“Tell me those aren’t vampire bats,” Clifford said.
“They’re not,” Annette said. “Vampire bats live where it’s warm. South America, places like that. Up here, the bats eat bugs and fruit. So we’re safe on both counts.”
Clifford relaxed. “That’s good to know.”
“You’re really nervous,” Annette said, astonished. “You go to the world’s largest, most dangerous cities without a second thought, but a simple night under the stars in Maine has you freaked out.”
“You’re not scared?”
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” she said. “There’s nobody around for miles except you, me and Hank. And he’s asleep.” Already they could hear Hank’s snores emanating from the interior of the cabin; he’d gone to sleep promptly after telling them bedtime was ten PM sharp.
“We clearly don’t agree on what ‘nothing to be scared of’ means,” Clifford said. “What if there are bears out there? Or mountain lions? Or weasels?”
Annette burst out laughing. “Weasels? Really?” She moved to embrace Clifford more intimately. “You need to stop worrying about wild animals.”
“And your plan is to distract me with sex?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Clifford smiled. “This plan may just work.” He moved his hips slightly, raising his pelvis to meet Annette’s grip. “All of a sudden I don’t care about weasels at all.”
“Really,” Annette said. She undid Clifford’s zipper, moving his silk boxers to the side and freeing his stiffening shaft. “How about now?”
“I seem to have lost my fear of mountain lions,” he said. Annette moved her hand, stroking and squeezing until he was fully erect.
“Let’s see if we can get rid of those bears.” She rolled on her side, sliding her skirt up so her bare flanks came up against Clifford’s rigid flesh. “How’s that sound?”
He sank into her depths with a grateful sigh. “It sounds super to me.”
“Just go slow,” she said. “We don’t need to go falling out of this hammock.”
“I can do slow.” Clifford kissed the side of Annette’s neck. “It’s hard, because you feel so damn good, but I can do slow.”
Annette pushed her hips backward, setting a leisurely pace for their lovemaking. “I like slow.”
“God, so do I,” Clifford groaned. His grip on her hips tightened; in the morning, Annette would find a ring of small bruises. “This is so good. You’re so good.” He thrust a little deeper. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Annette.”
Hearing that took Annette’s breath away. She froze for a moment, and then relaxed back into the rhythm of their lovemaking. “Me too,” she sighed, repeating herself as her orgasm approached. “Me too, me too, me too.”
Chapter 17
The sun came up early. Annette and Clifford rolled out of the hammock carefully. They were both a little sore and stiff from a night sleeping outdoors. Annette was stretching when Hank came onto the back porch.
“You guys have to hide now!” he announced. “Hans will be here before too long. Don’t ruin the surprise!”
“I guess that means we’re not getting any coffee,” Clifford said to Annette. Hank said nothing, turning on his heel to re-enter his cabin.
“Don’t ask him for anything,” Annette said. “We don’t want him to change our mind and tell us to leave.”
Hank reappeared at that moment, carrying a mug of coffee. He thrust it into Clifford’s hands. “I will need that cup back because it’s my favorite cup,” he said. “So drink fast.”
Clifford took a sip of the coffee and winced. “Wow,” he said. “That’s hot and sweet.”
“Three spoons of sugar in every cup,” Hank said. “That’s what makes a boy sweet and strong.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
The sound of an approaching vehicle filled the air. “That is Hans coming!” Hank said. He snatched the coffee mug from Clifford’s hands. “You guys need to hide right now.”
Clifford and Annette positioned themselves on either side of the cabin’s back door. Clifford texted his police contact, showing Annette the message that said two units were on their way.
“Hank!” Hans said. “I have come to see you. Do you have the paintings I asked you to do?”
“This one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars and this one is ten dollars,” Hank began.
“It looks like they’re all here,” Hans said. “I can’t stay long and visit with you this time, cousin. I have places to go and people to see.”
“But you’ll miss your surprise if you leave too soon!”
Hans’ voice grew very serious. “What surprise, Hank?”
Clifford took this as his cue. He opened the back door and stepped inside. “Hello, Hans.”
Hans paled. “Oh, my God. How did you find me here?”
Clifford shook his head. “The question you should be asking is how come Wilbur Ross’ goons aren’t here first?” He smiled. “Someday he’ll learn how to hire quality help.”
“I can get you your money,” Hans said. “Well, not all of it. But most of it. Sixty percent of it.”
“Somehow I don’t imagine you have that kind of cash on you,” Clifford said. “And I’m not willing to take a check.”
Hans was trembling. “I can get it though. Honest to God I can.”
Hank looked troubled. “This is not a good surprise.”
“You think?” Hans snapped at him. “You moron, you’ve ruined everything!”
Hank froze. His eyes filled with tears.
“Don’t be an asshole to him,” Clifford said. “He’s got a real genuine talent that you’ve been exploiting shamelessly. If anyone’s a moron here, it’s you.”
Hank had been following conversation carefully. He crowed with glee at Clifford’s pronouncement. “You’re the moron, cousin! Not me.”
“We’ll talk about that another time,” Hans said. He turned on his heel and started for the door. “I’ve got to go now.”
“What about my hundred dollars?” Hank wailed. “You said it was ten dollars for this one, and ten dollars for that one, and ten dollars…”
“Shut up!” Hans lost his cool and broke for the door. He opened it, only to find himself face to face with a Maine State Trooper.
“Hans Grüber, we have a warrant here for your arrest.”
“I have to say you clearly went above and beyond your job description,” Madison said, raising her champagne glass high. “A toast is definitely in order. To Annette!”
“Hear hear!” Moshe Feigenbaum was beaming. “I knew you were something special when you first came to work for us. But I never dreamed that I would be reading in the New York Times about you single handedly capturing a dangerous fiend!”
“Well, it was hardly single handed,” Annette said. She’d had more than a few glasses of champagne at this point, and it seemed very important to her that she be very clear about what happened. “Clifford was there. And the police did the actual capturing thing.”
“Pfft!” Moshe dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. “You are a star. Nobody can tell me different.”
Clifford laughed. “Don’t argue with Moshe, darling. He’s a very wise man.”
Annette blushed. She was still adjusting to Clifford acknowledging their relationship in front of others. It felt strange, but good. Also strange but good was the experience of checking her bank balance: since Madison arranged for the three million in reward money to be paid to her, Annette was a rich woman in her own right.
“I guess you’re right,” she said.
“It’s going to be hard to go back to shopping for surrealists after such an adventure,” Moshe said.
“I’m looking forward to it. And there is an artist I want to talk to you about, Moshe. We discovered him in Maine. He’s a little different, but very, very talented.”
“What artist isn’t different?” Moshe said. “If you think his work is interesting, it’s
probably worth taking a look at.”
“We’ll bring a few pieces down next week,” Annette said.
“Don’t fill up your calendar just yet, darling,” Clifford said. He set his phone down, looking very serious.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“That was Wilbur Ross, of all people.”
Madison’s eyes went wide. “What did he want?”
“He’s calling for help.”
“We can’t help with the Hans situation,” Madison said. “He’s going to have to go through the same process we did to recover his money.”
“No,” Clifford said. “It’s not that. Someone’s stolen his entire collection of Warhols right off his walls.” He turned to Annette. “And he wants us to find them.”
THE END
The Chosen Girl
Veronica Cross
The Chosen Girl
Copyright 2016 by Veronica Cross
First electronic publication: November 2016
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.
The Chosen Girl
Chapter One
Majestic pines lined the road on either side of the winding street. They did their job in providing privacy for the stunning estates sprawled along the acres of land. Yet every once in a while, in a blurry passing, Cara would catch a glimpse of an enormous mansion which stole away her breath and widened her alluring, almond shaped eyes into shocked plates of awe. The taxi was slowing to turn a curve and suddenly she was at the towering wrought iron gates of her new home. Cara pulled her body forward between the two front seats to crane her neck up the endlessly long drive, hoping to steal a sneak peek of the house beyond but she could not see anything up the hill, the protective plastic partition between the front and back of the car blocking her angle. She waited impatiently for the driver to announce his presence into the garbled voice on the intercom before she voiced her questions.
“Do you know this house? Do you know Connor Lamoreaux?” she fired at him with more force than she intended. The iron bars fell away slowly, making way for the yellow car and the Jamaican born driver shrugged his shoulders in response.
“Dis isn’t no house, mon. Dis is a castle,” he replied laughing at the nativity of her inquiries in a thick Caribbean accent. “And everyone be knowing Mr. Lamoreaux.” He shot her a pensive look through the rear-view mirror, as if attempting to gage her relationship to the internationally known businessman. He gave up trying to guess and asked flatly, “Who you be? His mistress?”
Shocked at the blatantly disrespectful nature of his tone, Cara flopped back onto the worn vinyl seat and glared indignantly.
“Of course not! I’m his new housekeeper.” The man shrugged again, chortling to himself as if he didn’t believe her. He then turned his chocolate eyes back to the drive and as they approached the mansion, Cara let out a gasp. The property loomed against the gray sky like something out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. “Monstrosity” was the first word which popped into Cara’s mind when she set eyes upon it. While the grounds were immaculately kept, the huge colonial style home was done in dark, forbidding tones and gnarly gargoyles leered from the ledge of the rooftop and from some outdoor verandas. There were two giant building wings separating the east and west sides of the building and the cobblestone front roundabout housed a five car garage in antiquated masonry work and an onyx fountain featuring a faun playing a flute. Its motif struck the black haired vixen as fairy tale meets horror flick and Cara felt dampness around her underarms. She quickly wiped her palms onto her pant suit and took a deep breath to steady her rapidly beating heart. She was exceptionally nervous but she forced the unease from her mind and handed the driver some cash.
“Good luck with your ‘ousekeepin’, mon,” he cackled at her as he counted the bills before depositing her four large bags by her feet from the trunk of the car. She scowled at his mocking tone and turned to face the imposing front of the mansion instead of responding. In a bizarre contrast to the dark blue and gray accents of the house, the double doors were solid wood and stained a deep apple red. The rich wood was framed in an intricate stained glass in a prism of bright colors. She hesitated, unsure of what to do next. She had been hired through an agency and while she had met the head housekeeper, Tabitha at the office in Manhattan, Cara hadn’t thought to ask for specific instructions pertaining to her immediate arrival. She had no idea if she should knock on the door or stand on the drive and wait to be greeted. After a few moments of contemplation, Cara finally decided to simply ring the bell but before she even took a single step, the heavy portal groaned open and Tabitha walked out, in a matter of fact fashion to meet her. Her unsmiling face did little to disperse Cara’s anxiety.
“You’re late, Clara,” she snapped, grabbing one of her bags off the cobblestone and abruptly turned back to the entryway.
“Cara,” she corrected without thinking and was instantly regretful as Tabitha stopped to give her a look that would have chilled Dracula himself.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re late, Cara,” she snarled, clearly irritated by being contradicted. “Don’t just stand there! Get your bags. I have other things to do than babysit you today.” Embarrassed, Cara grabbed her other suitcases and followed the older woman into the house. Trying to keep up with Tabitha’s brisk pace, she only barely took in the expensive artifacts in the marble foyer. Tabitha began to speak, further distracting Cara from her surroundings as she strained to listen to the woman’s rough but surprisingly whispery voice.
“You will begin work tomorrow morning at 6 a.m. Do not be late ever again. Mr. Lamoreaux is a very busy man and he relies on his staff to maintain a routine so that he is able to conduct his business with minimal interruption. Any interruption in our day to day schedule is a potential interference to his. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” Cara replied quickly eager to win over her new boss. Tabitha paused and looked back at her. Her face was stony at first but then suddenly a brief smile passed across the grim features.
“You’re polite. I like that. The last girl got fired because she had a big mouth. She liked to gossip with the other staff and speculate about things which were none of her concern. If you mind your own business and do your work properly, you will always have a home here. This job has some wonderful benefits. Mr. Lamoreaux is a very generous man. That being said, you will need to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
“But I already did in Manhattan,” Cara called out. The senior housekeeper turned left into the west wing from the landing and continued down a hallway that never seemed to end, either unhearing or disregarding Cara’s reply.
“The west wing is for guests and staff. Mr. Lamoreaux lives in the east wing. Aside from your cleaning schedule, you are not permitted to spend time in that wing. Only Mr. Lamoreaux and his butler, Kamil live in that end of the house.”
“He doesn’t have any children?” Cara asked timidly. Tabitha shook her head without slowing her pace but Cara could hear the distain in her tone when she replied.
“No. Don’t you have the internet in the city? Any Google search could tell you what you needed to know. I would have expected that someone in your generation would have run for
the computer as soon as this job posting came available. He has never been married or had children. He is a self-made man and his work comes above all else.” She paused to glance back briefly. “However, he has a very healthy social live and hosts parties and charity events here quite frequently so there will be nights you are required to assist in those affairs. I think I explained all of this to you when we met.”
“Yes ma’am, you did. That is no problem. I don’t have much of a social life myself,” Cara tried to joke but Tabitha did not acknowledge her attempt. Suddenly Tabitha completely changed the subject, catching Cara off guard.
“The Carlyle’s in Long Island were very sorry to see you go, Cara. They said you were with them for several years and while they gave you a glowing recommendation, they were surprised to hear from me. They had expected that you would return to work for them. They mentioned you had left due to a personal matter. Why didn’t you return?”
Cara was silent for a moment, swallowing the cotton in her windpipe. She chose her words carefully.
“I was hoping to make more money after putting in that amount of time and it never worked out,” Cara lied. “I got tired of waiting.”
At least that last part is true, Cara told herself. Tabitha finally stopped walking, landing them in front of a set of double doors. The oak portals were panel style and reached the twelve foot ceilings. They were simplistic but still beautiful.
“Well, you’ll never have that problem working for Mr. Lamoreaux. As we have discussed, your salary is merely a starting rate but is much higher than the going rate of any housekeeper in the Hamptons. You can ask around if you don’t believe it. In fact, it is almost ridiculously higher than the average for these parts.” Cara knew Tabitha was not exaggerating. She knew how much less she had received working for the Carlyle’s.
Romance: Pummel Me: A Boxing Romance Page 45