Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket (8 page)

     An hour later, and much to Helena’s dire concentration (indeed, she sat motionless and defenseless as her worst nightmare came true before her very eyes), Blaine Bennington left.  It seems that he had a jet to catch to some exotic location for a sure to be glamorous shoot—something that she suspected happened almost daily during the course of his existence.

     “Well biggeth dealeth,” she told Trey, now lounging back in her office chair and resting her feet on the edge of his desk.  “I get my photo snapped every time I go to the DMV—and whenever the family goes on vacation to a major amusement park.  And you know what?  The last time I went to see the Va Va Voom Male Revue, the lead dancer practically begged to have his picture taken with me—of course, the $5.50 tip I slipped in his G-string may have hastened that request, just a bit.”  She paused here, adding as she bit her lip, “Though I fear those two quarters may have brushed against one of his most vital external organs—drastically reducing his chances of starting a family in the future.  I live in regret.”

     Trey laughed.

     “Well speaking of such things,” he arched his eyebrows, regarding her with assessing eyes, “I have to admit that I’m just a bit jealous of our friend Mr. Bennington.  Between your drool and Irving’s blood, I’m now going to have to have my carpet shampooed.”

     Helena shook her head.

     “No need to be jealous, sweetheart,” she assured him with a smile.  “Believe me when I say that you are every bit as hot as Blaine—just in a different way.”

     Trey cringed.

     “Oh Helena,” he buried his head in his hands.  “Please, please don’t tell me I’m pretty on the inside.”

     Helena chuckled.

     “Well I’ve never taken an X-ray of you, but I seriously believe that you are possessing of both inner and outer beauty,” she assured him, adding with a shrug, “It’s just that, while Blaine is a walking fantasy, wild and animal like, you’re the handsome, charming gent a gal could take home to her mama—and, if she didn’t fear for his virtue in the face of an imminent ravishing (because I have the distinct suspicion that they, too, snuck clandestine glances at Skinemax After Dark from time to time), her six sisters as well.”

     Trey nodded.

     “So I’m handsome, and Blaine’s sexy,” he surmised, pursing his lips in what looked suspiciously like an offended pout.

     Helena sighed.

     “I sure hope my lavender pumps taste good with ketchup or another light seasoning,” she shook her head, “because I sure have put my foot in my mouth.”

     Trey shook his head.

     “No Helena, that’s fine,” he allowed, turning his attention to the papers on his desk.  “I’ll sign these contracts and send them off to legal—then we’ll be all set to start production on the book.  I’ll also book our tickets to London today—and don’t forget our staff meeting at 4 p.m.”

     Freezing in her seat, Helena folded her hands before her as she felt a sudden, inexplicable need for the fresh polished floor to open up beneath her and swallow her whole; or, at the very least, to change the proverbial subject—and, as her ma back in Indiana says, and right quick.

     “Listen, Trey,” she began with a shrug, “Why don’t we go over some edits for my book?”

     Trey shook his head.

     “That’s Irving’s job,” he reminded her, adding as his gaze lowered to the desk beneath him, “I have other books to edit right now—if you will excuse me.”

     A nodding Helena rose from her seat, biting her lip so hard that it now bore a close resemblance to Irving Birnbaum’s.

     “I’ll be back here at 4 p.m. sharp,” she told him, adding weakly, “I’ll bring you a Pepsi or something.  Ice cold, straight from the vending machine.”

     And with this she cleared the office.  As.  Quickly.  As.  Possible.

     Immediately after emerging in the main hallway of Elmhurst Publishing, Helena came face to face with Irving Birnbaum; the editor that greeted her with a bright smile as he said, “Good morning, Helena!  Hope you’re having a great day.  Care to go over some edits this morning?”

     Her body struck a defensive stance that bore a suspicious resemblance to a martial arts pose.

     “Have you taken your pill, Irving?” she queried, pinning him with a suspicious stare. 

     Irving nodded.

     “I took two,” he affirmed.

     “Right on,” Helena announced, flashing him a spirited thumbs up sign as she lead him into her office.

Chapter Twelve

     After a rigorous—but, fates be thanked—sane and peaceful round of preliminary edits, Helena went to lunch alone—venturing by herself to a favorite downtown café; a place she went to enjoy a hearty serving of cheesy lasagna along with her favorite beverage, especially on tough days.

     Yet today, alas, even an economy sized bottle of Sugar Shock cola couldn’t allay her worries; not when she worried that she’d squandered her chances with a terrific guy.

     “I mean, isn’t he being just a mite sensitive?”  she asked her stainless steel napkin holder, which turned out to be her only luncheon companion that day.  “All I did was drool openly over another man while in his presence, then imply openly that said man is sexier than he is.  Is that really so bad?”

     She paused here, suddenly very grateful that—as a general rule—stainless steel napkin holders did not possess the power of speech.  Then, giving up on any and all attempts to enjoy her lunch, she bought an ice cold Pepsi from the grave looking, downright stricken woman at the counter (“She no doubt caught me attempting a reasonable conversation with her stainless steel napkin holder,” she thought with a cringe.) and headed back to the office.

     After doing her level best to concentrate on the edits that lined her inbox, Helena surrendered the cause at a quarter til 4 and grabbed her conciliatory cola from her office mini fridge; shutting down her computer before she headed for Trey’s office; determined to make some sort of an apology before their co-workers arrived for their scheduled staff meeting.

     “Helena Vance does not beg, grovel or whine,” she reminded herself, holding her head up high, “She is not however, overly averse to the concept of conciliation by cola.”

     When she arrived at Trey’s office moments later, she found the door open and the room empty; and as she cleared the threshold and shut the door behind her, she felt a chill course the length of her spine as she called, “Trey?”

     Sinking down in a cushy chair at the center of the room, Helena frowned as she cast a stray glance toward his built-in office restroom; where the door was closed and she could hear some movement within.

     “Helena, is that you?”  She jumped as she heard Trey’s loud, booming voice make itself heard from behind the restroom door.  “Are you alone?”

     “Yes,” she replied, adding silently as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “All the better so you can fire me and break up with me, all in one flail swoop.  Wow, he really took my estimation of his perceived sexiness altogether too seriously.  Damn.”

     Her troubled meditation was disrupted by the opening notes of a jazzy, bluesy tune; one that seemed to emanate from the overhead stereo system newly installed in Trey’s office.

     “Must be nice to be an exec,” she sniffed quietly, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “If I want to listen to music at work, all I can do is hum real loud.  If Irving is in a biddable (read: stable) mood that day, he’ll do beat box or croon a chorus in the background.”

     Still, she had to admit that she really enjoyed this particular ditty, which was soulful, melodic, and oddly familiar.

     “It’s Joe Cocker, but it’s not ‘You Are So Beautiful,’ or ‘I Love LA,’” she pursed her lips, adding as she shifted in her seat, “It seems like I’ve heard this ditty at a night club I’ve visited a couple of times.  Maybe even at the…Oh.  Shit.”

     She had heard the song “You Can Leave Your Hat On” during a select number of red hot numbers at the Va Va Voom Male Revue Show, a spectacle presented every three months at Club Sandwich in downtown Indianapolis, Indiana.  A tune that, with its salacious lyrics and seductive beat, was far from being the type of quiet, reflective song you enjoyed as you sat on the shores of a picturesque lake, painting a portrait or contemplating the true meaning of life.

     Rather, it was the song that people played in the background when they take all or most of their clothes off—and not for purposes of a medical exam or a cleansing and refreshing shower, but instead in the service of something very dirty.

     “Criminy,” Helena bit her lip.  “Am I about to see a bonafide, no holds barred striptease?”

     “Bingo.”

     Suddenly appearing from behind the door of his top secret private lavatory (“Gawd knows what goes on in there,” Helena mused, cringing at the very thought), Trey strutted into the room with a pronounced stride; hips shifting ever so slightly as he squared his broad shoulders and puffed out his massive chest to most appealing effect.

     Although still dressed to the proverbial nines in his very proper business suit, Trey also was wearing a downright stylish smile that Helena knew meant trouble.  Big time.  At least.

     “Trey, did somebody royally spike your Shasta at lunchtime?” she queried, arching her eyebrows to curious effect.

     Trey shrugged.

     “Not at all, babe,” he shook his head—and his hips, moving them back and forth in a slow, smooth motion that looked suspiciously like a gyration.  “I just got to thinking this morning—on our first date I promised you a lap dance.  And to this day I’ve never delivered on that particular promise.”

     Helena sighed.

     “Trey, you really don’t have to do this,” she began, holding her hands up before her—even as her rebellious gaze remained peeled on those ever lovin’ tight, taut hips.

     “Oh, but I do,” Trey interrupted her, stretching and straining his impressive form before her to most impressive effect.  “Somehow, Helena, I have to prove to you that I can be every bit as sexy, alluring, and out and out seductive as What’s His Ridiculously Handsome Face.”

     “Blaine Bennington,” Helena supplied through gritted teeth.

     Trey rolled his eyes—and his hips, performing the first of what Helena suspected would be a multitude of expertly executed body rolls.

     “Yeah, him,” he sniffed, adding as he drew closer to her, “I swear I can excite you just as much as he does—even more so, I can rock your world baby.”

     Helena jumped in her seat; suddenly pondering if she’d actually heard the words “I can rock your world, baby,” pass the ever sophisticated lips of one Trey Lawrence.

     “Um, Trey,” she began, eyes flying wide in a show of sheer wonder if not blatant and outright shock, “As much as I do sincerely appreciate any and all well-intentioned efforts on your behalf to—um—‘rock my world,’ I believe that these efforts should be confined to your or my bedrooms, respectively.  The office seems like a mighty strange setting for a lap dance, no matter how tasteful or well-executed.”

     Trey chuckled.

     “I’m still trying to get into your bedroom, Helena,” he reminded her, tone low and sultry.  “And I swear I’ll do anything to get you into bed—even if it means seducing you right here, and right now.”

     With these words he held her gaze as he loosened the fabric of his confining tie; exposing as he did a golden flash of bare, exposed skin.

     “Just relax and enjoy this, Helena,” he urged on a whisper, “I’m giving you permission to be naughty—to indulge yourself in your own wildest fantasy.  Just let go of your inhibitions and allow yourself to feel—and to enjoy.  I could make you feel like you’ve never felt before, if you’d just relax and allow me to bring you pleasure.  You’re allowed to feel good, Helena—forget about anything and everything you’ve been taught before, I’m saying it’s OK.”

     Abruptly Trey fell silent as Helena rose from her seat; her face blank and unreadable as she turned for the door.

     “I don’t need your permission to do anything, Trey Lawrence,” she sniffed over her shoulder, leaving the desk with sharp, pronounced steps.  “I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions—when it comes to career goals, personal choices, and getting my freak on—so to speak.”

     Trey sighed.

     “Helena, I’m so sorry if I’ve offended you.  I’m sorry if I just crossed a boundary here, I was only trying to turn you on,” he told her, hanging his head as he slouched before his desk.  “Please don’t leave.”

     He started as Helena met his words with a sly, full-toothed grin.

     “Who says I’m leaving?” she asked him, arching her eyebrows before she waggled them salaciously.  “I’m just going to close and lock the door so that no one disturbs your—um—inspired little excursion into the performing arts field.”

     His smile returning, a mischievous Trey stood tall and proud before his desk as he announced, “Oh, this is no standard dance performance love.  What you’re about to see is commonly known as a down and dirty striptease—one planned and performed exclusively for your pleasure.”

     Obviously quite liking this particular concept, Helena closed and locked the office door before returning to her seat; returning her lover’s sly smile as she plopped down into its comfy confines.

     “So go ahead babe,” she urged him, once again waggling her eyebrows to adorable effect.  “Rock my proverbial world, why doncha?  Though with all that pesky talking we’ve been doing, I fear you’ll have to hit rewind on your CD player—let Joe sing!”

     Trey shook his head.

     “No worries, dear—this just happens to be the extended dance version of ‘You Can Leave Your Hat On,’” he reassured her, adding in a low, sultry tone, “And with you as my audience, babe, I don’t think I need even an iota of musical inspiration.”

     With these words he slithered in slow, smooth strides closer to her chair; erasing all distance as he threw his head back in a sleek, leonine motion.

     Helena watched transfixed as her reserved, professional lover morphed into a sinful, salacious creature of fantasy; swaying his hips from side to side and flexing his impressive chest muscles as he seared her with a hot, narrow eyed gaze that dripped with seduction.

     Once again raising his hands to his collar, a grinning Trey whipped off his tie in a single smooth flourish; kneeling to wrap the tie around Helena’s sturdy shoulders as he planted a wet and very hot kiss square on her lips.  Sliding the tie’s ends back and forth in a sleek, flirtatious motion, he then released it as he struck a tall, strong stance before her; rolling his toned, sleek body in a flawless fluid motion as he loosened the buttons of his staid ivory shirt.

     Helena gaped in spite of herself as this move revealed the hard, golden, massive chest that had filled her dreams; along with the flawless washboard abs that seemed too good to be true.

     “Dude,” she gasped outright, shaking her head from side to side in what seemed to be a show of sheer disbelief.  “Are you like, sculpted or photo shopped or something?”

     Trey shrugged.

     “I dunno,” he purred, tone low and sultry.  “What don’t you touch me and see for yourself?”

     With this he erased all distance between them, continuing to sway and gyrate for her pleasure as he offered himself to her.

     Reaching forth with a trembling hand, Helena touched and stroked Trey’s perfect pecs as he flexed them for her pleasure; then lowering her fingers to touch and tickle the abs that he rolled before her admiring eyes.  Letting loose with a girlish giggle, she then leaned her head forward to kiss those same abs; flicking her tongue back and forth in a slick, seductive motion.

     “Oh Helena,” Trey pitched his head back, moaning outright as he reveled in her attentions.  “If you don’t stop that in the next decade or so, I’m reporting you to Human Resources for harassment—the kind I happen to like quite a lot, thank you very much.”

     With this he slithered away from her in a teasing, flirtatious motion, holding her gaze as he loosened the belt on his tight, form fitting ebony pants; zipping and unzipping them in a blatant tease before pulling them down the planes of his long, trim legs.

     Letting loose with a comical—but nonetheless deeply felt—wolf whistle, Helena deadpanned, “To quoth—all the while slightly messing up and adding a slight gender variation to--the words of the amazing ZZ Top, he’s got legs—and he knows how to use ‘em.”

     Trey chuckled.

     “Thanks babe,” he winked, shifting and shimmying those flexible limbs for her viewing pleasure.  “And while my legs might be nice enough, if just a bit on the hairy side, you should see just what I can do with other select parts of my anatomy.”

     Without further ado he gyrated his toned hips in a rhythmic, sensual manner; finally drawing her attention to the specific male body part that had captured her imagination and captivated her interest since the moment of their meeting—not to mention flooding her psyche with all sorts of forbidden—and hence very hawt--fantasies.

     A body part that just happened to begin with the word “p.”

     “Yep yep,” Helena mused, adding as she pursed her lips to comical effect, “I’ve always been most curious about the state and appearance of Trey’s pancreas.”

     OK, so she’d always been anxious to ‘see the d,’ as her old college roommate so beautifully, articulately phrased it.

     And now ‘the d’ was being waved and wobbled before her face; ensconced as it was in a ruby red G-string coated with a smattering of rainbow hued glitter.

     “Where in the blazes did you get the kinky underpants?” she chortled, making a broad gesture in the direction of his skimpy, tight-fitting underwear choice.  “I mean, they don’t seem as though they would be readily available at your standard men’s wear store, as part of the Charming CEO Couture Collection…”