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  Escape From Reality

  Invitation To Eden

  Copyright © 2014, Adriana Hunter

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Tangled Press, Inc.

  http://www.AdrianaHunter.com

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  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and places are solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, including events, areas, locations, and situations is entirely coincidental.

  Welcome To Eden

  Where reality is whatever you wish it to be…

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  About The Author

  Invitation To Eden

  Also By Adriana

  Chapter One

  Leila Connors stepped into the elevator, dropped her bags at her feet, and punched the button for her floor. As the doors slid shut, she closed her eyes, rolling her head from side to side in an attempt to stretch the muscles in her neck. The persistent knot between her shoulders that had been there since she boarded the plane home from Austin resisted any attempt by her to unknot. She breathed out a deep sigh of frustration, looking forward to a nice dinner, a hot bath, and then bed. She winced at a twinge of pain in her neck; scratch dinner. She’d head straight to the bath and then get some much needed sleep.

  The Romance Writers Association conference had been an absolute disaster. Leila had signed up for an intensive workshop with, among others, her favorite romance author, Cheryl Bullard, and had submitted the opening of her latest work in progress. But the critique had gone downhill right from the reading of her opening sentence. Everything that could be wrong with her manuscript was, or so it seemed. The critique felt endless and by the time it was over, Leila was limp with embarrassment and exhaustion. She felt completely defeated.

  The elevator doors swished open and she sighed again, picking up her bags, exhaustion etching its way up her back. She’d have sworn someone put rocks in her luggage; they seemed to grow heavier with every step she took. But her apartment was just at the end of the hall. And then she could begin the process of forgetting about the horrible trip and get back to her life.

  Stumbling down the corridor, she finally made it to her apartment, immediately noticing a small cream-colored envelope tucked beneath the door, its edge peeking out. Oh God, it was probably from the building super or her landlord. Her sigh this time was louder, her mind running through all the possible scenarios, none of them good, which would result in a note being left under her door. Had a tenant in the upstairs apartment forgotten to turn off the water and her apartment had been flooded? Had she, herself, left the water running?

  Her bags hit the floor again and she quickly unlocked her door, pocketing the key. She bent and retrieved the envelope, turning it over, her confusion only deepening. Her name on the envelope was handwritten in a delicate script, flowing and elegant. She could almost swear it looked like it had been written with a quill pen.

  This was no note from her landlord or the superintendent. Curiosity piqued, she slid a finger beneath the flap and extracted a thick, folded creamy sheet of paper. She unfolded it and began to read.

  Leila’s eyes widened in disbelief as she read the note. This had to be a joke, someone’s idea of sick humor. She read the note again, her brows drawing together. It couldn’t be.

  “Bad news?”

  Leila jumped, startled, clutching the note to her chest as she turned. Her neighbor, Jordon Richards, was standing behind her, peering over her shoulder.

  “Jordon. No, um…not really. Just…it’s an invitation.”

  “Oh, to a party?” His eyes lit up and he favored her with what she thought he probably considered a charming smile. “How fun.”

  Much to her consternation, Jordon leaned against the wall next to her. They’d gone out once, for drinks in the hotel lobby next door. Leila had been taken by his boyish good looks; high cheekbones, blond hair, perfect teeth. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried himself with all the confidence of a real man, so it hadn’t taken much for her to get caught up in the perfect gentleman.

  Or so she’d thought. She’d eagerly agreed to drinks, carrying the fantasy that maybe she’d finally found the man of her dreams, living right across the hall from her of all places. Perhaps her luck was about to change and a real relationship would blossom.

  But Jordon had turned out to be as boorish as they come, interested in only talking about himself and his many successes. The drinks devolved into a walk outside, even though Leila wasn’t dressed for a midnight ramble, where he insisted on telling her just how lucky she was to be on a date with him. She’d finally gotten him to take her home, desperate to escape. Sometime early in the evening, she’d decided he would not be invited into her apartment for a nightcap. But Jordon had other ideas. He’d pressed her against the wall outside her apartment, swooping in for a goodnight kiss that turned into an uncomfortably long and intimate one, far too intimate for Leila’s liking.

  She’d wiggled out from beneath him, pleading an early day at work before finally disappearing into her apartment. She had tried to avoid him ever since.

  “So, are you going?”

  Leila blinked at him. “Going? Oh, um…no, it’s not to a party. It’s, ah, business related.”

  “Oh, what a shame. We could have had a good time together. I would have been happy to go with you.” He detached himself from the wall, moving closer, shifting his body so that he had her pressed against the door of her apartment. His cologne overwhelmed her as he leaned closer, his hot breath fluttering over her neck.

  “I had a good time, Leila. We should go out again. Or, we could always stay in.” He ran his hand up her arm, squeezing her with long fingers.

  “Jordon, really. I just got home…I’m tired.”

  “Then staying in would be perfect.” He leaned in closer still, his mouth coming down on hers as his hand moved from her arm to slide across her breast, squeezing hard.

  Leila stiffened at the touch of his lips on hers and the rough touch of his hand, appalled by his audacity. As his tongue probed her tightly clamped lips, he thrust his knee between hers, parting her legs, rubbing his thigh against her body.

  The crack of her hand against his cheek was surprisingly loud and more painful than she would have imagined. Jordon jerked back instantly, his eyes going dark, brow furrowed.

  “What the hell, Leila?”

  “I…I’m…” An automatic apology rose to her lips, but that wasn’t really what she wanted to do. Fumbling behind her, she opened the door to her apartment, reached down, and grabbed her bags, backing through the door. Jordon took a step forward, but she slammed the door before he could get inside.

  She looked at the closed door a moment then quickly reached out, turning the lock. There was a thud from the other side, possibly Jordon kicking the door, and a muffled curse. Leila took an instinctive step backward, her hand on her throat.

  Then there was silence and she ventured forward after a moment, peering through the peephole. She caught a glimpse of Jordon entering his apartment and heard the resounding slam of his door.

  Leila turned, heading for the couch. She collapsed onto the cushions, leaned back, and closed her eyes. This day had just gone
from bad to worse. Jordon was one more example, proving once again that Leila was a failure when it came to men. Someone at the conference had suggested, rather strongly, that her inability to craft a believable romance might stem from her own lack of experience. She’d wondered at the time if someone had read her journals or her mind but dismissed that line of thought as completely absurd, bordering on paranoia.

  It had occurred to her though, more than once, that not being lucky in love might impact her writing. Even though the dictum of write what you know was often touted as the first rule of writing, romance or otherwise, she didn’t take that to heart. After all, there were many popular crime and thriller writers who had never carried out a jewelry heist or killed anyone, and their books were wildly successful.

  With a sigh, Leila realized she was still clutching the now crumpled note in her hand. Smoothing out the paper on her knee, she read through it one more time.

  It was an invitation, not to a party, but to an exclusive weeklong writing retreat. The invitation came from not just anyone, but from Cheryl Bullard herself. The note went on to explain that while Ms. Bullard realized Leila’s experiences at the convention may not have been all that positive, she had recognized something in Leila’s writing, a certain creative spark that, with intensive and personal attention, would help Leila blossom into the romance writer Ms. Bullard knew she could be.

  The rest of the note held instructions for Leila to arrive at the helipad atop the Norris-Marcum building, not far from her apartment. There she would be taken to the location of the retreat, which would be held in secret. Everything she needed would be provided, including her attire for the week. She was to bring only her passport. The note also held assurances that arrangements had been made with her employer, granting her immediate leave.

  Leila sat for a moment in the late morning light, stunned, trying to imagine what it would be like, traveling to some remote location, spending a week with Cheryl Bullard herself. Leila’s heart stuttered in her chest just thinking about being alone in the same room with the romance mogul. The woman’s novels were epic, deeply romantic and sensual, her characters so alive on the page that when Leila set down one of Ms. Bullard’s books, she was incapable of writing for days, her thoughts scattered, her mind constantly going back to the scenes in the book.

  The note listed three o’clock that afternoon as the departure time. Leila glanced at her watch. It was just before two. If she took a shower, changed clothes, and grabbed her cosmetics bag from her luggage, she might just make the deadline.

  Leila shook her head; it was all madness, some horrible prank. Things like this just didn’t happen. Or they only happened in fiction. This was real life…her life.

  A loud bang on her door and the harsh voice of Jordon Richards on the other side brought her bolt upright on the couch. She couldn’t hear the words, but the tone was belligerent, angry, and possibly drunk. Then the voice faded down the hall and was gone. The thought of spending a week away from Jordon was the deciding factor.

  “I’ll do it.” Her voice sounded more resolute than she really felt, but saying the words out loud seemed to give credence to the whole crazy idea. Worst case, she’d waste cab fare for a round trip and be no worse for wear, albeit horribly embarrassed for being so gullible.

  But a tiny voice said she’d regret at least not taking the chance. Leila wasn’t a daredevil, but she’d played it safe all her life. Maybe an adventure was what exactly she needed.

  Chapter Two

  Leila paid the cab driver and climbed out, clutching her purse and a small carry bag. She glanced up at the massive building made of steel and glass, shimmering in the bright New York sun. The note had said everything would be provided, including clothes, and she wondered if some kind of role-playing would be involved. It seemed odd, but then again, there was nothing about any of this that seemed in any way normal.

  Grabbing the chrome handle of the large glass doors, she pulled it towards her. To her surprise, the lobby door was locked. A security guard responded to her knock, opening the double doors and ushering her inside. The lobby was empty, the reception area dark. It was Sunday, she mused, and no one was working.

  “Ms. Connors?”

  She nodded, startled that he knew her name.

  “This way, please.”

  The guard ushered her to a bank of elevators. Once inside a car, he inserted a key, turned it, and the elevator took off at a dizzying speed, whisking them smoothly to their destination.

  “Follow me.” The guard led the way down an elegant carpeted hallway, soft lighting accenting framed paintings along the wall. Leila glanced at the artwork, surprised to notice many works by the old masters. But she was almost trotting as she tried to keep pace with the guard as he strode down the hallway, his long legs making it difficult for Leila to keep up.

  At the end of the hall, he unlocked a nondescript gray metal door. Pushing it open, he held it for her. She hesitated, blinking as she stepped into the sun, almost blinded by the reflection from a neighboring building. She heard the sound of the door closing behind her and she turned, now facing the outside of the metal door. From the other side, she heard the sound of the key in the lock.

  “Ms. Connors? This way.”

  She turned toward the voice, finding a man in a pilot’s uniform standing by her side.

  “Yes…I mean, thank you.”

  He walked toward a helicopter set on what looked like the very edge of the roof. Leila followed, clutching her purse and bag tightly, her heart beating faster. The flight to Austin and back had been enough of a challenge. But flying in a helicopter was almost enough to make her turn around and run. Except that her only escape route was through a locked door. The pilot turned, holding out his hand, and she had the doomed sense there was no turning back now.

  Just do it, Leila. The voice in her head was commanding, providing her with the last bit of courage that she needed.

  “Watch your step, please. You can stow your bags beneath your seat. I’ll help you with your harness after I board.”

  She drew a shuddering breath, accepted his hand, and climbed into the helicopter, taking the seat next to the pilot’s. The helicopter seemed absurdly small, and she struggled to cram her bags beneath the seat. Maybe this was the explanation for the no luggage clause for the trip.

  “Here. You’ll need to wear these as well. Once we’re in the air, it’s the only way we can communicate.” The pilot was settling himself beside her, holding out a large headset. She slid them over her ears as he reached across her body, fastening the harness securely around her.

  The pilot began flipping a complicated series of switches and Leila turned away, looking out of the cockpit window, taking a small measure of comfort that the man appeared to know what he was doing.

  “Excuse me, but where are we going?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t answer that.”

  “Can’t?” Or won’t?” Leila’s heart leapt in her chest. Was she being kidnapped? Was this really some elaborate scheme by someone? Would Jordon be that crazy?

  “My instructions are to fly you to a small private airfield just outside the city. You’ll be met there by your guide, and that’s all I know.”

  He gave her a sympathetic smile and shrugged. “Don’t look so worried. From what I do know, you’re in good hands. The payment for this leg of your journey was made by a very prominent and well-respected writer.”

  Leila let out the breath she realized she’d been holding, smiling for the first time since…she couldn’t remember.

  “Thank you. This is…just all a bit overwhelming.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

  And with that the rotors began turning, the helicopter vibrating around her. Her hands gripped the edge of her seat. Everything became very loud as the helicopter lifted off the ground. The pilot held the machine steady for a moment and then they began rising very quickly into the air.

  Leila was fine for the few brief seconds they were still o
ver the building, but as the machine rose higher and the buildings fell away, her heart leapt into her throat and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed. After a few moments, she became aware of the static over the headset, and then she heard the pilot’s voice.

  “Ma’am, breathe. You’re fine. You’ll feel better if you keep your eyes open. Enjoy the view; it’s not every day you get a bird’s-eye view of the city.”

  Leila opened her eyes cautiously, making sure to look straight ahead. They were flying over the skyscrapers of Manhattan. She watched the buildings passing beneath them and she focused on trying to recognize those that she could. But soon they were over the Hudson River and then she lost track of where they were.

  Leila was just getting the feel for the sway and movement of the helicopter when the pilot banked suddenly, swooping down toward a small patch of green. Leila pushed herself back into the seat as the ground seemed to rise much too fast. The green beneath them formed itself into an airfield, dotted with toy-sized buildings and planes.

  The helicopter slowed then, and the pilot set the machine gently onto the grass. Leila sat for a moment, willing herself to draw a breath and for her fingers to release their death grip on the seat. The pilot’s voice was in her ears again.

  “Ma’am, you can remove your headset now.”

  She pulled off the headset as the pilot reached over and undid the safety harness, which retracted back into its housing. There was a noise to her side and then a cool rush of incoming air as the door of the helicopter opened.

  “Enjoy the rest of your trip.” The pilot smiled and she nodded in his direction. A hand gripped her elbow and she turned, looking down into the eyes of another man dressed in a crisp navy blue uniform and hat.

  “Ma’am, if you’ll follow me.” He helped her down, and she reached back for her bag and purse. The helicopter pilot had turned back to the dials and switches of his machine.