Dear Reader,

      Have you ever been so in love you scared yourself? That happened to the people in this book, and the experience sent them careening onto opposite paths—Kathleen to ever more intense sensual experiences and Dan to a life of careful restraint and self-discipline.

      The last thing they expected was to meet again and, worse, to feel exactly the same after ten years. They’d grown up, gotten wise, right? Surprise! I love it when love opens up people’s possibilities and changes their views of themselves.

      Both Dan and Kathleen share a focus on living an aware life. This is something I strive for. In fact, the research for this book helped me live each day more deliberately. Now I try to squeeze the juice out of every berry, or, as Kathleen would say, use the guest towels, the antique teapot and the real silver (okay, so that means regular polishing, but so what?). I hope Dan and Kathleen inspire you to enjoy every moment of your life.

      Happy reading and my best to you,

      Dawn Atkins

      P.S. Let me know what you think of the story at [email protected]. Please stop by my Web site, www.dawnatkins.com.

      Going to Extremes

      Dawn Atkins

      To David for helping me remember that a balanced life is different from a balancing act

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      1

      “WHY WOULD I go on a book tour when my book’s not even written yet?” Kathleen Valentine asked her agent, JJ Norris, who was puffing away on her usual coffin nails. They were in JJ’s Manhattan office surrounded by her curvy wood-and-black-leather furniture, African tribal art, spindly tensor lamps and three walls of shelves jammed floor-to-ceiling with books.

      “That’s the beauty of it,” JJ said, leaning against the sofa arm—that had to be painful. Kathleen sat on the softer middle cushion, though she didn’t like leather sofas. She preferred her leather in jackets, bustiers and miniskirts, not furniture, which was supposed to hug and comfort you. Leather was too cool and smooth. Mental note: Bring brocade pillows for poor JJ’s S and M sofa when next in New York.

      “The other publisher wants you because you’re famous,” JJ continued. “They want you for sparkle, for contrast with their author and because the media love you.”

      “They want me because misery loves company.” Kathleen leaned forward to straighten the blooms she’d brought—cut flowers were her calling card. “Book tours are brutal. Insane pace. Crack-of-dawn talk shows. Toxic airplane food and air. Uncertain mattress quality. Pure torture.”

      “Torture, Kath?” JJ scraped a fleck of tobacco from her lip with a French-tipped nail and shifted her position—to ease the pain, no doubt—making the leather squeak. Now the sound of leather Kathleen loved. It sounded…promising.

      “Maybe not torture, but punishment. Severe punishment. Speaking of which, I’ll bring pillows for this sofa so you won’t cripple the other clients you seat here to browbeat.”

      JJ rolled her eyes. “Please. The cool deal is that because it’s Cunningham Publishing’s author’s launch, they’re paying the tab.”

      “Look, I’ll be glad to help the author with tips, even a perfect neck pillow for the plane, but I’m not, not going on book tour. Especially not someone else’s book tour. That is not the kind of excess I’m known to be queen of.”

      “It’ll be a breeze. Ten days and five cities. You can do it in your sleep.”

      “I’ll have to, since I won’t be getting any at night.”

      JJ ignored the jab. “It’s the usual—signings, readings, a couple of college appearances, a media satellite tour or two and some radio and TV talk shows in New York, Chicago, Phoenix and L.A. The extra dollop is a pop-psych jamboree in San Francisco at the end. Talk about a visibility boost. High-end crowd of book buyers. I mean these people have to buy shelves to go with all the books they buy at these conferences.”

      “It sounds exhausting.”

      “You need this, hon.” JJ tapped Kathleen’s knee with a sharp nail to emphasize her point. “The Princess of Pleasure needs this. Sensual Living III tanked.”

      “Don’t say tanked. It slouched a little is all. There was that political tell-all out at the same time. And I’m busy on the next one,” she said, feigning more confidence than she felt.

      “Sorry to be an ice bucket, hon, but how’s that going?”

      “It’s incubating.”

      JJ rolled her eyes, sucked on the cigarette, then snorted out twin streams of smoke like a cartoon bull.

      JJ wasn’t the only one blowing smoke. Kathleen’s current book wasn’t incubating, it was at a dead stop. Temporarily. Which was scary, since her first two books, Sensual Living and Sensual Living: The Daily Pleasures, had flowed like music. The first had been a how-to, exploring Kathleen’s philosophy of sensual awareness, which she called Healthy Hedonism. It gave list after list of ways to enhance appreciation for the gifts of the body.

      Her second book contained a workbook and a calendar with practical exercises and monthly to-do lists, along with the most popular section—success stories of converted readers…weary souls reborn to life through Kathleen’s ideas.

      Sensual Living III, an update of the first book, had felt as flat to Kathleen when she wrote it as its subsequent sales chart. The problem had been her life at the time—so full of speaking engagements, interviews and, yes, book tours, she’d neglected to refresh her own personal well of sensory appreciation. And it had showed.

      This fourth book had to reverse the trend of dwindling sales. Tentatively called Sensual Living: Roots and Rhetoric, it would explore