Safari Moon

by Rogue Phoenix Press

  Safari Moon

  AnnChristine

  Published by Rogue Phoenix Press at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2009

  978-0-9820025-4-4

  Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

  Chapter One

  Wanted: A professional wildlife photographer to take pictures in the Alaskan wilderness. Experience first hand a real safari moon. Call(555)381-1252 or send resumes to 2286 Main, Suite 2D Bend, Oregon.

  Solo St. John was in the middle of an erotic dream about his buddy, Nyssa Harrington, when the click of his front door shutting brought him to instant alert mode.

  Solo looked up, caught a flashing glimpse of a good deal of naked flesh; long legs, perfectly rounded derriere, and a waist he could span with his hands. The intruder's long blond hair curled around her shoulders an inch above the ties of her bikini top.

  Then he saw the skunk. He blinked twice.

  This woman and the skunk were not the subject of his brief and very strange dream, a fantasy that made his mind speed along at sixty in a residential zone. This was someone he had never seen before and he resented the intrusion.

  "Hello," she cooed seductively from his living room. "Will you come out and play?"

  The skunk stuck a black and white head around the open door to his bedroom. A second later the animal turned and lifted his tail before disappearing into the living room.

  Solo was out of bed and pulling on his jeans before the count of five. Yet in that short time, the lady in question, along with the skunk that was now exploring his fireplace hearth, had taken over his living room.

  The lithe, supple blond sported an expensive camera, and all the while the lady in question babbled nonsense words.

  "I'm willing, able, and eager." She posed for him, a pose meant to entice.

  "You're insane?" He hesitated then said to the lady, "Get that animal out of here!"

  "I read the ad in the newspaper for a wildlife photographer, and I wanted to be the first one here." She smiled and tugged on a leash which was connected to the skunk. "Juniper is my pet. She's deperfumed or whatever."

  Pet?

  He had never, to his recollection, set eyes on this woman. Frozen stock-still in his bare feet between the bedroom and the living room of his rustic forest retreat in the hills outside Sisters, Oregon, Solo St. John was completely, utterly baffled.

  After all, he had placed the ad in a few of the most widely distributed papers in Oregon. That was two days ago. Yesterday, having second thoughts and knowing he didn't want to train an assistant, he pulled it. Although none of this made sense, instinctively, he knew she told the truth. The ad was the cause of this phenomenon in his cabin.

  "Come here and play." Posing seductively once again, she beckoned him with one slim index finger.

  Why didn't he want to play? Wouldn't any normal, warm-blooded American male dream of waking up to an almost naked blond bombshell in his living room? Wouldn't that male want to play?

  Why didn't he feel turned on and excited. Why didn't he fantasize about what would happen if he obeyed? All those lush curvaceous parts on display didn't interest him in the least.

  He closed his eyes for a brief count of three. No, this wasn't a dream and the slap on the face he gave himself didn't cause the vision to disappear. He still had a good view of long, shapely legs and a bust line that threatened to pop the seams of her minuscule top.

  "Lord." Only now, he realized he must have left his front door unlocked. He pulled his gaze from the fiasco on his hearth and reminded himself that a gentleman didn't stare.

  "Smile." She brought the camera up and clicked a sideways snapshot of him before she stepped back and captured a print of the skunk. "You did want someone who could photograph wildlife. Didn't you?"

  Solo raked a hand through short, ragged blond hair he knew had begun to stand on end. He didn't need this, and he was always hard pressed to put two and two together this late at night. He was a morning person, up before dawn. Even if he'd had all his wits about him, he wouldn't know how to politely rid himself of this strange intruder and her pet skunk.

  He didn't want to admit, even to himself, but it looked like she was disrobing. Stripping was a better term. All she needed were a pair of tassels and music.

  As he stepped forward in an attempt to stop her, she slipped off her top and twirling it around her index finger tossed it at him. The bikini bra flew past him and missed his nose by less than an inch. The bottoms landed squarely against his chest and slid down his body to land on his bare feet. Before he could reach her, she stood in front of him, all kinds of pale pink flesh revealed and waiting for him.

  "You didn't listen. I came to apply for the job--Solo."

  What job? Not the want ad he'd placed in the paper and then discarded. His mind whirled with questions, but it also automatically supplied a professional reply--appropriate for a job interview in his office, anyway. "And what do you think your qualifications are?"

  "Isn't it obvious?" she returned throwing her arms wide and puffing out her voluptuous breasts. She moved sideways, graced him with a profile that should have made him drool. Before he could respond, she held the camera to her eye and he heard rapid fire clicks of the shutter. "I can take sixty-five shots a minute," she told him breathily. "Among other things."

  With a great deal of effort, he tried not to look at the other things she referred to. Instead, he focused his gaze on Juniper. The skunk looked as out of place as he felt.

  Realizing he needed to get this lady and her props out of his house, sooner than later, Solo grabbed a knitted afghan from the couch.

  "Here." He held the cover in front of him with stiff arms and his eyes closed, though he'd already seen all her charms.

  "If you insist. You must know I can work under any conditions. I don't have any inhibitions." She shrugged off his offering and stared disdainfully at the clothes she'd discarded. "I mean, you do want your new assistant to be willing, able, and eager. Don't you, Solo? That is what the ad said."

  He didn't like the way she said his name so intimately. And he'd never mentioned anything about willing, able, and eager in his ad. His non-existent ad. "How did you find the cabin?"

  She purred. At least that was what he thought he heard.

  "Asked direction at the little grocery store down the road. Told the nice old lady behind the counter I was your fiancée and I wanted to surprise you. She thought that was the sweetest thing she'd ever heard."

  "Sweet?"

  "When I got here and found the front door unlocked, I walked in." She offered him a smug smile. "Well, do I get the job?"

  "I don't think so," he deadpanned.

  He was used to women throwing themselves at him. His tall frame and classic Roman features, coupled with the tan and wheat-blond hair he sported, he was told, made him irresistible to the opposite sex. He didn't pretend to understand why he was so often singled out, but he'd lived with it all his life. True, women had always flocked after him, but never before had anyone gone to such extreme lengths to impress him.

  He stepped farther from the fireplace, hoping to distance himself from the nightmarish situation. “Tell me, what kind of job do you think you’ve applied for?”

  “Your personal assistant. What else?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Well, I intend to give you all the fringe benefits of my perfect bod.” She moved her hips suggestively.

&
nbsp; “I haven’t asked for them,” he managed. “What makes you think I advertised for or want fringe benefits?”

  “You don’t have to play coy with me. I know what you want. I heard Colonel St. John say you liked aggressive women.”

  She didn’t have a clue. “I doubt that--” Solo paused then, "He said what?”

  “Oh, come on. You’re no different from any of the male species these days. One track mind and all. Sex...sex...sex with a capital X.” She fluttered her eyes lashes. “I even had my boobs improved. Just for you.”

  In two days? Impossible, he thought desperately. What could he have put in that damn want ad to provoke this insane stunt?

  “Look at my boobs,” she coaxed. “Don’t you think they’re perfect? I had a butt lift too.”

  His gaze flashed to her gargantuan breasts then dropped to her derriere, which he hadn’t looked at before. He’d been occupied elsewhere. But, no, he didn’t see anything special about any part of her anatomy.

  “Kitty Kollier.” She extended her hand while she moistened her lips with her pink tongue. Finally, almost defiantly, she grabbed the afghan but did nothing with it. “My credentials are impeccable. I’ve never been fired from a job in my life. Surely you can hire me. I promise you won’t regret a minute.”

  He already did. “I don’t think you understand what the job requires.” He tried to take the sting out of the inevitable rejection. In Alaska there would be little time for the kind of hanky-panky she had in mind. “I need an assistant, true. But I need someone who can develop film and keep records. They need to be quiet, on demand, and awake at all hours of the night.” Was he digging himself an early grave?

  “You do remember my qualifications, don’t you?” She peered at him with pale, empty blue eyes that hid, he felt sure, an IQ no larger than her new, surgically improved bust line. Which gave her quite a span of numbers to work with.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  She smiled demurely. Or what someone named Kitty’s version of demure looked like, at any rate. “Your ad already did--spell it out. Willing--eager--able. That’s me.” She sidled closer, a long manicured, fake fingernail pointed at him. Idly, she ran the hard tip down his naked chest. He had the impression she intended playing with him.

  Solo reminded himself he wasn’t her toy mouse. He reached for her hand, grabbing it in one swift move in order to push her away. She pursed her lips in a calculated little pout. He didn’t know what she’d read but he wasn’t about to keep her in his house a minute longer.

  His normal mode of behavior was to avoid scenes at any cost, but this time he didn’t see that he had a choice. This woman did not understand any subtle hint he might dish out. Keeping his distance the best he could, he bent to pick up her bikini from the floor. “I’m not hiring you. Do you have any other clothes?”

  “But, Solo...”

  She fluttered her lashes in what he hoped would be her last effort. The work she put into the flirtation almost caused her to drop her blanket. Holding the material with one hand at her chest, she let the sides of it slide apart barely keeping her breasts covered. Then she pushed her shoulder forward in a blatant display, obviously trying to attract him.

  “I heard you needed someone, and...” Her words were as artificial as the woman herself. “You weren’t advertising for a personal assistant, but you wanted to settle down with someone special. The ad was a cover.”

  Solo’s feet froze to the braided rug. “You heard what?”

  “You were too shy to put something in the personal section, but you really looked for a wife. I was told you planned to interview all the applicants and see what they had to offer.” She cooed. “That’s just so cute, that a guy like you would be so shy when it comes to...well, you know...sex. Like I told you...”

  “You’re willing, eager, and able,” he finished for her.

  She giggled. “So I thought...why not be the first in line and give poor, needy Solo what he wants?”

  “My imagination is working overtime.” He groaned. “Where did you find the want ad?”

  “In the office at the Bend Bulletin. All the secretaries ooed and aahed over the little thing when I came into advertise for my garage sale. One of them told another that the grapevine had the story, by way of Colonel St. John, that you burned for a wife.”

  “Burned? My grandfather let the staff know I needed a wife. I burned? What the devil did that mean?”

  “He meant desperate. At least that’s what I thought.”

  He should have figured this out. A naked woman in his living room. Midnight, or it had been at his last calculation, and his grandfather knew he’d be at home. He sent her, or as good as suggested she come at this hour.

  What kind of ad had his grandfather substituted for the one he’d taken out? Solo didn’t want to wait until the morning delivery to find out. Obviously the news spread faster than the paper.

  His grandfather was incorrigible. The Colonel had been after him for the last seven years to provide an heir to his newspaper dynasty. A dynasty that stretched from New York to D.C. and headed west to Los Angeles. Colonel St. John didn’t own any papers in Oregon but he had clout. His grandfather had been hot and heavy on his heels ever since he discovered that he, Solo St. John, had no intention of following in his grandfather’s journalistic footsteps.

  “So when I heard how much you needed someone, I came on the run.” Kitty grinned coquettishly at him. “After all, I could do all the things in the want ad better than anyone else.”

  From what he’d heard and what he’d been able to piece together, that didn’t bode well for the want ad. “I’m sorry you drove all the way out here and put so much effort into this interview, but you’re not what I need. I’m going to photograph wolves in Alaska. The wilderness is no place for someone so tender and fragile as yourself.” He scanned the floor in an attempt to locate her clothes. She could not have hiked all the way from the road to his cabin in her bikini. “And--my grandfather is mistaken if he thinks he can choose a wife for me. I am not in the market for a wife.”

  “But--” she began, as he pointed to the front door.

  “I want you out of here in the next five minutes.” He said each word distinctly and so clear there could be no misinterpretation.

  “I’ll have to walk down the mountain in the dark.”

  “You should have thought of that when you walked up. If you don’t have a flashlight, I’ll lend you one. You can leave it in the mailbox at the end of the trail. Just don’t leave the skunk.”

  He shoved the jeans and T-shirt he’d found on the couch at her. “I assume these are yours.”

  “Mine...”

  A poignant silence followed. “Have a nice hike,” he offered for lack of something else to say. Hope I never see you again didn’t seem an appropriate good-bye at the moment, although those words were definitely on his mind.

  “W-Well...” she stuttered once then stopped abruptly. “You’re the most impolite man I’ve ever run across.”

  Even though it seemed politically correct to point out there was nothing polite about breaking into someone's home in the middle of the night, he stopped himself. But he couldn’t help a mutter-or-two under his breath. “Don’t ever come back,” as he watched her close the door behind her.

  His only prayer at this point was that she’d march back to his grandfather’s office in Bend and tell everyone how rude he was, and that he was not in the marriage market. It was only a prayer though, and he didn’t have much hope in its fulfillment.

  Solo still couldn’t believe his grandfather had doctored his ad--an ad he’d withdrawn--to imply he needed eager, willing, and able female company. Even for his grandfather, this pushed the edge of acceptability.