Mama's Travel Agency Bundle E-Books

Mama’s Travel Agency is a series full of romance and adventure. Based in Washington DC, Mama J, the travel agency’s proprietor will send her unsuspecting couples on romantic trips to exotic locales. These contemporary romantic comedies are penned for the reader who wants something sassy, funny, and full of unexpected twists. Check out Mama’s Travel Agency, call her if ya just gotta go!

Start with book one, Spice Island.
She agreed to a short vacation. He agreed to an arranged marriage. Their worlds collide by mistake. Can they untangle this mess before they fall in love?

A phone rang, the tone a soft melody that sounded familiar, but my brain was so full of cotton, I couldn’t place it. The bed shifted, and a few seconds later, a door opened and closed. I lay there for a moment, then sat straight up.
Where the hell am I?
The terror I felt earlier slowly began to reassert itself. I drew in my knees and began to shake.
My head ached; I massaged my temple, grasping desperately for the last few details of my life before I blacked out. I recalled a man grabbing me and pulling me out of the truck. I threw up. All of my anguish, fear, and frustration came out in one sickening heave along with my breakfast. My lunch came out in the second go around, most of it landed on his face and chest. Strangely enough, he did not push me away. Instead, he pulled the braids from my face and held me as I continued to empty the contents of my stomach. His touch was gentle. He even rubbed my back and said something to me. I didn’t understand him, but the sound of his voice was soft and soothing.
The next thing I remember was a boat ride, I think, and then someone gently cradled me in his arms and carried me upstairs. My mind stuck on this one impressive fact because no one I knew could carry me. Not even the guy who grabbed me in the fabric store could hold me. I have not been picked up since I was four-years-old. At five feet eleven inches tall and a good size fourteen, if I wore spanks, the odds of someone lifting me were like a zillion to one. I decided my mind must have slipped from the haze of drugs, and I made up the part about a man picking me up and carrying me.
I glanced down, my jeans and t-shirt were gone replaced by a colorful kaftan, my skin had the lingering scent of soap instead of vomit.
Someone had bathed me and removed my soiled clothes.
There was nothing more unnerving than the realization that a chunk of my life was missing from my memory, even more so, the fact that I was in a strange place wearing a strangers’ clothes. Frightening was the word that came to mind. My breath turned into short agonizing gasps and raced ahead of my galloping heart. I hid my face in my hands and let out a sob, draining the emotion from my system; then, I released a shuddering breath. Hysterics were not going to help me in this situation. I had to remain calm and think clearly.
I was in a man’s bedroom by the look of it, all brown tones, leather chairs and dark wood. They’d put me in the middle of a comfortable king-sized bed, covered with deep purple, satin sheets infused with the scent of cinnamon and vanilla spice. I ran my hands across the smooth material, cool to the touch.
The large room had two sets of French doors opening onto the most amazing view of a garden and lagoon complete with palm trees and tropical flowers. A bright blue sky dotted with clouds served as a backdrop. Palm trees swayed in the breeze and a lone wind chime rang musical notes through the air.
How did I go from a dust-covered truck and crazed insurgents to a resort?
My right arm stung, someone had attached a Band-Aid in the crook of my elbow. I pulled it off exposing a pinprick of blood. What did they do to me? My hands shook, my pulse picked up speed again. Did they take me to the doctor and treat me? I vaguely remembered a clinic, but the memory was hazy, like a cool, ocean mist drawn in watercolor, fuzzy and indistinct.
I was alone for now and could run without anyone to stop me, but a sudden urge to pee interrupted my train of thought. I crawled out of bed and went straight to the bathroom.
Odd, how did I know this door led me there?
After relieving myself, and, oh heaven that felt good, I walked across the room and stepped outside onto the terrace. A garden full of tropical flowers spread out in front of me. There was a fountain at the far end, water trickled over stones and splashed into a pool at its base. Farther out was a lagoon with a small boat tied to a pier. A sweet scent of spices hung in the air, lending a sense of peace to the area.
I looked left then right.
Where were the bad guys?
There was no one to stop me from taking the stairs that led down from the patio, run to that boat and escape. Muffled chatter of female voices and laughter came from the other side of the door. People were coming. My heart tripped.
Okay, girl, flight or fight. Which one will it be?
The voices were closer, now. My body was moving, even before I formed the thought. They would have to catch me first. I bolted like a rabbit.
Feet don’t fail me, now.
I flew down the path leading to the small dock, aiming straight for the boat tied there. A cry went out; a woman on the terrace pointed at me. I put on more speed.
“Zahra,” a man’s voice called out.
Was he telling me to stop? Is that what that word meant?
Heavy footsteps thumped behind me.
“Zahra!”
I glanced back and stumbled in shock. The most gorgeous man I had ever seen was running after me. His body was lean, muscled and tan. He ran like an Olympic sprinter, long legs, graceful strides and fast.
My adrenaline kicked into high gear, and I ran a little faster chastising myself every step of the way. Mr. Fine-as-wine was chasing me, and I’d just jeopardized my life and limb to give him a second look.
Keep moving Angela, don’t let a good-looking face and hot body stop you from escaping.
He said other words in Kiswahili that could just as well have been said in Greek for all I understood. The boat was tied near the end of the pier. My feet made a low thumping sound as I slowed long enough to unloop the rope from the bollard and step off. He caught me in mid-stride and pulled me back. I screamed and swung at him. He ducked and caught my wrist.
“Get away from me!” I yelled pulling out of his grasp and stomping on his foot.
“Ahrggg,” He hopped on one foot while rubbing the other.
A pair of oars were stacked on the pier. I grabbed one and swung around. He lowered his foot, ducked away, and put his hands up, a confused look spread across his face. As for me, I was completely out of breath and wheezing…a lot. That last burst of speed did me in. But I’d be damned if I go down without a fight. I swung the oar at him. “I demand to be released.”
He took two steps back and stared at me. “You speak English.” He paused and said the next few words in amazement, “Like an American.” Slowly he put his hands down, cocked his head to the side and studied me from head to toe as if I was some sort of alien.
“That’s because I am one.” I menaced him with the oar and continued to move back toward the boat.
“No, wait.”
“Why? So you can keep me captive forever?”
“But—”
“No buts, mister. I’m out of here.” I swung the oar at him like it was an oversized baseball bat. My foot grazed the edge of the pier, a quick glance revealed I was nowhere near the boat.
Damn.
“Listen to me. It’s not safe,” he warned.
There was something in his tone that gave me pause. “What do you mean?”
“The last board is loose. You must move away.”
“What?”
Suddenly, a terrible cracking sound came from the board. One minute I was standing on wood, the next, I was standing on air. My arms windmilled, and the oar sailed away. He reached me a second too late and we both fell. His hands circled my waist and he turned us so he would hit the water first to cushion me from the impact.