Read Passion By Control (Passion Series Book 2) Online
Authors: J. A Melville
Passion by Control
Book Two in the Passion series
By J.A Melville
I have so many people I need to thank for having faith in me despite me being plagued with insecurities at times.
To the lady who first asked me to start writing I thank my friend who is like my sister, Andrea. I thank Lorraine for always having faith in my abilities as a writer, even when I doubted myself. I can’t forget Sharon too for her encouragement and for providing me with things to laugh about when I was taking it all too seriously.
I want to thank Danielle, Debbie, Karen, Mary and Katherine who read my books long before publishing and who keep me on the straight and narrow. To my wonderful friends and PR ladies Tracy and Jess, the ladies from Sweet N Sassy Book A Holics and SNS Authors who have had to endure my endless questions given my painfully inadequate computer skills, I give a heartfelt thank you.
I also want to give a special thank you to Tasha; who has been incredibly supportive.
To the ladies from Controlled who provide hours of distractions for me and who keep me entertained when I’m supposed to be writing I say thank you.
I give special thanks to one of my closest friends, Rachael who puts up with my constant Facebook messages. Not only is she there every day despite us living at opposite ends of the planet, she happens to be a very talented author.
Thank you to all the ladies who have been there since book one; you help me far more than you will ever probably realise.
Thank you too, to the new friends and wonderful bloggers I’ve met recently, who have kindly taken it upon themselves to promote me.
I have to give thanks to another lady, a very special lady who is determined to make it so more people know of me and who very kindly took the time to make my website for me. I can’t thank you enough Lori.
I need to give special thanks to Melly, aka Ravannah, for being my fuck but seeking friend. She hunts down my fuck buts and points them out to me. Thank you so much for drawing my attention to something I had no idea I was doing. (It’s a private joke, if you’re wondering what that’s all about.)
Then of course, I want to thank my partner Roger and our three children, Bianca, Jesse and Reilly who have had to suffer through hastily constructed meals, a less than tidy home, my vague behaviour and me seemingly always having my head buried in my laptop. I'm sure they have found me frustrating on more than one occasion and I've no doubt they got sick of talking to the top of my head.
An extra special big thank you to my daughter Bianca who designed the cover for this book since she knows her mother is technologically challenged.
I can't write this without thanking all my English teachers from back in my school days many moons ago who always told me I should consider a career in writing when I grew up. Well, it might have taken me awhile, but I finally did as you all suggested, thank you. All of those people who have been there throughout my short writing career and never let me give up, I say THANK YOU.
About the Author
From my teenage years, all I wanted to do was become a writer one day. Even now as an adult woman with a partner and three children who are not so little anymore, I've always lived with my head in the clouds, a dreamer, often amusing myself with my own imagination.
It might have taken me awhile to finally live my dream, but I did it. I hope to one day be good enough to stand beside the many talented writers out there who have kept me entertained with their wonderful stories over the years.
I live in a sleepy country town in Tasmania, Australia with my partner and three children plus our 4 cats, dog and cattle.
I've had to overcome many emotional obstacles along the way to get to this point and attempting to self-publish a book does tend to make a person feel like they've thrown themselves in at the deep end of the pool. Here's hoping some of you actually like what I write and save me from drowning in the deep end as I probably forgot to mention, I can't swim.
J. A Melville.
© Copyright J. A Melville. 2nd edition May 2015.
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No parts of this book can be copied unless permission is given by the author for quotes to be used for reviews etc.
This book is fiction. The characters are fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
This book is the work of the writer's imagination.
Cover photo used under license from Shutterstock.com.
Cover image designed for the author by Bianca Eberle.
You know when people look at me, some say, “Now there’s a nice girl.” Seriously?
Ok, I’m not nasty, but I’m not exactly what some might call a nice girl either.
I know some look at me and think because I’m 5 foot four and slender as a reed, as my Grandma used to call me, that I’m a pushover. Yeah, try me!
I’ll take a lot of shit but if I go off, trust me; you don’t want to be around for that.
Most people don’t know me though. I’ve only recently arrived in Hobart, the biggest city in Tasmania, to work and managed to land myself a job at the city’s most popular nightclub. I’m working as a barmaid, but I want to talk to the manager Terry, into letting me audition to sing on live band nights, since that’s my first passion, singing. Of course the club is just a ruse to hide my real job, but you’re going to have to wait to find out what that one is.
I really can sing, and I’m good too, better than I think most people expect me to be. I was just going to have to wait for the right time to speak to Terry though. Hitting him up for gigs during my first week employed in his club probably wouldn’t be my finest move.
My name is Sirene Devereaux, and what most don’t know about me, since I don’t exactly broadcast it everywhere I go is, I’m a witch. I’m not one of those ‘practicing’ witches, where a bunch of women get together crapping on about their Earth Mother and other bullshit as they pretend to be witches. No, I’m the real deal, the genuine article, the real McCoy, the one who can actually turn you into a toad if you piss me off and yes, I’ve done it.
Guess that means I’m not entirely human, but you wouldn’t know it to look at me. I still look like everyone else, I just have the ability to make a person break out in pus oozing sores or I can turn it around and give you flawless skin. It just has to do with my mood and whether you piss me off or not. So I guess in the words of Clint Eastwood from Dirty Harry, I have to ask, “Do you feel lucky?”
“Hey Sireen, Siren, Sire, oh whatever the hell your name is, can you go out the back and bring a box of bourbon out to the bar?” The young barman, Joey, Johnny, something starting with J anyway, called to me.
“It’s Sirene.” I muttered and he elbowed me grinning.
“Is that Siren, like the noise? So do you go off like a fire engine siren, ambulance or police?” He asked, grinning at me in that stupid, I’ve just said something I think is hilarious, kind of way, and I groaned silently.
Forcing a smile to my lips I said. “You know I’ve never heard that one before.”
God I was tired of every asshole out there telling the same old lame jokes about my name. Ok, so my parents must have hated me, and thought calling me Sirene which was pronounced Siren, like the bloody sound, was a fucking great idea, despite it not being spelt the same way. Somehow the fact that it’s Sirene, with an ‘e’ is supposed to make all the difference. Still, it doesn’t exactly make my life any easier or stop the number of idiots that make fun of my name.
As I looked at the grinning fool before me, Joey, that’s right, his name was Joey, I smiled until I was sure my face was going to split. Well it was a better alternative to me splitting his face open. I could feel my hands balling into fists by my side as I fought not to smash the stupid smile off fuckwit’s face.
Again, due to my size, everyone assumed I was some weak, helpless little female but I’d grown up in the country, in the Hunter Valley of New South Wales of mainland Australia, with very few creature comforts, and battling to survive on my Grandmother’s farm.
My hippy parents had died when I was just a little girl, and I’d been raised by my Grandmother who not only had me to care for, but she fostered six other kids too, so it had been a full house. Grandma had been a good, kind woman, but she expected us all to work around the farm. Nothing came for nothing in her book.
It was through her that I discovered that I had some things about me that weren’t quite normal, more magical. It was through her, that I found out that I was a witch and a powerful one too. The last in a long line of them that dated right back nearly 700 years, back to when my family had lived in Europe.
“Hey Sirene, snap out of it, I need that bourbon here now.” Joey’s voice reluctantly dragged me out of my daydreaming and I apologised before hurrying off out the back to do as he asked. I couldn’t afford to inadvertently piss off the staff on my first week. I needed this job until I could find something better.
When I came back with the box on a trolley, I unloaded the bottles into the area under the bar, before picking up a spray bottle of cleaner and a cloth. I headed for the main bar, to go and start wiping down tables ready for when the evening crowds began arriving.
Tonight was my first real shift during the busy time and the busiest times were Friday and Saturday nights. I was nervous if I was honest with myself, about how I would go. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself or completely stuff up and lose my job. Glancing up at the clock, I knew I had to go and change into the uniform the women had to wear that worked the floor. Since I was working the floor tonight, that meant me.
At least working the floor didn’t sound too complicated. All I had to do was walk around taking orders in the room where the live bands performed and hand them in to the bar staff. Once they filled them, I’d take the drinks back to the customers.
Not everywhere in the club worked that way, but since some local group, Battle-axe were performing, I was one of the four girls working the room. I had already seen what I had to wear and was in two minds about it. It was the typical clothing that belittled women, but at the same time, it wasn’t as revealing as it could have been. Still, if I was unlucky, I’d spend half the evening fighting of drunken men that thought it was ok to maul the barmaids as they walked past.
Once I’d finished wiping down tables, I headed out to the women’s locker room to change into my uniform if that’s what it could be called. It consisted of a short black skirt, not tight. It was made from some soft sort of material that flared out around me if I spun in it. I didn’t anticipate doing a lot of spinning this evening since I was there to serve drinks, not try out for the Australian Ballet; but if I did spin, it would be to fend off groping hands from drunken men.
I slipped the blouse on, although blouse might be too generous a term. It was white, fitted and hugged my body like it had been spray painted on me. It was off the shoulders, kind of like a modern day, more figure hugging, peasant blouse. Fortunately it was more comfortable than I expected but it still posed a potential problem with idiot men thinking it was ok to hook the front and pull it down for the great reveal.
Ok, I had boobs, but not huge ones, so maybe the great reveal might have been stretching it a bit. Still, boobs or no boobs, I wasn’t going to appreciate it, if any men thought they could try and get a look at my chest.
I just hoped that if enough men pissed me off, I would be able to rein my temper in, because my temper had gotten me into trouble in the past, and I’d used my powers to do things I probably shouldn’t have done. Guess that’s why I’d taken off and gone on a working holiday in Europe. I’d had the chance to see where my ancestors came from and it was during my time in Italy that I’d met a couple who were originally from Australia. They had lived in Hobart but had secretly fled to Italy, and once they became aware of my abilities, I had been hired to ‘work my magic’ on someone here in Tasmania.
My clients were not your average people, but then neither was I, so that worked out perfectly. I got lucky and landed the job at the club although I didn’t really need it, since my Italian client was paying my way, but appearances are everything and I needed some sort of employment to hide the true nature of my time in Hobart.