Marcia King-Gamble - Meet Phoenix

His warm breath blew against my chilled flesh. I went on alert, stiffening.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Trying to get you to relax.”

A feather-soft kiss seared my skin.

“Stop it, Damon.”

His hands were on my nape again, kneading, soothing.

“You’re wound as tight as a spring.”

I hated to admit it, but Damon’s massaging hands on my back felt wonderful. My entire body was beginning to tingle and buzz.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

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is a national bestselling author and a former travel industry executive. She’s lived in five different states and has traveled to some of the most exotic parts of the world. The Far East, Venice, Italy, and New Zealand are still her favorites.

She enjoys a good workout, and is passionate about animals, old houses and tearjerker movies. Marcia is also the editor of a monthly newsletter entitled Marcia’s Romantically Yours. Log on to her Web site, www.lovemarcia.com, and find out what she’s all about.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“As you read may you find your own Divine Wisdom.”

Dear Reader,

I have been fortunate enough to spend some time in the Far East, and love it. Each visit is treasured and each time I return to the United States I feel more enriched. At one point in my life I even considered moving there. When that did not materialize, I satisfied my yearnings for places like Hong Kong, Singapore and Bangkok by taking frequent trips.

Even now the old architecture, mysticism and spiritualism of Asia continue to draw me. Combine those with elegant dining, endless hours of shopping and visits to mosques and temples, and I’m in my own state of nirvana.

Needless to say, when I got the opportunity to write an action-adventure story set in Tibet, I was really excited. Tibet is one of the few places I haven’t visited, and I had to rely on research. After immersing myself in the culture, Tibet is now one of my top ten places to visit.

Buddhism is also a religion that has interested me. Maybe it has something to do with having an enormous crush on Richard Gere, who runs neck and neck with Denzel Washington as the two sexiest men on the planet. Or maybe my high energy requires that calming effect.

What I do know is I created my hero, Damon Hernandez, with Denzel’s smile and Richard’s sexy walk in mind. Let me know if I was successful in creating a to-die-for hero and a strong, sensual heroine.

If you’ve enjoyed reading Meet Phoenix, I’d love to know. Please drop me an e-mail at mkinggambl@aol.com, or write me at P.O. Box 25143, Fort Lauderdale, Florida. And if you want to know what I’m up to, visit me frequently at www.lovemarcia.com. I’m always off on one adventure or another.

Happy travels,

Marcia King-Gamble

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

“I will not allow you to commit him.” I tightly clutched the phone and swiveled around in my office chair.

“There may be no other choice,” my aunt Estelle said. “Since yesterday he’s been almost catatonic.”

My eyes burned and tension weighed between my shoulder blades. This was my father she was talking about. I knew he had problems but to commit him to a psychiatric institution? Unthinkable.

I knew he was depressed, but the only therapeutic shock treatment Thomas Sutherland needed was to have his name cleared. And I intended to do just that. It was one of the reasons I’d accepted this assignment in Tibet.

Aunt Estelle was going on and on about how debilitating depression was. I blinked the moisture from my eyes, stuck my head out of the open studio window and focused on the leaves pooling around the trees. Taxis whizzed by. The sky was a cloudless, brilliant blue. Fall in New York promised to be beautiful.

“Can we discuss this later?” I said softly and hung up. I just couldn’t deal with this today. Plus, they couldn’t commit him without my consent anyway.

“Althea’s on the other line,” Whitley Montgomery, my assistant, called from the outer room.

I took a deep breath of the brisk morning air and picked up the receiver. Althea Wright and I had met eight years ago at an art institute in Florence, Italy. I was in the conservation program, devoted to the preservation of cultural heritage, and Althea was in the restoration program, which restores and reconstructs the work of art back to its “original” state. Or at least close to it. Ever since then we were as tight as two people could be.

“Hey, you caught me at the right time, Althea.” I injected gaiety into my voice. I welcomed any distraction.

“Is that Tibetan trip still on? You did say you needed someone with expertise in reconstruction.”

“Does that mean what I think it does?”

“Yup. I’m coming if you’ll still have me.”

I needed this news. I could use both my best friend’s expertise and her support.

“Of course I’ll have you, silly girl. We’re about to make history. We’ll be working on a statue that is as important as the Messiah is to the Western world. Maitreya’s finding is heralded like the second coming of Christ. He’s considered the universal teacher.”

“Yes, I know. He’s one of three priceless Buddhas crafted by an artisan back in 500 B.C. How long will we be gone?”

“At the very least, three months.”

“Three months, Phoenix? That’s more than enough time for you to get into your usual trouble. And it’s a long time for both of us to be away from our studios. The Tibetan government had better be paying us well.”

I named a figure then went on to say, “If we meet the deadline we get a bonus. There just aren’t any artisans in Tibet qualified to reconstruct a piece this rare.”

This was exactly the kind of project I loved. I’d read and reread every article I could get my hands on about this rare finding. Even now a newspaper lay on my desk, the headline prominently displayed.

Maitreya, Future Buddha Found By Gardener.

Something wasn’t quite right though. It was definitely odd that all of a sudden a missing Buddha would show up in a garden, of all places. Plus, if my suspicions were confirmed, it would be an opportunity to clear my father’s name.

Whitley rapped on the door and stuck her head in through the crack, signaling time-out.

“Got to go, Althea,” I said, hanging up the phone and waving Whit in.

“Some guy’s outside asking to see you.”

“I don’t remember making an appointment.”

“You probably didn’t write it down. Stop picking up your own calls and we wouldn’t have these issues. What should I do with him?” Whit asked.