Dorian was still standing so, so close,
right here, in her bedroom.
And even as she was being engulfed by this ridiculously unexpected and totally unwarranted attraction, her rational mind reminded her that this was the same man who had been getting on her very last nerve just an hour before. But the warm, woodsy scent of him made those thoughts irrelevant.
Why didnât he do something? Why didnât he make a move, say something or lean forward andâ¦touch her? Rita felt her body sway toward him a little. She lifted her eyes to his and found that he was not looking at her, but was staring at the ceiling, in the attitude of someone praying, or at least consulting the heavens for guidanceâ¦.
âRita,â he began.
âYes?â
âIâd better go beforeâ¦â His eyes were on her mouth again. âIâd better go now.â
Without another word, he turned abruptly and headed out her front door.
lives on her native Caribbean island of Trinidadâa fertile place for dreaming up scorching, sun-drenched romance novels. She balances a career in public relations and a family of two small children and one very patient man while feeding her obsession for writing.
Simona lives under the spell of her muse, or, as theyâd say on her island, the writing âjumbie.â At the end of the day, when her son and daughterâher little matched set of salt and pepper shakersâare safely in bed, after school bags are packed, the laundry done, the kitchen cleaned and the toys put away, she indulges in her latest writing project with a sense of anticipation usually reserved for chocolate.
A sensual setting is half the pleasure to be found in readingâand writingâa book. While Simona loves to show off the charms of Trinidad and its sister island, Tobago, she has also set her romances in the south of France, Barcelona and the fictional city of Santa Amata in the eastern United States.
When not dreaming up drool-worthy heroes, she updates her Web site, www.scribble-scribble.com, which, as thousands of visitors have found out, is a fun place to visit, read her novel excerpts and her blog and have a good laugh.
She has also published three works of womenâs literary fiction under her real name, Roslyn Carrington, but it is her passion for romance that most consumes her.
Dear Reader,
Dear Rita was one of the hardest books Iâve ever had to write. Why? Timing, timing, timing. I started it on August 16, 2005âwhen my daughter, Megan, was eight weeks old.
I vaguely remember starting that first chapter, sitting in a haze of exhaustion. Snatching half an hour while my baby slept.
And thatâs how Dear Rita has been shaped. In dribbles and bits; in stolen half hours and precious whole hours that were too few and too far between. I wrote on my lunch hour, dividing my attention between the book and my ringing phone, my boss passing by my desk to have a word and the blip of e-mails.
At night, while Megan slept and my three-year-old, Riley, read quietly in his bed (or hollered at the top of his lungs for Mommy), I wrote a little more.
The days in which I was able to write ten, fifteen hours a week are gone. Now, 4 or 5 hours a week are a miracle. But I donât begrudge my babies the time theyâve taken from me. Theyâve added a whole new dimension to the person that I am, and I love them dearly.
I hope you enjoyed Dear Rita . In spite of the constraints, I enjoyed writing it.
I look forward to hearing from you. You can e-mail me at [email protected], or drop by my Web site at www.scribble-scribble.com. My snail mail address is:
Roslyn Carrington
8190 NW 21st Street Suite T-926 Miami, FL 33122
Dedicated to Mrs. Leeba Deo La Roche
Thanks for your enthusiasm and your encouragement.
Thanks for being you. You make me laugh every time we meet. And thanks for the loving care youâve shown toward my children, and, very importantly, for keeping them out of my hair long enough for me to write this book.
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
S pam.
Delete.
Spam.
Delete.
Spamâ¦How in the world did people dream up half this stuff? And who in the world was crazy enough to buy it? Rita held down the Delete key and shook her head. She had no intention of buying cheap aphrodisiacs online, had no cellulite to speak of and was quite happy with the extra eight pounds or so she carried around on her five-foot-six-inch frame. After all, on the scale of the universe, what was an extra eight pounds?
But spammers certainly made life difficult, especially when her job involved spending hours online each day. People out there relied on her, women who were hurting and confused, who needed her help. Clearing junk mail took longer and longer every day, and when you worked freelance, time was money.