Portia Da Costa - purveyor of erotic romance and erotica to the discerning woman since 1994


A Touch of Heaven - click for larger versionBlurb

Pleasure with a perfect stranger can be divine...

If Miranda Clay believed that angels exist, they’d look just like her neighbours’ new house sitter. Golden hair. Golden, naked skin. Muscles that are poetry in motion. Is it ridiculous that even his feet are beautiful?

When mysterious Patrick turns his heavenly blue eyes toward her and smiles… Well, how can a red-blooded woman resist his friendly offer of a soothing massage? But pretty soon his therapy to ease her forty-something aches and pains turns into an exquisite touch of pleasure, a storm of bliss that leaves her boneless and sighing.

But when Miranda reaches for Patrick to return the favour, he stays her hand—and reluctantly reveals his almost incomprehensible secret. He’s an angel on an earthly mission of kindness, and though he’s always longed to live a full, if messy, human life, he’s never been tempted to violate his unbreakable angelic code. Until now.

Soon, the deeply-in-love couple face a perilous decision, and Patrick will have to risk everything—even the prospect of extinction—to keep the woman he adores in his arms.

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Excerpt from Chapter One

He’s there again, my new neighbor, the guy who’s house-sitting next door for the Johnsons. At least I think he’s house-sitting… I can’t remember them mentioning him before they went away.

I wonder if they knew he likes sunbathing naked when they asked him mind the house for them.

Yes, naked. Starkers. In the buff. Not wearing a stitch. There he is on the lawn again on his tatty old blanket. Stretched out in the sun, exactly as the good Lord intended.

And speaking of the good Lord, thank you, God, for giving this old bird a treat!

This is the third day in a row that he’s been out there, and the third day I’ve sneakily watched him from my balcony. Does he know I’m spying on him? He certainly doesn’t give any indication. But then again, all he seems to do is sleep. He’s worships the sun for hours on end, and somehow he never seems to get burned. His skin always looks golden, beautiful and smooth, not the slightest bit red.

I shuffle my mattress over to the wrought iron railings at the edge of the balcony so I can get a better view, and boy, is he a sight for sore eyes!

He’s got the body of a god and the face of an angel, and that’s not exaggerating. From this vantage point, I can only see his profile and his tousled golden hair, but I know for a fact the rest of him is just as scrumptious, face and body. His back is a sculpted poem of muscle and his ass is nothing short of breathtaking. His strong, narrow feet look touchingly vulnerable stretched out in the sunlight.

I should go down. I should talk to him. He must know I’m here and that I’m looking. So why am I shilly-shallying? I’m a grown woman - far too far grown for my liking – and I shouldn’t be afraid of some strip of a lad of a youth or whatever, a guy who’s probably more than fifteen years my junior.

I pop my head up for a better view.

Well, he might be drop dead gorgeous, but he’s an unrepentant slob. His rug is littered with books, newspapers, an iPod, about half a dozen soft drinks cans and the wrappers off several chocolate bars and at least four empty chip packets. The lucky devil! Not only can he lie out in the sun for hours without burning, it also seems that he can guzzle junk food without putting on an ounce or damaging his pearly white teeth. And they are pearly white, because I just saw them. He smiled to himself a moment ago, in his sleep.

I wonder what he’s smiling about. Something must have amused him.

Even as I speculate, he lifts his head, looks over his shoulder, and smiles again. But this time, it’s directly at me.

Oh hell, that’s torn it! What shall I do?

Several possible courses of action occur. Do I duck down again, pretend I’m not here, and hope the sun was in his eyes and he didn’t actually see me?

Don’t be an idiot, Miranda! Of course he saw you! He’s not blind.

Or, do I brazen it out and smile right back? Give him a cheery, neighborly wave and grasp the opportunity I’ve desperately been waiting for, i.e. a chance to actually meet this dreamy guy? I’ll be playing with fire, obviously, given my history. Handsome younger men are a flame I’ve been well crisped by before. But hey ho, you only live once, don’t you? I’m prepared to risk getting kicked in the teeth again, for just to get close to a heavenly body like his!

Easing myself up into a sitting position, I smile down and flap a cautious wave at my naked neighbor. “Hi! Lovely day, isn’t it?”

Great opening, Miranda, so original. But Golden Boy doesn’t seem to mind. Yanking out his ear-buds, he sits up, swivels around, and gives me the full beam of the most extraordinary, spine-meltingly gorgeous smile I’ve ever seen on any man, woman or child.

And that’s not all… I also get an extended flash of a sizeable and equally gorgeous...

Lord have mercy!

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