Wednesday, December 21, 2011

A FIRM HAND AWAITS - "THE SENTENCE OF ANNA" BY A.H. SCOTT





Author A.H. Scott doles out a punishment of power, pride and passion in this tale of explosive encounters and ribald release.


Just Released!!


SMASHWORDS PRESENTS A.H. SCOTT'S "THE SENTENCE OF ANNA"





In 1747 France, the Duke of Givenchy, Philippe Paramour was a man of power and position. Philippe's noble title gave him liberation of his most secret yearnings of debauchery. The Duke's favorite past-time was taking female peasants under his wing as lovers and traveling companions across the French countryside.


This is "The Sentence Of Anna".


Anna's sentence at times, would have been intolerable to a lesser woman of her immature age. But, what she gained under the strict tutelage of Philippe was the skills of maturity and demure sophistication.



Enjoy this FREE sample of A.H. Scott's sexy new tale:


EXCERPT SAMPLE -



The Sentence Of Anna


by


A.H. Scott



(‘Punishment Ever So Sweet, Can Be Beyond A Midnight's Treat’)



Anna sat blushing, as she watched the sword play between Philippe and his friend, Valery. When both men finished their round of physical exertion, she rose with a silver pitcher of libation for them.


"Gentle sirs, I have brought some refreshment", batting lashes at Philippe she smiled. Hair the color of coal and skin color of champagne, Anna was a most desirable dame of decadence.


Forest green, silk dress with white lace neckline and frills at forearms, gave Anna a glow of an emerald.


She after all was Philippe’s gem.


"This pleases me, Anna", man with blonde hair held a cup and waited to be served by her.


Philippe's partner in this sword play was handed a cup and she also poured some cool liquid for him.


Being the mistress of a married nobleman in France, was a life that Anna never sought out. Alas, when Duke of Givenchy, Philippe Paramour came to her village when she was 17, this powerful man chose this raven haired young woman.


Anna's father and mother had been provided with a small monthly allotment from Philippe. By age 20, she'd accompanied him on several journeys around the countryside. Three years as his mistress gave Anna entree into a world beyond the peasant class.


Her beauty pleased him. This kept Anna a woman worthy of a Paramour.


Philippe could be harsh when Anna didn't follow his various orders for her. One of these came when staying at the villa of an old friend of the Duke's family.


The Terrance family had been equine trainers and breeders for the French royalty for over two hundred years.


Villa and stables were surrounded by a medium sized pasture on one side and a small river on the other side.


Valery Terrance's graying hair had a layering of waves atop his head. In younger days, Valery’s golden hair set him apart from his older brother with dark brown hair,


His athletic physique was quite limber, compared to portly Philippe. Both men met in their early teens. What bound them as friends was their love of fencing and females.


Philippe had brought many of his comforting companions through Valery’s villa over the years.


Anna was just the spicy flavor of this moment in April.


The Duke of Givenchy had a penchant for peasant girls to be swept up in the world of wealth and privilege, which only a nobleman could afford.


A skeleton household staff at the villa or its surroundings for this visit by Philippe and Anna were a quartet of stablemen in the connecting stables down the dusty road from the main house.


Past midnight, Valery came upon something that would make his eyes water. Terrance's villa had their doors removed during spring and summer months, which left only a partition between each bed chamber in the form of thick, burgundy colored fabric.


As the villa's owner sauntered past the bed chamber of Anna, he could hear her moaning. "Stop it, please", Anna panted.


Valery felt an impulse to see what was happening on the other side of that heavy curtain. Finding an opening quickly, his mouth was aghast.


Anna, with arms wrapped around one of the bedposts on a large sized bed, was naked and shivering as the wind blew around that luscious body.


Philippe's left hand was adorned with a thick, gold ring on his middle finger. Smacking ass, she twitched. The ring's outline was left on her soft skin. "You've been a very disobedient, Anna", he spoke with authority.


He’d turned the design of the ring on the palm-side, which imprinted a small lion upon her ass.


Anna would always be corrected by Philippe, for some things this young woman didn’t even realize


It hadn’t been the first time she’d been corrected by her lover.


Accustomed to being accosted in such ways by the Duke of Givenchy, young Anna had become a quite pliable playmate for Paramour.


"Ooh", tugging on one of the green, silk sashes that held her hands in place, "I don't know what came over me".


end of excerpt




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DIAMONDS, DESIRE & DEATH - "RACK EM" BY A.H. SCOTT








A.H. Scott's novel from Eirelander Publishing - ( Eirelander Publishing) is titled "Rack Em". My novel is a scintillating excursion into the arena of international auctions. The sellers and buyers trade trinkets of varied measures of meaning around the globe.


Captivating treasures from centuries prior has led many on a desperate sojourn to a Vancouver auction house. They all want their hands on these prized possessions of a passionate pair of lovers from long ago. Yet, some of the buyers have tricks of temptation up their silky sleeves.


When lust mixes with greed, the ball of the unknown is tossed across the billiard table of hidden agendas.


An interracial romance of a brash American male and charming Chinese woman is just one of the balls that roll across the felt table of "Rack Em".


For what seemed a mutual attraction between business negotiators, turned into something more intimate. Not just of the flesh, but of circumstances beyond this couple's control.


View the book trailer for A.H. Scott's "Rack Em" on YouTube - ( Rack Em - The Video Trailer)




RACK EM Book Description -


In a small, French village, a grand dame of envied collectibles has been murdered in the night, as a trail of treasure and tears leads onto the doorstep of an unsuspecting Vancouver auction house. Recaptured bobbles of devotion from two fated lovers of long days gone by, bring together varied egos into the life of an antiques dealer.


Beauty came to Vancouver, as if it were a smiling wind from across the ocean. For this harried male, a pair of bodacious Italian belles and woman of gentle grace from China proved to be something extra for him. Man and woman, who were once strangers and adversaries, became bound in each others' arms and hearts. A liquidator in fine fabric has woven itself amongst the sublime class of international buyers and sellers of collectible curios.


Seduction's game is about to break. Question is; can a man fight temptation or join in? Only one move is left to make.


RACK EM Excerpt -


Prologue & Chapter One


Prologue


Romance is beyond the bounds of time.


Three years after Giacomo Casanova's release from Paris' Fort-l'Eveque in 1758, a nonchalant conversation between the prison's warden and a guard was overheard.


A 16-year-old jail cleaner, Pepon Larionne, was in the process of collecting garbage in the hallway outside of Lieutenant Hugo Arrieyenne's office, while the warden and longtime prison guard, Edgar DeSaviage continued speaking to each other inside.


Pepon was one of three men who had the task of cleaning the warden's office, guard tower, and guard barracks. This night, it was Larionne's job to handle the outer hallway, which led to Lieutenant Arrieyenne's office. The other two jail cleaners had already started going towards the barracks. This young man, who seemed an unlikely vessel of history, became Cupid's messenger.


It was at this moment in 1761, when Pepon's fate changed for the better. Lieutenant Arrieyenne spoke to Edgar DeSaviage about Casanova's imprisonment and release in 1758. Manon Balletti, one of Giacomo Casanova's great loves, procured his freedom with a pair of diamond earrings in 1758.


The fabled lover had received mercy from a long prison sentence at the bequest of a beautiful woman. And, this is the story which followed through the years.


Preparing his office for the cleaners, Lieutenant Hugo Arrieyenne and guard Edgar DeSaviage emptied out desk drawers onto the floor, revealing several varied sized items, including a small canvas satchel.


As Pepon entered the warden's office, he kept his head low and mouth shut in their presence. The lowly jail cleaner scooped up bits of food, papers, and that canvas satchel with his hands.


The warden and guard stood chuckling at the dirty work which Pepon had to accomplish as they turned their backs on him and went back to speaking about Casanova and the diamond earrings.


Finishing up the cleaning of Arrieyenne's office, Pepon excused himself and grasped a large canvas sack full of garbage. In the hallway outside of the office, another large sack of trash was gathered by Larionne. Pulling the sacks behind him, Pepon left through the lantern lit prison entrance.


Larionne joined up with his fellow jail cleaners in the courtyard near the guard barracks. He never told the others about the tale of Casanova and Manon Balletti's connection to Fort-l'Eveque. Yet, it remained in the back of his mind, while taking his share of the sacks of garbage down towards an incline to be dumped.


Something that the warden and guard didn't realize when tossing out the desk contents onto the floor was the small satchel that contained those precious items of devotion from Manon to the previous prison warden.


What had been tossed out amongst spoiled food, soiled sheets and vomit, were the pair of diamond earrings. Pepon was also unaware of the situation, until shaking the canvas sack empty. A final item remained in the bottom of the sack. As the satchel revealed its contents, Larionne's eyes were affixed on a pair of earrings, a pen, and a slip of fabric as the satchel revealed its contents.


The simple man of bare means retrieved the trio of items and silently finished his duties for the night. His fellow cleaners were none the wiser for Pepon Larionne's fantastic find.


A conversation which he'd overheard from Arrieyenne and DeSaviage was not just a myth. But a reality, which was now wrapped in a dingy cloth with spots of mucus against Pepon Larionne's body.


The items weren't contained in a satin lined mahogany box to be delivered to a royal consort. But, they were transported within a filthy, loosened blouse of a lowly peasant.


Returning to his small cottage Pepon placed small sack into maple table. Alongside those earrings of Manon, a quill pen and square of lace were laid out by Pepon. The peacock feathers gave Pepon visions of Manon and Casanova's tandem pen craft. Just to imagine what each would place to paper remained more than enough for this the young man's imagination. The slight scent of lavender remained upon that lace.


Night turned to morn as he left the cottage for a short journey.


Pepon Larionne's only thoughts were to give this newly found gift to his beloved Vivienne Coupette. The sixteen-year old woman with a gentle smile was the core of Pepon's undying devotion. Maybe some of the herald grace of Manon and Casanova's love would rub off on Pepon Larionne.


The prison jail cleaner would never be King of France. But as he presented the diamond earrings, quill pen, and sliver of lace to the lady he loved, Pepon Larionne would be forever the prince of Vivienne's heart.


Vivienne became his wife later that month. Their son Laurenz married Orlean Capelli at age 33. Grandson Charles Larionne took Charlotte Pantille as a bride in 1820. Charles' child Phillippe and his wife Ilese van Sharpone had Arielle in 1850. During childbirth, Phillippe Larionne became a widower and single father. Raising Arielle alone for many years he married a childhood friend of Ilese van Sharpone Marcellon Borneau.


1875 became a year of retelling this tale of overwhelming devotion. As 25-year-old Arielle came upon a small music box with those items stuffed into a false bottom, Phillippe retold that tale of his ancestor Pepon Larionne's unimaginable luck and Casanova's exciting entanglements.


33-year-old Arielle married Henri Rausch in 1883.Those next decades of division and destruction in Europe led Bertrand Rausch to move with his wife Sophie Devayne in 1943. Relocating to a town near French wine country Quimper was a good place to begin their lives together. Northwest of Bordeaux they opened a small bistro called Arielle's. Three years later Thomas was born in 1946.


For Thomas Rausch, life in Quimper seemed smaller than the large vista he saw himself in. At age 36, Thomas was in charge of Arielle's. With debt collectors hounding and bills mounting, Henri Rausch's grandson began slipping off a tightrope of gourmet platters and financial reality.


Still single in 1981, he existed as a man with little to show for his life. Alas, memories of grandmother Arielle's cherished belongings of beatitude brought an idea forth.


Passing by an artists' studio in Colmar, he saw a man cobbling figurines. Fiddling with those items in his jacket pocket, a possible solution washed over Thomas Rausch.


For a thick handful of francs, Eduard Niemann became owner of those three bells of beauty. Rausch was able to stave off collectors for a while longer as a tiny bistro became viable once again. For As for the artisan Niemann, he acquired an elevated essence for selling the earrings pen and slice of fabric. Ironic that it would be his idolized spouse that would come to a gloomy expiration in future years in handling history's heartache.


Beneath a bitter boot of German annexation, Metz was a most turbulent location for a young Jaqueline to bud into womanhood. Jaqueline Hurlot survived Europe's cloud of blackness during years from adolescence to early twenties. In post war years she married Eduard Niemann, a Colmar native.


Years after Eduard's death of cancer Jaqueline flourished in varied forms of sales. From private collectors to storefront visitors she made her own name in this errand of exclusivity.


During a six-month period before coming to an agreement with Cross Collectibles in Vancouver, she'd negotiated sale of those items for auction with five other entities. From Europe came three persons, and one each from Africa and China.


Calling The Little Bell in Austria, Freiderich Rothsberger passed on these gems. Although, he suggested the possibility of markets that were opening in Asia the name Flower Moon was given to her.


Taking an old friend's advice talks had begun with Flower Moon. But at that point in her career, Jaqueline was unsure about Asia's stability as always a market for this particular product.


Secondly, The Red Chair in Lucca, Italy was contacted. The Italian office located near Pisa didn't seem up to its prior reputation. Blue Coastal International in Africa would have seemed a good choice for Niemann's proposal. Yet problems in negotiations caused retreat on both ends. The White Tower might have been a pleasing choice for both she and its owner in Bilbao. Spain. Pity the timing was ill-fitted.


Oddly enough, it was Vancouver based Arlington Cross that placed a perfect bidding price and commission for Niemann. Cross Collectibles had a three and a half year worth of dealings in the past.


Jaqueline Hurlot Niemann's bank in Paris was wired a plush price for sale of a trio and fat finder's fee for herself. Items were shipped via freighter from Marseilles. The arrival date would be within 21 days.


Arlington Cross would be an opportune oracle of Manon's magical jewels, which were a golden key of amorous amends.


Chapter One


Vancouver's Queen Elizabeth Park was sparsely occupied by a pair of dog-walkers and small smattering of joggers that July day. These early morning risers included the proprietor of an antiques establishment, known as Cross Collectibles.


Every pounding of footstep against pavement, revealed his declining stamina.


The morning breeze blew Arlington's mixed brown and gray hair away from his bobbing face as he thought of what the day would hold forward. Yet, he couldn't resist thinking about his humble beginnings. Raised not far from the New Mexico border, he was an Andrews, Texas native. At age 3, he'd moved with his family to Orange Grove for a newly minted business in Corpus Christi.


His father, Thomas Keith Oliver Cross, or TKO as friends called him, was a man with big dreams of rubbing lanterns of fantasized luxury. Cross-Banks began with high hopes, for both TKO and partner Lincoln Banks. Oil exploration came to be the blissful bread and butter for the two families.


Meanwhile, Arlington and his younger brother Maxwell were steered on the right path, under the maternal wings of Bonnie Weatherly Cross. Thomas taught them to fish, hunt, and interact with many a ball of boyhood. Bonnie, on the other hand, taught them fairness, courtesy, pride, and mental acceleration. Both parents gave them lessons in life, which they retained to this date.


Moments of joy, youth, laughter, and familial bonding filled the Cross's three-bedroom home on 327 Carlyle Way. Alas, it all came to a stunted end with the caustic touch of cancer.


Bonnie Weatherly Cross had lost her battle with cancer when Arlington was 15 and Maxwell was 12.


Having moved to Vancouver at age 17, he and his brother were on a whirlwind adventure with their widowed father. Thomas, Arlington, and Maxwell got Cross Collectibles off the ground quite quickly. Within two years, Cross Collectibles became a moderately successful import and export antique company. The primary reason for this choice of vocation came with some local tax incentives and low overhead costs.


Thomas' sale of his half of the company to Lincoln Banks of Kimball, Nebraska, gave him enough seed money to travel north of the border. Ironically, that cash infusion for business opportunities in Vancouver remained a strike of financial genius by the elder Cross.


TKO finally decided to retire and let one of his sons run the family business. The younger brother had dreams of a life not in antiques. So, he was off the hook of export responsibility. But, Arlington Cross was filled with pride for his father handing him the reins at Collectibles.


With two sons to be proud of, TKO bought a home in Portland, Oregon. He lived quietly and happily, knowing Cross Collectibles was in good hands. Lawyer Maxwell Cross returned to Texas to take a position at one of Dallas's prestigious firms of legal thunder.


The gaze of Cross's brown eyes reminded many of sable buttons floating in the deep, warm waters of Galveston Bay. Wearing a pair of washed out gray sweats and a Texas A&M hooded sweatshirt, an attached Walkman gently bounced from a constantly moving motioning hip. Anyone looking at this man, would mistake him for an overly-ripened fraternity brother and not a respectable business owner on this July 17th.


As the final notes of the Allman Brothers', `Jessica', wound down, KVON's morning radio jock, Hugo Felipe announced the time of 7:14 over Arlington's music player. Clicking it off, Cross rummaged through his pockets to find the door key. The silver object slipped through his fingers and gently bounced off his scuffed, white Converse sneakers. Arlington bent down to retrieve the key.


"You're going to kill yourself with that running, young man," a mature female voice flowed from above him.


"Chayline?" He stood upright and took a deep breath. His lips formed a genial grin, "What doesn't kill me will make me stronger."


Fading red hair twisted beneath a gold and emerald hairpin. Chayline Vincent laughed, "But, boss, I don't want me to outlive you." She pressed an index finger against his heaving palpitating chest and pulled her purse over her left shoulder. "Besides, what would this place be without a Cross?"


Arlington unlocked the door, "Oh, it's all with a wing and a prayer. I hope it can be a bit better than Teak House." His foot pushed aside a small pile of mail, knowing its majority were always billing statements from varied vendors.


"Better than Bleak," 56-year-old Chayline remarked to him with a pun she often used in describing this building's color as in similarity to a Dickensian tome. But despite joking about that shade of brown with a hint of maroon mixed in, both knew that the financial state of Cross Collectibles was verging toward a miniature level of San Andreas. She followed him inside Cross Collectibles.


The previous trio of months had a decline in sales and customers for Cross Collectibles weekly auctions. Although there were specialty items that sold to heightened financial plateaus, the majority of those goods were like lukewarm beer. Things may be wanted as an afterthought by the public, but not needed. Gifts for grandmothers or that forgotten anniversary were the fare of Cross Collectibles.


"What time is Barris due in today, Chay?" he asked, scooping objects with both hands and tossing them onto the large reception desk. Pulling his sweatshirt off, he stood wearing a blue cotton tee and wrapped the hooded item around his waist.


"He should be here around…" She gazed at her oval wristwatch and quickly responded, "Around 9:45."


Opening windows in the rear of the building, Cross slightly grimaced at her, "That late?"


"Remember? His sister is coming in from the University of Ottawa for a visit?"


"Yeah, I guess I forgot."


"Well, are you going to change?" She walked toward him, a headmistress attitude taking over. "Or is this the odor of the day?"


Ignoring what she was speaking about, his head cocked to face her, "Um, what did you say?"


"Come on, Mr. Forgetful," she chided. Placing firm hands on his shoulders and turning him to face the bathroom down the hall, she reminded him, "We've got a busy day. And, the early bird gets the worm."


"And not smell like one, right?" Rolling blue fabric from his flesh and grabbing a clean white shirt from a closet, Cross entered the bathroom.


"What color?" she asked.


Twisting the knob, his head popped from the cracked door. He said, "Dark brown, please."


"Good choice." Chayline pulled a pair of brown pants from a silver hanger inside the closet.


His hand darted around and pulled the pants inside. "Thanks."


"You're always welcome, Arlington."


"That's why you're the best, Chayline." Dressed in starched white shirt and dark brown pants, Arlington Cross was a man ready for the hectic workday. Cross pecked Vincent his assistant on right cheek, "Thanks again."


She playfully waved him away from her. "Now, let's get down to business, sir."


Trotting into a small kitchen area, he began to make them some coffee. "Don't I know it?" After microwaving some water and tossing a packet into a cup, Cross approached her desk. "Hazelnut, ma'am. Your wish is my command."


"Darling, you make an old lady giddy." She smiled and shoved her purse into bottom right drawer of the desk. "When Barris gets here, do you want him to start on the inventory?"


"Sure. And, after he finishes, have him come up to my office." Dragging a brown box of books towards an elevator, he made sure the mail was set on top.


Sipping coffee, Chayline Vincent stood and began to prepare the first floor for business. "See you later."


As it ascended to the fourth floor of the building, the gated elevator shook slightly. The bright capsule opened and Arlington stepped onto a dark plateau. The tip of his sneaker pressed the box across from that opening. Fifteen steps to his left, he flipped a light switch on. Opening rolling doors to his office open, Cross unlocked a small cabinet in the corner. He removed a white box from that top drawer and another pair of shoes. Resting himself into a swivel chair, Arlington quickly changed from white canvas sneakers into black suede loafers.


9:15 ticked away on a black and white wall clock in Cross's office. The clanging of the elevator opening broke the silence of surveying statements and stock. "Barris, I didn't think you'd be in until almost 10."


"Yeah, I did too." Youthfully bounding over to him, he placed a large hand outward for a shake. "Good morning. And, thanks again for the time."


Eyes of dark brown and square jaw of kindness, with a frame of over six feet, there stood Barris Hart. All this 29 year old needed was a blue ox.


As he Cross began to pull papers from a cabinet, he said, "I want you to check the stocks for these items," handing Hart those items.


"Done," Organizing white and pink papers, Barris tapped them onto a desk. "Is there anything else you need right now, boss?"


Cross became playful with Hart. "If you can make some new customers appear, then I'll take you up on that offer."


"That's a good one." As he walked to the elevator, a deep chuckle came from Barris Hart's lips. "See you in a bit, Arlington."


Two hours and fifteen minutes of peace were cracked with the sound of a braking delivery truck on Heather Street. Chayline Vincent gazed above a pair of tortoise rimmed reading glasses. The white vehicle, with ten-inch black-block-lettering, read Carrington Courier Company. It listed headquarters in Toronto, with branches located in Winnipeg, Edmonton, and St. John.


Adorned in a tomato-red jacket, with a dangling nametag on the right chest pocket and navy pants, a bearded driver with a trim build began to open the van's side door. Packages and boxes were placed onto a dolly for easy transport into Cross Collectibles.


"Let me get that for you." Gently putting her glasses onto pile of invoices, she began pulling the glass doors open. Chayline waved the man inside. "Are those all for Cross?"


"Yes, ma'am." He checked a clipboard with listings of all the packages he had to deliver in Vancouver that day. "Could you sign right here?" he asked, and put the clipboard atop the dolly.


"Sure," she nodded, quickly scribbling her name on a dozen corresponding bold lines. "Can you put them over there, please?"


Reacting with a smile, he ensured her request was fulfilled in no time at all, "You have a good day, ma'am." Placing the clipboard under his right arm, he gave a friendly salute and walked towards the opened entrance.


"I will," she said as she slowly closing the glass doors behind him, Chayline played slightly with a strand of pearls. "You have the same, buddy."


The elevator opened and Arlington approached the reception area, "How many today?" "Chay?"


Soft hands placed a finger on each item, "Looks like one huge one, three large ones, five medium, and two small," She almost overlooked a singular item which had been laid aside the tower by the delivery man. "And then, there's this one," she said, giving a slight shake at a six by six sized box. From the looks of it, this small one is postmarked from France.


"Who's it from?" Banging a hand onto the largest box, Cross bent down and took an opener from his pants pocket.


"I'll give Jaqueline a call later." He ripped the masking tape down the middle and quipped, "I'm surprised it got here so quick."


"Why?"


"She said that it was being shipped from over there, from when I talked to her last week." He lifted a large vase from that box. "Oh, this is beautiful." Cradling the pricey porcelain, he walked down a long hallway.


"So, what do you want to do first?"


"This vase goes first," he said, nesting the item onto a large black table in the back room, "Grab your pad, my friend."


"I'll put this one upstairs later, okay?"


"Perfect."


Tagging this item of treasure, Arlington Cross and Chayline Vincent came to a padded sales price. "When we put it in the right light… "


"It'll glow green," she interrupted.


"You are precisely on point, Mrs. Vincent."


Barris Hart exited the descended elevator. "Do you need me for anything else, Arlington?"


"What's up, Barris?"


"Can I take lunch?"


"Before you do…" He pointed at the remaining items in the corner, "Can you take those up to the storage room?"


"No problem." Cheerfully getting a rolling cart from the room down the hall, Hart began stacking packages and ascending back upstairs.


"Chayline, you can take lunch too." Working his fingers through his hair, Cross wrote a few words onto a yellow legal pad. "Business is as light as a feather."


"Thanks." Taking her purse from a drawer, Chayline made a suggestion, "Do you want me to bring you back something?"


"A sub will do fine."


"And, do you want pickles, too?"


"Oh, Chayline, you do know me well." He beat his pen against the table. "I'll hold down the fort of silence."


Vincent grasped the door and gently spoke to him. "See you in a bit, Cross."


"Thanks." Continuing to write, Arlington closed the door and sat at Chayline's cluttered desk.


Alone, this owner of a thriving Vancouver establishment sat yawning. Arlington Cross waited for a blitz of customers and clients, to keep his lifestyle as a King Edward Avenue apartment resident, on that glittery social scene near Vandusen Botanical


His father, Thomas, had retired to a cozy cabin in Oregon. Younger brother Maxwell returned to life in Dallas. Arlington's sibling carved out quite a fulfilling life in the legal arena of Texas.


Being a bachelor could be many things to a man. As for sex, that remained a puzzle, in and of itself. Arlington remained a bachelor who had freedom to explore feminine companionship. And, he did so without abandon.


Nylons in nightclubs, bikinis on bronzed flesh, and diamond adorned bodies in his bed kept satisfaction on the smiling face of Arlington Cross.


Peach painted nails on a manicured hand approached Arlington with a coral colored envelope "Mr. Cross?"


"Yes."


Tanned, lean limbs, exposed from the mid-thigh of a green skirt, moved motioned closer. "I hear that you're having an auction in two weeks. I think there are a few items which might peak my interest to purchase."


"Really?" Rising from behind Chayline's desk, his hand reached out to hers. Cross looked at a crinkled flyer of a few months prior, up and down. "And, what kind of items are you looking for?"


"My husband and I," She returned his handshake and with moist lips added, "are in the market for exotic figurines."


Hearing of a spouse was like garlic to a penetrating vampire. "Oh," Cross changed his tone as a distinctive silver band glimmered on her wedding finger. "Well, we're putting something together soon." Arlington's inquisitive nature consumed the moment with this woman. "How did you get that notice, ma'am?"


"Mr. Cross. I do have my ways" She remarked, as her emerald eyes were fanned with soft eyelashes. Her raspberry lips parted, as did a rayon jacket to reveal ample assets to him. "Could you give me a description of what the upcoming items for auction are?"


"Ma'am, this flyer is from an old auction we had a while back," he said, putting it on the desk. Arlington began to turn a beam of investigation onto this mysterious marigold, "We've just had a shipment of Hummel. Would you like to view them?"


"Mr. Cross, I'd like you to suggest something that might suit me." She shifted soft flesh on the seat; her slight French accent washed over him. "My husband's been on a long business trip." An aura of arousal wafted around this obviously bored wife of privilege. "I wanted to give him a surprise when he returns home in a few days."


"Something different is what you're looking for, correct?"


The tip of her tongue moved against her bare teeth, as she slowly twirled a few strands of long, golden hair. "I think you're the type of man that could give a woman exactly what she needs."


"I have something that will put a smile on that lovely face, ma'am." Word play was like foreplay to Cross, as though a lump of hesitation lodged in his throat. He skimmed the thick blue catalog. "I mean, Cross has a wide selection of pieces of the obscure and erotic." Flipping past pages of statues and wall art, he found something his potential customer would enjoy. "Also, there are some masks from Morocco that we got in last week," he said, showing a picture of an object of fertility. Her body language of arousal diminished. "But, they might not be what you and your husband need."


"Why is that, Mr. Cross?" A minuscule pout formed on those berry colored lips of hers.


"They are traditional fertility masks."


Girlish giggles erupted from her. "You are quite right." Gently taking the catalog from him, she stood and placed it onto that desk. "I don't want a mask or anything from that catalog."


"How do you know? That's old." She gingerly placed her left hand on the catalog.


Cross became puzzled at her remark. "You haven't been in here before." Those brown eyes looked more intently at him. "Have you?"


"I - I didn't mean the catalog was old." Pangs of embarrassment came to her reddening cheeks as she continued to speak. "I mean to say that is outdated for what I'm in the market for."


Cross closed the catalog. "Oh, I think I can see." Arlington tried to attain further information from her. "Well, if you would tell me what kind of man your husband is, maybe I can assist you in finding something appropriate."


"He is a man who doesn't spend enough time with his wife." The seductive siren gave more intimate details to the man. "He's a man who leaves his wife alone." Pretending a flickering of bashfulness, she added, "Many a lonely and cold night, he has done this."


Arlington Cross was about to respond to this emerald ember, which sat lusciously before him as a stream of car horns began beeping on the street outside. "Some men just don't know how lucky they actually are."


"Well, I guess it's especially lucky when a royal flush is in their grasp." Her present for an absent spouse became the last item that was on her mind at that moment in time. "Lady Luck can give a winning roll of the dice." Her feminine charms came to the forefront once more as she gazed down at Arlington's affected lower half.


"Or snake eyes." Cross's erection had to be placed on a back burner. He knew the complications of mixing Cross Collectibles' business with captivating trysts and their unforeseen consequences.


Arlington Cross had a modern day vision of those magnificent Three Graces within arm's length. Yet, his lust would have to remain hidden beneath the dark brown cloth of his pants.


Mischievously, she turned up the heat. "Oh, and that's an image to ponder too."


Feeling like a marlin that had just been hooked off the Florida coast, Cross began realizing this pretty package in his business was a bit too eager to obtain that caviar ticket to a Cross Collectibles' private auction. "I don't think you and your husband will find what you're looking for at my business."


"Just because I'm married, Arlington" She brushed against his left shoulder, an offer and admission of passion was laid at Cross's feet. "It does not mean that I am a tulip with only a single petal."


Her intentions towards this stranger would seem obvious to him. She knew how to talk to any man and get his attention. At this moment in time, her sights were set on Cross.


He was flattered and horny. But Arlington's radar doubted her motives for the strong come on to him. Cross was being offered entree into an erotic encounter with a woman who appeared to be too good to be true.


And, from a cautious dealer of antiques, sometimes it was best not to make the sale, no matter what the underlying cost would turn out to be.


"What a description."


Taking a slip of paper from her purse, she scribbled. "Call me, if you have a change of schedule." She handed him the note and her luscious body slinked towards the door. She turned to him and continued, "Call me, if you've got the inkling he's not around."


"By the way," Whizzing past her, Cross asked, "What's your name?"


Her sandal-clad feet quickly stepped onto the crowded sidewalk of Heather Street as she licked her glossed lips. "Clover."


It turned out to be a first for him. Arlington Cross had just been pumped. Not for lust, but for information. He crossed is arms and stood by the door waiting for Vincent's return.


..End Of Excerpt


(Well, of course, the hidden agendas are played by winks, smiles and naked thighs throughout "Rack Em"...)





Purchase A.H. Scott's "Rack Em" from my publisher, Eirelander Publishing and also the following:



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ONEPLACEFORROMANCE - Rack Em - 1 Place For Romance


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BARNES & NOBLE NOOK - Barnes & Noble - Rack Em


Recapture Romance..;)


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Saturday, November 19, 2011

A.H. SCOTT BOOKSHOP IS NOW OPEN!





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Wednesday, November 16, 2011

PILLOW TALK SCREWS THE 99% - POETRY BY A.H. SCOTT






PILLOW TALK SCREWS THE 99%!!








Lolly was a lobbyist who did her job well
Her bank account always filled to a swell
Loopholes written by others she slid through with ease
To all of her clients, she did what she had to do to please
Paul was a politician with a Pepsodent smile
He relished his position of snorting at the public well
No one would say he was a pig
Yet, his coffers of donations continued to get big
Bart was a banker who knew all the right palms to grease
This even brought lovely Lolly to her knees
Bedfellows and bed-gals do the Potomac Mambo between the sheets and lines of morality
Those who have access to the three sides of this twisted triangle, bare a leg and a wad of green
Lolly, Paul and Bart lived for an ultimate turn of the trick
For the ones who they adored screwing the most were Jane Q. Citizen & John Q. Public
Pillow talk screws the 99%, again and again.....


- A.H. Scott
11/16/11




Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Stroking Sahara







"STROKING SAHARA" IS OVER THE HORIZON!!!

A.H. Scott brings a contemporary romance of life's chances coming in the most unexpected moments...

Sarah had always been a spectator in her own life....

That excitement she always longed for seemed as elusive as an aromatic inhalation of luxurious lilies in a sandstorm along life's smoldering beach. Fire and desire was always within her grasp. Yet, she never truly looked at the power she held within her.

Aaaah....

But, he did.


Just when life seemed to pass Sarah by, a handsome stranger came into this woman's lonely world. Michel showed her the ways of affection and brought arousal to a dormant heart.


A single touch by a man from far away, brought life back into her soul. "Stroking Sahara" is about revisiting the desire that Sarah had in days gone by. And, with the strokes of tenderness from Michel, she does just that.

Ooooooh.....

He was the grain of sand that reignited this oyster's pearl. There are men in this world that have that charming aplomb, which washes over all they come in contact with. And, this man, who entered Sarah's life, was that shimmering star coming into this lonely woman's galaxy of tranquility.

Heart's illumination begins....

Let the ribbon of romance twirl you into the tempting world of "Stroking Sahara".


Sand soars........

Her world isn't a barren desert anymore. It's full of zest and lust for life. View the trailer here - video


Cool wind kisses your spine & Kindle is the candle to light the way.



"Let your heart take flight" - A.H. Scott


---------
Stroking Sahara -



Just when life seemed to pass Sarah by, a handsome stranger came into this woman's lonely world. Michel showed her the ways of affection and brought arousal to a dormant heart.



A single touch by a man from far away, brought life back into her soul. "Stroking Sahara" is about revisiting the desire that Sarah had in days gone by. And, with the strokes of tenderness from Michel, she does just that.



Her world isn't a barren desert anymore. It's full of zest and lust for life. View the trailer here - "Stroking Sahara trailer



"Stroking Sahara" is available through Amazon - (Kindle)



Touch Temptation,
A.H.Scott
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Rack Em - romantic thriller by A.H. Scott






SEDUCTION'S GAME IS ABOUT TO BREAK!!


ARE YOU IN?








A.H. Scott's novel from Eirelander Publishing - ( Eirelander Publishing) is titled "Rack Em". My novel is a scintillating excursion into the arena of international auctions. The sellers and buyers trade trinkets of varied measures of meaning around the globe.


Captivating treasures from centuries prior has led many on a desperate sojourn to a Vancouver auction house. They all want their hands on these prized possessions of a passionate pair of lovers from long ago. Yet, some of the buyers have tricks of temptation up their silky sleeves.


When lust mixes with greed, the ball of the unknown is tossed across the billiard table of hidden agendas.


An interracial romance of a brash American male and charming Chinese woman is just one of the balls that roll across the felt table of "Rack Em".


For what seemed a mutual attraction between business negotiators, turned into something more intimate. Not just of the flesh, but of circumstances beyond this couple's control.


View the book trailer for A.H. Scott's "Rack Em" on YouTube - ( Rack Em - The Video Trailer)


RACK EM Book Description -


In a small, French village, a grand dame of envied collectibles has been murdered in the night, as a trail of treasure and tears leads onto the doorstep of an unsuspecting Vancouver auction house. Recaptured bobbles of devotion from two fated lovers of long days gone by, bring together varied egos into the life of an antiques dealer.


Beauty came to Vancouver, as if it were a smiling wind from across the ocean. For this harried male, a pair of bodacious Italian belles and woman of gentle grace from China proved to be something extra for him. Man and woman, who were once strangers and adversaries, became bound in each others' arms and hearts. A liquidator in fine fabric has woven itself amongst the sublime class of international buyers and sellers of collectible curios.


Seduction's game is about to break. Question is; can a man fight temptation or join in? Only one move is left to make.


RACK EM Excerpt -


Prologue & Chapter One


Prologue


Romance is beyond the bounds of time.


Three years after Giacomo Casanova's release from Paris' Fort-l'Eveque in 1758, a nonchalant conversation between the prison's warden and a guard was overheard.


A 16-year-old jail cleaner, Pepon Larionne, was in the process of collecting garbage in the hallway outside of Lieutenant Hugo Arrieyenne's office, while the warden and longtime prison guard, Edgar DeSaviage continued speaking to each other inside.


Pepon was one of three men who had the task of cleaning the warden's office, guard tower, and guard barracks. This night, it was Larionne's job to handle the outer hallway, which led to Lieutenant Arrieyenne's office. The other two jail cleaners had already started going towards the barracks. This young man, who seemed an unlikely vessel of history, became Cupid's messenger.


It was at this moment in 1761, when Pepon's fate changed for the better. Lieutenant Arrieyenne spoke to Edgar DeSaviage about Casanova's imprisonment and release in 1758. Manon Balletti, one of Giacomo Casanova's great loves, procured his freedom with a pair of diamond earrings in 1758.


The fabled lover had received mercy from a long prison sentence at the bequest of a beautiful woman. And, this is the story which followed through the years.


Preparing his office for the cleaners, Lieutenant Hugo Arrieyenne and guard Edgar DeSaviage emptied out desk drawers onto the floor, revealing several varied sized items, including a small canvas satchel.


As Pepon entered the warden's office, he kept his head low and mouth shut in their presence. The lowly jail cleaner scooped up bits of food, papers, and that canvas satchel with his hands.


The warden and guard stood chuckling at the dirty work which Pepon had to accomplish as they turned their backs on him and went back to speaking about Casanova and the diamond earrings.


Finishing up the cleaning of Arrieyenne's office, Pepon excused himself and grasped a large canvas sack full of garbage. In the hallway outside of the office, another large sack of trash was gathered by Larionne. Pulling the sacks behind him, Pepon left through the lantern lit prison entrance.


Larionne joined up with his fellow jail cleaners in the courtyard near the guard barracks. He never told the others about the tale of Casanova and Manon Balletti's connection to Fort-l'Eveque. Yet, it remained in the back of his mind, while taking his share of the sacks of garbage down towards an incline to be dumped.


Something that the warden and guard didn't realize when tossing out the desk contents onto the floor was the small satchel that contained those precious items of devotion from Manon to the previous prison warden.


What had been tossed out amongst spoiled food, soiled sheets and vomit, were the pair of diamond earrings. Pepon was also unaware of the situation, until shaking the canvas sack empty. A final item remained in the bottom of the sack. As the satchel revealed its contents, Larionne's eyes were affixed on a pair of earrings, a pen, and a slip of fabric as the satchel revealed its contents.


The simple man of bare means retrieved the trio of items and silently finished his duties for the night. His fellow cleaners were none the wiser for Pepon Larionne's fantastic find.


A conversation which he'd overheard from Arrieyenne and DeSaviage was not just a myth. But a reality, which was now wrapped in a dingy cloth with spots of mucus against Pepon Larionne's body.


The items weren't contained in a satin lined mahogany box to be delivered to a royal consort. But, they were transported within a filthy, loosened blouse of a lowly peasant.


Returning to his small cottage Pepon placed small sack into maple table. Alongside those earrings of Manon, a quill pen and square of lace were laid out by Pepon. The peacock feathers gave Pepon visions of Manon and Casanova's tandem pen craft. Just to imagine what each would place to paper remained more than enough for this the young man's imagination. The slight scent of lavender remained upon that lace.


Night turned to morn as he left the cottage for a short journey.


Pepon Larionne's only thoughts were to give this newly found gift to his beloved Vivienne Coupette. The sixteen-year old woman with a gentle smile was the core of Pepon's undying devotion. Maybe some of the herald grace of Manon and Casanova's love would rub off on Pepon Larionne.


The prison jail cleaner would never be King of France. But as he presented the diamond earrings, quill pen, and sliver of lace to the lady he loved, Pepon Larionne would be forever the prince of Vivienne's heart.


Vivienne became his wife later that month. Their son Laurenz married Orlean Capelli at age 33. Grandson Charles Larionne took Charlotte Pantille as a bride in 1820. Charles' child Phillippe and his wife Ilese van Sharpone had Arielle in 1850. During childbirth, Phillippe Larionne became a widower and single father. Raising Arielle alone for many years he married a childhood friend of Ilese van Sharpone Marcellon Borneau.


1875 became a year of retelling this tale of overwhelming devotion. As 25-year-old Arielle came upon a small music box with those items stuffed into a false bottom, Phillippe retold that tale of his ancestor Pepon Larionne's unimaginable luck and Casanova's exciting entanglements.


33-year-old Arielle married Henri Rausch in 1883.Those next decades of division and destruction in Europe led Bertrand Rausch to move with his wife Sophie Devayne in 1943. Relocating to a town near French wine country Quimper was a good place to begin their lives together. Northwest of Bordeaux they opened a small bistro called Arielle's. Three years later Thomas was born in 1946.


For Thomas Rausch, life in Quimper seemed smaller than the large vista he saw himself in. At age 36, Thomas was in charge of Arielle's. With debt collectors hounding and bills mounting, Henri Rausch's grandson began slipping off a tightrope of gourmet platters and financial reality.


Still single in 1981, he existed as a man with little to show for his life. Alas, memories of grandmother Arielle's cherished belongings of beatitude brought an idea forth.


Passing by an artists' studio in Colmar, he saw a man cobbling figurines. Fiddling with those items in his jacket pocket, a possible solution washed over Thomas Rausch.


For a thick handful of francs, Eduard Niemann became owner of those three bells of beauty. Rausch was able to stave off collectors for a while longer as a tiny bistro became viable once again. For As for the artisan Niemann, he acquired an elevated essence for selling the earrings pen and slice of fabric. Ironic that it would be his idolized spouse that would come to a gloomy expiration in future years in handling history's heartache.


Beneath a bitter boot of German annexation, Metz was a most turbulent location for a young Jaqueline to bud into womanhood. Jaqueline Hurlot survived Europe's cloud of blackness during years from adolescence to early twenties. In post war years she married Eduard Niemann, a Colmar native.


Years after Eduard's death of cancer Jaqueline flourished in varied forms of sales. From private collectors to storefront visitors she made her own name in this errand of exclusivity.


During a six-month period before coming to an agreement with Cross Collectibles in Vancouver, she'd negotiated sale of those items for auction with five other entities. From Europe came three persons, and one each from Africa and China.


Calling The Little Bell in Austria, Freiderich Rothsberger passed on these gems. Although, he suggested the possibility of markets that were opening in Asia the name Flower Moon was given to her.


Taking an old friend's advice talks had begun with Flower Moon. But at that point in her career, Jaqueline was unsure about Asia's stability as always a market for this particular product.


Secondly, The Red Chair in Lucca, Italy was contacted. The Italian office located near Pisa didn't seem up to its prior reputation. Blue Coastal International in Africa would have seemed a good choice for Niemann's proposal. Yet problems in negotiations caused retreat on both ends. The White Tower might have been a pleasing choice for both she and its owner in Bilbao. Spain. Pity the timing was ill-fitted.


Oddly enough, it was Vancouver based Arlington Cross that placed a perfect bidding price and commission for Niemann. Cross Collectibles had a three and a half year worth of dealings in the past.


Jaqueline Hurlot Niemann's bank in Paris was wired a plush price for sale of a trio and fat finder's fee for herself. Items were shipped via freighter from Marseilles. The arrival date would be within 21 days.


Arlington Cross would be an opportune oracle of Manon's magical jewels, which were a golden key of amorous amends.


Chapter One


Vancouver's Queen Elizabeth Park was sparsely occupied by a pair of dog-walkers and small smattering of joggers that July day. These early morning risers included the proprietor of an antiques establishment, known as Cross Collectibles.


Every pounding of footstep against pavement, revealed his declining stamina.


The morning breeze blew Arlington's mixed brown and gray hair away from his bobbing face as he thought of what the day would hold forward. Yet, he couldn't resist thinking about his humble beginnings. Raised not far from the New Mexico border, he was an Andrews, Texas native. At age 3, he'd moved with his family to Orange Grove for a newly minted business in Corpus Christi.


His father, Thomas Keith Oliver Cross, or TKO as friends called him, was a man with big dreams of rubbing lanterns of fantasized luxury. Cross-Banks began with high hopes, for both TKO and partner Lincoln Banks. Oil exploration came to be the blissful bread and butter for the two families.


Meanwhile, Arlington and his younger brother Maxwell were steered on the right path, under the maternal wings of Bonnie Weatherly Cross. Thomas taught them to fish, hunt, and interact with many a ball of boyhood. Bonnie, on the other hand, taught them fairness, courtesy, pride, and mental acceleration. Both parents gave them lessons in life, which they retained to this date.


Moments of joy, youth, laughter, and familial bonding filled the Cross's three-bedroom home on 327 Carlyle Way. Alas, it all came to a stunted end with the caustic touch of cancer.


Bonnie Weatherly Cross had lost her battle with cancer when Arlington was 15 and Maxwell was 12.


Having moved to Vancouver at age 17, he and his brother were on a whirlwind adventure with their widowed father. Thomas, Arlington, and Maxwell got Cross Collectibles off the ground quite quickly. Within two years, Cross Collectibles became a moderately successful import and export antique company. The primary reason for this choice of vocation came with some local tax incentives and low overhead costs.


Thomas' sale of his half of the company to Lincoln Banks of Kimball, Nebraska, gave him enough seed money to travel north of the border. Ironically, that cash infusion for business opportunities in Vancouver remained a strike of financial genius by the elder Cross.


TKO finally decided to retire and let one of his sons run the family business. The younger brother had dreams of a life not in antiques. So, he was off the hook of export responsibility. But, Arlington Cross was filled with pride for his father handing him the reins at Collectibles.


With two sons to be proud of, TKO bought a home in Portland, Oregon. He lived quietly and happily, knowing Cross Collectibles was in good hands. Lawyer Maxwell Cross returned to Texas to take a position at one of Dallas's prestigious firms of legal thunder.


The gaze of Cross's brown eyes reminded many of sable buttons floating in the deep, warm waters of Galveston Bay. Wearing a pair of washed out gray sweats and a Texas A&M hooded sweatshirt, an attached Walkman gently bounced from a constantly moving motioning hip. Anyone looking at this man, would mistake him for an overly-ripened fraternity brother and not a respectable business owner on this July 17th.


As the final notes of the Allman Brothers', `Jessica', wound down, KVON's morning radio jock, Hugo Felipe announced the time of 7:14 over Arlington's music player. Clicking it off, Cross rummaged through his pockets to find the door key. The silver object slipped through his fingers and gently bounced off his scuffed, white Converse sneakers. Arlington bent down to retrieve the key.


"You're going to kill yourself with that running, young man," a mature female voice flowed from above him.


"Chayline?" He stood upright and took a deep breath. His lips formed a genial grin, "What doesn't kill me will make me stronger."


Fading red hair twisted beneath a gold and emerald hairpin. Chayline Vincent laughed, "But, boss, I don't want me to outlive you." She pressed an index finger against his heaving palpitating chest and pulled her purse over her left shoulder. "Besides, what would this place be without a Cross?"


Arlington unlocked the door, "Oh, it's all with a wing and a prayer. I hope it can be a bit better than Teak House." His foot pushed aside a small pile of mail, knowing its majority were always billing statements from varied vendors.


"Better than Bleak," 56-year-old Chayline remarked to him with a pun she often used in describing this building's color as in similarity to a Dickensian tome. But despite joking about that shade of brown with a hint of maroon mixed in, both knew that the financial state of Cross Collectibles was verging toward a miniature level of San Andreas. She followed him inside Cross Collectibles.


The previous trio of months had a decline in sales and customers for Cross Collectibles weekly auctions. Although there were specialty items that sold to heightened financial plateaus, the majority of those goods were like lukewarm beer. Things may be wanted as an afterthought by the public, but not needed. Gifts for grandmothers or that forgotten anniversary were the fare of Cross Collectibles.


"What time is Barris due in today, Chay?" he asked, scooping objects with both hands and tossing them onto the large reception desk. Pulling his sweatshirt off, he stood wearing a blue cotton tee and wrapped the hooded item around his waist.


"He should be here around…" She gazed at her oval wristwatch and quickly responded, "Around 9:45."


Opening windows in the rear of the building, Cross slightly grimaced at her, "That late?"


"Remember? His sister is coming in from the University of Ottawa for a visit?"


"Yeah, I guess I forgot."


"Well, are you going to change?" She walked toward him, a headmistress attitude taking over. "Or is this the odor of the day?"


Ignoring what she was speaking about, his head cocked to face her, "Um, what did you say?"


"Come on, Mr. Forgetful," she chided. Placing firm hands on his shoulders and turning him to face the bathroom down the hall, she reminded him, "We've got a busy day. And, the early bird gets the worm."


"And not smell like one, right?" Rolling blue fabric from his flesh and grabbing a clean white shirt from a closet, Cross entered the bathroom.


"What color?" she asked.


Twisting the knob, his head popped from the cracked door. He said, "Dark brown, please."


"Good choice." Chayline pulled a pair of brown pants from a silver hanger inside the closet.


His hand darted around and pulled the pants inside. "Thanks."


"You're always welcome, Arlington."


"That's why you're the best, Chayline." Dressed in starched white shirt and dark brown pants, Arlington Cross was a man ready for the hectic workday. Cross pecked Vincent his assistant on right cheek, "Thanks again."


She playfully waved him away from her. "Now, let's get down to business, sir."


Trotting into a small kitchen area, he began to make them some coffee. "Don't I know it?" After microwaving some water and tossing a packet into a cup, Cross approached her desk. "Hazelnut, ma'am. Your wish is my command."


"Darling, you make an old lady giddy." She smiled and shoved her purse into bottom right drawer of the desk. "When Barris gets here, do you want him to start on the inventory?"


"Sure. And, after he finishes, have him come up to my office." Dragging a brown box of books towards an elevator, he made sure the mail was set on top.


Sipping coffee, Chayline Vincent stood and began to prepare the first floor for business. "See you later."


As it ascended to the fourth floor of the building, the gated elevator shook slightly. The bright capsule opened and Arlington stepped onto a dark plateau. The tip of his sneaker pressed the box across from that opening. Fifteen steps to his left, he flipped a light switch on. Opening rolling doors to his office open, Cross unlocked a small cabinet in the corner. He removed a white box from that top drawer and another pair of shoes. Resting himself into a swivel chair, Arlington quickly changed from white canvas sneakers into black suede loafers.


9:15 ticked away on a black and white wall clock in Cross's office. The clanging of the elevator opening broke the silence of surveying statements and stock. "Barris, I didn't think you'd be in until almost 10."


"Yeah, I did too." Youthfully bounding over to him, he placed a large hand outward for a shake. "Good morning. And, thanks again for the time."


Eyes of dark brown and square jaw of kindness, with a frame of over six feet, there stood Barris Hart. All this 29 year old needed was a blue ox.


As he Cross began to pull papers from a cabinet, he said, "I want you to check the stocks for these items," handing Hart those items.


"Done," Organizing white and pink papers, Barris tapped them onto a desk. "Is there anything else you need right now, boss?"


Cross became playful with Hart. "If you can make some new customers appear, then I'll take you up on that offer."


"That's a good one." As he walked to the elevator, a deep chuckle came from Barris Hart's lips. "See you in a bit, Arlington."


Two hours and fifteen minutes of peace were cracked with the sound of a braking delivery truck on Heather Street. Chayline Vincent gazed above a pair of tortoise rimmed reading glasses. The white vehicle, with ten-inch black-block-lettering, read Carrington Courier Company. It listed headquarters in Toronto, with branches located in Winnipeg, Edmonton, and St. John.


Adorned in a tomato-red jacket, with a dangling nametag on the right chest pocket and navy pants, a bearded driver with a trim build began to open the van's side door. Packages and boxes were placed onto a dolly for easy transport into Cross Collectibles.


"Let me get that for you." Gently putting her glasses onto pile of invoices, she began pulling the glass doors open. Chayline waved the man inside. "Are those all for Cross?"


"Yes, ma'am." He checked a clipboard with listings of all the packages he had to deliver in Vancouver that day. "Could you sign right here?" he asked, and put the clipboard atop the dolly.


"Sure," she nodded, quickly scribbling her name on a dozen corresponding bold lines. "Can you put them over there, please?"


Reacting with a smile, he ensured her request was fulfilled in no time at all, "You have a good day, ma'am." Placing the clipboard under his right arm, he gave a friendly salute and walked towards the opened entrance.


"I will," she said as she slowly closing the glass doors behind him, Chayline played slightly with a strand of pearls. "You have the same, buddy."


The elevator opened and Arlington approached the reception area, "How many today?" "Chay?"


Soft hands placed a finger on each item, "Looks like one huge one, three large ones, five medium, and two small," She almost overlooked a singular item which had been laid aside the tower by the delivery man. "And then, there's this one," she said, giving a slight shake at a six by six sized box. From the looks of it, this small one is postmarked from France.


"Who's it from?" Banging a hand onto the largest box, Cross bent down and took an opener from his pants pocket.


"I'll give Jaqueline a call later." He ripped the masking tape down the middle and quipped, "I'm surprised it got here so quick."


"Why?"


"She said that it was being shipped from over there, from when I talked to her last week." He lifted a large vase from that box. "Oh, this is beautiful." Cradling the pricey porcelain, he walked down a long hallway.


"So, what do you want to do first?"


"This vase goes first," he said, nesting the item onto a large black table in the back room, "Grab your pad, my friend."


"I'll put this one upstairs later, okay?"


"Perfect."


Tagging this item of treasure, Arlington Cross and Chayline Vincent came to a padded sales price. "When we put it in the right light… "


"It'll glow green," she interrupted.


"You are precisely on point, Mrs. Vincent."


Barris Hart exited the descended elevator. "Do you need me for anything else, Arlington?"


"What's up, Barris?"


"Can I take lunch?"


"Before you do…" He pointed at the remaining items in the corner, "Can you take those up to the storage room?"


"No problem." Cheerfully getting a rolling cart from the room down the hall, Hart began stacking packages and ascending back upstairs.


"Chayline, you can take lunch too." Working his fingers through his hair, Cross wrote a few words onto a yellow legal pad. "Business is as light as a feather."


"Thanks." Taking her purse from a drawer, Chayline made a suggestion, "Do you want me to bring you back something?"


"A sub will do fine."


"And, do you want pickles, too?"


"Oh, Chayline, you do know me well." He beat his pen against the table. "I'll hold down the fort of silence."


Vincent grasped the door and gently spoke to him. "See you in a bit, Cross."


"Thanks." Continuing to write, Arlington closed the door and sat at Chayline's cluttered desk.


Alone, this owner of a thriving Vancouver establishment sat yawning. Arlington Cross waited for a blitz of customers and clients, to keep his lifestyle as a King Edward Avenue apartment resident, on that glittery social scene near Vandusen Botanical


His father, Thomas, had retired to a cozy cabin in Oregon. Younger brother Maxwell returned to life in Dallas. Arlington's sibling carved out quite a fulfilling life in the legal arena of Texas.


Being a bachelor could be many things to a man. As for sex, that remained a puzzle, in and of itself. Arlington remained a bachelor who had freedom to explore feminine companionship. And, he did so without abandon.


Nylons in nightclubs, bikinis on bronzed flesh, and diamond adorned bodies in his bed kept satisfaction on the smiling face of Arlington Cross.


Peach painted nails on a manicured hand approached Arlington with a coral colored envelope "Mr. Cross?"


"Yes."


Tanned, lean limbs, exposed from the mid-thigh of a green skirt, moved motioned closer. "I hear that you're having an auction in two weeks. I think there are a few items which might peak my interest to purchase."


"Really?" Rising from behind Chayline's desk, his hand reached out to hers. Cross looked at a crinkled flyer of a few months prior, up and down. "And, what kind of items are you looking for?"


"My husband and I," She returned his handshake and with moist lips added, "are in the market for exotic figurines."


Hearing of a spouse was like garlic to a penetrating vampire. "Oh," Cross changed his tone as a distinctive silver band glimmered on her wedding finger. "Well, we're putting something together soon." Arlington's inquisitive nature consumed the moment with this woman. "How did you get that notice, ma'am?"


"Mr. Cross. I do have my ways" She remarked, as her emerald eyes were fanned with soft eyelashes. Her raspberry lips parted, as did a rayon jacket to reveal ample assets to him. "Could you give me a description of what the upcoming items for auction are?"


"Ma'am, this flyer is from an old auction we had a while back," he said, putting it on the desk. Arlington began to turn a beam of investigation onto this mysterious marigold, "We've just had a shipment of Hummel. Would you like to view them?"


"Mr. Cross, I'd like you to suggest something that might suit me." She shifted soft flesh on the seat; her slight French accent washed over him. "My husband's been on a long business trip." An aura of arousal wafted around this obviously bored wife of privilege. "I wanted to give him a surprise when he returns home in a few days."


"Something different is what you're looking for, correct?"


The tip of her tongue moved against her bare teeth, as she slowly twirled a few strands of long, golden hair. "I think you're the type of man that could give a woman exactly what she needs."


"I have something that will put a smile on that lovely face, ma'am." Word play was like foreplay to Cross, as though a lump of hesitation lodged in his throat. He skimmed the thick blue catalog. "I mean, Cross has a wide selection of pieces of the obscure and erotic." Flipping past pages of statues and wall art, he found something his potential customer would enjoy. "Also, there are some masks from Morocco that we got in last week," he said, showing a picture of an object of fertility. Her body language of arousal diminished. "But, they might not be what you and your husband need."


"Why is that, Mr. Cross?" A minuscule pout formed on those berry colored lips of hers.


"They are traditional fertility masks."


Girlish giggles erupted from her. "You are quite right." Gently taking the catalog from him, she stood and placed it onto that desk. "I don't want a mask or anything from that catalog."


"How do you know? That's old." She gingerly placed her left hand on the catalog.


Cross became puzzled at her remark. "You haven't been in here before." Those brown eyes looked more intently at him. "Have you?"


"I - I didn't mean the catalog was old." Pangs of embarrassment came to her reddening cheeks as she continued to speak. "I mean to say that is outdated for what I'm in the market for."


Cross closed the catalog. "Oh, I think I can see." Arlington tried to attain further information from her. "Well, if you would tell me what kind of man your husband is, maybe I can assist you in finding something appropriate."


"He is a man who doesn't spend enough time with his wife." The seductive siren gave more intimate details to the man. "He's a man who leaves his wife alone." Pretending a flickering of bashfulness, she added, "Many a lonely and cold night, he has done this."


Arlington Cross was about to respond to this emerald ember, which sat lusciously before him as a stream of car horns began beeping on the street outside. "Some men just don't know how lucky they actually are."


"Well, I guess it's especially lucky when a royal flush is in their grasp." Her present for an absent spouse became the last item that was on her mind at that moment in time. "Lady Luck can give a winning roll of the dice." Her feminine charms came to the forefront once more as she gazed down at Arlington's affected lower half.


"Or snake eyes." Cross's erection had to be placed on a back burner. He knew the complications of mixing Cross Collectibles' business with captivating trysts and their unforeseen consequences.


Arlington Cross had a modern day vision of those magnificent Three Graces within arm's length. Yet, his lust would have to remain hidden beneath the dark brown cloth of his pants.


Mischievously, she turned up the heat. "Oh, and that's an image to ponder too."


Feeling like a marlin that had just been hooked off the Florida coast, Cross began realizing this pretty package in his business was a bit too eager to obtain that caviar ticket to a Cross Collectibles' private auction. "I don't think you and your husband will find what you're looking for at my business."


"Just because I'm married, Arlington" She brushed against his left shoulder, an offer and admission of passion was laid at Cross's feet. "It does not mean that I am a tulip with only a single petal."


Her intentions towards this stranger would seem obvious to him. She knew how to talk to any man and get his attention. At this moment in time, her sights were set on Cross.


He was flattered and horny. But Arlington's radar doubted her motives for the strong come on to him. Cross was being offered entree into an erotic encounter with a woman who appeared to be too good to be true.


And, from a cautious dealer of antiques, sometimes it was best not to make the sale, no matter what the underlying cost would turn out to be.


"What a description."


Taking a slip of paper from her purse, she scribbled. "Call me, if you have a change of schedule." She handed him the note and her luscious body slinked towards the door. She turned to him and continued, "Call me, if you've got the inkling he's not around."


"By the way," Whizzing past her, Cross asked, "What's your name?"


Her sandal-clad feet quickly stepped onto the crowded sidewalk of Heather Street as she licked her glossed lips. "Clover."


It turned out to be a first for him. Arlington Cross had just been pumped. Not for lust, but for information. He crossed is arms and stood by the door waiting for Vincent's return.


..End Of Excerpt


(Well, of course, the hidden agendas are played by winks, smiles and naked thighs throughout "Rack Em"...)


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Homecoming - erotica by A.H. Scott






A.H. Scott opens her palms and reveals "Homecoming".



Desire isn't only for the young. A couple reconnects in the most unexpected way. Gravity isn't a curse. It's a physical manifestation that makes us all remember our lusty past. Skin may lose its resistance to life's hourglass. But, maturity may be the succulent revenge that youth can never override. Memories are magical. And, for that, no push up bra is ever needed.



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Tom Ford Stole My Training Wheels - erotica by A.H. Scott










Fashion is a statement and reflection of one's independence from the restraints of what society deems worthy of acceptance.


A.H. Scott takes "Tom Ford Stole My Training Wheels" out of the box of boredom.


Ford is a thief to tedium. Once you become acquainted with him, you'll never be the same ever again.



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training wheels off....!!!



The Thong Snap: Tanned Thighs & Twisted Lies - an erotic essay by A.H. Scott











The Thong Snap: Tanned Thighs & Twisted Lies is an erotic essay from author A.H. Scott. It deals with the public and media's fascination with a once private matter - infidelity.




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..People know EXACTLY who they are married to...!!!




Thursday, October 27, 2011

Behind The Doors Of The Wealthy...There's Always Something Stirring: "Over My Head" by A.H. Scott









SMASH CONVENTIONALITY WITH A.H. SCOTT !!




A new novel from A.H. Scott - Over My Head"


A wife. A husband. A lover. Secrets. Lies. Obsession. Murder.




"Over My Head" is a contemporary romance, filled with smothered aspirations, smoldering sparks, and an explosive conclusion. Woman at the heart of this novel is Angela Chase. Sexy brunette with a pouting sense of privilege, she always has been spoiled by her tycoon father. Sometimes a spoiled child becomes a brat that thinks the world should bow down to her. For Angie, she'd enjoyed having her stocking clad knees onto a floor also. Angela Chase may have been a married woman, but she was far from a shrinking violet on passion's scale. Tiny fractures of her relationship to Lawrence Chase began twiddling away at this woman's self esteem. Neglecting Angela was Lawrence's first sin. Racing into second place behind neglect, came an act of omission. Alas, what Lawrence Chase set in motion, Angela Chase would barter with in skin of perfumed lotion....

A.H. Scott invites you to read the first 50 pages of my new novel, "Over My Head" for FREE!! Enjoy this nibble of my novel..;)

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EXCERPT

Chapter



Angela and Nicholas didn't travel in the same social circles in Eau Claire. Yet, over the years, each had been cordial in many a public event. Maybe being a charming woman to every person she'd met, would give her a leg up in assisting Lawrence's debt to becoming just an unpleasant memory.

Parking down the street, a few quickened steps would bring Angie face to face with the person who held Larry's marker in the palm of his hand.

As if some things never changed, that flashy red spider was once again parked outside of the Eight Ball on July 21st.

Motioning inside, Chase gazed to the right and saw the booth that she'd sat at with those weeks before her eighteenth birthday. To Angela's left, an unattended bar had a trio of paper coasters strewn about it.

Marty Balin's milky voice washed over an entering Angela Carter Chase, as she walked towards that bar. On a jukebox to her right, "Count On Me" played moderately in this almost empty establishment. Jefferson Airplane's melody filled that July afternoon's air. For this motivated wife, Angela quite aptly understood meaning of those lyrics. Larry could always count on Angie.

Slightly bending neck and head over the bar's edge, Angela spoke with familiarity, "Archie? Is that you?"

Archie Hamilton placed several inventory slips down on an empty crate and looked around to see where that light voice came from. Quite taken aback at Angela Carter's presence in this location, he moderately uttered, "Angela Carter? What are you doing here?"

Turning hesitation to a happy smile, Hamilton added, "You haven't been in these parts in a long time. It's good to see you again".

Relieved to see this acquaintance, Angela returned a subtle smile, "You too, Archie. It's good to see a friendly face".

Standing upright, he grasped the papers and put them onto that bar counter, "So, can I get you something to drink?"

"Oh, I'm not here for that", Angela was determined to get through this unpleasant task rapidly, as brown eyes gazed towards a pool table area in back, "Is Nicholas here?"

"Nick?", carelessly shrugging at hearing the reason why this female was there, Archie calmly conveyed Bell's whereabouts, "Sure, he's in the back".

Slim form in white dress cautiously moved near the billiard tables and smiled back at this mellow barkeep, "Thank you, Archie".

"Listen, Angela", calling out to her, he smiled, "I could have him come out here and talk to you", walking out from behind that bar, Hamilton could sense a glimmer of discomfort in this brunette's hesitation to be in Nicholas Bell's establishment, "It would be no problem".

"Thanks for your kindness", nibbling bottom lip, Angela started to walk away, "I've got this situation in control".

"Angela?"

"Yes, Archie", flipping head and hair to face him, this woman replied.

"Take it easy, okay", Hamilton smiled.

"I will", woman on a mission motioned to the back of the Eight Ball.

White pumps tapped against green tiles, as she saw Gennaro Esposito and two other men playing a game of pool with Nicholas Bell.

As Nick has his back to an approaching Angela fifteen feet away, Espo nodded head to get him to turn around. The holder of that large debt would see for himself what the Rabbit's Foot had dragged in. A white pearl from shoe to dress stood in an arena of ash and dim lighting.

Lawrence Chase's losing streak in an unlicensed Fairwater casino had led his wife to this unlikely place. Fabric of lightest color revealed more about the lady who wore that dress.

She was queen of diamonds in a deck of destiny that he'd frittered away. In a high stakes game of a husband's multiple hands of poor choices, Angela held onto the wildest card of all.

Nicholas Bell's life of varied fortune had proceeded with an abundant arrival of Angela Carter Chase.

Dressed in black tee and pants, Nick slowly twisted himself around, "Right on time", softly whispering to Espo.

"An hourglass, my friend", Esposito sighed at the sight of such beauty in their midst, while moving towards those other two men.

Butterfly of mixed emotions that fluttered in her throat were swallowed and confidence emerged from Angela's soft lips, while stationed on one side of that pool table, "Hello, Nicholas".

A false air of being surprised at her sight filled Nick's voice, as he spoke to this woman in white, "Angela, it's good to see you again".

"Gee, that's what Archie just said to me", Chase felt a bit of gallows's humor would break the ice of this awkward moment of being reintroduced to him, "Can we talk?"

"Surely", Nick rested pool stick against table and grinned at her, "We can sit over in one of the booths", pointing towards that almost empty bar area.

Angela was pleased at his offer, but declined, "I'd like to speak with you in private".

"Private?", Bell was puzzled with Chase's request to be alone with him. Yet, he knew exactly why that conversation would need to be without an audience, "No one will bother us when we sit down to talk", slyly winking over at a trusted friend, who knew what was actually going on, "Isn't that right, Gennaro?"

Adorned in white, silk shirt and tan pants, this male had the appearance of a tropical toreador. Putting away pool stick in rack, he looked like a cool coconut cocktail to her.

Gennaro Esposito had known Angela from being acquainted with her at various public events, "Oh, yeah", giving a smile to this attractive visitor, Espo rolled out the welcome mat to their unfiltered world, "Hello, Angela You look like a blue cloud of joy".

"Hi, Gennaro", polite to a fault, Arthur Carter's daughter smiled back, "Thanks for the compliment", returning to the point of this visit in the first place, "Please, Nick. I really need to talk to you, alone".

"Hey, how can I resist a request from such a lovely lady", nodding head in direction of Esposito, he added, "Hold all my calls, Espo", holding right hand outward to Angela, this male in his 30's pointed towards a back office, "We can talk in my office".

Angela Carter Chase slowly sauntered down a small hallway that led to Bell's office, as he followed behind her in the mode of a wolf salivating at a juicy mouse. Nicholas turned head and winked back at a stationary, smiling Gennaro Esposito.

As this woman entered that office, Nick closed the door behind her, "Please, have a seat, Angela".

"I think I'll stand", calmly replying to Bell's offer.

"It's your decision", smiling at her, he sat down behind his desk, "Well, how cliché it would be of me to ask", slightly snickering in a quizzical tone, "But, what brings you by?"

Angela pulled a few loosened strands of hair behind her ear, as she took a deep breath, "I think you know why I'm here, Nicholas".

"Angela, Angela", with glint of cheer in his voice, he cleaned teeth minutely, "You remember all my friends call me Nick", remembering their meeting years prior.

"Okay", uttering a modest sigh, she relented, "Nick, you do know why I'm here", fidgeting fingers began tapping against white purse, "My husband".

"Maybe you should spell it out for me, Mrs. Chase", letting Angela feel a quick sting of hearing herself as the spouse of an unlucky gambler.

Wife in white wardrobe placed her cards of purpose onto Nick Bell's desk, "I'm here to talk to you about Lawrence's debt".

Brows arched in response, "Ah, so I guess your husband can't handle this himself?", unable to avoid chuckling at this vision of loveliness taking on a responsibility of paying Larry's losses off.

"That's not funny, Nick", taking a small inhalation of courage, Angela turned rigid in place.

Seeing this female's frigid air about her, Bell used a few words of accommodation, "Have a seat, Angela".

"I'm fine standing", not wanting to chitchat with this male of dubious demeanor, Chase stood still.

"Sit down, Angie", with a statement of ordering his visitor to recline into a chair, Nick smiled at Angie in a mixture of smoothness and rocky resolution, "This is going to be done under my terms", placing palm out in a motion for her to relax, he let this female know exactly who she was dealing with, "And, definitely not yours".

Arthur Carter's daughter had the air of a profitable lineage, which Nicholas Bell hadn't been in contact with in many a year. Members of Eau Claire's society would not look down the Eight Ball's owner again.

Slowly her body rested into a chair, "Okay, so now I'm sitting here", giving this male compliance.

"You see, Angela", glad of the way she heeded that insistence of descending action, Nick grinned with sense of relief, "Everyone can comply when they want to".

END OF EXCERPT

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Behind the doors of the wealthy, sexual encounters of the shocking kind are always stirring....;)

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