Chantal, wearing a black strapless bra, matching panties,
and high-heeled open toe red mules, carefully applied the
last of her makeup, then held her breath as she removed
the net from her hair.
Everything so far had gone swimmingly, but her hair was
a different animal. She’d done all she could to protect it:
kept her shower water tepid, ran the fan to prevent for formation of steam that would make her tresses limp and lifeless. She was now about to find out the answer to the million-dollar question: Would her hair come out all right, or would it need a time-consuming touchup with the curling iron she’d packed?
She held her breath as she carefully removed the netting from her hair. She hadn’t even combed it out after removing the rollers from it this morning after last night’s wet set. To her joy, her hair had plenty of body as she combed it out, and it looked shiny and healthy.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Her intuition, that ‘little woman’ inside her gut, had been spot-on right so far. Everything had gone without a hitch. Thank heavens for Roxanne Dennison’s generosity. She really needed a shower a fter the grimy work of cleaning offices—including the toilets. She now felt fresh and, yes, beautiful.
Chantal’s last action was to remove her everyday wristwatch and replace it with the gold bracelet that had a watch face nestled inside it. She checked the time. Six-twenty. Wonderful. She’d locked away her cleaning cart and the vacuum cleaner in the utility closet before showering, so all she had to do was take her garment bag and go. Sinclair wasn’t picking her up until seven-thirty. That gave her plenty of time to get a bite to eat. Their VIP tickets did include light hors d’oeuvres, but Chantal hadn’t eaten since ten a.m., and she had to have a sandwich or something to see her through.
*****
Trystian adjusted the knot of his tie. Funny how a fresh shirt could make him feel like a new man. He tucked the freshly folded silk hanky that matched his tie into the breast pocket of his suit coat. He’d be sure to have a good time, regardless of if he met a woman or not. He’d get to see old friends and hear great music.
He stuffed the shirt he’d worn to work this morning into his briefcase with his papers, then locked up the office and headed toward the elevator, briefcase in hand.
His pulse quickened at the sight of a tall, slim brown-skinned woman wearing a red dress waiting at the elevator. Shiny dark hair grazed her shoulders, not quite obscuring that her dress only covered one shoulder. A garment bag was folded over her right arm, and even from this distance he could tell she wore no band of gold around the fourth finger of her left hand. Who was she? Had she been working in this building all along? And why hadn’t he ever seen her before?
She turned her head to face him as he approached, and the view helped him determine that her face looked every bit as good as her body.
“Good evening,” he said in his most appealing voice.
“Well, hello again.”
Again? Trystian didn’t understand. She acted as though she knew him. But he hadn’t seen anyone who looked even remotely like h—
Chantal saw his confusion change to uncertainty, then disbelief as recognition flashed in his eyes. It figured. He initially hadn’t been aware of ever seeing her before. What could she expect from a man who equated her with a vacuum cleaner?
“I apologize for not recognizing you,” he said. “But you look so…different.” He knew he was staring, but she was the most appealing sight he’d seen in awhile. In the casual clothes she'd worn while cleaning his office and no makeup she’d been pleasantly attractive, even with that hair net. In her dress-up attire with her hair loose, she was a knockout. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Roxanne gave me permission to use your facilities,” she said with stilted politeness. She couldn’t have him thinking she’d gone from cleaning toilets to this getup without washing up.
Wait a minute. It shouldn’t matter to her what he thought.
It shouldn’t…but somehow it did. Maybe it had something to do with the way he was gazing at her, with such obvious admiration.
Trystian’s eyes just drank her in, from the dark, flowing shoulder-length tresses to the red-painted toes that peeked through the opening at the front of her shoe, and everything in between. The long, shapely legs, her graceful neck, and particularly the bare shoulder that cried out for a man’s touch...his touch. “You look….” He groped for an adjective, settling for the simple. “Lovely.”
“Well, thank you. I see you’ve made a few snazzy changes yourself.”
He saw her eyes focusing on his soft yellow shirt and swirly tie and hanky that blended well with his pale green suit. He’d worn a white shirt and striped tie earlier. He almost felt like blushing under her approving gaze.
The elevator bell rang, and seconds later, the car opened. The mysterious lady in red stepped forward, then quickly back again when a man started to wheel out a mop in a wheeled bucket. He was halfway out when his brow wrinkled in confusion at the suite directional signs posted opposite the elevator. “Oh, wrong floor. I need to go one up.”
“We’ll catch it on the way down,” Trystian said. The mysterious woman with her sudden step backward now stood very close to him, so close that he could smell the jasmine-based fragrance coming from her throat. He knew he should step back, that he stood way too close to her, but his captivation kept him from moving.
He forced himself to come to his senses and took a step backward, only to feel something pulling in the area of his groin. “What the—”
She attempted to turn, probably to see what he referred to.
“Don’t move,” he said quickly. “Your dress…oh, man. I think it’s stuck in my zipper.”
“Stuck!”
“Don’t move, or else you might tear it.”
“Well, do something!”
“I’m trying to. Here…can you hold this?”
Chantal took the briefcase he held out, frustrated that she couldn’t really see what was going on back there. All she knew was that if she tried to take even one step, she could feel a pull on her dress. “What the heck happened?”
“It looks like the fabric of your dress got caught in my zipper.”
“How could that happen?” she asked in bewilderment. “I wasn’t that close to you.”
“Science isn’t my forte, but I’d guess it has to do with gravity. You took an abrupt step backward avoid colliding with that bucket and were only about half an inch away from me. The material of your dress is so light and fluffy, plus it’s layered. It flew up when you moved, and when it came down…it just landed in my fly.” He sounded sheepish. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have it zipped all the way up. Probably from when I changed my shirt.”
“Do you make it a point to go out into the street partially dressed?” she asked frostily.
“I wasn’t aware of it until just now. It’s not like I did it on purpose. Do I look like an exhibitionist to you?”
“I wouldn’t know,” came her reply, crisp as a potato chip.
“It’s, uh, kind of hard to work with this,” he said as he fumbled with the flimsy material of her dress with one hand, his zipper with the other. “I don’t have a lot of space to work with, plus my fingers are not exactly delicate.”
“Good Lord!” she exclaimed. “This is going to be a mess. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m going out this evening. I can’t show up with a torn dress…or one that’s got you attached to it.”
Trystian chuckled. “You know, there’s this old screwball comedy from the Thirties with Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant. They were at a country club dance, and she tore the back of her dress, so he had to walk unnaturally close behind her so no one would see her underwear.”
“I’ve seen it,” she interrupted. “It’s called Bringing Up Baby. It was funny. But this isn’t.”
She punctuated her displeasure with a heaving sigh. “Can you get it undone?”
“I’m still trying.”
“Do you mind if I set your case down? It’s getting heavy.”
“Just let it fall. Whatever you do, don’t bend. You’ve got very little wiggle room if you don't want to tear your dress..”
“All right.” She lowered her right shoulder slightly and let go of the handle. The briefcase hit the floor with a loud clunk.
He noticed her reach into her small red shoulder bag and pull out a slim cell phone. He continued trying to free her dress from his zipper while she dialed. Trystian didn’t make a habit of eavesdropping, but their close proximity meant he’d hear her side of the conversation…and possibly both sides, if the person she was calling spoke loudly, or had a heavy voice, like a man…the man she was going out with tonight.
“Sinclair, it’s me,” he heard her say. Sinclair? What the heck kind of name was that? Had this dude’s parents wanted him to get beat up?
He continued trying to finagle his zipper down without tearing her dress, unashamedly listening to the conversation. Damn it, he wanted to know what was going on. This woman had transformed herself from mere everyday attractiveness to a real stunner in an hour’s time. It didn’t just happen by itself; there had to be a story behind it.
“Have you left the house yet?...Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to turn back. I have a problem with my dress…No, it’s not wrinkled. It’s not an iron I need, it’s a whole different dress. I’ll tell you about it when you get here. Listen, I need you to go in my closet and get that red gown I got from that consignment shop in Southampton…Yes, that’s the one. I want to keep things simple, and that dress will match the shoes and purse I’ve got on.”
At this point Trystian heard the loud protests of the person on the other end of the phone. Apparently, Sinclair was a woman.
For some reason that made him feel good…especially since Sinclair had access to the lady in red’s clothing closet.
“I have to have that dress, Sinclair,” the mystery woman replied, sounding as if she were on the verge of tears. “Or else I won’t be able to go. Remember, neither you nor Yogi would be going tonight if it weren’t for me.”
She certainly had friends with strange names, Trystian thought as he made out some of the words in another loud objection from Sinclair. He wondered what her name was…
“I wanted to get something to eat, too, but now there won’t be time for that,” she continued. “I don’t want to be late. Look at the bright side. If you don’t eat beforehand your dress will fit you that much better.”
Trystian couldn’t figure that one out. Maybe it was a girl thing.
“Oh, all right,” she said in an exasperated tone. “Just stop at McDonalds or someplace on the way. Get me one of those chicken wraps while you’re there…Sinclair, I know what you’re riding in…who the hell cares how it looks?”
Trystian frowned for a moment, lost again.
“I’m where I told you I would be,” the lady in red continued. “Just take the elevator to the fifth floor.”
Trystian guessed what Sinclair, who was obviously in a hurry, would say to that, and the mystery woman’s response told him he’d been correct.
“I know it’ll save time if I meet you downstairs, but I can’t. You’ve got to bring my dress to me so I can put it on. You’ll see why when you get here. All right. ‘Bye.”
She seemed to have everything under control, except for one important detail. What if he couldn’t free her dress? His fingers continued to fumble with the pucker of material that had gotten lodged in his zipper. His eyes focused on her head as she began to move it, first bending her neck forward and rolling her head from side to side, then rotating with her head backward. The latter movement allowed Trystian to see her partial profile. Her eyes were closed, her black hair shiny and clean-smelling. She looked incredibly sexy.
Trystian found it difficult to keep his suddenly heavy breathing under control, something hard to do with her standing so close. The heels she wore made her almost as tall as he, and he could smell a delicious tropical fragrance coming from her shoulder. Her skin looked so smooth and soft. Even her hair smelled good, with a touch of coconut. She shifted position in her heels, and her ample hips suddenly jutted out toward his groin, close enough to—
Uh-oh. He hoped she hadn’t felt that.
A soft rush of air as she gasped told him she had felt it. This had to be the most embarrassing situation he’d ever been in. What was he supposed to say? Pardon me, ma’am, but you look so good and you smell so good that you’ve given me a hard-on? He didn’t even know the woman’s name, for crying out loud. And if her impatient sighs were any indication, this wasn’t the time for introductions.
Chantal’s entire body went rigid. She was afraid to move a muscle. At least her back faced him, which meant he couldn’t see the look of wonder on her face. The moment she felt that hard male muscle spring up against her backside…whoa, baby! She’d jerked away as quickly as she could out of shock and a sense of propriety, but what she really wanted was another encounter. It had been way too long since she’d felt a man’s erect penis, and this man whose name she didn’t even know had a pretty impressive piece of meat hanging between his thighs. It almost made being late for the concert worthwhile.
Since he’d taken the time to change his shirt and tie, he obviously had plans for the evening as well. Maybe a dinner date. Well, some lucky woman was going to be thoroughly satisfied before the night was over, if what she’d just felt was any indication. Chantal didn’t believe in sleeping with a man on the first date…or the second, either, but that tiny experience she’d had with this man’s rock of Gibraltar was enough to make her want to jump his bones without even knowing his name, much less the condensed story of his life.
Her shoulders drooped. Fat chance of that happening. She might not know this man’s name, but she knew his type. Mr. Big Time CPA had taken one look at her and dismissed her as unsuitable for any social involvement because of her profession…or what he thought was her profession. That hadn’t stopped him from checking her out, but it was all harmless fun for him. Until he’d seen her dressed up. She’d gone from the unrefined Eliza Doolittle to the beautiful, cultured lady. He was probably wondering what a cleaning woman was doing dressed so nicely.
Chantal inadvertently shifted her hips. Whoops. There it went again. She couldn’t help thinking that she’d compared him to Clark Kent when he wore his glasses and Superman when he took them off. If what she was feeling right now was any example, he truly was the Man of Steel. How long could he hold that erection?
Trystian’s embarrassment increased. His face felt as warm as a hamburger patty that had just been slapped on a grill. If she’d stop wiggling that butt of hers, maybe he could get his arousal under control. Part of him wanted to just grab a fistful of material and tear it out of his crotch just to be free of her so his body could stop betraying him. She was driving him insane with her wild scent and the way her shiny chin-length black hair bounced whenever she moved her head. Trystian had never torn off a woman’s clothes in his entire life, but he had a raging desire to do it now. Hell, they could go at it first and introduce themselves afterward.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said. “It’s just that my feet are starting to hurt. These shoes aren’t meant for long periods of standing.”
He supposed three-inch red mules weren’t, and nor was there enough stretch room in their unfortunate connection for her to take off the painful shoes. No wonder her neck felt stiff.
It embarrassed Trystian that she’d actually acknowledged having felt his erection twitching against her butt like a damned Mexican jumping bean. How was he supposed to respond to that? I know we haven’t been properly introduced, but Big Wally here is awfully turned on by that nice round ass of yours….
He thought about how she could remove her shoes without tearing her dress. “You can take off your shoes, if you do it slowly. You might have to, um, hike up your dress a little so it doesn’t tear from the difference in our heights.”
She did as he suggested, one foot at a time. Trystian shut his eyes tightly when she hiked up the back of her dress over her hips to lessen the pull on the fabric. It was such a sensuous sight. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if this were a whole different set of circumstances, if he’d been able to free them right away, and if it led to an intimate encounter back in the privacy of his office, hiking up her dress up over her hips and inviting him to explore the treasure underneath…
He was careful to let out his breath quietly.
Unfortunately, he had no such control over his penis, which was reacting like a Geiger counter that just sensed a hotbed of radioactive activity.
With a sigh, he resumed his efforts to free their connection.
*****
“I give up,” he announced fifteen minutes later. By this time they’d carefully walked to the wall so they could both lean against it. “Your dress is really caught in there good, and I can’t get it out of my zipper. My fingers are getting numb from trying.”
“Well, that’s just dandy,” she said with a groan.
“It’s not great for me, either, you know. I had plans myself.”
“You can probably just postpone your plans until tomorrow. But this is probably a once-in-a-lifetime event for me.”
Trystian instantly became curious about what it was she was so certain would never happen again, but he wisely refrained from asking. She was clearly annoyed about the kink in her plans, and he wasn’t about to apologize for something that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t put the blame at her feet, either. It was truly just one of those things best, and simply, described as bad luck.
Exhausted, he pressed his left shoulder to the wall behind her. They stood without speaking for another ten minutes, at which time the elevator bell rang once more, and when the doors opened a tall young woman whose facial features, rich brown complexion, and willowy figure suggested a familial relationship to his mystery woman stepped out. This second woman had a pixie haircut and wore a sleeveless, cowl-necked ice blue silk dress. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of two weary people standing unnaturally close to each other as they leaned against the wall. “What’s going on here?” she asked uncertainly.
“My dress is caught in his fly,” his mystery woman replied.
“Your dress is what?”
“If you didn’t want to know, you shouldn’t have asked,” the lady in red said crossly. “Thanks for bringing my dress.”
“You’re welcome. But if you can’t get that dress off, how to you propose to put this dress on?”
“I said my dress is caught. I didn’t say I can’t get it off.”
Trystian watched, his amazement matched only by that of Sinclair’s, as the woman he’d been attached to for nearly an hour calmly undid the side zipper of her dress and slid it off her opposite shoulder, revealing a scalloped black strapless bra and black bikini panties. His mouth dropped open as she carefully stepped out of the dress, wearing only her underwear and red high-heeled mules.
“C’mon, let’s go back inside the office so I can get dressed,” she said to her equally dumbfounded companion, who followed her down the hall, walking as if she were in a trance.
She wasn’t the only one. Trystian stared open-mouthed at the heavenly body that moved further away from him with every step she took. His erection strained against his briefs and felt like it was about to explode. He uttered a soft tortured groan, grateful that the women were too far away to hear.
The mysterious woman whose red dress had been replaced by sexy black underwear unlocked the office door, and she and Sinclair disappeared inside. Trystian stood alone in the hallway, his mouth agape, a monumental hard-on filling his pants, and an empty red chiffon dress hanging from his fly, wondering if he looked as foolish as he felt.
*****
Now available from Bunderful Books
