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About the author:
With personal research, native New Yorker, former model, wife and mother Meredith Cagen creates a modern fantasy world of New York High Society with Sex and the City type adventures. Experience the thrill of being there.
What inspired you to write your book?
Falling in love with the wrong guy and feeling bad about it. Falling in love with the wrong guy and feeling good about it.
Here is a short sample from the book:
It is apparent both of us feel self-conscious. He stands up, quickly walks over to me, and kisses me.
This is the moment I have dreamed about.
But my lips do not respond. I’m frozen, a statue. I’m not succumbing to temptation. I’m strong and respect my marriage.
He pulls away from my unresponsive body. Our eyes lock.
I’m surrendering to this overpowering sensation to draw him close to touch his face, his neck, and his lips.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a long time for me. Maybe you need to try again.”
What am I saying? What am I doing? Where is my so-called integrity?
He smiles, leans in, and kisses me again. This time, I’m not in shock and respond. The feel of his warm lips against mine surpasses my expectations. His lips are firm and soft at the same time. He smells good. Is he wearing cologne? His hard body is pressed up against mine and my breasts are forced against his chest. I don’t remember ever being this physically excited.
He places his arms around me snugly. As his hands wander, fear radiates throughout my body. I don’t like this temporary loss of control.
His kiss is the kind of kiss that informs me he means business, particularly as his hands make their way down my body. I quickly back away from him.
I’m panicking. Am I so naïve and stupid it never entered my mind this would happen?
Tanya’s words echo in my head.
“Lindsay, you are clueless.”
I have a life-altering decision to make. Is this how
relationships develop nowadays? Clearly, I’m not ready to be intimate with him.
Daydreaming about romance is a far cry from getting naked and having sex with someone. I doubt he even knows my middle name, and I don’t know his. That is one of my requirements for becoming intimate –- people should at least know each other’s middle names. And besides, I do not have sex, I make love.
Deciding I’m unprepared for this, I stutter, “I have to go home now.”
My sex drive has been suppressed for years. But I’m tingling and whatever is beyond tingling now.
I’ll wait for the right circumstances and ideal conditions before making love with him. Make love with him, am I nuts?
Oh my goodness, I’m actually considering making love with him and being unfaithful. Who am I?
As an experienced philanderer, he knows I’m willing before I do.
He embraces me and proclaims, “I can see you’re scared.”
He gently puts his arms around me. He picks me up and carries me into his bedroom. I’m frightened he’s going to:
1) Break his back.
2) Drop me onto the floor.
3) Laugh when he sees me naked.
He looks purposefully into my eyes.
“I know you want this. We want this.”
He gently drops our bodies onto his bed. He removes his
shirt and we start kissing. I can’t remember the last time I was kissed like this. I’m like a teenager, giddy and suddenly silly.
My body is shaking with his every kiss and I’m trying to figure out when I shaved my legs last. How hairy are they?
He has a king-sized bed covered with a brown paisley comforter. The bedroom walls have lightly striped wallpaper and are covered with framed photographs. The wood floor is bare except for a large shearling rug covering the empty space between the bed and the dresser.
Sunlight floods through the windows at 11 a.m. I start thinking about the loose skin on my stomach. What are the odds of my stretch marks disappearing? Or him not noticing them?
This is the first man besides Grant I have ever been with. And I can barely remember the last time Grant and I were intimate. I’m frightened. The music is soothing. We’re listening to Sinatra. How and when did the music go on?
“Lindsay, you are beautiful.”
He’s caressing my face.
Believing him, I feel beautiful, and lucky to be here with
him. But what am I supposed to say? My vocal cords are paralyzed as he kisses me.
“You are special to me,” he whispers.
He’s pulling my hair, while kissing me. What is this? My head is stimulated. Wow, no one has ever done this to me before and I’m liking it.
He unhooks my bra and removes it. His face is buried between my breasts and he kisses each one softly.
Okay, I have to do something. I’m lying here mute and like a lump of clay.
His face and tongue are working themselves down my body as he slides my panties off.