

# A WORLD OF ROMANCE

A COLLECTION OF

SHORT STORIES

by

ASMSG Authors

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Cover Art by Ida Janssen of Amygdala Design

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This anthology is a collection of short romance stories. All works herein are included by the express permission of each author. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by: ASMSG Collections

Written by: ASMSG Authors

Produced by: Christopher Shields, Co-Administrator, ASMSG

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of the publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Authors except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Cover Art © 2013 by ASMSG

Cover Art by Amygdala Design

Editors: ASMSG Editors

Smashwords Edition

# TABLE OF CONTENTS

TIGHT SQUEEZE by Alan Hardy

ANONYMITY by Amber Lea Easton

BLUE YONDER RENDEZVOUS by C.E. Kilgore

ASHES by Ceri London

DIRECT CONNECTION by C.L. Foster

A MATTER OF COURTESY by Debra Parmley

ONE LAST LOVE by Diane Adams Taylor

SPECIAL DELIVERY by Genevieve Dewey

I KNOW A MAN WHO CAN by Iain Parke

AN EVENING FOR TWO by Ian Rideout

ADZO – THE LION HEART by James Amoateng

DUST AND ASH by J.C. Eggleton

WARRIOR'S PASSION by Kirstin Pulioff

FIZZLESNITCH: THE SUPERMASSIVE by Louise Sorensen

COLOUR ME BAD by Lucy Pireel

THE FACTORY by Michelle Browne

ALTERED IMAGES by Melodie H. Connall

FRANNY'S CHRISTMAS FAIRY TWINKLE by P.J. Perryman

THE OTHER WOMAN by Rita Berry

THE AFFAIR by Thomas Ryan

DREAMS OF THE NIGHTLIFE LAS VEGAS by Travis Luedke

OUR SECRET FANTASY by Yelle Hughes

# TIGHT SQUEEZE

## Alan Hardy

Once upon a time there was a man in his late fifties named Harry. He lived alone. His wife had left him two years earlier. That day, he had gone into the bedroom to sit on the bed and cry. But the tears hadn't come. If anything, he had soon felt relieved she was no longer there. The only hassle was cooking again, and eating burnt food.

There was one other change brought about by her going. He and his wife hadn't had sex for years. So he had been playing around with his willy for quite a while. That didn't change. But now, he no longer needed to hide in small confined spaces, like the wardrobe or the cupboard, while doing it. He could even look at himself in the mirror. Be quite brazen.

It was already a few months since he'd started to notice Jenny. She was a cashier at his local bank. She would be sitting there very impassively whenever he went in with the excuse of withdrawing or depositing money. She was middle-aged, with long thick black hair, sometimes tied up in a bun, sometimes like a lion's mane around her face and shoulders, which, with her painted face, made her look like a witch. She painted her fingernails bright red. She wore what looked like a blue uniform, often leaving one button of her top unbuttoned, making Harry salivate over an inch or two of her fleshy breast. She was generally very circumspect and stand-offish in her dealings with him. Just once, in handing over some cash, her fingers grazed his hand. But he felt she had her eyes on him. Intense, staring blue eyes. With blue eye-shadow.

It was true. She did have her eyes on him. She had got to know about Harry when the manager had allowed them all to rummage around the customers' confidential files in order to establish who might be worth propositioning. With the bad name banks had recently acquired, it had taken the place of the annual bonus. They were no longer allowed their customary random filching of one customer's life-savings each, in the office party's lucky-dip. But she hadn't made a move yet.

Harry was coping with life, even if he was very, very lonely. He didn't work anymore. He'd made enough over the years. He could just about manage with the money he had in his account in the bank. He went shopping in the local supermarket two or three times a week. That was the extent of his social life.

And then, one Thursday evening, he had to make an extra trip to the supermarket to buy food for his dinner, because he'd forgotten to plug the fridge back in in the morning. He'd taken the plug out to make his cup of tea. His frozen lasagna had been ruined. It was quite late. It was the evening in the week when the supermarket kept open one hour extra for Late Night Importuning.

He put the carrots and sprouts, and small lump of topside, in his basket. He lingered at the biscuit-aisle, unable to make up his mind. He looked up. Jenny was standing a few metres from him. In a white T-shirt and tight blue jeans. Her hair, freshly-washed, was all bushy around her head and shoulders. Her great blue eyes stared scarily at him. She had a big grin on her face. She walked straight up to him.

"Harry, I've got an offer to make you. We're not getting any younger. I can get any man I want, younger men than you, who know their stuff and are more athletic than you. I can come here every Thursday for late night importuning. But I need something more than that. I've got to an age when I need someone reliable, someone I can come home to at night. I need companionship. And so do you. We can be together for the rest of our lives. What do you say?"

Harry gulped. He smarted under the intense glare of her eyes. She put her face right next to his. Up close. He smelt her cheap perfume, and the cheap shampoo that had been making suds all over her head and body.

"I'll think about it," he muttered.

At the check-out, as he was paying for his meat and two veg, the woman behind him gave him a look. She had two snivelling children with her.

"You've got a chance there, mate. Or you can have me. I'm divorced, two young nippers. I need someone to provide for me."

She was in her thirties, a bit rough-looking, wearing a short torn jeans-skirt.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"I quite like it up my arse," she said, staring blankly at him.

Harry gulped. The basket containing his meat and two veg rattled as his hand holding it trembled ever so slightly.

"How do you like it? When? And where?" she asked, her face still quite expressionless.

Harry's meat and two veg gave another wobble as his gaze strayed down to her fanny-area, where a limp finger lazily scratched at the blue denim material.

"There was a time I did it in the wardrobe. With the door shut."

She didn't reply, just continued to stare vacantly at him.

"Anyway," she said, stirring herself as one of her sprogs, looking testily at the strange man his mummy was talking to, started tugging at the frayed edge of her mini-skirt, "I've made my offer. It's up to you."

"I'll think about it," Harry repeated.

He sat out in the car for a while before returning home. He had been propositioned twice. He could choose scary Jenny or the brazen young mum with the two noisy brats.

The next morning, he walked into the local bank to take out some money. Jenny looked up at him excitedly, her big breasts swelling and toying with the remaining buttoned-up buttons of her blue top. Her blank, blue eyes fastened on him. Her red lipstick and red fingernails hurt his eyes. When she gave him the money, her fingers gave his hand a little rub. It sent Harry's little friend down below into ecstasy. When it had stopped jumping around, and he felt he could walk properly, he sensed a piece of paper in the palm of his hand. As the bank-doors slid shut behind him, he opened up the note Jenny had squeezed into his hand.

"Meet me round the back of the supermarket car-park in half-an-hour," it said. "You can try me out before you make up your mind."

She was waiting in her car when he got there. They drove out into the countryside and parked in a lay-by up a hill where there was a wonderful view of a dale, trees and other green stuff. He was sitting in the front passenger-seat and she got on top of him, hitching up her blue skirt, spread-eagling him with her legs. She fiddled about with his thingy and then started jumping up and down very frantically on it. She was a bit rough and mechanical. Boringly rhythmical.

"I don't think it's working," he said. "I'm surprised you haven't developed any special techniques. You know, special movements. Gyrations. I would have thought slags like you knew all about that. My wife could have done what you're doing."

"I think we've reached a time of life when we can offer each other security. A bit of companionship."

"You already said that."

"Would you like to drive?"

"OK."

She made room by holding herself away from him. He slid over into the driver's seat. She then slipped back on top of him. She didn't need to hitch up her skirt as it was already hitched up. She resumed her frantic, unimaginative up-and-down thrusts again.

"I still don't think it's going to work..." said Harry.

But suddenly, maybe due to the compressed space, him slammed against the back of the seat and her jammed in by the steering-wheel, his little friend down below started to expand, and make little jabs. This forced her back a little, making her raise her body, but with nowhere to go because of the wheel digging into the small of her back. Harry, excited, half-raised himself on to his haunches and started to do a bit of thrusting himself, pushing her back and pressing her against the wheel.

"Hurt me! Hurt me! Hurt me!" she screamed.

"That was much better," said Harry afterwards. "I don't think my wife could have done that. Not in the last twenty years, anyway."

He moved some bits and pieces of his belongings into Jenny's flat. They decided he would try her out for another two weeks, and he would go with her to the shopping-centre a couple of times a week, and take his credit card with him.

They tried lovemaking on a number of occasions and in a number of locations, but it only really worked in compressed spaces where both of them were restricted; they needed something solid against their backs. Harry himself suggested trying it out in the wardrobe. It worked well, but the wardrobe was quite light and flimsy and keeled over one time when they had lost their balance, giving them both quite a bang. He had then bolted it against the wall to keep it upright. They both started to develop little cuts and bruises on their backs, as each of them in turn would push and shove the other on to the exposed metal-bits. It gave a whole different meaning, and thrill, to Jenny's cry, "Hurt me! Hurt me! Hurt me!" They even tried to position two armchairs on the floor in such a way that they could replicate a sense of imprisonment, but, at a certain point, they got dislodged and fell apart, and, in the turmoil, it had felt as if his little friend had been wrenched off. He had even started looking for it on the floor, until he realized it was in its customary place. But it was always best in the car. In the countryside. There they were restricted, and in open space. There was something excitingly multi-dimensional about it. It made them dizzy and delirious.

At the end of the two weeks, they decided he would go back to his house to fetch a few more of his things. They would give it another two weeks' trial. When he opened the front-door there was a different smell. A bit musty and stuffy, probably from him not being there for two weeks. He walked into the kitchen.

"Your dinner's on the table," said his wife. "It's your favourite."

* * *

When Harry didn't come back, and she had waited long enough to know he wouldn't be coming back, not that evening, anyway, Jenny went into the bedroom and sat on the bed where Harry had never ever quite managed to get it up. But the tears just wouldn't come.

When she had thrown Harry's bits and pieces out of the window, she sat down on the stool in front of her dressing-table mirror and stared blankly at herself with her big blue eyes. It was Wednesday. Tomorrow she would go to the supermarket when there was the extra-hour opening for late night importuning.

She had already approached two men, who had immediately fled as she started to proposition them, when Harry walked into the store. He was of medium-height, with brown eyes, and hadn't quite yet slipped off the edge into old age. He came straight up to her.

"My wife's back. She said she's been visiting her sister."

"For two years?"

"What can I do?"

They decided they would meet every week at the little lay-by in the countryside at the top of the hill. They would see how things progressed.

And so it went on for a while, meeting up, with Jenny screaming, and Harry moaning and groaning. But soon, they didn't do so much of the shoving and pressing, and, often, would just sit and talk, about what they had done during the past week, and things. And soon they didn't even talk together much, just sat there silently, with the windows open to draw in the country air, and even now and then looking out at the view. They drifted apart. Soon, they never met each other at the lay-by at the top of the hill. They only saw each other when Harry had to go into the bank. And Jenny was always very matter-of-fact and distant. She never looked him in the eye with her blank blue eyes, and he just looked at her red fingernails as she counted out his money.

After his wife had been back for a while, Harry asked her if she wanted go for a drive in the country.

"Why should I want to do that?"

"Maybe we can park in a lay-by, look out at the fields, and make love."

"Don't be disgusting."

"But that's what we used to do, didn't we?"

"When did we ever do that? What have you been up to since I've been away?"

Harry started to spend a lot of time in the wardrobe again. He felt lonely. He missed Jenny. It was better when you had someone to do it with. He began to think of her long black hair, blue eyes and scary face, and big tits, with something approaching affection.

"I'm going to leave you," he told his wife one Thursday evening.

"You've found some bitch, haven't you?"

"No, I haven't. I'm going to my sister's. I'll come for my things later."

* * *

Once he was at the supermarket, he walked straight up to Jenny.

"Jenny, I want to stay with you for the rest of my life. I want to make love to you the way I used to make love to my wife, but she doesn't let me anymore. I want to make love to you the way I used to make love to you, but we stopped doing. What do you say?"

"I'll do my best," she said, staring blankly at him.

"And I'll buy you nice clothes every now and then. What do you say?"

"Another good place would be in the shower, jammed up against or between the taps on the wall."

"Or maybe even lying together in the bath," suggested Harry.

In fact they would discover that both positions were very satisfactory. At least, in the beginning. The cool of the bath-enamel and the shower-wall tiles against their bodies was found to be very exhilarating and blended well with the hotness of their heaving bodies.

As they walked out of the store together, he caught a glimpse of the rough-looking young woman with the two sprogs, staring at him. She was standing by the check-out in her short torn jeans-skirt, scratching her thigh. He stared back at her.

* * *

Once Harry had gone, and come back for his things, and had gone again, his wife went into their bedroom and sat on the bed where they hadn't made love for years. But the tears wouldn't come. She went to sit on the dressing-table stool and stared blankly at herself in the mirror. She moved her hands to undo the ribbon tying her hair together at the back, and let her hair fall loose. She picked up a red lipstick from the table and smeared it over her lips. She also applied some blue eye-shadow around her eyes. She looked at herself again. Her black-haired, blue-eyed reflection stared her in the face. She looked a scary witch.

"He'll come back," she said to herself with a grin. "Or somebody will."

Then, whenever he did come, they would live happily ever after.

## The End

# ANONYMITY

## Amber Lea Easton

Alyssa swam to the bottom of the pool, twisted onto her back with arms swaying at her sides, and squinted toward the surface. Hair tangled in front of her face like a veil of black seaweed. She held her breath as long as possible, enjoying the solitude of the water. Heartbeat echoed in her ears. Lungs clenched inside her chest.

Peace is why she'd come to Belize, an escape from reality. Tomorrow her former fiancé would marry a woman he barely knew and she'd traveled far to escape her friends' pitiful attempts at distraction.

She kicked to the surface, breaking through the water with a greedy gasp. She flipped onto her back, shoved hair from her eyes, floated, and blinked at the empty blue sky above. Yes, this is why she had needed to get away. Serenity.

Palm trees sheltered the pool of the nearly deserted Ramon's Village on Ambergris Caye. The tail end of hurricane season meant lower rates and fewer tourists, an ideal combination.

Unlike some people she knew—her ex, for one—she had no problem disconnecting from the chaos of home. She'd shoved her cell phone into the room safe and didn't plan on opening her laptop for at least forty-eight hours. Accidentally seeing pictures of the wedding on Facebook would wreck her plans.

Thinking of Scott and his bride-to-be, she dragged herself from the pool, tied a sarong around her hips, and headed for the bar. This was definitely a weekend best spent in a rum haze.

"Quiet, ya?" A giant Jamaican woman greeted her from the counter. At least six feet tall and almost as wide, the woman smiled at her with gold plated teeth. "I'm Rosie."

"Alyssa." She grinned at the way the woman's braids danced around her face when she spoke. "Quiet's good for me. Do you have any rum back there?"

"Turn around, lady." Rosie pointed at the white-capped waves breaking against the reef about a mile from shore. "That's the Caribbean Sea. Of course I have rum. Silver or gold?"

"Silver with Diet Coke."

"A Skinny Black Bitch?"

Alyssa blinked before smiling in agreement. "If that's what you call a rum and Coke, then I'm dying for a Skinny Black Bitch, make her extra sexy."

Rosie tilted her head back and laughed, braids enhancing the movement with a show of their own. "Some use vodka with the cola, but," she pointed at the ocean, "I use rum, still call it a Skinny Black Bitch, Rosie style."

"Whatever you call it, I want it." She glanced at the empty bar, thrilled that she'd chosen to come down during this time of year. No head-over-heels-in-love couples pawing each other, it couldn't get any better.

"You here alone?"

Alone. Single. Solo. An island unto herself. She sighed and nodded. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss Scott, yet she couldn't escape him even a thousand miles from home. She tapped her fingers against her bare knee and concentrated on the thatched roof covering the bar.

"I sense a story. Tell Rosie why a beautiful woman like you is in paradise alone."

"Cheating fiancé of eight years is getting married tomorrow to a woman he's only known six months." She reached for the rum and Coke and gulped it down. Let the rum haze begin. Why not live out a Jimmy Buffet song and get a little wild? What did she have to lose? Everyone from her coworkers to her grandmother told her she needed to break out of her comfort zone.

"Bastard." Rosie folded her arms over her chest and shook her head with disapproval. "I hope he goes bald, loses his teeth, gets fat, and his wife divorces him and leaves him penniless."

Well, she could toast to that!

"You are the best bartender. Ever." She smiled at her new best friend before looking over her shoulder at a dive boat returning to the dock. She imagined it had been a good day for scuba diving, a bit windy but otherwise flawless.

A lone kayaker bounced along the boat's wake. A few of the men on the dive boat waved to him and he held up a paddle in greeting. Bad idea. Over he went, upside down in an instant, thanks to a rogue wave. He righted the boat and smiled at the men who were now on the dock and giving him a hard time.

"I guess they all know each other?" She asked without meaning to say the words out loud.

"Luke—the kayaker—is here alone. They're all staying here, though. Only half of the cabanas are full this week, a lull before we get busy again," Rosie said with her golden smile. "How long are you staying with us?"

"Only through the weekend," she nodded, her gaze locked on the kayaker as he pulled the boat onto the sand, his laugh drifting up to her on the wind.

He shoved his hands through dark hair while he waited for the dive group to walk down the dock. Even from a distance, his smile transmitted ease and humor. A man who could laugh at himself...she liked it.

Not that she wanted to like it. She turned her back on the scene and met Rosie's observant eyes.

"He's a good looking man, ya?"

"Who?" She poked the lime in her glass and avoided contact.

"Luke. He's anti-love, too. You two need to get drunk together, I think."

"I'll pass." She smiled at the idea, though. "What makes you think I'm anti-love? I was engaged eight years."

"To the wrong man."

"I can't argue that," she muttered over the edge of the glass, her gaze slipping toward Luke who now carried his kayak over his shoulder toward the dive shop. The man definitely filled out his t-shirt in all the right places and had an ass that begged to be bitten. She now understood why men liked seeing women in wet t-shirt contests. Who knew kayakers were so buff? Even from this distance she could see sculpted biceps, hard glutes, and defined calf muscles. She shook her head and looked into her empty glass. "Are you sure there's just rum in here?"

"Rosie style." Rosie winked and handed her another drink. "You're on vacation. Enjoy yourself."

Oh, what the hell. The more she drank, the more she forgot about the rehearsal dinner going on tonight back in Denver and their mutual friends who'd be attending. Eight years of wasted time. She shook her head at the idea, yet she'd never pushed for a wedding of her own. Why not?

He'd once called her cold, accused her of living behind a barricade of excuses designed to keep anyone from getting too close. She'd dismissed the criticism. After all, she'd said yes to the proposal, hadn't she?

She sucked on the lime, her mind getting foggy.

"I didn't love him," she announced to Rosie after a prolonged silence. "He proposed and I said yes because he'd been the only man to ask. I didn't know that then, though, but...wow, that's horrible to realize, isn't it? So why am I so pissed off that he's getting married tomorrow?"

"Because he did the leaving."

She thought about that as she studied the bar menu for some food to absorb Rosie's special brew. Yeah, he'd done the leaving...and the cheating.

"I'll have my usual, Rosie," a male voice said.

She glanced up and saw the kayaker pulling out a stool a few seats away from hers. His black hair, wet from his spill near the dock and stiff from salt water, stuck out in random spikes from his head. He pulled at his t-shirt from where it stuck to his chest as he adjusted himself on the stool. When he noticed her staring, he flashed a smile that showcased dimples and humor.

"I flipped the kayak, now I'm a mess. Not exactly my finest moment," he said.

"How was the reef? Looks a bit choppy today. Did you tie up at the buoy?" Rosie asked as she handed him a frosted mug and a Heineken.

"I went further north, hitched to buoy at the Mexican Rocks. Smooth going out, rough coming back. It's all good." His palms cupped the frozen mug as if reveling in its coolness.

"I was telling Alyssa here that you're anti-love." Rosie blurted out as if they'd been discussing tide charts.

He paid extraordinary attention to pouring the beer into his mug, his smile turning into a laugh. "I have absolutely no idea what to say to that."

"She's anti-love, too. Her ex is getting married tomorrow."

"Rosie," she said in protest, "I thought bartenders were like priests and all discussions were confidential."

"This ain't no goddamn church. Do I look like a priest to you?" Rosie held her hands out to wide, showed off her gold teeth, and her braids pummeled her shoulders as she laughed.

"More like a Buddha," Luke said. "I agree with the lady, though, bartenders are meant to keep their lips sealed."

"Americans and your rules," Rosie said with a snort before walking over toward an older couple that had seated themselves at a table on the pool deck.

She poked her lime with the straw and ignored the urge to flee. Rosie's pronouncement, although somewhat amusing for its audacity, created an awkwardness between the lone patrons at the counter.

She sipped her drink, keenly aware that she hadn't bothered to comb through her hair after getting out of the pool and now it had dried into an untamed mess around her bare shoulders.

"Ex getting married tomorrow," he muttered. "That's harsh."

"I'm fine with it." She swayed a bit on the stool.

"Liar."

"No, seriously, I don't care." She faced him, her gaze sliding over the dried salt sticking to his neck. She wondered what he tasted like. "Have you had an ex get married?"

"Last year. She's expecting her first child in a few months." He leaned his elbow on the bar and assessed her with a lopsided grin. "We suck at small talk."

Damn, the man was too good to be true. Humor, hot body, killer smile, and take-me-to-bed blue eyes were a deadly combination in her book. She ripped her gaze from his and focused on the drink in her hand. She probably should have asked more questions about Rosie's special ingredients.

"Hey, Rosie, the love of your life has arrived!" A man driving a golf cart loaded down with strapped musical equipment called out as he parked on the sand.

"Dave the Gringo. He's a one-man band. You'll see him all over the place at all times of day," Luke said when he noticed where her attention had gone. "He comes here every Friday night."

"How long have you been here?"

"Ten days." He watched Dave the Gringo unstrap a keyboard. "Things are pretty routine on the island. Dave's here on Fridays, up at Captain Morgan's tomorrow, and out to Sanctuary on Sunday. Ramon's has its beach barbecue on Tuesdays. It doesn't take long to figure out how the island works." He turned his gaze on her. "Have you been here before?"

She shook her head 'no', all thoughts evaporating at eye contact. Blame it on the sun, the rum, plus whatever else Rosie had added, exhaustion, or delirium, but she could definitely see going out of her comfort zone with Luke the Kayaker.

He turned, stretched a leg in her direction over the tops of the stools, and perched his beer on his thigh. His gaze roamed over her, too, with an equal amount of curiosity and... dare she think... desire.

"So are you anti-man or just anti-love? Don't let one jerk ruin the chances for the rest of us." With his smile came the dangerous dimples.

"Are you flirting with me?" The idea intrigued her. Not that she wanted to hook up with some stranger, but then again maybe she needed his kind of diversion. She looked into his blue eyes, memorized the dimples, felt the warmth of alcohol rushing through her veins, and swayed forward on her stool.

"I don't flirt." The gleam in his eyes said otherwise.

"Liar. I think you've been down here flirting for ten days," she said, her words more slurred than she'd like as she tried to channel the sophisticated woman she pretended to be back home. She propped her elbow on the counter, stretched her legs next to his, crossed her ankles, and stared into his eyes.

Whatever Rosie put in that drink gave her courage.

His hand closed around her ankle. "You'd be wrong, way off the mark."

His touch sent shivers of awareness through her body. She shifted on the stool, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, certain he knew the affect he had on her. Losing control wasn't her style, neither was picking up strangers in bars. Yet she had an overwhelming desire to knock the stools down, rip his shirt off, crawl onto his lap, and screw him against the bars.

She pressed her hand to her forehead. Maybe she was sick. Lust wasn't in her vocabulary. There were simply things she didn't do...and suddenly she wanted to do all of them with Luke the Kayaker.

"I'd better take a nap," she muttered more to herself than him.

"Okay, I admit it, I'm a flirt. Why not? Flirting is fun." His fingers traced lazy circles against the top of her foot. "Let's meet back here in an hour and go to dinner. I'll show you the town of San Pedro. I know all the best places."

"You work fast."

"You're the one who brought up exes before even saying hello."

"Rosie did, not me." She watched his fingers make lazy circles on her skin.

"C'mon...what else are you going to do?"

She slid a fingertip over the rim of her glass without looking away from him. Tempting proposition. Her options were staying here, dining alone, probably getting sick from drinking too much...or she could go out with Mr. Sexy Eyes and Dimples and have some fun.

"One condition." She dared touch his foot as he touched hers, liked seeing his eyes narrow in response, enjoyed watching him swallow hard. "I'm only here for the weekend. I'm a little drunk, I admit that, and probably will stay that way for the next forty-eight hours. I don't know you, and you don't know me. No need to share our deepest and darkest secrets. Let's have a good time, enjoy each other without details. No last names, no following each other's Instagram, no strings."

"It's only dinner and a town tour." His smile widened, showing off his dimples again. "Alyssa Anonymous...I like it. Deal."

"Luke! We thought we'd lost you," a blonde who looked like she'd stepped out of Victoria's Secret active wear section appeared out of nowhere. She slipped her arm around Luke's shoulders in a light hug before claiming the stool next to him.

"Why would you be looking for me?" His gaze snapped to Alyssa's.

"Yo, Luke. We're all headed up to Captain Morgan's. Wanna come?" A man who looked like one of the divers from the dock slapped him on the back.

Before she knew what was happening, the quiet bar had become a meeting place of the tanned and toned. She didn't like crowds, had never been the social butterfly type. So much for the bravery of seconds ago.

"I'm in Cabana 36, charge it, okay?" she muttered to Rosie before sliding off the stool and heading toward her room for a much-needed cold shower and reality check.

She wasn't the kind of woman who had meaningless flings with a playboy who kayaked and laughed at himself. She was Alyssa McNeil, an assistant curator at the Denver Museum of Art. She had a one-bedroom condo and a cat named Carl. She turned thirty-one last week and her ex-fiancé was marrying someone else tomorrow. That was reality. No amount of Rosie's special concoction could change that.

* * *

The knock on her cabana door took her by surprise. Probably Rosie. Had she signed the bar receipt? She couldn't remember.

Showered and dressed in a loose yellow sundress, she walked barefoot toward the door. Thoughts were wrapped up with Luke. She'd admired how he'd laughed after tipping in the kayak, bantered easily with Rosie, smiled at her as if he'd known her for years, and had obviously made friends with the scuba divers who acted like he was a part of their group. He had a way about him, an ease, a magnetic pull.

She yanked the door open and stared. There he was, dressed in dry blue t-shirt, khaki shorts, and flip-lops. He tilted his head a bit to the side as he assessed her, his grin contagious.

"Ready to go, Alyssa Anonymous?" he asked.

She rocked back on her heels, struck by how the blue of his shirt emphasized his eyes. "I thought you were going out with your friends."

"They're not my friends. I met them the other night, a diving club from Dallas or somewhere like that." His shrug pulled the shirt tight over his shoulders. "We had a deal, didn't we?"

"Anonymity," she whispered, thinking of possibilities. Every fantasy she'd ever had came to life in her mind. Sex on the beach, against a palm tree, on the deck, in the king-sized bed behind her...every image created a slow burn deep in her gut.

"Scared? I'm harmless, I swear."

"Said the serial killer right before he pulled a knife."

"I know you want to." His voice had lowered to a seductive purr. "Come with me."

"Fine. Let's go." She tilted her chin up, hoping the fact that her knees were buckling didn't show as she forced her feet into the sandals. She was going out with a stranger in a foreign country. Well, no matter what, she'd have an interesting story to tell her friends when she got home.

"You won't regret it, I promise," he whispered against her ear while she locked her door. From the way he looked at her, either he'd read her mind or they were reading the same book.

They walked along the beach into town, hands grazing each other, arms touching. The stars shone like crystals in the night sky that meshed with the blackness of the ocean. Wind tossed her dress around her knees and plastered it to her thighs. He pointed out the other hotels, talked about the diving he'd done here in the past, mentioned a few inland tours he'd recommend if she ever came back.

"Do you travel a lot?" she asked.

"Does that fall under personal detail or am I allowed to answer?"

"Answer, please."

"As often as possible, which isn't often enough." He winked and laced his fingers through hers.

She gulped back the overflow of saliva flooding her mouth. Oh, yeah, this trip had been the best idea she'd ever had.

They ate at a restaurant built onto the end of a long pier, discussing topics like global warming, the health of the oceans, and favorite rock bands. It was the best date she'd ever had. Both kept to their promise of zero personal revelations. No talk about work, no trying to impress one another. She'd never been this relaxed with anyone. She liked it.

"If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?" He leaned back in his chair, sea at his back, and smiled.

"The Four Seasons on Fiji...you know the place with the cabanas out over the water? I'd love to go there." She folded her arms on the table and soaked him in. "What about you?"

"South Africa on a photo safari."

"Oh, if only we had all the time and the money in the world to indulge our fantasies..." She nearly choked on the word 'fantasies'.

"Time is what you make of it and there's always enough money for your priorities." He tapped his fingers on the table, his gaze steady on hers. "It's hard not asking more about you. There's so much I'd like to know."

She agreed, but a deal was a deal. "I'm a woman of mystery."

"Well-played. I'm officially intrigued." He toasted her with his glass of wine.

"I like this, it's simple. No pressure."

"Feels like I've known you for a long time...and, no, that's not a line. I mean it. You're an easy person to know, woman of mystery and all, notwithstanding. Your ex must be an idiot."

"He's a certifiable moron." She waved a finger at him. "That borders on too personal."

He laughed while he poured more wine. "You'll have to punish me later."

Her face heated at the suggestion. When he looked into her eyes, he smiled a smile full of suggestion and promise.

He linked his fingers through hers as they walked from the restaurant. Her panties melted to her skin at the slightest physical contact. His body emanated heat that burned through the clothes separating their bodies as they walked side-by-side down the dark beach.

Screw it. She only had forty-eight hours before going back to her tidy little life. She stopped, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him. Hard.

Hand at the nape of her neck, he pulled back a fraction to look into her eyes. "You're one intense lady, do you realize that? It's like you're on fire."

"It's an illusion," she whispered against his lips.

"I don't think so. Neither of us has anything to gain or lose. This is real." He kissed her with passion that left her clinging to his shoulders for balance.

They needed to get someplace—anyplace—private. Now.

Kissing, touching, laughing, they stumbled down the beach toward the resort. A crowd had assembled on the beach in front of the bar where Dave the One Man Band presided. The group of scuba divers played beach volleyball amidst it all.

"Locals come out for Dave," he said when she simply stared at the transformation from tranquil paradise to party central. "Come here." He dragged her into the gardens surrounding Ramon's Village and pressed her back against a tree. "Feeling adventurous?"

"Definitely." She pushed her hands beneath his shirt, anxious to get her hands on that hard body the wet t-shirt had suggested.

His mouth ravaged hers while his hands slid beneath her dress and squeezed her ass. One hand moved up the front of her, teased her breast beneath the fabric, while the other inched her panties aside. "Not very romantic, I'll make up for it later."

"I'm not complaining." She bit his neck while her fingers fumbled with his zipper. Her hands slid inside his waistband before closing around his erection. God, she'd never wanted anyone so badly. It's like she'd die without him inside of her. Now.

She linked one leg around his waist, hands on his butt while he thrust himself inside her. Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the sensations...palm tree against her back, him rocking inside of her, his mouth on her neck, 80s rock music blaring from behind them, people laughing only fifty feet away, ocean lapping against the shore, his mouth on hers, his hand squeezing her breast, other hand squeezing her thigh, scent of flowers mixing with barbecue, breeze tossing the palms above them, and the feel of his muscles moving beneath her hands.

They came together, both moaning into each other's mouths, eyes wide open, connected in the moment. They laughed against each other's lips, neither pulling apart.

She curled her fingers into his hair. "I want more."

"Insatiable...I like it." His teeth gently tugged her lower lip.

"Best. Weekend. Ever." She kissed him with each word.

"On fire, I'm telling you." He pulled from her and smoothed her dress over her hips. "You're like an inferno."

She laughed, body limp from spent passion, and linked her hands with his when he pulled her against him. He turned them into an impromptu dance on the sand, his mouth clinging to hers in a slow kiss, while he held her close.

"You're too good to be true," she whispered. "I can't believe you're real."

"Like you said...it's all an illusion."

Maybe it was, but then again maybe it wasn't. Here there were no pretenses, no expectations, simply two people indulging in one another. Regret flashed in his eyes, darkened them in the moonlight, before he looked away.

She flattened her palms over his shoulders and wondered at the glimpse of pain she'd seen. Anonymity had its pros... and cons.

"Your place or mine?" he asked.

"Mine. Want to race?"

"I don't want to let you go, so we'll run together." He broke the dance and pulled her in a half-run, mostly stumble toward her cabana. She laughed when he lifted her up and carried her the rest of the way.

* * *

She stared at the buoy with skepticism. Okay, so maybe an all-night sex fest could convince her to do anything. She'd admit that, now that she was a mile off shore in a kayak.

Who'd known she could kayak? Not only had she gone outside of her comfort zone, she'd skyrocketed out of it. So far she'd seduced a stranger, made love against a palm tree, in the shower, on the bed, and in a hammock...and that was day one. It was official. She had lost her mind and didn't miss it at all.

A series of white buoys lined the reef at random intervals so boats could tie to them. Aside from that, it was just wide-open ocean. Her arms shook from the physical exertion on the paddles, but she'd never felt more alive...and terrified.

"Tell me again why this is a good idea."

He flashed her his infamous smile while he securing their boats to the buoy.

She looked over the edge into the turquoise water. "I suppose there are reef sharks."

"Scared?"

"Nope," she lied. This new version of Alyssa McNeil could bluff, maybe she'd book a trip to Vegas. Snorkel mask on top of her head and fins on her feet, she slid into the water next to him.

He pulled her close, their legs tangling in the water, bodies sliding together with the motion of the ocean, and kissed her slowly. "Don't worry. I have your back."

Something tugged inside her heart when he carefully put the snorkel mask over her eyes, held her hand, and guided her away from the boats. She swam with him, watching him point out an eel tucked in the reef, all the while keeping her close.

She trusted this stranger who wasn't quite a stranger, more than she'd ever trusted Scott. She wouldn't overthink it. Anonymity had been her idea and she didn't want to ruin the weekend by breaking the deal.

But when he looked over his shoulder and winked from behind his snorkel mask, she'd wished she hadn't tried to be so cool.

* * *

"Time for me to go home, Rosie." She sat down for one last drink before checking out.

"Luke left earlier?" Rosie leaned against the counter. "You're going to see him in the States, ya?"

"No, it's over." She rolled her shoulders back and grinned at the woman. "I'm glad I came. No regrets. I didn't think of Scott's wedding once."

"That's because a better man was by your side, lady. Did you at least say goodbye?"

She blushed at how they'd said goodbye all night long in every position imaginable, including a repeat performance against a palm tree 'just because'.

She smiled, hugged her new friend, and left San Pedro behind. The flight to Belize City was just as precarious as it had been on the way there with the plane barely skimming scattered mangroves in the sea below and buzzing a few boats.

It wasn't until she'd passed Customs and waited at her gate that she thought about the past forty-eight hours. She'd traveled to Belize a sad woman seeking escape. Scott had convinced her that she'd been unlovable and destined to be alone. The right man—a stranger—had ignited her fire and shown her a glimpse of bliss. They'd laughed, kayaked, snorkeled, made love, stargazed, and discussed everything but themselves; it had been the most honest relationship she'd ever had. No strings. No bullshit.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." The man occupying her thoughts stood in front of her, passport and boarding pass in hand. "Deal's over now that we're off the island."

"What are you doing here? You left hours ago."

"My ticket was for the early morning flight from San Pedro, your flight was full or I'd have waited. C'mon," he held his passport out to her, a dare in his eye, "let's trade."

With a laugh, she handed him her passport and grabbed his. Luke Pickett. She grinned at his passport photo. She'd put money on it that he could cross borders with a smile and a wink alone.

He sat next to her and tapped his finger against his boarding pass. Frowning, she looked at his final destination. Denver International Airport.

"You're from Denver? So am I." She faced him, their knees bumping together. "I work at the Denver Art Museum."

"I'm an environmental attorney. I live in Golden." His smile widened. "What are the chances?"

"Did you know?"

"I had no idea." His eyes searched hers. "Want to go out on a date sometime? I'd love to get to know all of you, every detail."

"You're already familiar with some important details," she said, thinking of his vast knowledge of her body.

He slid his hand over her thigh and leaned within a fraction of her mouth. "I want more."

"Insatiable, I like it," she quoted him from the other night.

"Is that a yes?"

"Definitely." She smiled against his lips. "Best. Souvenir. Ever."

## The End

# BLUE YONDER RENDEZVOUS

## C.E. Kilgore

The lower engine compartment hummed with a reverberating pulse, like a steady heartbeat. A tubular hydrofusion core drummed on in an unceasing rhythm, providing a constant electrical current throughout the Blue Yonder's systems. The core's soft, blue glow caressed every surface, reflecting against the metal casing and amplifying the ethereal haze, enveloping the compartment's cramped space. For many, their first glimpse at the engine powering the Blue Yonder through the interstellar causeways was a gaze into the sacred gates of an engineering temple where the constructs of man mingled with dreams of the imagination in an attempt to reach the furthest visible star and touch the face of God.

"God damn you! You infernal, stubborn, glitchy-ass piece of geffarion shit!" The cursing tirade was highlighted by the metallic clanking echo of Kalis Oosori's telescopic spanner as it flew across the six foot wide compartment to hit against the opposite wall and then fall through the flooring grate at an most inconvenient angle. "Oh, wonderful!"

Kalis rolled his vivid violet eyes and ran a hand roughly through his silvery grey hair, the small downy feathers at the base of his neck fluffing in a reaction to his irritation. A series of frustrated warbles made a melodious tune from his four vocal cords before expelling from between perfectly symmetrical lips that were fighting against a heavy desire to frown and curse again. A Common Tradespeak curse or two did finally win the battle over his native Kilarian language of trills and clicks as he knelt down and attempted to retrieve the tool. His arm stretched between the floor grates with a pinching tightness that threatened to keep him pinned there for all eternity.

"Having some issues, Kal?" The bright green eyes of Landry Brogen appeared in the square ceiling hatch that led into the lower compartment. Strands of her rich umber hair trailed down beyond the opening, defying her never ending battle to keep them restrained within the clipped bun that served to raise her long hair off her neck in the engine room's natural sauna-like temperatures.

Kalis flinched at the sound of Landry's voice calling from overhead and dropped the spanner again, after just managing to secure a grip on it. The spanner mocked its owner in a calamitous, clinking series of pings as it slid between the compressor vent and the pressure-reserve tank to disappear into the black abyss, joining its brethren of abused, misplaced and dropped tools. "Fuck."

Landry snickered at the Kilarian's curse before disappearing from the hatch only to reappear feet first a few moments later. Her footsteps down the ladder rungs accompanied her decent. Skipping the last three rungs, Landry landed squarely behind Kalis and eyed the man's backside as he stood. "Here,"

Kalis turned to the Corwint female and eyed the water bottle being offered. "Thanks," he mumbled and took the bottle, avoiding the gaze of her green eyes. He continued staring down through the floor grating at the spot where he had just lost another spanner. The heat in the compartment raised as his mind berated him for his emotional outburst, which was not a characteristic commonly attributed to Kilarians. Calm, collected, intelligent and arrogant. Yes, that about summed up the off-worlder impression of his race, and it wasn't a description he bothered arguing over.

"Lose another spanner?" Landry rocked back on her heels and tried not to stare at the movement of his throat as he tipped the bottle upwards and took a long drink.

He coughed and sputtered, lowered the bottle and gave her a sideways scowl which forced him to look at her a few seconds longer than he should. The temperature in the confined space rose another notch. Flicking his glare away, he set the bottle on top of the condenser and knelt down in front of the panel he had opened earlier. "If had known I would be having an audience, I would have put on a better show."

Landry scrunched up her freckled nose at his retort and stared at his backside again. The black canvas of his flight pants did nothing to diminish the pleasant view. The white tank-top he was wearing, with lean muscles rippling beneath the pale skin that it exposed, wasn't helping her efforts to find something else to occupy her eyes. "Condensation on the timing switch again?"

"Yes," he replied shortly as he tried to reach the junction at the back of the wire-filled panel.

Her brow furrowed. "Need a hand? My arm is thinner and can,"

"No," he cut her off then grunted as his shoulder wedged into the corner of the unit.

A huff blew up the loose strands of her hair before she crouched down next to him. "C'mon, Kal, you're going to cut your shoulder doing that."

"I'm fine."

"Look, just let me," she stopped as he jerked away from her hand. His violet eyes shut in a wince as a line of blood dripped from a fresh cut on his shoulder. Backing away with one hand on her hip, she pointed at the wound. "See? Why don't you just let me help you instead of being so damn stubborn?"

Yanking his arm out of the mess of wires with another grunt, he moved further away from her. The thin line of tiny silver feathers that ran down the back of his neck rose in a fluster and he turned his growing scowl to his bleeding shoulder. "I'm sure you have work to get done."

"No, actually, I don't." She waited for him to say something, but he just stood there, glaring at the hydrofusion housing coil as it pulsed. A bead of sweat ran down the line of his jaw and she caught herself gazing at the handsome angles of his face as she tried to quell her rising anger at his continued attitude. Shaking herself out of the stupor his presence always seemed to put her in, she thought it was high time he explained why he was always so rude to her so she could get over her aggravating, clearly hormonally imbalanced, infatuation. "What's your problem, Kal?"

He blinked, glanced over to her then turned away. "There is no problem."

"Geffarion shit, there isn't! You've been nothing but stand-offish with me since I came on board."

"I'm Kilarian," he replied with a light shrug, as if that should be a satisfactory explanation.

"Well, no shit." She took a step closer. "Here I thought this whole time you were a really pale Tharsan who lost a fight with his pillow!"

She watched as his feathered eyebrows narrowed and the line down his neck rose again in agitation, but then his cheeks puffed and he made several clacks in the back of his throat. Her eyebrow quirked up, knowing full well that kind of reaction from a Kilarian implied amusement. He thought she was funny? "I just don't get it, Kal. You're not like this with everyone else. Did I do something to offend you? Well, I mean, besides the pillow comment."

"No," his voice softened as he let out a long sigh. A tick of his head to the left revealed uncertainty and two low, trilling notes from his throat belied his concern. "You're the Captain's daughter."

Her own cheeks puffed as she stood dumbfounded. "What has that got to do with anything?"

His hands dropped to his sides and his eyes raised to the ceiling. "Everything."

"Wait," her voice almost growled as his reaction triggered a new wave of anger. "Do you think I got onto this ship because my father is the Captain?! I'll have you know, feather-britches, I earned my place on this ship just like every other crew member. I was the top of my class at Central and I had Captains from across the fleet trying to bribe me onto their ships! You honestly think Charles Brogan would let anyone onto his ship that doesn't measure up to his ridiculous, anal-retentive standards?"

"No, and that's not what I meant." He held his hands up as he faced her rising anger. "It's just, well," he stuttered, which was also not a common attribute for Kilarians. She just made him so flustered. Every time she was around him, he seemed to lose all ability to hold a coherent, intelligent conversation. Chewing on his words and forcing his brain to spit out a response, he winced as the words that came out undoubtedly came out all wrong. "You're nineteen!"

"Age? Seriously?" Her hands fisted on her hips as she squared off with him, beads of sweat now freely rolling down both their brows. "You're only twenty-four. Last time I checked, age may translate to experience, but it doesn't translate to I.Q. level. I may have only six months in space under my belt, but I know what I'm doing! I also happen to know that my I.Q. is the third highest on this ship according to Central staff records, having only lost to you by ten damn points!" She shifted her weight and crossed her arms at her chest. "My father being first doesn't count," she grumbled, "the man's brain is in its own category."

As her nose scrunched in the expression that accentuated her freckles and sent his mind spinning, he backed away and lowered his eyes. "You're misinterpreting everything I say."

"Then clarify it for me, Kal. If I'm too stupid to get what you're saying, dumb it down ten points to my level."

He sighed with a puff of the cheeks. "You're too stubborn for your own good."

"And you're a stubborn, pompous,"

"Pompous?!" His gaze shot back up as the line on his neck rose. Her emerald irises sucked the retort right from his mouth and left him stumbling again. "Well, you're a... a nosey girl who,"

"Girl?" She bristled and motioned towards her body as the age argument resurfaced. "I may be in a formless jumpsuit, but I assure you I am all woman underneath it!"

"I know!" He threw up his hands before running a palm down his face. "Stars above, I know, but you are nineteen and Captain Brogan's daughter and,"

"Are you stuck in a damn loop, pigeon? I thought we covered that already."

A clack of his teeth and a jut of his chin signaled a challenge. "You aren't listening to a word I'm saying."

She faltered under the stern, hard look in his eyes. Their breathtaking purple irises were swirling with a mix of emotions she couldn't place. "And you aren't making any sense!"

Running both hands through his hair, he gave up. "Because you drive me crazy!"

"What have I ever done to you?"

He grasped her arm and pulled her roughly against his chest with a roll of his head in a final acceptance that he could no longer fight himself over her. "You're just so damn beautiful."

"What?" Her shocked, rasping question was answered with the claiming of her mouth by his. The press of his lips sought acceptance and entrance, which she granted by letting out an open-mouthed moan. The kiss deepened and her hand crawled over his bicep, up along his jawline and into his feather-light hair. His grip on her arm tightening as the temperature in the room rose again and the pulsing of the engine core could no longer compete with the pounding heart within her chest.

The kiss threatened to take his legs right out from under him. It was everything he had imagined it could be for the past six months, and so much more. The taste of her lips was a sweet, succulent drug and her moan reverberated straight through him to awaken the carnal urges his people spent so much effort denying. His violet eyes shot open and he pulled away from her with heavy breaths heaving his shoulders.

"Stars," he spoke through deep inhales that were attempting to quiet the urges. "I'm sorry, Landry. I shouldn't have done that."

Landry stood completely still and stared at him for three long blinks as she tried to find her senses again. "You... you've been a complete asshole to me for six months because you're attracted to me?"

Three clacks and a puff of his cheeks preceded a humorless laugh. "Have I really been that bad?"

"Yes!" Her arms crossed again as another pregnant pause passed between them, broken only by the never-ceasing hydrofusion pulses. Glancing over his body, a body she had been staring at for those same six months, she timidly tucked a strand of her hair behind one ear as she swallowed against a rising blush. "You think I'm pretty?"

"No," he replied hoarsely. "A flower is pretty. You, Landry, are an entire field of star-lilies at sunset. That was the thought that went through my head when you first stepped onto the loading dock. Then you opened your mouth and started talking. Once I realized the breadth of intelligence and wit that existed behind your beautiful green eyes and those damn adorable freckles, I knew I was in trouble."

A crimson fire heated the freckles across both cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. "So, what, being a rude prick is some sort of Kilarian flirtation tactic?"

"Hardly." A smile slowly upturned the corners of his lips as he chanced a glance in her direction. "Landry, you are my Captain's daughter. His only daughter. On top of it, the man is Charles Brogan! Certifiable genius who walks the thin line before mad scientist, and you and I both know his social skills are not what one would call fully developed."

She snorted. "He's not that bad. Okay, yes, he has some O.C.D. issues and prefers things a certain way,"

"Exactly! I'm quite certain he prefers his only daughter a certain way – a way that does not include being courted by his Kilarian engineer."

"The man is my father," she sighed, "but that doesn't give him ownership over my life. I date who I want."

His smile faltered as his shoulders sagged. "Yes, I suppose that is the other side of the equation that I hadn't taken into consideration. You are an attractive, intelligent woman. A Corwint woman, and there are several Corwint males on board who have all been vying for your attention."

Another snort scrunched up her nose. "Jackson is a crude little troll, Creiger is very sweet, but so not my type, and Vetrosi can't stop stuttering around me long enough to say hello." She uncrossed her arms and took a step closer. "There is one guy, though, that I've had my eyes on since I stepped onto the loading dock six months ago. I thought he was rather handsome, and smart, but he turned out to be a bit of a dick. Of course, now I know why. So, I might just get up the courage to ask him if he wants to date."

A deep inhale raised his shoulders as he looked back up, the unmistakable charge of mutual attraction zinging between them. The urge to take her back into his arms and kiss her breathless resurfaced and he swallowed tightly against it. "Kilarians don't really date. We, well, we choose one female and we court her through a series of customary steps."

"Does one of those steps involve you kissing me again?"

"Oh yes," he whispered as she stepped into his chest, his eyes darting down to her soft, inviting lips. "It's how I initiate the courtship request, and then the female, you, responds in kind if you accept my advances."

Landry pressed him back against the hydrofusion casing as her arms looped around his neck. Her fingers trailed up the line of downy feathers at the back of his neck and he shivered within her embrace, his eyes closing and his head tilting to the side in a slack-jawed groan of pleasure. Cupping his jaw and guiding him down, she met his lips and made it clear how accepting she was of his advances.

The heat in the compartment became suffocating and turned her technician coveralls into a sweat suit. The way Kal's tongue danced around hers in darting, suggestive penetrations past her lips was doing nothing to provide relief to the fire burning through her blood and across her skin. Without breaking the connection between their lips, her hand trailed a line under his jaw before fingering the zipper at the neck of her uniform. Unthreading zipper clasps preceded a sigh from her mouth as she came up for air. The perspiration beading the skin of her chest was met with the barely cooler temperature of the room. A drop rolled downward from her collarbone into one cup of her bra and made her shiver. When Kalis chased after the drop with his tongue, she nearly collapsed into his arms.

Skin. Sweet skin and the scent of a woman. A captivating woman who set his spirit on full awareness and made every part of his body ache with need. The sound of a zipper unhooking barely registered in Kal's mind as the sound of Landry's breathless sigh joined the hydrofusion hum and the pounding of his heart. Her head tilted back and left her neck exposed. His lips instinctually followed the contours of her body, kissing her chin, her gloriously long neck and the raised ridge of her collar bone. Moisture met his lips and his tongue flicked out to taste it. When one sweet bead of sweat made an escape, his tongue perused it downward. His lips hit silken fabric, Landry let out a throaty moan and his purple eyes snapped open.

Landry almost fell on her ass backwards as Kalis slid suddenly away and put distance between their bodies. He had his hands raised in front of him and his eyes cast to the floor as his chest moved in an obvious struggle for breath. She watched him in silence as she used one flap of her open collar to try and fan a tiny breeze of air against her skin. This wasn't her first time fooling around with a boy, but maybe he hadn't been kidding about Kilarians choosing one female to court. A lopsided grin quirked up one side of her mouth as that idea led to the thought that he had possibly chosen her over others, knowing she couldn't have possibly been the first pretty girl to come his way.

It could also mean that she had tripped over some custom in her rush to feel his mouth kissing any part of her she offered. "Kal? I'm sorry. I've done something wrong, haven't I..."

A low, growling note rumbled from his throat and ended in a groan. "No. I mean, it isn't your fault, but there are steps and customary actions I am meant to take and I was almost ready to skip straight over them. It would have been disrespectful."

"There's nothing disrespectful about it, Kal," she replied and took a step forward. "It's only disrespectful if I don't want it, and trust me, I want it. I want you. I've wanted you for six damn months."

His eyes raised and darkened, focusing on the pink silk of her bra as it peeked out from between the unzipped front of her coveralls. He couldn't stop the high trill of appreciation and want that vibrated past his lips. "I want you, too, Landry. I've thought about it every day since I first saw you – how it might feel to kiss you, to hold you, what you might taste like." As that admission stuttered past his lips, his eyes grew wider and rose to her face. "I'm sorry, that was..."

"Hot?" she interrupted and took another step forward. "Relax, Kal, you aren't the only one flustered in this sauna." She drew a finger across her collar bone and watched his violet irises following the movement as several more beads of perspiration dripped like rain down her skin and into the cups of her bra. He swallowed hard again and let out a puff of breath, so she stopped and bit her bottom lip. "Now I should be the one apologizing."

His gaze refocused back on her freckles and then the concern in her eyes. "For what?"

She sighed "I'm pushing and I can tell it's making you uncomfortable. I'll be honest, Kal, I'm no virgin."

The color rushed to his cheeks, which puffed as three clacks sounded in the back of his throat. "Neither am I."

"Oh!" Landry blinked and her own cheeks flashed crimson. "Well I feel a bit silly for saying that then. I just thought, I mean, you said Kilarians court one girl, and I thought..." Now it was her turn to examine the floor grating.

"Sex is sex," his voice lowered into a baritone that caused her to inhale sharply and he smiled at her reaction. "I don't want sex with you, Landry."

"You, you don't?" Her head titled in confusion because it sure felt to her not even five minutes ago that sex was exactly what he wanted.

A roll of his head and a quietly purred note added to the intensity in his eyes as he stared at her. When she took a step back, he took three quick strides and cleared the distance between them. Pinning her back against the humming coil housing, he kissed her forehead, both of her cheeks and then nuzzled against her left ear to whisper the truth of his intent. "I want you, Landry. I want to take you into my bed and follow every line of your body with my tongue before I part your thighs and drink of your sacred essence. I want to kneel between those thighs and join my body to yours with the hard heat of my desire for you. Every piece of me, every part, yearns for you and is urging me to do this. Every part but my heart, Landry."

The whispering promises had her heart fluttering within her chest and the room spinning in her vision. She desperately wanted him to do those things physically to her. Her palms were pressed against his chest between their bodies and the beat of his heart moved through her. As his last words stung against her desire, however, her heart sank. If his heart wasn't in it, then she didn't want it. He was right, sex was sex. What she wanted with him was something completely different. "Oh,"

He leaned back and cupped both sides of her face, their noses almost touching. The disappointment in her voice was the only confirmation he needed. "My heart wants you, too."

"Oh," her tone brightened as a smile spread over her lips.

"But my heart," he continued, "begs me to take it slow and to honor the rules of courtship. Kilarians can choose to have sex with however many partners we deem fit until we are paired, but we are only ever paired with one and that pairing is intended for life. I think you could be that for me, Landry. My pairing. My life-bonded."

He paused and watched her eyes as they dilated, and he waited for her to run or even possibly laugh. Instead, the green of her eyes darkened and her breathing fell into a pattern matching his own. Encouragement flooded through him, giving him the push to finish what he needed to say. "Landry, I want to follow the rules of courtship so that we can each be sure this is what we want, what you want; to be paired with me. If you are wanting just something casual, then I'm sorry, but I couldn't do that with you. Not when my heart is already so deeply attuned to your presence."

His words left her hanging on the ledge between her heart and her soul, that delicate, thin thread which always felt so close to snapping when she looked into his eyes. In that moment, when her heartbeat paired so steadily with his, she would openly give him whatever he asked. "I want that, too, Kalis. I... I want to see where this leads, to give it a chance to be more. I just don't know how long I can go without kissing you."

A rare chuckle warbled up from his chest and he smiled in relief at her acceptance. He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers and marveled as her freckles managed to become even more adorable as speckles against the red flush of her face. "Kissing we can continue to do."

"Oh, thank the Stars," she sighed and relaxed then laughed at his approving expression. "Don't get too full of yourself, feather-britches. I mean, your kisses may knock me on my ass, but don't expect me to make your courtship a walk in the park."

"I would expect nothing less than a challenge from you," he quipped back with a rueful grin.

"So," she raised an eyebrow, "now that I've accepted, what's step number three?"

All the air left his lungs as his ego deflated at the very thought of the next step. "I have to seek permission from your elders."

"My father, you mean."

"Your father," he confirmed in a groan and leaned his forehead against her shoulder as her chest shook in a swallowed laugh. "I don't see how this is at all amusing."

"And what if he says no?" she asked, still fighting back the laugh.

He tensed and jerked back, his pale skin even more gaunt and his eyes wide in a stricken worry. "You think he could say no?"

"It's my father," she snorted. "He could shrug in disinterest, give you an encouraging speech or jettison you out of an airlock. All three of those scenarios have an equal probability. If he is in one of his moods, he may do all three and in that order."

"You aren't exactly instilling an overflowing sense of confidence in my ability to convince your father to let me court you so that I can continue kissing you, as well as moving on to other fun things."

She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Oh? What's step four?"

"I give you a handmade token of affection," he replied with a small note of embarrassment.

"I like presents!" She grinned and kissed his chin as his embarrassment faded. "Step five?"

"We spend a few hours each day together and talk," he mumbled against her neck before kissing the skin.

"An important step if this is meant to be permanent," she nodded with a small shiver at the teasing brushes his lips were making in the curve of her neck. "You and I could end up having absolutely nothing in common."

"Yes, that would be horrible," he agreed before suckling the skin of her collarbone. "Never having anything to talk about."

"Tragic," she whispered and ran her hands through his hair. "Step six?"

His hands had somehow found their way inside of her coveralls and were now running up her ribs and over the silk-covered mounds of her breasts. "We move in together to see if we can peacefully cohabitate."

"Purely platonic, of course," she moaned and arched her neck back as his teeth nipped at the top edge of her bra.

"Purely," he barely managed to get the word out as every urge in his body had him fighting for self-control.

"And step seven?"

He kissed the top of her breast and leaned up at her breathy question, the heavy look of lust mirrored in their eyes. She really was going to make it so incredibly challenging to make it all the way to step seven without skipping ahead. Smiling mischievously, he nuzzled back against her cheek and whispered into ear.

As Kalis slowly explained how step seven would play out, all of Landry's insides melted and she was certain that she stopped breathing at one point. When he pulled away and stared at her with those gorgeous violet eyes and a dark smirk which promised the truth of things to come, she yanked him hard against her and kissed the smile right off his lips. She felt his hands shaking as they moved up and down her sides and she knew she wasn't the only one who would be having a hard time sticking to the order.

"Well," she whispered in a husky tone after suckling his bottom lip in a way that drew out a long, low note that vibrated all four of his vocal cords. "Why don't we finish fixing my father's engine so you can start off the request with a bit of good news when we land on Ruisk in two days."

His eyebrow quirked up. "You want me to wait until we land on Ruisk?"

She nodded with a serious expression. "I think it would be best if we took the possibility of the airlock out of the equation."

"Stars, your intelligence is so damn sexy," he mumbled before reclaiming her lips and repeating steps one and two for as long as she would let him.

## The End

# ASHES

## Ceri London

The commander of the Galacticus Elecion Forces landed his gryphon in the outer courtyard of the Royal Palace and gave a low whistle of disbelief. His flight across the frozen tundra had been long and arduous. He'd managed to evade detection by the Formorri warships, but had expected some sort of challenge on his final approach to the palace—on the back of a living gargoyle.

Way too easy.

He scanned the undisturbed snow around them. Unusual. No courtier to greet him, either. Sensing no immediate danger, his battle-readiness downgraded to a guarded unease. It would take a lot more to extinguish the slow-burning anger that had sustained him through the cold nights.

He settled the exhausted gryphon into the empty stables, patted its feathered neck, then unwrapped his outer clothing to access his communicator and find out what the hell was going on. The icy wind bit hard and he shivered as he tried to get a response from the sub-space comm device. Shaking the alien cell phone was a tactic that had worked before. Not this time.

Shit. The freaking sub-zero temperatures made the Arctic Circle feel like a sun-kissed ski resort, but this galactic snowball of a planet had a bigger goddamned flaw than screwing with the technology: an absence of holes.

On this planet, he had to travel like everyone else. No convenient shortcuts to bridge the fabric of space-time. Having reached the relative haven of the Royal Palace, his journey wasn't over. The crystal-floored hallways spanned a lake of molten gold, and the corridors stretched on for miles. He faced a helluva walk.

Just not as far as Earth.

The dark thought, unwelcome as it was untimely, ricocheted inside his head and put him on the verge of a thumping headache. He stomped through the threatening meltdown. Every step intensified his ire with the woman he'd come to see. Her ice-blue aura tickled the periphery of his awareness. Ruby flames flickering in her aura whispered of deception. Rising heat from the subterranean lava could warm his aching bones, but nothing could ease the newly-honed treachery filleting his guts.

His nostrils flared. Damn her. He'd rattle those precious regal bones if that's what it took to shake sense into her royal brain. And if she tried any by-royal-command bullshit, he'd tan her imperial butt the color of the setting sun. This selfish and misguided Hail Mary she'd concocted to save her planet was going to jeopardize the security of the entire galaxy.

Everything they'd worked for.

Turning a final corner, he targeted his gaze on a pair of huge silver-etched doors that framed an open arch into the queen's personal chambers. The customary guard was absent. His pace quickened.

He stopped just inside the threshold.

She stood before a mullioned window and the sight of her gazing over her war-damaged kingdom dulled his anger. Her bowed head accentuated the long line of her neck. Sorrow bled from translucent skin. Every stark vein screamed her devastation. Anguish did not dim her beauty. The silvery stratosphere, overcharged by weapons of war, lightened her auburn hair to the color of gold.

Impossible not to imagine those coiled up tresses tumbling down her back, the soft caress of silken strands weaving through his fingers. He would raise her head with a finger curved under her chin to reveal the hidden depths lurking behind those purplish-blue irises. Only he knew the passion that simmered beneath the cool façade of the woman peering down at a pall of black smoke hovering over cities reduced to rubble.

He winced to think of the pressure she must be under. Nightly fireworks and shockwaves would have tested the strongest resolve. Guilt crawled out of the dying embers of his anger; his forces should have arrived sooner. Then hurt disappointment resurrected his wrath. She should have kept her faith.

However desperate her planet's plight, where did a woman so loving find the cold inhumanity necessary for bartering with the lives of trillions? She would reduce her planet to a stepping stone in the Formorri's bid for galactic domination, consigning a proud world to a footnote in the annals of history.

Betrayal. Survival. Hard to split them apart.

The muscles in his throat corded together. He rammed up his mental shields to contain a memory of the wife he'd left on Earth. What was he doing? He couldn't allow the past to divide his attention. Not now, when he stood to lose the woman who had rekindled the embers of his heart. She had brought color back into his life. The dark emptiness from before scared him; he couldn't be that person again.

Fresh anger clawed up his constricted throat; it was always the betrayal that stung the most.

"How can you do this?" Fury mangled his ability to speak her ancient language with any fluency. His rasping voice could barely utter the words, "How could you even consider a treaty with the Formorii?"

Her body stiffened as if surprised. Had she not known he was there? Impossible for a gifted telepath like her. She lifted her head—a studied movement that echoed her bloodline—and turned to answer his challenge.

"I must protect my people." She placed a palm over her heart. "This is my sole purpose."

He balled his hands into fists, or he might just wrap them around her beautiful neck. "By selling out mine? We're trying to protect your solar system." He gestured towards the window. "You're laying out the welcome mat to the entire galaxy!"

Her lips tightened, invoking in him an infuriating urge to pummel them soft with a brutal kiss. Resentment simmered in her eyes and boiled over into her voice. "You know nothing."

The scale of her arrogance stole his breath away and reverberated at his core.

"We had an understanding." One where the ink ran deeper than the contract it formed. "Was that all a lie?" His voice cracked. An intense sadness pierced him. He forced away the image of copper hair and blue eyes aglow with laughter and focused on the woman before him.

She stepped towards him, hand outstretched, then stopped. Her defiant expression disintegrated before his pain. "No . . ."

She looked lost and, for a moment, he glimpsed the woman behind the throne. Her body almost crumpled; a slight dip of her waist that she caught quickly. Straightening, she swished the long train of azure dress behind her, and walked away from him.

He lunged toward her and in two broad strides he seized her elbow and spun her around to face him.

Those striking irises darkened as she tried to jerk her arm free. "How dare you. Unhand me!"

"I won't allow the Formorii to use this world as a beachhead for a full-scale invasion. They can't be trusted. They will take your men, women and children for their maniac god."

"Balor is not beyond reason. I have negotiated an agreement with the Formorii Senate that will protect both our interests."

"What agreement?"

Uncertainty flickered across her face before her expression closed him out. She glanced at his fingers encircling her arm. "Let me go."

He tightened his grip.

"Why don't you call your guard?" he taunted. Then the significance of the empty hall struck him. His mind stretched out, searching for life anywhere in this vast cavern of a palace. "Where is your guard?"

"I dismissed them. The war requires every able body at the front."

"What about your ministers? Servants?"

"With their families."

He frowned. This place housed thousands. She had ordered a sizable evacuation.

She looked away, but not before he saw a flash of guilt cross her face. He looked back on his journey to the palace. He'd left the battlefront two suns ago, had ridden a highly-spooked gryphon through explosions and anti-matter strikes to stop the queen's ill-conceived scheme, only for the space cannons to fall silent as the besieged palace came into sight.

Coincidence? Or had he arrived too late? What was she hiding from him?

He tightened his fingers around her arm, prepared to force an answer out of her.

Her beautiful face paled. "Please, Commander. You're hurting me."

Unleashing the full force of his mind, he slid between her mental defenses. She rallied fast, blasting him with an avalanche of notions and minutiae that he couldn't hope to unravel. But he didn't miss the underlying filament of dread; an anxiety that centered on him to the exclusion of all else.

A muscle in his jaw flickered. "I scare you so much?" he growled.

She stared at his chest.

He joggled her elbow. "Answer me."

Her head lifted. Glistening tears revealed the depths of her pain. "Sometimes, yes. Please, my arm . . ."

He hissed, released her, but loosely rested his hand around her waist so she couldn't retreat too far. "Or perhaps guilt is the reason for your distress. Let me help you. The war is not lost. It's barely begun."

She shook her head. "Left to you, this war would never end. My people crave peace. This galaxy craves peace."

He blinked. The conviction blazing in her eyes surprised him, her denouncement of his command stung.

"You're deluding yourself." He searched his memory for alien words that would persuade her, frustrated by linguistic skills that were unequal to the task. It irritated him that she would not allow his thoughts to show her the atrocities committed in Balor's name, suspicious of her reasons for denying him admission to her mind. "The Formorii will not stop until they've destroyed us all. Their greed and ambitions are without bounds. Religious fervor never brings peace; it's an incurable insanity. A thousand worlds won't satisfy Balor's appetite. The only way is to fight. Never give in."

He pulled her close and her musky fragrance stirred his senses. His fingers burrowed into the intricate arrangement at the nape of her neck. Her sharp inhale drew his gaze down to the heat smoldering inside those violet orbs.

He hardened against her and grinned. "You want me."

She pressed a palm into his chest and tried to push him back. "Diable."

He laughed the insult away, more interested in finding the pin in her hair that would bring his earlier fantasy to life. He grasped the clip. His gaze dropped to the soft swell of her bosom mashed up against his chest. He observed the beating pulse in her neck.

"Shall I stop, Your Majesty?" he said, his voice low and seductive.

Her soft lips parted on a soundless, "No." With one sharp pull her hair unfurled to his elbow. He dipped his head and murmured kisses against her pulsating temple until her knees buckled. His arm held her steady.

"Don't stop," she pleaded, molding her curves to his body. "I need this . . . one last time, Commander . . . before you hate me forever."

"It doesn't have to be this way. I can protect this world. Let me show your people there is an alternative to surrender and slavery."

"Yes," she whispered, pressing against his burgeoning lust. "Another way . . . I never wanted this. But I love my people."

His ardor throbbed until he could stand it no longer. He clinched her to him and claimed her lips, assaulting her with his pent-up frustration, anger—and desire. She moaned. Her hands reached around to his back. Nails clawed at his jacket. She was trying to force the pace; assert control.

Not gonna happen, sweetheart.

She whimpered when he pushed her away, staggered slightly before regaining her balance. A frown creased her forehead. Pearl-white teeth caught her lower lip.

Her dimming aura betrayed her fear of rejection and quelled the remnants of his wrath.

He tugged open his collar. She gasped at his action. Excitement lightened her expression and she took a teasing step backwards then another, her gaze locked on his. He advanced on her, tearing off his coat then letting it drop to the floor. His shirt swiftly followed.

Her eyes gleamed with unmistakable invitation. "One last time, Commander?"

"It doesn't have to be the last. We still have our arrangement."

He matched her withdrawal step for step, liking her game, angling right to send her slightly off her course as he unbuckled his belt. Her head turned too late as she backed into the door frame. He closed the remaining distance between them and planted a hand against the door, barring escape.

Her trembling sent a mixed message of anticipation and trepidation. He sensed she wasn't sure of his mood, what he intended.

Good.

His free hand plucked at the silky fabric clinging to the sensuous curves of her body. "Take it off."

She didn't hesitate. A furnace raged inside the woman and when she finally gave her passion free rein, the ice queen melted. He loved that about her. The sight of her lace bodice drained the last of his patience. He grabbed the sides of her dress and ripped it apart. The material gathered in a pool around her ankles. White flesh peeped out of her corset, undulating with her every breath. He cupped one support and pushed up until a pebbled nipple emerged from its confines.

She reached for his arm.

He leaned in close to her ear. "Hands by your side . . . let go . . . give up your need to control."

A slight moan spoke of relief. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Her arms dropped in surrender, wrists resting lightly against her thighs. He shifted back to study her and caught her fingers balling into a fist. Then her whole body seemed to sigh and her hands opened.

Better.

He waited for her expression to soften as he circled the aureole of nerves with the coarsened ball of his thumb. Her whimper shattered the last of his resolve. He leaned in and let her hand find him. She murmured her pleasure. He tensed as she eased him out. Sharp nails scraped the length of his shaft, teasing him to fullness. She always knew just how to handle him.

He tried to ignore the rising fire in his loins to concentrate on her. It was torturous, but she rewarded him with little mewing sounds as her body jerked to the tune of his fingers. Wanton thoughts leaked through her mental barriers that were weakening with every stroke of his thumb across her pert bud.

Her eyes opened and roamed across his naked shoulders then down to his chest. The tip of her tongue rounded her lips. She wanted to taste him. He shook his head.

The queen swallowed and the muscles in her neck and jaw relaxed. When she peeked up at him, dilated pupils the color of obsidian betrayed the intensity of her arousal.

Hope soared inside him. He would win her back. The woman beneath her royal robes could not survive on just the memory of the fires he lit inside her belly. He would remind her of the heights they could soar when joined as one. Their combined forces would sweep the stars of the Formorii scum.

He would see Balor in hell before he gave up this woman.

"Take me," she murmured. "I beg of you, Commander, I need you."

"When I'm ready, Majesty, and not a moment before."

Her pitiful moan raised the hairs on his neck. He trailed his hand down her stomach and coaxed her feet apart with his knee. Pushing aside the scrap of material blocking his access, he delved into her moist folds. Her longing for him slicked his fingers. He slid two inside her easily until he lifted her on the point of her toes. Her breathing quickened as she simultaneously pressed down and arched away. He searched the growing pool of desperation in her eyes, wishing she would let him into her mind, missing the intimacy her thoughts added to their lovemaking.

"Undo your corset."

Cold air replaced the warm hand encircling him. She fumbled the ties of her bodice as he continued his exploration inside her, making her squirm, balancing her when she fell off center. Her breasts burst out of their gold-laced wrapping. He fell upon the nipple he'd left unattended and sucked it into his mouth. His tongue coiled around the swollen peak.

Long nails wormed into his hair. Stifling a groan, he straightened and withdrew his fingers.

"Nooo . . ." A storm of anger gathered on her face and built into a tempest of thwarted desire. "You fiend."

He controlled the compulsion to impale her with his raging need. "If you want me to take you . . ."

She glared at him; half-naked, a royal whore to position and heritage battling her need to relinquish control in this one moment where she was not obliged to rule.

He fulfilled a secret role in her life—he understood its importance, and her struggle.

No one should be all-powerful, all of the time. Absolute power created a delusion of invulnerability, a belief that a bargain struck with the devil would be honored—a hope that the signature on a contract spawned by a monster could stick to the ashes of collapsed treaties and abandoned allies.

This day especially was not the moment to change their rules.

A strangled cry tore from her throat. Her hands dropped to her sides.

He took a moment to mentally search their surroundings and the skies above.

Aside from her breathing and the thudding of his heart, all was quiet. A war temporarily suspended to allow the commander of a galactic resistance to bed the ruler of a threatened world. More likely, a brief ceasefire before the Formorii advanced its frontier beyond this tiny but ferocious planet blocking its desecration of a galaxy and more.

He would not allow her to do this to her world, to the Galacticus Elecion's resistance. They were poised to halt the Formorri tsunami sweeping up whole galaxies in its wake. He understood her wish to bring an end to this misery, but ultimately, the decision would destroy her and her people. He loved her too much to let that happen.

If he could win her trust one more time . . . Show her he would not yield.

And yet, although she stood there, asking to be ravished, to join as one in body and mind, the lines of her body were strained; a subtle message he could not ignore. She wanted him, but her mind was in conflict and, more telling, closed to him.

His hopes crashed through the floor into the amber river below.

Show her. Show her it isn't over.

"I would never force you, my Queen. Or take what is not willingly offered." His tone hardened. "But I will not allow you to sell your world to the Formorri."

Her head jerked.

Keeping his stare off her voluptuous form, he forced himself back into his pants. Her brow furrowed and a deep flush stained her cheekbones as her fierce glare burned him at the stake. Her fury lasted but a second. Then her skin paled. She reached out to him. Sensing he had regained the advantage, he turned and walked away.

"No, don't leave me."

He kept walking.

"Commander, please."

The tender note in her voice coiled around his throat, hooked his heart, and reeled him in. He stopped, swiveled on his heel, and looked not at a queen, but at a woman who asked to be loved. She yearned to be possessed, bent to his will. Her mind swirled towards him, overheated passion washing over currents of guilt and fear through open floodgates. The outpouring of emotion overwhelmed him, distracted his focus.

Dark lashes lifted; eyes and body offering him a ruler's ultimate gift: Herself.

Have I won her so easily?

He swirled the air with a pointed finger. "Turn around. Palms against the wall."

She followed his instructions with a feline grace, her head the last to turn. Her sultry mien invited his attention.

He retraced his steps to stand behind her, releasing the aching proof of his desire from its prison. The toe of his foot nudged her instep and she spread her legs wider, letting him test her to his satisfaction. He stepped in, stripped off her undergarments, and swept her sweet gate to bliss with the over-sensitized head of his dripping cock. Nerve ends ignited a wave of pleasure that spiraled up his spine.

Her gasp begged for more.

Enfolding his arm around her stomach, he slid in—a tight, perfectly oiled fit. He dared to move inside her and groaned at the electric sensations unleashed by the subtle friction between them. The depth of his thrusts grew with his urgency. She barely lasted a minute, and the waves of her orgasm took him to the very edge. He thought of Balor, and death, and the hounds of hell until the threatened explosion building inside him receded. She peaked fast, but the night would be long and she would test his stamina.

All was not lost. He still had this night to win her over.

But then she shuddered and began to weep.

His heart contracted, the almost imperceptible shake of her shoulders tearing him apart. He clasped her tightly and held her steady. "Talk to me, my Queen."

"I don't think I can live without you."

He nuzzled the soft curve of her neck. "Then don't. We will defeat the Formorri together, and your world will find peace once more. I swear on my life. Trust me with this task."

He relaxed his hold and she turned to face him.

Her hands crept up his chest and around his shoulders. Fingers tangled with the roots of his hair. A mysterious but appealing look in her expression played his heartstrings like the final drifting notes of a poignant riff. "Make love to me, Commander, while we have this time together. No more tests. Just you and me. One night."

He swung her up into his arms and kissed the end of her nose. "One night could never be enough. Forever, my Queen. You have me till the end of time."

* * *

At the break of dawn the queen crept out of their bed and shivered. The room chilled her bones, the boiling lake beneath the palace unequal to the freezing claws of night. She resisted the urge to creep back under the heavy bedcovers where her commander slept soundly; dead to the world.

She glanced at the half-empty jug of water she had drugged on sensing his furious approach towards the palace. Their lovemaking always made him thirsty, and he never had been able to resist her. The sleeping draft that quenched his thirst after their night of wondrous ecstasy should hold him oblivious until the sun reached its zenith.

The sonic whine of an approaching Formorii transport made her glance to the window. The dreaded hour had arrived. Her contract with Balor would proceed as stipulated.

A queen for a world.

She had sacrificed a glorious future, beside the Commander of a galactic armada—the man she adored—for a lifetime kneeling at the feet of a monster.

She let her fingers roam through her lover's dark hair.

How could she tell him her illicit bargain with the devil was so much more? The Commander's woman in exchange for the respite his galactic forces so desperately needed. Why that satisfied Balor she could not say. But she knew her commander's conscience could not bear the burden.

Better that he did not know.

He stirred at her touch and she sank to her knees with the heavy sorrow in her heart. A quirk of his lips reflected the tenor of his dreams. The thought of Balor possessing her, knowing her mind and body so intimately, flooded her with paralyzing terror. She clung to her commander's arm, long nails gouging bloody marks into his flesh. A frown marred his brow and he mumbled an objection, but it was the clanking march of a Formorri squadron echoing through the hallways that brought her to her senses.

An all-consuming fear clutched her stomach and she forced herself to her feet. She needed to move. The Formorri had agreed to meet her in the Observatory. She could not afford for them to search her out and discover Balor's nemesis in her bedchamber. She quickly cleansed away his scent then threw on a simple white robe. Slipping on a pair of sandals, she cast one yearning look back at the handsome warrior she loved, then fled the room.

Soon, in the matter of heartbeats, she would leave her palace for good. In an hour, her world would be a distant memory, light years away.

One thought sustained her as she faced both her Formorri escort, and the bleak future ahead of her.

Yes, at first her commander would rage, tear the universe apart looking for Balor's hostage to fortune. Even hate her. But in years to come, her commander would recognize that she had purchased her people's freedom, and bought the Galacticus Elecion space to regroup and heal.

Then, when the dust settled and he could find no immediate battle to wage, she prayed that he would finally forgive her treachery, understand her ultimate offering to him: a gift of time for the man who had taught her to love.

More importantly, no reason to delay any longer his journey home.

With her commander safely slumbering in her bed, she allowed her mind to unlock the door to her most secret hope—and her biggest fear. Maybe, just maybe, the woman her commander hid deep inside his heart would be waiting for him there. He was so brilliant and cunning, this man she loved, but he was not all-knowing.

He had neglected to consider that she might have glimpsed his very soul. She'd always known she was not his first love. The agony was discovering that she could never be his last.

## The End

# DIRECT CONNECTION

## C.L. Foster

"Nila, honestly, love is a myth. It is just a chemical reaction that tells you when you need to get laid. Nothing more."

"Poor, naïve, little scientist girl. Just because you can't see or explain something, doesn't mean it's not there, Charlie!"

"Seriously? Just look at them." Charlotte motioned to the crowd bustling in front of her. Some were making their way to security and others were heading for baggage claim. The airport was always a perfect place to people watch. Every type of person could be seen in an airport on any given day. "A bunch of cattle going with the flow, grazing to survive, and being showed the exit on someone else's watch. Are they codependent or what? So anxious to wait on their mate, or whatever you people call it, to show up and boss them around. They don't know how to live for themselves, so trained to depend on someone else. You don't need someone to make your life complete. You just need to find your happiness in something you love to do and be yourself. Why is that so tough for people to grasp? You were born to be you, not part of someone else. That's just silly."

"By 'you people', you mean what, exactly?" The pained, frustrated, and annoyed look combination was strange for Charlotte to see on Nila's dark features. Always the positive force in Charlie's life, meant she was always the one with the smile and silver-lining to point out in every situation.

"You know what I mean, Nila. I'm happy you found your Happily Ever After, and you are really lucky to have it with Ray. If I were into that sort of thing, I would be envious right now. He compliments you perfectly and that is awesome. It's just not for everyone, that's all."

"Love? Love isn't for everyone?" Nila's already expressive eyebrows tried to play hide-and-seek behind the tousled curls that cascaded around her face.

"No. I don't think so. I don't think I need some man warming my sheets and telling me what to do every day to feel that my life is on track."

"Not all relationships are like that! Not the good ones at least."

"Right. But the fact that any of them are like that is enough for me to just say no to the whole mess. With my luck, I'd hook up with Jack the Ripper's long lost nephew and he would gut me for fun. I'm sorry, but I am just not into being a statistic and am truly pleased with my life choices if it's all the same to you."

The exaggerated sigh that left Nila's lips in a gust, made Charlie giggle. "You're impossible!"

"Thank you. I get that a lot." Charlie's wavy locks were behaving for once. She winked a doe-eye sarcastically.

"Whatever," Nila stuck her tongue out at her best friend, as her eyes danced with happiness. Her best friend might frustrate her to no end with her loner attitude, but she knew that one day, it would all change. "Don't you need to get through security now? Your flight is in twenty minutes."

"Yeah, well, I'm a rebel. What can I say? I wanted that insane crowd to go first. They are already going to give me a hard time no matter what."

"Stop being so negative!"

"It's not negative. It's true. Watch what happens. This is why I believe I am just one of those people listed as 'other'. I do my own thing, have my books, my fave things, and my cat. I'm at peace, but people love to poke holes in my happy bubble as often as they can. Well, they can try anyway. I guarantee you that security will pull me aside. Just watch."

"Oh God, no! Don't turn into some creepy cat lady! I just cannot allow that to happen. I still claim you almost all the time, you know?" Nila's exaggeration was becoming too comical for Charlie and she burst into a fit of giggles.

"I will be the crazy cat lady, the hermit, the weirdo, the witch, the whatever. As long as people are scared to come knock on my door and bug me, then I still win!"

"This calls for prayer!" Nila immediately sunk to her knees right in the middle of the airport, placed her hands together in front of her face and started to speak. "Dear Lord, please help guide my silly, but amazing best friend to true happiness. Show her that men are not all that bad and there is one out there that will compliment her in every way. Let him not only enhance her life, but make her be the better version of herself that she didn't even know existed. And I hate to rush you, but can you get to that soon, before she's an old spinster who is often mistaken for the town witch, that is constantly covered in feline hair? Thank you and Amen!"

Charlie rolled her eyes at her friend, "Get up, you're making a scene and looking a little Bible-beater-esque. That scares people here. If you want to be psycho-Christian, you have to do that in the South, where it's still seen as sort of normal." Her genuine smile made Nila jump into her friend's arms.

"I can't believe you are leaving me for three whole weeks! Who goes to Pakistan on vacation anyway? You're so weird."

"You say that like you just figured that out or something," she answered."I go to places like Pakistan because I'ts not bustling with tourists, I get to see new things and travel and be myself. Anyway, I'm flying into Greece, then taking a boat to Turkey, and driving or taking a train to places. I don't plan to be stationary for too long, because I want to see tons of things and rest. But I promise I will keep in contact as much as possible." Her eyes met her friend's stern expression momentarily turn motherly. "I promise. I will stay safe, take a million pictures, and come home in one piece."

Charlie grasped Nila's shoulders and pulled her into a fierce hug.

"Fine," Nila huffed, conceding defeat. She wasn't trying to talk Charlie out of her vacation, she was just worried and Charlie was always alone and that just made her feel uneasy. "But I know something huge is going to happen for you! I'm so excited. Oh and you better call me every other day or else!"

"Ooh, should I be scared? Are you going to kick my ass if I don't?" Charlie giggled, looking non-effected by Nila's idle threat.

"If it comes down to that, yep. Sure will." Nila's playfully fierce expression made Charlie smile. She knew Nila was strong and tough, but would never hurt a hair on her head. Motherly, fierce, and protective were her most used words when describing her best friend. She tried to leave out the fanatic, violent, and sneaky descriptors whenever possible.

"Always protecting me. Okay, I have to -" she grunted as she picked up her carry-on bag, "get through security. Wish me luck!" Charlie leaned into Nila for one last half-hug and trotted toward the security barricade. She sent a killer smile and blew a kiss over her shoulder to Nila as she entered the maze of checkpoints, sniffers, security agents, and more.

* * *

Airports were always the most fun for Charlie - not. Something about her looks made people take a closer look at her. Maybe it was her bohemian way of dressing or her couldn't-care-less attitude, but she was always stopped and thoroughly checked at every security check point. It could be time consuming and annoying for some, but she came to expect it.

Charlie had removed her shoes and jewelry from her body and put them into the scanning tray and still the agent looked at her oddly. This time, she wasn't even going directly to a Middle Eastern country like normal. She bought the ticket the way she did on purpose, just to see what would happen. True to form, the security agent asked Charlie to step to the far right as she entered the next part of the security check point.

"Can you tell me what I have done wrong to merit such a thorough inspection, Mister -?" searching the man's last name. She saw a few passengers watching and chuckling at their exchange.

"Officer, ma'am. It's Officer Taylor and I do not have to give you any explanation. My job calls for me to be as thorough as possible to protect the safety of all passengers and flight crews that come through here each day."

"Mhm, I see - " She left it at that and did what she was told and got through the checkpoint with minimal eye rolling and stress. As she walked through the sniffer and began to gather her things, she chuckled to herself. "Well, at least I don't have to do that again for three more weeks, right?" She shot a sweet smile at the other officers and headed to her gate to board the plane just on time, just as she had planned.

* * *

The plane was packed. Squealing children, less than friendly flight attendants, and annoyed people, probably from the previous two groups, clogged the air with their unnecessarily off-putting mojo. The breeze wafting from the door smelled like sunshine and fuel. Charlie smiled thinking this was going to be the last bit of sunshine she would see in the States for a long time.

Charlie heard a woman shouting at a flight attendant about some issue with their seating. The woman was nearly belligerent and flapping her arms around like she was on duty on the tarmac. The flight attendant simply restated their policy to the woman very calmly. A beautiful smile on her face the entire time, made the woman even angrier. Of course the insane passenger found the only decent and friendly attendant to squawk her frustrations on. Charlie chuckled and watched intently waiting for the woman to Hulk out, but, to her disappointment, the woman gave up and flopped back in her seat two rows ahead. Well, it's a good thing she brought her own entertainment as her attempt at voyeurism was for nothing.

Charlie bent down to get her book from her carry on when something sparkly caught her eye. Her head snapped back up as she chastised herself for being three years old or a cat. She searched the front of the plane and saw nothing new. So weird.

She finished rummaging through her bag, moving her granola bars, bottle of water, and random other things around in search of her book. Nila had practically hog-tied her and told her that she just had to read this new book she was raving about. She'd never heard of it before but figured it was worth a shot if Nila was talking about how it made her have "snot bubbles and all". Charlie was just about to pick the bag up to get a better angle when her fingers brushed the corner of the book. She smiled thinking an electronic reading device would have had a much easier time getting lost in her oversized shoulder bag. The sea of random snacks, camera lenses, and other mostly unnecessary things tended to suck up anything that got close enough to it; Bermuda triangle had nothing on Charlie's bag.

Just as she was getting cozy, the little boy next to her kicked the seat in front of them. He looked to be about ten years old and the attitude painted across his face would have caused a loved one to worry. Charlie took in a big breath and ignored it. He was not her child and it was not her business. She wondered where the boy's mother was and started to peek between the seats. Instead of finding the boy's mother, the victim of the seat-bashing turned his head slightly to reward her with the most incredible smile she'd ever seen in her whole life. Well, it was the side of his face and he was smiling at the person in the seat next to him, but he was rugged and had beautiful teeth and lips she wanted to nibble on for hours.

Wait, where did that come from? So, seat-bashing victim happened to be adorable. What difference did that make on anything? Nothing. That's what. The butterflies playing dodge ball in her belly had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the flight. Yes, of course, lying to herself was apparently the answer.

Charlie watched him talk to the woman in the seat beside him and the belligerent woman from earlier, who was in the seat in front of him. He smiled and nodded just like he was supposed to and really seemed to be paying attention to the women. Lucky them.

Charlie watched his eyes as he spoke, they were sincere and honest. She wasn't sure where half of her thoughts were coming from, but she decided to blame Nila and her little gift of predicting when something big was going to happen. Yep, something major was happening right now, she was checking out a stranger. So abnormal for her - not. As the people-watching pro of the North, she took her job very seriously.

She shook her head and cursed her friend for putting thoughts into her head and chalked it up to pre-flight boredom. This was her epic vacation that she had been planning for two years. She was going to fly for ten hours, land in paradise, travel to another paradise, visit crazy places in between, slum it, live it up in other places, and truly just live for a while. She wanted to mix in with other cultures and see what they see each day and just be a part of life. Having a guy go with her or even daydreaming about some stranger she hadn't even officially met yet was completely ridiculous.

Charlie shook her head and gripped her book in both hands as she studied the cover for a moment. She liked to think of herself as a "cover whore" when it came to books. She didn't like to judge a book by its cover, but freely admitted to doing it and would generally buy books, especially those from Independent authors, just because of the incredible covers. She would get to support their art and have some for herself. It was a win-win situation.

After her brief stint of cover lust, Charlie reached up to turn on the air vent, clicked her overhead light on, closed her window shade, and settled in to read for a bit. The flight attendants could tell you to turn off your electronic devices, but they didn't make you close your book for takeoff. Excellent!

The boy beside Charlie started to whine as soon as the shade was down, "But I wanted to see the clouds go by as we took off. Lady. Hey lady! Can you open the thingy back up? I want to see the sun again."

Charlie leaned in a bit toward the boy, "I'm a vampire. Too much sun will kill me," she informed the boy with a giggle. His utterly shocked face was enough to make that all worthwhile.

Sexy Smile Man from in front of them twisted in his seat and faced the boy just then. "My seat partner likes to watch the clouds go by, too, buddy. If you want, you can switch seats with me and I will let you watch from my window with my neighbor and I can sit in your less than cloudy seat."

The boys eyes lit up and he sat forward as far as he could with his seatbelt on. "Really? My mom is in the seat just in front of you. Thanks!"

"Is that your mom there?" Sexy Smile pointed to the seat behind him now, to his chatting buddy from a few minutes ago.

The boy blushed, "Yes, that's my mom. She's just upset that my Nona is ill. She doesn't mean to be annoying. That's why we aren't sitting together. Last minute flight."

"I totally understand, buddy. Come on over. You can be closer to your mom and I can take a nap over there on the dark side. I wonder if they have cookies?" he raised his eyebrow and then joined in a chuckle with the boy as they uprooted their carryon bags and pillows to switch seats. The boy glared at Charlie and then sent a beaming grin at Sexy Smile Man before taking his seat.

"Looks like we are going to be neighbors for a few hours. Hey, I'm Elian," he added, extending his hand so she could shake it. As he plopped down in the seat beside her, the scent of patchouli wafted into her face making her moan inwardly. Of course he would be named something delicious that made her want to say his name and savor it slowly as it passed her lips again and agai,n and then he also smelled like everything she ever wanted in a man. Whoa! Hooker train, leaving the platform.

"Oh, uhh, I'm Charlie - Charlotte, but my friends call me Charlie," she stammered.

"So Charlie, does that make us friends now?"

"No."

Her blunt denial made Elian frown slightly, then he shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't think you would mind the switch. The kiddo gets to be closer to his mom and not take up your precious reading time or assault my seat repeatedly. It seemed like a winning combo to me. Plus, I am exhausted and really need sleep. Happy reading. I've read that one, it's really good until the end. I have tissues if you need them." Then he fluffed his travel pillow and almost immediately nodded off while Charlie sat with her mouth agape. She didn't have time to respond at all. He was out like a light.

* * *

Sleep began searching for Charlie not long after take-off. She had been so busy with planning and finishing up the semester and packing that she completely forgot about sleep in the last few weeks even though it was one of her favorite things in the whole world. She didn't want to sleep on the plane, but she also knew she would be entering Greece at seven in the morning. She should be awake for that so she could start enjoying her vacation right away. She clicked off her overhead light, tossed her book into her bag, and reached to the armrest to lay her seat back.

Her hand accidentally grazed Elian's hand that was resting on their shared arm rest and a shiver went through her body. Awesome, even asleep he could make her all tingly. Thank goodness she was going to sleep for a bit. Apparently she needed to live out some fantasies or do something in her dreams that was inappropriate.

She laid the seat back, pulled the blanket up to her neck, and started to doze off. Her head lolled to the left and when she opened her eyes, she was face-to-face with Elian. He was still sleeping and his breath trickled from his lips and caressed her face. The heat from his breath made her want to touch his face, kiss his lips, or both. She didn't move immediately or at all. She just stayed there with his breath on her face, smelling of fresh mint. Interesting combo with his body scent. She smiled and closed her eyes as she drifted off.

* * *

Her eyes fluttered open slowly and she immediately started to stretch when she bumped into something warm and hard. Her eyes snapped open quickly and she saw that she had managed to gut check her neighbor and she was still on the plane. Damn those amazing dreams!

"Dang, I'm sorry, Elian. I forgot you were there."

"Don't mention it, I am often invisible to girls that sleep with me." The shocked look on Charlie's face made Elian guffaw with laughter. "Don't worry, I was just teasing obviously. We are on a plane with four hundred other people and you aren't sweating in the least bit." His lighthearted wink did anything but give Charlie a calming feeling.

"Well, you're a good sleeping partner, I'll give you that. Now, if only you could provide sustenance and entertainment, we would be golden," Charlie faux-challenged.

"In fact, when the flight attendant went by earlier, I had her leave you a bottle of water and some Sun Chips and I am more than happy to chat with you until they deliver our dinner shortly or we could snuggle back up and watch a movie on these nifty TVs in the head rests. I've never seen that before, have you?"

"Sorry, I'm not the usual snuggle up sort of girl, but thanks for the snack," she took the goodies from Elian and immediately popped open the bag of chips. "That was nice of you and I love these." Charlie began munching and pulled her knees up in her seat as she turned to face Elian better.

"My pleasure. She asked if my girlfriend was going to be hungry when she woke up, so I just agreed and said yes. I mean, if I had a girlfriend, she would be hungry after a nap and a long flight, don't you think?" His wicked grin stopped Charlie in her tracks. What a cutie he was!

"That is true, but I guess you have to settle for me since I'm already here," she giggled. "What brings you to Greece? Your girlfriend?"

"Vacation of sorts," he said, sounding less than happy about his answer.

"I have a feeling I shouldn't even ask. New subject?" she offered with a tiny smile.

"What brings you to Greece?" he countered.

"Uber vacation!" she answered gleefully. "I've been saving for it for years and I just want to travel and just be. I've set aside three glorious weeks for nothing but me and new experiences!"

"That sounds incredible! Good for you, but why Greece?"

"I'm actually not going to stay in Greece for more than a day, I think. I'm going to hop a boat to Pakistan and a few other places, hop some trains, cabs, camels, whatever. I just want to go and see and do. You know?"

His eyes danced with excitement as he listened to her, "Yes, I do know. That sounds amazing. Pakistan. Hmm, wow. Will someone be joining you for that?" When he heard her pause and realized he probably sounded like a stalker, he added, "I'm just curious. You seem very independent and I doubt you would want a travel buddy, but I'm being nosey. That's how faux-boyfriends should be, you know?"

She nodded and giggled, "Yes well, I appreciate your concern, but I am totally okay on my own. I prefer it that way."

"Ah, the loner type, huh? So you're more of a wolf then?" At her eyebrow quirk, he added "You know, earlier you told that kid you were a vampire, just making a bad joke."

"No, it was cute. I'm kind of like every paranormal being wrapped into one, really. I change with the situation. See right now I can seem wolf-like, earlier I was vamp-like, and later I might be witch-like. You never know."

He chuckled and smiled at her again. "Whatever you are, I like it. You seem like a lot of fun when you aren't biting the heads off of little children," he teased.

"Oh see? I was already witchy earlier. I can't keep track and slip and slide between them at any given moment."

"No problem, I'm pretty sure I can keep up."

A comfortable silence settled as they both busied themselves with things. Charlie began rooting through her bag for another snack while Elian messed around on his giant cell phone.

* * *

After dinner, they took another nap and then chatted off and on for hours. They talked about their likes and dislikes and found much of them were similar. They discussed politics with gusto, religion with humor, and everything else a person could imagine. They laughed one minute and were serious the next. They found they had a love for awesome, if somewhat eclectic music, cultures in general, and shared many of the same eating habits.

As the plane began to make it's descent into Athens, Charlie was rummaging through her bag once again and Elian was the first to speak, "So, I know this is really weird and sudden and I might seem like some creeper or something, but I'm really not. I'm a semi-nice dude with a bunch of issues, none are Oedipal or anything like that, just trust and safety issues, nothing major. I guess what I'm rambling on about is, I was curious if, after your giant, amazing vacation, if you'd like to come spend a few days in Greece with me before you go home?"

"You never did tell me why you were going to Greece. I can't believe we didn't get to that," Charlie's change of subject was going to give her time to think about what Elian had asked her. She knew it was crazy and it cut into her time elsewhere but she had planned for three weeks to be gone and he was really funny and sweet and as normal as she had seen in ages. Maybe it would be nice to hang out with someone.

"I don't want to say, you will laugh at me."

"Oh come on. What kind of way is that to start a faux-relationship? It can't be that bad. Wait, are you going to Greece to save cheese? No wait, olives? 'Cause I love cheese and olives!" Her announcement was capped with a triumphant grunt as she loosened her bag from its stuck position under the seat in front of her.

"No!" he blushed and put his face in his hands. "I'm going to Greece because that is where my family is from. I've lost everyone in my family and wanted to connect with my roots. I know that sounds lame, but its just something I need to do for me. I took a semester off of school so I can spend some time there getting to know my extended family and see where I came from and everything."

"Why would I laugh? I think that's awesome," she reached out and put her hand on his arm to comfort him. "I'm sorry to hear you lost your family. I don't know how to respond."

"No need to be sorry, everyone dies, right?"

"Well, yeah, you know what I mean," she took a slow breath and a long pause, "Man, I suck at this!"

"It's okay. You're doing better than anyone else I told. Congrats. You aren't as weird as you think."

"Oh, sweetie. I am much weirder than either of us realize, but I'm okay with that," she chuckled and turned her focus back to her bag. "Okay, I don't know if it's the flight or my weirdness talking, though it could be the Sun Chips, that might have been the clincher, but yes, I would love to come visit you before I head back to the States."

"Yeah? Awesome! Thanks. It will be cool to have a semi familiar face around."

Charlie blushed and then looked up, "My best friend told me something cool was going to happen to me today."

"Yeah, getting a faux-boyfriend is kinda cool. Maybe eventually I can talk you into taking the real job; its long hours and grueling work, but totally worth the pay."

"There is pay involved? I might consider it. Go on," she encouraged, as she turned her head toward Elian.

He captured her face in his hands and leaned closer to her lips, "The pay is incredible, I assure you." He held eye contact with her as long as he could before capturing her lips in the most tender kiss she'd ever tasted. His lips were perfect and eager, strong, supple, just like she knew they would be.

She placed her hands on top of his, rooting him to her, making sure he knew she didn't want him to stop and returned the kiss.

"Wow. I have wanted to do that since I saw you rush up to the gate back at JFK," he admitted.

"What? Really?" she laughed as they allowed their hands to fall and backed away from each other a bit. Elian's hand rested atop of Charlie's on her lap.

"Yes, I saw the security people harassing you and you were so calm and amazing, then I heard your voice and was drawn in. This whole flight, I have been eager to just hear you speak and learn about you. I'm really glad I got the chance to. Really sorry if I sound like a creeper even more now."

"No, I always people watch in the airport. I'm guilty of it, too. That's funny."

"Well, excellent. Then our mutual creepiness benefits us today," he chuckled.

The pilot turned on the fasten seatbelt sign and they sat back and got cozy for the last few minutes of flight.

"Thanks, Elian."

"You're welcome, Charlie, but what for?"

"For proving to me that not everyone is a complete waste a time and showing me that sometimes people do care that you're alive."

"Well then you're very welcome. Happy to make my girl smile."

"Your girl?" she grinned at his possessive term.

"Yes, I just decided. If I want you to come back to me soon, I need you to have a reason. So, have fun on your epic vacation and when you're ready, your man will be waiting for you." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"Well, how can I argue with that?"

"You can't."

## THE END

# A MATTER OF COURTESY

## Debra Parmley

Hope couldn't believe she'd let Mandy talk her into this. Here she was, out in the middle of nowhere after following vague handwritten directions. Like, pass the racetrack; go about three or four miles, then turn left where the gas station sells watermelons. Keep on that road till you see the country store with the Friday night steak and live bluegrass band sign.

You couldn't even see if your GPS was right with directions like that, because nothing would match up. But, that was Mandy. Hope was lucky she hadn't said turn by the big oak tree, forgetting there were hundreds of oak trees in a forested area. Precise, Mandy was not. If asked whether it was closer to two, three or four miles, she would have shrugged and said, "Something like that."

Hope cursed more than once, when her GPS said she was off the map, and the road she sought wasn't listed. She finally arrived at her first, Society for Creative Anachronism medieval event. In the dark and after the event had begun. It had started in the morning with events running all day.

This was her first time at an SCA event, but Mandy had given her instructions. The main point seemed to have been no mundane or modern anything. No cell phones or video recorders. No tennis shoes or modern jewelry. It would be like slipping back in time. Mandy had loaned her a beautiful Elizabethan gown and soft boots.

Closing the car door after tugging her skirts free, the hem of the borrowed Elizabethan gown fell to the ground. She tugged at the low neckline of the green silk dress, wishing it showed a bit less cleavage. Closing and locking the door, she dropped her keys into the small bag, which dangled from her wrist. She left everything modern she could think of in the trunk of the car. Watch, glasses and her wedding ring. Wearing that ring was a habit and though it felt strange to take it off, she didn't need it any more. Not since that rat bastard, Skip, had run off with his eighteen year old cousin, Jules, along with most of the money in their joint bank account. Hope was well rid of him. It was time to stop wearing that ring and this was as good a time as any. Hope checked herself over, making sure she hadn't forgotten anything so she'd fit in with the medieval group. She had money to pay her way in, her I.D in case she needed it to drink and her keys. For the rest of this evening she would be a lady from medieval times, leaving the mundane world behind her.

She giggled as she remembered her instructions.

Find something called troll, or maybe troll was a person. The instructions said, "Find troll, pay entrance fee and then find me in the feast hall". I wonder who or what is troll?

"I'm off to find the troll then. Though, from what I've read about trolls, usually they are to be avoided."

Silly to be talking to herself, but no one had heard. Troll was what Mandy said to look for so off she went.

Hope headed toward the hand painted sign, which said TROLL. Beneath a covered picnic area, stood a picnic table with two large men seated behind it. Hope approached them. "I am looking for troll."

The older of the two men said, "You have found it, milady." The sign above them said TROLL.

Aha, so troll is an "it". Though the way the one man is scowling at me with that brooding face he could easily be a troll. But if these men were to be acting as trolls wouldn't the sign say TROLLS?

She held back a giggle along with her imagination, which was already starting to run away on her. She'd sign in, pay her fee and receive a token to prove she'd paid for feast. Mandy had explained that much.

"Hello. I'm new to this," she said. "My friend Mandy said this is where I register."

"Yes, it is. Welcome," the older man with a long pointed beard said, "Mistress Kathryn is the feastocrat for this event. You're in for a real treat."

He appeared to be a man who enjoyed food. She smiled. "Mandy is working in the kitchen."

"You'll have heard about the feast then."

"Yes, it sounds delicious."

"Day tripping?"

"Yes."

She didn't own a tent, or even know how to set one up. So she wouldn't be camping overnight. Once the paperwork was filled out and she received her token, she said, "Where can I find Mandy?"

The older man pointed, "Follow the tiki torches. The first building you come to is where feast will be. That's where you'll find your friend."

The token was a coin shaped piece on a ribbon to wear around her neck. Lifting it up and over her head, she dropped it down and noted it fell right between her cleavage, the coin slipping between.

Lovely. How many wandering eyes will be following that ribbon down to see where it ends?

She moved along the path lit by the tiki lights. The borrowed dress was too long, and the toe of her boot caught in the hem of the floor length gown. She stumbled briefly before picking up her skirts to avoid stepping on them again. "Oh I wish this dress fit me better."

Though Mandy had assured Hope the dress fit her just right, the cool night air against her cleavage left her feeling more exposed than she was comfortable with. She looked down, making sure essentials were covered. As she neared the building where she'd find Mandy, she saw more and more people in medieval garb, many of them carrying baskets or wooden boxes. They held plates and cups suitable for a medieval feast. She didn't have anything like that, but Mandy had assured her everything would be taken care of and she could borrow whatever she needed.

Glancing in the direction of the port a potties her eyes met darkness. The tiki torches nearby were flickering out. Great. Without her glasses and without a flashlight, she'd have to find her way in the dark. And it would be dark inside. Well, she had no choice. She wasn't going to squat outside in the bushes, authenticity or not. She started walking. Soon the noise of the people getting ready for feast seemed very far away, making the silence seem more ominous as the moon slid behind a cloud, leaving her in complete darkness.

She froze. In the distance behind her a man laughed.

Her heart beat faster and she told herself to breathe.

Calm down. You're okay. Just keep moving forward.

She took one step then another, feeling bolder with each step. Until she tripped over the hem of her dress and landed against a man's hard chest.

A very warm solid man.

A scream rose up in her throat.

His hand closed around her arm.

She couldn't catch her breath and the scream froze in her throat. Being alone in the dark with a stranger who had her in a firm grip, panic rose. She had to get away.

"My lady, you shouldn't be walking alone." The deep resonant sound of his voice touched something way down inside of her.

With each word she felt the rumble in his chest. His firm, warm rumbling chest.

She attempted to yank free. "Let me go."

"My lady, do not fear." He released her immediately and she wavered backwards with a step. "Careful now."

"Oh, you scared me half to death." She frowned at him in the darkness, ignoring how handsome he was. Mr. tall dark and handsome had deep brown eyes which could have made her heart go pitter pat had she not been so frightened by him already.

"I will escort you wherever you need to go."

Speaking of needing to go, she really needed to go now. "Well I um, was heading to the port a potty."

"Then I shall see you safely there and back to whence you came."

A sense of relief came over her. He didn't sound like a mad rapist or murderer. Though he was still a stranger. Old world courtliness aside, she was sure there were rapists and murderers in those days long ago. Manners didn't always mean safety.

As if sensing her doubts and hesitation he spoke again. "My lady I only wish to assist you and see you safely to the feast hall."

He towered over her and must have been six foot, at least to her five foot six, and was quite an intimidating presence in the dark. She shivered.

"You are cold." He stepped forward and his hands moved to rub up and down her arms.

Warm as they were and nice as that felt, oh so very nice, she needed him to stop touching her. It was warming her much too fast in ways she wasn't ready for. "Don't touch me."

His hands dropped to his sides. "Lady, you wound me to the heart. I only meant to warm you."

"I don't need to be warmed. Leave me alone."

He stepped back. "If that is what you desire."

"It is." She took three steps away from him before catching her toe again and tripping. "Oh!" The pointy part of a rock stabbed into her soft boot.

He clicked on his flashlight, illuminating the path before her, which was no true path, but full of branches and stones to stumble over. "Perhaps my lady would care to borrow my flashlight." He offered it to her. "I will await here for its return if my lady is so distressed by my presence."

She now felt very foolish for responding the way she had.

"I didn't intend to scare you. Please forgive me. Perhaps you are new to our ways. We do not allow our women to go about unescorted."

"Is it unsafe here?"

"You never know. I would never forgive myself if harm befell you."

"Oh." She wasn't quite sure what to say. She didn't know what to do with all this medieval courtly behavior. The men she knew in the modern world didn't even open doors. Her ex hadn't bothered to wait for her. Always so impatient, once through a door he expected her to hurry along behind him. She'd spent too many years hurrying along behind him.

He gestured to the port a potties. "Lady, I can watch over you from here. Then I'll escort you back."

"Okay. Thank you."

He stepped toward her, reached for her hand, lifted it and bent to kiss the back of it. Her jaw dropped. The light tickling of the kiss made her catch her breath. He stood upright again, turned her hand over and placed the flashlight into her palm with a smile and a nod. "Milady."

Still stunned by the kiss, she stood staring at him before closing her mouth again.

This courtly behavior. Oh goodness, but she liked it very much. Oh, why couldn't all men be like this? She clutched the flashlight to her chest. No wonder Mandy liked this medieval play-acting so much. And if the men were all as handsome as this one, Hope never wanted to go home again.

Coming back to her senses, away from her drifting thoughts, she blushed. Noting he was looking at the flashlight now held against her cleavage. "Thank you," she said quick and with a turn, faced toward the port a potties again. Using the flashlight, found her way much easier as she was able to see the stones and step over them.

After taking care of things, the door banging behind her, she moved toward where he stood waiting in the woods for her. Handsome knight, she thought as the moonlight slipped out from behind a cloud and bathed him in its glow. She needed to know his name, could hardly call him Mr. tall dark and handsome or handsome knight all evening, much as he fit that description. She approached him and held out the flashlight. "Thank you for the loan. I'm Hope."

"Tis a pleasure to meet you milady. I am Lord Roland Montague."

"Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." He smiled a smile that moved from his face into his eyes as his gaze went from warm to even warmer. She couldn't help but beam back at him in return.

Her heart was fluttering and she was growing incredibly warm, the blush spreading up her body, across her breasts and up to her cheeks.

His smile deepened.

Walking along quietly together, it wasn't long until they entered the feast hall where he took her to Mandy, then bowed and stepped away to retrieve his feast gear.

People inside were setting their places on long tables. Cloths were laid down; plates and goblets came next, candleholders and candles, knives, spoons and forks and the occasional bowl. Mandy showed her to the place she'd set for them and introduced her to their table mates, Geoffrey, Leonardo and Cecelia.

Hope's gaze sought Roland and then she saw him, standing next to a royal looking group, waiting in the doorway. They wore fancier clothes than most and pointy hats.

Mandy caught her looking and said, "Roland distinguished himself in the tourney today and has been invited to sit at the high table with the royals."

"He looks as if he were royal himself."

"He might one day be. The ladies have been falling all over themselves to win his heart. Many of them have an eye on the crown."

Once they were all seated and the call to rise for the incoming royalty came, everyone stood. Hope followed what everyone else was doing and bowed her head until the royals passed and sat at the high table with their selected companions.

"It is all so fancy and realistic," Hope said. "Like stepping back in time or into a Hollywood movie."

"We're more accurate than most movies." Cecelia sniffed. "Though some don't take the care and attention to detail, most of us do. For instance," she nodded over to a woman who was wearing a colorful purple dress with a green overdress over top. "That woman has mixed her periods. Dreadful."

Hope wasn't sure what Cecelia was talking about, but the color combination seemed a bit unusual. "I'm not sure I would have put those colors together."

"Oh there's no concern there." Cecelia shook her head. "People did that all the time in the middle ages. It's not the colors. Her centuries don't match."

"I see." Hope watched as the first course of bread and cheese was carried out on long wooden trenchers to each table. Servers, who brought the trenchers, placed one for each six people and then filled everyone's goblets with water. The bread was a large round solid piece unsliced.

Geoffrey pulled out his knife, reached for the bread and proceeded to cut a piece off for everyone.

"Thank you." Hope reached for a piece. "Oh, it's still warm."

"Yes," Mandy said. "Everything is freshly made here. Even the bread. Oh, they've forgotten the butter. We have fresh herb butter in the fridge." She got up from the table. "I shouldn't have left them."

"That is the last you will see of your friend until feast is over," Cecelia said. "She is needed in the kitchen. I can't imagine why she didn't stay there."

Leonardo, who had been silent until now, glanced at his wife with some annoyance. "There are enough of us here to help out. She does not have to do everything."

"If things are to be done right..." Cecelia started, but then stopped when Mandy hurried to their table with a small bowl of herbed butter.

"There," Mandy said, setting it on the table. She placed a hand on Hope's shoulder. "I hope you don't mind, but they need me in the kitchen."

"Of course I don't mind. Go on ahead."

Mandy hurried back to the kitchen and soon the next course was carried out. Fish of some sort. Hope did not care much for fish, which sat there looking at you as you ate it. So she passed on the second course and sat quietly munching on bread and cheese, as she listened to the others.

Goodness, but Cecelia was an opinionated woman and more than a bit negative. Leonardo remained silent for the most part and Geoffrey was being quite charming, serving her another slice of cheese and then more bread with a smile. He looked dapper in his silver silk brocade vest and his black shirt with the puffy sleeves. Silver rings on many of his fingers caught the light from the candles. He was quite shiny. The thought made her smile and she reached for her water goblet, lifted it to drink and drained it.

"Would milady care for some honey mead?" Geoffrey held up a bottle.

"Why, yes. I would like to try a little."

He reached for her goblet.

Hope glanced over to the high table. Roland was watching her and their eyes met. He smiled and lifted his glass. She smiled in return. Geoffrey placed her glass down beside her plate.

"Thank you." She realized then that he had filled the goblet near to the brim. "Milord that is more than a little. I do not drink often nor a lot."

"Just sip it. I promise you will enjoy it."

She lifted the glass and took a sip. "Oh, that is delicious."

He smiled. "Brewed by the brew master himself, it's the finest in our kingdom."

"Are you the brew master?"

Leonardo snorted and nearly chocked on his drink.

"Nay, lady I have not tried my hand at brewing."

"My husband has. If you want to know about meads, wines and ales, he can answer your questions." Cecelia spoke.

The herald announced next course of roast fowl and entertainment. A woman stood and started to sing. Everyone grew quiet to listen as the next trenchers were brought around. Hope was quite hungry by now and the large chicken they would share looked good. Carrots and potatoes surrounded it. Geoffrey cut pieces off the bird and served them with silent nods and gestures. Once the woman stopped singing, everyone shouted "Huzzah" and then began to converse again.

"This is delicious," Hope said. It really was the best meal she'd had in ages and the mead was smooth and sweet too. So easy going down and like no other drink she'd had before. From time to time she'd glance back at the high table and find Roland's gaze upon her, though he was making conversation with the royals and not obvious about it. He'd been glancing at her enough to tell her he was interested in her. Oh, he was so handsome. She hoped he would ask her to dance after dinner.

The last course served was rose water cakes, with seasonal fresh fruit of halved strawberries and blueberries. The little cakes were more like a cookie biscuit made with honey and rose water. Light and delicious.

After the feast was over, everyone helped clean up the feast hall and the tables were moved back along the walls to make room for dancing. Geoffrey held out his hand to her. "Milady may I have this dance?"

"Yes." She smiled.

The dance master announced they would begin with a dance called, "Hole In The Wall."

"To begin with?" Geoffrey frowned at the dance master.

"Is it hard?" Hope wasn't sure she wanted to begin with a dance that was hard to learn. She didn't know this style of dancing and her dress was a bit long. "Maybe I should sit this one out."

"No. You stay with me. It's a bit tricky, but you will catch on quickly."

The music started and the dance began. Roland was paired with a redhead in a black gown at the other end of the line. Couples moved toward each other and away and then, quick before she realized what had happened, some other man was in Geoffrey's spot. It was so confusing. What had happened?

"Don't worry love," he called to her. "I will come back to you again."

She was not his love, but maybe he called lots of women that. The dance continued and dancers kept jumping into each other's spaces. Then Geoffrey was back. "Miss me love?" and then he was gone again. It was quite confusing and then, suddenly Roland moved right in front of her.

"You look confused," he said.

"I am a little."

"Watch me. When the spot over there opens, I am moving into it."

And suddenly watching him, realized exactly what was happening and didn't feel so confused and ignorant. Then the dance ended and Geoffrey returned. "Heart's Ease is next."

Roland bowed to her before Geoffrey could say more. "May I have the honor of this dance?"

"Yes," she smiled as Roland reached for her hand and they walked toward the dance floor, leaving Geoffrey behind them. He did not appear happy, but he couldn't expect her to dance every dance with him. This wasn't a date. Just because they'd been seated at the same time, did not mean Hope was going to spend all evening with him or dance every dance with him.

Roland was a good dancer and simply placing her hand in his, Hope felt as if they fit together somehow. He was attentive and so handsome, he made her heart flutter. She loved these medieval dances, with their stately slow movements and the hint of flirting. Perhaps she had been born into the wrong century. How lovely it would have been to wear beautiful dresses and to have the love and attention of a handsome knight. The evening took on a dreamlike quality dancing with Roland.

When there was a break in the dancing, everyone moved off the dance floor and Roland escorted Hope back to the seats along the wall where Mandy was sitting.

"Milady, would you care for some punch?"

"Well, I don't know. I've had an entire glass of mead already," Hope said.

Roland smiled. "Its just lemonade. Unspiked." He gestured to the children who were at the refreshment table helping themselves. "See?"

"Well, in that case. Yes." She smiled. "I would love some."

Hope and Mandy watched him walk away toward the punch. "Hope, have you seen the way he looks at you?" Mandy nudged her elbow. "I think you have a real chance with him. And you two look great together. You are so fair and he is so dark. You could be in a fairytale."

"You think so? Oh, I would love to get a picture taken with him but cameras aren't allowed."

"Of course they are."

"But you said no mundane..."

"Don't be a silly goose. Get a photo if that's what you want."

"Well if I am allowed to use my phone to take pictures I'll go get it."

"Hurry back," Mandy said. "I think Lord Roland is planning to ask you to dance again."

"He's so handsome," Hope sighed as she glanced over to where Roland stood with his back to them as he filled her goblet with punch. "Yes, I'll hurry." She gathered her skirts and was out the door in a rush, not wanting to miss the next dance.

Geoffrey stepped close to her just as she stepped outside the door and followed her outside. "Milady, why dost thou flee? Do you desire an escort?"

"Why, yes, that would be nice. Do you have a flashlight?"

"Nay, I do not. Though I will procure one should milady desire."

"Oh no, I don't want you to go to any trouble. I'm simply walking out to my car."

He stepped in front of her and placed his hand over his heart. "Thou must not be departing. My heart cannot bear the thought."

She laughed at his silliness. "Nay, milord. I am only going to get my phone."

"To call your lover? Say it isn't so."

"I have no lover."

He smiled and slipped her hand over top of his, placing his other hand atop hers. Stepping in sync with her he said, "Most beautiful lady that is a shame. But I have the remedy. Return with me to the ball. We shall dance the night away. Stay with me this night. I have a fine tent, a soft bed." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "And I desire nothing more than to spend the evening like this." He kissed her hand again gazing over the top of it into her eyes, his eyes darkening. "Just like this, I shall kiss from your ears to your toes and every bit of skin between." Kiss. "Every." Kiss. "Little." Kiss. "Bit." Kiss.

She pulled her hand away and shook her head. "I cannot spend the night with you."

"Then if not a night, stay just a while. Make time for kisses. An hour, half an hour. Whatever milady wishes."

"Milady wishes for nothing but to retrieve her phone, take some pictures, dance a little and then go home."

"Then I leave you in peace." He bowed, turned and strode back to the feast hall, making quick time and leaving her standing in the parking lot staring after him.

Well, so much for my escort. How. Very. Chivalrous.

She turned again and headed for her car. The moon moved behind the clouds and she wished she had a flashlight since there were no lights in the parking lot. But at least there was nothing here to trip over. An owl hooted and she turned to look in the direction of the sound. From a distance she heard voices and music coming from the feast hall and smiled. The dancing was fun and it was a lively group. She looked forward to joining Roland and Mandy again and to dancing. He was so handsome and a good dancer too. Her heart had been going pitter pat since she'd first met him earlier that evening. His eyes, his smile and his voice were mesmerizing. She couldn't keep her eyes off him. She wanted so badly to have a picture of the two of them together to remember, in case she never saw him again. In case the evening was a fairy tale like Cinderella with a bit of magic and then poof, everything returning to the mundane world again. The chivalry and manners disappearing. In case he was like all the other men she had known and dated. If this was a fairy tale she'd stepped into, she wanted one picture to remember it by. To remember him by.

Walking to her car, Hope was grabbed from behind by strong arms, which wrapped around her pinning her arms down by her side. Roland? No. These arms weren't Roland's, this was not his scent. She couldn't move her arms and bent down, letting her body weight add to the drop as she lifted her right foot and stomped back onto his boot. Her soft boots were no match for his steel-toed boots; it only slowed him for a brief moment.

No. No. No.

She tried to twist away out of his arms, but his arms were too strong. The sound of a van door sliding open behind her made her gasp.

Oh God no.

A gag was stuffed into her mouth as she drew a deep breath to scream. She inhaled a strange scent and a sudden vertigo made her head spin. Despite her attempts at twisting she was manhandled toward the van. She heard shouting as if from a distance. Someone yelling stop and then other voices joining in and the sound of running feet.

What is happening?

A body slammed into the side of the van and she felt it shake from where she'd been tossed onto the floor, her legs still hanging out the side. The engine started and the van started to move when something hard hit the side of the van. Bam! Then again. Bam!

The van stopped moving. Crash! Breaking glass shattered. Shards flew. The sounds of men fighting. Curses.

Then silence. The van idling and another curse. More shouting.

"Hope," Roland yanked the gag out of her mouth. The strange scent went away, though traces lingered in her nose along with dizziness in her head. "Hope, answer me." Suddenly she was lifted into Roland's arms. Warm, strong arms and that deep voice rumbling which spoke to something inside her. "Are you hurt?"

Blinking she looked up into his eyes and spoke. "No, I don't think so." Her voice was weak and scratchy from the gag and whatever that scent had been. There was a strange taste in her mouth, which made her tongue dry, and she coughed.

"You need water." Carrying her away from the van, he stopped near a jeep and opened the door. He sat her on the seat and then reached into the back for a water bottle. Uncapping it he handed it to her. "Drink. This will help."

She reached for it. "Thank you."

"I'm glad I followed you."

"I'm glad too. Why did you?"

"Mandy said you'd gone out to your car and it looked like Geoffrey had escorted you. But when I saw him come back in, I decided to check on you."

Mandy hurried over to the jeep followed by several of the others. "We've never had a problem like this before," she said. "Who were those men, Hope? Do you know them?"

"I have no idea. I didn't get a good look at them. They snuck up behind me."

Roland pushed a strand of Hopes hair behind her ear, his eyes watching her somber and concerned. "You shouldn't have been out in that parking lot alone after dark. Why didn't you tell me you were going to your car? I would have escorted you."

"I didn't think walking to my car just to get my phone was going to be a problem. I didn't know it wasn't safe. And Geoffrey walked me halfway before he left."

"Why did he leave you out here alone?" Roland appeared pissed.

"He was trying to talk me into staying all night."

"But you didn't bring a tent," Mandy said.

Hope gave her a look.

"Oh, but Geoffrey is camping." Realization filled Mandy's face. "He wanted you to share his tent."

"Now you've got the picture." Hope nodded. "After I told him no, he left me and went back inside."

"Leaving you by yourself?" Shock filled Mandy's face.

"Yes. I guess his chivalry only extends to women he can talk into his bed."

By the look on Roland's face, he was more than pissed. He looked like he wanted to do some serious damage to the man. "Where the hell is he?"

"He went to his tent and hasn't come out."

Others had gathered around the jeep. "We'll take care of this milady." One of the men from Troll spoke. "We police our own. Those men couldn't have been with our group. They didn't register and no one here has ever seen them before. The police are on their way."

"I'll handle this when they get here." Roland addressed the others.

"Roland is a policeman in his day job," Mandy said.

"You are?" Hope's eyes grew wide. Roland was no fairy-tale hero who had saved her life and this wasn't making believe any longer. He was a hero in his mundane life too.

"Yes ma'am." Roland gave a nod. "They'll want you to give a statement."

She shivered and looked over at the men on the ground that lay trussed up and bleeding. They'd really taken a beating.

"I didn't see much. They had me and it happened so fast." She hadn't seen what happened to the men. Their hands were tied and they weren't going anywhere. Still, she shivered again.

A warm arm wrapped around her shoulder and Roland's voice came in her ear, strong and calming. "You're safe now, Hope. They can't hurt you. We'll see them locked away for this. There are plenty of witnesses."

"I don't know what to say in my statement."

"Just tell them everything you remember. It will be enough. And I can stay with you if you'd like."

She nodded. "Yes, please. I'd like that."

"I'm not going anywhere sweetheart. I'll be right here." His finger went under her chin and lifted it. "I had in mind a much quieter first date."

"First date?"

"Yes. If you are interested."

"I am."

"I was thinking a quiet picnic by the river. A bucket of chicken, a bottle of wine and time to get to know each other."

"That sounds wonderful."

"Good." He released her chin. "I'll need your number." He pulled out his cell phone and she gave her number to him.

## The End

# ONE LAST LOVE

## Diane Adams Taylor

'Forty-five years.' the woman thought. 'It's been nearly forty-five years since I met this man, fell in love and stupidly left him. What was I thinking to let the love of my life slip away like that? And how often have I asked myself this same question? I know I have tried to make amends many times over the years and I think that he has forgiven me. Maybe this weekend we can finally put the past behind us and start again.'

After packing the car she started on the long drive to Savannah where she would meet her old love. Once she reached the interstate she set the speed on her cruise control. Her thoughts returned to their history together. She wanted to reflect on everything that had happened and perhaps finally find the words she needed to regain his trust. She considered all they had meant to each other so very long ago, and how much he still meant to her. So many times she had wanted to tell him that the love they had shared continued to burn like a fierce flame in her heart. She hoped that this weekend she would be strong enough to confide her deepest emotions and her true hopes for a future, together.

Her thoughts drifted back to March 1969 and she saw a picture in her mind of the day they had first met. Her maiden name was Laura Talbot and she was just fifteen. She remembered herself at that age as a tall, thin girl with auburn hair and large expressive green eyes. The young man she had come to meet, Ian Edwards, was a whole year older and seemed much more mature. She remembered how nervous she had been with him, oblivious to the hopes and the situation evolving around them.

It wouldn't have made a difference. The woman smiled at the memory of the tall, dark haired, handsome young man. He was quite shy but when he was introduced to her, his smile of greeting melted her heart. She knew immediately that he was the one, the boy of her dreams. During a long walk they learned everything they wanted to know about each other. What they like to do, eat, watch on TV. She felt fortunate to have the opportunity to spend the entire day with him; despite all that they had shared she had not been able to get a sense of the young man's thoughts about her. It did not seem to matter.

Over the next two years, the young couple were inseparable. Although they attended different high schools they managed to talk on the phone each night as well as see each other every weekend. When school was out for the summer, they both worked but still managed to find ways to spend quite a bit of time together.

It all changed during the young man's senior year of high school. He had been offered a prestigious appointment to the military academy at West Point. With this honor came a mandatory four year separation as cadets could not be married. Ian considered rejecting the scholarship as he was not certain he wanted to pursue a career in the military. One evening he arrived at Laura's house, not to see her, but instead to talk to her father regarding his options. Her father made a very convincing argument on the merits of accepting this great honor and so Ian's decision to attend West Point had been made based on the older man's recommendation.

The now mature woman remembered how angry she had been with her father for helping the young man to choose a life course bound to impact both their futures for at least the next decade. She shook her head "What an idiot I was to let Ian's decision end up destroying my future with the man I loved. I believed I should have been consulted about what my thoughts were on the subject but that never happened. We could have worked things out somehow but there was the other nagging issue which I could never quite tell him."

Laura's thoughts returned to that now distant day she went to the military academy with Ian and his family so he could begin his plebe year as a cadet. He reported for duty the first of July and it was very hot. Between the heat and the knowledge of their pending separation, she became emotional; clinging to his arm longer than was appropriate while a single tear slid down her face as they said their final goodbye.

The mature woman flushed at the memory. Public displays of affection were not permitted on base and she tried to be strong for him but at this one task she had failed miserably. Once Ian had taken the oath at the swearing in ceremony, he had been whisked away and not seen again by the young woman or his family.

She did not see him for months.

The mature woman shook her head to clear her thoughts of that difficult day from her mind's eye and said sternly 'Do Not Cry!'. She checked the fuel gauge and discovered it was nearly on empty. Finding a gas station brought her back to the present and for a few moments her mind was forced to return to the mundane tasks of taking care of the car as well as her own needs.

Laura was soon back on the road, listening to some old songs being played on one of her favorite 'oldies' radio stations. When she heard the opening bars of Precious and Few, she was transported again to another time and place. Her mind wandered as she relived taking the young man back to the airport after a brief weekend at his home. She recalled holding hands with him in the car while trying to etch every detail of his face into her memory so she would not forget the look of him. The song playing on the radio then was the same tune playing now. The meaningful and poignant lyrics sent tears streaming once again from her eyes. Looking back, Laura supposed she should have grown used to his frequent absences. Instead, each parting had broken another piece from her heart.

In her mind's eye she could see the buildings on campus at West Point. She recalled the dances she attended with Ian at the academy, the meals they'd shared in the great hall with Army officers overseeing each table, as well as the too-brief walks on Flirtation Lane. While on post they rarely had time alone. The few stolen moments they did have were stringently monitored to ensure total compliance to the honor code which ruled the life of all the cadets.

After one particularly stress- filled weekend with little time alone, Ian watched her board the bus back to the city so she could fly home. Laura kept her face stoic until the bus was out of his sight before bursting into tears. She flew home with her thoughts in a quandary, and returned to her own college campus more confused than ever.

The navigation system interrupted her reverie alerting her to an upcoming exit. Her cheeks were again wet with tears of regret for all that the young couple had endured during their time of enforced separation.

"How can I ever explain to Ian why I did what I did? I've tried so many times but it never seems to come out right. I keep mulling it over in my mind and I know that I have never confessed all my reasons. It's difficult for me to get a handle on my feelings so how can I fully express them to him?"

Alone in the car, she continued to speak out loud as if trying to explain her behavior to the universe. "I remember the day I told him goodbye as if it were yesterday. I was sitting on the steps in the foyer of my parents' house and it was during Christmas break. I still have no idea why I choose to do it at that time. I remember seeing him several months later at a local college hangout later but I ignored him. I know that this decision and my actions were very hurtful which isn't like me at all. What's wrong with me? How can he finally forgive me when I can't seem to forgive myself?"

She started to review all of the attempts she had made to explain her bad decision over the past years. She recalled the first time she had contacted him. It was very soon after she had recovered from a serious health problem and she wanted to make amends to all those in her life that she had harmed.

Laura sent a letter enclosed in a Christmas card. It had been fifteen years since their breakup. She was careful not to mail it to Ian's home as he was already married, sending it to his parents' home instead. In the message she told him of the mistake she had made by choosing to end their relationship and had tried to clarify some of the reasons behind her actions. She finished by asking for his forgiveness, making clear she expected nothing more.

Waiting for his response proved more traumatic than her illness. She obsessed over each piece of mail which arrived, checking constantly for a glimpse of Ian's familiar handwriting on an envelope. Each time the phone rang, she rushed to answer it, only to be disappointed. Finally she gave up hope of ever hearing from him again.

His phone call in the early summer came out of the blue. That sexy voice she remembered had deepened over the years but it left her so nervous and tongue tied that he mentioned that perhaps he'd made a mistake by calling. She recovered enough to reassure him that she very much wanted to talk with him.

They chatted for over an hour just catching up on each other's lives. When it was time to hang up, Laura realized that she probably wouldn't hear from him again. The thought saddened her, but she suspected it was for the best. She was now a divorced, single mother but he was married with three young daughters. Her love for him had never waned, had even grown stronger over the years but she threw away all chance of happiness with him long ago.

She didn't deserve him.

More years went by with no contact between them. Then, nearly sixteen years after her initial letter in the Christmas card, Laura recalled getting an unusual voice mail from one of her sisters. The message requested that she please phone her former love's mother. Her sister gave no other information except for the familiar telephone number. Naturally, her curiosity got the better of her and she immediately made the call.

The conversation with Ian's mother left her reeling. The man she had loved for most of her life was now divorced and faced with a difficult medical diagnosis. One of his daughters had asked that her grandmother try to locate the woman who had once been such a large part of his life but both his daughter and his mother wanted Laura to avoid telling Ian how she knew of his predicament.

Remembering how this devastating and unexpected news had affected her, her heart had skipped several beats. While the thought of him facing this crisis alone, without her by his side, brought tears to her eyes. No longer able to see clearly the traffic ahead of her, she turned suddenly off the road, a maneuver which provoked a truck driver to blast his horn and yell obscenities at her.

That difficult conversation with Ian's mother played over in her mind, as it had done many times during the years.

"I am remarried now" Laura had to explain "and it has only been a year since that happened."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course I understand – you are not obligated to do anything after all these years."

"No, I really want to help. I've had to face some nasty medical problems by myself and it is really tough to do. Maybe I could contact Ian and offer my support. Please, give me his address and I'll write to him tonight."

She did not share that her second marriage was much worse than her first. It was a living hell and she had once again made a terrible mistake. She did not wish to burden him with her difficulties and so she had remained silent.

A decision she now bitterly regretted. "Stupid. I never gave us a chance."

Wiping her eyes dry with the back of her sleeve, she checked the traffic and pulled out.

Hindsight was an unforgiving creature. After all, she hadn't turned her back on him. Later that evening, while alone in her home, she had composed a loving letter offering support and friendship in his time of need. She worked on it for several days before she felt the message was as perfect as it could be and then mailed it to his current address.

She waited for what seemed an eternity before finally receiving a response via email. The sadness he was feeling was evident in his writing but he did express his gratitude for her kind words. They corresponded often for several months and she would send cards of encouragement and friendship. On one occasion the man sent her flowers in appreciation of all she'd done to help him through his depression. Since the relationship could go no further, the messages back and forth became fewer in number and less often in frequency until they once again ceased all together.

Three more years had passed by the time she received a surprise email from her old love. In the message, Ian explained that he would be in town for a niece's wedding and wanted to meet her for lunch. Laura smiled remembering how long she'd spent preparing for this date. They had not seen each other in person for more than thirty years and she'd wanted to look her best.

When the appointed day finally arrived she went to meet him at his hotel as he was unfamiliar with the city. She remembered how she had trembled with nerves waiting for him in the lobby. When he entered the waiting area and she saw him once again, the years apart just seemed to melt away. Laura gave him a long hug while trying to cover up her welling tears.

Walking to a nearby restaurant they talked nonstop. Over the course of the meal, she discovered that he was now in a serious relationship. Ian seemed so happy she could not bring herself to share that her marriage had turned into a nightmare of emotional and physical abuse. Instead, Laura buried her feelings and wished him the best of luck.

Walking him back to his hotel, they met up with his eldest daughter and he introduced them. The three of them stood talking, joking and laughing for several minutes until the woman realized she was late for an appointment at work. She said good-bye, hugged him once more and set off for her car. A deep sadness enveloped her as she thought of the life she had missed out on so long ago. She was content that the man seemed to be happy again but she couldn't help but wish that things were different between them. It seemed as if the universe was conspiring to keep them apart.

Two more years passed before she contacted Ian to inform him of a new development. Her husband had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and she was feeling overwhelmed from work and worry. She had supported her former love in his time of need and she hoped that he would help her as well. She received an email back the next day.

Over the course of her husband's illness, she kept her old friend apprised of all the pertinent news but following his death, Laura became very ill and she was forced to retire from her position as a school administrator. When she moved to Florida to be closer to family, the couple once again lost contact and more years divided them.

The woman sighed, mourning the time that had been wasted as events continued to thwart them. Florida had been good for her. Fully recovered and ready to begin life anew Laura contacted Ian's mother, only to discover that her former love was now engaged to another woman. She recalled cursing fate that she had been so ill for so long and that once again she'd missed her chance to be reunited with this man. She sent him an email that told of her regrets at these missed opportunities, only to have her message remain unanswered. She decided not to bother him again and as time went by she assumed that he must now be re-married.

Laura dated several men over the intervening years, but no serious relationship ever evolved with any of them. No other man could ever live up to her first and only love. In her heart, she still hoped for another chance to share his life.

This time he found her. On Facebook. It turned out he'd lost her email address during a computer crash and had been trying to locate her for some time. She had legally taken her maiden name back and he was not aware of her new status.

After exchanging several emails back and forth she found out that he had not remarried and that he had been the one to break off his engagement. Her reaction to this unexpected news was sheer jubilation.

Over the following months the correspondence slowed. One of the messages that did arrive contained the news that Ian's mother had died. Laura immediately responded with offers of assistance and sympathy, but when she didn't hear back from him for several months, she became concerned for his well-being. She tried sending emails to both his home and work but with no success.

During a long visit to her daughter's home, Laura posted on Facebook that she was in the north on specific dates so that she might meet up with her friends. Surprisingly, Ian responded to say he also was in the area and hoped they could meet for lunch. Of course she said "Yes!"

Best of all, they seemed to pick up where they had left off. They had talked, laughed and joked for several hours before he had to start the long trip home, yet no mention was made of seeing each other again. Shyness or uncertainty seemed to be holding each of them back from initiating another date. Confused at this outcome, Laura considered the possible reasons for this hesitation for several days.

Once she returned to her home in Florida, Laura decided to take a leap of faith. She composed and sent another poignant email asking if they might have a second chance at love. Several days went by before a positive response was received.

Plans were made to meet in Savannah for a long weekend.

"Bringing us right back to the present" Laura again spoke aloud as if waiting for some response from the universe. "What effect our past has on our chances for a future together, I don't know. I need to tell him that he did nothing wrong and that I never stopped loving him. The counselor I have been seeing keeps encouraging me to tell Ian the whole truth. Maybe now is the time to share with him the events I have kept buried since I was a young girl but I'm afraid how he will react to the news. He might even believe that I caused it to happen."

The navigation system broke into her thoughts once more to direct her through the historic district of Savannah where they had agreed to meet.

As she parked outside reception, she nervously thought 'What if he doesn't show? Maybe he's changed his mind. Then what will I do? I guess it's too late to think of that now. If he doesn't show up, I will just have a lovely weekend by myself in a beautiful city. I'll also know for certain that a relationship with him is not meant to be.'

She opened the trunk of the car for the bellhop to get her luggage, handed the car keys to the valet and went inside to check into their room.

She rode the elevator to the designated floor and found the room number. Once she was inside she sent a text message to her long-time friend to determine his estimated time of arrival. He'd told her that he had to work at least half the day and would potentially leave the office by noon so she expected him shortly.

She put her personal items out on the counter in the bathroom and stowed her luggage in the closet. Moving back to the bedroom, Laura pulled aside the heavy curtains from the windows to see that it was now raining. The hotel room overlooked the river walk and the city looked inviting even in the heavy downpour. She had never been to Savannah before and she was looking forward to exploring the historic district with her love. The minutes slipped away, she kept checking her phone for a message, but found nothing.

She tried to read some tourist literature, between glancing at the clock. Then she paced the room before finally deciding to shower and change clothes in anticipation of an evening out. After several hours of waiting, a text appeared explaining that he'd been held over at work and would arrive after eleven that night.

Although disappointed, she was very relieved that he was on his way. She decided to go walk the riverfront to find a place to eat. Outside, she located a service elevator down to the shops situated on the river. Laura found a small Greek restaurant where she enjoyed the food so much she vowed to return with her love. By the time she had finished eating and paid the check, it was nearly ten o'clock. She did not want to miss his arrival so she returned to the hotel lobby to wait.

When anyone came into the hotel to register, she looked up ever hopeful that the man had arrived. As each minute ticked by, she became more and more nervous.

He could have had an accident. Or maybe he'd had second thoughts.

As the lobby clock ticked midnight, a familiar form walked past her heading towards the elevators. She jumped up from the deep comfortable chair in which she had been sitting and called out his name. He turned around, saw her, and flashed her one of his heart-melting grins.

She ran to him with outstretched arms to give him a hug and a kiss. "I was getting a little worried that you were going to stand me up or that you'd had an accident."

He shook his head. "I would never stand you up. I have been looking forward to this weekend for days. I just got held up at work and that made me very late. Didn't you get my message?"

"I did. I should have known you would be here. I'm sorry I got so worried."

They walked towards the elevator and went up to their room. The years which had separated them dissolved and they were once again the young lovers of years past wrapped in a passionate embrace.

"Before we go any further, there is something I need to say and I should have told you this many years ago."

Laura sat down on the edge of bed and asked that he come sit next to her.

Her tone of voice became very serious. "I want for us to have a chance to be together for the rest of our lives but I am afraid that you will always remember how I hurt you and that you will never trust me. I want you to know that I never stopped loving you and love was not the reason I ended our relationship. I could not be what you wanted me to be and needed me to be. I was afraid to show my love for you physically. Do you recall the first time we made love fully and completely?"

Ian nodded his head but remained silent.

Laura looked away, trying to compose herself and find the right words to say to convince him that her past actions were not a reflection on him.

"I never told you but I was very upset after we had sex the first and only time. I had flashbacks to the time I was eight years old. I know I never told you this before but I was sexually abused by our family's parish priest for three horrible years. It is difficult to say even now but it was impossible for me to tell you when I was eighteen years old. I did not believe I could ever be a real wife to you as I was ruined by that experience. I did not think I would ever enjoy sex and that I would destroy your chance for a happy married life. "

She walked away from him so she did not have to see the look on his face in case it was one of disgust. "I could never tell you when we were still together – it has taken me years to come to terms with this abuse. My counselor has been urging me lately to tell you the entire truth as I have been making the wrong choices with men for many years."

Ian came up behind him, put his arms around her waist and softly whispered in her ear, "It is okay. It was not your fault and I understand why you could not tell me. I am glad that I finally know what happened. It must have been terrible to live with that secret so long."

She started to weep and he comforted her in the best way possible. He slowly made love to her, skillfully and passionately. She responded to his touch as she had never been able to do so many years before.

They spent the rest of the night cuddling, sharing and talking of plans for the future.

Laura remarked "I did not believe that I would ever be given another chance with you. It seemed like circumstances managed to keep us apart no matter how hard I tried. A lifetime of missed opportunities and yet I have loved you for nearly forty-five years. I want to make up for all the pain I have caused you. Not many people are given a second chance to set right an old mistake so I intend to take full advantage of it and show you how much I have always loved you. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives."

He replied with the words she had waited so long to hear. "That is what I want as well. We deserve a second chance. Maybe it has taken us this long to reconcile so we can have finally have this as our one last love."

## The End

# SPECIAL DELIVERY

## Genevieve Dewey

Kiki Downey changed the wording on the last sentence of her blog post for what she hoped was the last time then hit <Update>. She was pretty sure her copy editor was only making her submit yet another draft to him because she had turned him down for a date again. He never cared what she wrote in her blog before and this nit-picking was the only change in the routine. She doubted he had developed a sudden love for wedding coordinations.

She crooked her head. On the other hand, maybe he'd finally found The One. Even a beady-eyed, sweaty-palmed rodent like him could find love.

She sighed. No, if he had found someone he wouldn't have tried to grope her the last time she went over to the Sun-Times building. She really didn't want to have to talk to the Editor in Chief about him. She knew for a fact her boss was terrified of Daddy and she liked to think she had this job because she possessed a keen sense of fashion and not because she had a mobster for a father... and grandfather... and cousin... and Godfather...

The knock on her door jerked her from her meandering thoughts and she popped up to answer it.

"Who is it?" She asked as she undid the bolt.

"Special Delivery!"

Kiki brightened. It was only a week past her birthday. Maybe it was a late present. She opened the door to see Agent James Hoffman with a smirk on his face. He slouched against the door jamb with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a take-out bag.

"You always answer the door without looking first?" James asked. "What's the point of asking who it is if you're just going to open the door for every Tom, Dick, and Harry anyway?"

Kiki let out a nervous giggle. Her heart started racing and she could feel her cheeks flooding with red. A visit so soon after their hook-up on Sunday? She slowly smoothed the front of her velour track suit—to make sure it was showing all the most important parts, of course—and opened the door wider.

His smirk morphed into a frown and he stopped the super-sexy broody slouch thing to walk past her into her apartment.

"Seriously, Kiki, you shouldn't open the door without looking first. And you should keep your latch on, too," James continued as he set the takeout bag on her coffee table.

Kiki sighed. She had enough men in her life being overprotective worrywarts she didn't need her new... Hookup? Co-conspirator? Whatever he was... nagging her. She grabbed her hair and twisted it into a loop in back as she walked over to the divan and flopped onto it. She enjoyed the way his eyes followed her every move.

"I'll keep that in mind... um... what was your name again?" she asked, trying hard to keep the smile from her lips. She tamped down the shudder of pleasure at the predatory look in his eyes.

He chuckled. "Play nice, kitty cat, and I might share. I only have a half hour before I have to be at the Federal Building."

"Share what?" She purred, running the zipper up and down slowly on her track suit. "And you know you'll never make it in time. Besides, it's rather presumptuous of you to think I'd want to play anything. I'm a busy girl."

"You want me to go, Katherine?"

She shivered at the use of her given name. Of course she didn't want him to go, and he knew it. But she did have somewhere to be this afternoon, too. She was going to meet up with Tommy's mother Mary. Mary's support would further James and Kiki's mutual goal of convincing her brother Tommy to let Daddy back in his life. James insisted doing so would help his and Tommy's current case, but Kiki was only going along with it because having Tommy back in the fold—Detective or not—was the one thing Daddy wanted most. This sex-on-the-side thing between her and James was supposedly a separate thing entirely. She'd never dated a DEA Agent before; it'd be a nice change of pace being with one of the so-called 'good guys'... assuming he wasn't just using her.

Kiki hopped back up to grab the takeout bag and swing it playfully.

"So, what's on the menu, Agent Hoffman? Taco? Clam? Sausage? Hot dog and a donut?"

His whole body shook from laughter. He snatched at the bag but she sidestepped him and deliberately rubbed up against his back as she danced away.

"Now, I know you haven't forgotten my first name," James drawled, turning around and shoving his hands back in his tight jeans. "After all, it was on your lips so many times the other night."

His dimpled grin and twinkling eyes had her breath catching. He was so damn sexy even out of his formal wear. And the black shirt and leather jacket he was wearing with jeans seemed to highlight the contrast of blue eyes and black hair. He started walking toward her and she started backing up.

"How come you aren't wearing a suit and tie? Isn't that standard Federal Agent gear?"

"In general, drug runners don't care how we look when busting their door down. All that matters is the gun and the handcuffs."

"That's kinda hot, maybe you should show me how that works sometime."

He laughed outright then he shrugged out of his jacket and shoulder harness, all without stopping his menacing approach. Oh, please let him be for real, and not just another manipulator, Kiki thought. James made a grab for the bag but she hid it behind her and kept backing up down the hall. He only deepened the grin and started taking his shirt off.

Kiki bit her lip to keep from panting. Holy cow, he was... wow... ten times as amazing in the daylight. His hands swiftly unzipped his jeans and he managed to simply walk out of them and his shoes. She was so mesmerized by him that the crunch of the takeout bag smacking the end of the hallway wall startled her. She barely had time to register the thunk of it hitting the ground before his hand hooked behind her and yanked her flush up against him.

She frantically started to tug at her track suit. Why was she still wearing the damn thing? It didn't matter anyway. He made short work of it and then she was soaring through the air in to her bedroom. She would have sucked her breath in at the swooping sensation in her tummy except his tongue was in her mouth and who could think about breathing anyway?

Her hands sunk into his short black curls and she wrapped her now naked legs around his waist. She thought he would set her down on the bed but he turned at the last second and sat on the edge. His lips finally left hers to explore her neck.

Oh, how she loved his neck kisses. It was some strange combination of kissing, licking and nibbling that made her feel like ice cream melting in July. She wanted him to lick her all over and eat her up. Literally. The way his fingers gripped her ass and pressed her up against his cock, his hot breath and his efficient mouth... this man played her body like it had been special-ordered just for him.

His tongue licked along her collar bone and he rubbed her wetness against his cock some more. His shaft was hitting her clit just right and he seemed to know when she was ramping up towards an orgasm because he would painfully grip her hips and stop just as she got there. She began to whimper from the teasing and he chuckled again, damn him.

Well, two could play that game.

She stopped gripping his shoulders and started running her fingers up and down his back in a half scratching, half tickling manner. He shuddered as her finger teased his crack.

"Say my name," he demanded.

"Oh, how terribly cliché of you, Agent Hoffman," Kiki snickered and licked her lips. She watched his nostrils flare a bit and he bit his lip for a brief moment. Then he stood up and tossed her on the bed. She rolled over to crawl further up the bed but he trapped her face down and straddled her, hands pinning her wrists. She could feel his cock prodding at her ass.

"James!"

"Ahhh...see? Now, that wasn't so hard," he snickered then started nibbling at her back.

It didn't hurt at all, just sort of made her tingle all over. She squirmed underneath him and he let out a groan. He lifted one hand up and yanked the drawer open on her nightstand to grab a condom. Her heart was beating so fast in her chest her ribs ached. She wasn't ready for any backdoor action if that was what he was going for. On the other hand, he had done things to her the other night no one had ever dared before and she had enjoyed every single delicious second.

He let go of her other wrist and raised her hips. His cock entered her and she sucked in her breath. No, no backdoor action yet, but she felt suddenly dizzy from the strange sense of disappointment that brought. No one had ever made her wonder or want to know what that would be like before.

Suddenly his mouth was next to her ear and he whispered, "I haven't been able get the other night out of my mind. I can't stop thinking about you." His husky voice seemed to immobilize her. He licked her earlobe. "About all the things I want to do to you..."

His fingers trailed lightly along her sides and she squealed from the tickling sensation. Her legs trembled and she felt gooey and helpless in an erotic sort of way.

He licked along her spine as his hips set a demanding pace. She grabbed the comforter underneath her and pushed back so he would have better penetration.

"Katherine..." he let out in a sort of whispery groan. It was simply amazing how he managed to make such a stodgy old name sound sexy.

"James... please... I need to touch you," Kiki said.

It was the truth; she needed to feel his strong chest muscles and watch his eyes as he came. It was the only time his face had betrayed any vulnerability with her in the short time they'd known each other. And really the only time since she'd met him Saturday that she had felt even remotely in control.

He let out a quick breath and pulled out. He flipped her so fast her hair got caught but the pain of it left her as soon as he entered her again. She was denied the pleasure of watching his face, though, because his mouth was on hers in a bruising, ferocious kiss. She moved one hand to his head to yank on his hair, and the other to his ass to rest a finger between his cheeks. His mouth left hers and she could hear his breath hitch.

"God, stop, baby—I can't—I won't be able—" He struggled to get the words out. His pace doubled and his face cramped up in a panicky expression.

She knew he was about to come and was fighting it. The way he needed her was nothing short of intoxicating. She clamped her muscles around his cock and came apart watching his face battle for control.

He groaned with his own release and it vibrated against her body.

"Ahhh," she sobbed as the force of it had her coming a second time. She gripped his hips and pressed him against her one last time to keep the waves of sensation coming.

His arms holding himself up were trembling slightly and he dropped his forehead to hers. He let out a shaky laugh then kissed her quickly and rolled off.

Kiki stretched lazily like a cat, enjoying the soporific after-glow.

James sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed his underwear.

"Shit," he mumbled as he looked at his watch.

"What?"

"Gonna be late," he muttered as he quickly started gathering his clothes.

She sighed. So much for any post-coital cuddling. She followed him into the living room, not bothering to get dressed. Let him see what he was leaving, so he'll come back for more, her mind whispered. It sounded a bit like her mother's voice and that was more than a little disturbing so she plastered a cheerful, carefree, don't-worry-about-me mask on her face.

He was dressed and fastening his holster in record time. He checked his phone with a frown, face otherwise completely free of emotion. He looked up briefly as he turned the knob on her front door and a quick blink was the only reaction to her still being naked. He flashed that devastating grin.

"Call you tonight?" he asked and shut the door before she could answer.

Kiki blinked at the door in the sudden silence. The door opened again.

"Latch the door," James said and slammed it shut.

She sighed and retrieved the take-out bag from the hallway. She looked inside it and saw her favorite Portillo's sandwich.

Bring her something, followed by a quickie? Check.

Immediately after, consult watch and phone for work? Check.

Ambiguous promise of future hookups? Check.

Yeah, so far, dating a Federal Agent wasn't too much different than dating one of her father's 'employees'.

The bright side?

The sex was amazing and unlike the men who worked for Daddy, she wouldn't ever have to worry about sending him care-packages in the clink. And if James was using her, well, she could tell herself she was using him as well. Plus, she perked up, they had known each other less than a week and he had already sent her half a dozen texts, had sex with her at least that many times, called her once, and made her breakfast. Come to think of it... this might be her first ever real grownup-type relationship.

She smiled and grabbed her phone to call Mary.

It was time to get cracking on James and Kiki's 'mutually beneficial' plan, and maybe she could get all of her wishes.

[Author's Note: 'Special Delivery' is a missing moment from First, I Love You (The Downey Trilogy, Book One). If you'd like to learn more, visit: <http://genevievedewey.com/first-i-love-you> ]

## The End

# I KNOW A MAN WHO CAN

## by Iain Parke

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Sod this," I shouted out loud as I thumped the steering wheel. Outside the hazard lights strobed the world black and orange, syncing with the metronomic tick from the dashboard.

The engine was dead.

The road ahead was pitch black.

I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, ten miles or so from home.

And with the car's dying momentum I hadn't even made it to the lay-by, the curb of which lay tantalizingly just at the edge of the dulled headlights' beam.

"Shit!" I said again, switching to the sidelights to save the battery and reaching down to pop the bonnet release. There didn't seem to be anything for it but to get out and have a look. To be honest, with no torch in the car, and no real idea what the hell to look for, or what I would do if I found it, I suspected that all I would achieve was a broken nail. But it just felt as though I had to do something.

I knew nothing about cars. This was my first one ever. A three year-old 1984 Ford Fiesta XR2 Dad had helped me to find and buy.

"Make a good little run around," he'd said.

Really I had needed to get a car because, having finished my PGCE, I had got my first job at a little village primary school in Muir Bridge. I had Year 2, thirty six year-olds, which took some getting used to, but I'd been loving the job. I'd found myself a small place to rent in Inverness, and so for the past month I had been commuting daily through the unfamiliar and stunningly beautiful countryside, with its narrow roads winding between dry stone walls enclosing fields dotted with grazing sheep.

I'd been feeling all grown up.

Now, I suddenly felt all alone and vulnerable, scared even, with no one at hand to rescue me.

I peered into the blackness of the engine well and shivered at the cold despite my cardigan pulled around me, I wasn't exactly dressed for this, and other than feeling welcome waves of heat coming off the radiator, I was still none the wiser.

A low continuous rumble made me move out from under the bonnet to where I could see back past the car an aurora of approaching headlights glowing above the tree line, probably about a mile or so back along the twisting country lane, but closing rapidly on where my car sat just after the last curve.

Terror jumped my pulse to double time.

I slammed down the bonnet and dived back into the car, desperately jamming the key in the ignition in a last-ditch attempt to inch the car away from the bend and towards the potential sanctuary of the lay-by, before whoever it was came tearing round the corner and straight into the back of me. I slapped my palm against the steering wheel and turned the key again.

"Come on, come on."

Nothing happened.

The noise was much louder now, a gut-churning roar. I flicked my eyes up to the mirror, I could see the blaze of the looming lights streaming around the bend. They were almost upon me and then, BANG!

I winced as the blazing lights swept around the corner and flared directly into my mirror as well as lighting up the road to my side. I heard the screeching brakes, the roar of engines changing down. I could only hope that the warning flash of my hazards had given enough time for avoiding action.

I closed my eyes.

And then to my relief the lights were passing me, and I remembered to breathe as I dared to open my eyes and caught sight of the infamous patches on the back of the column of a dozen bikers or so racing around my car, before the sight of the brightly menacing brake lights following the lead bike into the lay-by brought my panic roaring back.

Oh Shit! I fumbled for the central locking and at least heard the comforting click of the doors, although I didn't think locks would actually protect me for long.

Christ, just how much worse could this get?

I still had spots floating before my eyes from the beams in my mirror, but even so I could make out several figures hurrying towards me from where the bikes were parked up. Silhouetted black bodies blocked my view of the bikes' tail-lights as they got nearer. I sat frozen, my knuckles whitening as I clung to the steering wheel with some kind of death grip. Was this it? They'd almost run into my car. Besides which, you heard all these stories...

And then they were past me. Three or four were round the back of the car and I wondered what they were going to do. A tap, tap of a knock at the window made me start.

It was as though time had stopped in my little world. Slowly, as if in a dream, I turned to my right and looked out, straight into the eyes and face of a bearded man leaning down to stare in at me from the darkness. He mouthed at me as though underwater and made a circling movement with his hand; the internationally recognized code for "Can you wind the window down?"

Unthinking, I reached out for the switch, and with my heart in my mouth and the quiet whirr of the motor, the glass slid down, letting the cold night air in against my skin.

"D'you want to take the handbrake off and stick it in neutral, thanks love, and we'll get you into the lay-by," he said pleasantly.

I just nodded, reached down and did as he asked.

"Great," he said, "you just steer."

"OK lads," he shouted behind him, reaching into the car with one hand and putting his shoulder against the window frame. "Now push!"

I felt the car move and we rolled steadily towards the sanctuary of the blue P sign at the side of the road.

"OK," he said, as we reached it. "Now just swing in, that's it, and... handbrake on. Great."

I caught my breath at the familiar ratchet noise as it engaged and, out of habit, slipped the gears into first. With their help, I was off the road and parked up, well clear of the bikes, which I realized had been deliberately pulled up at the other end of the gap so as to leave room for m. At least my car was safe.

"Pop the lid, love," he said, looking in again. "We'll have a look at what's wrong."

He stood up as I sprung the catch again with a clunk, but stayed next to the door.

There was a huddle of bodies around the engine. Somebody produced a torch. A working one. Now why didn't I remember to carry one?

There was some discussion outside.

"Try turning it," he said, leaning back down to me.

I tried the key. The dashboard lights were on, there seemed to be life in the battery as I heard the click and clatter of the starter motor trying to engage, but in terms of life from the engine there was nothing doing. Dead as a dodo.

"Again?"

I tried again, but there was still nothing as the weird orange light from the hazards clicked on and off, one and off.

Well at least I was off the road, so I didn't really need them anyone. I turned them off thinking I might as well try and save the battery.

There was a bit more of a huddle and the sound of a laugh and a comment directed at the bloke still stood by my open window.

"Are you sure, Dobbo?" he said, to a figure who joined him at my window and dropped down to look in at me with piercing blue eyes.

"I think you've seized it, love," Dobbo said with a rueful smile. "I just checked the dipstick and traditionally the engine's supposed to have some oil in it. When was the last time you checked it?"

I just shook my head. This was all my own fault.

"Well this car ain't going anywhere on its own," he spoke gently. "have you called recovery?"

I nodded this time. "They said they'd be on their way soon," I said in a small voice.

"OK then," he replied.

"Well we can't just leave you here like this," said the first man, who seemed to be in charge.

My eyes widened with panic. This was what I'd feared when they first pulled over. I was alone in the middle of nowhere, completely at their mercy. Abduction. Rape, Murder. Anything could happen. Absolutely anything.

"Fuck knows who might come along," he continued, echoing my thoughts exactly.

"So the tryouts'll stick around till they get here. Make sure you're OK," he announced. "No one's going to mess with you with any of our lads around."

I was dumbstruck. I didn't know what to say, but then there wasn't really anything to say because he was gone, walking back towards the parked bikes, the rest of the group falling in around him, pulling on their helmets, throwing away the ends of cigarettes and swinging their idling bikes upright.

The car was full of the thrumming noise of the engines revving as they got ready, formed themselves up, then with a growing roar, staggered pairs of red tail-lights rose up and out onto the road, and disappeared off into the darkness, the noise slowly dying away behind them.

Leaving just me.

And the bloke called Dobbo, who had now stood up and was pulling out a packet of cigarettes.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark again, I realized that I wasn't alone here with just Dobbo. There were two bikes still parked up ahead of me, and I could just make out a standing figure lurking beside them.

"Um... Dobbo?"

He turned to look at me. "What's up? Do you want a fag?" he asked, offering me the open packet.

"Err, no thanks, I've given up."

"Good job," he said, as he tugged one out and stuck it in his mouth. "I ought to," he continued as he cupped his hands around his mouth, and I heard the click and saw the flash of a lighter. "Costs a fucking packet these days."

"No, I mean, thanks but no. What I wanted to ask was, who's he?"

"Who?"

"Him," I said pointing towards the bikes.

"Oh him," Dobbo said, blowing coiling smoke into the air. "Don't you worry about him. That's Stu, he's another tryout, so as far as the guys are concerned, we don't really count."

* * *

Dobbo leant one forearm on the car roof as we talked.

I hadn't unlocked the doors or made any move to get out, and he'd not made any suggestion about me doing so or about him getting inside, even though he'd been standing out in the chill air for a good quarter of an hour.

He explained how Stu and he were serving their apprenticeships to become members of the club, and how their jobs included guarding the bikes and suchlike whenever they stopped, which was why Stu hadn't approached the car.

"Look, you know you really don't have to wait," I said. "I'm off the road now and I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Oh, don't worry about it, love. It's no problem. Besides which Mal..."

"Mal?"

"The bloke you were talking to. He's our P, so he's in charge. What he says goes. If I goofed off before your tow truck arrived, I'd catch all sorts of shit, let alone what'd happen if I did and then something happened to you. No, we'll hang on here. Like I said, it's no problem."

"Oh, well, OK then, if you're really sure..."

* * *

The only thing was, it was a bit of a problem.

And now I couldn't work out what to do about it.

So I was stuck.

Because the truth was, there wasn't a recovery truck coming. I hadn't called one. How could I? I'd just said I had, out of panic.

I'd thought it might help, make me safe I mean, help make the bikers think there were people on the way, people who would arrive at any moment, who might see them if they did anything. The bikers clearly didn't know the nearest phone box was a couple of miles back. Even if I made the walk, I had no one to call. Dad had told me to join the AA or RAC or whoever, but like a complete dib, not only had I not put oil in the car, I'd never got around to sorting out breakdown cover.

The truth was, there was no one coming.

So now what the hell was I going to do?

OK, despite my fears and their reputation, they'd actually been fine, helpful, friendly even. But now, how on earth could I get out of this without telling Dobbo that I'd lied to his P and kept him and Stu waiting out in the cold for a tow truck that was never going to arrive.

And the thing was, the longer I sat there trying to work out what to say or do about it, the worse it was getting as minute after minute ticked away in the night air.

* * *

"You might get away with it," he was saying, stamping his feet to keep warm. "It just depends how badly it's seized and what damage has been done."

"Do you know about engines?"

"Yeah, I'm a mechanic by trade."

"In a garage?"

"Well, not a dealership or anything. I've got my own business, self-employed. Servicing and all that sort of thing. Do a bit of dealing as well. Buying 'em up and moving 'em on."

"So it may be OK after all?"

"Yeah, could well be. I'd guess you weren't thrashing it, so once it's cooled down you could try putting some oil in and see if it's freed itself again."

"Well that would be a relief. I had visions of needing to replace it."

"Your recovery guys are being a while, aren't they?" he observed, looking back down the empty road. It had been about forty-five minutes now and not a soul had come by all the time we'd been waiting.

"You did tell them you were on your own, didn't you? I thought they usually gave stranded women priority."

I really didn't have an answer to that.

* * *

I thought about it every which way but there was no way of getting out of this. I was just going to have to face up to it.

"Um, Dobbo?" I began.

"Yeah?"

"Err... well... I've got something I need to tell you..."

"Yeah? So what's that then?"

I took a deep breath. I was committed now.

"Well you know we've been waiting for the recovery...?"

He nodded.

"Well... the truth is, err...I've got a bit of a confession to make..."

"Which is?" And then a flash of comprehension crossed his face.

"Oh just wait a fucking minute!" he exclaimed, staring straight at me in amazement.

"Well, it was all so fast and he just asked, and I thought..."

"So, we've been freezing our arses out here for an hour for no good reason, is that it?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry." I felt myself starting to go to pieces again. "It's just, well... really, I didn't know what to say."

I glanced up at him, my hand poised on the window winder button, as though having that whirr up would keep me safe, only to be taken completely by surprise when he flung his head back and roared with laughter.

"Jesus Christ," he said after a moment. He calmed down to a guttural chuckle and squatted down beside the car to be at eye level with me again. "What kind of monsters do you think we are?"

"I don't know," I pleaded, shamefacedly. "Look, I'm really, really sorry."

"Ah well, Mal is going to love this one!" And he was off again, his head shaking as he tried and failed to suppress a chortle.

"Well then," he said eventually. "We can't wait around here all night, can we?"

He whistled to Stu's black figure, a clear signal for him to join us. "Come on, out you get," he instructed me.

It didn't seem as if I had any choice in the matter, so I just nodded, unlocked the door and got out of the car.

"How far away do you live?" he asked, as I folded my arms in front of me against the cold.

"Just down in Inverness," I said, nodding in that direction.

"Do you need this tomorrow?" he said, indicating my poor little car.

Well, it was a Saturday tomorrow, so I didn't need it for getting to work I supposed. I shook my head.

"Right then, let's get you home first. We can sort this out in the morning."

* * *

And so, a few minutes later, I found myself drowning in the stiff, oversized weight of Stu's thick biker jacket, while Dobbo's hands were under my chin as he fastened the strap of a helmet on my head.

"How's that?" he asked. "Not too tight?"

Experimentally, I moved my head from side to side and then nodded, feeling the unfamiliar heaviness of a helmet. 'I think it seems OK.'

"Good. Ever been on a bike before?"

"No."

"Don't worry about it, you'll be fine."

With a huge jump on the kick start the bike barked into life. Straddling it, he pulled the machine upright, and then nodded to me to get on. Thank God I'd worn trousers, I thought.

He talked me through where to put my feet and waited until I'd settled myself.

"Should I hold on to you?" I asked.

"Sure, why not?" he grinned "And just relax, it'll be great. You'll enjoy it."

I wasn't so sure.

"Ready?" he asked.

I nodded.

"OK then, I'll take it easy," he said, as the bike began to move under me and I instinctively tightened my grip around his waist, hugging myself into his back and sheltering down behind his broad shoulders against the chill of the night wind.

It was an unfamiliar sensation. The powerful engine vibrated through every part of my body. I was frozen rigidly in place to start with, hunched up against him, but as he swept gently through the first couple of bends, I began to relax. The bike lifted itself out of the corners like a spinning top that always swings back to upright even if you tip it over. Slackening my death grip around his waist to a softer cinch, my body automatically moved with his as he gently but firmly swayed the bike into the next set of curves.

I felt weightless on the back of the huge iron bike, effortlessly flying me home through the dark of the night. The harsh rumble of the exhaust and the rushing sound of the wind enveloped me.

OK, I wasn't dressed for it, I couldn't believe the way the cold of the night air bit against my bare face and hands, and I knew I would be freezing by the time I got home, but...

Soon there was the flash of yellow street lights, and road signs appeared. We passed a petrol station and the first of the out of town supermarkets. Houses, railings, and gardens, all the familiar outskirts of the town smeared by as the unfamiliar blast of cold air brought tears streaming to my eyes. We were getting close.

He knew roughly where I lived from the description I'd given him, so it was just a matter of tapping him on the shoulder and craning round to talk in his ear to give him final directions. With a last bark of the engine and a mechanical clatter as it died, we pulled up outside my front door.

"No need to wake the neighbours," he joked.

His shoulders tensed under my hand as he braced the bike while I stood up on the pegs and semi-hopped, semi-slid off my perch behind him.

Dobbo kicked out a side stand and let the bike settle, the handlebars swinging round as he did so. He swung his leg over the pillion with an easy, practised motion, and dismounted. He stripped off his riding gloves and unclipped his helmet before reaching out to do the same for me.

"OK," he said, lifting off my helmet. "How was that?"

"Amazing," I said, smiling at him. I shook my head to settle my hair, and gave an involuntary shiver. "Bloody cold, but great."

Dobbo gave a wry smile. "Yeah, there's nothing like it."

"Well then," I said, wondering what to do next. I glanced at my front door. My fingers were about to drop off, I should go inside, but I didn't want to leave him.

He just looked at me. Waiting for me to decide, I think.

"So what do you think about my car?" I asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Stu can look after it."

We'd left him sitting inside it. Well after all, he had lent me his jacket for the ride home so I could hardly leave him out in the cold.

I looked into Dobbo's amused eyes reflecting the street light and made up my mind. "So do you fancy a coffee? To get warm I mean." I gestured towards my door.

"Yeah, that'd be great, if you don't mind."

"How about Stu?"

"Oh, don't worry about him," he waved his hand dismissively as he did something with the bike's keys. "Like I said, he's a tryout. He can wait as long as it takes."

* * *

The next morning we rode across to a garage to get some oil, and then to a bike shop tucked away off a road beside the river. I found a helmet that fitted. Fifty pounds for a plastic hat and some gloves. It must be love.

And then we went back to wake Stu with a lukewarm bacon butty and the fresh smell of coffee out of a thermos, and to sort out my car.

* * *

And as for Dobbo, well later, reader, I married him.

## The End

# AN EVENING FOR TWO

## Ian Rideout

It took Janet nearly a month to work up the courage. She had no plan about what she was going to say to Cindy, nor what she was necessarily hoping to accomplish with this. No amount of pre-planning she tried to do had given her any better ideas.

Finally, late in the month of October, she saw Cindy sitting alone at one of the college cafeteria tables. It was the first time Janet could remember seeing Cindy without any of her friends around. It seemed as good a time as any. Reluctantly, holding her lunch tray in her hands, Janet walked up to the table. Cindy looked up as she got closer.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Janet asked.

"Oh no, not at all," Cindy replied.

Janet sat down with a cautious smile. She looked into the face of the young woman across from her and found herself looking into a far prettier face than the one she saw every morning in the mirror. Already, she burned with envy of this other woman. Janet knew it was petty of her, sure, but not petty enough to change how she felt.

Cindy ate lunch; a lot appeared to be on her mind, and she took little notice of Janet's presence. The longer Janet sat there, however, the more Cindy seemed to drift back to reality and become aware of Janet's fixated gaze. When it occurred to Janet she'd been staring for too long, she averted her gaze. She tried to act casual while eating her own lunch, but she took the casual act way too far and made it forced, thus appearing shifty. By then, Cindy had taken full notice of her.

"Do I know you?" Cindy asked, a hint of impatience.

"No," said Janet, perhaps too abruptly and rudely.

"Uh, did you want something?"

"You're Cindy, right?" she asked, even though she already knew that. Again, she ended up sounding ruder than intended.

"People do call me that. What do you want?"

Time to just spit it out. "Do you know a guy named Douglas?"

Cindy's eyes darkened but blazed with interest at the same time. "I know a thing or two about him. What's it to you?"

"I was just curious," Janet said, amidst the ever-increasing cottony feel in her mouth.

Cindy leaned forward and planted both elbows on the table. "Nobody comes up to me, asks me about Douglas, and chalks it up to a 'just curious.' How about you tell me exactly what's on your mind, honey."

Starting from the beginning would be best, Janet thought. "I met this guy in one of my classes. His name was Douglas, and –"

Cindy burst out laughing. "I get it. You too, huh?"

"Okay, what gave me away?"

"That starry-eyed look you're wearing, for one thing. And the feathery sound in your voice, for another."

Janet's face flushed with embarrassment. She needed to compose herself. She was a fully-grown adult, after all. It really didn't matter, though. Cindy could see things as they were.

Doing her best to keep the childish excitement out of her voice, she resumed her story. Her name was Janet, and she had met this cute boy named Douglas and wanted to get to know him better, but was unsure how. Through some extensive gossiping and digging for information, she had found out that Douglas had an ex-girlfriend.

"And obviously you thought I was the best person to ask for advice," said Cindy.

"Well, yes."

"Here's some advice: Stay away from him."

Janet stiffened. "That's it?"

"Trust me, it's excellent advice. And I'm the most qualified person to give it. You made the right choice by coming to see me."

"Okay, thank you for your concern," she said sarcastically. She started to get up.

"Janet, listen. Sit down. I'm not trying to make fun of you. I just don't wanna see another girl getting hurt by him. I understand why you find him attractive. Why wouldn't you? He's muscular, handsome, and he has that magnetic way about him that draws you in. I felt the same way you did once; I know what you're going through. But beneath that candy-coated exterior, he's as cold and indifferent as they come. I hope you take my advice into consideration."

"I wouldn't count on it," Janet said coolly.

"Then you'll come to see exactly what I'm talking about, one way or another," Cindy replied, equally as cool.

Janet gathered her lunch and stood up again. The two women looked at one another long and hard. Janet then walked away, while Cindy resumed her daydreaming look. Despite Cindy's warnings, Janet hadn't been deterred. If anything, she was all the more determined to prove Cindy wrong. If Douglas was going to be a challenge, so be it. She liked challenges.

However, it was easier to think you were going to do something than it was to actually go out and do it. She kept seeing Douglas through the remainder of the semester, both in their classes together and in the hallways. She could feel nervousness overcoming her every time she got close to him and never had the courage to do anything more than say a friendly hello.

Finally, near the close of the semester, her moment arrived when he approached her in the hallway.

"Hello Janet."

"Oh! Hi Douglas."

"I..." He reached up and brushed his hand across his hair. "I've been struggling with the Calculus course we're in. You seem to know what you're doing. I could really use some help. Would you mind?" He seemed humiliated to be asking for someone else's help.

She couldn't believe what she was hearing, but was delighted all the same. "When do you want help? Are you free this weekend? You could come over to my apartment and I could help you study."

The moment she said it, she wondered if she'd gone too far by inviting him over. He didn't seem to mind the offer, though and accepted it. She gave him her address, and they negotiated for him to be there at 2pm on Sunday.

"See you on Sunday then." He hurried off to his next class and left her in the hallway, dumbstruck. She had another class right away too, but took her time getting there. She was far too distracted to be thinking of much else. Douglas was coming over to her place!

* * *

She woke up late in the day on Sunday. She had meant to get up early so she had time to prepare for Douglas' arrival but had slept in far longer than intended. Nervous anticipation had kept her awake late into the night.

She spent the rest of the early afternoon cleaning her apartment and otherwise preparing for his visit, making sure everything looked perfect. Unfortunately, she was panicking, and she was worried she wouldn't be able to get everything cleaned up in time for his arrival. Looking at the clock, she saw she still had two hours left, but by the time she'd eaten lunch, showered, and washed her hair, forty-five minutes had passed. Almost half the time she'd set aside to prepare had gone by, and she hadn't begun cleaning her mess of an apartment yet!

That was the other problem; it was a mess. Normally she liked to keep it tidy, but she had been so busy with her five courses the past few months that she had never felt any energy to do a serious clean-up job. That, and there was so seldom company over to give her a real reason to care. But it would leave a bad impression for any guests that would ever come over. Guests like Douglas.

Another look at the clock showed she'd already wasted another five minutes worrying about it. Determined to let no more unproductive minutes slip by, she got right to work on making her place look presentable and respectable.

She began with the clutter, as there was plenty to go around. It would take far too long to sort everything into the places they should go with what little time she had left, but she still needed to do something about it. She compromised and moved much of her stuff away into either her storage room in her basement, to the underside of her bed, or to other such places that Douglas was unlikely to see. She even took the time to organize the pillows on her couch and fold the blankets into neat rectangles.

Next, she focused on the actual cleaning. She did everything from sweeping and lightly mopping her floor, washing her dishes, scrubbing the windows, and dusting her shelves. She worked quickly and diligently, but there was too much to do and every task took too long. Every time she finished one task, another one popped up to take its place. Her determination to get it cleaned helped her slog through it, and she even grew optimistic that she just might finish everything in time, though it would be a close shave if she did.

Her hopes were dashed when the doorbell rang. Him already? It couldn't be! The clock showed that her two hours were indeed up. Oh, what to do, what to do? She wasn't done yet!

The doorbell rang again, spurring her into action. She scrambled towards the door and opened it.

"Hello," Douglas greeted her.

"Hi! Uh... come in."

He entered, untying his shoes and setting them aside on the shoe rack.

Janet wanted to kick herself. While her apartment did look better than it had two hours ago, few would call it tidy. But Douglas was here now, so it would have to do.

She forgot about the apartment's cleanliness when she realized, to her horror, that she was still clad in her pyjama bottoms and a tank-top. She'd been so obsessed with cleaning that it hadn't occurred to her to change.

"Excuse me," she mumbled sheepishly. "I'll be right back."

He sat down patiently at the living room table. He brought out his notebook, pencil case, and textbook, and set them on the table, opening them and starting without her.

"I'll be right back," she said again, rushing off to her bedroom to change. He had said nothing about her indecency, nor had his expression given anything away, but he was probably being polite.

In her bedroom, she picked out a blue and orange dress, but discarded it almost immediately. She really hated the blue and orange contrast. What was that even doing in her closet anyway?

She picked out another dress, but didn't like it any better than the last one and discarded it too. She sorted through dress after dress, but each dress she picked, she liked less than the one before. Either it was too simplistic and looked dull, was over-elaborate and looked garish, or was just plain unattractive. The discarded pile of dresses on her bed grew higher and higher. The whole thing was taking so much time that she wished more and more she had been smart enough to remember to do this before Douglas came. She half-expected him to call out, either impatiently or teasingly, wondering what was taking her so long.

She went back to her closet, resolved to pick any dress and hope for the best. But what if it was ugly? She couldn't have that. She changed her resolve to randomly pick dresses, but to keep picking until she found one she liked. More and more, it seemed like it would be an impossible task. Things hit their low point when she pulled out the same blue and orange dress from before. It somehow managed a combination of too plain, too fancy, and downright unappealing all at once.

Finally, she just had to make her pick and go with it. She held in her hands a simple pink dress. For once, the simplicity worked for the better. It was plain without being dull and drab. It was the best of all she'd chosen thus far, which consisted of nearly her entire closet at this point.

It would have to do. She pulled it on, hoping for the best.

And then there was her hair. She hadn't properly brushed it after drying it off. She took a brush from her closet and stood in front of the mirror, tidying it up. She didn't want to spend too much time on it simply because she'd already wasted so much time picking out her dress. Time was not on her side yet again, and the minutes passed by while she fussed and fussed over her hair.

When she was done with it all, she stepped back out into the living room. She did not look at the clock because she was afraid of seeing how long it had taken her. She braced herself for Douglas' remark, but it didn't come. Douglas had his nose buried into his books and hadn't even seemed to notice the dress, let alone that she'd been gone in the first place. All the debate about what to wear, and he wasn't even paying attention!

Maybe he would notice later, after they took a break from studying. If they even took a break. Douglas was really into it. His brow was narrowed tightly in concentration, and he was clearly struggling. Perfect time to help out. She sat down on the couch next to him.

"Need any help?" she asked, even though the answer was far too obvious.

"Yes, please."

"What are you confused about?"

He put the book down, frustrated embarrassment in his expression. He was having trouble admitting it, which she found endearing.

"Everything?" she asked.

He nodded.

It was going to be a long day. She had to explain everything to him at least twice before he got it, and sometimes he still didn't. It frustrated him, but she didn't mind. She was happy to help in whatever way she could. If she couldn't help, she was happy to try.

Eventually, she declared that they needed a break. She could feel the hours dragging on. Douglas insisted he was okay to keep going, but Janet knew they both could use it. She looked at the clock, surprised to see it was evening.

"Oh, I didn't know it was this late," he said. "Time sure can fly."

You're telling me. The loud rumbling of her stomach told her she was hungry. "Excuse me," she said. She put her hand on her stomach, embarrassed he'd heard that, but he politely neglected to mention it. She was hungry, though, and he probably was too.

"So, um, do you want supper?" she asked.

"Sure. If you're ready to eat."

"Yes. So do you want to eat out? Would you rather eat here? Or we could get something and take it back here?"

He shrugged. "Up to you."

"Are you sure? We can do what you want."

He shrugged again.

She sort of wished he'd have chosen for them. Now it was up to her. "We could go somewhere, I guess. Sure."

So, that's what they did. They got into her car, she pulled out onto the road and then she realized they hadn't decided where to go. "Do you have a preference?"

"Not really," he continued with the vague answers. "You pick."She thought about it and reasoned it would be best to stick to a familiar location instead of trying something new. A new restaurant would be a gamble. Better to stay with somewhere she knew served quality food.

She took them to a place called Manolios. She hadn't wanted to do a simple fast food joint. That would seem too low-class and primitive. Manolios was a sit-down restaurant. It would be tasteful enough without being overly pricey. It was also a quiet place. He seemed like the kind of guy who would enjoy quiet.

They sat down to eat, and he still didn't seem to be noticing her dress, leaving her discouraged.

Her hunger got the best of her and she ordered a rack of ribs, while he ordered chicken strips and fries. The ribs were greasy, loaded with sauce, and made quite a mess. She felt self-conscious about it, especially compared to how tidy Douglas was, and wiped her mouth frequently. He ate quietly, and she felt the need for a bit of conversation.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" It was a clichéd question, but it was all she'd been able to think of. 'Grow up' had been a silly way to put it; he was in his twenties. Hopefully he understood what she had been trying to ask.

At first she thought he hadn't heard the question, or was deliberately ignoring her, but he was only thinking it over.

"It's still something I'm working out with myself," he said. "What about you?"

She thought about it, and was upset that she still didn't know. By the time the end of her first semester was near, she was hoping she would have gathered at least somewhat of an idea.

"I don't really know. That must sound bad, huh? I'm twenty-six and I still don't know what I want to do with my life."

Again she wondered if he had heard her, but he was just taking his time responding again."Well..." he began, "there was one thing I'd thought of doing."

"What is it?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Come on, tell me!" Janet encouraged, her curiosity pushing her past what may be considered polite.

After another moment to consider, he spoke. "I was thinking of entering the Criminal Justice program, so I could join law enforcement."

"Wow. You already have a better idea of what to do with your life than I do."

"It's only an idea," he said dismissively.

"Why are you taking General Studies? Still figuring things out?"

He finished off the last of his fries. "Yeah. I wasn't sure about the Criminal Justice thing yet. I'm still not. Not entirely. So, I took General Studies, and then I signed up for this Calculus course." He sighed. "We should get back to it, I suppose."

She was disappointed, both with the thought and his mention of it (even though he was right). She had been enjoying their supper together. Hastily finishing off the last of her ribs, she wiped her mouth thoroughly one more time and asked for the bill. She saw him reaching for his wallet, but put her own money down instead, insisting she would pay for it all. He did not protest.

She drove him back to her apartment. Back inside, the first thing Douglas did was return to the exact same spot on the couch and pick up the textbooks and other items. It was as if they had never left.

Since he hadn't noticed the dress, she thought she should try something else to get his attention. A study session was fine, but she couldn't deny how much she wished he would notice her and ask her for a real date. She went to her bedroom, reassuring Douglas she wouldn't be long. This time, she really meant it.

She hadn't done quite as much with her hair as she would had liked. She could try something fancier with it now. She hunted through her drawers to find the best comb available. She picked one out and took it to her mirror to preen her hair once more. She brushed it a few more times. It looked good as it was, but could use a little something extra.

Again going through her drawers, she decided to go with a ribbon. Preferably a smaller ribbon; one that didn't call too much attention to itself. She found a nice yellow one and went with that. She decided against makeup, at least this time, but rummaged for a pretty necklace and a lovely bracelet to go on her right wrist. And, for good measure, she changed her dress again as well. This time, she picked out a dark green one, which would complement her yellow ribbon perfectly.

She didn't know why she'd bothered. When she came back out into the living room, Douglas paid her current attire no more attention than he had before. If he wasn't going to notice what she was wearing, she would need a different approach.

She thought of lighting a few candles and setting them on the tables. That would be romantic... and that was exactly the problem. It would be too blatant and too immodest. Subtlety would be better.

She never finished cleaning the apartment, and as her mood darkened with disappointment, it somehow seemed even dirtier than before. She could do that now, and it would be a good way to make the atmosphere more pleasant without affronting Douglas. Except that Douglas needed her to help him study. She had nearly forgotten.

Maybe she should forget about it and focus on what they had originally set out to do, to study for their final exam. Yet she wanted to do something to make the place seem nicer. Next time, if there was going to be a next time, she made a firm mental note to herself to start on her cleaning much, much earlier in the day.

Once again, simplicity won out. She opted for a smaller touch, opening the windows and getting a nice night-time breeze. Douglas was his usual non-responsive self, but the cool air made Janet feel more comfortable. Physically comfortable, anyway. She had been growing more and more uneasy in Douglas' company as the day progressed.

He was like a zombie in how utterly fixated he was on their studying, never showing any other signs of emotion. She tried to push the thoughts away, dismissing them as her simply being paranoid about what Cindy had said. Douglas had been reserved the whole time, but that must surely be because he was focusing so hard. It would make sense. He was struggling with the course, and the course would be over soon. It only made sense he'd be so determined to do the best he could. She wondered if she was making excuses for him, but dismissed that thought as paranoia too.

The remainder of the evening dragged on and on. Finally, at nine o-clock, they both decided it was time to call it a day. She saw Douglas to the door.

"Do you understand this any better?" she asked.

"A bit... I think."

"So in other words, I was no help at all." Her shoulders fell slightly.

"No, it was helpful. Really, it was. I just struggle with Math."

"Do you want my help again sometime?" Janet asked with a note of uncertainty.

"We'll see," he said, back to being vague. "I'll let you know."

"Okay. Goodnight then, Douglas."

"Goodnight." He nodded a goodbye, and was gone seconds later.

She closed the door and stood there, lost in thought for a moment. Then it occurred to her - how had Douglas made it to and from her place? Had he walked? Had he taken the bus?

He certainly had not driven, unless he had parked his car somewhere that she hadn't seen. This neighbourhood was not the best for parking spots. She hoped it hadn't been too much of an inconvenience for him to try and find a spot one block away and then walk all the way to her place.

She was pretty sure he hadn't driven, though. In which case, she should have offered him a ride home. Cursing herself for her absent-mindedness, she rushed out the door, calling after him. Too late; he was already gone.

She trudged back inside, shutting the door none too gently. She was happy she had helped Douglas understand the material a little better (or so he had claimed), but all in all was not very pleased with how the day had turned out. She sat down on the couch in the spot where he had sat. She was tired, had school tomorrow and really needed to sleep, but she stayed awake for a long time into the night.

Much as she hated to admit it to herself, and tried to deny it, she was starting to grasp what Cindy had meant about Douglas. He was a quiet man who spoke only when necessary. She had thought of him as modest, humble, and a little shy, but was now seeing Cindy's point about 'cold and indifferent'. He rarely smiled, didn't show much appreciation for anything, and spoke in a quiet drawl that made him seem like he was in a trance. Even his eyes didn't look as beautiful as she had once thought. He hadn't been rude to her or anything, but had not been that polite either. The realization was dawning on her that there may very well have been nothing about her that he was drawn to, even platonically. She had been a means to an end for him, to help him with his coursework, and nothing more.

Maybe Cindy was right. Maybe there was no getting to him.

* * *

The cool night air brushed against Douglas' skin as he walked home. He'd thought of taking the bus, but he liked walking. It gave him exercise and saved him money.

He spent half the walk thinking about those complicated Math equations, but made himself stop, lest he have nightmares about them. As diligent and hard-working as he was, there came a point when even he needed to say enough was enough.

He still regretted having taken this course in the first place, and by extension regretted having passed up his chance to drop out earlier in the semester. Oh well. What was done was done. He might as well do his best and hope for a good mark in the class. If that wasn't feasible, he could hope for a decent mark. If that wasn't feasible, he could hope it wouldn't hurt his grade point average too badly.

He did have a better grasp of the material now than he had several hours ago, and it was all thanks to the pretty girl who had generously given up much of her day to help him comprehend it better. He smiled to himself, and slept well that night.

## The End

# ADZO – THE LION HEART

## James Amoateng

The circumstances surrounding Justice Acquaye's death seemed so cut and dried that no one took the trouble to find out the truth, except me. And I only did so, because instinct told me that I was a determining factor in the decision to murder him. You see, normally, when a bad man is killed, people are relieved and rush to blame him for his own death. Hardly anyone bothers to consider that a bad man could die while in the process of doing something good, or that a good man can be killed while doing something very bad.

In this case, Justice Acquaye was a hugely notorious character in the prosperous town of Kusum, Ghana. Everybody knew the tall, athletic-looking and well-dressed young man. His clothes were always very expensive and of the latest fashion. His bushy hair always shone with Vaseline and he had a little goatee which he took pride in stroking every now and then.

He looked the perfect gentleman and took great advantage of this.

Not a single stranger has ever boasted of escaping the crafty Acquaye. No girl has ever held her head up high before the handsome cheating scoundrel. He dealt in all types of women. From fat market mammies to young beautiful adolescents, he conquered them all. Men who knew his evil character wondered how he seemed to prosper so much in his private life. Some believed he used some kind of juju to charm the girls. Whether this was true or not of course could not be known. No girl he took was ever brave enough to say exactly how she felt in his company.

Acquaye was so popular with girls that he was known as the husband of women.

As well as loving his women, Justice Acquaye had a lust for other things – including the usual commodity which has become a predator to many an unhappy victim. I am talking of course of money, a good servant but a very bad master. Acquaye had defrauded many people in his time. He had broken into houses several times to plunder and then sell others' precious belongings for money, ending up in police cells several times as a consequence. He was thus a regular customer of the police who knew and watched his movements very closely.

Hardly surprising then that – like many others of his kind – this notorious character met an untimely and satisfyingly gruesome death.

Early one morning, on the outskirts of the wide town of Kusum, a farmer stumbled upon the frightening sight of Acquaye's cold and stiff body standing upright in a pit that had been dug across the path.

The pit was about five feet deep by two feet wide, and three feet long and contained, in addition to the grisly sight of Acquaye's corpse, a diamond-headed gaboon viper with horns. The snake was about four feet long, but with a massive girth. Acquaye's body had been darkened by the venom. The dead man died wearing a pair of shorts, a club T-shirt, and a pair of sandals and had clearly been dead for a long time; had probably died the instant the snake's fangs sank into his ankle.

The farmer ran to call for help. On his way, he saw a Peugeot 404 Caravan across the road. It had been there when he had passed by earlier, but he had not taken much notice. Now it seemed obvious that the car had been the means to bring Acquaye to his death.

The news spread like a dry season fire. The area was soon crowded with people and police doing their duty. I, being very inquisitive, and especially interested in this new development, was there as well and I managed to get a good look at Acquaye's body. I noticed the small little marks made by the snake's fangs on the right ankle. The snake must have bitten him repeatedly, probably frightened and angry at being imprisoned in this deep hole without any escape. The body was carried away to the morgue and the people around covered the pit with stones and sand, burying the snake in its prison.

No one dared go and remove that snake. Not even the connoisseurs of snake meat who swear it tastes like salmon when served on the dinner table.

Of course there was plenty of gossip. All kinds of suggestions were made. The car had been stolen of course; no doubt about that, but people suspected there was probably more to it. Maybe Acquaye had stolen a few things that he was going to hide in the bush somewhere when he met his fate. There might have been others with him, but who knows? They probably ran away with all the goods the moment their accomplice got into trouble.

But no one could answer the obvious question: How did that pit get there?

It was then that people began to make the most fantastical suggestions. It was possible that somebody had been watching the gang's operation and set a trap into which the unfortunate Acquaye had fallen. This seemed a likely explanation considering that no one, not even those laborers returning home from the farm, had noticed a hole the previous day.

Other thoughts, however, ran through my brains; a suspicion that made me very frightened and nervous. What if Adzo was behind this monstrous crime? She was certainly capable and had the means. A keen enthusiast of snakes, she kept a lot of bottled snakes at her house. She had taken a degree in Zoology at the University and had for some time been employed at the Zoological Gardens.

I was teaching at the local training college. I knew her relations with Acquaye. In fact, that playboy had actually been my rival for Adzo's affections for some time until he totally displaced me. She could well have persuaded him to go to the outskirts of town, only for Acquaye to discover that he had unwittingly traveled to the place of his death.

I spent the next two days considering and reconsidering theories. No clue had been found and the police were probably content to let sleeping dogs lie. I believed the police were not overly keen on wasting their time investigating the death of such a crook. I was only interested, because something inside me made me feel I was probably deeply involved in the reasons behind Acquaye's death.

I didn't care about bringing the murderer or whoever set the trap to justice. I did want to relieve my mind.

The car had been taken to the Police Station. No one had claimed it and I decided to have a proper look at the vehicle. I knew all the policemen there so I went to the station as a friend on a casual visit.

Inspector Awuni greeted me at the entrance.

"Hello, Mr. Appiah, it's a long time since I saw you."

"That's why I called by," I said. "I thought it was high time to catch up with everyone."

He nodded, seemingly in deep thought, but then the Peugeot in the parking lot caught his attention. "Yah, what do you think about that man Acquaye's case?" he asked me.

I smelled a fishing expedition. The Inspector must be thinking along a different line from public opinion. Knowing I was something of a detective myself, and having helped him in one of his cases, he wanted my opinion.

"It seems to me quite clear. He stole the car and was probably on the way to bury some loot. The rest of the gang had been waiting their chance to get their own back, because no doubt Acquaye had been cheating them for some time. They set the trap then made him lead while they followed behind with the stolen goods. Immediately he fell into the trap, off they went, leaving the poor soul at the mercy of the snake."

"Sounds plausible," the Inspector agreed. "These rogues. I wished they could go on killing each other like this. The country will be more pleasant without many of them. Anyway, he's been buried peacefully by his family. It's funny how even the notorious characters have some relatives somewhere who are interested in him. They didn't mourn much though."

"Chief," I said, "if nobody comes to claim the car, can I buy it?"

It worked. The Inspector took me straight to the car for an inspection. I behaved like a prospective purchaser. I opened the bonnet and inspected the engine carefully, looking at the valves, inspecting the carburetor, then went over to look carefully at the bumpers. I opened the boot, felt the spare tire in a businesslike manner. I made my way to the front seat, sat in front of the steering wheel and imagined I was driving along a street.

"Vroom...... vroom...... vrooooo...... oooooo...... mmmm......," I roared.

The inspector laughed at my good humor. "I can just see you driving this car into a ditch."

"It will be just marvelous to own my own car," I said.

Satisfied that there was nothing to be seen, I got out through the opposite door. It was then that something caught my attention: A purple piece of cloth about an inch square stuck to a tiny corner of the door.

I was convinced. My suspicions were confirmed. I needed nothing else.

"As I expected," I said under my breath, hoping the inspector would not overhear. "It's a good car, Inspector, I hope you'll let me have it."

"Oh, yes, we'll inform you if nobody claims it."

I went straight to the yellow flat at the outskirts of Kusum. The town had known a very rich man, now deceased, who had left everything he had to his only daughter. The orphan had beauty and grace and was the goal of many prosperous men. She seemed to have turned almost everybody down, preferring a boring and isolated life.

She was a little arrogant and refused to succumb to any man who tried to impose his will on her. She had given orders throughout her life and did not like being on the receiving end of them. She had been to places: France, Britain, West Germany, United States, Spain and what have you. She probably knew more about Europe than any ordinary Ghanaian.

I had met Adzo at a dance. I do not know what attracted me to her, but she had no partner, and I decided to court her friendship. I introduced myself and we became partners for the night. We enjoyed ourselves quite well and I took her home at about three in the morning.

She asked me to stay the night. That was the loveliest night I had had for years. Adzo kept probing me with her tongue, sucking my cock, and when she noticed I was fully erect, she all but jumped on me. Her desires were insatiable. The early morning breeze made sex even more palatable. We were at it all night until I eventually left for my home around nine in the morning.

So began our relationship which went on for quite a long time until that ugly playboy interfered.

All I knew was that Adzo's attitude started changing towards me. She must have started finding me very boring and preferred the sweet, if vague promises from my worthless rival. As the situation stood then, I decided I would be better off looking elsewhere for my pleasure. That was probably when Adzo considered that I might have something more to offer, after all. She must have missed me badly, because she came to my house about thrice afterwards, behaving very nicely and trying to flatter me. I never returned her visits and I therefore felt she would welcome me now.

My guess was correct. She was full of smiles when she opened the door.

"Hello, Kwame," she welcomed me. "You've come at last."

"Adzo, my congratulations on your success. I have come back to you. And thanks, by the way," I added softly, "for eliminating one of the most dangerous crooks in the neighborhood."

Adzo's face went pale. "They know it then? I suppose they'll be coming for me, for trapping that stupid son of a bitch." Her face showed panic.

"Look Adzo, calm down. There is no need to get so alarmed. I don't think anyone knows except me, and even I just guessed. And if the police knew, I doubt they'd press it. I mean, what would they charge you with? Losing a snake? Then just imagine all the investigation for one worthless life. It's not worth their time."

She became quiet. "Look Kwame, do you think I did wrong? He forced me to..."

"Well, under the circumstances, I think this was the only thing you could do."

"Can I confide in you?" she asked.

"Of course, you can always trust me to hold my tongue."

"My first confession then is," she lowered her voice, "that I love you."

She gave me a sweet little peck.

"I know you do," I said, "and I love you too, so let me take the story from here. When we started this affair, you knew nothing about me. Being what you are, you took me for some silly, good for nothing boy who wanted to make your life difficult for you."

"No, no, don't say that. It's wrong."

I ignored her protest and continued.

"You were at first very resentful. But seeing that I did not care a bit for your resentment you waited your chance to get rid of me. Well, I got rid of myself and you managed to have the one you wanted. You did not know what sort of person he was. You're just a judge of appearance and were impressed by the way he dressed and his swaggering manner.

"He said some of those sweet things to you to win your heart straightaway, but not for long. You soon realized that he was not the sort of person he professed to be and you planned to get rid of him. First you tried to restore relations with me and then..."

I paused and stared at her sadly. "Adzo, what on earth did you find in that man?"

She sighed. "Well you've got the outline, but not the details. First, he says really beautiful things to you. I thought he was such a perfect gentleman. Then his evil side started to manifest, first gradually, then in an explosive crescendo. There were so many things he did to me. He forced me to have sex most of the time and was planning to kidnap me to Togo and marry me there. He even threatened to kill you if I saw you any longer.

"I did not like what he was doing. What broke the camel's back was the night he sodomized me. He invited me one night to his flat. Immediately I entered he pulled me onto a couch, held me very tightly and turned me on my back. The next thing I knew his hard, erect cork was searing through my anus. Just imagine the pain and the humiliation I went through, Kwame."

Tears started flowing uncontrollably from those lovely eyes. I put my hands around her and tried to console her. She sobbed and sobbed. After about five minutes, she composed herself and continued with her story.

"I thought and thought about the possible ways I could get rid of him. I started learning his plans. I started knowing his gang and I soon learned that they wanted to get rid of him just as much as I did, but did not know how to do so. I thought of this plan and made one of the men dig that hole in the night. Then I put in the snake. It was one I kept in my lab.

"Do you know what a gaboon viper looks like, Kwame? Very nasty animals. Bitis gabonica is the deadliest snake you can find anywhere on this planet. It is a remarkably striking snake both in appearance and in bite. Their venom causes one to bleed uncontrollably. Their bite is instant death to their victim. Farmers are known to abandon their farms when they spot one. The best they can do is to spray the whole farm with DDT insecticide, which gets rid of them."

She went on to explain how they covered the hole with branches to hide it from view and stationed two men there to ward off intruders until the trap was sprung.

"That same night the men told him they had robbed someone's house and hidden the valuables in that part of the bush. Kwame, just imagine how Acquaye's eye gleamed. The greedy fool did not waste time. I accompanied him in that car and when I heard the scream I got out and walked back. My frock however got caught in the door and I had to tear it free to escape quickly."

I knew that purple frock very well. I had bought it for her on her birthday.

"Well, well, Adzo, it's quite an interesting story. You've been quite clever and got away with it. You're lucky nobody else knows anything about this."

"That car belongs to the gang. They use it to operate at night. I have been watching them for quite a long time now. I know it is not going to be claimed, but I suppose it will be dangerous having it for ourselves. You would not like it," Adzo informed me.

"Adzo, I want to move away from this area and settle down somewhere else. I hope you wouldn't mind coming with me?"

"No, Kwame, not in the least."

"And you won't run away from me this time?"

She came near me. I could feel her warmth. I bent over her and kissed her soft lips. We hugged in a long, lovely embrace, squeezing each other warm and tight.

Three weeks later, we had a very private wedding at a registry in Accra.

Adzo did not want anything which would attract too much attention. The honeymoon was, however, something special. We had a month in the most expensive and the most luxurious Labadi beach hotel in Accra, all expenses paid for by Adzo. That was the treat she planned for me for trusting in her.

Of course she also enjoyed herself in bed.

I think she really wanted to catch up for all the time she had missed me.

## The End

# DUST AND ASH

## J.C. Eggleton

Dawn spilled into the valley, painting the skeletal wrecks of the autumn-bare trees the color of burnt blood. The sun, swollen and bleary from its night of sleep, was greeted with silence. No birdsong had penetrated this valley for as long as he could remember. Surely, there were still animals here. Every so often, he happened on the stripped and broken carcasses of deer and owls.

The man hadn't slept last night. Just like the night before. He wasn't sure if he had slept in years, it was all just one blurred fog of fire and shrieking cackles. How long could he last without sleep? Normal men went into a coma after three days. Perhaps he was sleeping now and didn't know it. At any moment, he would wake up and find himself living a normal life. He would kiss his fat, plain wife before heading off to work, be shat on by men with better lives, and go home to a mediocre dinner before having dutiful, passionless sex with the aforementioned wife. Rinse, lather, repeat; rinse, lather, repeat. Scrub your scalp until it bleeds and your hair falls out. Keep your chin up, it will turn out in the end, until it doesn't, and you're fat and bald and dying.

But what if this was real? His endless toil, his service in the great Hel that was tending this damn hillside. So many times he thought about giving up and just walking away, but where would he go? There was only Maidenfall Barrow: the hillside with the dead trees and piercing silence by day, the skittering of claws and the mocking cries by night. He wished he had another soul to keep him company.

But no. There were no gods to pray to, no angels to grant his wishes. Just the uncaring stars above that sent monsters to harry him..

The air was colder than usual this morning, and he wondered when winter would come. Every day, autumn stripped the leaves from the helpless trees, but it never seemed to give way to winter. Snow clouds loomed tantalizingly on the horizon. He would almost welcome them, as winter would bring an end tothis suffering that he called life. The woolen black robe he wore kept much of the autumn chill at bay, but snow would make it as useless as s used tissue paper. He drew the hood up tighter about his face and set to resume yesterday's work.

His gilded hammer, a heavy thing named Starbreaker, was strapped to his belt where it belonged. He searched for the frayed rope of the sledge and pulled it closer. He almost had a full load of deadfall gathered, but it wasn't enough. He was getting closer, he knew, but there was still work to do. The wooden sledge had seen better days, but it was intact. He had been sure to keep it near the campfire so it wouldn't be dragged off into the night. That had happened once, but he couldn't quite remember when. Had it been a Gaunt? The thing had mistaken the heap of wood for a cow, and had crunched it to splinters between its stony teeth before spitting it out.

Stupid beast.

He hadn't eaten yet. He had a habit of forgetting to do that. It was just so hard to focus when he had so much to do. He went back to the campfire and found a few live embers. They shone like rubies in the mass of gray, breathing in their last. He popped one into his mouth. The charred wood tasted gritty and hot, like a dirty pepper. There was little warmth to be found, and it was ultimately dissatisfying, but something was better than nothing.

Maidenfall Barrow hadn't seen any other humans in living memory. It was a barrow, but he had yet to see a grave or crypt. It was the only place outside of the Blackwood that was plagued with nighthags and goblins. Still, there was something about the trees that soaked up sound, muffling the scrape of his boots and the cracking of branches. It was said to be haunted, and he was certainly ready to believe it. Something had to draw the Elementals here.

Late in the afternoon, he got the feeling of being watched. He looked up and caught a glimpse of a face carved into the bark of a tree. Before he could get a good look at it, the light changed, and he couldn't find it again. He approached the old elm, turning his head this way and that. He could have sworn...

"Luxuria?" he whispered, his voice cracking for lack of use. He cleared his throat, trying to find the words. "Luxuria, is that you? It's me, Ira."

The tree didn't respond.

He traced his fingers over the bark, trying to feel the face he thought he'd seen. It The grooves in the bark didn't resemble a face in any way. He scraped at it with his nails, the image doubling and trebling as tears burned his eyes.

He was forgetting her face.

He tried to call up the image of her perfect features, her full lips and blue eyes, but he couldn't.. How long had it been? Months? Years? Decades since he'd touched her skin and tasted her tongue on his? They had talked about living together for all eternity.

In the fucking ground, thanks to a snake bite. He had killed the cockatrice with his hammer, but the damage was done. Her face had gone pale and her eyes fluttered shut. She'd hit the ground before he could catch her.

Cradling Luxuria in his arms, his mind had raced to remember the cure. There was something about the blood of monsters...he couldn't remember then, and he couldn't still. He had bitten a plug of flesh out of the serpent's belly, his teeth crunching through scale and bone. It had tasted like swamps smelled, but he had put it to her lips to drink.

She had just lay there, lips going blue. Tears pouring down his face, Ira had sucked the blood from the wound and kissed her. His lips to hers, he had let the monster's blood flow into her mouth.

He had wept and pleaded with fate, but she was already gone. He had rocked her in his arms, singing songs to her. She had always loved his music and art, so he had sung to her until his voice had given out. When the sun came up the next day, she was still gone, and he had died with her.

He was wasting time. The day was almost gone and he hadn't even started building a fire.

He didn't have time to reach his usual campsite on the eastern slopes where the sunlight hit first; he would have to make due with what he had. The clearing he found wasn't as big as he would have liked, but there was nothing to be done about that. He would just have to keep away from the treeline. He pulled some of the dried wood off the sledge, hating that he had to use some of what he had worked all day for. He set to work arranging the firewood into the pattern that was tattooed onto his memory. It had to be just right...

He looked at the sky and a moan escaped him.

The sun had sunk under the far side of the Barrow. He could see a cloud of shapes taking flight, distant but getting closer. Worse, the woods were coming alive with movement. Footsteps, great and small, on the ground and in the trees, They were waking up. His hands moved of their own accord, manipulating the branches into the primal pattern, but they weren't moving fast enough. They were shaking too much. He tried to remember one of the songs he had sung her, all those years ago. He needed to calm his nerves, needed to focus.

"I smell sex and candy..." he mumbled, recalling a single line of music. He couldn't remember any more than that, so he settled for humming the tune. As he did so, his fingers stopped trembling.

The light was fading and he could hear whispering. Close, too damn close, but he almost had it...

It was too dark to see more than a foot in front of his face when the primal pattern was finished. He started to lean forward when he noticed the woods were silent again. Why had he wasted so much of the day? Why did he have to think about her?

Muscles strumming like taut wires, he pushed his head deeper into the black and kissed the rough bark of a broken branch.

Light and heat exploded as the campfire ignited. Inches in front of his face, a pair of milky white eyes widened in pain and the night was filled with screams of agony. A nighthag had been easing forward to kiss him with her cracked lips when her dreadlocked hair had caught fire. Talons tore at her scalp, trying to rip her burning hair out by the roots.

He jumped back from the fire in surprise and felt long nails brush the back of his neck. The trees were pressing too close, he wouldn't be free of their grasp. He scampered as near to the fire as he dared. The torn and dirty shift of the hag had ignited and she was trying to tear it off. She leapt high into the trees, tearing at her clothes and hair. She flew through the branches like a screaming comet, her sisters cackling around him.

They were huddled around his campsite, not daring to get too close to the light and flame, but not retreating.

He had never seen them this close before. They were all almost identical, with subtle differences to mark them as individuals. They were stoop-backed old women, their shifts streaked with filth and rotting off their shoulders. One was completely naked, her sex only hidden by sagging breasts and a pot belly. Unlike the others, her hair was white instead of iron gray. She was the one who ventured closer, clicking her rotten, jagged teeth.

"Why must it has a fire?" she asked, cocking her head.

"Get away from me!" he screamed, wishing he could get further from her.

Gods, how she stank. The reek of piss, body odor, and unwashed genitals baked off her in waves, causing his eyes to water with the acidic stench. She crept closer, her dirty bare feet and taloned hands digging into the loose soil. Facing the glare of the fire, her pale eyes narrowed, almost disappearing into her wrinkled face.

"It don't need a fire to keep it warm. Xalabeth has warm enough in her pussy to keeps it happy. It should let me touches it and strokes it, it doesn't need to be alone." Xalabeth pushed her pendulous, deflated breasts together in a mockery of sensuality. Her hands were nothing but skin, bone, and thick blue veins, her nails long and black with dirt. He watched with disgust as those claws crept down her body, slipped in and out of the unkempt patch of white hair between her legs.

The others were pressing closer, emboldened by their leader's actions. They crept on all fours, hissing and clicking. Some ran blue tongues over broken teeth, but all were grinning hungrily.

Starbreaker, his trusted hammer, was in his hand before he realized it. Without hesitating, he swung it hard.

Xalabeth barely had time to be surprised before her skull split open like a rotten melon. Brains and blood hit him in the face and he whirled on the others. They scattered like a flock of birds, their desires for flesh immediately forgotten as their matriarch hit the ground. Most of them leapt directly into the trees, scrabbling like squirrels through the branches and tree trunks. One of them ran into her sister, bounced off, and kept running in a different direction that took her right by Ira. Rage burning his his chest, he swung Starbreaker and caught her in the lower back.

Her spine snapped with the sound of a musket crack. Unlike Xalabeth, this one didn't die with one clean hit. Useless legs trailing behind her, she threw herself at his legs, knocking him on top of her. Her claws raked furrows into his back, but she was looking over his shoulder.

"Gets it, gets it now!" she shrilled.

He turned in time to see two of the nighthags dragging his sledge of deadfall into the trees. He tried to give chase, but the bitch beneath him dug her talons in deeper. She grinned at him with bloody teeth, cloudy eyes wide with mirth. He couldn't get the hammer between them, so he forced his hand beneath her. Her amusement gave way to confusion.

He grabbed hold of her broken spine. She howled and tried to pull away, but he wrapped his fist around the gore-slick bone and began to twist. She raked at his face and neck, but stopped when he pulled hard. There was an odd sound, like a heavy boot pulling out of mud, and her head snapped backward. He had pulled several inches of spinal cord out of her back.

He lurched to his feet and felt blood rush to his head. There was a ringing in his hears, like a thousand crickets had begun to sing at once. The earth was moving beneath his feet, and he fell onto his face. He tasted blood and dirt. Xalabeth's ugly white eyes were just inches from his own. One was bulging from the socket after the blow from Starbreaker, but he didn't have the strength to push her carcass away. Everything was spinning and getting darker.

Ira.

He looked at Xalabeth in horror, but her lips hadn't moved. She was only a little bit more dead than he was, but that little bit made a difference.

Ira.

The voice again, more insistent. There was something familiar about the voice, from a long time ago.

He tried to say her name, but only managed a groan.

Ira. Why did you let me die? Why didn't you save me? You've given up on me, forgotten me.

He suddenly felt better. His wounds echoed from far away, but they were someone else's wounds. He was standing in the clearing. It was daytime, but he couldn't see the sun. The shadows were heavy, and every tree had a face carved into it. Sap poured down the wooden cheeks out of eyes gouged into the wood. Some appeared angry, but most bore looks of utter despair. They were blurry, but only because he could barely remember what she was supposed to look like.

Dozens of effigies of Luxuria stared at him from every direction. No matter where he turned, no matter where he ran, she would always be there. He sat by the campfire, his skin burning with fever. His back ached, but he couldn't bring himself to tend his wounds. It didn't matter, it never had. He wanted to love her forever, but what had that ever gotten him? She was dead, and she had taken the best part of him with her. He had been dying ever since, just killing time until he could find her again. Had he been crazy to hang around Maidenfall Barrow? He was just another madman starving in the woods, living on the ashes of what used to be.

The fever was spreading. He vaguely remembered reading that the scratch of a nighthag was deathly poisonous, but where had he read that? The same book that offered a remedy of cockatrice venom? What fucking helpful advice that had been.

His skin itched like fire ants were crawling over it, and maybe they were. Maybe they were stripping the flesh from his bones, and he would soon be dead. The Black Dragon couldn't come to claim him soon enough.

Everything faded to black and he was sure he was gone. There was no afterlife and he had seen his lost love for the last time. He didn't deserve to see her anyway...

All at once, he realized there was a fire burning. His head was clear and the only warmth came from the campfire. How long had he been out? It couldn't have been for very long or the fire...

Somebody was sitting on the other side of the flames.

Standing, it would have been twice his height. Despite its size, it was shockingly skinny, with a waist and limbs perhaps a third as thick as his own. Atop the giant stick figure body, a massive head rested on a scrawny neck. It had its back to him, giving him a good view of a bulging spine and ribcage that threatened to burst through the leathery gray skin.

He slipped his fingers found the handle of Starbreaker.

"You... Rise," It said, pausing to breathe between each word. The voice was a breathy baritone, like boulders grinding together in a windstorm.

"What are you? How am I still...Am I dead?"

"I... Am... Gaunt... We... All... Gaunt." It turned then, showing him a three-foot long, almost human face. The eyes were small and black, its features etched into a permanent mask of melancholy. Ira had never seen a Gaunt's face before. He had only seen their legs and grasping hands, the rest of the body hidden in the trees above. They had always seemed like walking trees. "Were...Poisoned...I...Saved...You."

"Why? I mean, thank you, Gaunt, but...how did you do it?" He didn't know what to say. The stories of Gaunts made them out to be boogeymen, snatching away children who wandered too close to the Blackwood. Nobody had ever spoken to one before, let alone been saved by one.

"Curious... You... Gather... Wonder... Why." He pointed a long, distended finger at the rotting body of Xalabeth. She had been dead for several days and was festering. "Her... Blood... Boiled... Fed... Better... Why... Do... You... Gather?"

"I'm trying...I want to help somebody I once knew. I need to make a fire. A big one, so I've been—" Like a kick in the scrotum, he recalled the hags dragging all of that wood into the darkness. He felt nauseous at the thought of doing it all over again.

"You... Help... Maiden?" Gaunt dragged out, laboring over each word.

"I guess so, but how can I gather it all over again?"

Gaunt shrugged his bony shoulders and pointed. Ira hadn't even noticed that the treeline was much further than it had been the other night. Trees had been ripped up by their roots and broken to pieces. Some of it still had life to it, but most was ashy and dry.

"Come." Gaunt rose.

Ira followed, grabbing a torch from the campfire, noticing how his companion shied away from the fire. Beasts from the Blackwood were famous for being averse to light. They were sensitive to open flames, but exposure to sunlight was fatal. Only when Ira noticed the blackened skin on Gaunt's forearms and hands did he truly appreciate what the giant had done for him. He had kept fires burning at night to keep the other monsters at bay.

Gaunt gathered up the broken trees and branches in his skinny arms. Tendons stood out in his neck and shoulders, but somehow he managed to bear the immense weight. They walked through the dark wood, the torch acting as a beacon to all manner of horrors. Wings flapped, claws skittered, and tails slithered just beyond the torchlight, but none dared get too close. Their journey took them deep into the forests of Maidenfall Barrow as they went first uphill, then down the other side. It was on the descent that the nightmares grew bolder.

Or more desperate.

He saw goblins watching from behind trees, whispering and gibbering in their lunatic tongue. They were stunted and chubby wretches, scarcely bigger than toddlers, but they snapped their pointed, triangular teeth at him as he passed. Their eyes were oversized and black, white warpaint coating their faces with a layer of red around their mouths. Their blue hair was shaped and oiled in the bizarre fashions of their tribes. Some of them threw rocks, but to little effect.

From above, the white eyes of nighthags followed them from tree to tree. They cackled and screamed and spit, but kept their distance after the losses they had suffered the other night.

It wasn't until they reached the foot of the hillside that they were attacked. Something swift and black darted out of the sky and struck Gaunt square in the face. He roared, trying to swat what looked like a giant black bird out of his face. The logs tumbled from his arms, nearly crushing Ira below. The harpy swooped away and dove in again, its insectile, bladed arms flashing.

Ira rushed over to help his companion,n but attacker and victim alike balked at the light of the torch. He had just gotten his hammer free when the giant caught the harpy by the wings. He forced its shrieking head into his enormous mouth and, in one motion, ripped off its wings and head.

"Go... Now." Gaunt was pointing at a massive pile of wood at the foot of the hill. Ira did as he was told, pumping his legs and running to the wooden construct. He struggled to the top, logs and branches sliding beneath his feet. There was a thick steel slab up here, the metal scarred and dinged from blows.

Gaunt was trying to swat harpies out of the air with the logs, but more were gathering. Ira had to do something quick.

He looked up at Maidenfall Barrow and realized where it had gotten its name. It looked like a gigantic woman lying on her side, the curve of her hips and breasts forming sloping hillsides. There was even a face carved into the rock: a woman with eyes closed, her lips pulled into a grimace.

He slammed Starbreaker down onto the anvil. The metal sang, resonating down the valley. The hills came alive with shrieks and howls like never before. Hundreds of green, red, and yellow eyes opened in the darkness... along with one pair of blue eyes.

The face in the hillside moved, lapis lazuli eyes the size of wagon wheels opening to look at him. They were heavy-lidded with sleep and closed almost immediately, but the sight of Luxuria's eyes wrenched his heart like a knife.

He struck the anvil again, but the eyes didn't reappear. Monsters emerged from the treeline, horrible nightmares of every shape and size. Manticores, sirens, ghouls, even an incubus, with its atrophied upper body and gigantic beaked penis. Gaunt rushed to the pyre, black blood oozing from a hundred different wounds. He hurled the trees onto the pyre and crawled his way up top with Ira.

"Let... Us... Burn." Gaunt wheezed, desperation clouding his one remaining eye. Ira looked at his friend's gaping eye socket and guilt ripped at his bowels, but he wouldn't let it stop him.

"Why did you help me?"

"Curious... Let... Us... Burn." Gaunt reached a shaking hand up toward the torch. His flesh smoked and blistered as it was burnt by the light.

Gaunt had helped him thus far, but this collection of wood wasn't the simple giant's doing. Ira had built it years ago, before the flames had burned low and he had forgotten everything. Standing atop it, hammer in one hand, flame in the other, it was all coming back to him. He knew what had to be done.

He dropped the torch at their feet.

The army of abominations lurched back with shrieks of pain as the dry wood went up in a Herculean burst of flame. Gaunt's flesh sizzled and popped like bacon, but he didn't seem to feel the flames consuming him. He was watching the man standing above him. Ira's monastic robe was burning, but the flames were mere candles compared to the molten metal pouring from his eyes.

Ira slammed Starbreaker down on the Anvil of Creation and his skin was ripped clean from his body.

The flesh beneath was molten gold, covering unbreakable adamantine bones. His hair and eyes burst into flames. Lightning flowed through his veins as he drove the hammer down on the divine anvil.

Gaunt was consumed in the heat and his burning ashes were thrown into the air, but with every strike on the Anvil of Creation, the willing sacrifice took greater form. Ira poured will and love into his art, and figures began to emerge from the sparks. Lions and eagles, wrought of fire and enchanted metal, leapt from the altar.

Every strike was harder than the last. Centaurs, dragons, and Valkyries poured forth from Ira's imagination, charging into the cloud of monsters that surrounded the altar. Harpies were ripped to pieces. Legions of goblins were impaled on pikes and trampled underfoot. Manticores had their iron shells pried off by burning angels. Everywhere, they were burning, and the air was full of music.

Harder and harder, Ira pushed himself. He was lost to the art now, lost to the passion. He couldn't feel his hands now, could only picture blue eyes and full lips. He began to shape her in his mind as her face came back to him, piece by piece.

The sun emerged over the horizon, destroying the last of the nightmares. The earth heaved and roared, the entirety of Maidenfall Barrow trembling. Fissures opened up in the ground, falling trees and sending boulders rolling down the slopes. With one final blow of his hammer, the Anvil of Creation split in half and the Barrow cracked like an egg. Deer, wolves, wildcats, songbirds and birds of prey: all manner of life poured forth from the depths. Grass so green it hurt the eyes spread outward like a flood. Flowers, bushes, and trees burst from the soil, sprouting branches and leaves with impossible speed.

From the depths of the grave, the sleeping titan emerged. A tangle of black vines, accented with holly berries and frosted with chips of amethyst, hung from her head down to her waist. Flowers of every shape and color bloomed on her skin. Creeping ropes of ivy hugged the sloping curves of the Eternal Mother's breasts and belly and hips. Her skin was polished marble, perfect and pale. She looked at him with gemstone eyes, blue as the sea and twice as old. She was a monolith of power, tall and strong.. Jeweled lizards crawled out of her footprints, to be lost in the lush greenery that sprouted around them.

The Earth Goddess moved to her ancient lover. They embraced each other, Creation and Destruction, their lips touching for the first time in centuries, as the morning sun dawned over their new world.

## The End

# WARRIOR'S PASSION

## Kirstin Pulioff

The harsh pull of the chains brought her to her knees. Arianna swore as a warm drop of blood slid down her shin, clearing a path through her dust-covered legs. Her eyes narrowed and shot up, searching out her assailant. Glistening under the silver armor, he was unmistakable. Thick ripples of muscles outlined his body as his hands tightened around her restraints. She watched the movement of white linen contrast against his olive skin as he walked closer. Her gaze moved upward. His chiseled jaw softened, brown eyes pooling with regret.

"It's time," he said. The deep timbre of his voice wrapped around her as he held up the shackles.

Even as the pain pulsed in her legs, desire swept through her. She seized his outstretched hand and pulled herself up with a defiant curl of her lips. She tried to close her mind to him, to focus on the seriousness of her capture, but failed. Holding his hand, her mind raced with images of them together. The warmth of his hands prickled the delicate skin of her shoulders as he turned her around. Her heart quickened as his breath warmed her neck.

"Thiegan," she breathed, closing her eyes, giving in to the passion rising inside. Memories swirled together: visions of their last day at the river, in the shade of the olive trees. The last time she felt his breath warm her skin, and his skillful hands on her. "I promise, we will be together again," she whispered. "Even the king cannot keep me from you."

"I am counting on you being right." He clutched her hands. "We can still run. It's not too late."

"And have the entire army on us? No, he called for all the eligible women, and he'll know if anyone's missing. We have to leave on our own, afterwards."

Arianna's heart leapt out of her chest as he pulled her near. He gripped her with a fierceness that belied the tenderness in his eyes. The metal breastplate cooled her skin as he pulled her closer. He touched his lips to her hair. "If you're wrong..."

"I won't be. I can't be. It's you and me forever, like we planned. Like we vowed behind that olive tree."

Hearing rough steps crunch the dirt, and jingling of armor, he knew another guard approached. Pushing her away, he stood formally once again.

With a loud click, the cold metal on her wrists released. Risking one last look, she turned and caught his gaze. Welling with regret, his eyes pleaded silently. She recognized the look. It was the same he'd given her before the king's men had taken her away.

Their silence grew into an awkward pit, swallowing the words they wanted to say. He pressed her forward, down the narrow torch lit hallway Steel rings hung on the walls, larger versions of the shackles he'd just released her from. Focused on the gulf between herself and Thiegan, Arianna missed the chatter in the background. Sweet laughter and warm voices greeted her as they rounded the corner into a larger chamber.

Arianna's mouth dropped, and Thiegan bumped into her from behind as she stopped in the doorway. In contrast to the narrow hallway, the room was a vision of opulence. A red jeweled sash draped over the edge of a chair, cobalt blue hung from the steel rings in the walls, yellows as bright as the sun welcomed her into the room. Tension melted away as warm, familiar smiles greeted her.

The edges of her mouth lifted as she approached the towering piles of fabric. Her fingers trailed along the dresses, indulging in the smooth silks, rich velvets, and delicate sheers. Luxury overflowed from her hands. The air around her filled with an exotic smell as sweet plum wine mixed with the incense, numbing her mind.

A cough from the back of the room broke the magic of the moment, and Arianna took another look. Reality surfaced above the carefully arranged façade. Dust from the stone walls and ground left a soft layer of dirt on the silky fabrics. Smoke from the torches dropped soot to the ground, and the soft gleam of the guard's smile spoke of terror. And the silks, they were frayed and stained with blemishes. A sigh escaped as the silk dropped from between her fingers, and her eyes found Thiegan. She cursed herself for forgetting the reason she was there, even for a moment.

She walked around the room, noticing the way the guards' gaze followed them, and hearing the rising cheers from the arena doorway. Along the far wall, a stone table held piles of similar silk gowns, studded jewelry, and a line of weapons. While the other luxuries put them at ease, this table suggested something more ominous. Weighted stares tightened the air around her as the women gathered, suddenly aware of the competition. Casting sideways glances at each other, they seized the fabric in greedy fistfuls.

Without privacy or order, the women began throwing the fabric over themselves. Layers of sheer silk hinted at skin, leaving little to the imagination. Fabric swayed around her curves. Arianna tied the golden rope around her hips. The luxury soured as she looked at the other scantily-clad women. Disgust at the infantile demands of the king and prince burned in her.

She grabbed the nearest spear. Her spirit hardened like the cold steel beneath her fingers. The calm demeanor in the room shifted as she took the first weapon. Metal rang behind her as the women grabbed, dropped, and argued over their options.

Soft silk fluttered against her skin as she moved past the other women, towards Thiegan. He stood at the doorway separating them from the arena. Light shone down on him, highlighting his strong body and serious face. The sun blinded her as she approached his side. She squinted towards him, and he looked back with tenderness, unspoken words connecting them in silence.

"Are you sure about this, Arianna? The king does not play kindly, and I don't want to lose you."

"It is the only way we can be together. If I lose you, then I lose myself. This is the only option," she whispered, brushing her arm against his. "We will be together."

The commotion for their event had already begun. Cheers and jeers blasted as the arena overflowed with people. Colorful clothes, streamers, and banners fluttered in the crowd. She held her head high against the jeers and suggestive movements of the crowd. Her eyes settled on the man in charge.

Sitting in the upper compartments, the king stood with his arms open in welcome. His face glimmered in the sun as the light reflected off his golden chains and adornments. He moved with the grace of a young warrior, in spite of the silvered hair around his temple. Behind him, a row of beautiful, jewel-tone silk clad young women watched with distracted eyes. Beside him, she settled on the young prince. Lounging in his chair, the grace and presence his father possessed hadn't carried down the line.

Her gaze slipped away from the crazed crowd and settled on the playing field. Strategically placed around the stadium, ramps, stacked barrels, and hay bales formed an obstacle course. She itched with curiosity.

Then her stomach tightened against the smell of blood and fresh meat.

"You have no right to chain those animals up!" Anger flared in her eyes as rough hands grabbed her from behind.

Roars of laughter assaulted her, as the eyes of the king appraised her. "You have a warrior's passion," he rumbled. "Let's hope that spirit can bring you to the end."

"I do not doubt it will, my lord," she spat.

The king elbowed his son. Arianna bit her tongue when Thiegan pulled her back. Her eyes burned with building anger.

"Now is not the time," he whispered. "Save it for the contest."

"Oh, I will," she breathed, her voice thick. "I told you, we will be together. This adds fuel to my fire. I will win this battle, and defeat him too."

She did not have to wait long. With a quick gesture from the king, they were paraded into the center of the arena. A line of thirty scantily-dressed women paraded around behind the lead of a guard. The crowd erupted as the sun shone through their gowns, erasing any remnants of their dignity.

Thiegan pulled her to the base of a ramp, and squeezed her hand quickly, before anyone noticed. She looked around, feeling the heat from the mid-day sun beat down on her. Dust kicked up around the guards as they positioned the women throughout the arena. Once they retreated to the outer edge, she heard it. A loud click, a roar, and then the panthers appeared. Beautiful cats, prized for their textured skins and the ivory mask around their faces

Her grip tightened as she raised her spear, feeling it slip in her grasp. Her heart pounded, covering the roar of the crowd. As much as it turned her stomach to fight them, she had no choice.

Deepening her stance on top the ramp, she swiveled her head, on alert for attacks. Her heart dropped when she saw several women down, bodies littered beneath the hay and along the edges of the arena.

A cry cut the air. She saw a woman fall to the floor, a sword slicing her chest. The delicate gown fell, shredded and sodden in blood.

Gathering her breath and rage, she leapt off the ramp directly in the path of one of the panthers. Before it could move, she pierced his chest, impaling it on the shaft. She seized a dropped sword and moved to the next.

The air around her thickened, the roar of the crowd diminished beneath beating of her heart. Sweat dripped from her temples, irritating her fresh wounds. Her mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood and the energy humming through her body. The rhythm of her movements blended with the swirling energy and cheers of the arena. Her body flew, twisted, and dove beyond the panther's reach. Taking advantage of the arranged course, Arianna moved fluidly, silencing the animals' roars with her quick strokes. The sword slipped between her hands. Fresh drops of blood spattered her as she pulled it from another body.

She glanced around, noticing the arena. The dusty ground stilled under pools of blood and sweat. Bodies of animals and women cascaded over the edges of obstacles, frozen in movement. Around her, the threat quieted. She spun around, on the lookout for any remaining dangers. No animals or women approached.

The hush of the crowd warned her. She spun, narrowly missing the tip of a blade. Her feet wobbled underneath her, and she fought to regain her stance and composure. Arianna saw a gleam of desperation as another woman approached. The flimsy green fabric stuck to her, the sheerness marred with blood and dirt. Their chests heaved in unison as they stared at each other. The woman's scream filled the air as she ran toward her, sword raised.

Arianna ran backwards up the ramp. She leapt to the side, avoiding the fatal stab, and heard the thump of a hard landing. Lying at the bottom, curled into a ball, the woman whimpered. The anguish stung Arianna's heart. She looked at the woman, and up to the quiet crowd.

The crowd sat poised at the edge of their seats, holding their breath. The king's face revealed no emotion, and the women behind him watched with horrified expressions. Only the prince seemed to be enjoying himself.

As she watched him, her stomach twisted with hate. Defiantly, she hurled the other sword away, smiling as it crashed into the edge of the ramp. Her hands wrapped around the fallen woman's, and pulled her up, ignoring the lady's confusion. She turned to face the king.

"Your Highness," she began. She let the gown part, showing off her long legs. The crowd cheered appreciatively. "I would like to suggest an alternative. I see no reason that we both can't have a happily ever after. Surely a man of your prowess can satisfy two deserving women," she teased, the tip of her sword rising suggestively with her words.

The other woman faltered, but struck an equally seductive stance. The crowd exploded in appreciation.

Arianna switched her gaze from the prince, to the king. His content smile twisted in mischief as he stood to address the crowd.

"A warrior woman with a passion to live, a passion to fight, and passion to share. If I were younger, I would take you for my own. Alas, if not for me, then for my son. Consider it done," he said.

The prince's attempt at a seductive wink failed as he rose from his seat. His awkward gait became more apparent as he came closer. He seized them both, lustfully.

Looking over the prince's shoulder, her eyes sought Thiegan. For a brief moment, their eyes connected, and a shiver ran down her back. The tightness around his jaw softened, and a small smile touched his mouth. Her heart fluttered in response.

* * *

Immediately following the event, a small group of women surrounded and ushered Arianna and the other woman, Merlia, to their chambers. The room, located on the top level of the palace, was much richer than the dungeon's scraps. Thick red velvet covered the windows. An oversized bed dominated the room, plumped with large pillows and dark colors. Fresh flowers lined the tables. Their sweet fragrance filled the air, relaxing her nerves.

Arianna smiled, watching Merlia lounge on the bed. She walked past the room to the bath. Already prepared for them, bubbles and scented oils overflowed the tubs. She hastily unhooked the golden rope. The stained fabric dropped to the floor, freeing her from the memory of the morning. Sighing deeply, she slipped beneath the silky suds letting the warmth surrounded her. Her fingers traced the fresh wound on her thigh, remembering the gentle rubs of Thiegan's fingers on her skin. Teasing her desires with memories.

She dropped her head under the water, feeling the seduction of the bubbles and scents roll over her. Not all parts of winning were detestable. She languished in the bath until the water chilled, avoiding the background chatter from the other room.

Emerging from the bath, wet curls clung to her back as she rubbed oils over her body. The spicy flavor of mint and lilac stung as it slid over her legs. New bracelets and necklaces hung from her wrists, sticking to her wet skin. Unlike the bindings from earlier, she welcomed these adornments.

Sun flashed through the open window and danced on the back wall. A distinct pattern.

"Thiegan," she whispered, feeling her heart flutter. She looked out the window, searching out the flickering pattern of light. Her breath caught in her chest. The rough edges of the rocks bit into her fingers as she traced them over the stone wall. "I'm coming for you, my love. Just a little longer."

"Hmm?" From the shadows, Merlia appeared. Covered by a flimsy robe, the same sheer silk did little to cover the body.

Jumping away from the window, Arianna's blood ran cold with fear. "Nothing," she murmured.

Merlia's smile grew as she approached Arianna, looking over her toned stomach and shimmering skin with approval. The tips of Merlia's fingers trailed across her collarbone, drawing a line through the slick layer of oils. Then lower, across her exposed breasts. Arianna shuddered.

Arianna straightened and pressed her fingertips to Merlia's lips. She shook her head. "The prince would not approve," she said, grabbing and draping a blue robe around her.

"It is simply a way to prepare, to be ready for his conquest." Arianna saw the lust in Merlia's eyes. She slid her fingers beneath her orange robe, letting it drop to the ground.

With an overly dramatic sigh, Arianne picked up the dropped robe. "I assure you, I am ready for the conquest."

"Why did you save me then? Why save me to ridicule and mock me?" Merlia snatched the smooth fabric.

"My sweet Merlia," Arianna said, with a sad smile. "I did not save you to mock you. I saved you to save me."

They both jumped when the doors to their chamber opened, and crashed against the far wall. Running to the doorway at the commotion, her stomach twisted, seeing the prince standing in the middle of the threshold. A crooked smirk rested on his lips, suggesting both an invitation and a threat. If the treatment of the door served as an indicator of his tenderness, she wanted nothing of it. She almost felt sorry for Merlia. As she looked at the other woman, any trace of guilt disappeared. In the time that it took the prince to enter the room, she had propped herself seductively against the overstuffed pillows.

"My lord." She nodded in deference.

Arianna glanced back to the prince, watching his jaw drop, and his pants lift with enthusiasm. Maybe this would be easier than she imagined. She brushed the delicate spirals of her hair off her shoulder and walked forward. Lowering her lashes, and letting the side of her robe drop over her shoulder, she pulled the golden rope from around her waist.

"Welcome home, my prince," she purred.

The prince's smile grew, while he leered between the two women.

Quickly, he kicked off one boot behind him, and the other tossed behind the door. Struggling to rip his leather vest off, he stumbled over his fallen trousers. Arianna walked over, feeling his greasy skin slid beneath her fingers as she helped pull him up. Standing there, bare-chested, her feelings about his over-compensation grew. The prince lacked more than the natural charm of her father.

Her fingers slid over his slick skin, nauseating her. It reminded her of a sickly child. She pressed him towards the bed. Glancing over his shoulders, she saw Merlia already at work, fingers stroking and pulling on the prince.

Showing little patience, he flung himself on the bed, twisting and welcoming them into his arms. Before she could think of a way out, Merlia saved her. With a squeal Merlia plopped on top of him, twisting her fingers through the small mat of hair on his chest. Hiding her reluctance, Arianna tried to find a way to blend the prince with a memory of Thiegan. She failed miserably.

Arianna winced, listening to the light moans coming from the bed, wishing it could be different. The bed gave way under her weight as the prince pulled her on top. Her body rocked back and forth. A glint of envy flashed from Merlia's eyes, as the attention shifted. Arianna reached behind to grab Merlia's hair and brought her forward, inviting her in. Their lips connected, teasing each other. After a playful bite, she pressed her forward, encouraging her to please the prince. With one hand holding Merlia down, the other hand reached across the bed until she felt the cool, hard surface of the candlestick under her palm.

The vibration of the metal shook her as it connected with the prince, the force of the strike knocking him out cold. She thought she recognized fear before raising her arm to Merlia. The rod clanked as it rolled away.

Removing her trembling hands from her eyes, she saw the damage. She moved a thick strand of hair out of Merlia's face, looking at the still beauty. Lowering her ear to her soft chest, she sobbed with relief at the faint thumps. She was alive, but knocked out.

Slipping out of bed, she raced across the cold stone floor. She looked out the window, looking for the one man who knew how to make her feel better.

Beyond the river bank, hidden in the shadow of the olive trees, a flash blinded her, pulsing three times. Arianna let out her breath, and twisted her own wrist into the light.

With no time to waste, and no time to think, she grabbed the prince's leather vest and trousers, and left without a backwards glance.

***

"You're really here," she said breathlessly, folding into his arms.

"I haven't left this spot since the event ended." He held her back and looked her over. "Did he hurt you?" he asked, searching her with concern.

"No, he didn't stand a chance," she said, squeezing his arms. "Nothing could keep me from you."

"From now until forever, Arianna, you are mine. I will not let anyone take you from me again, at any cost." His strong arms cradled her protectively, as he lifted her chin up. His eyes devoured her. "I did not realize the risk we faced. Not just to your life, but to mine. Without you, I am nothing."

He pulled her tight against him. Her breath caught in her throat. The light trail of his fingers tingled against her back as he claimed her body with his hands. Her lips parted in desire. Her back arched as a soft moan slipped out. His touch made her skin hum.

"Where will we go from here? We can't stay," she whispered, her eyes closing in delight as his lips traced the curve of her neck. The cool grass tickled her back as he pressed her to the ground.

"Where ever you want to go, my warrior princess. I plan to make your every wish and desire come true."

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "I had the same idea," she said, pulling him on top.

## The End

# FIZZLESNITCH: THE SUPERMASSIVE

## Louise Sorensen

Riding the light train to the convention had been speedy but uncomfortable. Thank the goddess that's finally over, thought Fractious Dewdrop, Ola to her friends. Her relief was short lived though, and turned to aggravation as she waited at the baggage carousel. When the last passenger, a tiny Eggnac, had claimed its suitcase, there were no other bags left. Fragatonic Wave and Particle had lost her luggage. She vowed never to travel with them again. "I hope this turns out to be worth it," she muttered.

"Take your bags, Sir or Madam as the case may be," a rough looking Kracknall porter enquired as she walked into the hotel lobby. Ola wagged a finnderknob in the negative at it. "Sorry," she said. "Don't have any. They got lost." The porter's crest fell at the loss of the tip.

"I'll give you a fivey if you can tell me which room Professor Sun-Sheppard Space-Warrior of the Pegasus Institute is staying in," she said, drawing the coin out of her thorax.

The Kracknall's mandibles clicked a complicated sequence that translated to her as, "Sorry. That information privileged, but gimme the fivey and I'll keep an eye stalk drawn for ya."

She extended the fivey, which disappeared with a whoosh of the Kracknall's throw thread. Whew! She jerked her armthang back. You'd think they'd have civilized beings working here. She hoped the Kracknall hadn't caught that thought. They were rumored to be mildly telepathic. The porter tipped its bonnets at her and clicked some more, vowing to find her the information she sought, or die trying.

Guest speaker at this Second Astrophysical Awards Convention was Professor Space-Warrior, of the Pegasus Institute of High learning, Bood to his friends and fans, a being whose career she had followed intimately for eons, and her personal hero. After he gave his speech on black holes later this time interval, she hoped for a chance to meet him. Even if she didn't, it would be beyond thrilling to occupy the same space-time with him.

She replaced a few of her lost personal items at the hotel gift shop and hurried to her room to freshen up. She'd spent a bundle on tickets and travel, but the view of the supermassive black hole outside her window was spectacular. Humming as she readied herself to attend the ceremony, she dialed her outer shell through all wavelengths of the spectrum and paraded in front of the mirrored wall to help decide which one to wear for the ceremonies. Ultra violet and infrared suited her well, but unable to make up her minds, she went with visible spectrum; a smoky violet, and finished off with a pat of stardust.

The stage was huge. A gasp rose up from the audience as Professor Bood strode into the light. "I don't think we'll be needing this," he said to the onlookers with a wink. Bicreshes bulging, he pushed the heavy stone podium offstage. The audience hissed appreciatively. Then he spoke at length and with evident affection about Big Guy, the latest supermassive black hole he had discovered. "You don't see a phenomenon like this old fellow very often. He's the biggest supermassive ever recorded. The conveners of the awards ceremony very kindly agreed to hold the convention here, so we could all go out and appreciate Big Guy's true magnificence."

Ola watched in fascination as the professor prowled back and forth across the stage, a true space warrior. He searched, he found, he conquered those holes that were his passion. "You're the one who's magnificent," she murmured. Her hearts fluttered as she realized she was sharing the same atmospheric molecules with him. She hoped with all her hearts that she could meet him. And that she wouldn't faint dead away if and when she did.

The ceremonies and speeches passed quickly. Adventurer, risk taker, rogue, Professor Bood was given lifetime awards for Accomplishment, Inspiration and Sheer Coolness. For Ola, the ceremony went by in a blur. Nervousness and excitement warred within her, preventing her from concentrating on anything that went on. At the close of the ceremony, she groaned with disappointment as the professor ducked out the back of the stage. The happy chattering audience filed out, and she was left all alone in the empty hall. There had been no chance to get close to him while he was onstage, because of the contingent of hulking Droth security and hovering bodyguards. She thought she might have caught the professor's visual receptors a few times, but he was so charming he probably stared at all the feminine members of the audience. And possibly a few of the males. You never knew with celebrities.

"You're going to have to be more assertive if you want to talk to him," she told herself sternly. "Maybe at the meet and greet the next wake cycle."

The meet and greet was a bust. No one noticed her outfit and one couple had brought their larval freddleclumpers, which clambered all over the complimentary refreshments, left carbon foot prints on the attendees, and squeaked incessantly. The professor seemed tired out by the chaos. The zing has gone out of his step, Ola thought. He's just as tired as I am, poor sweetheart. I wonder if he came in on Fragatonic. Did they lose his luggage, too? She was disappointed as he bowed to all present in the little room and left by a door marked, "Private."

Hiding her sadness, she left the meet and greet lounge and searched for a washroom where she could blast off the carbon footprints clinging to her shell. She stopped short when she saw the professor rapidly approaching her. It was like being in the path of a runaway galaxy. He flashed her a brilliant smile, but he and his body guard shot by so quickly that she lost internal control and had to hurry into the washroom to clean up and cool down. Moisture beaded out all over her and pieces of her hearts fell away as she realized she had missed her last chance to meet him.

After an eternity she pulled herself together and left the security of the washroom to wander the corridors of the hotel, no set destination in mind.

"Steaming bloody fusion," she fumed. "What a waste of everything. At least I got to be in the same room with him. There's that. But it's over now. Over and done and gone forever. I might as well go out and pay my respects to the Big Guy. I'll never be able to afford coming here again. At least he doesn't have any body guards to keep entities away, and the wild life should be interesting."

Ola shuffled down the boardwalk to the viewing platform, leaned on the guard rail, and gazed at the supermassive black hole which Professor Bood had named Big Guy. Lost in thoughts of the entity she adored, she was startled by the feather touch of an antenna on her helmet. She almost lost cohesiveness when she realized it was her space warrior, Professor Bood.

"I saw you in the audience, Sir or Madam, as the case may be," he said.

"It's Madam," Ola said. "Or more accurately, Miss. I'm a singularity. My friends call me Ola. And you're Professor Bood. You're really him, out here with me." She extended a quivering antenna, and looked for his bodyguard.

"Pleased to meet you," he said with a smile. "You don't have to worry about Forgg. He's off duty. I like to come out here to be alone."

"Oh," Ola said. "Do you want me to leave? I don't want to intrude on your privacy."

"Not at all," Bood said. "The rest of the convention goers are watching the floor show. I'm glad you're here to share the view. This is one of my favorite places in the universe. Big Guy is superb, and the wildlife that comes here to mate, spectacular. Have you done any sliding down the incline?" he waved a leg of casuality at the churning event horizon.

"No," Ola replied. "I came to the convention specifically to meet you, Professor. It is an honor to observe Big Guy and the wild life with you, Sir. I've never seen grundlebunnies or wibbleforbs any perkier. They're disrupting every level in their enthusiasm to mate. Uhm... have you any preference for a specific designation?"

"I would be pleased if you called me Bood," he said. "May I call you Ola?"

"Yes. Certainly. Thank you, Sir... Bood. I'm honoured."

"It's nothing," he said with a positive tap of one of his hind appendages.

"I thought your technique for assimilating those ignars at the meet and greet last night was very symmetrical," Ola said, remembering her own difficulties with the delicacy. She still couldn't believe she was standing at the edge of a spectacular black hole discussing dinner with her hero, and hoped she wouldn't faint.

"Yes?" replied Bood, rustling a little closer to her. "They're delicious in season. A challenge to digest though. All that iron. And they're never in the same place at the same time. Still, one of my favorite energy forms." He snaked an armthang tentatively around her ample dewcolactes. She almost swooned, but managed to lean delicately into him. His bicreshes truly were formidable. The pair snuggled together and enjoyed the lightshow as a small galaxy on its journey into the mouth of the black hole crashed into the lip and broke up. They netted tiny planets that floated by from the galaxy and fed each other.

Grundlebunnies, disturbed by the collision, frolicked in the spinning event horizon. Their passions ignited, they chased after nimble wibbleforbs which had already begun their mating dance. The wibbleforbs intensified their efforts to mate while rocketing high above the horizon to avoid being love gifts for the grundelbunnies.

"I love the wildlife," Ola said. Bood smiled in reply and fed her another pod of planets. For dessert, they sipped the radiation fountaining from the mouth of the supermassive.

"I feel no desire to move to a higher energy level," Bood said, cuddling her.

"Yes, this is wonderful," she replied, relaxing in his embrace. "It would be perfect to stay this way forever. You're so much more massive in person than in your simulations," she added.

"Thank you," he said. "You're pretty massive yourself. Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

Their gaze returned to the horizon. With the influx of energy from the dying galaxy, the grundlebunnies were beggidibodding, ejecting matter every which way in their frenzy.

"Oh my goddess," Ola said. "Do you see that striped 'bunnie? It's filled its bedonkasnare with planets and is going after that fluffy. It's befumbledonking the fizzlesnitch out of that poor, poor fluffy. I don't know how any species can survive when stuffing planets into your beloved's bedonka-jigger is necessary for reproduction."

"I'm grateful we don't reproduce that way," Bood said with a shudder, horrified, yet aroused. "Wait a minute, my helmet is all steamed up... can't see." He shot a thin line of radiation at the offending opacity. "There, that's better." His visual organs almost flew out of his secondary abdomen when he saw the heights of the frompledicking in the event horizon. Nodules erupted on his thorax. He extended a shimmering tendril of self to Ola. "Do you think we could?" he whispered.

In answer, she enveloped him in her armthangs and gently stroked his throbbing forecresh with her swelling finnderknobs.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Bood said, his metabolism streaming energy to his aching forecresh. "We'll be changing our status from mountain and ant, to fertile plain. And after your head explodes and releases all the little freddleclumpers, I'll have all my hands full preventing them from devouring you until it grows back."

"You can have no possible idea how long I've dreamed of this moment," Ola sighed, savoring the heat of his heavenly body. Aware that her life was about to change forever, she saved all that she had ever been to memory.

Deploying her struts, she braced herself.

He wove a web of remembrance around her entire being. And then with infinite love and gentleness he

blew her mind.

## The End

# COLOUR ME BAD

## Lucy Pireel

A red hot fury boiled inside Elaine. Jay's easy assumption of her being as green as grass—a mistake the majority of people made at their first encounter with her—stung. Ever since Walt had portrayed her as that lily-white character in one of his twisted, sickly sweet stories, she had to endure this kind of behaviour from every man she took. Make no mistake: her soul was as black as the next demon's, no matter how lovely her outer appearance. Her long, black hair framed her perfect proportioned face. The Boss had graced her with skin as white as driven snow and piercing, emerald-green eyes above full, but girlie, pink lips. On top of that he fitted her with a figure to die for, paired with a killer attitude; all designed to make her unique.

Was it her fault she had that candy-cane-pink blush on her cheeks, like, all the time? And to have to wear that awful red, hooded cloak! If it were up to her, she would have gone for ruby-red lips, smouldering green eyes, and a dress to match her alluring body. Even that inconvenient long, yellow, golden hair that slender Rapunz had would have been better then these raven-black locks and her petite, young, but gorgeous body she was stuck in. The Boss made her wear pony-tails, braided and covering her perky breasts.

He really had done a number on her when, out of the blue, he ordered her to go to this Walt, pretending to be a young and innocent girl. Of course, she was as apt in pretending as Snow was, but to stick her with this little innocent-girl character was cruel, even for him! How was she supposed to make him lust after her, enough to want to leave his wife, looking like a schoolgirl? And without using any of her hellish abilities!

She'd been hanging around her target for weeks, and all this Walt guy did was tell her stories and take pictures. Normal, everyday life pictures! Ugh! Elaine grew desperate, even willing to trade places with that brown bear Goldy got to tease day in day out. She smiled as the image of a bear, teased into a raving lunatic, came to mind.

Or she could plead with the Boss to be made grey, bland, and unremarkable. That way she could wreak havoc and slip under the radar. She wished He would give her her pink slip. She should get on with her life! She wasn't supposed to be this 'Little Red Riding Hood'! She was a temptress, a lure, a demon! All she had to do was make Walt kiss her. The only obstacle being she had to accomplish it without using her demonic powers.

* * *

"Elaine!" Walt called out from where he and Snow were busy shooting pictures for her next movie.

"Yes, Walt?" She rolled her eyes up. If he's going to point out the ravenous beauty of Snow and Rapunz again, I'm going to scream. "What is it?"

"Can you come here? Lean against that wall, turn your head slightly to the right, and just give me the smallest of smiles possible? I need to capture the image of you as the innocent you are." His camera clicked as he shot some pictures of her.

Ha! Here's a chance, finally. She did as Walt asked, but this time when she smiled, she let go a small trickle of pheromones. Snow's eyes lit up for a split second. She chuckled, then mouthed, "Naughty."

Elaine shrugged.

Walt lowered his camera and cocked his head. He gazed at Elaine and asked, "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are when you smile like that?"

She laughed, batted her lashes, and said, "Me? I'm a mouse in comparison to her." Pointing at Snow, she made sure to arch her arm in a most gracious way, capturing the sunlight on her skin and let it give her a glow.

"I can't imagine I never noticed you are the woman I need for this movie!"

"Really? You want me to star in one of your movies? But I'm so plain, small, and insignificant. Who will want to watch a movie about a young girl who has nothing special?"

"I'll come up with something. A story is easily fabricated. Your innocence and beauty however, is what will draw people to the theatres." Walt cupped her chin, raising her face to his. She sent a sliver of lust into him. He blinked, his lips slightly parted, and she leaned into him, ready for The Kiss. Walt let go of her, as if bitten by a snake and stepped back. "Or maybe not," he said while shaking his head. "Maybe it is time for you to find another job."

At that moment, Walt froze, and silence descended upon the studio. Even Snow stood motionless. She blinked, pointed at a spot behind Elaine, and whispered, "I think you just screwed up."

The light darkened, heat flared at her back, and she slowly turned, already knowing who stood there.

* * *

So, there she stood in a singles bar, ready to be taken advantage of. Looking around her as if she shouldn't be here contributed to the illusion she wasn't even old enough to order a drink. All the while men leered, and smiled predatorily, assuming her to be easy prey.

After her failure with Walt, the Boss had bound her powers, and she couldn't even manipulate her scent or the glow of her skin. He'd left her almost human. The only way to redeem herself and regain control over her abilities would be to corrupt a pure soul. One very unlike Jay, but she liked Jay—very much. From the moment she stumbled into him after being sent back to the humans, she'd known he was her kind of guy. Even if he was just another human, his soul was as black as hers.

"Jay, you're an ass," she said. She shoved him aside, and strode to the dance floor.

"Babe, isn't that exactly why you like me so much?" He grabbed her arm and turned her around, capturing her in his arms, and kissed her on the mouth before she could even protest or slap him in the face.

Seething mad she pounded her fists against his shoulders until his kiss melted her anger. Leaning into him, feeling the heat of his body press against her stomach, she sighed when he let go of her and took a swig from his beerbottle.

"See? It's much better to be nice, baby. Go, do your dance for me," he said. He turned towards the dance floor again, and gave her a playful slap on the bottom.

Striding to her designated spot, she clenched her fists, but did as he told her to never-the-less.

Slower than the music, yet not out of sync, she moved, drawing all male eyes to her. She closed her eyes and hugged herself, imagining Jay taking her in his arms to dance with her. What am I doing?I should be trying to seduce an innocent, not waste my time on a douche. But when his strong arms encircled her from behind, she smiled and said, "Oh, Jay, why do you have to be such a low-life?"

"Baby, I can only be me. You are the one good thing in my life. Promise you'll never leave me." He softly kissed her under her right ear, the one spot which made her knees go weak and her resolve melt like an ice-cone in the hands of a child, but not this time.

She sighed and then said, "I can't, Jay." While silent tears dripped down her cheeks, she broke free from his embrace. Running out she bumped into a young couple. Tripping over her feet, she landed in a crumpled heap on the floor right before the feet of the man.

As she looked up, her breath caught; he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, and a pure, innocent soul shone out of his eyes.

The woman he was with crouched down and asked, "Are you alright?"

Elaine sobbed and said, "I'll be fine, thanks."

"Michael, don't just stand there... help her up. We need to make sure she's okay." The woman slapped Michael's leg when he didn't immediately came to the rescue.

"Sorry, sis," he said as he reached down.

So she's his sister. I might just have found an easy solution to my problem.

* * *

A few hours later, the three of them sat at an outside table of Vinnie's Eatery, enjoying a late-night supper. The night was sultry, and Elaine had taken off her jacket. Michael's cheeks coloured as his eyes kept darting to her cleavage. She smiled and Grace, his sister, laughed when she noticed.

"Michael! If you like her that much, I can always find my own way home and leave the two of you alone, you know?" She winked at Elaine and continued, "I'm sure she won't mind. Do you?"

Michael cleared his throat and stammered, "Eh... No! Erm, I mean... Yes. No, Grace you shouldn't go home alone." With wild eyes and crimson cheeks, he managed to avoid Elaine's gaze.

"Besides, I do have a boyfriend." She shuffled the food on her plate from left to right and then said, without looking directly at Michael, "Not that he's acting the part. No, I'm sure he doesn't think we're a couple, so why should I?"

"There, it's settled. You two discover each other, and I'll just take a cab home." Grace put her hand up, stopping Michael from saying anything. "I'll go straight home. Don't worry, I'll be safe." She rose and kissed her brother on his cheek. "Have fun," she said and laughed while walking off.

Silence hung between Elaine and Michael after his sister had left. Tension vibrated the air, and the moment she thought she would burst, Michael opened his mouth. "What a coincidence, eh? I would have never imagined to meet a lovely lady like you in a place like that."

"Why were you there?" she asked. "You and Grace don't seem like the usual crowd." She stared at him, willing him to speak. Instead, he looked down at his plate, and a frown creased his perfect face.

"I've no idea. We never go to these kinds of places, but for some reason Grace insisted. I don't like to see her in bars like that, where women flaunt themselves at men to..." He let the unspoken insinuation hang between them like a wall, until he looked up and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say you were a working girl or anything like that."

She laughed. It broke the tension between them and Michael shrugged. While they finished their supper another kind of tension slowly built.

* * *

After Michael drove her home, he insisted on walking her up to her door. Standing on the doorstep, Elain cocked her head and smiled at him. "Would you like to come in for a nightcap?"

Michael took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. He kissed the tips of her fingers while looking her intently in the eyes. Lowering her hand he said, "I should go. Can I call you tomorrow?"

Inside, she rejoiced, while she said, "I'm looking forward to it. Wait... let me give you a call, that way you have my number in your phone." She took her mobile from her purse and waited for him.

"Right. I need to give you my number." He scrambled to get his cell from his back pocket. "I never call myself... don't know my number," he said apologetically.

She laughed and comforted him. "Don't worry, neither do I. Why do you think I suggested to call you now?"

With numbers exchanged, there was no reason for him to linger, but he did, much to her pleasure. She raised her face to his, ready to kiss him on the lips. He quickly gave her a peck on the cheek and said, "I'll call you tomorrow." Then he turned and almost ran to his car.

* * *

Inside, she flicked on the light to find Jay waiting for her on the sofa.

"Found a new playmate?" he asked as he rose and strode toward her. "You do know you're mine, don't you?" He reached out, took her hair in his fist and pulled her into his embrace.

Elaine smiled. "I know, babe, but I need to have him to feel myself again." She reached behind her head, untangled his fingers from her hair, and stepped out of his arms.

Jay shook his head and sat again. He patted the sofa. "Come sit, baby girl. Let me make you feel good."

She sat down beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder, "Jay," she sighed and kissed him on his cheek. "Sometimes you amaze me, but I must have him. I'm sorry." She moved to get up, but Jay held her.

"I do love you, you know that, don't you?" he said, staring into the cold fireplace.

"No, Jay, I didn't know that. You've always acted as if I were some plaything for you to toy with, and I've let you. No more... I need to get my life back. I need Michael to get my life back."

"What are you talking about? How can a stranger give you your life back?" He let her go and said, "But if you feel you will be happier with him than with me..." He shrugged. "I guess I can't stop you, but don't think I'll be waiting for you. If you choose to go for that Michael character, I'll just have to find myself another woman to love." He rose and left.

She leaned back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. "Why?" she cried out.

* * *

From the moment she woke up, Elaine expected the phone to ring, when it did and it turned out to be a sales-person, the tension in her stomach grew. She sat at the kitchen table, staring at her dinner. Rotten fish with maggots—her favourite dish, still she only moved it around. The maggots that wriggled off her plate were the unlucky ones: those she devoured with a lash of her whip-like tongue.

The telephone rang, she jumped up and ran to it to answer. "Hello?" she said while her insides clenched.

"Hi, it's Michael..."

She swallowed and the silence stretched, until she burst out, "I'm so glad you called! I've been waiting by the phone all day. I couldn't eat, couldn't concentrate. I've been thinking of you all day, every second." She slammed her mouth shut.

"... Eh, me too. But I thought... I mean... I didn't think you were really interested in me," Michael said.

A grin split her face in two, and her eyes lit up incandescent red. "But I am," she said. "I most certainly am, it's just Jay..."

"Yeah, I know, you have a boyfriend." Michael sighed. "I really shouldn't... I mean, we shouldn't, this isn't right."

"But we're not doing anything wrong, are we? We've had a meal, you brought me home, and now we are just talking." Her eyes widened at the sight of her hand glowing. "Would you like to go to church with me today? They have choir practice, and I love to just sit and listen to the gospels."

Michael's voice sounded happy when he answered, "I would love to. I never took you for a religious girl. I'm glad you are."

"Oh, you have no idea," she said. "Pick me up as soon as you can, I'm ready."

* * *

The choir had serious problems with their harmony and tone. At least one member, and at moments, all of them forgot their words or lost the tune. Elaine and Michael sat at the back of the church in the last row of pews. She smiled, Michael frowned.

"I've never seen a choir so unorganised," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Maybe they're not comfortable with us being here?" She smiled and stared at the conductor, who dropped his sheet music. She reached down and picked up a leaf that had found its way to her feet.

She rose and walked up to the choir. "Here, Father, I believe this is yours?"

He took the sheet from her, looked her in the eyes, and took a step back. "You shouldn't be here," he said.

"I thought the church was open to all, always?" She twisted a lock of hair around her finger and batted her lashes.

"Of course it is. Are you here to repent? Do you need confession?"

She laughed out loud, turned, and walked back to where Michael sat waiting for her.

"What was that all about?" he asked

"Nothing. Just a foolish priest who thinks everyone needs salvation. Let's go." She grabbed Michael's hand and rose. Hand in hand they walked out.

On the threshold of the church at the top of the steps, she turned to Michael and stood on her tiptoes. Lifting her face to his, she pursed her lips and leaned forward. He looked down and gave her a light kiss. When their lips met, she released her scent. Michael's nostrils flared and he deepened their kiss. She had to restrain herself from delving deep into him with her tongue. Not yet. Not in broad daylight.

She stepped away from him and panted. "Michael, I... we shouldn't."

"I know, but I can't resist. You and me," he said, and a sad smile curled his lips. "We are meant to be together. I just know it." He took her in his arms. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "What do you suppose I should do? I'm to start seminary next week. I've vowed to become a priest."

"Why don't you take me home now and pick me up tonight? We could go out to dinner. We don't need to make any decisions now, do we?" She stroked his arm, sending wave after wave of lust into him. It's working! Thanks, Boss!

* * *

A welcome heat just under her skin gave it a soft glow, and the fire in her eyes finally felt normal again. Tonight I will succeed and corrupt him for good!

The doorbell rang, and she hurried to welcome Michael in. When she opened the door, Jay stood before her.

"What are you doing here?" she said, holding the door and blocking his entry.

"I thought Michael might need a reminder?" While he said that his eyes flashed red.

"Oh!" Elaine gasped. "You aren't human at all! No wonder your soul is as black as mine!" Elaine slapped him in the face, and he laughed—a booming, throaty sound.

Jay's voice rumbled when he said, "You didn't think you were given a present, did you? Let's see how well you've learned your lesson." And he stepped past her.

Dumbstruck, she stood in the door opening when Michael pulled up the driveway.

"Don't try and run to him, let him in. Let's see what happens," Jay said from the living room.

She pressed her lips together and shrugged. She sent her scent toward Michael as he got out of his car. When it reached him, he looked at her and a radiant smile lit up his face. With a bounce in his step, he walked up to her and took her in his arms. "Baby, I don't care about vows or appropriate behaviour. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He kissed her, full on the lips, with an intensity that took her by surprise. But when he opened her lips with his tongue, she did what any demon would; she drove her tongue all the way down his throat while feeding him images and feelings of pleasure. She tainted his pure soul with pure lust and corrupted his ideals with want for more, more than he should have, more than he should ever expect to get.

When she let go of him his eyes burned like those of a junkie who just had his fix, and he said, "Let's get inside. Let me have you, now."

At that moment, Jay stepped out of the living room into the hall. "So you want to have my woman?"

Michael looked from Elaine to Jay and back to her. She shrugged, took Michael's hand, and said, "You can share me." Then she walked toward Jay with Michael in tow. "Unless either one of you have any objections?"

Michael swallowed and Jay snickered.

"That's my girl," Jay said and walked down the hall to her bedroom.

Michael stayed silent but followed Elaine.

Once in the bedroom, she dropped Michael's hand and turned to face him. "I can understand if you want to back out, Michael."

He looked over her head to Jay and said, "No." He swallowed.

She could smell his arousal, and her fire rose to her eyes. Looking at his chest she could see his heart; it beat fast and erratic, it called for her touch. She placed one hand over it and closed her fist. He sucked in his breath and looked down at her. She smiled and put her other hand on his growing erection.

"Don't worry... just relax and enjoy the ride," she said and gave him a bit of a squeeze. Michael groaned but stood rigid as a statue.

Jay came up behind her; he put his hands on her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "Are you going to take him all the way, or will you leave him some humanity to feel the full extent of his guilt?" And he kissed her beneath her ear.

A shiver ran down her spine as she prepared to put her essence into Michael to rip out most of his pure soul and replace it with hers. Then she looked into his eyes, and his wordless plea chilled her to the core. She dropped her hands and shrugged Jay's off.

"I can't."

"What!" Jay bellowed. "You can't what? It is what you are, what we are, and you can't?"

"I like him the way he was, the way he is I mean. I love you, Jay. You are my complement, but he..." She gestured and shook her head. "I just can't. I'd rather stay powerless than corrupt him."

"Why! For fuck sake, you are a Lure. This is what you do. It's your reason for existence!" He grabbed her shoulders, his nails turned into claws that pierced her flesh, and asked with a sneer, "So, you love him?"

She thought about it for a second and said, "Yes, I do." She raised her chin, defying Jay to act.

"Enough to remain powerless for as long as you live? Even if he should leave you after this?"

She looked at Michael and sighed, "I know he'll leave me, and you know what? It'll break my heart—"

Jay snickered, and said, "Break your heart? You have no heart!" Then he slammed her over his shoulder into the wall behind him, where she crumpled to the floor. Growling, he turned round, picked her up, and said, "How does it feel to be human but to know you'll never die, while your heart will be broken time and time again?"

"Leave her alone!" Michael yelled at Jay then rushed over to where Elaine had fallen down when Jay had let go off her to whisper, "I'll never leave you. I love you, I don't care what you are."

Jay stood towering over the both of them and asked, "But do you love her enough to hand over your pure soul, voluntarily?"

Michael looked up at Jay and said, "I do! But I guess that's beyond your comprehension." Turning back to Elaine, he caressed her face and said, "Do what you need to. I love you and want to be with you. Whatever it takes, baby, whatever it takes."

They stood facing each other. The room around them darkened. Jay took a few steps away from the red glow capturing Elaine and Michael.

Inside their bubble, she placed one hand over Michael's heart again and the other behind his head. Pulling his face to hers she pressed her hand into his chest while kissing him full on the lips. The moment she held his beating heart in her hand, she drove her tongue down his throat to touch his frantic soul. He thrashed in her grip but settled when she gently peeled the purity from his heart and lapped it up together with his sweet essence. When she had it all and he was left with a blackened heart and no more soul to devour, she let go and stepped away from him.

Michael stood panting, and his eyes glowed red. He smiled ferociously and said, "I'll never ever be able to leave you now."

## The End

# THE FACTORY

## Michelle Browne

Martha grimly rolled up her skirt. Every inch of her skin was covered in sweat, the fabric a clingy mess. Soot streaked every inch of exposed skin. The steam from her exertion blurred the lenses of the goggles.

Next to her, Juniper wiped her brow, panting. Her small breasts poked through her shift and the work shirt. Martha looked away from the distraction of her nipples through the shirt. Juniper adjusted her hat and tucked her hair beneath it. Pulling her goggles down for a moment, she cleaned them of sweat.

"Get back to work!" bellowed an Overseer. He glared at them and strode back into his office. The girls glanced at each other. Martha kept working the pump on her side, pounding the pedals with strong, strained legs, and Juniper resumed as well. They guided the presses, working the bellows with the grim determination only slaves can muster.

Martha's legs ached, tension singing up through her muscles to make her back a mass of agony. Her skin was raw from scraping against the fabric. It seemed like an eternity passed before she finally heard the blare of the horn, signaling the end of the day's suffering.

Juniper slumped backwards, wincing as her blistered feet hit the ground. Though both of them wore boots, they would feel the pump's ridges in their feet for the next hour.

She came close to Martha, lifted the goggles above her eyes. The other women and men were slumping off of the bellows as well. The next shift would be there soon, but for now, they could eat and rest. She had avoided the Shepherd's whips for the day; that was enough to put her in a good mood. She barely flinched when she heard an explosion behind her. It was just an overloaded coal oven—and whoever had overloaded it was getting a scolding.

Juniper limped ahead. It made Martha's heart ache to see her limping, and in spite of her own burning body, she longed to hold her up. Taking a deep breath, Martha offered her a hand. Juniper took it, surprised. She leaned against Martha. Her slim form pressed against Martha's, her hips firm and trembling.

"Let's get to the showers," Martha rasped. "Cor. My throat's 'alf gone from the smoke."

"Allus is," said Juniper. Her slim lips curved in a tired grin. Martha licked her own parched, chapped lips in response.

A Dispenser came by, clanking, and silently took their bone-dry bottles. The water was lukewarm but clean; both women seized their canteens and guzzled the soothing nectar.

"Least they haven't started rationing water yet, eh, Ng?" Martha's voice was a little clearer and stronger. She wiped her mouth and grinned.

"Heh."

"Doan' 'old up the line," grumbled a man behind them. He prodded Juniper in the back.

"Oy! 'Ands orf," snapped Martha, slapping his hand. "C'mon." The man glared at them, but didn't pester them further. None of them wanted a taste of the whips.

Martha and Juniper limped away from the blazing furnace complex of the factory's refinery towards the sweet heaven of the showers. It was a cool night; stars glittered through the shimmering heat and dirty air.

The cobblestone path was worn smooth; their boots clacked dully as they entered the building. Wrenching their goggles off, Martha and Juniper took deep breaths of the heavy steam-filled air, soothing to tired lungs. Each of them pulled their boots off and crossed into the enormous, slick hall in front of the showers. Half an hour to relax—one of the few kindnesses allowed them. The owners knew what they were doing. That half hour of freedom made everything else a little more bearable, and Martha intended to savour it.

The half-stalls were open, covered only by thin curtains and divided by the same; they filed dutifully into parallel cubicles around one of the shower rows. The metal poles were linked by a stainless steel mesh that concealed little; the shadows of other bathing women moved around them. Through the mesh, Martha saw Juniper.

She stretched slowly. The copper lights in the shower complex lent a metallic glow to her golden skin. She pulled her sweat-drenched shift off and stepped out of her drawers. A few scars from the whips were on her back. Martha unconsciously touched her own. Below, nestled in the curve between Juniper's round buttocks and the base of her spine, was a beautiful tattoo. The markings were in another language—Chinese, perhaps?

She knew Juniper spoke it, but she'd only heard her swear in it. Speaking one's own tongue was reserved for those who didn't work for the Overseers, those who had the money to be themselves. No-one cared where you were from if you were rich enough, and from The Mainland. Islanders like themselves, on the other hand...

Juniper turned, revealing the sharp angles of her stretched body. Her hips and waist were delicate as the stem of a flower.

Martha swallowed and started to wash her hair. The thick curls and waves tended to fuzz into a tightly curled halo when they grew out; at the moment, her hair was cut close to her skull. The coarse, gritty soap felt good on her scalp. She massaged it, leaning back and letting her tired back muscles release. Lactic acid dissolved as she flexed.

Through the mesh, she could see Juniper running her hands over her narrow hips and breasts. Soap cascaded over her shoulders, settled in her curves. Martha licked her lips again and leaned her back against the mesh. She ran her hands over her breasts, nipples now hard, and enjoyed the look of her own red-brown skin shining sleekly in the light. She rubbed the soap over herself, closing her eyes; she imagined Juniper's delicate fingers cupping her breast, moving silkily downward...

She heard a gasp behind her, soft and muffled. Juniper leaned against the wall, panting quietly. Martha imagined her fingers, and bit her lip to keep from moaning. There was time—still ten minutes—she reached down and closed her eyes. Behind her, Juniper leaned against the wall, sighing quietly.

"Oh god," she murmured. "Oh...oh..."

The tiny cry signaled her release, and Martha felt a wave of heat surge from her depths through her body. It rippled through her, setting nerves on fire and releasing the last of the tension in her tortured limbs.

"Attention. Shower time is almost over. Please go to the dining hall and consume your meal before retiring for Free Time and Sleeping Allotment." She backed away from the wall and hurried to rinse the honey from between her legs.

A shadow appeared in front of her curtain. Martha peeked around the edge. Wrapped in a thick yellow towel, Juniper smiled shyly at her and offered one of the same. Martha took it, turning off the water with her free hand. The curtain moved and showed a flash of her dark skin. Juniper blushed.

"Shall we..."

"Yeah. Um. Want to eat dinner wif' me?" asked Martha.

Juniper smiled. Her teeth were still pretty; she hadn't given up on herself, from the looks of it. Not like a lot of them had. "Yeah. Love to."

Martha took the towel and wrapped herself in it, then exited the stall delicately. "So, you've been heah..."

"A coupla months, I guess," said Juniper. "Martha, right?" Her almond eyes sparkled.

"Yeah. Thanks fo' 'membrin'."

"I don't forget a pretty girl's name." Her speech was more precise, though not Mainlander accented. Martha cocked her head to the side.

"Where ya from, love?"

Juniper seemed to realize she'd slipped. "Oh, y'know, the Markets. Got sold like anyone else."

"Uh...huh."

"Let's go ge' a bite, eh? I'm fit sta'vin, me."

Martha trailed her, admiring her shapely ass as she walked. They went to their lockers and retrieved the fresh shifts that had been deposited there by the cleaning bots. Juniper slid hers on beneath the towel, making a couple of careful adjustments; Martha pulled hers over her head without a trace of modesty.

She turned back to see Juniper glancing away just a little too slowly. Martha hid a grin.

* * *

Dinner was in a complex to the left of the showers; they filed through the brass-lined hall. The stylized gears and mechanisms glinted in the low light; gas lamps in round spheres glowed coolly. A few wall-hangings depicting their glorious Overseers dangled against the wall. Lately, ugly posters targeted to the war effort had been pasted alongside them. For Your Homeland! Most of the slaves couldn't read, but the pictures of marching soldiers and their serious faces said everything. Smiling families waving at soldiers. Heroic workers grinning as they pumped bellows or hammered metal in ridiculously clean uniforms. Martha glanced away, sick of them, and glanced at the gas lamps. The spheres extended from shining arms and branches. The floor was sleek tile impressed with small gears, the stylized symbol of industry.

It was very beautiful, this hall—the only beauty, really—but Martha was sick of it. She longed for her days working in the Arboratorium when she'd been a teenager; all the plants were wonderful, good-smelling, and the air was wet and clean. She could live without the flowers. She still dreamed of them at night. Just something green would have made the factory more bearable. Even a picture of a farm would have been nice; there was nothing green except the scraggly grass along the cobblestone path, too stubborn to die.

The long tables were filling up. Juniper went to the counter eagerly. The brass and chrome bots blinked at her and doled out her portion. There was a mass of white rice, a few cold-looking bits of chopped vegetable, and a small portion of sad-looking meat on the side, a grey lump. Martha accepted her tray, and the serving bots turned to the next person in line, their servos whirring and gears clicking.

The old man who'd prodded Juniper was in front of them again. He glanced over his shoulder to see them both again and harrumphed. Juniper caught his eye and averted hers again, her lips a thin line.

* * *

They sat together, hip to him and shoulder to shoulder. Juniper fumbled with her fork and knife.

"S'a bit beta' than us'ul tonigh'," said Martha. "Mo' rice."

"Yeah," said Juniper. "Sorry. Not used tah eatin' wif a fork, still," she mumbled.

"Whe'ya from again?"

"Aw, my life's borin'. Tell me abaht yours. Please."

She seemed sincere, and embarrassed. Martha decided to be tactful and not pursue it. "All righ'. When I woss young, I wo'ked on a fa'm. Woss awrigh'. Liked i' enuff. An then ah went to the city 'cos me mum an da' we getting' old...the famer kep' em, made 'em freefolk, but I wossn't reti'ment ayge, an 'e cou'n't do 'I fo' me...so ah wen' ah this arboratorium. Lovely playce. Ah learned a lot abaht plants. Flawhas. The laydy sai' she wished the Citizens she had as pupils were 'alf as smar' as me, she did," said Martha proudly. She kept her voice down. 'Scientif' naymes an' all. I woss good at it. But when she started taychin' me to speak properly"—here she affected a Mainlander accent—"and no' wif dis cockney, she go' in trahble; a few of us got above our staysh'n, accordin' to th' report th' officials mayde. So 'er property got turned ova' to th' goverment an', well, we got redistributed. And 'ere I am, 'cos the war an all'at."

Juniper looked rapt. Martha was surprised. "You're so wasted here," she said quietly. "Smart gel like you."

Martha shrugged sadly. "Iss the way, innit?"

Juniper looked as though she was about to say something, and closed her mouth. She glanced down, thinking. "S'not...s'not righ', though," she said quietly.

"No, iss not," said Martha. Just saying it made her feel brave. "Iss not righ'."

Coming back to bunks tired and settling into a barracks. Working until their bodies fell apart far too young, much younger than Overseer's or Mainlander's bodies did. The sheer waste of minds like hers, for the simple reason that someone had decreed it must be so.

The anger overwhelmed her for a moment. How could she have put those thoughts aside? At the arboratorium, the books her owner had smuggled her had been a window into another world. It had been years since she'd read more than a scrap of newsprint rustling through the yard. How did I let it go without fighting them?

"You look angry," said Juniper.

"Iss not righ'. I know it. An' I...I jus' let them..." she shook her head.

"Shhh." Juniper set her hand over Martha's. Her skin was warm and soft.

Martha turned her wide brown eyes on Juniper, and Juniper gazed back. "'Ave you used ya Relaxation ration fo' th' month?"

Juniper's eyes widened. "No. Jus...the automatic one with th' bots a coupla' times." She blushed. "You ain't one t' beat arahn'd th' bush, are ya?"

"Nope. Well?"

Juniper smiled coyly.

* * *

They headed away from the dining hall and back through the corridor towards the Relaxation area. There was an area with alcohol on one side and a row of rooms in the rest of it. Attractively proportioned chrome and brass robots waited on the sides; unlike most of the automated helpers, these were humanoid, not squat, gear-filled boxes wheeling about on treads.

"Secon' 'and sex toys of the rich," grumbled Juniper, disgusted. "S'th' only reason for summat expensive 'ere. That, an' showin' off 'ow 'umayne th' conditions are."

"I know, but iss betta' than nuffink," said Martha sadly. Juniper turned to her with a saucy grin.

"Not tonigh'."

They held out their hands for stamps, and a bored human applied the stamps.

"Names and ID numbers, please."

"Juniper Ng. 56391."

"Martha Smith. 12007."

"Go ahead. Room five, here's your key. Be back at your barrack an hour before your shift, you know the drill." He gestured to the bedrooms.

The factory was full of fire and blackness, but the rooms here were also scarlet. Holding her hand shyly, Martha guided Juniper to the fifth room. The thin walls didn't conceal sounds of vibration and mechanical whirring, nor did they conceal the sounds of men and women yowling and grunting. A couple of women and a man moaned from room four, startling Juniper and Martha. They glanced at each other and laughed.

Martha unlocked the door with a trembling hand. Juniper placed her cool fingers over Martha's and unlocked it.

The room was plain, with flocked walls—red on white, a damask pattern—and a red bedspread on a medium wrought-iron framed bed. There was a little lace on the bedspread and on the stand next to the bed. In the drawer, Martha knew, were a variety of standard-issue toys, prophylactics, and restraints. The Relaxation allowance was only provided once a week, but they made it worth waiting for. Another way to keep us quiet, she thought bitterly.

Juniper kissed her then, driving thought away. She wrapped her legs around Martha, pressed her breasts against her chest; Martha grabbed her around the waist and kissed her deeply. Juniper tasted sweet and clean, her tongue delicate and agile. She swept Juniper up and put her on the bed. Clean shifts awaited them on a rack by the door, a variety of sizes available; she ripped Juniper's thin cotton shift open from the collar down. Buttons pinged away.

Juniper moaned, and Martha's heart raced to hear it. She kissed her lips tenderly, slowly, kneeling just to the side. Juniper reached up to stroke her close-shaven head. "Your skin is beautiful," she murmured. "Just beautiful."

Martha smiled. "Fanks."

Juniper leaned up to kiss her, and touched the back of her neck again. Martha shuddered and ran her tongue over Juniper's neck. She followed the line of the desecrated buttons, kissing and suckling at her skin. Juniper moaned. She trailed her tongue to Juniper's nipple, circling it gently and pinching the other between her fingertips. She kissed her way across her skin, moving in the opposite direction. Juniper put a knee between her legs, rubbed against her moist flesh. Martha gave her a warm smile, pearly white teeth shining like starlight against her dark lips.

"Take that dress off. I want to touch you," whispered Juniper. Martha rose and pulled it off in a single motion, freeing her full breasts. Juniper moved forward to touch her supple waist. Martha closed her eyes, glorying in Juniper's hands on her skin—gold on brown, sunset shades.

She kissed her way down fervently, stroking Juniper's skin and teasing her with light touches, running her hands over her legs. Juniper, unable to wait, stroked every inch of Martha she could reach. She pulled her back up and pressed her lips to Martha's; Martha found the delicate nub at Juniper's entrance and went for it, stroking. She slipped her fingers in and touched her. The sweet smell of Juniper's skin, their musk, blended into a heady perfume. Juniper moaned and rubbed against Martha's own delicate lips. Drunk on each other, the two women tangled together. Their cares fell away from a world of warmth, of pink and red and white. The lace blanket hid them from the world, and Juniper and Martha sunk into each other.

* * *

Afterward, Martha cuddled against Juniper. Her fuller curves formed an attractive tangent to Juniper's.

"Mmmm. You're warm," said Martha, throwing an arm around her. Juniper snuggled against her, her buttocks pressed against Martha's hips. Martha inhaled the scent of her hair.

"So are you. That was wonderful," sighed Juniper. "Thank you."

"So," said Martha, kissing the back of her neck, "You gonna come clean? Where're ya from? Really? I can tell you're no' from arahnd 'ere. You've go' a propa' accent an' all. You've been t' school, you 'ave."

Juniper stiffened. "I...you're right. I'm not."

"So why ah you 'ere? No matt'r 'ow poor th' rich get, they never end up 'ere."

Juniper rolled onto her back and looked at Martha seriously. Martha searched her in return. "If I said I was from outside...from one of the places we're at war with..."

"I'm no' stupid. I figured that out. Slaves don't 'ave tattoos. An' you ain't used to th' lifestyle."

"True. I prefer chopsticks to forks, and..." she sighed. "It doesn't matter. How did you and the other workers end up at the factory, making war machines? Answer me that."

"Well, we are at war," said Martha dutifully.

"Do you know why?" Juniper's eyes searched her.

"Not...no' really."

"We are at war because of people like us. Or rather, like you. Other countries don't want to see human beings being bought and sold like cattle. When they argued with the Mainland, the Mainland and a couple of other countries refused to back down. There was a territorial dispute as well, and some of the countries they were taking people from...they have banded together to fight back."

"'Ow do you know all 'is?"

"Late tonight, just before the next shift, there will be an explosion. It will be in the main factory. No one is going to get hurt, but they'll commence emergency procedures. That means evacuating all the workers."

"Then wot?"

"There is a ship coming tonight. An airship. We'll load the workers onto the ship and fly out."

"How...how are you going to get away with this?" Martha hissed. "Iss imposs'ble. You fink people 'aven't tried to 'scape before?"

"This isn't an escape. This is a rescue." Juniper's eyes gleamed. "But I need your help. There are other people here that I'll be working with to coordinate things."

"Wot ya need me for?"

"I need backup. You have plenty of fight in you. If there's trouble...will you go with me? I can protect myself, but if something happens..."

There was a lump in Martha's throat. "I...look. Did you just 'ave me 'cos you need me fo' a fayvah?"

The hurt in Juniper's eyes told a different story. She leaned forward and kissed Martha, clutching her face between her hands. "I've been aching to tell you about this for so long. Every day I went to that factory and rode those pedals, I wanted to quit. I only made it through because I was looking at you. You're always the first person to help someone when they're limping. You keep going when you're too tired to stop."

"I woss born like this," said Martha quietly. "I hadn't got a choice."

"But others give up. You haven't. I thought I would die, but watching you...I knew I could survive this work. Please. Come with me, Martha."

Martha looked at her for a long time. There was no mistaking that sincerity. There had been other women, but Martha knew truth when she saw it. "Awrigh'. Wot d'ya need me t' do?"

* * *

They'd headed back to their bunks under the pretense of an early departure. Walking quietly in, Martha hid outside the door while Juniper slipped past the guard. As usual, the night clerk was asleep. The guard bot turned to her and verified her return with a stamp.

Martha watched anxiously through the window as Juniper soundlessly lifted her mattress and extracted a slim leather belt. She'd given her boots to Martha to keep the stealthy advantage of bare feet; now, she clipped on the belt, wincing when it clicked into place. Martha shuddered as Juniper's delicate fingers fitted it, and forced her mind back to practical matters.

Opening the window quietly for her, Martha waited as Juniper tiptoed over. As soon as she had slipped through the narrow opening, Martha replaced the net. Juniper furiously screwed it back into place and extracted a drop of oil to keep the process silent. She managed to avoid spilling a drop, even as she used a wrench to tighten the screws, and put her tools back on the belt.

"They'll be in the field across from the entrance of the factory," said Juniper. "The same place you go for fire drills." She looked anxious. "Tonio, are you ready?"

The grumpy old man's face split in a grin. "Ready as ever. I'll go get the fire started."

Juniper glanced at Martha. "And you?"

Martha's throat was dry, but it wasn't smoke this time. "Ready as evah."

"Then let's go set some fires."

They went to the hall of lamps, the beautiful brass hall, the monument to industry, and got to work. Juniper unscrewed the gas lamp and Martha took one herself. Glancing at each other, they came to the same idea very quickly. Martha scampered down the hall, to the now dark and empty dining chamber, and returned with a couple of trays. They took one each and tossed them at the lamps. With a clattering tinkle, the lamps broke.

The gas spilled out and there was a fwoosh as the pretty wall-hanging next to it caught—then a loud clang. A bell went off, and a series of others. Martha and Juniper bolted out the side. Martha barely restrained the urge to giggle madly.

"ATTENTION," said a voice over a loudspeaker. "ATTENTION. FIRE DETECTED IN MAIN BARRACKS. PLEASE EVACUATE TO FIELD AS PER PROCEDURE. ATTENTION."

They tore open the door and ran for the field.

* * *

The slaves were filling it already, shepherded by guards through the main gate. No time to try to blend in; they'd left separately from the rest. It would be suspicious at best. Martha glanced at Juniper.

"They've go' guards! 'Ow can we..."

"Come on, come on," muttered Juniper. She yanked something out of her belt that looked like a small gun and fired into the sky. A bright orange flame appeared. Suddenly, There was a round dark-blue section of sky falling—a perfect oval. Martha blinked, and realized it was a very large airship. The propellers whirred as the gentle giant touched down.

The guards began to shoot immediately, but an answering volley of precise fire took them out. There were a few screams, but the only bodies on the ground were uniform-clad. Juniper grinned.

"HALT. PLEASE HALT," called a tinny voice. Red eyes lit the darkness, and the sound of servos and treads cut the night.

"A Shep'erd," Martha whispered, horrified. The machine trundled over and extended a whip towards them. Its other hand lit, the three grasping fingers heating.

"ARE YOU INVOLVED IN AN INCIDENT?" it queried. "Y/N?"

"They work on simple logic. Stim/response," said Juniper. "We need to confuse it."

"ANSWER PLEASE. FURTHER RESISTANCE WILL RESULT IN PUNISHMENT."

"No we are absolutely not, yes!"

"ANSWER NOT CONFIRMED." Inhumanely fast, it released its whip. Juniper yelped in pain and fell down. The whip had cut through the fabric of her shirt and left a red welt on her shoulder.

"We are returning to work!" yelled Martha. Juniper fumbled with her belt, and there was a very unpleasant snapping sensation. The Shepherd lifted its whip again and froze.

"What was that?"

"A small EMP. Come on. We have to get over this fence and to that ship!"

There was an explosion from the factory behind them. Martha clutched her ears as the wave broke against the building in front of them. She heard glass shatter.

"Wot?"she screamed.

"That's why! Come on!"

Martha was a good climber, but Juniper was just as fine. They scrabbled over the brick, cutting their fingers and knees on the glass embedded in the top level. There was just enough of a ledge to lift a leg over the barbed wire; Martha managed it, swinging her leg wide and clinging precariously to the ledge. Juniper managed it, but hissed in pain as the wire scraped her leg. Their shifts tore as they tumbled down.

"Ow! Shit!"

"Come on, run! There's going to be another blast!"

It shook the night. Only a hundred meters away, the dark form of the airship beckoned. The door, a square light in the black shape of the enormous cabin, started to slide shut.

"No! Wait!" screamed Juniper.

A head popped out, and a tall, pretty woman gestured to them from the airship. Her steel-rimmed glasses glinted in the light of the fire, and her blond-brown hair escaped its braid to blow in the wind. "Come on, Juniper! Run!"

There was a crack of gunfire. They had finally sent an Enforcer. Too late to stop the fire, but enough to catch the survivors.

Juniper went down, her face contracting in pain. A scarlet blossom spread across her calf.

"Come on! The gun bots are coming!"

"Gi'us a second!" Martha screamed. "She's down!"

"We can't wait!" The woman left the door open, her fluttering purple skirt just visible around the edge. The heavily-burdened ship started to lift off, its propellers spinning. The yard was full of wind and fire. Smoke rasped her lungs again. It could be the last time, she realized. The ship was only a short run away.

A cry cut the air. Juniper tried to rise, and fell back to the ground. "Martha, you have to go," whispered Juniper. "I can't run. Save yourself, my love. Please."

Martha looked at the ship and at Juniper. Time seemed to stretch. The propellers spun slowly. Behind her, another explosion shattered the air. Probably more of the gas lamps or something. She didn't intend to find out. Deliberately, she scooped up Juniper in her arms and ran for the ship. It began to lift off.

The woman was back, and made eye contact with her; she gestured to a couple of people dressed in military gear and made frantic stopping gestures. The propellers geared down, just enough to keep the ship hovering over the ground.

Martha's legs ached, but Juniper was light. Light enough. Her feet pounded the turf as she ran for it, depending on her strength to hold out. They crashed through the doorway. Juniper yelped as Martha landed. Rolling to the side, she felt searing pain on her shoulder and back. The door slammed shut behind them, and she felt the ship rise up. Bullets pinged harmlessly off the incredibly tough skin of the ship as it rose far, far from the ground.

The world blurred around her. People were walking and the ship vibrated as its engines worked to lift them. She lay still, letting her wound bleed, and closed her eyes. Juniper spoke to the woman, who efficiently examined her injury. The world swirled around Martha.

"Ow! We'll have to get a patching kit," said another stranger. "Well done, agent Juniper. We'll be back at the base within an hour. Should be able to fix that leg right up."

Juniper rose on her good knee. "Martha, are you okay?"

Beneath her, the world burned. There was a ship full of strangers behind her, and the most expensive upholstery she'd seen in years around her. Juniper was bleeding onto a very attractive Turkish patterned carpet.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Juniper," said Martha. Juniper smiled and leaned forward, touching her forehead with her own. "I'm gonna be jus' fine."

## The End

# ALTERED IMAGES

## Melodie H. Connall

"Nude! You want me to pose in the nude for you? As in, no clothes at all?"

I got a nod in reply.

"Not even a wet T-shirt?" I added sarcastically.

A reddish flush nicely matched the colour of Bernie's jumper. Somebody ought to be blushing, that's for sure. It must have taken a bit of nerve to ask me. But then Bernie wasn't short of that.

"Let's get this straight. You would like me to take all my clothes off so that you can snap pictures of me for Photography 101 at night school? You'll then flash them up on the projector to your lecturer and your classmates? Flash being an appropriate word."

"They'll be the best of the whole course. You've got a gorgeous face and body. If our kids take after you, we'll be able to retire on the profits from baby commercials. Your proportions are perfect, you're tanned, your skin sort of glows...and there aren't any zits to airbrush out."

"Oh, that's it is it? Lack of zits. Saves you work."

"Oh, I'd love you anyway, zits and all." The smile, as well as the sentiment, almost made me change my mind then and there. "I need to get some studies for the 'Human Figure' module for the advanced course. I've got some marvellous ideas and you'd make the perfect subject. There'd be no awkwardness setting up poses like there would be with a model I didn't know very well."

"You'd know them pretty intimately after a few raunchy poses."

Bernie sat forward in the chair. "It won't be anything pornographic. Once you see what I'm after, you'll understand."

I snorted. "You'll be telling me next it's 'tasteful and artistic', or, 'a statement about the human condition'. That's the sort of thing people always say when they want to take dirty pictures."

"They are not dirty pictures."

"Well it sounds like it to me. Absolutely no clothes!"

"For screaming out loud. It's commonplace. There's pin-up pictures in the national dailies and Sunday supplements. Even Prince Harry flaunts it. Scores of TV ads show naked models splashing on deodorant, or soaping each other with smelly shower gel. Come summertime in Cornwall there's not only beaches where girls go topless, but loads where nature lovers stroll about with it all hanging out. Nobody is bothered. They all do it in Germany. It's no big deal nowadays. Hasn't been for years and years."

"We don't go to Cornwall or live in Germany. Look Bernie, I come from a little village where nothing has happened for centuries; if you forget about the Black Death and King Charles sleeping one night in the inn. Our vicar still thinks make-up, garter belts and nylons are the devil's work. My Mum's a kiddies' school governor and Dad's a magistrate."

"I didn't know your dad was a JP."

"Yeah, he wouldn't be too bad, but goodness knows what Mum would say. She'd die of embarrassment or have a fit. Until I met you, I'd only ever been to London on school trips. Can you believe that? We're all strictly small-town. Certainly not ready for my public full-frontal exposure."

"Your mum need never see the pictures. Besides, what does it matter what she says? It's your life."

"All right. It's my life. Then stop trying to pressure me into doing it."

"There's no pressure, love. It's just the pictures I've got in mind could be really beautiful. Subtle, powerful, brooding..."

"And bare-bottomed."

"Anybody would think that you're shy."

"It's not shyness we're talking about. It's more like...modesty."

It was Bernie's turn to snort with laughter. "Modesty! That's a word I haven't heard for ages. Not in this city. Everywhere you look there's bare skin and acres of flesh. If tops get any shorter and jeans get any lower, nothing will be left to the imagination. And that's what I'm talking about – imagination. The magic of hinting at that elusive, inner, real person. The genuine, stunning you."

"You don't need me nude for that."

"Yes I do. I don't want what you wear, to suggest who you are. I want the shot, the pose, to do that. No props, no obvious backdrop, no tricks..."

"No clothes!"

"Your body is so perfect. Supple, smooth, strong. You know the effect you have on me."

I cut in. "And you want me to have that effect on all your friends at night school? So they can all get a cheap thrill?"

"Forget the sex bit, will you? Can't you see that a body can just be a beautiful object? I'm talking about Art, not smut. Manet's Olympia, Michelangelo's David, Botticelli's Venus, Rubens..."

"I'm not going to do it, Bernie. I'm sorry. I love your photographs and I love you but I'm not ready for that yet. Maybe I'm just old-fashioned."

The evening was a major let-down after that. I think Bernie was surprised that I was so much against it. A bit of resistance had probably been expected, but not my total firm refusal. Not in an era where everyone aimed their iphones at everything and then posted on Facebook or Pinterest.

I don't know whose fault the eventual quarrel was. Bernie was feeling disappointed, and I suppose I was a bit angry because I felt I'd been put in the wrong for not agreeing to pose. The tiff built up from nothing and before we knew it we were raising our voices.

"Well, don't worry. I can always manage something." Coat and camera were scooped up from the table. "There's other bodies I can photograph, you know." Bernie flung the words back at me before the door slammed and I was left alone.

I slumped into an armchair. Was I so old-fashioned? So un-cool? If I was, it was hardly surprising. I came from that kind of family. We were upright, uptight, respectable, and boring: provincial. We never lived on tick and always paid bills before they were due. We were the last in the village to get a video recorder and a microwave. I still hadn't checked out half of the things my mobile was meant to do, and Mum and Dad never owned a laptop or PC. They may have heard of the Internet but I'm not sure either of them had actually done any surfing. Dad used a road map to find his way about when driving, not a Satnav. When I was very young he called anyone who didn't wear a tie to weddings and funerals, a hippy. I suppose we were real dinosaurs. Added to that, my job was hardly at the leading edge of the twenty-first century. I worked in the archives of the local Natural History Museum. Maybe the fossils and the staid, outdated traditions of the past had rubbed off on me, as well. It wasn't until I'd met Bernie that I discovered what truly was on offer in the real world. But obviously I wasn't yet completely part of it. I still had plenty of hang-ups; like posing in the skin.

Then the last words Bernie had said, as the door closed, came back to me. "There are other bodies I can photograph, you know." Another person baring their all? Was there someone specific in mind? A willing young body eager to pose provocatively? Limbs spread casually for the frank display of attributes? A thin coating of baby oil, lovingly rubbed on to enhance skin tone? Tumescent bodies, fleshy pink and firm? I ached at the very thought. I was still naïve enough to think that the naked body, your naked body, was something to be shared with the one you loved, not flaunted to all and sundry.

I ate a miserable lunch alone and the whole afternoon and early evening I spent thinking how much Bernie meant to me. I had been something of a mole among the History Museum archives until I met Bernie. We were really good for each other. The world had begun to open up for me, and for my part I helped focus Bernie's natural energy and enthusiasm; made them more purposeful. The advanced course at night school to expand and develop the passion for photography had been my idea. Ironic that it now seemed to separate us.

I was on the verge of going out to look for Bernie, when the door opened. We stared at each other for about a millisecond and then we were in each other's arms.

"I'm sorry," Bernie breathed. "I always want everything when I want it. I know I'm pushier than you are. In a way it's what I wanted to capture. You've got this magical inner steel and conviction. You're amazingly strong. You don't do something just because others want to do it. You're you. And there's no half measures when you believe something. You've got principles and you try to live by them. That's one of the things I adore about you."

I hugged harder. I knew I could change and grow with so much love on offer.

"Hey careful. Don't bend them. That's seven hours work in the studio and dark room. It took ages and ages and the results aren't anything like they would be if you were the subject."

I took the pictures from the envelope. They were the most beautiful nude studies I'd ever seen. They had everything to do with love and giving, and nothing to do with lust and using. They were black and white self-portraits. They showed the essence of Bernie behind all the wild energy. The poses revealed the latent power but also the vulnerability and uncertainty. If I'd been the crying type I would have cried.

But guys aren't meant to cry are they? Although Bernadette insists that nowadays there's absolutely nothing wrong with a bloke showing his feminine side and doing anything he wants, even posing with all his bits front and centre.

I'm working at it.

## THE END

# FRANNY'S CHRISTMAS FAIRY TWINKLE

## P.J. Perryman

Franny stretched to the height of her tippy-toes, yet couldn't set the fairy on top of the tree. "Confound it," she grumbled. The puffed up hem of her starched skirt didn't help. She sighed and walked over to the icy windows, the Christmas fairy still in her hand. Outside the snow fell gently on the cobbled streets of Pimlico. Somewhere in the distance she heard the familiar sound of hooves pulling a carriage, and carol singers slowly making progress along the frozen cobbled roads.

A man on stilts lit the oil lamps. In just a few hours it would be Christmas. "Oh how I wish I could have some help, just for one day," she said. "Where is a man when you need one?" She lifted the small fairy to her lips and kissed its small head. The ornament had been in her family for years; her mother had given it to her one Christmas, and her grandmother had given it to her mother before that.

"I suppose I could get a chair and put you up myself, though really, I sometimes wonder why I bother. It's hardly worth it, just for me."

And then she saw it. Franny looked once, twice and a third time into the porcelain face. She blinked. "My word, I'd swear you just winked at me." She shook her head, convinced she'd made a mistake, and looked about the room for something sturdy to stand on.

Franny lifted the chair up from her writing desk; it was large and bulky, and she walked awkwardly back to the tree, unable to see down to her feet and afraid of tripping on her expensive Indian rug. She exhaled as she dropped the heavy item back to the floor, and then rocked it back and forth to check its balance. Satisfied, she picked up the fairy, lifted her skirts, and moved to climb up onto the seat.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a small voice. Franny looked down just in time to see the tiny pink porcelain lips move. She screamed and dropped the small figurine onto the sofa beside her.

"You can talk," Franny gasped.

"Of course I can talk, I'm a fairy."

Her heart beat so violently against her whale-bone corset that Franny thought she'd pass out. She thought about the glass of Christmas port she'd taken with dinner, and wondered if it had come from a bad barrel. She leaned forward and steadied herself on the chair, her hand over her heart.

"Let me assure you, I'm quite real." She had a soft, Irish accent, though spoke clearly and annunciated well. The little thing clambered to her knees and sat upright on the sofa. She lifted her arms over her head and pushed her palms out as far as she could; lowering them in a great sweeping arc. "I've wanted to stretch for a millennium. I must say, it feels good to be a body again."

Franny, whose throat had shriveled to the size of a Christmas nut, fell to her knees, if only to be a little closer to the tiny woman. She reached out her hand to pick her up again, but hesitated, unsure if this was the right thing to do. "But, but... you're a fairy."

"And you're a master at stating the obvious. My name is Twinkle. How do you do?"

"Um, err... my name is Franny Carbunkle."

"Yes, I know."

"I don't know what I did. How can this be?"

"You kissed me, and the Celtic spell was broken." Twinkle pulled her little legs out beneath her, and lifted her skirts high to let the fresh air circulate. She then fanned the faintly luminescent material. The fairy sighed contentedly. "Oh my, that feels good."

"You're showing a little more fairy than is decent," said Franny. And it was true; Twinkle wafted her skirts so high her frilly pantaloons were visible.

"Oh my word," laughed Twinkle. "What a silly age this is. When I first came to the world we all ran about bare-butt naked and entirely beautiful. How daft you've all made me look through the ages. And in this silly thing I can hardly breathe." The small fairy snatched at her bodice strings and with effort, managed to loosen a few. She shook her arms in a little shimmy movement. "There. Much better."

"How did you get to be a Christmas tree fairy?"

"I was cursed by a jealous sprite. Samuel Sparkle, to be precise. I wouldn't give myself to him, so one day, I was drinking from a fresh-water pool when he came up behind me and muttered his ugly words. And poof, I was turned into a porcelain doll, left to rot by that darned pool for all eternity. One day a family of wandering gypsies found me in the mud, and I've been passed from generation to generation ever since."

Twinkle pushed herself up onto her feet and wiggled about a bit to loosen her corset even more.

"That's not decent," Franny complained.

"I remember a time when you wouldn't have minded so much. You weren't always thirty, as we both know. And you didn't always spend Christmas alone."

"Do you know everything about me?"

"Possibly more than you know yourself," Twinkle chuckled. She walked to the edge of the sofa and then lowered herself down on the arm tassels. "Oh, it feels so good to use my arms and legs again." Twinkle did a little twirl right then and there on Franny's beautiful Indian rug.

"So, are there more people like you?" Franny asked.

"I should think so. Samuel can't have cursed all the fairies in Ireland, too many for that to be possible. And the Cornish fairies were known for traveling. I'm thinking there'll be plenty in London. Pick me up, will you and take me to the window, please."

Franny bent over to pick up the tiny fairy in her palms. They walked back around the sofa and over to the frosted window. Half the size of the frosted panes, Twinkle put her palms and nose to the glass and stared longingly out onto the street. "Oh, how the world has changed," she cooed. "Where are all the trees and hedgerows? Never mind that for now." Her tiny fingers beckoned Franny to step closer.

Before Franny could say will-o-the-wisp, Twinkle skipped away from the window pane and sat with her legs dangling over the sill. "It's time for your wish," she said.

"Oh, I don't know what to wish for."

"You don't have to, you already did."

"I did?"

With a circular wave of her hand, the fairy turned Franny's thoughts back to a moment before Twinkle appeared.

"Oh how I wish I could have some help, just for one day," Franny heard herself say. "Where is a man when you need one?"

"That wasn't a wish," Franny protested.

"Wasn't it?" For something so tiny, Twinkle had a penetrating glare. "I don't think you're being very honest with yourself."

"Well really, what do you know about it?"

"Hold out your hand," said Twinkle. Franny complied and Twinkle skipped lightly into her palm. The fairy weighed nothing at all, and Franny lifted her high in the air to examine her more closely. Twinkle did a saucy spin and dropped to a cheeky curtsy. "Take me back to the tree and find me a red bauble."

The tree was covered in candles and icicles, holly and garlands. Red and silver balls hung from the limbs. "There are lots of red baubles. Which one do you want?" Franny asked.

"Look for a red stained glass one, with a cavity in the side. It's not painted, it's just pure glass."

Franny peered into the branches. With her free hand she gently pulled off the only bauble that completely matched Twinkle's description. Odd, she'd never seen this particular ball before, yet here it was, on her tree. Though transparent, the glass was a deep, rich red, and the cavity, carved in the shape of a shell, was the same shade of red as the rest of the glass.

"Okay, take us both back to the window," said Twinkle.

Ever so carefully, Franny lowered them both. Twinkle climbed into the cavity, where she nestled quite comfortably with her legs folded pixie-like inside. She put her arms out and braced herself against the cold glass. She stuck her head out of the open hole. "So... spin me."

Like a child's spin top, Franny pinched the head of the glass ball and gave it a gentle turn. The ball span one slow cycle and came to a complete stop.

"You have to spin harder. Imagine I'm a coin," said Twinkle. "Don't be afraid, twist it as hard as you can, you won't harm me."

With a little more courage, Franny grasped the red ball and gave it one almighty spin. Against all laws of physics, the little ball spun faster and faster, never slowing down, and a strange light shone brightly through the glass, like a giant twinkle. "Oh Lord, what's happening," she cried out. "I'm afraid."

"Don't be," she heard Twinkle say. Her voice sounded strange, as if in a far off place. "Just keep your eyes on the spinning ball. Don't worry about anything else."

At last, the ball began to slow down, and the blaze of light decreased. Once again Twinkle became visible inside the ball.

Franny took a step back from the window. "What just happened?" And then Franny heard it; the unmistaken crackle of a lit fire. She felt its warmth and turned to see her previously empty grate now ablaze. "Wait, how...What mischief is this?" asked Franny.

Even as she spoke, the door opened and her heart almost stopped. Alfie Buddlestone, the first man she'd ever loved, bounced into the room; energy and life bursting through him like a sunbeam. Alfie looked as young and beautiful as the first day she'd met him, with sweeping black bangs, and eyes ablaze with poetry and mischief. Franny fell back into the shadows, not wanting to be seen.

"It's okay, he can't see or hear you," Twinkle explained. "Just stand here by me and observe."

Franny did as instructed, just as her younger self came running in through the open door. "Oh Alfie, Alfie, I heard you were here," she said. "What a rascal you are, not telling me you were coming home for Christmas."

"Well, it's the season, and I wanted to surprise you," Alfie said. He took her in his arms and squeezed her affectionately. Through his eager kisses, the young Franny gasped for air and tried to push him away.

"Come on Alfie, don't be naughty, it's far too early. I have presents to wrap and things to do. We can't mess around now."

Even ten years later, Franny remembered the touch of his hands as they reached along the silky fabric and lifted the multiple layers of skirts to touch the exposed skin beneath. She gasped, just as her former self had done, as his fingers traced the back of her thighs and rose up to squeeze the frilly panties she wore.

With a cheeky grin reserved just for her, Alfie stalled her objections with a loving kiss. Down and down he pressed, until the two lovers were lying on the floor. Franny saw him climb enthusiastically on top of her, and recalled the expert ease with which he removed her undergarments.

"Well these are the first things we need to lose."

"Alfie, really! We shouldn't."

"But I think we should."

"Oh Alfie."

As they tumbled on the floor, the older Franny recalled feelings long forgotten in the depths of her belly. The young Franny was no blushing virgin, and her hands pulled hard on his bare bottom, desperate for him to fill her up. The present Franny felt the pleasure as if she were living the same moment again, and when Alfie reached his climax, she recalled the thrill of her own euphoria too.

"Not bad, but a little quick for my liking," said Twinkle.

"It wasn't always like that," said Franny. Her eyes glazed as a million moments touched her soul, bringing happy tears to her eyes. "There was no one like Alfie. Never before, never since. You didn't know him as I did."

"I see," said Twinkle.

"You naughty, naughty man," the former Franny laughed. "My word, you're a hefty lump. You're like a sack of potatoes."

"A moment, my love, let me recover. God, you're one erotic woman. I remember the first time I lay eyes on you. What a free spirit you were. It's why I wanted you."

"Really?"

"Well, that and your bottom."

"Why you!"

Franny moved to box his ears playfully, but Alfie caught her hands and smothered her in more tiny kisses. "You love me really. Admit it."

He rolled over the top of her, exposing their mutual nudity below the waist. She reached over and toyed with his damp, spent cock.

"You know how I love to play with this," she said, skirting the question. "It's my favorite Christmas toy. So is my little Alfie done for the day?"

"Oooh, I think perhaps another," he laughed. "And it's not so little." He turned on his side and kissed her breast, pulling down the soft silk of her bodice and exposing her pert nipple. With a twinkle in his eye, said, "I feel a stirring deep within, gird your loins, I'm coming in."

The lovers laughed together and Alfie swung his leg over her and positioned himself back on top. Just as his kisses returned him to a fresh state of arousal, the scene faded away, and the present Franny turned to face the fairy.

"You were happy then," Twinkle stated. "Alfie was a lovely young man, besotted by you. He was a painter, wasn't he?"

"Yes, he was. Is."

"And you were his favorite model?"

"I was his only model, then."

"Ah. What a pity that changed." The smile left Twinkle's eyes. "Perhaps we should move on. When I step back into the ball, turn it hard in the opposite direction."

Franny was not so eager to leave. Seeing Alfie as a young man had whispered something to her soul. But with a reluctant heart, she pinched the small ball and turned it in the opposite direction.

Once again, the world seemed to spin, and then stopped suddenly. Once again they were in the same room, and once again it was Christmas. The pile of presents under the tree had diminished, and there was a new picture on the wall beside the sofa. The painting depicted a reclining nude, and Franny moved closer to get a better look at it. She knew every line and brush stroke, for she'd examined this artwork many times before.

"Good, isn't it," Twinkle said.

"Alfie was a fabulous painter. He was the only artist I ever let paint me. Naked that is."

"Yes, he was excellent working with light and shadows."

As Twinkle finished speaking, the door burst open and the painter himself came crashing into the room. The air filled with alcoholic fumes, and the young artist fell into a drunken stupor on the sofa.

"Alfie, are you up there?" called a female voice. The owner of the voice spoke in coarse tones; and Franny instinctively shuddered and covered her ears. It was a voice she'd never wanted to hear again.

"Not this," Franny whispered. Her voice was weak, her confidence gone. "Please, not this day."

Alfie groaned and turned face down on the sofa. Beside the sofa was a small table, and he reached blindly at it, groping at its drawer. His attempts were unsuccessful, and his arm slumped heavily to the floor.

Franny stiffened as ungraceful steps scaled the staircase. "Come on my lovely," said the woman. "The night's still young. You said she wouldn't be back for hours. Let's not waste 'em, lover, eh."

Alfie turned and with a violent effort, pulled himself up into a sitting position. "Go and leave me alone." He reached over, and opening the drawer at last, pulled out a flask of brandy. He drained it and dropped the empty vessel to the floor.

"Oh come on, don't be like that Alfie. The drunken woman fell to her knees and started pawing at Alfie's breeches. "Come and give your Sally what she came for."

Alfie pushed her away from him. His feeble efforts did not deter the young woman, who crawled closer to his lap. "Now now, you don't want to be doing that," she said. "I've got something special for my favorite artist." She slipped her hand inside the bodice of her dress and pulled a small, black, linen package from it. She waved it tantalizingly in his face. "You want this, don't you."

Alfie lurched forward and made a feeble grasp for the parcel but Sally was too fast. She slipped the bag back inside her gown and grabbed Alfie's legs. "There's a price for my pleasures, Alfie dear. Are you willing to pay it?"

Alfie looked across at the painting of Franny. His eyes filled with tears but he nodded. Victorious, Sally moved in close and unloosened her prize. His manhood didn't spring forth, but instead hung limply to one side, uninterested and unengaged. Undeterred, Sally bent low and grasped it in her hand, determined to make of it what she would. Alfie, indifferent to her ministrations, removed the tiny flask of laudanum from its soft pouch and drained it quickly.

Determined to have her way, Sally moved even closer and took his lame cock in her mouth. As she worked him, Alfie's eyes remained resolute on the picture of Franny. After an age, her mischief succeeded. Franny heard him reach the thrall of climax, but she also heard the sound of her own footsteps, coming up the stairs.

With every tread on the stair Franny prayed for a miracle, something to stop her ascent and call her away. But the younger Franny kept climbing, and too soon reached the top of the stairs.

Franny stood in the doorway, her eyes and mouth aghast in disbelief. She was dressed in the starched muslin of the Victorian prude, showing nothing of her femininity below the chin. Her hair was tied in the most severe bun, not a strand out of place. "Oh my God!"

Sally turned, her breasts exposed, a sly grin on her grubby cheeks. "Come to join the party have you, deary? There's not much to pick over but perhaps together we can make something of 'im. Whaddya say, eh?"

The weak and sedated Alfie could hardly move. He tried to rise but the last of his energy was lost in the whore's mouth. His eyes betrayed the pain of a love alive yet, but on the brink of death.

"I'm going back to my aunt," Franny said. "Make sure you and this... woman... are both gone when I return."

She ran away and slammed the door below.

"Damn you, Sally," said Alfie. "Damn you to hell."

"Oh come off it, you'll thank me for it soon enough. You were saying earlier what a prig she was." Her hand moved back to his breeches but Alfie brushed her away.

"Get out of here." He looked down and saw his manhood still exposed and groaned. "Oh Lord, she will never, ever forgive me for this," he slurred. Alfie rolled forward, and with a tremendous effort got to his feet. He covered himself up and pushed past Sally and stumbled weakly over to the window. He stood right beside the present Franny, and pressed his face helplessly into the freezing glass.

"Come back, my love," Alfie sobbed.

Franny only inches away, gasped at his proximity. Though he reeked of alcohol and drugs, there was something else, something more endearing, a smell she'd long forgotten. It was the smell of Alfie himself. A single tear formed in the corner of her eye and she reached out to him, but her hand simply passed through his frame. He was but a shadow of the man she knew.

The image faded.

"It was the only time he ever betrayed you," said Twinkle.

The single tear now tumbled down her flushed cheek. "I let him go. I never saw him again after that day. And I've never loved another man since."

"Why is that?" asked Twinkle.

"I don't like the pain."

"But you enjoyed the pleasure?"

"I suppose I did."

"In the best relationships the two go hand in hand. Alfie could recall every touch, every sensation he ever shared with you. He forgot about Sally that very day. He never saw her again, either."

"That's not true. I met her once, a few months after. Sally told me he sent his regards."

Twinkle's eyes rolled in her head, "That was a woman scorned, my dear Franny. Nothing more. She wanted to hurt you and you let her. Only you could give her the power to break two hearts. And you gave her that power freely."

Twinkle stepped back into the bauble and crossed her legs. "One more spin please, if you will. After this, my work here is done."

For the last time, Franny pinched the small glass ball and set it on its final spin. Once again, everything turned into a giant blur, and Franny closed her eyes to protect herself. Without warning, the room came to a harsh stop.

Franny opened her eyes. They stood in the same room, but the picture had gone, and there was no Christmas tree in the corner. There was a small fire burning in the grate, but it gave little heat, and looked like it might go out any moment.

"So, it's not Christmas this time?"

"Yes, it's Christmas," Twinkle answered. "Only this year you decided not to put up a tree."

"I put up a tree every year."

"Not this Christmas."

Franny turned to look out of the window. The Christmas season was in full swing outside. Garlands and wreaths of holly adorned the doors and windows of her neighbors, and children played in the mews with the special joy only this season could bring.

"I don't understand," she said softly. "Is this the future?"

"It is."

"Am I dead?"

"You are not. You are alive and well."

"Then that's good isn't it? No sad ending. All is well."

As she spoke, the door to the room opened and she saw herself walk inside. She walked over to the table by the sofa. In her gloved hand she carried a black purse. She took a five pound note from it, along with a folded piece of paper. She opened the paper, and the present Franny stood behind her so she could read over her shoulder. It was a bill of sale. Franny immediately looked to where her painting had hung for years. It was gone.

"Ah. I sell his paintings," Franny said flatly. "I guess I need the money. So I'll be poor then, in the future?"

"No, you are quite wealthy. When your parents died they left you a small fortune. You didn't sell his paintings for money."

"What for then?"

"You are erasing his memory. You want to murder that period in your life."

Franny watched as she stored the money and bill of sale in the small table by the sofa. The older Franny stood erect, and pinched her lips tightly together. She sat down and stared dully at the blank corner where the Christmas tree had stood for so many years. "You are gone, and at last, my heart is dead," she whispered.

"Did I not re-marry? Did I not have children?"

"No. you were asked, but after Alfie, the men came for your fortune. Your heart died long before this moment. This was the moment you realized it; that is all."

They all stood in an uncomfortable silence. Franny stared at her future self and couldn't believe the transformation. Only a few moments before she'd witnessed herself as a goddess of light, frolicking on the floor with the love of her life. And now here she was, her heart barren, her joy extinguished.

"Oh Lord, please take me from this wretched scene," cried Franny. "How could I turn myself to stone? I can't go through life alone. I want to feel love and lust, and most of all I want to live. Dear Twinkle, let it not be too late. Tell me there is hope I may feel Alfie's love once more. Tell me things can change. Please!"

Franny fell to her knees, and in that moment, felt the weight of loneliness on her shoulders. "Please Twinkle, take me back." She put her hands to her face and sobbed loudly.

This time the bauble twisted without Franny's help, and the moment it began to spin the room disappeared again. There was brightness that lasted longer than before. Franny collapsed face down on her Indian rug, wondering whether she would live or die. And then it was over.

Franny dried her tears and climbed to her feet. When she saw the familiar tree in the corner and the nude picture of herself still on the wall, an avalanche of joy returned to her. She spun excitedly on her own feet, until she felt giddy, and almost fell down into the sofa ahead of her.

"Thank you, Twinkle, thank you! You did it; you've made me whole again and saved me from a terrible fate. I'm so glad you came to me, Twinkle. Twinkle?"

Franny looked across to the window sill. Twinkle and the red ball were no longer there. She glanced anxiously to the tree, but the top remained unadorned, and the curious red glass ball was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, Twinkle," Franny cried, but this time her tears were tears of joy. She ran into her bedroom and stripped out of her starchy dress. She tore through her wardrobe, dismissing gown, after gown. "No, no, no," and then at last, "he always loved this one."

Franny slipped into the gown and set upon freeing her hair from its pins and ties. Her curls tumbled loosely down across her shoulders. Only a moment later, she grabbed a warm coat and ran down to the street below.

Franny ran down to the end of the mews, thoughtless of the ice and cold, her heart on fire with expectation and delight. She jumped up and down at the end of the street where she waited for an available carriage.

"Stop," Franny yelled. She waved her arm as a hansom rolled over the cobbled stones nearby. "Take me to Victoria, as fast as you can," she pleaded. "Please don't spare the horses, I've got no more time to lose."

Though it took no more than ten minutes to get to Alfie's townhouse, her heart felt the passing of eternity. Franny paid the man more than the trip was worth, and sprang up the marble steps to ring the bell.

The snow fell lightly and dusted her in gentle flakes, but Franny didn't care. Alfie's servant took his time answering the door, and as she hopped on the steps to keep warm, she looked into the bay window beside her. She saw Alfie, alone at his easel, working on a new painting.

"Good evening, Miss Franny," said his man, recognizing her at once. "Let me see if my gentleman is home."

The moment Alfie heard who his visitor was, the artist's palette fall from his hands to the floor. Alfie ran from the studio, and Franny could see his latest piece of art. She remembered the scene well. It was the first time they'd ever made love, and he'd painted her in the red dress she now wore.

The front door to the town house burst open, but Alfie hesitated at the door. Her anxious lover seemed overwhelmed with doubt, and though he was the painter and she his model, Franny captured the longing drawn clearly in his expression. A silence rose between them, her joy at seeing him kept in check as she wondered what to say.

Alfie cleared his throat. "Won't you come in?" Alfie said, a little stiffly.

"Oh, Alfie, I've been such a fool. I love you so much. Could you love a fool again?"

Alfie fell to her knees and grasped her legs in the falling snow. "My heart's angel," Alfie cried. "Oh my darling, can you ever forgive me?"

In that moment her heart melted, and she fell to her own knees to embrace him. "Of course, my love, I already have. You must forgive me, too. I'll never turn you away again, Alfie, I promise."

Franny slipped her hand inside his, and he helped her rise up from the ground. His two familiar lips pressed her own. Her heart leapt with joy as the passion she thought was dead re-ignited at once.

Alfie took her hand and placed it on a stiff and ready cock. "Maybe I'm being premature, but I hope you remember this."

Franny's fingers traced the outline of him and her eyes lit up with mischief. "How could I forget" she replied. She squeezed him playfully and pressed into his willing body. "I see a magical little twinkle in your eye."

The lovers giggled, and Alfie ushered Franny inside and out of the cold.

As the door closed, a holly wreath bounced upon the stained glass pane, then settled at last on its brass mount. In that moment, any passer-by may have witnessed a strange figure cradled in the arc of the wreath. It twinkled brightly, and a pair of rosy-red porcelain lips curled into a joyous and contented grin. But only for a moment, for as the curtains were drawn in the artist's studio, the smile faded, and the twinkle was lost to the night.

## The End

# THE OTHER WOMAN

## Rita Berry

Over the years I've noticed a pattern in my life. I have a rhythm of living my life one way when I could just as well have lived it another. But recently, I've been learning how to let go and find a new level of comfort with just being me, instead of feeling the pressure to live up to the fairy tale of someone's else's idea of romance and true love. I've discovered that intangible images can sneak up on you completely by surprise, and wreak havoc. About a week ago my husband declared to me that he was having an affair, and on that same day he said he wanted a divorce. I already had a 'gut' feeling, because things hadn't been right between us for a long time. The best way to characterize our relationship was as friends. Yet, when he asked for the divorce it still made me extremely sad. I thought for my own sanity a legal separation would do us good while we haggled over issues regarding equal distribution of property, debts, and alimony.

But no one, not even I, could have foreseen what happened on that early Sunday morning in September that would change my entire life. The sound of the ringing telephone shook me out of a sound sleep. By the fourth ring, I reached over and lifted the receiver off the phone on the nightstand, and caught sight of the digital clock. It read 7:00 a.m.

"Hello." I said, a little wearily.

There was silence on the other end.

"Hello." I repeated.

Finally, a barely audible voice came on.

"Jackie?"

"Who is this?" I asked, my teeth clenching.

I was becoming agitated; first thinking this was another one of those crank calls that I'd been getting that registered on the caller I.D. as unavailable, and second for being awakened so early. I worked the night shift at the hospital as a nurse, and this was my only day off. I checked the caller I.D., and it said, 'unavailable' yet again.

"It's me, Kelly Ann," the voice said.

My heart sank to my knees, and my stomach jolted. I felt overwhelmed in all senses of the word as I came face to face with a familiar emotion. I hadn't seen Kelly Ann in over six years. She was the first and only girl I ever had a crush on back when we were in high school. We were both sixteen, and being an only child, we shared a special bond like sisters. In the late 1980's, during our awkward teenage years, we did everything together, from wearing padded bras; imitating our favorite music idols, with short skirts over leggings and fingerless gloves, to hanging out at the mall on the weekends.

Then Kelly confided in me that she thought she was abnormal, because she liked both boys and girls. I didn't think it was a bad thing.

One night after a bout of heavy drinking, Kelly and I kissed, and then it got more physical. After that first encounter, we became best friends who expressed ourselves in a very physical manner. We were both happy with it, although we didn't want people to know, as nobody would have understood. We carried on our secret affair until we both went away to separate universities. In time we drifted out of contact with each other.

Afterwards, I had to come to terms with the difficult ending of our relationship. I started going through some pretty heavy emotional breaking points in my life, in terms of getting in touch with who I was. I didn't have the faintest interest in any man, and I was terribly nervous about how to relate to men as anything other than platonic mates. So, I focused on a nursing career. I don't suppose I knew back then what love was, but memories of the time Kelly and I spent together remained vivid. Then things took a dramatic turn when I met Michael.

"Hey, Kelly. Long time no hear. What's new?" I asked, uneasily.

I could hear her sobbing into the telephone.

"What's new?" she blurted out, in between sobs. "I got knocked-up by a married man, that's what new, and the son-of-a bitch keeps pressuring me to get an abortion, because he's not ready to be a father. I really need someone to talk to... Jackie...I didn't know who else to turn to."

"How did you get my number?"

"I got your number from your mother."

"Okay. I'm listening."

"First of all, I think there's something you need to know. You see, I just took a handful of sleeping pills, and I don't know how long before it takes effect. I wanted to tell you what was on my mind before it's too late."

"Listen to me, Kelly," I sat up in bed, my mind racing. "I don't know what kind of relationship you have with this man, and at this point I don't care, but this is not the way to deal with it. What's your address?" My voice grew more excited by the moment. "I'm going to call the police?"

An uncomfortable silence followed, and then she spoke again.

"No! Please don't call the police. I'm scared. I don't know who I am anymore. I'm tired of trusting men and then being used by them. You were the only one who accepted me unconditionally. Now I'm pregnant, I just don't want to go on feeling unhappy anymore."

She was becoming incoherent.

"Kelly, it sounds to me like you've been through a lot. I tell you what, give me your address. I'll come over there. I'm a nurse – maybe I can help. I firmly believe that everything can work out if you give it a chance. It's never as bad as it seems."

I could hear her breathing deeply on the other end, and I wondered if she heard me. And then she replied, "Well, you better hurry. My address is 820 Elgar Place. I live in the Clinton Hills complex, apartment 10A. You'll find his key to the bottom lock taped underneath the doormat at my front door."

Then, I heard a click at the other end of the line, and then a dial tone as I stared at the phone in my hand.

"Hello, hello...Kelly, are you there?"

I took a moment to compose myself. Time was of the essence. If she took a handful of sleeping pills like she said, and if I didn't try to help her, then I would've felt partially responsible for the death of her and her child. I jumped out of bed, hurried into the bathroom, sprinkled cold water on my face, and took a swig of mouthwash. I put on my black jogging suit that hung on the back of the door, grabbed a scarf out of the dresser drawer and tied it over my unkempt hair. My sneakers lay nearby, I slipped them on. I became so overwhelmed with emotion that it didn't dawn on me how I should be acting. I grabbed my pocketbook and car keys off the dresser, and checked my wallet; I counted about three twenty dollar bills. I threw everything in the bag, and rushed out the front door. Clinton Hills apartments weren't too far, if I stepped on the gas, I could be there in ten minutes.

Driving through my neighborhood I got a sense of how some New Yorkers lived. I admired the beautiful nineteenth-century brownstones that were still in good condition on the tree-lined streets. My neighborhood consisted of a mixed and diverse middle class community, most of whom were equivalent to zealous, educated young men and women, like Michael and myself who loved the city for the gritty romance, the like-mindedness, the charming architecture, and the challenge of rebuilding what had once been lost.

My mind flashed back to the time when Michael and I met on campus. Not only was he a sharp dresser, but he was incredibly smart. We had a lot in common, among them a keen sense of cultural awareness. We started dating, and it felt natural, not at all scary. We had been dating for only three months when I found out I was pregnant. When I told him about the baby, although he told me he wasn't ready to be a father - because there were a lot of things that he hadn't done yet - we decided to get married, anyway. However, I knew deep down that I was not in love with him.

Our son was born eight weeks prematurely, and he died two days later. It was then I discovered that I had a cancerous tumor growing simultaneously on one of my ovaries. The doctor explained to us that if we wanted to take all the cancer out, he would have to give me a complete hysterectomy. We were devastated over the news. I went through three cycles of chemotherapy, and I lost thirty pounds, but throughout the whole ordeal, Michael nursed me back to health.

By the time we entered our third year of marriage, we seemed to have it all. He had a successful career as a stock broker, and, I, as a registered nurse. We bought a cheap "fixer-upper" brownstone in Harlem. But our picture-perfect marriage failed to connect on an intimate level. At some point we started arguing over insignificant things. As a result, anger, resentment and frustration took control of our relationship.

Eventually, he started staying out late. He would made alternative plans instead of coming to family events. When he was home he was distant. Before long I suspected he was having an affair. While my husband's behavior was out of the ordinary, I was literally dying inside. I struggled to come to terms with losing my child and my infertility. It was during that low time in my life that I starting drinking. The alcohol would allow me to blot out my pain and experience confidence and happiness temporarily. This compounded with the need to feel love and acceptance only heightened my anxiety in the long run. I became angry and depressed. It all came to a head one night when Michael came home, and said he had something important to discuss with me.

"For the greater part of this year," he began, "I've been in a relationship....with someone else, and now she's two months pregnant. This marriage has been dead for quite some time, and there comes a point when we must move on. I think it's best we get a divorce."

His words seemed to reverberate throughout my body. I started hurling obscenities and punching him in his chest. Then, it dawned on me, he was right; we were living in a prison of dreadful feelings. We had married for all the wrong reasons. But with a mortgage payment, and college loans to repay, we simply couldn't afford a divorce.

When I woke up the next morning, Michael had packed all his belongings. I realized that he had started packing a long time ago, because he only packed things he could carry. When Michael left, he didn't leave anything behind, except a sad wife in a brownstone.

I looked at my wrist watch. I had arrived at Kelly's address in exactly eight minutes. I parked my white Toyota Camry in an empty space in the front of her building. Upon entering, I observed that it was a modern high-riser. The décor in the lobby had comfortable sleek furniture for the waiting guests. Large black and white framed prints of urban city life hung on the walls. Trees and plants were strategically placed to offer tranquility, and there was a sign-in book for visitors at the front desk. I signed my name, and then waited for the elevator.

When the elevator reached the tenth floor I followed the sign, and made a right turn to apartment 10A. I found the key under the mat as she instructed. At the door, a sickly feeling came over me, I could barely think. Suppose she had already died. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and unlocked the door. I closed the door, but didn't lock it. I glanced around the large, airy living room. The sliding glass door to the balcony was closed. A four-piece sectional sofa in gray was arranged in a circular motion around a coffee table, which was overturned, along with a pile of disheveled DVDs that were strewn on the floor. An impressive collection of grouped African artifacts and figurines were assembled on a long silver glass table against the wall. To the left of the living room was the dining room. I maneuvered around the table and I noticed several stacked magazines, and unopened mail. Next to the dining room was a galley kitchen with gray marble countertops and stainless steel appliances.

Then, I heard what sounded like a soft moan coming from down the hall. I cautiously moved down the hallway towards the sound.

"Kelly," I called out. I received no response.

"Kelly," I said a little louder. Still no answer.

At the end of the hallway was the bathroom. Next to the bathroom, I followed a light coming through a partially open door. With my heart beating fast, I entered into the bedroom. It was more thrashed than the living room. Drawers were pulled out of the dresser and thrown against the closet doors. Clothes were strewn about the room. Everything from the dresser was littered all over the floor; nail polish, make-up, hairbrush, and perfume bottles.

As I was about to walk closer to the bed, I put my foot down and heard a sickening crunch. I checked what I stepped on. It was a broken picture frame. I picked up the picture, and when I took a look at it, my throat tightened. I couldn't breathe. It felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. There were two familiar faces before me – my husband, Michael with Kelly. They were smiling, and I noticed how happy he was. Oh my God. She's the other woman? I shook my head, "this just... can't... be true." Then the planning of his sudden abdication made sense. The words still rang in my head; 'she's two months pregnant.' I thought, what are the chances of this happening? My husband and ex-lover were having an affair?

Walking further into the room, I found an empty prescription bottle of sleeping pills and a half-empty bottle of vodka on the floor next to the bed. Then I heard a coughing sound, I turned, and saw her body tangled in the bed sheets. She was lying on her back, wearing a thin cotton nightgown.

"Kelly, can you hear me? It's Jackie." I shook her as hard as I dare, trying to rouse her.

As my eyes became transfixed on her, despite everything that had happened in the years passed, it was plain to see that I still desired her. She had the form of a goddess, with waves of jet black curly hair, golden copper skin, lips that were pouty and sensual, and high, defined cheekbones. She was so beautiful. My immediate response was to take her in my arms, to protect her from whatever was causing her such pain. Oh, God . . . why am I feeling this way?

I quickly came to my senses and began examining her. I felt for her pulse, it was weak and rapid. Her body was warm, and had not changed color. I checked her breathing, it was shallow. I checked her eyes, they were constricted. There was no telling how many pills she had taken.

"Kelly, can you hear me?" I shook her again.

"Leave...me... alone..." she was conscious, although groggy.

She rolled her head to the side. Then unexpectedly her body started to tremble, and she began to throw up. I gently rotated her body onto her left side, and held her with one hand, while I picked up the cordless telephone on the nightstand and dialed 911. I informed the dispatcher of a drug overdose, and gave them the street address and apartment number. I told them she was breathing erratically, and slipping in and out of consciousness. In the meantime, while I waited, I cleaned her up as best as I could. I put cold compresses on her forehead and neck, and I kept talking to her to keep her alert.

Within minutes an ambulance with two paramedics arrived, followed closely by two burly police officers. I led them into the bedroom, and handed over the empty pill bottle. I, also, forewarned them that she said she was pregnant. The paramedics worked quickly. They checked her vital signs, and then they put the oxygen mask on her face.

One of the police officers escorted me to the living room to inquire about the incident. When he asked me what my relationship was to her, I simply said, a friend. But a hurried denial stumbled from my lips as I fought to reconsider... but then, no one else could possibly understand the nature of the relationship between Kelly and me – we were at times one of the same.

After she was stabilized, they brought her out on a stretcher. She opened her eyes, and blinked several times. She started talking, but her voice was hoarse, nothing she said made any sense.

I reached down and whispered in her ear, "hang in there, Kelly, don't worry I'm going with you to the hospital."

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she forced a smile and said, "thank you."

Surrounded by sterile white walls filled with framed art work, cracked orange chairs, and a giant clock on the wall, the emergency room was practically deserted, except for a woman who clutched a wheezing child to her chest, and an old man who sat sleeping with his chin resting on his hand. I sat with my mind racing at the thought that Kelly could have died had she not reached me at home. I looked up at the clock; it was nearly eighty-thirty in the morning. A grueling hour and a half since I received the phone call. I was grateful her suicide attempt was not successful.

The emergency room door swung open, and a Caucasian doctor with cold green eyes and a pencil-thin, precisely trimmed moustache came into the room. He headed straight towards me.

"Are you Mrs. Green?" He said, softly.

"Yes," I answered, standing up to greet him

"I'm Doctor Frank, the resident doctor. I understand you are a friend of Miss Edwards."

"Yes. Is she going to be alright?" I asked.

"She's going to make it," he said. "She's asleep now. I understand she's pregnant. We were able to pump her stomach. Luckily there were no internal injuries. I ordered a series of tests, and I'm waiting for the results before we make any further decisions. She'll be staying with us for at least 24 hours; an evaluation by a psychiatrist will be needed after she recovers from the overdose."

"Thank god, she's alive, that's all that matters."

"Yes. In the meantime, I need you to fill me in on her past history."

"Of course, I will tell you all that I know."

He led me to his private office, and then proceeded to ask me questions. Did she live alone? Was she married? Did she have any other children? Did she have a history of depression? I told him about the phone call, and the other information I provided was from her personal life. After that he suggested I go home and get some rest, and I could return the next day to see her.

I opened the door to my apartment feeling very tired and exhausted. I laid my keys and pocketbook on the credenza by the door, and removed my jogging suit and threw them on the furniture as I walked straight to the bathroom to take a shower. As I rinsed my face with the cool water, I started to cry uncontrollably. Admittedly, I was upset over finding out what had transpired between Michael and Kelly, but, I decided to put aside the obvious reasons as to why it happened. My first intention was to call Michael, to share the latest news with him. However, for the moment, I felt my obligation was to Kelly, she was so emotionally fragile; she needed me more than ever.

By the next day, I was ready to climb the walls. It was just five minutes past eight in the morning when I quietly entered Kelly's hospital room. I stood by her bedside and watched her as she slept. I knew she was still physically exhausted from the events of the day before. A part of me felt angry, and another part of me knew I shouldn't hold any animosity towards her.

Her eyes blinked, and then she opened them slowly.

"Jackie, is that you?" She mumbled, rubbing her bleary eyes.

"Yes. It's me. You okay?"

"I hope so. I want to t-thank you for what you did for me. You saved my life."

"You're welcome. I didn't think you really wanted to kill yourself and your unborn child; otherwise you wouldn't have called me. I think you were just confused about the future, that's all."

She managed a little smile. "Yes, but I'm wondering what you are doing here. You should probably be totally upset with me after the way I left you."

"Well, as a matter of fact I've been asking myself the same question. And, I couldn't come up with an answer. I just know I had to save your life. I guess we'll have to deal with that later. I want you to know that I do not hate you. So you can get that idea out of your head right now."

"You don't know how relieved I am to hear that. Come here, baby girl." She opened her arms up.

I closed my eyes for half a second, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Overwhelmed with emotion, I ran into her comforting embrace.

Without a word she pulled back the blanket and patted the sheets. I snuggled into the warm bed and rested my eyes. We laid there in silence for awhile, until the inevitable question came up. "What happened to us?" Kelly asked.

I found that to be the appropriate time to open up to her. So, I spilled my guts to my best friend. I felt very vulnerable telling her everything after we had separated; about meeting Michael, my pregnancy, the marriage, the baby's death, and finally, about Michael's departure. It felt like a nightmare telling her that the so-called man she fell in love with was my husband.

I didn't know what kind of reaction I expected from Kelly. Disbelieve? Disgust? Her reaction was the last one I'd ever suspect.

Apparently, she was pretty angry. Her breathing came in ragged gasps and her hands were shaking.

"That son of a bitch! He must have a brain the size of a pea if he thinks he's going to just throw us away like, like...a piece of garbage! We should get him back," Kelly tapped her nails against her chin, deep in thought.

"You mean, like a payback?" My eyes widened.

"Exactly!" She shouted victoriously. Then she began to whisper, like she was sharing a big secret with me. "Maybe we can get hold of some drugs."

"Drugs?" I asked, completely confused. I had no clue where she was going with this.

"Yes. Drugs." Kelly nodded. "You said you're a nurse, right? We can put some in his coffee, and then..."

I started to laugh when she bobbed her head up and down eagerly.

"I don't know what the hell was in those pills you took? But I think it's making you lose your mind."

Soon we were both laughing, and then we cried together. It brought our bond even closer.

* * *

Once Kelly had been discharged from the hospital and sent home, with no relatives nearby, I stopped by her apartment on my way home in the mornings. I checked her vital signs, made sure she ate breakfast, and took her vitamins. I, also, made sure that she didn't go to her therapist alone.

Over the next few weeks we talked about what had happened to her in the missing years we were apart, as she told me all about her life, it was clear she was utterly miserable. She made some remarks about her career as a travel agent, and was quick to tell me she drove the Ferrari she'd always wanted. She mixed with powerful people, and lived in the most beautiful houses in the prestigious area of the suburb. She met Michael at one of those prominent parties, and she said he didn't tell her he was married, until she became pregnant.

Then as the months passed, and Kelly got physically and emotionally stronger, I became the liaison between her and Michael. He was nonetheless shocked when he found out that she and I were best friends from high school, and that she tried to commit suicide. He expressed how incredibly sorry he was for the situation, and what happened. However, Michael chose to not be involved in the child's life. He stated that it was a mistake, but now that it was done, he would make sure the child was financially set for life. Once our divorce and finances were settled – we never heard from him again.

The saddest part was that Michael would never understand or take responsibility for the giant hole in his child's heart that will never be patched. He'll never understand the anger and tears that his child will experience as he tries to comprehend a father that would vanish, and without sensible explanation. He'll also never understand just how much harder his child's life is going to be because of his absence.

There is so much that friends can do, and so much that they can give to one another. The rediscovery of having someone so significant in my youth shone an interesting light on that past, and provided the opportunity for a profound new friendship with Kelly. Since she acknowledged that she'd been feeling depressed, lonely, and helpless, I felt obligated to at least try to help her see things from a different perspective. That is why I chose to be there for her while she recovered. Her priority was in getting treatment for her depression, and in delivering a healthy baby. We finally admitted our attraction to each other, and began an intimate relationship. It was passionate, and perfect. I felt it in her touch; I saw it in her eyes. Who were we kidding? Ourselves? Maybe for a time. She filled that empty space in my heart so completely that not even Michael could have filled.

I suppose the knowledge that the woman I loved could also be, well... a woman, and it should have been unsettling for me. One night she asked me why I loved her. I had no clue how to respond. It just felt right being with her. I still didn't fully comprehend what was going on. I was the one who had been married, and now was having an affair with a woman who had an affair with my husband, and was now having his child. This scenario seemed like something reminiscent of the outrageousness I'd seen on trash TV. Actually, I had never thought of myself as bisexual.

Of course we knew once people found out, we were going to be judged. And we knew it was only going to make it worse to go through something so hard and feel judged at the same time. No one could say what the right choice is. Everyone's situation is different. I know we couldn't forget that there was an innocent child involved, and that it would add a new dimension to the relationship between Kelly and me. I had not been happy in my marriage. I felt as though I had settled, and settled miserably. But now I am a happy person, and I wanted to keep it together because it was the right thing to do to keep my life stable. I thought Kelly and I had a chance at a real family. So, I chose to embrace the pain, because to feel pain is to know you have loved, and, oh, how I loved her so.

## The End

# THE AFFAIR

## Thomas Ryan

The white paint on the ceiling had yellowed. Cigarette smoke or neglect, take your pick. The curtains needed a wash. The sparsely furnished room needed dusting. But Ellen did not care that the motel was sleazy. The sheets were clean and the bed was comfortable. Little else mattered. The sex had been so exhilarating. Every cell in her body had bubbled and spat static like aluminum foil in a microwave oven.

Today, Ricardo had taken their sexual journey to new heights. She had feared her racing heart might burst from her chest. Gasping air, she endeavoured to keep still until her breathing steadied to a slow rhythmical pant.

To Ricardo she was just a slut and he treated her like one. She didn't mind. She loved every minute of it. She loved when he talked filthy to her and she loved talking filthy back. It was icing on their climactic cake.

Why couldn't Larry be like this?

Her husband was the antithesis of Ricardo. Larry was a gentle man, with the emphasis on gentle. He treated her like a rose petal when she craved to be yanked from the ground like an obstinate weed.

Ricardo filled the gap. Her Italian stud was all looks and arrogance and as shallow as a saucer of cat's milk. There was no depth to Ricardo, no deep conversations. He was a pleasure giver and this he did with the expertise of a Casanova. Around his neck, gold plated medallions dangled on the ends of cheap imitation silver chains. Ricardo looked more like a hooker's pimp than the Italian movie star he imagined himself to be. The balding head and burgeoning beer-belly added a final touch of the slovenly. Ricardo encapsulated the depth of degradation she had allowed herself to sink to. She loved it.

Ricardo was her walk on the wild side.

At home she had normal.

From time to time she reflected on the two men in her life. Both were of the same age and physique. But there the similarities ended. How was it she could be attracted to such complete opposites?

The midday liaison had drained her. She would have loved to close her eyes and sleep. A short nap. But it was time to leave. Ellen stretched then turned her head towards Ricardo. As always, he lay on his side, head on hand, watching her, ogling her nakedness. She fought the urge to pull a sheet across and cover up. Her shameless exhibitionism thrilled her.

She really had to leave.

She rolled off the bed. She took a clean pair of panties from her purse. Before she disappeared into the bathroom she struck a final naked pose to tease Ricardo. She was still giggling like a naughty schoolgirl when she stepped under the shower.

* * *

Ellen stopped at the supermarket. The kids would be home from school within the hour and the cupboards were bare. She had not taken anything out of the freezer for dinner. As she reached for a tray of lamb chops in the meat section she caught her reflection in the mirror.

She was still aglow.

She laughed out loud. What if the children noticed? Of course they wouldn't. She should join a gym to have a reason for looking like she had just run a marathon.

When she walked into the house the television was going. She checked her watch. They must have just got in.

"Have you kids done your homework?"

"Where've you been?" Her son's voice came back at her. "I'm hungry."

"At the supermarket. Got caught up in traffic, and if you can't feed yourself then you can starve."

"There was no food."

Ellen smiled. Breathed a sigh of relief. They wouldn't move until dinner and that suited her. She put the groceries on the table and went into the laundry and dumped the panties from her purse into the laundry basket. She didn't need the kids going through her bag and asking awkward questions.

In the bedroom she stripped off. Pretty good shape for a woman of forty with two teenage kids. At least Ricardo thought so. She moved closer and studied her face. Some crow's feet round the eyes but otherwise no lines. Her mother had insisted she stay out of the sun when she was younger. How right she'd been. And through the years her brunette hair had gone through various stages of length.

Larry liked it short.

"Be neat and prim and tidy," he would tell her. "Look your age. Nothing worse than mutton dressed as lamb."

Ricardo said he liked long hair. He wanted to hold onto something when they romped about the room. Recently she had let it grow. As yet Larry hadn't said anything. She would ask her hairdresser for a compromise solution.

Ellen threw on a mauve tracksuit and went back down to the kitchen. For the next twenty minutes she put her afternoon liaison out of her mind and concentrated on preparing dinner. While pots bubbled on the oven top she placed cutlery on the table beside the table mats. She would feed the kids first and eat with Larry later. He was working late. She always waited for him when he worked late.

It seemed she'd had quite a few late dinners recently. She didn't complain. Once she had commented that surely a law firm as big as the one he worked for had partners that could share the workload. Larry gave her a grimace of a smile, shrugged, and went back to reading the paper.

He never really talked about his work. He knew she found it dull. When Larry chose to become a lawyer, it was not as a litigator or even property lawyer. No. He was a tax consultant. In Ellen's book tax consultants ranked alongside accountants and the security guards that stood outside banks as the world's most boring jobs.

Sometimes, over coffee with friends, Ellen would listen as they discussed conversations they had had with their husbands. She always changed the subject when eyes turned her way. Debating changes to tax law was not her idea of a fun evening and certainly not a subject she would relate to her friends.

Now, she and Larry hardly talked at all.

He would take his paper through to the lounge and peruse it as he watched television over the top of the pages. She would immerse herself in a book. Not that she minded so much anymore. It was relaxing. Her trysts with Ricardo more than satisfied her needs for sexual release and companionship.

She had an ideal life, and long may it last.

* * *

Sally was thirteen going on thirty and John was fifteen. Where Sally was observant, curious and naturally suspicious, John was docile, non-caring and egotistical to the point of narcissism. He was interested in girls, not siblings. He tolerated Sally and her friends, and although he had to admit a couple of her friends did catch his eye, they were still only thirteen. For much of the time he mostly ignored his sister.

When Sally told him their mother was acting strangely he dismissed it for two reasons. One, he wasn't interested and two, he really wasn't interested.

"Parents always act strangely, that's the world they live in," he'd said.

Sally pouted and stormed off to her bedroom.

But she was not to be put off.

During dinner she watched her mother's every move. When her father commented on Ellen's buoyant mood and her mother turned away and her face flamed crimson, Sally had no doubts something was up. She recognized a mask of guilt when she saw it. She had seen enough of them on television. Oh yes. There was something dreadfully wrong and Sally was determined to get to the bottom of it.

She glared at John, trying to catch his attention. He was too busy filling his face to have noticed anything. With a sigh she accepted the role as detective; the lone private eye.

* * *

Over the next few days, whenever Sally was home she stalked Ellen's every move. However, her need to stay close did have consequences. She was constantly within range of her mother's observation. Sally found herself washing dishes and hanging washing on the line. Brother John, oblivious to her sleuthing efforts, sat in his room listening to music and playing games on his computer

On the third day Sally's perseverance bore fruit.

She was sitting on the Persian mat – the one that once lined the hallway but was now hidden behind the settee because of the hole the cat scratched in it. The morning's chore was to straighten the books on the lower shelf of the bookcase. The phone rang. Just as she made to get up her mother answered it. After a normal greeting her mother's voice dropped to a whisper. This served to alert Sally something was up. She crawled to the end of the settee and peeped round the mahogany leg. The muscles at the bottom of her neck tensed when she saw her mother look around nervously, like a bag lady guarding a stolen supermarket trolley full of aluminum cans. A hand covered her mouth as she spoke into the phone.

Sally held her breath.

"I can't, the kids are home," she heard her mother say. "What would I tell them?"

Sally sucked on her thumb to stop herself from making a sound.

"Okay. I'll give them some money for the movies. Give me an hour."

When her mother put the phone down and disappeared into the kitchen, Sally rushed off to John's room.

* * *

Ellen parked. Applied a touch of lipstick then climbed out of the car and made her way across to room sixteen. There was a spring to her step. She was a bounding antelope leaping across the veldt in search of its mate. If she was a peacock she would have preened. Spread her feathers. A smile. A beaming face. She knew her demeanor would be flashing like a cheap Las Vegas neon light. If the motel manager saw her he would know what was up. But she didn't care. A wild afternoon awaited.

She didn't knock. The door opened and an arm reached out, took her wrist and pulled her inside. She squealed in protest but the sound was cut short to the outside world as the door slammed behind her.

* * *

"Now do you believe me?" Sally demanded, hands on hips.

"I believe you. Jeez. But what do we do?" John said.

"We have to confront her. It's the only way."

"You're mad. We can't do that. Besides maybe the guy in there is much bigger than me. He might lose his temper."

Sally thought this over. It had never occurred to her there might be violence.

"Just as I thought," John said, sensing triumph, "you hadn't thought that far through, had you?"

"It doesn't matter. Mum wouldn't let anything happen to us."

"Look Sally, I know you think you're doing the right thing but what is it you hope to achieve? Do we tell Dad?"

"Of course not. I just want Mum to stop whatever it is she's doing."

"But that's it. I mean, what is it she's doing? We don't know for sure. It could be something completely different to what you think. Maybe she's helping the police with undercover work. Maybe this is a secret rendezvous." Sally looked confused. "I mean, how certain are you she is having an affair and not something else?"

"I can't say for certain."

"There you go. I think it best we go away."

"No way," Sally said. "We need to at least look through the window."

"And how do you propose we do that? We can't just bowl up to the window. Someone would see us."

"We go round back."

* * *

Ellen was naked, spread-eagled, her wrists and feet tied to the four corners of the bed. Ricardo had blindfolded her and had been massaging her with a glove made of opossum fur. The touch was ticklish and at the same time arousing. She purred like a cat. He threw the glove to the floor and took up a whip made of lengths of felt material. No matter how hard he hit it would never hurt. When he removed the blindfold Ellen played her role to perfection. She looked up at him in feigned horror.

"Are you going to obey me, you slut."

"Never, you asshole. Let me go."

Ellen struggled but her restraints held her. Ricardo swung the whip.

"Let me go. No please. You're hurting me," Ellen cried.

"You deserve it. Say you deserve it."

"No. Never."

"Say you're a slut."

"Let me go, I'll never talk."

Ellen's arousal was nearing its peak. Any moment now, when she begged him to, Ricardo would throw himself upon her.

* * *

Sally found a fruit crate by the rubbish bins. John carried it across and put it under the bathroom window. Sally climbed up.

"Oh my God," Sally whispered. "Mum is tied to the bed. Someone is beating her."

"Let me see."

John climbed up and after a minute he jumped down.

"Maybe she really is working undercover and they've found out," Sally said.

"She's crying for help. He's hurting her. Hell, what do we do?"

"Phone Dad," Sally said.

John dialed his father's work number but couldn't get through to him...

"Dad's at a meeting," he told his sister. "They don't know when he'll be back. Come on, let's go find some help."

* * *

Ellen's libido levels had climbed like the mercury in a barometer standing in a pot of boiling water. It threatened to explode through the top of her head. She could bear it no longer.

"Okay. Now Ricardo, Now! I'm a slut! I'm a slut! Take me," she screamed.

Ricardo freed her hands and legs. He climbed onto the bed beside her and leaned forward, kissing her neck.

"For God's sake, Ricardo. I don't need foreplay. Just bloody get on with it."

* * *

Sally and John rushed into the motel office. John pressed down on the buzzer button embedded in the counter top.

"Coming," a voice called from the back. The man who stepped through the curtained door towered over the two teenagers. He was overweight and waddled as he walked. "What can I do for you two?" he asked scratching his unshaven face

He was huge and that was enough for Sally. "You have to help us," she said. "Our mother is in trouble."

The motel manager looked quizzical and rubbed on the stained purple T-shirt trying desperately to cover his pot belly.

"She is in one of your motel rooms. A man has her tied up and is beating her."

"She's working undercover for the police," John added.

"Which room?"

"Sixteen."

The manager reached behind him and took a key from a rack on the wall, "You kids stay here."

"No way," Sally said. "We're coming too."

"Well, stay back, out of my way. Got it?" he scowled.

Sally and John nodded.

* * *

Ellen was reaching her climax. Ricardo was egging her on. Sweat dribbled from his chest onto her face. She didn't care. She wanted to taste his sweat. The excitement and intensity of this moment of passion was crashing through new boundaries. She had never experienced such ecstasy. They had climbed a mighty mountain. Now they had reached the peak.

"Mum!"

Somewhere in the deep recesses of Ellen's mind she heard the call.

"Mum!"

The voice was softer. Not Ricardo's. His thrusting had stopped. Then the weight was gone from atop of her. She flung her arms to the side. Exhausted, but frustrated that she had not exploded as she had expected to. She opened her eyes. Why had he stopped? She saw faces looking down at her.

At first, comprehension evaded her. Then realization dawned.

"Noooo...!" Ellen screamed as she reached for a sheet.

"Mum, what's going on?" Sally cried. "Dad, what are you doing here? What are you doing to Mum?"

John turned away in disgust. Ellen continued to wail.

* * *

Months passed before Ellen, Larry, John and Sally returned to a semblance of normality. A psychologist had counseled the children through the trauma of seeing their parents copulating. Helped them understand that adults sometimes role-played to add spice to their sex lives. It was healthy. Sally was not convinced and asked a local Catholic priest what steps she needed to take to become a nun. John went back to eating and his computer.

Sadly, Ellen acknowledged her relationship with her children was now different. Instead of simply ignoring her, as they had in the past, they now ignored her standoffishly. The shocked looks on Sally's and John's faces continued to haunt her. The guilt she experienced from the discovery had been debilitating. She had not made love to Larry since. The thought of discovery quelled all sexual desires.

But as the weeks passed deviant thoughts began to return. Images of Ricardo and their playfulness roused old feelings. After six months she longed for Larry's alter ego to reappear.

Ellen heard a noise over the sound of the vacuum cleaner. It seemed a hundred horses were galloping across her driveway. Turning off the appliance she went in search of the cause.

Outside was the largest motorcycle she had ever seen.

Dressed in black leathers and legs astride the rumbling engine sat Larry, both hands gripping the handle grips. His right hand rolled the throttle back and forth. The revving was deafening. He smiled and turned the engine off.

"Larry, what the hell is this?"

"I don't know any Larry. On the road I'm called Bear. I need a biker bitch to go riding with. I'm told I might find one at this address."

Ellen's eyes lit up.

"Well, hello Bear. Let me go in the house and get her. Don't you go anywhere." Ellen rushed inside wondering if she could still fit into her jeans. What did it matter? She had a pretty good idea of what Bear's taste in a woman's dress sense would be.

The tighter, the better.

## The End

# DREAMS OF THE NIGHTLIFE LAS VEGAS

## Travis Luedke

One fine evening in sunny San Antonio, I curled up in bed next to my wife. We had spent a long but pleasant family day at Six Flags, hitting all the roller coasters. I escaped with minimal sunburn.

I awoke to find myself in the dark, gritty nightlife of Las Vegas.

Standing on the red-gold paisley carpet in the midst of Caesars Palace, I wore my usual attire, black pants and a light polo shirt. I felt kinda underdressed for the occasion. It started to sink in: Vegas, bright lights, big city, sex, indulgence, gambling.

This is what my Nightlife Series novels are all about.

The stale cigarette smoke drifting across the casino flooded my sinuses. A cacophony of electronic fortunes assaulted my ears. An overweight, old man rolled past in a motorized wheel chair, hacking and coughing his way to the nearest row of nickel slot machines.

This was so unglamorous.

Where were the glitter-covered topless women?

Strippers, cocaine, and body shots of Patron? Anyone?

Somebody point me to the Jell-O wrestling arena.

In my dismay, I almost missed her. But then she caught my eye with her emerald gaze. Gorgeous in every conceivable way, her curly blonde hair framed a pale, petite face. Her unblinking stare captured me and my heart started pounding double-time.

Michelle.

She licked her lips and began a sinuous, flowing advance, straight for me. Her intent look made clear that I was her target. My pants grew uncomfortably tight and I felt relieved my wife was nowhere to be seen. Michelle inspires a visceral jealousy.

I knew she was dangerous, deadly, and addictive as an eightball of crack dipped in crystal meth and sprinkled with China White heroin. Hell, I'd written her. But like all the fools before me, I didn't give a shit.

The little head does all the thinking when Michelle's in the room.

Her dress hugged every sliding curve of her hourglass body. The shiny white leather looked like one of those compression shirts, barely reaching to cover her lovely parts. Those tight little nipples begged to be squeezed. She rarely wore a bra, and obviously tonight was no exception. Gorgeous. Alluring. Dangerous. Just like I had always imagined her.

She cocked her head at an angle, as though trying to remember who I was. "Have we met?"

Surprisingly, her English was quite good, though heavily accented.

"Ahh... kinda..." All the cool, sly words that flowed from my laptop day and night deserted me. I'd never again snort at Aaron's clumsiness in her presence.

"I know you. Oui?" She slipped around me. The slick surface of her dress caressed my skin as her tight, pebbled nipples pressed against my chest. Her legs straddled my hip and she pinched my ass. "Bien sûr, I have known you all along."

With all the sleepless nights I spent writing about her, it made a strange kind of sense that she would recognize me. I knew her better than any other person on the planet. Her deepest, darkest secrets were carved from my perverse soul.

"I know you, Michelle. But I don't think you know me."

Her eyebrows rose at my use of her name. "Mmm, a stalker? You know what I do to stalkers?"

The lush, soft curves of her body, her emerald eyes twinkling with mischief, and her fingertips sliding over my crotch left no doubt what she would do to me.

"You caught me. I guess I am a bit of a voyeur." Where was my laptop when I needed it? With a few moments to think, I could have written much better dialog than this.

She smiled as my cock stretched into her waiting fingers. My soft cotton pants fought against her skillful tease. And that's when I saw the pearly flash of those little pointy canines. So much longer than they should be. So much sharper.

I knew if she bit me I'd come all over myself and latch onto her like a puppy dog. "Wait! Not here. Not like this."

She ran her tongue over her teeth, wetting her lips, and her fingers transcribed the head of my cock. I shuddered in her grasp. If she did that again...

"I know the perfect place. Come."

I was about to anyway, so I followed her. Not like I really had a choice. She'd neatly turned the tables on me. No longer the god-like author, making her dance to my tune, I let her take me wherever she wanted.

She guided me to the elevator. Her arm wrapped around mine, her soft breast rubbed all over my arm. She smelled like sweet allure spiced with the promise of sex. She probably tasted even better.

It occurred to me then just how dangerous Michelle really was. Writing about it was one thing. Being here, living it, was overwhelming. But this was just a dream, right? I mean, hey, what could it hurt? She couldn't really kill me... could she?

I wanted to do anything to please her, regardless of consequence. I would eat the forbidden apple, be banished from Paradise, just to stay with her.

Michelle was my Eve.

But I'm pretty sure I was nothing more than dinner to her. Our relationship thus far lacked balance.

In the elevator, her sliding hands, searching tongue, and cool, soft lips worked an indescribable magic on my mouth and body. When I came up for air, I had her dress pulled up and both hands filled with bare ass.

I had forgotten that Michelle often forgoes panties when hunting for food.

My lucky night.

I was so damn hard, she had to maneuver around my prominent cockstand jabbing her in the stomach. My hands worked lower down her ass, reaching for the sweet spot. She arched her back, bringing it all right to my fingertips.

I hate to admit —'cause I'm not a cheating man—but I hadn't thought of my wife once. It's just a dream, right? And a guy can't be responsible for his dreams.

She unzipped my fly and slid my pants down. Her cool fingers found their way around me. "I am so hungry." She growled as she licked my neck with feather-soft flashes of her little pink tongue. Her grip tightened and she jerked down low, using my cock to pull me in closer. "And I want this too."

I knew I shouldn't let her bite me. The rational part of my mind knew I was standing in the clutches of a killer disguised in one of nature's most beautiful wrappings. I of all people knew. Hadn't I written thousands of words describing her?

But my cock had another agenda.

Her hand coaxed agreement out of me. "Sure. You don't have to ask me twice. But no feeding before sex."

I pulled her up by her ass. My fingers curled up and dipped into her warm, wet heat.

"I prefer both." She growled as she hopped up, wrapped her legs around me, and reached down to guide me in.

Tight, hot, wet and slick, she took it all, groaning into my neck, her tongue flickering. Her teeth scraped skin as her hips popped, catching that extra inch.

I turned and slammed her against the wall, using the solid support to hammer into her. And then she bit me, and everything washed away in a blast of screaming euphoria.

Man, I so underestimated the effects of her bite. Definitely need to rewrite a few scenes.

High on Michelle, I went at it with mindless abandon; pounding, shoving, and grinding up into her with everything I had. I grunted and cursed and grudge-fucked her like she was the last piece of ass on the planet. With her arms clamped tight around the back of my neck, her hips pumping in time, she took it all and never released her stinging bite.

"Oh shit! Damn you, Michelle, don't stop!"

I can't say how many times I emptied myself into her. It was one long, insane orgasm after another. At some point I started to burn out. There's only so much you can milk from a man before he runs dry, even in dreams.

I was so exhausted my noodle arms could hardly carry her anymore. She locked her legs around me, holding her own weight. I slumped against the wall wheezing and heaving, barely able to breathe.

"Jesus Christ, woman, give me a break."

She let up after an eternity of her teeth buried in my neck.

I'm pretty sure I was crying by the time the elevator door chimed and slid open. Michelle's dress had hiked up to her waist, and my pants were down around my ankles. Too tired to care, I looked over at the gleaming white smile on the face of a handsome young man in charcoal black Armani.

Aaron Pilan.

"Shit." How did he get in my dream?

Michelle released her long legs wrapped around my waist and shimmied her dress down to cover as much as the scant fabric allowed.

Aaron nodded to Michelle. "How nice, you brought dinner."

Struggling to do up my pants, my head snapped back around. "I'm about a pint shy. I'm gonna have to rain-check this one."

I felt the pressure of Michelle's hand on my arm squeezing. Bright green eyes flashed with challenge. Her grip tightened to the point of pain. "Aaron is hungry too."

The dizziness of acute blood-loss hit me. I would have fallen over with vertigo if not for Michelle's steadying grip. Aaron stepped up to grab my other arm to help.

"Our room is just there. Let's party." He smiled with full size fangs bared, all pretense of humanity abandoned. Such a handsome young man, even with his ferocious aspect on display.

"Yeah, well, just so you know, I don't swing that way." I sighed in resignation and Michelle's arm slid around my waist, hugging me tight. She guided me down the hall to my destiny.

"I promise it won't hurt." She kissed me again, the taste of my own blood on her lips.

In my heart of hearts, I had always known how this night would end.

* * *

I awoke to the morning sun on my face, the alarm going off next to my bed. Man, that was some dream. I didn't want to move. Felt like I had actually been drained of blood by vampires. Lethargy sat on my chest, pinning me down. I finally dragged my protesting body from bed and stumbled into the bathroom.

Washing my face, I noticed something very strange. Something I had only ever seen in films, and on my own book covers. I had two little puncture wounds on the side of my neck. They had already scabbed over, but the evidence was undeniable. So much for my 'dream' theory.

My wife slipped up behind me, her forehead leaning on my back. "Hurry up. I have a meeting today, and they want us there early." She sounded half-asleep. She has never been a morning person.

"I'm done."

She took over my spot at the sink and proceeded to wash her face. I caught another glance of confirmation at my neck. Yep, there they were, little bite marks left behind by Michelle de Mornac, my French vampire Femme Fatale.

I have known Michelle since she was born in Bordeaux France in 1915. I experienced her love for her father, her enslavement under her vampire master, her misery surviving the German occupation of Paris in WWII. I was there for her loneliness through the following decades, and her new found love for the surly young man she adopted as her vampire slave, Aaron Pilan.

I wrote her story. I am still writing her story. There are more books to come in the Nightlife Series that feature Michelle as a main character. And despite the fact that I know she's a killer, worse than any serial killer of our time, I still love Michelle.

She is my Eve, and I would bite her fruit every time, over and over again, to join her in exile.

As I undressed to step into the shower, I passed by the mirror once more, just to be sure. "Hey honey, I almost forgot to remind you. I'll be catching a 4:30 Southwest flight this afternoon. It's that Romance Writers Conference in Las Vegas I told you about last week. It's only two days. I'll be back Sunday night."

Slipping off my boxer shorts, I caught a whiff of something odd. I held my shorts to my nose. Sure enough, there it was: Michelle's perfume.

"How could you forget a thing like that?" My wife had that sly sound to her voice, taunting me.

"You know how immersed I get in my own little world. It's all very real to me."

## The End

# OUR SECRET FANTASY

## Yelle Hughes

Senior accountant, Beatrice London looked down at her lettuce and tomato salad. "No dressing, no bacon bits, and no croutons? When did my life become so boring?" She pushed her bi-focal, horned-rim glasses back up the bridge of her nose and smoothed a hand over her severe bun. A huge sigh escaped her lips as she peered at her colleagues, who were just as bland as she.

Staring off into space, Bea's gaze locked on Corbin Cleef, her fellow accountant. He sat at a table near the front with his carton of milk and egg salad sandwich, facing her. Gelled hair lay smoothly from a part in the middle. When Corbin dropped his butter-knife, she snapped out of her reverie. Hmm...if he got rid of his pocket protector, that god-awful suit and got a new updated hairstyle...he wouldn't be half bad.

With her fork hovering over a ripe, limp tomato, Beatrice's mind escaped to a world where Corbin wore nothing but a pair of silk boxers:

Corbin placed Bea's wrists on the headboard.

"Open your legs, and keep them open. Obey or I'll stop the whole scene." Once he secured her hands with a silken cord, he sat next to Bea, ran his hand through her long silky waves and said, "Trust me." She nodded and moaned incoherently.

Corbin covered Bea's eyes with a satin blindfold. Low music began playing in the background. Unable to see, she had to listen for his movements and guesstimate where and what he was going to do next. Bea was a little nervous; her breathing was shaky with excitement as she heard a rustling sound to her left.

Bea's toes and fingers clenched in anticipation when she felt the first touch. A light brush whispered upon her neck. It traveled to the other side, then down between her breasts. Her back arched...

Corbin didn't speak, but his breath increased as he slowly moved what Bea perceived to be a feather, up and down her body. When he reached her thighs, he repeated, "Do not close them, or I will stop."

Bea nodded her head that she understood.

The soft plume stroked Bea's inner thighs and moved ever so closer to the most sensitive bundle of nerves in her body. A sharp tingle shot all through her. She used everything within her being to keep from closing her legs. She let loose a low moan.

"I can't take it anymore!" Corbin continued to pleasure/torture the shy accountant.

Bea's breathing was fast with arousal, and all she needed were two more seconds.

Corbin stopped and said, "Let's calm you down a bit, shall we."

With a frustrated groan, Bea's head turned toward the sound of a cap being unscrewed, and again clasped her fingers and toes in apprehension for what came next.

Corbin kissed her softly on the lips. "Are you okay?"

A whispered "no", was all Bea could muster, as she tried to catch her breath.

The next touch she felt...caressed her engorged nipple. Corbin rubbed a mysterious liquid onto her breasts. The more he stroked, the more heat spread from Bea's torso to her thighs. She savored its sweet scent as he continued his sensuous onslaught. Inflamed, Bea's burgeoning flesh became tighter and tighter, her muscles straining.

Just in time, Corbin gave Bea merciful relief. He kneeled between her legs and with the same finger and mysterious liquid; he slid said digit right down between her pouty, feminine lips.

The quiet CPA from Room 203 screamed.

Her body had been waiting for this moment. Naughty, debauched pride overwhelmed her with the thought of Corbin watching as it went on and on. "Please, my beautiful Corbin, fill me and don't let all this go to waste."

Without hesitation, Corbin thrust into Miss London's tight, inner core with ease. His cock hardened more in reaction to her dampness and heat. He released her wrists and allowed her to glide her fingers through his lustrous, curly black locks.

Gibberish was the only language Miss Beatrice London spoke at this point, as he reached for her hair and pulled...

SMACK!!

Beatrice, startled out of her daydream, "Wha-"

Her boss, Mr. Steinmeld, stood over her lunch table, hit the table again to get her attention. "Miss London, I said, 'Good work on Sanyo Smith's audit report.' I also, wanted to make sure that you turn in Jefferson Medical's equity financial statements, before you leave today."

Beatrice shook the erotic haze from her brain and was coherent enough to answer. "Yes, sir. I will have the report on your desk, pronto."

Beatrice placed her secret fantasy to the wayside, so she could concentrate on the important report that she needed to finish.

* * *

Senior analyst Corbin Cleef spied the quiet, but pretty lady nod her head to the chief executive of their accounting firm.

If only I had the nerve to ask her out. What would she say?

Taking a bite of his boring egg salad, he contemplated:

Corbin imagined sitting among a pile of colorful, soft pillows of various sizes. The colors ranged from deep dark blue to blazing fiery red. While he waited, he looked around and saw mesh netting hanging from the ceiling, encircling his bed. Excited, he realized he was in a Sheikh's tent from his favorite novel, Arabian Nights.

The surrounding candles lit up suddenly and the golden flames danced with the music of Yanni's "Love Is All".

A small water fountain gave off the sound of soothing bubbles to his left. Relaxing against the pillows, he waited in anticipation for his princess to arrive. Placing his hands behind his head, Corbin sank deeper into the cushiony softness. He heard the door open and watched a vision of loveliness walk in.

An iridescent figure appeared before him, covered from head to toe with silken scarves the colors of the sea, from cobalt blue to aquamarine green. A dreamy vision glided in front of him, with only her voluminous eyes showing.

The music changed to a sultry, slow tune. She raised her hands above her head and started to sway predatory hips to the provocative rhythm, sashaying around the room for him. Those seductive hands never stilled. Corbin's eyes followed her willowy figure from one side to the other...bending at the waist, soft hands sliding over luscious legs and supple belly. Each movement of her fingers, dutifully and slowly, peeled away scarves, giving him the urge to taste every exposed, satiny, lick-able flesh.

Each time she moved closer to Corbin, her perfume wafted past his nose, causing his arousal to increase, He wanted to stop the show and grab her...pull her down...have his way with her. Corbin didn't do it. He was curious to what was going to happen next. He sank more comfortably into the pillows and sipped the glass of wine that sat on the side table, poured just for him.

Corbin's silk boxers began to feel tight, forcing him to adjust himself, but what he really wanted was to take them off. He sat up quickly and sucked in a jolted breath, as he watched her body fold sumptuously down to jingle the bells on her ankle bracelet. He had to hold junior still...no need for him to jumpstart the race.

He watched as graceful, golden-tipped fingers drifted from delicate toes to glide along delicious, golden skin...pause, then settle on her luxurious hips. For every hip dip, his indubitably hard member matched with a twerking movement. The distraction forced Corbin to move his hand smoothly past his elastic waistband and clasp the nine inches of hard, pulsating male flesh to hold him still.

Moisture beaded Corbin's brow and he had to fan himself. She sauntered over to the right side of the bed and set her foot next to his thigh.

His mysterious lady's gold, toenail polish twinkled in the candlelight.

Corbin reached out and gently held her ankle to keep her from moving away, while she gently swayed. A light, floral fragrance wafted towards him as she drew closer. He wanted to lean forward and run his tongue along the inside of her knee, and then nibble his way up her inner thigh. Corbin sensed and saw that due to her arousal, she could barely stand.

Before he had a chance to fulfill his want, frustration touched him when she danced away. She whispered, "Lie back." She removed the rest of the scarves to show more of her legs, belly and shoulders, but her face remained obscured. Except for the eyes, and from what Corbin had seen in them, his first assessment was correct.

"Yes, tease me all you want, my darling...I will have you."

The smell of her arousal spiced the air surrounding them. He growled, "I'm going to fill you up, literally and soon.

His princess danced her way to Corbin's feet and sunk down onto her knees. Kneeling between his legs, those beautiful hips continued their sensuous movements to the music. She placed her hands on his calves and slowly smoothed a path up his thighs. She grasped the band of his silken shorts. Corbin raised himself and let her slide the silky fabric off his hips, the delicate threads adding more sexual tension to his aroused member. She held him gently with one supple hand, while pulling the scarf away from her face with the other.

All Corbin could do was stare at Miss Beatrice London's luscious lips. He watched in fascination as Beatrice's tongue skimmed across her lower lip to slip wetly over the top...couldn't take his eyes off of them.

Corbin found himself drowning in a sea of amber. Imagining what those lips were going to do to him. Corbin was taken aback by his lover's smooth transition. From cupping his testicles to grasping the most sensitive part of him...he whimpered.

He watched her tongue appear again, inching closer to dip, then give a long, slow lick...

"Mr. Cleef!"

Corbin blinked; the sultry scene disappeared and was replaced with the bright, monotonous green of the cafeteria. He cleared his throat and answered with a high pitched "Yes?"

Let's try that again, Corbin ole boy...

He brought his mind and his body to the present. Clearing his throat again, he responded with a deeper, "Yes, can I help you?"

Mr. Steinmeld stood before his table and was vying for his attention this time. "I said, I need you to team up with Miss London for an upcoming project. Her last assignment will be complete by end of business today, and I want you two to start working with a company called 'Fervid Bliss Magazine'. They are a medium-size editorial company, with a sales range that runs in the millions. They're shopping for a new accounting firm and made an appointment with us. I want my best accountants on this.

"I understand this will be your first assignment together. I want you to go over to her table right now and introduce yourself. Keeping Fervid happy will take the both of you working together as a team. And if that means you need to spend after hours together, then that's what you'll have to do."

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" Corbin hopped up and went over to Beatrice's table.

"Hi, I'm Corbin. Do you mind if I have a seat?"

## THE END

## COMING SOON:

# A WORLD OF OTHER WORLDS

A Collection of Sci-Fi and Fantasy Short Stories

## by The Authors Of ASMSG

(Authors' Social Media Support Group)

Visit ASMSG At:

## http://asmsg.weebly.com

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