Mr. Rook Page 17

  Still, it meant I hadn’t been with a man in a very, very long time.

  My back and hands simmered like an Alabaman July. It’s like ridin’ a bike, Meg. A big ol’ bike. But I wasn’t that sexy little redheaded thing Ron had wooed and knocked up. Twenty-four years had passed. My youth, beautiful body, perky tits and tight little hula-hoop had been spent like a pair of brake pads on an old truck.

  Shut up. You still got it, I told myself. But on the inside, I didn’t feel it. Not anymore. But this was the reason I needed to go to Mr. Rook’s island. My good friend Merna swore I would feel new again and come home ready to start a new life.

  Dear God, please heal me. Please make me feel like a woman again. Because I sure as hell didn’t. Not after Ron.

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  (Read on for Wilma Salinger)

  WILMA SALINGER

  “Are you out of your mind, Mother? You can’t go on a cruise by yourself. You’re eighty-eight years old.” The steam poured from my dear Norma’s flared nostrils.

  She never understood me. And frankly, I never understood her either. It wasn’t supposed to be this way between mother and daughter, but my feisty little Norma had never been one to conform to any standards. It was what I loved most about her.

  I removed my reading glasses and set my book on the table next to my chair. It was a book about starting over and letting go of the past. Dear God knows I need to. Because Bob had been a part of my life for so long, I hardly knew where he’d ended and I began. Sixty years we’d been married. Sixty. And though we’d had our ups and downs, as any couple might, I never learned to love him. Not like a woman was supposed to love a man. But he had been my best friend, my partner, the father to my two daughters in a time when many women simply took their places and tried to be grateful for a roof over their heads and food on the table.

  Of course, Bob always treated me with respect. I never felt encumbered by him, which was why as many times as I’d dreamed of a different life, my heart would never allow me to go. I believed in vows. I believed in keeping my promises.

  And now, Bob is gone and I’m done.

  I folded my hands neatly in my lap. I hated how cold they felt, how stiff my body moved—like an old rickety wooden ship waiting to sink.

  “Norma, honey, I love you and your sister. But I have spent my life taking care of you girls and your father—cooking, cleaning, making lunches and dinners, hearing your father rattle on and on about whatever topic caught his attention. And now I have earned the right to live my few remaining years, hours, or minutes doing anything and everything I please. So, with all the love in my heart, please keep your opinions to yourself. I’m going on a cruise. I am going to see the world. I am going to eat chocolate and fried chicken and I may even decide to skip my cholesterol medicine if I so choose.”

  “Mom, you’ve lost your mind.” Norma began calling someone on her phone. I knew it was her husband, Joe, the spineless, useless lawyer she’d married.

  “It won’t do any good, child. My doctor has signed off on my health—including my mental health—and my lawyers have received my instructions. If you meddle in any way, you won’t receive a dime from me. It will go to charity. All of it.”

  Norma’s mouth fell open.

  There, you see. I’m not so feeble after all, now am I? Because that had been the other benefit of marrying Bob; he’d forced us to live frugally so he could invest every dime. Between that, selling off his fertilizer company, and his life insurance, I was now worth ten million dollars. More than enough to leave something behind for my grandchildren and daughters.

  Really, all I need is a million for my trip and another two to live off of. And once I started over, I would invest wisely. I’d learned a lot from Bob.

  “Mom,” Norma kneeled in front of me, “I don’t care about the money. I’m just worried about you.”

  I knew she loved me, but Norma was still a product of her generation. They knew little about sacrifice, and she would never understand how much I’d given up to raise her and keep our family together. I suppose I never wanted her to understand that part.

  “And I thank you, sweetheart, but I am a grown woman. I make my own choices.” And I choose to live one more lifetime. My way.

  “When will you be back?” Norma’s light green eyes, exactly like mine, filled with tears. This would not be easy for her, but we lived in a new age. Women were strong, independent, and free. She would be fine without me, and I could not pass up this opportunity.

  I eased myself out of my favorite reading chair, my hips, back and knees groaning every inch of the way.

  Norma got to her feet and I took her warm hand, placing it between my own.

  “It won’t be more than a month or two,” I replied.

  She looked into my eyes. “Mom, where are you really going?”

  I cleared my throat, determined to see this through. I had to be brave. I had to remind myself that there were only two choices—meet my maker soon, due to the cancer in my lungs from inhaling years of Bob’s disgusting cigarettes, or risk the time I had left for the chance to live and love in another life.

  I patted her hands. “I’m going to a special place,” I whispered. “To die.”

  Norma didn’t say a word. I knew it would hurt her to lose me, but my end would come one way or another if I didn’t go on this trip.

  “So you’re leaving us for good?” Her lower lip quivered.

  “Yes. But you must not tell anyone, Norma. You must allow them to think I’ve sailed off into the sunset, in a glorious blaze like Thelma and Lanna.”

  Norma whisked a tear from her eye. “Louise, Momma. Thelma and Louise.”

  “Yes. Just like them…”

  Norma and I said our tearful goodbyes, and five hours later I found myself on a plane, going to a place I didn’t believe existed until my dear friend Marjorie had convinced me. I hadn’t seen her in ten months, but I’d received a postcard. It was a picture of a young woman with honey blond hair, who could be her great-granddaughter. She stood on a beach with the turquoise waves behind her, and the note read, “It’s real.” She’d scribbled one of those web addresses right below that.

  How about that. We’d been friends for over forty years. I knew she would never lie to me, and I knew what her note meant. After that, I got the news from the doctor, and it was decided.

  As the plane touched down, the day having turned to night, I reached into my purse carrying a picture of Bob and the children the last time we were all together two Christmases ago. I drew a shallow breath, feeling the cancer already taking its toll. Please, God. Please don’t let this be a mistake.

  The plane came to a stop and the outer door swung open. A tall man with enormous muscles and tattoos came down the aisle to assist me. “Mrs. Salinger?”

  “Yes?” I nodded.

  “I’m Gerry. May I help you with your bags?”

  “Thank you.” I handed him my small carry-on and purse. He helped me up, guided me to the front of the plane, and then held my arm as I slowly descended the stairs. The warm air soothed my tight, cold joints. I already felt younger.

  “Mrs. Salinger,” a deep voice greeted me.

  I looked up, my old eyes having trouble focusing in the dark after such a long trip. The young man before me had silky hair and a face that could make any woman of any age take notice. He was simply beautiful.

  “Mr. Rook?”

  “In the flesh.” He reached for my hand and kissed the top. “Welcome to my island.”

  My heart began beating so fast I was certain it would give out. “Cut the crap, Rook. Let’s get on with this.”

  He chuckled softly. “Of course, Mrs. Salinger. Let’s get you checked in. I’m sure you’re tired after your long journey. Would you care to freshen up before joining me and the other VIP guests for dinner tonight?”

  “Dinner?” How odd. With everything that was going to happen, who the heck cared about food?

  “It is merely a tradition, not an oblig
ation.” He flashed a charming smile that made any doubts disappear into thin air.

  “I suppose—if it’s tradition.”

  “Excellent.” He handed me a little black box.

  I opened it up, finding a red butterfly pendant strung on a delicate gold chain.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “A gift. Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life.”

  I frowned. “Humph! If I live.”

  “That is not my choice. But let us think positive thoughts, Mrs. Salinger.” He held out his elbow. “Shall we?”

  I hesitated for a long moment, but there was nowhere for me to go but forward.

  I took his arm. “You’ll be with me every step of the way, won’t you, Mr. Rook?”

  He gave my hand a pat. “Until the very end. Just as you will be with me.”

  To Be Continued

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Hi, All!

  Don’t miss out on PAWN, Part Two of Mr. Rook’s Island! Sign up to my newsletter for new release alerts, extras, and giveaways, too!

  Also, if you love hotties, unicorns, LOTS and LOTS of giveaways, and extras, I’ve got a new fan group on Facebook. We’d love to have you! (Everyone is approved except for spammers, sock puppets, assholes, and robots.)

  As always, if you’d like a SIGNED MR. ROOK BOOKMARK for your collection, just shoot an email to mimi@mimijean.net with your full name and shipping address. Be sure to mention if you posted a review so I can thank you and send an extra little goodie (I usually have fridge magnets set aside). First-come basis only, so hurry!

  Okay, now that’s out of the way! I won’t go into Mr. Rook’s full meaning just yet because…well, it’s not over! I don’t want to spoil the surprises (though I bet you have an idea of where the story is heading. Or do you? Muahaha…) But I will tell you that the inspiration for the story came from three different books I’ve been wanting to write. So, several months ago, when I sat there looking at my idea book, unable to decide between these three new series, I got the idea to bring them all together! Poof. Mr. Rook’s Island was born.

  So for all you cliffhanger haters out there who think authors just leave you hanging because we’re mean, I will tell you that it’s completely true. LOL. Just kidding. But I know I couldn’t fit the entire story into one book. Not without making a looooooong, looooooong book. And I hate looooooong books. No patience for that stuff. But hopefully, the wait for more will be worth it as Stephanie goes deeper and deeper into Mr. Rook’s tormented, but sexy world. I’m so giddy!

  Until then, happy reading!

  With Love,

  Mimi

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A big THANK YOU to the fantasy helpers who came to the island of typos, mysteriously worded sentences, and formatting chaos! Kylie, Dali, Pauline, Su, Paul, and Latoya, as always, thank you for taking the time to make the magic happen.

  Thank you to my readers for always being open to new adventures no matter how crazy!

  Hugs and kisses to my guys, who help out and work their butts off when deadlines are looming and I’m not getting much sleep. I love you!

  Mimi

  UPCOMING RELEASES

  COMING SOON!

  OH, HENRY

  Book #2, The OHELLNO Series

  Henry Walton has been called many things throughout his life—fatty, bathtub, tree trunk, moose, walrus, lardo—you name it. But at over six foot five and weighing two hundred and eighty pounds, Henry is now solid muscle and the hottest defensive end in the NFL college draft. This is the moment he’s been waiting for: fame, women, and glory. Okay, there’s also a ten-million-dollar contract in it for him.

  There’s just one teeny tiny problem: He can’t quite get over being dumped by the nerdy shrew with thick glasses and a genius IQ he dated for a mere few weeks. Elle.

  God, he so hates her and that stupid little squeaky laugh—a laugh that sounds like music to his ears and sweet, sweet victory to his career. Because for those two perfect weeks, his game was perfect. And now that she refuses to talk to him, everything is falling down the crapper.

  Call him superstitious, but he’s got to get her back. Even if she’s the last girl he really wants and she hates his guts.

  For extras, buy links and more:

  www.mimijean.net/ohenry.html

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  San Francisco native MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF is a New York Times bestselling romance author. Although she obtained her MBA and worked for more than fifteen years in the corporate world, she believes that it’s never too late to come out of the romance closet and follow your dream. Mimi lives with her Latin lover hubby, two pirates-in-training (their boys), and the rat terrier duo, Snowflake and Mini Me, in Arizona. She hopes to make you laugh when you need it most and continues to pray daily that leather pants will make a big comeback for men.

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