It had been a long time since some girl had an effect on me. With the success of my memoir, Undying Love, and my family name, I was, like it or not, one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. A minor celebrity. Everyone—from my editor to my drycleaner— was trying to fix me up. Without meaning to sound boastful, I could have my pick of any girl in the city. Even top supermodels. There were drinks and scattered dates, but nothing beyond that. The bottom line, I wasn’t ready. I still couldn’t get the love of my life, Allee Adair, out of my head.
But there was something about this girl Willow that got under my skin. Her unruly, waist-long, fiery hair. The sparkle in her olive green eyes. And that compact, ripped body that peeked through her long deli apron. I couldn’t take my eyes off her tight heart-shaped ass as she sprinted up the stairs to retrieve my book. She moved with the grace of a dancer. The fact that she really loved my book and wanted me to sign it was a turn on too. And, boy, she sure knew how to make a man a sandwich. Why the hell didn’t I ask her out?
The pub was dark and crowded, especially at the bar which was famous for being a hot pick-up spot. Elbowing my way through the wall-to-wall crowd of eager-to-meet singles, I spotted Duffy at our usual booth toward the back. He already had a beer.
“Yo, dude,” said Duffy as I took a seat opposite him. An attractive blond waitress came by and I ordered what Duffy was drinking. A Guinness on tap. She eyed me flirtatiously before disappearing into the crowd.
“That babe has the hots for you,” said Duffy.
Ignoring his comment, I said, “The last issue of Arts & Smarts was the bomb.” I still regularly read the magazine even though I was no longer editor or had any desire to be associated it with again.
“Thanks, dude.” Beaming, Duffy gave me an affectionate punch to the chest and took a gulp of his beer.
“How’s my old man treating you?”
“He leaves me alone. I think he’s just gotten used to the idea that A&S is his rebellious child.”
My father, Ryan Madewell III, was the founder and CEO of Madewell Media, a Forbes 500 company that controlled broadcast outlets and publishing entities around the world. He was worth 3.8 billion dollars the last time I checked. Arts & Smarts was just a small cog in his vast media empire.
“How are things with you and Sam?” I asked as the flirty waitress lowered my mug of beer onto the distressed wood table. Sam, short for Samantha, was his beautiful fiancée. Like Duffy, she came from Southern California and loved to surf. He had met her at my wedding to Allee. She was Allee’s friend and colleague at The Met. It was love at first sight for Duffy who had never managed to score in the girlfriend department. Ironically, had I chosen her to show me a hidden treasure at the museum, I may have never married Allee. Sometimes, I secretly wished I had so that I wouldn’t have had to endure the tragedy of Allee dying so young. Life could be just so fucking unfair.
“She’s great, man. She’s starting to show. She’s nervous that she’ll be as fat as a cow at the wedding.”
Duffy had been living with Sam for almost two years. When she discovered she was pregnant a couple of months ago, they finally decided to tie the knot. They were getting married in a few weeks in Malibu, where Sam’s parents had a beach house. Duffy had asked me to be his best man, and I had agreed.
I took a swig of my beer. “Sam’s going to be a beautiful bride,” I told Duffy. “How’s the wedding stuff going?”
“Bitchin’. Sam’s got it under control. But the daddy thing is already freaking me out.”
“You’re going to do great.” Inside, a pang of envy shot through me. A baby with Allee had not been in our cards. Or should I say, raising one with her. I had kept the success of my fertility experiment secret from Duffy. In fact, everyone.
“So, Ry-man, what’s up with you?”
I told him how the movie version of Undying Love was moving along. They’d approved my screenplay and had already selected a director. Ryan Gosling was being considered to play me. Anne Hathaway had already committed to the role of Allee. As much as I was pleased with this casting decision, no one could be my Allee.
“Man, that movie is going to be blockbuster. Every girl in America is going to be in love with Ryan Madewell.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Nah, they’re going to be in love with Ryan Gosling or whoever plays the part.”
Duffy snorted. “So, dude, what’s going on with the rest of your life? You get laid yet?” Duffster was constantly telling me that I needed to start seriously dating again. It had been over two years since Allee had passed away, and I wasn’t getting younger. He was convinced my dick was going to grow old and fall off.
I took a big gulp of my beer and then I said it. “I met someone.” I came to a sharp pause and took several more swigs of the cold frothy beverage.
“Hey, man, don’t go AWOL on me. Talk to me.”
I reluctantly told him all about Willow and our encounter. In the end, it actually felt good to confide in him.
“Seriously, dude, I can’t believe you wrote in her book you wanted to see her again and you didn’t ask her out. Or write down your phone number or email address. What a doof!”
Maybe I blew it. Maybe I just wasn’t ready. Maybe I really didn’t want to. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe. I drained my beer.
“Madewell, get your fucking dick back to that deli before it withers away and ask that babe out.”
“Okay, okay.”
“And buy yourself a pack of condoms.”
Duffy ordered another round of beers. I guzzled mine. The cold beverage seeped through my veins while the image of a girl named Willow danced through my head.
My downtown loft wasn’t far from the pub. I walked home. The buzz I got from the beer mixed nicely with the crisp autumn air. I wrapped my cashmere scarf, a gift from Allee, around my neck to shield myself from the wind.
When I got home, it was always the same. I came home to the ghost of Allee. As soon as I stepped out from the freight elevator that took me to my loft, I saw her curled up on the leather couch she favored, reading one of her treasured art books. She gazed up at me. Her dark wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her espresso bean eyes twinkled, already undressing me. I always imagined her beautiful and radiant, not the faded beauty she had become when she got sick. There were photographs of her everywhere.
“Hi, baby.”
“Hi, Madewell. I missed you. Where were you?”
“Having some beers with Duffy at our favorite watering hole.”
“Have you eaten it yet?”
“Nope.” I thought about the deli sandwich I had stored in the fridge. I forced the image of Willow out of my head.
“Then, why don’t you have me instead?” So Allee-like.
My cock stiffened. My balls ached. Fuck. When was it going to stop? I could taste her, smell her, feel her. My shrink told me I needed to move. Get a new apartment. A new bed. A new life. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I needed to stay connected to her in any way I could.
I checked my phone messages and then wound up the spiral of polished metal stairs to our bedroom. I quickly shucked my clothes and put on my pajama bottoms and a tee. I did my normal bathroom routine and then hopped into bed. Into the beautiful, antique four-poster bed that I shared with the love of my life. Tomorrow morning I had an interview on Good Morning America, so I had to be up bright and early.
I couldn’t fall asleep. My cock was throbbing. I needed relief. Closing my eyes, I slipped my hand under the duvet and began jerking myself off. Harder. Faster. I imagined her long, limber fingers around my shaft, her warm breath heating my cheeks, her dancing eyes. I was heading fast and furiously toward an explosion. In an instant, a burst of hot semen covered my hand. My heated body relaxed, and I opened my eyes halfway. Facing me was the image of a beautiful girl. She had wild flaming red hair and glittering green eyes. Willow!
COMING SOON
ENDLESS LOVE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank my
husband and children who put up with me as I plowed through this novel and made countless revisions. I wrote Undying Love as part of a challenge to write a complete novel in the month of November. I know…nuts.
I am also indebted to my formatter and cover designer Glendon Haddix of Streetlight Graphics, my proofreader, Kathie Middlemiss of Kat’s Eye Editing, and my beta readers— my dear friend, “Smiles,” and my fellow writer and friend, Mallory Love, author of Sunset Motel.
A special thanks also goes to Dr. Clement Yang and Dr. Eliron Mor for advising me on medical ethics, cancer treatments, and fertility breakthroughs.
Finally, a shout-out goes to my dear readers. I love you all!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nelle L’Amour is a former executive in the entertainment and toy industries. While she gave up playing with Barbies a long time ago, she still enjoys playing with toys with her two children… and husband. She aspires to write juicy stories with characters that will both make you laugh and cry and stay in your heart forever.
She is the author of the three-part bestselling erotic romance series, Seduced by the Park Avenue Billionaire. Writing under another pen name, she is also the author of the critically acclaimed fantasy/romance series: DEWITCHED: The Untold Story of the Evil Queen.
Nelle loves to hear from her readers. Connect to her at:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Nelle-Lamour/185733381565323
http://twitter.com/nellelamour
[email protected]
BONUS MATERIAL
AN EXCERPT FROM SEDUCED BY THE PARK AVENUE BILLIONAIRE
PART 1: STRANGERS ON A TRAIN
By Nelle L’Amour
1
I’m going to miss my train! That was all I could think of as I dashed through the stately entrance to Philadelphia’s majestic 30th Street Station. My best friend Lauren, with all her connections, had scored a bunch of coveted tickets to the Black Eyed Peas concert in Central Park and I was among those she had chosen to be among her entourage …so I had to be home by seven, shower, and get dressed. I rushed past the tempting food court toward the information center. The old fashion flip-letter Amtrak Train Information board made a ticking sound as it updated arrivals and departures. I glanced up. Shit! My train to Penn Station was leaving in five minutes from Gate 5. My eyes darted around the elegant, high ceiling, art-deco station, for the escalator leading down to the train platform. Despite how many times I had been in this vast station over the past few months, I never knew where I was going. My sense of direction was nothing to be proud of.
My eyes bounced from the famous Angel of the Resurrection statue to another bronzed statue. A god. A 6’2” golden-haired Adonis perched on the VIP mezzanine. Even from this distant vantage point, I could I could tell he was wearing one of those super expensive custom- tailored beige suits that New York’s tycoons donned once Spring hit. It made a stunning contrast with his St. Tropez tan, the kind wealthy Manhattanites sported all year round. With his expensive designer glasses perched on his perfectly blown flaxen hair, he looked like he was right out of GQ.
I couldn’t get my eyes off him. The sight of him made my knees weak and my heart hammer. I had dreamt of men like this, but the reality of ever meeting one was way out of my league. I was a geeky, recent college who, after several false starts, had finally landed an entry-level job at Ike’s Tikes, an established New York City toy company, and was struggling to make ends meet. Beautiful men were just not in my cards. They never had been. But my mom had always told me it was okay to dream. And for a minute, as Adonis pivoted his head in my direction, I imagined his eyes burning across the station into mine.
A booming voice put an end to my reverie—and the pulsating I felt between my legs. “Last call for Amtrak 148 to Penn Station boarding at Gate 5.” In a blink of an eye, Adonis was gone. Out of my life and dreams forever. My pulse accelerated as my eyes flickered around the vast station for the gate sign. Finally, I found it and began to run, my messenger-style leather bag flying behind me. The escalator descending to the train platform was out of order. Thank goodness, I was wearing my trusty combat boots. At breakneck speed, I clambered down the daunting three flights of stairs, praying that the train would not leave without me.
“Wait!” I screamed as the automatic doors of the sleek silver train were closing. I skimmed through one of them, narrowly missing being a smooshed sardine.
Breathing heavy, I staggered through the car, desperately searching for a seat. Nothing. It was rush hour and every seat was taken. Maybe I would have better luck in the next car, I thought as I wobbled across the connecting bridge, the train rolling into motion. I so needed to sit down, catch my breath, and relax. I was exhausted and rundown. Not just from my sprint to the train, but from months of juggling my Manhattan-based job as the assistant to a demanding female executive with visits to my ailing mother who was receiving experimental cancer treatments at the world-renowned Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. Seeing my mother in her weakened state, all hooked up to IV’s and machines, never helped no matter how cheery she was when I came to see her.
As the train picked up speed, I struggled to keep my balance and open the sliding door to the next car. Sparing all the muscle power I could, I finally yanked it open and tumbled into the cabin. This car was different than the one before. It was far more spacious and deluxe. Roomy pairs of rich brown leather seats lined the aisles, and the well-dressed occupants were sipping cocktails in real glasses and toying with the latest electronic gadgets. This was obviously business-class. I sure as hell did not belong here wearing my T.J. Maxx midi skirt and Fruit of the Loom t-shirt. Oh yeah, and my worn out combat boots which I had found at a flea market. This was the cabin where Louis Vuittons, Jimmy Choos, and Chanels mingled with other LVs, Jimmies, and Cocos. No, I didn’t belong here. Not one bit.
Fighting the speed of the train and my embarrassment, I clumsily zigzagged down the aisle, occasionally grabbing onto the corner of a seat for balance. Like the previous cabin, every seat was taken. No one seemed to notice me, but truthfully, I wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. As I neared the rear end of the car, the train jerked, lurching me forward and then flying into the lap of a Wall Street Journal-reading commuter to my left.
“I’m so sorry,” I squeaked at my victim whose face was still buried in his WSJ.
He flexed his leg muscles under my muscular butt, signaling me to get up and then slowly lowered his newspaper. A smirk curled on his lips. Those lips!
My heart leaped into my throat. Adonis!
“Sit,” he said, motioning to the empty window seat next to his.
“Um, uh, I’m in economy,” I stuttered, my eyes unable to leave his face no matter how humiliated I felt. Up close, he was even more beautiful than I imagined with his chiseled nose, strong angular jaw line, and piercing eyes, the color of sapphires.
“Don’t worry; I’ll handle it,” he said with a wink.
Holy shit! Adonis had just winked at me!
“Sit,” he growled, this time as if it were an order.
With a powerful heave of his knees, he bounced me to my feet, forcing me to plop down next to him.
Holy shit again! I was going to spend the next hour and a half sitting next to this gorgeous man—a man that existed in my dreams—and now I had no idea what to say. My heart pounded.
“What’s your name?” he asked, in a coy tone that suggested he was daring me to answer.
“Sarah,” I replied, pulling myself together in time to reply in a very business-like voice.
“Saarah,” he repeated, his voice deep and sexy.
The way he said my name drawing out the first syllable with breathiness—sent a chill down my spine. I could not help thinking of my favorite song from one of my favorite movies, West Side Story. “Say it soft and it’s almost like praying.”
“Ari,” he said next, not giving me time to ask the obvious.
A fitting name. Almost like Ares, the Greek God of War. This man was a w
arrior. A beautiful warrior. And I was soon to find out that conquest was his middle name.
I held out my slender hand to shake his. Truthfully, I didn’t know what else to do. His long, tan fingers entwined mine. His grip was strong. Powerful. Slowly, he raised my hand to his lush lips. Blood rushed to my head as they pressed ever so gently against the back of my palm. One by one, he unfolded my fingers, sucking each one as if they were candy sticks. The wetness of his warm saliva glistened on my fingertips. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, and moisture pooled between my legs. What the hell was he doing? And what the hell was I?
My heart was racing as fast as the Amtrak. I needed to stop this. Move to another seat. My eyes darted around the cabin, but still there were none to be had. No one seemed to notice what was going on; they either had their face buried in a newspaper or book or were occupied with their cell phones, iPads, or Kindles.
This was just not right. I was sitting next to a complete stranger and letting him suck my fingers. He could be a total whack job… a molester… or serial killer. Who knew? Though my fear was fleeting, I made up a desperate clichéd excuse. “Um, uh excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” Actually, I really did. I needed to get away from this mysterious, seductive stranger and get a grip.
“It’s right behind us,” said Adonis dryly, returning to his newspaper.
I leaped up from my seat. Tripping over my bag, I caught a glimpse of Trainman’s bemused expression. He refused to move his long legs, forcing my butt to brush against them as I made my escape.
The door to the unisex restroom located at the back of the cabin was locked. That meant someone was inside. I tapped my foot impatiently, my head filling with the image of the blond, blue-eyed Adonis sitting next to me. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? These kinds of things never happened to geeky me. They were the stuff of novels and movies. Not my boring all-work-no-play life.
Undying Love Page 17