by Jessie Cooke
Her throat dry from all the saliva she was most likely drooling all over her black-and-white Chevron blouse, she hailed the bartender and ordered another drink.
“Put it on my tab,” Reece remarked. “And get them each whatever they want.”
Nicky and Bella exchanged a glance.
“Thanks, Mr. –I mean—Reece,” Nicky said.
His eyes had locked onto Bella’s, and though he pried them away from her when he could, Reece found he could not resist her for very long.
I could drown in those eyes, he thought, the blue of Bella’s eyes reminding him of the Caribbean waters in which he vacationed.
The next day at work, he sought out Nicky’s cubicle.
“It was nice running into you last night,” he commented to her, just loud enough for her to hear him.
Nicky felt a heat shoot through her body at the sound of Reece’s voice.
“It was great seeing you, too, and thanks again for the drinks.”
“I was thinking we should do it again,” Reece offered. “Only, I won’t bring as many friends with me.”
“That would be fun,” she smiled, so glad she had worn a V-neck blouse to work today. She knew that Reece had the perfect vantage point as he stood over her, leaning casually against the cubicle wall she shared.
“So, what was your friend’s name again?” Reece feigned. He remembered, and he knew she’d been rightly named. Bella. Beautiful.
“Bella. Bella Ryan,” Nicky offered.
“So, what’s her story? She was pretty quiet last night. Hope I didn’t offend her or anything.”
“Nah,” Nicky waved him off. “She’s just on the shy side. A bit quiet . . . until you get to know her, that is.”
“So, you’re friends?”
“Best friends.”
“She single?”
Nicky wondered at the questions regarding Bella. Didn’t he want to know about her? After all, they were the two who’d spent the entire evening talking and flirting. And here he was tracking her down at work, leaning on her cubicle walls.
“I mean, is that why she was so quiet?” Reece tried to recover his fumble.
“She’s living with a guy, Christo,” Nicky responded. It wasn’t exactly a lie; Bella did live with Christo, but Reece didn’t need to know the details or that Christo was gay.
“What about you?” Reece finally asked.
“What about me?” Nicky batted her eyes.
“You single?”
“Newly,” she smiled. “Just broke up with my boyfriend Dave who decided I wasn’t enough for him. I found out he’d cheated on me . . . twice.” She shrugged her shoulders and winked at Reece as she said, “His loss.”
Reece smiled back and returned the wink.
“I like your attitude,” he said. “These girls that just fall apart and blame themselves for infidelity on their partner’s part . . . well, they turn my stomach a bit. I’m attracted to strong women. Women who know their minds. Who know what they want . . . and go for it, settling for nothing less than what they know they deserve.”
Nicky felt a rush of encouragement, and she eyed her boss up and down. She knew what “they” said about girls who got involved with their bosses, but the good news for her was this: she was temporary! He wouldn’t be her boss forever or even for very long. It was different . . . and who could blame her? Had any of the proverbial “they” seen this man, they would say that he was obviously the exception to the rule. She felt her nipples straining against her bra as she drank in his casual body language inside his tailored, custom-fit navy suit.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” Reece was asking.
Nicky realized she’d been caught up in what she was seeing rather than listening.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“I was asking if you’re going to the company party Friday night.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she knew he was looking down her blouse, getting a full view of her swelling cleavage.
“Certainly,” she said, and she sent a mental note to the rest of her body to just hold on . . . at least until Friday.
2
And held on she did . . . to the sides of Reece’s desk as he crawled atop her Friday night. They’d had drinks, and they’d had fun, and now, Nicky found herself with her high-heels up in the air and her boss having his way with her after just clearing off his desk of papers and portfolios with a flourish Nicky had only seen in the movies.
She’d worn a red shift dress with rhinestone straps and shoes to match, knowing she’d already piqued Reece’s interest and hoping to incite even more interest with the opaque material of the red dress. Add to that a few glasses of champagne, and she had him right where she’d wanted him.
“I must say that red is your color,” Reece had said as he’d approached her from behind and offered her a glass of champagne.
She had wanted him to think he had snuck up on her, but she’d known where he came from the very second he’d entered the party and winked at her. She had turned towards him with a smile and allowed her body to brush up against him. She had felt him respond, and she watched his eyes travel the length of her body taking in the abundance of her flesh that wasn’t covered in red. She had licked her lips slowly, leaned in close to Reece, and whispered, “There’s more red you’re not seeing right now . . . but I’m willing to show you . . . in your office maybe?”
And it hadn’t taken much for her to get him to follow her there. She’d sashayed across the hallway to grab another glass of champagne, marched confidently over to the door marked with Reece’s name, opened it, and had stepped one foot inside before casting a glance back to him, unafraid of who may see.
He had knocked his own champagne back before setting the glass down resolutely and following her into his office, locking the door behind him.
“You definitely know what you want, don’t you?” he had remarked.
Nicky had nodded, her eyes wide, staring hungrily at the bulge that strained against his tailored pants. She pointed a perfectly manicured red-nailed finger towards the region her eyes rested, then allowed her eyes to meet his.
In a tangle of fervent kisses and nibbles, the two had stumbled their way over to Reece’s desk. He had rearranged the piles as Nicky had flipped open his belt latch, unhooked the buttons at his waistband, and lowered his zipper, cupping his erection in her hands and moaning with anticipation.
Reece had smiled at the sight of the red g-string that winked at him from underneath Nicky’s dress. Bending over her, he had lightly kissed her abdomen and allowed his teeth to catch on the thin lace of the g-string. Then he had tugged at it as Nicky had wiggled to help him remove it.
“Well, isn’t that a sight,” she whispered now as she saw Reece toss her panties from his teeth. “One I’m sure never to forget.”
“How about I give you more than a sight you’ll never forget?” Reece whispered, but he had to stop himself from calling her “Bella”.
“I can’t believe you!” Bella’s eyes were wide at Nicky’s recounting of the story the next day over coffee. “But . . . he’s your boss.”
“I know!” Nicky said with an evil grin. “Doesn’t that make it even more delicious?”
“Or dangerous?”
“That’s it!”
The two friends laughed before Bella continued. “He is really hot, isn’t he? I wish I had your confidence.”
But she couldn’t help but feel a little let down. She must have misread him that Friday night at Masque. She could have sworn he struggled with keeping his eyes off of her as he worked to keep his mind away from thinking about what he could do to her. She was sure she had read as much in his gaze.
“Anyway, I’ve got to go,” Nicky said as she glanced at her watch. “I have an appointment for a Brazilian wax.” She smiled a sexy smile at her friend. “Hoping for some hot tub time this evening with my man,” she said. Then she gathered her things, gave Bella a hug, and waltzed away.
“Well, you can’t be hating
on her for landing herself a hot man.”
Christo was a great listener, and he was also great at putting things in perspective for Bella. It had been a few days since her lunch date with Nicky where she had to hear the sordid details of the escapades she and Reece had experienced.
“I don’t hate her for it,” Bella admitted. “I just hate it isn’t me.”
Christo put his arm around her as she sat sulking on the stuffed oversized sofa. “You know what you need?” he asked.
“Besides a good roll in the hay?” Bella countered.
“Body paint!”
“What?”
“Yep, you need a good body paint!” Christo was an artist and well-known in certain circles in Dallas, but his part-time work as a body painter was what paid the bills.
“What?! No way,” Bella responded.
“Come on, Bella. You know you can trust me not to get fresh with you,” he playfully shoved at her.
“That doesn’t mean I want you to see me naked.”
“Ok, well, what if you wear a bikini the first time? Come on; I have a big event, and I need another waitress. Simone bailed on me because of some damn flu or virus.”
“Damn that Simone for getting sick,” Bella teased. “I’m sure you have plenty other girls you can call.”
“But it’s so last minute,” Christo sighed, “and everyone I know most likely has plans.”
Bella looked at Christo with hurt. “That one stung,” she said. “So, I have no life, eh?”
“Not saying that, my dear,” Christo smoothed. “But I do know you have bills, right?”
He was right. Bella was broke from her latest graphic design course, and the little bit of money she earned from part-time interior design work was meager . . . not to mention it went to Christo for her share of rent and utilities.
“It’s super-good money,” Christo tried again. Then he leaned in, the blonde tips of his grown-out faux-hawk tickling Bella’s cheek. “I need you,” he whined.
She stood up abruptly. “I’ll try it, but I am wearing a bikini,” she said to him defiantly.
Christo leapt to his feet clapping his eager hands. “I know just what I’m gonna do!”
Moments later, Bella was looking at herself in the mirror. Christo had painted a red qipao, a short Mandarin-style dress, onto her body. The flowers in white and purple and gold looked as real as the dress itself. The only hint of missing clothing was the dip of Bella’s belly-button.
“Oh, my gosh!” she says as she turns her body investigating every angle in the mirror. “It’s amazing! If I didn’t know better, I’d totally think I had clothes on.”
Christo gave her full kabuki-style makeup to hide her identity, and Bella marveled at the person in the mirror.
“This is so weird,” she breathed. “I know it’s me, but it doesn’t look anything like me when I look into the mirror.”
“Take your top off, and let’s see if I can wow you some more,” Christo suggested.
“No way. I told you: this is as far as I go.”
He stopped, paintbrush in hand and hand on his hip. “Look, stop being so prudish. You said yourself it looks just like you’re fully clothed. What’s the big deal? I can make you look just as elegant with paint as you can with fabrics. Let me finish painting your body, and you can waitress the event. These people expect no clothing; that’s part of the art!”
Bella looked at herself in the mirror. Christo could tell she was thinking hard. He almost had her.
“It’s liberating, Bell, and Lord knows you could use a little liberation.” Her gaze in the mirror shifted from herself to Christo’s reflection, and she shot him daggers.
“My mama would kill me!” she said.
“Your mama wouldn’t even recognize you,” he replied. “Hell, you barely recognize yourself. And remember the money?”
Bella winced. She really needed the money, and she was tired of leaning on her folks to bail her out in times of hardship. Christo pressed on.
“Let me just paint you topless. Then, you see how you feel, and we’ll go from there.”
Reluctantly, Bella reached up and untied the strings around her upper back, then flung the bikini top over her head.
“Try to control yourself,” she remarked in good humor, and then she giggled as the paintbrush tickled her nipple.
Once finished, she had to admit, it was both liberating and normal feeling. “I honestly would have to look really hard to see anything,” she confessed. “I don’t even feel naked really.”
“See?” Christo said with hope. “And with the mask, you don’t even have to be yourself if you don’t want to.”
She turned her torso in the mirror, checking out her ass.
“I must say, I look pretty good,” she laughed. “The dress is beautiful. I feel sexy yet sophisticated, and all incognito.” She pursed her lips at her reflection.
“So, you’ll do it?” Christo asks carefully, as if she were a tiny bunny rabbit and his voice might scare her away.
“I’ll do it,” she says. “But only once. I know I could use the money . . . and the excitement.”
Another leap of joy accompanied by rapid handclapping told Bella she’d made her roommate a very happy guy . . . and that was important to her too.
3
Reece Hamilton entered the lobby of the Trinity Building and hopped on the elevator to the seventh floor. He’d been salivating over this invitation all week, and this was one function he was glad not to have Nicky tagging along. When Reece received the glossy invitation to celebrate the merging of two major property development groups in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, his eyes had barely taken in the words. Rather, he had been fixated on the female whose body had been painted with the Dallas skyline, and he knew this was something he would not want to miss.
He had stopped at the registration table to pick up his complimentary mask and to decline a private appointment with body painter Christo Drake when he heard the booming voice of Texas rancher Beau Walker.
“There’s the crazy son-of-a-bitch! Reece Hamilton, get your ass over here and meet this amazing fella.”
Beau was masked in a Phantom of the Opera style mask that looked like cracking gold, and he had his arm draped around a young man with a blonde-tipped faux-hawk. He wore a tuxedo jacket and pants with matching red bowtie and cumber bund, but no shirt topped off with a pair of vintage black and red Tony Lama Western boots.
This has to be the artist, Reece thought as he offered a handshake. He watched the artist’s brown eyes travel the length of his body.
“How’d you know it was me?” Reece asked from underneath his Titan-style steel-colored mask. “Thought this was supposed to be anonymous.” He chuckled.
“I can tell by the way you walk, all full of piss and vinegar,” Beau said. “Not to mention those shoulders are unlike any in the business. Hell, most of us guys look more like Santa Claus, but not ol’ Reece, eh Christo?”
Christo was assuredly drinking in the tall order that was standing in front of him, and he could say that he hadn’t met very many men—especially in the business world and in Reece’s supposed age range—that were built like that.
A girl in a red Mandarin-style dress stopped and offered them a drink, her eyes a greenish blue beneath a painted Kabuki face.
“May I interest you in a drink, sir? Perhaps an hors d’oeuvre?”
The silky voice matched the caress of her eyes, and Reece took a drink without breaking the gaze she held. He felt the pull of her magnetism upon him, and he had this sense he’d seen her somewhere; knew her somehow. And though he could not put his finger on how he knew her, he was sure he knew one thing: his body wanted him to have her.
Watching her sidle up to small groups, Reece made his way through the crowd stopping and speaking to a few people as he went. Each time he stopped, he made sure she was in his vantage point, never missing a smile, a turn, a nod. She carried herself with perfect posture, and her long brunette braid swung back and forth a
gainst her lower back, but there was a quiet shyness, a hint of self-consciousness in her walk and in the way she held back just a touch, though Reece could see no reason for her to feel self-conscious. From where he stood, she was amazing. Captivating. Mesmerizing.
“Hot as hell!”
The voice slurred, and Reece watched as the owner of the voice stumbled towards the painted girl. Though the slurring man was masked, Reece could recognize the sound of his fraternity brother Cobalt Carson. They’d shared many years together at University of Texas, and Reece knew all too well the sound of Coe when he was drunk, and he could predict exactly what was coming. A wife and two kids didn’t mean anything to Coe tonight, Reece could tell, and as predicted, the meaty arm of the former college wide receiver draped across the slender shoulders of Reece’s painted lady, and Coe’s head fell just inches shy of a full face-plant into her cleavage.
“Just amazing!” Coe was saying. “I can’t even see your nipples . . . but I want to.” He looked at his comrades for encouragement as he guffawed at himself, sloshing his beer all over the painted lady.
The look on her face made it clear she wanted to be rescued. She looked around, probably for the artist guy, but Reece saw him hob-nobbing with some of the richest men in Dallas.
“You sure you’re really naked?” he heard Coe ask, and before his brain could tell his big bear-paw to move in to cop a feel, Reece appeared at her side.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said sternly.
Her green-blue eyes were filled with relief and question as she turned her face up towards him. “You have?”
“Yes, now come with me this instant,” he said. He took her tray from her hands and put it right into the unsuspecting hands of one of Coe’s companions, then intentionally shoved hard past Cobalt Carson.
The tears at the edges of her eyes were threatening to roll any minute, and Reece didn’t want her to have to cry in the middle of the hubbub of the kitchen.