Deborah Mello - Always Means Forever

Bridget watched in awe as Darwin moved effortlessly from one saucepan to another. She closed her eyes and then pinched herself. If this wasn’t real, she needed to wake up before things between her and Darwin went any further.

When Bridget opened her eyes again, Darwin was there, still moving as though he’d always belonged right there in her kitchen and in her life. As he pulled a tablespoon of simmering sauce to his lips, blowing lightly over the hot substance, Bridget closed her eyes for a second time, imagining what it might be like to have those lips blowing warm breath against her skin….

Kimani Romance

In the Light of Love

Always Means Forever

Kimani Arabesque

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is the author of seven romance novels. Her first novel, Take Me to Heart, earned her a 2004 Romance Slam Jam nomination for Best New Author. In 2005 she received Book of the Year and Favorite Heroine nominations for her novel The Right Side of Love.

For Deborah, writing is akin to breathing and she firmly believes that if she could not write she would cease to exist. Weaving a story that leaves her audience feeling full and complete, as if they’ve just enjoyed an incredible meal, is an ultimate thrill for her. Born and raised in Connecticut, she now calls Hillsborough, North Carolina, home, where she resides with her husband and son.

Always Means Forever

Deborah Fletcher Mello

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In memory of my son,

Allan Miquel Mello, Jr.,

Mere words cannot begin to express how much you are missed.

Your spirit continues to move and inspire me,

And you will always be remembered with much love

Dear Reader,

This has been a roller-coaster ride filled with exceptional highs. I can’t begin to tell you how much I love doing what I do. I know that this journey has been an incredible blessing and only possible because of a truly powerful and loving God.

I am extremely grateful to each and every one of you who has supported my writing by buying a book, borrowing a book, or sharing a book. Thank you for the kind words, the heartfelt expressions of love and those accolades for my many characters. As you have cheered each of them on, so have you cheered me on, as well. I can’t begin to tell you how you all have nurtured my spirit.

I’d love to know what you think of Bridget and Darwin’s story, so I hope you’ll send me your comments at www.deborahmello.com or www.deborahmello.blogspot.com. Until the next time, take care and God bless.

With much love,

Deborah Fletcher Mello

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

Chapter 22

Bridget Hinton knew she had to be dreaming. Things like this never happened to her in real life, so the moment—and the man who stood above her—had to be a dream. It was such an erotic dream that she hoped she would never wake from it, or at least not until he, whoever he was, was finished doing what he was doing.

And what he was doing was massaging a slow, heated path up and down the length of her body. His long, firm, very experienced fingers were stroking every muscle until she was a weak puddle of female mush. He was triggering a reaction in every part of her to a point of no return. Teasing the curves of her breasts, he gently brushed the back of his hand against the lush tissue and her nipples blossomed full and hard. Her chest began to rise and fall faster than normal as she gasped for air. Bridget felt as if her flesh was straining for release against a satin nightgown that suddenly seemed to melt away from her body at will.

Sunlight shimmered above her, radiating from a clear, bright blue sky. She could hear the ripple of water coming from someplace close, and a warm breeze scented the air with the aroma of honeysuckle and tea roses. She took a deep inhale of fresh air and held her breath. She struggled to focus on the man who had her writhing in ecstasy, wanting to see his face. For a split second, the very handsome man bore a striking resemblance to majestic Laurence Fishburne in the movie Othello. A minute later he looked like a very sexy Djimon Hounsou, then the actor Dennis Haysbert. Bridget could feel herself smiling in her sleep. This was surely too good to be true!

Laurence-Djimon-Dennis was now naked, a solid six-foot-four-inch tower of rippling, Hershey’s dark chocolate-toned muscle. His skin glistened with perspiration, light shimmering over the sinewy fibers. She examined every inch of him, her gaze caressing the broad wealth of his expansive chest, lingering on the firm, well-rounded globes of his behind that overfilled her small palms, and the thick length of male steel swaying blatantly between them.

He was palming both of her breasts beneath slightly rough hands, the contact against her skin moving her to moan. Her mouth parted just slightly as her tongue trailed slowly over the surface of her lips. As her dream lover eased himself above her, she could feel her body falling open, her legs parting eagerly. Her limbs felt light and buoyant, her body possessed as it moved in sync with his. The moment was suddenly electric, energy spinning her beyond her wildest dreams. And just as she could feel herself being consumed by the rise of heat, perspiration dancing against her skin, she woke up.

The clock radio on the nightstand beside her was buzzing harshly and Bridget was startled to find herself awake, and alone. It seemed as if it took forever for her mind to catch up with her body, the memories fading ever so slowly, and then she remembered that she was home, in her own bed, no man remotely close to making love to her.

A creeping dampness in her panties made her close her slim thighs tightly together. The dream had been too real, her body responding with a mind of its own. Turning to see what time it was, Bridget reached for the digital timepiece, depressing the alarm’s off button. She squinted through the darkness at the pale green numbers on the clock. It was still early, not yet two o’clock in the morning. It dawned on her that she had set her alarm incorrectly, not paying attention before she’d turned over and had gone to sleep. She still had at least five hours of rest coming to her, and with any luck she could still take advantage of them.

A full bladder was suddenly calling her name and as she moved to get out of bed, pain bristled down the length of her right leg. Bridget swore, clutching the limb between her palms as she was suddenly reminded that her day had started badly and had only gotten worse with each passing hour, the wealth of it peaking on her return home.

She had literally tripped through the door of her town house, falling face-first across the threshold as the heel of her Ferragamo pump had lost a battle with the new doormat she’d purchased on discount from the Macy’s department store in downtown Seattle. Pain had exploded from the center of her bruised kneecap, triggering a trail of hurt down the length of the limb, up her thigh and into her hip. Profanity had spilled over her lips as she’d cursed loudly, not caring that her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Eloise Gibson, had been watching from her own entranceway.

As she’d lain sprawled facedown against the foyer’s tiled floor, Bridget couldn’t help but think that her falling was an apropos ending for what had been a hellish day. Tears had burned hot against the back of her eyelids as she’d kicked off the overpriced shoes and pulled herself up and onto her feet. The old woman was still staring, her gray head and a wrinkled appendage waving for Bridget’s attention.