Pure Abandon Copyright © 2015 by Jeannine Colette
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations, www.okaycreations.com
Interior Design by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2015
www.JeannineColette.com
For Nicole
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Because You're Dying to Know...
Acknowledgments
About the Author
I’m standing on a corner in the rain. How did I get here? How did I come to this point in the road?
The corner is wet, my clothes are soaked, but I can’t move. I’m here to see him.
Him.
There he is. Walking out the front door of the hotel. Right where he’s supposed to be.
Through the parting umbrellas, I can see his face. Those golden eyes and chiseled chin striking alongside his broad shoulders and strong thighs.
He’s carrying an umbrella, shielding him from the rain.
So in control. So dry.
He’s wearing grey. That’s the color. The color that defines my life.
Nothing is black and white.
Just grey.
I want to run, dash across the street and grab him. Hold him in my arms, feel his tongue in my mouth.
I want to caress him, feel his hand under my skirt.
But my legs are lead. I can’t move.
He’s waiting for me. This is my moment.
But do I turn to him or run away?
Far away.
“It’s your turn.”
It’s three a.m. and the baby is crying… again. Jackson came into our lives a year ago and has been the joy of my life. I love his little smiles, but not at three a.m. His teeth are coming in and it’s as painful to me as it is for him. I haven’t slept in weeks.
Hell, I haven’t slept in a year.
Crawling out of bed, I throw on my robe and head down the hall to the nursery.
“What’s the matter, sweet boy?”
Jackson’s sobs stream down his face. My poor, sweet angel always looks so sad in the middle of the night. I scoop him up, and head toward the glider.
“There, there. It’s okay.”
And that’s all he needs.
He slumps in my arms as peaceful as ever. A little piece of heaven in my hands. But while he sleeps, I lie awake. Once I’m up, I’m up.
There are a few things in life I know to be certain. The best coffee beans are grown in Guatemala, Humphrey Bogart was the greatest actor of all time, the Mets are the most underrated team in baseball and I am unequivocally, madly in-love with my husband and son.
Though, sometimes, I question the husband part when I hear the words, “It’s your turn.”
With Jackson asleep, I head back to the bedroom. It’s 3:45 a.m.
“Is he in bed?” Gabriel asks, sounding like he’s been up for the last hour. Wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs, his lean six-foot-two frame takes up most of the bed, leaving me a tiny space in the corner.
“He is. If you were up, you could have gotten him.”
“It was your turn.” His voice becomes slightly muffled as he rolls over and hugs his pillow.
If someone had told me that drunken night at McCloon’s this was the life we would lead, I wouldn’t have believed them.
But here we are… taking turns.
I take a deep breath before sliding back into the bed. Today is a big day for me. After walking away from a career I loved and worked so hard for, I’m finally going back.
Two years ago, I gave it up. I’d just found out I was pregnant, and due to a complicated pregnancy, the doctor ordered me on bed rest. I had been working eighty-hour weeks, scouting locations all over the country and field producing for a production company. Once the doctor said I had to stop for the sake of my baby, I didn’t think twice.
One day, with my feet propped up on the arm of the sofa, lying on my back, Gabriel sat down beside me and we had a major discussion. We decided if my job was too high stress to grow a baby, then it certainly wasn’t the type to raise a baby with. I lay in bed for seven months and spent the last thirteen at home with my son.
And while I’ve enjoyed my time with Jackson, I always knew I was going back.
Working is in my blood. My father was the most disciplined person I knew. I like to think I got my work ethic from him. My mother is another story. Her job was to look pretty and spend money. I never wanted to be like her.
It was difficult to find a new job in my field that met Gabriel’s demands—no travel, easy commute, time with the family—so once Malory called to tell me there was an opening at Asher-Marks Communications, I jumped on board. For one, it’s an incredible job that’s close to home and offers little travel. More than that, I get to work with Malory again.
Malory and I met at a small production company six years ago. I was fresh out of college and ready to take on the world. Five years my senior, Malory was my mentor. My very cool mentor with whom I gossiped over pink margaritas at Rosa Mexicana. But while my life went the marriage and baby route, her career blossomed, taking her to senior producer of Asher-Marks Communications, producing concerts, award shows, and even the Super Bowl halftime show. I was so consumed with my at-home life that I chose nights at home with Gabriel over soirees at Cipriani. My Facebook page has honeymoon photos and baby pictures. Hers has pictures of cocktail parties and Twitter posts from celebrities. A lot can happen in two years.