Men are off limits to Leslie Carson. The threats of her homicidal ex-husband Alex Wright have seen to that. However, when she saves a nameless man from certain death, all bets are off. The attraction between the two is immediate and urgent, and she crosses the line Alex has drawn. The victim of a savage attack, Richard Webb awakens without his memory. As he recovers, and faces the fact that someone wants him dead, he soon realizes that the only person in the world he can trust is the woman who saved him. But more than that, even without his memory, Richard is very much a man, and lovely Leslie is a lot of woman. The feelings he has for her go far beyond trust, and he's not bashful about telling her so. Danger shadows Richard like a lethal specter. He's safe from his unknown assailant as long as he stays with Leslie, because no one knows where he is. However, Leslie warns him that if he stays, Alex will mark them both for death. But if he leaves before he learns who tried to kill him, how will he be able to defend himself? Leslie refuses to abandon him, and Richard will not allow her to face Alex alone. The relationship between them flares like wildfire as they join forces to end Alex's threat and to learn who Richard is. When they dig painstakingly into his past--their only hope to learn the identity of his would-be killers--the end comes in a final, violent confrontation.
A Hard Shell Word Factory Release
I wrote my first story when I was in the second grade. I remember it had something to do with an Egyptian pharaoh, but fortunately the story was later lost. Then, through life's twists and turns, I became a technical writer, then, finally, a writer in the financial services industry.
Avid sailors, Lee and his wife Judy crossed the Atlantic in their sailboat, Tempo. "It took us one day longer than it took Columbus." They then completed a leisurely journey through the Caribbean Islands. At this point Lee began thinking of writing the story of their adventures, but life had another twist in store. He enjoyed reading romances, and decided that's what he really wanted to write. He soon learned that writing romance fiction was a far cry from the technical writing he was used to, so he joined Romance Writers of America and settled down to hone a new skill.
"Romance fiction is a real labor of love. I think it helps that I'm still crazy about my wife after 18 years."
"Forget Me Not kept my attention to the explosive conclusion. I would definitely re-read Forget Me Not. Lee Boschen has a promising writing career ahead of him. I look forward to reading his books in the future."Romance Communications
"Forget Me Not is a fast-paced, action-packed ride. Lee Boschen has constructed a web of deceit and guides the hero and heroine through it with skill and precision. Both this reviewer and the reviewer's Mom enjoyed this book a great deal. So there you have it, two thumbs up!"WCRG on AOL Reviewer Board
"I loved this book! Of course, I'm partial to amnesia books, but this one has enough twists and turns to keep the reader on the edge of her seat, flipping pages so fast they create a breeze. Very Highly Recommended!"Under the Covers Book Reviews
Lingering over his after-dinner coffee, Richard Webb people watched. His gaze drifted back to her again. Nothing unusual in that, it almost always did. Ever since that Friday evening, weeks ago, when he had first wandered into the Prince Edward restaurant in the Meridian hotel.
It was because she was so easy on the eyes, he had decided. Her hair, long and dark -- about the color of fresh-brewed coffee -- fell in loose, shining waves around her shoulders. She had a slight widow's peak, and beneath it her eyes were a light color he'd never been close enough to make out. Her nose was straight and sharp without any cute little upturn at the end. Her look, when their eyes met, was, surprisingly, not cool and unfriendly. But there was a wary look in her eyes that spelled an unhappy time, a look he wished hadn't been there.
Finishing her coffee, she patted her lips dry with her napkin. Oh yes, her lips -- pleasantly full, not voluptuous. He drew a deep breath.
What would it be like to kiss her?
It wasn't the first time that thought had troubled him.
The young girl with her was maybe nine or ten. About the same age Timmy would have been. A real charmer, the daughter had the same endearing lopsided grin as her mother. A grin which told him that whatever had put the wariness in mother's face had not been allowed to trouble the child. And they seemed to like each other. He thought that was a good sign.
His eyes moved back to mother. He liked the look of her. Always had. Okay, maybe her face was a little thin, but on her it looked good. He had checked for rings weeks ago. Actually, almost the first thing he had done. She wore none. So she wasn't married. Nor a widow, he speculated idly, or she would probably still be wearing her ring. Divorced? Yes, that was it. That would account for the tense look around the eyes. Make her hard to approach too. Once burnt, twice shy, he'd heard.
Richard straightened abruptly as he realized what he had been fantasizing. Approach? What was he thinking? Her? Why her? She wasn't bright and glamorous. In fact, she seemed a little quiet.
But he'd never been able to get her out of his mind. There was something -- he searched his mind. Elegance. That's what it was, an air about her: quiet, refined. Elegant. He could take her anywhere, hell, he would take her everywhere. And no matter where they went, her hand on his arm, she would shine like a jewel. He knew it.
Another deep breath. There were other, more carnal considerations. He recalled his casual examinations of her figure over the weeks. Well, perhaps they'd been more than casual. Her shape was okay. No, he had to be fair... more than okay. Nice, actually. Tall. Trim. She was, perhaps, the merest trifle hippy. But then, trying to be fair again, he reasoned that because her waist was so little it just made her look that way. Otherwise, nothing about her was out of proportion, nothing really spectacular. Except... he'd had to force himself not to stare at her legs. Long and exquisitely shapely -- he looked down at his coffee cup, shifting his position and tugging at his trousers to ease his discomfort.
It was weeks ago, when he first saw her smile at her daughter, that he knew he would have forgiven her anything. And tonight everything had come together, his heart stumbling as he finally realized why he had kept looking, week after week. He wanted her to smile at him like that. But that was crazy. Why her? He didn't know her, or anything about her. He wanted to, though, and tonight he finally realized just how much he wanted to.
She dropped her napkin on the table and began looking around for the waiter. They'd finished. They'd be leaving soon. He knew what he ought to do -- go over to her booth and settle it. Ask her for a date. Put an end to his misery.
He sat turning his coffee cup round and round in the saucer. What was he thinking, anyway? One more guy hitting on her. The way she looked, no way he could be the first. Would she scream sexual harassment? If he only asked her for a date? Damn it, how did you meet someone you really wanted to know? He wished he had more experience at this. It had been six years since... it had been too long.
"So what's it going to be?" he muttered. "You going to talk to her, or not?"
He reminded himself again how much he had to do at his office yet that night.
It didn't work.
As if his eyes worked independently of his will, his gaze moved back to her. He watched her slide out of the booth, put on her heavy winter coat and help her daughter into hers. Something the little girl said caused mother to smile. She was still smiling as she turned to leave the restaurant and her gaze met Richard's.
Jesus! He felt the impact like a fist. Breathless, he stared into her eyes. He opened his mouth to try to call out to her, but his thoughts tumbled over each other and he couldn't find the words. Her step slowed, her smile fading as they stared at each other, then she turned and hurried out of the restaurant.
Richard chided himself for his inaction. That wasn't like him. Usually, when he made up his mind -- but that was the trouble, wasn't it? He hadn't yet accepted what he wanted to do about her. No, what he had to do about her. About them.
Then, suddenly, he did. Click. He felt it, like throwing a switch. It was time to stop eyeing her like a voyeur. Maybe he could still catch her. He picked up his check, dropped some bills on the table for a tip, and tossed the check and a fifty-dollar bill on the cashier's desk as he ran out of the restaurant. "Ring it up," he yelled over his shoulder. "I'll be back in a minute."
Outside, he looked up and down Meridian street. She was nowhere in sight. He ran to the corner and looked up and down Washington Street. Not a sign of her. He was too late.
Frustrated, he jammed his hands in his pockets. Why had he waited so long to act? He trudged back into the Prince Edward to collect his change. Back to the office, he thought. Work all night again. He'd been doing that for so long it almost seemed normal, ever since -- his mind shied away from that afternoon on a West Virginia mountain road. He needed to keep his mind on business. Might as well, it would be a week before he could see her again. A week. But, next Friday -- he grinned, his step more lively. Next Friday he wouldn't sit there, mute as a stone. He rubbed his jaw -- maybe he ought to rehearse what to say. But no matter what, next time, by God, he was going to talk to her. Get it settled.
He started back to the parking garage for his car. Walking through the tunnel to the garage elevator, he heard furtive footsteps hurrying up behind him. Cautious, he started to turn to see who it was when he was staggered by a blow on his head. Everything turned splotchy gray and black, and he fell to his knees. He clawed at the wall to try to stand. Another blow, and he dropped into darkness.