Imminent Conquest

by Aurora Rose Lynn

  "Maybe she's got a lot of experience. You look like Cinderella.” He stepped closer and kissed her lips a little too quickly.

  Nicole shrugged and sighed. Apparently the transformation in her appearance had little effect on him. To her dismay, a brief glance at his crotch showed he wasn't excited in the least. She had teased and taunted him with her nudity, but nothing seemed to work when it came to seducing him. Why had she given a fleeting thought that a sluttish little dress might work?

  She really didn't want to go to his staff party. He came home each night and described the biker types he worked with in great detail, how the men spat on the ground, smoked dope and wore earrings. What kind of crowd was that to hang out with, even if it was only for a few hours? She would rather have curled up with a good mystery book and passed the evening reading while Brad watched TV with a sweating beer in hand.

  He watched her now with speculative eyes as she twirled a strand of dark brown hair into a lazy curl resting against her cheek. Pearl earrings from the local Shop N’ Drop dangled from her earlobes.

  She sensed that being in the little burgundy dress wouldn't achieve what she might have hoped for when she'd first spotted it in the tissue paper it had been wrapped in. Mentally she counted the months that had gone by since Brad and she had last peeled off their clothes and fallen into bed. Six months. Roughly the time he had been working for Anessa Rendering. She frowned.

  Was there some kind of connection between working with dead animals all day and no desire for sex? Was it ludicrous to think that? Or was there some kind of scar Brad's wife had left him with? After a ten-year marriage, she had made his life hell in a messy divorce that had left him all but penniless.

  It had been almost a year since Brad and Nicole had become reacquainted with each other again, oddly enough at a party at the law firm where she worked as a secretary. Years earlier, they had gone to high school together. Brad and she had shared an apartment for a few months before she'd bought this house in Eastwynd. The law company she worked for had requested the transfer. Now she was an executive secretary in charge of the Eastwynd Law Offices of Bessman and Overton.

  Her stomach clenched. Could she persuade him to make love to her, perhaps avoid going to the party? She seductively strolled up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, raising her face to his. “Make love to me?"

  There had been a time when she wouldn't have had to beg a man to make love to her. She repressed a sigh of longing. Those days were gone. Forever. There was no way to bring back the blissful past.

  "Why?” he asked, taking a step back out of her tenacious hold.

  She suddenly felt like a cat rubbing itself against a fuzzy carpet. “Because that's what men and women do."

  "Like a bitch in heat?"

  Nicole couldn't help herself from trembling with barely concealed anger. Making love wasn't about being in heat. It was about being madly in love, wanting to share two bodies and make them one.

  She changed gears. “I appreciate the gesture,” she said, referring to his buying the dress, “but I really can't wear this.” She headed for the bed where her blue two-piece dress lay in soft, long folds. The burgundy dress left a lot of skin exposed and made her feel self-conscious. She didn't mind dressing like that in front of her fiance, but she did mind going out in public wearing next to nothing.

  "You're not thinking of changing, are you?"

  "I'm planning on it, unless you want to see this all night.” To demonstrate, she squirmed, pulling the dress's neckline upward before she tugged downward on the hem. Neither action did much to cover her naked skin. The dress might as well have been moulded to her body.

  Brad's face paled and his eyes clouded over with sadness. Inwardly, she took a deep breath. He had never before purchased anything so personal. Reminding him to pick up a carton of milk or a can of tuna was hard enough. Could this have something to do with his ex-wife, Meg?

  Between her work and her personal life, Nicole had little trouble imagining she could turn this living arrangement into a comfortable one for both of them. He was a simple man with simple needs, but the hurt from his first marriage went deep through his psyche. She had never told him about her past. There had been no need to dig up what once had been.

  Their eyes met, his lacklustre grey. He grimaced and started to walk from the room. Not able to bear the hurt, she ran after him and grabbed his arm. He stood three inches taller than her five-foot-three. Deep bags under his eyes marred his usually nonchalant look. Uncharitably, she thought he looked like a penguin in his frothy white shirt, black jacket and trousers. She didn't want to hurt him, especially now that he was starting the long healing process after the divorce.

  "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but the dress is a bit short,” she insisted, her eyes pleading with his for understanding. “What if I cut your pant legs up near your thigh and then trimmed your shirt so there's more material on the floor than on you? How would that make you feel?"

  His drawn smile tugged at her heart strings. He patted the top of her hand. “You look really sexy in it,” he said half heartedly.

  "But I don't feel sexy. I feel like someone cut off half the dress. Won't everyone else be wearing jeans and whatnot at that party?” Black leather ran through her mind and caused her to shiver.

  He lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. “Don't know."

  "Is there a dress code?"

  Again the careless shrug. “Never been there before."

  A nagging question disturbed her. “Where did you get the money for this? I didn't think we could afford it."

  He sighed, running a palm over his balding crown. “Michael called me into his office the other day."

  "Your boss?"

  Brad nodded.

  She bit her lip. That didn't sound good. Anessa Rendering was the mainstay of Eastwynd's economy, employing over two hundred men in the rendering plant and several administrative personnel. Brad was the foreman in charge of six mechanics. Most businesses in the area slowed down after the holiday season, which meant layoffs. “Is he going to lay you off after the holidays? But he can't!"

  "Don't jump to conclusions. All Michael said was I had done such a good job, he believed I deserved a bonus. He handed me a thousand dollars in cash."

  She placed her hands on her hips. Relief flooded through her. “That's all he said? That's terrific! A thousand dollars? In cash?” Right now that was a small fortune. “How much did this dress cost?"

  Brad shifted from foot to foot. “You sure ask a lot of questions. All at once, too. Did you forget I'm the kind of guy who can only do one thing at a time?"

  "You're not a multi-tasker.” She grinned. He couldn't do two things at once without getting confused.

  He shook his head. “It was Michael's suggestion to buy you a dress for the party."

  "What a strange suggestion.” She forgot about the dress's price tag. “I don't understand. The last three or four months, he's all you can talk about. Michael this, Michael that. You praise him for every little thing. What's so special about him?"

  "Whoa. I'm not in love with him or anything. He just happens to be a terrific boss. Considerate, thoughtful of his employees."

  "Sounds like he's too good to be true."

  "I was a little surprised. He must have been shopping for the lady in his life, because he suggested a place on Main called Giselle's."

  She couldn't think of her boss, Marty Overton, a senior partner, suggesting she buy Brad a nice suit with a bonus he had given her. Not that Marty had ever given one, according to office rumours. Since when did a boss encourage an employee to spend a bonus? “If he gave you a bonus, isn't it up to you to decide what you want to do with it?"

  "I guess so. I'm sure it was merely a suggestion.” He wouldn't meet her eyes but stared at something over her left shoulder.

  "Is he married?"

  "No.” Abruptly, he turned on his heel and strode from the bedroom, preventing her from scrutinising his expression.


  "What's going on?” she asked, running after him again.

  "Nothing,” he said, jogging down the stairs.

  She stopped. They'd be late for the party if she didn't do something with this dress soon. She headed into the spare room and the sewing machine resting on a table in the corner.

  Opening her sewing basket, she rummaged through different length zippers, bias tape, scissors and an unwound measuring tape before she found what she was looking for. The lace, a rich cream colour, would complement the dress as long as it was stitched on at the hemline. Nicole reached behind her, unzipped her dress and slid out of it. She hadn't put the electric heater on in here in order to save on heating costs. A cold rush of air brushed over her body, teasing her nipples erect and hurtling goosebumps over her arms and thighs.

  What did this Michael guy have to do with her life? Nothing. As much as she didn't want to, she would go to the party so Brad wouldn't be alone and that was all there was to that.

  She measured around the hemline first, then laid the two-inch-wide lace flat. She had just enough lace to go all around. She expelled a sigh of relief.

  "Is he divorced?” she asked, raising her voice when she heard Brad come up the stairs.

  He stuck his head around the doorframe. “What are you doing?"

  "Is he divorced?"

  "Who?"

  "Your boss.” She jammed colourful, glass-headed pins into the lace to attach it to the dress.

  "He's single as far as I know. You'll really like him.” He watched her from the doorway. “What are you doing?"

  "Sewing some lace on. I refuse to wear it so short. For goodness sake, my privates were very nearly hanging out.” She continued sliding the pins into the dress and lace. It wouldn't take more than a couple of minutes to run the sewing machine around the hem.

  "I thought it looked good the way it was."

  Nicole shook her head. “Men,” she muttered. “I can't imagine why you let your boss twist your arm into buying me a dress. I've already got a serviceable one."

  "Not one like that,” he said softly.

  Some poignancy in his voice made her jerk her head up to take a look at him but he was gone. She didn't have time to run after him and ask what he meant. After she placed the dress and lace on the sewing machine, she lined up the seam marker and the fabric and adeptly sewed the two fabrics together. She got to her feet and pulled the dress over her head again before she raced to the mirror in the bedroom. Brad sat on the bed with his hands clasped between his legs.

  "What an improvement,” she whispered, assured that she looked much better and that her ass wouldn't hang out if she bent over.

  "You've ruined the dress. Michael said—"

  She gave him an irate look. Who was this Michael guy that he could possibly make such an impression on him, even to the point of creating uneasiness in the bedroom of one of his employees? Brad's cheeks seemed a bit too pale. “What did he say?” she prodded, focusing her attention on her fiance.

  He leapt to his feet and stalked out. Now what had upset him? Nicole fought back the flash of pity she felt for him and dashed to the closet to search for her black high heels and a black lace bolero before she ran down the narrow stairs. She grabbed her three-quarter-length coat from the closet near the back door. “Are you ready?” she shouted.

  "In a minute,” came from the kitchen.

  She realised he never called her by any endearment, no ‘honey’ or ‘dear’ or anything like that.

  He ambled out of the kitchen. She smelt the beer on his breath. She blocked his path out of the back door to the car. “I'm curious. Why don't you ever use an endearment?"

  "What's that?"

  "You know, like honey, or sweetheart, or something like that."

  He lifted his shoulders. Again, he didn't meet her eyes.

  "Is it because you think, if you get close to a woman, you'll get rejected again?"

  "Why do you have to analyse everything to death?"

  "Because I love you."

  He winced and ran into the kitchen.

  She stood by the back door and watched the light snow falling on the other side of the glass. The sky, heavily overcast since late afternoon, had burst. “We've got to go. It'll take longer to get there because of the snow on the road."

  "Michael's saving a table for us."

  Silently, Nicole mimicked his words. Was this guy some kind of god or some gift from heaven that he had made such a favourable impression on Brad, who normally couldn't be bothered with how people were? She heard the fridge door open and close. The motor hummed on.

  "Will he sit with us?” She meandered into the kitchen and watched Brad munch on a homemade raisin cookie.

  The slight hesitation again. “Don't know."

  "Do we really have to go?” She wound her arms around his neck. Once in a while, persistence paid off. “Wouldn't we have more fun here? I could make us some dinner and then we could get cosy.” Or turned on, although that notion might take some work.

  "I owe it to Michael to show up,” he said, thrusting her hands away to leave her standing in the middle of the kitchen like an abandoned kitten.

  She drew in a sharp breath as a memory insinuated itself into her consciousness. Drop-dead gorgeous James Carmichael and she were making love just the way they liked, his body above hers, his cock thrusting in and out as she tried to mumble words to make him hurry. She remembered the sensation of wanting him more than breath itself. A moan tore from her lips.

  "Are you okay?"

  The memory, dimmed by time and distance but nonetheless overwhelmingly powerful, shattered. “Yes. Yes, I am,” she whispered, trying to recall what they had been talking about. Oh yes. Brad felt he had to go to the Anessa party.

  James was part of the past—the long-dead past, she reminded herself. How long a prison sentence had he served for murder? Had it been five or seven years? She blocked out the memory. She had been forced to rebuild her life, her interests, all without James, but she had managed. Let sleeping dogs lie.

  Brad tilted his head as if to ascertain the truth behind her words.

  "Really. I'm okay."

  "The next time I get a bonus, you can buy your own dress. How's that sound?"

  Nicole pursed her lips, sensing he had said that to break the painful silence. “The next time you get a bonus, maybe you could spend it on something we really need. You could have bought a new part for your truck, or we could have bought a new washing machine.” She took hold of his arm. “It's not that I don't appreciate the gesture. It's just that we need the money for so many other things and this dress—” She let her words trail off before she spoke again, hoping she wasn't hurting his feelings more than she already had. He needed to hear the truth. “It is kind of frivolous."

  "You're probably right.” In a rare show of emotion, he embraced her and gave her a peck on her cheek before he drew away, clearing his throat.

  She followed him out to her Topaz. Whirling snowflakes melted against the still warm windshield. Moments later, with Brad behind the steering wheel, they were on their way down the steep switchback.

  "We should have bought a house closer to Eastwynd,” she remarked, dreading the long winter ahead when the ice lay hidden underneath the snow and the roads often became a skating rink. Brad handled the car like a professional driver.

  "I can take you into work some mornings,” he offered.

  "How would you do that? You leave earlier than I do."

  "When the snow is bad, I'm sure Michael would understand if I was a little late."

  There he went mentioning his boss again. She shifted in her seat as her dress rode up her thighs under the coat. “Did the other foremen get a bonus?"

  Brad shrugged. “If they did, they didn't write it on the lunchroom bulletin board."

  "I suppose you're one of the lucky ones.” She had to admit Brad worked hard. He deserved the bonus but why had he squandered the money on a stupid dress?

  The car slid on the icy road.
Her breath caught in her throat and her head whipped back against the headrest. There was nothing to stop the fall over the three-hundred-foot embankment if the car hurtled over the cliff. Brad easily brought the car out of the skid. She relaxed as the headlights picked out another curve. He handled the car effortlessly, possibly the result of years of being a trucker before he had become head mechanic.

  "I guess I am."

  "You never stop talking about your boss. What's so special about him?"

  "Already told you."

  "There must be something else."

  "There isn't."

  "What's his last name anyways?"

  "Karlisi. Good man. Good to know someone like him.” He inched the car in behind a snowplough with its blinding, revolving yellow light. The truck moved over to the right shoulder. The earth rattled under the car as they passed.

  She marvelled at her fiance. He was normally so sparing with his praise. “That surprises me."

  "What?"

  "You spend so much time talking about the hard knocks in your life, but he's gained your respect.” When had he stopped griping about how his wife had ripped him off during the divorce?

  He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “Some men can."

  "I don't imagine it's easy."

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “He's got what it takes."

  "So everything is okay?"

  "What makes you ask that?"

  "You've been quieter than usual. More withdrawn.” Or was she mistaken? She thought that after living with him for a year she would know him better, but his long, morose silences worried her.

  He replied offhandedly, “It's nothing. Christmas is always tough. And you know I hate parties."

  "Then why are we going to this one?” she commented idly.

  "There's some things a man has to do."

  Tiny diamond snowflakes glittered on the highway as they neared Eastwynd's outskirts. A gut feeling told her he wasn't telling the truth, but she had no idea why.

  * * * *

  The hotel staff had done a great job of decorating the hotel for the holidays. Trees and shrubs all had festive, multi-coloured lights twinkling on and off. As they neared, a navy blue limousine pulled away from the ritzy hotel lobby entrance.