Marley
glanced in the direction of the closed door. No footsteps. Nothing.
Hoping the circulation in her toes would return, she eased off
the painful pumps and flexed her sore arches. Moving the ladder
securely against the wall, she tossed another furtive look in
the direction of the door before mounting the first rung and
hoisting herself up to reach the book with a bright blue jacket.
Why had she not heard of Jamal Ali? The title of Atlantis Regained
was definitely catchy. Her grip tightened around the hard cover
as she flipped through photos of what had to be lesser-known
Caribbean Islands. If only she had time to read his book. Maybe
after she secured her job. She snapped the book shut and impulsively
flipped it over, searching for a head-shot of the author.
Not to be disappointed, she stared into gold-flecked brown eyes.
Waist-length dreadlocks lent an exotic touch to an angular face
so vulnerable that, though his lips were stretched into a smile,
she literally felt his pain. Somewhere in the back of Marley's
mind it registered that Jamal Ali's skin was the color of coffee
with just the tiniest dab of cream added. How did she explain
this instant connection? Why her heart actually skipped a beat?
How could a man she'd never met touch her soul? Instinctively
she was drawn to him, felt as if she'd known him a lifetime
and in the most intimate way. She loved all that unruly hair.
"Can I help you find something?" A rich, masculine
voice came from behind her.
Marley jumped. The ladder tilted precariously as she craned
her neck in the direction of the inquiry.
"Oh. . . God! You startled me!" He had. The photo
on the book's back cover had come alive. |
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