Voyeur - Lacey Alexander [5]
“All right now, Riley, what mystery can you solve this time around?” she said to the computer. She’d completed seven Riley Wainscott Mysteries thus far, the last two making the USA Today best-seller list, and she’d come to rely on her “relationship” with Riley, the innate understanding she had of her character, to guide her when writing. She knew Riley wouldn’t fail her now.
Slowly, the first seed of an idea began to grow in her mind. And whereas her plots were usually well thought-out before she ever committed a word to the page, she knew that this time she needed to simply take this kernel and run with it. She began to type.
Aunt Mimsey came bursting through the front door of her cottage quicker than Riley would have believed the old woman could move. “Riley, come quick!”
“What’s wrong, Aunt Mimsey? Did Mrs. Dorchester’s cat dig up your flower bed again?”
“No, it’s a man.”
Riley raised her eyebrows in doubt. “A man dug up your flower bed?”
Aunt Mimsey shook her head, clearly in distress. “No, silly girl. There’s a man outside. I saw him lurking around the Dorchesters’ guesthouse.”
Just then, the computer let out a beep and a window appeared on the screen atop Aunt Mimsey’s tirade. An Instant Message box.
FLYBOY1: Good morning.
Laura couldn’t have been more stunned. Flyboy. Must be Monica’s pilot/corporate raider cousin.
Well, maybe he was being polite enough to check on her arrival like this rather than with the webcam. Even so, given her exploits last night, it was unsettling.
The reply box that automatically opened was labeled FLYBOY2. She figured she had no choice but to answer. After all, the guy was letting her use his vacation home for free.
FLYBOY2: Hello.
FLYBOY1: I trust you arrived okay. How do you like the house?
FLYBOY2: The house is fabulous. A perfect retreat. Thank you for letting me use it.
FLYBOY1: Glad to have you there. Monica told me you were having some trouble writing in your usual environment. Are your creative juices flowing yet?
FLYBOY2: Starting to, I think.
FLYBOY1: Good. Are any other juices flowing?
Laura’s stomach pinched tightly. She hesitated, trying to figure out how to respond. FLYBOY2: Um, not sure what you mean.
FLYBOY1: Come on, Laura, you can be honest. Your secret’s safe with me Her pussy clenched, along with the rest of her body. She simply sat there, frozen, unable to think clearly . . . or reply. FLYBOY1: I saw you last night, Laura. I saw you make yourself come. Her breasts ached as her chest tightened. Her heart threatened to pound right through her rib cage. Again, she couldn’t answer. She couldn’t fathom that he’d really seen her, that she’d really been performing, touching herself, for a real, live voyeur! Yet another message appeared. FLYBOY1: Forgive me. I didn’t do it on purpose. Was just up late working and it occurred to me I hadn’t checked on your arrival, so I flipped on the cam, and there you were. I shouldn’t have watched, but what can I say? I’m a red-blooded American male. And you’re an incredibly hot little houseguest, honey. Laura stared at his message in awe. Sensible responses to what had just happened raced through her mind. She should shut down the computer right now. More than that, she should pack up and leave, head right back to Seattle. Every logical instinct told her to run, to take whatever measures necessary—no matter how extreme—to get herself out of this situation that was so very un-her. Yet her pussy pulsed under her jogging pants. And Monica’s description played back through her head. Handsome. Thirty-something. How handsome? she should have asked Monica. She bit her lip, felt her heartbeat speed up, and dropped her gaze to her fingers because she was nervous and wanted to make sure she hit the right letters. She could barely believe the reply she’d typed, even as she hit Send. FLYBOY2: Did I make you hard? FLYBOY1: As a rock. Mmm, the words on the screen turned