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Radiant Fire
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-327-1
Genre: Romance
eBook Length: 178 Pages
Published: February 2006

Total Readers: 1

From inside the flap

Disclaimer: This is a fictional erotic romance novel. It contains adult situations, graphically-described sexual acts, violence, death scenes, and abnormal views of real life situations. If any of these circumstances disturb you, or you are under the age of 21, do not read this novel. All the characters and names in this book are fictional and any resemblance to any person either living or dead is purely coincidental. The author takes no responsibility for comparisons with the identities or names of real live individuals or situations. This novel is a fictional accounting involving romantic fantasies and sexual situations. Under no circumstances should the details of this novel be viewed as real life occurrences.

Relentlessly emotional and gripping, Radiant Fire is told in the spirit of dashing adventure and the language of the current-day female warrior. The story contains strafing wit, a mindless helping of sexual indulgence, the airborne violence of war and the charged energy of two people being held apart by circumstances beyond their control. This tale propels the reader toward its ultimate conclusion with all the captivation and enchantment of a runaway train.
When Shelley Bakerís mother is killed by a drunken driver, the young woman dedicates herself to her father and to personal excellence. What follows is her graduation as the valedictorian of her high school class and an appointment to the United States Air Force Academy.
The first year of Academy training finds her thoroughly infatuated with upper classman, Cadet Captain Randall Cummings. A complex blend of romantic illusion and sexual mischief tracks the mental and physical torment of young love. Unfortunately, Randall is a linguist with a photographic memory and mother tongue fluency in five languages, two of which are Middle Eastern dialects. While they are engaged in the revolving mating dance of desire, Randall proposes marriage and when Shelley accepts, he gives her an engagement ring containing a rare and marvelously huge blue diamond.
After his graduation, and six months before their wedding date, Lieutenant Cummings vanishes without a trace or the advanced knowledge of his intended bride. The Air Force denies any knowledge of his whereabouts, but Shelley determines through a former classmate that his personnel file has been transferred to a Black-Operations-Agency, instead of being terminated.
While awaiting her belovedís return, Shelley graduates from the Academy and pilot training; becomes a combat ready F-16 Fighter Pilot and participates in the air war of Operation Desert Storm. Nearly two years after their original wedding date, she discovers what happened to her beloved in an emotionally charged dramatic conclusion.

Radiant Fire (Excerpt)


Iíve returned home for the first time in a long while because my father has had a stroke. I sat alone all last night at his bedside in the Intensive Care Unit of a metropolitan hospital. He is in a coma and looks 80 years old, but heís in his late fifties. I sat in the dimly lit room and watched monitors record whatís left of his life. The entire time I was beside him, I touched his hand as though my being there will help him live.

Over the endless hours of waiting, Iíve wondered what Iíll do if I lost the last of my parents. I am terrified of the prospect he may be lost to me and Iíll be left all alone for the first time in my life. No more calling him for advice, no more coming home to follow him around like a puppy while he fascinates me nearly to death; no more working on my hot-rod with him. No more watching him age and his hair turn white. Iím already in sorrow and he hasnít died yet. My deep sorrow is spawn because I realize if he returns to me, heíll be less than the man I remember. Tears well and roll down my face while I consider the possibilities.

Mom died 12 years ago, the victim of a drunk driver and now the potential loss of my father is to dreadful for me to contemplate. My sister and her husband are stationed in Turkey, where they are employed by the federal government to give the dependent children of military families an education. I will not summons her unless Dad takes a turn for the worse.

I was ordered to leave the hospital minutes ago by a nurse who said if I didnít go somewhere and sleep, Iíd be joining my father in an adjacent bed. The rhythmic sound of the ventilator had acted like hypnosis and lulled me into a fitful sleep sitting up in a chair.

I had finally pried myself away from Dadís bedside and driven to our family home. Once there, I went immediately to my old room at the top of the stairs. At age 26, I sit on the edge of my old bed and look at the memorabilia collected while growing up in a small town. Had I not been possessed by an addiction to fly, I could have easily become a careerist teenager and lived out the rest of my life here.

The furnishings of my old room seem Spartan now. My ancient and well-used study desk bought at a yard sale when I was six sits beneath the window. I named the desk Beebee, because those initials were carved near a top corner. I always had a romantic notion the letters were carved as a tribute to some boyís love for a girl. The old oak desk has graced my room for all the years I lived here. Its sturdy top holds my old tower computer alongside my baseball glove.

The tensor lamp that illuminated the volumes of my education stands guard over everything. I flip the switch and the light still works. On one wall hangs a jersey from little league baseball, a sport girls were intended to be excluded from. The wall on the other side of the table holds high school and American Legion Baseball jerseys.

That period of three marvelous seasons was the first, and probably only time, girls around here ever played Legion, Little League, or high school ball. The achievement was special so the jerseys occupy a hallowed place alongside the old computer. The old computer was mostly the building block of my education, that and the wonderful teachers in the local schools. I contemplate opening the menu and reading my teenage diary, but decide to let the words rest in the tomb of a no longer used machine.

A photo of Mom sits on the near corner of the desk. She looks my age and going to live forever. Dadís photo occupies the other corner; he looks like he might not be shaving yet. My old pink blivit of a U-control model airplane with its gas engine hangs from a screw-eye in the ceiling, held in imaginary flight by a piece of nylon fishing line. The engine protrudes garishly from the right side of the silhouette type fuselage. The gas tank smoothly soldered and made from a 4oz V-8 juice can is still decorated with the identifier advertisement around its circumference. I canít remember when I put the model up, but it seems a lifetime ago.

A lot of things have happened in my life since the model last flew--a college education, a military career, a disrupted engagement, a war, a lost lover. While I stare at a high school graduation photo on a far wall, my mind reverts to when this room was my sanctuary. It was a huge deal for me to move in here after Patty Anne left for college. That was before my own departure for the Academy and before Desert Storm.

As I remember those days, it seems too remote to have happened.