Unmasking Charlotte (a Taboo Love series)

Unmasking Charlotte

a Taboo Love series (book #2)

By:

M.D. Saperstein

and

Andria Large

Copyright
© 2014
by Philly Coconuts, LLC

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

Except for the original material written by the author(s), all songs, song titles, and lyrics mentioned in this novel are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed, or used in any manner whatsoever, via the Internet, electronic, or print, without the express written permission of the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For more information, or information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the authors:
[email protected]

OR

M.D Saperstein at:
https://www.facebook.com/MdSapersteinAuthor

OR

Andria Large at:
https://www.facebook.com/AndriaLargeAuthor

OR

Our joint page at:
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorsSapersteinLarge

Edited by:
Megan Hershenson

Cover Design by:
Andria Large

Printed in the United States of America

First Printing, March 2014

ISBN:
978-1496166487

M.D Saperstein

To my husband and kids – You are my everything. Thank you for all of your love and support. Without you, I would not have had the courage to write. And thank you for not making fun of me all of those times I had conversations with
the characters in my head!

To my parents – Thank you so much for all of your encouragement. I know that you would rather I was writing legal briefs, not about men’s boxer briefs. I appreciate all of your input. I love you both very much!

To Andria Large – The best friend and writing partner a girl could ask for. You are the yin to my yang, and I am so grateful that you have come into my life. And not just because your mind is as dirty as mine.

To
Donna – Thank you so much for being my sounding board. Your advice and opinions have not fallen on deaf ears. I know how difficult it was to dedicate the time and I am beyond appreciative…bitch. I had to throw that out there because it was getting way too mushy.

To Lynne - My favorite
bawbag from across the pond. Thank you for your optimism and laughter. You have put out plenty of nervous fires. I always smile when I see a message from you in my inbox. Pimp me out, lady!

T
o the best editor in the world, Megan Hershenson. Thank you for keeping me on my toes. I am nothing if not consistently grammatically correct. Your control freakery knows no bounds!

And to all of the friends, family, bloggers, and fans – Thank you so much for supporting us, leaving glowing reviews, and having our backs.

To my husband – Thank you for being supportive of me and my endeavors. I would definitely not be where I am today, if not for you. I know it can be irritating at times when I’m writing instead of cleaning the house, so thank you for putting up with me. Maybe one day I will make enough money and we will be able to afford to hire someone to do it for me. Also, thank you for helping me “research,” it definitely comes in handy. I love you!

To my girls – I know you are too young to even understand what I’m doing, but I hope that someday when you find out that your mom is writing smutty romance novels, you won’t be embarrassed. I hadn’t planned this, it kind of just happened. I love it, though, and I hope that when you two grow up that you will find a job that you love to do, too.

To M.D. Saperstein – I never thought that when you inboxed me
almost a year ago that we would be where we are today. You have become one of my best friends and confidants. It sucks that we live so far away from each other; it doesn’t matter, though, because when you find someone who has the same goofy and dirty humor as you do, then you can be friends no matter what state you live in. This book never would have happened without you. You have no idea just how great of a writer you really are. I can’t wait to write more books with you!

To Megan Hershenson – You are the best editor ever. Thank you for putting up with my horrible grammar and punctuation.
My books would definitely not be doing as well as they are without you. Thanks for being anal-retentive. You da shit!

Of course, I cannot forget one of the best beta readers, Sara! Thanks so much for your time, honesty and constructive
criticism.

They say that once you go black, you never go back. I am not completely sure who “they” are, but they obviously never met me. I guess that maybe I am an exception to the rule. I went black, and then I went back.

Maybe that sounds cynical. Maybe that sounds flippant. Maybe that even sounds racist. But I am none of those things. I am just a realist, who through an unfortunate turn of events, learned the hard way that everything is in fact black or white. At least for me it is, and always will be.

But then there is Calvin King. The thorn in my side, the pain in my ass. He is what some would call the perfect man - an imposing businessman, an even more impressive ladies’ man. Every man wants to be him and every woman just wants him. At least that is what I hear. I’m not admitting to anything beyond that.

What I do know and will concede to, is that my resolve is tested as soon as I meet Calvin. He ticks every box off my checklist - sexy as sin, tall, dark, rich, intelligent, funny, and…Black. My body craves just the thought of him. How can I possibly keep him at arm’s length when he is the only man I want and desire? And it doesn’t help that he kisses like a god and sets my body on fire. Crap! Don’t ask me how I know that, he doesn’t play fair.

Most importantly, I can’t let him unmask me, it’s my only defense. Like I told you before, I already went black, and I am so not going back.

Unmasking Charlotte is book 2 of the Taboo Love series and picks up where Hey There, Delilah left off. For this taboo, we tackle interracial relationships. As with Hey There, Delilah, it is a standalone - so don’t worry if you haven’t read Hey There, Delilah, yet - with a HEA. That means no cliffhanger! Oh, and expect to see some of your favorite characters.

Copyright

Acknowledgments

Blu
rb

Table of Co
ntents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

About the Authors

Prologue

Charlotte

They say that once you go black, you never go back. I am not completely sure who “they” are, but they obviously never met me. I guess that maybe I am an exception to the rule. I went black, and then I went back.

Maybe that sounds cynical. Maybe that sounds flippant. Maybe that even sounds racist. But I am none of those things. I am just a realist, who through an unfortunate turn of events, learned the hard way that everything is in fact black or white.
At least for me it is, and always will be.

I have nothing against interracial relationships or marriages, and I think the result, a biracial child, is generally very beautiful - their skin a
striking caramel tone, eyes that sparkle in the light, silken black hair, and a positive appetite for life. In fact, my half-brother is a product of an interracial marriage. Like I said, I am all for it…as long as I am not all in it.

Let me explain.

I was born in 1985, in a small town in Middle America. The Bible belt, actually. Okay, before I continue, let’s get a few more things out of the way.

Yes, I realize being born in 1985 makes me
twenty-eight, which means I am staring thirty in the face. I am not married, but I am not a spinster. Well, maybe technically I am, but I don’t like that word, so don’t call me one. I do not have kids but I am not a barren old hag. I do not work in my chosen profession, but I am not a lazy good for nothing 80s child who expects everything to be handed to me. I work hard for everything I have, and am not ashamed of what I do. My dream moving out to the City was to be an actress on Broadway, but apparently it’s not an easy field to break into, theater degree or not. Besides, being the personal assistant to the top talent agent – Eddie Dugan – at the top talent agency in New York City, has its own benefits. Oh, and I am not a chicken head, crack whore, or heroin junkie. So don’t judge me until you’ve walked a mile in my shoes. They may not be Louboutins, but they still get me to where I need to go, and I still look hot getting there.

And yes, I realize that although I am origin
ally from the Bible belt, I no longer live there, which means that even though I curse like a sailor and screw like one, I don’t believe I am going to hell for it. I am not the typical woman who equates sex with love. I don’t develop feelings through my vagina. I don’t spend the night or get attached. I am not clingy and I don’t expect him to call me the next morning. I guess that makes me more like a guy. I am not commitment phobic per se, but let’s just say I have yet to find the one man who’s man enough to make me want to spend the rest of my life with him.

I say it like it is, I
will always tell you the truth, and I don’t mince words. You don’t have to worry about me talking shit behind your back because I will always say it to your face. And I am loyal to a fault. But cross my family, my best friend, Delilah, or me, and you had better watch your back. Accept me for who I am, or move on. I share my mantra with Popeye, “I yam what I yam…” and if you don’t like it, beat street.

But I digress
.

Like I was saying, I was born in a small town in Middle America.
My parents married later in life, at least what would be considered later for their generation, and for being devout Christians. My mom was twenty-eight (yes, the same age as I am now), and my dad was thirty. My mom was a nurse at the local hospital and my dad was a paramedic. That’s how they met. Nine months after they married, I was born. She calls me her honeymoon baby.

At
my first birthday party, my dad and his partner, Bron Fisher, were technically still on duty, so when a call came in requiring assistance at a crime scene, they had to go. That was the last time that I ever saw my dad alive. Apparently, they were called out to a hostage situation and the suspect opened fire on the police and EMS – firefighters and paramedics – and my dad took one in the chest. Bron was also shot, in the stomach, when he dove in front of my dad trying to shield him, but the doctors were able to save him. Thank god. That was the first time he was my hero, but certainly not the last.

My mom was devastated. With a
one year old at home, no other family, and no income - except my dad’s life insurance - she struggled from day to day. I wasn’t old enough to understand back then, but as the years went by, I saw how the worry aged her. I also started to notice that Bron was coming over every day. He was helping me with my homework, he was making dinner, and he was tucking me in at night. He was also making my mom laugh, making her smile, and easing her pain. Coming to our aid, a hero once again.

It wasn’t until I was
six or seven that I realized my mom and Bron were actually “together.” You would think him moving in with us would have been obvious enough. Since he was pretty much the only father figure I had ever known, it felt completely natural. When I turned eight was when the shit hit the fan, the first time.

I came home from school like any other day, only this time when I arrived home, there were eggs smashed against our front door and all over Bron’s car. Spanning across the garage was graffiti saying disgusting and hurtful things, all meaning the same thing. “Our kind” was no longer welcome in this neighborhood. I had no idea what this meant at the time. If I would have known then what I know now, I would have kicked the ass
es of each and every one of those punk ass cowards myself.

My mom and Bron were in the house packing up. I was completely confused, but never asked questions, just did as I was told. With the moving truck packed to the brim, and Bron’s car strapped to the trailer, we headed
east. Conveniently, that’s when they clued me in on the fact that they had married in the courthouse earlier that morning - Bron was now my stepfather - and I had a baby brother due to arrive in a few months. Bron named him Tommy, after my father, Thomas Miller. No wonder my mom had been so happy. Living up to his hero status yet again.

And so about
twelve hours later, we arrived in Harlem, New York, my home for the next six or so years. My parents chose Harlem because that’s where all of Bron’s family lived. We went from zero relatives to being able to form our own sports team over night. My mom was able to get a nursing job at the local hospital within weeks, and Bron was back driving an ambulance. Oh, and with my permission, and exuberance, Bron officially adopted me. My only condition was that I kept my father’s last name – the only thing left I had of his.

All seemed right with the world again. My mom was happy, Bron was happy, and I couldn’t have asked for a
more wonderful family, or better place to live. Or could I?