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  Healing Hearts

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Healing Hearts

  A novel of sensual romance by

  Monique Lamont

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Healing Hearts 2014 by Monique Lamont

  Cover Artist: Covers by K Designs

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Dedication

  Antwan, I am blessed have my best friend and love in my life every day. To my readers, you are always by champions. I appreciate your support and your love of my stories.

  Prologue

  “Jeannie...” Jason spoke, breathless as he pushed the intercom button on his desk. Over the past hour, he had been experiencing chest pains. He had brushed them off originally, thinking maybe he was experiencing a bout of indigestion. That feeling had been happening a lot to him lately, but it came after he worked out so he figured he had just overexerted himself, but today there was something different about it.

  He had just finished a meeting with his divisional staff in reference to a new project they would be launching against their competitors. In the last six months, Coleman and Weary Advertising, the company he worked for, hadn’t been doing so well and had lost some prominent accounts to their competitors. Even though they were still above water, all of the divisions had been hit more than once. He personally had been sleeping and eating advertising promo ideas. There was a major contract coming up and he wasn’t going to miss it.

  Jason stood up, barely keeping himself upright from a wave of dizziness that overtook him. Not only did it feel as if there was a weight pushing down on his chest, but he was also beginning to sweat. He loosened his tie and the first two buttons of his shirt as he shuffled toward the window for some fresh air. The sweat on his hand was making the window latch slippery and he was unable to open it.

  Giving up, he leaned his head against the pane that was kept cool to the touch by the chilly early spring morning temperature outside, and began to rub the spot on his chest where the pressure persisted, praying it would abate.

  “Mr. Richardson, you needed me for something?” Jeannie questioned.

  Jay was relieved when he finally heard his secretary’s voice. It had seemed like hours since he had buzzed her.

  “Mr. Richardson...are you okay?”

  “Hel...” was the only thing he got out as he turned toward her and everything went black.

  One

  Yasmine’s day was starting out all wrong. Her alarm clock didn’t go off, so she woke up thirty minutes later than normal, which meant she had to count out breakfast. Her hair dryer decided it wanted to die on her, so now she’d have to contend with the poodle look—which meant the cute little chic haircut she’d paid forty-five dollars for looked like she was in need of a refund. When she’d gotten home last night, her driver side door was slightly ajar so the light had remained on all night, causing her battery to die, and she had to wait an hour for the roadside assistance service to arrive. This was not her morning.

  Finally, Yasmine arrived at work. Two hours late and missing three morning appointments, she rushed into Leigh’s office. “This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.”

  Yasmine and Leigh had become close during their first year of college. Like Yasmine, she was in her mid-twenties, but that’s where their similarities ended. Leigh was a Virginia native. Her best friend was a happy, single white female who loved her black men, five-ten and flamboyant—evident in the flaming red hue of her hair. It was an all-natural color, but even if it wasn’t she’d have dyed it that way. Leigh was built voluptuously, with hazel eyes and a come-hither smile most men fell for immediately. She was outgoing and outspoken, but had a heart of gold and had no problem with sharing her love for life with everyone she came in contact.

  Yasmine, on the other hand, was mixed—Black and Portuguese. She was petite, standing a slim five-four, with a smooth hazelnut complexion and a set of expressive light brown, almond shaped eyes. She could care less what color the man was she dated, but was pretty much through with dating for as long as possible.

  “Don’t say that, because you know things will start to happen just to prove you wrong.” Leigh turned around from the filing cabinet where she was standing. “You know how scared you are of that supposed ‘black cloud’ you always say is following you.”

  “Como isso pode acontecer?” Yasmine questioned in Portuguese. Switching in and out of the two languages was a frequent habit of hers. “At this point, even I can’t see how that could happen.” She walked further into the room. “Thanks for seeing my clients this morning. How upset was Mrs. Crandall?”

  “Not very, she just kept telling me about the angel food cake she had spent her evening making from scratch for you and her church picnic tomorrow.”

  “Let me guess, she didn’t bother to leave the cake, though, did she?”

  “She claimed it was in the car.”

  A smile graced Yasmine’s face at the thought of the older woman. Mrs. Rose Ann Crandall was seventy-six years old and resided at a local elderly high-rise apartment complex. Three months ago her doctor had written her a consult to see a dietitian for her diabetes because it was getting out of hand. But, no matter what plan she put her on, the next week Mrs. Crandall would give some reason why she couldn’t stick to that one.

  “If you would’ve asked her to go get it, she’d find some reason why she couldn’t bring it up, or you can’t come get it. This only happens when I tell her something she doesn’t want to hear about her health, then she’d wasted her time making or baking me something.”

  “If she isn’t following her doctor’s or your orders, why are you still seeing her? You know I would’ve dropped her services a long time ago.” Leigh returned to her desk, curiosity etched on her face.

  “She’s lonely. I just don’t have the heart to stop her appointments or recommend to her doctor to send her somewhere else.”

  “You’re a dietitian, not a therapist.”

  Yasmine rolled her head back, briefly looking toward the ceiling in a short prayer of guidance. “I know I’m not, but it’s so much easier to handle the small problems she has when she comes instead of dealing with my own.”

  “Yassi, your only problem is you don’t get out.”

  “Com boa razão,” she spoke in Portuguese. “For very good reasons.” She repeated in English, before Leigh began to lecture about her lack of social life. “I’ve got to get going to Memorial, I’d hate to keep this class waiting.”

  “Run away if you wish, Yassi, we will be returning to this conversation.”

  Not commenting, Yasmine walked out of the office, shaking her head.

  Reaching her office, she went to the desk to turn on her computer and quickly checked for possible important e-mails she may have or referrals from the hospital. While her computer booted up, she picked up the briefcase of brochures she used for her classes off the floor next to her desk. Sitting it on top of the desk, she sifted through it to make sure she had enough pamphlets. Dr. Hudson had emailed her yesterday to tell her there were twenty-five patients that would be there for the two-hour education class.

  Yasmine’s computer made a few beeping sounds, letting her know she could sign on a
nd check her e-mail. Quickly, she glanced at her inbox messages: there was a message from her older sister who lived in Florida. Opening it and doing a brief scan to make sure there weren’t any emergencies she closed it out, locked her terminal, then grabbed the briefcase and headed for the door.

  When she was two steps away from the door, her phone rang. For a moment, she considered allowing her answering machine to pick it up, but knew it would bug her all morning about who may have been calling. She turned around, leaned over her desk, and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello, Healthy Fit, Yasmine speaking.” An automatic cheeriness entered her voice.

  “Good morning, Yasmine.”

  Automatic dread took it away. Icy chills ran up her spine. One year had passed, but that voice could do to her what no scary movie could—it birthed fear immediately into her heart. All of her insecurities about who she was came to the forefront. Every doubt about her ever being anything rose up to haunt her. Her palms started to sweat.

  She tried to keep the internal shakes out of her voice. “What do you want, Blake? You’re not supposed to be calling me, the restraining order is still in place.”

  “It’s not like I’m at your office...” His words were cryptic.

  “Look, Blake, I have nothing to say to you, goodbye.”

  Before she could hang up on him, she heard him say, “Today is the anniversary of the day our baby was supposed to be born, Yas-mine.”

  Instantly, Yasmine’s hands shook and water began to well up in her eyes. She took a deep breath. “Blake—”

  “You didn’t even remember.” An accusatory laugh came across the line. “This just proves it was best the baby died. Look what kind of mother you would’ve been.”

  No, it wasn’t. She screamed inside. But, she couldn’t seem to push away the evil voice of doubt and self-blame; which had only taken Blake three years to implant securely in her mind.

  “Blake, you seem to forget whose fault it was that I lost the baby,” Yasmine spoke through stiff lips and gritted teeth.

  “I’ll never forget...you’re to blame.” The line went dead on the other end.

  Yasmine clutched the phone to her chest and closed her eyes, allowing the tears flooding them to brim over. For a brief moment, she gave herself permission to think about that tiny little life that had grown inside of her for almost four months. Blake was right—she had forgotten. She had worked so hard over the last several months since the divorce was final to rebuild her life without him. The fact she had blocked out a day she had looked toward for that brief period, regardless of the hell she lived in daily, was proof she had almost succeeded in wiping any traces of Blake from her mind.

  Yasmine hung up the phone and exited the office as she had intended to only moments earlier. Once she made it to the parking lot, she placed the briefcase on the backseat of her car and got behind the wheel. Running on automatic, she buckled her seatbelt and started the vehicle. Wiping her eyes, she took a deep breath to steady her faltering nerves. Yasmine put the car in reverse and backed out of the space and shifted into drive.

  As she pulled away from her office, she confirmed aloud to no one but herself, “You’re right, Blake, this will always be my burden to carry—because I married you.”

  Doing what she normally would have done on her way to work, she pushed the CD into her player, turned her speakers up to full blast, set the song for repeat and pulled away with Mary J. Blige’s song No More Drama wafting on her trails.

  ~ML~

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Yasmine Sousa. I’m from Healthy Fit and I’ll be talking to you today about your health and fitness as it relates to your heart conditions. One of the things I want you to consider today is a lot of things you used to do before will have to change. In some ways you will need to begin a new life,” Yasmine began briefing the group of heart patients seated in the chairs in the conference room at Memorial Hospital.

  She gave this speech every month. Yasmine did it so often she could accomplish it automatically, without thought of what to say next, which was what she was doing at that moment.

  It was Blake...he always found it possible to screw up her day and life. Repeatedly she argued with herself not to let him get to her, but she couldn’t help it. It was as if he knew the right buttons to push, and did.

  “We’re going to go around the room and I’d like everyone to give me their name, when you had your heart attack, and where you were when it happened.” She graced the room with one of her audience type smiles.

  An elderly man, who looked as if he were roughly in his sixties, started the group off talking. “I’m George Rogers and I had my heart attack May third, the night of my daughter’s wedding. I was at home and on my way up the stairs to bed when it happened.”

  After he finished the rest of the patients began to present themselves to the group in a traditional circular fashion.

  The last person finished when a tall man entered the room. Yasmine turned to smile in the latecomer’s direction and came face to face with a man she could only describe as sexy as hell—if it weren’t for the scowl he wore.

  “Is this the health class?” his voice taut, displaying his apparent disapproval at being in the class.

  There’s always one in every bunch.

  Yasmine looked down at her patient list. “Let me guess, Jason Richardson...” She let her voice trail off for a moment as she pretended to make an assessment of him. He stood at least six-two, his skin tone reminded her of pale honeyed leather—it appeared smooth but firm. The muscle tone of his forearms, bare below the short sleeves of his shirt, left no doubt he worked out often. She gave another quick glance at the trim, athletic runner type body, ignoring the urge to fan herself. “I would almost place a wager that you’re a business exec and probably had your heart attack at your desk or in the middle of a meeting.”

  The glower increased. He placed his hands inside his pockets.

  Yasmine’s gaze dropped to the front of his pants of its own volition. She raised her eyes just as fast, not before her mind imprinted the significant definition of his manhood outline in his pants. Heat spread between her thighs.

  The man cocked his head to the side and a muscle leaped in his jaw, letting Yasmine know he noticed where she’d been looking.

  Damn, caught red handed.

  His voice broke into her chiding. “I guess I was wrong, this must be the psychic friends training course; which would make you...” He gave her the same perusal as she had given him, before saying, “Sistah Esmeralda.”

  Yasmine had to bite her tongue quickly and take a deep breath. She used a fake laugh and threw one of the biggest smiles she could manage across her face. She had to remember that he wasn’t here when she originally started, so he didn’t understand the part of the show he had walked in on currently. Besides, it would have been very unprofessional for her to get upset in front of the twenty-four patients that had arrived on time.

  “Mr. Richardson?” Yasmine awaited his nodded of affirmation. Once he gave it she continued, “You may sit where ever you feel comfortable. We just finished with the introductions. If you would like to briefly tell us what day you had your heart attack and where you were when it happened, then we’ll continue with the next phase of the class.”

  Yasmine followed his progression as he decided on the seat in the first row directly in front of her. Ahh, hell. Too close for comfort. She hoped he would take one of the two available seats in the back.

  Yasmine watched the single sable eyebrow arch above his left eye as he crossed his arms over his chest, clueing her into the fact he may have had open-heart surgery.

  A deep timbre vibrated through his words. “May ninth at ten forty-three in the morning.”

  Yasmine took that to mean everything she guessed about him had been correct. Not wanting to spar with him any longer, she decided to continue with the class.

  ~ML~

  “So, Doc, when can I spring from this place?” Jason asked
when Dr. Hudson, the resident cardiologist, walked into his room.

  “Today. On one condition.” Dr. Hudson reviewed Jason’s chart at the end of his bed.

  Cautious, Jason looked at the doctor. “What’s the condition?”

  “I really want you to stay away from work and its activities for a few weeks.”

  “Doc, you don’t know what you’re asking of me,” Jason spoke emphatically and then inhaled deeply.

  “Yes, I do, Jason. The evidence of how important it is for you to take a few weeks off and rest, without all the stress, is proven in the breath you just took in trying to remain calm.”

  Jason got up from the bed where he was sitting and stood up, facing the doctor. “Doc, I don’t think I can do this. It was hard enough on me to have to lie there motionless during the angioplasty procedure, then having to stay in bed another day because of it. Not to mention the two additional days in the hospital awaiting that health class. I’ve pretty much had all of the inactivity I can stand.”

  The doctor’s voice was firm. “I understand that you’re a workaholic, Jason. But, you need to understand how close you came to getting your chest cracked open.” Softening his tone, Dr. Hudson continued, “All I’m prescribing is for you to stay away from work for a few weeks. Give your body adequate time to rest and adjust to the medication you’ll be on for several weeks.”

  Jason realized his doctor was not going to budge, so he asked, “How many weeks exactly?”

  “I’d tell you three if I thought you would seriously take them, but I’ll only recommend two. But, you have to promise to contact me if you start to have any of the warning signs we discussed.”

  “I’ll do it, only because I don’t want to go through another angio if I don’t have to.” Absently Jason ran a hand across the top of his head and toward his face. “Any ideas what I can do over the next two weeks?”