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Loose Id, LLC
www.loose-id.com
Copyright ©
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Tuesday Morrigan
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Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Loose Id LLC
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Chapter One
Other Side of the World
Sophia lifted her head swiftly at the sound of her name. Until then she hadn't realized she had company. She peered through the thick lenses of her glasses until she saw the source of the voice.
Her mother.
All thoughts of a relatively good day disappeared. With her mom around, things were guaranteed to be more complicated than normal. And Sophia did not like complications.
She took a sip from her peppermint mocha with an extra shot of espresso and watched her mother make her way over to her.
"How is my favorite piece of work doing?” Sarah asked as she wrapped her arms around Sophia.
Sophia grimaced as she thought of her mother's latest piece of art. The sculpture had been in her gallery for less than a month. She stepped back from her mother and readjusted her glasses. Normally, she wore contacts, but because of a long night and an early morning she hadn't put them in. “Your Catalina has already gathered the interest of a number of serious buyers. I'm sure with time, another week, at the most a month, I will be able to make a sale."
Sarah shook her head. “I wasn't talking about the piece, Sophia. I was talking about you."
"Oh,” Sophia whispered, unsure how to answer her mother. She knew she had hurt her mom with her response, but she didn't know how to tell Sarah that she hadn't once considered she was speaking about anything other than her latest sculpture. Sarah always referred to her latest piece of work as her favorite.
Sarah reached out and patted Sophia's shoulder. “I just came to see how your latest trip went."
Sophia gave her a slow smile. “I finally managed to convince Craig Maguire to give me his Blossom Collection."
Sarah grinned back at her. “That's a big coup. You've been trying to get him to sign those pieces over since he started the first piece."
"Yes,” she admitted. Sophia initially spotted it at a dinner party where both her parents and stepparents were present. Maguire was simply showing his work to his artist friends. Sophia took one look at the still-unfinished multimedia photograph and knew it had to be part of her still-growing gallery. That had been over eight months ago.
"It's a pinnacle collection,” Sarah murmured.
"It is,” Sophia admitted. The Blossom Collection was the kind of compilation she had been waiting for since she started her gallery five years ago. She had started her gallery when she was barely twenty-four. It had been a gutsy move, even with her incredible background, but she had known it was time. She'd grown up around accomplished artists, so she knew a great piece when she saw one. Sophia had gone on to hone her skills at New York University's School of Art where she received a degree in fine arts. Her first pieces had come from her family members. The only one in the Feathermoore family without any artistic talent, Sophia had been entrusted with numerous pieces from her mother, stepfather, father, stepmother, and an endless array of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Once word had gotten out about how well and quickly she sold those pieces, she was able to convince a number of unrelated artists to sign their pieces with her.
She hoped that with some more hard work and a number of years, the Feathermoore Gallery would be a regional name.
"Would you like something to drink?” She turned around and made her way to her office.
"Thought you would never ask. I'm parched."
"Will water do?"
"Yes."
Sophia stopped in front of her assistant's desk. “Could you get us a bottle of water, Jennifer?” she asked, before striding into her office.
Knowing that Jennifer would be walking into the room any second, Sophia didn't bother to close the door behind her. She gestured to one of the lushly padded seats in front of her desk and took her own chair. She started feeling comfortable the moment she took her seat.
"How is your latest piece doing, Mother?"
"It's coming along. I'm sure it will turn out to be a waste of time once I'm finished, but I can't stop now."
Sophia smiled. She had been through the same conversation a thousand times before. Whether her mother or her other clients, every artist seemed to hate their work right until it was finished. A good number despised it after that.
"I'm sure it will be beautiful,” she murmured before taking a sip of her mocha.
"Enough about me. Tell me, did you enjoy New York?"
"Yes, I did,” she said with a sigh. Unfortunately, I did not enjoy it enough.
"I know you only went for a week, but did you get the chance to do some sightseeing?"
Sophia shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. The best I could do was asking the cabbie to drive around Central Park for a few minutes."
"Did you meet up with any of your college friends?"
"No,” she admitted. There had been no point in calling people to let them know she was in town because her schedule was jam-packed with business.
"How about any new friends?” Sarah purred softly.
Sophia slowly lowered her disposable cup at the sensual sound. “And who would this new friend be?” she asked, even though she knew it was best not to indulge her mother.
"Why, your retrieval expert!” she exclaimed with a large smile.
Sophia closed her eyes and counted to three. She greatly regretted even mentioning the man to her mother, but Sarah had been more than politely curious about the number of trips Sophia had started taking. Sophia had been forced to tell her mother that she was a consultant for an art retrieval specialist in New York.
"Mr. Westwick is just a business associate.” Unfortunately.
Sarah waved her hands in front of Sophia. “Well, of course he is. You're hiding out over here in California and then when you do go to his coast you refuse to call him up."
"You make it sound as though I'm avoiding something. We're simply colleagues. The only thing we have in common is art."
Sarah shook her head. “And that's not enough? You two have passion for art in common. Trust me when I say that's plenty."
&n
bsp; "Maybe for a sculptor,” Sophia said with a sigh, “but I need a little something more for a relationship.” As far as Sophia knew, all her mother's lovers had been artists. She knew for a fact that Sarah's last three husbands had been artists, the first a painter, the second a musician, and her latest a multimedia sculptor. For Sarah, passion for art was the only requirement for a relationship.
But Sophia was not an artist; she had been drawn to the business side of art. She could not base her whole relationship on it. She wanted to be with someone who appreciated her more than he loved the potential of his blank canvas. Westwick wasn't an artist, but that didn't mean he wasn't driven by art.
"Since when are you concerned with my love life?” Sophia asked with a soft laugh. All her life her mother had played the part of an irresponsible, lovesick woman. Granted things had changed since her last marriage. Sarah seemed to have settled down, but she'd only been married three years.
Her longest marriage, to Sophia's father, had only lasted five.
"If I tell you something, do you promise not to call the paramedics?"
Sophia stilled, surprised by the tender tone of her mother's words.
"Or my therapist?"
"Yes."
"I've started to think about grandkids."
Sophia swallowed thickly. She did not like where the conversation was headed. Not one bit.
Sarah turned and looked out Sophia's grand window. “I look at you and think, ‘She'll make a great mother. Nothing like me.’ But then I worry you'll never find the right man."
"Uh...” Sophia stammered, unsure what to say in response. Her mother didn't like to admit she was over forty. The very concept of her thinking about being a grandmother was mind-boggling.
Jennifer chose to appear then. She knocked lightly on the door and handed Sarah a cold bottle of water. Sophia smiled at the woman in gratitude. She always did have great timing.
Unfortunately, the interruption did not dissuade Sarah from her chosen topic. The moment Jennifer closed the door behind her, giving them privacy, she continued speaking. “The thing is you only care about art. It's the only thing that gets you going. I suppose it's all my fault. Our fault actually, your father's and mine."
"What do you mean?"
Sarah turned and caught her gaze. A gentle smile spread across her lovely face that told Sophia she was thinking of a time long gone. “I used to love those conversations we had about the history of specific pieces. I would weave these fairy tales about knights and ladies, noblemen and genteel ladies, and even the artists themselves."
A sigh of utter exhaustion escaped Sarah's lips. “I'm pretty sure you're looking for a knight. Unfortunately, shining armor is not popular among today's men."
"I am not looking for a knight."
"So you are not looking for some fantasy man?"
The image of the file she had on Fantasy Man popped into her mind. Sophia pushed it away, telling herself nothing separated Fantasy Man from her remaining clients. She kept files on everyone, compiling e-mails, letters, and any other information she'd gained from her clients to be fully aware of what they needed from her and how best to fulfill their desires. The only difference was she titled his file “Fantasy Man.” She cleared her throat and regarded her mother. “I know you guys don't think I live in the real world, but I'm not waiting for some fantasy man to whisk me off my feet."
"So tell me about this guy in New York?"
"I-I, uh..."
The phone rang at that moment, disturbing Sophia's already-chaotic thoughts. She glanced at her mother and then the phone. Relieved for the interruption, Sophia reached for the phone. “Excuse me, Mom.” She glanced at the receiver. The red flashing light told her the call was coming from her assistant. “It's Jennifer."
"Ms. Feathermoore, Mr. Westwick is on line one."
Fantasy Man was calling. “I'm going to have to take this."
Sarah smirked. “Is that him, your colleague from New York?"
Sophia felt a blush coming up her body, but she staved if off to keep her professionalism. Even though she fantasized about the man, Westwick was still a client. One of her most important. “I really must take this call, Mom."
"Fine, keep your secret. I'll see you later.” Sarah stood and strode to the door. She opened it and looked over her shoulder. “Remember the family dinner this Friday. I won't take no for an answer."
Sophia didn't bother to respond. There was no point. She was going to be at dinner Friday. Sarah had pretty much demanded it. Sophia waited until her mother had left the room before placing the receiver to her ear. She took a deep, calming breath before pressing the Connection button.
"Ms. Feathermoore?” Her heart knocked against her chest at the sound of his distinctive, gruff voice.
"Yes, Mr. Westwick,” she replied as calmly as possible.
"I hear I missed you."
She felt her heart skip a beat at his words. Everything he said affected her cardiovascular system, always had, since he had first murmured her name over eighteen months ago. “What do you mean, Mr. Westwick?” she asked.
"You came to my coast and didn't give me a call. I missed you."
She sucked in a deep breath at the way he said those last few words. As if he meant them.
"Did you even think about calling me?"
Sophia blinked hard at the question. There was a distinctive, seductive drawl to his words that had not been there before. If Sophia didn't know any better, she would swear he was flirting with her.
She glanced at her reflection on her computer screen. No one ever flirted with her.
No one except Fantasy Man. She could no longer deny the attraction between them. For the last few months, she'd tried to convince herself that she was imagining the flirtatious tone to his e-mails and voice mails. She fingered the collar of her button-up blouse, wondering if she needed to open a window.
The sad part was she had considered calling him while she was in New York. To be honest, she had dialed his number countless times only to hang up before the first ring.
"Can I ask you something, Sophia?"
She nodded her head before she realized he couldn't see her. “Yes,” she breathed out.
"Are you the kind of woman to make a man chase her down, or are you just hard to get?"
She stared at her computer screen, too flabbergasted to respond. She would not, in a million years, consider herself hard to get. She was hard to notice and difficult to understand, but she was not “hard to get."
He must have taken her silence for admittance, because Westwick continued speaking as though he had not thrown her for an utter loop with his statement. “I suppose it's a good thing I'm coming to your neck of the woods."
She swallowed thickly and replayed his words in her mind. When Sophia was sure she had not misheard him, she spoke. “Excuse me?"
"I've got a new case. This one is taking me to the beautiful, exotic city of San Francisco."
She tightened her grip on the phone and reminded herself to breathe. “Really?"
"Yes, and I'm going to need your help on this one."
"Another consultation?” She felt her heart rate pick up speed. There was something intoxicating about working with Fantasy Man. It wasn't only that he asked her to find the kind of art that always called to her. There was something alluring about the very missions he sent her on. They were never routine, always fascinating. Not once had they failed to call to something deep inside of her. Then there was the pleasure of their conversations.
"Yes."
She felt her pulse rate drop into the danger range. The simple way he had uttered the word took her to new heights of sensual excitement. A consultation should not have gotten her so hot and bothered, but with Westwick, the unimaginable was possible.
He was after all her living, breathing Fantasy Man.
"But this one is going to have to be conducted differently."
She smiled and absently fingered her computer mouse. She liked different. “Mr. Wes
twick, how will this one be any different from our other associations?” Sophia fairly purred the words, she was so pleased.
"This time we're going to meet in person."
She blinked hard at the computer screen as her muscles went rigid with tension. He wanted to meet her? Sophia's highly intelligent brain could not process the single fact. He could not want to meet her.
"I could just e-mail you the information you require."
He paused. “Why do I get the feeling you don't want to meet me?” he asked softly, but there was nothing tender about his voice. Sophia got the distinct feeling she was close to angering a great, savage beast.
"It's not that I don't want to meet you...” Au contraire, there was nothing she would rather do. She just didn't think it would be for the best. The mystery that surrounded the man was a large part of her attraction to Ansley Westwick. If she met him reality would intrude. And reality was never as satisfying as the fantasy.
"Or is it that you don't want me to meet you?"
That was the other reason she didn't want to meet the very charismatic Ansley Westwick. Sophia was well aware of her attributes. She was no great beauty, and she didn't have a larger than life personality. She was, at best, simple. Ansley would no doubt be disappointed with her. She fingered the faux antique phone's cord. “Why would you say that?” she asked softly.
"Hmmm,” he murmured. “It might have something to do with the way you're avoiding meeting me."
"I'm not avoiding meeting you. I'm just—"
"Good. How does Tuesday at seven thirty sound? I'm sending you the address of a coffee shop in the area I've always wanted to check out. We can meet there. It's in the neighborhood of your gallery, so there should be no problem."
She glanced at her desk calendar. It was Monday. “Tuesday as in this Tuesday?"
"Yes, at seven thirty,” he said doggedly. “That should give you enough time to close the gallery."
She wondered how he knew what time her gallery closed. And then she realized he must have garnered the information from her Web site.
"Tuesday at seven thirty sounds perfect,” Sophia said, resigned to the inevitable. She was going to meet Fantasy Man. She just hoped he wasn't disappointed.
Fantasy Man Page 1