by Sahara Kelly
A KINK IN HER TAILS
SAHARA KELLY
Acknowledgements
To all those who shared so generously with me during the writing of this story, my everlasting thanks. I hope you’ll find I’ve treated this lifestyle with respect.
To one staunch friend whose support and encouragement never failed, whose seemingly endless supply of URL’s took me to places I’d never dreamed of, and who continually urged me to open my mind to all the possibilities, I thank you. If not for you and Matilda, this book would never have been conceived, let alone written. Thanks, Boss.
And to Jen and Briana—there are no words sufficient to express my profound gratitude for your enthusiasm and support. Bless you both for letting me take a chance.
Apartment 4B
Chapter 1
It was Saturday morning. Nobody abused a doorbell at eight thirty on a Saturday morning. Nobody Eve Bentley knew, anyway.
Brrrriiiinnnggg.
“Goddammit. I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Eve sleepily dragged herself from her warm bed, slipped most of her body into her old chenille robe and tied the belt haphazardly round her waist.
She ran a hand through her spiky brown hair and stifled a yawn as she stumbled to the door before it made that disgustingly intrusive sound one more time.
She eased the door open a crack and tried to focus on whoever was disturbing her slumber so rudely.
“What?” she asked.
“Hello?”
She blinked and opened the door a smidgen more.
Oh lord.
He was delicious. Better than coffee. Her sore eyes relished the sight of him. Six foot-and-then-some of delectably masculine attributes. Shoulders that were just perfect for cuddling up to topped a broad chest and tapered down to a huggable waist. It was a package that cried out to be explored, all while being held close by a pair of muscular arms.
“Sorry to bother you…”
Eve shut her mouth with a snap, realizing her saliva had dried to dust and she couldn’t swallow. She also realized she looked like death on a bad hair day and wished she could slam the door, go change, and start again.
Given that changing would involve a facial, a hair appointment and possibly some liposuction, she supposed it wasn’t an option.
“I woke you, didn’t I?”
Swell. Obviously the man was also an Einstein.
“Um, well, I was just going to…actually…”
“Here.”
He thrust a package at her.
“This is so sudden. We hardly know each other.” Eve couldn’t stop the words from slipping out of her mouth.
His lips twitched. “It was delivered to my door this morning and I took it inside and opened it without realizing it. I am awfully sorry, but you know how it is before you’ve had coffee.”
“Oh, do I ever.”
She took the package from him and looked at it.
“It doesn’t bite, you know. And I already opened it, so I can guarantee it doesn’t explode.”
“Yeah.”
“So, it would probably be okay if you opened it and looked inside?”
“Think so?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Eve looked at him again. Her hormones slapped her upside the head—hard. She could swear she heard her dear departed mother’s voice someplace, yelling at her. Eve, find a nice man, for God’s sake. You’re not getting any younger.
“So, uh, did you have your coffee yet? I guess I’m just about to make some.”
He tilted his head while he considered her contorted statement.
He grinned. “Hey, I’d love to. Can’t do anything on just one cup, can you?”
“No. I mean yeah, I guess so. Or not. Or whatever. Why don’t you come on in?”
“Thanks.”
“Oh. One question.”
“Sure.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Simon Austen. Nice to meet you.”
He held out his hand, willing her to take it, wanting to touch the rumpled warmth he felt radiating from this enchanting woman.
“Eve Bentley, Ma…” she bit off the response as she shook his hand.
“Ma…? That would be the sheep Bentleys?”
“Sorry.” She chuckled as she led the way into the kitchen. “That would be Eve Bentley, Marketing Design, which is how I usually introduce myself when shaking hands. Force of habit I guess.” She glanced down at herself. “I remembered just in time that this wasn’t a formal moment.”
She made a half-hearted attempt to straighten her robe, which failed miserably, bringing a mental cheer to Simon’s libido. From where she’d seated him at her small breakfast bar, he had an excellent view of the curve of her lovely breasts beneath her nightgown as she bent to the coffee machine.
She was delightfully mussed, warmly sleepy, and he was finding it hard to resist the urge to pick her up and carry her back to wherever it was she’d just gotten up from. He’d like to muss her some more.
A lot more.
His pants started to hurt.
“So you live here in the building, Mr. Austen?”
“Please, call me Simon. Yes, been here about two weeks, I guess, but what with trying to unpack and also meet a major deadline for a job, well…I really haven’t been anywhere for the last ten days but my desk.”
“Deadline?”
Simon had a feeling the question was probably more polite than interested. Damn, how long would it take this woman to wake up? To realize that from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, he’d developed a major case of lust, which was probably showing in his gaze and his pants?
“Yes. I’m an architect.”
“Oh. How nice.”
What she meant, of course, was oh, how boring. For the fifteen hundredth time in his life he wished he was a bullfighter, or a rodeo rider, or a NASCAR driver. Something that would get women’s attention more than an architect.
“Would I know anything you’ve built?”
“Westgate Mall?”
“Don’t shop there.”
“How about Treetorn Towers?”
“Too high priced for me. But nice windows.”
“Thank you. I picked them out myself.”
She glanced up and grinned, doing severe damage to his brain cells. That grin of hers was seriously dangerous. It went all the way down his spine and settled comfortably somewhere over his crotch. He could have sworn it hummed when it got there.
“Cute,” she answered.
“Aren’t I?”
“No, I didn’t mean that. I meant your windows crack.”
“No they don’t. And if they did, they wouldn’t be cute.” His rapid quip was out of his mouth before he’d really thought much about it. Something about her seemed to bring out his best lines.
There was a distinct moment of silence, when most everything paused. Even the coffee pot held its breath.
“Talking to you is like talking to a snake. Somehow the conversation winds back on itself and ends up biting its own ass.”
“I haven’t bitten your ass yet, have I?”
One mobile eyebrow flew up toward her serious bed hair. “You are getting quite fresh.”
“No, no. You misunderstand. I’m already fresh. It’s you who’s slightly wilted. But I expect the coffee will put the starch back in your stem.”
She shook her head slowly, and poured a large mug of coffee, adding cream and stirring it.
“May I have one too?”
“Oh sh—Oops.” She blushed. She’d almost said shit and she actually blushed. Simon promptly fell in love.
“I guess so. That’s why I invited you in, wasn’t it?”
“I was hoping you were overcome with serious morning lust
and wanted to get me naked in order to slake your wicked desires, but this will have to do, I guess…” He gave her his best impish grin while patting himself on the back for his amazing ability to tell the truth no matter what the circumstances.
“Well, in the absence of any desire slaking, how about I open this?” She waved her hand at the package she’d set down on the countertop.
“Mmm. Do.” Simon, who already knew what was inside, restrained his urge to snicker.
She peered at the label. “That’s odd. No name and no return address. Just the apartment number, which is a bit smeared I must admit. Are you sure it’s not for you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Oh well, I guess that could be a “B”. And you’re in…what, 4D?”
“Yep.”
She was spreading the tissue aside as she spoke, delicately parting the folds in a way that Simon, for some reason, was beginning to find rather erotically stimulating.
He’d like to part her folds that way, he mused. She’d be pink, too, like the tissue, rippled and ready for him. But she’d be slippery and shiny and hot, not crackly and…her gasp interrupted his rather charming fantasy.
“Good God. It’s a dead critter.”
Simon burst out laughing. “No it’s not,” he huffed, gasping for breath at her horrified expression.
“Eeeeuww.”
“Oh for Pete’s sake, come on, look closely.”
Simon picked up the box and tipped it sideways so that the contents fell out onto the tissue between them.
Eve poked at the mass of fur. “It’s too small for a mink coat. And it’s real fur so that lets out any of my past boyfriends. Never had one that would spring for the genuine article.”
“How about present ones?”
“Don’t have any.”
Simon mentally cheered.
“It’s not moving.” Eve stared at the tangle on the tissue.
“No it’s not. And it won’t until you pick it up.”
Eve reached between the furs to find a hard length, swathed in the softest suede leather. “Oh my. This is quite lovely.”
Simon watched as she grasped the handle and straightened it out, letting the strands of fur slide into neat rows.
“It’s a flogger, isn’t it? I’ve seen some on the Internet.” Her eyes were wide as she looked at the intricately braided strips that covered the handle and the clever loopy knots at top and bottom. The soft rabbit fur lashes slid through her fingers like sand.
Simon was finding this whole little scene incredibly arousing. God he was hard. If she didn’t stop stroking the fur, he was going to grab the damn thing and demand she stroke him like that, not some inanimate object that couldn’t appreciate the delicacy of her touch.
“Yes. Definitely a flogger. And handmade too, by the looks of it. Did you order it from someone locally?”
Eve’s gaze flew to Simon. “I didn’t order this. There must be some mistake.” She scrabbled through the wrapping paper to find the label again.
“There’s no return address, Eve. You already checked.”
“I know, but…damn.” She tossed the paper down with a frown. “Who on earth would send me one of these?”
She idly flipped her hand, watching the strands swing and sway.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” agreed Simon, watching her expression as it changed from puzzled to contemplative.
The swing of her wrist got a little more deliberate.
Simon’s cock got a little more rigid.
“My goodness, it seems to be very well-balanced, doesn’t it? Just sways so nicely…”
The strands were swinging hypnotically and rhythmically, and Eve’s tongue crept out to moisten her lower lip.
Even though she was in her old bathrobe, hair standing on end, no makeup and completely unaware of him, Simon was about as turned on as he could ever remember being.
She gave an extra swing and brought the lashes down on the counter with a thump.
Simon jumped.
Eve grinned. “Oh my.”
Chapter 2
“So what did he do then?” Adele Martin put the finishing touches to Eve’s nails and blew gently on them.
“Then he got a very funny look on his face, insisted I have dinner with him tonight, and left.”
“What kind of a funny look?”
“Hard to tell. Kind of tight looking. Uncomfortable.”
“And you were doing what?”
“I was just playing with the flogger, you know? Swishing it around, slapping it backwards and forwards a bit, slapping it on the counter—oh, I think I may have slapped it on my thigh once.”
Adele laughed. “Well, sheesh, poor guy. I’m not surprised he got a tight look on his face. His pants were probably cutting his circulation off in a very delicate place.”
Eve stared at her friend.
“Oh come on, Adele. I was in my ratty robe. I hadn’t brushed my hair. Barely one cup of coffee under my belt, and you think I turned him on? Give me a break here.”
“He asked you out, didn’t he?”
“Well, yeah.”
“And you said…”
“I may have been sleepy, but I wasn’t dead. I said yes. What do you think I said?”
“And this is why I’m here doing your nails?”
“Well.” Eve looked down at the shiny pink polish Adele was putting away in a small bag. “I suppose. I don’t want him to think I’m a total scumbag all the time.”
“Good God, Eve. You’re a marketing manager. That’s so far from scumbag it’s absurd to even think like that.”
“Yeah, but he hasn’t seen me as the suit. He’s only seen me as the robe.”
“Which he obviously liked enough to ask out.”
“Well, yeah, I guess…”
Adele sighed. “All right. Nails done. What else?”
Eve peeked hopefully at Adele’s bag of tricks. “You’re the expert, you tell me.”
Adele sighed. “Honey, I’m a photographer, not a fashion consultant. You want to look good in black and white, I can help you. For a date? Hey, look at me, I’m not exactly successful in that department. What do I know?”
Eve looked bleak. “I don’t know what to wear.”
“Did he say anything about where he’s taking you?”
“No. Just did I like Indian food. Which, luckily I do.”
“Well, there you go. Indian restaurants are basically more on the casual side. So dress more on the casual side.”
“And that would be…”
“No pearls.” Adele grinned at her friend.
“Duh. Are we talking jeans here?”
“Nope. No jeans. Uh uh. Absolutely not.”
“But my ass looks good in jeans.”
“Sweetie, I have a feeling Mr. Simon Austen thinks your ass would look better in his bed.”
“Really?” Eve’s eyes widened. “Now there’s a thought.”
“Hey. Go for it. How long’s it been?”
“Don’t ask.”
“So you’re due for some fun. Go have a little. He sounds nice, check him out, if he’s on the up and up, give him a spin.”
“Give him a spin? Sheesh, Adele, where do you get these expressions?”
“Well, it sounds better than fuck around with him for a while and see if anything clicks.”
Eve sputtered her soda. “Yep. You’re right. It does. Not that I expect anything to come of it, of course. But maybe just a bit of fun.”
Adele tilted her head as she packed her cosmetics neatly away in her photographer’s bag. “Seriously, Eve. Did you like him?”
“Seriously Adele? Yeah. He was really nice. Very easy on the eye, that’s for sure, but he seemed like fun, too. He had a good sense of humor, and he made me laugh. Which is quite an accomplishment, at that hour of the morning.”
“And all this while you were playing with your flogger.”
Eve slid from the chair with a final check of her polish. “Yeah. That whole flogge
r thing is the weirdest. I never ordered it, that’s for sure, and yet here it is…” She eased it out of the box again and showed it to Adele.
Adele took it and gave it a few experimental swings. “Oooh nice, Eve. This is a beauty.”
Eve raised an eyebrow as she watched her friend’s smooth wrist action. “Adele, is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Like what, hon?” Adele was now laying a few lashes down across a helpless sofa pillow with unerring accuracy.
“Like you are doing that with a scary amount of skill…”
Adele grinned at Eve. “Well, I may be divorced, but that was after being married for ten years. I was younger. We played.”
“Really?”
“Sure.”
“Um, Adele?” Eve moved closer to the older woman. “Show me?”
* * * * *
“Not too cold for you, is it?” Simon glanced down at the woman by his side who had snuggled herself into his leather jacket.
“Nope. You’re the one who must be freezing, though. Are you sure you don’t want…?” She tugged on the collar of his coat.
“I’m fine. I have you if it gets too chilly.” He grinned, put an arm around Eve’s shoulder and pulled her against him.
She glanced up at him and laughed back. “That Indian food was certainly warming. I loved every mouthful, but my God it’s good to breathe something cold.” She took a deep appreciative lungful of air, which coincidentally brought Simon’s smell deep into her senses.
She drifted on the scent of leather, sandalwood and man.
“So you liked it, huh?”
“Oh yeah.” She sighed, lost in her own sensuous little fantasy.
“Um—Eve? I was talking about the Indian food.”
“Oh. Yes. Well, so was I. It was fabulous. Especially the tandoori.”
Simon grinned again, cuddling her a little tighter to him. “Glad you liked it. God, I haven’t walked with a girl like this in years.”
“A girl? Oh wow, there’s a lovely compliment.”
“Yes. A girl. You. Soft, smells nice, small feet, curvy, definitely a girl.”
Eve chuckled. “You know damn well what I meant. I haven’t been called a girl since I don’t remember when. I’m Ms. Bentley in the office and Ma’am everywhere else. I hate Ma’am.”
