by Maren Smith
“Yes, I noticed. Not to worry. A good set of Spanx and the right tailor and you’ll look perfect. I’ll see if Louis can’t come down to do your hair. Don’t do anything to it until he gets there. Agreed? Of course, you do. You’re such a dear girl and my favorite author.”
Before Sage could get in another word, the line was dead. Oh well, at least I get to stay at the Savoy and maybe if I tip the driver, I can see a little bit of London.
She picked up the paperback of her latest novel. Roark was not the hunk du jour—he wasn’t blond, pretty and polite. Instead, he was tall, dark, and lethal looking, with a strong, muscular physique. He had black hair, chocolate-colored eyes, chiseled features, and the requisite six-pack abs—actually an eight-pack and a pronounced v-formation that led to his sizable cock, which rarely seemed to tire. Roark was arrogant, demanding, quick to spank, and even quicker to fuck.
She sighed. Too bad guys like that didn’t really exist outside of romance novels.
Four months later, Gail and Sage were standing in the line for Customs at Heathrow. Somehow, word of her arrival had been leaked to the press, who in turn informed the public. Just beyond the secure area of the airport, both reporters and fans waited. Sage suspected the leak had been Gail’s well-oiled publicity machine. Even a non-stop, first-class flight from Charlotte to London was long and tiring. Gail had insisted she touch up her make-up and ensure her hair looked picture perfect… literally.
“Don’t slouch,” hissed Gail, poking Sage between the shoulder blades.
Sage straightened her spine and made it through British Airport Security and the reporters, only to find Gail had managed to arrange for a little Q&A session in one of the airline lounges. Sage spent the next three hours answering questions and signing autographs for readers. When it was over, Sage was relieved to learn Gail had indeed hired a Rolls Royce limo and driver for the duration of their trip. Sage insisted they drop Gail, and everything they would need for the signing, at the Four Seasons first before proceeding to the Savoy.
Before she got out of the limo, Gail admonished her, “I’ve called the Savoy and given them your wake-up calls as well as the times the driver will be there to pick you up. I’ve also given the driver the schedule and arranged for you to have dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow in your room.”
“Isn’t breakfast included in the signing event?” asked Sage.
“Yes, dear, but you don’t want to be caught with food in your mouth if someone asks you a question.”
Gail gave her two air kisses getting out after her luggage, all of the books, and other event paraphernalia had been unloaded. The driver got back into the limo.
“Next stop… the Savoy.”
“Would you mind terribly just driving me around a little bit so I can see something of the city?”
“Ms. Vincent was quite clear in her instructions.”
“What Ms. Vincent doesn’t know won’t kill her, and I’ve got fifty pounds sterling that says you can keep a secret.”
The driver grinned. “I can indeed.”
The man had grown up in London and so easily navigated not only the most popular routes, but those that had picturesque mews, cobblestone streets, and quaint shops. He dropped her at the Savoy, ensured her bags were taken up to her room, and the concierge accompanied her to the front desk, promising a smooth check-in.
“Will there be anything else Ms. Matthews?” the concierge asked while the bellman unpacked the last of her things. “We’re all enormous fans and think its wonderful that you have Roark Samuels living here at the Savoy.”
Handing him a large tip, Sage smiled and replied, “No, thank you for all your help.”
“Very good, Miss. Your evening meal has been arranged and I can either have it sent up immediately or give you time for a bath. Which would you prefer?”
“A bath would be lovely.”
“Shall I have it drawn for you?” he asked helpfully.
“No, thank you. I can manage. How about if you give me an hour?”
“Very good, miss,” he said before withdrawing.
Sage started the bathwater and smiled at the various fragrances which could be added. She opted for a light mix of vanilla and lavender. The combined aroma of the steam coming out of the tub was nothing short of divine.
Sage wandered back into her room while the water ran and carefully undressed, hanging up her outfit. She had to admit Gail had exceptional taste—expensive, but exquisite. She returned to the bathroom and removed her make-up, wrapping her hair in a towel provided for just that use. She tested the water, removed her robe, and stepped into the tub, sighing as she slid down so the water embraced her like a lover’s caress. Who was she kidding? It had been so long she’d pretty much forgotten what that felt like.
Chapter Two
It was a dark and stormy night… Shit! Now she was channeling Charles Schultz and Snoopy! Normally the Roark Samuels novels practically wrote themselves. She had a plot, more of a formula, and she could churn one out in less than three weeks, but this one just wouldn’t come. She’d been trying to get into it for the past week. She had hired a writing coach who had been brutally frank that she needed to take Roark in a different direction—give him more depth and dimension. He was insistent she get at least three or four chapters done. London had been a disaster… so much for a vacation.
“Aaarrrgghhh!” Sage said, pushing away from the hotel desk and standing up.
She shook her head. Maybe she should call Gail—try to take back what she had said. The entire London trip had been a fiasco. They had sniped at each other the entire weekend. Gail had controlled everything, down to what was ordered for Sage to eat and drink. She hadn’t had a moment’s peace. When she wanted to have dinner their last night at the famed Savoy Grill, Gail told her she didn’t have time and needed to get something done on the new novel she had yet to start.
At the end of the trip, Gail harangued and bullied her in front of a group of dedicated readers, and when one came to her defense, Gail turned her considerable verbal attack skills on her. Sage intervened and, in the end, fired Gail, who in turn berated her.
“You were nothing before I found you on that silly fanfic page, and without me, you’ll be nothing again. No one is going to want to read your books and I’ll blacklist you with every decent publisher, editor and cover designer…” Gail had screamed at her.
Fortunately, Sage was able to change her plane reservations so she and Gail did not have to fly seated next to each other. She’d given herself an open return. After some thought, Sage decided to extend her stay in London, and the Savoy had been most accommodating. She’d been wandering the common areas and halls one night in search of inspiration, finding none.
“Excuse me, Ms. Matthews, may I be of assistance?” asked the night-time concierge.
“No, thanks, Corinne. I just can’t sleep and keep hoping if I wander on Roark’s home turf, so to speak, something will come to me.”
“I can’t tell you how many of us love your books and Roark. We often think we spot little glimpses of him now and again… as do guests.”
Sage laughed. “Really? Like he’s haunting the place?”
“Not such a far-fetched idea. The Savoy has several resident ghosts. We like to think Roark would keep us safe from all of them. Perhaps if he’d been here, the little girl who haunts the fifth floor wouldn’t have died so mysteriously. And then there’s the wailing woman. Trudy from the front desk now swears it’s because she’s done something naughty and Roark has her over his knee.”
Sage was finding Corinne excellent company as she meandered through some of the grand halls and rooms of the luxurious hotel.
“Did Richard Harris really live here?”
“Oh, yes, Miss. We’ve had several well-known individuals who chose to stay with us permanently and we are vaunted for our Writer in Residence program. Have you thought about staying on with us? I know upper management would be thrilled.”
Sage turned and looked at
the young woman, the barest glimmer of an idea beginning to tickle her brain.
“Do you think you could arrange that for me?” she asked Corinne. “Maybe for the next few months?”
“I’d be delighted. If you’re planning to write, I’ll have an ergonomic desk chair brought up to your suite and can arrange for either a larger monitor or an entire desk-top computer.”
“No, no… I love my laptop’s keyboard, but a large monitor would help with the eyestrain and a really comfy chair for writing and a small printer would be great.”
“I’ll see that they are set up for you tomorrow. Why don’t you let us arrange a guided tour of the city? We’ll make the necessary changes to accommodate your personal preferences. If you’ll make note of what you’d like us to stock in the room for you, we’ll ensure you have everything you need.”
“If I could ask you to not put through Ms. Vincent’s calls, I’d be most appreciative.”
“That won’t be a problem. Have you checked your messages? Trudy says word is out you’ve left Ms. Vincent’s publishing house and there are several publishers trying to reach you.”
“Really?” Sage asked, astonished.
“Absolutely. Two of them are here in London.”
Sage stopped and turned to Corinne. “If you could have the messages sent up with my breakfast and arrange for a tour of the city while you get my room set up, that would be really helpful.”
Corinne grinned. “I would be happy to arrange all of that for you. Any idea how long you’d like to stay with us?”
“Let’s say a minimum of three months and we’ll revisit it at two months.”
“Very good, Ms. Matthews.”
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The words still didn’t want to come, but Sage took a shower and got dressed with an energy and lightness of heart she hadn’t had for a while. She flipped through her messages. Those from Gail were progressively darker and more threatening. Sage had dismissed them. The front desk called up to let her know a driver and guide were waiting at her pleasure. She finished getting ready and stepped out into the hall.
Sage spent the morning and early afternoon with her guided tour. They saw some of the tourist spots and then spent time in the local vintage and antique shops in the city. Sage picked up a few items to personalize her hotel room and began considering ways to breathe new life into the Roark Samuels novels. In the evening, she ventured out into the surrounding area and found a friendly pub. She spent the evening sharing a communal table, drinking Guinness, and playing darts. She couldn’t remember when she’d had a better time.
A large part of her enjoyment came from the attention of one of men she spent time with. William Shackelford was an employee at the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office. He was sexy and solicitous in the way only a well-raised Englishman could be. As the evening went on, he found ways to subtly touch her. When she didn’t dissuade him, the touches got bolder—a glancing touch along her breast, a caressing hand on her backside. Gradually, his gentle fondling reignited her arousal, which had seemed frozen since Derek’s departure from her life.
More than a little tipsy, Sage left the pub with William and offered no resistance, or even protest, when he suggested walking several blocks along the Thames. There was no one about and she enjoyed the weather, the night, and the company. London was turning out to have a very positive influence on her life. She and William walked hand-in-hand in companionable silence, and she reflected on the fact that as an author, she could pursue her career anywhere in the world… including London, perhaps with William.
Most of the wide causeway was well lit, but William began drawing her into his arms, ducking into the shadows and behind trees, his hands brazenly roaming her back and derriere, pressing his hard length against her body. She could feel his shaft pressing through his trousers, straining to get to the place between her legs. Never tarrying long, he moved them along the walkway until they came to one of the few bridges that crossed the river. Sage noticed there was no one around.
“Why is it women like to wear trousers?” William asked seductively, cupping her bottom before running his hand inside her waistband and beneath her panties to caress her bare flesh.
She might have protested if not for the fact his mouth descended on hers in a searing kiss that overwhelmed her already frayed senses, causing her to melt into him with a heavy moan. His tongued pushed past her teeth, sweeping through her mouth—tasting, exploring, entreating. Sage knew it was madness but didn’t care when he pushed her leggings and panties down past her buttocks, exposing her mons and lower body to the cool London night.
He gripped the nape of her neck with one hand, holding her in place while he leaned her back against the stone pillar of the bridge support. He used his other hand to find the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, gently trailing his fingers between them until he discovered her clit, circling it then tugging gently. Sage felt dizzy with need and clung to William while he explored her most feminine place.
“Wanton little wench, aren’t you?” he whispered.
“Not usually,” she said with a muffled laugh. “I think I had a bit too much Guinness.”
William spun her away from him so that she was facing the wall, her hands splayed on the damp stone. He stroked the cleft between her butt cheeks, circling her dark rosebud before slipping his hand between her legs and penetrating her wet heat with two fingers, plunging them in and out.
“William,” she breathed.
“Shh, Sage,” he crooned, continuing to finger her while stroking her hair, before drifting his hand to her breast and squeezing it briefly before dipping into the pocket of his jacket. “If I’d known you’d be this ready for a good romp, I might have set this up differently.”
The seductive tone was gone. In its place was one as cold as ice.
Sage felt the thin, cloth-covered wire slip around her neck as he removed his fingers from her pussy and grasped the other end of the garrote. William used his hard thighs to force her against the stone as she brought her hands up to try keep him from strangling her.
“Why?” she barely managed to stammer.
“Why not?” he hissed.
The loop tightened, and Sage could feel her breath being cut off as darkness began to cloud her mind. She tried to struggle, but to no avail. She felt cheated when her life did not flash before her eyes. She wondered why she had been able to provide her readers with a storybook hero… yet failed to find her own. All she felt was the peace of acceptance as the noose continued to cut off her air. Time and space shimmered and seemed to shift, darkness descending upon her. Just before she lost consciousness, she thought she heard a spitting sound… then the blackness became complete.
Sage woke, her eyes fluttering open. She reached for her throat.
“There shouldn’t be any scarring if that’s what worries you,” said a cultured British voice, decidedly male. “Although that should be the least of your concerns. How are you feeling? Are you all right?”
Sage glanced around her surroundings. She was in a hotel room, that much was apparent. It was still dark out. She looked towards the sound of the voice. She couldn’t make out his features or any details, but he was tall, and his muscular build was obvious as he leaned back against the chest of drawers.
“Wh… Where am I? Wh… Who are you?”
“That’s not how this works, little girl. I’m the one that did the rescuing; I’m the one that asks the questions. I asked how you were feeling and if you were all right.”
As Sage became more awake, the details of her current circumstances were revealed in greater detail. For one thing, she was naked. For another, it felt like there was something stuck up her bum. She started to reach around to find the offending object.
“Ah, ah, little girl. You leave that alone. You’ve been very naughty and naughty little girls sometimes have reminders to behave put up their bottom hole.”
“What the fuck? Who do you think you are?” Sage snapped, outra
ged.
“That’s enough, Sage. I must say, for such an intelligent and articulate author, you do use the most vulgar language. That really needs to end.”
Sage rolled onto her hip, facing away from him and again stretched her hand back around to remove the butt plug. The more awake she became, the more uncomfortable it was. He moved silently, but the crack that resounded as his hand connected with her bare bottom was as clearly audible as her yowl.
“I told you to leave that alone. The plug stays until I’ve decided to remove it. Given your writing, I was surprised you are that tight back there. We’ll need to work on that. At some point I’ll want to fuck your bottom hole… and I’ll want you to enjoy it.”
Sage rolled off the bed, bringing the sheet with her, and faced him.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are...”
“That is enough, Sage. I had thought you might offer some explanation for your behavior last night. Getting drunk in an international city like London and wandering off with some guy in the dark is just stupid. You are far from stupid.”
Sage started to take a step toward the bathroom door. Hopefully, there’d be a phone in there, and she could lock herself in and call for help. The only problem was when she moved, the plug sent a jolt of pure sexual need coursing through her system… staggering her.
The stranger stepped between Sage and the door to the bath, almost as though he knew what she was thinking. He flicked on the lamp beside him. Its light revealed a tall, dark, well-built man dressed in black—boots, jeans, belt, and a t-shirt that seemed molded to his body. The determined look in his eye told her she had no chance of getting by him. She refused to be cowed… aroused maybe, but not intimidated. It was her spine that straightened, her knees that threatened to buckle, and the pulsing in her nether region that caused her to retreat.
He came around the end of the bed and made his way toward her. She wanted to believe he moved the same way an alley cat plays with a mouse, but he was far more predatory than any domesticated cat. There was a powerful grace that exuded “alpha male” with every step he took.