No Ordinary Affair

No Ordinary Affair

by

Fiona Wilde

and

The Personal Shopper

by

Sullivan Clarke

©2012 by Blushing Books®, Fiona Wilde and Sullivan Clarke

Copyright © 2012 by Blushing Books®, Sullivan Clarke and Fiona Wilde.

All rights reserved.  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Blushing Books®,

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Wilde, Fiona and Clarke, Sullivan

No Ordinary Affair and The Personal Shopper

eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-672-7

Cover Design: by ABCD Graphics

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“So that’s it then? We’re finished? Just like that?”

I looked at him standing there in the rain, distress etched into his handsome face. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look vulnerable, weak, out of control. And it was just how I wanted – no, needed – to remember him if I was to do what I knew I had to do.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re finished.”

He took a step towards me. “No.” And for a moment I wavered and nearly succumbed to the desire to fall before him and admit that he was right, that I needed him - to plead with him to take me back and punish me for even thinking I could be this strong.

But deep down I knew it would be a lie, just another part of what had become an intoxicating, addictive game I could no longer play

“Yes,” I said. “We’re finished Ethan. You always told me, didn’t you, that I was capable of being a good girl?” Tears welled in my own eyes now. “Well, here’s my chance.”

Then I turned and walked back home – for good - to where my unsuspecting husband was waiting for me.

**********

I
’ve heard it said that women aren’t that different than men. They say given the chance, most would cheat if they could get away with it.

I don’t really believe that though. I think most women are like me; even if they think about it once in awhile they are too mindful of the risks, too mindful of the terrible price of carrying around all that Guilt.

Does this mean I was satisfied with my marriage to Mark when I met Ethan? No, far from it. But I wasn’t looking for an affair, either. And had I known what I was in store for, I’d have had someone else wait on the handsome man who appeared before me in the shop. Or would I?

“I need an opinion.” It was the voice that struck me first, deep and cultured with an accent I couldn’t quite pin down. When I looked up my heart skipped a beat. No, really it did. It’s not just an expression.

He was so handsome, standing there in his gray overcoat and maroon scarf. His hair was dark and hung in waves to his shoulder. He had a face that looked almost sculpted, with the most beautiful olive complexion and just enough stubble set off his put-together look. But his eyes – that’s what struck me the most. They were….
sharp
is the only word to describe them. And his gaze was so intense it felt like a thrust. I blushed deeply and looked down.

“Sure,” I said, busily rearranging the watch display that didn’t need rearranging at all. “What would you like me to help you with?”

He reached out and picked up a watch, his hand brushing mine as he did. I gasped, or thought I gasped, which didn’t make things any less awkward. But when I looked up again I discovered he either hadn’t noticed my embarrassment or had chosen to ignore it.

“My mother is a difficult woman.”

“Excuse me?” I responded

“She has everything,” he said. “My father spoiled her terribly and bought her everything she wanted. The result is that she gets more difficult to please with each passing year.”

“So you’re here to find her something unique,” I said.

“Yes, and I thought a shop called ‘Curiosities’ would possibly have something that might actually surprise her.” He looked around the place. “It is a nice place you have here. Very interesting. You should be pleased with yourself, opening a place that specializes in unusual items”

I laughed then. “It’s not mine. I’m just a shop girl.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said.

“Excuse me?” I felt like a fool for repeating myself, but his statement was as curious as the cuckoo-clock watch he was now examining.

“Pretty thing like you, intelligent...” When I started to brush the comment away he stopped me. “No, no. Don’t deny it. I can see it in your eyes.”
 
He looked in my eyes then and I felt a ball of something form and flip over in my stomach.
“Yes, intelligence,” he continued. “It’s like a spark, and not everyone has it. If you’re a shop girl, it’s only until something else comes along.”

“Thank you,” I muttered. I was flattered but knew what he said was true. “I go to school at night. I’m studying to be a book editor.”

“A book editor? Lovely! That sounds like a fine career.”

I laughed. “I’ll never get rich off it, though. The most I can hope for is that Mark and I can buy a little house in the next few
.
..”

“Mark?”

I suddenly regretted being so chatty.

“My husband,” I admitted, angry at myself for mentioning him and then
feeling guilty for the anger. 
What did it matter if this man knew I was married? I was, after all. And besides, even if I weren’t he’d be miles out of my league.

“He’s a lucky man, then.”

“Who?”

My customer laughed. “Your Mark! To have such a pretty little wife, with such a good work ethic.”

I giggled. “Oh, I don’t know….”

He grew silent. “You,” he said, “should think more highly of yourself.”

I didn’t know what to say as I looked up at him, surprised. So I said something completely unrelated to the conversation at hand.

“Do you want the watch then?” I asked. “It’s quaint, and I guarantee your mother has nothing like it.”

“Sold,” he said. “Box it up. And wrap it if you will. Make it a pretty wrap.”

“Yes, of course!” I said. “You
should
look
around
while I do. There’s loads of interesting things here. The owner,
Miss Parsham
, she’s forever going to estate sales. She comes back with the oddest things.”

I turned my back to him as I began working at the table behind the counter, relieved to turn my attention to packing the watch rather than giving so much of it to my handsome customer.

“Interesting indeed. Where did she find this?”

I turned to see him standing there holding up a large oak paddle. I’d not seen it before and for the life of me couldn’t remember her even bringing it in.

“I don’t know,” I said, and turned back to my wrapping. “I know she went to the sale of an estate left by an old schoolmaster who used to work in Brighton. Perhaps that’s where it came from.”

“They don’t make them like that anymore,” he said.

“No,” I agreed, not knowing what else to say. “A rather old-fashioned lot, those schoolmasters.”

“I was talking about this paddle.”

I carefully turned the side down on the wrapping paper, making sure the corners didn’t pucker. I wanted it to be perfect.

“No, you don’t see those very often. They don’t allow smacking in schools so much these days, thank goodness.” I turned and held the wrapped box out before me. “There. Isn’t it perfect?”