FOREWORD
I've been a reader of romance novels since I was about 12 years old. I’ve read hundreds of them.
“Everybody wants to be loved.”
This is the enduring theme of all romance novels. We all want to be loved and accepted for exactly who and what we are.
And that’s the beauty of love – it keeps the hope alive in each of us that there is someone out there, somewhere, who will love what is unique about us. This is what keeps me reading romance, after romance, after romance.
About Me
I’ve been a freelance writer – in the business sector – since 1993. More about my businesses can be found below. This is my first romance novel (originally published in May 2013).
I decided to give romance writing a try because the title popped in my head one day and just wouldn’t let go. Before I sat down to write a word, the characters were talking to me; hence, I had to write this book. Janey and Redmond – the main characters – just wouldn’t shut up!
And you know what, to my great surprise, this book practically wrote itself. I was amazed at how the characters truly took over once I sat down to write. Half the time, I didn’t even know what they were going to do – truly.
I hope you enjoy their journey to love as much as I enjoyed bringing it to you. I’m not so much the ‘author’ of this work, as the ‘conduit’ through which it flowed.
My Businesses
New Media Words (http://NewMediaWords.biz) is my SEO Writing and Internet Marketing Firm. I also publish http://InkwellEditorial.com, the #1 site on the web for info on how to start a successful freelance writing career.
I’ve self-published over 50 ebooks, mostly on the business of freelance writing, self-publishing and internet marketing. Learn more at http://InkwellEditorial.com/about.
Sincerely,
Chapter 1: The First Time
He slid his hand down into the most private part of her, parting her flesh there and deftly swirling his fingers back and forth over her most sensitive part until she could barely breathe.
Janey closed her eyes and rolled her head from side to side on the crisp white pillow. How did it get this far? She knew that if she didn’t stop him now, there was no turning back. Her hand shook as she put pressure on his in an effort to push it away from her very center.
The sound of her own passion roaring in her ears told her it was a lost cause.
Was that her breath catching in her throat?
Her tongue licking at the pulse of his strong, corded neck?
Her moans escaping a heaving, sweat-soaked chest?
It had to be, as there were only the two of them engulfed in this sea of passion in this tiny, rustic cabin.
Redmond’s lips found hers, gently at first – matching the rhythm of his kiss to the stroking of his fingers between her legs. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue further and further into the warm cavern of her mouth.
The hand on the most intimate part of her followed suit, thrusting deeper and deeper into her. Janey writhed against him, unable to stand the twin assaults on her mouth and her womanhood.
The last vestiges of the wall she’d built to protect herself from wanting him escaped her and she gave in to the passion, begging him to become one with her. She longed to feel the thickness of him inside her, to fulfill the promise of what his lips and hands had awakened within her.
Then he stopped – everything – the kiss, the swirling of fingers between her legs.
For a second, Janey was confused. Her doe-shaped eyes, which had been fused shut by the swell of passion, popped open. And there – before her – was Redmond. Her entire vision was filled with him.
Locked in a desire-filled stare, she took in the sheen of perspiration on his forehead, the pulse beating at the side of his temple, the moistness of his lips – and most visibly – the craving in his eyes.
It was as if this was what he wanted. He wanted her to open her eyes and see how much he wanted her – and for her to acknowledge how much she wanted him.
Holding her gaze – and without saying a word, Redmond lowered his head to take her lips once again. Softly, slowly, masterfully.
The fingers between her legs started their sensuous assault again and he gently lowered his body to cover hers. He withdrew his hand from her center and slowly climbed on top of her, parting her legs as he continued to stare intently at her.
Janey sensed his restraint as he slowly slid his manhood into the opening of her moist womanhood. She tensed at first, unaccustomed to the size of him. He sensed her momentary discomfort and cradled the back of her head with one hand while sliding the other under her right buttock.
Whispering in his native language in her left ear, the sound of his deep, melodic voice soothed her, while he slid his length slowly and steadily into her. In and out, out and in he slid into the damp depth of her.
Janey felt her body relax and close around him, snugly pulling every inch of him deep inside her – taking everything he had to give. With his hand pressing powerfully into her buttock, she moved her hips. Up and down she strained against him, reaching for the summit she knew was there.
With her body responding so perfectly and sinuously to his, Redmond could no longer control his strokes. He drove into her again and again, taking everything she had to give – and wanting more.
The throbbing throughout her body begged for release and sensing she was near passion’s peak, Redmond drove fully into her one last time. Janey tightened around him, as he whispered in her ear and drew her tightly to him.
Although she didn’t understand a word of what he said, she knew they were words he’d never repeat to her in English. They felt too personal, too raw – too exposed.
And for all the passion their physical selves had just shared, Janey instinctively felt that there were parts of him he’d never share.
Chapter 2: The Struggle to Forget
How apropos, Janey thought, that the memory of the first time they made love also shone a bright light on why their relationship would never work. Shaking her head, she pondered, How can something be so perfect and so wrong at the same time?
Janey had been back home in Manhattan for a week. Her every waking thought was of Redmond.
She found it hard to concentrate on work; her only relief from thoughts of him coming when she was on long runs – part of the training for her first triathlon, a baby one she'd decided to give a shot after years of just running marathons.
Redmond had called only twice since she came back from Sol y Besos, the tiny Caribbean island known for “sun and kisses;” hence, the name. He’d left one voice mail, which she’d listened to over and over again before deleting in a fit of anger one afternoon.
Janey, I came by your hotel later that evening on the day we came back from Hill Country. They told me that you had checked out. Can you please call me? We really need to talk.
Even though every fiber of her being wanted to reach out to him, there was something in her that just wouldn’t allow her to pick up the phone and make the call. And every day that went by without him calling again solidified that she was doing the right thing.
After all, if he really wanted to talk to her, really cared about her, he would have called more than twice since she’d been back.
Maybe he was working things out with his wife.
Maybe he was a gigolo after all and had met someone else.
Whatever the reason, she reminded herself that even though she was hurting now, it was better this than to have wasted a year, two or three on this relationship. And, she sought solace in the advice friends and family had given her when she’d told them about Redmond.
“He can’t do anything for you girl!” the sarcasm of her girlfriend’s ex
pression popped before her strained eyes as she tried to edit an article one afternoon.
“Can’t you find a nice man who doesn’t have such complicated life Janey,” her aunt’s soft pleadings rang in her ears when they’d had lunch one afternoon.
“When you’re from two different cultures; that’s just asking for trouble. Stick to your own kind,” the words from her long-deceased grandmother came to her during one of her crying spells.
Everyone important to her – dead and alive – she thought sardonically, had warned her about a relationship with Redmond. And consciously, she knew they were probably right.
So why couldn’t she forget him? Why did he dominate her every waking hour?
Why could she still feel the softness of his lips on the smoothness of her forehead, his preferred spot for playful kisses?
Why could she still see with perfect clarity the whiteness of his teeth as he laughed out loud at something she said?
Why could she still feel the strength of his arms as he held her tight against the surf to receive his kiss in the warm waters of the Caribbean sea?
Why could she still feel the vibration of his voice in her ear as he spoke to her while she lay on his chest before they drifted off to sleep?
Why?
It all seemed so right.
So what made it so wrong?
Instead of fighting the thoughts, for the first time since she’d been back, Janey decided to give herself over to them; to allow herself to fully relive the dream of what she and Redmond had shared – because she knew she was going to have to find a way to accept that it could never be a reality.
Chapter 3: Janey
After a four-and-a-half hour flight from New York’s LaGuardia airport, Janey arrived at the tiny airport in Sol y Besos rather refreshed.
The owner of a network of travel blogs, she travelled at least six months out of the year. Hence, she was a seasoned traveler who knew how – for the most part – to beat the travel-weary blues.
Athenos International, the main airport in Sol y Besos, was small compared to many she’d been in.
Janey was able to quickly get through customs; exchange some money at the currency exchange desk; claim the one duffel bag she’d packed at the luggage carousel; and dip into the bright sunshine to the waiting taxis, one of which would carry her to her hotel 45-minutes away.
By the time she arrived and checked into Mirabella Bay, she’d been travelling for almost nine hours. An insomniac for the most part, she had no problems sleeping on trains, planes and automobiles.
She didn’t think much of her sleeping habits, simply putting them down to a side effect of her globe-trotting career. Her mother, on the other hand, had often exclaimed that said she had the weirdest sleeping habits of any person she’d ever known.
“Janey Belle Coltrane, how in the heck can you fall asleep in two seconds on a plane with a screaming baby, but can’t for the life of you get one good wink of rest in your own bed? I swear, I’ll never understand.”
Janey grinned at this thought as she changed into a sky blue bikini and prepared her beach bag for the trek down to the powder white sands of the main beach in Sol y Besos.
She’d slept fitfully on the plane, getting in at least three hours on the four-and-a-half hour flight, so she felt pretty rested. She actually liked her sleeping habits because while she loved arriving at whatever her destination was, she hated the actual travel part.
And, she put her inability to sleep to work for her – literally. Janey often wrote posts for her travel blogs late at night and/or edited the submissions of the four, full-time travel writers she had on staff and the 20 or so freelancers she regularly accepted submissions from.
At 33, Janey was proud of the business – and the life – she’d built. If someone had told her that she’d be a writer on her 30th birthday, she would have laughed herself silly. She’d never aspired to be a writer – ever.
At 27, she had a high-paying job as a corporate recruiter. With a base salary plus commissions, she was earning close to a quarter of a million dollars per year. A company credit card and liberal expense account rounded out the plum position.
With a cute, rent-stabilized, sizable (for Manhattan) one-bedroom apartment in the middle of Times Square as home base, she travelled for her job frequently and couldn’t have been happier.
At 30, the bottom fell out of her life – personally and professionally.
Her mother – the foundation of everything she was – was diagnosed with and died from ovarian cancer.
She found out that her best girlfriend of over 15 years had slept with her boyfriend. Even though it had only been once – she’d been devastated.
Because of her mother’s illness, she’d had no room on her emotional plate to deal with this betrayal, so she cut ties with both of them. And it was right on the tails of this that her boss called her in the office one day to inform her that she was being laid off.
. . . valuable employee . . .
. . . hate to have to let you go . . .
. . . anything you need . . .
. . . sorry about your mother . . .
Snippets of phrases – this was all Janey had heard as she sat on the edge of her chair, looking at her now ex-boss across the plain, wood-veneered desk.
As she shook his hand and accepted the envelope which contained the details of her generous severance package, all she could think was, Whoever said it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb wasn’t lying. Only they weren’t talking about spring; they were talking about my life this year.
All of this had happened within the span of a few short months.
With summer about to burst onto the scene, Janey felt like she was about to burst to – only she didn’t know with what. Rage, fear, bitterness, apathy, depression . . . sheer lunacy?
She just had no idea.
It had been this way since her mother’s death in April three years earlier. Spring, going into summer always brought a sense of restlessness and uneasiness with it for her.
She knew why and was learning to deal with it. But in order to cope, she still had a tendency to embrace only what she was sure of and comfortable with at any given moment.
And – the only thing Janey was sure of at this moment was that she was too pale and needed some rays from that Caribbean sun to kiss her bright skin.
Living in New York, she had a tendency to turn several shades lighter during the winter months. So she ran to the tropics as often as she could to get that even, cocoa hue she loved that came when she spent just a few days in the sun.
Marilene, Janey’s mother, had been a petite, dark-skinned beauty. A southern belle, her mother had instilled in her good manners; she’d also inherited her independent streak and flawless skin.
Her father had been a tall, lanky, light-skinned brother – from the south as well. Janey had inherited his quick, sardonic wit; doe-shaped eyes; and natural ability to sum up situations and people in a flash.
Both were gone now.
Her father had died when she was 14 and her mother’s death three years ago had made her an orphan. The first time this occurred to her, it felt strange. After all, weren’t orphans kids? But, that’s the feeling that engulfed her. Having been a only child, she felt small and alone in the world.
The characteristics she inherited from her parents served her well – personally and professionally. It was one of the reasons she was so disappointed that she didn’t see or sense what had gone on between Michelle and Jamal, her best friend and boyfriend.
One thing her mother’s death had taught her though was to not be so hard on herself because life was just too damned short.
Their “indiscretion” as they put it, had only happened once – or so they said. As she’d always placed her career first, she’d probably been too absorbed in her work to pick up on any signs. So she gave herself a break and silently sent up a thank you to her mom, who she knew was responsible for this reasoned line of thought.
As Janey made her way to the beach, these were the thoughts running through her head. She’d been relieving a lot of tough moments in her life since her mother’s death. Some days, they bothered her. But on her best days, she embraced them.
At these times, she felt like her parents were talking to her – still trying to be there for her – by having her relive and learn from these tough life lessons.
. . .
Determined to enjoy the latest novel she’d downloaded to her Kindle, Janey slipped the white bikini wrap over her head, settled her fit frame into the plush padding on the beach chair, and slid her prescription reading sunglasses into place on her button-shaped nose.
3 Weeks 'Til Forever Page 1