Slave to Love (32 page)

“Hi, I’m Sierra Stone. I have a meeting with Hale Lundström.” Just saying the man’s name gives me butterflies. Will I ever get over the intense onslaught of emotions that permeates my body just knowing he is near?

“Have a seat. I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.

I just want to tell her, oh I’ll go wait in my office. Except I no longer have an office here.

Ten minutes later I’m still waiting, and now I’m starting to get pissed. Another ten and I’m out of here. Showing me who’s in control here, huh Mr. Lundström?

“Mr. Lundström will see you now. I’ll take you back.” I so want to tell her I know the way. But I can’t do that.

His door is open a crack and finally I say, “I’ve got it.” I don’t want anyone else around when we are face-to-face for the first time in months.

Giving the door a light rap to let him know I’m there, I slip in and close it behind me. Hale is standing at the window looking out. He too is dressed for business in a charcoal gray suit and sky blue tie.

Turning to me, I can finally see his face. And in his eyes I see what Noel described to me. Infinite sadness. And a vise tightens around my heart. Did I do this to him?

Cocking my head to the side, I just look at him.

He tries to smile, but it is not a smile.

“Mermaid,” I see him say it versus actually hearing it and he opens his arms.

I cross the space as fast as my Louboutins will allow, but it feels like forever until I get to him. Wrapping my arms around him like a buoy in the tide, this man is going to have to pry me off his body, because I am not letting him go. Finally, pulling my head from his chest, I look up at him and get the Hale Lundström smile that makes my heart race.

Dipping his head down, he rubs his stubble along my jaw, scratching me in that delicious way, as he whispers in my ear, “You’re hired.”

Standing with my bare feet
in the ocean, I’m glad my stomach has pulled up the length of my dress enough that the handkerchief hemline isn’t getting wet. The sound of the crashing waves is soothing and today the ocean has taken over nature’s radio station. Even the gulls are quiet this afternoon. I need quiet. Even for just a moment. It’s enough to recharge my energy.

Letting out a very satisfied, “Mmmm,” when he wraps his arms around me from behind, I lean my sizable weight back into him and am gifted with a rub of his scruff along my neck. “Did you finally get them down?”

“I did,” he laughs, rubbing my stomach in gentle circles.

Turning my head so that I can see his handsome face, “You really are Superman. How can they still have so much energy after that many hours playing in the waves?”

“They’re boys.” He shrugs it off.

“If they weren’t so stinking cute, I’d sell them,” That’s one of my standard teases.

His right hand flies off my stomach. “I’m taking that as a message not to sell her big brothers.” His hand returns to the exact spot, gently massaging where she just kicked.

“Ugh, she’s already a demanding little thing. And look what she’s done to my body.”

His hands move from my stomach up to my breasts. “You definitely are carrying very differently than you did with the boys.”

“Can you say wide load?” We laugh.

“I like it.” His lips are on my neck and his fingers are where they always are when we are alone. “It’s very feminine. You really do look like a mermaid now.” Planting kisses down my neck, he stops momentarily to pull at the gold chain with his teeth, before moving on to my shoulder. He’s making it impossible for me to speak.

“Did your conference call go okay?” he asks without stopping the seduction of my neck. The call was the reason he was solo on nap duty.

“Yeah, fine. I walked them through what they need to do to file with the patent office and they can handle the rest on their own.” I’m melting into him as his fingers twist my nipples harder. I am a second trimester, horny pregnant woman and I would do him right here in the sand if I were sure the neighbors weren’t watching.

“Hale…”

“Yeah, baby.” I can feel how hard he is against me.

“I think we’re at the ‘get a room stage’ here. And we’d better do it quick before one of them wakes up and crawls into bed with us.”

“What are you waiting for?” He pulls me by the hand and starts to run through the sand back to the house. Looking back he smiles, “Come on, faster. Move those gorgeous legs of yours, it’s not like you’re wearing Louboutins or anything.”

I am a slave. Seriously, I am. My shackles may not be what you’re envisioning, for they are bright and shiny and sometimes dripping with pureed carrots. They can burp the alphabet in three-part harmony at the kitchen table, egged on by their father, have temper tantrums in the most embarrassing of places or curl up in my lap just to tell me they love me. Yes, to say my handcuffs are colorful would be an understatement. And I’m locked in them 24/7.

I hope I never find the key.

There’s a lot of inspiration
that came from those to whom this book was dedicated. The memories we share will always hold a very special place in my heart. I feel like we all grew up together, experiencing life’s triumphs, joy, and losses and though we have all moved on, what we shared will always bind us. Right down to the hot fudge sundaes and foot rubbing freaks.

First and foremost, to my readers… from those who have been with me since, “Schooner Moore did not like turning forty-three. Not at all.” to those who I am just meeting with SLAVE TO LOVE, thank you for buying and reading my books. You have allowed me to live a dream that is nearly as old as I am, and for that, I will be eternally grateful. I’ve gotten to know many of you through social media and I cherish our interactions. When you tell me that you’ve enjoyed what I have written or that it has touched you in some way, you make me feel like the luckiest person alive. So, thank you for honoring me by reading what I write.

To all the bloggers who have taken a chance and read my books. I appreciate the time and support you have given to me. I know you are pulled in a gazillion directions and I really am so thankful for everything you do to help share my work in the reading community.

To Kristen and Cleida, thank you for your friendship and support and for being there when I need a sounding board, help, a belly laugh, freak out partners over new Google images or a shot of Fireball. It means the world to me. You two mean the world to me.

To Vi and Penelope, I can’t even imagine how I would keep sane without you two. In a landscape that is shifting like sand along the shoreline, you two are amazing co-pilots in helping to navigate and understand where we are and where we are going. I am so thankful to be on this journey with you two.

To Mindy, for being my first reader as soon as I write The End and the panic sets in. Someday I’ll write our story… tramps like us …

To Mom, for your time, and unwavering dedication, love, and grammatical expertise. Your enthusiasm and support of my work has been a guiding light.

As always… to MaxMan, you make me better every day.

And to every woman who has run through an airport in high heels… we have made the impossible look easy. Because that is what we do.

To receive information on my new releases and giveaways, please sign up for my mailing list and as a thank you, I’ll send you a sneak peek at what I’m currently working on. Here’s the link: 
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Till we meet again…

~JAR

Author Julie A. Richman is
a native New Yorker living deep in the heart of Texas. A creative writing major in college, reading and writing fiction has always been a passion. Julie began her corporate career in publishing in NYC and writing played a major role throughout her career as she created and wrote marketing, advertising, direct mail and fundraising materials for Fortune 500 corporations, advertising agencies and non-profit organizations. She is an award winning nature photographer plagued with insatiable wanderlust. Julie and her husband have one son and a white German Shepherd named Juneau.

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