Deborah Mello - In the Light of Love

He was tall, dark and handsome, and he was coming her way!

“Hello, my name’s Jericho Becton. Have we met before? You look very familiar.”

Talisa smiled and shook her head, her gaze sweeping over the man’s face. From the other side of the reception her friends were calling her name. Their voices momentarily pulled her attention away, but in a heartbeat, her glance returned to the man standing in front of her.

She stammered searching for her words as she stood lost in the sensation of her small hand resting in the warmth of his large palm.

“I…I was just…thinking the same thing,” she finally managed to say. All of a sudden, the room seemed to spin in a slow circle around her.

“You don’t look like you are having a good time,” Jericho said.

“Have you been watching me?” Talisa asked coyly, her excitement now shining brightly from her dark eyes. Her hand was still held hostage in his firm grasp.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Jericho answered, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper.

Kimani Romance

In the Light of Love

Kimani Press Arabesque

Take Me to Heart

A Love for all Time

The Right Side of Love

Forever and a Day

Love in the Lineup

is the author of five Kimani Arabesque romance novels. Her first novel, Take Me to Heart, earned her a 2004 Romance Slam Jam nomination for Best 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, son and two dogs.

In the Light of Love

Deborah Fletcher Mello

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the children of Uganda,

You have not been forgotten,

And you are remembered with much love.

Dear Reader,

I have an emotional attachment to my stories. Each has been fueled by an experience that has stayed with me, haunted me, encouraged me and motivated me to capture the moment as eloquently in words as was humanly possible.

In the Light of Love was one of the stories that I wanted to tell, needed to tell and fought to write with the emotion and passion of the experience itself. I hope that you enjoy it. I hope that it inspires you to reach out to someone in need, to question what you might not know and to find the light that burns especially for you.

Many thanks to all of you for your continued support. Please visit me at my Web site (www.deborahmello.com) and continue to send me your comments.

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

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

The first wave of intravenous medication had quickly dulled the blinding pain that had cut through her abdomen only moments before. Talisa London could breathe again and she gulped oxygen, fearful that it might be denied.

From some distant place above her, a male voice was eerily calming, the deep tone even and controlled as the man explained the impending procedure, assuring her it would be quick, and over before she knew it. As she felt her body being lifted from the gurney onto the operating table, panic swept over her. A large, brown hand that patted her gently against her bare shoulder instantly soothed the fright-filled emotion.

“You’re doing very well,” Dr. Jericho Becton whispered softly, warm breath blowing against her ear. “Everything’s going to be just fine.” His voice was melodic, a soothing bass tone that eased right through her.

Focusing her attention upward, Talisa’s eyes met his, her stare floating up to his intense gaze. His eyes reminded her of the ocean, the irises a deep, blue-green liquid balm. The black lashes were forest thick; long, luscious, enviable strands. The warmth he exuded was consuming and she could feel herself swimming in his gaze, the sensation like a warm wet blanket wrapping around her. There was something ultra-soothing about his stare and when he smiled, she willed herself to smile back. An anesthesiologist placed a mask over her nose and mouth, instructing her to breathe deeply.

“That’s a good girl, deep breaths,” Dr. Becton said, echoing his associate, the warmth of his hand still pressed against her shoulder.

Talisa stared upward, her smile widening. “You’re very sweet,” she said, mumbling into the mask. “And you have beautiful eyes. I think I could love you,” she chimed, her eyelids fluttering open and then closed. As drug-induced sleep tiptoed in to possess her, Talisa heard the man laugh, a faint “thank you” echoing into her dreams.

“Talisa? Are you sleeping, baby?”

Talisa opened her eyelids to find her mother staring down at her. She blinked quickly, wiping at her face with the length of her fingers. Lifting herself up against the bed pillows, she yawned widely. “No, ma’am. I think I just dozed off for a quick moment.”

Mary London smiled at her daughter. “You was asleep. I woke you up. Sorry ’bout that, but it’s time for your medicine. That doctor said you had to take your medicine every four hours.” The woman glanced down to the Timex watch on her wrist. “It’s past time.”

Talisa nodded, extending her hand for the antibiotic and pain medication her mother was holding out toward her. As the small pills settled against her tongue, she reached for the cup of chipped ice and cold water the matriarch passed her way.

It had been one week since Talisa had been rushed to Atlanta’s Northside Hospital with a ruptured appendix. She could have kicked herself for ignoring the initial pangs of hurt that had teased her only days before. High doses of aspirin had dulled the ache just enough for her to consider it of little importance. A sprained muscle, she’d thought, remembering an aerobics class that had taxed her body’s limits. Then, out of the blue, agonizing pain had hit her broadside, crippling her movements and sending her straight to the floor.

She shook her head at the memory. Everything after that moment, from the ambulance ride to the operating room, was nothing but a blur. As Talisa reflected back, one memory swept over her. She smiled, and as she did, her mother gave her a strange look.

“What?” Mary asked, fluffing the pillows behind her daughter’s head. “What are you grinning about?”

“I just remembered this man in the operating room who had blue eyes. I think I told him I loved him.”

Mary frowned. “There were lots of men in that hospital with blue eyes now. That nice Dr. Pearson has ’em, and that tall boy, the nurse. What was his name?”

“Tim, I think.”

“That’s it. Tim. He had blue eyes, too. But I know you were not serious about being in love with one of them.” The woman frowned, the lines deepening against her dark complexion.

Talisa shook her head, two shoulder-length ponytails swaying back and forth against the sides of her skull. “No. This man was African-American. He was Daddy’s complexion, maybe a little lighter, and he had bright blue eyes.”