Page 1 of Embracing the Change

PROLOGUE

VALENTINO

Nora

Jamie pulled his lips from mine.

My first thought was to shout, “No!”

My second thought was that our kiss was so heated, so desperate, so deep, and it had lasted so…very…long, I needed oxygen.

I dragged in a breath.

In that space of time, Jamie took a step from me, meaning my arms were forcibly detached from where they’d been wound around his broad shoulders. Therefore, with nowhere to find purchase, they floated to my sides as I expended grave effort in solidifying my trembling legs beneath me.

I watched as he tore his hand through his dark hair, turned his head and looked at the floor.

My mind wasn’t working properly, considering it was busy dealing with not only allowing me to remain upright, but also the array of pleasant sensations coursing through my body. Sensations I hadn’t felt in so long, I forgot I could feel them.

But when my brain started to click in…

When what I was seeing in the haggard expression in Jamie’s handsome profile started to penetrate…

I felt a tightness start to form in the small of my back.

I was not feeling haggard.

For the first time since I met him all those many years ago, I was feeling hopeful.

And for the first time in years—nay, decades—I was feeling truly and completely alive.

“Jamie?” I whispered, and I didn’t like the tone of my voice. It was hesitant. Weak.

I was neither hesitant, nor weak.

Ever.

He looked to me, the drawn expression gone, there was a different tightness in his striking features now, and it corresponded with the steely light in his sky-blue eyes.

And his deep voice with that delightful touch of Texas twang he either couldn’t or refused to filter out after all his years living in the city was firm when he stated, “That was a mistake.”

If he’d slapped me across the face, I wouldn’t have been more offended.

This was when I took a step back.

As my feet moved, those beautiful blue eyes framed with a fringe of thick black lashes dropped to my fabulous Valentino red Roserouche sandals, and when he looked at my face again, I was treated to yet another expression from the magnificent Jameson Morgan Oakley.

Chagrin and gentleness.

Though, not only that.

Worst of all (far worse)…understanding.

“Nora,” he murmured, beginning to lift a hand my way.

“No,” I said coldly.

His hand dropped and his lips thinned before he tried again. “Perhaps we should talk this through.”

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