the sleeves of her short, pink satin robe. The kitchen was only a short distance away, and a cup of warm milk was always the perfect remedy for sleeplessness. Zakira’s small feet padded the plush carpeting. Several tendrils of her naturally thick, waist-length hair were matted against her temple and neck. She tugged at the clinging locks and sighed. The dreaded dream was having the worst effect on her. The frazzled nerves and edgy moods were both frightening and frustrating.

The lower level of the lovely Richmond, Virginia, home was dark except for the electric holiday candles arranged in every corner of the living room and along the hallway that led to the kitchen.

The spacious state-of-the-art kitchen was void of any light, but that didn’t faze Zakira. She spent most of her time in that portion of the house. In a matter of minutes, she had the refrigerator door open, quickly selected a carton of milk from one of the side shelves and kicked the stainless steel door shut. From the overhead pan rack, she grabbed a small gold-bottomed pot and headed to the stove.

Once the milk was set to warm, Zakira leaned back against the oak kitchen island. She hugged her petite form and watched the stove burner turn orange from the searing heat. Then, closing her eyes, she allowed her thoughts to return to the disturbing dream.

The same nightmare had haunted her for weeks and she could not understand it. The strange thing was that the “nightmare” really wasn’t that at all. It was more of a vision. A recurring vision. In a candlelit room was a man dressed in black and lying flat on some surface that she could not make out. The man’s identity remained a mystery. The closer she moved to the unfamiliar form, the more out of focus it became.

Uttering a low groan, Zakira pushed her hands through her hair and massaged her scalp. She was so engrossed by her dark thoughts that she did not hear the front door open and shut. The sound of another body moving around the house went unnoticed.

The milk on the stove had finally simmered long enough. Zakira removed it as though in a daze. She set the pot aside and was reaching for a mug, when a pair of arms extended out of the darkness to envelop her in a steely embrace. Zakira forgot everything and began to struggle as her captor lifted her from the polished hardwood floor.

Zakira’s legs and arms flew wildly as she tried to wrench herself out of the iron hold. Her breath caught in her throat and prevented her from screaming. Her shock, combined with the pungent aroma from the man’s leather jacket, overwhelmed her ability to fight harder.

The man placed her atop the wooden counter and, from there, Zakira bravely looked into the face of her attacker. When she spied the wide, white grin and shoulder-length dreadlocks, she raised her hand and placed a cracking slap to the man’s face.

“You damn fool!” she breathed.

Surprised by his wife’s actions, Malik Badu brought one large hand to the side of his handsome, dark face. He massaged his cheek, until the slight sting had vanished. “Zakira, what—”

“What the hell are you doing, sneaking in here like that?” she cried, pounding her fists against the front of Malik’s jacket. “Do you know how much you scared me?”

Malik rubbed his hands along the side of Zakira’s thighs. “Shh…baby doll, I’m sorry,” he soothed.

“You should be! I really don’t need you playin’ ‘Let’s attack Zakira’ tonight. Especially, when I just had one of those damn dreams,” she finished, wiping a tear from her cheek.

Malik bowed his head, his long lashes closing over his grayish-black gaze. “Come here,” he said softly, pulling Zakira against him and rocking her slowly. When her breathing had returned to normal, he pulled away and glanced behind him. “Is that what the milk is for?”

Zakira nodded. Malik’s gaze narrowed as he cupped his wife’s dark chocolate oval face and pressed a soft kiss to her full lips. He smiled, hearing her soft moan when the kiss became more heated.

Zakira tilted her head back and opened her eyes. Malik broke the kiss to trail his lips down the side of her neck. His hands ventured beneath the satiny material of her robe. She squeezed his shoulders when she felt his hands grasp her buttocks tightly as he lifted her from the counter.

“Forget the milk,” he whispered in her ear and pulled her even closer. “I know a better way.”

Instinctively, Zakira locked her legs around his lean waist as he carried her from the kitchen. Her hands pushed the heavy leather jacket from her husband’s broad shoulders. It fell to the floor and was forgotten while they journeyed upstairs.

Only a few moments seemed to pass before Zakira felt herself being lowered onto the bed. Slowly and seductively, Malik unbuttoned her thin nightshirt and pushed it from her slender shoulders. His intense stare trailed across every inch of newly exposed skin, as though her nude body were a sight unfamiliar to him. His strong fingers curled around the waistband of the lacy panties she wore and he tugged them away.