Wednesday, August 24, 2011

A Special 24 Hours - Erotica by A.H. Scott

A Special 24 Hours


A.H. Scott

You don't need a lifetime to find romance..
From author A.H. Scott comes a flirty, contemporary romance, titled "A Special 24 Hours".

A hotel room in New York City is the playground for shapely Rebecca and her visiting playmate from across the Atlantic.

Some people don't need decades to find romance that changes their lives.

FREE LUST & A WINK OF WHIPPED CREAM DESIRE!! - From author A.H. Scott comes a flirty, contemporary romance, titled "A Special 24 Hours".A hotel room in New York City is the playground for shapely Rebecca and her visiting playmate from across the Atlantic. Some people don't need decades to find romance that changes their lives. Take the journey with A..H. Scott..;)


A Special 24 Hours


A.H. Scott

Rebecca had met J. at a raucous birthday party for a mutual friend a few months prior.

Neither she, nor he would think they'd ever encounter one another in the future. But, they did.

She was a public relations executive working on the East Side of Manhattan. He was employed by an athletic franchise in Europe.

In fact, Rebecca had seen J. on television while flipping past a sports channel before they had even met at their friend's birthday party. She knew all about him and his reputation with the ladies.......

(read the FREE ebook at Smashwords)

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Penny For Your Doubts - Poetry by A.H. Scott


"Doubts are like pennies. Pick them up and put them away in your pocket. One day they'll add up to be that steel rod that will help propel you forward to your own personal victory. If you let those doubts lay about, they'll resemble mercury and solace shall slip through your fingers. And, doubts will be that snickering victor that wallows in your destruction". - A.H. Scott

August 23, 2011

Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 4 - Erotica by A.H. Scott

Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 4


A.H. Scott

Lissette's journey is complete. In the aftermath of her dom's death, Lissette reflects on all she'd learned from him. This sub relishes each encounter she shared with him. No matter her level of prior resistance..

In the final installment of "Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 4", one woman's journey of sexual exploration and psychological expansion comes to it's conclusion.

Lissette is a sub who has reached an exquisite plateau of demure perfection.

A final act of mutual devotion between her departed dom and Lissette, proves she made the right choice in being trained by him all along.

Collars take many shapes and forms. And, love is a constraint which is the most complex link of all....


Lissette's gifts of perfections included servicing her dom wherever he wished it to occur. This included on that floor of his town car, as he was driven through traffic. She sat in the chair remembering it all from those pages that were just read.

Scent of lavender and a leather object whacked against soft skin filled Lissette's mind, as she thought of an event in her dom's bedroom. Only matched by his toys placed in.....

(If you're interested in the dom's toys, find your way over to Smashwords to read the entire FREE ebook)

Monday, August 22, 2011

Drilled For Defense - Erotica by A.H. Scott


A perky trainee has caught the eye of an iron-fisted Sergeant. She's eager to learn. He's eager to lead her.

Bubbly Katie Pillowes was the most unlikely member of the Army. Soft, sexy and under 25-years old, Pillowes lived up to her pillowy last name. Drill Sergeant Thomas Jagger relished his position in having a hands on training of those beneath him. The chain of command was firmly connected to a leash in this man's hand.

Author A.H. Scott opens thighs and minds wide in "Drilled For Defense".


Drilled For Defense


A.H. Scott

('Chain Of Command')

Katie stood at attention, as the drill sergeant walked into the barracks. She was out of her Army issued uniform and accessories. Powder blue tank top and light blue shorts were like a sore red thumb to the rest of her unit.

"Attention!", Private Patricia Arts yelled out, as the other women lined up in front of their bunks.

Tight ass and walk to match, Drill Sergeant Thomas Jagger marched into the middle of two rows of eight beds in that barracks, "Ladies, good morning".

"Good morning, Sergeant Jagger", in unison they all bellowed with respect. Katie stood there with shoulders straight and chest pressed forward. She had gotten up late and forgot to put on a bra. As Jagger moved down the line, his green eyes caught a glimpse of Katie's nipples that could be seen easily under the lights.....

(so, you didn't think I'd let you see it all right here, did you? No, no, no. You'll have to read the full ebook over at Smashwords..)

My Cottage - Poetry By A.H. Scott

My Cottage


A.H. Scott

"My cottage has doors and windows that I've never noticed before. There are daisies of faith and roses of passion, which have sprouted amongst the wildflowers. My cottage has expanded in ways that I never thought possible. Yet, billowy winds of joy and aromatic fragrances of new adventure have entered this once dormant domicile. I guess instead of gazing outside to unlock my dreams and hidden corners, I should have been looking in. For, it was all along that the key was within me." - A.H. Scott

August 22, 2011

Friday, August 19, 2011

Fireproof Heart by A.H. Scott


"If only the human heart, mind and soul could be encased in asbestos, we would never experience a level of devastation in acts of betrayal upon us. Alas, we are only flesh and blood. We cry and sigh in moments of dejection and loneliness. But, there is the morn. Everyday we live is a day that a soothing balm of relief can be placed upon our hearts. The devastation is never too far from the surface. But, the sweet moments of a friend's smile or a lover's laugh can keep the pit of flames doused for a brief respite. Or even the simple act of feeling the sun upon our faces, proves that life is ever evolving. And, mankind always has an ability to change course for the better. - A.H. Scott

August 19, 2011

Saturday, August 13, 2011

Saturday Sizzle With Author A.H. Scott

Saturday Sizzle With Author A.H. Scott

Guest Blogging


Coffee Time Romance's: Coffee Thoughts Blog

Come and sizzle with me, A.H. Scott -

Friday, August 12, 2011

The Quotable A.H. Scott - August 12, 2011


AUGUST 12, 2011

"Looking at my own reflection in the mirror, I am proud of the person I see before me. I am center stage in the play of my own life. And, I'm not playing understudy to anyone ever again. No longer last row of the chorus, I am the voice of my own happiness. This is the essence of my heart and soul, laid bare for the world to see." - A.H. Scott.


"Your enemy is as strong as you are weak. The weaker you are, the stronger your enemy will get". - A.H. Scott


"Roses are beautiful. And, the thorns are memorable. Life's all about taking the sweet and bitter. And, praying that there's enough spice in between those moments of boredom. Oops, just pricked my finger and that's where the spice makes it debut..;)". - A.H. Scott


"Pain is flesh untouched. Pleasure is the tingle of arousal that comes with a hand or an organ of lust spreading your thighs and fields of floral delight. Discomfort is nothing in the arms of a lover. Discomfort is no arms embracing you at all..;)". - A.H. Scott

(more to come...)


Thursday, August 11, 2011






On Saturday, August 13th, I'll be guest blogging at CTR's: Coffee Thoughts Blog. Run, saunter or crawl on over and visit me there. If you've got a question (PG-13 please) for me, just leave a comment and you will be served by this sexy siren of wicked words...Oooh, my pen is starting to throb between my fingers, right now..

You'll find out about me and my writings. From sweet romance to steamiest erotica, A.H. Scott has something for everyone's taste. "Stroking Sahara" is a sweet romance. While, "Parchment Of Passion: Lissette" series, is a kinkier kettle o' fish...

For those who do decide to take the dare and come over to the Coffee Thoughts Blog, I'll have a FREE special bonus for all of you. Psst! It's a secret that you'll see when you see my guest blog.

“I want the reader to be affected in two ways - above the neck & below the belt”. - A.H. Scott
"I don't write for children. I write for adults". - A.H. Scott
"I believe art should be as enigmatic as the artist who creates it." A. H. Scott
"Silence is acceptance. Acceptance is conquest. Conquest is a rainbow obscured by a black cloud of contempt". - A.H. Scott


Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Strokes - poetry by A.H. Scott



A.H. Scott

Laying in bed, the dream of desire filled my head Fingers played my piano of pouting lust Skillful maestros took the lead and my flesh. which was ever in need As another set of hands massaged my heavenly bust Pinching and circling my balloons of bliss Hands of varied shades of fingernails upon them rubbed my calves so slowly Manicured nails were like pens upon my thighs, As a symphony of sensuality was being written across my flesh Then came his hands, those hands of power took over from the others My ruby was polished by those lips of his Excavator of eroticism burrowed to my core I whispered, "More, more, more" I sighed, moaned and started to groan, as he did this After a while, the numbers of hands and lips partook of my tender body Enraptured in this dream, I felt the release of love's nectar escaping me Fulfilled in the depths of those hours before dawn, I rustled a bit in a tangle of joy Again and again, that feeling of euphoria took my body and soul beyond the cliff of breaking apart I wanted the dream never to end, but it did and I feel asleep with a smile of satisfaction upon my face When I awakened, I found a single red rose upon the other pillow on my bed I guess dreams do come true... - A.H. Scott 8/10/11

Monday, August 8, 2011

Shivers - poetry by A.H. Scott


Shivering in my bed alone
I dreamed of you laying next to me
Shivering without a sheet
I dreamed of you caressing me
Feeling a thousand kisses all over my skin is the shiver of seduction you bring
And, now you are here with me after a short while
Kissing you and running my fingers up and down your arms
You are my feathery charm in the night
Passion fills you and bring us to glory's peak
Shivers encase my body when you're near
Whispering in my ear, you make my soul shiver
Those words which no one else will ever know, tenderly begin to flow
Shivers are the memories I hold when I'm in bed alone
Sliver of my slippery sensuality is parted by your strong hands
Along my thighs, your hands slowly rise
Stomach rubbed gently and then breasts cupped with porcelain precision
Tender grapes pinched by your teeth
I feel shivers as every touch is a tingle
Entering my zone of joy, you made me sigh
Fulfilling the glacial void is the reason why
Scorching snake melts away the icy petals of my iris
My soul shivers and quakes with every move your body makes with me
Taking a deep breath, we rise and tangle within those sheets of blue
Muscles and moans twist through the night
Arched back and pretzel lock of lust continue
Oh, when you touch me, you are my Sexy Shiver Man
I came for you.....

- A.H. Scott


Sunday, August 7, 2011

Parchment Of Passion: Argenia's Ascent - Erotica by A.H. Scott

She's up. He's down...

This is A.H. Scott's "Parchment Of Passion: Argenia's Ascent" -

In second of the diary series, "Parchment Of Passion", Argenia is a woman who takes charge over her lover, Peter. She reveals that power can come from deeper than the flesh.

Argenia and Peter had met each other at a party a few years ago in Copenhagen. He had longed for a certain fantasy to be fulfilled. Yet, he was ashamed to tell any of his previous girlfriends. Argenia was a woman who knew the delicious temptation of making men's dreams come true. No matter what their fetish was.

For Peter, he'd found the right twist to do the certain job he was calling for. As for Argenia, she obliged in ways that made even her blush...


"Parchment Of Passion: Argenia's Ascent


A.H. Scott

Argenia slid into bed alone that night, thinking of what happened last week at Peter's apartment. She pulled the black diary off a red nightstand and started to grin as the words glistened up her green eyes....

Wednesday, August 22 -

Exploration and experimentation is just a part of life. Curiosity isn't a sin either. Chances are a part of everyday life. Always remember, Peter, there are no judgments between you and I.

And, guess you are an adventurous sort, aren't you, Peter? So, the naughty man wants me to strap on a dildo and work it into your ....

(well, it rhymes with sass...HA,HA,HA)


No Tears - Poetry by A.H. Scott

No Tears

No tears
My mother would say, when I was younger and skimmed my knee
No tears
My teacher would say, when I was scared to stand up and speak
No tears
My high school crush would say, when he decided to date the head cheerleader
No tears
My employer would say, as my first job blew away
No tears
Yet, tears are the validation of a heart's crush and fears
They build up your pride and brush away the smears
Tears are mine to hold within my soul
Tears are what has crafted my vision so bold
To understand loss, devastation and isolation so cold
So when anybody says to you no tears on this day
I say to them take your words of negativity and go away...
These tears are mine
Go and get your own....

- A.H. Scott


Saturday, August 6, 2011

Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 3 - Erotica by A.H. Scott

A sub's training is taken to a higher level of lust, desire and degradation. Lissette transformation into a supreme sub is divine.

"Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 3" is the third installment in the journey of Lissette, a sub who has learned the ropes of becoming silent perfection in the midst of a dom.

If you've enjoyed the first two parts of this series (which have been free ebooks), then your senses will be grabbed by the forceful encounters Lissette experiences at the hands of a captivating dom....


Purchase "Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 3" at Smashwords -

Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 2 - Erotica by A.H. Scott

In the second installment of this multi-part series, Lissette is learning the ropes and becoming the perfect submissive. Her training is elevating her mind, body and soul.

"Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 2" is author A.H. Scott's sexual exploration of a submissive in training.


“Parchment Of Passion: Lissette 2


A.H. Scott

Lissete's blue eyes scanned over the pages of her journal, as she sauntered down a memory lane of lust and diminishment.

Dates and years seemed to have flown by, as this woman in her forties relived those events of seduction gone by.

Scenarios set forth by Lissette's dom, revealed this sub's desire to fulfill the tiniest detail of desire he wished for...

Wednesday, May 19th -

I wonder where the sash on this white robe I'm wearing is? I know I had it before I came into this room. As I walk towards my dom sitting in an Italian leather chair, this white garment starts to part with every movement of my luscious legs. On my feet are a pair of red stilettos. I know my dom is a man of such distinct intelligence and power loves his sub in high heels.

Once again, I wonder where could that robe sash possibly is?

Well, of course, there it is. In the hands of a powerful man. My dom slowly twists it around both of his hands and I smile ever so gently at him. Because, I think I know exactly what's going to happen to me. But, then again, I know the wheels inside of my dom's lusty mind are twisting.

There I stand before you with a white robe that barely covers my naked body beneath. Since the robe is so short, you can see a few strands of......

end of excerpt

(it's only just begun....)READ THE FREE EBOOK AT SMASHWORDS -


Coming in one week!

On Saturday, August 13th, 2011 - you can delve into the world of A.H. Scott!!!

Author A.H. Scott will be the guest blogger for the entire day at Coffee Time Romance's Coffee Thoughts: The Book Blog



Thursday, August 4, 2011

Parchment Of Passion: Lissette - Erotica by A.H. Scott


Lissette had charm. Lissette had grace. Lissette was a woman trained in the most elegant of ways.

"Parchment Of Passion: Lissette" is the first of a multi-part installment of the journal of a submissive. She's a woman who's been well trained in the art of seduction and submission.

"Lissette" knows the rules. And, enjoys the punishment when she disobeys her lover...


Parchment Of Passion: Lissette


A.H. Scott

Lissette always prided herself on being polite. It was a trait, which led her into a journey of self-discovery.

Men of a certain persuasion were always drawn to the charming Lissette. One of which would change her life forever.

When Lissette received a telephone call from the hospital that Sunday morning, she knew the news wouldn't be good. Having just returned home from visiting a patient within the last hour, a sudden sense of relief came over her.

Finishing the phone call, Lissette placed the receiver down slowly. She sighed and ran those manicured fingers through her auburn mane.

Her slender frame walked over to an oak table and opened a drawer. Picking out a small handful of items, she thought about him.

Twenty years her senior, this man of distinction and élan transformed a gentlewoman into a poised object of perfection.

When they first met, he was the one who saw the potential within her. His gray hair always reminded this younger lover of a fluffy cloud of snow.

Yet, even though this man was years older than Lissette, his capabilities were parallel to men many decades his junior.

Lissette sat on a dark blue easy chair in the corner of her apartment, cradling a sienna colored journal. Slowly opening it, she gave a winsome smile over the past moments spent in her beloved's presence.

Words she'd written to herself captured those lovely blue eyes of Lissette. Events that had been so vivid in the past, seemed to envelope Lissette in the present moment.....

Saturday, June 12th -

My dom was planning to take me to an art exhibit one evening. When he came to my place to pick me up, he was not pleased with what I was wearing.

Oddly enough, he allowed me to wear that dress for the evening. Yet, as we were at this gallery, he whispered to me that I would be punished at a later time.....


Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Breaking In - Erotica by A.H. Scott

Breaking In


A.H. Scott

Tanya was spoiled. She always got her way. Well, that was until a certain day. Her father's ranch help was treated like the horses they were charged to take care of. Larry the stable hand had other ideas to handle Tanya, as she would quickly find out.

Brunette brat learns some lessons that aren't taught in the expensive boarding school she went went. "Breaking In" is A.H. Scott's scandalous story of what happens when the tables of status are switched.

Being on top isn't all it's cracked up to be. And, a riding crop in hand is worth a million in the bank....



Breaking In


A.H. Scott

(‘A Ride So Bittersweet’)

How do you break a wild horse? With complete command and control.

Tanya always looked down on her father's help on the family ranch. When her father was out of town on a business trip purchasing new properties, a lesson in humility was given to this woman.

After a long ride that afternoon, she dismounted one of her favorite horses, Oscar. Seeing stable manager, Larry, mucking out one of the stalls, she cleaned her teeth loud enough for him to hear, "Oh, Larry, could you take care of Oscar. I think he could use some water".

Man in his late 30's to early 40's with a slim build and brown hair, Larry stuck his shovel into a pile of shit and turned to face her, "Tanya, you know that there's a bucket right outside next to the spigot".

Tanya was a woman who didn't like to be spoken back to by any man, specifically the household help. She tied Oscar to an oak hitch and walked over to this man with her hands on both hips, "Do your job, Larry".

Larry looked at this woman dressed in a red and white blouse with a knot at it's waist and a pair of jeans, "You look like a healthy girl, Tanya. Get your horse the water yourself".

Tanya's jet black hair was parted with two long braids running down her back. She was not amused with this attitude coming from him, "Do as I say, Larry".

Standing still in front of her, he folded his arms, "Or, what are you going to do, lady?"

"I'm going to tell my father about this", starting to walk away from him, Tanya used her position to threaten this capable stable manager. With back to him, she scowled. But, Larry had another way to settle this situation.

"You're not woman enough to handle this yourself?", snickering at this raven haired beauty, Larry placed right hand against his corresponding cheek.

Turning around, Tanya's temper got the best of her, "I'm more woman than you can handle".

"Prove it", Larry patted his....

(Well, I'm not going to give away where Larry's skillful hands patted. You'll just have to see for yourself when you read the FREE ebook over at Smashwords.. Take the hard ride, one and all..!!)


READ THE FREE EBOOK, "Breaking In" at Smashwords -

Ambrosial Melody - Contemporary Romance by A.H. Scott

"Ambrosial Melody"


A.H. Scott

Way back in the 70's, events were wild. Nothing was off the table for rock and roll Gods. A pair of which enjoyed many a lovely lass. Even as an event of 1974 was about to come soon to pass, it made an impression on all which would forever last.

Rock and Roll is dependent upon four things. One is talent. Two is luck. Three is ambition. Fourth is inspiration.

Sometimes a rock and roll fantasy can come out of the blue. And, that's what happens to a waitress in a California diner. What she thought was just another boring night working in a greasy spoon, turned to be one she would soon never forget.

Let the rhythm move your soul..





A.H. Scott

Working the night shift at the Wintergreen Diner in Bakersfield never seemed to be something life changing for me. But, in the fourth month of 1974, seedlings of adventure came into bloom.

A chance meeting burned a blistering memory into the heart of this California girl.

There was only one other waitress who worked at the diner. She and I had exchanged our work hours for that entire week. My brunette friend had plans with a new boyfriend in nearby Ontario.

Blondes having fun was far from reality for me, as I stacked coffee cups on a shelf in the supply room that night. Howling moans of Joe Cocker on a small transistor radio kept me company.

Swaying gently to "Delta Lady", my coral painted lips began to smile. I was brought out of my musical trance with the dinging of the pick-up bell on an outside counter at 10:35 pm.

"Pick up!" Cook in stained, off white t-shirt called out in a raspy voice. Vic Green was a former transplant from Brooklyn. A former boxer with several Golden Gloves wins under his belt; Green had purchased this eatery about fifteen years prior.

I pushed myself slowly through the swinging doors, "Vic? What table?"

"Ah, I'm glad the princess decided to bless me with her presence" Giving a belly laugh, he added "Lucky 7".

"Or, maybe craps" I pulled a trio of plates from that counter and placed them onto a black serving tray. There were two guys seated at the counter, cramming food into their mouths.

The place was almost bare, except for the men at the counter and a quartet that were sitting in the booth located in rear. With all the other empty booths and tables at the Wintergreen, it made me wonder why these customers were sitting all the way in the back at table seven.

Putting the serving tray onto the booth next to table seven, I still was a bit curious of why they sat there. A pair of men sat in the booth, on either side of a canary yellow table.

One of the men was older with a thinning comb-over. It always amazes that a man thinks no one will possibly know that he's losing his hair. But, it's not for me to judge. it's for me to place the order in front of him.

The balding man was definitely dressed in colors of Easter. White seersucker jacket and light blue pants, gave the image of spring being sprung in California, "Oh, here comes our order. Damn, I could eat a horse".

Wisecracks always lightened my workday and this was no different a moment of levity, "From your words, honey. It seems like I've come at the right time" Taking one of the three plates off the serving tray, "I've got a roasted chicken sandwich. Who wants the damage?"

Slender male in his middle 40's was seated next to the man of pastel colors spoke up, "That's mine" He began giggling like a schoolboy of decades gone by.

As I grabbed another plate, the customer in seersucker added, "Mine is surf and turf. Steak, haddock, Miss".

"Here you go, sir" I laid plate in front of him and began to turn to the final item on my serving tray. Not having paid much attention to the two men who were seated across from the others, I casually added, "And, which one of you two get the rings?"

Holding third plate in my hands, I got a closer look at these two male customers. They hadn't spoken a word to me. Yet, as I realized who they were, the silence of shock became a Wagnerian symphony all on its own.

Almost speechless, I stood there holding a plate full of Vic's greasy, onion rings in front of two of music's mystical masters. Oh, the heart beat a bit quicker. And, I'll admit that I got a little wetter, too.

Seeing my reaction to them, this customer smiled and spoke in a medium tone to me, "The rings are mine".

"Oh, such a lucky guy, huh?" My pearly whites, returned the smile, as I placed plate on the table, "It's a pity your seating partner is left out in the cold".

With those words escaping my lips, I was amazed that I was actually flirting with both of them. And, what happened next were the first strings of desires overture taking flight.

As an onion ring went into mouth, this man looked over to his colleague and laughed, "We gotta get you warmed up, buddy".

I actually pushed for a larger order, in hoping for a more substantial tip, "Are you sure you don't want something, sir?"



Purchase "Ambrosial Melody" from my publisher, Smashwords -

Monday, August 1, 2011

Parchment Of Passion: Helaine's Diary - Erotica by A.H. Scott

"Parchment Of Passion: Helaine's Diary" is the first in a series of erotic encounters from the pen of A.H. Scott.

Helaine gives us all a peek inside of her erotic encounter with Alberto..


Alberto and I had been lovers for almost a year. His condo was made a palace of pleasure that was a tempting treasure for my soul. My name is Helaine and this is my diary of delights, which delves into a certain exciting night...

Jade satin robe peeled off, as strands of my dark brown hair swept against my tanned shoulders. A ruby ring Alberto had given me, and lipstick the color of crimson were the flicker flare of fantasy for this night.

What I have planned is a sensuous encounter for the two of us, Alberto. But, then again, when we start light, it always ends up heavy, hard and howling between us, Alberto.

Twisting the red cap off that glass bottle of almond oil, I drizzled a stream of it upon your lovely chest. My sandy polished fingernails tenderly ran through that dark brown thicket of hair, almost like I were on an expedition of sorts. Oh, my love, you laid there licking your lips in eager anticipation of what I would do next. Unique is what you are and even every hair upon your body has that same status, sexy Alberto.

Oil had that almost sweet aroma, as I felt that heart beneath my hands starting to beat harder...................

(Now, everyone lick your lips and get ready for more)


Mirror Moon - Erotica by A.H. Scott




When night falls upon the city of Manhattan, the balances of power shifts from boss to employee. And, that's when the real fun begins. "Mirror Moon" reveals the reflection of restrained desire that is held at bay during the daylight and freed beneath moonlight. Joanna and Douglas seem the picture of conservative politeness during their workdays. After the office shuts down, this desirous duo really gets down.

You think your job is hard. Well, it's not as hard another type of job done in the darkness of night.



Flannel is so outdated.

Lousy material enveloped drained drones, as they start a daily file into capsules of lucidity across the city.

Beneath dormant flannel suits in Manhattan, swirls a cauldron of desire. That uniform of uniformity, remained armor for many a financial Fagin. Able to lead wealth to their own pockets, prestige flowed into their ever-expanding titles of functionality.

Corner office of leather chair or cubicle with cork-board architecture, places penthouse purchaser above leashed leasers.

Cloistered within the finest fabrics, those souls come to life under misty moonlight. Pinstripe panache is today's aphrodisial allure.

Picket fences and block associations have been replaced with penthouses and condo review boards. Families flock to yawn in oblivious security of transparently gated suburbia. While urbane dwellers of New York City, yearn for that pulsating fever.

Wives, husbands, children and household critters, stayed in the family portrait of frozen smiles. As to an office setting, occurrences there were something completely different.

Downtown buildings after dark, seemed to be the place where truth emerged. Not only did electricity shift, but power of another sort transferred.

Twirling leather purse strap around a French manicured hand, shapely Joanna stood alone before a trio of elevators. Tiny taps of white Ferragamo toe gave an up-tempo.

Footsteps approached from the east, as a figure came closer. Lightly flicking auburn hair of bicep length from her face, she placed index finger onto an illuminated button.

"Ms. Randolph", mature, male voice gave a greeting.

"Mr. Donovan", giving cordial reply.

Whirring of a floor waxing machine consumed a nearby hallway, as the cleaning crew began it's evening duties. Tiny transistor radio on a cleaning supply cart was set New York's oldies station, WCBS fm.

Sparkling silver doors divided and both entered that elevator. Entrance closed, as they stood ten feet from one another.

Adorned in navy blue, pinstriped suit with a royal colored handkerchief, Douglas Donovan was a 47-year-old vice President of pleasant physique.

Marriage, mansion, Mercedes. The good life was in his hands.

Gathered at a full bosom, a fuchsia wrap around dress, gave a masterstroke to her sensuous body. Joanna Randolph's 37 years, seemed that it should have been minus a decade or more. Maidenhood flowed from red follicle to painted toenail.

Duplex, divorce, decadence. Pearl of independence placed in pliant palm.

Divorced for over two years, submersion in an uninhibited sea was that added plateau of life's zest. Being administrative assistant to head of foreign investments, Joanna was an integral part of this financial team.

Purse dangled at Joanna's side, as the brook of silence was broken, "You have quite a command of that boardroom, sir".

"Yes, I do" ,slowly folding his arms together, he gazed up at the descending numbers.

"But, the business day is over, right?", those blue eyes looked towards the black and white floor tiles.

Nonchalantly adjusting tie, Donovan dipped into another stream, "Absolutely", leaving a whisper into her gold bobbled ear. From that moment on, his title of vice president would only be apt for the former word.

Power shifted, as did she. Tender hip brushed against his, as a single word drifted, "Location?"

Blonde hair turning silver, this man gave a subtle smile to her. Like so many times before, Douglas knew that seductive tournament was about to begin, "My choice?"

"Make it soon, sir", coral colored, manicured nails drifted against a cloaked crotch, feeling the slithery beast coming to life, "Before it's too late".

Days were his. Nights were hers. She was in complete control, whether he wanted it that way or not.

Douglas walked with determination, as swung purse and followed closely behind, "Follow the leader".

To those sienna colored lips of Joanna, a smirk of submission came, "For now" ,adjourning with him into a dimly lit stairwell.

Rein of daytime office prowess was willingly given up to a luscious lady, "I want you to take control. You'll be the CEO of....------

(Well, you didn't think I'd give away the best parts here, did you all?)


A.H. Scott profile at Smashwords -

"Rack Em" - Romantic Thriller by A.H. Scott

Romantic Thriller

Rack Em


A.H. Scott

(brief 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.



Prologue & Chapter One


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 artist 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,- ah,

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.”


"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?"


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?"


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 miniscule 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.

Barris Hart arrived before Chayline. "Are there any new customers today, Arlington?"

"Nobody at all," Thinking of the fleeting flower of fever that had just left, his words flowed with dejection.

Then Chayline Vincent walked in. "I'm back,” she said, handing Cross a brown bag lunch. "The pickle is in the bottom.”

"I'll be up in the office, opening that package.” Slumped against the far wall of the elevator, Cross pushed button number four.

Walking back into his office, he grabbed an opener from the file cabinet and sliced into a box. Pleased at the sight before his eyes, he smiled. Cross unrolled the thick wrapping of newspaper pages and revealed a forest green box at the box's core. Taking the top off the box, he took a piece of blue note paper, which lay atop three small piles of white linen, and began reading it.

- Arlington,

Here are the items we spoke about, as promised. The fees and arrangements are the same as before. You can call me any time. Good to do business with you, as always.

- J.H.N.

Diamond earrings, a quill pen with peacock feathers, a square of lace fabric. They were nice items for the naked eye. Yet, the history of those diamond earrings went to the heart of their priceless nature. One of Casanova's chief loves, Manon Balletti, used those earrings to obtain his freedom from prison. Now, that's adoration beyond flesh.

Several sensuous letters that were written to a man of fabulous fame with that quill pen, held fantasy in each plume.

T The third item in the box was a square of lace. Precision needlework on this slight bit of fabric was a perfumed token of faded passion. On that fourth floor desk laid three items of distinction, this had been long sought after by collectors of the erotic.

Cross Collectibles had prior auctions for buyers in the sphere of titillation. Youth could never compensate for maturity. Flesh may have been interlocked with pleasure, but it was financial security that kept the wolves of poverty at bay.

Arlington Cross needed to thank the person who'd sent this package to him. His fingers flipped through a Rolodex, as he began tapping a phone number out. An overseas operator in France relayed his call forward.

Ringing Jaqueline Hurlot Niemann's home in Colmar, France, Arlington was a bit taken aback at the voice on the other end of the line.

A woman's voice answered, "Qui?"

"Hello, Jaqueline,“ Arlington responded

Hearing her mother's name being called, Carole Davide stammered, "No - no, I'm her daughter, Carole.”

"Hello Carole. This is Arlington Cross from Vancouver. Cross Collectibles,” he said, remembering speaking with Jaqueline about her daughter several times. "She's talked about you during conversations in the past. Can I speak to your mother, please?"

"Mr. Cross,” her voice faltered, as she took a deep breath for revival. "May I help you with something?"

"Is your mother around? May I speak with her?"



"Rack Em" is published by Eirelander Publshing -

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