Winding Her Up

by Kelly, Sahara

  Marielle had discovered that the mere threat of heart surgery was enough to put the fear of God into her father, so when he'd come out of ICU, she'd taken the opportunity to lay out how his life was going to be from that point on.

  "Ah, Mary Ellen, ye're a hard woman. But as beautiful as yer mother, I'm thinkin'." His Irish brogue was thick, and his hand clung to hers as they talked.

  "Don't grease me, Dad. I'm serious. We want you around for many years, so we're all going to work together to make that happen."

  "Maybe your old Da would do better with a grandchild to play with. To live for." He sighed dramatically and peered hopefully at her. "Now yer all gone out into the world, I'm alone, doncha know. Nobody to talk to."

  Marielle rolled her eyes. "Give over. That doesn't work with me. Never did."

  He laughed. "It was worth trying."

  "I know, you old sod." She lifted his hand to her face and rubbed her cheek against it. "You scared me, Dad."

  "Scared meself, lass. Havin' someone as beautiful as my oldest take my breath away is one thing. Not being able to breathe is another." He nodded. "They're right, these doctors. I need to make some changes."

  "Glad to hear it."

  "So about that grandchild..."

  "Daaaad..."

  Seated outside on the Steampunk Society patio, Marielle replayed the conversation in her mind and smiled. Her dad was back at home, a week of his presence apparently sufficient for everyone at Mass General. She'd stayed in the South Boston house for the first few days, and then turned the duty over to her brothers and sisters, establishing a routine for all of them.

  Now that he was on the road to recovery and, surprisingly, behaving himself, Marielle would go back to the office tomorrow. Today was, for all intents and purposes, the last day of her impromptu vacation, and she'd decided to enjoy it to the fullest.

  It wasn't that she'd forgotten about Ian—far from it. He'd been in the back of her mind every minute of every day, arriving there as she woke up and coming back to wish her good night in those blissful moments before sleep overtook her.

  But now, he was more of a dream, a fantasy she'd experienced. She had to wonder if, in fact, any of it had been real.

  "Hello, lovely lady."

  Marielle turned her head, looked up—and there he was. Tall, dark hair sleek as a seal's pelt, glasses on the bridge of his nose, smiling at her.

  "Ian." She whispered the word, not sure if he was real or if her thoughts had conjured up a spectral representation of the man.

  "May I join you?" He pulled out a chair without waiting for an answer. The sharp squeak of the legs on the flagstones made her wince. This was no imaginary man. He was real.

  "You're here." She swallowed. "Why are you here?"

  "I've been looking for you."

  "Really?"

  "You have no idea." He reached over and took her hand, cradling it in both of his. "I've turned the world upside down over the last two weeks trying to find you."

  "You did?" Something was stuck in her throat. Maybe it was her heart, she didn't know. She coughed a little to clear it.

  "You never got my messages? I left them at your office. Several times. All they'd say was that you were taking some time off. I left some here too...don't know if you got those..."

  She knew she was staring at him. She wanted to eat him up with her eyes, to imprint his image on his brain where she could take it out and look at it whenever she wanted to. She had difficulty following his words. "Why?" It was the question she needed answered—the only word she could manage. The rest could wait.

  "Why? Because I couldn't let you go out of my life like that. A flame that lit up my entire world then vanished? No, no way in hell."

  "Ian." She whispered his name, mesmerized by the gentle smile curving his mouth. "You're so lovely."

  "What?" He blinked.

  "Sorry." She felt a blush heat her cheeks. "I'm sorry. My mind is a bit scattered." She squeezed his hand and then pulled hers away. "My father has been ill and I've been with my family for the last couple of weeks while he was in hospital. I haven't picked up any messages at all or even thought about calling my office. Today's the first day I've been able to get away and breathe a little. I suppose whatever you left here will reach me eventually. I'm sorry you had to go to all that trouble."

  "Stop." He pulled her hand back into his. "I'm here. Don't let go. I'm not letting you go. Is your father okay?"

  "He's home. It wasn't a heart attack, but a real big wakeup call."

  "Thank God for that." Ian smiled again. "I'm glad to hear it. Now." He moved his chair closer. "We have to talk about us."

  "Us?" She looked around. "Where's Tad?"

  "Tad, sweet thing, is away. He's gone down to the Cape for a few days to check on an estate there."

  "Oh." Marielle knew she should have been more interested. But the man of her most recent dreams and fantasies was sitting beside her, holding both her hands in his. Somehow, courtesies didn't seem quite so important.

  "And I want to tell you that he is looking forward to seeing you again."

  Here it comes. Marielle looked away. She didn't want to have to turn down another night of sexual abandon, but knew she would.

  "That would of course only happen if we decide to ask him to join us for dinner one night."

  She looked back at Ian, confused. "I don't understand."

  "Marielle, my dear, I'm asking you—in my admittedly clumsy way—if you'll go out with me. Date me. Perhaps even consider spending a night with me. Just me."

  She stared at him, not sure she was hearing him correctly. "And not Tad?"

  His expression changed a little and he drew back. Marielle realized he'd misunderstood her question. "Wait. I meant that you're asking for just you, yes? That Tad doesn't want to be a part of this?"

  Ian nodded. "It's up to you."

  She smiled and reclaimed her grasp on his hands. "No, Ian, it's really not up to me."

  "No?"

  "No. It's up to my heart."

  This time it was Ian's turn to swallow and she watched his throat move above his correctly tied silk cravat. "And..." he paused, took a breath and continued, "and is it possible your heart has made a decision?"

  "I believe it has, sir, yes." Gleefully, she lowered her gaze in the proper Victorian manner, befitting their surroundings.

  He caught her direction immediately. "So, Miss Marielle, I'm given to understand you would entertain a proposition from me?"

  "Absolutely, sir."

  "Any kind of proposition?"

  She risked a peek at his grinning face. "After what we've done, I doubt there's much left you could actually propose."

  "Point taken." He waved it aside. "I just want to make sure we're both quite clear. You and I will...engage in a...relationship..."

  She danced her fingers lightly over his, then turned his hand, lifted it and pressed a quick kiss to his palm, blessing the empty patio and the lack of an audience. His words tapered off.

  "Yes, sir. You're correct, sir."

  "And you'll obey my every whim?"

  "Don't push it, sir."

  "Sorry." He chuckled. "You amaze me, baby. You're beautiful, hot as a volcano in bed and you make me laugh. I think we're going to work well together."

  She lowered her gaze. "I believe I should make one confession, sir."

  "Oh?"

  "You might be under a slight misapprehension." She drew in her breath, eyes fixed on her toes. "I'm not Italian. I was born Mary Ellen Shaughnessy and raised in the South End."

  "Oh dear." Ian put his finger under her chin. "But you're still a good Catholic girl, right, Mary Ellen?"

  "Oh yes, sir. I do try, sir." She managed not to laugh.

  "And do you still have your school uniform?"

  "Ian."

  "Sorry. Momentary lapse."

  She nodded and stood. "I believe you may kiss me now, sir."

  "Well, my dear, I believe you are right."

  To the c
asual onlooker, it was a romantic tableau off the cover of a paperback novel. The elegant red haired woman in the white Victorian day dress, clasped passionately to the chest of a tall, handsome man with the air of a studious professor. The setting was perfect, late sunshine in a quiet corner of a patio, teacups and saucers on the table next to a china teapot.

  It could have been the subject of any one of a dozen French impressionist paintings.

  But it wasn't.

  For Marielle, it was the start of her new life. She'd found the man who held the key. And as his tongue delved past her lips and into her mouth she realized that once again he was winding her up.

  And she was really looking forward to him ringing her chimes.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  About The Author

  Sahara Kelly is always happy to explain to editors that her spelling errors aren't really errors, since she was born and raised in England, where an extra "u" is quite in order. She likes to think it adds colour to her writing. Sadly, it's not a widely held belief, so she'd like you to know she still retains a lot from her English childhood even though you won't see much of it in her stories.

  Arriving in America with her almost-complete collection of Leslie Charteris' Saint novels, Sahara's new life eventually expanded to include a husband, offspring, and a certain amount of acclimation to her new surroundings. (She still cherishes that extra "u", though!) Life in New England became complete with the publication of her first novel just after the birth of her son, and over two decades later she's still writing.

  This is the second in a series of stand-alone self-published stories and she's looking forward to many more. Being freed of any restraints has opened doors--not just for Sahara but also for many of her writing colleagues. She believes it has widened the range of books available to readers and is a win-win situation for everyone.

  To find out more about Sahara and her writing, please drop by her website at

  www.saharakelly.com

  She has quite a few ebooks available from various publishers. There are also some older releases that she has edited and re-issued at a greatly reduced price. To find these books, simply check Sahara's page here at Smashwords.

  Any books with the "An SK Private Label Story" logo line on the cover are original works not published elsewhere.

  Available now from Smashwords:

  Letting Off Steam

  An SK Private Label Story

  Sahara Kelly

  Excerpt

  "What the hell is Steampunk, anyway?" Olivia Hayden squinted at the invitation as she held it to the desk lamp. "Is this a plumbers' ball or something?"

  Her friend sighed. "Sweetie, where have you been for the last few years?"

  "Not paying attention, obviously."

  "Okay. Listen up." Cora rested her elbows on the low partition surrounding Olivia's cubicle. "Steampunk is a celebration of the past...Victorian stuff. Lots of embellishments, fancy decorative styles, frills, flounces and feathers." She stared at Olivia. "You with me so far?"

  Livvy nodded. "Victorian feathers. Gotcha."

  "Then you toss in the futuristic element. Machines. Not butt-ugly Zamboni type machines, of course."

  "Of course not." Livvy shook her head at the mention of the rink-smoothing monstrosity so beloved of ice hockey fans everywhere, but most especially in Boston.

  "Steampunk machines gleam. They shine. They open a door into a future that we never imagined. They move; they clatter rhythmically. They puff out woofs of steam now and again, enhance life, enchant everyone who sees them--"

  "Kind of like a new sports car?"

  Cora frowned and waved the comment aside. "Mundane stuff. No, Steampunk machines are imaginary and beautiful. They herald a Victorian view of what lies ahead which embraces all possibilities."

  "Ah."

  "And they can, human nature being what it is, destroy as well."

  "Hmm. Is there a death ray in my future?"

  Cora glared over her crossed arms. "Yes, if you keep making snarky comments."

  "Sorry."

  "This is the world of mad scientists, corsets, flying dirigibles and searingly hot sex."

  "Aha." Livvy grinned. "Now we're getting to the nitty gritty. I knew that had to be in there somewhere."

  "What's wrong with hot sex?" Cora tilted her head questioningly to one side.

  "Not a damn thing." Livvy chuckled. "I assume you're talking about having it with another human being?"

  Rolling her eyes, the other woman straightened. "You need to get out more. Battery operated devices are no substitute for the skilled touch of a lover."

  "Yeah well...find me a skilled lover and I'll consider letting him touch me. But I want to see a signed affidavit first." Livvy put the card down on her desk and leaned back in her chair. "You and I both know I've pretty much struck out in that department."

  "Doesn't mean you have to give up." Cora flashed back her response with a challenging lift of her chin.

  "And you think this Steam thing is going to provide the impossible? A guy who actually knows his way around a woman's erogenous zones without a roadmap, a GPS system and a compass? Not to mention a handbook written by an expert sex therapist and a hot romance novel tucked in his pockets just for additional tips?"

  "Would it kill you to come with me and find out?"

  Available now from Smashwords

  Stripping Her Gears

  An SK Private Label Story

  Sahara Kelly

  Excerpt

  The roast beef sandwiches lived up to their billing, and it wasn't until after the last fry had been consumed, the last little bit of sauce licked up and the last suckable particle of milk shake had been...well...sucked, that they returned to the subject of Cora's problem.

  Livvy frowned a little as she tossed her trash into the bin. "Cora, didn't you tell me you used to take dance lessons once upon a time?"

  Cora blinked. "Yeah. For years. Pretty much all through high school and then some. I took tap, jazz, ballet until I topped the height limitations, and a bunch of other classes. Some salsa, a bit of ballroom. I can find my way around most music and not embarrass myself, I guess."

  "Yeah, I've seen you. And you can do it in heels, too. Very impressive." A veteran of more than a few nightclub outings with her friend, Livvy nodded in agreement. "So. Here's the thing. You remember the Steampunk Society, of course."

  "Duh." Cora's invitation to the Steampunk Society's party had resulted in Livvy becoming a wanton woman of the highest order. Which, in Cora's book, was an admirable trait even though she'd had to wait weeks for her friend to 'fess up to it. Livvy had attained her status thanks to Dane, another Steampunk fan, and the resultant relationship was sizzling along very nicely.

  "Well something Dane said the other night is sticking in my head. He heard that someone from the Society is opening a Steampunk nightclub. A private club, I think. One of those ritzy type deals. And he's looking for help."

  "Where does the dancing come in?"

  "That's the thing. They're looking for waitresses who can sing and dance. Do you know that restaurant that hires music students? I forget the name of it..."

  "I think I've heard of it..."

  "Well apparently they stop serving and sing every now and again. Not like some happy birthday stuff, but opera or musical theater. It sounds cool. Haven't been there." She looked pensive. "Perhaps I should get Dane to think about taking me some night. Up toward Saugus way..."

  "Off topic." Cora snapped her fingers. "This is all about me here, remember?"

  "Yep. Sorry." Livvy grinned. "So what do you say I find out if they're still hiring Steampunk wait staff for that club? You could do a weekend stint, probably for minimum wage, but I'll bet anything there'll be some hellaciously fine tips, and you could get some dancing in at the same time. Maybe even free food..."

  "Hmm."

  Cora turned the idea over in her mind as the two of them made their way back to the car. "Is it in Boston?"

  "Not sure."
Livvy shrugged. "I didn't get many details. But I reckon Dane will have all the inside stuff...or he can get it if I ask him."

  "He's not just a cute face, huh?"

  Livvy's expression softened. "Nope. Although by God his face is gorgeous."

  "Doesn't it bother you? Dating a guy who's prettier than you are?"

  "Har har."

  "Okay." Cora squared her shoulders. "If you can find out anything from Dane about this club, I'm definitely interested. One or two nights a week with big tips probably doubles anything the Feds might offer. On the basis of that assumption alone, I'm in."

  Watch for more SK Private Label stories coming soon!!!