Sanctuary
Niambi Brown Davis
PROLOGUE
They sensed each other like animals detect the scent of sexual heat from miles away. Nothing else mattered to either of them; not the barely-dressed bodies gyrating to the pulse of the bass heavy music, nor the potential hook-ups smiling in open invitation.
When he parted the crowd of barely-clad revelers, Lily stood mesmerized. Like a genie released from its bottle, the smoke of undiluted lust spiraled inside her body. She imagined it was visible, like heat shimmering off sun-baked asphalt at high noon. At that moment she understood the need of animals to mate whenever and wherever the urge came over them.
Seduction. Surrender. Sex. It was inevitable. Graceful and powerful, like an alpha male tracking his prey, he moved toward her. She fantasized submission and the thrill of being locked in his muscular arms and pinned under his powerful body.
His voice was like warm honey drizzled over naked skin. “Every woman in here is more than willing to fulfill my every fantasy, but I only have eyes for you. So tell me – what brings you to Fantasia?”
“To find you.”
CHAPTER 1
“Fantasia? What in the hell were you doing there? That’s a little bit too much, even for you!”
Lily’s head dropped against the decorative shawl draped over her chair back, pushing her coppery kinks and curls into a wreath of auburn flame. “If I can’t get a word in, how ever are you going to hear about my trip to the land of ‘sexually adventurous adults’?”
Lily’s teasing and mysterious smile brought Cheryl Madison to the edge of her seat. Her wide-brimmed hat was perched over a face the color of the palest crème brûlée. A dark blonde French braid hung to the middle of her back. She leaned back in the Queen Anne wing chair with her legs crossed at the ankles. Cheryl never crossed them at the knee. At five feet eleven inches, she claimed the pose made her look like a praying mantis.
“Just come on out with it!”
“Speaking of coming…”
“What!” Cheryl shrieked.
“See, I knew you would freak out.” Lily giggled. “Anyway, Marci invited me. She said I needed something to take my mind off Danny. I was curious, although I didn’t intend to follow her recommendation to have sex with a talented stranger…” The sentence hung unfinished in the air.
Cheryl stared.
“Uh, her words, not mine,” Lily laughed. “Is that enough explanation for you?”
“Nope, because there is a big ‘but’ in your voice. I want the rest of the story!”
“Okay…” Lily’s sigh was laced with erotic memory. “You know I’m not a ‘have-sex-and-ask-questions-later’ kind of girl, but last night when I looked up and saw a man who made my mouth water and my kitty-cat drool, I was ready to throw caution and my panties to the wind. I wanted him. No questions asked. However, it was not to be. He said we’d show up naked on YouTube even before the sheets cooled. Apparently he’s pretty well known.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Tony Marchand.”
“Tony Marchand!” Cheryl bolted forward, pushing her freckled face and half her body across the glass-topped steamer trunk that doubled as Lily’s desk. “Jesus, Lily! You really don’t know who he is?” She plopped down hard into her seat. “Every warm-blooded female reader on the planet knows about him, because he’s gorgeous. He’s a fabulous writer and he has die-hard fans of both sexes.” Cheryl continued to stare. “Good Lord…”
“What can I say? My reading tastes are limited to horror and seed catalogs,” Lily chuckled. Aside from a welcome good morning and a box of blueberry scones, Cheryl’s visit brought an extra bonus. Now she didn’t have to Google Tony Marchand, especially since she had bills to pay, plants to order, and an afternoon tea to plan.
“Wait a minute,” Cheryl blurted. “Why was he there? I got so carried away by the thought of you and Tony Marchand that I forgot to ask.”
“Researching a book,” Lily mumbled through a mouthful of flaky pastry.
“A book about sex clubs?”
Lily shook her head. “No, that’s only a small part of the plot. He says it’s really about a troubled marriage and a husband desperate to hold on to his wife, even if it means swapping, swinging, or whatever tickles her crotch. At first he was going to write the scenes from his imagination, but he said that if one tiny little detail was off, he’d get a flood of emails from pissed-off sex-club members telling him to put his penis where his pen is.”
“What? He said what?” Cheryl choked out. Her mouth dropped open like a trap set on the forest floor.
“Hah!” Lily burst out laughing, and pointed at her flustered friend. “This time those are my words, not his.”
When she recovered from the shock of Lily’s risqué interpretation, Cheryl shook her head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised at anything you say,” she chuckled. “But whatever subject Marchand chooses, it will be quite a book. That man can write! His words pull you right into the story and sometimes break your heart. I’m not a sappy sister, but at the end of his last book Charade, I cried like a big ol’ baby.”
“From the looks of him, I believe he’s also mightily blessed with skills between the sheets. And Lord knows I love a multi-talented man!”
“I know you do, my friend,” Cheryl snickered. “And I know why you didn’t sneak off to one of the cabins on the grounds. They’ve probably got hidden cameras everywhere catching all the action. But I don’t understand – since both of you were on fire, why didn’t you just go to his hotel and screw each other’s brains out?”
“Cheryl!” It was Lily’s turned to be taken off guard. She eased up and out of her chair for a quick look out of the open window behind her. “Everybody who works for me will know all my business. Use your inside voice!” She shoved a silver carafe of Texas Pecan coffee towards her friend. “Better yet, put something in your mouth.”
“Well…” Cheryl began, but Lily’s hand shot up, cutting her off.
“Okay,” Cheryl giggled, “but I want more juicy details. Did you come home and fire up the lonely girl’s best friend?”
Lily shook her head. “Don’t own one. Make no mistake, I love my grown-up games and movies, but I don’t do battery-operated magic wands. They’ve got funny names, they’re funny looking, and they make me laugh. By the time you hook ‘em up and stick them in, the thrill is probably gone.”
Cheryl arched one eyebrow. Her smile spread slowly into a downright leer. “Hmm,” she purred. “I don’t know what you’ve been using.”
Lily eyed another scone, but thought better of it. She had whittled a size 22 down to a very curvy size 16. It had been a hard-won battle, and she wasn’t letting a little blueberry temptation get in the way. Besides, she had six feet and two inches of dark chocolate seduction to fill her mind with tasty fantasies.
“To each her own,” she said, returning Cheryl’s salacious smile. “But I need human flesh and heat. Besides, knowing me, the thing would still be humming or hopping around on the bed when my housekeeper came to clean. And then everybody in the State of Virginia would know I had a rabbit bullet, or whatever you call them.”
“Craziness, thy name is Lily,” Cheryl giggled, and rolled her eyes. “I still say you don’t know what you’re missing. On the other hand, you wouldn’t know what to ask for. Rabbit bullet? For a woman so well-versed in adult entertainment, you are clueless!”
“Whatever. It ain’t for me. Now back to your question. Even though Miss Kitty was purring at warp speed, I still wouldn’t go anywhere with a man I just met. But if I did, and we were somehow caught on YouTube, it would have been a hell of a video. Millions of hits…” Her face took on a dreamy, sultry expression.
“Lily, you are nuts. Too bad you had to leave it unfinished.”
“According to the fabulous Mr. Marchand, it’s far from finished. I don’t know, though. Maybe it was just the cloud of sex floating in the sky over Fantasia. But if I see him again, every inch of him is mine.”
* * *
Living my life like it’s golden – the song had become her mantra. Life was good for Lily. The house, her farm, peace, quiet, comfort and refuge. Even before it became her own, she named it Sanctuary. It had been home from the first day, from the time she lived out of boxes marked “bedroom,” kitchen,” “office,” and those with a big black question mark scrawled on the side. And then everything found its place, and she found acceptance in the small, close-knit, semi-rural community.
Lily watched her friend’s Sebring disappear down the long lane leading to the country road at the end of her property. Their strong friendship had begun three years ago. On the first weekend that Lily spent in Stevens, she had wandered into Cheryl’s store. It was a magical, cinnamon-and-apple-scented space of country elegance stocked with glassware, linens and dried flowers. The chance visit turned into a two-hour chat over tea and homemade cookies. When Lily bundled her first stalks of dried lavender, Cheryl was her first customer. That day, and all that had come after, rolled through her thoughts like a slideshow of perfect memories. But right now she had to make sure that 1,000 lavender sachets were filled, packed, and ready to ship to her newest wholesale outlet.
Lily swore that at least one week of a year in eternity, all of heaven smelled like lavender. Inside the spacious, fragrant cottage that was both office and workspace, sunlight streamed through a wall of windows. Hanging ferns and potted plants turned one corner into a small botanical garden. In the little spare time she had, Lily tried her hand at photography. Her different shots of Sanctuary’s fields in bright purple bloom, under a soft cover of snow, the velvet green of spring, and its brighter shade of summer hung above an antique dresser-turned-buffet. On its surface, a fully loaded iPod pumped out the latest rhythm and blues, country, and Latin hits. Each day she set out a tall carafe of coffee and a tray of pastries, muffins, and fruit for her people. This is how work should be, Lily thought; remembering (but never missing) the beautiful corporate prison that had been her corner office overlooking Baltimore’s Inner Harbor.
And each time she gave thanks for her many blessings, Lily included the people who sat on both sides of the long worktable. Today it was lined with bins of lavender buds and muslin drawstring bags stamped “Sanctuary” in deep purple. Karen Madison, master gardener and former hippie, still wore a headband around her nearly waist-length hair. Lily had found Julio and Hector, twin brothers from El Salvador, hauling mulch at the local hardware store. After Katrina flooded them out of New Orleans, Aaron Boudreaux and Marcia Chapelle made new lives for themselves in Virginia. When her only child moved halfway across the country for college, widowed Millie Mason filled the empty nest hole in her life with work at Sanctuary.
Lily stuck her head further into the door that separated her office from their workspace. “Hi, everybody, and good morning.” When she waved, her collection of charms jingled like miniature wind chimes. Since no one stared or smirked, Lily was certain that Cheryl’s outburst hadn’t made it to their ears. “Are we on schedule for shipping today?”
Karen picked up one plump, lavender-stuffed bag and swung it by its raffia cord. “You bet! And aren’t they beautiful?”
Lily pressed her palms together and bowed deeply to the people who in good part were responsible for her success. “Yes, they are. And I couldn’t do it without all of you. Thanks so much, guys.” When she rose, she pointed back to her office where planning and paperwork awaited. “If you need anything, give me a shout. I’ll be over in the seat of universal knowledge,” she quipped, punctuating her joke with a broad wink.
“And we’ll be sure to bow before we enter, Boss Almighty,” Marcia teased. Lily laughed along with her employees. They really were the best.
At her desk, Lily was in a Mad Cobra mood. “It’s time to ‘ave sex,” the Jamaican singer crooned. “Sure is,” Lily murmured. Hot, sweaty, hip grinding sex with Tony Marchand. His dark and gorgeous image floated into her mind. Flawless, smooth espresso skin, thick, silky brows, and a smile that began in one corner of his mouth and curved slowly across a mouth made for pleasure. He had smiled often last night, and when he did, two deep dimples softened his strong jaw line. Lily had always liked a man with muscle – and Marchand had the right kind of muscle. His didn’t pop out like a pumped-up, shirt-popping body builder, but the power in those broad shoulders and long arms was unmistakable. His voice was like velvet against her cheek. The promise of pleasure settled like a radiant coil between her thighs, sending heat spiraling through her body. “Damn!” Lily spoke out loud, but certainly not loud enough for anyone else to hear. “It’s 10:30 on a workday morning and here I am, hot like a bitch in heat.”
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