An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Perfect Whore

ISBN 9781419911569
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Perfect Whore Copyright © 2007 Sahara Kelly

Edited by Briana St. James.
Cover art by Syneca.

Electronic book Publication August 2007

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written
permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-
3502.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales
is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

P

ERFECT

W

HORE

Sahara Kelly

Acknowledgements

Thanks must go to my patient editor, Briana, for this book. Nursing an author

through the birth of a new novel can’t be easy at the best of times. When it’s a difficult
delivery—as it was in this case—it must be a nightmare. Her encouragement and
support mean so much to me and have done for the past several years. I hope she’ll be
there for many more. Thanks, Bree.

And to my muse, my ever-present ear, the only person who’ll listen without

complaining as I bitch and moan my way through each and every book I write—well, I
have yet to adequately find the words to tell him how his friendship enriches both my
writing and my life. Thanks, Partner.

Trademarks Acknowledgements

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the

following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Blackberry: Research in Motion Limited Corp.
Hermès: Hermès International Corporation
Macy’s: Macy’s Department Stores, Inc.
Mercedes: Daimler-Chrysler AG Corporation
Taittinger Champagne: Taittinger Company
Tonka: Hasbro Inc.
Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.
White Shoulders: Evyan Perfumes, Inc.

Perfect Whore

Prologue

My name is Scarlet Angel.
I am a whore.
You won’t find me on a street corner after dark in a miniskirt and stiletto-heeled

boots—I’m not that kind of whore. You won’t find my phone number scrawled on the
wall of some nightclub. I’m not even listed in the directory or on the Internet.

I’m not that kind of whore either.
You’ll have to know somebody who knows somebody to hear of me and even then

it’s doubtful you’ll get an appointment to meet me.

I’m in demand, you see. I’m at the top of my game. There aren’t many women who

can say that and know that it’s true. I’m one of them.

I was born Angel Jones. Now I’m Scarlet Angel.
And I am a whore.
I speak two languages fluently and can converse comfortably in a third. I read the

newspapers every day, visit my exclusive spa twice a week and have a standing
appointment with a top hairdresser whenever I need it.

My shoes are designed for me by a Fifth Avenue artist specializing in leather, my

clothes—well, let’s just say they aren’t off the rack at Macy’s. I have a personal trainer, a
car and driver available to me when I need them and a life that includes fine wines,
excellent meals and plenty of financial security.

And sex. Lots of sex.
Because, as I mentioned earlier, I am a whore.
And I like being who I am.
I’ve always liked sex. The first fumbling attempts when I was a teenager didn’t do

much for me, but a couple of years, a couple of better lovers and I was well on my way
to appreciating the pleasures and nuances of humankind’s most basic activity—fucking.

From that point on, becoming a whore was a combination of chances and choices.

There were no traumatic childhood events driving me down the path to sin, no
shattered dreams or tragic love affairs. I fucked when I felt like it and said no when I
didn’t.

College simply fed my interest in learning along with offering me an additional

glimpse into the expanding world of sex—experimentation with a variety of new ways
to fuck, a brief dabble with chemical stimulants, the intricacies of bondage and
domination—I was building a portfolio of erotic techniques along with my GPA, even
though I didn’t realize it at the time.

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Sahara Kelly

My family assumed I would walk the path of tradition. A nice job, marriage and a

family. Sometime not long after graduation, the truth finally dawned on me. I did not
want tradition.

I did not want a family, children, a mortgage, a house or a husband. In that or any

order.

I wanted sex and I wanted to make plenty of money. I wanted to live a life that

would fulfill my potential and utilize my talents. I wanted to see new places, explore
worlds that I’d only read about up to that point.

No, I definitely wasn’t planning on taking the traditional path to anywhere. I

realized that I wanted to be a whore.

And I am.
One of the best, the most exclusive, the most highly sought after whores you’ll find

anywhere. An escort, if you prefer, a courtesan or a call-girl—it’s only semantics. Only
words. A companion for the evening or the whole night. A woman who will arrive at
the theater on your arm, converse with your associates, chat with your clients and then
fuck you in any way you desire, in whatever way that brings you the pleasure you seek.

I choose to call myself whore. It is, after all, what I am. A member of the world’s

oldest profession. A profession I enjoy.

And now the phone is ringing. That special scarlet cell phone that only rings when

a client is ready to make an appointment. The call is routed from elsewhere, a
complicated technological process that’s beyond me and, frankly, of little interest. It’s
enough that it secures my privacy and guarantees me the freedom to maintain my
apartment without interference from my business affairs.

To the other residents of this quiet condo in an exclusive area of town, I’m a

businesswoman who travels a lot. We nod in passing on the rare occasions I see any of
my neighbors in the elevator.

Hank, the doorman, accepts my mail and keeps it for me until I collect it. Trudy, my

maid, looks after my apartment with tender, thorough discretion for which she is
extremely well recompensed.

Everything, including silence, has a price.
I have a price. It’s high. I doubt you could meet it.
But whoever is calling on my scarlet phone can cover the cost. He’s already been

vetted, checked and had his financial situation closely scrutinized. Government
agencies would probably wish they could be as thorough as the people I work for.

I must go. He’ll be getting anxious, although I like to let the phone ring a few times

before answering it. It excites me, knowing there’s a man out there holding a telephone,
maybe sweating a little—perhaps with an erection pushing against his fly—waiting like
that simply to hear my voice.

He’ll get his wish. He will pay for his pleasures. The bill will be high, but in return

he gets me.

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Perfect Whore

My name is Scarlet Angel. And I am a whore.

7

Sahara Kelly

Chapter One

“Scarlet Angel.”
“Hello, Scarlet. Number 347.”
She quickly tapped in the numbers on her tiny computer noting the name that

popped up immediately. “Good evening, Carl. It’s lovely to hear your voice again.”

“You too. You need my confirmation code?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
As he read off the alphanumeric series, Scarlet entered them and noted the green

light that rapidly appeared. Carl was a “go” for the evening. “That’s wonderful, Carl.
We’re confirmed. I have your address—may I ask if you will be retiring early?”

This was a simple question designed to let Scarlet know if her presence would be

required all night or just until the client wearied of her.

“Sadly yes. I have an early flight tomorrow. I’ve simply got to turn in around two

a.m.” His voice conveyed genuine disappointment.

“Then we shall make sure you get your rest.” She’d be gone by one at the latest. “In

the meantime, I look forward to seeing you again. Shall we say around nine?”

“I’ll be waiting.” He broke the connection.
Scarlet had an hour to prepare. First the call for the car, then a quick shower.

Followed by her usual light application of makeup and finally dressing in the outfit of
her choice for the evening.

She hummed to herself as she went through her routine. Carl was an established

customer, a nice man who often came to town on business. He had a family, he’d told
her once, and a very traditional life—right up to the possibility of a grandchild soon.

Scarlet didn’t care to know much about her clients, but if they chose to share, she’d

listen as she had done with Carl. Sometimes listening was as much a part of her service
as fucking.

Carl liked the tease, the foreplay Scarlet provided. He wasn’t a man to welcome her

into his presence with cock bared and erect. It would be up to her to arouse him in the
ways she knew he liked. It hadn’t taken long for her to learn he was, at heart, a simple
man. Female nudity turned him on.

So for tonight, she would slip into her black halter cocktail dress, thigh-high hosiery

and nothing else. And she would make sure he knew she was naked beneath her
clothes before she removed them.

Her perfume surrounded her, familiar and delicately floral, sprayed on with a light

touch and allowed to dissipate a little before she dressed, leaving only a hint of

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Perfect Whore

fragrance behind. At this moment she would brush her nipples with the palms of her
hands, doing her own preparatory homework for the night to come.

She was selling sex, her sex, so it was natural for her to begin the arousal process

within her own mind, her own body. In fact, she liked it. Liked standing nude before
her bedroom mirror, observing the smooth white curves of her skin, the soft bare folds
of flesh between her thighs and the hardening rosy points of her breasts. For her, this
moment was the hors d’oeuvre that whetted her appetite, starting a moist tingling
within her belly and her cunt.

There would be more moments like this, Scarlet knew. Carl enjoyed a strong dash

of voyeurism with his foreplay.

She smiled, a tiny gleam of wickedness in her pale china-blue eyes. Maybe she’d

allow herself to come tonight. Yes, that might be fun. And Carl would appreciate it for
the gift it was.

She was still smiling as she slid into the car waiting at the front of her building.

“Hello, Ashley.”

“Evenin’, Miz Scarlet. How’s things at Tara?”
It was their running joke. Ashley was a retired public transportation driver who

knew the city better than the back of his hand. When he’d found himself bored with his
enforced inactivity, he’d turned to the world of private limousines for lack of anything
better to do. His company had been selected for its discretion, their drivers carefully
scrutinized and he and Scarlet had hit it off immediately, enjoying the little humor
occasioned by their names.

Still in very good shape in spite of his age, Ashley made no secret of his strong

protective instincts for his passengers, especially Scarlet. He was always early and
ready to collect her from wherever she happened to be, door open, engine warm and
running. He never asked about her evening or even glanced at her with anything
resembling judgment. He seemed to enjoy her company, considered her more of a
friend than a customer and had made that fact quite clear one memorable night when
she’d needed medical attention.

Silently, he’d driven her to the nearest hospital and stayed by her side as much as

he could until she was ready to go home. Scarlet knew he’d received a hefty bonus and
an increase in salary not long afterward. She’d demanded it, one of the few times she’d
ever demanded anything—and her demands had been met.

In her book, loyalty was possibly one of the few things that could not be purchased,

thus should be rewarded. There weren’t very many other things in that book. Most
facets of life, up to and including one’s body, could be bought. If the price was right.

Carl had met her price. Tonight he was buying Scarlet.
And she was quite content with the transaction, giving Ashley a quick pat on the

arm by way of thanks as he helped her from the car and into the five-star hotel. “See
you around one.” He politely touched the brim of his hat.

“Thanks, Ash. I’ll see you then.”

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Sahara Kelly

Her heels clicked over the marble of the foyer as Scarlet walked to the elevators. She

knew her way around and her mink coat, not to mention her air of self-possession,
guaranteed she would not be challenged. She looked as if she belonged in this highly
esteemed hotel.

In fact a passing bellboy tipped his hat to her with a polite, “Good evening,

ma’am.”

Scarlet smiled back. It was all in the way one held oneself. One’s attitude. Hers

stated quite plainly “I am here. Accept me, admire me and then leave me alone”. It was
an air of assurance she’d not even realized she had until moments like this had taught
her the value of such things.

Carl was occupying a top floor suite as always. Scarlet had no need to glance at the

number—she’d memorized it before leaving home. It was entered into her Blackberry
database for this evening but would be cleared from the memory before she slept in her
own bed again.

All her client information was wiped regularly and thoroughly from the little

portable secretary. If it ever fell into curious hands, there would be no more than a list
of useful shop numbers, an appointment or two for a massage or a session with a
personal trainer and the address of her attorney. And even that miniscule amount of
data was encrypted.

Scarlet had no information of a personal nature filed anywhere. No black book, no

incriminating list of names that might interest a potential blackmailer. She had a mind
that never forgot a detail, especially when it came to her clients’ sexual preferences.

Just a spoken “hello” would be enough to start her mental file turning over and as

soon as she heard a name—data would appear in her brain as accurately as if she’d
pulled a folder from a filing cabinet.

As it had done tonight with Carl.
Scarlet released the tight snap links that held her mink coat fastened and let it fall to

either side of her breasts as she approached the door to his suite. Excitement shimmered
through her, tightening her nipples against the cool air and the slick black silk. They
would be protruding now, eager to be free. A look down to confirm this fact was not
necessary.

Scarlet knew her body. She had to. It was her business.
She was the consummate businesswoman.
Her light tap on the door was answered within seconds. “Hello, Scarlet.” The

graying man in the white hotel robe smiled warmly at her, his face creasing into a
genuine smile of welcome. “Won’t you come in?”

Scarlet took a breath and shifted her shoulders a little, noticing his gaze dropping to

her breasts and the taut buds of her nipples.

She smiled back, enjoying the anticipatory thrum of excitement spreading low

through her belly.

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“Thank you, yes. I’d love to.”

* * * * *

I like Carl.
He’s the definition of “gentleman”, doing things like taking my coat, offering me a

drink, behaving as though this acquaintance of ours is the most natural thing in the
world.

It’s soothing yet arousing, knowing that we’ll soon be naked together. That it won’t

be long before I have him panting, flushed and hard. Yet there’s always a smooth
formality and interest that make me smile. I can’t imagine a better customer than Carl.

“How have you been?”
I ask the casual question as he takes my fur and carefully hangs it in the closet.
“Very well. And I’m glad to see you looking so lovely.” His hand brushes over my

naked spine. “As you always do.”

“Thank you.”
There’s no other response required. I walk through the suite, admiring what should

be admired, knowing he’s behind me, watching my ass swaying, trying to guess if
there’s anything beneath the silk of my dress. I peek over my shoulder with a tiny
smile.

“No. In case you were wondering, the coat kept me warm. I didn’t need anything

else.” I let a hand drift down, pulling the fabric tight across my buttocks. He’ll see
there’s no line anywhere. Nothing beneath the dress but me.

I can hear his harsh swallow and I turn away to hide my grin. I know this man. I

know what pleases him. It’s a game I can play and although I say it myself, I play it
very well.

“Why don’t you sit down? Or better yet, lie down on this lovely bed?” I lift an

eyebrow, knowing from his face that it’s been a long day for him. A slight droop
around the eyes, a line or two near his mouth—little giveaways that let me know he’s
not up to much in the way of athletics tonight.

“Just being here in this room with you gets me hot, Carl. It always does.”
He smiles then, easing himself onto the turned-down bed with a sigh, pushing the

covers back and arranging himself on the pillows. His robe falls open exposing his
naked body. He’s not hard yet, but he’s stirring as I run my hands over my dress.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll get comfortable.”
“Please do, Scarlet. Please do.” He sighs as I unfasten the neck of my dress and let it

fall, following the fabric over my breasts with my hands and a slight sound of pleasure.
Carl likes me to do the talking and I’m quite happy to oblige.

I let the silk catch around my waist and lift one leg to the edge of the bed, knowing

he’ll see a quick flash of my naked pussy. It’s erotic, this teasing of a man, watching his

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Sahara Kelly

eyes dart to my body, my breasts, my hands as I slowly roll the thigh-highs down to my
ankles then my feet. One leg at a time, lingering along the way, seeing his cock quiver.

He’s starting to get there, but we have a little way to go yet.
Still half-covered, I wander to the audio equipment and turn on a station I know

plays soft jazz. “I feel like dancing, Carl.”

“You do?” His voice betrays him now, a little rough beneath his usual quiet tones.
“Yeah, I do. This room? You there with your cock getting so hard, me with my cunt

getting wet for you—have you always had this effect on women?”

He chuckles at that obvious attempt to stroke his ego. Carl is a realist but man

enough to enjoy flattery when it comes from a half-naked woman. “I’d like to think so.
But you’re the first to tell me about it.”

I laugh with him, liking the feeling of the air on my breasts, the silk swishing

around my bare bottom. I let my hips sway in time with the music, a lilting move that
gets me hot, turns me on.

Slowly, very slowly, I lift one hand to my hips and give the dress a gentle tug. In

spite of the music I can hear the soft hiss as it falls to the floor. I step away, nude,
watching Carl’s eyes flicker where they wish to examine me. His cock stiffens too as he
gazes at my naked slit, exposed by the deliberate way I part my thighs while moving.

I turn and bend down for my dress, knowing he’ll be looking at my ass and my

pussy. I make sure he’s got the best view possible, lingering a little in that pose, shifting
my hips a tiny bit.

I can hear him move on the bed, just the slightest rustle of linens, but it’s enough to

tell me I’ve accomplished what I intended to do.

Each move, each step I take, is carefully calculated to achieve the maximum effect,

the maximum arousal in my client. I’m good at what I do and I work at it. And I enjoy
my work very much.

The black silk floats around me as I spin back to face Carl, holding it against me,

taut between my breasts for a moment before I rest it on the back of a nearby chair.

“You are one hot and beautiful woman, Scarlet.”
It’s a whisper, low and hoarse. Carl’s face is getting flushed now and his cock

definitely hard. It’s also a lovely compliment and goes down to my cunt along with the
heated gaze that’s stroking me from my toes to my eyebrows.

I feel beautiful. I feel erotic and sensual. I am admired for what I am—a woman

intent on pleasuring a man. There’s nothing in the world quite like this sensation. It’s
better than an orgasm sometimes.

It also makes me want to go further, do more, reward Carl for the pleasure he’s

unwittingly giving me.

I move more purposefully now, in time with the rhythm of the slow jazz beat. My

breasts ache a little so I cup them in my hands, closing my eyes as my thumbs

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Perfect Whore

deliberately catch the nipples, hardening them, sending little delightful shivers through
me.

“Oh yeah. That’s very nice.”
Carl’s encouragement is welcome. I let one hand drift lower, down over my belly to

my hips, circling my fingertip over my skin until I reach my clit. That’s when I open my
eyes and look at him, making sure I still have his attention.

I do. His gaze is fixed on my finger, my pussy. His mouth opens a little and he licks

his lips as I run my red nail over the skin, pulling a little so that he can see the moisture
gathering there.

I reach into that wet darkness, stroking my clit gently with my fingertip and then

lifting it away, bringing it to my lips and sucking the liquid—watching his face all the
while. He’s shifting free of his robe, his cock hard and ready, a tiny bead of pre-cum
already oozing from the head.

“Scarlet…”
“Not yet.” I smile at him, running my fingertip over my lower lip. “Not yet, Carl.”
“You cock tease.” Finally he lifts his gaze to my eyes then grins. He knows I’m

enjoying this game we’re playing.

“And you love my teasing, don’t you?”
“Yes, baby. I sure do.” He leans back against his robe and the pillows, knowing

there is more to come, eager to experience whatever I might have in store for him.

And I have a surprise. “I found something the other day that I think you might

like.”

“Really?” His eyebrows lift. “Other than what you’re already showing me?”
“Oh yes. This little toy was designed with you in mind, Carl.”
He looks intrigued. He enjoys toys, whether I use them on myself or on him. At first

he was a little hesitant, it didn’t take too many evenings with Carl to convince him of
how much pleasure could be gained from the addition of a toy or two.

Now he’s ready for whatever I might have in my discreet leather handbag. And it’s

a good one tonight. A new one.

Hiding my bag with my body I retrieve it, then swivel with one hand behind me.

He still can’t see it although he moves his neck to try and get a peek.

Now it’s time for me to get onto the bed with him and I climb from the foot, on my

knees, creeping toward him with the toy still held firmly out of sight. “Let me sit
between your legs, Carl. I want a good look at your tools and your jewels, you stud.”

His laugh is strained, but he always holds on to some humor no matter what I do to

him. It’s one of his most appealing qualities. “Show me the toy, baby. I wanna see…”

He’s behaved himself admirably, so I’ll let him look. From behind my back I reveal

the newest weapon in my arsenal of gadgets and gizmos. Black and shiny, it looks at
first glance like an ordinary dildo and Carl’s face falls a little.

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Sahara Kelly

“Don’t underestimate it.” I wave it to and fro. “Or me.”
“Okay?” His voice is raised in query.
“This is one delightful pleasure machine, Carl.” I lift it to my mouth and suck the

dildo, wetting it with my saliva. Pulling it from my lips I point to a small extension with
a flat surface on it. “Did you notice this?”

Carl blinks and frowns. “Uh…”
I smile serenely. “Why don’t I show you?”
Unbeknownst to him, I’ve palmed a tube of lubricant, one of my favorite tools when

it comes to playing with toys. It takes me less than a heartbeat to spread the slick gel
over the dildo, stroking it over the surface with my hands while staring pointedly at
Carl’s cock. He doesn’t even notice as I toss the tube aside.

The parallels don’t escape him and I want to chuckle as his thighs spread wide,

exposing more of his balls and letting the air circulate around his now-reddened cock.

“Bend your knees, Carl. Lift those legs. I need to touch your cock. God, how I want

to touch your cock.”

Eagerly Carl obeys my command, placing his feet flat on the bed, wide apart, knees

bent.

“Now move down toward me, baby.” I scoot upward, meeting his body with my

thighs, a brush of skin against skin that makes us both shudder. “And relax.”

Carefully I push the dildo between his legs and into his anus. He’s expecting it,

even looking forward to it, since I’ve taught him how pleasurable this can be. His eyes
close as he lifts himself a little, making it easier for me to penetrate him with the toy.

This is routine for both of us. But that little platform I showed him? It comes to rest

precisely against his perineum, the spot behind his balls that is hard-wired to his sexual
arousal.

I can see he’s just discovered that very fact when his whole body twitches and

shudders as I seat the toy deep in his anus and against the delicate tissue beneath his
sac.

“How does that feel?” I push it in the tiniest little bit and move it around.
“Shit. Fucking shit, Scarlet…”
Carl’s eyes are closed and the muscles in his neck are taut strings as he leans his

head back with a rictus of pleasure.

I smile once more, this time for my own satisfaction. He’s enjoying every moment,

every millisecond of the experience. As I said before, I’m very good at what I do.

One of the things I do well is suck cock. Right at this moment, it’s the perfect

accompaniment to the sexual aid buried in Carl’s ass.

I’ve never been squeamish about sucking cock. Not when it comes to my clients,

anyway. They’re far too well-bred to be less than careful of their hygiene and there’ve
only been one or two occasions when I needed to resort to a breath mint first.

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Perfect Whore

And never with Carl. He’s always showered and fresh for me, a light scent of

musky male rising from his balls and his groin mixed with whatever herbal soaps the
hotel makes available to its guests.

I take him into my mouth carefully and completely, noting his grunt of pleasure. He

tastes salty, meaty. I’m very gentle with him, knowing he likes the slow slick swirl of
my tongue caressing him, not the strong suck of my lips. That will come later.

Much later.
I’ve learned the art of keeping a man on the edge with my mouth. Bringing him

close—but not to orgasm. I won’t let him orgasm until I judge he’s ready to orgasm. Or
until I’m ready to end our session.

This is one of the reasons Carl always calls and asks for me, this ability to tease and

arouse with my mouth until he’s shivering and squirming around me but not quite
coming.

He loves it.
So do I.
I like to use my lips and play with his cock. It leaves my hands free to lift my

breasts to his thighs and graze the nipples along his sensitized skin. It’s a turn-on for us
both. Soon I’ll reach one hand to his body, grasp the base and start stroking in time with
my mouth, but for now I’m keeping it light, delicate and—yes—teasing.

It’s all about technique, skill and timing, I’ve discovered. Some men can’t withstand

the touch of my tongue. Carl welcomes it. He likes to prolong these moments when I’m
naked between his thighs, my hair brushing over his groin, my mouth slurping around
his cock.

Tonight, with the toy in place, all his experiences are being heightened and I can

sense the tremors rattling through his body even before he starts to groan and lift his
hips from the bed, pushing his cock farther back into my throat. I suck a little now,
adding the tension to the slide of my tongue up and down his hard length.

I know he wants to push my head down, have me deep throat him. I won’t let him.

Not yet. He’ll have to wait, to suffer through the glorious agonies of me licking up and
down his cock. I particularly like to toy with the little slit, swiping my tongue over it,
teasing out the beads of pre-cum and kissing them away. Sometimes they’ll cling to my
lips and I’ll lift my head so that he can see.

Men are very visual creatures. Carl is no exception. His eyes really do light up

when he looks down to see me with a silvery strand of his cum hanging from my
mouth to his cock.

I like to meet his gaze, to let him see the pleasure I’m getting from sucking him.

And, yes, I like to see his pleasure too. I’m horny now, my clit throbbing between my
thighs. My nipples are taut and feel the lightest brush of air. It’s arousing me, this
intimate contact we’re sharing. The sights, the tastes, the sounds—it’s impossible to
ignore my body’s responses.

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Sahara Kelly

I couldn’t do this if I didn’t enjoy it and I wouldn’t enjoy it if my own erotic nature

wasn’t given full rein. I like fucking. I like sucking cock.

I like being naked and wet and surrounded by a man who is groaning and heaving

under my hands and my mouth. It’s fun.

For Carl it’s more than fun. I can sense his heat, his muscles bunching and releasing

as he struggles to control his climax. Angling my head I pull him deep, just once, feeling
the light brush of his cock against the back of my throat.

It’s a knack, taking a cock this deeply. Something I’m not ashamed to admit I had to

practice. Most of us have a gag reflex. Bypassing it isn’t easy. I can do it—many others
can’t.

But Carl’s purr of delight when I do—well, it is worth the time spent trying not to

throw up until I get the positioning right. I’ve no idea why a man finds such pleasure in
going into my throat. It’s enough for me that he does.

I pull back. “You’re nearly there, Carl. From now on the choice is yours. You can

fuck me or I can suck you off. I’d be happy either way. Which would you like, baby?”

“Shit, just do it, Scarlet. I can’t hold back…”
He’s telling me the truth. Veins stand rigid around his temples, pulsing with the

heartbeat I can feel through his cock and his balls. It’ll be quick this time. He is going to
come from the touch of my lips and my tongue and my hand. I won’t need to fetch a
condom tonight.

That’s not a problem. I have another way to fill the rest of our time together, one a

tired businessman will definitely enjoy.

“Are you ready?”
Silly question, but one that men like to be asked. It lets them believe they are still in

control. That the onrush of their orgasm is somehow under their command instead of
being orchestrated by a woman’s mouth or a woman’s touch.

Carl is past conversation. He nods, a quick jerk of his head accompanied by his

fingers fisting in the bedclothes either side of his body.

“Then watch, Carl. Watch me suck you until you come.”
I don’t need to look up to know he’s obeyed me but I do anyway. It adds a little

something to his pleasure. His eyelids are heavy but he’s definitely paying attention. I
can hear his indrawn breath as I run my tongue around the rim of his cock then flick
delicately at the small spot beneath. At that moment I also apply a slight pressure to the
toy, moving it so that Carl can experience more than just a blowjob. He’s getting
sensory input from his anus and his perineum to go with everything I’m doing to his
cock.

Technically it magnifies orgasm.
Practically? It blows Carl’s balls out his ears.
I don’t like to swallow semen if I don’t have to and fortunately Carl enjoys coming

over my skin. So it’s the matter of a simple shift in position as his cock starts to pulse

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Perfect Whore

quickly, a thrust of my breasts and—now—rapid spurts of warm wetness over my neck
and my skin, dappling and dripping down to bead and fall from my nipples onto his
body.

“Oh Carl, so good. Jesus, Carl…”
Nonsense words making no sense. But I say them anyway, knowing he hears the

sounds if not the meaning. He’s not alone in his climax. He’s sharing it in a unique way.
A little extra reassurance I offer my clients.

Carl eases, body turning limp as his orgasm ends.
I stroke him gently, helping him relax, bringing him down from the high his

endorphins have just rattled through his system. He sighs and I smile. That sigh is all I
need to hear.

I’ve fulfilled my task for the evening.
I could leave now, but I won’t. We both deserve a little more.
Removing the toy is a simple task quickly and discreetly accomplished, as is my

soft retreat to the bathroom. I know where it is—I noted it earlier as I wandered the
suite. I need no lights to turn on the faucet and rinse the toy, nor do I need to do more
than reach out for a facecloth to wipe my body.

I’m back with him before he has chance to fully realize I left. All part of the service.
Lying next to him now, I reach for his arm and let my fingers rest there, sending a

message of pleasurable contentment. “Good?”

“Mmm hmmm.” His head turns toward me and his smile is peaceful, almost

beautiful. “The best. As always.”

“There is still some time yet, unless you’re very tired…” I casually lift my hand to

my breast. “May I…?”

“I love watching you, Scarlet. Yes, I’m tired. But never too tired to watch you come.

Do it for me.”

“Thank you.”
I knew he would agree. Carl likes to watch women reach their orgasm. He’s not

threatened by the fact that his cock doesn’t have to be involved. Another point in Carl’s
favor.

Now I can find my own pleasure in this evening’s appointment.
I don’t allow myself an orgasm with a client very often. It’s an indulgence that few

appreciate, so why bother? They aren’t paying for me to come. They’re paying to come
in me.

But tonight—well, tonight I’m ready. My clit is aching, that pleasant ache of arousal

that tells a woman she’s preparing for a cock, dripping juices into the darkness of her
cunt, sending messages of impending delight to all the right places.

Being with Carl does that for me. I don’t know why, nor do I care. I just enjoy it

when I can.

17

Sahara Kelly

And tonight, I can.
I lie back, feeling the brush of the sheets against my ass and my spine. A cool caress

sending tremors over my body. My breasts are ready, warm and heavy, nipples eager to
be fondled, pinched and squeezed to rippling hardness.

I touch them, gasping a little, moaning as my own hands bring me such exquisite

sensations. He’s watching me—a quick glance from beneath my eyelashes and I see his
gaze on my fingers.

A little more play and then I shall slide my palm over my belly. I part my thighs

first so that he can get a good look at my pussy in the low light of the lamp by the bed.

And there, the smooth skin of my waxed mound giving way to the heated folds of

my cunt. Wet already, I smooth the liquids around, shifting position to reach the places
I need to stroke.

“Fuck, that feels so good.” I croon the words softly, knowing Carl will like hearing

them. “My pussy’s so hot just remembering how you came on me.”

As a matter of fact, that’s true in some ways. My pussy is hot, pulsing with

excitement, ready to be caressed and stimulated. But it’s my mind that’s doing the
arousal. My thoughts, my internal sexual desires. Carl is incidental. I wouldn’t tell him
that, of course. It’s none of his business and would be detrimental to mine.

No, he’ll just see me touching myself, as I’m doing right now.
He’ll hear the little moans I let escape at moments like these. Tiny whimpers of

delight I always make when I stroke my pussy, hit the right spot near my clit with my
fingertips and apply just the right pressure to increase my needs.

I’ve always believed a woman’s body is an amazing instrument—I thought so the

first time I masturbated to climax and nothing I’ve experienced since has changed my
opinion.

So many different parts involved in such an overwhelming physical release. I’m

sure men feel the same way. But for me? It’s total, a combination of so many sensory
inputs, so many sensory pleasures.

I feel the slick juices my body is making, warm and honey-soft, leaking freely from

my cunt. Spreading them over my labia simply enhances the sensation, eases the
grazing caress of my fingertips.

Every part of my skin shivers into alertness, flooding my mind with the brush of

cool air, the dusting caress of Carl’s breath as he leans closer, the smooth kiss of the
sheets on my bare ass.

Muscles tense beneath their covering of flesh and skin, my head bends backward,

my lips part as I travel this very personal road. I almost forget that Carl’s there, losing
myself in the moment, the rippling desires that streak through me.

I can do this with Carl. I’ve learned that he takes enormous pleasure from watching,

just watching. At first I was hesitant, always aware of his presence, acting more than
experiencing an orgasm. But as time passed and we enjoyed further evenings, I relaxed

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Perfect Whore

into the knowledge that he wasn’t going to do anything but watch. And it increased his
pleasure as it did mine.

In fact, I suspect that knowing he’s watching increases my arousal a little bit.

Knowing a man’s gaze is observing and enjoying my sexual pleasures—well, it’s heady
stuff. Powerful.

And he’s not in the least bit intimidated by the fact I don’t need his cock to come.

Very secure in his own sexuality, is Carl.

I need to stimulate my nipples, hard, pinching them, moving from one breast to the

other more rapidly as my hand rubs with increasing pressure between my legs. I spread
them wide—wider—letting my hips thrust naturally, hungry for the orgasm that’s
building at the base of my spine. I don’t need to finger-fuck myself very often. I don’t
reach my climax that way and never have. Sorry, penises of the world. Scarlet can do it
quite well externally and without anything resembling you.

“Oh God, I’m so wet, so ready…” The words are dragged from my throat by the

distant knowledge that I’m not alone. If I were, I’d be silent. What is there to say to
myself? I know what I’m doing, what’s happening.

I’m very close now. That wonderful fire is beginning to flame up low in my gut,

sending tendrils of heat through my body, burning my nipples and my clit. To my
surprise, I feel Carl’s mouth fasten on one breast, suckling me hard, a sweet pain that’s
enough to tip me over the edge.

“God, oh God…” Pointless, but all I’ve got right at this moment.
I break, a free fall of shuddering pleasure, my cunt cramping fiercely as my neck

arches backward and I press my hand roughly against my clit, holding it as if it were
about to fly from my pussy. I barely feel my legs tightening or my shoulders turning
rigid. All I know is that my body’s in spasm, shockwaves of pleasure rocking through
me, pounding me with the eruption of nerve endings and blissful release.

I release my nipple as Carl lets the other go, sighing and breathing a gust of warmth

on the wetness he leaves behind. My hand is still between my legs, soaked with the
moisture from my cunt and still sensing the final fading tremors of my orgasm.

I breathe, a harsh intake of air into lungs that forgot what they were supposed to be

doing while the rest of me flew high into nothingness.

And it’s done. Over. Time to ease the muscles, relax limply into the bed and turn to

smile at Carl.

He’s already smiling his own smile. “Beautiful, Scarlet. Just beautiful.”
“Thank you, Carl.”
My job is done. My customer is satisfied. And on this particular night, so am I.

19

Sahara Kelly

Chapter Two

“Home, Miz Scarlet?”
“Yes please, Ash.” Scarlet slipped into the rear of the limousine with a tiny sigh of

relief.

“Have you there before ya know it, honey.” Ash shut the door and dropped into the

driver’s seat. “You okay?”

He always asked, bless him.
She nodded. “Yep. Just tired.” The seat was warm and she leaned back, closing her

eyes and resting her body against the soft leather and her mink. It wasn’t even one
o’clock yet.

She and Carl had lain next to each other for a while, chatting, enjoying each other’s

company as simple friends, no more, no less. Carl seemed to like talking to her about a
variety of topics, sometimes asking her advice on business matters.

He really was a dear man, totally unafraid to solicit a woman’s opinion on things

that other guys would never have dreamed of discussing with her. She knew she wasn’t
an idiot when it came to finance and could only respect Carl even more for recognizing
that fact.

He’d yawned a couple of times, which she knew was a pretty clear indication it was

time for her to leave. Quietly she’d excused herself, tidied and dressed in the bathroom
and left him with a light kiss on his forehead.

He’d surprised her. “I have something for you.”
She blinked. “You do? Carl…that’s not…”
He held up a hand. “I know. Humor me.” He’d produced a small black velvet box

from his bedside table. “A little something from a grateful old man.”

Scarlet swallowed. Whatever gifts she received were hers to keep. But that still

didn’t mean she was comfortable accepting them. Somehow, they seemed too personal
to her. Too intimate. It was hard to explain, but in Scarlet’s mind the giving of a gift
pushed the whole appointment into realms that bordered on the uncomfortable.

It became much harder to think of it in terms of business. Which led to more

difficult mental pathways down which she did not want to travel.

But this was Carl. She couldn’t possibly hurt his feelings by turning down his gift.

Curiously she lifted the lid. And made him smile with her gasp.

It was a beautiful brooch—a butterfly made from diamonds and white gold, little

dangling aquamarines trembling from its delicate antenna. “Oh Carl—it’s—it’s
beautiful.” She looked at him in astonishment. “I can’t—I shouldn’t—”

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Perfect Whore

“Wear it to please me. You please me in so many other ways, my dear. Let me show

you how much? Besides, the aquamarines reminded me of your eyes.”

“I—” Scarlet swallowed down a lump of something surprisingly close to emotions.

“I will, Carl. I’ll treasure it. Thank you.” This time she did something out of character.
She kissed him on the lips.

The box rested in her bag as she sat in the back of the limo, staring out the window

but not really seeing the streets through which they drove.

She’d broken a rule tonight. She’d kissed a client.
Scarlet never kissed her clients. It was strange, she supposed, in her line of work.

But once again, the act of kissing, of putting one’s lips against a stranger’s lips, of
touching her tongue to another tongue—these were things that were too intimate. How
she could explain that to somebody else, she had no idea. Hopefully she wouldn’t have
to. It was hard to argue that sucking cock was okay, while a simple everyday kiss
wasn’t.

But in her mind, the rule was firm. Kissing did not happen between a whore and a

client. Kissing was something reserved for families, babies, kids, pets and possibly a
boyfriend or a really great date. Something that one did when one—cared.

Scarlet refused to care in that particular way for her clients.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the box, flipping it open and enjoying the

quick brittle flash of the streetlights on the diamonds. She shrugged. There was
probably an exception to every rule.

Carl was her exception. She didn’t exactly care about him, but she did like him—a

luxury she seldom permitted herself. It just wasn’t worth it. Too much effort and too
easy to slide from the businesswoman she was into the emotionally involved woman
she so didn’t want to be.

Fucking men was her job. Caring about them wasn’t. Her body would be totally

involved—that’s what they paid for. There wasn’t a line on the bill for her affections,
her emotions or her heart.

Arriving at her apartment building, she jerked herself from her reverie as Ash slid

smoothly beneath the awning and opened her door. “Get some rest for yourself,
honey.”

“I intend to. Thanks, Ash, as always. You have a good night.”
She walked into the foyer and nodded at the night clerk who stood and waved at

her. “Ms Angel?”

Scarlet paused. “Yes?”
“Mail for you, ma’am. Came special delivery a couple of hours ago.” He reached

below the desk for an envelope bearing all kinds of stickers informing the world how
special it was. “Looks important.”

“Thank you.” Scarlet walked to the desk and took it from his hand. “I guess it must

be.”

21

Sahara Kelly

“Well you have a good night.” He grinned.
She smiled back. They usually just nodded at each other. In fact this was probably

the most words they’d exchanged in months. “Thanks, Terry. You too.”

God bless nametags. Hank she knew, but for some reason she was always forgetting

Terry. Now she had it filed. She’d not forget it again.

Tapping the envelope on her hand as the elevator sailed skyward, Scarlet frowned.

The return address was the attorney she used as a go-between, a conduit for personal
and private matters that needed attention. She certainly did not want her current
address available to anybody.

So on the rare occasions Angel Jones received mail, it went to the attorney’s office

and was forwarded by them to her. Not an unusual arrangement for someone desiring
complete privacy and anonymity.

Once locked inside her apartment, she stared at it with mixed feelings. Scarlet

disliked the sense of her alter ego intruding here where it didn’t belong. She put the
envelope down and turned to see her email alert flashing on her laptop.

That was familiar—safe. She automatically tidied away her coat and opened her

email folder. There was one message, purportedly from her manager’s office.

Tomorrow. Three p.m. First class to Washington, returning the following morning. Expect

a call with details about the meeting.

Rose
Interesting. When clients required she travel, she was notified in advance for

everyone’s convenience. She’d still get the call on her scarlet cell phone—that always
occurred. But apparently she had an appointment in the nation’s capital for the
following night.

There was much to do and in the following hours Scarlet fit it all in with her usual

efficiency and organization. Packing was minimal since she did not yet know who her
client was. Once she did, then she could close her overnight bag. After a few hours rest
she relaxed even more with a massage, had her nails touched up and squeezed in a
quick trip to her stylist for a trim.

Everything else was under control. She was ready to answer the cell phone when it

rang at noon.

“Scarlet Angel.”
“Hey. Number 1437.”
Scarlet was silent for a second or two as she mentally retrieved the data. “Good

afternoon, Arnaud. You’re in Washington I understand. May I have your confirmation
code please?”

“Sure, babe.” The deep voice rattled off a series of numbers. As always, they were

green-lighted as soon as Scarlet finished entering them.

“Excellent. I understand I’ll be seeing you later on this evening.”
“Bet your sweet ass, doll. You still got those red things?”

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Perfect Whore

Scarlet swallowed. “Of course.”
“Excellent. Don’t be late.” The connection broke before Scarlet had the chance to

politely reply that she was never late. She gnawed on her lower lip for a second or two,
staring at the dead phone.

Then she shrugged and put it down. Now she knew it was Arnaud, she could finish

packing. She’d need her sexiest lingerie, since Arnaud was one of those men who
insisted on paying top dollar for everything, even his whores.

Unfortunately, he didn’t recognize the quality his cash bought him. He expected

whores to look and dress like his idea of what a whore should look and dress like.
Scarlet refused to wear boots and kept her makeup at a minimum, but compromised by
purchasing extremely expensive slutty lingerie. He’d seemed pleased on the two
appointments they’d had before.

Extra condoms would go into her bag since Arnaud would want to fuck her. No

gentlemanly seduction for him, just straight to business. He might well have defined
“wham, bang, thank-you, ma’am,” except for the fact he didn’t say “thank you”
afterward.

It wasn’t until Scarlet was ready to head out her door that she recalled the letter.

“Shit shit shit.” She pulled it from the pile of things on her hall table and stuck it in the
frame of the mirror suspended on the wall above. There was no time now to open it.

It would have to wait until she returned from Washington tomorrow. Whatever it

was, however urgent it was, she doubted there was anything inside that couldn’t be
delayed for twenty-four hours.

Offering her conscience that tiny sop, Scarlet Angel closed her apartment door

firmly behind her and headed off for Washington.

* * * * *

I like this city. I’m still enough of a tourist here to get a thrill out of seeing the

Washington Monument. I can admire the graceful architecture of the Lincoln Memorial
alongside any vacationer with a camera and now I pause for a moment, on the sidewalk
of New Jersey Avenue, staring at the Capitol Dome.

Thoughts dart through my mind—how far I’ve come since the school days of

looking at slides featuring this very building. I never imagined I’d see it in person back
then. It’s elegant, beautiful and meaningful in an oddly patriotic sort of way. Quite
breathtaking, looming above the surrounding rooftops, a gigantic creamy-white puff of
curves softening the skyline.

And here I am, a woman grown, about to enter a very plush hotel and spend the

night with a man I don’t know. The very hotel that played host to a Democratic
National Committee celebration party after the last elections.

Strange how life turns out, isn’t it?

23

Sahara Kelly

I may like DC, but I’m not so sure how I feel about Arnaud. We’ve met twice before

and both times seemed to satisfy him enough to ask for me again. I know he likes the
“hooker” game. He likes me to be what he’s paid for, which is—when all is said and
done—a hooker.

I don’t care. He can call me whatever he likes since he is, after all, paying for the

privilege. He’s dark, swarthy might fit him better, divorced—twice I believe—and
possessed of a strong sexual appetite. His ancestry? I can’t guess. His name might brand
him as French, but he has no accent.

However, I’m ready for him. Beneath the chic raincoat, Hermès silk scarf and dark

dress, I’m wearing a set of red lace lingerie. The panties are crotchless. Needless to say, I
avoided the airport security checkpoint that whiffles air up and around one’s body. I’ll
take my shoes off and put my watch in my handbag. I don’t let anybody blow up my
skirts, even in the name of homeland security.

That’s a pleasure somebody has to pay for.
My small carry-on rolls quietly behind me as I take the escalator down to the lobby

and head for the elevators. Arnaud has a suite and I’m a few minutes early. By the time
I get there it will be exactly six.

No mention was made of dinner, so I made sure to grab a quick snack at the airport

just in case. I’ve learned that small amounts of food will suffice to hold me through an
evening, should my client forget I have basic nutritional needs as well as sexual ones.

I’m ready. Or as ready as I’ll ever be. I won’t be leaving this suite until the early

morning hours if that’s what Arnaud wants, but I can also handle dinner at any DC
restaurant if the occasion arises.

It’s all in the planning and the accessories. Some of those women’s magazines got it

right. A switch in jewelry, a quick change of hairstyle and a woman really can go from
boardroom to dinner and to bed. I’ve done it before, many times. And in a variety of
orders. Most usually dinner to bedroom. Not so hard, really, when I’m prepared.

I tap lightly on his door and it’s answered by a waiter. “Good evening, miss. Please

come in. Mr. Arnaud is expecting you.”

He nods as he passes me and closes the door. His work is evident, a wheeled cart

with various dishes covered on it and a setting for two.

Dinner, thankfully, is included.
“That you, Scarlet?” Arnaud’s voice comes from the bedroom.
“It is indeed.” I slip out of my coat. “How are you, Arnaud?”
“Horny. Get in here. I wanna see you. Then I wanna fuck you.” His laugh echoes,

loud and slightly irritating.

“Be right there.” I take a quick look around and memorize the layout of the suite as

I hang up my raincoat. It’s standard hotel stuff, nothing complex.

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Perfect Whore

The bedroom is the same and I walk slowly in, stopping at the doorway to lean

against it and fold my arms beneath my breasts, deepening my cleavage as I smile at
Arnaud.

“Oh, baby, yeah. Lookin’ good, Scarlet.”
Arnaud is already naked, sprawled on the bed, cock stiffening as he strokes it with

tender care. His robe lies in an untidy pile on the floor as if it was just dropped there.
Which it probably was. “Me ‘n the big fella here are real glad to see you.”

“I can tell.” I don’t move yet. It’s up to Arnaud to give me the directions, to let me

know how he wants to play the game.

“Lose the dress.” He lifts his head a little and nods at me.
Slowly, with almost wanton casualness, I reach down and lift the hem, bunching it

as I pull it upward, pausing a moment before it passes my hips and reveals the tiny lace
thong.

“Mmm mmm. Red sure looks good on your pussy.”
This is why I bothered with the darn thing. If it hadn’t been for my foreknowledge

of his preferences, I could certainly have done without an annoying crotchless piece of
lace wedging itself up my ass for the last few hours. There was barely enough of it as it
was. How anyone could figure out a thong without a crotch was a mystery.

But…the customer is always right.
The matching bra emerges and Arnaud growls as I free myself from the dress and

drape it over one of the bedroom chairs. Once again, it seems I’ve picked a suitable
piece of underwear.

His gaze is glued to my breasts, completely revealed by the transparent lace that

cups them from beneath and skims over the nipples as an afterthought.

“Fucking shit, baby. You look fucking hot.”
So does he, but not in quite the same way. There’s a tiny bead of sweat on his

forehead and a definite flush in his skin. The room isn’t very warm, but perhaps he just
got out of the shower or something.

I wait, still and posed, while he looks me over and strokes his cock thoughtfully.

This is a good moment, a moment that I always enjoy. I have no worries about showing
my body to men. It’s an attractive body—I work hard to keep it that way. It won’t
always be firm and curved. I know that. So each time a client sees me like this and gets
that particular look in his eyes, I store the memory for the future.

I’m a realist, among other things. Take what the moment offers, enjoy it, tuck it

away in my mind and move on.

Arnaud stands, sliding off the bed and coming toward me, cock in hand. “Yeah, I

made the right call, for sure.” He circles me, still staring. “You still got that great ass.” I
jump a little as a hard palm smacks against one cheek. “We’re gonna hit the heights
tonight, baby.”

“We always do.”

25

Sahara Kelly

My butt is stinging a little, but I’m used to it. The occasional smack here and there

turns some men on. When it comes to more than that, there are other women better
trained and equipped than me. They get those calls—I don’t. The contact office is very
skilled in providing customers with whores suited to their needs.

“Show me those tits. Keep the bra on, but let’s get those tits out where I can see

‘em.”

Arnaud returns to stand in front of me, watching as I lift my breasts from the lace

and let them rest on top of it.

“Oh yeah. Nice.” He reaches out and pulls at one of my nipples, roughly, making

me gasp a little. “I like ‘em.”

So it looks as if we’re in for a bit of a rough ride. I can accept that, I suppose. I will

be careful though, since I’ll need my wits about me tonight, without a doubt.

Smiling, I ease away. “If you like that, you’ll love this, Arnaud. I thought of you

when I found it.”

I move to a chair, sit on the edge, lean back and spread my legs, showing him the

crotchless part of this very expensive thong.

“Fuck, Scarlet, you really know how to push my buttons.” He reaches down and

fondles my pussy, then sticks a finger inside me. “You’re hot and wet too. Shit. What
are we waiting for?”

“A condom?” I smile at him.
“Yeah. Do it. Do it the way I like it, okay?” He backs away from me to sit on the

bed, eyes wide, cock erect between his thighs. He waits while I pull a small packet from
my bag—I know exactly which compartment to open. One of the advantages of having
a damn good memory.

I tear the foil and slip the rubber into my mouth, moistening it, warming it up. This

combination blowjob and sheathing…well it takes practice. But then again, so does
typing.

Just another skill I’ve learned for my job.
On my knees in front of Arnaud, I lick his cock, suck it a little, slick my spit down

its length in preparation for the condom. I’ve found that men will readily accept
protection if delivered in this particular way. And I’m adamant about protection.

No glove—no love, as a very wise man once said.
Most of my clients aren’t bothered by this issue, although there have been one or

two who seemed to feel my pussy was theirs to experience any way they wanted. I
persuaded them otherwise and nobody’s complained yet. I figure the cold light of day
is enough to convince them of the wisdom that goes with using a condom, regardless of
what the heat of the night before might have said.

The job is soon done and Arnaud’s stiff cock is sheathed. He’s clearly ready to fuck

and doesn’t delay in making his point, grabbing my arm and pulling me roughly onto
the bed.

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“On your back, bitch. Spread those legs wide. I wanna see that pussy before I fuck

it.”

Arnaud likes this kind of talk. Makes him feel like a man, I guess. Perhaps he’s got a

current woman who wouldn’t say “shit” if she had a mouthful. Perhaps he’s been ruled
all his life by a mother with a dominant personality.

I don’t know. I don’t care. He can call me whatever he wants. Words like that don’t

bother me. I get the job done and bank my paycheck whether a client calls me “Your
Majesty” or “fucking slut”. I know who I am—my clients don’t validate my existence.
They merely enhance it from time to time.

So I spread my legs wide, thrusting my lace-covered pussy into the air, letting him

have the full benefit of the whole crotchless thing. He pushes hard on my thighs,
opening me and staring at me.

“I’m gonna fuck your cunt just like this. Lace and all.” He glances at my breasts,

still protruding over the top of the underwire bra. “Yeah, just like this.” He wriggles
into position and pulls at me, lifting my hips onto his knees. “Play with your tits.”

“Like this?” I lick two fingers and then toy with a nipple, making sure the moisture

shines as I swirl my fingers around. Honestly? I’d rather I get to do it than him. Arnaud
is ready tonight, rough and ready. If I’m going to match his pace and satisfy him, then
taking care of some of this myself will eliminate the possibility of getting sore or tired
too soon.

He’s staring at my nipples, his gaze darting from my breasts to my pussy and back,

fingers digging into my buttocks as he pulls me even closer to his cock. “Fuck, I really
like this lace shit. Next time maybe we should try black…”

I moan, a theatrical sound to accompany the touch of both of my hands on both my

nipples. “Whatever you want, Arnaud. Whatever you want.” I match the moan to a
slight wriggle of my hips within his grasp.

“Right now I just wanna fuck you.” He tenses, his cock touching my pussy in

between the lace strips.

“I want you to fuck me too.”
“How bad?” He teases me, rubbing his cock along my slit, waiting for my words.

Harsh words that he needs to hear.

“My pussy’s hot and ready, Arnaud. Fuck it, fuck it hard. Stick that big cock of

yours into my cunt. Just do it—fuck me—”

He does. Without further comment, he plunges into me, hard and deep. He grunts

as he pulls out and repeats his motions and I whimper, that silly squealing sort of noise
that you hear in those porn movies. It’s unnecessary, but Arnaud gets off on it. Once
again, I’m letting him know what a great fuck he is.

And, of course, I’m lying. Unless you think a great fuck is a big cock thumping into

your cunt. I don’t. I prefer skillful technique over brute force any day of the week. But—
as I’ve said before—this is my job.

27

Sahara Kelly

My clit is apparently a part of my body that Arnaud has never heard of. He’s one of

those men who thinks that fucking is all about his cock and what he’s doing with it—
which is little more than jack-hammering my pussy as hard and as fast as he can.

And tonight, even I have to admit he’s hard and fast.
Perhaps it’s the red lace thong or the sight of my breasts, my fingers tugging on my

nipples. Perhaps it’s my thighs parted wide either side of his hips. Whatever it is, it’s
turning him on big time and he fucks me energetically, sticking himself in as deeply as
he can, even managing to whack my clit a time or two with his groin.

Doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure. I’ll take whatever extra arousal I can get to keep me

slick and lubricated.

And he goes on. Surprisingly, he goes on—and on. He’s enjoying this, no question.

He’s grunting and panting and doing those little “oh yeah, fuck, baby” things. And still
he hasn’t come.

It seems like hours to me, my back abraded by the force of his thrusts, my legs

spread wide and uncomfortably draped around him.

Finally he lifts us both off the bed, bending me awkwardly as he pushes himself one

last time into me and lets go with what’s almost a howl of release. He’s exploding inside
me—I can feel it in spite of the condom.

I begin my matching rhythm, tensing and releasing those inner muscles all us ladies

learn to manipulate at an early age. It’s good for bladder control later in life and it sure
helps fake an orgasm.

I sob and whimper and put on my best porn-star performance. Arnaud loves it,

whispering sordid nothings, mostly involving “fuck, baby, come for me, bitch—fuck
me.” Really impressive conversation.

My mind stays beyond it all at this moment. I watch clinically, making sure my

physical responses are appropriate for a woman in the throes of orgasm. A slight shiver,
a shudder, a moan and a twitch, combined with those inner spasms I can produce on
demand—and the job is done. Arnaud sags and his cock flops away from me.

“You are the fucking best whore ever. Don’t move.” He slaps my ass as he shifts

from the bed, still surprisingly energetic. “I’ll be right back.”

I breathe slowly, letting my body regain its energy. Arnaud is certainly in the mood

tonight. I’ve not seen him this hungry for sex. But then again, I don’t know him that
well. Perhaps this is his normal excitement level. Or maybe his business dealings have
gone extremely well and this is how it shows.

I will need to conserve myself carefully, it seems.
I’m a little surprised when he comes back from the bathroom hard again, eyes

glittering. “You want something to eat?”

I nod and smile. “That would be good, yeah. Thanks.” I think of the trays in the

living room of his suite.

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Perfect Whore

“Here.” He clambers over me and pushes his cock down to my lips. Apparently

Arnaud is thinking along different lines than cheese and crackers.

What the hell. I’ve snacked earlier. Food would be nice, but work comes first. I suck

him noisily, slurping my way around his swollen head, running my tongue up and
down, doing all the things I know will make him respond.

He does, unfortunately sitting a bit low on my chest while he does so, which makes

breathing difficult.

I wriggle a bit under the guise of sucking more of him down into my throat. He

likes that, groaning as he pushes himself hard into me. Too hard as it turns out. I have
to fight for air and my teeth brush his skin a little harder than he likes.

“Watch it, slut.” He backs out and stares at me, a vicious look crossing his face. “I

thought you knew better than that.”

“I’m sorry, Arnaud. It’s just you’re so big. I nearly choked on you.”
“Yeah. Not used to a cock like mine, I’ll bet.”
Thankfully he shifts position a bit and I can draw breath. And the shameless sexual

flattery works.

Arnaud preens. “You suck good, I’ll say that for you.” He pushes his cock back into

my mouth. “Suck me off. And swallow it.”

This time I’m ready for him and find his balls with my fingers, delving past his

muscular thighs to caress them with my fingertips. I suck fiercely, knowing my cheeks
are hollowing as I create a strong vacuum with my lips, tease him with my tongue and
fondle his balls.

He likes it a lot, his eyelids drifting closed, his body tipping forward, weight

supported on his forearms. This eases my lungs but does allow him to thrust deeper.
Oh well, it’s a fair trade.

And now I can find his sweet spot, his perineum, open to my touch as he leans in. A

light pressure, a combination of moves, a choreography for tongue, lips and fingers—he
coughs out a jerky cry and comes, spurting down my throat as I swallow his cum.

I lick him clean, really amazed at his prowess. This makes two orgasms since I’ve

arrived and I’m not even naked yet.

“Not bad for a whore. Guess I’d better give you something to wash me down with,

huh?” He rolls off my body and chuckles. “Can’t have you fainting on me before the
night’s done.”

I lick my lips, not very fond of the taste of him that lingers there. “I’d like that.”
“C’mon then.” He slips from the bed and pulls at me to follow him. His energy

seems boundless. “Forget the red stuff. I’m done with it. Strip. I want to watch you
naked and think about fucking you again while you eat.”

Hurriedly peeling off the crumpled lingerie, I pad after him, nude now and

probably with red marks from the underwire of my bra ringing my breasts. But I could
use something real to eat and a drink as well.

29

Sahara Kelly

“Go for it. Whatever you want. You don’t see it, I’ll order it.” He waves his hand

over the trays and whips off covers, revealing sandwiches, salads, raw vegetables,
cheeses—a feast of finger foods and some chilling glasses of juice. “You want wine?”

His nose wrinkles as he says the word, like it’s something nasty. I suspect he’d be

more impressed if I ordered a beer or six, but at this point I need to keep sharp. “I’m
good with orange juice, but thanks anyway.” I help myself to a sandwich and some
cheese and veggies.

“Sit there and eat. Spread your legs. I wanna see your pussy. I paid for it tonight.

It’s mine.” He points to a straight-backed chair.

“As you wish.” Doesn’t bother me. If he wants to look between my legs while I dine

who am I to argue? “Want me to fix you a plate of something first?”

He shakes his head. “Nah.” He sits opposite me and stares at my crotch.
A tiny red alarm light blinks in my brain. He’s not hungry. Either he’s dined well

earlier in the day or…something else is going on.

The sandwich and the snacks help, washed down with a little orange juice. Energy

foods which do a lot to put me back where I need to be. On top of things.

“Done?” I’ve barely finished before he’s on me again. “C’mon. I wanna play some

more.”

Yes, he’s hard all over again. He’s watched me eat, drink and flash him—

apparently that’s aphrodisiac enough tonight. I smile at him. “You’re a real stud
tonight, Arnaud. Give me a second in the bathroom and I’ll be right there. You’re gonna
totally wear me out.”

He likes the compliments and graciously allows me all of a minute to pee and wash

my hands. It’s all I get, though. I walk back into the bedroom and he grabs me, bending
me over the bed.

“Oh yeah. Like this. Up the ass. Now. Spread ‘em, cunt. You’re gonna enjoy this.”

He’s sheathed again, already pushing against my buttocks, pulling roughly on my ass
cheeks to spread them apart.

I swallow, desperately searching for the right words. I must not anger him but a

little lube goes a long way. “Arnaud, oh God, yeah, that would be great. Look, I’ve got
some real neat stuff in my bag—new stuff, a lube you’ll love. It’s warming…”

Please let him hear me.
He pauses. “Warming, huh? Sure. Get it.”
Offering a silent prayer I quickly find the tube and glance up under my eyelashes at

him with a flirtatious glance as I douse his cock with the stuff. Don’t care how hot it
gets at this point, just as long as it does the job.

I’m okay with anal sex. Done it quite a bit so it’s not as uncomfortable for me as for

some others. But it is—if you’ll forgive the pun—a pain in the ass without adequate
lubrication. Ideally, I’d like him to lube me up as well, but at this point every little bit
helps, so I’ll settle for a real slick sheathed cock.

30

Perfect Whore

“Good. Yeah. It’s warm, you’re right.” He points at the bed. “Bend over, bitch. I’m

gonna fuck your ass but good.”

I obey, trying to relax those muscles that will be stretched as he penetrates me.
There’s a pause for a moment and his hands stroke my ass cheeks. “Fuck, I love to

see a woman like this. All rosy and waiting for my cock. You’re gonna be tight too,
aren’t you? Tight and hot…”

He slaps my ass, hard, two ringing blows that echo through the room. “You’re a

dirty cunt, Scarlet. But by God you fuck good.”

He sticks it in me then, no finesse, no gentle entry, just a thrust of his cock right

between my buttocks into my anus.

It hurts for a second or two, but then it’s fine, a little stretching sensation offset by

the stinging of my skin where he slapped me. “God. Fucking shit, this is good.” He
plunges in and out, ramming me, pushing me hard into the bedclothes. “You got the
tightest asshole, bitch. Feels good fucking you like this, doesn’t it?”

I nod, my face deep in the bedcovers.
“I didn’t hear you.” He slaps me again, harder this time, making me flinch. I can’t

help it. The body responds to pain in certain ways. Mine flinches.

“Yeah, Arnaud. It’s good, baby.” I make sure my mouth is clear of the sheets this

time around.

Apparently it doesn’t matter whether I say it loudly or not. Arnaud has discovered

he likes the sound of his hand against my ass cheeks. Especially while he’s fucking me
there.

He slaps me hard making me wince and drives himself wildly into my ass, a twin

assault that takes my breath away. Slap-thrust-slap-thrust… It’s nearly brutal by the
time he finally comes.

I’m going to have a few bruises from this night’s work.
And now that little red alarm light is blinking like mad. Arnaud has enjoyed less-

than-polite sex with me in the past. But never like this.

I collapse beneath him, moaning appropriately. This time the moans aren’t too

faked, either, since my butt cheeks feel like somebody took a blowtorch to ‘em. He pulls
out with a giggle.

A genuine, honest to God, giggle.
I’m now concerned, seriously concerned. There’s more to this night than a simple

paid whore and her client. I sneak a quick glimpse at Arnaud as he gets off the bed,
allowing me to roll over and stretch.

He’s sweating—although that’s not totally surprising. He’s still moving quickly,

though, as if the energy is pulsing through him, striding to the bathroom to ditch the
condom like a man who’s just woken up from a long nap.

I wonder if he’s on cocaine. It’s my first thought and would account for his high

level of energy. But then I realize I’ve been here for several hours. A cocaine high

31

Sahara Kelly

wouldn’t last longer than half an hour, tops. He’d have had to snort a few more lines to
sustain this level of intensity. He hasn’t. Not as far as I can tell, anyway.

I need to take control of this night, I realize, to steer things my way if at all possible.

Maybe give him a relaxing between-fucks massage. I’m good at back rubs and haven’t
met a client yet who doesn’t appreciate them.

I open my mouth to speak the right soothing words but before I can, there’s a tap at

the door. It brings me upright when Arnaud comes out of the bathroom and grins at
me, face alight and burning with heat. “Cool. He’s here. Now the fun can really start.”

I stand, ignoring the burn on my ass cheeks. “Arnaud. You know I’m only here for

you.”

He does too. It’s in the rules. A very strict rule. The client’s wishes have to be

spelled out clearly before the appointment is green-lighted. If there’s going to be a party
of more than the two of us, I need to know.

“Shut up, slut. You’ll do as you’re told.” He frowns, the pout of a spoiled child.
I face him down. “Not if it involves another man, Arnaud. You know this. We’re

real clear on this.” It must be gone midnight by now. This is wrong.

He walks toward me as the knock sounds once more on his door. “Shut the fuck

up.”

One hand grabs my throat in a surprise move I wasn’t expecting but perhaps

should have been. He forces me down into a chair. “Stay there and shut up. Or else…”

He’s naked but he goes to the door and I hear another man’s voice. I’m shaking a

little, but more with fury than fear. Clients who pay what Arnaud pays know the value
of having rules and restrictions. It’s good for everybody concerned.

He’s pushing way past what I consider acceptable or will tolerate, but…I take

advantage of his preoccupation by slipping into the bathroom. There’s nothing
untoward in sight, but now I need to rummage, to nose into Arnaud’s belongings. And
there it is, in his bathroom cabinet.

A small glass pipe and a little zip bag of white crystals.
This explains so much—the sexual intensity and stamina. The lack of appetite. And

it also explains why I need to get the fuck out of there as soon as I possibly can.

It’s crystal meth.
Ice. Tweak, Tina—whatever you want to call it, it’s bad news. The sexual aid that

was hidden for so long and has now become the party drug of choice for a lot of club
hopping, sex-starved strangers.

I may be a whore, but I have strong views on drug use and they’re negative. So do

the people I work for. It’s not easy to enforce them, but we all do our best. Drugs are not
part of any deal as far as I’m concerned. In fact, I reckon they negate any agreement.

But I hear the two men and I know I have to go back out and face them. I have to

come up with something, some quick-witted plan to get myself out of here—and as
soon as possible.

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Perfect Whore

“There she is. Whaddya think? Not bad for a hooker, huh?” Arnaud is draped over

the shoulders of the other man and I’m stunned as I recognize him. He delivered the
tray earlier this evening. It’s the waiter.

Off duty now, apparently, since he’s naked from the waist up and his pants are

unzipped. He’s good looking in a way, young and lean. He eyes me cautiously but with
little interest. Apparently his desires lie elsewhere.

“She’s okay if you like that kind of shit. Good for a fuck. For getting your rocks off.

But you want the real thing…” He turns to Arnaud and reaches down, grabbing
Arnaud’s cock. “You haven’t felt a fucking thing ‘til you’ve had me in your ass,
sweetie.”

Arnaud sucks in a breath. “That’s why you’re here.”
He’s hard in an instant, but now I know why. The drug can keep him going for

hours, pushing his sexual needs beyond the realistic, turning him into a lust-maddened
maniac.

And there are two of us in the room now to satisfy him. I don’t like it. I don’t like it

at all. “Look, Arnaud—you want to play with your friend, I’m good with it. I can head
out now and—”

The backhand to the face catches me off-guard. “Siddown, slut. You leave when I

say so, not before. I paid for you. I want you to watch him fuck me. You watch, bitch.
Got it?”

I nod, determined not to show him how stunned I am. The possibility of violence

always lurks just behind the curtain we drape around our activities as whores. It’s a
smaller shadow at this level of the game, but it’s present.

I’ve run into it before. I wasn’t expecting it tonight.
My mistake.
My cheek is throbbing and there’s the tang of blood in my mouth where Arnaud’s

blow split the inside of my lip against my tooth.

“Now just shut the fuck up and watch. I want you where I can see you when he

fucks me.”

I nod and obey, mind whirling with options and battling with the fury that has

risen inside me. I don’t like being hit. I get very very angry when somebody hits me.

The man strips and strokes Arnaud, tenderly at first then digging his fingernails

into nipple and buttocks, making Arnaud grin and moan with pleasure. “Yeah. Oh
that’s good, yeah.”

He glances at me. “I got me an idea. Get over here, bitch, and lie down. I’m gonna

get double the pleasure out of this.”

Apparently I’m too slow in responding because Arnaud grabs my hair and drags

me onto the bed, making my eyes water. And incidentally ratcheting up my temper
even higher.

He is so finished in my book.

33

Sahara Kelly

Climbing over me, he thrusts his ass at his guest. “She always wants a condom,

stupid bitch. You got one handy?”

“Never leave home without ‘em.” The other man giggles and sheathes Arnaud as

he hovers over me, hands deft and sure. “That feel good, big boy? My, you got a helluva
cock on you. I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna want a piece of that in a bit.”

Arnaud grins and I see his face, eyes wild now, sweat damping his hair. “There’s

more’n enough to go around. Right, cunt?” He stares at me.

“Yes.” I stare back, expressionless. I owe him nothing now. He’ll get what he wants

from my body but the games are over.

He’s going to fuck me while the other man fucks him up the ass. A three-way I’ve

done before, but only when anticipated and sanctioned.

This is neither and is unforgivable.
I’m still wet enough to bear Arnaud’s penetration, a thrust of his cock deep between

my legs as they dangle over the end of the bed. And I can feel his body shift as the other
man begins to fuck Arnaud’s ass.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Arnaud’s eyes glaze as a cock begins to move inside him and

he looks down absently at me. “Shit. That’s something else…”

Yeah. It’s the absolute last time you’re going to look in my face while you fuck me,

you bastard. You’d better hope it’s also the last time you ever see me. I hold grudges
when it comes to somebody screwing with my work.

Arnaud’s gaze focuses on me as his body moves in rhythm with his anal buddy. “I

never had a three-way with a fag and a whore before.” He’s slurring his words now.
“It’s fucking cool.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. “I want more.” He dips his head and tries to kiss me.
Without even thinking about it, I turn my head away.
Arnaud doesn’t like that. “If I wanna kiss your slut mouth, I’m going to, you hear?”

He grabs my chin hard and forces my head back, pushing his mouth down to mine and
thrusting his tongue between my lips, helped by a particularly energetic push from
behind him.

I nearly gag. He invades my mouth, slurping his way around my teeth, trying to get

my tongue to move with his. I refuse to submit to this.

“Fucking bitch. Too good to kiss me but good enough to suck my cock.” He lifts his

head leaving my face covered with his spittle. “Whore.” A twist of anger crosses his
face even as he groans and sways. The other man is crooning now, thudding
rhythmically into Arnaud’s ass.

I say nothing. There is nothing to say. Yes would be the truth, but definitely unwise.
Apparently, anything is unwise at this moment, even saying nothing.
Arnaud lifts one hand and punches me in the ribs. “Fucking cunt. I never did like

you. Too fancy, too prissy. You’re a fucking slut, a whore. That’s all. You’re dirt, you
cunt.”

34

Perfect Whore

He punches me again, hard enough to take my breath away and make me stifle a

scream.

Fortunately, at that moment, the guy behind him goes real deep and comes,

bringing Arnaud with him. I feel Arnaud’s cock throbbing inside me although the
sensation is offset by the battering pain radiating from my side.

Tears are leaking from my eyes into my hair and my eyes are squeezed shut. For

one of the few times I can remember, I am afraid. This may turn out to be really really
bad.

I face that possibility every time I leave my home for an appointment with a client.

But I put my faith in the people for whom I work. Up to now, in the three years I’ve
been with them, that faith has only been misplaced once.

Now it’s twice, although in all honesty I cannot blame anyone. Not even myself,

although I should have been more alert to the possibility of drugs earlier in the evening
maybe.

Who knows?
At this point, my objective is to leave. And as quickly as possible.
Arnaud collapses heavily on top of me, a weight my bruised body could do without

right at this moment. And he doesn’t move.

Gingerly I ease myself from beneath him and glance at his playmate who lifts an

eyebrow. “If you’re wanting to leave, you might as well do it now. He’s out for a bit I
think, but I don’t know how long it’ll last.”

Not waiting a second, I scramble clear of the bed and reach for my clothes. “Thanks.

I believe this would be a good time.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep him busy for the rest of the night or at least until the high

wears off.”

I fasten my bra. “You know he’s on stuff?”
“Yep.” The man looks unconcerned. “What the hell. A fuck’s a fuck, right? Gotta

make a living. Being a waiter doesn’t cover the bills. This kind of room service pays a
shitload better.” He shrugs.

I wince as I pull my clothes on and pray Arnaud didn’t break a rib. I try not to look

at him as I dress, not wanting to know if he’s even alive at this point. If he is, I might be
tempted to kill him with a convenient butter knife or at least leave him a souvenir. My
initials carved in his hairy ass.

“Well, have a good night.” What else does one say? I’m dressed and want out of

there, quickly. “Be careful, okay?”

The other man nods. “Sure thing. I’ll lock the door when you’re gone.”
That wasn’t what I meant, but I’m not about to stay and explain myself. I can’t leave

fast enough and I have to force myself to make sure I have all my possessions. I retrieve
my tube of warming lube, slip into my coat and scarf and zip up my travel bag.

Now I’m ready. “Bye. I’d say nice meeting you, but that’s a bit redundant isn’t it?”

35

Sahara Kelly

The other man just shrugs. “Whatever.”
The door closes on him and I’m in the hotel corridor, in pain but breathing easier all

the same.

There’s a restroom on the lobby floor and it’s the first place I go. A touch of makeup

hides the bruise on my face for now. It’ll color up soon, but tonight I can conceal it. I
brush my teeth. Twice. A swipe with the hairbrush, a stylish twist to my scarf and you
wouldn’t know what’s hidden underneath.

Seriously battered ribs, an ass that will turn purple in a few hours and a face that’s

going to show the aftereffects of a man’s fist. I’m hiding them all as I catch a cab and
head for the airport. I’ll have to wait a while for the first shuttle, but I can use the time
to call ahead for a car to meet me at the other end.

Waiting at a dark and empty airport seems like heaven right now, since this has

been one of the rare nights when being a whore is hell.

Am I angry and in pain? Yes.
Would I stop doing it because men like Arnaud slip through the cracks and into my

cunt? No.

It’s my job. If I were a rancher, I could get stomped by cattle. A truck driver can run

off the road. A police officer or firefighter could suffer a lot worse and frequently they
do. For a lot less money too. Ironic when you think about it.

There are risks to life, regardless of what one chooses to do for a living. I sigh as I

sink into my first-class seat on the early shuttle.

Fortunately only my body is damaged.
My clients never touch the rest of me.

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Perfect Whore

Chapter Three

Ash’s gaze was stern and laced with concern as he opened the car door for her at

the airport. He said nothing until they were both comfortably enclosed within the warm
security of the limo.

“You need a doctor?”
His voice was gruff and Scarlet found her eyes stinging with tears. His abrupt

question pierced her self-control better than all the fussing and mothering in the world
would have done.

“No, thanks for asking. Nothing serious, thank God. Nothing that won’t respond to

an aspirin or two.”

“If you say so.” Ash looked unconvinced but slipped the car into gear. “Let’s get

you home then.” He did, silently and efficiently, allowing Scarlet the time to gather her
thoughts in the back seat.

She’d slept for the short flight, or most of it anyway. She’d taken three aspirin as

soon as she got on board and they’d helped. But they wouldn’t last that long. Home
was where she needed to be and she sighed with relief as her apartment building
loomed into sight.

Her legs were stiff and her ribs sore as she eased herself out of the car. But there

was something she needed to say. “Ash, in case I haven’t mentioned it recently, I’m real
happy to see your face when you come to drive me anywhere. There isn’t anybody else
I’d rather have behind the wheel. Just wanted you to know how grateful I am.” She
summoned up the dregs of a smile.

He didn’t smile back, though. He just let his gaze wander over her face, lingering

on the puffy lip she was trying her best to conceal.

“You’re good people, Miz Scarlet. A friend more than a customer. I don’t like it

when bad things happen to good people.”

“Neither do I, Ash. Neither do I.” She took the handle of her carry-on from Ash,

wheels locked and ready to trundle. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. Might take a few days for
myself.”

“You do that. I’ll be here if you need me.” He turned away then, sliding back into

the limo. “I’ll wait ‘til you’re inside.”

She grinned at that, trying not to wince at the pain from her split lip. “See you soon.

Drive safe.”

He nodded and she hurried through the doors, eager now for the safety and

security of her own apartment where she could relax. And think.

And write a couple of emails.

37

Sahara Kelly

One large cup of tea, three more aspirin and a careful shower later, she was sitting

at her laptop in her robe, composing the first email. It was routine in some ways. Scarlet
was required to file a report as soon as possible following each appointment. Normally
it was brief and merely confirmed that the engagement had taken place. Sometimes a
client’s preferences were noted, subtly and in a language only those familiar with the
nature of the engagement would understand.

This time, it was going to be a bit more detailed.
Dear Rose, it began. Rose was the current name of her “handler”, her liaison with the

company management. Rose’s official title was Administrative Director and Scarlet’s
emails would be phrased appropriately. She had no idea who Rose actually was, but
she’d been assured that these emails were securely encrypted. She still deleted them
and wiped her drive regularly, though.

As requested, I attended the recent Washington meeting. I believe our customer was

satisfied with our presentation, up to a point. It was a surprise to find that his close associate,
Tina, was present and she made some major contributions to the proceedings that influenced the

outcome.

It was extremely unlikely that Rose, or anybody else who read this email, would be

unfamiliar with such a common street nickname for crystal meth when used in such a
context.

Scarlet continued. It was quite exhausting, as you may imagine. With the unscheduled

addition of an extra right-hand man as well, our customer certainly seemed to dominate the
meeting.

There. That should do it.
I’m not sure if further meetings with this client will be productive, but I leave that to your

discretion. Yours, S. Angel.

It was brief, but it said everything Scarlet needed “Rose” to know. That Arnaud had

used crystal meth and brought in an unauthorized third party. That he’d violated some
of the fundamental rules of which he was well aware. She might get a request for
additional information, but probably not. There were other ways to verify her assertions
and doubtless the company would utilize them.

Scarlet thought it unlikely his name would ever be green-lighted again, at least not

by her organization. They could afford to be selective and insist their regulations be
observed. Certainly the customer was paying through his well-funded nose, but he was
buying the most discretion available in this day and age, along with top quality
merchandise.

Like Scarlet Angel. And all the perks that she brought with her. Abusing that

purchase wasn’t acceptable.

Scarlet sent the email and sighed. She was aching now, from head to foot. Her face

was still puffy, her ribs sore as hell. But she could breathe without pain, which meant
nothing was broken.

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Her ass was probably black and blue—in fact there would most likely be some

other colorful bruises appearing soon. She frowned. Looked like she was going to be
out of action for a little while.

Then she checked her calendar. Fortunately, her “red” days were almost on her.
In spite of all the advances of modern science and medicine, women still

menstruated. They could, as of recently, think about reducing the number of their
periods down to four a year, give or take, with the help of a new pharmaceutical
miracle pill.

It might help, but it wasn’t something Scarlet had gotten around to considering yet.

She also wasn’t on the “red” list, the select group of women who would willingly
engage in sex during their periods with customers who liked that particular time.

Some men did. Since it was of no interest to Scarlet, she hadn’t really bothered to

wonder why. Asking questions like that led to too many other questions, none of which
pertained to her.

She knew she could compartmentalize things—in fact she compartmentalized her

entire life. Very well indeed. She was proud of the ability and knew it was an asset to a
whore. It eliminated so much unnecessary thinking time, time that was better spent
focusing on what she needed to learn, to schedule and to plan. Time that paid off most
gratifyingly in each and every automatic deposit made to her account.

Her eye fell on the mysterious letter tucked into her hall mirror.
Shit. She simply had to open it and read it. This wasn’t something she could put off

for more than the day already passed.

Scarlet took the envelope into the kitchen, poured another cup of tea and slit the

fold, pulling out two sheets of businesslike paper.

One was a letter, addressed to her attorney.
We regret to inform you and your client, Ms. Angel Jones, of the passing of Doreen Flavia

Jones.

Oh God. Aunt Dodo.
Scarlet slumped down at her kitchen table, her heart heavy and tears clouding her

vision. The dear old lady who had been her last direct family member was gone. She’d
outlived her brother—Scarlet’s father—by several years.

Shit. It was one damn thing on top of another. Scarlet gulped her tea, barely tasting it as

she skimmed the legal stuff contained in the rest of the letter. The other paper turned
out to be a certified something-or-other, attesting to the fact that Aunt Dodo’s will was
now in the capable hands of her designated attorney and executor, member of the firm
of Hatfield, Hatfield and Simms.

Scarlet knew this. She’d set up the whole deal when she’d assumed Aunt Dodo’s

mortgage behind her back and paid the thing off. Steven Hatfield had been cautious,
discreet and helped her arrange matters so that Aunt Dodo could continue to occupy

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the small cottage where she’d lived quite happily with her assorted cats for nearly five
decades.

Aunt Dodo hadn’t ever known exactly what had gone on with those legal matters.

The darling was not financially savvy, bless her, so Scarlet had been able to quietly take
care of her beloved relative without running the risk of damaging the old lady’s pride.
Aunt Dodo assumed that the bank took care of it all for her, since it had been doing so
for as long as she could remember.

Her memory wasn’t that strong and she’d had no idea her trust fund was as low as

it was.

Scarlet sighed. Aunt Dodo had lived a long and wonderful life and had apparently

passed quietly in her sleep after a night in hospital brought on by pneumonia.

She had been eighty-seven years old.
Scarlet put the papers neatly back in their envelope and readjusted her mental

schedule to accommodate a trip out of town. This would certainly be good timing. She
could heal, do something useful with herself while she was out of commission and take
care of the details arising from Aunt Dodo’s death.

Shortly afterward, she laid her head on her folded arms and wept quietly.

* * * * *

The car sped smoothly along the highway. Scarlet drove well when she chose to,

although most of the time she was quite content to let others take the wheel. But this
trip required she slip off the cloak of glamour and leave the trappings of wealth behind.
Which included a car and driver.

She’d made arrangements for a little time off—coming after the Arnaud episode,

her request had been immediately approved. Two weeks or so should be sufficient,
Scarlet guessed, figuring that the funeral would be first on the agenda followed by the
necessary time spent with her aunt’s attorneys settling the details of the will.

So here she was, in her rented sports car, heading northwest into the countryside

and the small town Aunt Dodo had called home for so long.

It had been over a year since Scarlet had been out there. She loved her aunt but still

felt uncomfortable surrounded by the soft, homey trappings that reminded her of her
youth. Her infrequent visits had been brief, but they’d chatted on the phone now and
again. Scarlet sent a photo or two when she went somewhere interesting and that had
been the extent of their contact.

As always, Scarlet felt guilty, even though rationally she knew she didn’t need to.
Aunt Dodo understood her like nobody else ever had.
Oh not the whore business. That was utterly private. But Doreen Jones had been a

free spirit in her youth and able to compartmentalize things much like Scarlet. It had
been Aunt Dodo who had pointed out that fact to a young Scarlet and she’d done it

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with pride, saying it was the one Jones gene she was very glad to see hadn’t skipped a
generation.

How Doreen could have had a staid and sober-minded brother like Scarlet’s father

was anybody’s guess.

Both her parents had passed away several years before. Scarlet missed them still, of

course. Such a loss never really healed, just scarred over, leaving a sore and empty pit in
one’s soul.

But Scarlet had been a change-of-life baby, a surprise—albeit a welcome one—to

both. There were no other children, so the Joneses had lavished their affections on their
little Angel. Older than the norm for parents, they’d probably raised her a little
differently and Scarlet often wondered what she’d be today had she been born to a
couple in their twenties instead of their late forties. Or, in her father’s case, early fifties.

When a drugged up maniac behind the wheel of a pickup truck had lost patience

with the elderly driver and forced her parents’ car to the side of the road where it had
collided with a concrete barrier…well, Scarlet’s familiar world ended, even though by
then she’d left most of it behind.

There was only Aunt Dodo to hold her hand at their funeral.
And now she would have to stand alone to say goodbye to Aunt Dodo. She sighed

as the miles slid past.

This would be difficult at best, horribly painful at worst. Even more painful for

Scarlet since she couldn’t seem to find the strength to tuck these emotions away into a
conveniently locked room in her brain the way she did with other matters.

She would have to rely on her practical streak. Yes, she would need time to grieve

and to mourn her loss. She would permit herself that time. There would also have to be
time spent at the lawyer’s office, settling a lot of little details. Tidying up the minutiae of
one woman’s life. Putting the period after the end of Doreen Jones’ presence on earth.

All this would be a challenge but would be accomplished, Scarlet knew without a

doubt. Her life had taught her she was capable of most everything she set her mind to.
She would—well, not exactly breeze through the upcoming days but certainly manage
to deal with them as best she could.

As she exited the highway and took the well-remembered lanes leading to Bothwell

Valley, Scarlet knew the biggest challenge ahead of her was more about what she
wasn’t going to do, rather than what she was going to do.

She wasn’t going to bring anything with her that didn’t belong in this small town.

That included most of her identity. She hadn’t grown up here. Her only contact with it
had been the odd day or two spent with Aunt Dodo. Nobody really knew her, so her
decision should be easy to maintain.

From this point on, the bridge over the Both River and the outskirts of the town,

Scarlet Angel was no more.

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Angel Jones was behind the wheel of the rented Mercedes as it drove quietly into

town and came to a halt in the driveway of Aunt Dodo’s cottage, ticking over and
looking more than a little out of place next to the straggling boxwood hedge and pots of
flowering herbs.

It was Angel Jones who got out of the car, stretched, reached in for her suitcase and

walked firmly up the worn front steps to the porch.

Angel Jones remembered that Aunt Dodo always kept a spare key under the

wrought iron boot scraper and Angel Jones’ hand unlocked the front door.

Scarlet Angel had ceased to exist.
It was Angel Jones who spent the rest of the day mourning her departed aunt.
And it was Angel Jones who didn’t pay as much attention as she should have when

backing out of Aunt Dodo’s driveway the next morning, only to find her rear fender
crumpled by a firm crunch from a massive four-by-four SUV.

With official looking lights on it.
Whether the words from her mouth were Angel’s or Scarlet’s, didn’t really matter

at that point.

They were pretty damn foul either way.

* * * * *

I can’t remember the last time I saw a truck that big without some kind of oversized

load warning plastered across the side of it. What the hell it’s doing on this quiet little
road I have no clue.

And I’m not real thrilled it just hit me. Especially since I’m getting the evil eye from

its driver.

“Are you crazy, lady? You ever hear of looking before you back into the street?”
Okay. That pretty much does it for me. It hasn’t been the greatest few days, all

things considered, and my fuse has just about run out. This is not a good time of the
month for this to happen.

“Look, you idiot. I’m not the one driving something the size of an assault vehicle at

dangerous speeds down a civilian street. If there’s a terrorist cell lurking in one of these
little houses and you’re planning on wiping them all out, I reckon there ought to be a
few more warning signs or a roadblock. Something to stop assholes like you from
ramming ordinary people.”

Yeah, I’m pissed. Pissed that now I’ve got to deal with all the crap paperwork the

rental company’s gonna throw at me along with all the other stuff on my plate. Pissed
enough to put my fists firmly on my hips and glare at this guy as he rounds the back of
Mount Sixteen-Cylinder-Monster toward me.

Fucking shit. The tires alone have to be about three feet in diameter. Does this guy have

major penis issues or what?

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“For a cute gal, you sure got a dirty mouth on you.”
He has the gall to lean casually against the tailgate or whatever he calls it. And he’s

tall too. Tall, lean and built very nicely, thank you.

Of course, I’m not going to let him know I happen to find his particular body shape

in any way appealing. “I think under the circumstances, I can be forgiven a swear word
or two.” I look away from his really, really nice body and down at the now less-than-
really nice fender of my car. “Shit.”

I can hear his boots crunching on the bits of glass from my taillight as he walks over

and stands next to me. “Yeah. Shit about says it.”

“Sorry might help too.” I’m still seething. “I backed out slowly. I checked both

ways. You weren’t in either of ‘em. Thus you must have been speeding.” I bite down on
my temper and risk a glance at his face.

Fuck, the good-looks fairy must have had an orgasm when she made this one. He’s

rugged in that ultra-masculine sort of way, with a strong chin, nice full lips and eyes—
hell, the phrase “bedroom eyes” leaps into my mind and sits there, kicking its heels on
the rung of its chair.

Those eyes are looking me over and I get an odd little churning in my belly. Low in

my belly. Places that don’t usually churn, at least not for Scarlet Angel.

Apparently Angel Jones isn’t immune to bedroom eyes.
“I always told Jonesy she needed to trim that hedge.” He nods at the straggly

boxwood that lines the driveway and yes, may well have obscured my view of the
entire road, even the large bit he might have been on. “You her niece? Angel?”

I shift my head, turning away from his gaze. “Yes. I’m here for her funeral.”
“I’m sorry. I liked her a lot. She’ll be missed.” I can hear the humor creep into his

voice. “She’d have been shocked at your language though.” He tsked his tongue against
his teeth. “Such words from the mouth of an angel.”

I look back at him sharply. “Who the hell are you?”
“Name’s Ramsey.”
“That tells me a lot.” I snort, surprising myself. I don’t usually do something as silly

as snort. But, as I mentioned before, I’m still damn pissed at him.

He’s too close. I can smell him, something elementary, something masculine—

maybe a hint of smoky wood fires. I don’t know, it eludes me. I need some space so I
stride over to the front of his mammoth hulking thing.

Sure enough, other than a slight scraping of black paint from my car, it looks

pristine. I could swear it smirks at me. “So you want insurance information or
something?” I spin around and there he is, close behind me.

“I want to watch your ass in those jeans some more, is what I want.” He grins

wickedly. “You sure are poetry in motion, babe.”

“Look, you can lose the come-on lines, okay? I’m immune.” I try my icy gaze on

him, the one that’s supposed to freeze a man in his tracks and usually does.

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Apparently he’s immune too, since all he does is move closer, forcing me backward

until I’m slap up against the door of his SUV.

“Immune? Hmm.” His eyes drift over my body.
I tingle again. I hate this tingle. I want it to go away. I want him to go away. And

what’s worse is that I have this nasty suspicion he knows exactly what’s in my mind.
And possibly elsewhere.

“You’re not immune. I can see your pulse throbbing…here.” He touches the base of

my throat with one finger. “Who are you, Angel Jones?”

“What do you mean who am I? You know who I am.”
“I know your name. I know Jonesy used to brag about her niece with the high-

powered job in the big city. I know you’re single—no ring. I know this must be a rental
car because if it was yours, I’d be dead in the street with a hatpin through my heart or
something and you’d be under arrest for murder right now.” He chuckles. “And given
that I know how Chief Murdock feels about these particular sports cars, he’d probably
let you off with a warning and dispose of my body himself.”

I fight to stop a smile from curving my mouth. He’s sure got an interesting way of

expressing himself. “Don’t tempt me.”

“You tempt me, babe. Those jeans are custom made. No question. You drive a fifty-

thousand-dollar car and wear clothes that sure as shit never saw the checkout at Wal-
Mart’s. You ooze something that’s getting me all fired up here and hungry for more and
it’s not just that expensive perfume I can barely smell. So I’ll ask again. Who the hell are
you?”

He’s waaaay close now, almost leaning against me, forcing me back to the rigid

metal of his SUV and I don’t like it. “Look, buddy. Ramsey. Whatever your name is. I’m
not here to tempt anybody. I’m here to take care of business. I know your type, the
‘God’s gift to women’ delusion you’re apparently having. It may work for the local
girls—but it doesn’t work for me. I don’t like you. In fact, I’m pretty fucking pissed at
you right now.”

He leans even closer, pressing against me, a solid heat from breast to thigh. It does

appear I’ve got him fired up since there’s a log sticking out of the blaze. A real nice hard
log.

“There you go talking dirty again.” His mouth curls up either side. “It turns me

on.”

I suck in a breath, which is a bad idea since my breasts are plastered against his

chest. “I don’t care what turns you on.”

“I know. Maybe that’s what’s doing it. I dunno.” He stares at me and I see his eyes

up close, a mix of greens and browns and heated gold flecks. “Something sure is.” His
hips move a little into me and I feel his cock beneath his fly.

He’s hard, all right. He’s not lying—he is turned on.
What’s worse? So am I.

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I can’t deny it, certainly not to myself. But I’ll be damned if I let him know it. “So

you get your kicks from smashing cars and pushing women around?”

He grinned. “Pushing you around? Oh I don’t think so. That would be rude. This—

this is fun.”

He’s close now, close enough to kiss me if he just lowers his head a tiny bit. An

instant choke of denial rises up in my throat, but I can’t move, can’t turn my head this
time. For some reason he’s got me where he wants me, mesmerized like a snake’s next
meal.

Perhaps—perhaps I want this. One crazy moment on a sunny, quiet street when I

get myself kissed like any girl-next-door by the town stud.

I stare at him, considering the options, trying to separate the sudden unusual urge

to taste him from the fury that even now is raging inside me.

The jerk. He hit my fucking car. And now he’s acting like I’m his for the taking?
“Some women would have kneed me in the crotch by now if they hadn’t wanted

this.” His breath is warm and minty and about two millimeters from my mouth. “A lot
of ‘em would probably have screamed themselves hoarse.” He shrugs and I feel the
movement right through my breasts to my toes.

They curl. They damn frickin’ well curl inside my shoes. “I’m not most women.”
He thought about that, still closer to me than my bra. “Yeah, I’ll agree there. You’re

not most women. I don’t know what it is, but you’re unique. Must be pheromones or
something.”

His gaze drops to my lips and I can’t help but lick them.
“Or perhaps it’s just that you’re a horny jerk taking advantage of the woman whose

car you just hit.” Godfuckingdammit. Kiss me if you’re going to.

“Uh uh. I don’t take advantage of women. More often than not they take advantage

of me.”

“Yeah. You being so damned sweet and charming. I can just imagine how long that

line must be.” I hiss the words at him. If steam could come out of a woman’s ears it
would be coming out of mine right now.

If he doesn’t move—doesn’t do something—doesn’t goddamn kiss me—
I’m so mad I could spit and so turned on I’m close to digging his cock out from his

jeans and putting it where it would do the most good. He’s gotten to me on some
elemental level I don’t understand, don’t like and don’t know how to deal with.

He’s sexy, aggravating, over-confident and a royal pain in the ass. Why the fuck I

want to kiss him I haven’t a clue. I stare into his eyes trying to get a grip on all this shit
that’s trekking mud through my brains and leaving a mess behind.

I want his mouth on mine. I want to touch his tongue and feel his cock hard against

my pussy. A wave of arousal takes my breath from me and mingles with my anger
turning me inside out.

All this from five minutes with a man I don’t like. Fuck.

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And it’s got to stop. This is so not what I want right now.
I twist my head away and can’t help panting a little, fighting a private battle with

myself as I tamp down that overwhelming need to plaster my mouth to his.

The bastard knows it too. He makes a huge mistake. He grins at me. “Yeah. I’ll bet

you kiss like the Angel you’re named for, babe.”

I push at him. “Get off me, you frickin’ hulk. And take your mouth with you.” He

obligingly steps back, still grinning though to my annoyance. I also try to ignore the
sense of loss I feel as the cool air touches me instead of him. “Your caveman technique
may work with other women, but it doesn’t do a thing for me.” I smooth my clothes
and dredge up a scowl from somewhere. “Now either give me your insurance papers or
get the fuck away from me.”

I’m a little surprised—and more than a little disappointed—when he obeys. “Don’t

need papers. I have no damage. Your rental company will take care of your bump.
That’s what you’ve got the deductible insurance for. You did take that out, didn’t you?”

I lift an eyebrow. “I’m not a complete idiot.”
“I know that, babe. I just haven’t decided yet what you are.” He walks away and I

move back to my car, thankful to put some space between us at last. It’s too much to
hope that it’s the end of our conversation, of course. Not for a man like him.

He looks over his shoulder. “I’ll know better when I get you naked.”
“Hah.” This time the snort is deliberate. “In your dreams.”
“For now, maybe. But before too long…” He whistles through his teeth. “You’re so

mine, hot stuff.”

The throaty roar of his massive engine drowns out any response I might have

wanted to make even if I could think of one.

Fucking arrogant asshole. One near-kiss and he thinks I’m gonna drop my clothes and

jump his bones? Man’s got an ego the size of Bolivia.

I stare at my car and try to remember where I was going in it in the first place,

before all the almost-kissing stuff threw me for a loop. I’m rattled, more than a little
turned on and pretty disgusted at myself.

I’m not a woman who responds to the chest-thumping school of seduction. I’m not

a woman who responds at all unless I choose to and even then, it’s careful, guarded and
totally under my control.

Or perhaps it’s under Scarlet’s control, because Angel Jones is having a helluva

hard time with it.

For the first time I wonder if coming to Bothwell Valley was a wise idea. And if

leaving Scarlet Angel outside the city limits might not have been the most foolish notion
of all.

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Chapter Four

Several days later, Angel walked into the homey offices of Hatfield, Hatfield and

Simms. At one time it had been a large residence and that ambience still lingered in the
flowers scenting the parlor-turned-reception area and the comfortably worn carpeting
on the wooden floors.

She smiled at the woman seated behind an efficient-looking desk. “Hello. I have an

appointment with Mr. Hatfield?”

The woman smiled back. “Ah yes. You’ll be Ms. Jones? Doreen’s niece?”
Angel nodded.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, dear. We all loved Doreen a lot and she’ll be very much

missed in this town.”

“Thank you.” Angel accepted the sentiment. She’d heard it a lot over the past few

days. It said much for her aunt that so many people had gone out of their way to let
Angel know how they’d felt at her passing. “You know about the memorial service?”

“I do indeed.” She smiled a little. “My husband’s the pastor. He’ll be giving the

homily.”

Angel rolled her eyes. “Gosh, I’m so sorry. Mrs. Armstrong?” She held out her

hand. “Forgive me. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Glancing at her phone bank, the woman shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. And I’m

sorry to keep you waiting—he’s on the phone, but he should be done any minute.
Won’t you sit down?”

Angel took a chair opposite the desk, smoothing her cream linen pants carefully as

she crossed her knees. “I’m in your debt. You and your husband have really worked so
hard for Aunt Dodo. Thank you.”

Mrs. Armstrong sighed. “We did love her, you know. Such a vibrant character.

Right up until the end.”

Angel nodded and for the next few minutes underwent a delicately phrased

inquisition about her life and her plans for the future. All of which she fielded with
aplomb, answering with half-truths and sketchy details about her “job” in the big city.

She’d kept her clothing somber but smart, sticking to her favorite navy blue jacket,

cream blouse and cream pants. Nothing that screamed Paris or Milan, but each piece
well cut and comfortable. She was, after all, about to visit a lawyer. And for business
matters, not for drinks later.

Angel didn’t mind the gentle prying but was stumped by the question about Aunt

Dodo’s property. She hadn’t really given much thought about what she was going to do
with it.

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“Well, you have plenty of time to make that decision, dear.” Mrs. Armstrong

reached out and pushed a button. “Mr. Hatfield? Ms. Jones is here.”

“Send her in please, Jessie.”
The voice that came over the speaker was distorted but didn’t sound a whole lot

like the Steven Hatfield Angel remembered. Still, it had been quite a while ago…

She stood and smiled at Mrs. Armstrong. “Thanks again. For your sympathy and

your good advice. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon—at the service if not before.”

“Yes indeed. I’ll make certain you meet some of Doreen’s friends too.”
Angel moved to the only door leading from the little office and heard no shout from

the front desk. Obviously this was where she’d find Steven Hatfield.

She tapped and walked in.
Okay. This wasn’t Mr. Hatfield’s office. “I’m sorry. I must have come in the wrong

door.”

A tall handsome blond man was rising from behind a desk cluttered with papers,

files and an open laptop. He smiled. “Ms. Jones? No mistake.”

“You’re not Mr. Hatfield.” Angel blinked.
“Yes I am.”
“No you’re not.”
“I am. Really. Look.” He pulled out his wallet, extracted a sliver of plastic and

passed her his driver’s license. “See? The state vouches for me.”

“But…” Angel frowned at the name. “Guy Hatfield? I was expecting Steven

Hatfield.”

“My dad. He retired last year. I’m the only Hatfield left now, but it seemed wrong

to take him off the letterhead. Sort of unbalanced, you know? Hatfield and Simms?
More like shoe salesmen than attorneys.”

Angel couldn’t help the laugh. It bubbled up inside her at the absurdity of this

entire conversation. And she also couldn’t help a little dart of feminine satisfaction as
Mr. Guy Hatfield swallowed and let his gaze drift over her.

Then he laughed too. “Well, now that introductions are over—” He waved her to a

chair and sat down again. “My sympathies. Although you’ve probably heard it before,
Doreen was a much-loved member of this little community.”

Angel tilted her head in acknowledgement. “I’m finding that out. I will miss her

terribly and it seems I’m not the only one. It helps a little to realize how much people
liked her.”

“You know, of course, that you are the executor of her estate…”
As the conversation turned to legal matters, Angel took the opportunity to observe

Guy. He wasn’t unlike his father in a few ways she could identify. They shared similar
intensely blue eyes and Junior had a tiny indentation that had probably been a dimple
in his left cheek when he was little—just like Hatfield Senior.

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This environment suited him. He seemed comfortable in a relatively small messy

office, yet could easily have been at home in the corporate headquarters of any New
York law firm.

Something else he shared with his father, apparently, since Angel had met Steven

Hatfield in just such a place—a lofty suite in a high-rise borrowed from a colleague for
their meeting.

“So it’s really not too complex, I guess, all things considered.” Guy leaned back in

his chair. “Any questions?”

Angel grinned. “Only about a million or so.”
Guy smiled back. “Sorry. The legal stuff does get overwhelming, doesn’t it?

Especially at times like these.”

“I miss her terribly, Mr. Hatfield, don’t get me wrong. But this day was inevitable.

One can’t really prepare for it, but it is sort of expected, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Practical. I like that. And I’d also like it if you called me Guy. Yes, the

grief is there, but it’s good that you and my father got a lot of the nitty-gritty organized
a while back. Bless Doreen—she was a riot, no two ways about it—but not the most
clearheaded woman when it came to money.”

Angel thought for a moment. “If I understand all this correctly, I have inherited

everything, yes? Including the cottage?”

“That’s right. It’s all set up to transfer automatically to you after we’ve filed the

appropriate paperwork. The debt is negligible, you could continue making the
payments on the tax balance as the title will be reissued to reflect you as sole owner.
You could pay it off if you’re inclined…lots of options here.”

“Okay. That’s what I thought.” Angel folded her hands in her lap. Now she really

did have to make some decisions. “I’ve been sorting through Aunt Dodo’s stuff for the
last couple of days. Most of it is pretty well-worn and not really anything I’d like to
keep for myself. If you can put me in touch with some charitable organization or
something—somewhere that might take donations?”

“Jessie’s the best resource there.” Guy nodded at the door. “She’s got her finger in a

bunch of different pies.”

“Excellent.” Angel heaved a sigh of relief. “There are a few things I’ll be keeping of

course…”

“And the property? Will you hold on to that?” Guy watched her over steepled

fingertips.

She met his blue gaze. “I don’t know, Guy. I haven’t really thought that far ahead

yet.”

“How long are you planning on staying?” His expression didn’t change, but Angel

detected a tiny flicker of something in back of his eyes, an interest that might well be
over and above the attorney-client thing.

“I’ve given myself about two weeks or so…”

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“Good. That should be enough time.”
“For what?” Angel raised an eyebrow.
“To persuade you to have dinner with me. To talk to you. To watch you drink

wine.” His lips curved into a wicked grin. “To seduce you.”

“Good lord.” Angel couldn’t help the laugh. “That’s blunt.”
“The time constraint doesn’t leave me much choice.”
“But you’re my lawyer. Isn’t that in violation of some oath you took? Some rule

about not seducing clients?”

“That’s doctors. Lawyers can do what they want.”
“Funny. I’d heard that. Not always in a good way, either.” She blinked innocently

at him, enjoying this light flirtation.

He grinned back. He really was a charming man, outrageous perhaps, but without

that sleazy taint so many lawyers she’d met at one time or another seemed to possess.
And he was very attractive.

Yes, Angel was enjoying this moment. It was something new, something different—

or perhaps something she’d forgotten. The tiny flares of interest between a man and a
woman. The possibility that those sparks might erupt into a blaze or wither into ashes.

Whatever it was, she responded to it without hesitation. Guy Hatfield appealed to

her. His humor, his intelligence, his appearance—all met with Angel’s approval.

“So will you have dinner with me? Tonight?” He was still watching her, relaxed,

amused and perhaps a teeny bit aroused if his eyes were to be believed. He certainly
liked what he saw, of that Angel had no doubt.

What did she have to lose?
“Wasting no time, I see.” She met his gaze. “Yes. I think I’d like that.”
He nodded and shifted in his chair. “Excellent. Why don’t I pick you up around

seven and we’ll go to Mama Sophia’s. You like Italian?”

“Who doesn’t?” Angel chuckled.
“Great. You’ll love this place then. It’s not dressy or formal, but the food is beyond

wonderful.”

Angel stood. “It’s a date.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which is probably an appalling

thing to say at the end of a meeting with one’s lawyer.”

Guy stood too and reached for her hand across the desk, surprising her by raising it

to his lips and dropping a kiss on her knuckles. “I’m not your lawyer—I’m your aunt’s.”

“That makes a difference?” She watched him holding her hand.
“Oh yeah. Definitely.” His tongue delicately brushed her skin. “Most definitely.”
She lifted her chin. “I take it the seduction has begun.”
“Bet on it, Angel Jones.” He released her. “To be continued tonight.”

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Angel left the room, knowing his gaze was still on her body—knowing that she’d

caught a glimpse of something hard stirring and growing beneath his neatly pressed
slacks.

And she smiled.

* * * * *

I have a date!
It’s a strange sensation for me. An honest, genuine date with a nice man—a lawyer.

It’s rather appropriate I suppose, since it’s what every mother wants for her
daughter…either a doctor or a lawyer. Or maybe a plumber.

It’s unexpected and rather delightful. An adventure perhaps, a chance to experience

life in the “normal” lane, whatever that may be. I’ve surprised myself by accepting and
shocked myself even more by looking forward to it.

It seems I have really managed to leave Scarlet behind for a while. It must be

something in the country air that’s turned me into this everyday woman walking beside
her handsome date anticipating good food, pleasant company and the possibility of a
flirtation.

I chuckle as Guy leads me to our table in the restaurant.
“Happy?” His hand is warm on my arm.
“Just an amusing thought.” I smile at Mama Sophia who clearly knows Guy well

and was a friend of my aunt’s. I’m made to feel right at home as soon as we step inside.
The smells alone start my stomach rumbling.

Guy was right. If the fragrance is anything to go by, the food will indeed be superb.
I let Guy order, nodding as he instinctively bypasses the garlic-laden offerings to

settle on antipasto and fettuccini alfredo along with Mama’s special veal parmesan.

Mama seems disappointed that I won’t be having my aunt’s favorite pizza.

Apparently Aunt Dodo liked anything and everything laden with anchovies. That
woman continues to delight me even though she’s no longer with me.

I chat with Guy—he’s easy to talk to, knowing the right things to say, to ask—he

introduces me to several people who stop at our table and I find myself again thanking
them for their condolences.

I almost feel guilty enjoying myself, so quickly on the heels of Aunt Dodo’s death.

But I am. Enjoying myself, that is.

It’s been a while since I’ve dined with a man by choice. In fact, I find myself having

to kick my brain occasionally, since the urge to accommodate him is pretty strongly
imprinted on my thought processes.

I don’t have to worry if his glass is half empty. He can fill it himself. Nor do I have

to search out his likes or dislikes. Tonight it’s up to him to do that.

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Very, very strange. And not unattractive, either. A refreshing change in so many

ways.

“So tell me about your job.” He leans back, looking as much at home in his casual

shirt and jeans as he did in his business suit.

I shrug. Standard question, standard answer. “Not much to tell. I’m part of the team

that handles acquisitions for a lingerie distributor.” I have some marketing experience
in my background so I’m not at a total loss should the conversation become any more
detailed than that.

“And I take it from the car you rented—love those Mercedes by the way—that you

do very well at it?”

“I manage.”
“I guess you do. Nice apartment in the big city? Beautiful clothes?” He lifts an

eyebrow as he sips his wine.

“No complaints. It’s a job. It pays the bills.”
“And is there a man in your life?”
I meet his gaze over my own glass. “Are you cross-examining me, Counselor?”
He laughs. “No. Sorry. I just want to know everything there is to know about you.”
Oh no you don’t.
“There’s not much to tell.” I shift gears, expertly moving the conversation away

from me. “I’m not the high-powered attorney with a degree from Yale who’s now
running a small country practice. I’m guessing that came about through the family?”

“Yep.” He nods, taking my bait.
Get the conversation around to where a man can talk about himself and I’m gold.

Works every time.

“I suppose law was a natural, since I grew up practically in the company. I did take

a year off to do some pro bono stuff overseas, which didn’t exactly enthrall my dad, but
now I’m where he thinks I should be, so he’s happy.”

“And are you?” It’s a natural question and Guy smiles at me. He has a very nice

smile.

“Yes, overall, I am happy. It’s not the big time stuff, but I know just about

everybody. It gives me a different perspective on the law. I get to make it work for these
folks as best I can rather than spending my days filing briefs and suing people’s asses
off.” He chuckles. “And no, there’s no woman in my life at the moment. Nobody
special, anyway.”

“Please note, Your Honor. That answer was unsolicited.”
The chuckle turns into a laugh, a laugh I like more and more. “Touché. I just

wanted to let the court know that I’m presently unattached.”

“Duly noted in the record.” I look down, shielding my eyes with my lashes. To my

surprise, I feel a little heat in my cheeks. I’m actually blushing.

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Guy is damn fucking close to the perfect date. The dream man every girl hopes to

find someday. Of course, there’s still a chance he might be gay and just playing games
here, but something tells me that ain’t the case.

And his next words pretty much prove it.
“God, Angel Jones. I want to make love to you so damn bad I can practically taste

it.”

I flash him a quick, surprised glance. The surprise is genuine—I wasn’t expecting

quite such a blunt declaration. “You do?” I lick my lips, noting how his gaze follows my
tongue. “But—at the risk of sounding really stupid here—you’ve only just met me.”

He huffs out something close to a snort. “You’re right. That really does sound kind

of idiotic. I knew the minute you walked into my office that I wanted you. One look
was all it took.”

I bite back a grin. “You mean…I had you at hello?”
“Just about.” He laughs too, picking up immediately on the movie reference and

enjoying it.

I like this about Guy. I don’t have to explain anything. We’re sort of on the same

page when it comes to conversation and laughter. A rare treat for me, being at dinner
with a man who is treating me as something precious, something delightful, a woman
whose company he is thoroughly enjoying.

Without the knowledge that he’s bought and paid for it.
Mama Sophia stops by our table and I’m glad of the interruption. Strangely enough,

I’m a little uncertain of what to do, how to feel, right at this moment. It’s a welcome
respite to be able to lapse into the commonplace, discussing the meal, politely turning
down dessert or coffee and beginning the process of concluding our evening together.

It will conclude. I’m determined to not fuck Guy tonight. Maybe soon—most

probably quite soon, since he interests me and appeals to me on a variety of levels. But
not tonight.

I’m Angel Jones at the moment. Angel doesn’t fuck on the first date. Angel is a

“nice” girl who’ll let a man kiss her—maybe—but nothing more than that. It’s an
interesting role to play, that’s for sure. And I confess I’m sort of having fun playing it.

With everything I know, everything I’ve experienced—to step back into this

innocent characterization and pretend for a while—well, it’s quite refreshing.

Guy even walks me to my door.
Of course. It’s the perfect place for him to put his arms around me. “I really had fun

being with you, Angel. I knew I would.”

I let my fingers drift up to his shoulders. “I had fun too. Thank you, Guy. It was a

wonderful evening. You’re good company.”

“I’ll be more than that soon. You know that, don’t you? You can feel it?” He strokes

his palm down my cheek and cups my jaw, angling my head and pulling me close.
“There’s something here, Angel. Something between us that I felt the first second I laid

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eyes on you. I don’t intend to let you get away without finding out what that something
is…”

He holds me tightly, his cock unashamedly aroused and pressing into my belly. It

stirs me, the knowledge that this is a straightforward reaction, a response of male to
female. I’ve done nothing tonight but be Angel Jones. And I’ve given Guy Hatfield a
hard-on.

It’s…satisfying.
As is the pressure of his hips as he rubs his cock against me and lowers his mouth

to mine.

This kiss I want. And as his lips near my mouth, I open for him, wanting him inside.

A strange invitation coming from me, but one that seems quite natural in the soft night
on the porch of a little country cottage.

His tongue slides into my mouth, tasting of all the wonderful Italian flavors we’ve

just enjoyed. Along with a dash of something I suppose is essentially Guy. A tang of
sweetness, perhaps—a hint of male need?

I don’t know. I simply allow myself the rare delight of savoring a kiss, an embrace

given for the simplest of reasons.

Because a man wants to kiss me.
He slides the moist tip around, learning me, playing with my tongue, dueling and

engaging in an erotic dance that finds a matching rhythm in the pulse that begins to
thud low in my belly.

I can’t help the tiny moan deep in my throat and he pulls me even closer in

response to it, crushing my breasts against his chest and letting one hand slip down to
my ass.

He cradles it gently, stroking and kneading, teasing me a little with nips of his teeth

on my lower lip.

My nipples are hard, I can feel them beading against Guy, breasts tender as he

slowly arouses me. He’s good, this lawyer I’ve found for myself. Very good. He knows
how to touch, to caress—he’s making me feel like this is the moment he’s yearned for all
night.

Maybe it is. Maybe the seduction has indeed begun.
He wrenches his mouth away and stares at me in the shadows of the porch, eyes

blue and intense, eyelids heavy and lips a little swollen from our kisses. His gaze is
fixed on mine and he slides one hand slowly up beneath my sweater to cup my breast
through my lacy bra.

And he smiles an odd smile as he toys with my incredibly sensitive nipple budding

even harder beneath his fingers.

“You want me. And I want you.” It’s a harsh whisper, nothing gracious or

seductive. Just a statement of fact backed up by the response he can feel and the solid
length of his cock trapped between our bodies. “I swear I could make you come right

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now, just like this, playing with you…and I could come too, this very second, just from
watching you.”

I shudder a little, sighing. He’s right. I am turned on. It wouldn’t take much to

make me come. I’m relaxed, well-fed and touched gently by a man who desires me. A
man with the skills to arouse my body.

“Guy…” I breathe his name, strangely unsure of what to say next. Scarlet would

know how to defuse this moment. Or—in all truth—Scarlet would probably pull him
through the door and fuck him blind.

Angel can’t. Not yet anyway.
He seems to know, to be able to sense my confusion. A bit uncanny really, but he

pulls away with something close to a wince of pain. “Not tonight, though. Not yet. It’s
too soon.”

He takes a deep breath. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
I gasp—then I see his face. A slow smile is curving his lips. He’s managed to bridge

the sexual heat of our embrace with humor and I find myself incredibly grateful to him
for it.

“Good God, Guy…” I sag with laughter and rest my forehead on his chest. “Talk

about sweeping a woman off her feet…”

“Seriously. Tomorrow?”
I have to collect my thoughts then shake my head. “Can’t. It’s the service tomorrow

evening. Aunt Dodo was the most wonderful soul I knew, with the most outrageous
ideas, but I think even she’d draw the line at my spending the night with you right after
leaving the church where she’d just been eulogized by damn near the entire town.” I
poke my finger into his shirt. “Yourself included, I understand.”

“I forgot.” He looked rueful. “You have any deep-seated issues about spending

Saturday night with me? I guess I can wait two days.” He tugs gently on a lock of my
hair. “Can’t hold out for longer than that, though.”

I look at him, wondering if this is what I want. Then it hits me. Yes, this is what I

want. To fuck somebody by choice, not by profession. To orgasm beneath a man who
deliberately sets out to arouse me and make me come because he knows it’s what I
want. To be—cherished? Perhaps.

To be loved? No.
I don’t want to be loved. I would, however, like to be thoroughly and satisfyingly

fucked. And since Guy’s so attractive I find I have no real objection to the plan for
Saturday night.

I lean quickly toward him and brush my lips against his. “Saturday night.” I turn

for the door, keys already in my hand.

“That’s a promise, Angel. I’m going to hold you to it.” Guy’s voice follows me as I

step inside then turn around.

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I can’t resist a parting shot and look down, very obviously, at his cock. “I do hope so,

Guy. Judging from what I see, I’m going to hope you’ll do more than just hold me to it.”

I shut the door on his shout of laughter. It’s a good way to end the night.
Perhaps I should try it more often.

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Chapter Five

The memorial service for Doreen Jones was well attended, to say the least.
It seemed to Angel as if everybody in Bothwell Valley must have come to the tiny

church, since the parking lot was filling rapidly when she pulled in. A young lad,
smartly dressed in a black shirt and pants waved her respectfully to a spot close to the
building and dipped his head as she nodded her thanks.

Within seconds Guy was next to the car, opening the door and helping her out.
“Hello, Angel.” His face was set in concerned lines, his suit somber. “I thought you

might want some company.”

A small crowd had gathered in front of the church door and heads were turning her

way. “Thanks, Guy. Yes, that would be nice.” She allowed him to lead her toward the
curious throng.

She smiled as she noticed Steven Hatfield heading her way. “How lovely. Your

father’s here.”

“Of course.” Guy respectfully slipped her arm through his and together they

mounted the steps. “He wouldn’t miss it.”

“Angel, my dear.” Hatfield Senior extended a hand and clasped hers. “A sad day

for us all.”

“Thank you, Steven. You’re looking well. It’s so kind of everyone to do this for

Aunt Dodo.”

“Guy taking good care of you?” Steven slipped his arm through Angel’s, bracketing

her with Hatfields and making her feel strangely protected.

She smiled again. “Yes indeed. Everyone’s been very helpful.”
“Glad to hear it.” He looked at the door. “Let me introduce you to a few people and

then we’ll go in.”

Angel found herself touched by the obvious concern and sadness with which she

was greeted, her hand was shaken, her cheek kissed by several elderly ladies who
professed themselves lost without Aunt Dodo.

She received curious looks from many as Guy and Steven walked her the length of

the aisle to the front pew. There were some appraising looks from a few men, which she
easily dismissed.

The fact that the Hatfields were beside her was apparently of interest to several

people since Angel couldn’t miss the quick glances Guy received—and ignored—most
of them from women in the crowd. His focus was totally on her.

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She’d dressed with care for this sober occasion. She’d known she would be pretty

much on display to most of the town and was determined to hold up her end of the
Jones family reputation.

Aunt Dodo had let everyone know that her niece had a high-powered city job, so

that was how Angel presented herself.

Her shoulder-length black hair was swept up into a neat loop at the back of her

head, revealing her mother’s small pearl-and-diamond earrings glistening in her lobes.
Her black suit was a masterpiece of tailoring, the long jacket stopping at her hips and
sliding faultlessly over her white silk blouse. The matching skirt fell without a wrinkle
to just below her knees, revealing dark hose and modestly heeled pumps.

Nestling in the lace at her neck was a brooch—a small diamond butterfly with

aquamarines trembling and catching the low light within the church. Besides her watch
and earrings, it was her only piece of jewelry.

Why she’d chosen to wear it, Angel wasn’t quite sure. It was something from a life

that she’d purposely left behind her for this short time.

Perhaps she felt she needed a tiny anchor, a little reminder of that “other” woman,

the Scarlet Angel whose choice of occupations would have astounded, shocked and
probably horrified most of the congregation.

Perhaps she just liked it.
Whatever the reason, Angel had pinned it into place before leaving, knowing as she

stared at herself in the mirror that Aunt Dodo would have approved of her niece’s
appearance. And this particular occasion was in honor of Aunt Dodo.

She was calm as they neared the altar, steps slow and distinct in that rarefied

atmosphere so often found in old churches. There were flowers massed everywhere,
great urns of chrysanthemums and late-season dahlias splashing their vibrant colors
against the background of marble, stone and wood.

Their fragrance blended with that scent of “holiness”, the unique mix of incense

and humanity that seemed to be an intrinsic part of every house of worship Angel had
ever been inside.

The organ was playing something quiet and melodious as Angel turned to lift the

order of service from her seat. She glanced around and her gaze clashed into that of a
man—hazel eyed and intense—staring at her.

It was Ramsey.
He nodded briefly, face expressionless from his seat two pews behind hers.
She lifted one eyebrow in acknowledgement, then turned her back, settling herself

on the hard wooden bench. In the few moments that followed, she became aware that
her heart had thudded in the oddest way when she’d seen him. A stutter in its regular
rhythm, a slight hiccup in her body’s normal tempo.

For some reason, Ramsey had a definite effect on her. And Angel wasn’t quite sure

why.

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There was the usual rustling, coughing and muted noise that comes with a church

full of people waiting for the service to begin, giving Angel a few moments to collect
her thoughts and banish Ramsey from them.

Then the minister stepped forward to the pulpit, the congregation fell silent and the

ceremonies began.

* * * * *

Aunt Dodo would have enjoyed this.
I know it, deep in my heart. She would have smiled and looked embarrassed as she

listened to her own life being praised and lauded, but by God she would have relished
it.

Probably would have added a pithy comment or two of her own, especially to that

dear lady with the flushed face who detailed the recipe for dandelion wine Aunt Dodo
had generously shared. Apparently the resulting brew wiped out a good portion of her
bridge club for two days.

I laugh with the rest of this warm-hearted group.
They are doing their best to deal with loss, the loss of a woman who clearly touched

many of them in such personal ways.

How strange.
I expected to be moved and I am. There are moments when I know the tears are

close—too close—as I listen to more and more people speak from their hearts about my
aunt.

Guy’s words are simple, emotional and affect many. I can tell by the sniffles and the

occasional loud blowing of a nose here and there. He speaks well, standing tall and
confident behind the ornately carved pulpit. And he keeps his remarks short, leaving no
doubt about his sincerity.

I can’t help but rest a hand on his arm as he returns to sit beside me. “Thank you.

That was a wonderful tribute.” I whisper the words, not at all afraid to let him glimpse
the tears that hover too close.

Tactfully, he covers my hand with his and gives it a little squeeze. It is enough. I

don’t need words at this moment and he seems to understand that.

Steven speaks briefly, showing the talent that has made him such a fine lawyer for

so many years. That profession lost a valuable member when he retired.

Mrs. Armstrong, taking advantage of her rank as the pastor’s wife, follows. Her

remarks are personal, a tad rambling but amusing. She manages to get a few laughs
with her anecdotes of Aunt Dodo—apparently so much of this town has good
memories. It’s a celebration of her life more than a mourning of her death.

I’m glad. Aunt Dodo deserves nothing less.

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Then the pastor hands his wife down from the altar, steps to the pulpit and looks at

me. “I’d like to invite Doreen’s beloved niece to say a few words if she’d care to?”

I can almost hear the necks crick as everybody turns and stares at me, their gazes

burning across my shoulders. I had sort of expected this but naively hoped I could
escape it.

No such luck.
With a nod, I rise, noting that Steven and Guy have risen as well, taking my

program from my hand and respectfully waiting for me to leave my seat before
resuming theirs.

Little things like this make a difference, apparently, since I find myself very aware

of them in a way that wouldn’t ordinarily touch me. Now they do and I’m determined
to make them, and Aunt Dodo, proud.

What I’m going to say, I have no idea. Not yet. Not until I find myself standing

behind the stone pulpit and staring at a sea of faces.

For a second or two they blur, then I’m myself once more. Public speaking isn’t one

of my favorite things, but I’m used to being on display and know I can string more than
two words together without sounding like a complete idiot. I’ve conversed with
ambassadors in French and Italian, after all. Addressing a small town crowd is no more
stressful than that. Easier in many ways, since they’re all looking at me with varying
degrees of curiosity, interest and in some cases tearful affection.

Nobody’s calculating the cost of a night with me or wondering what I look like

naked.

Then my gaze passes over Ramsey, his eyes intense even at this distance. He licks

his lips, the only movement he makes.

Okay, maybe there’s one man out there wondering what’s beneath my demure suit.
I ignore him and take a breath.
“Good evening and thank you all for coming. For those of you I haven’t had the

pleasure of meeting yet, I’m Angel Jones, Doreen’s niece. To me she was Aunt Dodo.
My life will not be the same without her.”

The words flow freely after I say this, as if I’ve opened a book and know which

pages to recite. I touch on my earliest memories of my aunt, the funny things she taught
me, the outrageous comments she would make to tease my father and the wonderful
recipes she shared. When I add that I never managed to duplicate them, I get a chuckle
of laughter. Apparently there are others who shared my experiences.

“I would like to ask a favor of her bridge group…” I pause for that little dramatic

breath that precedes a punch line. “I can’t leave without her dandelion wine secrets.”

That gets a bigger laugh and I smile too. They’re with me now, no longer curious

but welcoming me. I can feel it, feel the affection growing within the confines of the
church.

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It’s time to wrap up my soliloquy. They may like me now but if I go on too long it

will turn the tide. I’ve sat through too many corporate dinners to know otherwise.

“I don’t know how to adequately thank Pastor and Mrs. Armstrong for all their

help. So many of you have contributed to this moment, friends of Aunt Dodo’s who
have worked on her behalf.” I swallow and there is silence around me. “I know she
would appreciate all this, although she’d be blushing right now if she were here with
us. Sadly, she’s not. She never will be again. My life has a hole in it that time will never
fill, although the pain of her loss will fade. My memories will sustain me and the love
you have all shown today and throughout Aunt Dodo’s life will also be a part of the
healing for me.”

I look down for a moment, fighting tears. My life took me far away from Aunt

Dodo and her world, but she was always a part of me. An important part. I will miss
her so much and for a second or two I let the realization of that pain swamp me. Then I
push it away. I must finish this.

“Thank you all. Thank you for sharing this ceremony, thank you for your kind

wishes and condolences and thank you for loving Aunt Dodo. It’s something I shall
never forget. And I know, deep in my heart, that she never will, either.”

I smile weakly and step away from the pulpit, finding Pastor Armstrong’s hand

ready to assist me back to the pew. Steven and Guy rise once more and I can’t help but
notice a few more sniffles and loudly blown noses as I resume my seat.

“Well done, my dear. Well done.” It’s a whisper from Steven accompanied by a

brief squeeze of his hand over mine.

It’s enough. I have fulfilled my obligations and done what was necessary. And it

has eased my heart a little as well.

There is a hymn, something old-fashioned and sweet, followed by a brief prayer

from Pastor Armstrong. There will be no hearse, no procession, no interment. Aunt
Dodo was quite clear about that in her will. Her ashes will come to me at some point
and I will scatter them in the hills around Bothwell Valley. It was her home, she loved it
and she wanted to know she could continue to nourish it in some small way after she
was gone.

I smile at the final “amen”. Aunt Dodo was blunt. “Don’t wanna molder in some

fancy casket. I’d rather feed an oak tree. You make sure of that, you hear me?”

Her words during one phone conversation flash back into my mind. I will honor

her wishes and try to take some comfort from doing so.

It’s strange. There is pain here from the loss, grief at the knowledge I’ll never see

her again.

Yet as this chapter of my life closes, I don’t seem to be moved as deeply as I might

have expected. This parting was inevitable. Aunt Dodo knew how I felt about her, how
much I loved her, even though she didn’t know all my secrets.

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There is no unfinished business between us. Perhaps it is this knowledge that is

comforting me and allowing me to deal with this ritual farewell on a level that doesn’t
involve bouts of weeping, wailing or mourning.

Of course, that’s not me anyway. Public displays of emotion are alien to my nature.

They have to be. It’s a skill that I seem to have been born with. The ability to separate
what I’m feeling from what I’m showing.

Right now, I’m feeling the loss of my aunt, but I’m showing restrained sadness as is

appropriate, not the deep agony that some might have expected.

I don’t know. I could spend time considering these things and probably should for

my own peace of mind, but as the service ends I find Steven and Guy leading me
through a side door to the staple of small towns—the church hall.

Apparently Mrs. Armstrong would have considered herself a total failure if she

hadn’t made sure a little something was “laid on for afterward”.

Her “little something” turns out to be tables groaning under the weight of finger

sandwiches, homemade cakes and pastries and a long bench against one wall
displaying a massive and shiny urn of coffee.

I don’t see any of Aunt Dodo’s dandelion wine. She would have been disappointed

at the omission.

* * * * *

Angel found herself engulfed in what seemed like a swarm of elderly ladies in dark

clothing. They descended on her like locusts, enveloping her, dragging her clear of the
Hatfields, father and son, and all talking at the same time.

Weakly, she allowed herself to be led to the nearest table, plied with plates heaped

with more food than she could eat in a month and regaled with sympathy, tales of her
aunt and gentle pats on the shoulders.

The overwhelming fragrance of flowers and White Shoulders perfume made her

wonder if there’d been a special on that particular scent the week before. Battling the
impulse to shake free of the clinging hands, Angel drew on her inner reserves and
pasted a polite smile across her lips.

“Thank you so much.” It was a general comment but apparently well received since

she managed to draw breath without clashing into a little old lady or two. “You’re all
very kind.”

“Our pleasure, dear. Doreen spoke so highly of you.” Mrs. Armstrong elbowed her

way to Angel’s side and took over the little gathering by sheer willpower and force of
personality. “What a nice little speech you made too.”

Clucks of agreement echoed her statement.
“I didn’t realize how hard it would be.” Angel nodded her thanks. “But you’ve all

been so wonderful. It certainly helped to know you were there.”

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“Aren’t you sweet?” This from a lady off to her left somewhere. “As lovely as

Doreen said you were.”

“She is, isn’t she, Margaret? So pretty. Not married, are you, dear?” Another lady

with improbable blue-tinged hair adjusted her glasses and grinned hopefully.

Angel sighed inwardly. So this was to be an inquisition, without doubt. For the next

half hour or so, Angel did her best to satisfy the rampant curiosity surrounding her. She
waxed vaguely eloquent about her job—apparently the subject of lingerie was
something that elicited enormous interest from her audience—and about living in the
big city.

She brushed off the questions about her love life with delicate grace, turning their

attention to other matters of more immediate interest, though it wasn’t easy. There was,
it seemed, nothing like a pretty unattached woman who sold expensive lingerie to raise
the spirit of matchmaking in these modestly covered breasts.

And when Guy arrived at her side bearing coffee, several knowing smiles were

exchanged.

Angel was well aware of where their thoughts were probably headed. She had no

objections, however, since Guy’s appearance was a signal for them to move on and seek
prey elsewhere.

It was obvious, it was cute and Angel knew Guy could see exactly what was going

on in their minds. They shared a grin as Angel accepted the coffee and found a place to
discreetly dispose of the plate she’d been holding for too long.

“Bless you.” She sipped and closed her eye for an instant. “I think this qualifies as a

knight rescuing the damsel in distress.”

“Told you all about the eligible males in their families, did they?”
“I don’t think I agreed to be engaged to anybody’s grandson, nephew or cousin

twice removed. But it was a close thing there, for a bit…”

Guy threw back his head and laughed, then led Angel over to one of the few quieter

corners in the room. The chairs were horridly uncomfortable but welcome all the same.

“You can’t blame them. You’re Doreen’s niece, they haven’t really met you on a

personal level like this and you’re stunning.”

The blatant admiration in Guy’s eyes, coupled with his words, brought Angel’s

head up with a snap. “Guy, please…”

“What? I’m merely telling the truth.” His eyes crinkled as he grinned. “You’re a

challenge to every matriarch with an unmarried male in her family tree somewhere.
You have a great job, you’re smart, you’re socially adept beyond belief—and believe me
I’ve seen strong women devoured by that lot when they get going—and you look like a
million bucks. I’m just being honest here.”

His gaze dropped to her neck and he reached out, just tapping her brooch with his

finger. “And you wear really fine diamond jewelry. This is a superb piece.”

“You’re an expert on jewelry too?”

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“No, I just know the good stuff when I see it. This is the good stuff.”
“Thank you. I like it.”
Guy tipped his head to one side. “And yet you don’t strike me as the type to buy

something like that for yourself.” He looked at her ears. “Those are family pieces. I’d
bet money on it.”

Angel raised her chin a little and smiled as she met his gaze. “The ladies could learn

a lot from you, Guy. Your talent for observation and cross-examination must have
witnesses falling over themselves to spill the beans.”

He laughed at that. “I don’t get to trial very often. I suppose it’s just me keeping my

skills sharp.”

Angel relaxed. She had no intention of answering his questions—no matter how

delicately phrased—about her jewelry. And he was an attorney, not just an attractive
man she intended to indulge herself with. An affair was one thing. Information was
another.

Her attention was distracted as the wave of guests parted to reveal a tall figure

talking to Steven Hatfield.

“Guy?” Angel nodded toward the men. “Do you know Ramsey? The man speaking

with your father?”

Guy’s head turned that way. “Sure. He’s a town fixture. Have you met him yet?”
“Sort of.”
Something in her voice must have caught Guy’s astute ear. “Sort of?” He echoed

her words in question.

Angel wrinkled her nose. “He rear-ended my rental outside Aunt Dodo’s with a

monster that looked like a Tonka truck on steroids.”

“Ahhh. That one.” Guy nodded. “Yeah, Ramsey runs our local construction

company. Been in his family for years. He’s also the…er…how shall I put it…”

“The town stud?”
Guy choked on a laugh. “You picked that up, did you?”
“Didn’t have to pick it up. It clobbered me. I know the type.”
“It’s rumored he’s dated most of the available women here in town, not to mention

a few outlying villages. He’s certainly good-looking enough to claim that honor.”

“Think it’s true?” Angel glanced at Guy.
“Don’t have a clue. To give him his due, he never discusses his dates. He gets on

well with everyone though. And to give him further due, he set up the town’s volunteer
fire department a few years ago. Before then we had to call over the river for assistance.
Not something that worked real well, especially in the winter.”

Angel nodded. “I can imagine.”
“He raised the funds for our only engine, pulled in some favors and got a bunch of

guys trained in how to use it. It paid off in spades last year when one of the outlying

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farms took a hit in a thunderstorm. The volunteers saved the farm and the two kids
trapped inside. You won’t hear too many complaints about his sex life after something
like that.”

“Gosh no.” Angel chuckled. “I expect that added a few more ladies to the line of

potential dates.” She watched Guy’s face. “Do you get on okay with him, Guy?”

He thought carefully for a moment or two, face expressionless. “I shouldn’t, I

suppose. Two single men, small town, limited supply of mating material and all that.
But yes, surprisingly I do.”

“Interesting.” Angel kept her voice level and noncommittal. “No competition

between you two, then, no Hatfield and McCoy type feud.”

“As of now, no.” He turned his blue eyes to Angel. “Not yet. Should I expect

some?”

Angel glanced away. “I told you. I know the type. I’m not easily impressed.”
With a subtle move, Guy reached for her hand and enveloped it in his fingers. “I’m

glad. We still on for tomorrow night?”

Angel found her fingers clasping his, responding to the warmth of his skin and the

heat she could hear beneath his words.

“Yes, Guy. Tomorrow night is definitely on.”

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Sahara Kelly

Chapter Six

Angel woke the next morning to gray clouds and a light spatter of rain. The

weather echoed her mood as she set about the serious job of emptying the little cottage
of Aunt Dodo’s treasured belongings.

There were already boxes stacked in various rooms and the piles of stuff to be given

away were growing steadily. But there was still much to be done and Angel couldn’t
put it off any longer.

She worked carefully and thoroughly through the parlor and the small dining

room, finding one or two things she knew she would keep—a vase that Aunt Dodo
always filled with flowers in the spring, a little plaster cat that Angel herself had made
so many years before.

Aunt Dodo’s cats themselves had gone, the two remaining ones who had outlived

their mistress already adopted into willing homes. But the image of Aunt Dodo
surrounded by her feline friends would always remain with Angel and she carefully
bubble-wrapped the tiny critter, adding it to her own pile of mementoes.

She made another pot of coffee and decided it was time to attack Aunt Dodo’s desk.

This would be difficult, since her aunt wasn’t the most organized of women when it
came to paperwork and there was a lot of it. Misfiled, crumpled or stuffed willy-nilly
into drawers that were designed for a lady’s boudoir cosmetics not utility bills.

Sighing, Angel sat down in front of the desk and plunged in.
Two hours later, she was ready to throw up her hands in despair, but there was

definitely light at the end of the tunnel. Instead of a fire waiting to happen, Angel now
had tidy piles of bills—all thankfully marked “paid”—correspondence and
miscellaneous receipts.

She’d discarded the user’s guides for appliances bought thirty years ago and the

correspondence was mostly concerning matters of no relevance today. That would all
be shredded and disposed of.

Making a mental note to herself to make sure her own desk was tidy when she got

home, Angel slid the center drawer shut only to find it hooking on something at the
very back.

Leaning in, she extricated what looked like a small diary.
Curiously, she poured another mug of coffee and leaned back in the chair, opening

the little book and seeing her aunt’s tidy script flowing across the pages. It was indeed a
diary, but not one kept on a daily basis.

In a fashion so much like Aunt Dodo, the woman had jotted entries when she felt

like it. Sometimes as much as a year apart, sometimes several days in a row.

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Fascinated, Angel began to read.
Most of the entries were about Dodo’s everyday affairs, life in a small town was

apparently rife with intrigues, gossip and of course shared recipes.

Idly Angel turned the pages, letting her aunt’s words paint a picture of a deeply

satisfying world and the little trials and tribulations that interrupted it.

She stopped when she caught sight of her own name.
“My dearest Angel…”
Blinking, Angel turned a little toward the desk lamp for a better look. It was

apparently a letter. Or should have been a letter instead of a diary entry. And it was
dated not long after her parents had passed away.

We cried together, darling. And it was hard for us both. But we will go on. We must. It’s

what those left behind have to do. And I know we both have the strength for it because you’re like
me. Hidden reserves, I suppose.

I’ve watched you, Angel, over this past time. And I shall worry about you until the day I

pass on. Because I saw something in you that affected me on a very deep level. I saw the woman
you’ve grown into, not the little girl I remember. And there’s something about that woman that

concerns me.

I see you now as you are. Beautiful, intelligent, talented in more ways than you probably

realize. I see a woman secure in her own person and I see a woman secure in her own sexuality.
How I wish we had spent more time discussing sex, but I doubt you’d have been comfortable

with that subject. After all, it’s not easy dealing with the fact that your relatives had sex. I know.
I’ve been there, suffered through those discussions and hated every minute of them.

But I sensed in you a very vibrant sexual awareness. Something that men sensed too when

you walked past them, although I don’t know if it registered on you. Just your presence invites
thoughts of desire and the tangling of limbs in a heated darkness. You can’t help it, it’s just who

you are, apparently. It’s a gift and one that many women would probably sell their right arms
for.

However, I’m afraid it might claim you totally. I believe you use this gift—how, I don’t

know and I don’t care to think about it. That’s your business. But in the back of your eyes I see
an awareness, an unemotional acceptance of your attractiveness, perhaps.

It’s almost clinical, this ability you seem to have when it comes to your own sexual appeal.
Do you use it, darling? Is that how you live? Can you separate yourself into two halves like

that? I see love in your eyes for me and I’m delighted in that. But I see calculation there too. I see

the compartmentalization of emotions that I went through so long ago. I see that ability to
separate things that perhaps should not be separated.

If we’d had chance, I’d tell you of the time I spent sleeping my way around San Francisco. It

was college. Why not? I fucked—and yes I would use that word—whomever I wanted to. It was
great fun. I could easily separate the physical from the emotional. I took my pleasure where I
pleased and I was pleased to take it a LOT. But I never let any of my lovers touch the real me.

As a result, Angel my love, I’m alone and writing this letter which I shall never send lest

you think me an interfering old pain in the ass.

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Perhaps at some point I’ll get chance to talk to you about these things. Perhaps not. That’s

not for me to know. But if we ever do sit down together, there’s one thing I shall try and make

sure you understand.

Sex is fun. But separating it from your heart is dangerous. It can lead to a lonely road where

men are simply tools for physical satisfaction. There is another path. It leads to the happiness
that can only be found in sharing more than a bed and a good fuck.

I didn’t take that path. And now I regret it. Not all the time, but when the days get dark

early and I’m alone with my cats—yes, I regret it.

Don’t make my mistakes, Angel love. Fuck where you will, but be careful. Let your heart

guide you sometimes.

Life is too short, they say.
I say a life alone can be too long.
Angel’s hands were shaking as she reached the end of Aunt Dodo’s “letter”. It was

outrageous, unexpected and hit her a gut punch that rocked her back on her mental
heels, leaving her head spinning and her stomach in knots.

Did she know?
Had Aunt Dodo somehow tuned in to what her niece did for a living? That Angel

was a highly paid and very successful whore?

She re-read her aunt’s words. No, nowhere did she come out and say as much. She

couldn’t possibly have imagined how Angel managed her “career”. But she had put her
finger on something she’d sensed. Something Angel didn’t know she revealed.

Perhaps it was because Aunt Dodo loved her. Loving someone made them more

sensitive, more aware somehow of their inner thoughts and emotions.

Perhaps it was because Aunt Dodo herself seemed to have gone a little way along

this road and they both shared an ability to divorce themselves from any kind of
emotional attachment to men. Hadn’t her aunt praised her for that compartmentalizing
thing?

Whatever it was, these words had unsettled Angel, disturbed her deeply and

turned her morning upside down. They frightened her a little, making her restless and
for the first time wonder if she had made bad choices in her life. The life she’d thought
she left behind in the city.

Angel wasn’t used to questioning herself and she didn’t like being forced to do it

now.

But these words had also told her how much she had been loved.
Drowning in waves of confusion and loss, the damn broke and Angel cried. Great

gasping sobs erupted from her throat, her lungs heaving as she let the pent-up grief
loose for the first time.

It wasn’t so much the letter she’d read. Nor was it the loss of her aunt. It was both

these things, added to the strain of handling so much that reminded her she was now
truly alone.

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Weak and shattered for the first time she could ever remember, Angel let the tears

take her where they would.

Fighting for some measure of control, she tried to tell herself that this was good, a

necessary venting of feelings best relieved by the safety valve tears could provide. Yet
still she sobbed, unable for once to find the place in her head that would lift her free of
this earth-shaking sorrow.

It was a hellish journey into a darkness unfamiliar to Angel and how long she sat

lost in it, she had no idea.

But eventually it eased, as all such outbursts must. Angel sniffled and stood up in

search of a tissue. Her nose was running, her face wet and she knew her eyes were
probably swollen and red.

She hadn’t bothered with makeup, but even still…as her sanity returned she

realized she must be a total mess. Not that it mattered, but she held on to that thought,
using it as a lifeline to the safety of her own personal shore.

Hiccupping a sob, Angel blew her nose and headed for the kitchen. Amazingly,

over an hour had passed since she had read Aunt Dodo’s diary. An hour of weeping
and wailing like a teenage girl.

Yet she did not regret it. Something had eased a little inside her, while other

concerns had raised their heads. Those she would think about when the time was right.
The other—the loss of her aunt—it was bearable now.

She rummaged in the fridge, surprised to find she had an appetite. There was

plenty to choose from, since just about all of Aunt Dodo’s friends had dropped off a
little “something to tide you over”. Bless their hearts.

Angel was even able to summon up a little wistful smile as she surveyed the three

casseroles, two dishes of green beans, the pan of lasagna and the sinfully huge chocolate
cake she’d stashed in the fridge.

A loud knock on the back door made her jump and she narrowly avoided cracking

her head on the enamel. Frowning, Angel slammed the door and crossed the kitchen,
glaring angrily out through the glass window on top to see who was bothering her.

A pair of hazel eyes stared back.
It was Ramsey.

* * * * *

I don’t know why the mere sight of this man makes my pussy clench. But it does. If

my aunt thought I had something subtly sexual going for me, I wish I could have asked
her what she thought of Ramsey.

He’s a walking invitation to sin. He knows it too. Maybe that’s part of the whole

deal. Knowing one is surrounded by an aura of sensuality like some kind of fragrance.
A manner of moving that screams “come let me do you. You’ll like it and so will I.”

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Do I have that aura? The feminine version? I don’t know and right at this moment I

don’t have time to ponder the question because he’s staring at me through the window.
I have no choice. I have to let him in.

And I’m not sure if I want to or not.
He frowns at me a little as I open the door. “You’ve been crying.”
I turn away, uncaring whether he follows me in or not. “Astute observation,

Sherlock Holmes.”

The door closes with a click. It’s too much to hope he’s on the other side of it.
He’s not. “What happened?”
His hands fall heavily on my shoulders but damned if I’m going to turn around.

“What the hell do you think? I lost my aunt. I miss her. It’s called grieving, okay?”

I pull away from the heat of his palms and go back to the fridge to grab a bottle of

water. It gives me something to do, something to distract myself from his presence.

“You surprise me.” His voice is curious, gentle but probing. “You’ve been so

damned uptight and controlled since you got here.”

Right now I’m fighting for some of that control but I refuse to let him see it. Slowly I

close the fridge door and turn, opening the bottle and leaning back against the cold
enamel. “I’m trying to cope with a variety of things, Mr. Ramsey. You’re not helping
with your odd and unwelcome observations.”

He snorts. “That’s not you, is it? That cool voice, that look down your nose that’s

supposed to tell me I’m shit. Even while you’re standing there just asking to be fucked.”

“I beg your pardon?” I try to freeze him with an outraged gasp.
“Your eyes are all red and puffy. So’s your nose.” He takes a step forward. “Your

hair’s a mess and that sweatshirt isn’t from any designer house I’m familiar with. Your
jeans still fit better than the spit from a man’s tongue, but you’re certainly not prepared
to face the world today, are you, Angel Jones? I’ve caught you unawares. And by God I
still want to fuck you until those teary blue eyes of yours roll back in your head and you
scream out my name.”

I can’t move away—he’s got me caught between himself and the damned fridge.

My own fault, I should’ve been thinking more clearly. I fall back on anger, a pretty safe
weapon that I know I can wield.

“Mister Ramsey.” I pour as much scorn into my tone as I can. “You’re a jerk. A pig.

You come uninvited into my house and tell me I look like crap then follow that up with
a coarse offer of sex. Whatever sort of line this is, I’m not falling for it. I don’t know why
you’re here and bluntly I don’t care. I really think you should leave. Now.”

“No you don’t.” He ignores my fury, even grins at me, the bastard. “You’ve been

crying.”

“So what? You think I need your shoulder to do that? You’re wrong.”
“You don’t need a shoulder, hot stuff…”

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He’s too close to me now. I can smell him, that enticing man aroma that seems to

have some direct link to my gut. His eyes are heated, gorgeous pools that swirl with
color as he nears me. Too near.

I’m plastered against the fridge, but the damn thing isn’t budging. Once again he’s

got me trapped and this time I sense he won’t back off.

His gaze drops to my mouth. “You’ve got nice lips, Angel. Ripe lips.”
“I don’t care what you think of my lips.” It’s a shrewish and stupid answer but it

slips out before I can think of a better one.

“Yes you do. You care. You want to know about mine too. I can see it in your eyes,

feel it in the heat from your body. You know what I’d like to find out, hot stuff?”

“Don’t call me that.” I squirm as he presses his hard muscles against me, squashing

me, taking the breath from my lungs.

“I’d like to know what these lips feel like wrapped around my cock. Sucking me.”
“You’re a jerk. A fucking bastard.” I spit the words even as his arms lift to my waist

and hold me still. I turn my head away angrily.

“They’re perfect lips for sucking cock, Angel. I like that. And I like to do my share

of sucking too. I’d like to suck you crazy, hot stuff. Put my lips down between your
legs, find your pussy and suck it until you want to fall apart and never come up for air.”

I’m panting, I can’t help it. The images he’s painting in my brain are turning me on,

driving me near insane. “You’re mad.”

“Yeah. Mad for you.” His fingers work their way beneath my sweatshirt and find

my bare skin. They tighten there, searing me.

“Right now, though, this’ll have to do…”
I know it’s coming. I know my lips are already parting in readiness for this. And

somewhere in the back of my brain—I know I want it.

Ramsey kisses me.
Finally.
And surprises me. It’s not the fierce clashing of mouths I anticipated. He begins

gently, brushing our lips together, sliding his tongue along mine, the delicate touch of a
butterfly seeking nectar within the petals of a flower.

Oh fuck it. He can have my nectar.
I know I groan as I lick his tongue then suck it inside my mouth. He tastes really

good, like man and coffee and toothpaste.

He deepens the kiss and I don’t do a damn thing to stop him. I couldn’t at this

point, even if I wanted to. Honestly? I don’t want to stop him. He’s good. Very good.

His body is pressed so close I can feel his heartbeat and his cock swelling between

us as his tongue learns my mouth and duels with mine. I’m getting so fucking turned
on that I reach for him, grabbing his head and angling it so I can plunge deeper past his
lips, take control of this kiss.

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He’s not allowing me to do that, though. His hands are on my naked spine, hard

and holding me in place against him. I realize to my amazement that my legs are wide
apart, one lifted to curl around his shin to pull his cock closer to my pussy.

I guess he knows this as well because he lets one hand drop low to cup my ass and

raise me onto my toes so he can rub himself right where I need him.

His chest is crushing my breasts and I’m squirming against him, a woman in heat

ready to fuck. That’s how powerful his kisses are.

He’s making a sound now, a growl from deep in his throat. It vibrates through us

both and damn if my pussy isn’t soaking wet already. His teeth graze my lips, his
tongue thrusts past mine, an obvious move designed to let me know what the rest of
him wants to do.

It’s making me breathless, lightheaded, dizzy as he drinks my gasps and forces his

cock against my crotch. My thoughts are scattered, shattered by this man. He’s taking
me for a helluva ride here. What would it be like if we were naked?

I can’t help wondering since my pussy is wet enough at this point to soak through

my jeans and panties and my breasts are on fire as he grazes the nipples with the
pressure of his chest through my sweatshirt.

“Fuck, Ramsey…” The words escape my mouth as he pulls back and gasps for air, a

strand of our saliva still linking our lips.

I risk a look into his eyes. I think he’s as stunned as I am, eyelids heavy and face

flushed.

Gently, slowly, he backs away and my leg slides down his to the floor, a lingering

and sensual caress I scarcely realize I’m giving him.

“Christ, hot stuff. Jesus fucking Christ…” They’re muttered words, as if he too is a

bit shocked by the intensity of our kiss.

I’m speechless. I can’t think of one damn thing to say. Thank God for the fridge,

because as he moves back it’s the only thing keeping me standing upright. My legs are
trembling, my crotch is wet, my breasts ache beneath my shirt and my mouth is on fire
where he’s claimed it.

I want him. Right now, right this minute. I’d strip of my clothes and fuck him blind

at the drop of a hat. On Aunt Dodo’s kitchen floor.

And I don’t even know if I like him or not.
I just want to fuck him. To get him naked and ramming his cock into me any which

way he wants. Or I want. Or both of us want…

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m having a hard time not coming in my pants.” He

snarls the words at me.

“Like what? I’m not looking at you like anything.” I still can’t move yet. All the

strength in my body seems to have centered itself in my cunt. I’m afraid that if I take
one step forward, I’ll come too.

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“Yes you are. You’re looking at me like you want to fuck me. And I know I want to

fuck you.” He shakes his head sharply, breaking our eye contact as if he’s trying to clear
his head. “I can’t do this now. I don’t have the time. When I fuck you, it’ll be an all-day
and all-night session. I won’t be able to stop.”

His shoulders shudder as he draws a deep breath. “Now I’ll have to either go jerk

off somewhere or drive for two hours with a hard-on.” He looks at me once more and I
see he’s fighting to get himself back under control.

I open my mouth but he holds up a hand. “Don’t say a fucking word right now. Just

listen, okay?”

I nod. I don’t really have anything useful to say anyway. Stay and fuck me for a month

or so if you want probably isn’t what he needs to hear.

“I have to go. I’m due to teach a firefighting class over in Edgerton. I’ll be there all

weekend, dammit.” He straightens a little, wincing as he adjusts his cock. “But I’ll be
back here Monday. I have to re-certify this place since the title’s going to you. The
chimneys, the heating system…an inspection has to be signed off and I get the
privilege.”

I nod again. It makes sense.
“On Monday, you can leave. You don’t have to be here, just unlatch the back door.”

He pauses, nailing me to the fridge with that hot-eyed stare. “If you’re here, we’ll finish
this. Do you understand?”

My wits are starting to return and I find I can stand upright on my own two feet.

“You’re taking a lot for granted on the basis of one kiss.”

“No I’m not. Don’t lie to me, hot stuff. I’m not stupid, just hard as nails and fucking

uncomfortable.” He swears under his breath. “I’ll never make it.”

A slight sensation of feminine satisfaction licks at my spine. Ha ha, you horny bastard.

Take that!

“I’m gonna go out the back way. I’ll stop by the old woodshed and take care of

this.” He glances down at himself. “Otherwise I’ll be blue-balled and in agony by the
time I get to Edgerton.” His eyes flash back to mine. “You can stand in the window and
watch if you want.”

“I—” The breath leaves my lungs at his outrageous suggestion.
“Or you can stand in the window and fuck yourself as well. Right now I don’t care.

Either way I’m gonna have to come, hot stuff. And the next time I come, I’m gonna be
inside you. Got it?”

“You’re an arrogant asshole. That much I certainly got.” He never gives me chance

to ream him a new one. Angry words tumble over each other in my brain but he always
manages to get his licks in first.

A twisted smile crosses his lips. “Yeah. I’m arrogant. And you’re not weepy any

more, are you? Seems you didn’t need a shoulder to cry on, huh? Just get that temper
fired up and that pussy hot—you’re good to go, Angel.”

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Carefully, he walks to the door and goes through, shutting it behind him without a

backward glance.

Fucking, double-fucking shit. He’s right. I’ve forgotten all about my tears, Aunt Dodo

and her letter.

Instead, I’m horny as hell, all riled up and hot inside with a pussy that’s soaking

wet, hungry for Ramsey and his hard cock.

I can’t stop my feet from taking me to the sink and the window that looks out onto

the back garden. There, just to the side of the little path, is Aunt Dodo’s woodshed, a
tiny structure that used to hold her gardening tools. It’s overgrown a bit, shielded from
view by several lush evergreens and a couple of forsythias.

Yes, there he is. Standing with his back to the garden, sideways to me. And he’s

actually doing it, unzipping his pants and taking out his cock. It’s stopped raining,
thank God, but still murky out there.

Dammit, he’s in enough shadow I can’t see properly. He lifts one hand and rests it

against the shed, bending slightly over himself.

I ache, imagining his hand curled around his erection. His shoulders are moving as

he begins to stroke, his buttocks taut beneath his dress pants. I hadn’t even noticed
what he was wearing—never imagined I’d see this man in a tidy shirt and neat dark
trousers jerking off in my back garden.

I can’t help it. I’m on fire. Without a second thought I reach down to my jeans and

unfasten them, sliding my fingers beneath the fabric and my panties to my pussy. I’m
so wet, soaked with my own arousal, swollen and hot to my touch.

Ramsey’s ass is moving rhythmically, tiny thrusts of his hips as he makes himself

come.

My hips move in tandem, my fingers finding the right spot that is screaming to be

rubbed, fondled and fucked into orgasm. I slip my other hand under my sweatshirt and
cup my breast through my bra, flicking my thumbnail over the hard nipple, sending
shafts of flame down to my cunt.

It takes no time at all before I’m breaking, falling apart around my fingers, gasping

for air as the shudders of my orgasm rip through me. That’s how turned on he got me
with his kiss. It goes on, an aching tiny eternity of spasms that release all that pent-up
tension within my body.

And finally I can breathe again, my thighs clutched tight around my hand, my

fingers inside my cunt, the ripples of my climax easing enough to release them. They
slide away from my pussy on a slick stream of juices.

I lift my head to the window and try to focus on Ramsey. He’s shaking too, a tiny

sparkle of light marking the passage of his cum spurting from his cock. He’s orgasming,
releasing his tensions just as I’ve released mine.

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God, we’re a crazy pair of fucking idiots. I almost want to laugh, but before I can

decide whether to or not, Ramsey turns, tucking his cock away, zipping his pants.
Across the distance of Aunt Dodo’s garden our gazes meet.

And I stupidly start to blush, the heat rising in my cheeks.
He knows. His smile tells me so, self-satisfied, relaxed and confident. This man knows

I just masturbated in front of my kitchen window while watching him come.

Fuck him all to hell.

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Chapter Seven

Angel woke, confused and disoriented, to find herself curled in a ball on Aunt

Dodo’s old comfy couch. She remembered falling onto it with a grunt of self-disgust
after Ramsey left, but didn’t consciously intend to nap.

Apparently her body had other ideas, since a quick glance at the clock over the

mantel told her she’d slept for over two hours.

Jesus.
Guy.
She was in no shape to go screw around with a handsome attorney—not with her

hair in a mess, her face probably a disaster and her underwear feeling very clammy
against her skin.

Fortunately they’d agreed to meet at eight, Angel insisting on driving herself over

to his place, which turned out to be the apartment above his office. He called it “living
over the shop”, a turn of phrase she found quite amusing, given the nature of his
profession.

But that was Guy. Self-deprecating, not taking himself at all seriously—she liked

that about him. His ability to find humor when it was necessary, to laugh at the
absurdities of people and the world in which he lived and share the joke with his
companions. Unusual, really, since most lawyers seemed to have been elsewhere on the
day good cheer was handed out.

Pushing Ramsey and his sexual heat to the very back of her mind, Angel busied

herself with all the usual things she assumed women did before going on a date that
would almost certainly end in bed.

She showered, checked to make sure her depilatory treatments didn’t need

touching up and made ample use of her body lotions, scenting her skin with her
favorite fragrance. A whisper of lily-of-the-valley filled the steamy air of the bathroom
as Angel realized that on this particular night, the use of real, honest-to-God perfume
was acceptable.

Even then, she applied it with a light touch. She’d gotten used to not dousing

herself with it and too much of a good thing was—still too much of a good thing.

Finally she was ready. Her hair was back to its swinging silky black cascade, her

clean jeans and panties felt much better against her body than the ones she’d dumped
into her laundry pile and she’d pulled a pale blue sweater over her matching bra,
enjoying the softness of the cashmere as it slid over her arms and chest.

The sweater was expensive but hadn’t cost half of what her lingerie had run. She

liked nice silks and laces beneath her clothes. It was a characteristic she’d discovered

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while learning her trade and she’d have parted with all her designer shoes rather than
the exquisitely fragile bits of fine underwear that filled one of her drawers at home.

Besides being an asset to Scarlet Angel and a delight to more than one of her clients,

they were a pleasure to Angel Jones.

That was reason enough to justify their purchase, self-indulgent thought it was.
With her jacket over her arm, Angel locked the front door, although she knew it

wasn’t really necessary. It was quite strange that the residents of Bothwell Valley were
so secure in their assumption that nobody would take advantage of an empty home.

Angel drove through the darkened streets, wryly wondering how long it would be

before their naiveté was shattered by some horrible event that would send them all to
the locksmith for new security devices.

Such was the way of the world—it would eventually arrive in this little idyllic spot

as sure as the sun would rise the next day.

She pulled in to the small parking lot in front of the Hatfield offices with a sigh. For

right now, this was a perfect town. She wished with all her heart it could stay that way.
It wouldn’t, of course, but at least she’d had the privilege of seeing it while it was still
unspoiled.

Guy was waiting for her, holding the door open with a smile as she walked around

the back of the building to his private entrance. “Hey. I’m so glad you came.” He leaned
in and dropped a light kiss on her cheek with just the right amount of casual charm.
“Let’s go up and I’ll show you around.”

Up, discovered Angel, meant climbing a small narrow staircase to Guy’s apartment

above his law offices. What she found at the top of the steps took her breath away.

“Oh Guy…”
His living room was filled with candlelight and firelight, masses of the former on

low tables and the mantelshelf above the latter—blazing in a fireplace that looked like it
had warmed several centuries of cold residents.

The glow reflected from rich polished wood bookshelves, paneling worn by time

and some dark carpet that seemed to match the couch and chairs pulled contentedly
near the blaze.

“I know women love candles.” He was smiling at her, watching her reaction.
“Oh wow.” She moved forward, scarcely aware that he’d taken her coat. “This is

truly exquisite. What a wonderful apartment.” She ran her hand over the wainscoting.
“It must be very old?”

Guy nodded in answer to her question. “One of the original buildings in town, I

think. Early eighteen hundreds maybe. We had to renovate downstairs, of course, but I
remember adamantly telling my dad to never touch this particular spot. Fortunately, he
agreed with me.” He gazed around with a good deal of pride. “I can’t believe how
lucky I am to live here.”

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“It’s stunning.” Angel had no problem praising it. If a page of some architectural

magazine featuring homes from the past had come to life it could be no better than this.
“I love it.”

“Good. Let me show you the rest of the place. The kitchen isn’t quite so—er—

adorable, shall we say?” He took her hand and led her through the living room to a tiny
warped doorway where he ducked. “Headroom is an issue too. Fortunately I have a
hard head and the bruises fade pretty quickly.”

Angel laughed with him and allowed him to lead her into a small tiled kitchen

where a table was covered with an assortment of dishes.

“Hey. I thought you said something about pizza.” She turned her eyes to his face.

“This isn’t pizza…”

He chuckled. “Nope. No pizza tonight. I called in a favor from my buddy Wai. He

runs the best Japanese restaurant in the county. I hope you like Japanese…”

“Mmm.” Angel’s mouth was already watering at the smells emanating from the

covered plates.

“Here. Let’s start with this.” Guy let her hand go and stepped over to his fridge

from which he produced a bottle of champagne with the flair of a magician whipping a
white rabbit out of a black top hat. “Ta da!”

Angel leaned against the counter. “You’re spoiling me.”
“I know.” Guy pulled two flutes from a cabinet over the sink. “All part of my

much-vaunted seduction technique.” He popped the cork skillfully and poured, passing
Angel a glass with a wicked grin. “How am I doing so far?”

Angel clinked the rim against Guy’s glass and sipped, wrinkling her nose as the

bubbles fizzed against it. “So far? Pretty damn good, I’d say. And I’ve only been here
ten minutes.”

“After an hour you’ll be putty in my hands.” The waggle of the eyebrows that

accompanied Guy’s assertion turned it into a lighthearted joke rather than the arrogant
statement it might have been in other circumstances.

“Perhaps.” Angel raised an eyebrow noncommittally over the rim of the glass. “Can

I see the rest of the place?”

“Sure. The guided tour begins over here…”
Guy took Angel through the apartment, his affection showing in his evident

knowledge of history. He showed her blocked up doorways and heavy warped beams,
waxed eloquent about the flooring and the width of the aged planking. He griped about
the windows but then excitedly revealed a tiny passageway that he was convinced
formed part of the Underground Railroad way back when.

He was fabulous company, realized Angel, as he encouraged her to grab some food

and led them both back to get comfortable in front of the fire. He had made no secret of
the fact he intended to seduce her, yet somehow that was a fire he’d yet to fuel.

Or perhaps, in his subtle way, he’d already begun.

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* * * * *

I’m liking this. I’m liking this a lot.
I slither from the couch to the floor, slipping off my shoes and digging my sock-

covered toes into the furry rug in front of the fire. “This is decadent.” The champagne is
warming me as it always does. But now I am relaxed, more relaxed with a man than I
can remember being in a long time.

“Take your socks off. Feel it on your toes. It really is nice.” Guy joins me and suits

words to actions, tossing his socks and sneakers away and wiggling his own feet with a
gusty sigh.

I giggle as I do what he suggests. The heat of the fire is delightful on my bare feet

and the fur soft as all get-out. “This whole rug-in-front-of-the-fire thing, Guy…”

“Yeah, bit obvious, isn’t it?” He puts his glass down on the coffee table and takes

mine from my hand. “But I’ve been waiting for the right woman so that I can try it out.”

“Really?” I look at him. “Never used it? Not once?”
He lifts a hand to my cheek and leans near. “No. Not once. Not until now.” His

breath is sweet and clean and my gaze drops to his lips as he closes the space between
us. “Tonight’s the night. For the rug—and for us.”

I close my eyes as the kiss begins. Tenderly, Guy presses our mouths together,

content at first to just let the sensitive skin meet in a soft embrace. Then he parts his lips
and touches mine with the tip of his tongue, a polite inquiry I can’t help answering.

The warmth builds as I open for him, enjoying the soft slide of his wet tongue as it

finds mine and caresses it, gently at first then with more determined thrusts.

My hands reach for him, my body tightens as a new kind of tension builds inside

me and the embrace turns hot in an instant, our bodies seeking contact, our arms
entwining around each other.

He learns me cleverly, tongue delving deeply into the cavern of my mouth, tasting

the landscape, letting me discover his at the same time. He’s gentle, always gentle, but
there’s an underlying sense of desire, of need, that I can feel as strongly as I can feel the
muscles of his body beneath his shirt.

“Guy…” I whisper his name against his mouth as we part for breath. “Oh Guy…”
“Yes, Angel. I’m here.” He slips a hand beneath my sweater. “So soft. So warm. I

knew you’d feel like this.” Again he kisses me, harder this time, more quickly. “I want
to touch all of you. See all of you.”

“I want that too.”
And it’s the truth. His seduction has worked—I’m tingling and warm and hungry

for more of this loving attention. He’s looking at me with a mixture of desire and
wonder, a compliment that stirs something deep inside. Guy has awoken the woman
who wants to be cherished, to be touched like she’s a fragile treasure beyond price.

He knows just how to do it too.

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With sure movements, he lifts the sweater over my head and brushes away the few

strands of hair that cling to my face. I watch his gaze drop to my breasts, barely hidden
beneath the pale blue lace cups.

“God.” He swallows. “If this is the sort of lingerie you distribute, I reckon the world

is trampling a path to your door.”

Wickedly, I giggle. “Wait until you see the panties that go with it.”
This time the swallow is a gulp. “Dunno if my heart can stand it.”
With what could be termed reverence, he lifts a hand to my breast and cups it.

“Angel, you live up to your name. These truly are angelic breasts.”

Slowly he lowers his head and runs the tip of his tongue over the fabric, accurately

finding my nipple and suckling it through the lace. I slide down onto the rug, obedient
to his pressure as he follows me down, still tugging on that hard bud and sending shots
of electricity to my cunt.

“Your turn.” I reach for his shirt buttons.
Obviously I’m a bit slow, since he immediately tugs free of it and chucks it onto the

couch, leaning over me and rubbing his chest against my skin. He’s well built, solid and
muscled but not overwhelming. The dapple of hair scrapes against me and makes me
moan a little, it’s so good.

“More.” Guy reaches for the clasp at the front of my bra and releases it. “Oh yeah.

Oh yeah…”

Now my breasts are bare, heated by the fire and by Guy’s mouth. He sucks

forcefully, touching them, kneading them, relishing every inch he can find to lick and
tease.

I know my hips are squirming and my legs parting—he’s good. So good that I swear

he could probably make me come just from what he’s doing to my breasts if he kept it
up long enough.

I hold his head close, encouraging him, relaxing into this moment of pleasure with

the fur soft against my spine and Guy a delicious weight above me. His mouth darts
from one nipple to the other, tonguing me, toying with me, licking beneath my breasts
where the skin folds softly under their weight.

“You taste so—so—” He lifts one breast and swipes his tongue over the flesh he

revealed. “Did you know you can get a woman’s true flavor from the skin right here?”

“You can?” I’m not thinking too clearly right at this moment. My cunt is aching, my

breasts feel like they’ve grown about two cup sizes and I’m drifting into a sea of
warmth and arousal like a storm-tossed galleon into a sheltered harbor.

“Mmm.” He hums against my body, a vibration that rocks me. I can feel it in my

pussy—hell, I can feel it down to my toes, and yes they’re curling with it.

“So—” I have to fight for the words, my throat is clogging as Guy nibbles around

the waistband of my jeans. “So what do I taste like?”

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His hands unfasten the snap and I feel his breath as he slides the zipper down over

my mound, pushing the fly apart to reveal my panties. “Like heaven. Like an angel
must taste. Like a woman I want to drown inside…” He peels away my jeans, pulling
them easily down my legs and throwing them God knows where.

And settles between my thighs, his hands on either side of my pussy.
I’m so wet, so ready for this. I want him touching me in all the ways he cares to, I

want out of my panties, I want to be naked and spread and have him naked and inside
me.

“Jesus Christ above.” Guy’s fingers stroke my pussy. “You are so fucking beautiful

all over, Angel…”

“It’s the lingerie, isn’t it?” I struggle to keep my head above this lake of sexual heat

when all I want to do is take a breath and sink into it.

“Don’t think so.” Quickly, Guy’s fingers slither beneath my panties and yank them

down my legs and off my feet.

I gasp, the pleasure of the fur against my nude body a wonderful treat.
“No. It’s not the lingerie, Angel. It’s you.” Guy shudders, a tremor I can feel as he

lifts my thighs to his shoulders. “Shit. Naked pussy. I’m in heaven.”

It’s a growl of pleasure that thrills me even as I want to smile at his words. Then he

touches me and all thought of speaking slips away. Fucking hell, I can’t even remember
my own name as his tongue slips wetly over my slit and delves within, finding my clit
and teasing it.

I cry out—I can’t hold the sound back as he licks up underneath my most sensitive

spot. My thighs tighten around his head and he does it again, grabbing my buttocks
and squeezing them in tandem with the movements of his mouth.

“Fucking hell, Guy…” It’s a squawk, I know, but he’s getting me higher and higher.

Too close and I’ll come in his face. My hands are already on my breasts, pulling at my
nipples, heightening what he’s doing to me with bolts of sensation sizzling along my
nerve endings.

“Good?” He draws away for a moment to look up along my body and I lift my head

to meet his gaze.

His eyes are blue fire, his hair tousled and falling every which way and there’s a

slight smile around his lips even though his face is set in hard lines of desire.

I can only nod.
“I know.” He lets me free as he kneels upright and unfastens his pants. “I want to

fuck you so bad, Angel. Or so good, as I think it’s gonna be between us.”

“Yes, oh God yes. I want that too, Guy. The sooner the better.” A tumble of words

that are nothing more than the truth.

He struggles out of his clothes, as naked now as I am. And when I see his cock—

well, damn. There isn’t a single thing about this man I don’t like.

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He watches me watching him. And he certainly knows when I look down at his

erection. He stays still, letting me fill my eyes with it, relaxed in his nudity and secure in
his masculinity. There is no preening here, no thrusting of the hips or size comments.
Just a man aroused by the embrace of a woman. And his body ready to do what comes
naturally.

He’s well endowed. Straight and quite thick, the head is swollen and dark red,

flanged as his blood thunders through his cock in time with his heartbeat. He’s very
hard, a drip of moisture oozing from the slit on the tip.

His balls are taut, his blond pubic hair a light frame for his handsome genitals. He’s

everything a woman could wish for—and for this night, he’s mine.

Without conscious thought, I reach for him. “My turn.”
I lick my lips and it almost seems he gets even harder, if such a thing is possible.

“Uhh…”

“Trust me. I won’t let you come. Not yet.”
And I won’t. I can suck him off, of course, but the challenge is in sucking him crazy

then getting him inside me. He won’t last long, of course, but then neither will I.

With a wince, he lies down on the rug this time and I move between his legs. He’s

truly beautiful, this unusual lawyer. His skin glows in the firelight. His body is male
and powerful but not in an intimidating way.

He’s offering himself to me without a second thought, lying there quietly, watching

my face, touching my arm, my hair, whatever he can reach, whatever he feels like
touching.

He’s sensual, sexy and passionate. And gentle.
Mouth watering, I lean down, grasp the base of his cock firmly and suck him deep

into my throat. He deserves nothing less.

The muted cry is my reward. “Holy fucking—” His hips jerk upward as I suck him,

enjoying the fact that I have some skill in this particular activity and can now fully
utilize it on a deserving man.

He tastes wonderful, spicy salt and masculine musk. I tease the little slit, slathering

his own pre-cum over his cock and mixing it with my saliva as I suck him deep once
more. And all the while I keep my fingers locked tightly at the base, teasingly catching
his pubic hairs between them and tugging gently.

I know this will stave off his orgasm for a while, until I’m ready to make him come

or ease him down a bit.

It’s strange how the tricks of my trade have asserted themselves in this private

moment with Guy. I’m pleasuring him with all the talent I have at my disposal, yet this
time it’s because I want to, not because it’s paid for.

It seems there is a difference because the pleasure I’m getting from doing this is

surprising me.

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I reach for his balls, but his hand clenches in my hair and he holds me back.

“Enough, Angel. I can’t take any more. I want to fuck you…now.”

I want the same thing.
Obediently, I let him go, licking the taste of his cock from my lips. I know my cunt

is hot and empty, wet and waiting as I anticipate that same cock inside me.

He reaches for his pants and pulls out a condom, efficiently sheathing himself

before rolling me onto the rug and settling between my thighs.

“I can’t wait. I don’t want anything fancy, no gymnastics or page three from the

Kama Sutra.” His eyes are glinting behind heavy lids as his gaze roams my body. “I just
want to be inside you, fucking you, hearing you scream as I make you come. As many
times as I can, as many times as you want.”

“Then fuck me, Guy. Put that cock inside me and make me scream. Make me come.

Ride me, drive me insane, but just fuck me…”

His eyes blaze at my words and he positions the head of his cock in the notch

between my thighs against the lips of my pussy.

I moan a little—it feels so wonderful. The anticipation builds, the knowing that

soon he’ll be stretching me, stroking me inside, ramming himself balls-deep in my cunt.

“Oh Jesus—” He slides forward, stretching me in the most wonderful way, filling

me with a single thrust of his hips.

“Aaahhhh.” I sigh with pleasure at the sensation, my cunt already gripping him,

my muscles tightening at the incredible intrusion.

“Fucking Christ this is amazing.” He moves, his body shifting a little so that he can

touch my clit as he pulls away, his head lowering to watch the melding of our bodies.

“Make me come, Guy. Please. Make me come…” I want to come so badly now I’m

shaking with it.

My spine is shimmering inside me, that trembling moment when I hover on the

edge of my own personal precipice. I can feel the ridges of his erection as he slides it in
and out of my cunt, rubbing all the right places, the friction driving me nearly insane as
he lingers on each stroke.

“Now, Angel…”
He rams into me, hammering thrusts that push my buttocks along the fur and send

my ankles up to lock behind his waist. I hang on to anything I can grab, riding his
motions and meeting them with my body, lifting into his down stroke and pulling away
as he withdraws.

It’s a dance for which our bodies seem perfectly suited, a rhythm we perfected

within an instant of his penetration.

I cling tenuously to the final seconds, seeing the chords in his neck taut and

gleaming as he works above me. His eyes are closed, his chest heaving and his body
tight as a drum.

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Then he forces himself as deep as he can go and groans loudly, the sound sending

me over the edge as much as the pressure he’s exerting on my clit.

It is enough.
I explode around him, clamping my cunt on his cock in an orgasm of pleasure,

waves of heat and light lapping into my body and my brain. It’s shatteringly beautiful,
sharing this moment with such a skilled lover in such a gentle and sensual fuck.

I cry out his name. I can’t help it, he’s become so much a part of this experience.

“Guy, oh God, Guy…”

No whimpers here, no squeals or murmurs. Just the sheer joy of fucking a man and

reaching a mutual climax, a leisurely and arousing progress to a naturally satisfying
orgasm.

I relish it, cherish it, fix it in my mind as a unique moment in my life. I’ve been well

and truly fucked and I’ve loved every minute of it.

And as we slide apart, a tumble of exhausted limbs and sweaty flesh, I have to

smile. For once, I’ve shared a night of passionate sex just for the sheer pleasure of it. I’ve
experienced what it’s like to be a woman desired by a man. A woman fucked by that
very same man.

And it’s all been done for free.
Guy collapses beside me and huffs out a tired chuckle. “Let’s take this to bed.”
“Huh?” I turn my head in surprise, looking at his face, relaxed now and smiling at

me.

“If you think I’m going to let you go now, after this delicious event, you’re wrong,

love. The night is young yet.”

He traces one finger lightly down over my breast and my nipple, his smile

widening as he notes my shiver. “There is so much I want to do with you, Angel. I want
to watch your face the next time you come. I want to be between your thighs with my
tongue in your pussy, watching you.”

I blink, knowing that there’s probably a blush creeping into my cheeks at the

explicit words. Either that or the visions he’s stirring in my head are stoking the sensual
fire he’s lit so well only moments before.

“I’d like to come in your mouth too. Your lips…” He leans forward and kisses

them, a soft lingering caress of banked desire. “Your lips felt like nothing I can describe
when you wrapped them round my cock.” His hand lies warmly on my belly, finger
ringing my navel. “So many ways to explore each other. I want them all.”

“You’re a greedy man.” I lie still, enjoying this touching play, this softly sexy

conversation between lovers.

“Where you’re concerned, yes. I am.” He lifts up onto one arm. “But that rug won’t

take much more. The bed will be better next time, I’m thinking.”

He lifts an eyebrow and I read the question in his eyes.
I know there can only be one answer. “I’d like that.”

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He tugs me to my feet and pulls me to his bedroom, a silent and dark room where

there are no candles or much of anything other than his dresser and a huge bed. “This is
where I want to wake up next to you. Where I want you naked. Where I want the smell
of your pussy on my sheets and the feel of your nipples in my mouth. This is where I
want to make memories with you, Angel.”

I swallow. He has a way with words and I don’t think it has much to do with his

profession. “I’m-I’m-moved, Guy.”

He grins. “Angel, compared to what you just did to my world, the word moved is

pretty much of an understatement.” He nods at a door. “I’ll be right back.” It’s the
bathroom.

He takes only a few moments, allows me a few moments in my turn to tidy up and

I find myself tucked beneath his quilts before I can really catch my breath.

What there is of it, Guy takes away when he reaches down and cups my mound,

just holding it like it’s some delicate flower. “Your pussy is a thing of beauty. You fuck
like a dream come true and I’m thinking that if I let you go you’ll vanish like a real
angel and go back to heaven again.”

I smile, sprawled on the pillows beside him. “Guy, you’re a rare and special man.”
And I would know.

* * * * *

They slept and fucked and slept some more. Angel was constantly astounded at

Guy’s recuperative abilities, while her own astonished her more than once.

He kept his promise, bringing her lingeringly, slowly—too slowly for her tastes—to

another orgasm with his mouth and his tongue and his fingers, watching her as she
finally surrendered with eyes that shone bright blue from between her parted thighs.

After she’d recovered, she turned to him and once more took him into her mouth,

this time adding the encouragement of her fingertips in all the most sensitive spots,
even taking his balls gently into her mouth at one point, making him shiver and moan
loudly.

She shocked him by swallowing him when he came, surprising herself by her

enthusiasm. His pleasure, his ecstasy, his desire for her body and her attentions seemed
to inflame something inside her, urging her to return the favors with every bit of skill
and passion she possessed.

Their hours passed together, the rests between getting longer, until they both finally

lapsed into sleep, exhausted, surrounded by a tangle of sheets and the redolent scent of
sex.

Angel awoke to the first rays of sunlight and the sound of a heart beating beneath

her ear. She had curled against Guy and sometime during the night her head had found
the perfect spot on his chest.

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His arms were wrapped around her, their legs a jumble of hairy muscles and

smooth curves—it was a unique moment that Angel added to her little store of
memories.

She so seldom awoke like this, in fact she preferred not to. But this morning? This

morning it seemed that to awake any other way would have been a travesty. She lay
there, in Guy’s arms, thinking. Understanding perhaps why women tied themselves to
one man. The protection, the security, the loving—these were all things she’d not truly
experienced.

To know that one would wake every morning held like this. Every morning there

would be the same man in her bed, building a life with her, Angel Jones. Looking
forward to coming home to her in the evening, talking about their plans for the future…

It was an idyllic train of thought, but something inside Angel blinked. She was, for

this short time, Angel Jones.

Within days, she would be Scarlet Angel once more.
The two were incompatible, mutually exclusive.
She sighed.
“That’s a big sigh.” Guy’s voice was a low warm drawl next to her ear. “You okay?”
“Mmm.” She stretched. “Never better.”
“Good.” He kissed her head. “Stay with me today?”
Once again, a slight sensation of unease shifted inside her brain and she touched

him caressingly. “I can’t, Guy. I have to leave on Tuesday. You know that. There’s still a
lot I need to do at the cottage.”

“But you’ll come back?”
There it was. The question she’d subconsciously feared would come after their

night of passion together.

She nuzzled her face into his chest and breathed in his scent, a woman satisfied

with her lover and happy to be where she was.

It was Angel Jones that sniffed and nuzzled Guy. But it was Scarlet Angel who

answered, in a way both complimentary and diplomatic, accompanied by a sweetly
loving smile.

“What do you think?”

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Chapter Eight

The question Guy had asked plagued Angel for some time during the rest of her

day. She’d driven home, yanked her thoughts out of the “sex-with-Guy-was-really-
nice” mindset and turned to what needed doing.

It was a combination of busy work and organization, something that Angel

managed to lose herself within quite easily. More boxes were packed and labeled, and
at last the cottage was emptying of Aunt Dodo’s presence. The large pile of trash bags
would go out for collection, several people had kindly accepted Angel’s offer of
charitable donations and most of the usable furniture would go to a group who funded
and assisted women’s shelters throughout the county.

The paperwork had been sifted, sorted and filed appropriately. Some would go to

Guy for inclusion in Aunt Dodo’s closed file, just in case there were any future legal
matters to be settled. The rest could be recycled.

Angel had her small cache of mementoes that would go into the car on Tuesday,

things that she simply could not part with.

Finally, she sat back on her heels and taped up one of the last boxes. There was little

left now, mostly just empty rooms, necessities in the one bathroom and enough food to
tide her over.

Mrs. Armstrong had said she’d be happy to keep an eye on things until Angel made

her decision about the disposition of the property. And this was the one area that had
Angel in a quandary.

She could sell it—that was option number one. She could consider renting it out for

the income—option number two.

The third option—she could keep it. But for what? The occasional weekend?

Vacations?

She wandered into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, a little shiver crossing

her spine as the light faded and evening approached. It would be cold tonight, no
question.

Just as she finished pouring, the phone rang.
“Hey, Angel. How are you?” It was Guy.
“Doing good, thanks. Busy. I got a lot of boxes packed. Stuff organized, you know

the sort of thing. I’ll have some papers for Aunt Dodo’s dossier too.”

“I guess I didn’t tire you out enough.” He laughed.
“It was a close thing.” She laughed back.

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“Look, about the cottage…” He paused and Angel waited, wondering what was

coming next. “Before you make any final decisions, let me throw something out here.”

“Okay.” Angel sipped her tea, cautiously awaiting what Guy wanted to say.
“You distribute lingerie. Women in Bothwell Valley wear lingerie. Why not think

about opening your own franchise here? There’s a couple of available storefronts right
on Main Street and I happen to know the owner would give you a great deal on the
rent…”

Angel chuckled. “Don’t tell me you own the buildings.”
“Nope.” Then there was a sort of chuckling cough. “My dad does.”
Angel rolled her eyes. “Figures.”
“Look, regardless of who owns it, I do believe you could make a success of it,

Angel. You have the knowledge, the business smarts—anybody spending five minutes
with you can tell you’re good at what you do.”

Angel remained silent and stared absently at her tea. Oh yes. She was indeed good

at what she did.

“I’m just asking you to think about it. No pressure, no deadlines or anything, but

before you make that final decision about the cottage, slot this suggestion into your
options file, okay?”

“Hmm. It’s certainly something I hadn’t considered.”
“In the interests of full disclosure, yes I have a personal reason for suggesting this.

Of course I do. I just spent the most incredible night of my life with the most amazing
woman I’ve ever met. I’d like to think there might be something we could build a future
on. I’d like the chance to see if what we started last night could turn into something that
we’d both find fulfilling in more ways than one.”

“Guy, it’s…I’m…” Angel struggled to find the right words.
“Don’t say anything right now, okay? All I’m asking is that you think about it. Keep

it in the back of your mind for a few months, talk to the people you work for, explore
some of the options here. Just know that if you decide to take this route, I’ll be here for
you. Waiting for you.” His voice heated a little. “Wanting you. Always.”

There was a pause for a moment or two, then Guy’s tone returned to normal. “And

of course, being the best lawyer around, I can take care of any legalities in a snap.”

Angel laughed. “Good to know.” She sipped her tea once more. “Guy, you’ve

offered an idea that I hadn’t considered and for that I’m in your debt. I do need some
time to think about it—you’re right there. It’s not something that one decides
overnight.”

“I realize that. Just as I realize I won’t get the chance to discuss this with you in

person because I’ve been called to a deposition first thing tomorrow. Dad and I will be
heading out before dawn.” He sighed. “I won’t get to see you before you leave,
dammit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Guy. I really am.”

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“Look, make sure you leave a number with the office, okay? I need to be able to

keep in touch with you, Angel. If it’s all right with you, of course?”

“Of course, Guy.” Sadly, the number she’d leave wouldn’t be her own. “I’ve found

that a service works best for me, given my odd schedule, travel and so on. You probably
won’t get directly through to me, but I’ll get your message and call you back.”

Maybe.
“I’ll miss you, sweetheart.”
Angel swallowed. “I know. I’ll miss you too.” She sighed in her turn. “I’m sorry we

won’t see each other before I go, but I want you to know Guy that your help, your
presence—and yes, your talented body—you’ve made this difficult time bearable and
brought a great deal of pleasure into what would otherwise have been a very dark
period for me. Thanks just doesn’t seem to cover it.”

“You’re thanking me? You rock my world from pole to pole and you’re thanking

me?”

Angel smiled. “It was that good, wasn’t it?”
“Yep. That good and more.”
“Thanks Guy. And I do mean that. For everything.” Angel poured sincerity into her

tone. She was being absolutely truthful in everything she’d said to this man. Whether
what lay between them would develop into anything more—that was an area she was
not about to pursue. Not right now, anyway.

“You have a safe trip home, okay?”
“I will. Please give my regards to your dad and you two have a safe trip as well.”
There was a pause. “I could come over and say goodbye, you know. Maybe help

move a few boxes…”

“No.” Her answer was immediate. “Thanks, but no. It’s best this way. For right

now, anyway. If that makes sense?” She drew a breath. “This isn’t easy, Guy. None of
this. Taking care of Aunt Dodo’s stuff, being with you, last night—I guess my head is
sort of upside down at the moment. I don’t want to mess it up any more than it is
already.”

“You’re right.” Guy sounded regretful. “I told myself I wasn’t going to pressure

you. That we’re both adults, that I’d simply throw out a few suggestions and trust you
enough to know that you’d consider them. I guess there’s one thing I didn’t take into
account…”

Angel couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to ask, but she simply had to. “What’s

that?”

“That I want you. That I know something very special might be happening between

us. And that I want whatever that special thing is.”

Angel shifted her shoulders uneasily as she carefully chose her words. “Guy, you’re

an amazing man. A woman would be a fool not to want you back.” She managed a
small chuckle. “I’ve been called many things, but never a fool.”

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She heard his breath as he exhaled. “Goodbye, Angel. We’ll talk soon.”
“Goodbye Guy. And thanks again.”
Angel hung up the phone and stared thoughtfully at it for a long time.
So many ideas chased themselves through her brain. So many dreams, so many

fantasies, fueled by the thought of the “perfect” future Guy was apparently dangling in
front of her.

A little lingerie store of her own in a nice part of town. Dates and more dates with

Guy, sex with Guy, most probably an engagement, then a wedding celebrated in the
church hall.

Followed by the average two-point-three children, a new home, a mortgage—
God, she’d suffocate.
Shrugging, Angel turned to complete her day’s work. There was much to think

about—and yes, maybe indulge in a daydream or two about—but first things first.

Throwing herself into the remaining tasks, Angel was exhausted when her head hit

the pillow and she was still lethargic the next morning when she woke to dim sunshine
and the knowledge that it was her last full day at Aunt Dodo’s.

Only after her shower and her coffee did she remember something else about this

day.

It was Monday.
Ramsey was due to stop by.
When the sun started to set and he hadn’t shown, Angel was ready to call it quits

with Bothwell Valley, Aunt Dodo’s cottage and men in general.

One man in particular.
She hadn’t wasted a minute of valuable time thinking about Ramsey, of course.

Other than the quick glance at the clock now and again. There had been much to
complete, boxes to label, linens to be taken down and either thrown out or folded into
piles.

Angel had everything organized neatly and was surprised to see that the clock now

told her it was close to four in the afternoon. She sat back on her heels, wiped a hand
over her forehead and realized her work was pretty much done. There were nicely
ordered stacks of cardboard containers in the three downstairs rooms. They were all
labeled.

There was only a quilt left upstairs which would go into the trash in the morning

before she left. A couple of towels, ditto. Her case was open and already half-
filled…yep, she’d finished up her list of chores.

Whatever food was left in the fridge would be disposed of after she’d fixed herself

something that night. She wasn’t in the mood to go out and eat. This had been pretty
damn draining.

Once again her eyes turned to the clock. Shit. She had to pack that somewhere too.

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Walking into the kitchen, Angel realized she hadn’t spared a thought for Guy all

day. She shrugged, opening a cabinet and pulling out a plate. She needed something,
her stomach was empty and reminding her she was hungry. As far as Ramsey was
concerned—fuck him. If there were any inspections to be done, he knew where the key
was.

This time her shrug was mental. Sure he was a sexy guy and she wouldn’t have

minded a quick fuck with him. But she could just as well live without it. Clearly he was
unreliable, since he hadn’t shown up. Why waste valuable time thinking about an
asshole?

Tomorrow she would return to her “real” life. The life she had chosen and enjoyed

to the hilt. She absently pulled out the remains of a casserole and admitted to herself
that the role of Angel Jones was starting to chafe a little.

Scarlet Angel wanted out. Scarlet wanted to flaunt her sexuality, live stylishly and

not worry about how long to nuke leftover casserole.

Angel had worked hard, met a sweet guy and done what was necessary—and

pleasant.

Scarlet itched below the surface. Scarlet wanted to take her pleasure where she

chose and to control the amount she took.

Scarlet also didn’t care to be presented with choices or asked questions she couldn’t

answer. Scarlet liked who she was. Angel Jones was just tired of the everyday routine
the rest of the world seemed to take for granted.

And as Angel straightened her back, closing the fridge and putting the casserole on

the counter, a loud knock broke the silence in the kitchen.

Startled, she spun around and stared through the glass—straight into a pair of

heated hazel eyes.

* * * * *

My heart is thudding, from the shock of the sound, I suppose. It’s been so quiet all

day. Certainly it wouldn’t be pounding from the fact that Ramsey is opening the door
and stalking in like he’s got every right to be here.

I lift my chin and stare at him. “Bit late for an inspection, isn’t it?”
He grins as he shuts the door behind him—and locks it. “Miss me?”
“No.”
“Liar.” Just the look on his face is enough to heat the room. “I told you I’d be here.”
“My mistake. I assumed the work you have to do would be best accomplished

during the day.”

“It’s still the day. But the work I have to do can be done at anytime at all.”

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He’s taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his shirt. I swallow, watching him,

wondering if it’s worth protesting at this point. I doubt if he’s the kind of man who
would go away if I asked him to.

Or maybe he is. “Go away.”
“No.” He leaves his shirt unbuttoned and snaps the catch on his fly.
Well, that answers that question.
“I don’t want this. I don’t want to fuck you.” I keep staring at him, hoping my face

is as expressionless as my voice.

“Liar. Again.” He’s in front of me now, all muscles and warmth and man smell.

“You know this has to happen. It was inevitable from the moment we laid eyes on each
other.” He reaches for my sweatshirt and slips his hands beneath it. “And you want it
as much as I do.”

Do I?
I’m certainly not fighting, or struggling, or kicking and screaming. I should be, I

suppose, but the touch of his hands on my bare flesh feels too damn good. I simply try
to stay still. “Do you plan on raping me?”

He snorts out a chuckle. “Shit no. You wouldn’t let me.” My sweatshirt gets yanked

off over my head—hard. “You’re the sort of woman who would castrate me rather than
let me rape her.” He sucks in a breath as he stares down at my breasts, barely covered
by the black lace of my bra. “And your nipples are hard.”

“It’s cold.”
“You’ve simply got to stop this lying thing you’ve got going on, Angel. It won’t cut

it. Not with me.” And he grabs me, pulling me hard against him, roughly crushing my
breasts into his chest. His hands are anything but tender, digging into the skin of my
back as he bends to me.

“Now just shut up and let’s fuck.”
He kisses me, fiercely, our teeth clashing together as his mouth seizes mine and

forces my lips apart. I can’t breathe, can’t think—his tongue plunges deeply, finding
mine and urging it to meet his movements, darting like a wild creature around the
inside of my mouth.

His body is hot, his cock already hard against my belly.
And yes, he’s right. My nipples are hard and getting harder, especially when he

loses patience with my bra catch and rips the fragile lace away, casually destroying
several hundred dollars worth of designer lingerie.

I try to say something, to speak, to protest—he’s having none of it. Moving just

enough to free my breasts, he pulls me back into him, groaning a little at the back of his
throat as my bare nipples crash into his body.

His hands are everywhere. In my hair, at the nape of my neck, sliding down my

spine to squeeze my buttocks and back again. He’s forcing me backward against the

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kitchen table, which squeaks a little as the pressure of our embracing bodies slides it
along the floor.

Then he pulls away, catching his breath and looking down between us. “Yeah.

Better.”

His head dips down as his hand comes up, cradling one of my breasts. “This is

what a man likes to see.” He licks his lips. “And taste.”

I can’t help the gasp as his mouth closes over a nipple. He’s sucking me, hard,

pulling the sensitive flesh deep into his mouth and tonguing it.

The response shoots painfully through me into my cunt. It’s rough and harsh and—

and—perfect.

Even as he’s suckling his hands are busy unfastening my jeans and pulling them

down over my hips, heedless of the very expensive silk bikini panties beneath. Letting
go of my breast for a second, his gaze flickers upward meeting mine. “These. Off.
Now.”

I glare back at him. “No.”
“Yes.”
“You first.”
“Not a problem.” Quick as lightning his pants are unzipped and on the floor

around his ankles. “That’ll do.”

Yes, it will. He has no underwear on.
He’s hard, very hard. And big too. Not long, but thick around and fully erect. It

really is a damn fine cock.

I struggle with my clothing, finally toeing off my sneakers and kicking my jeans

away. I’m naked but for my socks. He’s still wearing his shirt.

It’s raw and rough and making me hotter than fire.
He leans past me and swipes the table bare with one powerful move. I can hear the

odd bits of crockery smash on the floor, but at this moment I don’t care. It seems right,
fitting, that destruction be mingled with sex like this.

He pushes me down onto the table, my back against the cold surface, my legs

dangling over the side.

“Jesus Christ, you are so fucking hot.” His gaze blazes over my naked belly and

thighs, coming to rest on my pussy.

He reaches out to touch me, swiping his fingers through the juices I know are

flowing already. He’s stirred something deep inside, something dark and something
I’ve felt from time to time but managed to keep hidden—perhaps even from myself.

“Fuck.” It’s almost as if he’s talking to himself while he probes me, long fingers

delving between the lips of my pussy and into my cunt. “Hot silk, hot stuff.”

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He pulls his hand away and lifts it to his lips, tasting it. “And hot honey. I knew it.”

He rubs the moisture over my nipples, grinning as they bead even more. The cold of the
air against the wet heat on my skin is amazing.

I can smell myself, the tang of my body awakening sexually and filling the air with

the scent of fucking.

Am I turned on? Aroused? Shit, yeah. But I don’t want to make this too easy for

him. This is one fuck he’ll have to work for. I slap my legs shut, depriving him the view
of my cunt.

He simply shakes his head and laughs as he pulls a condom from his shirt pocket

and sheathes himself. “Don’t bother. I’ll be in you soon enough.”

Roughly he pushes my legs apart again. “And in case you’re wondering, I have

plenty more rubbers. This is going to be an all-nighter. You and me. In every way we
can think of.” He pauses, the tip of his cock touching my clit. “You’re gonna scream, hot
stuff. I’m gonna rip away that cool, polite lady thing you’ve been hiding behind. There’s
somebody else in back of those blue eyes of yours. I want her to come out and play.”

He thrusts hard, pushing me and the table with a screech that could have come

from the feet on the floor or the crushing breath forced from my lungs. He’s big and
filling me without mercy, going deep into my cunt without so much as a pause.

I’m stretched, aroused and aching, my clit throbbing as his cock stretches my inner

muscles to their limits.

He grunts as he sinks balls-deep, a low guttural sound that drives my inner fires up

another notch.

Then he pauses and I open my eyes to look at him. He’s staring at my pussy, at his

cock, at where we’re joined. For a second or two there’s almost a look of awe in his eyes,
then he lifts his head and our gazes clash.

“Scream my name.” His lips are taut, his face flushed.
“No.”
It’s a battle of wills now, the weapons our bodies—his cock, my cunt. The strategies

are those of touch and taste and scent and to the victor goes the orgasm. Or maybe to
the loser. I don’t know, I haven’t decided yet.

His eyes narrow, lids drooping a little as he looks back down at my pussy. “You

will scream, hot stuff. Bet money on it.” His hand reaches out and he finds my clit,
teasing around it, stroking it, his cock just barely moving inside me as he toys with me.

“Scream my name.”
I shake my head. I can’t deny him my body. I will deny him this. My hips are out of

control—they’re squirming, lifting toward his hand as he caresses my clit with a skill
that’s making my eyes cross.

His body is tense, barely moving, his cock still inside me, hard and hot in spite of

the condom. “Then come. Screw the scream this time around.”

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It’s a savage whisper that’s coupled with a hand to my breast, pinching a nipple

almost painfully. He seems all over me, my clit, my breast, my cunt—all surrounded by
Ramsey, filled with Ramsey, controlled by Ramsey.

It topples me over the edge and I spasm as the climax begins, shuddering through

me. I fight it, fight to hold the sounds within my throat. I will not give him the
satisfaction of hearing me cry out.

“That’s it, let it go.”
He moans a little as a strong contraction clamps his cock. I can feel it, feel his length

as my cunt grasps it. But he’s not moving, just standing between my thighs, watching
my pussy and letting me come all around him.

He’s not coming.
I blink as the orgasm passes and turn my head away, panting for breath. This table

is hard and I’m not sure what to expect. Ramsey’s made me come. But he’s still erect,
still inside me.

And I thought I was controlled. This man could give lessons to a rock.
He leans back and pulls his cock out of my cunt. “Turn over.”
“What?” I struggle to make sense of his words over the humming that’s only now

dying down in my ears.

“Turn over.”
Firm hands tug and pull me up, only to bend me over the table once again, this time

forcing my tender breasts into the surface. “Ouch.”

I hear an irritated sort of sound, then my shoulders are wrenched up, my sweatshirt

appears beneath me and back down I go, bent over with hands gripping the edge of the
table, ass in the air and Ramsey behind me, stroking the backs of my thighs, my butt
cheeks, my hips, gentle strokes that keep my heat simmering instead of helping it cool
down.

I’m shuddering now, from the aftereffects of an orgasm coupled with the current

effects of Ramsey’s caresses. He spreads my moisture all over my skin, cold kisses of air
from wet fingers dapple my lower body. He paints me with my own bodily fluids, his
hands massaging, stroking, rubbing, never breaking contact for a second, never giving
me chance to regain my equilibrium.

My nerves are tingling, each tiny cell on high alert, quivering, anticipating—I want

to jump when I feel his cock touch my pussy but I fight the urge. I’m not ready to give
him the satisfaction—not yet.

When his fingers touch my ass, the resultant shiver nearly rattles my teeth. He

knows how to find the most sensitive anal spots, how to spread the liquids around
places where they’ll do the most good. He doesn’t even bother to ask if he can sink a
finger inside my asshole, he just does.

And God, it feels so fucking good I have to stifle my moan in my sweatshirt.
The finger is withdrawn and I bite back a sigh of disappointment.

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“Again, hot stuff. Come again.”
Doubtful. But he doesn’t have to know that. He spreads my thighs wide and now I

can feel his body, hairs scraping the backs of my legs as he readies himself. This time,
surely he’ll come and we’ll be done with this.

His cock pushes inside again, easily because I’m so damn wet and hot, still racked

with the occasional tremor left over from my orgasm. Now he begins to move, a
forceful rhythmic stroke, in and out, abrading new places he didn’t touch last time.

Incredibly, my body responds and I can feel my cunt adapting, shifting around him.

Even the sensation of my nipples crushing into the sweatshirt and the table seems to
magnify what he’s doing, where he’s touching…

“Come again. Scream for me.”
I want to say no. My body tenses to respond, but at that moment his cock touches a

place inside my cunt and I go blind for a second or two. He pulls back then does it
again—and again and again, driving me wild with vivid brilliant sensations and
making my fingers clutch madly at the table.

I bite down on my lip hard. I will not scream for this man. I scream when I choose,

not when I’m told to.

He’s fucking me faster now, our skin slapping together in the silence of the kitchen.

I can hear my breathing, the scrabble of my nails on the tabletop, the quick panting
breaths coming from Ramsey’s throat as he pushes strongly against my body.

“Come.”
That word—always that fucking word. I won’t. But I’m helpless to withstand the

betrayal of my own cunt. He’s found the right place, that tiny gathering of nerve
endings inside me that up until now has pretty much been left to mind its own
business.

Rolling waves of sensation begin somewhere deep in my gut, building to a

swamping tsunami as another—different—orgasm sweeps through me, taking my
breath away with its intensity.

I’m amazed and astounded—or I would be if I could think at all.
“Oh yeah…” He whispers the words as he keeps on fucking me.
The bastard. He knows what’s happening. I hang on and ride it out, wondering at

the sweet fire engulfing me. I realize I’m drooling, gasping for breath, saliva dripping
from my lips onto my sweatshirt.

What in the name of God is he doing to me?
I don’t come like this. I never imagined coming like this. And I wait, lost in my own

climax, vaguely aware of him inside me, clutching my hips with his hard fingers, a
thrusting presence within my cunt that seems content to take this trip with me.

As I ease, he touches my spine, long caresses from my nape to my ass, a little flicker

over my anus and back up again.

He still hasn’t come. What is with this man?

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“Why don’t you come?” I gasp out the words, spitting out some of my sweatshirt as

it sticks to my lips.

“I will. Soon. I’m not ready yet.”
A lick of anger courses through me, mixing with the arousal and the remains of the

orgasms. For a second or two I can’t even think, I’m so furious at the control in his
voice.

How dare he? Fucking isn’t something I’m a novice at. Ramsey doesn’t know it, but

better men than him have let themselves go inside me with less than half the fucking
we’ve already done in this tiny rural cottage.

I see red. He is going to come—and come when I say so. It’s time to turn the tables

on this self-assured asshole and show him a thing or two.

I gather what’s left of my strength and push back, giving myself room to pull away

from his cock and get off this frickin’ table. I must catch him by surprise, since he seems
unprepared for my move.

Spinning quickly around to face him I slap the palms of my hands against his chest.

“Sit the fuck down.” I push. Hard.

He glances back and obeys, a quirk of amusement flashing across his flushed face.

Of course there’s a chair behind him. I don’t want him sitting on the floor. Yet.

He stumbles a little, hobbled by his jeans, but I couldn’t give a shit at this point. His

cock is still hard, the condom shining with my liquids, thrusting from his groin
hungrily in my direction.

I straddle him, pushing one breast to his mouth. “Suck me, asshole.” I reach for his

nipples and pinch them, not gently either. This is little short of war now, and I’m
fighting to regain my control. And make him come hard inside me. Violently inside me.
I want him shaking and dazed and out of his fucking mind.

It’s a matter of honor, you see. Scarlet Angel’s honor.
Because he’s released Scarlet. Angel Jones is off taking a well-earned nap.
His lips find my breast and suck hard, the sensation almost a painful pleasure after

what I’ve already experienced. I like feeling his chest flinch as I fondle his nipples.
There’s not a tiny bit of gentleness in my fingertips. This man has laid down the rules,
I’m simply playing by them.

I hold his head against me as I straddle him, deliberately grazing my pussy over his

skin, wetting him without a care. Then I grab a fistful of hair and tear his mouth from
my nipple. “Now it’s your turn, motherfucker.”

I reach between us and find his cock, positioning it where I need it, just at the right

angle for me to sink down onto.

I don’t “sink”. I thrust.
I slam down onto him every bit as forcefully as he took me. It jars me a little, but at

this point my cunt knows his shape, his length, his thickness.

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He gasps and a grimace of some emotion contorts his face. His eyes close as I start

to move, quick lifts followed by sharp return movements, clashing my pussy into his
groin.

He’s trembling now, shuddering beneath my hands as they grab his forearms to

steady myself. I keep it up, abrading our bodies, chafing my pussy against him, forcing
his orgasm out of him. My legs are spread so wide apart that my clit is getting in on the
action and before I realize it I’m climbing that incredible peak once more.

Fucking shit. This is out of the realms of fantasy for me. I’ve never come like this, so

many times, so rapidly. And with only one man.

He’s opened his eyes but I don’t know if he sees me at this moment. There’s a glaze

of fire over the hazel depths, a lustful twist to his lips, which part as he exhales gusty
pants in time with my movements.

I watch his throat as Ramsey struggles to swallow and glance down to see ripples of

muscle trembling beneath the skin of his belly.

Now. Now I know he’s going to come.
To my surprise, though, so am I.
His hands reach for me, lending his strength to my bouncing ride and bringing my

body even closer to his. He moves his hips as best he can, matching me thrust for thrust,
finding my clit, rubbing my nipples with his chest, squeezing my ass cheeks and pulling
at them, putting tension on places between them that scream out in response.

He stares at me, a hungry look of lust and elemental need, unblinking and steady as

we move together.

I meet his gaze. I can’t look away—not now, not when we’re both so close.
My cunt electrifies as his lips peel away from his teeth in a snarl of orgasm. I want

to laugh aloud and cry victory, but instead—I come.

So does Ramsey. At last.
He shouts out something, head flinging back, neck corded and taut. His hips thrust

upward and his hands hold me down, keeping his cock deep, deep inside me.

Beyond any pretense of control, I erupt into another orgasm.
This time my clit is in concert with my cunt. Everything I am explodes within me as

my thighs clamp around strong hips and my fingers bite deep into strong arms.

I fight it, but I know this is one battle I’m going to have to lose.
I let go.
“Ramseeeeeeey…”

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Chapter Nine

It didn’t end there.
Angel expected Ramsey to leave—but he surprised her by stalking naked to her

bathroom, bringing her quilt back downstairs with him and then lighting a fire in the
fireplace.

She hugged the quilt around her, shivering as she watched him. “Is that safe?”
His shoulders shifted but he didn’t turn around, giving her a shamelessly attractive

view of his ass. “I’m a firefighter in my spare time, in case you didn’t know.”

Angel snorted. “I meant is the chimney okay?”
He nodded, tucking some dry kindling around the little blaze. “I inspected it every

year. Doreen liked a fire come winter.”

“Ah.” Angel took herself upstairs to the bathroom, glad of the warmth of the quilt.

It was getting cold now that the sun had set and she’d turned the heater down low in
anticipation of her departure tomorrow. She couldn’t turn it off, of course, in case the
pipes froze. But she wouldn’t waste oil if there was nobody in the cottage to benefit
from it.

Returning, she found a comfortable flicker of firelight and the scent of wood smoke

filling the room.

“About time. It’s not that warm yet.” Ramsey grabbed her and smoothly tucked

them both up on the couch.

“Why are you still here?” She turned her head against his shoulder.
“Hot stuff, I’ve just begun. You’ve been an itch in my balls since the second I laid

eyes on you. It’s going to take more than one fuck to scratch it.”

“But I…”
“Sssh.” He pushed her head back against him. “Sleep a bit. You’ll need your

strength.”

Whether it was the warmth of Ramsey’s body or the hypnotic effect of firelight,

Angel wasn’t sure, but to her surprise her eyelids drooped and sleep claimed her.

Until she was awoken by the warm urgency of a head between her thighs and a

hotly probing tongue in her pussy.

She moaned as that tongue found her clit and tickled it, lapping around it and

toying with the moist flesh that heated rapidly beneath its touch. Already the fire of
arousal was sweeping up through her body and Angel pushed the quilt away to see
Ramsey, a work of art in the light of the flames, nestled against her legs, eating her.

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She was warm, languorous, sensually alive to his every move. And he was damn

skilled at what he was doing.

It took no time at all to bring her shuddering to the peak, heels digging into the

hard contours of his back. This time she let herself cry out, heedless of the man between
her thighs. It was simply a moment of pure pleasure, erotic loving from the touch of a
talented mouth.

As he released her clit from his lips, Ramsey chuckled hoarsely. “That’s the girl. I

knew you were in there somewhere.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Angel mumbled the words as Ramsey

clambered up on the couch beside her. “You can leave anytime.”

“I will. But not yet.”
His cock brushed her body as he settled himself. The soft velvet skin wrapped hard

muscle and Angel could almost hear the tension thrumming through his veins.

Well shit. What could she do? Returning the favor was only polite, right?
It seemed his mere presence was some kind of aphrodisiac for Angel because at that

moment, in the quiet darkness of the tiny living room with a fire smoldering in the
hearth, there was nothing she wanted more than to suck his cock.

Her own body was tingling with the fading adrenaline rush of her orgasm, her

thighs sticky, her pussy wet. Yet oddly enough, her senses were heightened, her needs
unassuaged.

Her mouth watered as she slowly slid herself over Ramsey, noting that he seemed

to read her thoughts. His legs parted readily enough to admit her presence and he
shifted a pillow beneath his head, lifting himself a little, watching her.

She cradled his length between her palms, watching the play of the firelight over

the ridges and valleys carved by the masculine landscape. He was thick but she could
just manage to grasp him in one hand, near the base, while the other ran lightly to the
head underneath his cock.

He sucked in a breath as she flicked her fingertips over a spot where the nerve

endings were alive with sensation—she knew where it was, found it with ease and
returned again and again to tease it.

Then she bent to him and took him deep, as deep as she could, letting his swollen

head graze the back of her throat.

Slowly, deliberately, Angel eased her head back, soaking his cock with her saliva,

spreading it around with the hand that followed the movement of her lips up his
erection.

She did it again and again, noting his stiffening muscles, the tension that gripped

his body as it surrounded her.

He shuddered and she eased off, letting her tongue take over the sensual play,

running just the very tip of it all over his cock and then down, down lower, to find his
balls.

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Keeping her hand sliding over the slick arousal, Angel licked and tasted his balls,

finally sucking them gently into her mouth and holding them there for a moment or
two.

Ramsey was rigid beneath her; his breath seemed to have stopped dead even

though his pulse was thudding rapidly in just about every bit of his body that touched
her.

She laved the sac with her tongue once more then eased free, returning to suck him

more strongly and with a faster tempo than before. He groaned, a rough sound that
made her smile inwardly as she carefully let her teeth graze his cock, adding even more
sensation to the experience.

Her cheeks hollowed as she pulled the length in and out of her mouth, taking him

right to the back of her throat without hesitation now, each and every time. Her fingers
stayed busy, rolling his balls around, stroking them and finally delving beneath to find
his perineum and press where they would do the most good.

“Fuck.” The oath ripped from his throat as Ramsey’s hips trembled and lifted,

pushing his cock even deeper into Angel’s welcoming caresses. She had him now, she
knew. He was, to use the hackneyed phrase, putty in her hands. Pretty much like every
other man who’d had the honor of receiving a blowjob from this particular master of
the art.

She smirked around his cock as she sucked hard, building the tension with tongue,

fingers, hands and lips. She was going to make him come. And he’d never forget it,
either.

Once again she dipped her hand between his legs, this time pressing in the right

spot and teasing around his anus as well. It was a combination of moves that no man
could withstand, as Ramsey proved.

He grunted, shuddered and exploded, violently, in her mouth.
She swallowed him, drank him down, holding his softening cock until every last

spurt had been milked from his balls. She was damn good at this, enjoyed the power
she felt as she sucked him into an orgasm and simply stayed still until he was spent.

His hands finally reached for her, pulling at her hair, bringing her up to lie on his

body. “Fucking shit, woman. That was…”

Angel grinned as she settled herself. “Acceptable?”
Ramsey’s chest rose and fell as he struggled for breath and words. “Out of this

world.”

“Yes.” She knew. Of course she knew. It was her job and she was good at it. This

time it had been purely for pleasure, but there was no reason not to share her skills. No
reason at all.

“How did you ever learn to suck cock like that?” Ramsey’s question was casual, his

tone relaxed as he idly stroked the length of her spine.

“I researched it on the Internet.”

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“Damn. Is there anything you can’t learn online?”
“Nope.” She closed her eyes and felt the quilt slide up over them both. “G’night.”

Warm and relaxed she dozed off once more, this time with Ramsey as her pillow.

Only to wake again to a dying fire and a hand stroking her pussy.
This time she was lying on her stomach and the hand knew no boundaries. He was

slicking her juices all over her skin from clit to ass. Especially her ass. She had an idea
what was coming next. And it would probably be her.

Gently, Ramsey moved her body, easing her onto her knees on the floor and

bending her over the couch. “You do this before?” His fingers pulled her butt cheeks
apart and toyed with her anus. “Anal?”

“Yes.”
Why lie? They’d done too much now, gone too far, for untruths.
“You like it?” His fingers probed, slick with her liquids, teasing her nerve endings

awake and making her body hum.

“If it’s done carefully, slowly and with precautions. Yes.”
“Good. I’ve got precautions. And I’m always careful.” He pushed her thighs wide

apart and she felt his body near her ass. “Dunno about slow, though. I want to be inside
you. Everywhere. All the time.”

His cock nudged her, sending shivers through her cunt. He rubbed himself over her

pussy, soaking the soft latex of a condom sheathing his length, then returning to her
little ring of muscles.

“Christ, your ass is perfect.” He pushed a little, a teasing pressure on a place that

already jumped with the excitement of his touch.

Angel breathed out, relaxing, wanting him inside her every bit as much as he

wanted to be there. She slid a hand down to her pussy and gently stroked her clit,
feeding her arousal, knowing it would help ease his way into her ass.

She was tender, alive to each sensation, both those of her own fingers and those of

Ramsey’s cock as he slowly but insistently pushed his way past the ring of muscles that
barred his entry. She’d had a lot of sex tonight, no two ways about it. Experienced
though she was, there had to be some physical effects.

Her pussy was hot and swollen to her touch, over-sensitive after the fucking she’d

indulged herself in. Her clit wouldn’t stand direct contact, but seemed to grow and
awaken to soft strokes around its hood.

She was wet, sticky, well-fucked and ready for one more go-around. Her nipples

scraped against the couch cushions and she turned her head to one side, getting
comfortable as the glow of another climax began to throb in her cunt.

Ramsey was behind her, claiming her now, deep inside her darkest places as if he

belonged there. “Christ, I knew you’d be a good ass-fuck. I just knew it…” His voice
cracked a little, hoarse and rich with lust.

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Angel tightened her muscles, clamping down on him and bringing a hiss of breath

from between his teeth. “You knew, did you?”

“Oh fuck yeah. Soon as I looked at you.” He was inside her balls-deep now, a

stretching presence teasing and filling her, skin to skin, his hands gripping her ass
cheeks as he plundered between them.

And that’s all you’ll ever know about me, Ramsey.
Angel closed her mouth on the sentiment. The less she said, the safer she was.

Ramsey had driven her into a mad world of sex, taking what he wanted but serving to
pleasure her in wild and savage ways at the same time.

It was the fuck of a lifetime, pushing her past her notions about what she herself

could experience during sex. She would always remember it, but wasn’t about to let it
dominate her future.

Nor would the man who had given it to her.
He was getting close, his thrusts picking up their pace even as her fingers

thrummed against her clit. She was closing in on an orgasm as well.

Ramsey broke first. His balls slapped against the backs of her thighs as he drove

himself home with a guttural cry.

It hurt a little, this deep and throbbing cock spurting within such tight confines, but

the pain only intensified her sensations, adding a dash of bitter pleasure to a blend of
clitoral and anal nerve endings, all of which were screaming their way to a release of
their own.

She gasped and choked out a sob as her body shattered, her cunt clenching once

again, but this time on emptiness. Her ass clamped down, grabbing at Ramsey’s cock,
tugging as it softened inside her.

These were harshly violent spasms, sending the lower half of her body into a rolling

spate of orgasmic waves. It was different, massive, longer yet less intense than a climax
with a cock buried in her cunt.

She let the moment claim her, surrendering to the multiple stimulations, the

sensations, the electricity that fired along all her nerve endings.

And finally, she collapsed, wearily pulling away from Ramsey, eyes closed and face

still resting on the couch. She was physically exhausted, mentally drained and pretty
much as well-fucked as it was possible for one woman to be.

Angel vaguely heard Ramsey leave the room. He must have come back, because she

felt him pick her up physically and put her on the couch.

There was a feather-light touch of something on her cheek. “‘Night, hot stuff.”
Then the soft quilt covered her body with warmth from head to toe and she could

not stay awake one more minute…

* * * * *

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God, my calf is cramping.
I wake up with a muttered yelp, reaching for the offending muscle and rubbing it—

hard. For a few moments, I’m disoriented; I don’t know where I am or why I’m naked
on a rough couch, half tangled in a pile of soft quilt.

Then I see the dim light percolating into the room and realize what I’m doing here.

And why.

I also realize that I’m alone.
I sit still for a moment or two, listening, letting the sounds of the cottage roll gently

around my ears. I hear nothing, just the odd creak and groan that all houses this age
make as they wake. Without question, Ramsey has gone.

I don’t know whether to be glad or not—I’ll make up my mind after I’ve taken care

of some basic necessities. A much-needed trip to the bathroom, a shower and some
clothes.

It’s almost as if I have a hangover—a sex hangover if there is such a thing. My body

is dull, stiff and sore in more than a few places. Not uncomfortably so, but tender
nevertheless. And God, am I sticky!

The shower takes care of most of these annoyances and my spirits lift from their fog

a little as I realize that today I’m going home. Back to the life I know better than I know
my own hand. I’m comforted by that thought. Suddenly my apartment in town seems
like paradise.

I can’t wait to get out of here.
I need to think, to breathe, to be myself—Scarlet Angel. I need the sense of

familiarity and security she provides. I don’t need this town and I certainly don’t need
either Ramsey or Guy.

I go through the motions of readying myself to leave, packing the last things,

checking to make sure the cottage is secure and finally locking the door. I leave the key
where I found it—under the boot scraper.

It can’t be more than seven in the morning, but I hurry to load my things into the

car, stuffing the trunk and the tiny backseat to overflowing. I’ll have to deal with the
rental company over the damage at some point, but I don’t need to worry about it. Little
details like that don’t bother me.

I can’t look back at the cottage. There’s too much nostalgia there now. Aunt Dodo,

my night with Ramsey—it’s symbolic in a way, I suppose. And I don’t care to deal with
everything it represents. Not right now.

I just want out.
It’s almost funny how my brain shifts gears as the miles stretch between me and

Bothwell Valley. The greater the distance, the more vague these past days become and
the more real my life as Scarlet seems.

Some sort of time paradox perhaps. Like that mystical village in Scotland that only

appears once every hundred years. By the time I hit the outskirts of the city, Bothwell

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could easily have disappeared off the map, a tiny blip in my brain occasioned by a full
blue moon. Or too much single malt whiskey.

And as I close the door of my apartment behind me and breathe in the familiar

scent of my own home, any lingering memories of my eventful “vacation” pretty much
disappear into a neatly labeled little box within my head somewhere.

I’m back. Scarlet Angel is smiling, happy to be home, thrilled to see her stuff around

her once more.

Unpacking takes only a few minutes and before I know it I’m settling in at my desk,

booting up my laptop and sipping a cup of my own flavored coffee from my own
morning mug. Little things, but contributing to the overall relaxation that’s seeping
through my body.

The aches have gone, my body has recovered its equilibrium and although the

memories of Aunt Dodo will be bittersweet for some time to come, I know that this is
where I belong.

I open my email and prepare to let the world know I’m back and ready to go to

work.

Dear Rose, thanks for your patience and understanding over my recent

bereavement. All has been settled satisfactorily and I’m happy to tell you I’m now
returned to town. I’ll be available for any meetings on the schedule as of today.

I type the brief message and send it without a qualm. I need to get back into my life

as soon as possible. To reestablish contact with who I am and what I do. I haven’t
exactly lost control over this last week or so, but I’ve certainly wandered off track a
little.

There are a couple of business matters to take care of, some appointments to

schedule and then I’m done. I need a session at my spa, badly. The massage therapist
knows me, knows just how I like to be worked over with a blend of pressure and
strength. I’m always glowing when we’re done.

My nails are shot, my legs need a good waxing—yeah, I need work, not to mention

a couple of hours with my stylist to deep condition the hair that took a beating from the
water of the Bothwell Valley utility system. I set up all these things online, linking
quickly through to my specialists and grabbing convenient time slots.

I shall treat myself to a long, relaxing soak in my jet-tub later on, which will start

the process of restoration. Provided I use enough skin softeners.

I glance around me. The apartment is spotless and I jot myself a memo to send

Trudy some flowers. Just because she takes such good care of it. Maybe some chocolates
for Ashley too. Again, small things, but they do make a difference in the lives of those
people I value for their attentiveness to my needs and in Ashley’s case, his friendship.

As I take care of all the minutiae, my email chimes at me. Rose has answered

already.

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Message received, and again our sympathies on your loss. We do have a potential meeting

set up for Thursday—a new client is celebrating a birthday and his wife is arranging a surprise

party for him. We’ve been requested to send a representative. More details will be coming along
soon. Rose.

Hmm. Interesting. I can read between the lines on this one quite clearly.
It’s not unusual to be asked to work “parties” like this. Women with sufficient

disposable income get the urge to fulfill their husband’s fantasies. Probably as a way of
saying thank you for the disposable income or something. I don’t know.

The husband has revealed that he indulges himself on occasion by dreaming of

being the filling in a sandwich, the man between two women. Not at all uncommon,
although sometimes a shock to the wife if she isn’t expecting it.

This appointment sounds like it’ll run along similar lines. Although whether it’ll be

an actual “surprise” or not is debatable. I’ve found that most husbands prefer a little
warning for this sort of thing. In fact, just the mere thought of what will happen gets
them hard and ready.

If she’s smart, this wife will let him know about it. Stir up his libido so that when I

get there he’ll be ready to go off like a rocket and end up with some very nice warm and
fuzzy memories of this particular birthday.

This isn’t unfamiliar territory for me. My first couple of married clients were a

blend of embarrassment and sexual heat. From these sessions, I learned that reassuring
the wife was the most important goal. At least for the first hour or so.

I am not there to seduce her husband or destroy her marriage. I’m there to do a job.

I will do whatever they want with whomever they want. Sometimes the wife herself is
attracted to the idea of experimenting sexually with another woman.

That’s fine with me. I have no squeamish qualms about eating pussy. I find

women’s bodies attractive, I have the extra talent of knowing pretty much exactly how
to go about it and it’s not an unpleasant experience. And some interaction between us is
essential, since the porn industry has fueled that girl-on-girl thing and drilled into men
that it’s sexually arousing.

Perhaps it is. I wouldn’t know. It doesn’t turn me on particularly, although when

done in conjunction with being fucked—sure. It’s not an experience totally devoid of
sensation.

So I must make sure to order a bottle of fine champagne—just in case the “party”

needs some extra relaxation. And a good guest should never arrive empty-handed,
whether they’ve come to eat hors d’oeuvres or pussy. It’s the principal of the thing, and
what makes me confident that I am at the top of my game. So much is in the details.

An email follows before too long, a brief confirmation of code numbers and the

location of the party—a penthouse apartment in the center of town. I doubt it’s theirs,
since I have visited a client in this same apartment some time before. Perhaps that’s
how they learned of me.

Whatever.

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I check my bank account and see that the most recent “payroll” deposit has cleared.

Then I log in and check my stock portfolio, although many of the numbers make no
sense to me or probably anyone other than the faceless members of the accounting firm
I use to take care of such things. However, it seems to look good. The numbers have
risen since last quarter.

My life is on track. Back on track.
Scarlet Angel is home.
Angel Jones has disappeared into the mists of Bothwell Valley like a mythical

Scottish village at sunrise.

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Chapter Ten

Scarlet’s cell phone rang on Thursday afternoon.
“Hello. Scarlet Angel.”
“Hi. Miss Angel? This is Karen.” The voice was breathy and a little shaky and

Scarlet smiled as she listened to the sounds a woman makes when she’s very very
nervous.

“Hello, Karen. I’ve been expecting to hear from you. May I have your confirmation

code please?”

“What? Oh—oh sure, just a sec…” There was a sound of rustling then Karen read

off her sequence of numbers.

“That’s great. Sorry about that, but we do have to check.”
“Oh I understand. It’s no trouble. No trouble at all.” Karen giggled nervously.

“Look, I have to tell you that I don’t—I mean I haven’t—well, we haven’t—”

“Relax, Karen.” Scarlet grinned openly now. “I have. Everything will be just fine.

I’m sure your husband will thoroughly enjoy his party and I’m pretty certain you will
too.”

“Is there anything—well, should I do something?”
“Not a thing. Just relax and look forward to tonight. I am. It’ll be a pleasure meeting

you and Simon. We’ll have a great time.”

Scarlet poured friendliness and charm into her tone, knowing the woman on the

other end of the phone was probably agonizing over what was clearly her first
experience with multiple sexual partners.

Her efforts were rewarded with a little sigh. “Thank you. I’m a bit nervous. As if

you couldn’t tell.” Karen giggled.

“Quite natural. You want everything perfect for his birthday. I understand how that

could make you anxious.”

“Oh yes. I do. He’s such a good husband…”
“I’m sure he is.” Scarlet cut her off. This wasn’t the time for girl chat. “I’ll find out

for myself tonight. I’ll see you both around eight?”

“That’ll be good. Yes, eight o’clock is fine.”
“Excellent. Until then. Bye.”
Scarlet clicked off the phone and stared thoughtfully at nothing in particular.

Tonight would be a challenge in some ways. Reassuring Karen would be at the top of
the list, since if she was the tiniest bit uncomfortable, the entire evening could well be a
disaster.

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However, Scarlet relished a challenge. Particularly one that involved a dash of

psychology along with a serving of sexuality.

She’d managed to locate a rare bottle of vintage 1990 Taittinger—part of their

Corneille collection—and it sat politely on her hall table, decorated with a tasteful silver
ribbon. It would certainly help break the ice.

She wandered into her bedroom and glanced in the closet. This time she’d need

something specific in the way of “props”—a robe to slip on before the main event. In
her experience, Scarlet had found that women relaxed more easily when wearing
something, no matter how flimsy, rather than when totally naked.

Especially women around Scarlet Angel.
Her body was as close to perfection as she could make it. It had to be, since her

clients were paying top dollar for the privilege of playing with it. But such glamour
could be intimidating to women who didn’t have the benefits Scarlet took for granted.
The last thing she wanted to do was intimidate Karen, who sounded nervous enough as
it was.

She pulled an ivory silk robe from her collection. It was short but opaque and cut

very simply. There was a tiny touch of Valenciennes lace at the cuffs that hinted at the
exorbitant price tag, but other than that it was quite plain. And it would fold into a slim
package she could easily carry in her bag.

Perfect.
At seven-thirty she was ready, makeup kept to a minimum, no jewelry, little in the

way of perfume and an understated dress that would serve for cocktails, dinners or, as
was supposed to be the case tonight, a client’s birthday bash. This one was in deep blue,
but Scarlet had several along the same lines and they had all served her well at one time
or another.

Ashley was right on time, the car warm, the door open. His smile was warm too.

“Good to see you, Miz Scarlet. Looking fine this evening.”

She smiled back. “You’re a charmer, Ash. How’ve you been?”
“Just fine. You feeling better?”
“Thanks, yeah.” She settled herself in the back seat. “Good to be home again.”
“Everything go okay on your trip?”
“Yes. It was sad, of course. Saying goodbye to family is never easy. But I got

everything done that needed to be done.”

“Sorry for your loss.” Ash nodded at her in the rearview mirror as they pulled

away. “I heard.”

“Thanks.” Scarlet stared out of the window. How far away that all seemed now.

Almost like some kind of dream. She had barely spared a thought for Bothwell Valley
since she’d been home.

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It was surprising really. The two men who’d taken her to bed, two such different

men with such different needs and desires—shouldn’t she have been thinking about
them? In touch with one or both?

Most women probably would have spent a lot of time remembering, wondering,

turning the events over in their mind.

But then again, most women probably wouldn’t have slept with either of them, let

alone both.

Scarlet Angel wasn’t “most women”. And, now she came to think about it, neither

was Angel Jones.

She shrugged and dismissed Guy and Ramsey from her brain. She was on her way

to a job and that was where her focus had to be this evening.

“You didn’t ought to send chocolates, Miz Scarlet.” Ash looked stern as he pulled

up to a traffic light. “Missus don’t need ‘em and I can’t stop eating ‘em.”

Scarlet laughed. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Ash. A little of what you enjoy never hurt.

Tell your wife I said so. Besides, sometimes it’s nice to get the chance to say thank you.”

“No need, but it’s appreciated.” Gruff to the end, Ash just wrinkled his nose at her.

“We’re here.”

“Good. This’ll be a fun time, I think.” She stepped out of the car and tugged her

coat snugly against the wind. “Winter’s coming.”

“Yeah. It does that. Right after fall and before spring.” He quirked an eyebrow as he

held the door open for her. “One-ish?”

“Smart ass.” She grinned. “One will be good. If it’s any earlier, I’ll call you.”
“I’ll be around. You take care.”
The penthouse suite was accessed through one elevator only and Scarlet had

received the sequence of numbers that would send it all the way to the top floor. It was
a dizzying ascent past expensive condos, a flight upward to the location of her “party”.
Apparently there wasn’t much else going on in the building because she took the
journey alone.

There were only four suites on this floor so she found the one she was looking for

easily enough.

Karen opened the door seconds after her knock, almost as if she’d been hovering

just behind—waiting.

“Hello. I’m Scarlet Angel. You must be Karen?” Scarlet held out her hand. “Sorry

about the cold hands. It’s getting chillier every day.”

“Oh—oh yes. Come in. Let’s warm you up.” Karen smiled back nervously, but took

her hand and shook it.

She was an attractive woman, no question. Blonde, maybe four or five years older

than Scarlet and with the soft physique that time would probably blur into a
comfortably padded middle-age.

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And there had been a definite tremble in her grasp.
Scarlet kept her smile wide and friendly. “I brought a little something for our

birthday celebration.” She produced the bottle of Taittinger.

“Oh my.” Karen blinked. “That’s so nice of you. I didn’t expect—” She paused,

taken aback by Scarlet’s gift.

“Wow. You have good taste in champagne, Miss Angel.” He was quite tall, also in

good shape and also blond. A perfect mate for Karen.

“You must be Simon. Hello.” Scarlet chuckled. “Please call me Scarlet. And a very

happy birthday to you.” She leaned in and gave him a light peck on the cheek. “I won’t
embarrass you by asking how many candles are on the cake.”

Karen laughed. “No cake. I splurged on caviar.”
“Which this will wash down very nicely indeed.” Simon was still staring at the

bottle.

“I’m glad you approve.” Scarlet slipped out of her coat and Karen took it, busying

herself hanging it on the solid coat rack by the door.

“Let’s see if it lives up to its reputation.” Simon moved through the room into the

open kitchen and began wrestling with the stopper.

“Simon’s rather proud of his wine knowledge. Don’t get him started or he’ll bore

you to death.” Karen giggled and led Scarlet to the couch by the enormous windows.

“I heard that.” Simon’s comment was followed by a loud “pop”. “You girls admire

the view while I pour.”

The conversation turned general and gave Scarlet a chance to take stock of her

clients for the evening.

Karen would do fine once she got over being nervous. She was attractive, had a nice

self-assured manner—which seemed quite natural—and clearly loved her husband.

Simon seemed to reciprocate those feelings, since he didn’t hesitate to drop a kiss

on her head as he gave her a glass of champagne, or brush her shoulder with his hand
as he sat next to her on the couch.

Yes, this would work out very nicely. Scarlet relaxed.
They talked for a while, covering topics from the latest play to travel—Karen was

wearing a lovely puka-shell necklace she said came from Hawaii. Scarlet had been there
and shared her memories of the glorious beaches.

By the time the bottle was finished, the tension had all but vanished and they were

at ease with each other. Scarlet liked to think it was largely due to her conversational
skills, although she did admit that a couple of glasses of really fine champagne never
hurt.

Simon imparted some of his knowledge about all things wine by offering a

humorous “lecture” on the life and times of the eighteenth century Benedictine monks
who owned the vineyards that would one day become the Taittinger vintage. It was
fascinating stuff, entrancing both Scarlet and Karen. He had a way with a story, making

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it seem fun and interesting even though it could well have been dull or merely
educational.

“You should teach history,” laughed Scarlet.
“No thanks.” Simon shook his head. “I couldn’t stand the strain of trying to force

information into the sleeping heads of teenagers who partied hearty the night before.”

Simon had another bottle chilling—they started on that one as the city lights

flickered beneath their windows, trying a little caviar, laughing over the ridiculousness
of paying such exorbitant prices for what was essentially fish eggs and easing into a
warm and friendly atmosphere.

Scarlet observed Simon’s eyes flickering between herself and Karen. She also

noticed he was half-hard beneath his casual slacks. He knew what lay ahead and was
clearly looking forward to it.

Not long after, Scarlet judged that the time was right. “Karen, would you be kind

enough to show me your rest room?” She reached for her purse.

Karen’s eyes widened and she couldn’t hold back a little giggle. “Sure, honey. Why

don’t I show you the one in the master bedroom…” She was excited now, her nipples
beading beneath the demure neckline of her little black cocktail dress.

“Sounds great.” Scarlet glanced at Simon over her shoulder as she prepared to

follow Karen. “And you might want to get a bit more comfortable…birthday boy.” She
winked.

Simon’s throat moved as he swallowed and watched them leave the room together.

* * * * *

“Here we are…if there’s anything you need…” Karen blinks at me, eyes wide and

still a little frightened, I think.

“Yes. I need you to stay a minute.” I put my bag down and reach inside for my

robe. “I’m going to slip this on. Why don’t you put one on as well? We have to get
comfortable with each other, Karen. Let’s start now, shall we?”

The bathroom is more than big enough for both of us and I see Karen has a black

lace negligee hanging on the back of the door.

“Uh—okay.”
I turn to the mirror under the pretense of fixing a bit of mascara and then unfasten

my dress, casually taking it off and letting Karen see my tiny lace bra and thong.

“You’re so pretty.” She sighs as she reaches for her own zip.
“So are you, honey. Here. Let me do that.” I touch her shoulders, turning her so that

I can slide her zipper down the back of her dress. “I think we’re going to have fun.” The
dress parts and falls from her shoulders, revealing really lovely skin. “Oh wow. Your
back—so smooth. It’s like silk. What do you use?”

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I run my hands over her shoulders and soothingly down her spine as she laughs a

little. “Nothing special. It’s in my genes, I guess.”

“Mmm. Nice.” I just stroke her for a minute or two, petting her, soothing her like I

would a nervous cat.

“That is good.” Her body is softening beneath my touch.
“It is, isn’t it? When you have a body this lovely, Karen, you shouldn’t worry about

who is enjoying it. Just let it happen. Let me take pleasure from touching you. It means
little other than you’re a woman I like, a woman I’m having fun being with.”

“Really?”
“Definitely.” I drop a light kiss on her shoulder and unfasten the clasp on her bra. “I

have some experience with this. I’m not a lesbian, but I have no problems with bringing
women pleasure as well as men.”

My hands slide the bra straps from her shoulders and tug the garment away from

her breasts, sliding briefly over her nipples in passing. “You have lovely breasts. Very
firm and full. Just the way they should be. Simon must love playing with them.”

Her body moves as she chuckles. “I like that too.”
My hands move back more purposefully, cupping her, teasing the buds as they

harden. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Out of the corner of my eye I see Simon. The bathroom door is ajar and between the

mirrors and the space he can watch us together. He most certainly is taking advantage
of that fact.

Slowly I lean to Karen’s ear. “Simon’s watching us. Let’s give him a show, shall we?

It is his birthday—his fantasy we want to fulfill.” The whisper barely stirs the hair on
her neck.

She nods briefly. “Okay. What shall I do?” Her skin shivers a little with what I hope

is excitement.

I turn her back to face me. “Take my bra off for me. Let your breasts brush against

mine.”

She nods, doing as she’s told. The sensation of nipple against nipple is a delicate

one, teasingly arousing. The nerves in a woman’s breasts will respond to such a touch,
no matter the gender doing the touching. It’s nice in a way that’s hard to describe.

“Ohh…” Karen’s eyes flicker to mine.
She’s feeling it too, the little tingling shots of pleasure from the contact between us.

I smile. “Yeah, not bad is it?”

“It’s…well…” Experimentally she reaches for my waist and pulls us closer, pressing

our breasts together, rubbing a little.

Good. She’s letting go, beginning to have fun. There’s a shadow in the bedroom,

still as a statue, watching this play we’re enjoying. I’m very pleased, since it will
certainly help Simon when we get around to him.

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“Karen, I’m going to kiss you. Just a little kiss, no tongue unless you want it, okay?

Then we’ll hang up our dresses and come back to this spot where Simon can see us.”

Her cheeks flush and she stares at me for a moment, gauging me perhaps, trying to

read me? I can’t tell. I don’t know her well enough to understand all her emotions or
her expressions.

But whatever she sees seems to reassure her.
She smiles and leans toward me, her eyelids drooping as she looks down at my lips.

She’s initiating the kiss.

Excellent. The final barriers are disintegrating.
Our lips meet, softness against softness, echoed by the sweet clash of our breasts as

we embrace. I slide my hand up and down her body from hip to armpit, encouraging
her to touch me in her turn.

She does, hesitantly at first, then more firmly, locking fingers into the lace band of

my thong and tugging at it almost playfully. I tease at her mouth with my tongue and
her lips part. She’s obviously not averse to a little French kissing and this is a good
thing.

I know Simon is still watching us. I’m not sure if Karen’s remembered, since she’s

doing a very good job of kissing me quite thoroughly now, her head moving just a bit,
her tongue in my mouth, her body plastered to mine and her hands squeezing my
buttocks.

I reciprocate, fondling her, caressing her, simply enjoying the almost innocent way

she’s experimenting with our kisses. She tastes of champagne and something minty, a
clean taste that I find most pleasant.

A movement from the bedroom distracts me and I ease away from Karen, watching

the color in her cheeks and the almost quizzical expression in her eyes as she blinks and
explores her feelings.

“Mmm.” She smiles at me. “I think this will be fun.”
I laugh quietly. “Yes, I agree.”
In concert we tend to our clothing, slipping on our robes then moving back to

exactly the right spot for Simon to see us. “It’s not unusual to be curious about this,
Karen.” I stroke her breast inside her robe, knowing Simon will be able to see the
movements of my arm but not what I’m doing.

“I never realized—well, I hadn’t really thought much about it.” Her neck stretches a

little as her head leans back. “I suppose there’s always times when a woman
wonders…”

“Women know women. We know our own bodies. We know how and where to

touch. It’s an advantage men don’t have.” My hand slides over her abdomen, still
hidden by the black lace of her robe. “It can give a great deal of pleasure when used
with affection. That’s what this is. Simple affection.”

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My fingers are inside her panties. “I’m going to kneel and pull your underwear

down and away.” Best to let her know in advance, I think. “Simon is still watching. I’ll
just bet his cock is as hard as nails right about now.”

She giggles softly. “I won’t take that bet. I just didn’t realize this would be so much

fun for me too.”

“Just leave it to me.” I kneel as I promised, close to her thighs, scenting the

fragrance of her arousal. Slowly I reach for her panties and pull them away from her
pussy, down past her knees and to her ankles where I tug them free as she lifts each foot
a little.

“Nice.” I barely brush her mound with my lips, but it’s enough to make her shiver.
“Oh God, you’re so good at this.”
Yes, I am. It’s my job. And right now, I’m enjoying it. Much as a teacher enjoys

imparting new knowledge to a class of students, I’m deriving a great deal of satisfaction
from introducing Karen to a new idea of her own sexuality.

Daringly, I run my tongue over her labia then stand up again. “Will you take my

panties off for me?”

She nods, almost eager now to return the favor. “Shall I kneel too?”
“If you want to. Or you can just move my robe away and let Simon see you push

them down. I’ll do the rest.”

“Okay.” She does as I suggest and I sense her indrawn breath as my bald pussy

appears. “Damn. I’ve thought about doing this.” She strokes my naked slit without
realizing how much she’s helping me do my job. It’s a touch that sends very nice little
shudders of pleasure to my cunt.

I smile, knowing she’s speaking of waxing not of arousing me. “We’ll talk later,

maybe. For right now, there’s a man out there waiting for us.” I cup her cheek, lift her
face and drop a light kiss on her lips. “Let’s go rock his world, shall we?”

* * * * *

Scarlet led Karen from the bathroom into the dim light of the master bedroom

where Simon waited. He was still standing in the same place, his face taut with tension,
his cock a hard bulge beneath the robe he’d put on while the girls were busy exploring
each other.

The fact that he’d watched was quite evident from the way he licked his lips as he

gazed at them both.

Scarlet chuckled. “Let’s play, Simon. We girls are ready to have some fun. All we

need is a handsome man with a hard cock.”

Karen giggled. “Looks like you fit the bill, honey.” She scrambled onto the bed,

heedless of her lace robe swinging free of her body. “C’mon over and get your birthday
present.” She patted the mattress.

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Simon gulped and nodded. “Sure.”
He might have been hard, but he still wasn’t quite certain what to expect. Scarlet

could see that clearly but was surprised that Karen seemed equally astute.

She smiled lovingly at her husband. “Take that off, babe.” She waved at his robe. “I

want Scarlet to see you. All of you. Then I’m going to show her what you like.” She
waggled her eyebrows.

“After that, we’ll play it by ear. Or whatever body part comes to mind at that

particular moment.” Scarlet laughed too, climbing up to snuggle next to Simon.

Who looked like a man unsure whether reality had deserted him or not. He had a

woman on each side—a nearly naked woman—and he was sporting a very respectable
hard-on. When Karen reached over and stroked it, he jumped.

“Shit.”
Scarlet ran a hand over his leg from knee to thigh, just dipping her fingers enough

to caress his balls as she touched him. “D’you like that?”

“What’s not to like?” Simon’s eyes were almost closed and his face flushed.
“Good.” Scarlet smiled across Simon at Karen. “Just so long as we know we’re

making you happy. Right, Karen?” She leaned over and made a tiny motion with her
head.

Karen picked up on the cue and, still stroking Simon’s cock, moved in to Scarlet,

kissing her delicately. As they both pulled away, their breasts grazed Simon’s chest.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven, haven’t I?”
“Hmm. Don’t know.” Scarlet slithered down a little, finding his flat nipple and

licking it, then sucking it until it hardened in her mouth. “Can you feel that?”

He groaned. “Yeah. Sure can.”
Karen moaned a little as she lifted a leg over his thigh and rubbed her pussy against

it. “This is making me so damned hot. It may be your birthday present, but I have to say
I’m enjoying the hell out of it.”

“I’m glad.” Simon turned his head and kissed his wife full on the lips, a passionate

kiss that freed Scarlet to slither down even farther and take over his cock from Karen’s
hand.

As the couple continued their embrace, Scarlet took Simon’s engorged head into her

mouth, making him groan this time, a grunt of lust that simply intensified Karen’s
movements and kept Scarlet right where she was.

They played, limbs entangling then sliding away, hands stroking and caressing,

heedless of whose skin was involved, whose lips met or who sucked what. The women
slipped free of their robes, freeing their bodies to touch and be touched.

Scarlet had to admit that Simon possessed a pretty high degree of self-control.

Karen had blossomed into a wanton woman and was using her body in all the ways
guaranteed to drive him mad. Not to mention the fact that he was getting his cock
sucked by the talented mouth of one Scarlet Angel.

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His thighs started to shake and Scarlet pulled back. “What do you want, Simon? I’m

ready to fuck. Are you?”

Her words were blunt but soft, more of a whispered invitation than a statement of

fact. She didn’t want to interrupt the building passions but this entire dance needed a
choreographer. That was her role this evening.

Karen stirred, easing her breast from Simon’s mouth. “He wants something new,

Scarlet. Something I’ve never done and been afraid to try.” She stroked his face. “Isn’t
that right, honey?”

“Um…” Simon sort of nodded, lost for words.
Scarlet smiled. She knew what he wanted, of course. What so many men wanted

and what so many women steered clear of.

“Karen, why don’t you lie down? I’m thinking we can give Simon his fantasy and

make sure you enjoy it at the same time.”

Karen obeyed immediately.
“That’s good, good girl.” Scarlet swept both her hands along the insides of Karen’s

thighs and pushed them apart. “Let your man see your pussy.” She glanced over her
shoulder. “Simon, you’ll need protection. And I have some gel that works quite
nicely…”

Simon looked torn between excitement, embarrassment and the desire to fuck

anything that came near enough.

“Got all the bases covered, Scarlet.” Karen reached to the bedside table and opened

a drawer. “I believe in being prepared.”

This woman was a delight and a half. If she hadn’t been married, she might have

made a damn good whore herself. “You’re awesome.” Scarlet grinned. “I think that
deserves a special thank you.”

She moved between Karen’s thighs and stroked the wet folds on display. “You’ve

got a hot pussy, Karen. Hot and wet. Feels good, all slippery and silky…”

There was a sound from behind her as Simon sheathed himself, then the lightest

touch on her buttocks. “Are you sure?” His voice was low but tense.

“I’m sure, Simon. Fuck me in the ass. Come inside me. Put that cock where I want

it, okay? You won’t hurt me. I’m going to be busy eating something—delicious…”

Sensually, Scarlet stretched her body like a cat, making sure her ass was

prominently thrust toward Simon and that she could dip her head and reach Karen’s
pussy.

“Christ almighty, this is amazing…” Simon’s voice trailed off as Scarlet felt his

hands stroke her ass. “You’re so beautiful. Both of you.”

Scarlet saw Karen smile with love in her eyes as she stared at her husband. “Fuck

her, Simon. I want to watch your face while you do it.”

“Jesus, honey—”

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“Go ahead. Fuck her. It’s your night. Your birthday. Let’s make it one to remember,

okay?” Karen spread her legs wide, pushing her mound upward to Scarlet. “Suck me,
Scarlet. You promised…”

“Did I? I probably did.” Scarlet blew lightly on Karen’s pussy. “And you know, it

sounds like a good idea.”

Simon’s hands spread lube over Scarlet’s ass, generously too. She hummed with

pleasure. It was doubtful she’d join them with an orgasm, but hell. It was fun anyway.
She leaned down and nuzzled Karen’s clit.

“Oh, oh…yesssss…”
Simon’s cock thrust into Scarlet’s cunt. “I gotta try this first, just once—you look so

fucking hot…”

He was well hung, filling her nicely, stroking himself in and out. Scarlet could see

Karen’s lips part as she watched. Time to get those eyes rolling.

Scarlet’s tongue came out then, delving, flicking, laving and teasing all the intricate

whirls of flesh around the tiny seat of Karen’s pleasure. Her clit was hardening by the
second, budding into a flower that would respond to the slightest touch.

She sighed and moaned, twisting a little on the bed as Simon fucked Scarlet and

Scarlet sucked Karen.

Then Simon pulled out of her cunt. “I’m more than ready for this.” The words

grated from his throat.

Scarlet nodded, keeping her face close to Karen’s pussy, whiffling air onto the wet

flesh. “Karen, touch yourself. Touch your nipples. Play with them, squeeze them, let
yourself go…”

With redoubled effort, Scarlet buried her face in Karen’s pussy and sucked—hard.
And Simon’s cock pushed steadily forward, burying itself in Scarlet’s ass.
Happy birthday, pal.

* * * * *

That was fun.
It’s past one o’clock when I finally close my apartment door behind me and toss my

keys on the hall table.

I feel good. Good about tonight, which went above and beyond my expectations,

thanks to a woman who’d repressed much of her sexuality and a man who wanted
nothing more than to try anal sex.

After they’d both come, I’d fully expected to extract myself from their bedroom and

leave quietly, but Karen wasn’t going to allow it. She actually cuddled with me—and
Simon—chattering a little, still half-aroused by what she’d seen and what she’d done.

I ended up sprawled naked on their bed with them, drinking more champagne.

And giving them a little lesson on anal sex, telling Karen how pleasant it was and why,

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explaining to Simon how he could help his wife learn the technique and giving them
both a lot to think about.

I wouldn’t be surprised if even now Simon has his finger up Karen’s ass and is

making her come again.

I laugh at my reflection in the mirror. Scarlet Angel, the couples sex therapist.
Sex is one funny business sometimes. All the fuss and bother we create around one

of the most natural functions of the human body. And how often people can’t fully
explore it within the confines of what is politely termed a “relationship”.

I’m so glad I don’t have that problem.
My gaze falls on the little cat figurine I put on this table—Aunt Dodo’s cat—and for

a moment memories slip beneath my guard and fill my head. I stare at it, remembering
Guy’s tenderness, Ramsey’s lustful fucking.

So different to each other, yet both expressing themselves in the way they took me.
Guy has offered me a variety of options, some professional, some personal. Ramsey

offered nothing but raw sex. And yet it’s Ramsey’s cock I remember with clarity.
Guy’s…well, it’s sort of hazed with candlelight and sweet intimacy.

I shrug and return my gaze to the mirror, trying to see myself as others see me.
I have soft black hair and blue eyes that really are quite strikingly unusual. China

blue, one man called them once upon a time. Perhaps they are. I do make the most of
them with my makeup and they seem to dominate my face.

My skin is pale and I stay out of the sun to keep it that way, dusting a tiny bit of

color on my cheekbones.

My lips are full and curved, bare now of any lipstick or gloss, red from their own

tinge not any artificial enhancement. And yes, I suppose they do make a man think of
blowjobs and me wrapping them round his cock.

I have no quarrel with that.
Tracing my reflection, I look at my body clinically as I remove my coat. My breasts

are firm and full, needing no bra unless I choose to wear one. My waist isn’t the twenty-
inch hourglass curve of a Victorian miss, but it’s there, and swells to my hips with a
well-defined arc.

I suppose Aunt Dodo was right. I am a sexual woman, secure in my self-awareness.

I like to think I’m sensual as well. I like the touch of soft things against my skin. I like
the touch of a man’s tongue between my thighs and yes, I even like his cock in my ass.

I think about Bothwell Valley and the decisions I still have to make.
The cottage. I can’t wait too long before making that particular choice. Which leads

me to the ideas Guy proposed.

I blink at myself, my thoughts turning inward. Could I run a lingerie shop? Yes. I

think I could manage that quite easily. I have the contacts, the business acumen and the
drive to make it a success.

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If I choose to. And Bothwell Valley is probably as close to idyllic as it gets in this

day and age.

But that option is almost certainly coming with strings attached. One of them

leading directly to Guy. He made no secret of his goals regarding me. And I’m not sure
if I share those goals.

He is a wonderful man, pretty much everything a woman could want. He’d offer

security, a warm bed—and I doubt he’d stray too far either. He’s simply not that sort of
person.

Honorable, I suppose, would be a good way to describe him. Rare, these days.

Almost unique in fact. Yes, Guy offers me more than a shop and a home. He’s offering a
future. With him.

But of course, Bothwell Valley also contains Ramsey. The volatile, highly sexual

Ramsey. I chuckle as I realize I don’t even know if that’s his first name or his last name.
He’s the other side of the coin, really. The bad boy everybody wants to date and sleep
with but wouldn’t take home to Mom on a bet.

How could I possibly manage a life with Guy, behind the counter of a lingerie store,

knowing Ramsey could walk past at any moment, stare at me from those fiery hazel
eyes of his and set my pussy on fire?

I take a breath and stare into my own eyes. I will not look like this forever. My

appearance will change, I am going to age and inevitably I will have to abandon my
present career. It’s a limited window of opportunity for one such as me. I have to take
advantage of being what I am and where I am in this odd business of sex for money.

I am at the top. I know it and I like it.
But I’m also a realist. It won’t always be that way, which is why I carefully tend my

growing retirement fund. I shall need it much sooner than the people who anticipate
their fifty-fifth birthday. My retirement will come much earlier.

If I wanted it to, it could happen tomorrow. I have enough assets to fund a shop; I

have a place to live that would cost me close to nothing.

I have a man who I believe would willingly marry me, a man strong enough to

overlook whatever details of my past I chose to share with him. I doubt that Guy would
want to hear all of it, but I wouldn’t hesitate to let him know that he’s not the first man
to bed me.

I also have a man who would fulfill my sexual needs at the drop of anything

convenient. I doubt Ramsey wears a hat. Marriage? He could probably be persuaded if I
decided to exert myself. Once a woman gets a man by the cock, it’s only a short way to
the altar. Just as long as she holds tight to that cock and gives it a tug in the right
direction now and again.

I sigh.
The truth bears down on me, seeping into my brain like the last precious rays of

sunlight before night falls.

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I don’t want either of them.
I don’t want marriage. Not yet. I don’t want a family or a nice tidy little shop. I

don’t want to spend my days measuring women’s breasts and discussing the next trend
in bras and panties.

I don’t want to hang up hearts and stick red-lace whatnots on racks come

Valentine’s Day, or be suffocated with white marabou feathers at Christmas.

That is so not what I want.
And I’m not sure that I could face a life with just one man. Not at this point,

anyway. No matter how perfectly wonderful that man is.

I don’t want a man who’ll drive me mad sexually then walk out the door, either. If I

do settle down eventually, it’ll be with someone I can at least trust not to fuck
somebody else if the mood takes him. I’m not sure I could ever trust Ramsey not to do
that. And it’s not worth the risk to my emotions to find out.

I face myself, squaring my shoulders, accepting the truth. I like who I am right now.

I like what I’m doing right now. I like my life just as it is.

I’ve learned some valuable things lately, though, things that have opened up new

lines of thought. I’ve learned what it’s like to be made love to and what it’s like to be
fucked—for myself. For Angel Jones.

That surprises me a little, since I’ve always felt that Scarlet Angel was the sex

queen, not Angel. Apparently the two are closer than I realized.

I’ve also learned that I do have some emotions. That fucking is…how can I describe

it to myself? Different, when done from a personal, not a professional, point of view. Oh
the mechanics are the same. But the feelings?

Yes, they’re different. Sweeter, more intense, more gut-wrenching in many ways.

Going to bed with a man for money is simply that. A non-involvement of anything but
my cunt. Going to bed with a man because he wants me—well, I guess there’s a bit
more of me involved. Something I didn’t know could be involved. Or at least hasn’t
been, up until now.

So I stare at the woman in the mirror and let the realization sweep over both of us.
We have options.
Scarlet Angel, Angel Jones—we both have options now, possibilities for the future

that neither of us could have anticipated just a few weeks ago. It’s a good feeling. We
both like it.

I smile at myself, content at last, done with my introspective wanderings. The

woman in the mirror smiles back. We know who we are. I know where I am. Now I
have a better understanding of what might lie ahead, a greater grasp on things I’d put
aside for probably a bit too long. Whether these things will happen in Bothwell Valley
or someplace the other side of the world—I don’t know. And right now, I don’t really
care.

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Because I’ve learned to grasp this moment, to live in the moment. To plan for the

future but to never sacrifice the pleasures of today by worrying about it.

I know who I am, I like who I am and I like what I do.
My name is Scarlet Angel.
And I am a whore.

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Epilogue

The email arrived on schedule as had so many others in the past weeks.
A new client would like to discuss a project tonight. He’ll be available at the

Gardenia Gardens hotel. The file number is…

Scarlet skimmed through the usual details, interested at the thought of a new client.

This was always an exciting moment. Wondering what he’d like, how she could best
bring him pleasure, get him hot and bothered and eventually make him come.

A tiny tingle of arousal threaded its way around her cunt as she glanced out of her

window at the soft snowflakes just beginning to fall. She hoped Ash had good tires on
the limo.

Expect to hear from him with the appropriate information and rest assured that

management has verified the accuracy of his portfolio.

Rose.
Scarlet nodded to herself. Apparently extra security measures were being

implemented and she was damn glad of it. The company disliked any of its employees
being used as punching bags. It was bad for business and the holiday season had a
nasty habit of bringing out more than its fair share of weirdoes.

She went about her day as always, waiting for the moment when her scarlet phone

would ring.

About four in the afternoon, it did. “Hello. Scarlet Angel.”
“Hi.” The voice was tinny and distorted a little by static, as if he was on his

speakerphone setting and talking from a distance. “I understand you’re expecting my
call?”

“This would be about our meeting this evening? Yes. If I may have your

confirmation number, please?”

She had to ask him to repeat the last four digits. “Sorry. We must have a bad

connection.”

Scarlet confirmed the code, got her green light and noted the one or two pertinent

details into her Blackberry. “Thank you. As I understand it, eight o’clock would be a
convenient time, Mr. Nicholls?” His surname had appeared along with the green light.

“Yep. Room 211.”
“Very good, I’ll be there. I’m looking forward to seeing you.” She prepared to

disconnect the call but there was a series of clicks on the other end that made her pause.

Suddenly the voice was crystal clear.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you too…hot stuff…”

123

About the Author

Sahara Kelly was transplanted from old England to New England where she now

lives with her husband and teenage son. Making the transition from her historical
regency novels to Romantica™ has been surprisingly easy, and now Sahara can’t
imagine writing anything else. She is dedicated to the premise that everybody should
have fantasies.

Sahara welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at

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Also by Sahara Kelly

A Kink In Her Tails
A Siege of Herons
A Watch of Nightingales
All Night Video: For Research Purposes Only
All Night Video: At Cross Purposes
An Unkindness of Ravens
Anasazi Lassie
Beating Level Nine
By Shadows Bound
Detour, written with S.L. Carpenter
Ellora’s Cavemen: Dreams of the Oasis II anthology
Flame of Shadows
Game Over
Georgie and Her Dragon
The Glass Stripper
Guardians of Time 1: Alana’s Magic Lamp
Guardians of Time 2: Finding The Zero-G Spot
The Gypsy Lovers
Hansell and Gretty
Haunting Love Alley, written with S.L. Carpenter
The Knights Elemental
Lyndhurst and Lydia
Madam Charlie
Magnus Ravynne and Mistress Swann
Mesmerized
Mystic Visions
Partners In Passion 1: Justin and Eleanor, written with S.L. Carpenter
Partners In Passion 2: No Limits, written with S.L. Carpenter
Partners In Passion 3: Pure Sin, written with S.L. Carpenter
Persephone’s Wings
Peta And The Wolfe

Scars of the Lash
Scars of the Soul
Shadows of Thérese
Sizzle
The Sun God’s Woman
Tales of the Beau Monde 1: Lying With Louisa
Tales of the Beau Monde 2: Miss Beatrice’s Bottom
Tales of the Beau Monde 3: Lying With Louisa
Tales of the Beau Monde 4: Pleasuring Miss Poppy
Wingin’ It

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning

publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC
on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you
breathless.

www.ellorascave.com