The idea for this story was born a long time ago, and a very short version of it written. That little flash/quickie once appeared in an anthology collection published by Liquid Silver Books years ago. After I requested the return of the antho, so I could work on the individual stories, I left this one in a file. Recently the idea resurfaced in my overworked brain, and I decided it might be fun to revisit it and flesh it out a bit, so to speak. I don’t know how many people are old enough to remember when late night network television was just beginning to show original dramas, but during those shows there was an inevitable deluge of commercials featuring nubile young women, mostly buxom blondes as I recall, and they were all inviting viewers to call them at their 1-900 numbers to chat… A male friend of mine dubbed them the “Bimbo Brigade” and I never forgot it–hence the moniker used in this story. It’s a quirky little fantasy type romance, and will soon be in audio–that should be interesting, to say the least. At any rate, here’s a peek at the setup. The story is only 99 cents, being a 6K short, but it sizzles!
Short, sexy contemporary with edge!
When her lover, Martin Fowler is called away to Washington and she can't go with him, Daniella LeBeaux is restless and edgy. Martin's older, worldly, and has a reputation that would make most women think twice about trusting him. Dani loves him, and trust is not what's making her anxious and edgy - lust and loneliness are combining with a little too much to drink. When the phone rings, and it's Martin, delayed again, he teaches her a new way to make love long-distance style.... but who's watching Dani? And is Martin really ready for the revenge his actions incite?
An hour after her father had gone home, Martin called. He was, in fact, on his way back to New York. Despite the fact that she had an early call for rehearsals the next day, Daniella chose to wait up for him. It was approaching 2 AM now and he still wasn’t home. She glanced at the clock. Less than ten minutes had passed since her last check.
She had stopped drinking after her father had gone, taken a shower, and now she was sitting in the apartment with only candlelight and soft music for company. She smiled, unable to subdue the flutter of excitement in her stomach when she thought about seeing him walk into the apartment. She went to the window, staring at the street as if she could will the scarlet-colored Corvette to appear.
Her father’s visit, and the revelations he’d shared played through her mind again. It explained why Andrew had taken Martin on as a partner in the private investigations firm that was doing extremely well due to the talented men who ran it. To his credit, Martin had tried to dissuade Daniella’s interest in him, especially given her age. She’d been seventeen when they’d met, and her father’s disapproval of her infatuation with Martin had been vehement. Persuading either of them that her teenage crush was actually soul-deep love and adoration hadn’t been easy. By the time she was twenty-one, Martin had been convinced; it had taken more months than she cared to recall to make her father understand and accept it. But, it had finally happened, and she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. Most of the time.
The glitter of soft, dancing light from the flickering candle-flames sparkled on cut crystal and drew her gaze to the bar. She decided to have another drink, even knowing it was likely to be a bad idea come morning. She poured a healthy dose of the scotch Martin preferred, and then tried to settle into an armchair. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the plush cushion in an attempt to relax.
A single mouthful of the drink reminded her of the way it tasted on Martin’s lips. She let that image settle in her mind, smiling at the shiver that rippled through her. Martin was a stunning man, and she never tired of looking at him, or listening to him, or being in the same room with him.
He was tall, with dark brown hair, and equally dark eyes that dominated a strikingly contoured face. At forty, he was scarred emotionally and physically, but he was beauty incarnate to the woman who loved him. The image of his lean, muscular limbs, and her frequent cataloging of every gorgeous inch of him, made her tremble with longing.
She tossed back the remainder of her Scotch and slouched deeper into the chair erotic memories led her thoughts. The warmth of the liquor coursed through her, creating a flush on her skin that she knew would be visible had Martin been there to see it. She let herself be carried along on the alcohol-edged wave, and felt an undeniable rush of hungry desire when she thought about having Martin beside her in bed. The nights had been the hardest part of the separation—she’d been going to bed later and later over the past week in order to spend as few hours as possible sleeping alone.
She was still finding it difficult to believe just how much she missed him. The apartment was eerily quiet in the morning, and equally so when she came home. The evenings started driving her crazy within a few days. She was always wound up after the extended rehearsals, but that excess energy generally found an outlet in Martin’s arms.
Daniella abruptly cut off that train of thought by getting up to fix another drink, this time making it considerably larger than the previous one. A slow stroll back to the window revealed only darkness and an empty street below. It had rained earlier, and the scattered puddles created sporadic mirrors and reflected back the glare of streetlights and passing car headlights. An absent glance at her watch didn’t offer her any reassurance—he was nearly an hour late now. She forced down the threat of panic that wanted to blossom into a full-fledged fear and told herself that he was all right. His identity was protected and all precautions had been taken to ensure his safety. With her father in charge of that, she had no doubts at all about the quality of the security surrounding Fowler at all times.
Uncomfortable at the window, Daniella spun on her heel and dropped into the armchair again. About halfway to the bottom of this drink, memory steered her thoughts inexorably back to the bedroom she shared with Martin. The tension knotting her muscles was as much sexual as it was concern for his unexplained lateness, and the sudden ache between her thighs was more than enough to awaken her entire body with anticipation. Another gulp and the second Scotch was gone.
Daniella was beginning to feel a bit more relaxed again now that alcohol was dulling her perception but there was still an edge of panic lingering within her. She couldn’t help wondering if something had happened to Martin; he was never hours late without calling—a habit he was slowly drilling into Daniella as well. She looked at the glass in her hand, debating whether to refill it a third time. It was now almost three o’clock, and she decided to have the drink then go to bed—alone. She couldn’t suppress the flare of anger that shot through her at the prospect of another night in the huge bed without Martin. In her heart, she knew nothing serious had delayed him, which meant he simply hadn’t bothered to call.
Twenty minutes and a third drink later; Daniella was staring at the empty glass again. Her head felt pleasantly fuzzy.
Disappointment and annoyance kept her on an emotional seesaw...