Melody Knight
Contemporary Erotic Romance

Back Cover:

Sheila lives alone, save for the slime molds in her fridge, and the people at work who are more acquaintances than friends. This is the life she has rebuilt for herself, from the shambles she left behind. The last time she really lived was on a mountain slope in New Zealand, where the man she had loved and lusted after...died.

When Jason walks into her life, Sheila is tempted to run. Little does she realize she is not the only one living a lie. Jason is hiding his connection to her past, but his moment, for revealing all, passes almost before he knows it.

How can Sheila and Jason rediscover a love nearly buried forever? Or has it slipped into just one more lost tradition in the land they have both left behind?


It was sheer gall that got her downstairs, out the door, and into the Plaza. The whole way down the elevator she prayed for rain, ball lightning, flood, a meteor shower, and then, God willing, Sodom, Gomorrah, and a pillar of salt. The truth was, she couldn't remember what he looked like. It had been like she'd told Pam: his was more a trace, a feeling, than a solid image. She hadn't had that much to drink, but then it didn't take much with her, and it had been darkish. And, of course, there'd been the element of disbelief factor. Men just didn't approach her like that. She didn't have the elusive factor to draw in sexual encounters, and if women were flowers, her petals had been closed for the night. Her nightclub fun consisted of prancing on the dance floor with no one and everyone, downing a few drinks she usually didn't have, and those purloined smokes. They'd been enough. If anything, the mysterious stranger had been an unwanted complication. He'd required thought and work, for what was otherwise a brainless evening.

And now, damn it—preparation. Butterfly stomach, blue outfit. Tacked down hair stuck on her head so carefree that a stiff breeze would have acted like a sail. It was good to know her brain had been functioning, though, even under the alcohol fumes. That "dressed in blue" was brilliant. As she sat down discreetly on a bench, she noted there must been a hundred fifty women in this area alone dressed in some shade of blue. If his memories were as vague as her own, he'd walk on past her, his ship in the night anchoring in someone else's port. She sighed nervously, wishing for the twelfth time she had a cigarette and a stiff drink, in that order.
See what he's bringing me to. Men!