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..;)

-----------------
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

---------------

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

STIR WITH A.H. SCOTT..;)

Purchase "Over My Head" from Smashwords here: Smashwords - Over My Head

and

Amazon here: (all links)

US - Amazon (US)
UK - Amazon (UK>
GERMANY - Amazon (DE)
FRANCE - Amazon (FR)

and let your eyes & ears enjoy the view of the video book trailer of "Over My Head on YouTube - Over My Head - The Video Book Trailer


Seduction Awaits,
A.H. Scott
Author A.H. Scott
Twitter A.H. Scott
A.H. Scott on Facebook

Romance Is Beyond The Bounds Of Time..: "Rack Em" by A.H. Scott

SEDUCTION'S GAME IS ABOUT TO BREAK!!

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 traler for A.H. Scott's "Rack Em" on YouTube - ( "Rack Em - The Video Book 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 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."

"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 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.

..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 publishher, Eirelander Publishing and also the following:

ALLROMANCE EBOOKS - AllRomance - Rack Em

ONEPLACEFORROMANCE - 1Place For Romance - Rack Em

AMAZON KINDLE - Kindle Store - Rack Em by A.H. Scott

BARNES & NOBLE NOOK - Get a Nook & explore my book, Rack Em

Recapture Romance..;)

Visit A.H. Scott Across Cyberspace -
A.H. Scott - A.H. Scott Author Website
Facebook - A.H. Scott on Facebook
A.H. Scott Blog - You are here now..:)
Twitter - Twitter A.H. Scott
YouTube Channel - A.H. Scott YouTube Channel
Smashwords Profile - Smashwords Profile Of Author A.H. Scott
A.H. Scott Interviews -
InToViews - In 2 Views Spotlight on author A.H. Scott
FeatureMe2 - Author of Rack Em, A.H. Scott
1 Place For Romance - A.H. Scott in the Spotlight

The Gardener by A.H. Scott

Household Help Is So Hard To Find. Paulette enjoyed the skills of her household help.

A.H. Scott unwraps "The Gardener". A tale of a lady of the manor, who has her own way of dealing with the help....

Lust takes root in "The Gardener" from A.H. Scott


Plant your seeds here, my friends..;)
This is a FREE packet of pleasure...;)

The Hardware Store by A.H. Scott

Searching For The Right Tool For Every Job!
Rebecca had a knack for pairing a customer with the right tool Yet, when she met Jack, she became the one who got nailed.
"The Hardware Store" is a sexy tale from author A.H. Scott.

Hardware's FREE..;)

Grab your tools and head to The Hardware Store

Homecoming by A.H. Scott

Homecoming

By

A.H. Scott

In midday Manhattan, directly in front of the 5th Avenue branch of the New York Public Library, the pair of marble lions had a constant breeze of visitors passing by and entering this institution of varied volumes.



In the busy metropolis, faces become blurs and the speed of life whistles past each soul. Sometimes, people have to just take a deep breath and reflect on where they've been in the past.


As a man and woman passed each other on that busy street, both realized that they knew the other.


Her mane was a bit grayer and pinned up. Unlike when they'd been together earlier, only a few wisps of golden hair caused his memory to be teased. It was her.


Sylvia's coy smile was what he could never forget.


He had a few wrinkles forming around his eyes, yet still she knew that smile. His dark brown hair had a few flecks of gray in it. It was him.


Daniel's gentle voice enraptured her once more, "Sylvia?"


"Daniel?”, her light brown eyes danced with flirtation to this man she'd known years prior.


"You want to get a cup of coffee".


"You and I don't do coffee, Daniel".


He nodded and whispered in her ear, "You're right. We do each other, Sylvia".


Giggling, as she'd done so many times before in his presence, "So, just like old times, huh?"


"If it were like old times, we'd be in a hotel under the next five minutes”, Daniel smiled.


"Well, with maturity, things change”, Sylvia’s wicked wit drifted from her lips, "Make it twenty minutes, Daniel".



A simple concurrence of what both desired came, as they continued walking down the avenue together. Fate must have brought them directly across from a hotel.


Daniel was a gentleman and paid for a suite. Sylvia followed him into an elevator up to the third floor.


Entering hotel room 34, both gazed at the object that would complete the hustle down memory lane. A king sized bed with yellow crocheted coverlet, greeted this unexpectedly aroused couple.


Daniel closed the door behind them, as Sylvia touched the yellow cover and removed it. She turned her head to face him, "I guess this is what an afternoon delight is, huh, Daniel?"


Placing hotel room key into a glass ashtray on a bedside table, Daniel chuckled, "No, darling Syl”, walking over to her, he held this woman in his arms; "This is what we can call unfinished business".


Sylvia let out a laugh and kissed him, "Never thought I'd call being with you business, Daniel".


Running hands up and down her back, he squeezed this plush form, "You feel so good in my arms, Sylvia”, pecking her neck, "You smell just like always before".


Draping arms around his neck, "So do you, Danny”, her eyes gazed up at him, "You still have the strongest grip I've ever known, honey".


Briefly, they giggled like high schoolers, as each tossed off their clothes and ended up beneath those cotton sheets.


Daniel penetrated Sylvia with the rapid pace of a rabbit. Just like instinct, each remembered the feel of the other person. Pussy moistened and opened for him. Cock throbbed and built towards marble for her.



Sheets of pale blue were gathered beneath Sylvia's fingers, as an exploration of eroticism began between them.


Although they'd made love many times over the years before, this time seemed different. Purity's sea washed over their bodies, as droplets of quintessence mixed with sweat.


Sylvia's pussy came alive with every thrust of Daniel's cock. In their younger days, it wouldn't take this much energy at all, for either of them to get off. But, aged flesh became drenched in sweat; from the heated exertion it was taking from both of them.


Daniel's chest heaved towards Sylvia's grinding body, as both twisted and moved together on that bed. Like some slow motioned, elder version of Cirque de Soliel, each regained their acrobatic flare for fantasy fulfillment.


Her breasts wiggled from side to side, as his hands shifted Sylvia's sweaty hips into another familiar position, "Oh, I bet you remember this one, sexy Syl".


"Mmm”, Sylvia smiled, as she suddenly was positioned on all fours at the head of that king sized bed. "Oh, I definitely remember what you like, Danny".


She slightly spread her legs, revealing a moist snatch for him to enter. He slowly licked his lips and pressed that building bulge into a dripping sliver of life.


Back and forth, Daniel and Sylvia became a locomotive of lust.


His strong hands squeezed those plump cheeks, as she moaned in a low tone. He knew her body and the curves of years gone by. Now, a few smacks of that sweet ass and a grinding thrust, led to that moment when Daniel was about to bust.

"I'm coming, Syl!!" ,he howled.


Sylvia's silky voice rose a few octaves, as his hands smacked her ass again and again, "Give it to me. Fuck me harder, Danny!"


Daniel pulled is cock out and Sylvia spun around and down onto the mattress. She patted her hands onto her own sweaty chest, as this man was given a tempting target.



Stream of cum against heaving breasts, were mixed with the sounds of relief from both. Pale blue sheet was used as a sponge to collect that precious cum.




Daniel and Sylvia lay motionless on that bed for a brief period of time. No words were needed or desired by either towards the other person in that bed.



He was far from being the varsity athlete anymore, as his job in an office had him behind a desk most days. And, she had a few extra pounds from the éclairs that she'd grown to love over the years.


Biceps and bellies may have sagged a bit. But, it still was the same fire beneath the skin.



Daniel and Sylvia had a college romance over twenty years ago. Although a marathon of steamy entanglements in the backseats of cars and unmade dorm room beds, each knew their lives would change with graduation.

Little would either have guessed they'd meet each other by happenstance on a New York City avenue.



Daniel and Sylvia were home again, in each other's arms. It felt good and so right, to be together again.



Feelings of days gone by drifted to the surface once more. Yet, both knew this would only be a brief retreat to those carefree moments of their younger days.


Lives were complicated by responsibilities anew. Hourglass drifted beyond the joys of the past and they both took a final deep breath to move forward.


They dressed and gave each other a final hug in the center of that silent hotel room. She began to speak, but he placed an index finger against her lips.


"I know, Syl”, giving this woman he'd experienced such passion with, Daniel smiled, "We'll always have our memories".



Sylvia nodded her head and kissed the tip of Daniel's finger, as a sign of assurance, "My pussy just shed a tear".



It was joy that Daniel just brought into Sylvia's life. Just a brief return to the years of days gone by, was more than fulfilling to this lady with graying blond hair.


Both sighed and began to embark on returning to their lives outside that room. Spouses and children would be the present and future for both. Yet, that bittersweet ride back to their past was filled with a highway of effervescence.



Lazy afternoon of Sylvia running a few errands and Daniel finishing up some business, turned to be a magical encounter in each other's arms.


As they exited the hotel room, he rubbed her shoulder and each looked back at the bed they'd just made love in.


They kissed once more and pulled the door closed behind them.


Onto the street once again, streams of people passed by them quickly. The sun was setting with the speed of a turtle, as each waved goodbye to one another.


Homecoming was complete for a man and woman who'd known the pleasure of getting in touch with the past perfection of carefree joy.


Going home wasn't returning to a location of brick and mortar. Coming home was the refocusing of frayed hearts in a world whizzing by.


Sylvia and Daniel found it on a sunny afternoon in Manhattan.


END

- A.H. Scott
October 2011

The Scientist - erotic fiction by A.H. Scott

Can a man of theory, formula and logic, also be a man of unbound lust?
The answer is yes.
A.H. Scott whips up an elixir of ecstasy for your pleasure..

In this FREE ebook, things are burning up in a certain laboratory of varied discoveries...


Experiment in ecstasy's elixir with
"The Scientist" , from Smashwords..;)

Going Down? Go "OVER MY HEAD" with A.H. Scott (EXTENDED EXCERPT)

A.H. Scott smashes conventionality once again!! JUST PUBLISHED FROM SMASHWORDS! A new novel from A.H. Scott. 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 take two bites of seduction's apple in readubg the first 50 pages of my new novel, "Over My Head" for FREE!! But, for now, please enjoy this nibble of my novel below..;)

-----------------
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

---------------


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

STIR WITH A.H. SCOTT..;)

Purchase

"Over My Head"

from

Smashwords here:

Smashwords - Over My Head

&

Amazon here: (worldwide links)

US - Amazon

UK - Amazon UK

GERMANY - Amazon Germany

FRANCE - Amazon France

Explore The Worlds Of Author A.H. Scott

Author A.H. Scott

Twitter

Facebook

&

A.H. Scott Smashwords Profile

A.H. Scott is also author of the contemporary romance, "Stroking Sahara" which is available from Amazon. And, a sexy romantic thriller, "Rack Em", published by Eirelander Publishing.

ROMANCE AWAITS..;)

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

Tom Ford Stole My Training Wheels

by

A.H. Scott





Sensible mules, sandals and flats had always been my uniform in the feminine army. For me, the highest heel I'd ever been bold enough to wear was a pair of black pumps with two inch heels.


("In order to keep anything cultural, logical, or ideological, you have to reinvent the reality of it." - Ani DiFranco)


But, then came Tom.



Every time I wear a pair of high heels, the feel of wiggling hips begins. Then as I walk, the jiggle of my own personal suspension system. Whoa! To think a complex pair of shoes can be a workout all in themselves.


Planting my feet into Tom's stilettos with those heels dipped in gold, is like tossing away the training wheels off a Schwinn bike.



Ladies, if you can remember your first Schwinn bike. You know, the one with the pink and blue streamers that kissed the wind when a cool breeze blew past you along a lazy street. The faster you could pedal, the more those pink and blue streamers would weave in an out of one another.



Well, as you grow up, items that may seem the most reassuring and comfortable, suddenly isn't the most preferred.


("Creativity takes courage." - Henri Matisse)


And, that's how Tom Ford stole my training wheels.


Tom Ford's design was like a Lance Armstrong Mountain Bike that was prepared for victory in the Tour de France.



The first time I saw one of his high heeled creations was in the window of a fancy store on 5th Avenue. I couldn't believe how any woman could possibly be able to measure up to this designer's vision.


Or, how any woman could ever be able to walk in shoes with those nosebleed heels.


("Rule of art: Cant kills creativity!" - Camille Paglia)


There was nothing safe about these shoes. They were bold and without a net. And, now I would be without the net of training wheels to secure me from falling flat on my face from their height.



Almost looking like golden swords ready for a battle against boredom and conformity, those heels tempted me to purchase a pair.


When I did, my life changed.


I felt the true passage of womanhood when I took those shoes out of their box and laid them at my own feet.



("Creativity is piercing the mundane to find the marvelous." - Bill Moyers)


I'm surprised Tom Ford and the people at Gucci didn't sell a tiny ladder to accompany those stilettos to every woman that bought a pair.



Whoops! I stood in those shoes and was a bit wobbly on my feet. I'd never known the height that I gained with such footwear.



Oh, I need my training wheels put back onto my feet. Maybe, a simple sandal or even a pair of Keds would be more appropriate for me. Yet, I was a woman in the shoes of a femme of fiery flourish, so I proceeded on the journey to jiggling a bit more.



At first, I had a bit of a problem walking in them. But, as I learned over a few hours, a bit of training my own body to handle something so seductively straining to my limbs; the results paid off wonderfully.


Those stilettos raised my entire body upward to another enticing level. That lift gave my calves, thighs and hips a certain sway to them. As for my buns, they kind of had this bouncy effect with every step forward. Well, as for my breasts, they floated a bit too, as I sauntered in my new shoes.



For the first time when I wore those shoes outside of my apartment, it was like partaking in a safari. And, I didn't know if I were the prey or the hunter.


Even a good girl (like me), felt the power of those shoes.


Oh, Tom Ford, how dangerous you make a woman feel.


Taking step after step in my stilettos, those spiked heels jabbed a stake through the heart of feminine timidity.



They gave me a sense of danger. Not for myself. But, I will admit I felt a little like an adventuress going in for the domination of the king of the jungle. Or, maybe just a self-described Casanova.



Men looked at me differently. Almost with a hint of trepidation when I entered a room.


And, to think a pair of shoes, no matter how towering the design, made a world of difference in the dynamics between me and the opposite sex.



Never worn during hours of business, my stilettos are pulled out for special occassions. Even after many years of owning those shoes, it still thrills me for the reactions I get when I wear them.



And, ironically, it's from both sexes. The men are basically turned on. But, the women usually give me a nod of allegience from their own experiences in Tom's creations.


Feels great for a woman in her early 40's to still know I can turn heads. And, I have Tom Ford to thank for that.



Rubbing red lipstick onto pouty lips is an easy part of the dance of decadence that we all do. A little blush and a flick of mascara is also a part of the painting of acceptance that we use to get a man's attention.



But, nothing will ever take hold of his senses like the first time he sees you in a pair of stilettos. It's primal. And, that's the fun of being a woman. Both you and the man know the game has been kicked up a hell of a lot of notches.



On or off during sex, those stilettos are the glistening wand of wonderment that will leave him breathless with every thrust he brings forth.



Visionaries are sometimes not given enough praise during their lifetime. But, Tom Ford and the house of Gucci definitely transformed the stiletto from just sexy footwear into a wearable piece of art that would make any old master of watercolors blush.



("And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." -
Sylvia Plath)



I stand here in my stilettos and give a deep bow of gratitude to an artist of supreme boldness, Tom Ford.



Schwinn of simplicity has been revolutionized with a Lance Armstrong Mountain bike. And, my need for training (or wheels) has long gone away.




With that, the streamers are an adolescent memory and the golden heels that glisten on my stilettos are part of my feminine arsenal.


(“I believe that one defines oneself by reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself. To cut yourself out of stone.” - Henry Rollins)


So, to all women of the world, now it's your turn to glisten beneath the glow of maturity.



Ladies, pull on that tube top from days gone by, even if you've got a little bulge of fat between your upper arms and breasts.



And, zip up that black leather mini-skirt, no matter how tight it may be. Just hold your breath for a brief second and zip it up all the way up.


Last, but not least, ascend to arousal's peak, as you climb into a pair of Tom Ford stilettos.




Being a woman isn't about being a mouse. It's about being a tigress in complete control of her own destiny.



END? Oh, no. This is only the beginning....

- A.H. Scott
October 2011

D. Renee Bagby Presents First Chapters : OVER MY HEAD by A.H. Scott

CHECK OUT THE FIRST CHAPTER

OF

A.H. SCOTT'S

CONTEMPORARY

ROMANCE

"OVER MY HEAD"

My first chapter of my new novel is featured at:

D. Renee Bagby Presents First Chapters

http://dreneebagbypresentsfirstchapters.blogspot.com/2011/10/over-my-head-by-ah-scott.html?zx=757d1ad85493b8d0

(see for yourself how the lives of the rich and pampered really get down to business)

(READ THE FIRST CHAPTER) "Over My Head" - Contemporary Romance by A.H. Scott

FIRST CHAPTER

OF

A.H. Scott's Contemporary Romance, "Over My Head"

Over My Head
by
A.H. Scott



Chapter One



Lawrence Chase felt himself lucky. A good job and great wife were all signs of fortune. Married to his employer's daughter, his future seemed brighter than a thousand stars. Angela Carter's passion and spirit filled him with overwhelming joy. Larry found a gem in Angie.

With light temperament and coy smile, Angela had a varied effect on every man she came in contact with. Angela's own sense of fortune, was reflected in being adored by all the men in her life. From her husband to her father, she had the persuasive gift in wrapping each of them around her manicured finger.

Yet, even with the ease of the feminine power that Angela Chase had, her husband Larry waltzed with a mistress that no spouse would ever compete with.

Lawrence's luck began to slip with every losing hand from a blackjack table at the Rabbit's Foot in 1979.

Beneath the shimmering surface of the Chases' relationship, there existed jagged shards that pricked away at the portrait of marital tranquility.

Doubts and misgivings that had been locked away in internal silence within husband and wife, suddenly began to sound once again with the jangling keys of secrets and lies.

For Lawrence, he thought staying on top of his losses at the Rabbit's Foot and a few other locations around the state, would be a secret that would be easy to keep from his wife. But, he knew in the back of his mind, that Angela would be the precious petal being betrayed by a spouse whose ego had gotten the best of him when the truth came out.

As for Angela, there were the lies that she told herself about Larry not gambling anymore. But, beyond the financial storm that had begun to swirl around her world, there remained something far more destructive than a husband's rising debt.

It was something that neither of them wanted to face head on or speak of. But, a lie of the heart would never stay buried forever.

Alas, life wasn't as placid as this couple would have wished it to be.

During a period within the first two months of their marriage in 1975, Larry's gambling debts became an accepted burden which Angie paid off. Like any other loving spouse, she wanted to help her husband with any complications that arose.

Pulling Lawrence's neck out of that financial noose, Angela sold several savings bonds.

Pity this husband didn't learn his lesson back then in those blossoming days of marital bliss.

One thing that Larry didn't want to do at this present time in 1979, was to go to his wife for those funds as in prior days of their marriage in 1975 for the sum of thirty-five thousand dollars.

At an unlicensed gambling establishment off Highway 44 and 49 in Fairwater, Wisconsin, Larry's debts began to rise with several digits. He knew this reality couldn't be placed on his beloved Angie's subtle shoulders.

The Rabbit's Foot seemed an unlikely place for him to stand on that tightrope of self-destruction. Yet, there Lawrence Chase was on a June night in 1979.

Rommoulus Thorne, manager and owner of The Rabbit's Foot had physical similarities to film noir actor Sydney Greenstreet. His large frame and commanding presence intimidated many unfortunate patrons in this Fairwater gambling establishment.

One person who was on that descending scale of favor was seated at the blackjack table.

June 19th seemed like any other night at the Rabbit's Foot for this regular patron. Man who sat at the table was a slightly anxious businessman from Eau Claire, dressed in tan suit with a white shirt and black tie. Hand after hand of cards coming up short to the number twenty-one, was making him begin to squirm in of the red chairs seated around the black gaming table.

Thorne and two of his employees stood near a column nearby the blackjack table, watching the spectacle of lost bets by this single man seated there.

Born Rafik-el Rommoulus Talami, this Turkish native had been in the United States since the late 1950's. After changing his name to the more innocuous Thorne, from a trip to the Thorne Market in Fond du Lac, Rommoulus began a new life of prosperity.

Having had prior visa problems that led to a sizable fine by the IRS, Rommoulus was blocked from a full licensing of the Rabbit's Foot in 1966. Without the liquor license needed for full expansion of his business, The Rabbit's Foot would always remain on the shady side of the gambling world.

The last thing that Rommoulus Thorne needed was a blackjack table that had little to no action occurring around it. Thorne made a decision to talk to the seated patron.
Six words that no gambler ever wanted to hear came from Rommoulus Thorne, "The table is closed to you".

"Listen, just one more bet" ,pant of urgency rolled from Larry's lips, as two cards rested upon that dark green velour table top, "I've got a good feeling about this next one".

Thorne placed his hand onto the blackjack table, as fingers tapped the two cards that were just dealt to this man by the dealer, "Larry" ,Rommoulus nodded to the dealer and the neatly dressed croupier walked away from that table slowly.

Lawrence Chase had taken many an evening sojourn East on I-94 from Eau Claire to Fairwater and saw no reason to exit early.

Childish petulance came over Larry, has he wished to stay at that blackjack table, "No" ,raising voice to a level pitch where several other patrons gazed at him, Chase lowered his voice and smiled, "I want to continue".

With a diplomatic flair, Rommoulus Thorne bent over slightly and whispered downward to Chase's left ear, "Don't make a scene, Chase" ,not wanting their business to be known by anyone else on the gaming floor of the Rabbit's Foot, "I want you to stand up and come with me".

Dejected at not having a winning hand at the moment, Lawrence Chase stood and began to walk with Thorne and two other men behind him, "I just don't know what went wrong" ,shaking his head in disbelief at the possibility of a losing streak washing over him, he added "I was up 50".

The quartet walked across the gaming floor and towards the back of the building, where some offices were located. Pair of other males stopped a few feet from the last office in the rear and waited for further instructions from Thorne.

Ambling through his office door, Rommoulus waved him inside and closed the door behind them, "And, now you're down 250" ,Thorne pointed to a straight-back, black leather chair, "Sit down, Larry, we need to talk".

Slightly agitated by the owner's request, Larry sat down and sputtered, "I've got to get back out there" ,almost feeling that itch of the gambling bug nibbling at his essence, Chase gently squirmed in that leather chair.

Fairwater business owner laid this client's digits bare to him, "Lawrence, you owe the house 250" ,Thorne took the patron's history into account, "Now, I let your credit get that high, because in the past whenever you owed a large chunk it was paid back quite quickly". Alas, for Rommoulus Thorne, past performances were negligible.

Scratching head at the thought of that debt dangling above his head, Larry exhaled with a hint of desperation, "Well, that sum might not be so easy to come up with".

"This is why you are in here" ,Rommoulus inhaled deeply and dropped a verbal bomb on Chase, "The door will not let you in anymore".

"But, I-" ,Chase paused and thought of all the times he'd been in the Rabbit's Foot over many months, "I've been a good customer to you".

Thorne chuckled at the optimistic fortitude that Chase tossed his way, "Good? Well, that's debatable" ,getting right to the core of why Larry was in that office, "Your losses outweigh your winnings".

"You know me, I'm good for it" ,Chase made no bones in the past to Thorne about who his employer was in Eau Claire. And, at this point in the waning night, he was going to use any ace of remaining at the Rabbit's Foot that was available to him.
Maybe, Carter Manufacturing Corporation held weight in Eau Claire's financial spreadsheets. Yet, in the back room of an unlicensed gambling operation in Fairwater, the only weight that mattered was Rommoulus'.

"The house can no longer cover your credit" ,Thorne rested large frame against sturdy structure and folded arms, "You are no longer welcome here".

The Rabbit's Foot's owner laid out the reality of what was happening that June night to this faltering card player, without frills or puffery.

Lawrence Chase was fitting the mold of the gambler that could see a winning hand just over the horizon. Yet, was unwilling to just give up his place at the gaming table, "I'm just having a bad streak, that's all. It will pick up soon".

"I'm sorry, Larry" ,slowly he walked behind his black Lucite desk, pulled a single paper from its drawer and placed it next to a gold ballpoint pen, "I need you to sign this note for the 250".

Lawrence Chase signed the paper quickly, thinking that he'd be able to get in a few more hands of blackjack before leaving for that night, "Now, what?"

Adorned n a light colored suit, Thorne spoke, "Don't be the rabbit, Larry", smirking at the thought of how unlucky that foot was for the hare, another bewildered beast came to this elder male's mind, "Or, in this case, the ostrich".

Larry's luck became a figment of his own ego. Being a gimpy bunny was one thing of misfortune. He could outride the losses in future months. Alas, turning into that flightless bird that didn't realize the depths of financial loss Chase actually was in, transformed into a shame that not even his wife would be told of.

Blindsided by these events in the Rabbit's Foot, he was a bit baffled with that comparison, "I don't understand".

As a man who'd known the bitter brew of revenge from his youth in Turkey, Rommoulus ruminated to Larry, "In my country, when a man doesn't pay his debts, the dawn never rises for him ever again" ,for the present moment, a tempered reaction was needed, "But, then again, Mr. Chase, this isn't my country. It's yours".

Wanting to wash Chase out of his hair, Thorne made a decision of what should be done with this unfortunate gambler. Larry had come to the end of the line.

Rommoulus walked to the door and motioned for two of his employees to enter the office. No violence would ever come from this Turk on the American shores. A dismissal of this losing patron was best for all involved, as he spoke to a pair of men, "Please, show Mr. Chase outside".

Motioning out of the chair, Larry muttered, "Are you throwing me out?" ,almost unable to believe that his time could ever be up at the Rabbit's Foot, Chase shrugged and gazed at Thorne and this pair.

One man in his mid-30's had a slim build with a dark suit on. As for the other person, he was a tall Nordic blond in his early-40's. Larry had seen them around the Rabbit's Foot many times and knew what their duties were. Sad for him, they would be acting upon throwing out the unpaying trash of this evening.

"No, no, no" ,Rommoulus Thorne became amused at this circumstance of Chase, "Think of this as a final escort" ,right hand waved Larry away, "Hope your luck changes soon, Larry" ,letting out a sigh of relief, "Good night".

To some, the stuff that dreams were made of were seen as an elusive black bird, while others viewed it as a shaky hand holding a wad of crumpled dollar bills. The latter remained foremost in Thorne's mind.

Life wasn't a motion picture in the mold of John Huston's 1941 classic. But, the similarities between fiction and reality had those moments of clarity. And, this for Rommoulus Thorne and a departing Lawrence Chase transformed into one of them.
Not giving up on his chase for recapturing any prior luck at the table, Chase walked through the gaming floor towards the front entrance with the pair of men, "Fellas, just one more round?"

Slim man in dark brown suit placed a hand on Larry's back, while giving him a slight push outside the doors, "Sorry, Larry".

"Take care of yourself, Chase" ,Tall man with slicked back blond hair stood by that open door and shook Lawrence's hand for the final time, "Good night".

Walking out into the moonlight alone, he walked to his car quickly. Chase became a scattered soul, while entering the Volvo and opening the glove compartment.

Grasping a handful of objects and tossing them onto the passenger seat, Larry began flipping through several bank books in a frantic search for funds. Taking a notepad and pen from the open glove compartment, he began scribbling down several numbers onto paper. From seven different bank accounts, the total cash that was available to him at that late moment of June 19th was only forty-five thousand dollars to pay the house back with.

Ironically, it was conversation during a fishing trip with friends on Beechwood Lake that originally led him to Marigold Isle Casino for a few spins of a roulette wheel. Locals at that casino in Beechwood, were actually the ones who pointed him from Sheboygan and into the direction of Fairwater's gambling Mecca of the Rabbit's Foot.

For Lawrence Chase, that lucky symbol of a rabbit's foot seemed as unlucky for the hare as it was to his own fractured financial horizon.

Three weeks after that dismissal in Fairwater, several markers of various denominations were brought up by an Eau Claire resident. It would be that being, who would hold several former Wisconsin clients' monetary future from the Rabbit's Foot. One of which, was Lawrence Chase.

As three men sat inside an Eau Claire location on July 17th, a small pile of yellow papers were stacked in the middle of a tan colored table.

Male of caramel hue spoke to another next to him, "It's 250, right?", scribbling black ink onto white paper.

Second man nodded, "Yep".

With pen in hand, he held paper upward for the second male to respond, "Are you sure you want to keep this marker?"

"As I live and breathe", looking at that item in his friend's hand, he laughed.

Dark eyes and baldhead, gave the third man a striking appearance, "Well, the air is expensive in Eau Claire".

Man seated in the middle acknowledged that fact, "As are the ladies, Iris".

The location was the Eight Ball. Gennaro Esposito held the pen and papers, while follicle challenged; Iris Mendoza sat to the far left of the second male. And, the owner of this business, Nicholas Bell, remained the contemplative core of this trio.

For an astute acquirer of information and debts, Nicholas Bell polished those coins of cache.

He knew that someday his investment in time and treasury would bear flourishing fruit. Maybe for Bell, someday might be just across the horizon of destiny.

Unlucky person that owed that sum was Lawrence Chase.

Eau Claire lawyer, Edward Longfellow had several clients that were connected to Marigold Isle Casino in Beechwood. During a conversation with one of them, the name Chase came up. As if it were a bell ringing in his ears, Longfellow was set off on a mission to find out more. From Beechwood, a little legwork led him to the Rabbit's Foot in Fairwater.

Lawyer Longfellow wasn't just an unknown entity to Lawrence Chase. He had a connection to Larry, because of his business and personal ties to Angela's father, Arthur Carter.

Eddie finding out about the monetary mess that Larry had gotten himself into, led him to think about Angie being hurt by her husband's actions.

An unpleasant task of giving Angela Chasse the grim news about her husband, was complicated by Edward knowing who owned that hefty marker.

There were two paths of existence in Eau Claire .One, which Arthur and Angela Carter Chase glided along a silken road. Two, was Nicholas Bell and his compatriots maneuvering a more gritty path. For Edward, it was this factor that made something simple suddenly complex.

Far more than just corporation counsel for Carter Manufacturing Corporation, Edward Longfellow had dual alliances with both Carters. Both professionally and socially. Second of which, were events that occurred a year after his longtime friend's daughter had gotten into some knotty legal problems.

Coincidently, the aforementioned community service that the college graduate was sentenced to didn't turn out as she expected.

Angela had a secret of her own.......

End of Chapter One

(Well, if you want to find out what Angela's secret is, tiptoe over to Smashwords for a larger slice of this FREE SAMPLE of my sexy novel, "Over My Head")

Purchase the entire book from Smashwords here:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/95350