Flight of Passion: True romance and the obsession for love

  Flight of Passion

  Mollie Mathews

  Blue Orchid Publishing

  Advance Praise for Flight of Passion

  “This is a well written book that tantalises your senses. Will Oliver be able to convince ruby that she loves him enough to disobey her family? Can they find each other when all seems lost? An excellent book that I highly recommend. It will have you laughing with joy and crying with sadness.”

  ~ Marie Fraser

  “Mollie Mathews has written a beautifully scripted story of two people wildly attracted to each other, but too constrained by family expectations to allow themselves to commit. Oliver's parents were too busy with each other to include their son in their lives. Ruby, who had been adopted, felt the desires of her family superseded her own. She is supposed to marry the man of her parents' choosing. Oliver is on a quest to find a cure for his sister's illness. When they meet again after eight years can they move beyond old patterns of behavior or are they doomed to always want, but never have?”

  ~ Jane Whitmeyer

  “This book is a carefully crafted, truly original story. Mollie's wonderfully descriptive narrative paints a picture in which it is easy to lose oneself—I really felt like I had been to Mexico by the time I had finished. Her butterfly theme echoes throughout the book both literally and figuratively. The main characters, Oliver and Ruby, are each conflicted in their own ways. Despite facing challenges, both ultimately find the strength to work through their difficulties to emerge better people, and most importantly, triumph over adversity together. A touching and heart-warming book, well worth a read.”

  ~ Cathy Rioran

  “Fast paced, heart-wrenching, completely unexpected twists, excellent storyline, and a hell of a good read. You just gotta love Mollie’s imagination and expertise in her writing.”

  ~ Rae Waterhouse

  “I fell in love with Ruby and Oliver, they are so good for each other, but both are so filled with garbage that their families filled them with, that they can't see what's in front of them. And when they finally realize that diamonds don't have a hold to what they had, they are about to lose it. The butterflies remind me of how ethereal life is and it is up to us to not waste it, but live the fullest and best we can.”

  ~ Advance reviewer

  “I really enjoyed Flight of Passion! I loved the descriptions of the butterflies and of the setting of the farm in Mexico. Wonderfully descriptive writing that transports you to a golden orchard filled with butterflies. Perfect for a cold winter’s evening curled up by the fire.

  ~ Linda Buckhingham

  By Mollie Mathews

  GEMSTONE BILLIONAIRES:

  THE ITALIAN BILLIONAIRE’S CHRISTMAS BRIDE

  THE ITALIAN BILLIONAIRE’S SCANDALOUS MARRIAGE

  All about the author…

  Mollie Mathews

  MOLLIE MATHEWS writes fun, sexy, passionate contemporary romance. She discovered her first love story on a trip to Paris when she was thirteen, and she’s continued to read them ever since.

  After trying out a few fascinating careers she now lives her dream job as a writer, combining business with wild pleasure. Mollie passionately believes in the power of love to transform people’s lives. Her stories are unashamedly positive, optimistic, full of fun and sizzling passion.

  She has always believed authors are pens in the hand of writing goddesses sending love letters to the world, and loves it when readers write to her saying that her books gave them hope and courage during tough times.

  Mollie follows the sun, dividing her time between New Zealand and exotic locations—wherever she intends setting her next romance novel. She lives with her very own romantic hero, Lorenzo—tall, dark, terribly handsome and fluent in Spanish!

  Visit Mollie at www.molliemathews.com and follow her blog https://molliemathews.wordpress.com

  Copyright

  Published by

  Blue Orchid Publishing

  ISBN: 978-0-9941410-4-0

  All characters, events, and places portrayed in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Mollie Mathews

  The moral right of the author has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Design and Patents Act 1988 (and under any comparable provision of any jurisdiction whatsoever).

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law—without the prior written permission of the author, Mollie Mathews, or the publisher.

  License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  First Published 2017

  First New Zealand eBook and Paperback Edition 2017

  Cover Design: © Hang Le

  www.molliemathews.com

  Contents

  By Mollie Mathews

  All About The Author

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Obsession

  One

  Two

  Three

  Magnetism

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Passion

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Compulsion

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Desire

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Temptation

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Fixation

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Loss

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Possession

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Love

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Epilogue

  Please Leave a Review

  Acknowledgements

  Excerpt The Italian Billionaire’s Christmas Bride

  Dedication

  For Lorenzo, who brings love to life

  PROLOGUE

  Growing up Oliver was left with the impression he wasn't worthy. First by his parents who at the age of four sent him to the bottom of the world. It was as if they didn't know what to do with their infinitely curious and energetic child. It was as if sending him to the most prestigious boarding school in New Zealand absolved them of their responsibility, the responsibility which was every parents—or should be, he thought bitterly—to love their child unconditionally.

  After his run in with a box of matches they told him he would amount to nothing. He proved them wrong. At sixteen he left New Zealand and headed for New York. It was true. If he could make it there he could make it anywhere. With the ruthless determination he was both admired and feared for like King Kong on steroids he quickly climbed to the top of the property acquisition tree.

/>   He was king of the beasts, the man everyone wanted at their dreary New York parties, full of checkbook philanthropists who would never stoop to get close to the people their showy donations benefitted. Parties, like the one where he’d first met Ruby Diaz

  Ruby had fluttered into his life like a breath of fresh air. She had lit up the room with her illuminating presence and dazzlingly rare beauty, not just on the outside, but the inside too. Her authenticity had the scent of violets—too guileless for pretense.

  His darling Ruby. Oliver swallowed hard, refusing to succumb to the wave of angry hurt that swum from his heart to his throat.

  For three blissful years they were inseparable. But no matter how much success he acquired, how extraordinarily wealthy he became, he wasn't good enough for the Diaz’s darling Ruby. He never knew why she flew from his life, disappearing as quickly as she’d arrived. She had said nothing, given him no explanation, not even the courtesy of a call.

  The Diaz family and the way Ruby had callously abandoned him reminded Oliver he would never be worthy—he was unlovable. Perhaps he should thank them for sparing him further hurt. Thanks to them and his hopeless parents he swore never to love again.

  And that suited him just fine.

  OBSESSION

  I would like to be the air that inhabits you

  ~ Margaret Atwood ~

  ONE

  Would selling Butterfly Lovers really free him of painful memories he’d rather forget?

  Common sense told Oliver Hart that Butterfly Lovers was just a painting. An inanimate object, incapable of controlling him. But that was the trouble—it did control him, seducing him with its beauty, twisting his heart with bittersweet memories.

  He’d intended to keep it…her…forever. His heartbeat seemed to almost stop as he thought of Ruby Diaz, the woman who had inspired the painting’s commission. He rubbed his powerful chest, trying to ease the painful tightness that constricted his lungs as he surveyed the crowd gathered for the charity art auction.

  It was time to let them both go. But would he ever be free?

  His gaze swept over the minimalist, exquisitely designed interior, lingering over the priceless abstract by Rothko adorning a charcoal-black wall, at Hillcrest, his newly acquired mansion, and New Jersey’s most expensive country estate.

  Tonight, though, it was Butterfly Lovers which held in its grip women dripping with diamonds, and men clad in Armani. Locked in shared awe, they clustered around the painting, studying every line, every pulsating color.

  Oliver wondered if their eyes ached as his did with a heady mix of pleasure and pain just to stand in its spellbinding presence. Or were they trying to decode the painting’s hidden secrets?

  Like a moth to a seductive flame, his eyes drifted to the bottom of the painting. Nobody, but one other person, would ever be able to decipher the graffiti-styled line of poetry scrawled in throbbing orange along the bottom of the painting.

  Painful memories bled into his consciousness. Why the hell couldn’t he shake her?

  Butterfly Lovers. The painting was aptly named, he mused forcing his mind from the woman who had inspired the purchase. The dancing kaleidoscope of color reminded Oliver of his collection of exotic butterflies—his hobbyhorse and quiet obsession.

  Dazzling sapphire blues, glistening watermelon pinks, pulsating canary yellows with shimmering oranges—flew from the canvas, and ricocheted off the marble floor which had been polished to a mirror-like gleam.

  He had commissioned the painting in a move of uncharacteristic impulsiveness eight years earlier when he was 22 and madly in lust with Ruby. A 20 year-old exotic beauty, she’d fluttered into his life, bringing with her eternal sunshine, and air so fresh it seeped through the iron fortress he’d built around his heart.

  Butterfly Lovers encapsulated the vitality, optimism and positivity she exuded. It was a rare piece which the serious art connoisseurs who gathered here this evening would die to possess. Oliver’s brow furrowed, aware many were drawn here not by the desire to possess the contemporary art world’s finest paintings, but insatiable voyeurs hungry to glimpse the inner world of one of America’s wealthiest and most elusive bachelors.

  Immensely private, he’d never opened any of his palatial homes to the public before. Not homes, houses, he corrected. He congratulated himself as he glanced around the clinical, museum-like surroundings. The dark walls and sophisticated lighting, spotlighting priceless works of art, created a sophisticated, yet austere, facade. If a building was truly a reflection of its owner, as many designers believed, the interior aptly reinforced the stereotypes perpetuated in the media—moody, dark, mysterious and strictly hands-off.

  There was some truth to that, but it was not the whole truth.

  Oliver’s eyes drifted to the spiraling staircase and the heavy gold braided rope barricading the entrance to the upper level. He never let anyone get beyond the ground floor of his psyche. Some tried, but few persevered. No one, other than Ruby had ever penetrated his fortified armor. And that was a mistake.

  He was complicated.

  No doubt someone here tonight would go home and tweet that he was something of a social outcast, and arrogant to boot, Oliver thought as he hovered in the background. The fact was that he preferred his own company to engaging with his guests—predominantly wealthy financiers and bankers.

  He knew his contempt was hypocritical, given he didn’t care who reached into their pockets. But there was something decidedly unpalatable about bankers and the merciless way they preyed on the vulnerable. Tonight, he would gladly encourage them to part with their millions.

  As he glanced at his reflection in the floor length window it struck him how far he had come from the days when just finding money to support himself and his little sister had been a struggle. Resplendent in an immaculately tailored Dolce & Gabbana tuxedo cut from the finest Italian wool, he looked like he belonged.

  Oliver rubbed his hand over his pecs, powerfully aware of the Maori-inspired tattoo coiled over his shoulder that the crisp white linen of his shirt concealed. His hands pulsed with renewed conviction. It was his touchstone—a symbolic reminder that he was fierce and untouchable—a warrior businessman and an impenetrable lover.

  On a good day, he even fooled himself.

  But no matter how easy it was to make millions, no matter how many things he acquired, he’d never found a sense of contentment.

  Except with—

  Oliver bit down on his teeth, grinding them together in a futile attempt to crush memories he was determined not to revisit.

  He glanced at his Rolex. 7:03:02. Irritability coursed through his veins. What the hell was the auctioneer waiting for? He fixed him with a piercing look, firing his unspoken annoyance through the crowd.

  Tardiness was something he abhorred, and doubly-so tonight, he thought as he locked on the important call he had to make. In one hour it would be 8am in New Zealand and his sister, as punctual as he was, would be anxiously waiting.

  As though feeling the pointed tip of Oliver’s anger the auctioneer looked up. His relaxed smile quickly shattered as he was forced to confront the aggressive glint in Oliver’s eyes, the rigid set of his shoulders, the brutally hard line of his jaw.

  The auctioneer banged his hardwood gavel on the sounding block with short urgent thuds, his florid face ballooning as the chatter continued.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention?” More insistent hammering. “Attention! Attention!”

  The chatter fell to an orderly whisper, extinguished finally by the auctioneer’s solemn voice.

  “As you know, tonight is a unique opportunity to savor the extraordinary passions of Oliver Hart. Renowned as an astute business man, Oliver Hart is also an obsessive collector,” he said.

  “He has one of the most significant collations of contemporary art in the world. Not only a man of significant wealth, Oliver Hart, founder of Hart Luxury Hotel Consortium, is a man of outstanding generosity. All the funds raised by tonight�
�s art auction will provide relief for those affected by last month’s devastating earthquake in New Zealand, where he spent much of his childhood.”

  Oliver studied his feet as a thunder of applause quaked through the room, amplifying as it echoed off the walls.

  Childhood.

  The word was like a vicious punch to his stomach. Oppressive memories pounded his brain, and this time there was no silencing them.

  Suddenly he was four years old again. Four years old and frightened. Lonely. Abandoned. Trapped in a jungle of strangers. Abandoned by bickering parents into a boarding school, neither one willing to let the other have custody. Selfishly caring more about winning against each other than the needs of their own child. And then there was his father.

  His jaw locked as he bit down hard, swallowing a toxic cocktail of grief and anger. The brutal beatings hadn’t hurt nearly as much as the verbal abuse and discouragement he’d suffered when he told them he wanted to be like his grandfather and study butterflies. The abuse had only intensified when he turned his back on the legal career his father had wanted. ‘You’ll never achieve anything. I wish you’d never been born. How dare you defy me you worthless piece of shit,’ the pain of these beatings had long healed—but those words still hurt.