Chance Encounters

by Mia Jae

  Sam? Sam?

  “This is ridiculous. We’re not taking no for an answer this time. She’s coming with us.”

  “Bob, we can’t go against her wishes.”

  The eyelet curtains billowed on the breeze. Roses. I smell the roses.

  “She could have died.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  Did I? Die?

  I love you, my naughty Rose.

  Oh, Sam…

  “Once we get her out of the hospital, it’s a done deal.”

  The sunny triangle of light beckoned. Sam? Are you here?

  I’m here, sweetheart. My lovely, Rose.

  Sam? You are here?

  He was, walking slowly toward me. Head full of sandy hair, broad chest sporting a flannel shirt, denims and work boots.

  “La, la, la, la, la, la…”

  “Is she singing?”

  Came home for an early lunch, my naughty Rose. Will you dance for me? Then I’ll take you home with me. A new home.

  Oh, Sam. But the roses haven’t reached the bedroom yet.

  The light was bright, the sun pouring in the window. I felt a strong urge to walk into it.

  “She’s crashing!”

  “Aunt Rose!”

  It’s okay, naughty Rose, the roses reach all the way to Heaven now. Come here. Hold my hand. I’ll help you…

  “Code Blue. Code Blue!”

  Really, Sam? All the way to Heaven?

  I danced forward, twirling across the room. Children were playing outside the window. The roses were as sweet as I’d ever smelled them. And my beloved Sam held out his hand and took me into his arms.

  Together, we stepped through the eyelet curtains, into the bright sunshine.

  All the way, my lovely, Rose. All the way. I’ve been waiting for you to join me.

  The petals on the roses were soft against my face, and I giggled as we climbed the trellis higher and higher.

  Sam. My Sam. I’ve missed you.

  Look Rose, he said, the roses are the same color as your dusky pink nipples…

  It is not enough to conquer; one must also know how to seduce. ~Voltaire

  BONUS STORY!

  On Bended Knee

  By Tia Fanning and Mia Jae

  If Renee Celeste didn’t get a cigarette soon, she was going to have a panic attack. It wasn’t going to be one of those small episodes either. No, this was going to be one of those full-blown attacks that usually had her passing out from lack of oxygen.

  Thoughts of ending up at the hospital caused her chest to tighten more. Her sight blurred for a moment, then tipped the world cockeyed. She blinked until her vision cleared.

  Her stress level was too high. She had to calm down.

  Wandering the airport’s concourse, Renee desperately searched the area around her. The ‘you are here’ map had clearly showed the smoking section located near the bookstore, and yet, she didn’t see it. She spun around.

  Where could it be?

  Frustrated tears sprang to her eyes. She was tired, she was defeated and all she wanted was a damn cigarette. Why was God doing this to her?

  Breathe, Renee, just breathe.

  She shook her head, sending a quick apology to the good Lord. It wasn’t God’s fault. Everything that had happened this day, and during the ten years before this day, was her fault, and hers alone.

  Wiping her cheeks, she took a labored breath. The smoking area was near here. Somewhere. And she’d locate it if she tried hard enough. Finding strength in her self-encouragement, she resumed her search.

  The seconds ticked by. Just as she was about to explode, she exhaled in relief. The Lord had taken mercy on her and answered her prayer. Her salvation was right in front of her.

  Not thinking, she rushed forward, only to find herself on a collision course with a scurrying flight attendant.

  Renee veered left and scooted past the woman without bodily contact, but the abrupt direction change tipped her high stilettos. She stumbled and her carryall slipped off her shoulder. She flung her arms out and managed to capture the large purse before it hit the ground, but not in time to stop half of life from spilling out and clattering across the floor.

  Damn it!

  Renee started to bend, then immediately stilled. Her grey skirt was so tight it would surely rip in half if she proceeded any farther.

  Adjusting her black off-one-shoulder sweater, she sighed audibly and stared at her scattered belongings, waiting to see if someone would come to her rescue. When a minute passed and no one stopped, she concluded there was no such thing as good Samaritans when there were connections to catch.

  Rubbing her temples, she wondered why she ever let her sister talk her into wearing the outfit.

  Because she’d said you looked sexy, yet professional in it, and you wanted to make your bastard ex-husband regret what he gave up so easily.

  Whom was she fooling? She wasn’t sexy. If she were, her husband wouldn’t have left her for a twenty-year-old floozy in the first place. No, all the skirt did was restrained her movements and make her feel as stiff as an over-stuffed sausage. And the sweater showed more skin than she deemed necessary.

  Well, she never was the racy type. Her ex-husband had commented many times about her lack of sex appeal. You have the looks, but no idea how to use them.

  Keeping her spine straight, she bent her legs, bringing her body low until she was able to put one knee down on the floor, followed by the other. She gathered her stuff and threw it into her purse.

  With a balance she had mastered from the years spent as a ballet dancer, she rose the same as she’d descended, somewhat proud of the small accomplishment.

  Ha! Perhaps her mother had been right. Maybe something useful had come out of that dancing after all.

  She cringed. Then again, maybe not. She’d met asshole husband at one of her performances.

  She needed that cigarette. Right now.

  Moving into the smoking area, she discovered it was nearly empty. Finding a deserted row of tacky orange chairs, she practically collapsed into one, dug through her purse and fetched out a silver cigarette case.

  She knew she was tempting fate with every cigarette she indulged, but she loved smoking. Smoking kept her calm and helped her focus. It was by smoking that she handled her stress. She would never quit smoking, could never quit smoking, cancer be damned.

  Sliding a menthol out of her case, she began searching for a light.

  Shit! She didn’t have one. She had forfeited her lighter to some bitchy female guard at the security checkpoint. The stupid x-ray machine had spotted the lighter even though she hid it in her make-up bag.

  Damn new airport rules!

  Panic began to set in again. She looked around, rose and stepped further into the smoking area. Except for two young men in desert fatigues who didn’t even look old enough to smoke, the area was empty. They stood around the corner from the entrance, in a little cubbyhole away from the rest of the smoking area. She watched the soldiers smash their butts into the ashtray and moved toward them.

  “Hi, gentlemen. You wouldn’t happen to have a match, would you?”

  They each hefted a large beige duffle bag onto their backs and gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry, ma’am,” one replied. “We caught a light from a lady that left just before you arrived.”

  “It’s okay,” Renee assured them. “Are you boys heading to Iraq?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” both replied in unison.

  “Well, you two be careful over there. And thanks for serving our country.”

  Shy smiles formed on the soldier’s faces as they nodded, walking toward the main hall. “Thanks, we’ll be careful.”

  Renee sat on one of the chairs they had just vacated, a whoosh exiting her lips. Tucking her bag up next to her, she crossed her legs. The cigarette sat balanced between two fingers and her crossed leg started a little jerking action.

  As they left, a man wearing jeans and a blazer over a white t-shirt entered the smoking are
a. He glanced about, spied her back in the hidey-hole, sauntered her way and sat down in the row across from her.

  He slid his hand into his jacket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes and a brass lighter.

  She watched him put a smoke in his mouth, then place the pack back into his coat pocket. Able fingers flicked back the Zippo’s top with an audible click, simultaneously sparking the flint. The fire flared, and he slowly brought it up, kindling the cigarette’s end.

  Another click and the Zippo was shut, now resting in the palm of his closed hand.

  Excitement rushed through her at the prospect of attaining the one thing she needed. But as she observed the stranger fully, dread replaced her delight. Tall, dark, a strong jaw to match a strong body, she shook her head. He was not the type of person she would usually approach for anything. The man before her looked harsh, callous and capable of rejecting her request without a moment of remorse for the impolite refusal, a refusal that would utterly embarrass her.

  Why couldn’t a nice, friendly person have walked in?

  He inhaled deeply and relaxed back in his chair, crossing one leg over his knee, his shiny leather boot gleaming under the fluorescent light. He exhaled, the smoke twirling through the air, taunting her.

  Renee sighed softly, and the stranger looked up as if he heard the frustration on her breath. A sliver of hope emerged. Maybe he’d solve her dilemma on his own merit. She smiled expectantly, cigarette in hand, and patiently waited for him to offer a light.

  His gaze roamed over her. His face was expressionless, framing hard grey eyes akin to steel. A moment of tense silence passed between them, but he said nothing, showed nothing.

  They made eye contact. Possessive and commanding, his intense stare overwhelmed. She wanted to look away, but those silver orbs entranced her, held her in place, and demanded nothing less than her total attention. Her cheeks heated, and blood surged through her body as his gaze ignited her, stroked her, then consumed her. Her breath caught in her throat. It was as if she fell into a pool of mercury and was suddenly drowning.

  Would he rescue her?

  Her insides melted, and she wondered if this was what is was to be hypnotized. Not that she’d care, she’d readily do his bidding.

  He raised his eyebrows as if he’d read her mind.

  Her heart jumped, and her stomach did summersaults. Too much! Too much! She broke their eye contact, now uncomfortable with the intrusion. Though she stared at the floor, she could feel his gaze searing her skin.

  Renee bit her bottom lip, hoping the pain would allow her some control of her rushing senses. It did very little to help.

  What was wrong with her? Why would she let another man, one she hadn’t even met, get her all worked up?

  She glanced at the entrance to the smoking area, waiting, praying that someone else would come in. Of course, true to the shitty day she’d been having, no one did.

  With no other options left, she rolled her unlit cigarette between her fingers and let desperation fuel her courage. She glanced up at the mysterious stranger.

  “I see you managed to smuggle a lighter in.” She nervously giggled. “May I have a light?”

  Uncrossing his legs, he leaned forward and rested his arm on his thigh. He cocked his head and let the lighter weave between his fingers, mimicking the way she fiddled with her cigarette.

  Her heart stopped. Was he going to say ‘no’?

  “Sure,” he purred and opened his hand, displaying the lighter on his large palm.

  Relieved at the simplicity of his affirmative, she rose from her seat, approaching him much like a child would if he was offering a piece of candy.

  She waited for him to give her the Zippo, but he didn’t. The small brass rectangle remained laying in his hand, sitting on his thigh, beckoning like a golden treasure and promising to grant her greatest desire.

  Maybe he wanted her to pick it up.

  She reached forward.

  In a blur of movement, his fingers shifted and ignited the lighter. The wick flared and Renee pulled back. With his hand secured around the Zippo, there was no way for her to take it from him without burning herself.

  Holding her breath, she waited for him to raise the flame to a reasonable level between them. However, his arm remained steady upon his leg.

  Why, she’d practically have to crouch between his knees to…

  She didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t really be expecting her to bend over, could he? She looked at his face, hoping to read there some form of guidance or a hint on how he wanted her to proceed.

  Nothing tinged his handsome features. No expectations, no annoyance, no resentment, just nothing. He simply waited.

  Shit.

  She would curse her sister from this day until the Apocalypse for talking her into wearing this damn tight skirt and the sweater that showed way too much cleavage.

  Damn. It.

  But she needed a drag of nicotine. Real bad.

  She glanced at the lighter, still flickering, then up to the gentleman’s face. His gaze hooked into hers and held. Steel grey. Unmoving.

  All right.

  She kicked off one of her heels, then the other, which lowered her about three inches.

  “Keep the heels on.” The lighter flicked off.

  She glanced from it, back to his face again, in disbelief. “What?”

  “You want a light? Put the heels back on.”

  Renee narrowed her gaze. Bastard. He was going to make her work for a simple fucking light? If she didn’t need a cigarette so damn bad, she’d tell him to go to hell.

  But she didn’t.

  Okay. I’ll play. Her ex might not think she knew how to use her looks and body, but today, she was going to prove him wrong.

  She slipped first one set of toes, then another, into her black patent leather stiletto pumps. Leaning slightly forward, she put the cigarette between her lips, placed a palm on each of the man’s knees and squeezed.

  Using his legs for leverage, she slowly lowered herself toward the floor. All the while, her gaze never left his stoic face. Her head willed her body to move into a crouch, but her body, and the damn skirt, had other ideas. She must look a little like a stuffed cannoli trying to bend at will.

  Her knees pressed together, she found if she spread her feet out at an angle, she could get closer.

  The lighter flicked on again. Renee glanced to the man’s face, then lower to her target. Come to mama, sweet flickering flame…

  She bent lower, snug between his knees. Had he squeezed them closer together? Leaning, she knew her sweater was gaping, her breasts spilling over. She didn’t dare look to her chest. That would appear, um, insecure? Last thing she wanted to appear was insecure.

  Even if that’s how she felt.

  Gaining ground, she slowly moved closer to the lighter. So close, she pursed her lips together now so she could angle the cigarette toward it. The flame licked higher. She could feel the heat.

  Steady. Steady.

  Her ankles wobbled. The cigarette quivered between her lips.

  Her right heel slid out. A rip sounded to her left. Her knee hit the hard floor. An elbow jabbed into the guy’s thigh.

  He jerked the lighter back just in the nick of time and her face landed square in his lap.

  Square.

  In his lap.

  Like, on his crotch.

  Like, so far into his crotch she got a face full of erection.

  For a second or two, Renee lay frozen, her arms flung over his thighs, her pencil-skirted ass perched up in the air, her legs all a-splay.

  Where was her cigarette?

  She pushed back, still on her knees, and looked up at him.

  He sat unmoving, except for leaning back in his seat now, legs sprawled, hands resting outside his thighs, looking down at her.

  He flicked the lighter off. On. Off again. On. Off.

  “Just how I like my women,” he finally said. “On their knees, between my thighs, and looking up at me.”
<
br />   Renee gulped. Something twittered through her chest and snaked to her gut, and lower. She could be a child right now, a little girl, and run away. Or, she could be a woman—a sexy, sassy, sophisticated woman and come back with something snappy and sultry. Instead, she said, “You’d have a cow if I slipped your zipper down and sucked your cock right here and now.”

  It was a stupid, stupid thing to say, because he answered with, “Moo….”

  “Ha ha.” She wanted to lick her lips. Tried like hell not to.

  “Try me.”

  “People would see.”

  “They’d probably enjoy it.”

  “As would you.”

  “People watching turns me on.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “How bad do you want a light?”

  She was shaking. How bad did she want a light? Pretty fucking bad. But could she… She glanced about. A couple of TSA agents in blue shirts walked by the entrance. “We’ll get arrested.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  You have the looks, but no idea how to use them.

  Okay, Renee. But maybe you should use your brains rather than your looks.

  Where is my cigarette?

  Her gaze darted about. Please let it not be on the floor. She couldn’t bend over any further….

  Ah. There. She spotted it.

  “I want that light pretty damn bad.” She dipped her head a bit and batted an eye. The guy brushed his thumb over the flint; fire flashed back on, and off, again. For the first time, his face broke into a come-hither grin.

  Renee scooted forward, both palms slid up his thighs. Looking through her lashes, she eased forward. Slowly. Slowly.

  She was so close now, her breasts were crowded up against his inner thighs. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the flicker of the lighter. Damn, if he keeps doing that, there won’t be any fluid left by the time I get there.

  Leaning forward, she spied the cigarette again, tucked in between the folds of his jeans, angled horizontally across his growing bulge. A few more inches, and her mouth was snaking up his fly. With her teeth, she grasped the slide of his zipper and tugged.

  A slight groan escaped from deep in his throat.

  What I was waiting for. Catch him off guard.