by Judy Jarvie
“We’re done then,” she said trying to remain as aloof and vampish as she could even though he was almost making her shake in a heady mix of the cool night air and the proximity of a red hot man. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you going to give me your number first?” Nick took his phone from his pocket. After punching in her number Nick re-pocketed the phone then watched her with a gaze that turned her muscles weak. “I intend to take you somewhere special tomorrow. I have a lot of sucking up to do since I’ve upset you so much. There’s only one way to convince you I’m worth cancelling for and that’s pull all the stops out,” Nick put her hands around his neck. His Adams apple bobbed as again he pulled her to him. “Just happens I’m good at doing that.”
Nick’s fingers propelled her forward, his arms encircled her shoulders, fingers trailed up to her neck. He smelled of clean shirt, shower fresh male and warm hot hormones wrapped up to keep out the Scottish chills. She found she liked it.
He then placed a kiss on the edge of her lip. Sparks went off anew. It was a kiss hotter, sweeter than syrup on a tin plate in a heat wave.
He reached down to take her lapels and kissed her again, mouth opening against mouth, tongue seeking, affirming, underlining just how great in bed he’d be. His kisses ignited. Sending sparks off at tangents, coursing through her veins and filling her abdomen with warm darts of pulsating pleasure. Her sex swelled, the heat mounted. Climbing, promising a great view from the summit.
He had impact on her physically there was no denying it. And surely she couldn’t be imagining this much chemistry in action? Surely he felt it too?
“Still not interested?” his voice was rusty.
Nick Palmer could kiss like a ninja-trained hit squad put on the job as an urgent priority assignment.
Was this what Kirsty talked about?
Silence fell. A pause that was pregnant with triplets. So pregnant it was about to break its waters and start yelling at the midwife and swearing to its husband that he’d never be allowed near her again.
Eventually she answered. “Consider it a pardon.”
“You’re so hard to walk away from … I’ll call you,” he groaned into her hair with a smile. “I have to get back to my hotel now. I have obligations to my family. Until tomorrow.” He grinned, probably seeing the stars of recovery in her eyes.
Ailsa felt her head spin. She turned and walked away briskly towards the house, heat searing between her legs from his touch. Not wanting to lose the upper hand she called back, “I’ll still have to check my jam-packed hot-date encrusted calendar. Before you run away with the idea it’s a dead cert.”
She’d walked with purpose. Felt Nick’s gaze follow her and it felt great. She then heard the low chocolate velvet of his laughter.
Work it girl. You’re good. Make him want it.
“Sweet dreams. Mine will be filled with thoughts of you,” he called.
Somehow she figured she’d played her sister’s instructions as she’d been meant to. And even when she went through the French navy blue painted front door of the house she shared with Lisa she could still feel the tingles from Nick’s kiss.
She was also wondering how she’d really have coped if he’d said yes and followed her inside?
Ailsa closed the door. She could hear Lisa and Andy partying in the living room. She tried to regulate her breathing post kissing with Nick and stem the smile he’d caused. He turned her knees to jelly; made her bones liquefy. And too ably he succeeded at persuasion alchemy that turned her ethics into mush.
Her New Year Plan for a new improved strident Ailsa had begun. And just because it scared her so silly she couldn’t walk straight what the heck did that matter anyway?
***
A party. A lot to drink. The passenger seat of Nick’s car. Memories from her last days in London came back to Ailsa in a sickly flood. Even in her darkened bedroom Ailsa found her complexion heating remembering.
Lying alone and still wide awake at past two a.m. her face found no comfort on the smooth cotton pillow. Ailsa remembered the angsty feelings of being nineteen; so keen to impress the world but so in awe of her peers.
So keen to be noticed by Nick Palmer. Cringe; cue disaster.
Back then she couldn’t wait to break free from her Scottish roots and head to the bright lights of London to study; she’d needed an escape. Wasn’t London’s West End the place for any actor looking for an apprenticeship treading the boards?
When her Recruitment Consultant cousin promised her temping at a luxury hotel part time to boost her student funds she jumped at it. From day one the job’s allure paled next to her boss. It proved to be a year of longing, hoping, wishing.
And the company Christmas Party felt like her one chance to shine in front of Nick. She’d bought contact lenses. She’d experimented with bronzer. She’d practiced on the high heeled eye popper shoes. She was as ready as she could be.
So she’d sipped spritzer cocktails, watched from afar. Admired the easy way he chatted. A few attempts at conversation one to one were amiable enough but invariably someone joined them and upset the mix.
She was buoyed up beyond belief when they finally danced but halfway through they were interrupted by Delia from Accounts who’d made no secrets of her lust and was wearing a festive red satin body-conscious dress to prove it. With an eye-roll Nick let Ailsa go and proceeded to dance to Slade like he was enjoying it.
Fast forward to her ride home by which time the spritzers worked their magic on her inhibitions.
“Nick, you know I love working with you,” she’d mumbled the confession.
By now she couldn’t see the pelican crossing they’d just passed (a hazy blur – why did she drink the hard stuff at all?)
“But you want to act, that’s your dream. I figured the secretarial temping was just a stop gap?”
“I like working for you even better than my course. I think it’s you that’s the attraction though.”
Two London double decker buses, both bright pink, passed by. Driven by elephants with party hooters.
“Me?” He looked at her like she was about to have a breakdown.
“I love the job. You, I love it all. I love you most.”
He paused. Checked his rear view, his watch, glanced up with those deep blue eyes (flecked with topaz to drive her crazy). Eyes she wanted to look into and see him near her for the kiss she needed so badly.
It didn’t happen.
“Do you like me, Nick?” She remembered they were sitting at the junction, about to pass Hyde Park. His eyes didn’t even flick to her, they stayed on the road.
“You’re great, Ailsa. But I find it best never to blur the lines of professional and personal with colleagues. I hope that straightens things for you.”
Deep breath. Big gulp. One, two, three and go…
“I’d love to have an affair with you. A no-strings one, I honestly wouldn’t mind,” she blurted. “I’ve fancied you since I first met you. Working with you drives me crazy.”
“Again, that’s really not a good idea. Perhaps we should speak to H.R. about a transfer to another section?”
His eyes were a solemn unequivocal warning. “I don’t do affairs at work.”
Ailsa gasped.
Wow, all that pent up tension and preparation and personal challenge had made her world spin. Literally.
And Nick was just watching her in a very odd fashion that wasn’t the desired effect at all. Ailsa felt her skin turn green, sweat trickle, her head spin. It wasn’t a good moment.
And then she was unceremoniously ill out of Nick Palmer’s Mercedes window. As seductions went this was her private Room 101.
But the following morning it hadn’t seemed remotely important. After the phone call about Kirsty’s accident. And she’d never suffered the cringe-factor of working with Nick again because she’d left without working notice. After Kirsty’s coma nothing seemed as important as her sister pulling through.
Of course she didn’t ever regain cons
ciousness. And Ailsa never returned to London or her studies again.
For many years now she’d thought her brief time in London had been the worst decision of her life. She’d wasted the last months of Kirsty’s life somewhere she should never have been.
A city who’s only saving grace was a man who barely registered she existed. And now he was back in her life offering to sleep with her.
And yet she was telling herself Kirsty was communicating from the afterlife. Telling herself she had a right to take the lead with Nick. Did her humiliation know no bounds?
Should she dispel and squash the crazy notions? Was she crazy?
Or crazy not to take Kirsty’s advice and the leap for one unforgettable night with a man who still mattered?
***
Nick shrugged at the turn of tonight’s events as he flicked the key card and unlocked his suite door, wishing he had the morals of a slug instead of the ideals of a saint. He’d resisted, played the gentleman, treated Ailsa with gallant respect.
But missed out on a great start to his New Year.
So that in the morning he’d be there for Sally (it was the anniversary of the sad day she’d said yes to her love rat husband. The one who’d now shacked up with somebody else).
“Hey Sal, it’s me,” Nick put a call through to Sally’s room even though it was early hours of the morning. He knew she’d be up being a night owl. “Okay?”
“Reading and skyping on the computer to The States.” Sally trained as a chef in America and still had a lot of good friends there. “I watched New Year on the news, it looked fun. Good night, Nick?” She sounded muffled. Like she’d been sleeping, or crying. Maybe both?
“Did you talk to Mum?”
“Yep. She’s fine and wishes you a Happy New Year. Then I ordered nachos, watched a movie.”
“The Street Party was busy. You might’ve enjoyed it. Wish you’d been out there with me.” Then again he’d never have chanced his arm with Ailsa with his sister there. And that would’ve been a loss. “Still suffering the insomnia? Why don’t you take those herbal tablets I bought you?”
“Yes, I’ll take them, I promised didn’t I? I think I’ll turn in now,” he heard her stifle a yawn. “Glad you enjoyed it. Night Nick. Thanks for booking the hotel as a surprise for me.”
Sally’s line clicked and she was gone.
As much as Nick loved his sister, he’d given up a night of sensual hedonistic pleasure with the woman of his fantasies for a three response conversation.
But at least Sally wasn’t swinging from the ceiling in grief. At least she’d had one of the best hotels in Edinburgh to make up for having the worst husband in the world walk out on her. And at least she’d have a newly decorated apartment to return to; one that wouldn’t be so full of memories of the past.
Nick replaced the handset then fired up his laptop and sent an email for Jake for the morning. An email was already in his inbox – Dad. Happy New Year. I miss u lots. Beat Mark @ pool. He’s not as good as you, Jake
Nick felt jolted by the realisation of missing him. And he was privately glad he was better at something than Mark.
Nick undressed quickly then jumped into the shower which even boasted an in-shower TV. He let the images lull him into submission. Until something pulled his attention right to the screen.
Long look-back legs. A skirt that left little to the imagination. A blouse that did everything to encourage a second glance. Red hair: loose, fiery. And the come to bed looks of a siren.
His shower suddenly felt hotter than the Sahara.
Finding enough oxygen to breathe became a challenge. Wow.
“Why not get as comfortable as I am?” asked Ailsa. Lips glossed and glistening; lips he’d kissed that night. He groaned.
“Oh no.” Nick turned the screen off as primal arousal caused him personal discomfort.
He had the luxurious suite, the Super King Jacuzzi, the bed the size of Loch Ness and nothing more than a TV date.
“Sweet dreams,” Nick whispered. “Tomorrow Ailsa, you’ve got yourself a date. And this one won’t be a wash out.”
***
“Hello, this is Nick. I’m calling to invite you out to dinner and I’ve taken the liberty of making reservations.”
When Nick called the next day, as promised, Ailsa’s nerve endings did sexy jazz tap moves as she clutched the phone and endeavoured to sound cool.
He’d said he’d call. Why hadn’t she believed him?
Why had she thought it was a line?
“Sure of yourself aren’t you?” she said, keeping her smile under-wraps and out of her voice. Surely she should still be mad with him, right?
“I’m not a man who takes no for an answer. Plus I happen to be pulling out those stops as promised,” he added. Tone sexy as finest Swiss chocolate ganache supped from a solid gold spoon.
“Not sure I can risk it. You blow hot and cold on me, Mr Palmer.”
“But tonight will be different,” he answered in dulcet tones. “We’ll have dinner, room service. Spend some quality time. Enticement, flirtation, maybe sizzle?”
His voice alone could have been triple X rated, sexy and deep. Assuring her that he was still keen and ready. Already her pulse was jack-hammering.
“Have you received your special delivery yet?” he probed.
“What?” Ailsa was puzzled. She’d no idea what he was talking about.
“It should be outside your front door right about now.”
As if on cue the doorbell chimed. Her heart upped tempo.
“You’ll have to give me a moment.”
“Take all the time you need.” She detected the smile in Nick’s voice; Ailsa put down the phone and answered the door.
She found a delivery boy wearing a hotel livery suit. He thrust forward a large black and scarlet polka dot box and asked her to sign his gadget. The box was tied with an uber shiny scarlet bow. Once inside the flat she opened it only to find a massive silver helium balloon inside. Its calligraphy script invited – Tonight at 8pm – Be Ready To Rock!
Nestled within the silver and see-through balloon was a mass of scarlet, black and silver streamers and glittery stars. Right at the bottom of the box was a boxed chocolate heart that read – Trust me, Sofa Girl.
As gestures went his was pretty awe-inspiring. Especially as New Year was a holiday. A custom made balloon with no notice would take persuasion.
Ailsa still kept her cool, and summoned Kirsty’s mantras. She wasn’t about to feel intimidated by his suave seduction techniques or his wealth.
“So you’re suggesting eight,” she said without a hint of excitement.
“Indeed. My, you’re a hard woman to impress,” he answered softly. “Or a cool customer.”
“I’ve checked my diary. Consulted my agent. Crossed out a few dates and since you’re so pushy I’m giving in but one wrong move and I’ll be home in a cab before you can say ‘waste of mascara and take me to the nearest cocktail bar’.” She tried not to smile. “And I mean that. So don’t test me.”
There was more chance of Ailsa settling in for a night solo with the TV remote than a cocktail bar but he didn’t have to know that.
Nick’s voice was a sexy rumble. “I’ll make you a Nick Palmer special Cosmopolitan myself. The place we’re going is rather well equipped and very private. It can provide anything you’d care to dream of. Sound like a fair deal?”
“Sounds okay. Though I think I’d prefer sex on the beach,” she added just to be ultra provocative.
“Maybe not in Scotland at this time of year. But who knows what we could work on for some other time.”
He was enticing her more with every sentence. And making her toes curl to know more.
Where were they going? She itched to ask. But wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of acting so easy to please.
The very thought of personally serviced cocktails from a shirtless waiter styled Nick verged on a sizzle fest in itself but she wasn’t about to admit it. She looked do
wn at herself then sighed.
Who was she kidding with the vamp tactics? He probably still thought she was racy by nature. In reality when the phone rang she’d been making omelettes in giant mice slippers and flamingo pink thermal pyjamas (not such a good look under scrutiny).
Nick told her he’d send round a cab later but she refused. She told him she wanted to meet him at the venue. After a few tries to evade her demands he gave in. “Meet me in the lobby of Chez Angelle.”.
She hung up realising all the time they’d talked she’d managed to sound restrained, cool, aloof. And Chez Angelle was the amazing boutique select hotel and eaterie of choice. Dignitaries and hot celebs visiting Edinburgh always insisted on staying there. Wow, Nick did have contacts.
And he knew how to use them.
He was shaping up as the perfect Seduction Victim of choice.
***
It was only when Ailsa opened the doors to her wardrobe that she was in for a let down in her fantasy version of what the evening ahead would hold. She wished she’d thought about clothes a little earlier. Her wardrobe was seriously lacking in ‘va va voom’ and all the stores in the city were shut.
Bad timing alert.
Sensible black and navy appeared in abundance. Classic cut shirts showed themselves in plentiful supply. Skirts were knee or calf length, trousers sensible kick flare. No hot rock chick glam. No micro minis. Not a snakeskin jacket and trousers to be seen. She must go out and shop more adventurously in future. She went to Lisa’s room and was gratified to find that Andy wasn’t there.
“Lisa, I need help. I have a date with Nick tonight and I’ve nothing to wear.”
Lisa looked instantly interested. “I guess last night didn’t work out? At first I thought you two were upstairs together for private time. Then I realised you were solo. What happened?”
“He had to leave. But he’s asked me to go on a date tonight instead. I should’ve said no but I’ve given him a final chance. Crazy huh?”
Lisa waggled her eyebrows. “Most women would give a man that handsome any amount of chances he wanted. You like him though, don’t you? He’s definitely a good looking plunge into the dating pool.”
“I do like him.” Yet she was biting her lip and going round in inner circles of thoughts analysis.