Camellia (6 page)

"Hey, I didn't buy one for me!" Zach defended himself. "They figured out who you were all on their own! I just showed them your Facebook page."

Danny stared at her brother for a second, then started laughing. "Thanks for the publicity," she managed between chuckles. "Watch, this is gonna lead to my big break. I'll be the face of one of those guys' companies someday."

"I hope you are." Zach stood up and went over to the fridge. "You want a beer?"

"No, thanks," Danny said. She could still conjure up the taste of Lucy's Earl Grey on her tongue, and the thought of eradicating the memory with cheap beer just didn't appeal at all. "I think I'll have some tea instead."

"You on some kind of health kick? That's all you've drunk all week."

"Maybe it's a weight loss plan?" Clint added loudly.

"Maybe I'd rather lose weight kicking your sorry ass up and down these stairs ten times, what do you think?" Danny yelled back. She stood up and kissed Zach on the cheek. "I'm going downstairs."

"Don't study too hard."

Danny gave him a little wave as she made her way downstairs to the basement that had been transformed into her room. Well, it'd been hers since she was a teenager, actually, but now it was quite a bit more grown up than it had been when she'd first claimed the large, wood-paneled space as her own. She had her own mini fridge, a microwave, a brand new electric kettle, and a bathroom that was all hers—a real blessing once she realized how messy her brothers were sharing one bathroom upstairs. She'd practically begged to be moved into the basement as soon as the bathroom had been remodeled, allowing a standing shower to be added where before there had only been a large, mostly useless, closet.

She shucked off her jacket, then her boots, before flopping down on her belly over her bed. Her comforter, a gift from one of her brothers last year, had a sleek black and white pinstripe motif, something Clint had derided as "white collar prison style" but which Danny loved. It was a far cry from the set she'd had as a teen featuring a pop icon who she'd secretly had a crush on. Artwork she used as inspiration for her tattoos hung around her room, mostly Asian with koi, Fu Dogs, and some eastern dragons, but with a few other pieces mixed in as well. Danny had always loved the permanency of her body art, and seeing her tattoos felt like going to a gallery and exploring each time she looked in the mirror. Danny didn't have random crap tattooed on her arms. No meaningless roses or half-hearted angel wings for her, though her first tattoo artist had tried to convince her that all girls got things like that. Instead she'd had him add a quote from Star Wars to her ribs: 
Do or do not, there is no try
. He'd been impressed enough to give her a discount, and she in turn gave him a good tip and a promise to return. That had been six years ago, and Danny had been going back with new ideas ever since.

Danny filled the kettle with water and turned it on. She'd thought about using her microwave to heat the water when she practiced the tea ceremony, but the memory of Lucy's pained expression had been enough to convince Danny to splurge on the kettle. Danny pulled out a bag of chamomile mint herbal tea, resisting her hand's natural twitch toward the matcha, and poured the swiftly heated water into her fragile china teacup. She idly ran her fingertip over the cup's scalloped edge as she waited for the tea to steep, tracing the fading golden edges. This cup had been run through the dishwasher too many times, back when they'd had an actual dishwasher. The gold trim was mostly a memory at this point, but Danny still loved the elegance of it. That same scalloped gold edging decorated the nape of her neck, an abstract reminder of her mother and grandmother.

The tea didn't take long to steep. Danny tossed the bag, poured in a little honey, and sipped. The box said this stuff was supposed to be relaxing. Danny wasn't so sure about that. Her first inhalation of the strong mint scent made her want to sneeze, but then the urge settled. It was all right; not a substitute for coffee, but drinkable. Definitely better for her than going out drinking the night before a job. Danny sat down on the edge of her bed, set the teacup in its saucer, and reached for her purse.

She only had to dig around a little bit to find her phone, and once she found it she opened her calendar app, checking on her next job and what she was required to do for them. Only the basic details were listed on the app; the rest of it was in her email, but at least she could get some idea of what to expect coming up. Danny expected to get a lot of posing-with-muscle-car types of jobs because she didn't mind wearing skimpy clothes, and that particular audience was into her tattoos, but there were softer things that came up as well, like posing with pets for adoption campaigns and helping out with magic shows at the local comedy house. Something like that would be nice.

Until it came to Lucy. God, that woman made her head spin. And that crop … Danny's thighs clenched together on their own as she thought about the feeling of that little bit of leather tapping her. Or, even better, when Lucy had held it under her chin and made Danny look up at her from the end of it. She'd known then that she could easily have pulled her chin off the tip of the crop. There had been nothing to physically keep her looking up at Lucy. Danny had done it because she'd wanted to. Being on her knees like that, with Lucy above her head had felt … well, damn good if she was going to be honest, but it was more than that. Like sitting that way made her small and petite, beautiful. With Lucy she felt almost like a flower. Danny snorted. Nobody would ever compare her to a flower. The whole thing seemed kind of ridiculous.

Yet the crop and Lucy in those damn sexy boots with the tiny heels and the shiny brass buttons rising along her calf had made Danny feel like she could maybe be just as exquisite as Lucy was. Danny had always been a sucker for a woman in heels, and no one wore them quite like Lucy did. She moved with precision, and it was freaky beautiful, like Lucy was a classical dancer.

Danny tried picturing Lucy dancing a bit sexier than in a ballet, maybe even on a pole with just a thong and thigh-highs, and couldn't. The idea made her laugh loud enough that Clint yelled at her through the door upstairs to shut up. Normally Danny would have yelled right back at
him
to shut up, but at that moment she was too turned on to do much but think about Lucy and the image of her in a pair of thigh-highs that her mind had created. The pole dancing and thong were gone, but the stockings were there to stay in Danny's mind, and oh … She struggled not to moan aloud as her thighs pressed together on her way to the shower.

She'd hoped that the hot water would make her relax and get her mind off things, but as she stepped under the spray Danny realized that wouldn't be the case. Instead she leaned back against the wall, the cool tile pressing against her narrow shoulders, as she tilted her face up into the hot water and cupped her breasts with both hands. Danny teased her nipples, bringing them to stiff peaks as she thought about Lucy's crop brushing against the curve of her ass. That little bit of leather at the end had startled her when it had come down, but there was no real pain with it. Danny wondered what it would feel like against her naked skin and, more specifically,
how
Lucy would use it on her.

Danny wished she knew more about crops so that she could flesh out the fantasy in her head a bit more, but at the moment she'd just have to use her imagination. For now she turned around and propped her forearm on the wall above her head as she leaned into it, spreading her legs just wide enough to allow her hand in as she thought about Lucy's long fingers in her hair, slowly combing through the strands. Maybe she wouldn't just stroke. Maybe she'd pull on Danny's hair until her neck arched back, then kiss her neck.

Her fingers went from playing with her clit to sliding into her tunnel. She was slick and swollen and ready for more, but since she hadn't thought to bring any of her toys into the shower with her, Danny made do with her hand. She sped up, her fingers sliding in and out of her tight pussy as she imagined the tip of Lucy's crop coming down across her ass and Lucy's soft British accent in her ear. Gasping out Lucy's name, Danny nearly lost her balance as her orgasm shot through her, surprising her with its force.

Still trying to catch her breath, she stumbled out of the bathroom with her fluffy robe wrapped around her and barely managed to keep her forgotten, mostly full teacup from spilling over as she landed on the bed. Happiness-inducing chemicals swam through her body, keeping the fantasy that Danny had just come to from shocking her as much as she felt it should have. She wasn't big on pain, and for her extreme sex was pretty much just about wearing a strap-on and calling her lover a dirty girl once in a while. At least, that was how it had always been before meeting Lucy.

Danny had a good idea that some things would be changing about her idea of sex tomorrow morning. She shivered—with cold, she told herself, not anticipation. It was just the cold.

While Lucy would've liked to have called Danny down to the curb the next morning so that Lucy could wait for her in the comfort of her warm car, good manners dictated that she go to the door. Her high-heeled boots caught and held traction on the icy concrete as she stepped out of her Aston Martin. The car was red and sleek, but looked nearly purple in the early morning light. Beautiful, even if the wheel wells were somewhat caked with ice. Poor thing; she'd have to park it indoors once they got to the convention center and get it professionally cleaned once the weather dried out some. Danny's house was between Camellia and the convention, so though Danny had offered in an email to meet her there, Lucy had decided to come get her.

Lucy rang the bell as soon as she stepped in front of Danny's front door. Muffled yelling immediately erupted inside the house. She raised her eyebrows and stepped back, waiting for the door to open as the unseen game of who-was-going-to-answer commenced.

Eventually the winner opened the door. Lucy was relieved to see it was Danny, although she had to hold onto the edge of the door with both hands to keep from being crowded forward. "Hi," she said a little breathlessly. She wore a pair of skinny jeans and low, dark heels on her feet, just as Lucy had recommended. Her form-fitting sweater accentuated her sensuous curves, and her hair was loose around her shoulders, smooth and shining.

"I just have to get my jacket, it's downstairs," Danny continued, kicking back sharply with one foot. The young man behind her reeled away, swearing.

"Aren't you gonna invite your friend in?" a man called from inside the house.

"Daddy, this is my boss," Danny called back. "And we're going to leave in just a second, so …"

"Then she can get in out of the cold for just a second," the man said firmly. Danny shrugged and stepped aside.

"I'll be fast, I promise," she said softly as she waved Lucy inside and shut the door behind her, but not before the young man who had been crowding her got a look outside.

"I knew it was something like that!" he crowed, going over to the window and looking out. "Holy shit, that's a what, a DB9? Two thousand and … ten?"

"Two thousand and nine," Lucy replied, glancing discreetly around the lounge. The floor was carpeted with something that had probably once been champagne colored, but was now more of a dirty dishwater tan. A few empty beer cans were scattered around the floor next to the well-worn sofa and recliner, leaving the air smelling a bit malty.

Seated in the recliner was an older man, undoubtedly Danny's father, who looked at Lucy like he didn't know exactly what to make of her. Fair enough—Lucy felt rather the same toward him. He was as homely as his daughter was enchanting, heavyset and stubble-faced, and the bathrobe he wore was practically indecent. For a certain standard of decency, of course.

"Care to sit down?" he offered.

"No, thank you, I'm quite comfortable standing."

"Right, right." They looked at each other in silence for a moment. "So, you're the lady with the job," he said at last.

"Quite."

"Modeling clothes, I guess?" he asked, gesturing at Lucy's outfit. She was in what she considered to be one of her tamer ensembles:  a vintage Dior twill suit that had belonged to her mother, paired with ankle boots and a Merino wool, single-breasted coat.

"Yes," Lucy replied briefly. She felt extra eyes on her and looked over at the door to what was likely the kitchen, where a young and very pregnant woman peeped around the doorframe at her. Lucy smiled at the girl, who ducked back around the corner. A sister, perhaps?

"Oh my god, your car," the young man—more of a boy, really, as he couldn't be much older than twenty—moaned. "I would trade my right nut to get a good look at its engine."

"Might as well trade them both, since you're not using them," Danny quipped as she barreled back up the stairs she'd disappeared down, her leather jacket slung over her arm and a small duffel bag in her hand.

"Shut up." The boy turned to Lucy. "You want to trade my sister for your car? 'Cause I think all of us here would prefer to have the car."

"Clint!" Danny yelled, flushing with emotion—embarrassment, anger? Either way, Lucy disliked seeing Danny so perturbed.