He noticed her reach into her small red shoulder bag and pull out a slim cell phone. He continued trying to free her dress from his zipper while she dialed. Trystian didn’t make a habit of eavesdropping, but their close proximity meant he’d hear her side of the conversation…and possibly both sides, if the person she was calling spoke loudly, or had a heavy voice, like a man…the man she was going out with tonight. A man he already felt jealous of.
“Sinclair, it’s me,” he heard her say. Sinclair? What the heck kind of name was that? Had this dude’s parents wanted him to get beat up?
He continued trying to finagle his zipper down without tearing her dress, unashamedly listening to the conversation. Damn it, he wanted to know what was going on. This woman had transformed herself from mere everyday attractiveness to a real stunner in an hour’s time. It didn’t just happen by itself; there had to be a story behind it.
“Have you left the house yet?...Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to turn back. I have a problem with my dress…No, it’s not wrinkled. It’s not an iron I need, it’s a whole different dress. I’ll tell you about it when you get here. Listen, I need you to go in my closet and get that red gown I got from that consignment shop in Southampton…Yes, that’s the one. I want to keep things simple, and that dress will match the shoes and purse I’ve got on.”
At this point Trystian heard the loud protests of the person on the other end of the phone. Apparently, Sinclair was a woman.
For some reason that made him feel good…especially since Sinclair had access to the lady in red’s clothing closet.
“I have to have that dress, Sinclair,” the mystery woman replied, sounding as if she were on the verge of tears. “Or else I won’t be able to go. Remember, neither you nor Yogi would be going tonight if it weren’t for me.”
She certainly had friends with strange names, Trystian thought as he made out some of the words in another loud objection from Sinclair. He wondered what her name was…
“I wanted to get something to eat, too, but now there won’t be time for that,” she continued. “I don’t want to be late. Look at the bright side. If you don’t eat beforehand your dress will fit you that much better.”
Trystian couldn’t figure that one out. Maybe it was a girl thing.
“Oh, all right,” she said in an exasperated tone. “Just stop at McDonalds or someplace on the way. Get me one of those chicken wraps while you’re there…Sinclair, I know what you’re riding in…who the hell cares how it looks?”
Trystian frowned for a moment, lost again.
“I’m where I told you I would be,” the lady in red continued. “Just take the elevator to the fifth floor.”
Trystian guessed what Sinclair, who was obviously in a hurry, would say to that, and the mystery woman’s response told him he’d been correct.
“I know it’ll save time if I meet you downstairs, but I can’t. You’ve got to bring my dress to me so I can put it on. You’ll see why when you get here. All right. ‘Bye.”
She seemed to have everything under control, except one thing. What if he couldn’t free her dress? His fingers continued to fumble with the pucker of material that had gotten lodged in his zipper. His eyes focused on her head as she began to move it, first bending her neck forward and rolling her head from side to side, then rotating with her head backward. The latter movement allowed Trystian to see her partial profile. Her eyes were closed, her black hair shiny and clean-smelling. She looked incredibly sexy.
Trystian found it difficult to keep his suddenly heavy breathing under control, something hard to do with her standing so close. The heels she wore made her almost as tall as his six-one, and he could smell a delicious tropical fragrance coming from her throat. Her skin looked so smooth and soft. Even her hair smelled good, with a touch of coconut. She shifted positions in her heels and her hips suddenly jutted out toward his groin, close enough to—
Uh-oh. He hoped she hadn’t felt that.
A soft rush of air as she gasped told him she had felt it. He mouthed a curse. This had to be the most embarrassing situation he’d ever been in. What was he supposed to say? Pardon me, ma’am, but you look so good and you smell so good that you’ve given me a hard-on? He didn’t even know the woman’s name, for crying out loud. And if her impatient sighs were any indication, this wasn’t the time for introductions.
Chantal’s entire body went rigid. She was afraid to move a muscle. At least her back faced him, which meant he couldn’t see the look of wonder on her face. The moment she felt that hard male muscle spring up against her backside…whoa, baby! She’d jerked away as quickly as she could out of shock and a sense of propriety, but what she really wanted was another encounter. It had been way too long since she’d felt a man’s erect penis, and this man whose name she didn’t even know had a pretty impressive piece of meat hanging between his thighs. It almost made being late for the concert worthwhile.
Since he’d taken the time to change his shirt and tie, he obviously had plans for the evening as well. Maybe a dinner date. Some lucky woman was going to be thoroughly satisfied before the night was over, if what she’d just felt was any indication. Chantal didn’t believe in sleeping with a man on the first date…or the second, either, but that tiny experience she’d had with this man’s rock of Gibraltar was enough to make her want to jump his bones without even knowing his name, much less the condensed story of his life.
Her shoulders drooped. Fat chance of that happening. She might not know this man’s name, but she knew his type. Mr. Big Time CPA had taken one look at her and dismissed her as unsuitable for any social involvement because of her profession…or what he thought was her profession. That hadn’t stopped him from checking her out, but it was all harmless fun for him…until he’d seen her dressed up. She’d gone from the unrefined Eliza Doolittle to the beautiful, cultured lady. He was probably wondering what a cleaning woman was doing dressed so nicely.
Chantal inadvertently shifted her hips to take some of the pressure off her feet. Whoops. There it went again. She couldn’t help thinking that she’d compared him to Clark Kent when he wore his glasses and Superman when he took them off. If what she was feeling right now was any example, he truly was the Man of Steel. How long could he sustain that erection?
Trystian’s embarrassment increased. His face felt as warm as a hamburger patty that had just been slapped on a grill. If she’d stop wiggling that butt of hers, maybe he could get his arousal under control. Part of him wanted to just grab a fistful of material and tear it out of his crotch just to be free of her so his body could stop betraying him. She was driving him insane with her wild scent and the way her shiny chin-length black hair bounced whenever she moved her head. Trystian had never torn off a woman’s clothes in his entire life, but he had a raging desire to do it now. Hell, they could go at it first and introduce themselves afterward. Or, considering her annoyance, let their bodies do the talking and skip the introductions altogether. Wasn’t that every man’s fantasy, to have mind-blowing sex with a beautiful female whose name he didn’t even know?
“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “It’s just that my feet are starting to hurt. These shoes aren’t meant for long periods of standing.”
He supposed three-inch red mules weren’t, and nor was there enough stretch room in their unfortunate connection for her to take off the painful shoes. No wonder her neck felt stiff.
It embarrassed Trystian that she’d actually acknowledged having felt his erection twitching against her butt like a damned Mexican jumping bean. How was he supposed to respond to that? I know we haven’t been properly introduced, but Big Wally here is awfully turned on by that nice round ass of yours….
He thought about how she could remove her shoes without tearing her dress. “You can take off your shoes, if you do it slowly. You might have to, um, hike up your dress a little so it doesn’t tear from the difference in our heights.”
She did as he suggested, one foot at a time. Trystian watched
as she hiked up the back of her dress over her hips. He knew she merely wanted to lessen the pull on the fabric, but he shut his eyes tightly nevertheless. It was such a sensuous sight. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if this were a whole different set of circumstances, if he’d been able to free them right away, and if it led to an intimate encounter back in the privacy of his office, hiking up her dress up over her hips and inviting him to explore the treasure underneath…
He was careful to let out his ragged breath quietly.
Unfortunately, he had no such control over his penis, which was reacting like a Geiger counter that just sensed a hotbed of radioactive activity.
With a sigh, he resumed his efforts to free their connection.
“I give up,” he announced fifteen minutes later. By this time they’d carefully walked to the wall so she could lean against it. “Your dress is really caught in there good, and I can’t get it out of my zipper. My fingers are getting numb from trying.”
“Well, that’s just dandy,” she said with a groan.
“It’s not great for me, either, you know. I had plans myself.”
“You can probably just postpone your plans until tomorrow. But this is probably a once-in-a-lifetime event for me.”
Trystian instantly became curious about what it was she was so certain would never happen again, but he wisely refrained from asking. She was clearly annoyed about the kink in her plans, and he wasn’t about to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t put the blame at her feet, either. It was truly just one of those things best, and simply, described as bad luck.
Exhausted, he pressed his left shoulder to the wall behind her. They stood without speaking for another ten minutes, at which time the elevator bell rang once more, and when the doors opened a tall young woman whose facial features, medium brown complexion, and willowy figure suggested a familial relationship to his mystery woman stepped out. This second woman had a pixie haircut and wore a sleeveless, cowl-necked ice blue silk dress. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of two weary people standing unnaturally close to each other as they leaned against the wall. “What’s going on here?” she asked uncertainly.
“My dress is caught in his fly,” his mystery woman replied.
“Your dress is what?”
“If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked,” the lady in red said crossly. “Thanks for bringing my dress.”
“You’re welcome. But if you can’t get that dress off, how do you propose to put this dress on?”
“I said my dress is caught. I didn’t say I can’t get it off.”
Trystian watched, his amazement matched only by that of Sinclair’s, as the woman he’d been attached to for nearly an hour calmly undid the side zipper of her dress and slid it off her opposite shoulder, revealing a scalloped black strapless bra and black bikini panties. His mouth dropped open as she carefully stepped out of the dress, wearing only her underwear and red high-heeled mules.
“C’mon, let’s go back inside the office so I can get dressed,” she said to her equally dumbfounded companion, who followed her down the hall, walking as if she were in a trance.
She wasn’t the only one. Trystian stood open-mouthed at the heavenly body that moved further away from him with every step she took. His erection strained against his briefs and felt like it was about to explode. He uttered a soft tortured groan, grateful that the women were too far away to hear.
The mysterious woman whose red dress had been replaced by sexy black underwear unlocked the office door, and she and Sinclair disappeared inside. Trystian stood alone in the hallway, his mouth agape, a monumental hard-on filling his pants, and an empty red chiffon dress hanging from his fly, wondering if he looked as foolish as he felt.
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Next excerpt: A Love of Her Own
Excerpt from
A Love of Her Own
by Bettye Griffin
Frank’s Fish Box was a popular informal seafood restaurant on Ocean Avenue in Nile Beach. The two-story restaurant was large and square, actually shaped like a box. Like every other building in the area it was lit with Christmas lights. Because of its boxy shape, the overall effect was that of an oversize Christmas gift.
It was also full, but only four people were waiting to be seated in the reception and bar area in the front. The hostess took their name and assured them a table would be available within the next fifteen minutes.
“Let’s have a drink,” Hilton suggested. They sat at the bar, and Ava ordered a Chardonnay, Hilton a seven and seven.
“Ava, hi!”
“Linda! What a surprise! I thought you were living in West Palm.” Ava warmly hugged the attractive fortyish woman who’d been passing by with a companion.
“I am, but we came to spend the holiday at my father’s. It was here that we met two years ago. I guess we’re just sentimental.” She took the arm of the bespectacled man standing to her left, whose black hair contained a smattering of gray. “Honey, this is Ava Maxwell, an old friend of mine. Ava, this is my husband, Neil Barkley.”
Ava shook hands with Linda’s husband, then introduced Hilton to both of them. “Tell me, will you be here for the entire holiday season?” she asked, beaming. She was so happy for her friend, whose face just glowed.
“Until January second.”
“Then you must come to my open house New Year’s Day. Take down my address.”
The bartender placed their drinks in front of them just as Linda completed writing down Ava’s address. Neil held up his hand. “I’ll take care of that, bartender,” he said.
“Oh, that’s all—” Hilton began.
“No, I insist,” Neil said. He squeezed Linda’s shoulders affectionately. “We’re celebrating. Linda’s pregnant.”
Ava placed her hand palm down on the surface of the bar and swallowed hard. Pregnant? Linda? If it were anyone else…but Linda? How could that be?
The answer came to her just as quickly.
It couldn’t be.
Hilton was offering congratulations and pumping Neil’s hand. “Hey, that’s wonderful.”
“Um...will you excuse me?” Ava asked. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She knew Hilton and Neil would think her behavior odd, but she had to compose herself, quickly, and in private.
“I think I’ll go along,” Linda said. She hurried off behind Ava.
In the privacy of the lounge area of the ladies powder room, Linda said, “Thanks for not giving me away. I know Neil’s announcement came as a shock.”
“Linda, what’s going on? In our infertility support group you said your endometriosis was so severe you had to have a hysterectomy.”
“I did. It cost me a husband, and I thought I’d never get over it. But then I met Neil. He’s wonderful, Ava. He’s been married before, too, but only for a few years. He’s gotten everything he’s wanted out of life except children. He told me from the beginning that he wanted a family, that even one child would be fine. I agreed.”
“Linda, how could agree to such a thing when you knew it was impossible?”
“I didn’t want to lose him, Ava! Don’t you understand? I can’t be dumped twice in a lifetime because I can’t have kids!”
Ava took her friend’s hand. “I know what happened to you was devastating, and I think your husband—your first husband, I mean—was a macho heel to treat you the way he did, but don’t you see how wrong this is? Obviously you can’t keep up the charade forever. So what happens? A miscarriage? Surely you’re not going to steal someone’s baby!”
“Of course not. It’ll be a miscarriage. What other choice do I have? I’ve been faking having periods all this time.”
Ava shook her head. “Linda, how could you?”
“Everybody can’t be as noble as you are, Ava, and walk out of an otherwise happy marriage.”
“But it’s what Neil wanted. How can you knowingly deprive him of that?”
“I have no choice,” Linda re
peated. “It’ll be soon, after we’re back home. He has to go out of town on business the second week in January, and by the time he gets home it’ll all be over. Then I’ll just never be able to conceive. That’s not so unusual for women my age. I’m forty-two, you know. Maybe then Neil will want to adopt. He wasn’t too keen on the idea when I suggested that my childbearing years might be behind me.”
“Oh, Linda.” Ava shook her head.
“Please go along with me on this, Ava. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
“What about your family? How do you know your father won’t give it away?”
“My father doesn’t even know I had a hysterectomy. All I told him at the time was that I needed gynecological surgery. He knew from when my mother was alive that I had all kinds of female troubles, but I didn’t have the surgery until after my mother had passed. You know how uncomfortable men are with details. He’s remarried now, and my stepmother doesn’t know about it either. Ava, are you with me on this? I need to know.”
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