| Copyright
© 2008, Adrianna
Kraft Reviews For SMOLDERING PASSION by Adrianna Kraft Adriana Kraft is actually a married
couple writing as one. They explore the issues of sexuality, intimacy,
sexual taboos, honesty and trust in Smoldering Passion, all of which
can make or break a relationship. They also explore the effects of the
sexual revolution of the late 60's and early 70's in today's world.
Where we've come from and how far we still have to go. They explore
the difference between sex and lovemaking, and how it is possible to
combine the two. Reviewed by Angi, Night Owl Romance Sample Chapter For SMOLDERING PASSION by Adrianna Kraft “You’re not a virgin. Correct?” the dark-haired man asked the question with a straight face. His square jaw gave no suggestion of discomfort, though he did raise an eyebrow slightly. Melissa Hopkins flipped her hair over her shoulder and tried to hide her annoyance. She wanted this job. She needed this job. And she understood why Harry Gage asked the question. Who would want to hire a virgin to work developing instructional sex videos and DVDs? She frowned slightly. She probably wouldn’t have found the courage to be sitting in his office if not for her aunt, who had worked for the Center for Sexuality and Sex Practices for decades before her death. And Melissa wasn’t the only aspiring artist in New York City willing to take extreme measures to support her dream. She nodded at the unsmiling Gage. A sociologist, he’d told her he’d been with the Center his entire career. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. That meant he must’ve known her aunt, but she wasn’t ready to acknowledge that relationship. If she did get this job, she wanted to land it on her own. “That’s correct. I’m not a virgin,” she said, shrugging as if she were accustomed to conversing with strange men about her sexual status. “Haven’t been for years.” The man smiled smugly. “Figured
you weren’t. We don’t get many virgins applying for our
jobs, but it’s not uncommon for women and men to come here expecting
to work through their own sexual hang-ups.” He eyed her thoughtfully. His appraisal, while guarded, took in her whole being. She could see his mind rehashing her personal and professional data. He was trying to determine whether she was stable enough to be a part-time research associate at the Center. The bulk of her work would probably focus on interviewing individuals about their sexuality and sex lives. She’d be expected to help with editing brochures and catalogs, as well as organizing the Center’s extensive archival collection. And she’d be part of a production team making instructional videos. She sat primly waiting for his next question, then thought better of it and slouched a little. He probably didn’t want his research
associate to look too prim and proper. She shook her head. “No.” “Good. We often like to hire couples. They’re more reliable.” Melissa sat straighter. “But the Center is definitely attracting more single viewers, and they don’t want to always be watching married couples. So we’re mixing things up as much as we can.” “I see.” Well, she didn’t exactly see, but neither was she eager to risk asking—but then Mr. Gage didn’t seem bothered by her reticence. Again, he looked over her questionnaire. “So let’s see, you seem familiar with most of the basic sex positions.” His dark brown eyes locked on hers.
She made sure she wasn’t blushing under his close scrutiny. Melissa nodded. “But you’re willing to give it a try—to advance science and help besotted lovers out there looking for help?” “You sound rather skeptical, Mr. Gage.” “Sorry,” he said, not looking at all sorry. “It’s my nature.” He stared at her. “You didn’t answer my question.” He cocked his head to the side. “Having sex with a woman?” She shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too difficult.” He laughed. She was surprised by the sparkle in his eyes. “I didn’t ask how onerous the task might be. I asked if you were willing.” Blinking, Melissa tried not to glance away from his steady gaze. “Yes, I’m willing.” “Good. I’d rather have you experienced, but I can’t expect everything I want to find in one woman. Now, what is this little question mark doing by anal sex?” She gasped. “I thought I erased that.” He squinted at the sheet. “You tried.” He looked back up at her. “Have you or haven’t you?” She squared her shoulders and forged ahead. “If you must know, I’m not exactly sure what that entails.” “Entails… Entails… Oh, that is a good one.” He laughed and then sobered. “But you’re willing to give it a try?” “If I must.” “You must if you want this job.” “Then I will.” “Good. You do have spunk, Ms. Hopkins.” Melissa felt herself relax a little. “Your naïveté in that area may actually appeal to viewers for whom this is a new if not slightly taboo area. So…why don’t you stand and take off your clothes so I can see what you’ve got?” “What?” Melissa’s hand flew to her throat before she could stop it. She was used to posing in studios for other artists, but in a job interview? “Here? Right now?” “Melissa…” he began. She wanted to throttle his condescending tone. “How do you expect to have sex in front of cameras if you can’t disrobe in front of me? Our actors and actresses seldom wear clothes.” “Oh,” she sputtered. Again, he tilted his head to the side.
“I’m not going to hire you without seeing what I’m
hiring.” If anything, he seemed surprised by her calm attitude. He probably hadn’t read her resume carefully. If he had, he’d have known she’d modeled nude for fellow artists in her art department. She prided herself on being comfortable with her nudity—though Harry Gage’s experienced eyes roving over her did kick into gear a goosebump or two. He was not evaluating her with an artist’s eye. Gage stood. Melissa used every ounce of strength not to step back from him. How far would this interview go? Did he have to sample everything she had to offer before making his decision? But he was hiring her to have sex. Well, not with himself but...he was more intimidating standing than when he’d been sitting. He had to be over six feet. His shoulders were square and thick, more characteristic of men who worked outside than those bent over a desk all day. He had large hands. Not shrinking a bit, she watched one of those large hands cup her breast. “Nice,” he said, matter of factly. “Sizeable, firm. But not too sizeable or too firm.” “What?” The man was talking in code. “You’re attractive, Melissa. Curvy.” He walked behind her and patted her rump. “Very nice ass.” Standing in front of her he said, “We want our performers to be attractive, but not too attractive.” “Thanks,” she said, with sarcasm. “I’m glad I’m not too gorgeous for this job.” “Now don’t get huffy with me. You’re a beautiful woman in your own right, but you’re not so stacked that the average viewer, particularly a woman, can’t identify with you. And you’re all natural.” He scowled at her. “Why else did you think I squeezed your breast? All of our women are natural.” She believed him. No doctor had examined her more clinically than this man was doing. If her nakedness turned him on in the slightest, he wasn’t showing any effects. But then how many naked women had he been around? Gage stepped back and gave her a last once-over. “You’ll do.” Melissa exhaled. “Except for that thick pelt you’ve got between your legs.” Her eyes followed his. Reflexively, she dropped her hands to her loins. She raised her chin. “What?” Gage retreated to his chair and sat back down before answering. She remained frozen in place. “You’re going to need a lot neater pussy than that before we put you in front of a camera.” “But…” “Your choice.” He scowled. “You’ve got the job if that beaver pelt becomes history. Good God, that must chafe like hell in the summer. So do you still want the job?” She nodded, trying to find her voice. “Does it have to be bare?” “Nah, just neat and trim. We don’t go out of our way to turn our viewers on, but we don’t want to turn them off, either.” “I see,” she said, retrieving her clothes. “Can I ask you a question?” “Shoot.” “Why are you willing to hire me?” He smiled. “I wondered if you’d ask. As I said, you’re not unattractive. Your inexperience may actually be a bonus at times. You’ve got guts to try some things beyond the usual and I like that. You have the capacity to work flexible hours, which is a must here. And,” he eyed her carefully, “you project a dispassionate persona.” Melissa scowled and redid the last button on her blouse before sitting down across from Harry Gage. “What in the world do you mean by that?” He chuckled. “I want a woman who can keep herself in check.” “Oh.” “You don’t come every five minutes, do you, Ms. Hopkins?” She shook her head. “But you do come.” “When I want to.” “Exactly. When we’re shooting, having a woman come every five minutes is a distraction and makes for too much downtime. That translates into lost dollars. You are self-possessed. I like your air of self-control. A little aloof. A little innocent. You should photograph quite nicely. Yet, I expect you’re quite coachable. You are quite coachable, aren’t you, Melissa?” Melissa swallowed hard. “Yes, I believe I am.” “One more thing,” he said, grabbing a contract from the corner of his messy desk and handing it to her. “What happens here at the Center stays here.” “Of course,” she replied, reading over the rather straightforward contract. “I’ve never been into telling stories about work.” Gage nodded. “That, too. What I really meant, is this Center is about sex. It has been for decades. We have a fine reputation in the academic and in the therapeutic world.” “I know that, or I wouldn’t have applied here.” “We aim to keep that reputation intact. There will be no outside liaisons with partners from the Center.” “That won’t be a problem,” Melissa said, reaching for the pen he offered. “I can assure you of that.” “Very good.” Gage stood and retrieved the signed contract and his pen. “I expect to see you next Monday at eight thirty. Our shooting schedule changes often and quickly for lots of reasons. You may do library work for several days before having an opportunity to help us with a shoot.” He gave her a crooked smile. “But I do expect you to be trimmed and ready by Monday.” “Do I report to your office and raise my skirt and drop my panties first?” His laughter surprised her. It started deep in his diaphragm. “That won’t be necessary. I trust you’ll be ready, but do come to my office. I’ll introduce you around and show you the ropes.” He winked at her. “Actually, we don’t use real ropes.” Her eyes shot wide and he laughed again. “Run along now, Melissa. Till Monday.” * * * * As soon as his office door closed, Harry Gage rummaged through the bottom drawer of his desk until he snagged a sheaf of photos. He leaned back in his chair and studied them. “Uncanny,” he mumbled. The resemblance was definitely there—rich dark hair dropping well below her shoulders, similar puffy lips and eyes that could peer into his soul. Melissa Hopkins could pass as Phoebe’s daughter. He shook his head. He knew that wasn’t possible; Phoebe’d never had kids. Still, what he found most eerie was the way both women carried themselves—a bit aloof, subtly innocent and definitely mysterious. He grimaced and tucked the photos back in the drawer. There had been nothing innocent about Phoebe. He owed her a lot. She’d been the older woman in his life who guided him along a bombastic sexual odyssey. He’d fallen in love. She hadn’t. She adhered to the Center’s no fraternization rule. He was the one who’d wanted to break that rule, if not erase it. They’d never made love outside the Center. He smiled sadly. But inside the Center, they’d done it every which way, in every corner of the damn building. There had been weekends when they’d never left, and ordered in food. Why did Phoebe have to be so damn stubborn? That was another quality he’d observed in his newest employee. He’d bet Melissa Hopkins could dig in her heels just as firmly as Phoebe about things that mattered to her. So what would matter—he peeked at Melissa’s fact sheet—to the twenty-five year old mirror image of his past? That uncanny resemblance had made it nearly impossible for him not to hire her. Her willingness to move beyond her sexual experience intrigued him. So why was it so important to her that she have this particular job? There had to be more than resemblance that led him to say yes, to give her a try. Had she shown up as some delayed penance? Phoebe had left him and the Center six years ago. He’d never found another woman to fulfill his image of her. He winced. He’d only recently learned of her death from breast cancer. He squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing good would come from going there. He blinked and stared at the door. Phoebe
had been a woman with deep smoldering passion. It was highly unlikely
that the full-bodied young woman who’d left his office had such
a reservoir of passion. * * * * Taking short breaths, Melissa stared at the black-and-white photos she’d spread across her bed. It was the discovery of these photographs that had drawn her to the Center in the first place. They were pictures of her aunt engaged in various sexual acts—some with men and others with women. She’d been surprised by the exquisite
magnetism of each photo. None were tawdry. Individually and collectively,
they celebrated the act of lovemaking. Initially, she’d been shocked
to recognize her aunt and then she’d been jealous. The delight
and pleasure on her aunt’s face spoke so loudly and clearly. She peered at them again, and then it struck her—one of the men in three of the photos looked like Harry Gage. A younger Harry Gage—but it had to be him. She picked up a photo of a man and woman in the doggie position and examined it closely. She shook her head. It was Harry, all right. He was buried to the hilt in her aunt. “Holy crap!” Did it change anything? If she’d thought things through thoroughly, finding Harry Gage in the picture with her aunt shouldn’t have surprised her. Aunt Phoebe had probably been at the Center long before Harry. She smiled thinly. Perhaps he’d been learning all the ropes. He’d been a handsome young man—quite muscled, and apparently, quite taken with her aunt. Pictures of other partners with her didn’t display the depth of emotion so evident on Harry’s face. She scowled. He’d been in love with her aunt! Sometimes she wished she didn’t have the artist’s eye. She leaned back against the pillows. She’d had the distinct impression during her interview that Harry was no longer involved with any of the on camera video production. It was clear he was responsible for directing and supervising the process. So how did it feel to think about screwing in front of a man who’d known her aunt that well in his younger days? She shrugged and decided it didn’t bother her. Why should it? What would Harry Gage think if he knew
his most recent employee was the niece of a woman he’d loved? Her aunt had been fifty-five when she died. Melissa peeked back at the photos. That man couldn’t be much out of college, if that. That should make Harry Gage in his late thirties, or at most, his early forties. She chuckled softly. He shouldn’t be over the hill yet. Still, she hadn’t turned him on in the least. Thank God. Melissa sighed, tucked the photographs in their folder and returned them to the drawer near her bed. Seeing the pink vibrator brought a smile to her lips. She hadn’t used her phantom lover for some time, and she wasn’t about to tonight. She parted her robe and stared at her pimpled labia. Had Harry Gage ever waxed his pubic area? Probably not, or he would’ve warned her how painful that process could be. She shivered. There was no way she’d be ready for anything sexual by Monday. Hopefully, she’d have a day or two of reprieve with library work before getting involved in video production. Pursing her lips, she pondered what to wear on her first day of work. For that matter, what did one ever wear to the Center if they never knew how long they’d keep it on? * * * * Standing outside the modest brownstone that housed the Center for Sexuality and Sex Practices, Melissa smoothed out her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair. She’d settled on an outfit that she considered neither too frumpy nor too sexy. The pink blouse had been purchased at a middle-of-the-line chain store and the black skirt fell well below the knees. She’d shied away from anything that might be construed as form-fitting and provocative. She entered the reception area and was greeted with a warm smile by the kindly older woman who’d welcomed her the previous week. But it was the other woman, stepping toward her with hand extended, who caught her attention. The olive-skinned woman had an infectious smile that put Melissa immediately at ease. They must be about the same age and were very similar in height and build. The woman wore a colorful peasant dress gathered at the waist and flowing freely at her ankles. “Welcome,” she said, “I’m Inez Ramirez. Harry asked me to show you around.” Melissa shook the woman’s hand, not at all surprised by the warmth of her touch. She exuded warmth. “Hi, I guess you know I’m Melissa. Melissa Hopkins.” Inez nodded. “Did Harry give you much of a tour when you were interviewed?” “Not really. I saw his office and that’s about it.” “We’ll start on this floor. Follow me.” “How long have you worked for the Center?” “Eighteen months,” Inez replied, leading the way into a large room with wall-to-wall bookcases and files. Three computers, printers and techie things beyond her knowledge sat on several desks and tables. “This is our library,” Inez said, with obvious pride. “We’re also hooked up with three university libraries. We have access to just about anything that’s been done in the area of sexology.” Melissa looked around curiously. “This is rather daunting. So are you a research associate, too?” Inez smiled. “Yes. And much of our work takes place in this library. Of course in addition to standard books, journals and papers we have photo collections, film, video and DVD collections.” “Of course,” Melissa muttered. So how many references included her aunt? “One of our major ongoing tasks is taking archival data and transferring it to the latest storage options. You are familiar with the computer and storage systems?” “Some. I’m computer literate, but I don’t know much beyond basic word processing.” She frowned. “Funny, Mr. Gage hardly mentioned the library at all. He didn’t provide much detail.” Inez laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me. Harry—and we do call him Harry, not Mr. Gage—is the idea man. He’s extremely committed to the Center’s vision of educating and helping individuals own and honor their sexuality, but he’s hardly a detail guy. That’s more Claire’s bailiwick.” “Claire?” “Claire Johnson. Our co-director.” “Co-director?” “He really didn’t give you much detail. Claire Johnson and Harry co-direct the Center. Claire’s in charge of marketing and development—kind of the pragmatic anchor for the vision man. Come on. I’ll show you the main production room.” When they stepped into the next room, Melissa had to work at breathing. The room was mammoth. It had probably been two or three rooms in a previous era. “There are at least two stages set in here at any one time. Depending on what we’re working on, there may be more. Watch where you’re walking. We don’t want you tripping over wires on your first day on the job.” “Thanks.” Melissa chuckled. The floor was littered with cords running every which way. Much of the lighting system was in view, and there was a sound system and all the props of any stage. “The bedroom set is quite standard,” Inez’s eyes twinkled, “though the bed is king-size. Over here is a fake fireplace, a plush carpet and a couple easy chairs.” Melissa tried not to focus too much
on what actually transpired on the bed, the carpet and the chairs. She
needed to take this entire situation one baby step at a time. “So
are all the productions done here?” “Outdoors,” she squeaked. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you our offices.” She led the way upstairs. They walked past Harry’s office. He didn’t seem to be in. Another door had the name “Claire Johnson, Co-Director” on it. Interesting that she hadn’t met the other co-director. But maybe there was a sharp division of labor between the two directors. At the end of the hall, Inez turned into a medium-sized cozy office area. There were two desks facing each other. Behind one desk were colorful pictures of sun and surf. Clearly, that was Inez’s work area. The wall behind the other desk was bare. “That’ll be your workspace,” Inez said. “Our computers are networked with those in the library. I hope you don’t mind sharing. Did you expect your own office?” Melissa shook her head. “I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe a cubbyhole. Harry never said. But this should be fine. It’s quite spacious.” “We each have a desk, but we share the worktable and the couch.” “How many people work at the Center?” “On a daily basis there are only eight of us. Much of the work is done by independent contractors. On days when there’s a shoot, we might have a dozen or more people running around here.” “So most actors are what you call independent contractors?” She saw a look of puzzlement flash across Inez’s face. “Yes, most are couples. Most are married, actually.” “But not all.” “Right.” “So how many singles are there?” “Two women and two guys.” Inez looked like she was about to swallow her tongue. Melissa blinked and gasped. “You?” Inez nodded. “And me?” Again, Inez nodded. “Harry expects us...” “Yes.” Inez’s tone hardened. “That is part of what you signed on for, but if I don’t live up to your expectations, I…” “No,” Melissa interrupted. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to offend you. It’s just that I’ve been trying to adjust to this whole thing in the abstract.” She squinted at Inez. “But you’re hardly an abstraction.” Inez giggled. “I hope not.” She smirked. “So I will be your first woman?” Melissa managed a faint nod. “Terrific.” Inez flashed a wide smile and then sobered quickly. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to seduce you. Harry has a plan, or he wouldn’t have hired you.” “You think I’ll do okay?” “You’ll be fine. It’s
kind of neat to have sex without all the emotional entanglements. It
can be fun, really.” “It can be, but if nothing else it’s a job that pays well, and we are contributing to a good cause.” Inez laughed at Melissa’s questioning stare. “Helping people have good sex.” “Of course.” Inez grinned lightly. “Hey, enough of this. When it’s time for us, we’ll both be ready. I do trust Harry. I’ve got things to do. Why don’t I let you settle in here? There are the standard annual reports, summaries and so on sitting on your desk to help you get familiar with our work. Any more questions?” Melissa shook her head and stepped toward her desk. “Yes,” she said, turning around. “I do have one more. It sounds like Harry is in charge of video production.” “Absolutely. Claire generally only gets involved if we’re testing a new product the Center is deciding to endorse or not, or if she has a special idea she’s pursuing.” “Product?” “Sex toys, usually. The Center puts out a catalog of videos, DVDs, lubes, toys and so on. That’s what Claire’s in charge of. But I’m not sure I answered your question.” “Does Harry always work behind
the camera, or does he work in front also?” Melissa held her breath. “Maybe he thinks he’s too old for that.” “I don’t know. Haven’t really given it any thought.” She winked. “But he doesn’t look too old to me. He’s got my vote if he wants to come out of retirement. Is that it?” Melissa nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” She sat at her desk and stared at the
stack of reports. She was in. She’d been hired. So why was she
still tense? She leaned back and looked at Inez’s space. Melissa
shuddered. Could she match the woman’s perkiness? Would she be
expected to? And how soon? |