by Unknown
without a qualm.
No, no, no… not what’s her name, his mind screamed. The other one, the tall one, with the soft hands and delicious mouth.
“No,” Simon said, finishing his drink in one swallow.
Georgina was the last woman in the world that would want anything to do with him, she was…
Getting away. Go after her.
“Shut. Up,” Simon hissed.
Most people would be alarmed at the idea of arguing with their inner voice but Simon was used to it. Apparently it was normal for someone in his line of work to have a sort of split personality thing going on.
As a licensed psychologist had so eloquently put it, “It’s your inner self arguing for a life of its own, trying to remind you that you’re more than the dead-brained caveman you pretend to be for that stupid column of yours.”
Simon grinned. His professional opinion had come from his
sister-in-law, Sylvia, and she hadn’t felt the need to refrain from making judgment calls about his chosen profession. No matter, getting a clean bill of mental health had been a relief because having a voice in his head urging him to spend more time at home or with his family, including his niece and four nephews, was kind of scary, as if his brain had been hijacked by Mr. Rogers.
You’re starting to piss me off here. Go after her. She’s probably in the attic… alone. Go apologize, be charming, do whatever it takes, just get her under you.
Whoa, his formerly home and hearth inner voice was starting to sound like General Patton… and no one argued with Patton.
“Fine,” Simon muttered, setting his glass down on one of the empty shelves. “But if she slaps me with a restraining order, I’m getting a lobotomy.”
***
Georgina Kennedy knew she should have stayed at home way
before Simon Campbell pinned her against a bookshelf and peeked down her dress.
“Lured into temptation by books,” Georgina muttered as she ran back up the stairs that led to the attic library. “How very fitting.”
Georgia should have known this job was too good to be true.
Her cousin Valerie was personal assistant to Jerome Vance, an ob-scenely rich man known for both his extensive personal library as well as the raunchy house parties he liked to host. Unfortunately, it had never occurred to Georgina to ask Valerie if this job coincided with one of those house parties. When she found out that it did, she should have packed up her stuff and gone home. Instead, Georgina had convinced herself that she could easily ignore the shenanigans going on downstairs because she was an adult and in control of her baser nature.
Riiiiiight… she’d lasted all of two hours before sneaking down to have a peek at what was going on in the living room. And that’s when she’d seen Simon Campbell, slouched against the bar, lazily flirting with every woman that caught his eye. His long, lean body wrapped in a wrinkled, long sleeve white oxford-cloth shirt and broken down jeans, he’d looked as if he’d rolled out of bed an hour ago and was contemplating returning there with a few of the female guests in tow.
Any female guest, apparently, but her.
Which was just fine by Georgina because Simon Campbell was a golden haired, black-eyed menace to her mental well-being, a man she had vastly underestimated, based on the persona he had created for his column, Simon Says.
For years, and despite Valerie’s insistence to the contrary, Georgina had believed that Simon was nothing but an over-indulged, empty-headed playboy wasting his life on a trivial career scribbling about his useless existence. She had dismissed him as a consum-mate womanizer, suave and shallow, the kind of guy that spent most of his time with a surfboard between his legs, proudly admitted he read Playboy for the pictures and called every woman he dated ‘babe’ based solely on the fact that he couldn’t remember their names. It hadn’t helped that every word and photograph ever printed about the man backed up her assessment.
And then she’d met him at Valerie’s party, taken one look at him, up close and in the flesh, and instantly realized her mistake.
Everything she had thought about him was indeed true, except for the part about him being shallow and empty-headed. There had been something unnerving in the way he had looked her over, his eyes so dark they appeared black above a long, thin blade of a nose. The man had a cruelly sensual mouth, a mouth that had given Georgina salacious thoughts even as it tipped up at one corner in a bored smirk. He hadn’t been charming or flirtatious; oh no, that would have been easy enough to deal with. After studying her face for one endless moment, he’d lost his smirk and he’d suddenly looked… hungry, like a predator calculating whether or not the creature before him could assuage his need.
Her body had reacted before her brain could interfere, softening, heating and for a split second, she’d swayed towards him, wanting him so much she’d almost reached out and grabbed fistfuls of his shirt so she could yank his body flush with hers. That immediate, visceral reaction had scared her so badly she’d done the absolute opposite.
She’d ducked behind a cool façade of polite indifference and, after Valerie finished introducing them, she’d walked away… before she gave into her body’s demand that she lunge for his mouth.
Tonight, watching him move towards her through the shadowed gallery, had been just as nerve-wracking as three weeks ago, more so without a crowd of people around to act as a buffer, and she’d wanted nothing more than to take him up on his threat of hard-edged, sensual satisfaction. But she’d held firm, until he’d licked his bottom lip, peeked down her dress and practically purred in her ear. If he’d kept that mouth of his shut, she might have gotten away with her dignity intact. But he’d spoken, his voice pitched so low it had felt like a caress.
And so she’d kissed him.
Okay, she’d practically devoured him but, damn it, she was only human and he…
Georgina stopped her headlong dash up the stairs, bowed her head and covered her face with shaking hands. The look on his face the second after he’d pulled away from her was one she would never forget.
“Abject horror,” she muttered, lifting her face out of her hands with a snort. “How very flattering.”
With a sigh, Georgina opened the door to the library and slipped inside. Located on the fourth floor of the house, in a large, rect-angular attic, complete with a pitched ceiling, the library was so different from that bland, minimalist living room it wasn’t hard for Georgina to pretend that she was in a different house altogether.
The décor was aristocratically shabby and comfortable, the wood floor covered by a crazy quilt of threadbare Turkish carpets, their wild patterns and jewel-toned colors muted by age. Little bean-pot lamps sat on a variety of low, antique wooden end tables, shedding a soft, golden light from under their linen shades. There was even an old brass bed, wide and long, buried under a mound of pillows and draped with a velvet comforter the color of a summer sky at dusk. The bed was shoved in a corner with an unobstructed view of the ocean outside a row of tall, French doors that led out to a widow’s walk. The narrow balcony ran the length of the beachfront side of the house, providing a view of where the ocean gently lapped at the private stretch of silvery sand four floors below.
And, best of all, piled on couches, stacked on the floor or shoved haphazardly into the built-in shelves were books. Hundreds upon hundreds of books.
From the latest glossy jacketed bestsellers to tattered, cloth-bound volumes of seventeenth-century poetry, they were everywhere and in no particular order. At least Valerie hadn’t lied about this place being in desperate need of a librarian.
DUN-DUN-DUUUUNNNN!!! Super Librarian to the rescue!
By day, a mild-mannered librarian, by night… uh… pretty much the same.
Georgina pushed away from the door, walking slowly through the dimly lit attic. She trailed her fingers over the satiny surface of a narrow desk set against the back of one of the couches. Pausing, she picked up the book she had been looking through before she’d snuck down to spy on
the guests in the living room. Cradling the volume close to her chest, Georgina kept walking until she stopped in front of one of the French doors. Leaning her forehead against the cool glass she wondered why, after a lifetime of behaving herself, had she so utterly lost control with Simon?
Because, he’d felt like every daydream I’ve ever had, all wrapped up in soft, white oxford cloth and broken in jeans. Because his hair was golden even in the shadows, and his mouth had been so close, his breath sweet from whatever he’d been drinking.
He’d been so warm and smelled so good, it had made me light-headed with wanting him.
“Oh God,” Georgina whispered, closing her eyes, allowing
herself to remember what it had felt like to reach for him, to cradle his jaw in the palm of her hand, and she experienced again that instant of anticipation, when their breath had mingled and she had breathed him in. Then she was licking his bottom lip, mimick-ing the gesture meant to mock and intimidate, tasting him on her tongue and… well, she didn’t remember specifics after that, not until he’d wrenched away and she’d realized what she’d done.
Then she’d run off and she hadn’t even apologized. What was the etiquette for apologizing for such an indiscretion? A note?
Flowers? A potted palm?
Georgina bit her lip to keep from laughing, then jumped when the door behind her opened. Thinking it was Valerie, Georgina didn’t bother turning around when she said, “I hope you brought me a drink.”
“No, but I could be persuaded to fetch one, if you want.”
Georgina literally froze, clutching the book to her chest.
Oh, Holy Jesus… I so should have stayed at home.
“Mr. Campbell,” Georgina said, keeping her tone even and polite, acting as if he wasn’t the last person she wanted showing up.
“Simon,” he corrected, shutting the door after him. He walked towards her, looking oddly at home in this shabby, book filled room. “I didn’t come up here to annoy you, so drop the act.”
“Act?” Georgina asked, startled by his perception.
“Yeah,” he said, this time stopping a respectful distance from her. “Act. I saw the way you treated every other person at Valerie’s party…”
“Except you,” Georgina said, supplying the two words he had left out. So he had noticed that. Damn.
“Except me,” he said, tilting his head a little to the side. “Why was that?”
“What does it matter? I can’t imagine you lost any sleep over it,” Georgina replied, trying not to fidget under his unflinching gaze.
“Humor me.”
“Humor you?” Georgina repeated, initially at a loss for words of her own. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“Nope,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest then leaning his hip against a leather club chair. In this light he looked tawny and fierce, his face all sharp angles and planes, his dark eyes promising… oh, the things those eyes promised. Did he force women to look into his eyes as he drove them wild? Hard and fast, no quarter, no hiding, stripped bare, until he could see down into their very souls?
Stop looking at him!
Georgina cleared her throat as she turned away. “I thought you said you hadn’t come up here to annoy me.”
“I lied.”
Georgina smothered a startled laugh behind her hand.
Simon shrugged then said, “Come on, Georgina. Just tell me why you singled me out and I’ll leave you alone.”
“Why I singled you out,” Georgina hedged, trying to think up a lie that wouldn’t hurt his feelings. “Uh…”
“Now, now, no lying. I was honest with you. Come on, Geor-
gina, give me your best shot. I can take it.”
“Are you so very used to people insulting you?”
“Yup.”
“That’s awful,” Georgina said, taking a step closer to him, amazed that he didn’t seem to mind people disparaging him on a regular basis. Georgina had a tendency to get snippy when people put her down, especially when she deserved it.
“All in a day’s work,” he said with a shrug.
“You need a new job.”
“Tell me about it.”
Georgina smiled, and he returned the favor, grinning at her, utterly charming, laid-back…
He’s conning me, luring me in with this easy banter so I’ll tell him what he wants to know.
“And you talk about me putting on an act,” Georgina muttered, stiffening her spine, mentally putting some distance between them.
Simon eyes narrowed as he dropped his casual pose, moving
towards her with that same stalking gait he had used in the gallery.
Georgina knew she was in over her head with this man, even as another part of her experienced a deep-seated, intensely feminine welcome of the ‘Oh baby, come to mama’ variety. Simon stopped his advance, thank God, when the door suddenly opened and Valerie poked her head inside.
“Hello, Simon. What are you doing up here?” Valerie asked, then before Simon could respond, she turned to Georgina and smiled. Valerie was pretty, petite and had inherited every single ounce of sex appeal their twig of the Kennedy family tree had to offer. Completely unfair that she was also whip smart, had a sparkling personality and possessed a free and easy attitude towards life that not one of their stuffy family members had managed to subdue. As far as getting her fair share of the good genes had gone, Georgina was convinced that she’d been royally shafted.
Valerie waved Georgina towards her and said, “Cheryl and a few of the people you met at my party are on the beach, and they wanted to know if you would come down and—”
“Yes,” Georgina said, the word out of her mouth before Valerie had even finished talking, ignoring Simon’s knowing chuckle. Yes, she was running from him and no, she wasn’t going to look over and see the light of triumph glowing in his eyes. She wasn’t up to drinks and chitchat but she was less up to sparring with Simon alone here in the attic.
“You coming?” Valerie asked Simon, holding the door open
wider as Georgina scurried out into the hall.
“Absolutely,” Simon drawled. Georgina didn’t have to see his face to know that he was smirking. Apparently, he was still determined to make her pay. For a man that didn’t mind being insulted, he was being awfully thin-skinned about the way she had treated him.
Valerie led them down the hall to the old cage-style elevator Georgina had avoided on her earlier trip downstairs. The thing was original to the house and since the house had been built in the early thirties, possibly before the advent of building codes, Georgina previously had opted for the stairs. Filing into the elevator behind Simon, Georgina strove for calm. She could do this, have a drink, a friendly chat with a few of the guests she knew and then, when no one was looking, she could retreat back to the attic, lock the door and get back to work.
“I see you brought some reading material,” Simon said, pointing at her chest. “Is that in case we bore you to death?”
“Huh?” Georgina asked, stumbling a little when the elevator lurched into motion. Looking down, Georgina saw that she was still clutching her book.
Valerie peeked at the spine and giggled.
“Don’t say a word,” Georgina warned, giving Valerie the death glare. “Not one word or I will hurt you.”
Valerie just laughed then shrieked when Georgina raised the book as if to clobber her cousin with it.
“Now ladies,” Simon said, snatching the book out of Georgina’s hands. “Well, now, what’s this?” he asked, squinting at the words printed on the spine. “The Erotic Short Stories of Abigail Scott.
Well, hello, the mysterious Abigail Scott, huh? I bet her popularity is all about the fact that no one knows who she is. I heard she’s actually a middle-aged man living in a hovel in the wilds of Alaska.”
He looked back down at the book and said, “I didn’t know Jerome stocked chick-porn in his library.”
Chick-porn?! Of all the nerve! Georgina held out her
hand.
“Give me that back.”
Valerie made a humming noise in the back of her throat.
“Not one word,” Georgina hissed.
Valerie, as usual, ignored her and said, “That isn’t exactly Jerome’s book.”
Simon frowned, looking between the two women and then down at the book of erotica in his hands. “Then whose is it?”
“It’s hers,” Valerie said, pointing at Georgina.
Georgina groaned, even as some absurdly proud part of her
whispered, “Yes, mine, all mine and I’ve got the copyright to prove it.” Not that she had ever admitted that she was the infamous Abigail Scott in public. Aside from Valerie, there were only a handful of people that knew her secret.
And she wasn’t about to tell Simon. Middle-aged man, indeed!
Is that what people were saying about her now? The last time she had checked her message board, the rumor was that Abigail Scott lived in a crumbling old manor home, half-mad with grief over a long broken heart, a la Miss Havisham of Great Expectations fame.
“You’re a fan of Abigail Scott?” Simon asked, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“No,” Georgina snapped, annoyed at his reaction. “I most certainly am not a fan. In fact, at the moment, I can’t stand the woman. Now give me that book.”
The elevator chose that moment to come to a jarring halt, tossing Georgina forward.
Simon reached out to steady her. “Why am I getting the feeling that I’m missing something here?”
“Because you’re oblivious to anything that doesn’t come easy,”
Georgina snapped, dancing away from his touch.
“Do you come easy?” Simon asked, his voice dropping an oc-
tave.
“No, Mr. Campbell,” Georgina purred, snatching the book out of his hands. “I require a tremendous amount of effort.”
The elevator door slid open and Georgina sailed out, pleased as punch at the timing.
Beat that exit line, you hack.
Simon Says: Chapter 2
Author’s preface to The Erotic Short Stories of Abigail Scott There is something utterly delicious about a handsome stranger dressed in a beautifully tailored suit. He is unknown, possibly unknowable…nothing more than a chance encounter on the street before he is gone. But when he is near, he possesses infinite possibilities… will he be tender, will he be rough, will he go down on me? Que sera sera, eh?