Weapons of Mass Seduction

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  Flo stood alone in her dressing room, staring at the paper and running her fingers across the strong, forceful black strokes. After several minutes, she refolded the napkin and returned it to its hiding place. She then clicked off the light and headed back to bed, but stopped just outside the bathroom door. There in the darkness, unbeknownst to her husband, Flo stripped off her pajamas until she was butt naked in the moonlight. In a moment of sheer defiance, she did a little dance before returning to the dressing area and retrieving her nightgown.

  “Wear it for yourself,” she whispered as she returned to the bed. Now properly dressed, she would perhaps in her dreams find the love and passion she craved.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  It took another two weeks for Valen to schedule a free evening to spend with Pia. Once she’d been given the go-ahead on a date, she began scouring her imagination for ways to make his time off both fun and memorable. Pia had now seen firsthand how busy Valen was and how the normal pleasures most people took for granted were forgotten treats for the man who would be senator.

  She decided on a private book club meeting and sent him another handmade invitation, inviting him to join her at her apartment for a reading of Rose Water. It had been on the WMS book list and she’d been wanting to read it for months, as it was touted for intelligently exploring the intrinsic nature of love and sex and the many demons around the subject.

  At eight o’clock on Sunday evening, Valen arrived with a bottle of Sancerre for him and a bottle of sparkling apple cider for her. He kissed Pia lightly upon arrival and walked into her home, tantalized by the yummy aroma swirling around the room.

  “Something smells awfully good in here,” he commented.

  “Glad you think so. Since the novel is set in Brazil I’ve ordered several popular dishes.”

  “Ordered? Are you telling me you can’t cook?” Valen teased.

  “Oh, I can cook, Mr. Bellamy,” she said, letting the sexual innuendo linger. “Now, as I was saying, I have ordered chicken and shrimp empadinhas, sweet plantains, and black beans and rice. They are warming at the moment, so may I get you a cocktail? I can open the wine or I can mix you a mojito.”

  “Well, when in Brazil…”

  “Come in the kitchen and keep me company while I get things ready.”

  The two sat in the kitchen like old friends, talking, laughing, and catching up on their lives. There was a real comfort between them that both Valen and Pia appreciated. This being pals thing was working out well for both of them.

  “It was sad, to hear this girl talk about losing her father and the family not having the money for a proper funeral,” Valen told her. “I wanted to give her the money right then, but if I wrote a check for every story I hear like that I’d be broke.”

  “I lost my dad when I was eighteen,” Pia said, surprising herself. “It was so sudden that I think it made everything even worse.”

  “I’m sorry. How did he die?”

  “Freak accident. I was coming home from college for a long holiday weekend and he insisted on cutting fresh roses for my room. He got stung by a bee. He’d never been stung before so we didn’t know he was allergic. My mom was at the store, so by the time she found him it was too late.”

  “I’m sorry,” Valen repeated.

  “Me too. I was his stereotypical apple. Daddy died trying to do something to please me. But instead of being grateful, I was angry at him for a long time for leaving me and my mom.”

  “That’s not uncommon,” Valen said, placing a comforting hand over hers.

  “Guess not. But it still doesn’t seem right.

  “How did we get on this gruesome subject? I think the food is ready,” Pia declared jumping up to get out the plates and silverware.

  The two filled up their dishes and brought them out into the living room. They sat on the couch to eat while continuing to laugh and talk. The conversation between them flowed smoothly. They talked of Valen’s devotion to the NBA, and he admitted that his favorite team was the Miami Heat and not the New York Knicks. He forced her to pinky swear not to tell, insisting that such an admission would surely derail his campaign.

  “So any deep, dark secrets you’d like to divulge?” Valen asked with a grin.

  “I have two tattoos,” Pia responded, made uncomfortable by his question and feeling pressed to admit to something. “I’d show them to you, but I believe it’s time to get our meeting started,” she announced, jumping up to get the book and changing the subject.

  “Something to look forward to,” Valen quipped under his breath as he cleared the dishes. He returned and stretched out on the couch, laying his head in Pia’s lap. There was no discussion as their bodies seemed to naturally assume the intimate position.

  They took turns reading to each other, both clearly moved by the subject matter and the personal method of consumption. After ninety minutes they stopped, their reading voices exhausted, their interest in the story piqued.

  “We must do this again. I have to know how the story progresses,” Valen said. “But my schedule is so forbidding.”

  “Why don’t we make a phone date at least once a week. We’ll take turns reading for thirty minutes,” Pia suggested.

  “I’d love that. You’d really do that for me?”

  “Well, yes, but I’m being selfish. I enjoyed this myself.”

  He reached down and covered her lips with his in response. Valen’s kiss was sweet and endearing, and Pia’s was warm and receptive. The two sat on the sofa, making out like high school sophomores and stimulating the desire between them to combustible levels.

  “I should go,” he said his voice gruff from sexual arousal.

  “Okay,” she agreed, knowing if she didn’t stop now, she wouldn’t.

  “But there is something I need to say first. I’ll admit that I was initially apprehensive about calling you after receiving the photograph, but I’m so happy I didn’t listen to those negative thoughts. These past couple of dates have been magic for me, and I can only hope you feel the same,” he told her, punctuating his statement with a soft fingertip caress of her lips.

  Pia chose not to respond, only to listen. The fact was, she didn’t know if she could speak as fighting back the tears was commanding much of her attention. Damn those hormones.

  Valen, slightly taken aback by her silence, pressed on.

  “Your invitation to the Empire State Building contained the quote ‘There must be something between us, even if it is an ocean.’ I take that to mean that you also feel the incredible pull between us. It’s chemical and spiritual. It’s nothing but it’s everything. It feels like a fantasy, but it exists in my heart with an astounding reality.

  “So I am asking you to confirm what I think I already know. There is something happening between us that shouldn’t be denied. I don’t want to ignore it. I’m not sure I can. Can you?” he asked, searching for confirmation in her face.

  “Please, Pia, you have to say something, because I am beginning to feel like I am giving a campaign speech here,” Valen quipped, hoping to cover the growing dread that was seeping into his heart.

  Pia’s face remained expressionless, but her passionate brown eyes revealed all. Slowly the tears slid down her cheeks, hanging momentarily before falling to her lap.

  It was an agonizing rain that broke his heart. It was clear his interpretation of her actions and words had been way off. Had he read wrong the passion and desire in her kiss? Apparently the intuitive insight he prided himself on had been all wrong, and wrong at a time when the one thing he wanted most in the world was for it to be right.

  Damn it, Pia thought, cursing her overactive hormones. Valen had totally misread the reason she’d used that particular quote from the movie. She’d meant it to be quippy, thinking he’d read it as a shared interest in the Indian Ocean or even as the ocean of political differences between them. But in Pia’s mind, it wasn’t politics but the current realities about her life and her ideas on relationships that separated them. />
  At fifteen weeks, this baby she was carrying might have measured only four and a half inches from crown to rump, but it was as big as an ocean when it came to crossing the barriers that divided them. And more than that, Pia was in this simply for the romance. She enjoyed the reawakening of her sexy, sensual side that had taken place in San Francisco and she didn’t want to give that up again, but she was not interested in falling in love. Friendship was all she was willing to give Valen. Frankly, it was all she knew how to give him. Pia couldn’t afford to allow herself to get in any deeper than the flirting and kissing she was currently enjoying with him.

  “I can’t make any promises to you. Your life, my life…it just wouldn’t be fair.” she said as he gently wiped the tears from her face.

  “Understandable. My lifestyle and schedule are a lot to take on, even for the most patient of women,” Valen responded, feeling slightly more encouraged than he’d been just a few moments ago. At least Pia wasn’t giving him a flat-out no.

  “Let me suggest we just take this thing slow and see what happens. In fact, the reality is, we have no other choice. My schedule leading up to the election will be grueling. So we’ll talk on the phone, send e-mails, and finish reading our book. Slowly we’ll figure this thing out, okay?” Valen said, drawing her back into his arms.

  Pia went willingly into his arms but didn’t have the heart to tell him that since the day they’d met everything had already been sorted out between them.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It was him. She was sure of it. Like the Greek god Triton, there was Nico Jones, rising from the waters of Lake Michigan. Becca sat watching his near-naked body, mesmerized by the sheer he-ness of him. His sun-kissed, cocoa-colored skin gleamed as water dripped from his hair and clung to his oiled and buffed body like diamond drops.

  Oak Street Beach at Lake Shore Drive—Chicago’s version of the famed Venice Beach—was billed as one of the city’s sexiest summertime hangouts, and the presence of Nico Jones merely added truth to the notion. From sun-worshipping bikini-clad beauties to meeting-weary businessmen walking the beach with their pants rolled to the ankle, from happy tourists to Rollerbladers and cyclists, Oak Street Beach was the gathering spot to see and be seen. And this third Sunday in June was no exception.

  “Hot damn!” Cris exclaimed sitting up and removing his shades for a better look.

  “Whoa. Oh my God, that’s Nico,” Becca informed him, gripping his arm tightly. Neither one of them could take their eyes off the shoreline.

  “Your Nico?”

  “Yep. My Nico,” she said with a pride of ownership she didn’t really deserve.

  “Damn,” Cris repeated, his words changing from enthusiasm to concern. “No wonder you were bugging.”

  Nico stepped through the people-littered sand to his staked-out territory, just a Frisbee throw away from Becca’s adoring eyes. Instead of toweling off, he lay down on a large blanket to air dry. She was relieved to see that the beauties surrounding him were of the toddler variety. At least today, she would have him all to herself.

  “How do I look?” Becca asked, scrambling to find her purse and cosmetic kit. Why hadn’t she worn the yellow bikini instead of this totally unremarkable tank suit?

  “You look great. Just throw on some more gloss and big attitude,” Cris suggested.

  Becca straightened up her ponytail and put on her skirt and oversize sunglasses before taking a deep breath and venturing over. She stood, unnoticed, looking down at him, taking a moment to admire his beauty. Nico lay on his back, his arm crossed over his face to shield the late-afternoon sun from his eyes. Had biceps ever been so beautiful? From the slow rhythm of his breath, it was apparent that he was napping. As she debated whether to disturb him or not, Becca had to fight the urge to lie down and snuggle up beside him.

  “Nico?” she asked, hoping she sounded as surprised as she was pretending to be. Becca watched as he slowly opened first his eyes, then his lips to smile. “What are you doing here?”

  “This is one of my favorite spots,” he informed her, sitting up. The way he studied her face and torso, it was clear that he had no idea who she was.

  “Can I get silk panties here?” she asked, smiling and hoping he’d get the clue and remember their first encounter.

  Becca could see the pages of his memory turning as he tried to remember. “Ah, sexy ring girl. How are you, gorgeous?”

  “I’m good, but, well,” she said, smiling nervously, “you said you would call.”

  “Oh, don’t put it on me. I waited for you to call me at the bar. When you didn’t I figured you’d just blown me off for some other lucky dude,” he said, tagging his on-the-fly explanation with an irresistible smile.

  She tried, but Becca was unable to keep a poker face. She knew there had to be a plausible explanation for Nico’s not following through on his promise to contact her. She was delighted that he’d wanted to talk with her and mortified that she’d screwed up so badly. Yet fate had happily extended them a second chance.

  “So, gorgeous, what do you say we have that hookup we never got to have?”

  “Whoa, now?” Becca asked, feeling her eyes go wide with excitement.

  “Absolutely. I don’t want to wait another moment. I know it’s short notice, so if you already have plans—”

  “No, now is perfect,” she admitted, a bit too quickly. She knew her overeager response had just cost her many cool points, but Becca didn’t care. Nico Jones was so eager to see her that now was not soon enough.

  “Okay. Um, could you…don’t go away…’cause I have to…I’ll be right back,” she rambled on nervously. Becca took several steps backwards, unable to tear her eyes away from her good fortune. It wasn’t until she tripped slightly that the spell was broken and Becca hurried back to Cris.

  “He wants to take me out,” she reported as she began frantically gathering up all her beach apparel.

  “Okay, but did you find out why he didn’t call you?”

  “He said he was waiting for me to call him.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. But he’s here now,” Becca admitted with a giggle, “and he wants to hook up with me.”

  Becca turned and took two steps, then turned back around to Cris. “I’m nervous,” she admitted, hugging her belongings to her chest.

  “You’ll be fine. Just play it by ear. Here, take this,” he said, finding his batted-up jeans and reaching into the pocket, pulling out a condom. “And call me as soon as you get home. I want details. Every last juicy one!”

  “So who do you thank every night for those sexy green eyes? Your mom or dad?” Nico asked as they sat outside of Oak Street Beachstro, finishing up a Chicago-style deep dish pizza smothered in hot pepper flakes.

  Even after all these years, the question still caught her off-guard. Becca had no idea whose eyes she’d inherited.

  “My dad,” she told him, falling back on a fifty-fifty guess.

  “I bet he has no idea what an exotic and sexy gift he gave the world,” Nico said, sliding his fingers between hers.

  Both his words and touch caused Becca to blush. “So why did you become a bartender?” she asked, wanting to know but also wanting to turn the conversation away from her parentage.

  “Because one day I want to own my own bar. No, make that several—first here in Chi-Town, and Vegas, then L.A. So I’m learning the biz from the ground up. Besides, I love bartending. Mixing cocktails is an art form—kind of like cooking. I like coming up with new recipes and drink presentations, though silk panties wasn’t my recipe,” he said, shooting her a devastating grin.

  “That’s a crazy name.”

  “Yes, but a memorable one. There are a lot of drinks with sexy names.”

  “Tell me some,” Becca insisted, enjoying the spicy taste of both the meal and their conversation.

  “Well, there’s the slow comfortable screw. That’s vodka, Southern Comfort, sloe gin, and OJ. And who can forget a screami
ng orgasm, which is amaretto, Bailey’s, and Grand Marnier,” Nico informed her with a sly smile while lightly caressing her hand. “And then there’s my favorite, sex on the beach.”

  “What’s in…uh…that?” Becca asked, her words momentarily catching in her throat.

  “It’s delicious,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “Vodka, melon and raspberry liqueur, and pineapple and cranberry juice. Everyone should try it at least once.”

  Becca giggled nervously, not knowing how to respond to Nico’s sexual innuendos. The two sat staring at each other for several moments before Nico abruptly stood. “I can’t take those eyes any longer, and it is getting hot as hell in here.”

  “But we’re outside.”

  “Which says a lot about how you affect me. How about we get out of here and go enjoy the beach. I know the perfect spot. You haven’t lived until you’ve watched the sunset on the lake. Wait here for a minute,” Nico told her as he disappeared into the bar area. He reemerged five minutes later with a bottle of white wine and two plastic cups, thoughtfully uncorked by his fellow bartender.

  Nico reached for her hand as they departed the restaurant. Becca smiled joyfully in the dusky light as she actively refrained from breaking into a skip. Here she was, walking hand in hand with Nico Jones as if they were a couple. Could life get any better than this moment?

  Dialogue was sparse, but Becca didn’t mind. She was far too starstruck and dumbfounded by her good fortune to make any kind of decent conversation. Shoes in hand, she followed Nico through the sand about a quarter mile onto a concrete jetty that jutted out over the lake. It was a more private location away from traffic and beachcombers and provided a spectacular view of Lake Michigan. Nico pulled the blanket from his backpack and spread it out across the jetty.