by Zee Monodee
Sanctuary. Solace. Fulfilment.
Her voice strangled in her throat. How could she not have seen that before? Was she too late?
Margo dashed to the connecting door and pushed the console away.
She slung the panel open and barged into the house next door, her steps hurried while she dashed to the surgery. She didn’t stop at Helen’s desk and brushed past the startled woman to fling herself into Jamie’s office, where she slammed the door behind her.
He held the phone to his ear. His eyes grew wide when he looked up and saw her there.
“Phillip,” he said. “I’ll call you back.”
“You can’t leave,” she gasped when he placed the receiver in its cradle.
“Why?”
Did he gulp before he said that? Please, let there be hope. Let it be that she had not messed up completely. She ran the tip of her tongue along her lips. Do it, Nolan.
“Because you’re not Harry.”
He peeled his long, muscled body from the chair and stood, coming towards her.
“Margo ...” He stopped inches from her.
“I ... it—” She stammered, and closed her eyes to gather her composure. She had one chance, and she couldn’t mess up.
“It wasn’t love.” Say it. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “Because love is what you give us, me and Emma. In the little things.”
“Do you mean that?”
Be honest.
“I don’t know what we have, Jamie. I mean, I think it’s love, but I’ve never known it before …”
She let the words die away and waited for his response, wanting him tell her she still stood a chance.
No, he deserved more than what she’d just given him. He needed to know the truth, the whole truth. She’d hidden behind façades since Harry—not anymore.
What did Jamie do for her?
So she started talking.
“With you, I’ve never had to hide.” She trained her gaze on him, needing to see how he took in her revelations. “From the first day, you saw me as I was.”
Not hiding behind her wall of ice, not stifling the emotions that she had been told, and had learned, over and over again, brought nothing good.
“With you, there was just me.” A woman even she didn’t know anymore.
Little things, big things, tangible and intangible—they all formed proof, evidence, if one knew how to look.
Jamie had walked into her life and heart when she’d thought all the access points blocked with sealed-shut barriers. That he’d managed to do so said so much about who, and what, he had become to her.
“I never lived before, never experienced life, as I did when with you.” Never let feelings get the better of me. She hadn’t known how liberating doing that would feel. She bit her lip. “That scared me. I didn’t know if I could give anything in return.”
His eyes glimmered with an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint. He brought a hand up, fingertips delicate when he touched her temple, brushed a strand of hair.
Her breath stopped, and came out in a moan when he moulded his palm around her jaw.
“Are you still scared?” he asked.
“No.”
Her heart hammered. Please, let it not be her imagination that he had drawn closer. Let him—
His lips touched hers, and she breathed in deeply. The kiss of life. She was no Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, waiting for Prince Charming’s kiss, so why did she feel like a fairy-tale princess right then? She closed her eyes, making the moment more intense.
Get a grip, Nolan. They had more important matters to deal with here.
She tore herself from the kiss and stared at him. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
He smiled, and her heart did a flip-flop.
“How can I, when you’re calling me to come home?”
She smiled, too. That’s what she wanted—no, what she needed to hear. The last of the walls she hadn’t realized she’d built came tumbling down, freeing her from their ruins like a phoenix rising from its ashes.
“I need you, Jamie. As does Emma. She needs a father.”
“What about Robbie?”
“Out of the picture. Long story. You were right.” She let her gaze rake over his handsome face. “You’ll stay with us?”
He nodded. “It’s where I belong, Margo.”
Little things kept people coming home. As his mouth settled on hers, Margo sent silent thanks out that she’d woken up in time to see the little things in her life.
Jamie. She had him, Emma, and she’d never need anything more, because they’d made a home together.
Her home.
The End
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
I wrote this story during a rather trying time in my life. The year was 2010, and, just like Margo, I had discovered the BBC TV show Silent Witness (the later seasons, btw, with Emilia Fox & William Gaminara. Not the Sam Ryan ones). The lives of these forensic pathologists intrigued me, and me being me, I started imagining what their personal lives would be like.
That’s how the character of Margo came into being. I knew a child should be involved in there, and I’m still not sure why and how tween Emma made it in, and not someone else. Maybe because a tween growing into a teenager would bring about the most mayhem in an orderly life? I also wanted a twist on the motherhood deal, so Emma became the daughter of her heart and not of her womb. There, I had the starting point … and of course, every story of mine needs a larger-than-life hero. Hence, Jamie coming into existence.
My files show me my research for this book happened between October-December of 2010 … and that was the time I had been diagnosed once again with breast cancer, caught very early this time as opposed to the very malignant stage I had faced with the same disease five years prior. Those who know me know that I cope by keeping busy—the busier, the better, and my strategy to cope with my cancer diagnosis back then was writing this book.
Around the same time, Harlequin announced its very first edition of the writing contest So You Think You Can Write. Something was nagging at me to try my luck, and would you believe it, I applied with this story … and I got in! The first chapter—almost verbatim the one you read here—made it through the first round at the end of the year, and with my synopsis, won me a request for the full manuscript … that I had to turn in in February already! Good grief, I was supposed to be having 5 consecutive weeks of radiation therapy throughout the end of December and all the way through January, so when would I find time to write? Still, an opportunity like that would not present itself again, so I had to do it. Cue me then adding a little bit more to the story every day … on my qwerty phone during the hours ‘lost’ in the waiting room daily for my turn in the radiotherapy machines.
The story made it to the finals … but not the final cut. I had jumped the gun too soon by getting Margo and Jamie together way before the book’s ending, making it ineligible for the ‘cleaner’ lines. And in doing so, I had also not made it smutty enough to fit the ‘hotter’ lines. And yes, also—too long for the former, too short for the latter. It just didn’t fit … something I would come to realize applied to a good deal of my writing throughout the years.
Still, there you have the story behind the story and how it all came into being. This tale, because I wrote it at such a momentous time in my life, holds a very special place in my heart, and I’m so overjoyed that I now get to share it with you as I’ve always wanted to tell it.
So thank you for taking a chance on me and on this story. I hope you have enjoyed Margo and Jamie’s journey to love. As always, I would love to hear your feedback (email me anytime at [email protected]) and your ratings & reviews are always welcome and much appreciated (please leave a review on Amazon when you finish. Just 1-2 lines will work! Thanks!)
From Mauritius with love,
Zee Monodee
Acknowledgements
A big thank you to my then-crit partners who critiqued this story for me!
Chicki Brown, Erin Kern, Meresha Caine, Gary Stillman, Bronwyn Stuart, Lynn Spangler, Rae Lori, Kate Heath, & Natalie G. Owens.
To the two houses that took a chance on this book - thank you! And the people at Harlequin for their invaluable feedback and advice & best wishes.
My virtual author assistant, the wonderful Pam Labbe! I’d be in the dumps without you, luv!
Natalie, for being my rock, my anchor, my sounding board, my partner in crime … LOL, yes, if it isn’t obvious yet, I’m in love with this woman, the Margo to my Cora. Love you, my darling sis!
My husband, for giving me the space and time I need to write, and especially during the many versions this story has taken. Thank you for being my guiding light, always.
My son, for being my sunshine. And, just like sunshine, he can sting and burn me, too, with his antics! But on the whole, more brightness than anything else coming from him, thank God!
My parents, brother & sister-in-law, as well as my in-law family, for their support through all the trying times I’ve been through ’til now.
Thank You, God, for every chance You grant me with every second more I get to live!
And last but not least, thank you my readers, for giving this crazy love of mine a reason to exist!
About The Author
From always choosing the storytelling option in English & French classes to sneaking a Mills&Boon romance under the desk at school, Zee went on to make a career out of writing the kind of emotional romances all young girls junk on.
Her Mauritius and Indian-based romances have all the classic makings of Bollywood-type drama: overbearing mothers, matchmaking aunties, ‘proper’ eligible suitors who look like frogs, race & class divides.
Travel to the UK (Surrey & North Yorkshire), and you meet people—young and older—struggling to find ‘The One’ amid the drudgery of day-to-day life, never mind if they’re a simple graphic designer working from home, a world-renowned supermodel battling anorexia, or a reluctant heiress on the run.
Take to the Corpus Agency mantle, and become lethal spies & assassins who nevertheless feel the call of love in their dark and shady lives…
A Muslim woman of Indian origin, Zee lives in paradise (aka Mauritius!) with her long-suffering husband, her smart-mouth teenage son, and their tabby cat who thinks herself a fearsome feline from the nearby African Serengeti plains. When she isn’t in her kitchen rolling out chapattis or baking cakes while singing along to the soundtrack of Glee, she can be found reading or catching up on her numerous TV show addictions. In her day job, she is an editor who helps other authors like her hone their works and craft.
**Read about her life & her books at her website/blog http://www.zeemonodee.com/
**Friend her on Facebook (she loves to make friends & meet new people!) https://www.facebook.com/#!/zee.monodee
**Find her on Twitter & Instagram: @ZeeMonodee
**Email her at this addy (she loves to talk...prolly too much, even!) [email protected]
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Excerpt
The Lawyer’s Pregnancy Takeover
Chapter One
“You’re pregnant.”
“What?”
If Jane Smithers hadn’t been sitting, her knees would’ve buckled under her, and she would’ve crashed to the floor as a result. Or maybe she would’ve fainted? No, she hadn’t. Too numb to even faint? Good grief!
She opened her mouth, then closed it. In the barrage of emotions following the declaration and assailing her once the numbness receded just a tad, surprise came first.
“You’re joking, right?” she asked.
From the serious frown on her gynaecologist’s face, she faced nothing but the truth.
“But that can’t be!” she protested.
“Why not?”
“Because I haven’t been with anyone recently.”
The admission tore past her lips, and as much as it pained her to say it, the humiliation of confessing she lived the life of an old maid in a chastity belt and starched knickers at thirty-two proved to be nothing compared to the sudden realization that she had a life growing inside her womb.
“So it’s the Holy Ghost. You must’ve met him in the past three months because you certainly weren’t pregnant when I gave you that contraceptive shot back in December.”
The irony barely rattled Jane. “Oh my God.”
“That’s it, luv. Bring Him in now that you got yourself up the duff.”
“Oh, Gayle, stop sounding like a prissy granny, will you?”
She brushed off her doctor and friend’s comment with a sweep of her hand. The two of them had first met on their university campus in a mentorship program established by the alumnae society. From the moment their friendship had taken off, Gayle had used the excuse she was five years older than Jane to boss her around and keep her in line.
When Gayle had opened her surgery a few years later, Jane had lined up to become one of her patients. A single girl in modern London needed a good gynaecologist, more so when she was on the prowl looking for a man and not a baby. Neither had been in her aspirations, however, especially because she had no time to go scout for that elusive creature called the perfect male prospect, and she already clung onto her sanity by very thin threads.
Yet, here she was, pregnant. What a pickle! She brought her palms up and covered her face. Her breath growing laboured, she pressed the back of her head against the headrest and shuddered at the thundering in her veins, her heart beating fast, the blood rushing at her temples.
“Jane? Sweets, you okay?”
She let her hands drop to her lap and opened her eyes.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She paused. “What am I going to do?”
Gayle’s dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t know exactly yet how far along you are, but I usually don’t recommend a termination. Unless you’re dead set …”
Horror filled Jane when she understood what Gayle was saying, and she grimaced. “What makes you think I’ll want an abortion?”
“I’ve seen stranger things, luv. This news comes as a shock, and you may not be thinking things through yet.”
“Either way, I’m not getting an abortion.”
“So you’re keeping the baby.”
Strange to hear her future stated in those terms. She couldn’t conceive of her condition as anything more than an abstract notion at that point.
“It’s a good thing I asked for a check on your hormone levels before I renewed your injection,” Gayle said. “Judging by the concentration of HcG in your blood, I’d say you’re at least a few weeks along.”
She paused then, and Jane squirmed under her friend’s sharp gaze.
“Which brings us to the million-pound question. Who’s the father?”
“I told you, I haven’t been with anyone recently.”
“Tsk-tsk. The Holy Ghost theory doesn’t cut it with me.”
Jane rolled her eyes and gave a small laugh. “I wasn’t implying that. Seriously, I haven’t slept with anyone in the past weeks.”
“Unless you don’t remember ... Jane, that’s not the case, is it?”
The serious concern in her doctor’s tone subdued her even more. Good grief, was she on an emotional roller coaster, and it hadn’t been five minutes yet. As to what Gayle implied …
“Of course not! I clearly would remember if—”
The memory of a passionate encounter she had forced herself to forget glided into her mind. High-pitched giggles. Feverish hands tearing clothes away. The brush of heat from the radiator sliding over her naked skin, and the slightly rough texture of the Turkish rug under her back while a man kissed her and took her in the hallway of her flat.
“Oh my God,” she muttered.
“What?”
Gayle’s
voice was a hollow sound penetrating the fog in her mind from far away.
Eyes growing wide as realization set in, she trained her gaze onto the woman sitting across from her on the other side of the wide desk.
“January first, half past three in the morning. I had sex with my neighbour.”
Gayle huffed. “I bet unprotected, and you didn’t think of getting yourself checked afterward.”
“I did.” Her protest would probably fall on deaf ears, but what did she have to lose? “You were on vacation in Mauritius at the time, remember? I rushed to the community centre and had myself checked for AIDS and STDs.”
“Not for a pregnancy, though.”
“Come on, I thought I was covered. Why’d you think I had the damn injection in the first place?”
“Because Lord knows how it happens that you’re anal about everything else but cannot stick to the schedule when taking the pill. And, may I remind you that no contraceptive measure is one hundred percent infallible? Only abstinence will do that trick for you.”
This, she knew. She was also carrying her neighbour’s baby. Jane remained silent as she mulled over the revelation. Pregnant by a man who wouldn’t have looked twice at her if he hadn’t been drunk, and a man she’d never have had sex with if she’d been sober. The very good reason for her stand? He was engaged.
On that fateful night, she’d met him at a trendy club in Chelsea, just two roads down from their block of flats in the posh neighbourhood. They’d both drunk too much, and he’d ended up confiding that his fiancée had broken up with him.
Jane had sympathized with his plight. They’d been alone on a night when no one should be alone. Cue her perception getting warped from that notion alone. She’d only gone down the drain and into the gutter from that point on. They’d laughed and flirted over tequila shots. Soon after the New Year had kicked in, he had reached for her and licked the salt off her hand. They had then downed their shots and kissed over a wedge of lime. Before she’d reckoned, they’d been out of the club and back at the building, snogging like teenagers on their first night out. They’d barely made it into her flat before succumbing to lust.