Sexy in the City

by Alexia Adams, Galen Rose, Samantha Anne, Carolann Camillo, Nicole Flockton, Iris Leach, Olivia Logan, Nancy Loyan, Stephanie Cage (epub)

  “I can’t believe it,” he raved, shaking his head. Hers was, indeed, one heavenly body.

  “Now I can go anywhere with you,” she said, a triumphant smile curved on her lush coral-tinted lips.

  “Ah . . . yes . . . I suppose you can,” he mumbled, using splayed fingers to smooth back his hair and to settle his rattling nerves. Wherever she went she would still attract attention, just for a different reason.

  “If you’re up to it,” she added.

  If she only knew how his body was reacting to her sexy new look, she would have her answer.

  “Now that I’ve reinvented myself, can we go into town?”

  • • •

  He felt assured that no one in Cape James would connect her with Angelique. She just looked like some young hottie on vacation. He grasped her hand securely in his as they strolled Main Street. Carved and painted store signs flapped in the ocean breeze while stores beckoned with trendy and artistic merchandise. The galleries and shops were already primed and stocked for the coming busy season.

  Some remnants of the town’s past as a fishing village remained. The boxy Federal-style architecture, the salmon-brick inn, the whaling museum, and an anchor, stood as monuments to history. Yet so much had changed since his youth. Current residents seemed younger and moneyed. The merchandise was more exclusive and pricey. Fashions were emblazoned with designer labels, works of art running up to six figures. Tacky souvenirs filled the gift shops and the old pharmacy. Brian sighed. Cape James had just become another New England resort town.

  Angelique bubbled with excitement over the sculpture, the furnishings, and the clothes. Brian pointed out a Victorian gown of white linen and lace on display in an antique shop.

  “Non,” Angelique commented. “I will never wear white again.”

  Another shop displayed music boxes of all shapes and colors and sizes in wood, porcelain, and glass. Figurines of ballerinas, bears, and clowns danced to tinkling tunes.

  “Lovely, aren’t they?” he asked.

  “No,” she answered looking into his eyes, glossy tears forming beneath wispy lashes. “They remind me too much of myself. I, too, am a music box.”

  He smiled. “In a way, but they are inanimate objects.”

  “Ah, but before I met you I was only an object. Wind me up and I sing.”

  He grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the music box shop, wanting to tug her away from her abusive past.

  No sooner had he taken her away from the past when he was hit head-on by the present. While stopping for coffee at a small shop, a television attracted his attention. He paused to peer at the flat screen. When Angelique saw the headline she gasped.

  “Kidnapped!” the headline behind the news anchor reported against a backdrop of Angelique’s photograph. The camera panned from the anchorman to the Davidsons, who were being interviewed. Edwina swiped tears from her eyes, acting like a distraught mother and Mo as a distressed father. Edwina spoke of being protective of her ward, of Angelique’s naiveté and how she could be easily influenced and harmed. She swore Angelique would never leave on her own, but had to be coerced. She spoke of Angelique as being loving, trusting and happy with her life. An FBI agent joined in the discussion about how a search was underway to rescue the singer from her captor or captors. The use of force was not being ruled out. Bile rose in Brian’s throat and he swallowed hard. The Davidsons were convincing actors.

  Her grip on his hand tightened like a claw as her eyes glazed over with tears and fright. She stared at him like a doe seeking protection from hunters.

  “We’d better be heading back to the cottage,” he said, trying to mask his own apprehension and fear. He took a deep breath. The nightmare was beginning.

  Chapter 11

  Angelique knew the freedom she experienced at the cottage with Brian was short-lived. The interview was nearing completion and, so too, her escape. Like a person suffering from a terminal illness, she had the urge to make every moment count. Freedom was in the here and now. She took charge of the cottage, cleaning it, moving furniture, picking wildflowers and arranging them in vases throughout, and assisting Brian with preparing meals. She regaled in her newfound domesticity and fantasized about how it would feel to have her own home to care and fuss about. A real home was something she had always longed for. The cottage was as close as she had come to having one. He had made it possible.

  He taught her how to play cards. Evenings were filled with gin rummy and conversation over candlelight. Their talks made her feel alive. No one had ever cared to hear her thoughts, goals, and dreams before. Until she met Brian, no one ever listened to her or cared.

  “Thank you.” She looked up from her cards, fanning out her winning hand on the table.

  “For letting you win?” He laughed his robust laugh, smacking down his losing hand.

  “I play fair and square.”

  “I know. What else would I expect from someone who grew up in a convent.”

  “Where did you grow up?” she asked, folding her arms and leaning on the table. She peered into his dark eyes, wondering what past was hidden in their depths.

  “You don’t want to know.” He crinkled the space between his dark brows. She was reaching into forbidden territory.

  “But I do. You know just about everything about me, but I know nothing about you.”

  “I’m the reporter, remember?”

  “I won’t let you off that easily. There has to be some reason why you’ve spent so much of your life running away and flirting with danger.”

  “Very perceptive.” He lifted his cola can in a mock toast and took a hearty swig.

  “Even now you’re putting your life in jeopardy. Why do you keep taking risks?”

  “Because when I was a child I never was allowed to,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “From the moment I was born I was always frail and in poor health. The doctors never thought I’d make it past my first year. My parents, relatives, and their friends doted on me since they thought any day could be my last. I couldn’t play with other children for fear of infection. I couldn’t go anywhere, experience anything because, heaven forbid, I catch something and die. Actually, death would have been preferable.” He drew another swig of Coke.

  “My God, you were a prisoner, much like me,” she said, her surprise raising her voice a half octave. It was hard to imagine this tall man who was built like an athlete was ever anything, but healthy and strong.

  “Almost a prisoner. I was an only child, a boy, and heir to my father’s fortune, a weakling, a nerd, and an excuse for a son. I could see it in my father’s eyes as I was growing up. Other boys played football or soccer. All I had were doctor’s excuses for skipping gym class.”

  “But you grew out of it.”

  “Eventually. For some guys, puberty’s a curse. For me it was a blessing. It was late, but a blessing. During my junior year in high school, the asthma, the infections vanished as mysteriously as they came. I grew taller, gained weight, and strength. My attitude changed. I felt such freedom. I wanted to learn everything, do everything, experience everything. My parents didn’t understand. They thought I lost my mind. My mother thought she lost her son, the baby to be pitied and looked after. The baby had become a man and neither of them could understand how I really felt.” He drank the last of his cola and crushed the can in his hand.

  The emotion in his action didn’t go unnoticed. She could understand and she choked back tears.

  “Needless to say, I did get in trouble. I did spend a few nights in jail. My dad wasn’t into bailing out teenagers, but he was into teaching lessons. Instead of turning to a life of crime, I decided to go the other extreme. I found a way to escape. I decided to travel. Friends who were exchange students introduced me to a world far bigger than any I had ever known. I backpacked around the world during the summer after my senior year. I climbed mountains, hang-glided, base-jumped, slept in huts. I met people who looked different, spoke different languages, ate different foods, had uni
que philosophies and opinions, but were really the same, inside. It put a focus in my life. When I returned to the States, I decided to major in journalism. It was one way to support myself while experiencing life.”

  “Your father was probably relieved.”

  “Are you kidding? He went ballistic. I was supposed to major in business and enter corporate America, to follow in his footsteps at the manufacturing plant. Plastics weren’t my idea of adventure. I rebelled.”

  “Is he still angry?” she asked, entranced by his story.

  “He’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He waved away her comment. “No need. I made my peace with him before he died. In the end he seemed to understand my feelings.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She preceded him to the pearly gates. She meant well. They both meant well.”

  “You’re alone, too.”

  “I guess you can say that. No family. No time for friends.”

  “I hope I’m your friend.”

  He winked. “Only the best.”

  • • •

  Moonlight cast a blue glow over them while a canopy of stars twinkled like multi-faceted diamonds overhead. There was serenity in the night. Only the steady crashing of waves against the shore broke the silence. Every night after dinner Angelique looked forward to their casual walk on the deserted beach below the cottage. Strolling hand-in-hand with Brian had become a comfortable habit and the tranquil setting made her forget reality. She was secure in their private little world at Cape James.

  They walked on the edge of the foamy surf, their bare feet leaving imprints in the squishy sand, the curling waves washing them away. After the storm, the sky was dark and clear and stars sparkled like diamonds against a background of black velvet sky.

  Angelique tilted her face up to the heavens. The stars had never seemed so glittering and bright, the moon a glowing beacon. Being with Brian seemed to make everything brilliant and beautiful. He squeezed her shoulder with his free hand and stopped walking.

  “Just think,” he said. “These are the same stars I watched as a kid. I remember camping out in the Rockies during high school, zipped in my sleeping bag, looking up at the stars.”

  “And I was gazing out of a hotel window, wishing upon those stars, and dreaming.” Angelique smiled, tears forming. “I’ve never been so happy in my life and I have you to thank, Brian,” she said, breathing in the cool moist air, licking the salt on her lips.

  He gently squeezed her hand. “Yes, I’m happy, too.”

  “You are? You aren’t just saying that?”

  “No. I mean, yes, I am really happy. I thought I’d go crazy if I weren’t flying off on an adventure somewhere, anywhere. I never thought I could be content just staying in one place.” He stopped walking and looked down into her eyes. “I was wrong. Slowing down and settling down aren’t half bad. I used to face danger, not caring if I lived or died. While with you, I see being alive as precious. This whole experience has made me re-evaluate my life.”

  “I know how you feel. I thought happiness could only be found on a stage. I don’t need to sing to be happy. Singing is a part of me, but not all of me.”

  He looked up at the sky, shook his head and lowered his gaze to catch hers. “I’ve never bared my heart to anyone before.”

  “Not even to Stacey?” she asked, wondering about the woman he had discussed on previous occasions.

  He apparently caught the bite in her voice. “Stacey’s an interesting girl. It’s not the same.”

  “The same as what?” she asked,

  “The same as you,” he murmured, putting his hands on her shoulders and drawing her against him in an intimate embrace.

  “Oh, angel.” He sighed,

  The warmth of his body against hers made her giddy and weak. She grasped his waist with her hands to steady herself. He was solid like a sturdy oak. He lowered his head to bury his face in her hair, his warm breath caressing her neck. His scent of spice and sand and sea made her senses whirl. Her quickening heart and the lightheadedness, for all of their newness, was comforting. Being in his embrace was like being cuddled in a down comforter, cozy and secure. She squeezed her eyes shut wanting this feeling, this moment to last.

  “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. It cannot be,” he said, releasing her, and he walked on ahead.

  She chased after him, grabbing him by the arm. “Why not? Why can’t we be more than friends?”

  He turned to confront her, avoiding her eyes. “If it were only that simple. We are from totally different worlds.”

  “But we’ve united them. Can’t you see? While we’ve been together here we’ve been transformed. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone any more. I have discovered my true self. We’ve overcome our anxieties and our loneliness . . . together.”

  “This is fantasy. In reality, we lead two radically different lives,” he scoffed.

  “Brian,” she called. “You can’t run away from me.”

  He kept walking.

  She ran after him, her feet sinking in the sand, slowing her stride.

  He stopped and turned her way, cocking his head. “Don’t.”

  “What are you afraid of?” She plodded to his side, panting.

  “Of myself,” He faced her, frozen in his tracks. “This isn’t real. Two people alone in a cottage on a deserted beach isn’t real. In the real world things would be different. We probably wouldn’t even like each other. We can’t be more than friends.”

  “Why not? Brian, make love to me,” she said, tugging at his hand as he opened his eyes. “I want to know how it feels to be made love to.”

  • • •

  “Shh . . .” He muffled her words, placing his forefinger over her lips to hush her. He held her hand and led her back toward the cottage in silence. He was determined not to make love to her, but the thought had been on his mind ever since they had arrived.

  Didn’t she know how charming she was? The way she walked was temptation enough. Her arms and legs had the grace of a dancer, her narrow hips swaying with a natural rhythm. There was also the way she sat ever so close, her legs brushing against his, silently driving him mad. The way she subtly touched his arm as she spoke sent sparks flying. Her hair, like spun silk, held the scent of the ocean breeze, tempting him to bury his face in it. Her innocent smile hid a wholesome sexuality that came so naturally to her, she didn’t realize she had it. He noticed.

  Did she know how difficult it was for him to watch her vanish behind the closed bedroom door at night while he slept on the sofa? He could only dream about her curled into his grandmother’s featherbed, alone in the full four-poster.

  Yes, he wanted her. He could have taken her right there on the beach. She was willing, even eager. What was wrong with him? He used to try every trick in the book to get a woman in bed. Now he was using every bit of willpower to keep himself out. With Stacey everything had been so easy. No complications, no commitment. He didn’t need want commitment. Life was easier without them. Stacey had the voluptuous body, the skills of a vamp to tease, tempt, and titillate, and a bedside manner that had left him satiated, but for all their lovemaking, something had been absent. Angelique wasn’t Stacey. She was more than just for fun and the thought scared him. He wasn’t worthy of someone as decent as her. The idea of bedding her almost seemed sacrilegious.

  A whishing noise in the distance caught his ear. He pulled away, scanning the sky and beach in alarm.

  “That noise,” he said, eyes searching.

  “What noise?”

  “Shh . . .” He raised his hand and motioned for silence.

  The sound became more distinct.

  “Sounds like a motor,” Brian said. “Yet I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s getting louder.”

  “We’d better be heading back,” he said, a sudden urgency in his voice. He grasped her arm and began to walk fast, pulling her along.

  The whirring motor noise seemed to be g
aining momentum, breaking the evening’s silence.

  “It sounds like a helicopter, scanning the shoreline, looking for something.” He quickened his pace.

  “Looking for me?”

  “Perhaps. We have to get out of here . . . fast!”

  He led her toward a pile of tall, weathered boulders positioned like a fortress guarding the shoreline.

  “Over here!” He pointed to a narrow opening between the craggy rocks.

  He glanced back over her shoulder. A fishbowl helicopter was fast approaching from the rocky coast, the beam of its searchlight combing the water’s edge.

  “Crawl inside, as far as you can,” he ordered.

  She obeyed without hesitation. On hands and knees she crawled beneath the boulders and into the narrow crevice.

  The helicopter was gaining ground. The wide beam of its searchlight danced over the water, beach, and shore.

  Brian squeezed into the crevice, grabbing Angelique, covering her, protecting her.

  As the helicopter hovered overhead, the beam shone down like a spotlight over the boulders, casting irregular shadows dancing ghostlike around them.

  Brian held his breath as they cowered beneath the light and shadows.

  The motor noise died down as the helicopter moved farther down the coastline. Brian sighed. He knew the relief they shared would be short-lived.

  Chapter 12

  After returning, they left the cottage dark. No need to bring attention to their presence with lights, now that someone was out there patrolling. Seeking warmth and security, Angelique sat close to Brian on the sofa.

  As they cuddled together, she trembled with the fear of being discovered, of facing the Davidsons, of what would happen to Brian if he interfered. The whirring sound of the helicopter replayed in her mind like a broken record. Could the searchlight have really been aiming for her? This was one spotlight she didn’t seek. She peered into Brian’s eyes, seeking reassurance and comfort in their dark depths.

  “Do you think they were looking for us?”