Minding Amy

by Saskia Walker

  His hands kneaded her buttocks. "You have the most gorgeous arse."

  Her feet lifted from the floor.

  He slapped her right buttock.

  "Oh!" The sting rang through her, taking her on a roller coaster ride of sensations. Dizzy with pleasure, her skin stinging and her entire nether region aflame, she gasped for breath. Her core clamped hard on his cock, her center beginning to spasm.

  "Christ, Amy!" He molded her buttocks in his hands, his thumbs holding her folds open so he could press closer still.

  That made her crazy. With her swollen, sensitive folds splayed and exposed for contact, she bucked and writhed on the table. It was as if a stack of hot rocks was breaking free at her core. Release was imminent. She worked her hips back, willing it to come, swallowing his length over and over.

  Finally, it broke. Her orgasm washed through her, hot and heavy and blissfully fulfilling. And when it triggered Sebastian's climax and he pumped into her, his cock throbbing wildly, her state of bliss only grew.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning Amy sat at the antique writer's desk in the sitting room at Hammer House and scrolled up and down the text on her laptop. She'd put it in under the title "Arundel," and, even if she said it herself, she'd captured something of the local people she'd met. There was the friendly librarian, who had appreciated the chance to relate the story of Hammer House and its beginnings. Then there were the various antique dealers of the town who told the story as if it was their shop in which the witches' portrait had been discovered, starting the modern myth. It was quite the valued tourist magnet. She'd even met the elderly lady who had actually traded the painting. In a dusty bric-a-brac shop she'd welcomed Amy in and pointed out her best current pieces, in a way that spoke of pride rather than salesmanship, while a loyal Irish wolfhound loped behind her, looking on as if he were watching over his mistress.

  What she had written was a portrait of a town and how it fared when a TV crew descended. She sighed. It had little to do with Quentin Edwards and his disappearance. She sat back in the chair, contemplating the dilemma. Her absolute deadline to make the next week's edition was on Thursday, at ten. Fiona had made that quite clear.

  "We don't make any exceptions with journalists on try out, none," she had said, when Amy had informed her of her plans for the feature before she left HQ on Friday afternoon. Her tone had indicated that Fiona did not relish working with the boss's daughter. So much for professionalism. However, Fiona had agreed to the two-part feature which gave Amy the scope to get to grips with the story, not just report hearsay, but to link up with all the potential sources from police to work colleagues, and keep her ear to the ground regarding Quentin's discovery or re-emergence.

  She looked at her copy again, dubiously. She reminded herself there was time yet, and picked up her mobile phone. She'd been trying to get in touch with Jake, her contact at the TV studios, without success. When she heard the call transfer to voicemail, yet again, she decided to leave a message.

  "Jake, this is Amy Norton from The City News. I'll be heading back to London this morning and wondered if we could meet up on Monday. I'll keep trying to reach you but if you get this message, let me know if you are willing to have another chat and what would be the most suitable time and place for you."

  It was about all she could do, for now. She switched off her phone and decided not to tell Sebastian about it. He'd been disapproving of her source. It made her wonder what would happen once they were back in London. She was in the difficult position of wanting to spend more time with him, but also wanting to prove she didn't need a minder and could handle this situation without one.

  She was dissatisfied with her progress, but hopefully she would pick up the trail back in London. Sebastian was right, she thought, disgruntled. Whilst she could write a great article about their missing celebrity, she'd turned up nothing truly relevant to his disappearance. She was beginning to wonder if she was even cut out for this line of work. It was different to what she was used to doing. Why did she even want to change, anyway? She wasn't exactly dissatisfied with her life. She just wanted to add a bit of adventure to it.

  She heard Sebastian's voice humming along to rock music from the radio, as if he was coming down the corridor from the kitchen. He sure had turned out to be an adventure and a half. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined herself being captured in his arms and kissed long and deep. Heat was pooling between her thighs, the alert pulse point there beating out a wild rhythm.

  She saved her document and turned to the door as he sauntered in, two coffee mugs held easily in one hand. He'd showered and dressed and was wearing a charcoal shirt with jeans. Freshly shaved, with damp hair, and one hundred percent gorgeous. He oozed masculine strength. Amy was convinced it was so potent you could probably bottle it and sell it.

  "Hi, how's it going?" she asked as he closed on her. "Are we ready to leave?"

  "Yup." He set the mugs down on the desk. "Bags are in the car."

  She caught a breath of his scent, fresh soap underlying his chosen after-shave combined with pure, delicious essence of Sebastian. "I've typed in my notes. I'm ready for the drive back."

  She closed the laptop and packed it away.

  He watched her. "I have to ask, what's making you smile so contentedly?"

  "Oh, I was thinking what an utter treat this was, having you along with me." They'd been flirting all morning. It felt good.

  "Pleased to be of service. Do what you will with me."

  Amy felt her breath catch in her throat. Was that a suggestion? Back in London they'd also be back on regular working hours, with no reason to stay together at night. Yet the prospect of more of what they'd had ran liquid heat through her body.

  He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "I'm sorry about the things I said yesterday. I didn't mean to sound like I was criticizing."

  He was putting out the olive branch. Did he want to make this last a little longer too? She felt as if they were on a precipice. "No, I know you meant well, and you made some good points. This is new to me and I need to open up more avenues. I'm used to sourcing information from people who are already enjoying positive limelight, which—in general—means information is readily available and people are willing to give more."

  He studied her. "You've got a lovely tone to your articles. I've read some of your stuff."

  "You have?" That pleased her more than she might have imagined.

  "Yes, I had to do something while I waited to get started, so I requested some back issues before I left The City News, then I went home and studied you good and proper." He flickered his eyebrows at her.

  She flushed with pleasure. "I'm glad you approve, thanks."

  "You must get to meet a lot of exciting people, celebrities and the like."

  "Sometimes." None as interesting as you, she thought to herself, with a secret smile. "But often I don't have the scope to spend time interviewing the most interesting people I meet, and that always leaves me feeling a bit deflated. When you meet celebrities it's always better if you can encourage them to speak about themselves, and convey that well in your feature. That's the ideal."

  He nodded, thoughtfully. "What really made you want to go into the same line of work as your father?"

  She had to give it some thought. "Admiration for what he'd achieved, I suppose. When I was a little girl he always seemed to be traveling and having adventures."

  She noticed that made him smile.

  "You've certainly got an adventurous spirit, I'll warrant you that." He glanced over her, his expression smoldering.

  Amy felt something warm and receptive flaring inside of her. He had that sort of immediate affect on her. "Now, why do I get the feeling that every so often you are going to remind me of our first meeting?"

  He grinned. "Because it was great."

  "It was?"

  "Oh yeah. Many a man dreams of having a sexy woman fall into his lap and start talking as if she's known him
forever."

  "Well, when you put it like that, I can see your point." Amy shook her head, laughing. "It was kind of funny wasn't it?"

  "And it led on to even better things."

  She stood up, doing so because she wanted to make contact with him. As she stepped over to him he put his arm around her back. She rested her hands up against his chest, enjoying the embrace, then pressed her hips against his. "Do I have to put up with you minding me when we're back in London?"

  His eyes twinkled. "I'm afraid so. That's the rules, take it or leave it."

  "I guess I'm going to have to take it." She tipped her head back, and as he move to kiss her, she could see he was every bit as happy about the arrangement as she was.

  * * * *

  The car spluttered to a halt. Sebastian pulled on the brake and switched the engine off. "I suggest we abandon the car and you allow me to deliver it back to the car pool, tomorrow."

  "Okay," Amy replied. She looked out of the window at the unfamiliar London street with its pretty Victorian street lamps and terraced houses. "But where are we now? Is it far to the nearest tube station?"

  "About five minutes walk, thataway." He pointed ahead. "However, this house here is Chez Armitage." He indicated the terrace property to his right.

  "Oh." She broke into a smile. The man had ulterior motives and she liked them. "I see. So, are you going to ask a girl in for a drink?"

  "That was the idea."

  "Marvelous, I'd be delighted."

  "I'm not being entirely altruistic, believe me. If you come inside it will give me some more time with you, alone."

  He was full of surprises. All of them very nice, and Amy was certainly in no rush to get home to her little studio flat. She followed him from the car up the path to the house. The small front garden housed a pretty rockery.

  "Self sufficient," he said, when he caught her looking over at it. "I like plants like that."

  She nodded, wondering how self-sufficient he was. It wasn't the sort of house she expected him to live in, but then what did she expect? She wasn't quite sure, and her curiosity was now well and truly piqued.

  No sooner had he opened the door—a dark oak affair with stained-glass panels—than a loud banging sound emitted from somewhere inside the house.

  "Cat door," he explained.

  Before he'd even stepped into the house, a pretty tortoiseshell cat appeared at the end of the hallway. It ran to him, meowing at the top of its lungs in the most bitter, complaining tone. Sebastian dropped down to pick it up.

  "Hey noisy girl, did you miss me?"

  She certainly looked as if she had. And who could blame her, Amy mused, her eyes roving over Sebastian while he fussed the cat. The noisy feline was busy rubbing her head against the stubble on his chin, purring extremely loudly and still giving out the occasional complaining meow.

  Sebastian gave Amy an apologetic smile.

  "She's gorgeous. Does she mind sharing your company with other women?"

  "Well, we'll have to wait and see." He looked quite serious. "She hates Mrs. Arkwright, the neighbor who feeds her while I am away. Don't you, you little fusspot?" He put the cat down and she started to lead him into the house, glancing back to ensure he followed. "She won't even touch any of the food she puts down until the poor woman's left the building." He laughed, but Amy felt as if gaining the cat's approval was her new task for the day.

  "Come in, come in," he ushered, directing her into a sitting room that overlooked the front garden. He darted in and shifted a pile of newspapers of a chair. "Make yourself at home, I'll feed Lydia." And with that, he disappeared.

  Lydia, she gathered, was the cat.

  She looked around. It was a large, comfortable and obviously male space, but with friendly female touches Amy's survey couldn't miss. A long leather sofa was augmented by a carved rocking chair, decorated with an embroidered Indian cushion. A display of dried wild flowers in a tall pottery vase, together with staggered oriental prints, broke up the uniform white walls. An impressive array of stereo equipment filled a good third of a wall of shelves, along with some sports trophies and framed photographs. The rest of the space was crammed with books. A set of dumbbells were scattered near the TV, as if they had just been used. The newspapers he had taken from the chair were copies of The City News, which made her smile.

  She could hear him talking to the cat, presumably from the kitchen. Dropping her bag on the sofa, she wandered over to the photographs on the shelf, immediately drawn to one of Sebastian with two young people, presumably the nephew and niece he had mentioned. They stood beside a canoe, drenched and laughing, as if they had been riding the rapids. In another shot, Sebastian was with two other men in a snow scene, snowboards under their arms. The third photo looked like some sort of a dinner party. The men were smartly dressed in evening suits and bow ties, and the two women with them wore cocktail dresses. Sebastian looked so attractive in his formal dress, and she looked at the image for quite some time, her body flickering with the yearning she got whenever she observed him.

  She supposed it was a work function, perhaps a Christmas dinner party. He hadn't talked much about the company he worked for, she realized, or the type of security jobs he usually got. Perhaps he worked as a bodyguard to people he wasn't able to speak about freely. She made a note to ask him more about it. He'd spent so much time supporting her job over the two days since they'd met, and now they were in his space she became aware of the gap.

  "Sorry about the mess." Sebastian had reappeared, sticking his head around the corner of the door to check on her. "What can I get you, tea, coffee or something stronger?"

  "Tea would be good."

  "Assam or Earl Grey?"

  Once again, she found herself impressed. "Earl Grey would be just the ticket, do you have lemon?"

  "Yes indeed." He was about to leave when he glanced over at the phone, which was on a small table. "Better check for messages," he said, as if to himself. He hit the play button and began to tidy up as the machine whirred into action.

  Amy took a seat on the sofa and watched him as he lifted the stray dumbbells and slotted them into place on their metal rack.

  "Hey boss, Gary here. I wanted to let you know we now have a beautiful daughter who we've called Emily. She was born just before midnight last night. I should be back at work by Wednesday, but I'll confirm with the office on Monday. Oh, and Chrissie and I would like you to come to the christening if you can. It'll be two weeks today, that's Saturday. We'll be having a bit of a shindig afterwards so come along…yeah, right, sorry that was Chrissie, she says hi and you're to bring a guest."

  Sebastian had stood bolt upright and watched the machine as the message played. He looked relieved when it came to an end. He turned to Amy.

  "Work colleague," he explained, then went back to his dumbbells.

  The next message played. "Hello big guy, Alex here."

  The woman's voice had a warm, persuasive tone. Amy tried to ignore the nervous butterfly that had taken up residence in her stomach. Sebastian smiled at the machine, affectionately. Her heart sank. Why wouldn't he have plenty of other women interested in him, a gorgeous hunk of man like him?

  "I wanted to ask you to join me for dinner. I fancied Italian food and well, it's Saturday night and I'm all alone…but I guess you are away doing something much more exciting. Give me a call when you're back in town."

  The machine gave a bleep that marked the end of the recorded messages.

  "I'll get that tea," he said, disappearing again.

  * * * *

  Sebastian shut the kitchen door behind him and gave a sigh of relief. Once he'd started to play the messages he realized what he'd done. That was a close shave. If he wasn't more careful it would be obvious he wasn't a regular bodyguard. He put the kettle on and grabbed a lemon from the fruit platter, glancing around the cluttered galley kitchen for sight of the chopping board.

  Lydia watched him while he worked.

  "Be nice," he instructed. The
cat looked back at him steadily. She'd hated Catherine, his ex, vehemently, and she'd made it quite obvious. The cat had appeared at the most inappropriate of times and fixed his ex with a determined stare, as if she could oust the woman from her master's bed through willpower alone. There was nothing as off-putting to your stride as a cat with an expression of extreme distaste on its face. After the onset of the rather acrimonious split he realized the cat was probably a better judge of character than he was.

  When he got back to Amy she'd curled herself into the sofa, shoes off, her legs folded under her. The soft, black jersey mini dress she was wearing clung to her body. His hands ached to follow it over her curves. All in good time, he told himself.

  "Mm, lovely." She took the cup from his hand.

  "So, what are the plans for the week ahead?"

  She looked up at him, surprised. "Oh, let's just think about today for now," she whispered, running her hand over his thigh as he got comfortable next to her on the leather sofa.

  That was a very inviting gesture.

  "I'm not arguing, I just wondered what else you had in store for us, work wise. A man needs to be prepared." He gave her a cheeky grin. He was asking because he had to put in an appearance at his office, although he hoped to fit that around whatever plans she made. Then there was the little matter of pursuing his own investigations regarding Quentin Edwards, their missing TV host.

  "I'm going to have to spend a bit of time on my regular job tomorrow," she said, looking down into her tea.

  "So you'll call me when you need me?"

  She smiled. "I believe my father hired you to accompany me when I'm on the road for Quentin material. Besides, as much as I adore your company, I think it would be overly indulgent of me to ask you to accompany me on my regular chores, don't you?"

  "Oh, I don't know…"

  "Well, seeing as you're on offer," she paused, eyeing his body. "Why don't we compromise, and meet later on, for the evening?"