The right love can build you up…
After a run of lousy luck, Phylicia Phillips is finally close to reclaiming her cherished girlhood home in Louisiana. But before she can buy it back, Jamal Johnson beats her to the punch. The renowned architect plans to completely renovate the old place—and he wants Phylicia to help him! She doesn’t trust Jamal, but she’s helpless to fight the passion building between them.
Hiring the home restoration specialist to help convert the stately Victorian into a B&B was a stroke of genius. Until Jamal finds out the house was in Phylicia’s family for generations. Blindsided by his desire for this alluring beauty, Jamal vows to transform their working relationship into an intimate one. But will threatening troubles from the past keep them from building a blueprint for love?
“Why do you always call me Phylicia?”
The edge of his mouth quirked in a smile. “Because it’s your name.”
“Everyone else calls me Phil.”
“That’s a man’s name. And despite that blowtorch you were wielding a few minutes ago, there’s no denying that you are all woman, Phylicia.”
As he dipped his head toward her, a tiny voice told Phil to move out of his reach. But a much louder voice told her to stay right where she was. It had been way too long since she’d been kissed, and after the day she’d had, Phil couldn’t think of a single thing she needed more.
The moment Jamal’s soft lips touched hers her heart melted. He was gentle in his coaxing, but insistent, his lips enticing her to join in. He cupped the back of her head and slanted his to the side to get a better angle.
Phil heard a moan, but couldn’t tell which one of them had made the sound. Without fully recognizing what she was doing, she linked her hands behind Jamal’s neck and cradled the back of his head. She parted her lips and slid her tongue inside his mouth, losing herself in the kiss.
FARRAH ROCHON
had dreams as a teenager of becoming a fashion designer, until she discovered she would be expected to wear something other than jeans to work every day. Thankfully, the coffee shop where she writes does not have a dress code.
When Farrah is not penning stories, the avid sports fan feeds her addiction to football by attending New Orleans Saints games.
Always and Forever
Farrah Rochon
Dear Reader,
Have you ever run across one of those home makeover shows, and eight hours later discovered that you’ve spent an entire Saturday watching a marathon of episodes? I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve done so once or twice. Okay, maybe more than once or twice.
There’s just something about those shows that draws me in. Perhaps it’s the idea of watching something that was once old and decrepit being transformed into something new and beautiful before my very eyes. I’m not sure what it is, but based on the popularity of these shows, I’m not the only one who loves them.
The blossoming love story between Phylicia Phillips and Jamal Johnson in Always and Forever parallels the transformation that takes place on my favorite home makeover shows. As the couple works to restore an old home, they go through many trials and triumphs, but in the end, find a love that is built to last.
I hope you enjoy their journey, and if you haven’t done so, please pick up the first book featuring the small town of Gauthier, Louisiana, A Forever Kind of Love. And look for the final book in the trilogy coming soon from Harlequin Kimani Romance.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on the Bayou Dreams series. Email me at [email protected], or contact me via Facebook and Twitter.
With love and gratitude,
Farrah Rochon
Many thanks to my critique group member and dear friend Shauna Roberts. Your knowledge of historic properties saved me from many hours of tedious research.
And to Phyllis Bourne.
Thanks for the encouraging daily text messages and endless supply of coffee. I owe you!
For Jasmine Gabrielle Stewart, my favorite Disney cast member. I’m so proud of you.
Be strong and courageous…
for the Lord your God is with you.
— Deuteronomy31:6
Contents
Chapter 1
The soulful strains of Irvin Mayfield’s “7th Ward Blues” streaming from the iPod speakers were drowned out by the buzz saw as Jamal Johnson split a panel of Sheetrock lengthwise down the middle. He stacked the two pieces together and propped them against his truck’s lowered tailgate, then placed another board on the saw table and repeated the process.
Jamal snatched the rag from his back pocket and mopped sweat from his brow. He’d lived in the small town of Gauthier, Louisiana, for over a year now, and he still wasn’t used to this oppressive heat. Arizona saw its share of triple-digit highs, but the added humidity made the air here thick enough to choke on.
He hauled the drywall up the back porch steps of the 1870s Victorian he’d purchased a few months earlier, careful not to drag it. He gingerly navigated through the narrow hallway and, when he reached the dining room, fitted the board against the exposed wall stud and positioned a nail. He slid the hammer from the holder on his tool belt, but it slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor and tearing through the protective plastic sheeting.
“Dammit,” Jamal bit out when he noticed the chip left in the hardwood flooring underneath. He tried to balance the drywall with one hand while stooping for the hammer, but his hand slipped and the Sheetrock fell forward. He hopped out of the way just before it could crash on top of him.
Jamal’s head slumped