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A reporter for the county newspaper asked, “Could life be any better for you at the moment, Mr Harton?”Eric, still a little bemused by the rapid events of the past few months, admitted that he could not have wished for a better outcome. Yet there was that patch of lost wonder that prevented total satisfaction. A gap deep inside that he could not lose, no matter how hard he tried.Still, recent events had been an unexpected consolation, even if they had been caused, in a remote sense, by that very lost wonder.After leaving university with a first-class honours degree, he had been lucky enough to be accepted by a London newspaper, for a trial period. But he just had to see if a flame still burned, had to go to that house and see her again. They only had one day together, yet she had lodged in his thoughts. Emma. Hell, he’d never known her last name.As he approached the house he had wondered what he might say. But, when a man answered the doorbell, Eric’s heart had slumped. That was when he learned that the previous lady owner had moved to Devon over a year earlier. Disappointed, Eric could only wonder why she had moved. He recalled her having loved the house.Dolefully, Eric had flung himself into his new job, and, after covering minor stories, he had been offered a full-time contract. Bigger stories came his way, big court cases, upper-crust scandals, and the like. So, he progressed steadily for the next three years. Always, inside him, something cried out for what was lost.One weekend, having an unusually clear schedule, he began tapping out on his laptop, something, he hoped, might become a novel. More importantly, it might clear the troubled corner of his mind. He had a little plan, a loose set of characters, some very special scenes, but no real idea of where it would go.However, once he started writing, the whole thing took off. His imagination caught fire, and he just could not stop. The thing practically wrote itself. He was writing of murder, cruelty, intrigue, vengeance, and some vivid sex.The reporter had another question, “Would you admit that the very graphic sexual scenes are what sold the book?”Eric had to smile, “You’d need to ask my readers, that one.””Personal experience, Mr Harton? Or wishful thinking?”Before Eric could answer, his agent Harry Benton broke in, “That is highly impertinent. And since, as has been well reported, the book has attracted the attention of Harvey Stilling, the Oscar-winning Hollywood director, it is hardly just the sex.”Being in Bristol was the fourth stop on this promotional book signing tour.”Exceptional for a first-time author,” Harry had told him.Eric couldn’t believe the speed of things once the book was published. Through his newspaper, he had been recommended Harry Benton as a reliable agent, and he had proved his worth. Immediately, editors were clamouring with offers. Consequently, he had resigned from the newspaper and started a second book.  A  bestselling author at just twenty-five, this was beyond Eric’s wildest dreams.He lay back in the leather seats of the limousine carrying them to their hotel.”Where are we tomorrow, Harry?” Eric asked, closing his eyes.”Tomorrow, it’s a trip to the seaside. Torquay, Devon.”The last word drove like an arrow into that hollow place Eric held inside. Images formed behind his eyelids as though a magic slide show had been switched on. A curvaceous, naked Emma, lying back like a presentation, starkly sensuous. Blue eyes turned up to him as the mouth worked on him.No! No! No!He sat up quickly, rubbing at his eyes. The book was meant to kill off those visions. Yet they persisted. When memory became too much, hadn’t he toured around Devon two years ago, looking in phone books, contacting local authorities? But with no firm location to follow, no surname, the search had been fruitless. Emma could be anywhere in Devon. If she was, in fact, still in Devon. She could be anywhere.Eric had become desperate to know whether that time had just been a one-off. If it was just the sex, why, after several sexual encounters, did her warmth dominate his mind? She’d taken root in his head. Unexpectedly, he recalled one thing. She wrote books and had a pen name, Sienna Gold. He bought one of her books and contacted the editor who refused to give out any information on their client.He even typed that name into Google but found a list of her books and an indication that she lived a rather private life. Dejected by that futile Devon search, he had returned to London, where, out of all his uncertainty, he had started the book.”Something wrong, Eric?””No, nothing. Overwhelming circumstances, I guess.”Harry laughed, “Not surprising. How’s the new book going?”In truth, it wasn’t going well. Too much had happened lately.The drive to Torquay seemed to take an age.’I am in Devon once again,’ was Eric’s dominating thought. ‘Somewhere in Devon, there is a lady called Emma. Just a little scout around might find her.’ That had been his thinking three years ago. He kept telling himself that he was being stupid.In Torquay, the sun shone, as it should in July, and after lunch, they took a short walk to a large bookshop. Several people were already queuing. That was how it had been everywhere.Inside the shop, Eric was subject to the, now familiar, handshakes, congratulations, and good wishes. Soon, he was seated behind a white table laden with copies of his book. The garish red cover screamed at him, and, too late, he had thought the title, ‘Exorcising Boris’ could have been better,Most of the customers already had a copy which they placed in front of him. Eric, eyes down, would ask who the book was dedicated to. Then after signing he would hand the book over and treat the recipient to what, he hoped, was a genuine smile.After two hours or so, the genuineness of the smile was rather strained, but, as he signed a book to a ‘Roberta,’ he saw that there were only three ladies left in the queue.The next lady placed a book in front of him, already open at the inside cover. “Who shall I make it out to?” he asked, pen poised.”Sienna.” Came the reply.The name had Eric’s hand freeze over the book. Something inside him seemed to lurch, as he raised his eyes over a slender figure in a pink button-up dress, to a face that had him all but leaping to his feet. Blue eyes, high cheekbones, full mouth, and the hair, that tawny hair, shorter now, but neatly styled. Sheer beauty, so long lost.”Hello, Eric.” Her face broke into a ready smile. “Have I surprised you?”Eric’s mind was churning. This was what he had longed for, wasn’t it? Yet now, he was almost speechless with the shock of it.”Emma! Surprise doesn’t cover it.”The lady behind Emma gave a loud clearance of her throat.Emma turned quickly and apologised, while escort izmit dazedly, Eric wrote into her book. As he handed back the book, he quickly told Emma the hotel they were staying at. “Just down the road. The annexe bar. Half an hour?””I know it,” she nodded. Giving him a quick smile, she picked up her book and walked out of the shop.Very briefly, Eric watched that unforgotten hip sway, before another book was slammed down in front of him, with irritated force.’God, he looks better than ever,’ Emma thought, as she stepped out onto the sunlit street. That look of maturity suited him. Gone were those boyish features. He’d be twenty-five now, wouldn’t he? So exciting to see him like this – a success. Just what she had wished for him. It had given her a sense of pride, when she read the book, to find that she had played some distant part in that success.She was relieved that he wanted at least to talk with her. When she’d discovered that he had a book signing in Torquay she just couldn’t let it pass, even though she had serious doubts about seeing him. Emma was prepared for the fact that she was going to be meeting a person who would be far removed from the hunky, brown eyed, man/boy that she had spent just six hours with, seven years ago.How those six hours, and their consequences, had lived in her mind. She had tried telling herself that it should all be locked in the past. A brief episode that she should be able to call a day on. She had tried in so many ways. But, like the words of an old song, there was always something there to remind her.Then, one day, there he was, smiling at her from a newspaper, an exciting new author. Seeing him interviewed on TV had told her that he wasn’t married, but that didn’t mean much these days.Walking down to the hotel, she casually flicked back the front cover of the book to read his inscription. It stopped her in her tracks as she read:’To beautiful Sienna, who suddenly brought on the sunshine.’A long-forgotten melting built inside her. Was there real meaning to be taken from those simple, touching words? Why had she used her pen name when he asked? To see if he remembered? Well, no doubt there then.It was more than half an hour before a rather bemused Eric was free. Emma filled his mind. Seeing her so unexpectedly had confused him. He had thought so much about her. Hell, he was more nervous than when she had first invited him into her house. And he had been a teenager then.In the hotel annexe, at a table nearest the door, Emma saw Eric come in. She raised her hand, but he spotted her immediately. As Eric approached, Emma’s uncertainty increased. What direction could their conversation take? Not old times. They had been brilliant, but too short. Just what was she expecting from this encounter? Certainly nothing like their last meetingUnsure of himself, Eric pushed through the revolving entrance. There she was. So close, hand half raised, still lovely to look at.Now that she was in front of him all he could do was bend swiftly, kiss her cheek gently, and murmur, “Emma, you look good.”In bending, he had rested one hand on the table, and everything stopped, as, so briefly, her hand covered his. An electric charge from long ago. He sat down, staring dopily into those blue eyes.Emma could only reply, “So do you.”But how her hand had moved to cover his she had no idea, but it felt so right. She had half expected him to be more outgoing, more flamboyant, given his new social standing. It seemed right for her to open the conversation, as she removed her hand from his.”Thank you for what you wrote on the inside cover. That was sweet.””It was true,” he replied.Emma liked that. “I was so delighted to follow your success.””Right out of the blue,” he said.”You might say that,” she said, in a teasing tone that Eric so readily remembered, “but a certain part of it is right out of your-  our life, isn’t it?””So, you’ve read it?””That title. Could I resist? You kept his name the same. It’s me, isn’t it? Your female character.””You?””I can tell by your smile, your choice of name for her, Emaline. Very close. That section, that one reviewer called the raunchiest writing he’d ever read. You captured that so well.” Emma saw Eric’s face had reddened. “You’re not embarrassed, are you?”Eric hadn’t been – until now. Yet he didn’t know why. If Emma had read it, she was bound to recognise the setting, not to mention the activities described.”Not really,” was all he could say.”Hair colour, eye colour. The screwing on a kitchen table… and that shower scene.” And she gave him a wide honest smile. “Your description of what pleasure the male character, the cop, Eddy, felt in that scene, I hope that was an accurate recall of how you felt.”Eric was struck by a quick image of those eyes looking up at him, gauging his pleasure, while her generous mouth worked its magic on him. Now, staring into that face, trying to find signs of the passing years, Eric had to admit, there were none. So, to change the subject, he told her that.”Thank you. Call it the wonders of modern skin cosmetics.” Inwardly delighted at his comment, Emma wasn’t yet prepared to leave the subject of his book. “But you had me, poor Emaline, murdered, and by Boris, of all people.””He was a hate figure,” Eric replied, knowing what question would be coming shortly.”Is that why you kept his name the same?””Seemed logical.””Loved the way you got rid of him. But what made you kill Emaline off?”There it was, the question he knew he could only answer honestly, and he looked into her eyes as he replied, “I thought I might exorcise you.””And did it work? The book ends with the hero appearing to have found another woman. Did you?” She didn’t really want to hear his answer to that one. But she needed to know.”Several,” Eric replied bluntly. “Most of them at university, one or two since.” Her hand was resting on the table, and he reached out to touch it with his fingertips. “The book, the women, were all massive attempts at exorcism, but none worked.”Emma felt her heart thud against her ribs. Was this what she wanted to hear? The touch of his fingers had been so warming, so natural, so genuine. And he was staring at her with such intensity.”And you?” he asked. “Have you -“”I got married,” she told him, and seeing the fall in his expression, she immediately added, “And divorced, two years only. It was mutual. I settled for the fact that he thought I was a cold fish. “”You?” Eric was astounded at that information.”Perhaps you got the best of me, Eric. Marriage couldn’t eradicate that.””Is that what you were trying to do?” And he added, “I thought you loved the house so much.”She shrugged, “A year after our time, I still felt there was an essence of Boris about the place. Devon was far enough izmit escort away. I found a lovely bungalow. After two years, I married the first man since our encounter. Just a mistake.”They sat looking at each other. Words seemed superfluous now, as they each wrestled with the implications of what had been said so far.Eric felt it was time to test the water and he said, “What now?””What now, indeed,” Emma responded.Deep inside, her body was telling her exactly what she would like now. The unbidden wish to have him inside her once again was surfacing. Yet the more rational part of her brain was telling her it just couldn’t be as easy as that.His ‘what now’ question had been an attempt to clarify his own tangled emotions. To have and hold what still looked like a most delectable body, was so appealing. The tightening in his groin told him that. More rationally he could tell himself that just being near her felt like some kind of release.”Oh, yes, it’s a delightful setting. You must see it,” She paused, “sometime.” There was a very good reason for her adding that last word. If this was just a casual once-only encounter, then it was almost over now. Is that what she wanted?Eric had told her of his situation. Now he had to ask, “Since your marriage, is there -?” He couldn’t finish what he was about to say.”There’s no man in my life, if that’s what you’re asking?””Then we can meet again?”He sensed that there was something else she hadn’t told him. Hesitation about him seeing her bungalow had puzzled him.Emma glanced at her watch, “I have a meeting arranged with my agent in Paignton shortly, but tomorrow…””Tomorrow I’m in Plymouth, the last signing. Your agent, you say, so you’re still writing?””Have to keep the wolf from the door.””I did read a couple of Sienna Gold books,” he admitted. “Very romantic. But well written. You should try something more adventurous.” Eric shook his head, “Listen to me, the wise old first-time author.”They laughed together before Emma told him, “I did start one book, written in my own name. But gave it up. Glad I did when I read yours.”Eric felt that they were circling the real situation. “Could we have a meal together, day after tomorrow, say?””Thursday? Should be fine.””Why not here? Food’s very good, they say””I’ll look forward to that,” Emma said, getting to her feet.”Seven thirty?” There was a boyish thrill for Eric in making this particular date. He would have been back in London by Thursday. So he would book himself in here for a couple more nights.Emma stepped round the table and stood close to Eric. She raised her head without committing herself, but immediately Eric bent and kissed her full on the lips, warm, gentle and short.Her eyes held his for a moment, before she said, “Until Thursday then.”And very deliberately she walked away, out through the revolving doors, without looking back.She never looked back, and her response to his impetuous kiss had been cool. Had today just been a polite gesture on her part? Yet she had found him, had agreed to meet again, had said he could see her bungalow in a sort of begrudging manner.For Emma, the time up to Thursday evening seemed to crawl. But it gave her a chance to clarify her own thoughts. There was no doubt that Eric had been pleased to see her, had admitted being unable to erase her from his memory. She had even been a major character in his best seller. Was it all just pursuit of an old sexual memory?God, how often had she found herself wanting him over the years? Was she trying to relive the dream? She needed to clarify so much before she could allow him into her world. There was something he needed, no deserved, to know, but his commitment would be the key.For Eric, the Plymouth book signing had been a major distraction, almost an irritation. He’d never imagined that was possible. Having seen Emma again was all that filled his mind. He told Harry that he would not be returning with him to London”The lady?””A very good friend,” Eric had replied.”With tawny hair, and vivid blue eyes? Where have I read that? Very Interesting,” Harry said with a gentle smile. “Just don’t make any mistakes.””I don’t intend to.”Thursday produced a warm evening, a fitting end to a red-hot day. Eric wore a dark grey lightweight suit, with a blue shirt. Much thought had him deciding that respect was a key factor.When Emma appeared, any resolutions he had made might have gone out of the window. In a blue silken dress that emphasised her figure and revealed just a hint of the valley between her breasts, she looked stunning. Eric tried desperately to control the aching in his loins.Emma enjoyed the look on Eric’s face as she approached, admiration mixed with uncertainty. There was still the element of the boy in him. She liked that. They exchanged a brief cool kiss before proceeding to the dining room.At the table, she asked Eric to choose the wine, and he said he would like her to choose the main course for both of them.”Decisions, decisions,” she laughed, but readily chose the beef bourguignon for two.The meal was delicious, and Eric, fascinated, watched the delicate way she consumed her food, like a tentative sparrow.Over the meal, they talked easily about their early days. And the small talk went on to their writing. Since their last meeting, she had published four more books under her pen name, Sienna GoldAs they were finishing their sweet, pavlova for her, profiteroles for him, Emma felt it time to get some clarity on their situation, and putting down her spoon she asked, “Where do we go from here, Eric? What do you expect of me?” She feared that had sounded just a little too abrupt.Eric was slightly taken aback by the question. Although he could have addressed her in not dissimilar terms. Testing her expectations, he said flatly, “I have a room upstairs.”And watched her reaction with trepidation. Please, back away.Emma’s cheeks reddened, “I was afraid that is what you might suggest. But, Eric, the situation now is so different. Don’t get me wrong. I still have a deep feeling for you, but it can’t be resolved by a quick, how do they put it? Roll in the hay?”Eric felt all his growing tensions inside him suddenly relax. “Emma, you may not believe this, but your reaction is exactly what I hoped it would be.”Emma, so relieved, gasped, “Really?””God, I want you so much. If you’d said yes to the room I know I wouldn’t have been able to resist. But I want to know you in so many other ways. What makes you laugh, what upsets you, the name of that perfume you wear. Do you like cinema, theatre? What’s your favourite colour? All those things and so many more.”Emma reached her hand across the table and their fingers interlocked, “Yes, oh, yes, I want to know all about you. I’m izmit kendi evi olan escort looking for permanence, Eric. I’m somewhat older than you – what kind of barrier will that be? These are things we need to find out.””Good as the sex was – and could be again,” Eric responded, delighted that they seemed to have a level of agreement. “I know there is more if we are to justify our time together.”Emma felt just a little giddy. Was it the wine? No, it was the promise encased in that recent interchange. There could be a future.”So how do we proceed?” she asked.Eric had no doubts, “We meet, we go places, we do things together… regularly.”That night, in the car park, they kissed a little longer than intended, but as they broke from each other, they laughed, with hope in both their hearts.Eric extended his room booking and hired a car. For the four ensuing weeks, Emma would drive to the hotel car park, leave her car there, and Eric drove them all over the county. They took in village fairs around Devon and walked the moors. They went to a show or two in Exeter, and Torquay, to find they had similar tastes.They laughed a lot, looked at each other silently, hungrily. They spent as much time together as possible. There was just something that bothered Eric, not just the fact that he never collected her from the bungalowIn all those meetings, there were few days when they had a full day together. Emma appeared to be available mornings into the afternoon but insisted on being home before five o’clock. Her usual reason was that was the time her agent or publisher tended to call. Evenings, she liked to know in advance if they were going out for a meal or a theatre visit. Up to a point, and because he was so enjoying her company, Eric was prepared to go along with her strange time demands.But he was compelled to ask on one occasion, “When do I see this mysterious bungalow?”Emma had tapped the side of her head sagely, “I’m saving that for a special occasion.” And couldn’t resist adding, “A double special occasion.”Eric guessed, and hoped, what one occasion might be, but the double reference puzzled him. “You like your little mysteries, don’t you?”And his mind leapt back seven years, and their first shower together, when she’d hinted at what the second shower would do.They kissed frequently, long amorous kisses in the car, under a tree, or on the open moors.Occasionally, Emma, sensing the pressure of his erection would ask, “Am I torturing you?”In asking the question she had to admit she was also torturing herself in feeling how ready he was for her.Even though he did feel heavily constrained, he honestly replied, “It was my idea too.”Emma became more certain that they were really compatible. The fact that he had stayed at the hotel for all this time paid some testament to his commitment to her.On the drive home after a cosy walk over the moors, Emma laid her head on Eric’s shoulder. It had been an afternoon of laughing together, now, more seriously, she told him what had been in her mind for so long, “I think you should come to see the bungalow tomorrow. Get my full gratitude.”Eric almost drove off the road. “Sure?” he asked, and a quick glance at her face told him exactly what that ‘full gratitude’ would be. The very thought of it caused that so familiar stirring in his pants.Back in the hotel car park, they shared a passionate kiss, and Emma whispered, “Thank you for today.” And she pulled a slip of paper from her handbag. “That’s to show you how to get to me.”Eric took the paper from her and chuckled, “I think I remember how to get to you.” And as she squeezed his hand, he opened the paper to find a roughly drawn map.”Just before Brixham,” she said, holding on to his hand, wanting him, happy that they had become this close.”Nice and early.””We’ve got a lot to see to,” she said, with that alluring smile, and with a quick kiss, she was out of the car, and hurrying to her own. Eric sat and watched until, with a little wave, she’d driven away.After a bumpy night of waking and drowsing, dreaming and hoping, Eric was up, dressed in blue sports shirt with matching trousers, and on the road by ten past ten. It was going to be another sunny day. That dedication he had written in her book wasn’t far from the truth at all. He had estimated it would be a ten or fifteen-minute drive. With the map placed conveniently within his sight, he drove and relaxed, despite the tremors building inside him.Emma went through her normal morning routine, before showering and gently scenting her body. Then, very deliberately, she chose exactly how she would dress to greet the man who had embedded himself very firmly into her life. As ten thirty approached she hurried down the drive, to open the wide gate, before returning to the front door porch to stand and watch for him.With each stage of her preparation, she had felt her anticipation rising inside her. This was the day she’d thought might never arrive. But how right they had been to withhold the passion. Now this day could be perfect for them, so long as the climax to it was as she’d hoped it would be.Standing there in the sunlight, she thought of his body against hers, and already felt herself moisten under her dress. A car appeared on the lane and she drew in a sharp anticipatory breath.Eric found the map very accurate. He was sure he’d hit the correct narrow turn off, but just for a few minutes, he wondered if he’d been wrong. The lane seemed so long. Then, the bungalow was there, off to his left, bright red brick in the sunlight, and she was on the front steps.He might have driven into the gatepost of the open entrance, when he saw she was wearing a yellow dress showing off that body that he so desired. Obviously, not the same yellow dress, but having the same effect that he’d experienced years ago. His erection started before he’d stopped the car.As he stepped out of the car, for one mad moment, Emma thought she would orgasm there and then. All in blue, tall, so masculine, his appearance had her clenching her thighs together. She had planned to run to him but was unable to move. All she could do was hold out her hands to him as he hurried towards her. And God, his pants were bulging.Eric got out of the car, trying to disguise his swollen state, but knew it was hopeless. All he wanted was his arms around that wonderful figure in the yellow dress. He tried to define the look on her face. Was it pleasure? Happiness and just a touch of lust?She was holding her hands out, and he took them, so that she could draw him back through the doorway, into an ample hallway, with wide corridors branching off in three directions, and as their bodies came together he managed to kick the door shut.They stood there, locked in a frantic embrace, kissing feverishly, tongues meshed, bodies so tight together that water couldn’t have passed between them. Emma, gasping as she felt his erection rolling against her lower body, went up on tiptoes to try and get it lower and between her thighs.

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