Incantatrix Press, $0.99, ISBN 978-1501492044
Contemporary Erotica, 2014 (Reissue)
Madelynne Ellis’s We Were Lovers Once was first published in The Mammoth Book of Hot Romance from Running Tree Press back in 2011.
I don’t have that one and I also wonder: do many people actually buy and read those Mammoth anthologies? I see them all the time in used bookstores and bargain bins, which suggests to me that, people either buy them and then sell or donate them off later, or the distributor ends up selling the unsold books at massively slashed prices to Bookxcess, the Ollie’s Bargain Outlet-ish bookstore chain in my part of the world.
I know that Ray is gone. I feel it inside me, as if a tight choking grip has suddenly been released. I knew it before the phone rang and a lady with a voice like splintered glass told me so. Twenty-five years. I hadn’t seen him in twenty-five years and still I knew the moment he passed. It was as if in that moment all the bonds we’d formed were suddenly ripped away. And yet, I’m standing here in my black garb and sensible old lady shoes having read the numerous cards that adorn the wreaths and he’s standing right in front of me, just exactly as I remember him—a pretty youth, sultry and self-possessed.
One thing I have to say about the author: she’s one of those authors of naughty stories that also can make poetry out of words. Her scenes can be exquisitely set up and choreographed, evoking lovely and vivid images in my head as I read these scenes.
The late Ray Hawksmore was an artist—of course, they always were—and he used Sophia Melrose as his exquisite canvas, utilizing every stroke and twist until she could only make ooh aah sounds. Then, of course, they broke up, and now he’s dead and she’s at his funeral.
There, awaiting her, is Ray, still alive. No, wait, he’s Gabriel, Ray’s son.
Slanted light from the skylight shows up the butterfly dance of the dust motes as Gabriel prowls across the pitted wooden boards of the garret studio. There’s a certain familiar swagger to his gait as he grasps a large frame propped against the back wall and swings it around. I stare at the colours in disbelief, dazzled by their vibrancy – splashes of orange and violet, and a broad rainbow of creamy pearlescent flesh.
Twenty-five years ago I stood here and posed in that dress. I run my hands over my body recalling how the vivid violet fabric fanned out from my hips, and how I was so in love with the orange blooms dotted across the front.
As far as reliving the past with the lover’s son goes, I have to say, this one ain’t bad at all. I’m with Sophia: he’s hot and ready to go, so go for it, sis.
Where Gabriel is concerned, ever since he saw his father’s painting of Sophia, he’s consumed by, er, feelings of feeling the urge to a lot of filling and feeling.
“My Sophia”, the painting is called, which depicts me rudely displaying my bottom in order to show the criss-crossed red welts left behind by his belt. I had no idea that he’d finished it. In truth I thought he’d probably dowsed it in alcohol and set it alight the night I left.
“You haven’t changed,” Gabriel remarks.
“Oh, but I have.” Although, perhaps I’ve weathered a little better than most.
Don’t judge, people. These folks are artists. They’re… eccentric.
“Take them off, I dare you.”
This has gone too far! “What sort of pretence at mourning is this?”
And yet, even as I protest, my nerves zing with excitement.
I’m sure it should be obvious, but I’ll state it for the record: this one isn’t a romance. It’s more of an erotic chick-lit thing because the focus here is more on Sophia learning that what she initially assumed was a frivolous fling with a careless and reckless lover turns out to be something as indelibly marked on Ray’s soul as it is on hers. In other words, she’s won—she truly is special, having achieved the end game of every chick-lit heroine of being the center of some guy’s universe, and now she’s shagging a younger and hotter version of him as a reward for being so amazing.
There are some elements here that will give some readers a squick or two, especially where Gabriel’s motivations are concerned. Still, this is erotica. Treat it as that, and it may just end up being a well-written tale of a woman realizing that she’s indeed the queen of the universe to the man that had hurt her. The best revenge, indeed.
Sure, the whole thing is shallow, but then again, this one isn’t pretending to be high art so all is forgiven. The author manages to take an absurd premise, add in some rather unsettling dynamics in the relationship between all three characters, stir in hot sex scenes, and still serve me a quick naughty read that is both entertaining and somewhat sacrilegious. In other words: yummy.
