'No one's laughing. I'm sorry you've been ill, but I'm not sorry I met Charles. I'm certainly not sorry I slept with him.'
'You're a gold-digger and a home-wrecker.'
'Pam he's your brother and his own man. My falling for him has nothing to do with my friendship with you.'
'I want you out tonight,' screamed Pam, slamming the door.
Silence descended on the room.
'That didn't go too well,' quipped Juliet hoping to lighten the atmosphere.
'What did she mean?' asked Charles quietly.
'When?'
'When she said you fucked me because you needed my money,' his voice was cold and distant.
'Please don't tell me you think I'm like that. That you'd even take that comment seriously.'
'What did she mean Juliet?'
'Work's been slow for me. I told you that. We talked at length about it over a cup of hot mint tea. It was a horrid thing to say. I had no idea you had money, let alone that you'd be so darn attractive. How could I... why would I plan such a thing?'
'Everyone needs a roof over their head.'
'Charles, trust your heart on this. Don't let something Pam said in anger, spoil what you and I have.'
***
Months later Juliet was setting up her market stall. The pictures were influenced by her brief visit to Marrakesh. Rather than reflecting the sun, sand and ochre, they were black, gloomy and smacked of heartache. It turned out most people had an affinity with heart break. Juliet's new series of paintings were flying off the shelves, keeping Juliet financially secure, which was exactly what she needed at six months pregnant.
Charles had taken his sister's word over hers and driven her to the airport straight away – happy to buy a new ticket in a bid to dispose of her as quickly as possible. Pam had screened and avoided all her calls. She couldn't make contact to patch things up with her best friend or let Charles know of her predicament.
Whatever Charles felt, Juliet was sure there had been the potential for the two to fall in love. That strong instinct was what secured her decision to keep the baby. Life as a single mother, with her trade being that of an artist promised more adventure than security, but Juliet was determined she could make it work.
She sat down on her fold out chair and reached for her flask of tea from her backpack. As she took in the market her eyes landed on the stall opposite which had a large, eye catching white cardboard sign saying 'Forgive Me?' with Charles sitting underneath it holding a bunch of red roses.
***
[Hope you liked the story and don't forget your 8 complimentary books, which you may find a download link to on the last page of this collection, just after the 11th story ends. Now, on to the next story!]
Persuasion
by
Emma Bishop
Josie stood outside of an apartment door, staring at the numbers until she was fairly certain she would see them in her sleep. She raised her hand to knock, but let it fall to her side again as she lost her nerve for the fourth or fifth time since arriving. She had been standing there for at least twenty minutes, attempting to work up the courage to interrupt the individual inside. She and the apartment’s occupant had—as her friend was apt to say—history. Not history of a particularly pleasant type, either.
Josie took a deep breath and stood straighter, closing her eyes a moment and steeling herself. She lifted her hand and balled it into a tight fist, knocking on the door in quick, sharp raps before her mind could convince her to do otherwise. In the still summer air of the apartment building, she could hear stirring within. A muffled curse from the other side of the door told her that the object of her errand was at home.
Her heart felt as if it would leap out of her throat and land on the floor, it was hammering so hard. When she had taken on this responsibility, she had put it off for as long as possible. She had been avoiding the man in the apartment for months now, keeping to her part of town, her circles of friends, and leaving him to his own.
She knew from the few friends they still had in common—those who hadn’t precisely sided with one or the other—that he had poured out poisonous vitriol about her all over the city, to whoever would listen to him. Those of their friends who knew both of them either sympathized with him completely—and shunned Josie—or they understood the issue was complex, and rolled their eyes when they were told how evil Josie was, how manipulative.
She heard more movement on the other side of the door; another explosive curse and the sound of something tumbling to the floor. She grimaced, thinking that if he was hungover, it would be even worse to deal with him. She had almost convinced herself to run away, to let him think some child had decided to play a prank, when she heard the sound of the deadbolt being shot, the door chain being dragged along its track. The door opened with a pop and a heavy moan of the hinges. Josie straightened her spine again and met the unsteady gaze of the man who answered the door.
He was half a foot taller than her, with a heavy-boned frame that belied how slim he actually was. His big, dark eyes were bloodshot, his full lips already pressed into a firm, sulky line. His dark, choppy hair was a tangled mess around his face, adding to the impression that he had stumbled out of bed across the apartment to answer the door. “You,” he said, his voice hoarse.
He coughed dryly into one thick-palmed hand and leaned against the door jamb, waiting. Somehow, it was as if he had sobered up instantly the minute he recognized her. Josie knew the truth; he was never quite as drunk as he put on. The drunken act was something of a defensive mechanism for him—a way for him to say what he felt like without any real consequences.
“Yes, it’s me. Don’t close the door yet, Tobias.” He was always Tobias—never Toby. Toby was too friendly, too easygoing a name for the brooding man in front of her.
“What do you want?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Josie could faintly smell the beer and whiskey on him, the lingering cigarette smell. He must have been at McNulty’s the night before—it was one of the few bars that allowed patrons to smoke inside anymore.
“Adam sent me,” she said, unconsciously mirroring his stance. She was about to cross her arms over her chest and caught herself, holding her arms at her sides with an effort. Just because he had decided to close himself off, didn’t mean she should do the same. She forced herself to relax as much as possible, to try and maintain a calm and collected demeanor. Tobias sighed and stepped back from the door, uncrossing his arms to open the door just wide enough to let her into the apartment.
Oddly, considering his disheveled appearance, Tobias’ apartment was generally very clean. Josie remembered Peter, Tobias’ best friend, telling her of the other man’s tendency to randomly clean everything in his home when he was troubled or frustrated. She reckoned that he had encountered a fair amount of frustration lately, to judge by the freshly-cleaned hardwood floors.
The apartment smelled of citrus, something woody, and a warm leather smell coming from a sofa sitting in the afternoon sunlight. Tobias turned his back on her and threw himself onto the couch, forgetting himself enough to pick up a pack of cigarettes and light one. Josie knew he didn’t typically smoke in his apartment, and wondered why he decided to do it right now. She sat down in a chair across from him, composing herself for the argument she knew was certain to come about by what she had come to do.
“Adam needs you to make an appearance at the anniversary party for the label,” she said. She told herself it was best to get it out of the way as quickly as possible. The sooner he had put up his objections, the faster she would be able to counter them and then she could be on her way.
“Just why isn’t Adam here telling me that?” Tobias asked, taking a long drag of his cigarette. He flicked an ash into a nearby ashtray, fixing a steady look on her face. Josie shrugged.
“He told me to come. Why he isn’t here is apparently none of my business.” She had asked Adam the same thing when he had given her the task of convincing Tobias to “let bygones be byg
ones.” Ever since his band had broken up, he had snubbed the label that had made his career, taking care of all his business by way of an attorney. Josie had a sneaking suspicion that Adam had known that Tobias would refuse to even hear him out, where the man would at least have the courtesy to let her in and the curiosity to hear what she had come for.
“Ah, so he strong-armed you into doing the business for him,” Tobias observed, smiling in a sardonic way over his cigarette. Josie shrugged.
“He didn’t give me a lot of options,” she conceded. Adam had held up a simple reward and an even simpler threat: if she did the errand, he would continue helping her work her way through the labyrinth of the music industry, to the possibility of making it as an artist of some standing in the entertainment industry. If she refused, he would simply withdraw his support of the label signing her. For a woman who had gotten involved in the industry because she wanted to produce her own records, it was a powerful incentive.
“Why does Adam need me at the anniversary party?” Tobias asked. Josie wondered at the fact that his questions seemed so far to be reasonable. She had expected him to say no outright.
“Because of the bad press surrounding the band’s breakup. He’s got Nick’s album coming out next month and he wants everyone to look happy and friendly for the press.” It was pointless to tell Tobias that the bad press had been at least partly his own fault; when the band had broken up, when Nick had announced that he was pursuing a solo career, Tobias had vocally expressed his disappointment and resentment to any journalist who asked about the situation. It had been a struggle—some of the other members of the band were working on solo efforts, or had joined other groups. Tobias had a plenitude of material, but he had told the label repeatedly that he would sooner be found in breach of contract than let them have their hands on it.
The trouble was precisely that; the dissolution of the contract had been a messy business. The label hadn’t wanted the band to break up at all, had even pointed out that Nick’s solo career presented no real difficulties with the band continuing. But Tobias had taken exception to Nick’s desire to put out music of his own, and refused to work with the guitarist. He had blamed Josie for encouraging Nick to work on his own material, for her work in getting the label’s attention drawn to his band mate’s music.
“So I’m supposed to show up and play nice so everyone thinks we’re all good and those few fans who are boycotting him for my sake will go out and buy the record.” Tobias took another drag of his cigarette and laughed shortly. Josie sat back, making herself relax in the chair.
“That’s about the size of it, yes.” Tobias put his cigarette out and folded his hands together, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“What did he threaten you with to make you come here?” Josie thought a moment about whether or not she should tell him. It might speed things up; on the other hand, it would open her up to his mockery. She supposed that her ego could tolerate his shrewd and sharp wit—as long as she kept her end of the bargain.
“Adam told me that if I didn’t at least try to get you to come and maintain appearances, he would withdraw his support from the label signing me,” she said calmly. Tobias raised an eyebrow at that—not in surprise, but in interest, she thought. She hadn’t noticed it before, but his eyebrows were very finely arched, and looked as if he kept them groomed.
“That is certainly a threat to dangle in front of someone so hungry for a contract,” Tobias conceded in a dry tone. He stood. “Do you want a beer?” Josie shrugged.
“Sure.” Tobias padded across the apartment, his bare feet making no noise. Josie watched him, thinking to herself that if things had been different—if she hadn’t encouraged Nick to pursue a solo career, if Tobias hadn’t construed it as a betrayal, if a dozen things had gone more smoothly—that she might have been attracted to him, might have even asked him out.
When she had first met him, she had been struck by Tobias’ masculinity, his off-beat attractiveness. There was something muscular about him, something intimidating and at the same time beautiful, like watching a panther move through high grass after prey. When he fixed that dark gaze on a person, it was difficult to maintain a train of thought.
Tobias came back into the living room with two opened beers, extending one to Josie with an air that was polite, if not exactly pleasant. She accepted it and took a long pull, waiting for him to continue the conversation. He watched her and there was something unsettling about the way his gaze was locked onto her movements. Josie had never been able to read Tobias well—he was always throwing off her assumptions about him. She had heard from one of his ex-girlfriends that his unpredictability, while frustrating in a relationship, had added a pleasant spontaneity to their sex life. She tried to stifle the thought.
“So, in return for showing up to this party, what do I get?” Tobias sat back on the couch, apparently totally relaxed. Josie recognized the way he was sitting as his equivalent of the stillness of an alligator before it strikes. You could be in the water right above an alligator and never know it until it sprang up from below and dragged you down.
Josie always felt oddly uncomfortable around Tobias—even before the bad blood that had sprung up between them. Moments like this were the reason why. There was something about the musician’s gaze that made her feel naked, exposed. She had sometimes had the feeling that when she spoke to Tobias, part of his mind was dealing with the situation at hand—keeping up his end of a conversation, engaging in strategy to gain the upper hand in an argument—while another part of him was cataloging every anatomical feature of her body.
“The label will back off on the issue of your solo work. You can work with the producer of your choice through Adam directly, or you can move on to another label with his blessing.” The label knew full well that the material Tobias had in reserve would sell well, but in the wreckage of the band’s commitments and agreements and contracts, they also knew Tobias was looking to start over elsewhere.
Part of why they had made so much trouble for him was that the label wanted to keep its grip on the potentially highly lucrative material. Josie had told Adam that she would have to have a substantial deal to offer Tobias in exchange for his playing along. Adam—tired of the months of back-and-forth between Tobias’ representation and the label—had agreed. Even if they couldn’t hold on to Tobias, they had Nick and his material which was something.
Tobias raised an eyebrow at this, picking away at the label on his beer bottle absently. He seemed to consider a moment and laughed, looking away from his hands and back at Josie. The impact of his sudden glance in her direction was almost like a blow. She tried to swallow against a suddenly dry throat as imperceptibly as possible, but she was sure he had seen. Those eyes didn’t miss much, she thought as her heart pounded. She forced herself to maintain eye contact, to keep her hands relaxed.
“He’ll have to do better than that,” Tobias said quietly, taking another pull from his beer. He reached out and picked up his pack of cigarettes without looking at it, steadily watching Josie, waiting for her to show a weakness. His thick but curiously nimble fingers found a cigarette in the pack and he brought it up to his lips and lit it.
Josie took a deep breath and brought a pack of her own cigarettes out of her purse. Tobias helpfully pushed the ashtray closer to the middle of the coffee table, making it accessible to Josie as well. She figured, if he was going to smoke in his apartment, she might as well, too.
“What more do you want?” she asked, bringing a cigarette to her lips and lighting it quickly. She took advantage of the action to look away from Tobias for a moment, collecting herself. Even looking away from him, she could feel his gaze still on her; feel the dark brooding intensity of him across from her.
Josie took a long drag of smoke and forced herself to relax into the chair. She wondered if he felt as tightly wound, sitting sprawled on the leather sofa, as she felt leaning back in the chair. Tobias smiled slowly. He flicked an ash off into the ashtray, t
he smile, his gaze, not wavering from her face for a long moment. Oh great, Josie thought, he’s going to absolutely fleece the label. To some degree, she could understand the impulse. She steeled herself, preparing herself as best as she could to not react to an outlandish demand.
Tobias took a long drag of smoke and kept his gaze on her until Josie felt the urge to move, to squirm. She made herself stay still. She knew he was psyching her out, that he was waiting for her to say “Well?” or make some kind of movement. He was enjoying making her nervous, of course.
“I want you,” he said simply, maintaining the eye contact a moment longer before leaning in to flick another ash into the ashtray. Josie felt her own cigarette slip in her fingers as her hands went slack with shock. She blinked a few times and took a pull of smoke into her lungs, trying to sort through the simple phrase he had just uttered.
“What do you mean, you want me?” she asked finally, telling herself to stop imagining things and focus on what he was likely to really want from the exchange—a way to further torment Josie, to punish her for what he saw as her part in breaking up his band.
The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 17: 11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books For Women Page 16