Free StrokeofMidnight by Naima Simone Page B

a dependable, exemplary employee the courtesy of
defending herself. And I refuse to be part of a family who takes for granted
and despises the daughter and sister I’ve tried to be. In other words…” She
hitched her chin up and, in spite of her pounding heart, declared, “I’m through
with all of you.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Pamela scoffed.
    “I don’t think she’s being ridiculous at all,” a soft voice
commented from behind Rowyn.
    Startled, she whirled around. Darius stood just inside the
open door. Formidable in a black jacket, shirt and pants, his brown curls
brushed away from his striking face, his presence seemed to shrink the large
study to the size of a closet.
    He flicked his gaze to her face. Fury burned behind his
impassive demeanor. There was nothing calm about the emotion that seethed in
his blue eyes.
    “Are you okay?” he murmured.
    For a moment, an intense swell of I-am-so-falling-in-love-with-you
struck her speechless. Her avenging dark angel.
    He arched that damn—wonderful—eyebrow.
    The smile that curved her lips originated in her heart, the
eddy of warmth spreading to every part of her body. She was better than okay.
So much better.
    She nodded and, appearing satisfied, Darius returned his
attention to her mother, Daniel and Cindy. Rowyn faced her family again. This
time apprehension didn’t clutch her heart as if she stood before a firing squad—not
with Darius at her back.
    “Darius.” Daniel’s joviality didn’t conceal the strain that
tightened his smile or the nervous leap of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed
convulsively. “We apologize for this.” He loosed a false hearty laugh. “Just a
little family issue, but I assure you it does not affect our professional
relationship at all.”
    “But it does,” Darius stated. Rowyn blinked. Was that a
flinch? Did her stepfather actually just flinch under the lash of
Darius’ hard voice? “A businessman who cannot recognize the contribution of his
employee or the caliber of her performance is shortsighted at best and grossly
incompetent at worst. And I refuse to do business with him.” The lapel of his
jacket brushed her skin—bared by her backless dress—as he shifted closer. “But
she is more than your employee or the head of the women’s fashion department.
Rowyn is your daughter. And that alone requires your loyalty. If you have none
for your daughter, why should I believe you would have any for me?”
    He didn’t give Daniel an opportunity to reply. Heat from his
touch penetrated her dress to the flesh beneath as he settled his hands on her
hips.
    “I pity you. All of you.” As he pressed against her, the
timbre of his voice vibrated from his chest through her back. Rowyn leaned into
him, trusting him to support her physically as he did emotionally. “For years
you had a daughter and sister ready and willing to love you, and each of you
rejected her time and again.”
    “You have been in our home a handful of hours and have the
audacity to judge us? You know nothing.” Pamela sneered. Rage mottled her
features and Rowyn realized she could count on one hand the number of times she’d
witnessed a true smile on her mother’s face. Not the social, bogus caricature,
but a genuine smile full of joy and laughter.
    God. She inhaled, breathed deep past the fist that
seemed to squeeze her heart. What pain Pamela must have endured every day to
exude such anger and misery. She drank to escape the ache of living as the
“other woman” to a dead wife. The real tragedy was Rowyn had been there, trying
to love and accept her all along.
    “It’s sad, isn’t it?” Darius asked softly. “In the short
amount of time I’ve known your daughter, I value her more than you do.”
    Without another word, he slipped his hand over hers and,
with a small tug, turned her around. He grasped the doorknob, twisted it and
opened the study door. The tinkle of laughter and hum of conversation poured
into the room. They stepped