WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Mark Walker
Along For The Ride © September 2011 Saskia Walker
Cover Photo Credit: Yan Lev
eXcessica publishing
A Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved
Along For The Ride
By Saskia Walker
Dedication: For Mark
Chapter One
The paintbrush splayed out across her nipple. Georgie focused steadily on the canvas that Cal was working on, but felt the touch of the brush dart through her body like a lightning bolt, as if it were her skin that was being touched, rather than his painting of it. She looked away from the canvas and lifted her hair from the back of her neck, where the skin prickled with anxiety.
Cal was totally focused on the painting, his eyes narrowed as he worked. Just looking at his strong bone structure and the firm line of his mouth gave her a physical thrill. Standing by his side, her body was throbbing, and a cloying heat had long since gathered between her thighs. Georgie had to face it—she was horny as hell.
She pulled her kimono into place and toyed with her empty coffee cup. She dipped her finger into the crystals of sugar clinging to the bottom of the cup to distract herself, idly sucking them off her fingertips.
Cal lifted the brush from the canvas and turned toward her. She reached over to the tray and handed him his cup. He looked at her intently as he swallowed the fragrant espresso.
“Blimey.” She nodded her head at the painting.
“You don’t like it?”
“Oh, yeah.” She chuckled. “I mean, what’s not to like?” Georgie took another look at the painting. “It’s very flattering.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.” He smiled. It had a devastating effect on her. Her heart rate notched up another level; her core was on fire.
“But...do you really see me that way?”
“Undoubtedly.”
Another wave of heat coursed through her body.
“It’s not so important what I see, but what I’m trying to make others see in you, the subject.” He gestured at the canvas. “Why don’t you tell me what you see?”
Georgie blushed violently. Talk about putting you on the spot. She shook her hair out and tried to focus on the painting. The sense of identification she felt was uncanny. Yet the way he had depicted her, she looked like a sated harlot, one who was staring blatantly at the onlooker as if eager for more of the same. The image was so blatant. Her naked body lounged out across the rug and cushions, totally on display. Seeing it had immediately stirred something deep and pent-up inside her: sheer, rampant lust.
If that was how he saw her, she must be downright obvious when she wanted a man. She hadn’t realized, although an ex had once said being assessed by her across a nightclub was like being hunted down by a lethal laser beam. She had laughed at the time, thinking that he was just saying it to flatter her.
“I see...um.” She fidgeted with her hair. “Passion, or even lust, I suppose.”
“That’s good. That’s what I want.”
Georgie threw him a look of amused accusation.
He shrugged. “Well, it means we’re getting nearer to what I want ...” He gave her a quick, suggestive smile. “Let’s get back to work.”
“You’re a real slave driver, aren’t you?”
“You’d better believe it.” His eyebrows flickered. There it was again. He was flirting with her. Her heart missed a beat. She’d told herself over and again that she was simply modeling for him, but he persistently confused her by making remarks that kept her on edge. Her body simmered with arousal.
She wandered back to the pile of cushions and rugs, slipped out of the kimono, and got settled. She ran her hands over her aroused breasts as she took up her pose, briefly answering their need for contact. She sighed. Modeling for Calvin Rolf was turning out to be even more challenging than she had imagined it might.
He put the cup down and ran his hands through his hair before picking up the brush and returning to the canvas. His expression was keen. His eyes were almost indigo in their strange blueness—intense and brooding, they followed every movement of her body.
Georgie was getting used to seeing him from this strange sidelong viewpoint, and she watched him as he worked. The large studio, so sparse and simple, was more than filled with his presence.
He was different than any other man she had known. He had an air of control and exuded self-confidence. The other students at college thought him attractive but eccentric, with his maverick ways and his distinctive Austrian accent. He was a very good-looking man, with strong facial bones and angular features. He had a narrow goatee, and his dark blond hair fell from his distinctive temples in light waves. His body was strong, lithely muscled, and fit, with a coiled energy about it that was decidedly sexual. He reminded her of a panther on the prowl.
His work was renowned. A leading contemporary artist, he worked across many media and had pioneered large physical sculpture using synthetic resins and heat moulds. He was best known for the work he did in the realist tradition, depicting the human form in such a manner as to examine the soul, its very essence, through the image. To be chosen as a model by him had been an honor. Not to mention a complete turn-on.
This was the third time she had come to his studio. The fading grandeur of the top-floor apartment was the perfect backdrop. He roved the space in an old army T-shirt and jeans splattered with paint, while she lay naked, strewn across the cushions. Her tense, aroused skin prickled as each light draft of air touched it.
At first it felt strange to have him looking at her naked body for so long, but Georgie was an exhibitionist at heart. She’d always enjoyed parading herself and being looked at by her lovers, and this was somehow more intense and erotic. Not to mention the fact that he’d planted the thought of sex in her mind before she had even arrived for the first session. As a result, Georgie was kept in a constant state of arousal, her body alert and her imagination persistently wandering into dangerous territory. She was more than ready to leap on him and had to remind herself occasionally to get a grip on herself and try to maintain some decorum.
She drew one knee up, as he had requested, and let her hips fall open. She rested her arm across her stomach, recapturing the pose he had arranged her in earlier in the session. Her hand rested gently over her hipbone. The sunlight fell through the lace curtains, and she was bathed in pools of dappled colors that rippled over her skin when the curtain drifted on the warm afternoon breeze.
He stood watching while she settled, and then he turned back to the painting. The heat that was pooled in her groin kept her simmering, molten. She savored the feeling, her eyes closing.
She’d seen him featured on a television documentary the year before she came down to London to study at the college. She remembered his terseness toward the interviewer—it was as if he hadn’t wanted to discuss his work at all. She now recognized that as his way. Cal had an underlying edge to him, one that suggested an intense personality. His hawk-eyes never missed a thing. When he had turned and looked directly at her, her skin felt scorched under the scrutiny of his gaze
“Oh, I am creaming...it’s Calvin himself,” her friend Justine had whispered when he strode down the busy college corridor toward them.
“Where? Oh ...” Georgie had stammered to a halt when she caught sight of him. He wasn’t the sort of man you could easily miss. As she watched him cutting a path through the crowded corridor, she understood Justine’s response. The man was sex on a stick.
He was dressed immaculately in an expensive suit, his attention flitting over everyone with blatant appraisal as he passed. Justine was an unashamed man-hunter and clearly had the hots for the infamous artist. Georgie had heard that he tutored an occasional life drawing class to the fine art students, but she hadn’t seen him during her first few weeks at the college.
A hush fell over the corridor when he halted in his tracks, turned around, and walked back to speak directly to Georgie.
“Are you one of the life models?”
His eyes narrowed, raking over her face and body in the most speculative way. A curious frown had darkened his expression. It only seemed to make him look even more downright gorgeous. Georgie just about managed to shake her head in response.
“No, I’m a fashion design student.”
“Would you be prepared to model for me?”
Justine gasped and nudged Georgie who, gathering her senses, stepped away from her panting friend and offered him what she hoped was a confident smile.
“Sure, I’ll give it a go, but I haven’t ever modeled before.”
“That doesn’t matter—in fact it’s often better that way.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and retrieved a business card, which he planted into her hand.
“Give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll work something out.”
“Yes, okay, I will. Thanks.”
She tucked the card into the hip pocket of her jeans, a gesture that was followed by his ever-watchful eyes. He smiled, inclined his head, and then continued on his original path.
When she rang him the following day, he had talked about modeling for the life class, but very soon it was obvious his motives were based on a desire to have her model for him privately, as well.
“I’m game. But I have to ask, why me?”
“Because your looks suit the theme I am working on.” His voice was like liquid heat running over her body.
“Theme?”
“The theme is sex.”
“Oh...I see.” She didn’t see.
He gave a deep chuckle; it was mellow and inviting.
“Still interested?”
“Sure.” She swallowed nervously. What the hell am I letting myself in for?
“You lucky cow,” Justine exclaimed when Georgie had related the conversation over a bottle of red wine, later that evening. They were in Justine’s kitchen, keeping well out of earshot of her eager teenage brother. The lad kept loitering around expectantly whenever the two women started giggling, straining to catch the conversation until Justine blackmailed him with the loan of her new Lara Croft computer game for the evening.
“Oh, I don’t think he meant anything...literal.” Georgie was kind of hoping that she was wrong, though. Justine pouted at her, sulking. Georgie chuckled. She couldn’t help it. Justine was green with envy.
“Admit it,” Justine demanded, shaking her tousled mop of blonde hair. “I bet you wouldn’t say no.”
“No, I probably wouldn’t say no, given the opportunity.” Georgie tried to keep a straight face. “I’m just not assuming that he meant it that way.”
“He’s a man isn’t he?”
“And so is the Pope!”
Justine laughed and topped up their glasses.
“He said he’d pay me twenty quid an hour.”
“In that case, the next bottle is on you.” Justine shook her head at her friend, laughing. “I would pay him for the chance.”
“Coming from an impoverished student, that’s quite a statement.”
“Too right. Hey, maybe he’s like that Italian geezer—you know, the one that only painted the women’s eyes in if he’d shagged them,” Justine speculated.
“Modigliani?”
“That’s the guy.” She gestured with her glass. “You could just tell those poor eyeless women were gagging for it. The man must have been hung like an ox to have instilled such longing.”
“Justine!” Georgie chastised mockingly.
“Ha. You’ll be the one posing in front of him; how will you feel then? I just bet you’ll be wondering if he’ll be painting your eyes in or not!”
“Do you ever think about anything else other than sex?” Georgie replied, in an effort to distract herself from the implications of being in front of those hawk like eyes, possibly for hours on end.
“Not when there’s a man like Calvin around.”
No, Georgie had agreed, silently, and reached for her glass. It wasn’t going to be easy at all.
* * * *
Calvin rested one hand on the edge of the easel; the other toyed with the new brush he was about to use, his gaze roving over his subject. She was perfect for the job—shame he couldn’t keep his mind on it. He looked appreciatively at the peaks of her nipples, and lower, at the gentle swell of her belly. The taut line of her thighs led up to the soft dark fur covering her pubis. She was a very sexy lady. He wanted to experience that from the inside. He knew it was only a matter of time until he would. She was up for it, and his cock had been uncomfortably erect inside his jeans for some time, but Cal enjoyed that kind of anticipation. He also enjoyed seeing her squirming, wanting, and restless as a cat in heat. He could be very wicked about such things.
He held the new brush in his hand, the thicket of bristles moving through his beard, absentmindedly. He walked closer, quietly, and stood over her, his arms folded across his chest, contemplating her body with determination.
“Georgie?”
Her eyes opened. She rolled over and looked up at him through the wave of black hair that swept over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I must have dozed off.” She laughed and sat up. “What would you like me to do?”
Cal stared at her upturned chin, her lips apart as she awaited his reply. Her cheekbones were wide and full, her eyes dark pools of suggestion, inviting him in to their liquid depths. She had the look of a harem woman, rich with sensuality. He was hungry for a taste of her.
Her gaze fell to the bulge in his jeans, and he noticed the trip in her breathing. She was very aroused. Her body was emanating waves of desire, her glance becoming bold. This appeared to be going exactly where he thought it might.
“Does that feel good?” She gave an insinuating smile, looking up from his groin to his face, where the paintbrush traveled through his beard in regular strokes.
Was she referring to the brush, or to the obvious bulk of his growing cock?
He caught the teasing look in her eye and squatted down beside her, leaning on the strong, taut line of his thighs.
“It feels good, yes. You should feel it, too.” He gave her a dark smile and leaned forward, stroking the outline of her face with the dry brush. He followed the fullness of her cheeks, slowly, in a firm but gentle caress. Her mouth opened. He could see the tip of her tongue behind her teeth and sensed the rapid increase in her breathing. He wondered if she was aware of just what a hot little fireball she was.
He traced the line of her jaw, and she dropped her head back, her eyes half-closing as the brush slid down over her neck. Then her hand was on his arm, guiding him. She lay back over the cushions and drew him down with her.
Cal knelt beside her, leaned over her, and followed the lines of the brush with his mouth, tracing them around the voluptuous curves of her body. Beneath her breast the prying brush released a quiet moan from her throat, and he pursued it there. His tongue nestled into the warm moist crease of skin, his senses immediately immersed in the tangy salt of her skin and the aroma of exotic flowers that danced together with her own scents. He took a subtle bite. Her body writhed and lifted. His hand automatically closed over her undulating hip. He wanted to feel that movement from the inside; he wanted to feel her body writhe like that against his cock.
He closed his eyes and concentrated. Her breathing was louder, the scent of her body growing denser as her craving deepened. He turned his face to her legs and ran the brush down the inside of one thigh, then back up the line of the other. Her pelvis flexed up, her mons moving, exposing a glimpse of the hidden silkiness below. Cal contained his urge to bury his face there. He contained the need to press his erect cock deep inside her warmth. Instead, he gently rolled her over.
She was awash with heat. She was opulent, yet taut with restrained lust. He looked at the back of her knees. The hollow was so perfect, like the wind-smoothed surface of the sand dunes.
“I want to find all your most sensitive spots.”
She moaned into a cushion.
He smiled. “You are a very beautiful woman.” Cal whispered as the brush traced her spine. She hid her face in her hands, her breasts crushed hard against the cushions. She wanted him badly—every atom of her body told him that. Deep in his core, something primitive roared with pleasure.
“Your spine is so supple.”
He dropped to trace her spine with his mouth, moving down her body, crawling down the length of her. She wriggled, whimpering, when he brushed a teasing line of sensation across the top of each thigh, under the curve of her buttocks, her thighs rolling apart to reveal her pink slit.
He darted his tongue down into her cleft, feeling the soft, damp flesh of her sex give way. She swore aloud, twisting her head to look back at him. She was flushed, her hair wild, hanging over her face. A quiet plea escaped her open lips.
“You’re like a cat in heat,” he whispered. “I could smell you from across the room.” He gave a dark chuckle.
“You’re in a similar state yourself, if I’m not mistaken.” Georgie nodded at his fly.
“How was I supposed to work, with such a distraction, hmm?” He lifted his eyebrows, accusingly. “Now all I want to do is fuck you.”
Georgie groaned, her fingers brushing against his thigh. “I couldn’t help it; I wanted you.”
The brush clattered to the floor. He knelt up, swiftly drew his T-shirt over his head, cast it aside, and moved to undo his jeans.
“In that case, it looks as if we’ll have to sort this little problem out...right now.”
He quickly pulled his cock free, fisting the rigid shaft in front of her. She looked down from the bare skin of his chest to the erection that sprang from his jeans. He ran his hand over the length of it as she watched, his cock twitching with need in response. She moved, her body turning toward his. She had barely rolled over to open her legs wide and let him in and he was down on top of her, his hands moving along the inside of her thighs, the shaft of his erection hard against her pelvis. He ran the swollen head of his cock back and forth over her clit. She squirmed and gasped, her arms out, her hands making fists against the floor. He increased the pressure and speed. She began to shudder—she was very close. He continued the assault, observing as her mouth opened and she panted. Her body arched and she wailed, pulling back as her hips bucked up in release.
He pinned her body down with his hands on her shoulders, and then leaned down to take a kiss, his tongue probing hers.
“Keep still,” he ordered when her body lurched up against his. Then he was inside her, his blood pounding inside hers. Her hips were angled to take him in, her flesh melting onto the hard, hot shaft.
“Christ, you’re wet,” he uttered through gritted teeth, and rammed inside her. Georgie cried out in ecstasy, her head falling back. Her hands clutched at him, then closed over his back. He moved his face into the curve of her neck, his mouth sinking against her skin; she felt so good. When her warm, wet sheath clutched at him, it sent torrents of sensation through his groin. He drew back then reached further inside, each internal jolt freeing a demand for more. She met his movements, matched each rhythm. Their eyes were locked, urging each other on in the quest. She struggled for breath, pleading for more. Her hands tightened on his arms, her sex contracting and beginning to spasm.
He fought for the release, his hips jerking frantically. She had him so very deep, he struggled with it to last, or be finished. He felt the heat of her climax sucking at him; its gossamer caresses tightening on his throbbing cock. Then his hands were on her hips, holding her down hard and tight as he thrust fiercely for the prize.
“Don’t move,” he instructed. She watched him, panting. He pushed one hand between them, arresting her throbbing clitoris with the stroke of his thumb, the stem of his cock inside the curve of his fingers. She cried out in ecstasy, another sudden climax springing free from the pressure of his touch, inside and out. He gave her a dark smile, and then rammed his cock home. Her head rolled back, her body clutching at his throbbing, distended cock, over and over. He jerked mightily and came in a sudden, dazzling rush that drew a curse from his lips.
* * * *
He pulled his clothes on and wandered barefoot to the easel. Georgie watched his gorgeous arse disappearing into the jeans with a slight sense of regret; she was all too ready to sink her claws into it and keep him beside her for a whole bit longer. She felt mellow inside, like liquid gold settling into a mould. She smiled to herself; she was almost purring aloud.
The sound of the door opening drew their attention. A man came in, whistling as he walked, drawing a pair of cobalt Oakley shades away from his eyes. He cooed with pleasure when he saw that Cal was at work and walked over to the easel, looking beyond, toward Georgie. He put down the metal camera case he had in one hand, and a small black backpack he had slung over his shoulder. As he studied the painting, then the model, he wafted the collar of his shirt, white linen, crisp and cool and very suited to his dark, almost Latin looks. To Georgie’s surprise, his voice had a slight Scottish lilt to it when he spoke.
“Mm, hello,” he purred. “What a babe.”
He grinned and walked toward Georgie. He warbled in song, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth, as he looked his open appreciation over her body. The sound was like some ancient mating call, like the music some African tribes made in their throats when they danced. He squared his fingers, framing her up and walking around her, looking at her from different angles. His inquisitive gaze took in every inch of her naked body. The shades perched in his short, spiky black hair. He put out one hand, expectantly. Georgie smiled and rested her fingers in his. He drew her hand up to his mouth and brushed his lips against the back of her hand. Then he grinned at her again, his teeth a flash of white against his gypsy coloring.
“I’ll introduce myself, shall I? Calvin sometimes forgets his manners when he’s in the middle of his work.” He spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone, smiling at her. “Jason. Jason Sutherland.”
“Hi...Georgina Montgomery, but call me Georgie; everybody does.”
“Georgie girl, huh?”
She nodded, smiling. That was cute, but then, so was he. They were still staring appreciatively at each other when Cal came over to join them.
Taking Georgie’s hand, Cal drew her up to her feet. “Look at this.” He squatted down and stroked the back of her thighs. The touch coiled up through her body, and Georgie’s head went back in response. Jason began to circle her, that low warble in his throat again. Cal placed his mouth in the hollow at the back of her knee. It wasn’t a kiss. He was feeling the shape with his mouth.
Jason dropped down beside him. “Yes, yes,” he whispered. “It’s like the surface of an unbroken egg shell...true beauty, and hidden from the eye. It’s a crime, isn’t it?” He chuckled.
Georgie looked down at them over her shoulder. She wondered vaguely if she should get on her feminist high horse and remind them not to talk about her as if she were an object, but she felt too languid to even consider it—aside from which, she felt as if these two gorgeous men had just put her on a pedestal to adore. She wasn’t about to argue about how good that made her feel. Jason glanced up. He smiled mischievously and then bent to kiss the place they had been admiring. She laughed gently when he let his breath tickle her and then ran the tip of his nose up her thigh.
“Smells good.” He looked up at Cal with a knowing smile. Cal glanced at Georgie and stood up. Their eyes locked, rekindling the rush still so fresh in their physical memories. The scent of pleasure hung heavy in the air. Georgie looked from one to the other of the men. A ripple of something, something instinctive, passed between the three of them. A dart of anticipation leapt up within her body, and Georgie shivered gently.
“You’re cold.” Cal’s expression became concerned. “I’ve kept you here too long. Let’s pack up now; we’ll continue another day.”
He moved to collect her clothes from a chair and passed them to her. Jason had stayed where he was, looking up at her, his mouth moving with that mischievous smile again. When he stood up to let her dress, he ran his hand the length of her legs, and then stepped away from her.
He wandered back to where Cal stood, observing the exchange. She looked at the two of them together. Were these two more than friends? They were at ease with each other, uninhibited and relaxed, and more. They were subtly responsive in the slide of their bodies together. Georgie had an observant eye, and this quickly drew her attention. Were they lovers themselves, or did they perhaps share their women?
Her heart rate stepped up a notch, and she felt a hot, responsive tick inside. She was a little startled, yes, but she was very curious, too. She wanted to know more.
“Can you come over again on Saturday?” Cal asked as she pulled on her skinny-fit shirt and hipsters. Georgie nodded, her fingers finding their way through the chunky buttons over her groin.
“Maybe we could try a different approach,” he added with a suggestive smile.
“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”
She was already getting hot at the very thought of it. She walked toward a chair by the door, clipping her hair back as she went. She slipped into her strappy sandals and then collected her bag from the chair.
Before she left, she turned back to wave and saw that the two men watched her disappearing through the door, in mirrored poses. They were stationed either side of the canvas on the easel, like two statues guarding the entrance to a sacred shrine. Her own image stood between them, larger than life and confronting her provocatively.
Chapter Two
Jason tried to find a clear spot on his desk big enough for his Coke can. The surface was strewn with the contact sheets that he’d spent the morning looking over. He should have done the job at home. The noise in the agency office was at an unbearable level today. The heat was making everyone loud and raucous. He rolled the ice-cold can across his forehead before setting it aside and then sat down, pulling the magnifying sheet back into place. He resumed his hunt through the shots he had taken of a minor royal the day before, looking for the perfect image to fit a feature on her latest toils: shaking hands with the local women’s institute contingent in a Lancashire village.
“You jammy bugger. You get all the best assignments.”
Jason glanced up to see that Dave Turner, a fellow news agency photographer, was looking over his shoulder, squinting down at the contact sheets with curiosity.
“You wouldn’t have said that if you knew what I’d had to put up with at the time.”
“Demanding subject?”
“Demanding everything. The light was crap and the surroundings unhelpful in that and every other respect.” He gestured at one of the images as an illustration. The subject was sitting in an austere armchair in a gloomy interior. “And, as you can see, the subject had a knack of looking as if she were suffering from a case of terminal boredom at all the wrong moments.”
Dave chuckled. “Here, this will put a smile on your face.” He shook open one of the day’s tabloids, giving Jason an eyeful of the cover.
Jason frowned. Was he ever going to outlive the minor notoriety he had gained with Dave since his unfortunate episode of laddish bragging? There, right on the front cover, was a grainy photo of press darling Chloe Mac, teetering on platform shoes, a sports bag flung over her shoulder as if she was on her way to the gym. She was turning back to give the photographer a cheeky wave, consciously playing up to the paparazzi. Her breasts were in profile, and the headline was punched right up against them and declared: Chloe Mac Looks Well Stacked.
He groaned aloud. He’d had to put up with Dave’s constant harassment since he’d told him about his relationship with Chloe, over a jug too many of vodka and Red Bull. Dave wasn’t going to let him forget that he knew all about Jason’s teen-dream come true, shagging the lovely lady, long before she ever became the hot pop singer and paparazzi favorite that she was today. He’d since learned his lesson about letting his mouth run off regarding his conquests, but this one looked as if it had enough mileage to run on and on all by itself.
“Come on, man, give me a break.” He gestured at his swamped workspace. Dave lurched off, a grin on his face. He sat down and made a big show of putting his feet up on his desk, opening up the paper to have a good read. Chloe was still staring over her shoulder, waving in his direction. Jason groaned loudly. Dave stuck his head round the side of the paper and waggled his tongue suggestively. Was there was no escape from it?
He pushed the magnifier out of the way and spun his chair to the workstation. Snatching for the mouse, he opened up his calendar to check events for the following week, to keep his mind off Chloe on the front page again. God, they loved her. The paparazzi followed her everywhere, reporting her every move. It was like some warped dream haunting him. If he thought about it for too long, his gut started to ache.
He scanned the calendar. Everything was in place for the week ahead. He often had to drop everything and head off across the country in a pool car for a shoot, responding to the demands of the press. It was a lifestyle that he thrived on, but it was difficult to keep track sometimes. He pulled up his email. Scanning down through the spam, his eyes hunted out any relevant messages.