Instruction in Seduction

Instruction In Seduction

Judy Jarvie

Published by E-scape Press Ltd, England.

ISBN: 978-1-908629-08-1

Instruction In Seduction. Copyright ©2012 Judy Jarvie.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organisations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved.

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Dedication

To Linda M - cake-maker, pampered chicken keeper and kindle queen. For all your belief and support. And to Julia and Steve - for your genius publishing magic.

Chapter One

“How about
New Year, New Me
?” Ailsa proclaimed.

She blew on her cashmere gloved fingers in the late December night and summoned fresh inspiration. It was New Year’s Eve and Ailsa Murray was struggling to hone her resolution in time for the clock’s midnight chimes.

“This year, no more Doormat Ailsa. I’ll take the lead and live life to the max,” Ailsa ventured. “In everything. Home, work, the full monty.”

“Go on,” Lisa urged with pronounced patience. “I’m listening. Just reserving final judgement.”

Ailsa pursed her lips. “I’ll do all the things I’ve never dared; no deliberating, just action,” Ailsa smiled at her own well crafted intentions. “How does it sound so far? A new me? A year of personal firsts.”

Lisa looked at her and shrugged. “It won’t happen. You don’t do spur of the moment. Ailsa the planner can’t alter overnight. It’s just how you’re made.”

Lisa MacIntosh may be the best friend a girl could wish for but sometimes she lacked patience. A divorce lawyer by trade; it was professionally endorsed too.

“No more playing safe,” said Ailsa. “I’ll be different. I’ll ask for promotion; get what I want. I’ll have affairs and start to take the lead with men. I’ll take risks. And do the things you think I’m afraid of.”

“You’ll have to stop folding your underwear and hanging your clothes in matching outfits. Filing your bank statements with a colour coded index. The kitchen cupboard alphabetic system will have to go first.”

Ailsa and her friends were in Edinburgh’s picturesque city centre, beneath the floodlit historic castle atop its rocky crag. It was a truly European city, one of stunning architectural beauty. It brimmed with history, oozed character and right now it was at its vibrant best – Hogmanay, New Year. There was funky live music in Princes Street gardens, street acts, kilted revellers galore. All crammed into a busy mile of people packed street. And soon there would be fireworks too.

They were awaiting the castle’s midnight gun to herald the start of a brand New Year and with less than ten minutes to go Ailsa needed to refine her plan fast.

“It’s a brand new attitude for Ailsa Murray. I’m ready to be assertive.”

As if to emphasise the point she took the party whistle that hung around her neck between her lips and blew hard; ear-poppingly so.

She refrained from mentioning the resolution had been one forced upon her by her dead sister’s intervention. Not that Kirsty would have returned to tell her so in angelic form – no. But she’d sent her a message via Kirsty’s boyfriend, Greg, who’d sent her a birthday card.

Inside it was a letter marked for Ailsa’s attention. Kirsty must have written it before the car crash, before the coma. Before they’d lost her. It was only recently Greg found the sealed lavender envelope in the back of a book on his bookshelves. And now it had found its final way to Ailsa herself.

So in a way yes, she had been sent an angelic instruction (not something she cared to bandy about though). Being whisked off to the funny farm wasn’t her ideal way of celebrating New Year.

“We’ll see,” said Lisa pretending to unblock her ears with her fingers then producing two beer bottles from inside her jacket.

To prepare her for the New Years Eve Street Party Ailsa sported: a black woolly hat fit for a North Sea seaman; an indigo scarf worn right up to her ears and an oversized coat that reached down to her new dusky caramel suede boots. If you intended to party in a cold place you had to be liberal with the layers. But the extreme ‘get-up’ wasn’t just to ward off the chills. It kept unwanted attention at bay. Known nationwide as the
sexy Sofa City girl
, in social hours Ailsa preferred to remain incognito. Primarily because modelling assignments like her regular Sofa City TV ad weren’t her vocation. They were just a lucrative sideline earner. They also got her noticed more than was desirable.

Clad in a slinky outfit of sheer shirt, leather mini skirt and midnight stockings in the
Sofa City
TV commercials, she was famed for her come hither glances. Which was why the chant of, “Hey Sexy, fancy a roll on my sofa?” was something she tried to avoid.

Tonight no-one could see her trademark cloud of Titian curls beneath the hat. The grey green almond eyes weren’t quite so startling without make up. Her pout got no glances when she hid behind a scarf. Even her long legs escaped attention under jeans worn with big puffy boots.

She was just another New Year’s reveller enjoying a glass or two with friends and taking in the momentous Edinburgh street celebrations. Plus getting, as usual, chronic stick from her friends.

“First I’m going to have my hair cut in a funky style I’ve always fancied.” Ailsa sighed and pursed her lips. Lips that in spite of a layer of lip balm still felt tingly from the cold.

Lisa pulled a face, “You’ll never cut it. You might lose the Sofa City commercials if you did.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you. Time for changes all round. Then I’ll ask for a raise at work. Make them give me what I want.”

“Good luck, recession’s spectre looming and all,” Lisa parried.

“And from now on I’m going to be a siren in bed. Zipless affairs – no commitment. Fast thrills, no strings.” Ailsa grinned with gusto.

But Lisa and her fiancé Andy finally just gave way to laughter. Loud laughter too.

“What’s so funny?”

Lisa hugged her friend. “Did I ever tell you we love you because you’re you? Sweet practical and innocent Ailsa who’s drooled over but never notices. Don’t change; there’s nothing wrong with you the way you are. You just need to be open to fun and allow yourself to live a little. Here, take a pic Andy,” said Lisa. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you the way you are,” said Andy, Lisa’s boyfriend. He had a wise male debating style; especially when he was discussing motorbikes, car engines or metal rock music. Lisa passed him her camera and he pointed at Ailsa as he spoke, “Not all men want worldly. Innocence can be really sexy.”

“Maybe I’m sick of being boring?” Ailsa countered.

Truth was lately her love life was a barren wasteland. And anyway Lisa and Andy went at it like sex starved rabbits shooting a ‘Joy of Sex’ nature video.

Maybe the men Andy knew did concur with his innocence preferences but they weren’t the kind of men she wanted salivating her way. Andy was great; some of his friends wore anoraks in public in the name of fashion. Nerdy, hairy bikers whose idea of a good time was a pizza to go and a bike mag didn’t float her boat to Acapulco (or even a dinghy to a monastery on the Outer Hebrides).

“This is going to be the year I turn my back on old ways,” Ailsa stated. “I’m …seizing life by the neck.”

The heavens would shortly be filled with dazzling pyrotechnical wizardry. Indeed the Edinburgh City Street Party was always something to behold. As a ‘special home for Hogmanay’, the capital welcomed hoards of international revellers. Witnessing the Mons Meg cannon thunder midnight and feeling the crowd go crazy while the sky went on fire was always life affirming.

Lisa flicked her hair pre-photography as Andy pointed the camera, “Get the castle in the background. Now smile.”

“What you really need…” said Lisa near to her ear, the photos now complete. “Is a man. Adventures with some hot guy who knows how to show you a good time.”

Ailsa corrected. “I’m not looking for a husband or commitment. This time I’m looking for a string of men for fun and instruction. Non stop thrills and adventure. A diary full of dates.”

“Will a queuing system in your bedroom really bring you inner peace?” Lisa replied using that solicitor tone; the one that wore them down in court and got your hackles up at ten paces.

It would when your sex life had reached an all time low. Ailsa knew hers could limbo dance a new Guinness world record as great clumps of tumbleweed blew across the empty plains of last year’s sexual encounters.

Sometimes her life made a convent picnic on a rainy day in a bus stop look like a thrill-fest.

Was that what prompted Kirsty’s letter? Was her bubbly, brilliant with men and bright as a button sister criticising her utter lack of effort in the dating department?

But surely that was nonsense. Angels don’t just bring letters and start doing lifestyle guru unprompted. Do they?

Ailsa averted her attention back to her friends.

It was easy for Lisa to be flippant; she had Andy. And computer shop owner Andy was, it was hyped by Lisa, a bedroom male gymnastics champ with honours (surprising for a biker who lived on a diet of molasses thick coffee and burger bar specials). But Lisa swore he was red hot in the sack. They were also both clearly besotted.

Ailsa on the other hand may be known as a ‘sexy sofa model’ but in terms of bedroom action she was experiencing a ceasefire. It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested; more that her ‘reputation’ seemed to attract the wrong guys.

The thought jolted Ailsa as she took the photo of Lisa and Andy so clearly having great fun together …
was she missing all the fun?

“You just need some sexy guy with a six pack to take your mind off it all. Someone who knows the way around a woman’s erogenous zones and doesn’t think they’re a city of Edinburgh parking control scheme.” Lisa smiled. It always tickled her when she thought up her own jokes.

“For once, Lisa, I think you might be right,” said Ailsa.

Ailsa looked around her at the happy milling throng of revellers then found her view obstructed by the man now blocking her view like a mountain. A tall, dark cute-smiled mountain. The kind you’d want to savour during the ascent and linger at the summit.

“How’s it going?” the stranger asked.

Ailsa just smiled and sipped her beer as the bubbles tickled her tongue and the view tantalised her senses.

The first thing that struck Ailsa about the man standing before her was his height and his dancing eyes. He smiled and her tummy tilted. He smelled notably good too; familiarity tweaked her nostrils but she couldn’t place the scent.

And most strangely he was a man who stirred recollections that weren’t yet fully formed. Did she know him, where had they already met?

“Great party,” he observed and smiled. Brown hair nudged one sexy brow. One hundred watts of pure ‘notice me’ smile flashed in a second. “Okay to join you? Don’t want to crash your private party.”

Ailsa stared, then nodded. Let her memory unravel and ‘ting’ the memory clicked into place on his identity.

Long jean clad athletic legs, broad shoulders and chest led up to that disarming smile. Granite chip eyes and an aftershave ad profile proved more arresting than a police street crime crackdown.

Ailsa stifled the urge to blow her whistle hard again.

“It’s cold tonight,” he summed up. “Freezing; even in this jacket. Now I know why the Scots drink whisky often.”

He’d raised the temperature in seconds. Ailsa was firmly certain she did know this stranger. Nick Palmer. The Australian Adonis she’d worked for as a temp secretary at nineteen.

He was the boss she’d dreamed about so hard she’d thought she’d die. And now he was here like a life-affirming lightening bolt in great fitting Levis and a puffa jacket.

A voice, her sister’s specifically, lodged in Ailsa’s head:
one day you’ll meet a guy that’ll blow all the others into oblivion. You’ll just know and you won’t want to hold back anymore.

“Hiya,” said Andy shaking hands and hi-fiving Nick. “This is Nick,” said Andy. “He’s the guy I met on the bike tour break last year. Nick’s passing through from London. I told him to track us down for the bells at midnight.”

“Uh-huh,” said Lisa in Ailsa’s ear. “Now he’s what I call a new leaf.” Lisa’s body language said it all; Nick Palmer made a girl sit up and take notice. Revise her opinions on bikers even. Padded to the hilt in winter gear, he was still impressive. In leather he’d be heart-stopping.

He was definitely the same Nick she’d known years before. She’d romped through many a teenage erotic dream with him. Covered in baby oil and clad in a loincloth he’d proved quite a sensation (a fantasy one, sadly). They’d only ever been compatible in her dream world.