Lapses of Memory follow the exploits of two journalists, Sydney Bellek and Elian Davies, as they travel the globe reporting on various world catastrophes. In one of their encounters they find themselves embroiled in the early stages of the revolution in Iran and only barely escape. A few years later we find them rivals in the search for a scoop on the Lebanese Civil War. Their love is reignited each time they meet, but in the long years following each meeting Sydney forgets him. For his part, Elian knows from the age of seven that they are meant for each other, but when Sydney finally sees the truth, he has lost his memory—literally. Can she make him remember her? Will their new love be enough to replace the old one?
Meanwhile, Sydney’s daughter Olivia chronicles the ups and downs of her parents’ romance, making it difficult to concentrate on her own dilemma—how to choose between the rich and dashing Rémy de Beaumec, who wants to fly her around the world, and the steady, quiet, American-to-the-core, Benjamin Knox, who only wants to make her happy.
Having lived through some of the events that Sydney and Elian confront, I wanted to convey both the excitement and the fear you feel when enmeshed in a world-shattering crisis. As reporters, Sydney and Elian sensed that something important was happening, but couldn’t know the extent or the consequences of it. As lovers, their evolving romance was often interrupted by their ambitions. Coupled with their daughter’s quandary, a happy ending for anyone seemed far from secure. And yet…and yet…I hope you find the story as romantic as I do.
Lapses of Memory, by M. S. Spencer
Secret Cravings Publishing (May 10, 2013)
Ebook, 70,000 words & Print (243 pp).
Romance, Action/Adventure, M/F, 3 flames
Sony Reader Store: https://ebookstore.sony.com/ebook/m-s-spencer/lapses-of-memory/_/R-400000000000001056101
EXCERPT (R): Gurney Sex
She walked into a small storeroom. A wheeled gurney sat in the middle and the walls were lined with shelves of medical supplies. “This must be the first aid closet.”
Elian picked up a box marked TONGUE DEPRESSORS and hefted it. “Let’s hope no one needs these for a while.”
She sat on the gurney and bounced. “Seems comfortable enough.”
He said nothing.
“I might remember a boy in Tangier. He had a cowlick, and pointed ears like an elf’s, and…and…a sharp chin. And he smelled like licorice.”
He moved toward her. “Anise.”
“All right, anise.”
Their eyes locked. “Sydney?”
She floated toward him, fetching up against his chest, where she rested, bumping gently. Her head rose like a helium-filled balloon, her lips drawn inexorably toward his. She hesitated, suddenly afraid. What if this is real?
“It is real, Sydney. It’s always been real. You just refuse to recognize it. Or me.” His hands went to either side of her face.
The wall crumbled. Tears falling, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. They stood swaying, holding on only by mouth, only breaking apart to allow a frenzy of kisses to rain on each other. Hand between her breasts, Elian bent Sydney back and gently pushed her onto the gurney. He kissed her throat and planted kisses down her sternum as he unbuttoned the safari blouse. Motionless, she concentrated on the burning spots where his lips had touched her skin. When he reached her belly button he undid the zipper and continued on.
She writhed on the bed, hoping, hoping he wouldn’t stop. Her pussy dribbled, soaking the silk panties. She said not a word. He tugged at the pants, letting them drop on the floor and buried his face in her vagina. She felt the orgasm approaching, a fast train on a slow track, and pushed his face away. “Come to me.”
He lifted his head to look at her face, his own muddied with desire. In one swift movement, he tore his jeans off and threw them aside. He climbed up on the gurney. As in her long ago dream, his cock pulsed red, beating against her belly. With one hand he spread her thighs and let his penis run up along the inner flesh and deep into her. The gurney began to roll but neither of them paid any attention. He pressed into her, a steadily accelerating motion, reaching ever closer to her heart. She closed with him, so near her nipples grazed his chest, her knees touched behind his back.
They rolled back and forth, a symbiotic wave crashing against the shore, until she whispered, “Elian, we’re there…oh….Elian.” Her clitoris trembled and gave in, just as the gurney hit the wall with a crash. They heard a shout.
“Quick, quick.” He tossed her clothes at her and quickly pulled on his jeans. Except for a slight puffing, he showed no evidence of what they had just done. Sydney stifled the stab of pain his cold dispassion gave her—blue-lined by Elian—and followed his orders.
The shouts had died down, and the two quietly left the room, sidling along the wall until they reached the main terminal. “You have your ticket?” he murmured. She nodded. “The Middle East Airlines counter is down to the left—now run!” and he gave her a mighty shove. She didn’t have time to argue. Behind her a uniformed brigade marched into the terminal, singling out foreigners and checking their passports. She handed the stewardess her boarding pass and hurried out to the plane.
As she reached the bottom step of the airstairs leading up into the plane, she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Elian!” She turned in relief, but before her stood a stranger, a young Iranian boy. He held out a folded note.
She took it and read. “Sydney, I forgot something in the room. Go quickly, don’t look back. I’ll find you again. I’ve always remembered you. Someday you’ll do the same.”
I hope you enjoyed the excerpt and let me know!
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BiographyAlthough she’s lived or traveled in every continent except Antarctica and Australia (bucket list), M. S. Spencer has spent the last thirty years mostly in Washington, D.C. as a librarian, Congressional staff assistant, speechwriter, editor, birdwatcher, kayaker, policy wonk, non-profit director and mother to two fabulous grown children. She has published eight romantic suspense/mystery novels. In an excess of optimism, she recently heaved the entire ho to Florida with a detour to Maine, leaving behind the cherry blossoms, the monuments, and the political hacks.