Fantasies Incorporated – The Dance

By: Bridy McAvoy

All rights reserved

Copyright © Dec. 2009, Bridy McAvoy

Cover Art Copyright © Oct 2009, Brightling Spur

Bluewood Publishing Ltd

Christchurch, 8441, New Zealand

www.bluewoodpublishing.com

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

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Special Note: This book contains UK Spellings.

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Dedication

To everyone who helped me write this. Especially my husband who encouraged me to explore my fantasies in print.

Fantasies Incorporated – The Dance

“Now you will be on your best behaviour, won’t you, honey?”

He smiled at her question.

“As if.”

“You know what I mean, Sean.”

“I’ll behave myself, I promise. It’s not often I get to celebrate my wife making Vee Pee after all. You know I’m proud of you, Brooke. I knew you could do it. The only person who doubted it was you.”

“Thanks, hon.”

“It’s true. You were made for this job, and you finally got there. I’m still not quite sure about this dance card thing, though.”

From outside the sound of a car horn interrupted their conversation. Brooke grabbed her black sequined clutch bag, which she knew perfectly matched her black flapper style cocktail dress, and hurried for the door.

“I’ll explain later, now come on. We really can’t be late tonight.”

“I know . . . I know . . . Guest of honour and all that!”

Brooke looked back at her husband, reacting to the apparent sarcasm in his voice only to relax again as she saw his impish grin. He followed her out of the house and she knew his eyes were glued to her ass all the way down the drive to the waiting taxi. On impulse she put some extra wiggle into her hips and drew an appreciative whistle from her husband.

* * * *

The promotion party had been in swing for nearly three hours when Brooke finally got the chance to drop into the seat next to Sean.

“God I need a break.”

“Well, I think that’s the first time you’ve sat down with me for two hours.”

“I’m sorry, hon, but I can’t exactly refuse a dance from the other senior staff. I saw you on the floor a few times too. It’s not like you’ve been totally neglected.”

He grinned at her and she realised he was winding her up again, as usual.

“What’s that you’re drinking?”

“Vodka Bud.”

“That’s a bit strong, Sean. You’re not getting drunk are you?”

“Stop fussing, I’m fine. Here . . . you have this one.”

He passed his tall glass over and she cradled it against her forehead for a moment before taking a long swig.

“Christ! That’s strong!”

“Told you, the vodka has a real kick, don’t it?”

“How many of those have you had?”

“Seven I think, maybe eight, nah, seven since you’ve got that one.”

Brooke looked at him closely. Although, on the surface, he appeared to be fine, she could see his eyes were slightly glazed.

“You’re drunk!”

“Not yet.”

He swept his arm around to encompass the whole room.

“The night is still young.”

“Sean . . .”

“I’m fine. Enjoy yourself. I’m enjoying watching you shake that tush of yours with all the old fogeys.”

“Well, the next dance won’t be with an old fogey. I just saw the post-room guys go and talk to the deejay.”

“Ah! So they are going to cash in your dance card then.”

“I think so.”

“It was a stupid bet.”

“I know, Sean. At the time I really didn’t think I’d get the promotion, so I agreed.”

“One fast dance with them now and a slow one later. Not so sure that’s a good idea.”

“Well, they’ll behave themselves . . . they work for me now, they’d better!”

He grinned at her and cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah, right!”

Leaning over rather further than necessary, he signalled a waiter and a minute later another fortified beer was delivered.

“Please watch how much you’re drinking, Sean.”

“I’m fine.”

Before the argument could flare again the DJ called her name.

“Would Mrs Brooke Morell please step onto the dance floor. This is a very special dance for Brooke Morell.”

“Be back shortly, hon.”

Sean waved sardonically and appeared to concentrate on his drink as she slowly stood and walked the dozen paces to the dance floor. The three lads from the post-room, and half a dozen other of the younger men in the company, ringed the floor, leaving a clear space in the middle; obviously for her. The older couples had taken their cue and moved back to their seats. She could see a couple of the senior staff watching her intently though.

“Just for you, Brooke, and I’m told this is your favourite song. Shakira and Hips Don’t Lie.”

The heavy beat began to pulse from the speakers and Brooke’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ of astonishment at the choice of record, obviously made by the post-room lads as payback for the bet she had lost. For a few seconds she just stood there, motionless, as the fifteen men surrounding the dance floor formed a ring and began to clap along to the beat. She glanced back at Sean but he simply sat there grinning owlishly, somewhere in his alcohol induced haze, enjoying her discomfit.