Heaven Inside You

Chapter One




Four weeks later…



The moment she saw him walking towards her, eating up the floor in languid but confident strides, would be etched in her memory forever. A raw, powerful body, pure sexuality barely contained in a civilized veneer. He was tall. Very, very tall. Huge. A hunk of a man standing give or take six feet five inches tall, graced with long, muscular limbs, broad shoulders and wide chest, not so much as an ounce of fat. She’d imagined that guy in her daydreams but to date hadn’t laid eyes on the real prototype. Gorgeous. She felt like a dwarf standing next to him, and, at five foot nine, she was no midget.

She was hopelessly entranced. The ruggedly handsome face was set with a swarthy complexion and deep, dark as night, mesmeric eyes that settled on her with focused interest. His gaze never wavered, as if she were the only woman standing in the middle of JFK with eyes as round as saucers and an odd expression of near disbelief. His lips curled in a half-smile. Perhaps he was a mind reader too, as well as a sorcerer.

She loved that smile. That smile was for her alone. Her insides were tied in a knot so tight, a seasoned sailor would be proud.

Her lips and throat went completely dry, and she lost the ability to blink. As he came closer, she noticed that his windswept hair was the color of a starless night, cut quite close to his head and curling slightly at the ends. Those expressive eyes, she could now see, were really pools of a dark stormy blue with flecks of gray.

She found it hard to tear her gaze away from his face, but she finally did. The rest of him was a sight to behold. Strong, muscular thighs and lean hips were snugly encased in a pair of well-worn jeans. A simple black t-shirt and tan suede jacket covered his massive chest and biceps, and his forearms and hands were so beautifully formed and veined that she had no difficulty imagining him on a fantasy battlefield, playing the role of a Viking warrior from days of old.

He turned around, slightly distracted, after hearing someone call out behind him. That tight muscular butt…sweet heaven!!! In total disbelief, she pinched herself. Ouch!

Is this man flying with me?

Her throat went suddenly dry.

“So we finally meet, Olivia,” he spoke, in a deep tone that roused all manner of carnal pleasures. He widened his smile while his eyes twinkled in…was it a hint of mischief? Dark stubble had started to show beneath his skin—surely not day old. This man was all testosterone; nothing about him spelled “ordinary.” Yet his expression, surprisingly, was open, even hinting at an underlying tenderness.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting since she had first spoken to him on the phone three weeks earlier. In the days that followed that initial conversation, she hadn’t been able to prevent herself from dreaming about that sexy deep voice coaxing her, beckoning her, compelling her to submit to a gut-wrenching passion. She’d lie in a sensual haze until the wee hours of the morning, so wet and hot she’d barely get any sleep if she didn’t give herself release at least once, sometimes twice.

Perhaps age was driving her to insanity. Or nymphomania. Either way, she was doomed. She had just turned thirty-two, and despite what people always told her about the benefits of maturity, it didn’t appear that life was getting any easier or any less lonely. Oh, she had done well for herself, all right. Proud of her achievements, she never regretted her decisions and always tried to take her disappointments and hurts with a pinch of salt. She loved to make people laugh and make the best out of every situation. She had never been greedy, but now she wanted more—more of whatever she seemed to be missing, whatever had her waking up every morning with a most peculiar sense of loss.

Cole being constantly on her mind, dominating her every thought of the last few days, had driven home the fact that she was tired of being on her own. She wanted to come home to someone who would tease her, tickle her, cuddle her, ask her about her day at work, cherish her, coax her into laughter and finally, make passionate love to her. A man who appreciated her independence and zest for life, as well as her choice of career, which often demanded long hours at the office.

She had her own private space with a door, a secretary, and a window overlooking East 53 Street. On the door hung a sign: Olivia Marsden, Managing Editor.

As a child, she had always been drawn to books, and by the age of twelve she had read most of the classics. Books made her happy. By the time she was old enough to think about making a living, she knew that the only road she’d consider taking involved doing something in the literary field. During her years in college, she took up several internships with literary agents, and after graduation, she finally found her niche at the office of one of New York City’s most respected publishing houses. That had been her time to shine, and it worked. She succeeded in charming them with her wit and nose for talent, and they’d decided to take a chance on her. From then on, it had been a slow but steady climb uphill. Her hard work and dedication had finally paid off when she was placed at the helm of the Erotic Romance department following Helen Sedgewick’s premature retirement two years earlier.