Walking on stage in a white dress that clung to her sexy curves, Mori Labron’s beautiful smile hid her pain inside. Once she stood in the spotlight, she grabbed the microphone, ready to put the past behind. She aimed to pour her soul into the audience. They had paid hard-earned money for a night of entertainment. And she had paid in her own way, too. For five years, she had dreamt of this moment--the one that had been robbed from her.

A lush saxophone played the intro to the ballad Mori had composed. As the soulful rendition seeped down to her bones, Mori’s heart shaped face expressed both torture and sultriness. Lyrics about a woman done wrong flowed with breathy sweetness, before progressing with a prowess that had many in the audience standing and waving a hand and others shouting, “Sing your song, girl! Sing it!”

As her penny colored skin shimmered like satin among the club’s candlelight, Mori couldn’t feel her heart racing like it had when she first graced the stage. Neither did she fight the weakness in her legs nor the tremble in her hands, which followed her to the spotlight. Swept up in the stirring mélange created by the other amazing sounding instruments that joined in, she released all the emotion she had to give.

Five years earlier, when her so-called friend and fellow songstress, Rasheeda Lee, had betrayed her, destroying her world, Mori’s spirit felt so kicked around and battered, she doubted that a dreamy night like this would ever become reality. Rumbling applause and a standing ovation soon validated her victory. This night played out beyond her fantasies, beyond what she ever expected. All Mori could do was utter a “Thank you”, absorb the magic, close her eyes, and poise her silken pipes for the next haunting melody.

*

His sleek, dark skin bathed in the candlelit ambience of The Mocha Haven, Bryce Richards hadn’t bothered to take a seat. Striding inside the refined, but earthy establishment, adorned with rich woods, russet bricks, and dark velvets, his six-foot-four frame had stopped short nearby the entrance. The songbird mesmerized him.

A superstar couldn’t have been packaged more exquisitely from his viewpoint. Shoulder length curls framed a face made ultra sensuous because of her exotic eyes, plump lips, and delicately contoured cheeks. And as her body swayed to the slow, seductive rhythm, Bryce observed males in the packed club losing themselves in her hips’ curves. As a record label owner and astute businessman, he acknowledged that this vocalist had the look and stage presence that he always sought in his artists. Above all, she possessed the characteristic that exemplified a true star: the woman could sing!

A cute, delicious-butt-shaker failed to be enough for Bryce to draw up a lucrative recording contract. A man, who prided himself on acquiring the highest quality of everything, he demanded a total entertainer. The instant the chanteuse’s set concluded, he intended to speak with her.

Bryce found life so unpredictable. He had visited Madera Beach for pleasure and relaxation, not to check out the talent. In fact, whenever he purposely searched for singers, the showstoppers eluded him.

His fiancée, Rasheeda, and he, planned this trip to unwind, enjoy the fruits of their labor, and reconnect with each other. Since her third album had flopped on the record charts, she had been a difficult person to live with, often acting as if she resented him. At this precise moment, she lounged at the hotel. When Bryce attempted to entice her to step out for some nightclub entertainment, she had no interest in basking in another performer’s glory. Much the opposite, he yearned for some live music. Rasheeda begged him to remain in the suite with her. He promised to be back by midnight.

Bryce had heard spectacular things about the up-and-coming South Carolina getaway, Madera Beach. So far, everything turned out to be true. Seaside cabarets, pristine beaches, golfer’s greenery, water sports, great shopping, and a host of other exciting activities, the vacation paradise lived up to his expectations thus far. If only it could perk up Rasheeda’s spirit.

Although with his new fascination with this singer, Bryce predicted more of her gripes and crankiness. Surely, Rasheeda would begrudge his desire to sign another female solo artist. She already complained that he didn’t grant her career enough attention. In any case, Pure Soul Records was his company. He hired whomever he wanted to.

*

Backstage, over an hour later, Mori closed the dressing room door behind the last of fans who visited her after her show. Immediately, she spun around and hugged the club’s owner, who stood behind her. When she was uncoupled from Jonathan Carare’s broad shoulders, she restrained happy-tears.

“Jonathan, thank you so much for taking a chance on me. I had so many doubts about driving down here and auditioning. But you’re the reason this trip was not in vain.”

Jonathan’s dark, sparkling eyes gazed at Mori for a long while before he picked up her hand and brushed it with his lips. “Didn’t I tell you to call me, Jon?”

“Yes,” Mori said, wishing the curly-haired, muscle man wasn’t such a flirt.

Possibly then she could have considered going out with the pretty boy. But she had known men like Jonathan Carare years earlier when she sang backup for the girl group Diva Seduction. Because he was gorgeous and knew it, and knew the affect he had on the opposite sex, he came on strong to every woman who crossed his path. He was a headache, an ulcer, and high blood pressure waiting to happen.

However, Mori had to admit that Jonathan wasn’t all mischief. He took a big chance and bestowed to her a life-changing opportunity. After all, for five years she had shunned singing in front of anyone, and had never sung a solo lead gig even with the group. For his belief in her, she planned to repay his kindness.

“So call me Jon,” he said, opening the door. “And do think about us having a bite to eat after the crowd leaves tonight, so we can get to know each other.” He winked.

Mori eyed him playfully rather than take him seriously. Once the door closed, she plopped down on the vanity seat. Instantly, she thought about the audience members who swarmed her dressing room earlier, gushing about her how much they loved her voice. So many days in the past, she had dreamt about her music touching people that way.

A one time backup singer, Mori had lacked the vocal power to grant such praise years ago. She sounded nice, not great. Desiring to be great desperately, practicing diligently, and honing her skills, made all the difference in the world.

Deep in her heart, she had always longed to be a soloist—a real powerhouse soul diva like Gladys Knight, Aretha Franklin, Patti Labelle, and Whitney Houston. This night proved dreams did come true. The rapture of it all made up for so much. At times, the past years had been unbearable. Though, she refused to ponder on that now. She wanted to mingle and let everyone know that she appreciated their patronage.

Mori stood, and just as she did, a knock on the door startled and excited her.

“Bryce Richards, Pure Soul Records,” a male voice spoke through the door.

A thrill-wave shot through Mori despite her not recognizing the name of the man, or his company, Pure Soul Records. She had refused to read, watch, or listen to anything associated with the music industry since her blacklisting. It hurt too much. That way she avoided hearing her songs on the radio or reading about their success, and knowing the millions in royalties they accumulated went in someone else’s bank account—her so-called friend’s, Rasheeda.

After the shock of the visitor wore off, Mori glanced in the mirror and smoothed her dress down. She swung the door open, and her head automatically lurched back a fraction. A tall, well-built, handsome man faced her. He made her think umm.

Approximately thirty-something like her, he had a no nonsense expression. Mori couldn’t help focusing her gaze on the firm set of his mouth. It was outlined with an ultra groomed line of hair, which accentuated one of the sexiest, thin mustaches, she had ever seen. She thanked God for the night’s delicious surprises.

“Ms. Labron, the owner, Jonathan, said that it was all right for me to speak with you in your dressing room. I hope you don’t mind.”

Feeling her heart racing, Mori gestured for him to enter the room. “It’s fine. It’s nice to meet you. And call me Mori.”

“I’m Bryce, then,” he said, stepping in and then turning toward her. “And I’m sure you’ve heard of Pure Soul Records.”

Mori shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I’ve stayed away from everything associated with the music scene for the past years. Stuff happened years ago, but I’m ready now.”

Her statements intrigued Bryce, but he continued his train of thought. “Your voice and singing style blew me away. You can blow! And believe me, if I say you can blow, you can! I don’t give compliments easily. And those songs you wrote were awesome. You’re bad, girl! You probably don’t even know how bad you are! But those of us in the audience were really feeling every word you sang.”

Glowing from the praise, Mori tugged back a curl that straggled by her eye. “Thank you. Those are some compliments.”

“I mean it. And I’d like to sit down and talk to you for a while about my company, your plans, and what we can do for each other. I’m interested in offering you a recording contract—that’s if our heads are in the same place.”

Mori’s heart jumped. “You’re interested in recording me under your label?” “Yes, I am, young lady.”

“Oh my God!” She laid her palm against her cheek and gazed across the room in a near trance. Then suddenly realizing how silly she must have acted, Mori looked up in Bryce’s eyes to see if he looked at her, as if she was nuts. His richly brown eyes were seductive and intense. Gently, they searched her face.

“You’re not messing with me, are you?” Mori asked.

“Hey, I’m a businessman. I don’t have time to play games and waste time. Since you aren’t familiar with the music scene lately, let me tell you about some of my artists, and what’s happened in their careers.”

Sticking his hands in his suit’s pants’ pockets, Bryce ran off a list of names that he claimed recorded platinum CDs under Pure Soul Records. Many of the artists Mori recognized because their careers commenced just as she left the business. Then she heard the name that froze her and altered the energy in the room.

“Rasheeda Lee?” she repeated.

“You know her?”

Faintly, Mori nodded, the smile drying from her lips. “Yes, I know her a little better than most.”

“She’s my fiancée,” Bryce shared, detecting a change in her mood. “Her first two CDs went platinum, but this latest one had trouble. But it’s all right. Every career takes a hit at some time. She’ll be back on top again.”

To that, Mori’s eyes narrowed and her overall expression changed as sharply as her tone. “But she won’t get there riding my back again!”

Bryce frowned. “What? Did something happen between you two?”

“You’re damn right it did!”

Bryce reared back, studying her rage, wondering what had occurred between Rasheeda and this woman to make her react so harshly. “So tell me what’s going on?”

Mori’s eyes became tighter. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re mad about. Don’t have a clue.”

Mori folded her arms. “Oh, I think you do. Rasheeda ran out of my songs. She ran out of the ones that were selling. So she sent you over here to offer me a little something-something, so she can get rich off more of my work. But you have the wrong lady. I’d rather die than do business with that damn thief you’re going to marry!”

Bryce stood speechless. Her reversal stunned him so much that it took several seconds before the significant word registered. “Thief?”

“Yes, Rasheeda Lee is the biggest thief in the world!”

“What are you calling her a thief for? I really don’t know what went on between you two.”

“Well, if you really don’t know, I’ll be happy to inform you. I was in the group called Diva Seduction with her. Along with another girl, I was a background singer, while Rasheeda sang lead.”

“And?”

“Rasheeda and I also wrote music and were trying to get a record contract with the combination of all of our talents. Rasheeda is a fantastic singer as you know, but her songwriting skills were greatly lacking. And whereas I couldn’t sing as well as I do now, my songwriting skills more than made up for it. I had sure enough hits on my hands.

“One day Rasheeda and I were at my house at the piano, and I showed her some of the music, I had written. I had been writing this music since the age of fourteen when I first started composing music. I showed her twenty-five incredible songs, which I had poured my sweat into creating. Rasheeda loved them and started singing them right off.

“We decided that we would present them to a record company. So I made tapes of my music and let her take the tapes home to practice. She sang them beautifully, and days later, we went into the studio to make a demo of all the songs. It led to us getting a contract offer with Barrington Records.”

Bryce dabbed his hanky across his suddenly moist forehead.

“Yes, Rasheeda’s first singles were with Barrington. Are you saying this because you couldn’t sing great then and got kicked out of the group? You see, I know all the singers that were in that singing group.”

Mori’s eyes tightened more at his question, and she fought the fullness in her throat, which grew with recounting her nightmare. “I didn’t get kicked out. The problem occurred when I received a disturbing letter from the copyright office. I had sent my songs to them after we were offered the deal. The letter stated it was impossible for me to copyright the songs. They had been copyrighted already—by Rasheeda. She must have done it that day I let her take my tape of songs home to practice. She stole my music, my hard work, and put her name on it! The first two albums were such successes because they were all my songs she sang!”

In wide-eyed astonishment, Bryce shook his head.

“No, way! Rasheeda wouldn’t do something like that! That’s criminal! Hell no.”

“She did! And there is so much more to this story—so much more. But why bother to tell you when you obviously don’t believe me. But then again, maybe you know all this, and she did send you here to rob me again. Well, I have many new, hit songs, but Rasheeda Lee will not be singing them. Would you please leave, Mr. Richards?”

“You have me wrong,” Bryce said, grasping the doorknob. “I’m not in some conspiracy with her to steal your music. I was just here to offer you an opportunity that could have changed your life. But baby, you just blew it.”