CALCULATED RISK
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"Lady, I want you to stop seducing my son! Hell, what are you, thirty-two, thirty-four, Rob is seventeen..there's room for a whole other person!"
Thus in one of Nashville's poshest restaurants began a stream of threats against Stephanie Brandt along with a heavy hand 'mangling' her shoulder, followed by a bill shoved into the middle of her quiche by a big man wearing work boots, denim and a T-shirt with an obscene foreign word printed on it.
Until Quintin Ward stormed into her life with his threats and accusations, Stevie had not known his son Rob even existed., let alone was her mail room clerk.
When she's finally able to convince Quintin that she has no designs on his son, they embark on a campaign to squelch Rob's amorous ideas and fantasy love-life with his boss. But their very calculated risk backfires!
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Stevie struggled out of the rust-spangled red VW amid a chorus of gleeful goodnights and used the last of her energy to wave. The twenty-six steps to her front door were the most painful she had ever taken. The last ten were finished walking on the heels of her boots.
Quintin had the door opened before she even rang the bell. "I was peeking out the front window; it looks like you were well chaperoned."
"Eight." She waddled past him into the foyer. "Eight people in that little car." Stevie motioned for him to help her out of the raccoon vest. "I got to sit between the two front seats, wedged behind the stick shift and on the lap of a kid who kept belching." She piled a seemingly endless number of black-ringed fur tails on the foyer's glass and chrome console. "I've got to sit down and take off these boots. In the middle of the second half my toes went numb." She bent over and pressed her fingers into the leather. "They're dead, Quint, or at the very least gangrenous."
"Stevie, you can't sit down." His words sounded strangled.
"Why not?"
"You've got...uh...a big wad of pink bubble gum on the seat of your pants."
"Quintin, please ..." she begged, and looked between her legs at his upside-down image. "Please tell me you are joking."
He stared at the gooey mound that was a conspicuous pink ornament on the green suede. "I'm sorry."
She rested her head against the stucco wall. "These pants are brand new. They cost a fortune."
He brushed back an auburn wave that curtained her face. "Let me have an ice cube and a butter knife and I'll make them good as new," he promised, "but first let's get rid of those boots."
Straddling each leg in turn, he forcefully but carefully eased off the pointed vamp of the garishly designed footwear. "These damn things are obscene."
"I thought so." She moaned in relief. "Rob thought they were 'like totally total,'" she mimicked, "and one of his friends, Jack, the kid wearing the camouflage coordinates, told me I was 'like tubular.' Tubular!" A hiss was issued between clenched teeth.
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From previously printed novel Silhouette Desire #104 Copyright Elaine Raco Chase 1983
Copyright 2011 Elaine Raco Chase Updated, expanded, over fifty pages of new scenes and explicit sensuality
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Reviews from the original print version of CALCULATED RISK
"Another first - Elaine gives us a rib-tickling tale of the older woman. All readers with teenager's will split their sides over the descriptions of life on a high school date!" Romantic Times Magazine
"Gold 5 Stars - we'd dry up and blow away without Elaine's sense of humor!" Barbara Critiques
"Excellent! Another humorously entertaining and very sensual story!" Kaye Rider, Affaire de Coeur Magazine
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