Protection (13 page)

Hefting the holdall in her hand, Isobel decided it wasn't as heavy as she'd first feared, and set it down again to enter the kitchen, where she opened a tin of cat food and scooped a double portion into Scrumpy's bowl.

The cat, as was his way, pounced on it as though he hadn't been fed for a week, and dragging most of it onto the tiled floor, devoured it with un-natural haste.

Isobel shook her head in dismay. “That's supposed to last you all day!”She scolded, watching him wolf it down. “Not five bloody minutes, and don't think you're getting another lot, because you're not. I'm going out and I won't be back till late.”

The cat, busy chewing on a fishy lump, ignored her.

Busy for a week day, Isobel approached the leisure centre and watched as a school mini bus drew up outside and a group of excited school kids spilled out. Each of them carrying swim gear and all totally ignoring their teacher, who battling to keep them under control, smiled wanly at Isobel as Isobel slung her holdall over her shoulder and waltzed in through the double doors.

Fortunately, the attendant she'd encountered earlier wasn't manning the reception desk, but as Isobel approached the counter and smelt the breath of the chap who was, she thought that any sleep he might have had last night had probably been traded in for several pints of lager and a dodgy kebab.

“Help yer?”He neverless managed, before suppressing a burp.

“I'd like an all day pass please.”

“Thirty pounds then. Been here before?”

“No.”

“Right. Well, the pass'll get you in everywhere ‘cept the sauna, steam room and massage areas, they're extra. You want any of those?”

Isobel handed over the initial amount. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay. A straight pass then. Anything else you want to know?”

“Is there a bar?”

The attendant yawned and pointed across the foyer to a board supported on a metal stand. “Yep, we've got a bar. It's listed on that, along with everything else.”

Isobel followed his finger, wondering why he couldn't have just told her where the bar was, but she found it easy enough on the third floor. A location that amused her. Make ‘em sweat downstairs, before forcing ‘em to trudge up two flights of stairs in order to get a drink. Yeah, she liked that. It had style.

She also liked the Greek Goddess working behind the glitzy, modern bar, and propping herself on a hard, uncomfortable stool, the holdall at her feet, Isobel nursed her drink and surreptitiously eyed the gorgeous creature as she polished glasses and bent over to reveal glimpses of creamy, white thigh where her uniform skirt didn't quite reach.

It was an effort to tear her eyes away, but she reminded herself that she needed to stay focused and not be distracted by a bit of thigh. Which was fine until the barmaid dropped a glass and bent over to pick it up and Isobel caught a glimpse of nipple escaping from the lacy fabric of her bra.

Then she had to make a dash straight for the restroom.

Thankfully it was empty and throwing herself into a cubicle, Isobel locked the door, threw her bag on the floor and tore at her jeans. The denim soon around her knees as she tugged at her panties and thrust her hand between her legs. Her head swimming with images of the barmaid as she fingered her clit and stayed mindful of the fact that at any moment someone might come in a hear her wanking. But at the moment she didn't care and rubbing frantically at herself she came quickly. Her backside bashing against the partition as her orgasm ripped through her and her knees buckled.

In a small room at the back of the house, Andrea sat in front of a row of six monitors, grateful that she didn't have to leave the house in order to view the exterior. Since returning from the leisure center, the weather had worsened and become ever more overcast and sullen, until now, with a sky the colour of lead, rain had finally begun to fall.

Seeing it stream down the windows, Andrea decided it had probably set in for the day and again relieved that she had nothing to do which meant leaving the comfort of the house for a second time, she sat back and gazed idly at the monitors.

The truth was she didn't really have a whole lot to do and as far as she knew, she wasn't the only one. Everyone it seemed was having a bit of a lax time. Carrie had finished the majority of her television appearances. The film was doing nicely without her attending every premiere, and preparations for the party were bubbling along nicely.

Even on the celebrity circuit it seemed that everyone was desperately saving themselves in the hope they would be inundated with dozens of invitations over the festive season.

It was certainly true in Carrie's case. Requests for her to attend parties and functions were arriving daily. Usually printed on the finest quality paper and more often than not accompanied by a bunch of roses or some other floral gift. A situation which Amanda, taking charge of yet another bouquet, complained was causing her to run out of vases.

As far as replies to Carrie's own party went, they were arriving in droves. Of over four hundred sent out, no one had, as yet, declined and according to Carmichael, who'd already received several phone calls from flustered celebrities, diplomatically trying to discover whether their invitation had become lost in the post or whether they'd simply not been invited, this was going to be the party to be seen at.

Andrea considered their behaviour all rather tragic and she felt sad that so many celebrities measured their worth by the number of parties they were invited to. What did it matter if they missed out on one? It wasn't the end of the world. A precious career wasn't about to come to an end just because they'd missed out on the chance to share a canapé with Catherine Zeta Jones or George Clooney.

But just try telling them that.

Still, it did make her grateful she wasn't famous and reliant on the post each morning to prove she was still worthwhile. Being a bodyguard and being Carrie's girlfriend was all the proof she needed. And she got asked to all the best parties!

Smiling at her own hypocrisy, Andrea studied the monitors. Flicking from one screen to the other, seeing nothing but rain and deciding that if anyone was daft enough to be out in that little lot they needed their head examining, especially as they surely didn't have a snowballs chance in hell of sneaking through. Carrie had security wrapped around this house tighter than a lagging jacket and if anyone so much as blinked maliciously, she'd know about it.

Carrie. Usually the thought of her made her want to melt, but not today.

Today she felt gripped by an odd feeling of restlessness, and doubts that ordinarily wouldn't have troubled her in the slightest, were starting to worm their way in, making her feel vulnerable and scared.

It had started when she'd been dressing after the shower.

Pulling on a sweatshirt from her training days, her head popping up through the neck, she'd gazed around her sumptuous bedroom and felt suddenly swamped by the awful certainty that she didn't belong here and that she was intruding upon a lifestyle she had no right to have.

Because what did Carrie see in her? She was nothing special, especially when placed next to Carrie and she couldn't shake the awful notion that the only reason Carrie was with her was because she was scared of blowing her sexy image by declaring herself gay, and as a result had simply latched onto the first, and it had to be said, bloody convenient, woman she'd come across whom she knew would keep quiet? And if that was the case, how long would it be before Carrie no longer cared if her adoring public knew she was gay or not and she tossed her aside? Because she certainly wouldn't want her then. Not with literally thousands of gay ladies throwing themselves at her?

It didn't bare thinking about, but there was the trouble, she couldn't stop thinking about it and the horrible images kept returning over and over to torment her.

If only she could think of way to talk to Carrie and somehow put her mind at rest. But how could she do that when Carrie was so obviously happy and when, looming on the horizon, was that simple, four letter word. Just waiting for one of them to say it and maybe screw things up forever.

Behind her, the door abruptly swung open, and Carrie, dressed in jeans and a red sweater, walked in carrying a bundle of folders. Dropping them on the table, she ruffled Andrea's hair.

“You look busy.”Andrea remarked, indicating the folders. “What's that lot?”

“Scripts.”Carrie said, rolling her eyes. “Or at least the ones Carmichael thinks I should take a look at. And what's the betting most of them have me typecast as an Angel with PMT?”

“Pretty high I imagine, but I kinda like the idea of you as fury in feathers. I take it you'll be in the study for most of the morning then?”

“Looks like it. But what's up with you? You look worried.”

“Do I?”Andrea said, forcing a brighter smile. “I'm just a bit tired is all. Too many early starts.”

“Like hell!”Carrie snorted, crossing her arms. “You've got more energy than a bag full of four year olds, and I may not be the best at reading other people's feelings, but even I can see something's up. So spill. Or would you rather I just shut up and leave you alone?”

For a moment Andrea was sorely tempted to do just that and tell Carrie that she was fine -really. But, then she realised that if she didn't say something soon, her worries would simply contine to grow and darken until eventually the stress made her finish with Carrie simply because she couldn't think of any other way out and neither of them deserved that.So she told her.

Carrie didn't say a word. Instead she stood and listened and it was only after Andrea had finished speaking to gaze up at her with fear in her eyes, that Carrie wrapped her arms around her and told her everything would be alright.

Because what else could she say? Until now she'd had no idea that Andrea felt so strongly and to suddenly find herself so obviously responsible for another person's happiness was overwhellming, especially as Andrea had freely admitted, that if they ever were to part, she would be devastated. So what could she say? What could she say that would finally convince her she really, truly loved the hell out of her.

“You're right, you know.”She said at last. “I probably could have my pick of anyone I wanted. But how would I know they truly cared for me, and not just because I'm Carrie Shilling, the so-called ‘star'? Truth is, I wouldn't. But I am one hundred percent certain that you want me Andrea. I saw the misery on your face that morning when you thought I'd left you alone on the sofa. No one could have faked that and in some weird way it made me so happy to see it, because I had all the proof I needed that you care. But, in the same vein, you have to believe me when I say I care about you! And why wouldn't I? You're kind, generous, and you treat me like a normal, human being. I love you Andrea Stone, its as simple as that.”

“Really?”Andrea asked, wiping a tear from her eye. “You really feel that way about me? I'm not just some convenient stop-gap?”

Carrie looked horrified. “No! Of course you're not! How can you even think that?”

“I don't know. I'm sorry. It's just that I care about you so much Carrie, it's made me feel terrified of loosing you and I really needed to know how you felt before... before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I told you I loved you.”

“Oh, Andrea.”Carrie said, beginning to cry herself. “I love you too.”

Beginning to regret her hasty decision in obtaining an all day pass to the leisure center, Isobel wondered what to do now? She hated exercise! Or at least she had done until she'd taken up jogging, but even that had had an ulterior motive. Now she was simply lumbered with an entire day to kill in this dreary place.

The bar beckoned but she deemed it better to resist. Frantically dashing back and forth to the ladies all morning to relieve herself of lustful thoughts caused by the sight of the barmaid would undoubtedly leave her exhausted by lunch time! Not to mention broke from buying all those drinks!

She'd be far better off putting all her energies into trying to discover why she'd been at the leisure center and whether or not she was coming back? Then, she could put the second part of her idea into action.

And to do that she needed an attendant.

She found one by the swimming pool.

Gripping the edge of the pool with his toes as he stood keeping an eye on a group of loud mouthed school kids who were getting to grips with the basics of swimming, whilst occasionally blowing his whistle when one of them splashed a little too much.

Watching him from the entrance to the changing rooms, Isobel wondered if she could actually go though with her plan? He was a bloke! All hairy and stubbly and likely to be reeking of cheap aftershave. The thought of actually fucking him made her want to puke.

Although that did kind of depend on whether he would be willing to fuck her. But why wouldn't he? She wasn't that bad. She was clean and reasonably slim now thanks to all that jogging and her tits looked even bigger now they didn't have her stomach to compete with. She was even wearing her best tracksuit.

Shit, what was she worrying about? He wouldn't refuse! He was a bloke and she was practically offering it on a plate! But the thought of him sticking his dick inside her seriously did make her want to puke!

Leaving the pool, Isobel tossed aside her earlier reservations and hurried back to the bar to order a large scotch. She would have prefered a cola, but ordering scotch meant the Goddess had to reach up to the optic and stretch her lovely, tight blouse to new dimensions.

Ten minutes later, and trying her best not to stare at the barmaid's nipples, Isobel ordered a mineral water- with extra ice. The barmaid dully handed it over and ignoring the fact that Isobel's gaze seemed centered on her chest, she smiled and asked if she were waiting for someone?