by Priya Grey
I look at him confused. “But I thought when you saw me in that bar, you thought I was Ashley?”
He looks at me with those beautiful, honest dark eyes and admits, “Rebecca, I’m an idiot. I’ve been misreading the signs this entire time. I thought when we ran into each other, the universe was giving me another opportunity to be with Ashley. I never stopped to consider it might be offering me the chance to meet someone new. Someone who might make me happy. Someone I might discover real joy with.” He then lowers his head and sighs. “My only fear is that while the universe was hitting me over the head with these signs – and I was just too stupid to see them – I might have let too much time pass.”
He reaches for my hand.
“Rebecca, I know you and I have had a really strange relationship – to put it mildly – but I was wondering if you would like to start over again? On different terms. Just you and me. Jackson and Rebecca. No one else. No more memories.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My heart is pounding in my chest. He’s saying what I’ve always wanted to hear.
“When do we start?” I ask with a grateful smile.
“How about right now?” he says leaning forward. He kisses me, and I savor his lips against mine.
“I always wanted you to see me when we were together, and not her,” I confess after we kiss.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he says softly. “I was too blind to see what was right in front of me.”
“Better late than never,” I reply with a grin.
He pulls me closer. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“But don’t you have to stick around? You’re the artist?”
Jackson shakes his head as he keeps staring at me. “Another thing I’ve learned from all this, Rebecca, is that time is precious. If you want something, grab it, and don’t let go. And I want you, Rebecca. All of you.”
I notice desire creep into his eyes. Or is it just a reflection of my own craving as I feel his arm around me. “If time is precious,” I reply with a smirk. “Then let’s make sure we don’t waste any more of it.”
I disengage myself from his embrace and turn away from him. I shoot him a coy look as I walk toward the exit. I can feel Jackson close behind. Unlike our first memory – in the museum – I know Jackson is now truly after me and not her. He’s not chasing a memory, he’s pursuing the future. And the future is me. It feels awesome!
When we step outside, Jackson has his limo pick us up.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
“Back to the hotel,” Jackson replies.
“You’re not staying at the apartment uptown?” I inquire.
Jackson shakes his head. “I sold it. I sold everything.” He pulls me close and gives me another heavenly kiss. “I told you, Rebecca. I want to move on from the past and start the next chapter of my life.”
He stares at me with a warm, loving smile. He glides a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Then he kisses me again. As our lips touch, I feel that familiar yearning in my body. It feels so good to be in Jackson’s presence. But as our kiss lingers, I realize my body wants something more. It wants him back where he belongs, inside me.
I reach over and press the button that raises the divider in the car – so we have privacy from the driver. I then quickly climb on top of Jackson and unbutton his shirt.
“You know one of the most important things I discovered from our little arrangement, Jackson?”
I notice Jackson’s astonished look as I hungrily glide my hands over his firm, tan, muscular chest.
“What’s that?”
I glide my hand toward his crotch and feel the wonderful gift stirring underneath his pants. As I look deep into his eyes, I slowly unzip his pants.
“I got in touch with my naughty side,” I say with a mischievous smirk. I place another kiss on his lips as I tug on his shaft.
Jackson growls and leans forward, passionately kissing me.
“Rebecca, you know just what I like to hear.”
As the limo heads toward the hotel, Jackson’s hands reach underneath my dress. He pulls down my panties.
A few seconds later, Jackson is back inside me, where he belongs. We make love in the back of the limo, and when we arrive at the hotel – and finally make it our room – we continue the journey.
We spend the rest of the night fucking and loving – grateful to be in each other’s arms. But most importantly, we’re both excited about the future and the prospect of creating new memories that we will cherish forever.
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Healing Melody Excerpt
Did you like Shades of Her? Then enjoy this HOT excerpt from Ozlo & Priya Grey’s best-selling contemporary romance, Healing Melody. Here’s what readers have been saying:
“A real page turner, it’s heartbreaking, soul mending and steamy.” Peggy, Reading Keeps Me Sane Book Blog
“Every now and then a book comes along that makes you sit up and take notice. This was that book for me. Read it and judge for yourself.” Patricia, Amazon Reviewer
“Any book that can bring out my emotions this intensely will always get 5 Stars from me, and Healing Melody wrecked me completely! The off the charts chemistry, and SIZZLING sexy scene goodness should never be read in public.” Jennifer, The Power of Three Readers
“This story just grabbed my heart and wouldn’t let go…I laughed, I cried and I got angry. This story hit all the right notes!” Diane, Nerdy, Dirty & Flirty
“This one gets ten stars…a good balance of romance, drama and suspense. I was so wrapped up in the characters and their story at the end that I was grinning and crying happy tears. I read a lot, and that is rare.” Karli, Amazon Reviewer
Keep reading and discover why…
Kade
I wake up frantically. My cellphone is ringing. My face is wet. Fuck, was I crying in my sleep? I wipe my eyes and reach for the nightstand. I glance at the time stamp on my phone: 2:00 a.m.. Then I notice the number. It’s a call from the website. If I don’t pick up, Shane will know. He monitors everything on the site. I sigh and answer.
“Hello. This is Kade.”
Silence.
“Hello?” I repeat. “Anybody there?”
I’m annoyed. If you’re going to call me at 2 a.m., you better have something to say.
Then, she finally speaks.
“Hi…I…uh…I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
I rub my eyes. I decide to be honest.
“Yeah. It’s all right though. I was having a nightmare.”
“Oh,” she says. There’s a long pause. Then she finally speaks. “I’m sorry… I don’t… I think I’ve made a mistake.”
Like I said, Shane has someone monitoring the site. And he hasn’t been too pleased with the number of customers I’ve booked this month. I owe him a ton of money. And with my lackluster sales rate, it’s going to take me two lifetimes to pay him back. I have to keep this girl talking and hopefully have it lead to an actual meeting.
“How can you be so sure?” I blurt. “We haven’t even talked yet.”
Another long silence. I can hear her breathing.
“I’ve never done this before?” she admits.
“Called somebody at two a.m.?” I say, trying to be light hearted. It doesn’t come naturally to me, but Shane says I need to get better at it so clients feel at ease.
“You know what I mean,” she replies. “I’ve never used a website for this sort of thing.”
I sit up in bed. I have to keep her on the phone.
“I really think I’ve made a mistake,” she repeats.
“The only mistake you’ll be making is hanging up,” I quickly sa
y. My words disgust me. I take a deep breath and decide to speak honestly. I’ve never been good at faking it… ever. “Listen. I know this might be something out of the ordinary for you. But you’ve called for a reason. You need something. There’s something missing from your life. Am I right?”
Another long pause.
“I miss being with a man,” she admits. She takes a breath and continues. “I’m lonely. I’ve been lonely for a long time.”
“Most people are,” I tell her. I know I am.
“I guess that’s good for your business,” she replies, a little sarcastically.
“What do you miss about being with a man?” I ask.
“What do you mean? Like specifics?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “It will help me get a better sense of whether I can help you.”
She takes a moment.
“Let me see… everything,” she says with a sigh. “I miss everything about a man: his hands running over my skin, his breath against my neck, the muscles in his arms, his smell, his masculine energy, and definitely his cock.”
As she talks, I realize how amazing her voice sounds. It’s rich, sensual, layered. It sneaks into you, warms you. As she describes what she likes, I find myself getting surprisingly turned on. It’s her voice: it’s captivating. I wonder what this woman looks like.
“Why’d you choose me?” I ask, when she finishes.
She takes another long pause. “Something in your eyes. They lured me in.”
“I’ve never had anyone mention my eyes before,” I confess. “Usually they notice the tattoos. What about my eyes?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation flowing. After all, this lady is getting billed every thirty seconds.
Another long pause. Then she finally speaks, her voice low, like a whisper. “They’re haunted.”
Her words linger in the air.
“Haunted?” I repeat.
“Yeah,” she replies.
Suddenly, I’m knocked out of the moment. This doesn’t feel like my standard website call. There’s something more going on here. The emotion in this woman’s voice, the fact she says my eyes are haunted… This isn’t just a hire-a-fuck call.
“My eyes are haunted. That’s what you like about them, huh?”
I wait for her response. She finally admits, “When I saw them, I just felt like you might be able to relate to me.”
Now it’s my turn to be quiet. I don’t know how to respond. Who’s this stranger that’s just called me in the middle of the night? First, she says I’m haunted. Then, she thinks she can relate to me. How would she know?
“I hope I haven’t offended you,” she says when I don’t say anything.
“No,” I tell her. “You just caught me off guard. I guess haunted is an accurate description of me these days.”
I hear her sigh. “Me too,” she admits quietly. Then her tone changes, her voice grows stronger. “I think I’m building up the courage to go through with this,” she says. “Can we meet?”
I’m still thrown off by our exchange and take a moment to respond. “Yeah, of course. Tonight?”
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all,” I say. “I promise; you won’t be disappointed.” I hate saying that line but Shane insists.
“Satisfaction guaranteed, huh?” She replies. Damn her voice sounds sexy. It’s sarcastic and feminine but with many layers to it. It’s full bodied like a fine wine.
“Before we meet,” I tell her. “I need to ask you something.”
“Okay,” she replies.
“You’re not a cop, are you?”
She laughs. “No.”
“Good. I just needed to check. Well, now that that is settled, why don’t we discuss some details.”
She says she’s just interested in a quick session. She doesn’t know what she wants, and we decide to figure it out when we meet. When I mention my fee, she doesn’t hesitate and says it won’t be a problem. I ask her where she wants to meet and she says her home. I find that a bit unusual since I meet most of my clients in hotels.
“How long will it take you to get here?” she asks.
“Well, you have to tell me where you live first.”
“Duh. Sorry.”
She gives me her address. It’s all the way on the other side of town… in the Hollywood hills, celebrity central. A far cry from my ghetto neighborhood in South LA.
“It’s the middle of the night, so not long,” I tell her. “But you know LA. You never know when you’re going to hit traffic.”
“Can you leave now?” she asks. Now that she’s made up her mind to go through with it, she doesn’t want to waste any time.
“Sure.”
“Great. See you soon.”
She hangs up. I look at my phone, still surprised by the tone of our conversation.
Haunted.
I stretch my arms and slowly get out of bed. I’m back on the clock.
I step into the tiny bathroom of my shitty studio apartment and wash my face to wake up. As I dry off, I see the picture of Max pinned to the bathroom mirror. He’s smiling back at me. The picture was taken when he was healthy… before the cancer. I kiss my lips and touch his picture.
“Tigers need their rest, son.”
I turn off the bathroom light and walk out.
Tomorrow will be the nine-month anniversary of his death.
Fortunately, there isn’t much traffic on the 110. So, I can probably make it up to the Hills in forty-five minutes. I roll down the window of my piece-of-shit Corolla and let the night breeze blow in. It’s unusually hot in LA for February.
Fuckin’ climate change.
I listen to some hip-hop to divert my mind. But that doesn’t work. I turn off the radio.
As usual, I think about Max.
Tomorrow will mark nine months since I buried my son.
It all happened so fast.
After Shane offered to pay Max’s medical bills, I immediately told the doctor to enroll him in the experimental procedure. We flew Max to Denver, Colorado for his treatment – that’s where the premier doctor that dealt with Max’s rare illness worked. Max and I spent two months there. At first, it looked like he was responding well to the treatment. But then suddenly, things took a turn for the worse.
I’m still amazed by how tough my son was until the end.
I miss him so much. He was such a good kid. He didn’t deserve to go through what he did. My heart bleeds every time I think of him. It’s a pain – an emotion – I can’t put into words.
Suddenly, I stop thinking about Max when – to my right – about a mile ahead, I notice a car pulled over on the highway. Instantly, the muscles in my neck tense. I grip the steering wheel for dear life. My heart races.
Here we go again.
My fight or flight responses kick into high alert. Is that car a decoy? Could it contain an explosive device – just like the car in Iraq that blew up my Humvee and killed two of my men. I was lucky; I escaped with only a few bruises.
A cold sweat pours down my face, as I get closer to the car parked on the shoulder. My instinct is to find an alternate route, a way out. My eyes swiftly scan the rearview mirror, then the side mirrors. I’m blocked by another car to my left. I can’t stop, or swerve into another lane.
I’m getting closer.
I imagine the car exploding.
I ease off the accelerator, wanting to avoid passing the car altogether. The car behind me honks me out of my daze.
I have no way out of this. I have to drive past this car.
It’s getting closer.
I grip the steering wheel so tight that I’m afraid it might snap off.
I’m about to pass it.
I tightly shut my eyes and wait for the explosion.
Suddenly, the car to my left honks. I open my eyes wide.
Shit! I’m about to hit the car!
I swerve back into my lane. I quickly look in my rear view mirror. The car on the shoulder is now a safe distance away. It looks li
ke it had a flat tire.
I try reminding myself I’m not in Iraq or Afghanistan. I’m in LA. But my body can’t tell the difference. It’s on high alert now and I feel a sense of rage flood through me. I bang my steering wheel with frustration. Fuck this PTSD.
I take several deep breaths but it does nothing to calm me.
I’m so angry. Angry at a million different things all at once. I’m angry at the war and what it did to me. I’m angry at God for putting my son through so much pain and then robbing him of his life at such a young age.
I was the one who went to war. I should be the dead one, not my little boy.
I’m angry at life itself and how unfair it can be to some.
Then, a sense of guilt overwhelms me.
My anger slowly turns to regret.
I was a terrible father.
I should have spent more time with Max when he was alive.
Monique got pregnant right before I was shipped out on my first tour of Iraq. We were never a couple. We just had sex after a party one night and she got pregnant.
I was in the Middle East when Max was born. And when I came home between tours, I wasn’t very involved in either one of their lives. Honestly, I was a bit of a zombie. Acclimating to civilian life was really difficult for me. That’s why I always went back to the Middle East. That all changed when I realized Monique was in really bad shape because of her drug habit. When I saw my son being raised in that environment, I realized I needed to do something. I finally took on my responsibilities as a father and put my combat days behind me. Max moved in with me. Monique disappeared. I still don’t know where she went. I hope she’s alive and hasn’t died from drug abuse.
Max and I had a few happy years together, just the two of us. I channeled my PTSD anger issues into MMA fighting. But when the traveling became too much, I decided to open my own gym to spend more time with Max. Everything felt like it was finally falling into place.
I was finding joy in being a father.
Then Max got sick.