Read Tainted Love (Book 1) Online
Authors: Ghiselle St. James
Tainted Love (Book 1)
TAINTED LOVE – BOOK ONE PLAYLIST
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are purely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or is used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, music, and/or bands, referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Ghiselle St. James is a Jamaican author who has a never-ending love for written thoughts: poetry, song lyrics and non-fiction. She has been writing erotic nov
els since she was 13 years old which made her popular with the boys (hehe). Writing has been her outlet for most of her life, and will continue to be.
I still hate talking about myself in the third person…
Having graduated in 2010 from Jamaica Theological Seminary, with an honors’ degree in Social Work, the writer in me seemed to reawaken and has yet to go back to sleep.
I completed my first novel in January of 2013 and had never f
elt so accomplished in my life.
I write what’s in my heart. It’s hard to separate my heart from anything I write, and so characters that are real to me often come out.
I pray my passion brings you as much joy as it has brought me.
Tainted Love i
s the second novel I have ever written as an adult. I’d completed it in March 2013 and had never felt more proud of something that I’d done. In its infancy, the novel was called
Her Impassioned Plea
(ridiculous, right?) and I was pleased with the words I’d strung together, the characters and the title. However, so much doubt crept in that it almost didn’t get released.
I let it rest for a while, embarking on book two of the series, and even while I wrote book two, I kept reverting to book one to tweak and add and subtract. Still not confident about all I had written for Impassioned, I shelved it, and soon,
South Row
came to fruition.
After wrapping up book two, I delved into
South Row
, completed it and published it. After giving my editor and another friend of mine excerpts of Impassioned to read, their confidence in what I’d written boosted my own and made the decision easy to make it my next release.
With a new name in tow and new ideas, Tainted Love became what it is now. I hope you enjoy every word and
that you go through the various emotions that writing it brought me through.
More than anything, though, I pray this novel opens your eyes and your heart to the shit children face in this world. It might not be what is outlined in this novel…
it could very well be worse.
Abuse is real ladies and
gentlemen and if you suspect or know of any child being abused…get. Them. Help. The child you save today, could be the adult that saves you tomorrow. Pay it forward.
To everyone who is broken; who think of themselves as beyond love and redemption…this is for you.
“Your past does not define you…you do.”
Ghiselle St. James
“Momma, please, I don’t wanna,” I cry as I try to pull my hand away from mommy. She is dragging me into…
that
room again, and…
that
man is there, waiting for me.
Her palms are sweaty and they feel icky on my hand. She is high, I know it.
“Shut up, you little bitch!” she snarls at me, spinning around and staring at me with those eyes that have not seen love for years.
I could never understand what I did to her. How much can a nine year old do anyway? All I know is that my mommy doesn’t like me very much.
“All this is your fucking fault!” she continues. “He wants you…they always want you.”
And with that, she pulls me forward and pushes me into the room where
he
awaits…with his magic potion. I start crying immediately and back up to a closed door. Fiona has locked me in.
“Well, hello, Little Redd,” the man
I once knew as Uncle Max says with a smile, shaking the bottle of alcohol in my direction. I hate that name. I hate him and I hate Momma for doing this. Mostly, I hate myself for not running away. I am so stupid.
I fall to the ground and bring my knees up to my chin. Wrapping my arms around them, I begin to rock back and forth. It never protects me, but for a moment or two, I feel safe. I try to think of something else, other than what is about to happen. I think of my father, who I never knew and how he might be crying in Heaven for me. I think about a new family. I think about death. Yes, death would be good. At least then, I wouldn’t have to feel this pain anymore.
“You’ll only ever be good on your back, Delilah,” Momma says with such hate that I feel it in my bones.
My back.
Yes, that will be my future.
15 Years Later…
Here I am, laid out naked next to a stranger I met just last week. His body sexily draped across the bed – limp in more than the obvious way – and totally drained from an afternoon’s worth of mind-blowing sexual misconduct.
When he first met me
– not knowing that I was such a powerhouse, a vixen he says, in the bedroom – he was unbelievably afraid of approaching me.
We met at a Christmas party Simone, a friend of mine,
had invited me to. I had glanced in his direction as he spoke with the CEO of the company and noticed that he couldn’t take his eyes off me.
I remember the moment fondly.
“This girl is the life of the party,” Simone babbled referring to me. She was on her fifth glass of champagne and was a little chatty.
She still managed to look stunning in her partially inebriat
ed state; her curly brown hair falling effortlessly around her bare shoulders. The pearl charmeuse, tea-length halter dress she wore hugged her torso perfectly, showing off her best assets – her breasts. She fitted comfortably into her cream and gold soft leather open-toed high-heeled sandals, with a leather strap securing each ankle. I could see why her male co-workers were so stuck on her. She looked beautiful and sexy.
“Oh, honey, no more champagne for you
.” I took the glass she was holding and drank the rest of her champagne. That was my sixth glass, and I was holding my seventh, but I had a greater tolerance to alcohol than she did.
“Oh, my God. He’s coming over here,” Simone’s co-worker –
what was her name?
– whispered in a high-pitched voice.
She seemed very shy and her attire said it all. Her straight blond hair fell to her shoulders with killer bangs almost covering her eyes. She wore a red cap-sleeved linen dress with pleated skirting that fell below her knees and silver pumps. There was no sign of
any cleavage, not anywhere. She was an understated beauty and obviously a virgin, but she was cool to hang out with for the night.
“Holy shit. It’s the guy I was telling you about. One of our bosses
, the asshole. Shh, here he comes,” Simone muttered, obviously flustered.
I laughed at their obvious lack of experience with handsome men. No man was worth being tripped over. No man was
that
handsome. I had to know who this tyrant was that Simone always complained about; the man that – and I quote – “would be irresistible if he was nicer” – end quote. So many nights we’d meet for drinks and she’d be so dejected because this guy made some smart-ass comment about her work ethic, making her feel worthless; but then would do that much more to please him. I never understood the lure. If a guy made me feel like shit, he wouldn’t be worth my time.
“Hello.” His deep, richly smooth voice washed over me – and practically m
ade my center quiver.
Simone’s co-worker blushed shamefully as she saw him.
Sucker.
I turned around to stare
into striking green eyes and a sexy smirk. I can only imagine how many panties were dropped for him on a daily basis from that look alone. My eyes faltered to the glass of champagne in his hand, jealous of the way he caressed the stem. Now I realized why Cadence – that’s her name – was blushing so profusely.
I couldn’t help my eyes from perusing his lean, muscular frame in his black fitted suit. His crisp white shirt with almost invisible silver streaks was open at the top and showed a hint of smooth hair that I just wanted to run my fingers through. He had broad, square shoulders that I wanted to throw my arms around and/or hang from.
God, he was truly magnificent!
The man smelled divine, of aftershave, body wash, the sweetness of the champagne he was drink
ing and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I closed my eyes and inhaled then reopened my eyes, hoping to have gathered my wits about me.
“
Hello,” I said and threw him an innocent, but seductive smile. I watched his eyes widen then soften as he gasped quietly for air.
Yes, fall to my spell, sweetheart.
“
My name is Ben Hayes,” he introduced himself, flashing bright white teeth as he gave me an equally sexy, crooked smile. My breath hitched in my throat. Even his smile had an effect on me.
His wavy, dark brown hair
was in a neatly raked and I’m sure every woman in here wanted to be the ones to run their hand through it and mess it all up. I was having that same fantasy.
Facial hair lightly covered his face and he simply looked the right side of gruff. I had never liked facial hair, but o
n him, stubble looked sizzling and sexily perfect. All I wanted to do was jump his bones.