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Praise forADDICTED“Snatched me up from thefirst page and didn’t let mego until the end. A greatread!”—Margaret Johnson-Hodge,author of ButterscotchBlues“Hot! Sensational! This isone you won’t be able to

put down!”—Franklin White, author ofFed Up with the Fanny andCup of Love“Erotic and well written,Addictedsizzlesandsatisfies. Zane has managedto pen a novel that expertlyportrays both romantic andearthly love and does morethan simple justice toeach.”

—Karen E. QuinonesMiller, author of Satin DollPraise for Zane andher unforgettableerotic novels“Zane’s writing warms me,heats me up, satisfies mewith a passion.”—Eric Jerome Dickey

“Arguably not since theemergence of Nancy FridayhasAmericanlettersproduced a purveyor oferotica with such massmarket appeal.”—The New York Times“A legend among her fellowauthors.”—Today’s Black Woman“Sweaty, grab-the-back-of-

his-head-and-make-himscream sex.”—Entertainment Weekly

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ContentsAcknowledgmentsPrologueChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter Five

Chapter SixChapter SevenChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter Sixteen

Chapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-OneChapter Twenty-TwoChapter Twenty-ThreeChapter Twenty-FourChapter Twenty-FiveChapter Twenty-SixChapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-EightChapter Twenty-NineChapter ThirtyChapter Thirty-OneChapter Thirty-TwoChapter Thirty-ThreeChapter Thirty-FourChapter Thirty-fiveEpilogueAbout Zane

To my children “A” and “E”Mommy loves you!Thank you for cominginto this world through me!

acknowledgmentsFirst off, I would like tothank God for not onlyeverything that He hasgiven me but also foreverything that He hastaken away—for withoutfailure and a great deal ofloss, one can never truly be

inspired. I would also liketo thank my parents forbringing me into this world,nurturing my creativity,and supporting all of myendeavors. To my children,“A” and “E,” thanks for thedaily motivation to makesomething better of myself,forthemomentsoflaughter, and for thepatience you have shownwhile I am writing.

Thanks to Charmaineand Carlita, my biologicalsisters, and my brothers-inlaw, Rick and David, fortheir continuous supportand encouragement. To mysisters-in-heart:PamelaCrockett, Esq., ShondaCheekes, Pamela Shannon,MD, Cornelia Williams,JudyPhillips,SharonKendrick Johnson, GailKendrick, Lisa Kendrick

Fox, Michelle Askew, Esq.,Janet Black Allen, KarenBlack, Renay Caldwell,Ronita Jones Caldwell,MartinaRoyal,DeeMcConneaughey,andJanice Jones Murray, thanksfor lending an ear when Ineed to vent, a shoulderwhen I need to cry, and ajoke when I need to laugh.To Aunt Rose, my 83year-old aunt and biggest

fan, thanks for readingeverything that I send youand giving a detailedevaluation. To the rest ofmy extended family: AuntMargaret, Alan, Franklin,Percy, Carl, Jr., AuntJennie, and the rest of you,thanks for accepting what Ihave decided to do with mylife with such sincerity.To my agent, SaraCamilli,thanksfor

entertaining the dozens ofideas I come up with,sometimes on a daily basis,and for sensing somethingspecial about them evenwhen a lot of them are asfar-fetchedasmyimagination tends to be.The daily pep talks arealways a stress-reliever forme and they are deeplyappreciated.To Tracey Sherrod, my

editor at Pocket Books, herassistant, April Reynolds,and Judith Curr, thepublisher,thanksforwelcoming me into thePocket family with suchease, grace, and kindness. Ilookforwardtoalongstanding relationship.To Eric, Wendy, andMaxwell Taylor of A & BBooks, thanks for takingover for me when the daily

grind of trying to shiphundreds,sometimesthousands, of books becameway too much for me. Afterdropping that hand truckon my foot at UPS andlanding in the emergencyroom on crutches, I neededsomeone to step in and helpa sister out. Thanks forbeing there. That also goesfor Learie and Gail ofCulture Plus Books. I could

never express my gratitudeto all of you for being mybackbone and getting theself-published versions ofmy books onto everyvending stand and intoevery African Americanbookstore.To all of the book clubs,both on- and off-line, whohave read one or more ofmy books as their book ofthe month, interviewed me

on their websites, or simplyjust given me a shout out,thanks for showing howpowerfulword-of-mouthadvertising can truly be. Aspecial thank you goes outto R.A.W. SISTAZ for notonly providing a greatforum to discuss books butthe business of writing aswell.To AA-AHA (AfricanAmerican Authors Helping

Authors), I am honored tobeontheSteeringCommittee of such a ges unity amongauthors instead of division.I look forward to majorthings from AA-AHA and Iam glad to be a part of it aswell as the Prolific Writer’sAssociation.To my fellow authors,

especially those who havereached out to me and beenopen to networking, I wishall of you the best becausethis is about all of us andnot just individuality. Iwould like to especiallythankthefollowingauthors: Carl Weber, EarlSewell, Karen E. QuinonesMiller, Brandon Massey,Gwynne Forster, DeirdreSavoy, William Fredrick

Cooper, Linda DominiqueGrosvenor,JDMason,Shonell Bacon, JDaniels, V.AnthonyRivers,D.V.Bernard,DarrienLee,Eileen Johnson, LaJoyceBrookshire,DeloresThornton, Pat O’GeorgeWalker, and Eric JeromeDickey.Last but definitely notleast, I would like to thankthe thousands of dedicated

readers who have supportedmy efforts from day one,overloaded my e-mail boxeswithnotesofencouragement, and visitedmy two largest ld like to thank everysinglestreetvendor,librarian, bookstore owner,and every single housewife,sisterfriend, or brother that

has promoted my books forme. Thanks for reading mybooks and passing them onto a dozen friends or callingeight or more people on thephone to talk about them orfor whatever hand you haveplayed in my success. It isimpossible to thank eachand every one of youindividually but know thatyour kindness has not goneunnoticed.

Peace and Much Love,Zane

I love you and this isforever!Always has been! Alwayswill be!—ZOE REYNARD,CIRCA 1999

prologueDroplets of rain cascadeddown the windowpanes,and the sun was merely afigment of the imagination.The dark gray clouds heldit prisoner behind theirfoggy mist, and the day wascold and dreary at best.

Several times I wanted todash out of the office,mumble a fabricated excusefor leaving to the secretaryas I made my way throughthe waiting room, seekingsanctuary in the hallway.As much as I wanted toforget about the . I desperatelyneeded help, and it was

time for me to face myfears. When I was a littlegirl, my mother always toldme that courage is simplyfear that has said itsprayers. Over the years, Ihave tried to live by thosewords, and I managed to doso until this day.My mind began towander as I stood by thewindow, looking out at thecars splashing up rainwater

with their tires, theirwindshield wipers goingbackandforthlikependulums. It was earlyevening, not quite dusk,and the Friday work trafficwas beginning to taper offin downtown Atlanta. Mostpeople were already sittinginbumper-to-bumpertraffic on the interstate,ordering a round of drinkswith coworkers at happy

hour, or settling down inthe safety of their ownhomes to catch the eveningnews on television.I had been lucky to getan appointment at all, sinceit was my first time thereand I had just calledpleading to see the doctorthat morning. A friend ofmine once mentioned Dr.Spencer in passing while Iwas at the salon getting my

hair done. She was an avidfan of the doctor’s, havingused her services to get overthe agony of being betrayedby her ex-husband and,ultimately,astressfuldivorce. Never would I haveconceivedseekingheradvice myself—yet there Iwas.Dr.Spencer’sofficelooked about how I hadvisualized it: dim lighting,

expensive leather furniture,including the infamouschaiselonguewheretroubled souls revealed theirdeep, dark secrets, and abig cherrywood desk with abanker’s lamp in the center.Bookshelves lined the walls,and a smorgasbord ofdegrees, certificates, andplaques adorned the wallbetween the two floor-toceiling windows behind the

desk.I noticed that my handsweretrembling,eventhough the office was warmand toasty, a completecontrast to the cold Octoberweather outside. She wastaking too long, and mynerves were shot. I cravedfor just one puff of nicotinebut had no cigarettes, sinceI had kicked the habitseveral years before during

my first pregnancy.Just as I was about totake the cowardly way out,walking over to the chaiseand beginning to put on myblack leather gloves, Dr.Spencer entered the office,makingapologiesforkeeping me waiting. Atfirst, I was speechless, andthe words forming in mymind could not make theirway to my lips.

“Mrs. Reynard,” shesaid, more as a statementthan a question, as shereached out a finelymanicured hand to greetme.Hearing my name brokethe self-induced trance.“Dr. Spencer. It’s very niceto meet you.” I gratefullytook her hand and shook it.Just the warmth of hertouch somehow comforted

me. “Thank you for seeingme on such short notice.”She was making her wayover to her comfortableleather desk chair as shespoke. “It’s no problem,really. My secretary seemedto think your situation wasquite urgent, and I’malways glad to do whateverI can.” I managed a slightsmile as she continued.“Please, have a seat and

make yourself at home.”She motioned toward one ofthe two leather wing chairsfacing the desk opposite herown.Once she sat down at herdesk, I was able to get abetter look at her. Dr.Marcella Spencer was astrikingly beautiful andclassy woman. The thinlines on her face betrayedher age of about forty, yet

she exuded the glow of inreminded me of the fudgebrownies my mother wouldprepare for the school bakesales to benefit the PTA,and her eyes looked likeblack pearls. They werehypnotic.She wore an olive greenbusiness suit, accentuated

by a sexy split up the backof the elongated skirt. Thesuit was even more alluringdue to a cloister ofoverlayingmatchingbuttons. A silk floral scarfworn around her neckadded an air of class, andgold earrings gave the outfita polished look.“Well, Mrs. Reynard.”Shestartedsearchingthrough her center desk

drawerforsomething,finally retrieving a goldplated cigarette case andmatching lighter. “Shall webegin?”“Dr. Spencer, I have arequest.”“What’sthat?”Shenoticed the way my eyeswere diverted to thecigarettes as she snappedopen the case and pulledone of the long, slender

brown cancer bandits out.“Wouldyoulikeacigarette?”“No, thank you. Thankgoodness,that’soneaddiction I no longer haveto battle.” I was trying mybest to seem relaxed, but itwasn’t working very well.“Then what can I do foryou, Mrs. Reynard?”“If I’m going to berevealing all my hopes and

dreams, my fears andnightmares, all the dragonsI’m battling, it would makeme much more comfortableif you would call me Zoe.”“Oh, that’s no problem,Zoe.” A slight giggleescaped from her mochapainted lips. “The majorityof my patients prefer tokeep our sessions on a firstname basis. Please call meMarcella.”

“Thanks, Marcella.” Oureyes met. “I’ll do just that.”She started reachingaround in a drawer again—the right-hand top drawerinstead of the center one.When she placed a pad,pen, and microcassetterecorder on her desk pad, Ialmost catapulted out of myseat. The reality of being ina head doctor’s office hitme, and I began to quiver