Remembered (Erotic Romance) (Bound By Time)
Read Remembered (Erotic Romance) (Bound By Time) Online
Authors: Victoria Jade
Remembered
(Erotic Romance)
Book #1
Bound By Time
series
Copyright
© 2013 Victoria Jade
All Rights Reserved
Victoria
Jade
Victoria Jade has been reading romance novels since she
can remember, and hasn't run across a romance genre she doesn't like.
When not spending time with her hunky husband and
spunky dog, Victoria can be found writing or traveling.
Books by Victoria Jade include:
Erotic Romance:
Remembered,
Book #1, Bound By Time series
Torn,
Book #2, Bound By Time series
Matched,
Book #3, Bound By Time series
Destined,
Book #4, Bound By Time series
& an upcoming erotic romantic comedy series
Single Romance titles:
To be listed soon ...
Book #1
Bound By Time
Present Tense
Pierce trailed his full,
supple lips from Deelia's willing mouth to the throbbing hollow at her throat.
As she wound her fingers through his shoulder-length raven black hair, he moved
his lips lower...
"Really,
Mac?" I said, turning away from my computer monitor.
Truth be told, I
was getting aroused ... and maybe a little embarrassed. Why? Because I knew
Mac, the author of the erotica novel, personally.
We usually worked
together on historical or research projects. The erotic novel was a favor. He
asked me to read it and give him my honest opinion. The trouble was, that I
couldn't be objective. For some reason, I kept picturing myself as Deelia, and
Mac as Pierce.
I licked my parched
lips and adjusted myself on my chair, which had suddenly become uncomfortable.
After a deep breath, I turned back to read Mac's words.
"Now,
Pierce!" Deelia arched her back and directed his hungry mouth to her erect
nipple. "Make love to me now!"
As much as I
fantasized about being that direct, I knew it was never gonna happen. For one
thing, I'm more of a finisher than a starter. For another, I'm not movie star
beautiful. I'm just average. The kind of sex that happened to Deelia and Pierce
didn't happen to people like me.
For starters, I'm
5' 9" and on the slender side. Not tall enough to be a runway model, or
skinny enough, either. I've been told I have a nice smile and big brown eyes,
but that's pretty much it. Even my ex-fiancé posted a FB status saying I was "nothing
special."
It probably should
have hurt my feelings, but it really didn't. I am what I am. It is what it is.
I do, however, have
an enquiring mind, due in part to the fact that I'm a research writer. What do
I research? Anything and everything. Sex to cinnamon. Time travel to ménage à
trois. Guano to Gibraltar.
But getting back to
men and my lack of one: Most of the men I meet don't want to date
"nothing special." They don't even want "nothing special"
for a one-nighter. All the men I meet want someone who can knock their socks
off at first glance. Then, someone who can
blow
their socks off -- if
you get my drift.
It's no wonder I'm
single. But just to be clear: I'm not desperate, I'm single. There is a difference.
My best friend, Annie,
is gorgeous. Men-drop-to-their-knees-in-front-of-her gorgeous. The weird thing
is, if Annie finds herself single for more than 24 hours, she's in a panic.
"Any day now,
someone is going to realize how pretty you really are," Annie tells me at
least two or three times a month. "I just wish you'd let me help you with
your makeup."
As if makeup is
what's holding me back. But if it is, I guess I'd rather be single than be with
someone that shallow.
Jeez! I'm beginning
to sound sad even to myself. But all that's about to change, so bear with me.
A little back-story:
I live 1000 miles from my parents and four brothers. I live in Sioux Falls.
Yes, South Dakota. So how did I leave one of the Midwest's biggest cities to
settle here?
Chance. At least it
seemed that way to me when it happened. I got a job offer, loaded my car with
my possessions, and drove here. Unfortunately, it only took a week before I decided
I didn't like the job -- or more specifically, my new boss's groping hands.
Long story short, I
stayed. Or should I say Sioux Falls
compelled
me to stay. Each attempt
I made to leave was met with abysmal failure. At least if felt that way at the
time.
But now that I
think about it, I'd have to say the move to Sioux Falls was fated.
Then, a few weeks ago,
everything
about my life changed.
I'm writing this
account immediately after I returned to the present -- the second time -- with
the hope that reliving my incredible experience will help me decide what I
should do.
I mean, what would
you do, if you had the best sex imaginable with someone you already knew and
cared for, but
in a different time, before you got to know him in the
present? Then you met a second man who was just as perfect, but...
It's complicated.
To complicate matters even further, Mac lives across the pond. More precisely
-- Wales. I'm talking about my good friend, Mac. Macsen Adda Yates, author of
epics and erotica. The other man of my dreams enters the picture a little bit
later, so hold tight.
I know I should
just make up my mind, but I'm spoiled with choices. Really fabulous choices.
And I truly don't think there is just one right choice. Still, a couple is only
two people, so someone's gonna end up the odd man (or woman) out.
I challenge you to
see if you would make the same choice at the end my travels.
So without further
ado, my account of the week before my first time travel experience...
BP -- Before the Postcard
As a research writer, I
meet a lot of writers and wannabe writers from around the globe. That really is
the best part of my job. I have friends from every corner of the world.
Literally.
The most famous of
my friends is Mac Yates. I've already mentioned that he's a writer. He's from Conwy,
Wales, and is known across Europe for his epic war and biographical historicals.
I, and I alone, also know him for his erotic tales. I'll soon know him even
more intimately.
The Mac I know in
the present looks a bit like a middle-aged James Bond. He's debonair,
intelligent, and sexy as hell, though I've never intimated as much to him. Did
I mention that he's charming, too? And he's said more than once that he is developing
a crush on me, despite our age difference.
Everyone says
there's nothing more titillating than an encounter with a complete stranger.
Not me. I think there's nothing sexier than connecting with someone you already
know intimately.
After Mac hired me
to "Americanize" his writing for a New York publisher, we got to know
each other personally, too. I learned that he's six feet tall, ruggedly
handsome, has nice teeth, and salt and pepper hair. Add that to the other
adjectives I mentioned earlier and you come up with dreamy. At any age.
His last wife left
him for another man a few years ago, and in his early thirties, he had his
heart broken by an American woman. Mac said the American was the love of his
life, but when he realized she wasn't coming back, he let his second and last
wife convince him that he should wed her and be done stringing her along.
Mac told me over
the phone that the personal photos I sent him were now a cherished possession.
When he told me in that sexy accent of his that I was as breathtaking to look at
as I was to listen to, my knees went weak.
I told you he was
charming.
After we ended the
conversation, I was surprised to realize my heart was beating double-time. I
pictured him talking to me in person, wearing a tartan kilt, even though I knew
kilts were more often associated with Scotsmen than with Welshmen.
I pictured Mac
pressing himself against me, face to face, and me brazenly running my hand down
the back of his kilt and discovering that he wore nothing beneath. The sudden
rush of desire shocked me.
Mac was a dear
friend.
He was old enough
to be my father.
I was employed by him.
Yet, just like the
Deelia of his erotic novels, I realized that I truly wanted him. With me. In
me. In every way possible.
But maybe I was
thinking about him in such an intimate way because I hadn't been on a real date
in months. And during that time, Mac had been sending a nonstop stream of his
erotica my way. So I guess it really wasn't that surprising that I was
beginning to view him in such a sexual manner.
"He's your
boss!" I chided myself. "You're gonna screw up the best-paying job
you ever had if you're not careful."
Despite my self-warning,
Mac was on my mind as my phone rang that evening.
"Hello,
love," Mac said, his sexy accent caressing over me like a sheet of fine silk.
His brogue never
got old. I immediately became Deelia, and my
pussy began to tingle in
anticipation
even though I was in no position to be fulfilled by Pierce --
or Mac.
"Those are the
sweetest words I've heard all day. And night. What's up?"I asked breezily.
I wasn't expecting a call because Mac called once a week to check in on me. He'd
called three days ago.
"I miss you,
Penny."
Mac's words were
soft, yet held such a depth of feeling that it took my breath away.
I'm sure there was a
minute of dead air while I sorted through my brain for a translation of his
words. When I couldn't think of anything beyond the literal, I then sorted through
my brain for a suitable response.
"I miss
talking to you, too," I said.
Mac laughed. God!
Even his gravely laugh was sexy. I tried to swallow the lump in my suddenly dry
throat.
"That's not
exactly what I was hopin' for, but it's a start," he said. "I'd like
ye to come to Wales."
I wasn't expecting
those words, even though I'd fantasized about it plenty of times.
"I'd like me
to come to Wales, too," I said, my voice quivering just the tiniest bit. I
hoped he didn't notice. He'd probably wonder what had gotten into his proper,
capable Penelope Money.
Yes, Penny Money. My
real name is Penelope Money, but no one calls me Penelope. Not even my mom and
dad. They named me that in a sort of dyslexic homage to Moneypenny of 007
fame. Shock of shocks, one of my brothers is named Edward (Eddie) Money. So I
guess I got the better name. But just barely.
The more I thought
about it, the more I realized I really
did
want to go to Wales. To see
Mac. And more than see him, if I was honest with myself. It didn't matter if
Mac was 130 years old and I was 18. We had a connection. We really did.
"I'd swim across
the pond this very second if I could," I told Mac. "But right now I
can't afford to travel." Which was a silly thing to say. The way I was
going, I'd never be able to afford it. I was paying rent on my little house
outside of town, eating, maintaining my car, and not a whole lot else.
"And it would
be improper for me to pay for the trip?" Mac asked, in a voice that didn't
hold a trace of irritation. It was like he knew I was going to say it ahead of
time, so he decided to get it out of the way before I voiced it.
"Something
like that," I said, hearing the smile in my voice.
There was a pause
again. Not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful.
"What if I
brought you here to do research for me? All expenses paid, of course."
So tempting. But I
knew he most likely couldn't afford it right now. He had a bunch of legal stuff
going. People across the pond were just as nasty when it came to trying to
weasel money away from someone if they thought they could.
Macsen was
embroiled in a family affair that left me feeling angry and incredulous. His
adopted son was now trying to say Mac was incompetent and was trying to take
over his estate.
Not a good idea to
visit him right now, I thought. If his son caught wind that Mac was trying to
bring a much younger woman overseas to stay with him, Mac would undoubtedly have
even more troubles heaped on his plate.
"There's
nothing I'd like more, Mac," I told him. "You know that."
"I'm waiting
for the but," he said, again the twinkling smile in his voice. "I
know it's coming."
"But," I
said, unable to bite back a grin. "I just can't get away right at the
moment."
"Ahh," he
said.
The way he said
ahh
made me want to melt. It was gravelly and soft at the same time.
"We'll meet in
person one day soon," I said, as much to placate him as myself. Suddenly I
couldn't think of one thing I wanted more than to meet him in person. I wanted
to feel his arms around me in a welcome hug.
I could feel it
now: Mac holding me at arm's length, devouring me with his hungry gaze, before slowly
leaning in to give me a kiss.
Except his kiss
didn't say, "I'm so glad to finally meet ye." It was a kiss that said
I've waited for ye for what seems like an eternity. This is the beginning,
Penny. Not the middle. Not the end.
I had an odd
feeling that all Mac's kisses would be like that.
I blinked away my
reverie and realized that there was nothing but silence and the sound of heavy
breathing -- my own -- in my ear.
"Sorry," I
said. "I was distracted."
"Now ye know
how I feel," he said, his voice again all sexy and slow. Like he had just
awoken from a nap. I pictured Mac in bed, naked, and ...
