AURORA JAMES
BY JESSICA INGRO
Published by Jessica Ingro
Copyright © 2015 Jessica Ingro
Cover photo and design © Sara Eirew / Sara Eirew Photographer
Models: David Santa Lucia and Rachel Baltes
Edited by Indie Solutions by Murphy Rae & Jennie Wurz
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, store in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is no authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
To the women who wake up and suddenly find themselves doing it alone. You're stronger than you know and my inspiration for Aurora.
My red stained lips pressed down on the tissue, setting the lipstick on them perfectly. The smile that played there was nothing compared to the excitement I felt inside.
It was almost eleven o’clock, which meant he would be there soon, and I could not wait. It had been a long few days since the last time we were able to be together, and I longed for him the way a man lost in the desert longs for water.
Waiting for me always drove him crazy, and I knew him well enough to know that one look at the sexy lace dress that clung to every curve of my body would have his restraint snapping. Add to that my red lips that he loved seeing wrapped around his cock, and it was sure to be a really, really good night.
Footsteps on the carpet had me glancing up into the mirror of the dressing table with anticipation. He was early. A smile spread across my face. Just as quickly as it came, though, it was gone. Happiness was wiped away, only to be replaced with alarm when my eyes met someone’s other than his in the mirror.
This was bad… so very bad.
If he knew about the man standing in his bedroom, he would bring the house down with his rage. No one would be safe from it.
This was going to end horribly. I could feel it right down to my bones.
Thank God Sophie was staying at the sitter’s house tonight.
The intruder looked at me with a craziness in his eyes I had never seen before. Something was not right with him. It frightened me to my very core.
“What are you doing here?” I asked in a small and choked voice.
“I’m here for you,” the deceptively calm voice replied as its owner crossed the expanse of the room to stand behind me.
I had learned early on when to be afraid of someone, and right then, with his cold eyes locked on mine and his lips curled into a sneer, I knew it was that time.
Paralyzed with fear, I watched in horror as he lifted a syringe and stuck it into my neck. A burn worked its way through my veins, and I instinctively lunged to the side to get away from him, only to be met with a fist slamming into my face, making me see stars.
My earlier suspicions were confirmed right then and there… This was not going to end well at all.
The last thought to cross my mind right before everything went black was that I hoped he was my knight in shining armor after all.
The lipstick glided across my lips, a bold streak of red against my creamy white skin. Pressing my lips together, a vixen stared back at me from the mirror—a stark contrast to what felt like the real me. Studying myself in the floor-length mirror pinned behind my bedroom door, I knew I was a walking contradiction.
More makeup than I usually wore was painted on my face—a mask to hide my fear and vulnerability.
Your face is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, my husband always used to say.
My long, chestnut brown hair was teased and pinned to the side, a curtain falling over my left shoulder and curling around my breast.
Knockout hair, he also used to say. Of course, that was before… nope, not going to go there.
The black dress that covered my body was probably the only nice stitch of clothing I still owned. It hugged my breasts and showcased my cleavage enticingly while the hem fell just above my knees. It was slightly looser around the hips and waist than it once was, but there was nothing I could do about that now.
My grandmother’s necklace and earrings completed the look—emeralds in a soft and subtle setting that weren’t too fancy. They were just perfect, accentuating the green color of my eyes.
Something about my appearance was off, and it went beyond the fact that I didn’t usually dress this way. I cocked my head and turned this way and that, trying to figure out what I was missing.
Gripping the hem of the skirt, I tucked it under and dug around my dresser, looking for pins to hold it. Pins in place, I nodded at my reflection and the dress that now sat a good two to three inches above my knee. That looked more fitting for what I was about to do.
With a shaky breath, I smoothed my hands over the material at my hips and tried not to think about what I had to do. It wasn’t prudent to dwell on the circumstances surrounding the interview I was heading to.
Well, not an interview as such. More like an audition, I supposed.
I grabbed my purse off my dresser and walked out into the living room in search of my red high-heeled shoes that had been sitting on my bed earlier. I knew I didn’t need to look far when a tiny blur of blonde curls raced from the kitchen to the living room, little girl giggles accompanying her, along with the slap of my heels on her too-small feet. Throwing herself at me, her tiny arms wrapped around the bare skin on my leg.
“Mommy! You look so pretty!” my daughter, Sophie, cried out in delight.
I ran my hand over her mane and said softly, “Thanks, baby, but you know you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”
“No… I’m a princess. Member?”
“It’s remember,” I gently corrected her. She screwed up her face in annoyance but nodded her head. I bit the inside of my cheek to contain my laughter at how much she hated it when I corrected her. She was so much like her father in that regard.