Read Online Remembered (Erotic Romance) (Bound By Time) by Victoria Jade - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Victoria Jade
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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
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
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