Passion After Dark

Passion After

Dark

Book One in the Passion Series.

By J.A Melville

© Copyright December 2013

About the Author.

From my teenage years, all I wanted to do was become a writer one day. Even now as an adult woman with a partner and three children who are not so little anymore, I've always lived with my head in the clouds, a dreamer, often amusing myself with my own im
agination.

It might have taken me awhile to finally live my dream, but I did it, my first effort to try and join the many talented writers out there who have kept me entertained with their wonderful stories over the years.

I live in a sleepy country town in Tasmania, Australia with my partner and three children plus our 6 cats, dog, sheep and cattle.

I've had to overcome many emotional obstacles along the way to get to this point and attempting to self publish a book does tend to make a person feel like th
ey've thrown themselves in at the deep end of the pool some what, but here's hoping some of you actually like what I write and save me from drowning in the deep end of the pool as I probably forgot to mention, I can't swim.

J. A Melville.

Acknowledgements.

I have been fortunate to have had many people who have been encouraging when it came to my desire to write. Many know what had held me back for so long and yet you still all pushed me and persuaded me to do what I wanted to do so badly and as I publish my fourth book now, I thank you all. You know who you are.

To Lorraine
who pushed me and encouraged me from day one, telling me over and over that I could do this, to Danielle, Mary, Savanna, Debbie, Georgie, Dawn, Kathi, Rachael and all the ladies from Controlled who have been not only supportive, but who provided me with endless entertainment, laughs and countless distractions, I thank you.

Then of course, I want to thank my partner Roger and our three children, Bianca, Jesse and Reilly who have had to suffer through hastily constructed meals, a less than tidy home, my vague behaviour and me see
mingly always having my head buried in my laptop. I'm sure they have found me frustrating on more than one occasion and I've no doubt they got sick of talking to the top of my head.

A
n extra special big thank you to my daughter Bianca who designed the cover for this book since she knows how useless her Mother is when it comes to anything computer related.

I can't write this without thanking all my English teachers from back in my school days many moons ago who always told me I should consider a career in w
riting when I grew up. Well, it might have taken me awhile, but I finally did as you all suggested, thank you.

All of these people have been there throughout the many many months I wrote and never let me give up. To you all, I say a heart felt THANK YOU.

© Copyright J. A Melville. November 2013.

All rights reserved. No parts of this book can be

reproduced unless permission is given by the author

for quotes to be used for reviews etc.

This book is fiction. The characters are fiction. Any

resemblance to persons living or dead are purely

coincidental.

This book is the work of the writer's imagination.

Cover image designed for the author by Bianca E

Eberle.

Chapters.

Chapter 1………………

Chapter 2
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Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
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Chapter 5
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Chapter 6
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Chapter 7
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Chapter 8
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Chapter 9
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Chapter 10
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Chapter 11
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Chapter 12
………......

Chapter 13
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Chapter 14
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Chapter 15
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Chapter 16
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Chapter 17
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Chapter 18
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Chapter 19
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Chapter 20
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Chapter 21
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Chapter 22
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Chapter 23
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Chapter 24
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Chapter 25
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Chapter 26
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Epilogue
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Chapter One.

"Ahhhh, fuck my life." I groaned, dropping my head in my hands as I sat before my blank laptop, the empty screen mocking me. I peered through my fingers at my Doberman Beau who watched me with his solemn brown eyes and Salem my black cat sat on the table his eyes settling on me with that look of pity in his yellow gaze. Ok, so maybe it wasn't pity, more that smirk that he so often directs my way.

"What is w
rong with me, I'm on a deadline." I moaned at my animal audience, but they said nothing, just continued to watch me as I pulled my head out of my hands, my long brown curls tumbling over my forehead, covering my eyes. I shoved them back off my face impatiently and went back to studying my laptop, wondering why my brain had picked now to freeze on me, why a bad assed version of writer's block was robbing me of any coherent thought about the next chapter of my book.

I was o
nly a few chapters into the third and final book in my 'Kiss Me' series of erotic novels I was writing, so still a long way to go. The first two had been wildly successful for me and my editor was putting the thumb screws on me now to hurry up and get the final one written. There were TV interviews, magazine interviews being demanded of me and I just wanted to go and bury my head in the sand. I was not a people person, dealing with the public scared the hell out of me, I wasn't interested in the fame, hell, I wouldn't even put my face on my books that way I wasn't going to have to deal with people maybe recognising me. Unfortunately my editor Frank Metcalf had other ideas. He wanted to splash me around like a street corner whore and I just wasn't interested.

Deciding that I was wasting my time sitting staring at a blank computer I dragged myself off my seat and walked through t
o the kitchen, opening the fridge door to stick my head inside and study the fairly dismal selection inside. "Note to self, do some bloody shopping woman." I chastised myself.

I pulled out a bag of cold meat and opened it, giving the contents a tentative
sniff before staggering backwards, when the smell hit me. "Well, we won't be having sandwiches today then, will we?" I said to Salem who was still watching me like he considered I might not be of sound mind. “Food poisoning anyone?” I asked waving the bag of nasty smelling meat around. Salem’s response was to turn his back on me like I wasn’t worthy of any more of his time and Beau collapsed on the floor with a deep sigh. After studying them for a moment, I threw the bag at the bin and it hit the flip top lid and luckily for me, fell inside. With a whoop for my successful throw, I went back to have another look in the fridge and after a few moments studying the nearly empty shelves, I decided a bowl of cereal was going to have to do.

I tipped out some of my
favourite cereal into a bowl and poured the milk in. It kind of hung there for a moment before thickly and with the consistency of cottage cheese, plopped into the bowl. "Damn it to hell!'' I swore at my ruined cereal covered with foul smelling sour milk and threw the contents into the bin on top of the rotten cold meat. "Good start." I muttered.

I gave Salem
a pat, explaining to him that I was going to have to go out and do some shopping. "Well, it's that or starve." I told him. Of course that was one of the downsides of writing, getting so involved that eating, shopping and, I sniffed my arm pit. "Showering." Tended to get pushed from my mind until my body finally screamed for sustenance or as was the case now, my brain was some vast empty void in my head denying me the mental capacity to write, probably brought on as an act of defiance on its part for me not feeding it.

S
uddenly my stomach wanted food and the pungent odour in the air told me I needed to have a shower or maybe that was all the rank food I’d thrown in the bin. Of course feeding my body which in turn would feed my brain which if I was lucky would lead to me writing that allusive next chapter meant that in this case, I was going to have to go out and buy food. "Preferably something that won't put me in hospital with food poisoning," I mumbled under my breath.

I headed upstairs to my bedroom, passing by my
room mate's bedroom and shook my head when I glanced in and saw all the clothes scattered around the room. It was that bad it was almost impossible to tell there was actually a carpet under that lot.

Frank did question why I bothered to stay in the home that I'd inherit
ed from my parents and not live the lifestyle my success afforded me, but although I had a bank balance that had more zeros at the end of it than I'd ever imagined I'd see, I loved my old home. It was comfortable, big and held so many memories that I had no desire to sell it and buy the kind of home Frank expected me to have, one of those large, modern, sterile looking things that were favoured by the rich and famous.

This old home meant everything to me. I
’d grown up in it and lived with my parents happily right up until they had both been killed when a truck driver who had been on the road too long fell asleep at the wheel, swerved onto the wrong side of the road and hit my parents’ car, killing then instantly.

I couldn
’t sell this home, it was my family home, my parents’ had lived here and no matter how many times I’d tried to explain that to Frank, he still tried to tell me I should live in a home that reflected my success.

He couldn't understand why I chose to share my space too when I sure didn't need the rent money, but th
e truth was I hated being alone. I enjoyed the company although Cassandra, my best friend and who had been my rock after my parents died was away at work during the day and often out partying with friends on Friday and Saturday nights. Sometimes she would nag me to come out with her, which occasionally I agreed to against my better judgement. I don't know why I even bothered. It was always the same thing. I'd sit there drinking in the dark, night club with the music so loud the only way to communicate was with a whole assortment of hand gestures or screaming into one another's ears and that often went wrong, men would think I was being overly friendly or mistaken my hand gesture for something it so wasn't and suddenly I'd be fighting off the octopus from hell. Cassie would pick up some attractive looking man and disappear with him or she'd bring him back to our place and I'd get to spend the night listening to the sounds of their passion through the bedroom wall.