Appleby Blush Ch. 05

"You're sure, Brendan?" the businessman asked, unscrewing the top from a small phial. He knew exactly how he intended to celebrate the welcome news. A single drop into the glass he'd just poured turned the drink into a pink colour.

"As certain as I can be, Mr. Appleby," the Homicide cop said, glancing at his watch. "She's on her way there even as we speak."

The businessman held the glass up to the light, peering at it intently and then holding the glass to his nose. The liquid was odourless. It amazed him that something so powerful could appear so innocent.

Once the Nmobu brothers met their part of the arrangement, the sky would be the limit. The fools were selling themselves cheaply. The Blush would help him blackmail politicians all over the world into lucrative deals allowing him to extend his business activities in their countries. He'd make billions.

"Tell me exactly what happened, Brendan," he said, wanting to make sure the message had been positioned in the right way. He didn't want any surprises.

"I explained to Goodwin just as you told me," Kaminski gushed. "I said that Homicide was dropping any interest in you but we already had an appointment booked for the open night which I could make available."

"And?"

"Goodwin swallowed the whole thing. I think he saw it as a chance to curry favour with Wilson. Probably presented it as his own work."

"Of course he did, Brendan," Appleby dryly commented. Kaminski could be amazingly obtuse. "He could hardly admit to any sort of liaison with you, could he? What makes you so sure that Sandra Wilson has fallen for it?"

"Goodwin told me. He said she'd jumped at the idea. Getting involved personally took her back to the old days again, whatever the fuck they were—"

"Brendan!"

Kaminski paused. He'd forgotten the businessman didn't like him cursing. "I'm sorry, Mr. Appleby. She's definitely on her way there now."

"Good work," Appleby said, placing the glass of Blush on his desk. "Stay close to it, Brendan. If she doesn't turn up, you and I will be speaking again and you know what that means?"

The sudden pause spoke volumes and Kaminski knew better than to interrupt the silence. The unspoken message sent a shiver through him. He'd carried out his side of the bargain by positioning the message so well with Goodwin. Of course Sandra Wilson would be there...

"This number will no longer be in use after this call, Brendan," the businessman eventually went on. "I'll give you a separate number to use going forward. I expect daily updates on their investigation until I tell you otherwise, even if there's nothing to report. Keep close to Goodwin and let me know anything out of the ordinary. I hope I'm clear?"

The cop pulled a face. What else did the businessman think he was doing? "Of course, Mr. Appleby. I'll keep you up-to-date."

"That's good, Brendan," the smooth voice responded. "No surprises. Keep that in mind."

"Yes sir."

"And Brendan..."

"Yes, Mr. Appleby?"

"It would be a shame to squander the bonus I sent to you by gambling it away, wouldn't it? It's just some friendly advice, but you should take it."

He hung up, leaving Kaminski wondering how he knew about his betting plans. Personally, he didn't care if the cop did squander the money on the two horses running at Chepstow. What was important was that Kaminski knew he was only too well aware of his gambling addiction.

He pushed the glass of Blush across to the opposite side of his desk—it was time to celebrate. Smiling to himself, he pressed the intercom. "Angela," he said, when the posh Essex voice answered. "Pop into my office. I have something for you..."

***

Tony Daly closely watched every movement on their monitors as Sandra Wilson wandered around their offices. He'd heard every one of the questions she'd asked Marcia so far during her tour. Carmella had insisted he assign the freckled redhead to Vice Head, knowing that she was smart enough to dance around any difficulties that arose.

That was just as well. From what he'd heard of their conversation so far, this was a smart cop. She was in a different league to the other two and had kept Marcia on her toes with a series of in depth questions.

And it wasn't just the nature of her probing; it was the way she was doing it. Asking the same questions one way and then another so that she could check and double check what her curvy guide was telling her. It was an interesting approach. See if the woman was lying to her and use that to probe further into any fault lines she could create.

When Marcia began to struggle, he decided it was time to step in personally. A video of the Vice Chief changing into a bikini was a prize worth having. Then maybe they could take her down the same path as the two cops working for her.

It took only a few seconds to create the glass of Appleby Blush and he grinned to himself as he left it on the top of his desk as he hurried from his office.

"Sandra," he murmured, his eyes running across her tight ass he walked up behind the cop. Despite her age, she had a good body. Maybe he'd eventually get to sample it? If she was as hot as Kirsten, that would be quite a treat.

His body was still warm from his heavy encounter with the brunette that afternoon. The insatiable woman had been everything he'd expected and more. Even after the live feed had ceased, Carmella had kept the cameras rolling to ensure every second of the action had been recorded.

They'd broadcast the rest at the weekend after some heavy teaser advertising.

He loved his Solomon Sloane persona, not that his show had been at the forefront of his mind at the time. He'd been preoccupied with the cop's burning need to fuck and be fucked. The rare moments they unearthed a gem like the spontaneous brunette made fucking all the other women seem routine. The Blush made them all uninhibited, of course, but the sheer abandonment with which Kirsten had taken control had been way beyond the usual.

"Yes?"

His gaze flicked back to Wilson. The Vice Head was staring at him. "Sorry," he smiled, holding out his hand. "My name is Tony Daly."

He carefully watched Wilson's eyes but this one was good. She'd know his name and yet there wasn't even a flicker of a reaction.

"Hello Tony. And you are—"

"I'm one of the team here," he easily said, shaking the slim hand she'd given him. "The Head of Photographic Productions, to be precise. But people round here usually refer to me as the photographer."

Wilson laughed. "The photographer has a bohemian ring to it, I like that. Marcia has been showing me around. I'm very impressed."

"Good," he said, taking her arm and dismissing the freckled redhead with a single nod. He grinned at Wilson. She was smart, this one—smiling at him with those butter-wouldn't melt-in-her-mouth-eyes and asking what appeared to be innocent questions when all the time her sharp mind was absorbing every word. "We aim to please. So, I take it you're an aspiring model?"

"I've always wanted to be."

"Is that right?" Daly responded, his grin widening enough to display his white teeth. It was time to turn the tables. Get her talking about herself and see how she handled that. "And what is it you do for a living right now?"

"I'm in Administration," she answered without a second's hesitation. "What would I have to do to get a job as a model here?"

Smooth, Daly thought, as she easily deflected his question and bounced the subject back to him. Okay, there was more than one way to skin a cat...

"Let me show you," he simply told her, taking her arm and walking her along the nearby corridor. If she was uncomfortable at the contact she didn't show it. Stopping at his office, he held the door open so that she could enter.

"My kingdom," he laughed, when she glanced around the room. "Please take a seat."

A nod of his head indicated the chair on the opposite side of his desk and he turned away from her to pick up the glass of Blush.

"More wine?"

Wilson shook her head. "I'm driving."

"Quite right," Daly said without hesitation. He handed her the glass and then perched on the edge of the desk. "This is a health supplement all our models take," he told her with that beaming smile again. "See what you think."

He watched her face closely as she took it from him and then picked up his own glass of wine from earlier. "Cheers."

"Cheers," she repeated, taking a sip of the drink and then nodding approvingly. "It's good. What's in it?"

"A secret," he laughed, "until you make it as an Appleby model, of course. Which brings me back to your question... what would you have to do to get a job as a model here?"

Wilson nodded. "Give me a quick précis, Tony. How do I become a model? And what does the life of an Appleby model look like?"

Straight to the point, Daly smiled to himself. He took another drink, waiting silently until she mirrored the action with her Blush. This was going well. "You'd have to audition, of course," he said, nodding thoughtfully. "If we thought you had potential, then we'd maybe use you for a shoot. Just to see whether you have any commercial appeal..."

"Aren't I too old for all of this?"

The flirty way she pushed a hand through her hair as she took another sip told him the Blush was already taking effect. The photo Carmella had sent through had shown her straight black hair tied into a knot high on her head. Tonight, she'd allowed it to fall down her shoulders. It made her face look softer.

Nor was it just her hair she'd changed. The casual clothes she wore on duty had been replaced by a red dress, short enough to hint at shapely long legs and yet without overstepping over any boundaries of decency her job might impose. Her nails were manicured too, though clearly not professionally. The Head of Vice had apparently hurried her efforts to match the colour of her fingernails with her dress...

Having said that, Daly had to admit she surprised him by looking the part. Okay, age had added a few more lines around her eyes, but that only added to her intrigue. It wasn't that she was devastatingly beautiful—she wasn't—and yet she had a certain quality about her. Her body was hot and that sexy maturity set her apart from the younger models he'd photographed—and fucked.

His cock flexed as he wondered if Carmella would eventually allow him to add the cop to his list?

"Too old—nah," he answered, casually swinging his legs. "There's a niche for older models and you could pass for younger. But that's why you're here, isn't it? To see whether we'd be interested in you as a model?"

There was that hand through the hair again. She nodded. "Of course."

"Are you hot, Sandra?"

"Hot?"

"Yes," he murmured, openly glancing at her body. When his eyes returned to her face, she was blushing. Rational thought would no longer come easily to her. "That's the key to success. It's not just about having a good bod, you know, it's also about personality. How hot are you as a woman? Could you look into the camera lens as if you were staring into the eyes of your lover?"

The confused look on her face was perfect. Coping with the conversation was becoming more difficult. The Blush did that.

"It's all about the imagination," he continued, taking a long gulp of his drink and nodding at her to do the same. "Thirsty work," he casually grinned. "You've had modelling experience, I take it?"

Wilson paused before shaking her head. It was no longer that easy to manipulate her answers. "I... No, very little. I guess that's a problem..."

"Not necessarily. What would be a problem is if you don't have a model's mentality."

"Mentality? I—"

Daly anticipated the question. "The Fashion industry is all about one thing, Sandra, and I don't mean clothes. It's sex. Sex sells, and all successful models have cultivated a sexual aura they're able to project."

"I see—"

"You do?" he asked, cutting her off again. He'd had this sort of conversation many times with different women, but never with anyone as intelligent as the Head of Vice. The trick was to encourage her to think sexually without her realising there was any sort of artificial stimulant running through her body. "To project sex, you have to think sex. Look at me, look at my body." He stood up. "What are you thinking?"

Her confused face told him he had her where he wanted. Her body would be feeling it and the only question in his mind was how far he could push things without scaring her away completely. "I'm not sure I understand..."

"Would you like to fuck me?"

"What!?"

Daly held up a hand as she half stood. Maybe that had been too much too quickly? "Please sit down Sandra. You're not thinking clearly. I don't mean just me. I mean any man. All men. I'm talking about what turns you on. What makes you aroused? You see, the best shots are where a model is able to conjure those moments in front of a camera, She uses them, projects them through her eyes and her body. Sex sells, Sandra."

He watched her eyes flick across his body as she took her seat again. He might have nearly blown it, but with the Blush doing its work inside her body, he had her now. "I mean here, in the mind," he continued, tapping the side of his forehead. "It's what models are trained to think. That's what the camera picks up, their feeling of sexuality."

Wilson nodded. The look in her eyes told Daly she thought she was onto something, but that dreamy look was present to. He was safe to press on...

"Good," he said, winking at her as he flashed that smile again. "It works both ways, you know."

"How do you mean?"

"A photographer has to think that way, too. I have to look at you and use my mind. Not to imagine you naked, though that helps. But more... let's say... I imagine you slowly taking your clothes off. What would your body look like? What sort of expression would you have on your face? How would you be feeling? What would you be thinking? All those things will help me take better photographs, Sandra. And that's what this is all about. So, in answer to your original question—no, it doesn't matter if you're inexperienced. What matters is your mentality."

The cop was nodding slowly. She uncrossed, and then crossed her shapely legs again. Her tongue flicked across her red lips. The subliminal messages had hit home and it was time to take advantage.

"I have an idea," he said, flashing that smile again. "How about this? I'll take a few shots for your portfolio. Just to get you started. I'll show them around the agency and if there's any interest, we'll bring you back again." He drained his glass. "Come on, finish that drink."

"What... now...?"

"Never pass up an opportunity, Sandra," he insisted, smiling in satisfaction as she nervously drained the glass. The expressions on her face, the body language, all told him she was ripe for plucking. It was unfortunate that Carmella had been so specific in her instructions. Still, there was always tomorrow...

***

"So..." Alex Goodwin began, reaching for his pint of beer.

"Yes?" Alice replied, her heart rise in anticipation of where the conversation was going. Her father's suggestion of an evening meal at the Slug and Lettuce had surprised her and meant her plans to seek a partner for the evening would have to be postponed. That was frustrating as she'd wanted to show off her new look. Marcia had been right—it was more liberating being bare.

Still, despite the needs of her body, an early night might not be a bad thing. She expected to be out into the early hours with Marcia tomorrow...

She paused long enough to take a drink of her red wine, wondering what was coming next. The look on her father's face told her he was coming to the point.

"You looked pretty rough when you arrived into work the other morning."

Ah, so that was it. Turning up in the office looking like she had was a mistake. If he knew about her casual sex life, he'd go mad.

"Is everything okay?"

"Of course it is, dad," she softly told him. Damn, this was a conversation she could do without. She smiled sweetly and showed him the dimples he could never resist. "I've already explained."

He nodded thoughtfully and took another drink of his beer while his grey eyes regarded his daughter carefully. "Where were you again?"

"Oh come on, dad," she laughed, wondering how to turn the conversation around. "I'm twenty two now. I appreciate you only want the best for me but stop worrying. There's no need. Besides, I wanted to talk about you. You seemed a bit frustrated in our last team meeting." Her hand covered his. "Is this case getting you down?"

Goodwin looked like she'd just insulted him. "No. Why?"

She gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, dad, I don't mean anything by it. Just that Kirsten and I have the glamorous bit while you're stuck with a pile of files." She squeezed his hand. "You know, it meant a lot to me when you said I was doing a good job."

Goodwin smiled proudly at her words. "It's true, Alice."

"And I'm proud of you, too, dad."

They smiled fondly at one another before he spoke again. "You know, Sandra Wilson is under a lot of pressure. If I am frustrated, it's because I'd love us to pull something off for her."

"Me too," she said, feeling happier now she'd steered the conversation away from her private life. "But maybe she'll find something herself tonight."

He looked into her sea-blue eyes and nodded. "Going there will do her good," he said, with a sympathetic grimace. "Sometimes you get so stale behind a desk you need something to reinvigorate you again."

"I know," she agreed. Being stuck behind a desk would drive her mad.

In truth, she couldn't see the point in Wilson visiting the agency. What was her boss going to find that she or Kirsten couldn't? At first, she'd thought it was because Sandra wasn't happy with their progress, but then her dad had explained how it had come about. He'd done a good job ferreting about and discovering there was an open night.

It couldn't do any harm, she supposed, as long as she didn't bump into Marcia—or Tony Daly for that matter. It was unlikely, she knew, but if Wilson ever found out about her being shaved, or what had happened during her audition, well...

The thought made her shiver.

***

Sandra Wilson stood infront of the dressing room mirror, slowly unbuttoning the front of her red dress. She stopped halfway. What was it that Daly had said?

A photographer has to imagine you slowly taking your clothes off. What would your body look like? What sort of expression would you have on your face? How would you be feeling? What would you be thinking? All those things will help me take better photographs...

She flicked the next button open with a flourish. Her reflection captured the sight of her lacy black bra peeking through the gap just the way Daly's camera would have done. He would have approved. His words had flicked a switch inside her body and she was thinking sex.

The Head of Vice attempted to come to terms with the heat in her body and she came to the conclusion that it wasn't just what he'd told her. She was feeling far too aroused for that. No, it was equally the fact that she'd gone far too long without sex and the constant whispered suggestions and invitations from her married colleagues had taken their toll on her withering libido. Daly's words had just ignited that dormant longing inside her.

Tossing her long black hair back, she half turned sideways so that she could look at her profile in the mirror. In her mind, she was undressing for a lover now and she sexily completed the strip, licking her lips as her slow movements tantalised her imaginary lover.

Completing the turn so that she faced away from the mirror, she glanced over her shoulder at her reflection as she allowed the dress to slip to the floor. She looked sexy, she thought, but then she was feeling sexy. Was that what Daly had been getting at? Even at her age, her peach like buttocks looked firm and taut in the black thong. She swung them provocatively from side to side, humming to herself as she danced in a half circle.