chapter 1

Prologue                                           

                                             

"You hurt me" I said softly while Declan looked on, pain consuming his beautiful features.

                               

"I know and I'm sorry" he said quietly.  I continued to stare at him from the sofa and before I could realize what was happening, I walked across the room to where he stood.

                               

I timidly reached my hand out, making contact with his forearm, the heat from his body bleeding through into my palm.

                               

"I'm not sure why, but I forgive you.  But Declan, do not ever take me for granted again.  I'm not in the habit of being used."  I'd never heard that kind of calmness to my voice before.

                               

He reached up to caress my face, my eyes closed as soon as he made contact with my skin.

                               

"So beautiful" he murmured, his hot breath in close proximity to my needy lips.

                               

I could feel the unwilling tears starting to course down my cheeks as the words spilled from his lips.

                               

I slowly unbuttoned the cuffs on his dress shirt, then just as slowly, unbuttoned the shirt and slipping it from his shoulders, I watched it flutter to the ground.

                               

His olive complexion gave such an exotic look to his bare, muscled chest as I ran my hands over his upper body, my heart rate accelerated to dangerous speeds.

                               

"Make love to me, Declan.  Make me forget."

 ___

                             

I studied my features in the scrolled mirror of my loft apartment bathroom, sucking in my cheeks, making them hollow, then letting them out normally again.

                               

I had smooth, creamy skin, not a wrinkle in sight, pretty great for someone who had just turned thirty and the best part was, I didn't feel my age.

                               

I was getting ready to head into my office, in the heart of downtown Boston, 49th floor of the Arcady building; a huge office and the entire floor belonged to me.

                               

I employed my agent, a receptionist, my accountant, my personal assistant and her personal assistant, we all worked out of that building and they had been with me since the beginning.

                               

I was a romance novelist and despite my book making the New York Times Best Sellers list and a lucrative book signing deal, my love life was nonexistent, actually it sucked.

                               

I could write about it all day long, the lovey dovey characters, the sex scenes and how much the main actors loved each other.

                               

But having this for myself was laughable. Firstly, I didn't know if I could trust anyone like that and secondly, I was petrified of being with a man, any man.

                               

I knew why but I was never willing to discuss it, only with my therapist and those chosen few that were closest to me , because it was just too painful and dredged up too many bad memories.

                               

I was pretty, I guess, as far as the outside went but on the inside? I was a screwed up individual; between my heart and mental health, yeah screwed up was putting it mildly.

                               

I stood six feet tall, had long, silky black hair and blue eyes. My body was pretty athletic while maintaining the feminine curves that drove most men crazy.

                               

I proudly sported a full C cup and had a nice round ass, just the right size, a perfect handful. My lips were pretty and full, my most attractive feature I was told.

I had the tattoo of a butterfly on my left shoulder and a tattoo of the sun on the inside of my right ankle, plus my belly button is pierced.

                               

                               

I dressed in a fitted black and houndstooth dress. The bodice was the houndstooth and the skirt was solid black and just below the knee and I paired it with five inch black heels.

I left my hair with a slight wave in it, classic foundation, powder, blush, eye shadow, eyeliner and nude gloss. I liked sweet but light smelling fragrances so one of my favorites was Pink Beach Weekend by Victoria's Secret.

                               

Picking up my shoulder bag and laptop case, I grabbed my keys and headed out. Locking the door, I took my phone and called my car service letting them know I was ready.

                               

The ride in seemed longer than usual but we eventually made it to the Arcady building, sixty stories encased in black smokey glass, blocking out a good portion of the skyline depending on where you were at on the ground.

                               

As soon as I landed on the 49th floor, I could smell my hazelnut latte and fresh scone and silently I thanked God for Constance, my assistant.

                               

"Constance dear, remind me at the end of this quarter to give you a raise" I sing-songed, walking into my office with her on my heels. "Yes oh great one, you say that every time I do something wonderful" we both snickered at her statement.

                               

Taking my laptop bag and purse, like she did every morning, she hung up the purse and got my laptop out and set it up for me.

                               

"Okay Am, you've got your meeting with Reese (my agent) at ten thirty, then your lunch date with Nigella Ambrose at one. At two fifteen you have a Skype with Buckingham Publishing and then at four you have a phone call with Dr. Webster."

                               

I scowled at her on the last appointment. That was a necessary evil, the meetings, the appointments, the phone calls. Dr. Webster, my therapist, who deals with PTSD sufferers.

                               

All apart of my therapy and healing. Pfft, yeah right. After you've gone through what I've gone through, talk to me about healing.

                               

"Fine" I pouted. Constance turned, looking at me, her face a placard of seriousness.

                               

"Amethyst, you know better than anyone that your sessions with Dr. Webster are helping you. I mean when was the last time you had a night terror?"

                               

Damn it, she was right and as much as I hated to admit it, I hadn't endured one in three weeks.

                               

I couldn't help but notice the sympathetic look in her eyes but I smiled at her, trying to get the good, carefree mood back from earlier.

                               

"You're right Constance. Can you please get Nigella on the phone and make sure our reservations for Yvonne's is still set?"

                               

She nodded at me and returned to her office while I plopped into my cushy leather chair, logging onto my laptop and checking the day's emails.

                               

Spam, spam, spam, answered, deleted...good God these sh*tty emails were driving me crazy but I had managed to weed out all of the ones that were important.

                               

"Amethyst, Ms. Ambrose is on line three" Constance called in on the intercom. "Thanks C" I replied back, picking up the phone. (Picture below is Nigella Ambrose, Amethyst's best friend)

 "Nigella, good morning" I sang. "Am, darling. Yvonne's at one? Pricey. I love it" she cooed, her English accent sexy.

                               

I chuckled at her, knowing very good and well that she was yanking my chain. She was CFO at DSJ Technologies and made big bucks, plus I understood her boss to be hotter than hell but an as*hole.

                               

"Well I've missed my best friend and I really need a friendly ear right now" I told her. I heard her sigh. "Writer's block?" She knew me too well.

                               

"Yeah, that and other things. I'm just feeling lonely and I hate it. I'm surrounded by some of the best people, but I feel lonely as hell and it's driving me crazy."

                               

Even though I could be honest with Constance, there was a level of honesty that I could only achieve with Nigella and I loved her so much for it.

                               

"Darling, you need to go out and I don't mean with me to a club, you need to go on a date." Sh*t! She always brings that up.

                               

"Nig, you know how I feel about that" I lightly scolded her. But all she did was tsk me.

                               

"What if I personally knew the guy and could vouch that he wouldn't hurt you and you'd be safe with him?" She wasn't going to give up, was she?                 

"Look, I've got an appointment with Reese. Can we talk about this over lunch?" She acquiesced, telling me she would see me later.                               

Hanging up, all I could think was I would end up giving in and I would get hurt.