Scarred

This is a disclaimer… pretty standard… this book is not about you or anybody you know, any brands listed are their own and are not being advertised. Please don’t give this book to any other persons… it’s not a cold, don’t share the file please… the FBI looks down on that sort of thing… I wrote this work on my own, this is my intellectual property and it is self-edited. And yes, I am the “cover artist” as well. The photo is stock from Hot Damn Designs (btw, thank you for the lovely pic Ms. S) Please do not use any portion of this novel from the cover to the last page without prior permission from the author unless the quote is in reference to a review of the story. So with that being said, all errors are my own and I can’t blame anyone but myself for any and all mistakes. There are numerous erotic elements in this story (in this case, anal play). So please don’t be offended if you (i.e. the reader) choose to explore any further than this page. If you are under the age of consent wherever you are, please read something else for now and not this book until you are legally able to do so. I am not responsible if you try anything I depict in any of my stories this one included.

With that said, enjoy and happy reading!

Publication Date: January 2013

This book is for anyone in need of that quick pick me up. Love is in the air and has the benefit of being totally free (recession friendly!). But I want to give a special thanks to the excellent ladies of Beautiful Trouble publishing. J and J are two awesome divas… See ya’ll on the flip side J

So alone...

Amelia was an author who wrote happily ever afters. She had been badly burned over twenty-five percent of her body after a rabid fan splashed her with lye and her torso along with one arm were affected the worst. She became a shut-in and wrote because it is all she knows. But she never imagines a man could love her, damaged as she was. Every Tuesday she has a grocery delivery, and the man who brings her food is incredibly handsome. Until one day she finds herself unable to deny him and lets him into her home and her heart.

He had been burned by life too...

Benjamin was a small business owner and his best client was Amelia. But he knows that she is a woman with a secret, beyond the scars that she kept well hidden from the world with turtlenecks and makeup. She bought hundreds of dollars in food each week and had a standing order to deliver half to the homeless shelter. That was enough to make him want to get to know her better, but she was unwilling to even learn his name. Until he decides that he wasn't going to wait any longer.

Can Amelia let go of her painful past and find a love worth holding onto?

Prologue: From Beauty to Beast

January 2002

I am one lucky woman.

That was the first thought to cross her mind when she opened her eyes. Amelia was excited beyond belief. As her feet hit the floor that morning all she could feel was a sense of being blessed, even if she was a bit stressed.  Everything that she wanted was within arm’s reach. At just twenty four, she was about to have her first book signing at a local book store that afternoon, and she was  just a few months away from the wedding of her dreams with the man she loved.

Plus the master’s program had already accepted her request to graduate since she would complete her last handful of credit hours at the end of the semester.

She wasn’t vain, but she was a looker. Her eyes were china cut, almost Asian and a gift from her Afro-Cuban father. Amelia was perpetually asked if she were mixed, despite the deep red undertone in her brown skin. The questions tended to be more abrasive when her hair was down. The mass hung to her waist and she had been growing the length her whole life with only minimal trims to ensure the health of the locks. She had full lips and a deep skin tone that proudly proclaimed the Kenyan ancestry of her mother. She wasn’t extremely tall, but at five six, she was just enough not to be looked at as perpetually cute.

Her body was just as nice, with a well formed C-cup above a set of flared hips. Although she was a smidgeon pudgy around the middle, she had a diet planned to begin next week so her gown would be a perfect fit. That way she didn’t have to miss out on celebratory dinners with family and friends the next few days. And there were several that she had to attend so as not to offend the hosts.  

To ensure she looked the part of a serious author and more adult than her years, she chose each garment with care days prior. She put on her favorite glasses, even though she didn’t really need them for every day wear. She wore a pair of wool slacks and cardigan set in white along with a Burberry scarf that was way out of her budget.

Her fiancé, Charles, was supposed to come by in support of her later, but she had to get there a bit early to make sure her table was set up perfectly. Her hair was twisted into a bun with a set of crystal topped chopsticks to hold the strands in place. She completed the look with a simple pearl earring and left the brownstone townhome she shared with the love of her life.

Once she made it across town, she was even more elated than she was to begin with, and the excess emotion was unlike her. Enough to the point where she was a bit shaky and she had a hard time controlling herself. But she had a right to be happy, today was a glorious day and even the sun shone just for her.

The bookstore was a small local one, but it was to kick off a larger set of signings she had established with her agent for additional promotion on her new self-help series, based on personal accounts from people who had learned the art of fostering joy in their lives. The series was called Straight Jacket Diaries and the books were each on a form of self-healing after loss and personal devastation. She had received so many letters and emails about the books in the last few months, that she had a personal assistant who read them all.

There were even a handful from nuts and kooks, but that was part and parcel of being a well-publicized author. Plus, these were the very people her books were for and some needed more than just a book in some cases. But they all deserved some attention from her as paying customers and she made the time to respond to even the most absurd letters so far. She even had one man who claimed to be in love with her, but she recommended a visit to a psychotherapist instead.

After most of the brouhaha and to-do, she found it was exhausting work to sign books all day. She had run out of inspiration after the first hour and just wrote a universal, “Thanks for reading!” after a while. Two hours later, nearly all of her copies were sold, simpered over by patrons and she had finally gotten used to the idea of being almost famous, or at least she was happy that she got her fifteen minutes of fame. The line finally thinned out and she prepared to take care of the last handful of people who had thus far waited patiently for their turn. The next person strode up to the table with a travel mug in one hand and her book in the other.

“In your book, it states that people should get rid of cancers in their life. Like bad influences and situations?” He seemed angry, but Amelia wasn’t sure why. Although the wait in line was longer than even she expected and she chalked his negative attitude and irate demeanor up to that.

“Yes, the second book in the series does touch on that concept briefly. There are times in life where people have to expunge negative influences and that removal is a catharsis.” Amelia took the book from the proffered man before her. He unscrewed the lid from the mug as if to take a drink and she looked back down at the thin volume that represented a year’s hard work, massive research and personal dedication. “Who should I make this out to?”

“It’s for Lilly, bitch.” When she looked up at his use of the expletive she saw the coffee mug swing in her direction. Her hands flung upwards in front of her face. The liquid wasn’t hot as it hit her skin, but a few seconds later she was on fire, every inch of her above the waist felt blanketed with flames.

Chapter One: Rules Are Made to Be Broken

Nine years later

Winter 2011

“Hey Mister B, you’ve got a call. Some nut wants us to deliver groceries to her house. I’ve already told her that we don’t do that, but she refuses to listen to me.” Benjamin heard his stocker call him from the other side of the store.

“Ok, gimme a sec here, Johnny.” Johnny was a nice kid, but young and not the best stock boy he’d ever had either. But he had to keep Johnny as he knew the money from this job went to help support his family. Johnny’s dad was dead now, and his mom was disabled. The little money that came in from the teenager’s evenings here was to help his brothers and sisters. For that reason only, Johnny’s job was secure, and the boy could almost do anything and get away with it.

The phone in Benjamin’s office rang with the transfer, the sound emitted was a shrill pitch for the sleek wall unit. He answered and he could hear heavy panting and panic through the land line.

“Hello, this is Ben Winston. How may I help you?”

“Mr. Winston, this is Amelia Barnett… I live outside the county line and I cannot leave my house. I need groceries and if don’t get something soon I’ll starve. I’m willing to pay well for a delivery.” He had to admit, he was intrigued. The woman sounded just fine to him. Maybe it was something mental. Hell, maybe this call was a prank. They got those from time to time, usually just bored children who asked if his fridge was running or some such shit. It was a part and a parcel of life in the country. Kids got bored and liked attention.

“If you don’t mind, why are you not able to come to the store? We don’t make deliveries, but I may consider it if you have a good reason.”  He had always been a sucker for a sob story.

“I’ve been badly burned and I don’t leave the house. I have had a few incidents on occasion and therefore I don’t leave the house.” She sounded resigned and sad. Benjamin knew that she wasn’t lying. He could hear it in her voice.

By the end of the fifteen minute call, Ben knew he had to help her. He took a list of what she wanted and her card. But he was surprised when she requested he give half of the groceries to the food bank. Ben liked the fact that she was willing to ask for him to help someone else and he decided to double what she set aside for her donation with his own to match.

He closed the store at usual seven p.m., took the groceries he’d left in walk-in freezer out to his car and drove to the outskirts of the county. He knew her house well. It was a beautiful colonial that had rotted into a genteel state of neglectful dilapidation. The couple that lived there died within weeks of each other and had stipulated that they be buried side by side in the grave yard a few miles away. None of their kids wanted the place, or rather wanted to fork over the cash into the repairs needed to make it comfortable. The house sat on the market for three years until it was sold for a fraction of its worth due to the repairs needed and the poor state of the real estate markets.  

When he pulled up the long gravel driveway he saw that the new owner had taken much time and loving care to restore the house to its former glory. The windows were new, and there were several, rich, glossy coats of ecru paint on the structure. The lawn was manicured perfectly and he would bet if he pulled out a ruler, he’d find the grass was a perfect inch from the soil. He walked to the trunk of his Durango and began the arduous task of hefting the multitude of brown paper bags up to the door.

He was nearly finished with the last few bags when the door opened. The woman standing there amazed him, at first in attraction then in ire. Her face was an ode to angels, delicate as the rest of her. She was a tempting toffee color with milk chocolate eyes. Her hair was bone straight and the high cheekbones were a perfect frame for her bowed lips and button nose. She wore a turtleneck shirt, but he saw nothing about her that would let him know she was as disfigured as she claimed earlier.  The idea that she was willing to go so far to get her way disturbed him and he grew angrier by the second.

That’s what I get for letting a sob story make me break my own rules. 

But when he came back with the next brown sack he saw her heft one of the other bags off the porch. Her hands and wrist were mottled, the flesh was tight in appearance and he finally understood what she meant now. She must have not been burned badly in the face, but the rest of her? He wasn’t sure how far the scar tissue extended, but he had to admit he was strangely curious and he bet that was the reason she didn’t leave the house. She probably was asked questions that she didn’t want to answer or she was the recipient of strange looks.