by Judy Jarvie
Everyone laughed, Nick included and she realised her heart was pounding hard in her chest just seeing him crack up and his eyes dance. Comedy was bubbling inside her. Flirty banter with Nick making her light-headed.
“Sounds x-rated,” Nick laughed. “I clearly picked the right woman.”
She wasn’t about to admit that under all the wool and clothing lurked an aqua silk vest and lacy French knickers. Ailsa was all woman, just as underneath the faux advert model there lurked a red hot passionate woman bursting to have the guts to do something about it.
Only now she was.
She was being led by Kirsty’s example. She was finally spreading her wings. And now she’d started it was more addictive than she’d ever imagined.
“Good to meet you, Ailsa,” said Nick softly near to her ear. “I think we’re going to get on well. We’ve dealt with the Teasing and Laughing part of my night. How about the ComeHereKissMe,” Nick whispered. Around them the crowd were anticipating the bells which were only moments away.
“Ten, nine, eight…” said the tannoy.
“You up for a drink with me?” he mouthed, paused, watched her.
“Tonight. My place if you can handle it?” she parried.
There wasn’t time for further getting-to-know yous. The countdown was upon them.
“Seven, six, five,” the loudspeaker proclaimed. Ailsa didn’t reply. Her pulse was verging on Richter scale.
Lisa mouthed the words. “Nick’s hot.”
“Three, two, one. HAPPY NEW YEAR EDINBURGH!”
“Happy New Year, Ailsa.”
As the thunderclaps proclaimed it Ailsa found herself welcomed into Australian gladiator’s arms. He smelled so uncommonly good it made her want to be uncommonly bad.
His lips met hers and her reservations crumbled. Goodbye old Ailsa: hello new vampish femme fatale.
When Nick’s warm, plaint mouth claimed hers it told her all those dreams weren’t misguided as the sparks went off fiercer than the fireworks in the sky. His lips were warm, his embrace strong and heady enough to lose yourself in. He kissed like a man should – stridently. She felt the tip of his tongue coax her lips at the seam. It thrilled her and made her pull him closer. Their tongues danced together in mutual appreciation before she knew what they’d begun.
Before long it was a tango of passion that spun them both into breathlessness and a yearning for privacy and more.
“A very promising start,” Nick said when he finally stood back. The warm comforting silk slide of his tongue was still imprinted on hers and making her breathing speed and spin. He held her fingers in his.
Ailsa felt positively giddy, intoxicated by the man and his rollercoaster ride. He smiled and her heart sprang inside her.
“Are you always this forward or am I a special case?” Nick whispered.
Ailsa looked sombrely into sapphire sky eyes, “Out with the old – in with the new. Fancy a party at my place?”
Nick nodded. “I’d be crazy to refuse. And that kiss won’t be our last.”
He was hot, he was drop dead handsome and he was a hundred per cent heaven sent to kick-start her resolution.
And grabbing his arm and pulling him behind her, Ailsa realised it was damn well about time she grabbed life and kissed it into submission.
Chapter Two
“Ailsa Murray, you minx you,” Lisa whispered by her ear and gulped back her enrapt delight. “When you say you’re going for it, you go full throttle. Snogging with strangers. What next? You’ll be buying tickets for male strip shows and telling me you’re wearing no undies next. Why the full on man-grabber vibe? This really isn’t like you.”
Ailsa swallowed a giggle. “Told you. I’m through with low key. I’m opting for assertive now.” Ailsa kept her voice low and out of Palmer earshot. “Anyway, Nick’s not a stranger; we know each other from years ago. He doesn’t realise it yet but he was my boss once. He won’t recognise me though; when I think of myself back then I cringe. I was so straight-laced.”
“You always were a slow developer,” Lisa answered. “But I never thought you had such O.T.T. tendencies. Those lips are doing overtime. Going to invite him back for a nightcap?” Lisa waggled her brows.
“Already have.”
Lisa feigned a sharp intake of breath. Ailsa ignored Lisa’s teasing and giggles and just shrugged. There was plenty Lisa didn’t know right now. Plenty meaning scary, scary stuff that Ailsa wasn’t prepared to share with anyone; classified info no-one would ever get a sniff at. (Well, not without the aid of hypnosis and thumb screws).
How exactly did you explain Kirsty’s Seduction Introduction List?
Her sister’s old forgotten letter enclosed a list detailing – step by step, like a diary almost – how she should go about revolutionising her sex life. It started with the easy stuff like how to transform herself. From hair, make up to wardrobe and attitude. It gave her tips and pointers and suggestions to get into the swing.
By the end, if the list were to be followed to its full conclusion, she’d have the lingerie collection of a Parisienne Madame and would be learning to pole dance and charming men with the click of a finger.
The list was thorough. Kirsty took her seduction techniques very seriously.
It was almost too good to be true.
It made overt suggestions of things to try. She guessed it was kindly meant (even though it still bothered her that it must have been so obvious Ailsa struggled with guys that she’d felt the need to put her straight about it).
Yet getting that letter from her now dead sister was still an event so bizarre and sanity defying it scared her silly. Even now. Kirsty had always been the member of the family who knew what made men tick. Ailsa just hadn’t realised how much of an art form she’d turned it into.
In fact Ailsa’s first inclination was to turn the list into a novel; it would surely be an instant worldwide bestseller? Though how could she really know if it all worked until she tried it out?
And oddest of all Kirsty’s letter actually predicted this would happen – e.g. she’d told her Nick would arrive in her life. She’d said that sometime she least expected it, she’d meet the perfect guy. One she’d want to be more daring with; one who’d make her throw off the straight-laced shackles altogether.
Nick Palmer fit that Fit Guy Fingerprint like a custom made kid glove.
Was it finally time to cart her off to the funny-farm for analysis? Now that she believed spirits were guiding her love life?
And how could she slip it into the conversation to make Lisa understand – “Hey Lisa – did I mention my sister wrote me a letter before she died. She thought I needed to stop being inhibited with men and have more fun. So she gave me a list. I need to take the lead apparently; she’s given me her strict Seduction Instructions.” See, crazy talk – thought Ailsa.
Even just admitting it in her head made her antsy. The fact that Kirsty Murray, seven years dead, had chosen that week to make the sealed letter reappear. Well, it honestly felt like she’d been given Kirsty’s decree on her lousy love life. And, as in most things, Kirsty was right.
And if her elder sister was now an angel, Ailsa wondered what the Big Guy in the Sky was making of her morals? Was Ailsa going potty at last?
“Going to see it through then, sleep with him? Prove you’re a changed woman?” Ailsa was jolted back from her memory of her sister’s handwritten guidance letter by Lisa’s voice.
Part of Ailsa longed to say, who am I to argue with an Angel from God?
“He’s so hot, Australian too. Why not give that resolution a try and make him your guinea pig. You’d be mad not to.” Lisa wittered on blissfully unaware of Ailsa’s inner turmoil. “I bet under those clothes is the body of a Greek statue; the man’s a total angel. Sent from heaven above.” She sighed with glee.
If only she knew the truth.
“Isn’t he just,” said Ailsa, knowing for sure she must. There was no going back. Sleeping with Nick would give her such great memories,
now that she’d finally lost her grip and was going to wind up seeing little purple spacemen next. Talking to herself about the Martians arriving. Next she’d be wearing big clumpy shoes in public and shouting at pigeons.
Her steady decline had begun.
But at least she’d have memories of great sex when they put her in her straight-jacket and threw away the key.
***
He’d been a high flying Hotel Manager for a chain out to make his name in the business. She’d been his lowly temp P.A. A temporary personal assistant he’d never noticed for an instant. A temp assistant with much to learn.
And it all happened at a time that the hotel chain was bought out by a huge, select, impressive chain, and Nick’s career went top flight overnight.
Back then Ailsa’s female wiles educational needs ranged from ‘barely there eye-make’ (she’d been a bit heavy handed in her early years) to waxing (she hadn’t braved it). Hey, she was young.
She’d had an auburn ponytail and too long too skinny legs and huge book nerd glasses. She’d gone to London to study drama. Sadly starring roles there never came true because she’d been called back home when tragedy struck.
She’d been a girl with wanton longings as yet unfulfilled; urgent needs for Nick Palmer, her gorgeous unattainable boss.
From the moment the H.R. Officer introduced them, “Well Ailsa, this is your desk. And through the glass on the phone there is Nick. He’ll be your boss. I’ll introduce you now.”
He’d welcomed her, shaken hands. She’d thought the twittering love birds of attraction singing around her head may just never shut up. And then he’d got down to the tasks in hand.
Dark granite blue eyes held hers, “Welcome aboard. Anything you don’t understand just shoot. Call me if you need me urgently. I’m usually around somewhere sorting out some customer crisis. Appeasing ruffled egos, swabbing tempers and licking too-big-for-their-boots-behinds. That’s just the management team. But don’t tell.” He’d grinned, her heart bungeed.
She could’ve named a few places she’d happily have him lick. And it wasn’t her stamps supply.
“Great,” was all she’d managed in reply.
“Don’t suppose you could grab your notepad and we’ll blitz the morning?”
Back then he’d been busy winning awards, charming sophisticated women and regularly walking into work with shower damp hair and a linen suit that made her wobble on her typing chair. He was gorgeous and only mid twenties. The youngest at his level in the company; he oozed confidence, charm and professional competence. And sex. Definitely that.
He smelled good, he looked great. He worked hard, he played hard. He worked out at the gym daily (the line of his shirt ably displayed the abdominal crunch count). Even his athletic swagger caused Ailsa’s attention span frequently to stray from her dismal in-tray to follow his receding shoulder blades; his well cut derrière…to imagine the washboard stomach peppered by brown strokes of hair. Perhaps to even stray to x-rated images of him unlatching his belt buckle with an inviting smile.
“Hey Ailsa, how about it?” said the fantasy of Nick in her head.
She should sooner have wished for the moon.
Even her best efforts, lavishing him with lots of big smiles and hand crafted cups of java, had no impact in the least.
But more importantly, in her dreams he’d say, “Come out with me tonight? Let me teach you everything I know about sex? Let’s learn the Karma Sutra in reverse order, with nothing but a forty-hour straight ylang ylang candle for company.”
He’d smile that knock out smile and crook her chin up with his finger, “After a night with me you’ll be all woman. How about it?”
At which point in her fantasy the record usually scratched to the end with a screech and she remembered she had zilch sexual experience and Nick would never fancy her anyway.
She was plain. And she was a virgin who jumped when men talked to her.
Nick Palmer was one hundred and one per cent impervious back then. But now he was in Scotland. Eight years sexier. Offering her his body for the night.
Had Kirsty really made that come true?
Even more of a coup, he was acting like she was Jennifer Lopez and Kylie rolled into one. Inviting himself back to hers for a promising night’s entertainment. Teasing her with flirty banter and watching her with lit-up eyes that hinted at the best night of her life.
All very well until Ailsa got to the fact she didn’t play life his way. Resolution or no. It wasn’t how she was made.
Not since her return from London and all the changes it brought because her big sister was knocked from one side of the road to the other. It had been a senseless speeding accident at the hands of some joyriding teenager out to prove his rally driving credentials. Kirsty had no chance.
She’d gone into a coma; they’d hoped and prayed. To no avail because she hadn’t survived. And then her Mum pretty much lost the will to live too. Things had been tough since London. And not getting acting roles wasn’t as important as looking after her Mum, dealing with her depression and getting over Kirsty’s loss. And social life and her own career had taken second billing. Especially when her Mother’s state of mind worsened…
“Hey Ailsa, you okay, sweetie,” Lisa whispered at her side. “You’re doing a great job. Keeping your chin up. I know you always miss your sis at New Year.” Ailsa was instantly transported to the here and now. The big bullfrog of emotion in her throat stopped her from thanking Lisa for her kindness.
It was New Year.
When Kirsty always threw a big party and sang with her band and everybody in the whole street came along and joined in.
People all around now were laughing, enjoying the good time vibe and she was blackening her own future again with morbid leanings and dead-sis-never-coming-back memory lane.
This was the point of her resolution after all; to throw off her black cloak. To live life again. Her sister and her mother wouldn’t have been happy to see her cowering away from life. Spending time making do with second rate jobs; dreaming of funding her own drama classes for kids with issues one day and never doing anything practical to achieve it.
The street party was in full flow. Ten kilt and jester hat clad drummers beat a heart-stomping tattoo as they weaved through the crowds. Ailsa felt Lisa squeeze her hand in time with the beats.
Just then Ailsa saw Nick laughing and sharing some hysterical joke with a twinkle in his eye. She observed him smile and watch her. Ailsa badly needed that new leaf.
Nick walked back to Ailsa’s side, put his arm around her shoulder, then squeezed and smiled. Their eyes met.
“Where’s this private party?” he whispered and hugged her shoulder tighter. Fiery lips travelled to hers for the second time that evening and sparks went off anew.
He tasted of mint and warm spicy enticements. As resolution kisses to fire your fervour went, his was the call to action she needed.
Ailsa had done her time. Life was for the living and she was about to start her induction.
“Party’s at our place,” Lisa shouted, raising her voice to be heard over the crowd. “And according to Ailsa this year’s going to be an epic good time!”
***
Nicholas Palmer Global Internet Travel Company Pioneer could play the joker when he felt like it. Even when on a family crisis mission to Scotland. Even when timing was terrible on all counts.
He might play the relaxed flirt on the outside; but inside he was an ‘unhappy bunny’. With a to-do list stretching patience and his nerves to the limits.
Tonight he was excelling at playing Life and Soul of Party Central to prove he still had it in him. Because for the last year he’d figured he’d spent a decade in a social coma. And a hot woman had suddenly broken through his stifling ethical constraints.
It was New Year’s Eve and he was going home with a woman he’d never met before; so not him it wasn’t true.
Ailsa, the woman with ready kisses and cheeky back-chat, not that he was blaming he
r or shirking responsibility, had come on to him so fast he’d been blown along with her storm.
So he’d parried. Now he was virtually seducing her in the street, kissing her, holding hands; Nick Palmer didn’t do that. He was a responsible corporate company head. These days he was boring, square, risk-free. He couldn’t risk bad behaviour for fear of reprisals or negative publicity. But tonight, somehow he’d cast that all aside. And now he was going back to Ailsa’s for presumably a nightcap and maybe bedroom action?
This really was an experiment in his credibility as a guy who could still grab a life.
Nick was no prude. He’d done his share of skirt chasing. But he’d never treated sex like a hundred metre sprint. Sprints were over-rated. Nick Palmer didn’t play life that way.
Nick was a gentle, laid back guy; mellow in every facet. So mellow he’d turned into a boring turned-thirty-now Dad about to be up staged by an all action hero Step Dad. A Step Dad his son praised incessantly (turning him a nice shade of jealous green; the kind that looked passable on the tin but from the first brush stroke screamed ‘big mistake’).
The deal of becoming a single Dad unexpectedly in your early twenties and sticking by responsibility was that you were the only action hero permitted. Hence the unhappy bunny state of mind. The loud green paint jealous mood.
“You’re quiet,” said Ailsa. “Second thoughts?”
He looked at her walking beside him. Still wearing more clothes than a coat rack; she really did dress for warmth. Which was a shame; he suspected that underneath all that atmospheric armour was a hot babe.
And her banter sent off sparks and she reminded him of someone he couldn’t quite place. It was life affirming to be led along. Especially for a man whose social calendar made an antiquarian book convention look like a rocking party.
“I’m fine. I hardly know anything about you,” he said.
They were walking back now to her place in Edinburgh’s trendy Stockbridge area (he could tell it was cool by the galleries, the craft and jewellery stores, the cafes). Occasionally the frosty cobbles meant she reached out and took his helping hand to stop her slipping. Even her touch through his thick jacket sent a charge. They shared chemistry; of that he was certain.
