CHAPTER I. Only One Road Out
Go west, young man. Samantha went east and was a woman. Two wrong out of two was about
her average score; in other words, zilch again. The three signs of success clattered
furiously around the slot machine of life and always stopped when the symbols were banal.
She got lemons—never the cherry. That thought brought her back to this world instead of
the one playing endless repeats in her daydreams.
“Two coffees and make it three hamburgers.”
Samantha closed the show reel in her head and stared incomprehensibly at the woman in
front of her.
“We’re sitting over there.”
Samantha sensed her husband Terry staring at her with the sort of withering look that
said more about his concern for money than affection her. She kept her expression
straightforward and found an answer for the customer.
“Be two minutes. I’ll bring it over to your table.” Samantha smiled and added in her
thoughts, Perhaps if you didn’t come in here with your arrogant ways and children with
simian manners, I’d pay more attention to you!
Terry bustled over from the coffee machine and fussed around, wiping and flicking
imagined specks of dirt. Samantha puffed out her cheeks, wondering if his obsessive
attitude toward cleanliness and money were symptomatic of his indifferent performance in
the bedroom. Good sex—no, not just good—steamy, rudely gorgeous sex should leave her
erotically grimy. As for money, perhaps if she insisted he pay her for favors, it might
bring the spice back to the bedroom. Spice, that’s a good one. Samantha would have settled
for the salt, let alone the deliciously hot chilly of a sultry, wildly erotic night. Five
years of marriage to this man, whose most adventurous suggestion in the bedroom was
getting rid of the carpet and replacing it with wooden flooring. If he’d spend as much
effort in lovingly stripping her as he lavished on stripping the old varnish off those
pine floor panels, she’d have stopped daydreaming about…well, that was another matter.
“Sam.” Terry’s voice reminded her the order for table number three was ready. Why did he
call her Sam? Samantha was a woman. Sam sounded like a missile! She gathered the tray and
went outside the café to the tables and chairs arranged on the stretch of promenade
immediately opposite the jetty. There was that objectionable, scraggy woman with her two
hideous kids. Samantha sneered to herself and thought the supercilious bitch would
probably describe herself as slim. There wasn’t enough female juicy meat on her to
interest a sex-starved gorilla.
Now, now, Samantha, don’t get catty. Girls who are as big breasted and have a rounded ass
like you are only jealous. Hey, get that man with her. Surely that can’t be her husband?
“Two coffees and three hamburgers?” Samantha asked, knowing full well the order was
theirs. She felt like just slamming the tray down on the table, but…this fellow. Just her
type. Come on, girl, they’re all your type. So, what’s so special about this one? And
look, he isn’t taking any notice of you at all, so there’s no point fiddling around with
the cups and sidling your hips nearer. Let’s face it, with a harridan of a wife like that,
the fellow has become disillusioned. Misogyny was forced on him, and only Samantha Verity
could release him from the spell by once again donating her body to sexual science. What a
fantasy!
Samantha went back into the café, which was owned by her and husband Terry. The
place was almost empty and he’d ensconced himself in a corner seat with two of his
so-called business partners. They stopped talking as she walked past. The lady, who was
once Samantha Dalriada and after marriage became a Verity, couldn’t care less what her
boring husband was saying to his friends. She wanted something—and it wasn’t to be
included in conversations about another moneymaking scheme.
She stood by the counter and stared distractedly out the doors to the beach beyond. There
were groups of families playing in the sand and teenagers in games of volleyball. A group
of eighteen year olds romped and laughed. They were almost fourteen years younger than
she. The two girls and three boys were cavorting about in skimpy swimwear, and she found
herself admiring the figures of the young women and the unashamed bulges on the fellows.
The body beautiful was wonderful. She wished someone would admire all she had to offer.
“Quiet for a sunny day.“
The statement startled Samantha. In a fluster, she looked toward the speaker, embarrassed
she’d been caught ogling the finer shapes and sexual prowess of the group on the beach.
The interrupter of her carnal reveries was a man at least half a foot taller than her five
feet seven inches—and with such a divine body.
She didn’t go for those over-muscular types who looked as if they’d been pumped up—if not
with air, then by steroids! It was so unnatural. This man had that knee-trembling hidden
physique, all power and reserve. Not too much shyness, she giggled to herself.
“Any chance of a cold orange drink?” He shrugged kindly as if her slowness at
comprehension wasn’t a problem.
“Yes,” she babbled like a schoolgirl, instead of a thirty-something married woman with
her husband sitting in the corner of the café. She wondered how old the man was.
“How much is that?” He smiled.
“Maybe twenty-five.”
“Pardon?”
“Sorry, I was thinking of age…not, not age, years…” Samantha went red and she felt a
silly girlish tickle in her loins, as if she were flirting around her college date.
The man looked up at the price list on the board and handed her the correct change.
“I’ll drink it over there,” he said and went to pick up his drink.
“No—I’ll bring it for you.” Samantha realized she’d been too abrupt in snatching the
orange. He walked away and settled himself on the low wall by the steps to the beach. She
followed like a dutiful geisha, still clutching the drink.
“Shall I take that?” he asked, slightly amused.
She didn’t want to hand it over. It was her excuse to be near to him. He resolved her
dilemma. “If you live around here, I’d be grateful for some information,” he said.
Samantha grinned in a demented way. This was her chance to escape, even if it were for
only a few minutes.
“I’m not a complete local,” she began. “I originally came from Cornwall. Took the one
road out and landed here.” She didn’t add that her departure from Truro had been rapid and
left behind a mountain of debts. “So…” she fished for a name.
“Nisien,” he offered.
“Don’t get a lot of people around here with unusual names like that. I’m Samantha, by the
way. What can I do for you?” With eyes like that mister, you could do so much for me…and
to me! She snapped back her rude thoughts into the cage in her mind—but didn’t lock the
door.
“Samantha’s a pretty name. It goes with a pretty lady.”
“Thanks.” She shifted on her feet and decided to sit next to Nisien. That schmaltzy
remark from one of her café customers, who thought buying a lunch gave them the
right to chat her up—chat any woman up—would have gained her derision. This Nisien could
spout molasses-coated baloney all day and she’d lap up the compliment—true or not.
“I’m looking for a place called La Tene.” His voice had a deep tone with an accent
Samantha didn’t recognize.
I’m looking at your broad hands with surprisingly long fingers resting on your thighs,
she thought. “Is that a location or building?” Samantha brought her mind back, but let her
imagination stay on what Nisien could do with those hands.
“I used to go there,” he said, not answering her question.
“How long ago?”
“It seems like forever.”
“Was it important to you?” Forget La Tene and discover me instead, Samantha drooled in
her mind.
“Yes. I can remember the view across the dunes.”
“It sounds beautiful.” Do you think I’m attractive?
“I’ve been searching for a long time.”
“I wish I could help you.” You don’t have to look dreamily into the distance, Nisien. I
won’t mind if you study my face, look down my blouse and at my breasts. I’ve deliberately
left the top buttons undone and I’m leaning forward so the swell gives you a hard desire.
Oh hell, he’s getting up to go.
“I could meet you tomorrow afternoon and help you. I’ve got lots of maps on the
district,” Samantha found herself saying as she held his arm.
“That would be great. I’ll see you here at mid-day.”
“No, no…not here. Up by the pier. See, it’s along there.” She pointed up toward the Grand
Alexander Pier.
Nisien nodded and touched her hand so gently.
“Bye till tomorrow.”
Samantha watched him walk away. Why had she lied about having maps? She’d fantasized many
times about other men—this time, she’d made a move. What was she playing at? She licked
her lips nervously and went on studying the way he moved precisely, almost stealthily, his
hips and waist honed to perfection. Samantha thought of him rhythmically pumping that
torso and her being the recipient of its strength and timing. Within the space of a few
minutes in daydreams, he’d twisted and turned her willing body into mind-boggling sexual
positions.
“Sam, get your head out of the clouds. The café’s full of customers.” Terry’s
whine brought her back to today. She wondered where they’d all come from to interrupt her
thoughts. What was she going to do about tomorrow?
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