Connie Wake was feeling a certain amount of satisfaction as she stepped out of her front door, into the steaming hot sunlight, to collect another box from the boot of her car. Most of the furniture and carpets had been changed. Only the stair carpet remained and someone was coming that morning to replace it. The main bed would be replaced on the following day.
The house was hers now and she was going to make sure that anything remotely connected with her bastard husband Victor, was eradicated. God, she had done everything he wanted of her. A hell of a lusty guy, with the drawback that he was often less than considerate about her pleasure, he had, for a while, disguised the fact that Connie was not exclusively the only recipient of his dubious sexual skills.
So while she was allowing him to demand various sexual favours, in various parts of the house, he had been secretly screwing God knew how many other women. That fact alone was sufficient to cool her own warm libido.
Just after she had established that his indiscretions were more than just suspicions, he had made his last twisted demand on her, wanting her to give his friend, Dave, a blowjob while he watched. When she refused he had called her a stuck up bitch, and stormed out of the house.
The following three months had been very hard to manage. Victor told her that he was moving to Italy with what he called 'a real goer'. Being a financial director he was rich enough to agree to Connie keeping the house, and she herself was making enough from her writing to maintain a decent bank account.
So here she was altering the house to remove all things Victor, from the premises. The two items left in the boot, were a brand new computer and a 45inch TV. Under this hot sun she was glad she was lightly dressed in only a thin green cotton summer dress. Naked and about to have a shower, she had realised it would be pointless getting herself all sweated up again. Accordingly she had thrown on the dress as cover. Now, in spite of that, she still felt of trickle of perspiration down the middle of her back.
That was the moment that a large blue van pulled onto the drive behind her car, Connie was just able to make out the name on the side, 'Garston Wilde, Carpet Fitter.' She was pleased that he was on time. Garston Wilde had fitted the original carpets in the house, and over the past four weeks or so, had fitted their replacements. The staircase fitting would see the end of that side of things.
Over the years Garston Wilde had often spoken of his family in Jamaica, and how difficult life was when he'd first arrived in this country. The colour of skin had been a major difficulty in those days. But with determination and no little fortitude he had built up his business, and hoped his son would continue with it. "But he has other skills and I've talked him into going to university to get himself a good degree," he had told her.
Connie stepped from behind her car in time to see the van door open. But it was not Garston Wilde who stepped out. Tall, with a well muscled chest showing through the white T-shirt he was wearing, his ebony skin shining in the sunlight, it had to be Garston's son. His smile lit up a dark skinned, handsome face. As he greeted her, something unexpected stirred inside Connie
Bam Wilde, had felt just a little unhappy as he had driven out to this house. It was the only job he had for the day, and tonight his father had organised a surprise birthday party for his mother. At least that was something to look forward to.
But what was griping him, on this hot, sunny Wednesday, which was Wendy's half day, was the fact that they might have been driving together out to the Thorley Woods. Once there, he would have tried, once again, to persuade her to put out. But with Wendy, the technique that Brenda had gifted to him, ten months earlier, just did not work.
But, just three weeks earlier, Wendy, under the influence of her mother, Bam was sure, had decided that she found it difficult to justify to her friends why she was going out with a black man. Especially, they'd told her, when Rory Coutts was mad about her.
"I'm not being racist or anything," she had insisted. No, Bam had thought, but your mother is. He had known that from the moment the older woman had looked at him with those wide, startled eyes under a frowning brow.
But all of those annoyances were forgotten as he jumped down from the van and the lady appeared from behind the raised boot lid of her Volvo. Bam's breath stuck in his throat as he forced a cheerful, "Good morning," and his smile was one of pure delight at the vision in front of him.
This had to be the customer, Mrs Wake, and his father had told him that she was a stunning looking woman. With his first glance Bam had decided that his father had misunderstood the meaning of the word 'stunning'. With her tawny coloured hair curling at her shoulders, her bright eyes, full lips, and a figure that curved generously in all the right places, this lady was way beyond just 'stunning'.
Even as he looked, a playful breeze briefly pressed her thin, green dress against her body, and Bam was sure her nipples jutted against the material. The cotton lower down pressed against her thighs showing a tantalising inverted V at her crotch. Bam was a little shocked to feel a gentle pulsing in his pants.
Whoa, boy, he warned himself. You're here to work. Get the job finished and go and find yourself a woman to cure that twitch. You have no chance with what is probably a white, stuck up bitch like her. Even if, as she had informed his father when accounting for the total carpet refit, there was no husband.
He moved to the back of the van, hauled out one of the rolls of stair carpet, and heaved it onto his shoulder. As he turned back towards the house he saw that Mrs Wake had moved back onto the porch.
Connie had indeed moved back near the front door, disturbed by the stirrings inside her. How had the sight of this young black man been so exciting? Watching him haul a roll of carpet onto his shoulder, she noticed how the muscles on his arms flexed and seemed to glow in the sun. The expression on his face was serious as he approached, but had his eyes not drifted over her dress? She became suddenly very aware that she was naked under that dress.
As he came up alongside her, he said in a deep warm voice, "My father had client meetings, so I'm stand-in. But I'm well trained." She stepped aside, and gestured for him to pass, noticing how tall he was, more than a head above her five feet seven inches. "Just stand it in the hall," she said, cursing herself for the strained voice. What the hell was wrong with her?
But this was one powerful looking male with wide dark eyes had seemed to search into her brain as he walked past her. Could he read the confused state of her mind?
Having off-loaded the carpet he came out and as he moved past her on his way back to the van, Connie found herself asking, "I wonder if you would do me a favour?"
Bam was totally entranced by the close-up look of her. Green eyes, high cheek bones, generous mouth, and that tawny hair, that matched with the lioness look in those eyes, as she looked at him. Briefly he wondered what age she might be? Not many years older than him, and had he misread that look? Well, at least she didn't seem that stuck up. The aroma of her as he walked into the hall, was as though the air was fused with roses.
He had stepped down from the porch as she made her request, and being below her, his eyes were more or less level with her breasts. There could be little doubt that her nipples under the thin material of her dress were unfettered. His ready mind had framed an answer to her request, 'I wonder how much you would appreciate the favour I would love to do for you?' But all he actually said, as he raised his eyes to hers, was, "If I can, I'll be happy to."
