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Her Secret: Secret Pleasures, #3

Her Secret: Secret Pleasures, #3

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Her Secret: Secret Pleasures, #3

86 pages
51 minutes
Jun 19, 2015


Jamie Lennox is the first man that Susannah ever loved, but now he’s different, dangerous and more devastatingly attractive than ever before.

Their reunion is passionate and provocative, a thrilling exchange of power and pleasure that leaves them both shaken by its breathtaking intensity.

Just one night with Jamie isn't enough for Susannah though. This time, she wants it all. But does he? Can this lover from her past be her future, in body, heart and soul?

Her Secret is the third story in the sizzling Secret Pleasures series.


Jun 19, 2015

About the author

Portia Da Costa is a British author who has lived and worked in West Yorkshire, in the north of England, all her life. She began her writing career almost by mistake, when she was asked to write a story for an artist friend to illustrate. A librarian at the time, and a voracious reader since childhood, Portia had never considered becoming an author, but not one to shun a challenge, she took up her pen and wrote her first-ever piece of fiction, a melodramatic tale of the doomed romance between a mortal woman and an unusually handsome and nondecrepit zombie. The story was rubbish, of course, but Portia enjoyed the creative process so much that she resolved to learn how to write properly. After a number of years writing purely for pleasure, Portia's first published story appeared in 1991, and was about a sexy ghost this time. Since then, she's gone on to write well over a hundred stories for magazines and anthologies, and she's also produced almost thirty novels across a variety of genres. Although she's written gentler tales in her time, she's known best of all for her sizzling-hot erotic romances, and her steamy contemporary Suite Seventeen, won the 2007 Romance B(u)y the Book Best Contemporary Erotic Romance Award. Chance of a Lifetime, a November 2008 SPICE Brief, was Portia's first-ever work for Harlequin Books and represents the fulfillment of a long-cherished dream. Her very first attempts at writing for publication were category-length semisweet romances targeted at Mills & Boon. None of these early efforts was successful, but Portia's deep yearning to write for the world's best-known romance publisher has never waned. Portia is a now full-time author and lives in a small, typically Yorkshire town with her husband of many, many years, and also the three beautiful cats they both adore. When she's not writing, she likes to read, just generally chill out and watch television. A lot of television. She also loves to spend time online with cyber friends at her favorite writers' message boards and on social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter. Among her other interests are art, fashion and popular science, and she also shares her husband's passion for the military history of World War Two. Portia loves to hear from her readers via her email: portiadacosta@gmail.com

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Her Secret - Portia Da Costa

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About Portia

Books by Portia Da Costa

Their Secret - excerpt

Copyright Statement

Chapter One


‘Who is that man over there? The one with the hair, talking to Ben’s dad?’

I don’t know why I’m asking Maggie that question. I already know the answer.

The man with the hair is the first man I ever had sex with and his name’s Jamie Lennox. I wonder if he still goes by ‘Jamie’ though? Might he have gone all grown-up and call himself ‘James’ now that well over a decade has passed?

No, somehow I’ve got a gut feeling he’s still ‘Jamie’. Even if almost everything else about him seems to have changed.

‘I think he’s an old university friend of Ben’s. Rather dishy, isn’t he? I’m not usually one for guys with long hair, but it looks great on him.’ Maggie gives my long-lost lover a scrupulous once-over, as if she’s scoring him on his various ‘assets’ even though I know she’s completely devoted to her boyfriend, Alastair.

‘Naughty, naughty.’ I grin and try to sound nonchalant, even though I’m far from it. ‘You’re spoken for, woman. Or as good as.’

Maggie blushes and looks flustered. Have things gone further than we all realise?

‘I can still look, can’t I? Nothing wrong in that. And anyway, he only seems to have eyes for you, Suze. He keeps looking over here at you. Are you sure you don’t know him?’

‘Positive.’ You’d never know I didn’t make a practice of lying, considering how the fib rolled off my tongue.

‘Well, you should get to know him then. This is a wedding, after all. People are supposed to get off with each other.’

I can’t. Can I? It’d be too weird. A bizarre coincidence that the guy I once had a serious thing with at high school just happens to be an old buddy of the new husband of one of my best friends. And we didn’t really part on the very best of terms either.

As I think that, he looks across again and lasers me with those stunning green eyes of his. I’ve never forgotten them. Never forgotten the fire in them looking down on me while he was inside me. The shoulder-length hair and the weathering of the intervening years, those things make him different; but his eyes haven’t lost any of their power. Or their unblinking, riveting gaze.

He says something to the person he’s with, clearly excusing himself. Oh God, he’s coming over, isn’t he? Somehow it suddenly seems important to take control and get my act together, even though memories of being with Jamie are making my knees go weak.

‘You’re absolutely right. I’m going in!’ I tell Maggie, ‘Wish me luck!’

‘I don’t think you need it. You look fabulous today, and he obviously fancies you. It’s a done deal, kiddo.’ She gives me a quick hug and then speeds away in search of her beloved Alastair.

The room is crowded and hectic with jolly wedding guests, and Jamie has to weave his way between them. As do I, approaching him. But like in a movie, it’s as if there’s nobody else here and everyone else blurs away.

He looks stunning. He is stunning. The epithet ‘tall, dark and handsome’ might have been coined especially for him, and his black clothing—a leather jacket, black shirt, and black jeans—only amplify the effect. He clearly does his own thing at all times rather than conform to the traditions of wedding-guest attire. He wasn’t quite such an individualist all those years ago.

‘Suzie,’ he says softly when we’re face-to-face.

The way he says it whisks me back across the years and hurls me into the depths of my first hard crush on him, the desire I felt. Nobody calls me that now. It’s either ‘Suze’, or ‘Susannah’. But ‘Suzie’ sounds perfect on his lips, his name for me when I was his.

He smiles down at me. ‘To use a cliché, fancy meeting you here. You look wonderful. More beautiful than ever.’

The outrageous compliments out of the blue throw me into a tailspin, stealing any smart, snappy words I might have uttered. It’s as if I remember every second of our time together, especially the intimate bits.

Oh, how I loved him. I couldn’t get enough of him. But then we parted, and that bit of my memory is fuzzier. It was hard, I know, and it hurt, even though it was my choice. But it seemed like the best thing for us both at the time.

Afterwards, though, I wasn’t so sure.

‘Ditto,’ I finally blurt out and then laugh. I sound so dumb, so gauche. So bemused by the intersection of the past and the present. ‘Love the hair!’ I nod at the beautiful black silk fall that brushes his shoulders. ‘It’s a small world though, isn’t it? You’re Ben’s uni friend, I understand?’

He nods now. He’s scrutinising me intensely, but his expression is guarded too. He’s giving far less away than I am, that’s for sure.

‘And I’m a friend and workmate of Sarah, the bride.’

We’re standing here, face-to-face, locked in this strange moment and very much in the way of everything, at a bottleneck in the room. Other guests jostle past us, some excusing themselves, others not so much, tut-tutting a bit.

‘Look, I saw a smaller bar across the foyer. Shall we go and get a drink there?’ His hand settles on my elbow to guide me, and it’s like electricity. His green eyes flare as if he felt the same jolt of reaction.

‘Sounds great. I’d love to.’

He pauses momentarily. ‘Unless you’re with someone, of course?’

‘Nope. I’m all on my own. A singleton. Fancy-free.’ Gah, that sounds a bit desperate, and ridiculous, as if despite everything, I’m trying to pull him.

Maybe I am trying to pull him? My body’s screaming at me that I want him. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe it’s best just to wing it. See how the reminiscences go, whether there are any lingering hard feelings. I lead the way out, heading towards the foyer and the small bar beyond.

‘What’ll you have?’ he asks when we’re settled on two stools.

I’m not sure which I’m more conscious of: the way my skirt’s risen

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