Exotika 03 - On the Loose

by Tesni Morgan

  Carenza couldn’t help being impressed by his height and build. His muscles rippled, arms coated with a sprinkling of brown fuzz. His chest was well developed, his neck a solid pillar upholding that handsome head. His torso tapered to a narrow waist and supple hips, concealed by the baggy camouflage trousers. He was rugged and weather-beaten and looked as if he had spent much time in the jungle. She feasted on his macho good looks, his shoulders rendered even more impressive by the leather jacket slung carelessly over them. It added to his swashbuckling image.

  “What do you do?” Vicky was never shy when it came to getting information from men.

  “I’m one of those survivor course dudes.” He waved away the cigarette pack she offered. “I was in the army, an SAS division, but jacked it in after I’d done my term. There’s plenty of work for someone like me…as a personal trainer or teaching martial arts or as some wealthy bloke’s bodyguard.”

  “Do you ever have to guard women?” Vicky asked pointedly and Carenza noticed how she touched his foot with hers, though there was little chance of him feeling it through his thick-soled desert boot. For some unexplained reason, her friend’s action annoyed her. Did she always have to go for every eligible male in sight?

  “Sometimes.” He gave a boyish grin.

  “Like in the film with Kevin Costner?”

  “Maybe.” He was cagey and Carenza liked that. He seemed modest, not boastful and full of himself as had been her first impression. “And you, ladies? You seem a bit too classy to be in a joint like this.” He cast a skeptical eye around the chattering, flirting crowd, all trying to outdo one another with their star quality.

  Vicky took him up on it. “But this joint is classy, about as classy as they come. The very latest stomping ground for all those involved in television or radio, movies, the theater, modeling or the creative arts.”

  He remained unmoved. “They look like a bunch of toss-pots to me.”

  “You obviously prefer the outback and the company of kangaroos.” Carenza was new to the Barley Corn Club and felt that she had advanced in her career by being there. This antipodean caveman wasn’t going to spoil it for her.

  “Touché.” He raised his glass of lager and toasted her over the top of it.

  She was disconcerted by the look in his eyes. They were hazel—green, flecked with gold. He reminded her of a tiger, watchful, waiting his opportunity to pounce or maybe just sizing up his prey. He gave the impression on the surface of being a relaxed sort of guy, but he had hidden depths. Of that she was certain.

  Suddenly he and everyone else in the place vanished for an instant as she heard a familiar voice. “There you are, Matt. God, what a crush! Have you got a drink? You have? Fine.”

  Carenza froze. When her heart started beating again, she could feel herself blushing. What was he doing there?

  “Hi, David.” Matt rose to his feet. “I was waiting for you. Long time no see. Come and join us, mate.”

  “I rather wanted to talk to you privately.” David hadn’t yet spotted Carenza.

  “That’s no big deal. I’ll have you leave you, ladies. Until next time, eh?”

  “Carenza Hewitt, isn’t it?” Now David’s gaze swept over her. “Mixing with the celebs? Mind they don’t corrupt you, and don’t drink too much. I want you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow.”

  “Mr. Farlan, these are my friends, Joanna Marsden and Vicky Westlake.” She had never been more embarrassed.

  He switched on the charm and smiled at them in turn. “Haven’t I met you before?”

  “Not that I know of. Maybe at my last fashion show.” Vicky was cool as a cucumber.

  “You may have read one of my articles in The Courant.” Joanna was not to be left out. Neither of them was in the least bit overawed and Carenza envied them.

  “It’s very nice talking with you.” He was incredibly suave. “But I must steal Matt. Business calls, I’m afraid. Goodnight, and see you tomorrow, Carenza.”

  “Well, bugger me!” Vicky stared at their retreating backs. “And I thought we’d scored with Tarzan. So that’s your new boss?”

  “That’s him, as you well know.” Carenza wanted to say more, but the words simply wouldn’t come out.

  David had looked even more splendid in casual jeans and a denim shirt. She had seen the way that every woman there was eyeing him. And he had come to meet that survival expert. She wondered why.

  She needed a distraction and was glad when their table was surrounded by a group of personable men who knew Vicky and Joanna. She had seen several of them at the house, drinking coffee in the kitchen, sprawled in the most comfortable chairs or coming out of her friends’ bedrooms. There were some new faces too. Fresh blood, and if she wanted them she must move fast, but this simply wasn’t her style. She liked to be wholeheartedly involved.

  David filled her mind, and he had gone off with Matt to talk men’s talk or whatever they were doing. She was more irritated by the Australian than she liked to admit, for annoyance meant caring, taking notice of, attending to, and there was no way she ever meant to get involved with him on any of these counts.

  “Would you like to dance?”

  She was startled out of her reverie and looked ‘round at the man who now touched her shoulder. Vicky nodded across the table, giving her the thumbs-up which meant that he was okay. He was one of her workforce, Clive Collingwood, a fresh-faced youth who liaised with the sales departments of big stores willing to take her collections. He wasn’t Carenza’s type, too much of a chinless wonder, public school-educated and backed by his father’s title and money, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  “I’d love to,” she lied as she went into his arms.

  The floor was no bigger than a handkerchief and this necessitated a great deal of body contact. The music was raunchy, the DJ inventive, shiny black and wearing dreadlocks, a star in his own right. There was no room for anything but a kind of sweaty shuffle, and Carenza was pressed close to Clive’s body. She didn’t enjoy the sensation, but that he did was evident by the long finger of cock pressed to his left thigh under his fashionable pants. He ground it against her at every opportunity and there were many. As they danced past the bar, she saw David there, chatting up a supermodel. He didn’t see her, but she found herself staring into Matt’s eyes. This made her furious. What right had he to be watching her? She deliberately responded when Clive held his cheek to hers. She turned her face and kissed him, chased by the alarming thought, Why the hell did I do that?

  “You’re quite a girl.” Clive made himself heard above the beat and squeezed her closer. “Feel like a snog? Let’s go outside.”

  Damn and blast! She regretted her impetuosity. He was an all-right guy but, as Scarlett O’Hara’s black mammy said in Gone With the Wind, “He don’t make me shiver none.” Not like David or, in a different way, Matt.

  Suddenly someone tapped Clive’s shoulder and said, “My turn to dance with the lady, sport.”

  Matt was there, tall and hunky, and Clive didn’t argue, passing Carenza over to the Australian. It made her feel like a parcel. Neither had bothered to ask her wishes in the matter. Then all sensible thought was banished as she felt Matt’s arms around her. The crush allowed no other form of dancing, and was just an excuse for holding one’s partner tightly.

  “I suppose I have to thank you for rescuing me from that toad.” She wasn’t sure if he could hear her amidst the noise.

  “I wasn’t doing that. I just wanted to dance with you.”

  She was aware of his closeness, the pressure of those hard muscles, that protected feeling of being in the circle of his arms. She liked it and wanted to stay, but wondered if he was telling the truth. It was disappointing if he was, for she rather liked the idea of being rescued. It appealed to the romantic in her. This was foolish, and she knew it, telling herself off sternly. He was one of David’s colleagues and no more interested in her than the Man in the Moon. In any case, she would have far rather it had been David seeking her out.


  “What a crowd. It’s like a rugby scrum,” he said, his lips brushing her ear, his breath making chills course down her spine. “Why don’t we get some air outside?”

  This put her off immediately. He was no better than the rest of them, seeking sex like a rutting stag. “No, thank you.”

  She had to shout to be heard, and made no attempt to curb her annoyance.

  He dropped his arms, setting her free. “Okay, okay. Don’t lose your rag! Off you go then, back to your mates. Catch you later.” And he left her standing.

  She was relieved, but perplexed at the disappointment she felt. What had she expected him to do? Sweep her up in his arms, fling her over his shoulder and carry her off?

  The evening didn’t improve. Clive was still hovering around. Vicky and Joanna wanted to make a night of it, asking Carenza if it was all right and then inviting the men to the house. She couldn’t refuse, for it was their home as well as hers, and they paid rent and split the bills. She was soon crammed in a cab with Clive on one side and an objectionable creep who kept pawing her on the other. They seemed to be under the very false impression that they were God’s gift to women, who they referred to as “totty”. She found this offensive and sat there like a stone.

  On arrival, everyone tumbled out of the cabs and Vicky flung open the front door. “Come in, chaps.”

  They went into the communal living room. The stereo was switched on full blast. More drinks were poured. Clive was a nuisance, and very persistent. The others were rowdy and already tipsy.

  “Upstairs!” Ringleader Vicky showed them the way.

  Staggering and shouting, they were soon in her room. It was large and beautifully furnished. The music continued. Someone was in charge of the stereo. Bottles and glasses clinked. Vicky and Joanna threw themselves down on the luxurious quilt covering the six-foot-wide bed. It was tented in shimmering Oriental silk that hung from the beams above, and had the ambience of The Arabian Nights. Like concubines in that erotic tale, they coiled their limbs and displayed themselves, gazing at the men through hooded eyes. But, should one approach them, they squirmed away, pretending to be disinterested and this had the effect of making their rock-hard suitors even keener.

  Giving no quarter to the randy Clive, Carenza perched on a chair, an untouched glass in one hand, wondering how she could leave without being downright rude. He bent over her and nuzzled her neck. “Can’t we go to your room? I’m really hot for you.”

  Ah, had it only been David, but she was certain he wouldn’t have been so crude. Even the Australian might have known that this wasn’t the way to woo a girl. Clive’s breath was laced with alcohol, and she thought of Matt’s perfect teeth. There wouldn’t be a hint of halitosis there, whereas Clive could do with a trip to the dentist.

  “Not yet, maybe never.” She pushed him away. Clive pulled a face, but reached for the wine bottle instead.

  She hoped he’d get blind drunk, then he’d have brewers droop and wouldn’t be able to get an erection.

  The men were laughing, needing no second bidding to play out every fantasy they had ever had. One of them kicked off his loafers and socks and dropped his jeans and boxers. He stood there naked except for his unbuttoned shirt. The girls stared, at least Vicky and Joanna did. Carenza’s experience of the male member was limited, but even she could see that his was huge. He continued to fondle it, standing there proudly, while the other men got to work on theirs, attempting to match this massive tool.

  Vicky beckoned him closer, reached for a rubber from the bowl of condoms on the nightstand, and worked it over his cock. He grinned happily, pushing it into her hand. She pulled up her skirt and opened her legs. Joanna was propped up on one elbow, admiring his manhood. The other men clustered around, highly excited and raring to go.

  Now his dick stood out like a spear, ready to plunge into Vicky’s depths. She was willing him to do it, hips raised to meet the invader. He knelt over her, brushed his helm against her cleft and gave an almighty push. His mates cheered, and rubbed themselves frantically. Vicky gasped and heaved, taking his length into the very heart of her.

  Carenza’s neck and face were burning. She couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. Clive came over to her, exposing his penis, grinning as if expecting her to praise him. She leapt up. “Put it away! I’m not interested!”

  “Oh, darling, it’s only a bit of fun.” Joanna was already pulling her dress off, nipples hard, her mound a triangle of reddish floss. “You’ve no need to join in if you don’t want to. We thought it would take your mind off that awful ex of yours.”

  “I want love, a sincere relationship, not a quick, drunken shag.” Carenza was close to lashing out at someone—anyone.

  “Oh, listen to Miss Prim,” mocked one of the beefier of the men.

  “Just you shut up! Don’t dare talk about my friend like that.” Joanna was on the warpath, giving him a smack. He seemed to enjoy it, begging for more.

  Carenza was certain that her friends would see that she didn’t come to harm, but she felt isolated, the only one not possessed by sheer animal lust. The air was thick with it.

  No one noticed when she slipped out, finding refuge in her own room and locking the door firmly behind her. She stripped and used the en-suite shower, trying to wash away the memory of what was happening in Vicky’s bed. It was essential that she sleep in preparation for her interview with Laurette Upton. Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, she looked with distaste at the purple dress she had put on with such high hopes. She stuffed it into the laundry basket, certain that David hadn’t even registered that she was wearing it. She’d have to do better tomorrow.

  David! Ah, David! Would he prove to be the man of her dreams, the hero who would sweep her up and carry her off on his white charger? After tonight’s session with Vicky’s studs she rather doubted that there was really a knight in shining armor waiting to love her. And she crawled under the duvet and pummeled her pillow into a more comfortable shape, but her sleep was fitful and her dreams disturbing. Visions of Matt kept impinging on her mind and she couldn’t understand why? He was arrogant, rude and too forthright to appeal to her, wasn’t he? But she couldn’t free herself from the memory of being held in his arms.

  Chapter Three

  When Carenza walked into his office next day, David introduced her to his key presenter. “This is Laurette. Welcome to our team. I promise you that we’re all one big happy family here.” Laurette didn’t get up. She was elegantly clad in a cream silk suit. Carenza felt immediately intimidated. She was sure that what she had selected to wear was all wrong.

  “That’s good.” She was trying to seem confident, but not quite succeeding.

  “Carenza. How unusual,” Laurette commented.

  “An eccentricity on my mother’s behalf. I wish she had called me Mary or something simple like that.” She tried to make a joke of it. This wasn’t the first time her name had been commented on.

  “Surely not? One doesn’t want to be lumbered with the commonplace. I don’t,” Laurette replied firmly.

  She was cool and lovely and Carenza felt dwarfed. How could anyone be of significance compared to this woman? And how could a person like herself ever hope to catch David’s eye when he had access to a goddess?

  Her Titian hair was striking, but she didn’t seem to be cursed with the freckles that so often plagued those of that coloring. Her skin glowed and cosmetics had been used to highlight her flawless complexion. Carenza wanted to sink into the floor. Then she remembered Vicky’s stern instructions about keeping her cool and not taking shit from anyone.

  Right on! Carenza mentally agreed, and squared her shoulders. David was looking at her in an encouraging way and he dropped an eyelid in a wink. Up yours, Laurette! she thought defiantly.

  She sat down opposite her, while David occupied his luxurious leather chair. He pushed a couple of sheets of paper across the desk toward her.

  “Your contract. Look it over at your leisure, then sign it, if you agree to the
terms and let me have it back or hand it to my secretary.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Farlan.”

  “Call me David. We use Christian names here.”

  “Thank you again.” She felt tongue-tied and hated it. Just when she wanted to be witty and impress him with her banter.

  “Did you enjoy yourself at the club?” A smile quirked his lips.

  “I did. We partied after at my place.” This sounded suitably sophisticated, and she cut to Laurette, but she looked bored.

  “And where might that be?” He appeared to be genuinely interested.

  “Kensington, a detached house inherited from an aunt.”

  “It must be worth a fortune.”

  “I know. It’s my mother’s, not mine yet, but it will be one day.” Carenza had not realized until then just how impressive the mere mention of such a property would be. She felt a rise in status, almost on their level. It was a pity that people were so mercenary, but it was a fact of life.

  “What d’you want me to do with her, David?” Laurette deliberately crossed and uncrossed her slim legs under her short skirt in an action reminiscent of a scene in Basic Instinct. Like the actress who caused such an uproar at the time, she wore no panties. Just for a flash, her mound was visible, naked of hair and with the glint of gold.

  She was pierced there! Carenza was surprised and intrigued. David ignored this wanton gesture, getting down to business. “You’re going to look over that house, aren’t you, Laurette? The one the newlyweds have written in about, asking you to redesign. Take her with you. Carenza, I’ll supply a laptop. Get going, team. I’ve work to do. Check in when you get back.”

  He had assumed the guise of a military leader and even Laurette obeyed, though taking her time, giving Carenza a sidelong glance, then drifting toward the door.

  Although the morning was grueling, with Laurette throwing her weight about and bullying the star-struck couple, Carenza made notes on the laptop, punching in the hundred and one details that were fired at her.

  Eddie Bartlett, the director, was loose-limbed, amiable and laconic, attractive in his own way. He mostly ignored the dictatorial presenter. This was simply a first run-through, with no camera crew in evidence. Carenza dreaded to think what it would be like when they were actually filming.