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Damon’s voice held me spellbound. I might just be able to fall asleep after all.
His warm breath blew against my chilled flesh. I went on alert, stiffening.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to get you to relax.”
A feather-soft kiss seared my skin.
“Stop it, Damon.”
His hands were on my nape again, kneading, soothing.
“You’re wound as tight as a spring.”
I hated to admit it, but Damon’s massaging hands on my back felt wonderful. My entire body was beginning to tingle and buzz.
“Take off your clothes.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
MARCIA KING-GAMBLE
is a national bestselling author and a former travel industry executive. She’s lived in five different states and has traveled to some of the most exotic parts of the world. The Far East, Venice, Italy, and New Zealand are still her favorites.
She enjoys a good workout, and is passionate about animals, old houses and tearjerker movies. Marcia is also the editor of a monthly newsletter entitled Marcia’s Romantically Yours. Log on to her Web site, www.lovemarcia.com, and find out what she’s all about.
Meet Phoenix
Marcia King-Gamble
“As you read may you find your own Divine Wisdom.”
Dear Reader,
I have been fortunate enough to spend some time in the Far East, and love it. Each visit is treasured and each time I return to the United States I feel more enriched. At one point in my life I even considered moving there. When that did not materialize, I satisfied my yearnings for places like Hong Kong, Singapore and Bangkok by taking frequent trips.
Even now the old architecture, mysticism and spiritualism of Asia continue to draw me. Combine those with elegant dining, endless hours of shopping and visits to mosques and temples, and I’m in my own state of nirvana.
Needless to say, when I got the opportunity to write an action-adventure story set in Tibet, I was really excited. Tibet is one of the few places I haven’t visited, and I had to rely on research. After immersing myself in the culture, Tibet is now one of my top ten places to visit.
Buddhism is also a religion that has interested me. Maybe it has something to do with having an enormous crush on Richard Gere, who runs neck and neck with Denzel Washington as the two sexiest men on the planet. Or maybe my high energy requires that calming effect.
What I do know is I created my hero, Damon Hernandez, with Denzel’s smile and Richard’s sexy walk in mind. Let me know if I was successful in creating a to-die-for hero and a strong, sensual heroine.
If you’ve enjoyed reading Meet Phoenix, I’d love to know. Please drop me an e-mail at [email protected], or write me at P.O. Box 25143, Fort Lauderdale, Florida. And if you want to know what I’m up to, visit me frequently at www.lovemarcia.com. I’m always off on one adventure or another.
Happy travels,
Marcia King-Gamble
Contents
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 1
“I will not allow you to commit him.” I tightly clutched the phone and swiveled around in my office chair.
“There may be no other choice,” my aunt Estelle said. “Since yesterday he’s been almost catatonic.”
My eyes burned and tension weighed between my shoulder blades. This was my father she was talking about. I knew he had problems but to commit him to a psychiatric institution? Unthinkable.
I knew he was depressed, but the only therapeutic shock treatment Thomas Sutherland needed was to have his name cleared. And I intended to do just that. It was one of the reasons I’d accepted this assignment in Tibet.
Aunt Estelle was going on and on about how debilitating depression was. I blinked the moisture from my eyes, stuck my head out of the open studio window and focused on the leaves pooling around the trees. Taxis whizzed by. The sky was a cloudless, brilliant blue. Fall in New York promised to be beautiful.
“Can we discuss this later?” I said softly and hung up. I just couldn’t deal with this today. Plus, they couldn’t commit him without my consent anyway.
“Althea’s on the other line,” Whitley Montgomery, my assistant, called from the outer room.
I took a deep breath of the brisk morning air and picked up the receiver. Althea Wright and I had met eight years ago at an art institute in Florence, Italy. I was in the conservation program, devoted to the preservation of cultural heritage, and Althea was in the restoration program, which restores and reconstructs the work of art back to its “original” state. Or at least close to it. Ever since then we were as tight as two people could be.
“Hey, you caught me at the right time, Althea.” I injected gaiety into my voice. I welcomed any distraction.
“Is that Tibetan trip still on? You did say you needed someone with expertise in reconstruction.”
“Does that mean what I think it does?”
“Yup.
