Free Heaven Inside You by Mina Snowe Page B

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 rd 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.
    She loved her job. Her job was her life. In fact, she had nothing but her job. Although she didn’t necessarily love the company she was with. Recently, it appeared that talent was made to take the back seat more and more when it came to making business decisions. She was quite weary of having to “crunch the numbers,” and her instinct sometimes wasn’t enough to convince the powers that be to go with a particular hunch, that the money would come if only they would believe in her vision. All they wanted to know was whether a book would sell, and they were increasingly hesitant to take risks in the process. They kept telling her she had to stick to the “formula” and let go of everything else. Yeah, right.
    The same sense of dissatisfaction was hitting her in her personal life. She did go on dates every now and then, but the whole dating-bar-social scene was