“I’m very proud of you,” he murmurs, dropping his lips to hers and kissing her with a heady fervor.
Falling limp against him he sweeps her up, carrying her to his bed. She knows he will make love to her until she is begging and pleading to come, she knows he will devour her breasts as ardently as he flogged her bottom, and somehow she knows barely an hour has passed.
Can she survive two more hours in the dark, two more hours of his intense attention, two more hours of such hedonistic pleasure?
She doesn’t know because this is all a flight of fancy. Perhaps she can’t withstand such a session, but she would like to find out.
Laying on her bed shrouded in her aching need, she closes her eyes and allows her fingers to take her to her moment. There is no pinnacle, no subspace, no three dark hours, just the dreams of a lady-in-waiting.
Wow, okay, that’s my twenty-five hundred words. Well, close enough anyway, and I have two days to decide if I’m going to hand it in.
Hitting the save button, Isobel ambled into her bedroom. The words had been typed, her fantasy was alive on the page, and she fell exhausted on to her bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
She slept until the following morning, waking to find the rain was lingering, and the soft patter against her windows sent her back to doze. Reading the lascivious chapter, then writing her own tantalizing tale had exhausted her, titillated her, and made her craving for ‘the one’ that much more intense.
When she finally staggered from her bed, stretching and yawning, she took a long hot shower to wash away the lethargy, and feeling better she cooked herself breakfast.
Feeling brighter and enjoying the cool wet weather she decided to light her fire, curl up on her couch and read the unpublished manuscript, grateful for the distraction.
It was an interesting story about a man who couldn’t take the pressure of city life, so decided to buy a farm in the heartland. Over the months that followed he discovered life in the slow lane presented just as many difficulties as life in the fast lane, they were just different kinds of difficulties. It was well written and thought-provoking, but she wasn’t sure of its commercial value.
The book had taken her mind away from her gorgeous teacher, but on Sunday, knowing she’d be back in his classroom the following night, she pulled out her short story and read it.
Finding surprisingly little she wanted to change she sighed heavily as she printed out the titillating tale and placed it in a manila envelope which she labeled, Confidential. She had turned to walk away when, on an impulse, she removed her name and printed out a second copy, placing it in a separate envelope, thinking that she might prefer to hand Patrick something that would be anonymous if it fell into another person’s hands.
There’s still time to change it, there’s still time to write something completely different.
No, this is a chance to show him who I really am, and I’m going to take it.
I’m sure it will make his toes curl just as much as writing it made your toes curl.
Who cares about having his toes curl, I want his dick to get hard and his brain to be consumed with decadent thoughts about me. I want to him grab me, bend me over the desk and...Lord, I have to stop. This is craziness.
Yep, it is.
Sleeping fitfully throughout the night she changed her mind twice before finally surrendering to the sandman, but when she woke in the morning she did so resolved to hand Patrick her story and let the chips fall where they may.
Feeling weary, though she hurried to get ready she was still a few minutes late, and when she arrived at the office she discovered Brad was already there.
“Morning,” he smiled. “Good weekend?”
“You could say that, I guess,” she replied, thoughts of the chapter he’d given her, and her own short story buzzing through her brain.
“When you’ve taken off your coat, grab a coffee and come on in,” he said, more an invitation than his usual curt directive.
“Do you want one? A coffee I mean?” she asked.
“Uh, no, I think I’ve had enough caffeine for a while.”
“You’ve been here that long?” she asked. “You don’t usually come in until after nine on a Monday.”
“Yeah well, stuff to do,” he mumbled retreating into his sanctuary.
Placing her well-worn and much loved leather satchel on her desk she pulled out the envelope containing the untitled chapter, along with the manuscript about the city dweller turned farmer, and headed into his office.
“Here you go,” she smiled placing both on the corner of his large desk.
“Ah, good, thanks. No coffee?”
“When we’re done,” she smiled.
“So, what did you think?” he asked leaning back in his chair.
“The book is interesting, kind of profound, well written, but it’s not lighthearted reading,” she remarked, “not by a long shot. It’s all about life’s struggles, and how they’re everywhere you are, not matter who you are, what you’re doing or where you live.”
“And the chapter?”
Isobel frowned. She had expected questions and an in-depth discussion about the book before moving on.
“What did you think of the chapter?” he repeated.
“Ah, yes, the chapter,” she replied feeling an unexpected blush creep across her face.
“Sorry,” he apologized quickly, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t, it’s okay,” she managed, the memory of Friday afternoon and her intense writing session floating around her. “I thought it was exceptionally well written and sexy as hell. I don’t know how saturated the market is on that particular subject matter, but I thought it was, um, really good, great even.”
“You did?” he grinned leaning forward. “Great? You thought it was great?”
His face lit up like a Christmas tree, not a common sight for the dedicated, hardworking, always busy, ambitious Brad Saunders, and for the first time she noticed his eyes. Hidden behind glasses she’d not paid them much attention, but he was staring at her intently, and she saw they were warm and sparkling, and the color of milk chocolate.
“Uh-huh,” she nodded, “you seem really happy about that.”
“I am. I think this company should broaden its horizons and I thought taking on a book like that would be a welcome departure for us,” he explained.
“You read it, what did you think?” she asked.
He stared down at his desk, shifted in his seat, then studying his hands he mumbled something she couldn’t hear.
This is really odd. This is not the Brad I know. I wonder what’s up.
“Sorry, Brad, I didn’t catch what you said.”
Lifting his eyes he looked at her fleetingly and mumbled,
“I liked it a lot, it...stirs one’s imagination.”
“It certainly does,” she laughed.
“I haven’t read anything else quite like it,” he frowned. “I wish I had a basis for comparison. It was adult, certainly, but it-”
“Brad,” she interrupted, “I have a friend who wrote something this weekend, something along those lines,” and I would love to know what you think of my writing.
“That’s a coincidence,” he remarked. “Is your friend published?”
“No, she’d like to be but no. She often gives me her stories to read. I thought it was really weird that it was so much like the chapter you gave me,” she lied.
“Can you bring it in tomorrow?”
His interest was clearly piqued, and feeling quite wicked she stood up from her chair.
“I can do better than that,” she declared. “It’s in my satchel. I can give it to you right away.”
Moving quickly to her desk, her heart in her mouth, she retrieved the anonymous copy of her short story and hurried back.
“Here you go,” she exclaimed dropping the envelope in front of him. “She’ll be so excited when she hears her work is being read by an acquisitions editor. Any comme
nts you can offer I know she’d be just be thrilled to get.”
Brad picked up the envelope and seemed to weigh it in his hand, then nodded his head.
“Tell your friend I’ll read it tonight and give you my thoughts in the morning. This is kismet,” he smiled. “If she’s any good maybe I can do some kind of double release thing. A man’s story and a woman’s.”
“Seriously?” Isobel frowned her pulse unexpectedly zipping into overdrive. “I mean, you don’t even know her, she may be a terrible writer.”
“Do you think she’s good?” he asked. “I didn’t think you’d want me to read it if she sucked.”
Isobel felt her face turn beet red, and staring past him out the window she thought frantically, trying to come up with something to say.
“Noooo,” she began, “I wouldn’t say she’s bad...”
“How long is this? Is it a synopsis, or...?” he queried as he opened the envelope.
“It’s a short story,” she answered quickly, “around 2500 words I think.”
“Let me read the first page,” he remarked.
Isobel’s temples were thumping on either side of her head, and she could feel her mouth turn suddenly dry. As his eyes scanned her words she wanted to run from the room.
“Coffee,” she stammered, “I’m getting some.”
“Yep, sure,” he said with a dismissive wave.
Rising unsteadily from her chair she moved from his office and walked slowly into the small kitchen.
Shit, this is so intense. What was I thinking? He’ll probably think it’s terrible. Thank God he doesn’t know I wrote it. At least I’ll have some idea of where I’ve gone wrong, and maybe I’ll have time to correct everything before class tonight. Yes, this is a good thing...it’s a good thing.
CHAPTER SIX
When she returned to her desk she was surprised to find Brad’s door closed; the only time he locked himself away was when he was on an important call or facing a deadline. As she settled in behind her desk she glanced at the phone, and noticing it wasn’t lit up she moved her gaze back towards his office.
He must be on his cellphone. I guess I’ll just have to sit here and wait. I’m so nervous. I wish I didn’t feel so freaked out. Maybe I shouldn’t have given it to him.
Just calm down. Whatever he says will be useful.
You’re right. Okay, deep breaths. I’ll get to work.
Powering up her computer she started perusing the many emails waiting in her mailbox, attempting to put Brad and his reading of Three Dark Hours out of her mind, but when his door finally opened she felt a sharp knot in the pit of her stomach, and swallowing she waited for the verdict.
“I have to meet your friend,” he declared.
“Wh-what? M-meet my friend?” she stammered, what the hell?
“Yes, can she come in today?” he asked.
“Uh, no, she’s, I think she might, uh, have gone out of town,”
“Call her, get her on the phone,” he said urgently, “I have to speak to her.”
“I don’t understand,” Isobel frowned, her pulse quickening.
“What’s her name?”
“Kate,” she hastily replied.
She had always fancied herself as a Kate. She loved Kate in The Taming of the Shrew, and adored Katherine Hepburn, the golden-era shining star.
“Kate is an extremely talented writer,” he declared, “and I want her to expand what she’s written into a full-length novel. I want to meet her and maybe offer her a deal.”
Isobel felt the blood drain from her face.
This is impossible, he must have read the wrong story. He can’t possibly be talking about what I wrote.
“You mean Three Dark Hours, right?” Isobel asked haltingly. “The short story.”
“Of course, what did you think? Why are you so surprised?”
Not having an answer she simply stared back at him as she tried to contain her bubbling excitement.
“I love the title,” Brad remarked, “and she had me hooked from the first few lines. It’s almost as if she was responding to that chapter I gave you to read.”
“I know, right,” Isobel said quickly, then nervously laughed out loud.
“She needs a bit of guidance,” Brad continued ignoring her momentary hysteria, “and some polishing, but nothing we can’t fix. How soon can you reach her?”
“I’m, uh, not sure,” she managed.
“Please get hold of her, and Isobel, thank you for sharing this with me. I think you may have brought me my next new talent.”
Absolutely aghast she watched him walk back into his office, then clasped her hand across her mouth to stop from squealing.
Count to ten...take a deep breath...this is...whoa...! I can’t believe it! I absolutely can’t believe it!
Rising unsteadily she made her way into the kitchen. She didn’t want another cup of coffee, she just needed to move, to be away from her desk and away from him before he threw her anymore questions she couldn't answer.
Shit. This is incredible. How the hell can I tell him it was me? It’ll be totally embarrassing but, wow, how great is this? Oh, my, gosh, he liked it, he really liked it. Okay, here goes. I just hope I don’t blush too horribly.
Still in shock but feeling somewhat more composed she hurried back to her desk and poked her head into his office.
“Brad, I need to talk to you,” she said softly.
“Sure, come on in. Did you reach Kate?”
“Uh, no, the thing is...”
He’d removed his glasses and was staring at her, and though desperate to tell him she was the author of Three Dark Hours she couldn’t find the words.
“Yes,” he pressed.
“Um, I left her a voice mail,” she lied nervously. “I think she may be out of town, probably out of cell range.”
“Ah, darn it,” he muttered. “Do you have anything else she’s written?”
“Uh-huh, she, uh, always gives me her stuff because she knows I work for a publisher," Isobel replied.
“Anything else similar to Three Dark Hours?”
“A few things,” she said hesitantly.
“Like what? Sit down,” he invited, "you don’t need to stand in the doorway.”
“Oh, right,” she mumbled, tell him, tell him it’s you!
“So, what else do you have?” he repeated as she dropped into the chair in front of his desk.
“Some story outlines, a couple of other erotic things. Should I bring them in tomorrow?”
“Yes, definitely,” he nodded, then grinning he added, “and if you forget I’ll spank you.”
She felt her face blush a thousand shades of red, and dropping her eyes she squirmed in her seat.
“Did I make you uncomfortable? Sorry, it was just...with the story and everything, but that was completely inappropriate,” he frowned. “I apologize.”
“No, yes, no, that’s fine,” she stammered, “it was funny,” and I would love to be bent over your desk and spanked, and why are you suddenly so flipping attractive?
His milk chocolate eyes were shining across at her, filled with a promise she couldn’t quite define; out of the blue he’d become incredibly sexy.
Okay, this is just weird. Maybe it’s because he said he’d spank me, or maybe because he read what I wrote and he loves it.
Stop, he’s your boss, you’ve known him for ages and there’s nothing there.
You’re right. Of course you’re right.
“Bring me whatever you have. I need to read more of her stuff, and Isobel, thanks again, though I must admit I’m a bit confused.”
“Confused. Why?”
“You have such a great eye, and your comments are usually spot on. I’m surprised you didn’t see her talent and bring it to me sooner.”
He was scrutinizing her, and shifting awkwardly in her chair she searched for an excuse.
“I guess, I felt weird because she’s a friend of mine,” she mumbled, and I still can’t believe you like it so m
uch.
“I can understand that,” he nodded. “I have to say this has been a great way to start the week. Can’t wait to see what you bring in tomorrow. Sure as hell hope you reach her soon.”
“Uh-huh,” Isobel smiled, then taking a deep breath she added, “what if you don’t like her other stuff?”
“I’m not worried about that,” he grinned. “Subject matter aside, writing is writing, and she can write.”
Tell him!
I want to, I don’t know what’s stopping me. I’ll tell him tomorrow, after he reads my other things.
“Isobel, are you all right?”
“What? Yes, sure, just processing all this,” she smiled. “It’s thrilling. I’m so, uh, excited for her.”
“For me too,” he declared. “It’s hard to find writers who really know how to tell a story, and your friend can. Shoot, is that the time? I have to move on with all this other crap sitting here. Let me know right away when you reach her.”
“I will, of course,” she nodded as she stood up, “and, uh, thanks.”
Walking back to her desk she dropped into her chair and stared blankly at her computer screen.
Tomorrow, I’ll tell him tomorrow when I hand him my other short stories. I’ll give him the one about the Dungeon Master. That’s my favorite.
The phone rang, startling her, and fighting the desire to burst into laughter from sheer joy she returned to her work, but as the day continued and her night class loomed ahead, her thoughts returned to Patrick Doyle.
Filled with a new found confidence she was eager for him to read her salacious story. If Brad had been so taken with it she was sure Patrick would have the same reaction and maybe, just maybe, her fantasy would become a reality.
Later that evening, too excited to eat any dinner, she headed off to class convinced Patrick would know she was reaching out to him and would surely respond; this would be the beginning of their beginning.
Bouncing into the classroom she proudly placed the envelope marked Confidential on his desk. He glanced up, his sky blue eyes capturing hers, and she felt her heart skip a beat.
"I hope you enjoy it," she twinkled at him.
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