Page 143 of New Storm Rising
Following the directions of Mr Ambrose’s conscientious bodyguard, we soon arrived at the door of said sweet pleasure suite. Together, we stepped into the room and, just as expected, found a table full of hearty food. What I hadn’t expected, however, was the company.
“Mister Spend-Resister! Cross-dressing wifey! Come in, come in, the both of you!”
Before I could even think of resisting, surprisingly strong, perfumed hands grabbed hold of me and dragged me into the room. Soon, I found myself sandwiched between a young woman who introduced herself as “Hot Pot Meg” and someone called “Sultry Sally”, unable to move an inch, and having to watch while several giggling women attempted to restrain my struggling husband and spoon-feed him bacon at the other end of the table.
And do you know what was worse?
The ones who were trying to spoon-feedme!
Honestly! It wasn’t as if this was the first time women had expressed their deep and passionate desire for my wonderful self—but back then, I had been dressed as Mr Victor Linton, wearing a tailcoat and with substantial socks stuffed in my trousers!
“So, tell me,” Meg whispered in my ear, while aiming a fork at my mouth. I neatly dodged, nearly having my ear skewered in the process. “How did you and Mr Iceberg meet?
A nostalgic smile spread across my face. “Well, as to that…”
On the other side of the table, Mr Ambrose’s struggles to free himself from the clutches of the ladies of the night abruptly increased. For some reason, he suddenly seemedveryeager to get over to me.
I grinned. “Let me tell you thewhole story…”
Roughly half an hour later, I was stuffed full of delicious food and had ruined my husband’s reputation in front of a gaggle of prostitutes. Life was good. And it was about to be even better. To judge by the gossipy sparkle in Hot Pot Meg’s eyes, his reputation in the whole US of A was going to take a nosedive, too.
“Mrs Ambrose!” my dear husband growled. “You…!”
“Yes?” I batted my eyelashes at him, innocently.
“Don’t you dare say another word, or—”
Right then, he was interrupted by a spoon full of bacon being stuffed into his mouth. I couldn’t keep the smirk spreading from across my face.
It was a bit strange. I probably should have been pissed off beyond belief, considering the prostitutes dangling off my husband’s arms and all that. But…
I glanced at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He sat between the two scantily-dressed women, cold and unmoved as an iceberg fresh from the Antarctic. His back was stiff as a broomstick, and his buttocks clenched as if one were actually shoved up his backside. So far, he had made seventy-three consecutive escape attempts, and the two women practically had to pry open his jaw with pliers to force-feed him.
Was it wrong that the sight sent a surge of warmth through my heart?
“You caught yourself a good one, girly.”
I jumped and glanced sideways to see it was Meg who had just whispered into my ear. She smirked, jabbing a spoon in the direction of the glacial monument that was my husband.
“The last time Sarah tried that routine, she had some guy eating out of her hand in five minutes flat. Your man’s been sitting there for thirty-five minutes and, escape attempts aside, hasn’t moved a muscle. That’s a new record.”
I stared at her. Could it be that they’d planned this the whole time, to test…
She winked, and put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Let’s keep this between us girls, shall we?”
I grinned.
Maybe I’d have to revise my opinion. It might have been a good idea to come here after all.
“So,” I enquired, leaning to where Mr Ambrose was still struggling with his tormentors. “What should we do today? Go on a little town tour? Relax and take a day off?”
Mr Ambrose shook his head, which luckily no woman had grabbed hold of yet. “We can’t. We have business to take care of.”
“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “What business?”
“We came to find a representative of the judicial system, did we not? We have to visit the judge for him to confirm the arrests of the thugs in our two Spanish friends’ employ. Most of them we’ll just be able to leave in the local prison, and we’ll only have to continue on with the main culprits, since they’re already wanted for crimes in New York. The marshal will be coming to pick us up later.”
“Ah, I see.” I took a sip of my breakfast orange juice. “I guess we’ll have to—”
