Diana Scott - [Stonebridge 01] Read online

  Wow.

  “Champagne” The almighty man brings his hand closer that holds a delicate glass cup.

  “Thanks” I can’t look him in the eye because it has a direct effect on my legs. They loosen up.

  “Thank you very much for everything but you don’t have to keep me company. I'm sure you have your own plans.”

  It's funny but his serious and cold look doesn’t scare me but on the contrary it attracts and provokes me but it doesn’t scare me.

  “I have no plans. For now...”

  OMG. My heart is out of control just to imagine it. How long have I been without sex? The heat that goes up my legs and the tremors of anxiety, say a lot.

  The human deity sits next to me and his cologne intoxicates me, one hundred percent manly essence of wood and musk.

  “Is it what you expected?”

  “Yes and no”. He looks at me bewildered and he smiled like every time he looks at me.

  “The decoration is spectacular but I expected something more...”

  “Anything else?”

  “I don’t know, something else, stronger?”

  “Something that is more like orgies, sadism, trios, exchanges...”

  “I didn’t say that.” I'm getting redder than my hair.

  “But you've thought about it.”

  “Yes.” I’m terrible about lying.

  “You like to play hard.”

  “No, that goes... I don’t... Never...” Oh mother, I'm burying myself again, self-esteem is running terrified.

  The Greek God in a dark version offers me his brief smile and I sense that he is making fun.

  “Don’t laugh at me... Women have the same rights as men to experiment.”

  “Amen for that.”

  Two couples from a nearby table stand up and head for the large side aisle.

  “Where are they going?”

  “To experiment.”

  “Oh...”

  “Oh” He repeats making fun.

  “Can we go?”

  “No.”

  “Do you need an invitation to see?”

  “Are you a voyeur?”

  “No,” I laugh heartily, “only incurably curious.”

  I drink from my glass while I move to the beat of the music. I like this place more and more. My particular cupcake gets up and stretches his arm for me to accompany him and I'm still spellbound. Will there be private rooms?

  He directs me to the center of the floor and I see how a full color show is prepared on the stage. Two men and two women with their almost naked bodies perform an exquisitely sensual dance. The light from blue lasers accompany them from the ceiling to the ground and their sculptural bodies shine to the rhythm of the music.

  I am totally dedicated to the show and I move in my place transported by the eroticism of the place, when I notice how my perfect man leans against my back and surrounds my waist with his arms. We both move with soft and almost imperceptible steps while our bodies rub against each other shamelessly.

  By God, I'm burning just by feeling him close.

  His open hands on my belly move slowly around my waist and I can feel his breathing on my neck next to the weight of his head in the hollow of my shoulder.

  The darkness hides my shame and I let my hands cling to his looking for more contact. I like it and I see no reason not to show it. The music, the lights and the place make me want him with a crazy desire, I'm burning and my vagina gets wet from necessity. I have not been reacting to a man for a long time but this provokes unknown sensations in me.

  His body sticks to me and I feel his erection rubbing against my back making me feel wanted. His contact makes me bold. His hands hold me tightly as if he wants to make love to me right there and I don’t intend to deny myself. I am an adult, a free woman, and I love it. I want him over my body here and now. I rest my ass on his erection and I notice him taking a sharp breath between his teeth while giving me a small bite on the neck.

  “Anne...”

  “How do you know my name?” I whisper submerged in my cloud of passion.

  “I know everything from the first day I saw you.”

  That was today.

  “For you, yes.”

  “I try to turn to face him and understand what he says but he won’t let me. His arms clutch me with more force and his hoarse voice speaks into my ear.

  “Stay like that. I need to have you like this for a few more minutes.”

  I stand motionless in front of his body while I feel the full touch of his thighs and pectorals against me. The feeling is wonderful and I feel that the glory will come in just a few minutes. I close my eyes and hope for the inevitable. A few minutes pass, the music stops and I understand what is going to happen.

  “Baby... Yes, I'm ready. Yes I will, I'll accompany you...”

  “Tonight the anniversary in this place is being celebrated and it will be a somewhat unrestrained party. It's better to take you home.”

  “What? What! You rub me all you want, I allow you as part of a loving game, what do you think, you’re not going to give it to me? What a shit! I am as hot as an iron in the sun and offended to a fine degree. My self-esteem is so very, very angry.

  “I’ll stay.”

  “You don’t belong in this place.”

  And here we are again as if I’m smoking crack. I'm not a dead fly on the wall.

  “I appreciate the advice but I'm staying.”

  “And I assumed that you were submissive.”

  “I’m afraid that submission is my past and I overcame it in my life.”

  “Did you practice Sadism?”

  “Not those submissive women. I was referring to the submissive part as an obedient woman, one who says yes to everything. Yes honey, do you want my life, Yes daddy...”

  “Daddy?” He leaned back and gave a benevolent laugh. “Anne Foster is of an unknown species.”

  I look at him curiously and I see that those wrinkles that border the corner of his full lips have been erased. His smile looks so much better than his Antarctic seriousness.

  “You should laugh more often.” He ignored my advice and continued his interrogation.

  “Who have you liberated yourself from? Boyfriend? Partner?”

  “Deceased husband.”

  The god of Olympus nods in agreement with the answer. Had he lived something similar and understood it? I don’t think so. He is dominant, with a touch of control and a hint of possessiveness. The type that says you do what I say or what I say or half the planet will hear your screams.

  “Let's go.”

  “I stay.”

  “Let's go.”

  “I stay.”

  He sticks to my body and lifts my chin with two of his long and determined fingers. If he comes a little bit closer I don’t think I can control myself, I’ll bite those chocolate lips and... God! I'm out of control.

  “Remember, I promised you’d enter and you entered. You said yes. Yes to everything, to be exact. We must go.”

  “Yes, but...” He didn’t allow me to continue.

  “You said it.”

  “I said it but...”

  “Remember that if you don’t leave before the fireworks start, Marcus will be left without work and it will be your fault. And you don’t want that, right?”

  “No,” annoyed I grumbled.

  “That’s my girl.”

  I'm so frustrated! I let myself be convinced by a man that I don’t remember his name, who is a dictator and that despite his hellish gaze, I would take him to the end of the corridor, lower his pants and show him how uptight I am.

  We walked without talking to each other and left the premises together to collide with Marcus, who seems relieved to see me leave. He said goodbye with a big smile and I answer him in the same way. The poor man isn’t to blame he’s only fulfilling orders.

  “I'm taking you home.” Will he always have that bad mood?

  “I have a car.”

  He’s gorgeous but I don’t ha
ve to endure his bad ways. I disrupted his big, private night but he offered, so now he has to put up with me.

  I'm about to go when he comes forward and deposits the most tender kiss on my forehead. Forehead! No man ever, ever, ever kissed me on the forehead, like my grandfather, but that doesn’t count. Do I look so pathetic? Self-esteem covers my ashamed face.

  “See you.”

  “Clear.”

  I walk hurriedly to my car. Did I say, see you? He'll think I'm an idiot. He didn’t ask me for a phone or e-mail, yet he kissed me on the forehead and he tells me we'll see each other? Tell those stories to another, my dear. I already got the message I'm going home because tomorrow I have work and I need a very cold-water shower.

  Who are you

  “Good morning, Mary.”

  “Good nothing! That noise is unbearable.” The poor woman covers her ears with her hands. “There is too much remodeling! That simple office will look like Buckingham Palace itself.”

  I walk into my office leaving Mary grumbling at her desk. When I agreed to the crazy request of Bruce, I never thought that my tranquility would vanish between hammering and peeling paint.

  They take only a few days of construction but the noise could be described as many things less than comfortable. Please! It is assumed that with a simple coat of paint and some new furniture it would be a decent office, but surely the old curmudgeon wants something much more in line with his level of treasure hunting. He’s a cocky, ostentatious man.

  In Google there isn’t a lot of information, they say he prefers to keep his identity secret. What a bunch of bull! Who does he think he is, Indiana Jones? Objectivity is not my strength in cases like this but I simply can’t stand these people. They use our history and our treasures as a mere commercial merchandise.

  The knowledge of archeology shows us where we come from so we can see where we are going. It is good to know our origins; the good and the bad, the successes and misfortunes, our happiness and feelings. Our past is part of an evolutionary DNA that identifies us as human beings, and characters like this manage to leave our efforts as something a little more interesting than that of a simple dust and bone collector.

  Bruce says that Blackman will offer Stonebridge desperately needed income and I hope that in that regard he is right, otherwise I'll take care of it myself by kicking him in the ass and making him disappear from my museum.

  I put the laptop on my desk distracted by my own anger. I hope that Bruce is not wrong and this is not one of the many projects that sink into failure.

  Humanity is less and less interested in art. The price of visiting Stonebridge costs the same money as the last CD of the great successes of the Busty Pumps Volume II, however they are number one on MTV and I, an experimental archaeologist, number one in my field and with years of experience, I find myself having to listen to hammer blows from an office that will shelter the most unpleasant companion that exists, and whose history of coldness and bad character is of international fame. Self-esteem pours smoke through the ears.

  For the first time I have to admit that Mary is right. The situation is unbearable but as the museum’s director, I am supposed to demonstrate by example.

  “Soon it’ll pass,” I lie brazenly. “You don’t have to worry. A little paint, some new furniture and they’ll be finished. This week will be the last.”

  “What a pity...” I open my eyes surprised. Not even her mother understands her!

  “Sorry?”

  Mary smiles as she closes the door. What drama?

  “Anne... You’re always in limbo.” And there goes another one of her fumbling jabs. One day I’ll get fed up and we’ll both be in the newspapers.

  “Can I know what’s so interesting?”

  “You’ll see,” she approaches my chair, “at around five in the afternoon, every day, since the work began, a handsome and super interesting man arrives at the office. He enters, observes the new walls with great detail and sits in the only chair that exists, studies some papers and does some heavy concentrating.”

  “He has been doing the same every day. While working on whatever he’s doing, he stares at me for a long time, totally enraptured. I don’t want to seem presumptuous but you already understand.”

  “I’m presumptuous?” I say with irony but she ignores me and continues her speech.

  “It's me who he looks at. Now you understand me. I'm more his type than you. I can’t lie to you; he doesn’t take his eyes off me. I'm sure it's me and not you, and I'm not saying it to offend you, but I fit more into his profile.”

  His profile? I’m screwed. Here we are again with Mary’s blessed speech with her exuberant youth of twenty and some, in front of the poor widow, alone and sad with thirty something. Why don’t I kick her out to the curb? Yes, I know simply because I'm not like that.

  “I'm happy for you, Mary. I hope that man will value you for something more than a romp in the hay.” Take that one. I'm good but I'm not an idiot.

  Mary combed her long platinum blonde hair, ignoring my taunts. It was clear that the part of getting a good romp was the only interesting thing for her.

  “Do you think it will be Blackman?”

  I open my eyes, stupefied, and then I let out a laugh that resonated throughout the office. My god, she’s so expert in some subjects and so naive in others.

  “It's not Blackman. A treasure hunter like him would never bother to see the works of an office. He won’t arrive in the city until next week, and although I don’t know him and I don’t even know his first name, I'm sure he's a man with gray hair and a lot less interesting than you tell me. That man must be a construction employee or at best the interior decorator.”

  “You are right...”

  It seems that the idea of ​​having a painter as a fan is not very to her liking. Let's say it's a lot less glamorous.

  “Mary, I have to work.” Let's see if she gets the hint and does the same. “Do you think it's okay to bring me a coffee with milk and forget about handsome men and bystanders?”

  “Be quiet! Look towards the door. He is entering! He is the...”

  “Okay, but then you go straight to your desk.”

  I look bored and I almost fall out of my chair. Fuck! Shit! Handsome is not a sufficient description for someone like that; interesting, seductive, attractive, fascinating, magical, tempting, if that is an accurate description. He is terribly manly, unbearably sexy and damn me to hell because it's the same bad humored Adonis of last night. Shit! And a thousand times my shitty luck that I have.

  He walks slowly, confidently, self-assured. All of him shows complete control wherever he treads. He wore black jeans, a black cotton shirt and branded sports shoes. It’s the same as last night but with a different air. Handsome, irresistible and terribly seductive.

  I close my mouth before being exposed.

  “And is he or isn’t he handsome?” Mary asked smiling.

  I was so absorbed watching him through the glass of my office that I wasn’t able to answer. He seemed to hear my mental call because suddenly he turned to us and then I could appreciate him in his entire splendor. The same Arctic blue eyes that hypnotized me the night before: deep, intense and intriguing.

  Our eyes met but he didn’t blink. Could it be that he doesn’t remember me? The idea of ​​being just one of many saddens me. Self-esteem disappointed.

  I duck my head with shyness and a touch of grief. What did I think would happen, that he would come to my office, open the door, lift me up and kiss me like Clark Gable to his beloved Scarlet? One of these days I will have to mature.

  I shake my head, denying my nonsense, while Mary, oblivious to my thoughts, goes to her desk, moving her rounded hips intensely. The young woman tries to capture the attention of the man who, at that moment, turns around and enters the office without paying attention to either of us. Self-esteem, with a broken heart.

  I prefer to concentrate on my work, which is quite a bit. But God! He can’t be real. Why does everyth
ing happen to me? Of hundreds of museums on the planet, did I have to come to work right at this one? I was just looking for new adventures, a drink and a little more... It's fine, just a lot more, but I swear that nothing that unusual. Come on, the previous night was needed but after meeting him, my body burns and not just because the heater is on. I'm pathetic and unfortunate! And he terribly attractive. He's an Apollo, a luscious bonbon ready to eat and he would be perfect for a woman as hungry as I am, if not for that little detail, when he kissed me on the forehead and left.

  No Anne... Don’t raise your head, don’t do it. Keep watching your monitor. If I look up I can spy through the glass that I have right in front of me but I'm not going to do it, because I should not, because I'm not a hustler and because I'm not a stalker. I’m sure he's tired of women chasing him. I don’t see. I don’t look... I don’t... I don’t... I never... Just a little... A look and no more.

  Shit! He has caught me.

  The God of Olympus is also looking towards my office, but unlike me, he smiles with his eyes. His eyes are less cold; dare I say that they have a touch of fun? Shit! He's laughing at me, just what I needed. In repertoire of my broad qualities, now I must add, that of a sassy slug.

  Concentrate woman! You are the director of Stonebridge, a respectable archaeologist and a woman with crazy desires for a good vis a vis with the companion in front. Self-esteem, fanning with both hands.

  I smile at my heated thoughts. I focus on the computer screen and I remove the smirk on my lips that since I met him hasn’t erased from my face. He can’t be more handsome and I can’t be more desperate. I put the earphones in my ears, I open Word and I forget burning sexual postures. He's great, he fascinates me, but last night he made it clear that I didn’t fall within his ideal of feminine beauty.

  My computer engulfs me and I work without looking straight ahead. I look at the clock and perfect! Two hours of work and without looking up once. Good for me! After the sacrifice I deserve to get a little bit of joy with my sight, right? Of course, yes. I look at my neighbor that in this life I met only two days ago.

  I raise my eyes excited but my joy evaporates instantly. Not here. He’s gone. A shame for today the good views are over. The building is in shadow and Mary is gone. I worked so concentrated that I didn’t realize how time ran. I had better send the report and go straight to my house.