About the book:
How It All Started…
One day I was a high school teacher on summer break, leading a
relatively uneventful but happy life. Or so I told myself. Later, I’d
question that, as I would question pretty much everything I knew about
me, my relationships, and my desires. It all began when my neighbor
thrust a key to a storage unit at me. She’d bought it to make extra
money after watching some storage auction show. Now she was on her way
to the airport to elope with a man she barely knew, and she needed me to
clear out the unit before the lease expired.
Soon, I was standing inside a small room that held the intimate details
of another woman’s life, feeling uncomfortable, as if I was invading her
privacy. Why had she let these items so neatly packed, possessions that
she clearly cared about deeply, be lost at an auction? Driven to find
out by some unnamed force, I began to dig, to discover this woman’s
life, and yes, read her journals—dark, erotic journals that I had no
business reading. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I read on
obsessively, living out fantasies through her words that I’d never dare
experience on my own, compelled by the three men in her life, none of
whom had names. I read onward until the last terrifying dark entry left
me certain that something had happened to this woman. I had to find her
and be sure she was okay.
Before long, I was taking her job for the summer at the art gallery,
living her life, and she was nowhere to be found. I was becoming someone
I didn’t know. I was becoming her.
The dark, passion it becomes…
Now, I am working at a prestigious gallery, where I have always dreamed
of being, and I’ve been delivered to the doorstep of several men, all of
which I envision as one I’ve read about in the journal. But there is
one man that will call to me, that will awaken me in ways I never
believed possible. That man is the ruggedly sexy artist, Chris Merit,
who wants to paint me. He is rich and famous, and dark in ways I
shouldn’t find intriguing, but I do. I so do. I don’t understand why his
dark side appeals to me, but the attraction between us is rich with
velvety promises of satisfaction. Chris is dark, and so are his desires,
but I cannot turn away. He is damaged beneath his confident good looks
and need for control, and in some way, I feel he needs me. I need him.
All I know for certain is that he knows me like I don’t even know me,
and he says I know him. Still, I keep asking myself — do I know him? Did
he know her, the journal writer, and where is she? And why doesn’t it
seem to matter anymore? There is just him and me, and the burn for more.
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