Weapons of Mass Seduction

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  “How did you manage all this?”

  “You aren’t the only one in this town with connections. The only caveat is that we have to be out of here by one o’clock, but that gives us nearly an hour to enjoy the view.”

  “And each other,” Valen added.

  “And each other,” Pia repeated. “More champagne?” she asked, reaching into the wine bucket standing nearby and filling his empty glass.

  “Thank you. Are you joining me?”

  “Sparkling wine for you, sparkling water for me.”

  “It is so beautiful and peaceful up here,” Valen remarked. “Thank you, Pia. This is such a needed respite. It seems I never get the chance to do anything normal people do anymore—go to the movies, read a good book, play Scrabble—you know, stuff that pals do together. You have no idea how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

  And it was true. Pia could not know that there was nothing he coveted more these days than privacy. Most of the women he’d dated of late would have surprised him with dinner or drinks at some major Manhattan hot spot—more for the opportunity to see and be seen with him than to enjoy each other’s company. Pia’s planning of this quiet evening meant for just the two of them, away from the prying eyes of the public and press, made this night, and her, all the more special.

  Pia smiled, pleased that he was pleased. The two once again lapsed into companionable silence, taking a moment to enjoy “I Am Singing,” another Wonder selection from his favorite album.

  “I’d be happy to pal around and do some normal stuff with you,” she offered.

  “I would like that very much. So, buddy, would you like to dance?” Valen asked, extending his hand.

  Fifteen minutes into the next day, Valen Bellamy finally got what he’d been aching for since walking into the Metropolitan Museum several hours ago—to hold this lovely lady in his arms.

  “Nice touch,” he whispered in her ear.

  Pia closed her eyes and took a second to enjoy the tickle of his breath on her ears.

  “Can’t go wrong with Stevie. Plus, I was feeling very competitive when I was planning this. You did such a lovely job with breakfast in the park that I had to step up big-time. Very impressive, Senator.”

  “Apparently not impressive enough, as instead of creating intrigue and interest, it seemed to cause your avoidance. What were you running from?”

  Another pause while Pia contemplated her answer. Should she tell Valen the truth? That while her physical attraction to him had been immediate and strong, she’d chalked those feelings up to her parched libido? That she was not interested in falling for any man at this time, particularly one she knew she could never have? And that tonight was simply about achieving a professional goal while having a little personal fun?

  Valen stopped dancing and widened the space between them so he could look at her. Tenderly lifting her face with his hand, he brought her eyes to his. “Pia, I asked you a question. What were you running from?”

  Influenced by this fantasy environment and the warmth of Valen’s embrace, and thoroughly enjoying the close proximity of his manly smell and body, Pia opted for the truth…or at least most of it.

  “This,” Pia replied in a barely audible whisper before reaching her lips toward his. Valen responded by once again closing the gap between them and returning her kiss with a light, sensual one of his own.

  Looking deep into her eyes, he gently parted her lips with his tongue and began to tenderly explore the sweetness of her mouth. With just the right amount of pressure and speed, their tongues and eyes danced a sexy tango that sent quiet explosions of desire through Pia’s body. In another example of expert timing, Valen withdrew, and his lips began a slow, seductive march down her chin across her shoulders and up her neck, landing on her ear, where his tongue and teeth took over. He nibbled and gnawed until Pia felt her knees and defenses go weak.

  “Pals don’t kiss like that,” she said with a breathlessness that Valen found irresistible. “How could you know?”

  “How could I know what?” his mouth once again returned to her ear to ask.

  “You kiss me like you know me,” Pia told him, enjoying the caress of his hand down her back. “Like you’ve been doing it for years.”

  “Maybe I have. Maybe we were great lovers in another life and have returned in this one to find each other.” Inwardly Valen smiled, intrigued by the idea.

  “Senator, you sound like a Democrat. A new age Democrat, at that.”

  “Just another amazing effect you’ve had on me,” Valen admitted before pulling Pia back into his arms and devouring her mouth with his. This time his kiss was hungry and possessive. It was a kiss that crossed the line between interest and possession. A kiss that both scared and seduced.

  “It’s almost one,” she said, pulling away, both relieved and disappointed by that fact.

  “Okay, Cinderella. I don’t want you to miss your pumpkin. But I would definitely like to see you again.”

  “I’d like that,” she agreed.

  The truth, Pia finally admitted to herself, was that she was lonely and enjoyed Valen’s company. And the pal thing she could do. It was perfect. No commitment, no nasty breakup when the time came, just two friends spending time together.

  Two friends that are obviously very attracted to each other, Pia’s brain commented, sending a shiver down her back as a quick reminder of his kiss.

  True, dat, she agreed. This definitely cannot be a friends with benefits situation.

  “But…”

  “But what? I promised I wouldn’t be grumpy.”

  “There is something you should know about me before we proceed any further.” Pia looked at his handsome face and took a deep breath. This would be a tough admission. “And I won’t hold any grudges if you decide to just walk away now.”

  “Okay,” Valen said, convinced that there was not much she could say that would deter him.

  “I’m…celibate,” she said, at the last minute opting to go for the secret she already had years of experience revealing. It was so much easier than confessing that she was pregnant. Besides, it was the truth. Since her night with Grand, she had not had sex and had no intention of partaking again until after the baby was born.

  “That’s not something you hear much these days,” Valen said with a poker face. “How long?”

  “Five years.” The number automatically slipped out of her mouth and Pia didn’t bother to correct herself. What was she going to say? Five years except for one night four months ago?

  Valen was shocked and disappointed but at the same time impressed. Celibacy was not an easy state to exist in these days, which he knew from his own experience. “Well, I respect that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And it doesn’t change my desire to see you again.”

  His words caused Pia’s face to break out into what must have been a contagious smile as Valen returned hers with one of his own. “I still like to kiss, though,” she admitted. “And hug.”

  “Well, then, I think we’re going to be best friends,” Valen said pulling her close.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Florence noticed his stare almost as soon as she walked in the room. She could feel his eyes following her as she continued to stroll through the Lobby Living Room of the Hotel Adolphus and to the floral-covered couch where her best friend, Miriam, sat waiting.

  “Does this hat make my ass look big or somethin’?” she asked before even saying hello.

  Miriam took a minute to inspect the wide bell-shaped hat adorned with a huge white flower, which matched Flo’s navy suit to perfection. “No, it’s adorable. Very Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Miriam replied. “Why?”

  “Because that man over there—for chrissake, don’t look—keeps starin’ at me.”

  “Honey, he’s not watching the hat. He’s more interested in what’s shaking underneath it.”

  “Oh, please. Stop bein’ so silly. Now let’s just order and get to gossipin’.”

&
nbsp; “May I bring you some tea?” a tall, elegant black waiter asked as another set down a three-tiered plate stand filled with open-faced finger cucumber sandwiches, English scones, and mini-croissants with grilled chicken salad.

  After ordering the orange jasmine tea, the two women enjoyed the performance of the classic pianist. Florence took the opportunity to sneak a peek across the room. Her admirer was still there and had been joined by another stately-looking gentleman. For some reason, Clay, the dentist she’d met in San Francisco came to mind, causing Florence to smile.

  “He is very handsome,” Miriam stated, mistaking the reason for Flo’s grin. “So is his friend.”

  “He looks nice enough,” Flo answered, reaching for a scone.

  “Florence, you know the birthday gift I gave you?”

  “You mean the Women in Marketin’ and Sales workshop?” Flo asked, remembering how she and Pia had teased Clay.

  “Funny. Yes, that birthday gift.”

  “What about it?” she asked before nibbling on her scone.

  “I’d like to see what you learned. I’ve been hearing about it for months now. I want to see you in action. I want you to go flirt with those gentlemen and get them to come over here.”

  “Miriam, I’m married.”

  “But I’m not. And I’m shy and divorced and happen to have a best friend who is a certified flirty mama.”

  “So that’s the real reason you gave me that workshop. Not to try to save my marriage, but so I could be your pimp?”

  “You got it,” Miriam said with a laugh.

  “Okay, fine. You know what this prissy tea needs?” Flo asked, suddenly feeling up to the challenge.

  “What?”

  “Champagne. I’ll be right back.” Florence stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt, and did her best not to trip as she sashayed across the lobby. A genuine smile is power, Flo thought, remembering Joey Clements’s words. She broadened her grin as she approached the two men and noted with satisfaction that her smile was met with two others just as friendly and just as wide. They both stood as she got closer, and Florence was impressed by their gentlemanly show of manners—a rarity these days.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m Florence, and I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wonderin’ if one or both of you could help me out,” she said, extending her hand.

  “Steve,” the gazer revealed, clasping her hand.

  “Tom.”

  “How can we help you?” Steve asked once the introductions and handshakes were finished.

  “My friend, Miriam—that’s her sitting there,” Flo said as both men turned to look, “insists that the song the pianist is playin’ is Beethoven. I say it’s Brahms. Any clue as to who’s right? But be sure, because there’s a whoppin’ five bucks ridin’ on your answer.”

  “Well, with a wager that big, I’d hate to guess,” Steve said, chuckling. “Tom, any idea?”

  “Brahms’s Waltz in A-flat.”

  “How brilliant are you, Tom,” Flo said, touching his upper arm and delivering a huge smile. “Now, could I ask one last favor? Would you two mind comin’ over and tellin’ Miriam the news. I think she’s more apt to believe it if it comes from an impartial party.”

  Miriam smiled as she watched a grinning Florence return with the two men in tow. Never in the eight years they’d been friends had Flo done anything so bold.

  “Miriam, please meet Steve and Tom. I’m afraid Tom has some bad news for you,” Flo said as the three shook hands.

  “Bad news?” Miriam asked, looking at her friend for some kind of clue as to what was going on.

  “Yes, I’m afraid Florence was right. The song being played is Brahms’s Waltz in A-flat.”

  “I see. Florence, you got me again,” Miriam said with a conspiratorial smile.

  “Yes, I did, and I am expectin’ my five dollars.”

  “Well, Tom and Steve, since you got dragged over here and placed in the middle of our silly bet, would you like to join us?” Miriam asked.

  “Thank you,” Tom said, taking a seat next to her on the sofa. Steve and Florence sat in the two armchairs directly across from them.

  “Would you ladies care for anything? Champagne, perhaps?” Steve asked.

  Miriam’s eyes immediately sought out Florence’s in amused congratulations.

  “Sure. My treat, though. Thanks to Mir, I just came into a truckload of money.”

  Flo’s comment set the foursome off into laughter and fixed the tone for the rest of the afternoon. They discussed everything, from politics to sports to favorite vacation spots, with Florence front and center, entertaining them with her comical stories and witty insights.

  Miriam noted the changes in her friend, which were nothing short of remarkable. Sitting there laughing, flirting, and entertaining Steve and Tom, Florence had never looked happier, lighter, or younger. It seemed that Florence had gotten in touch with a place deep inside her—a place where the simple joy of being became a daily celebration. And in an I-want-some-of-what-she’s-having moment, Miriam decided it was time to follow her friend’s example and unearth her own inner bombshell.

  Teatime turned into cocktails, and they moved their party into the hotel lounge, where the budding interest between Tom and Miriam continued to blossom. The hours flew by, and at nine-thirty Florence informed the group that she must put an end to their lovely visit and get home to her husband.

  Good-byes expressed all around, Florence got into her car and started the drive home. It had been such a lovely afternoon. Tea with Miriam had never been this much fun before. In fact, Florence couldn’t remember having this much fun since her evening spent with Dr. Clay Bickford.

  I wonder how he’s doin’? she thought as she merged onto the highway. Florence relived their encounter in San Francisco all the way home—reminiscing over the interesting conversation, the shared laughter, the unacknowledged mutual attraction. She also remembered fondly Clay’s boyish enthusiasm when he talked about how much he loved to fish, his love for the city of Barcelona, Spain, and the desire in his eyes when he looked at her.

  Thirty-five minutes later, Florence pulled her Lincoln Navigator into the garage. Stepping out of the car, she felt a surge of energy throughout her body, leaving in its wake an ache she hadn’t felt in years. Florence couldn’t pinpoint the feeling. She wouldn’t describe it as pain, exactly, but it was definitely uncomfortable.

  Flo walked into the house and through the kitchen, reaching the foyer near the stairs when it hit her. She was aroused. And not just any aroused, but “Let’s Get It On,” “Sexual Healing,” Marvin Gaye horny.

  A tickled and energized Florence nearly ran up the stairs to her bedroom suite. She slowly opened the door, first hearing Dan’s soft snore and then witnessing his sleeping body buried under the covers. She stood and watched him slumber, smiling affectionately at the sight.

  Flo walked into her dressing room and went straight for the third drawer from the top of her bureau. After opening the “Passionata” drawer, she pulled out the copper-colored silk gown and the matching robe that Pia had picked out for her. Though totally against the WMS credo, she’d been saving it and all her other purchases for months, waiting for a special night. Well, tonight was the night.

  She took another fifteen minutes to freshen up, dress, and apply an appealing spray of perfume. Before leaving the mirror, Florence took a long look. She fluffed the hair around her face, smiling as she wondered for the first time about how a different cut and color might bring out the hazel in her eyes. You have great eyes, she complimented herself.

  Flo took a moment to hold her own gaze and flirt with herself in the mirror, silently complimenting herself through eye talk as Joey Clements had suggested. Funny, the first time she’d done this she’d felt stupid. But now, in her agitated state, it turned her on. Flo smoothed the silk gown taut, revealing the ripples and waves that had become her fifty-three-year-old body. Yes, she could stand to lose a pound or twenty, but she was still beautiful and sexy, b
ig ass and all.

  Pulling a rose from the vase and awash in sensual confidence, a hot and bothered Florence padded softly back into the bedroom to wake her lover. She sat on the side of the bed and pushed the covers back enough to reveal his sleeping face. Smiling tenderly, she took the flower and lightly ran its soft, velvety petals across his face. Dan twitched and snorted, making Florence chuckle. She bent over and softly retraced the rose’s journey with her lips before resting them on top of his. Once their mouths made contact, the dam burst, releasing Flo’s pent-up passion. Dan’s eyes flew open, and after a few seconds of getting his bearings, he pulled away.

  “Floey?”

  She didn’t have an answer to the questions in his eyes, so she simply reached under the sheets and began stroking him. Now fully awake, Dan repositioned his wife onto her back. Florence raised her body enough so he could lift her nightgown to reveal the treasures he sought. Not bothering to hoist the silk any farther than her collarbone, he hungrily devoured her breasts while reaching down to guide his penis into her body.

  Flo lay back feeling like a human all-you-can-eat buffet as Dan ignored her and pleasured himself. He bucked back and forth in exact rhythm to his grunts. Ten minutes later, his series of grunts became one long, guttural rumble and he collapsed on top of her.

  “That was great.” Having announced his satisfaction, Dan rolled off and flipped onto his stomach with his head turned to the wall. Florence lay there, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She’d just been screwed by a husband who couldn’t have cared less if she was a blow-up doll. Dan had neither noticed her appearance nor cared that other than her initial kiss their lips had not touched.

  Is this what sex is supposed to be like? When she looked back at the last fifteen years, their lovemaking—with subtle variations and occasional bursts of passion—had certainly had been pretty much like this. Florence didn’t know what to think about the irony of her situation. Here she had been bitten by the sex bug, causing a breakout of passion and lust, and a ten-minute poke and stroke by a man who didn’t even bother to kiss her was supposed to satisfy her?

  Flo eased out of bed and back to the bathroom. She took off the nightgown, washed up, and pulled on this week’s version of the cotton pajamas she’d been wearing for the last thirty years. Listening at the door for Dan’s steady breath and snore, she went into her dressing room and opened the Passionata drawer. Her hand rummaged around until it landed on a small silk pouch. She unsnapped it and lifted from it a cocktail napkin folded in quarters. With slow reverence, she unfolded it and breathlessly recited what was written there: Clay Bickford, 678-555-4859.