âCharley,â she whispered, her voice oozing sex and sweetness
Jane touched his arm with delicate fingers. He swallowed, trying desperately to keep his cool. To not let her see that her touch had sent a jolt through him.
âYouâre all Iâve thought about for months. In every dream. In every shower. Itâs been you. Justâ¦you.â
It was time to leave. She was his secretaryâshe had temporary amnesia. She thought they were a couple. Time to run as fast as he could in any direction. But her fingers held him captive.
Her mouth, her moist scarlet lips, curved once more into the smile of a temptress. Those eyesâ¦
Dammit. He grabbed her arms with his hands, pulling her close to his now stirring body. His mouth covered hers and he stole her very breath.
Crazy. He was insane. This situation was insane.
But a loaded pistol couldnât have stopped him. Hell, a whole army couldnât have stopped him from making love to his âfiancée.â
Dear Reader,
The idea for Ms. Taken kind of bonked me over the head, much like the little incident that happens to Jane in the story. I was minding my own business and I was âstruckâ with the notion that sometimes we hide our real, vibrant, charming inner selves because we think we should. That people wouldnât understand.
And then I thoughtâso what? Who cares what other people think? Being true to ourselvesâ¦ah, thatâs something worth fighting for. Worth living for.
Thus Jane was born, filled with doubts, hiding behind a wall of propriety, living the life she was supposed to. Her inner world, however, was filled with lust and love and romance and a particularly yummy boss named Charles.
That is until the fateful day when she was minding her own business andâOops. I donât want to spoil the rest. Just let me say that working on THE PERSONAL TOUCH! miniseries was a joy from beginning to end. I hope you see a little of yourself in Jane, and that it wonât take a conk on the head to show you how wonderful you are.
I love to hear from readers. You can contact me at www.joleigh.com.
Best wishes,
Jo Leigh
ONE ORANGE. Five Triscuits. Three baby carrots. One ounce Jarlsberg cheese, cubed. Two Oreo cookies.
Jane Dobson smiled at the perfection that was her lunch. The napkin, a new color for her, blue, had unfolded on her desk in a nice, neat square to reveal each item of food just as sheâd packed it this morning. No crumbs. Not a one. That Hello Kitty lunch pail was really doing the job.
Peeling the orange came next, which wasnât easy because her nails were so short. She tried not to bite them, honestly. But it was hard to catch herself in the act. Mostly, sheâd just notice her fingers as she typed, and the nails would be bitten to the quick.
Oh, well. Itâs not as if she was a hand model or anything. Besides, short nails made her really fast on the computer. Sheâd clocked herself at nearly one hundred words-per only last week. Four words more than a month ago.
She ended up biting the orange peel, getting a squirt of that really sour stuff in her mouth. Grimacing, she turned her gaze to her special project, and the bad taste disappeared. Christmas cards were strewn across the right side of her desk. Some were very religious, with angels and wise men and stables. Some were whimsical, with animated reindeer, Santa in all sorts of situations, and several grinning mice. Then there were the more difficult kind. The ones with just words. Oh, sure, the calligraphy was always great, but how many Merry Christmases and Seasons Greetings could she put in her collage?
She popped a cube of cheese into her mouth and chewed it very slowly. She always ate slowly, and it drove her family nuts, but too bad. She wasnât ashamed of her eccentricities. They made her special.
âGirl, you better not let him see you messing with those cards.â
Jane looked up to see Kadisha King, a friend from the secretarial pool, standing right next to her desk. Kadisha held a manila folder against her chest as if it were top secret. Jane hadnât even heard her approach. âItâs Christmas.â
âHe doesnât care. Mr. Warren says no personal decorations at the desk, and thatâs what he means.â
âSurely Christmas is an exception.â
Kadisha shook her head in that knowing way of hers. âFine. Do your paper dolls. But do you know how many personal assistants Mr. Warren has had in the last five years?â
Jane shook her head. Sheâd only been at Warren Industries for a year, and she wasnât very good at gossip.
âEleven. You do the math.â Kadisha tapped the manila folder with one perfectly manicured nail. Then she went to Deliaâs desk and put the folder in the in box.