ROMANCE: Resist Me (Taboo Romance, BDSM, New Adult, Pregnancy, Contemporary, Short Story) by Celia Styles Page A
Authors: Celia Styles
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and book sellers were lined along the Riverside Bouqiniste. She was tempted to have the driver stop and so she could browse, but decided to get to the hotel right away.
It was at the hotel where she received the telegram from Tom. A bellhop appeared at her door as she was unpacking and gave her the sealed message. She tipped him and he quickly left. Riley opened the envelope and read it. Tom was not going to be able to make the trip. His company had been hit with a major litigation case and he would be forced to stay in St. Louis. He begged his wife’s forgiveness, but there was nothing he could do. Perhaps they could get some money back on his ticket? He told her to enjoy the week in the capitol of France. Perhaps later they could try making a baby. They were still in their twenties and had plenty of time.
Riley sat on the edge of the bed. They were supposed to share it that weekend. She kicked off her shoes. Riley was supposed to enjoy this week by herself? At least she had expected the telegram. Disappointment was part of her life and she done what she could do to eliminate it.
She decided to take a walk down the street. Riley had no clue as to what was going to happen next. Had she known, the trip would have taken a very different turn.
Riley walked down a small street from the hotel, making sure she could keep it in sight. Her French was adequate, but she worried about asking directions. Parisians were notorious for being quick to dismiss foreigners who didn’t understand their city. She had brought a map along, but lacked a compass. The sun was behind the monuments she wanted to look at and there were some museums nearby she had wanted to see. He neighbors in Maplewood made her promise to bring back pictures of the city, but she’d left her instamatic camera at the hotel room.
She decided to cut through a small alley where the buildings interconnected. According to the map, it would save her time in reaching an art gallery. Riley had remembered to bring along her jacket for cover in case the weather turned cold. Her L’eggs stockings were helping her legs to stay warm, but she couldn’t count on them entirely.
Halfway down the alley, Riley encountered two men blocking her way. Frightened, she turned and started to go back the way she’d come. As she turned around, she found that way blocked by three more men. She was trapped; there was no door in the alley, merely piles of trash. What was she going to do and what did they want?
The five men had her surrounded in seconds. They wore long coats and slouched hats, not the sort of styles one expects to find in the Paris spring.
“What do you want?” she demanded. “I don’t have a lot of money on me, but you are welcome to all I have.”
One man behind spoke in a slurred Slavic language which she didn’t understand.
“She pretends not to understand you,” a man she assumed to be their leader said. “I guess she wants us to believe we have a scared tourist from America.”
“It won’t work this time, my dear,” he continued. “There is no escape and no one to help you.”
His hand began moving out of his coat pocket with something metal when a cough was heard down the alley. All of them turned to see a newcomer standing at one end of the alley causally lighting a cigarette.
“You have the wrong person, muchak ,” he said from his vantage point. “When is Moscow Central going to hire some better operatives?”
The newcomer was easily six foot tall and dressed in an immaculate Botany 500 suit. He appeared to be Caucasian, but it was hard to tell in the alley’s faint light. His wore a bow tie and had withdrawn the cigarette from a gold plated case. He put the case back into his suit pocket and continued to look at the group before him. The cigarette lighter followed into another pocket.
“Dare,” the man who was the ringleader of the group of assailants said. “Alan Dare. I should have expected they would send you.”
“I had hoped for
It was at the hotel where she received the telegram from Tom. A bellhop appeared at her door as she was unpacking and gave her the sealed message. She tipped him and he quickly left. Riley opened the envelope and read it. Tom was not going to be able to make the trip. His company had been hit with a major litigation case and he would be forced to stay in St. Louis. He begged his wife’s forgiveness, but there was nothing he could do. Perhaps they could get some money back on his ticket? He told her to enjoy the week in the capitol of France. Perhaps later they could try making a baby. They were still in their twenties and had plenty of time.
Riley sat on the edge of the bed. They were supposed to share it that weekend. She kicked off her shoes. Riley was supposed to enjoy this week by herself? At least she had expected the telegram. Disappointment was part of her life and she done what she could do to eliminate it.
She decided to take a walk down the street. Riley had no clue as to what was going to happen next. Had she known, the trip would have taken a very different turn.
Riley walked down a small street from the hotel, making sure she could keep it in sight. Her French was adequate, but she worried about asking directions. Parisians were notorious for being quick to dismiss foreigners who didn’t understand their city. She had brought a map along, but lacked a compass. The sun was behind the monuments she wanted to look at and there were some museums nearby she had wanted to see. He neighbors in Maplewood made her promise to bring back pictures of the city, but she’d left her instamatic camera at the hotel room.
She decided to cut through a small alley where the buildings interconnected. According to the map, it would save her time in reaching an art gallery. Riley had remembered to bring along her jacket for cover in case the weather turned cold. Her L’eggs stockings were helping her legs to stay warm, but she couldn’t count on them entirely.
Halfway down the alley, Riley encountered two men blocking her way. Frightened, she turned and started to go back the way she’d come. As she turned around, she found that way blocked by three more men. She was trapped; there was no door in the alley, merely piles of trash. What was she going to do and what did they want?
The five men had her surrounded in seconds. They wore long coats and slouched hats, not the sort of styles one expects to find in the Paris spring.
“What do you want?” she demanded. “I don’t have a lot of money on me, but you are welcome to all I have.”
One man behind spoke in a slurred Slavic language which she didn’t understand.
“She pretends not to understand you,” a man she assumed to be their leader said. “I guess she wants us to believe we have a scared tourist from America.”
“It won’t work this time, my dear,” he continued. “There is no escape and no one to help you.”
His hand began moving out of his coat pocket with something metal when a cough was heard down the alley. All of them turned to see a newcomer standing at one end of the alley causally lighting a cigarette.
“You have the wrong person, muchak ,” he said from his vantage point. “When is Moscow Central going to hire some better operatives?”
The newcomer was easily six foot tall and dressed in an immaculate Botany 500 suit. He appeared to be Caucasian, but it was hard to tell in the alley’s faint light. His wore a bow tie and had withdrawn the cigarette from a gold plated case. He put the case back into his suit pocket and continued to look at the group before him. The cigarette lighter followed into another pocket.
“Dare,” the man who was the ringleader of the group of assailants said. “Alan Dare. I should have expected they would send you.”
“I had hoped for
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