by Unknown
I can’t help but wonder, was he just another stuffy Wall Street drone or, underneath that layer of fine dark wool, was he in a constant state of excruciating masculine rut, ready at all times with a nice thick cock, tailor-made for me to ride?
That is the beauty of a stranger met by chance, then gone forever. I am never subject to the disappointment that invariably comes when a devastatingly handsome man in a Saville Row suit reveals himself to be a crashing bore, more interested in the state of the economy than the juicy peach I’ve got waiting for him between my legs. It stands to reason that he would be exceedingly interested in money; those yummy suits don’t just grow on trees, now do they?
The stories that follow are dedicated to every woman who, like me, found the courage to say hello to that dashing stranger… only to end up stuck discussing the Dow Jones Industrial Average at some dreadfully dull cocktail party. It has been my experience, unfortunately, that the fantasy is always better than the reality.
***
After sailing out of the elevator, it took Georgina a good two minutes to realize that she had no idea where she was going. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Simon leaning against a wall, watching her with an amused look on his face.
“Well, are you going to stand there and gloat or are we going down to the beach?” Georgina asked.
Simon rolled his eyes. Then, taking her elbow, he led her down the hall, through the now deserted living room and then out into the night through a set of open French doors. They walked onto a wide stone patio that, similar to the living room, bore all the signs of a fast, mass exodus; full martini glasses clustered in groups on tables, cigarettes still burned in ashtrays, and, out here on the patio, several spindly little bistro style chairs were lying on their sides.
“Where did everybody go?” Georgina asked, picking her way
through the fall-out.
“Bonfire on the beach,” Simon said, hustling her down a stone staircase that led to a wide stretch of lawn. The serpentine path to the beach was marked by lit tiki torches and littered with shoes, shirts and, most alarmingly, a pair of leather pants. Before Georgina could find a way to stage a hasty, yet hopefully graceful, retreat, Simon was leading her down a rickety flight of wooden stairs.
Georgina immediately gave up on the idea of retreat to focus on placing each foot on each tread, breathlessly waiting for a groan, a crack and then a whip-smash trip to the beach below.
Once safely back on solid ground, Simon strode across the sand towards a makeshift bar, set up a forgiving distance from the big pile of flaming railroad ties sitting smack-dab in the middle of the beach. Georgina walked across the sand, squinting against the blazing light from the towering bonfire, trying to make out the faces of the guests. Not watching where she was going, she ran right into Simon’s broad back.
“Hey, stop when you get to me,” he said as he turned to face her.
“So, what’s your poison?”
You, she thought but instead replied, “Jack and coke and please, Mr. Campbell, make it a double.”
“So, Gentleman Jack, eh? I pegged you as more of the white wine type.”
“Well, you were wrong.”
“So I was,” Simon murmured, swiping his thumb across his bottom lip. Georgina narrowed her eyes at the gesture, silently daring him to mention the kiss in the gallery. “Wonder what else I’ve been wrong about,” he said.
“I’m sure the list is simply endless,” Georgina drawled.
Instead of being offended, Simon barked out a laugh. “You’re probably right.”
Then he walked away and, after fanning herself like some faint-hearted heroine, Georgina went back to her former search for a familiar face in the crowd, but for the life of her, she couldn’t find one. Not even Valerie.
And then Simon was back, handing off her drink then moving to stand next to her. Georgina had no earthly idea of what to do next.
Apparently, the only person she knew down here was standing silently at her side as the other guests went about whipping themselves into a collective frenzy around the bonfire.
There was no way she was going to try and insert herself into that mess and, if she went back up to the attic, she had a feeling Valerie would just find another excuse to drag her back down. Taking a sip of her drink, Georgina decided it was safer to stick with Simon until Valerie reared her meddling head.
Better the devil you know.
***
You two look like you’re waiting for a bus.
For the first time that night, Simon agreed with his inner voice.
He’d been standing there for what seemed an eternity, racking his brain for a topic of conversation. Cookie recipes? Housekeeping tips? The Dewey Decimal System? Christ, what did it say about him that he couldn’t think of anything to say to a woman like Georgina?
Tell her she’s pretty.
“That’s lame,” Simon argued.
“What’s lame?” Georgina asked, glancing around her.
“Me,” he said, watching as she fished a slice of lime out of her drink. When she held it to her mouth and sucked on it, he groaned, remembering the way she had sucked on his tongue.
“Are you okay?” Georgina asked as she dropped the slice of lime back into her glass.
“Peachy,” Simon mumbled then gritted his teeth as she daintily licked the tip of her index finger. Christ, she was driving him crazy, and she didn’t even know it. Or did she? This was one of the many reasons he stuck with party-girls. Everything they did was straightforward. There was absolutely no mystery or confusion. If one of them sucked a lime, then licked her fingers, she was asking for sex, end of story. Georgina’s intentions couldn’t be as easily interpret-ed; maybe she just liked the taste of lime… on her lip. Oh man, if she needed help getting the lime juice off her lip, he was more than willing to help.
Okay, if she keeps licking her lip like that, go ahead and lunge for her, if only to stave off a heart-attack.
That’s when it suddenly occurred to Simon to wonder just what in the hell he thought he was doing hanging around this woman.
Directives of his inner-voice aside, he was seriously wasting his time chasing after Georgina when what he was supposed to be doing was chasing after professional hot chicks he could write about in his column. His readers sure as shit didn’t want to hear about Georgina. According to the reader-mail he received, they were married to women like her. They wanted to hear about women like Cherry-Sherry-Whatever-the-hell-her-name-was, a woman that was easy to impress, screw and then ditch.
Georgina doesn’t fit into that category.
Simon rolled his eyes and muttered, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Okay,” Georgina said. “Uh… did you know that armadillos
are the only other mammals, aside from humans, that can contract leprosy?”
“What?” Simon asked on a surprised laugh. “Why in the hell do you even know that?”
Georgina shrugged, even as a smile teased one corner of her mouth. “I’m a reference librarian. I know all sorts of useless stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” Georgina said, gazing up at the night sky for a second, giving him yet another view of her profile, this time in the flicker-ing light given off by the bonfire. Man, she was pretty. Real pretty.
Why hadn’t he noticed how pretty she was when he’d first met her?
“Okay,” Georgina said. Simon quickly looked back towards the bonfire.
“Did you know that the supercomputer was invented by a man named Seymour Cray?”
“I had no idea,” Simon deadpanned.
“Well, did you know that the country now known as Botswana was once called Bechuanaland?”
Simon sent her a wry look out of the corner of his eye. This one he knew. “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you can spell that.”
“B-e-c-h-u-a-n-a-l-a-n-d.”
“Show-off.”
“Nope, just smarter than you’re used to. Now, where’s my fifty b
ucks?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll send you a check,” Simon said, trying to keep back a smile. Pretty, intelligent and in possession of a smart-mouth.
The triple threat. Simon stared down into her dark eyes and felt an almost desperate need to drive her away because he had the sneaking suspicion that there was no way his inner voice was going to give him a moment’s peace if he left this woman behind.
Damn skippy.
“Why did you single me out at Valerie’s party?” he asked, wanting, no, needing to know the truth.
Georgina blinked up at him, surprised by his quick change of subject.
“They say confession is good for the soul,” Simon replied, shifting closer, until he was facing her rather than standing at her side.
Georgina rolled her eyes. “Whoever said that never met this priest I knew when I was in high school. He had eyes that made a girl think he knew every deviant thought she’d had for the whole of her life.”
“So,” Simon said, quickly shifting away from her. “You’re
Catholic?”
“Cradle,” Georgina replied, short-speak for cradle-Catholic, a person born into the faith.
Your mother will be thrilled. She’s always telling you to find a nice Catholic girl and lookie here…
“Were you a Catholic-school, all-girl-school-girl?” Simon
asked.
Georgina groaned as she nodded. “From kindergarten to senior-high.”
“Do you still have your high-school uniform?”
Georgina laughed. “Yes and, before you ask, yes, it still fits.”
Now there’s an image to take to bed.
Okay, Georgina Kennedy was beyond the triple threat. She
was… Simon couldn’t finish that thought because an image of Georgina in a short plaid skirt and little white blouse, unbuttoned to reveal her thin white cotton bra, went parading through his head.
That did it. To hell with his column. He’d make something
up and swear to it because there was no way he was leaving this woman alone until he got her under him. Twice. Simon nodded to Georgina’s empty glass and asked, “You want another one?”
Now, if she declines the offer of another drink, at least try to charm her into staying. If that doesn’t work, you have my permission to rush her.
***
“You know, I really should get back to work,” Georgina hedged.
She shouldn’t spend one more minute in this man’s company. He was funny, charming, and sexy as all hell; in short, a total menace to her determination to live a quiet, useful life… even if it killed her. “I have to—”
“Is your whole life one big have to?” Simon interrupted.
“No,” Georgina said, insulted at the accusation that she was that dull. Well, actually her life was pretty dull. Except for the whole secret identity thing, but that was pretty boring because she couldn’t tell anyone about it.
“Well, mine is and if you have a drink with me, it will relieve the pressure.”
“Pressure?”
“Stay with me and I’ll explain.”
“I really shouldn’t spend any more time with you.”
“I swear I’ll behave,” he said, laying one long-fingered hand over his heart. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”
Naked, sweaty and inside me?
“I seriously doubt that, Mr. Campbell,” Georgina choked out, hoping her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt.
“You think I can’t behave myself? I’ll have you know my
mother signed me up for dance lessons and a bunch of other boring etiquette crap when I was in junior high.”
Georgina laughed, she couldn’t help it. “Boring etiquette crap?”
“I’ll answer any question you have,” Simon said.
“Any question?” Georgina asked, lifting her eyebrows to show she didn’t believe him for a second.
“Any question.”
There had to be a catch. There always was when she got of-
fers as delicious as this one. “And will you be offering any honest answers to these questions?”
“No.”
“Then may I safely assume that that was your only honest answer of the evening?”
“Of the year, ” Simon corrected.
Oh, what the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“I’d love another drink,” she said.
Idiot, the voice-of-reason hissed as soon as Simon ambled away.
Don’t spend any more time with him. He’s too charming by half and…
“Oh, hush up,” Georgina muttered, turning to smile up at the stars overhead. She was in that lovely place, just shy of sober, when everything seemed, not so much possible as not worth worrying about. The waves rustled against the shore, the moon turned the sand silver and the guests, well, the guests were getting dangerously close to one another. Since they weren’t doing anything that would get them thrown out of a bar, Georgina went back to smiling up at the stars.
“You’re not going to start in spouting star facts now are you?”
Simon asked a few minutes later as he handed off her second drink.
“No,” Georgina said around a smile, looking up at him. In that moment, their gazes locked and something frighteningly intimate passed between them, something she couldn’t brush away with a clever comment or useless fact. Georgina took a quick step back, right into the path of a gaggle of howling, shouting male guests, one of whom had the audacity to goose her.
Georgina flinched, a full body ruckus that sent her arms out in front of her. She dropped her drink as well as her book and grabbed for Simon, an instinctual reaction she was too off-balance to question.
“Whoa,” Simon soothed, wrapping one arm around her shoul-
ders. “You okay? What happened?”
“Someone just goosed me!” Georgina huffed.
“Goosed?” Simon asked.
“Grabbed my ass,” Georgina said, and then realizing that she had once again taken liberties with Simon’s person, quickly backed away.
“I’m so sorry.” Flustered, she looked down and saw that they had both dropped their drinks. The glasses were lying on their sides, the sand under them dark and wet. Her book was between them, on its back, pages lazily turning in the breeze.
Before Georgina could lean down and pick up the mess she had made, a waiter rushed over. He gathered up the glasses, handed Georgina her book, then sort of hung there, waiting to see what she wanted to do with it. The cover was soaked and covered in sand.
Georgina handed it back to him. “Just toss it.”
“You’re pretty free with Jerome’s books,” Simon said, watching as the waiter hurried away.
Using the skirt of her dress to wipe the wet sand off her hands, Georgina replied, “It’s my book.”
“All yours?” Simon teased.
Georgina, distracted, embarrassed and not a little drunk, replied without thinking, “Yup, and I’ve got the copyright to prove it.”
***
For the second time that night, Simon literally lost his breath.
He hadn’t been wasting his time after all. Georgina Kennedy was a former Catholic schoolgirl turned uptight librarian that wrote porn under an assumed name. Christ, she was exactly what his readers wanted to hear about. If she had a twin sister she was willing to kiss, he would end up on the short list for a Pulitzer.
How could he have missed this? Granted, ever since she’d laid that kiss on him in the gallery, he’d been playing catch-up but this…
“You’re Abigail Scott,” he breathed, suddenly remembering that odd scene in the elevator.
Georgina nodded, once, almost imperceptibly.
“You’re Abigail Scott!” Simon repeated, his voice rising on each word, until he was yelling at the end. Hearing what he had said, several guests drifted closer. Simon glared them away.
Georgina hunched her shoulders as she hissed, “Would you
please keep your voice down?”
; “No! Holy hell, Georgina,” Simon practically yelled as he raked his hands through his hair.
“What? What’s the big deal?”
“What’s the big… oh, that’s rich. Hey,” Simon snapped, grabbing her arm when she tried to dart around him. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back to the attic,” she said, pulling against his hold. “Where I should have stayed but no… Let go of me.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Simon hissed, grabbing for her other arm.
His readers were going to go ape-shit when they heard about her.
Before she could take a swing at his head, Simon got both her wrists under control. She muttered something under her breath.
“What was that?” he asked, hoping it was a string of stupendously foul swear words.
“I said, ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph’,” she snapped, glaring up at him.
“Amen,” he muttered. “But, unless those three owe you a big cosmic favor, you aren’t going anywhere… Abby.”
***
Abby?
Cheeky, gorgeous bastard. Out here in the firelight his black eyed gaze bored into hers. He was unnerving in his intensity, magnetic.
However, her inconvenient attraction to him did not change the fact that her days of blissful anonymity were over. Half a dozen people had heard Simon shouting that she was Abigail Scott.
People were whispering her and Abigail’s names in the same sentence. Georgina had worked very hard to keep those two names separated, only to be outed by Simon Says at a raunchy house party by the sea.
Georgina had always feared that this day would come, that at some point she would slip up and tell someone about Abby… uh, Abigail Scott. But this was Simon Campbell.
She was willing to bet he hadn’t become famous by letting opportunity pass him by, and outing Abigail Scott as nothing but a former Catholic school-girl turned frigid librarian was a humding-er. Add to that the shabby way she’d treated him at Valerie’s party and, well, if she was in his place, she wouldn’t let her go either.
