I love love. I believe in love. I love watching people fall in love and fight falling in love because it doesn’t fit into their immediate plans, or they’ve been hurt before and don’t want to take that risk again. But most of all, I love seeing people remain in love, even throughout the tough times.
The fairytale image that has been taught to us for centuries has warped our view of love and romance. I believe love, just like life, is what you make of it. I believe there’s someone out there for everyone, I just believe that the majority of people don’t see it, run from it because of their own fears, or they place their happiness too much on love without recognizing they are the ones in charge of their life, if not their love. Love, just like anything else, takes work.
Yep, I’m a romantic at heart, but my romance isn’t chocolate covered cherries with rose scented baths and a glass of bubbly (although that’s nice every once in a while!) My romance is living with the love of my life, every day, even when it’s the mundane tasks of everyday life.
His animosity shouldn’t make it so hard to purge him from her system and recognize Mr. Right when she does find him. But Wesley has always been Mr. Right for her, so her goal to forget him and move on is harder than she ever imagined.
I was young when I fell in love, when people told me I was too young, it’d never work, blah blah blah. I’m still in love with that man today, after twenty plus years. This story was somewhat inspired by the idea of what would happen if we hadn’t worked out but found each other later in life. Of course, I threw in a lot of other bad things to keep them apart that I wouldn’t wish on anyway, but it was hard to watch how Caitlyn and Wesley worked things out.
I wrote this story years ago, published it eight years ago under the title of Holding Fast, but my life took a crazy turn with a new (non-writing related) business, my own career in criminal justice, and other crazy things. I gave it up, got my rights back, and only dallied in writing, not giving it my full attention. But my love for writing and my love for the story never died. Caitlyn and Wesley’s story never died, either.
What do you think? Do you believe in love? Do you believe in second chances?
He has a shaded past…
Wesley Webb is at the pinnacle of his auto racing career when his main rival is murdered hours after their confrontation. That, along with evidence found at the scene, shades him as prime suspect. Now he’s under intense press scrutiny, particularly from Caitlyn Daniels, an ex-girlfriend who knows all about his secret past.
And she’s the one woman who could expose him…
Caitlyn thought to never see Wesley again. Now, his life could be in her hands. Ten years ago, a tragedy tore apart everything she held dear, including their relationship. When she’s assigned to do an exclusive story with the reluctant race car driver she once loved, she believes this could be her purging. But chemistry tears apart her resolve to stay strong. Can they work out their differences and fall in love again, or will tragedy keep them apart?
Here’s an excerpt of a scene when Wesley finally agrees to an interview with Caitlyn:
“My favorite color,” he said as he leaned across the table, closer to Caitlyn, “is the capricious color of your eyes.”
His lips were only inches from hers so that his breath licked against her skin. His eyes possessed her.
She clutched her pen in midair, frozen in space for a mere second. He touched her hand.
The pen fell.
“Blueberry,” he said as he trailed a light kiss across her knuckle, his eyes still magnetizing hers. Her heart stopped in her throat. “Dark and wounded. Cornflower blue, tantalizing with banter and witticism.” He kissed the tip of her pinkie and went on to taste each finger, slowly taking his time with each one. “Sea blue, bright and sparkling like the waves catching a sunset, when you’re happy.”
Caitlyn, entranced with his words, was amazed he even noticed her eyes and more amazed he practically recited poetry. Where had he come up with this?
“Storm clouds,” he continued as he stroked the inside of her palm. “Brewing with a passion and desire you’re too afraid to feel. Sometimes periwinkle, sometimes almost lavender and sometimes a sultry gray. Right now though, they are definitely–”
She pulled her hand away and scooted back in her chair. Thoroughly aroused, she squeezed her thighs tighter in an attempt to bury the spark.
“You’re full of it,” she said. “My eyes don’t change colors that much and even if they did,
you wouldn’t notice.”
“What makes you say that?” He leaned back in his chair, taking the two back legs to its haunches, something they both used to get in trouble for when they were kids.
She shook her head and didn’t answer. The touch of his warm mouth on her fingers still burned in her core.
“I always notice your eyes.”