Discovery

by Radclyffe

  “Thanks again.” Ansley handed me the mug with an expression I wanted to believe was regret, then disappeared back into her room.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about her, and wondering whether she was involved. All day, meeting one client after another, the memory of her smile was a constant distraction. I hurried through the last sales pitch, hoping I might find her poolside upon my return.

  Instead, I heard laughing as I approached the wooden gate. Inside I found a virtual sea of lesbians. Eighty or so women, of all ages, many of them with books in their hands. A literary club? Ansley stood out, her blond hair shining in the sun. She had on a royal blue tank top and short khaki shorts that showed off her toned thighs. I made it my mission, after I changed, to flirt with her. At least find out her last name.

  A lot of people came over to say hello to her while I watched her for the next half hour, but no one stayed too long. The redhead put her arm around her waist at one point, but I just didn’t see the spark of two women hot for each other, and managed to convince myself they were just friends.

  It wasn’t long before most of the women left and only the guests of the resort and a few others remained. I’d never tried to pick up someone before, but I didn’t want to miss this opportunity. I’d finally laid eyes on someone who put a zing in my step, and I believe in living a life of no regrets. So I went for it. Ansley was just so damn sexy it made me obscenely brave. I guess I figured since I certainly knew what I liked, and I’d had plenty of practice in that department, I couldn’t do too badly my first time with a woman.

  I made a quick run up the street to Ralph’s and back. A few guests were still about, but Ansley was alone, stretched out on one of the lounge chairs. Her eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but I’d not been gone long enough for her to fall asleep.

  I gathered my nerve and approached her. “Espresso. The good stuff. I recognized a fellow coffeeholic this morning.”

  She took off her sunglasses and looked first at the cup in my hand, then up at me, that smile beginning at the edge of her magnificent mouth. My stomach twisted, and it felt awful and wonderful. “Well, thanks very much,” she said, reaching for it. “That’s a sweet thing to do.”

  I shrugged, feeling my cheeks warm as her gaze trailed over my body in a way that excited me beyond belief. Her open appraisal lingered on my breasts—well, okay, they are a rather nice feature of mine, I’ll admit—but I’d never felt this way when men had done what she was doing. I loved her eyes on me.

  I sucked in a breath and swear I heard a faint moan in response. And boy, that really encouraged me. What now, idiot? I asked myself. How do women do this? Start simple. I stuck out my hand. “I didn’t introduce myself this morning. Maggie Cassidy.”

  She took my hand in hers, lingering a moment. Her hand was warm, and soft, and her touch was making me a little weak in the knees. “Ansley.”

  We stood there staring at each other and I saw it come to life in her eyes. The same want, the same desire, the same flush of excitement that was pouring through my body.

  Of course that was when the redhead swept up beside Ansley and put her arm around Ansley’s waist.

  Ansley’s hand left mine. Its absence was like the loss of a cool breeze on a humid summer day.

  “Dinner. You can’t refuse,” redhead said to Ansley, before turning her attention to me. “Hi. Sorry to pull her away, but we’re going to be late if we don’t go right this minute.”

  “Uh, no problem,” I stuttered. “Just saying hello.” Girlfriend after all, it looked like. I could feel myself getting red again, so I turned away to hide my embarrassment. But I stopped at the sound of Ansley’s voice.

  “Thanks again so much.”

  I ventured a glance back to see her hoisting her espresso in my direction. I waved and kept walking.

  I spent the rest of the night feeling foolish, and inexperienced, and frustrated more than anything else. Damn, she was fine.

  I was up at five, my internal body clock not caring that I didn’t have a two-hour commute today and could sleep in if I liked. A half hour later, I headed outdoors with coffee and my laptop to watch the sun rise.

  This time, she was sitting in plain view, illuminated by the pool lights on a lounge chair, also with a mug and her laptop. She smiled as though she was every bit as happy to see me there as I was to see her.

  But the girlfriend thing had sobered my intoxication with her, jolted me back to reality, at least enough that I was able to maintain my decorum and choose a seat close enough to see her, but not near enough to be intrusive. Or to tempt me to flirt any further with her.

  I answered my e-mail as she typed away on her computer, sitting some fifteen feet away. I glanced up to find her looking at me at least as often as she caught me watching her, and I could swear I saw the same smolder of desire in her eyes that I had glimpsed the night before. But what the hell did I know? This was new to me, and so I chalked it up to wishful thinking and tried to let go of the fantasies she’d been inspiring in my waking and sleeping moments since I first laid eyes on her.

  I was so intent on the e-mail I was typing I didn’t see her get up or hear her approach. But suddenly she was there beside me, and I glanced up to find that damn sexy grin directed my way again. How was I to resist her when she smiled at me like that?

  “Will you watch my stuff for a couple of minutes, Maggie?” She gestured toward her laptop and a leather bag beside her chair. I loved the way she said my name. A subtle emphasis, like she’d been looking forward to using it.

  “Sure,” I replied, as nonchalantly as I could.

  “Great. Be right back.”

  She left through the gate, and I said a prayer of thanks for the warm Palm Springs weather as I appreciated the well-toned legs beneath her snug denim shorts.

  She was back in a flash, carrying two grande cups from Ralph’s, one of which she set down on the table by my laptop. “You were right,” she said. “The good stuff, for sure.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” But I was charmed she did, girlfriend or no girlfriend.

  “Oh, I know. I just wanted to return the favor, and say I’m sorry I had to rush off so abruptly last night.”

  “Hey, uh…uh…no prob,” I stuttered. Smooth talker. I tried to think of something clever, but everything that sprang to mind with her was much too sexually charged to repeat under the circumstances, and so I kept silent.

  “Well, I’ll see you around.”

  I detected disappointment in her voice as she turned to go, and that pleased me no end, but I didn’t try to stop her from returning to her laptop. She stayed another forty minutes or so, but with fewer sidelong glances at me, and left without saying good-bye.

  Still, I could not let go of the chance to be near her. I had meetings that day until late, so my next chance would be the next morning. I set my alarm for four thirty. Screw sleep. I prayed she would be there.

  She was. Back in her chair, head down, working on her laptop. Coffee mug by her side.

  Somehow it felt like it was my turn again. So she wouldn’t be my first female lover. I still wanted to get to know her better, so I gathered my courage and took a chair six feet away. Not crowding her, but near enough that we could exchange a few words if she wanted to.

  She glanced up as I sat down, and her eyes raked over me and that small indentation appeared in her cheek. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  Her words warmed me, and I decided if she was going to flirt, I’d flirt right back, girlfriend be damned.

  “Seems we keep the same hours,” I said. “My turn to run to Ralph’s today when it opens.”

  Her smile got bigger. “You’re on.”

  Redhead appeared right on cue, poking her head out of the door, begging for coffee. I returned my attention to my laptop, feeling a bit like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Ansley, however, looked unruffled.

  “Just press the button, Cheryl. It’s all set up for you.”

  She caug
ht me smiling at that, and grinned back.

  Now was my chance. “Missed you last night,” I said flippantly, as I turned on my laptop.

  She chuckled. “I need at least two more cups to be even remotely charming.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Why haven’t I seen you at any of the readings?” she asked.

  So she’d been looking for me. Cool.

  “Because I’m not with your group. I’m meeting with clients for my charter flight company.”

  Her eyes widened. I could tell she was surprised at the news. “You’re not here for the Lesbian Book Festival?”

  I shook my head.

  “So…you’re not a reader?”

  “Well, I do read,” I said. “But not lesbian fiction. Nonfiction is more my speed.”

  She took a couple of seconds to absorb this. “No lesbian fiction at all?”

  “Nope. I like true-life stories. Mountain-climbing adventures, shipwrecks, polar exploration…that sort of thing.”

  “I see.” Ansley still had the oddest look on her face, and I couldn’t figure out why. “So…so, how do you know about me, then?”

  Now I was really confused. “Know about you? What do you mean?”

  “You have no idea who I am?” Her eyes narrowed. “None at all?”

  I started to get this kind of funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Should I? Are you famous or something?”

  As if in response to my question, one of the owners of the resort approached, a pen in one hand and a trade paperback in the other. “Sorry to interrupt, but…would you mind, Ansley?”

  “Of course,” Ansley responded cheerily. “I’d love to. Shall I inscribe it to you both?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “My pleasure.”

  As Ansley signed the book, I stood and took a couple of steps so I could see the cover. A photo of a woman restrained spread-eagle on a bed, with a lustful look in her eyes. The title read Handcuff Holiday, and beneath it were the words The latest steamy sensation from Ansley, the Queen of Lesbian Erotica.

  All my bravado, all my hormonally charged self-confidence withered in an instant under the weight of her world of experience, and I fled. Yup. Picked up my laptop and ran like the coward I was. Never even said good-bye. What the hell was I thinking?

  And I didn’t even know the half of it then.

  I showered and dressed for my day with clients. My first wasn’t until ten that day, so I stayed in my room, hiding from her, until it was time to go. When I emerged I saw that chairs had been set up. Readings, she’d said. So she was here to read from her novels.

  Near the gate three large tables were covered with piles of books. A woman behind them was carefully arranging them to maximize the space. I made sure Ansley was not around before I stopped to look. There were dozens of titles. Romances and mysteries, thrillers and anthologies. There was horror and science fiction, even, and it was a revelation. I had no idea there were so many books out there written by and for lesbians. Way cool. Time to give fiction another look.

  “Can I help you find a particular title?” the woman offered.

  “Well, I’m, uh…I’m looking for… Do you know the author named Ansley?”

  “Oh, of course!” She beamed. “Isn’t she great? No one can touch her when it comes to writing the really hot stuff.” She laughed at her own double entendre. “We don’t have all her titles. Lack of space. But a good representation down on the end here.”

  She led the way to the last table, which looked eerily like an Ansley shrine. In the middle was a photo of the author dressed only in a leather jacket and torn jeans, and posed in that sure-of-herself-but-not-really-flaunting-it stance. Sexy. Oh, so sexy. And so far out of my league. I winced when I thought about how naïve and clichéd my efforts at flirting must have seemed.

  Around the photo were her books, with names like Passion’s Pursuit and Forces of Femmes and Racy Rendezvous. I read the cover blurbs on several and could feel myself getting redder and redder. Then I leafed through a few, and read a paragraph here and there. Oh. My. God. I was flirting with the woman who wrote this?

  I bought every book of hers they had, cut short every meeting that day, and stayed up all night to read.

  The first book I chose, Handcuff Holiday, her latest, I read cover to cover in three and a half hours, including the four breaks I took to imagine myself in a scene with the author. I had never been so sexually charged in my life, but the orgasms were not as satisfying as they should have been. I wanted her.

  To think that hundreds of women thought this way about Ansley bothered the hell out of me in an odd way, but excited me, too. The next several books I just skimmed, diving into the sexy parts, growing more aroused all the time, knowing she had written all of this. But every book also made me feel more foolish that I had dared approach her, and grateful I’d not gone further. Apparently I had a lot to learn about what women do to each other. And for all my false bravado with her in the flirting department, I wasn’t sure I could be anywhere near as unrestrained and insatiable and explicit as most of the women she wrote about were. Were they all her ex-lovers?

  It doesn’t matter, I kept telling myself. She has a girlfriend, idiot.

  I glanced at the digital clock by the bed. Five o’clock. Would she be there? I fought the urge to go to the window to look, though I knew it might be my last chance to see her. We both would be going home tomorrow.

  I lasted until seven, then I went to the window, heart pounding. I couldn’t understand my tumult of emotions. I just knew I was far too stirred up to face her in the flesh. Disappointed and relieved to find the courtyard empty, I ventured outside and fired up the laptop.

  In less than two minutes, she materialized. “Are you avoiding me?” Her voice was soft, and I looked up into sad eyes.

  I shrugged. I couldn’t lie to her. “I had no idea who you were. I’m sorry.”

  She flinched in disappointment. “You’re not interested in me because of my writing?”

  “No!” I blurted out, and that made her smile. “I mean, for one thing, of course, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend at first…”

  “Girlfriend?” she repeated, her forehead furrowing. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  My heartbeat picked up. “The redhead?”

  She draped that great body of hers over the end my chair, so we were within touching distance. That endearing indentation appeared in her cheek. “You mean my editor?”

  “Editor?” My body started to tingle in anticipation. She had that look in her eyes again.

  “Yeah, we had a reader appreciation dinner last night. And a book signing the night before. She keeps me on schedule.” She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on my breasts again, and my body reacted as if she was really touching me. “But I’m free tonight.”

  I could hardly breathe for the adrenaline racing through me. “Look, it’s real obvious that I’m attracted to you, but I’m just not…I mean…” How could I admit to this woman that I was completely clueless?

  “You really didn’t know who I was.”

  I shook my head.

  She reached over and put her hand lightly on my shoulder. I was acutely aware of the soft pressure of her fingertips. “Then why me?”

  I looked at her. “I’m not sure,” I answered as honestly as I could. “There’s just something about you.”

  “Simple as that?”

  Damn, I loved that smile. “Yes.”

  “Then why did you run?”

  She was so close. Kissing distance. And there was no girlfriend between us, after all. I couldn’t stop staring at her lips.

  “Wouldn’t work,” I mumbled.

  “No?” She leaned in closer to me. “Sure about that?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I responded in the affirmative, but found myself shaking my head no, and that made her laugh.

  “Why wouldn’t it work?” She leaned in farther until I could feel her breath on my cheek.

  I’d spent the
last several hours being seduced by her words, and like I said, I believe in living a life of no regrets. I suddenly didn’t give a damn about my lack of experience. I just felt I should warn her.

  “There’s nothing I’d like more right now than to invite you to my room, and see how many of the scenes in your books we can re-create in however many hours we have until our planes home,” I said. “But…”

  “You’ve read my books?” She looked confused and very pleased.

  “I bought eight yesterday morning. Read all of Handcuff Holiday and parts of the others,” I admitted with a sheepish grin. “I really liked The Depth of Desire, and can’t wait for Torrid Affairs.”

  “You’re serious!”

  I nodded, feeling my face flush again.

  “Which parts of the others did you read?” Before I could answer, she leaned in and pressed her lips to my neck, kissing me so sweetly I shut my eyes and luxuriated in the touch for a moment before I continued with my effort to warn her.

  “I love your writing,” I said as she continued to nuzzle my neck, “but I have to admit I’m scared to death at the prospect of being with you.”

  She pulled back to look at me. “Why?”

  Now or never. I had to be honest with her, though I knew it might kill the chance I’d have a hell of a memorable evening.

  “I’ve never been with a woman before.” I stared at my shoes.

  “Never?” Her voice was soft.

  “I’ve known for a long time. Just never met anyone I cared to…you know.” I couldn’t believe I was talking like this to someone who regularly wrote most explicitly about doing everything imaginable to the female anatomy.

  “You sure you want it to be me?” she asked in that breathy half-whisper.

  “I’m sure. If you’re not put off by my lack of experience.” I didn’t want to sell myself too short, though, I decided. I looked her in the eyes. “Not that I haven’t been paying attention to what I read today, and I certainly am a willing and able student.”