Worth Remembering
by Holly James
Series: English Rose, #1
Genre: Romance
Release Date: June 4, 2017
Running into her head-over-heels first love during a week’s holiday in Mallorca with her spirited friend Lou was not what Samantha Hillcrest had planned. When sparks fly on the idyllic Mediterranean island she wonders how she’ll be able to return home to her husband and grown-up children, pretending her life hasn’t been turned upside down. Caught between family commitments and the red-hot, sizzling chemistry she shares with Gabriel—her love from twenty-five years ago—Samantha faces an impossibly heart-breaking choice.
A stand-alone novel, Worth Remembering is the first story in the English Rose series which follows a group of authentic English women on their complicated romantic journeys.
Standing outside Gabe’s top floor apartment in the middle of Palma’s maze of intricate narrow stone streets, I adjusted my sundress to avoid cleavage overspill. I fluffed my hair and bit my lip hard before raising my hand and taking that final, irreversible step of ringing the doorbell. It chimed inside, and for a split second I thought I could run, but in actual fact my legs had turned to jelly so that was completely out of the question.
I heard movement and leant against the door frame. Nope, too casual. Stood legs apart, hands by my side. Far too stiff. Shit! I folded my arms hurriedly as the movement got louder. God, no, too confrontational. I turned my back to the door to take a moment to reconsider, but when I heard the soft click of it opening, I spun round and there he was.
For the second time in a week, I cursed God for flagrantly stacking the cards against me. He was barefoot, jeans low on his hips, and a white shirt undone and hanging from his shoulders to reveal that smooth, tanned chest. His expression changed from astonishment to delight to desire in about five seconds.
I stared at his chest, forgetting any regard for propriety, and he cocked his head in the same gesture I’d seen from his son just a few minutes earlier.
‘I was just about to get in the shower,’ he explained, apparently bemused by my inability to stop devouring him.
‘Don’t let me stop you.’ I breezed past him, wanting to drop my dress and knickers and present myself like an exquisite hors d’oeuvre. Instead, I found myself clutching my bag, my bravado rapidly dissipating as the charged air between us crackled. The reality that we were completely alone in a private place—me obviously having dressed to impress—dawned on us. No one would ever know.
He had a magnificent apartment, tastefully decorated. It certainly didn’t resemble the bachelor pad it could have been, but it was definitely a man’s place. The front door led to a sort of anteroom that featured a couple of dark occasional tables, a leather couch, and lots of clean lines. All very simple, no fuss, much like the man himself. When I turned the corner into the main lounge, I gasped. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the Mediterranean sea. The city lights twinkled in the descending dusk, and the stunningly illuminated cathedral stood proudly off to the west.
‘What an incredible view,’ I gushed.
Suddenly I sensed him at my shoulder.
‘Isn’t it?’ he whispered, his breath on my ear.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as did a couple of other parts of my anatomy. My eyelids slid closed and I leant my head back on his shoulder as his arms glided around my waist. Eyes still closed, I felt his lips warm and soft on my neck and I groaned with pleasure, unable to keep up the pretence a moment longer. He turned me toward him and his hands skated up my back.
I heard movement and leant against the door frame. Nope, too casual. Stood legs apart, hands by my side. Far too stiff. Shit! I folded my arms hurriedly as the movement got louder. God, no, too confrontational. I turned my back to the door to take a moment to reconsider, but when I heard the soft click of it opening, I spun round and there he was.
For the second time in a week, I cursed God for flagrantly stacking the cards against me. He was barefoot, jeans low on his hips, and a white shirt undone and hanging from his shoulders to reveal that smooth, tanned chest. His expression changed from astonishment to delight to desire in about five seconds.
I stared at his chest, forgetting any regard for propriety, and he cocked his head in the same gesture I’d seen from his son just a few minutes earlier.
‘I was just about to get in the shower,’ he explained, apparently bemused by my inability to stop devouring him.
‘Don’t let me stop you.’ I breezed past him, wanting to drop my dress and knickers and present myself like an exquisite hors d’oeuvre. Instead, I found myself clutching my bag, my bravado rapidly dissipating as the charged air between us crackled. The reality that we were completely alone in a private place—me obviously having dressed to impress—dawned on us. No one would ever know.
He had a magnificent apartment, tastefully decorated. It certainly didn’t resemble the bachelor pad it could have been, but it was definitely a man’s place. The front door led to a sort of anteroom that featured a couple of dark occasional tables, a leather couch, and lots of clean lines. All very simple, no fuss, much like the man himself. When I turned the corner into the main lounge, I gasped. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the Mediterranean sea. The city lights twinkled in the descending dusk, and the stunningly illuminated cathedral stood proudly off to the west.
‘What an incredible view,’ I gushed.
Suddenly I sensed him at my shoulder.
‘Isn’t it?’ he whispered, his breath on my ear.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as did a couple of other parts of my anatomy. My eyelids slid closed and I leant my head back on his shoulder as his arms glided around my waist. Eyes still closed, I felt his lips warm and soft on my neck and I groaned with pleasure, unable to keep up the pretence a moment longer. He turned me toward him and his hands skated up my back.
Holly James was born and raised with her three siblings in Norfolk, England. She packed her bags at eighteen to spend the next four years at university. She lived in Newcastle, Birmingham, London, France, and Spain before settling in beautiful New Zealand. Her daily loves are good coffee, writing, her children, and her husband—the order depending on what kind of day she’s having.
All Holly’s books are stand-alones with no cliffhangers. To be notified of new releases subscribe to her mailing list at http://www.hollyjamesauthor.co.uk
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