Stephanie
"Turn to the right. Casually look over your left shoulder. Bring your left index finger up to touch your bottom lip. That's it. Gently pull your lip down," Peter said as he snapped hundreds of photos. "Great job. You can relax." My blue bikini top cupped my breasts without pushing them up. I don't have a perfect figure, but my 25-inch waist makes my curves more alluring. My top comfortably hugged my breasts. It tied around my neck and chest. To add lift, I shortened the straps around my neck. The bikini bottom rose just above my pubic bone. It was a shorter cut than I typically wore, but the ties at the side fit perfectly on my hips.
"Are we done yet?" I asked. Peter and I were at Point Pleasant in the middle of winter. It was freezing outside. He had power cords hooked to heat lamps to prevent me from getting hypothermia. My long hair hung to my waist. The curls fell loosely down my back. It fanned behind me as the cold wind rushed past my body. I suppressed a shudder from the icy blast. "Thank you for bringing heat lamps," I mumbled.
"A few more poses," Peter replied. "But you need a new wardrobe." I rolled my eyes, then ducked behind the partition to change from the blue bikini to an evening gown. Pamela made sure my changing area had a heat lamp.
The dress was too tight to allow panties and a bra. I removed my bikini top before pulling the silky fabric over my head. After zipping the dress along my left side, I reached beneath the skirt to tug off my bikini bottoms. I didn't care to go commando, but it was a necessary part of modelling skintight clothes. Thank goodness I wasn't on my period.
Pamela quickly slipped behind me to pull my hair into a chignon. She held the mirror up for me to see. As always, Pamela styled my hair to perfection. "I'm ready," I said as I stepped into Peter's view. Why did Peter want me to wear a ball gown on the beach in the middle of winter?
The silky fabric fit me like a glove, and the gorgeous blue colour perfectly matched my eyes. Thin spaghetti straps went over each shoulder and were attached to the bodice at the back. The dress fell to my ankles. A slit extended from the bottom up my right leg, where it stopped mid-thigh. At my breasts, the built-in bra slightly pushed up my breasts, providing a view of my cleavage.
"Bueno," he replied. I walked to the spot where Peter wanted me to pose. Peter ducked when I tossed one running shoe at a time at his head. Pamela, the makeup artist, giggled as I pulled on the four-inch heels. "You look stunning." Peter snapped photos. I got into each pose he called out.
"Lift your chin. Turn your head slightly to the left. Hold your shoulders back," Peter ordered. It was not a comfortable pose, but he knew it would create a sexy photo. Pamela passed me a blue clutch which perfectly matched the dress. He clicked the camera button many times. Peter said, "Tilt your head down. Open the purse. Look inside and sheepishly smile. Now, look at me."
I looked up as directed. An attractive man walked along the beach behind Peter. Tingles ran down my neck, and heat pooled in my core. Something about the man called to me. It felt as though my soul wanted to connect with him. I followed him with my eyes as my mouth slightly popped open.
Reflectively, I licked my teeth. Peter told me to continue focussing on whatever had grabbed my attention. I turned my head to watch the man as Peter continued to take pictures. "I got them," he announced. Just as well, since the man disappeared inside a shop along the boardwalk.
My hair fell to my waist, one lock at a time, as Pamela removed the pins from my hair. I pulled on panties and track pants. When I pulled the dress over my head, I tugged a baggy shirt on before adding a hoodie. I didn't bother putting on a bra. The ones I brought for modelling weren't comfortable.
Pamela and I walked to the boardwalk, where we parked our cars. Peter got his assistant, Beverly, to help him pack his cameras and supplies into his car. "You looked amazing," Pamela said.
"Thanks for everything, Pam. I don't know what I would have done without you," I replied. I passed her an envelope containing her fee.
"Frozen to death," she joked. "I'm glad I convinced Beverly to pack the heat lamps at the last moment. You stood in that skimpy bikini for over an hour." We walked past a coffee shop. Pam suddenly stopped to tug me inside.
"Oh, Pam. I can't drink coffee this late in the day," I replied. "It will keep me awake all night."
"One coffee won't hurt," she insisted. "Order decaf if you must." Pamela flicked her blond hair over her shoulder before opening the door.
"Fine," I replied. She pulled me into the coffee shop to order a decaf pumpkin spice latte for me. Pam glanced at me over her shoulder before adding a Boston cream donut to the order. She got herself a blueberry scone and black coffee. It was her routine to buy me a coffee and donut after a photoshoot.
I accepted the donut and coffee from my friend and sat beside the window to see the beach. My neck tingled a few seconds after Pam sat beside me. "That stuff will kill you," a sexy male voice said when I bit into my donut.
"I don't recall asking for your opinion," I said without looking at the man. His reflection in the window showed a man slightly taller than me. He had dark hair, dark eyes and mocha latte skin. I could see he was muscular in the distorted reflection.
"My words are not directed to anybody. But if the shoe fits you, wear it, Cinderella," the man replied. I snorted coffee from my nose, spraying the man's reflection in the window. "Please, let me help," he offered. That had to be the worst pickup line ever.
He grabbed some napkins to wipe the window after passing me a few for my nose. "Thanks," I replied. I waved my hand, hoping he'd tell me his name.
"Ranger," he replied. I hoped it was a nickname. "Yes, Babe. It is." He never offered his actual name.
"Anie," I said. "Don't call me Babe." He raised an eyebrow, and his lip twitched on the right. Ranger found me amusing. "Are you a local?"
"Not exactly. I was looking for someone," Ranger replied. Right. You're looking for me. You wanted to ensure you found the right person. "I'm from Newark." Ah. He's capable of speaking the truth. I hate being lied to, and I can detect when someone isn't honest. The question is, who sent you?
"That's close to your hometown," Pamela squealed. "Anie's from Trenton." Pam was so dead. She knew I never talked about where I grew up. Please, tell me she's alright.
I excused myself to the washroom, leaving Pamela to entertain Ranger. He was H O T. My skin flushed from the heat. I slipped into a toilet stall to empty my bladder. When I exited the bathroom, I found Ranger leaning against the opposite wall. "Did you follow me?" I asked. I attempted to push past him.
"Yes," he replied without shame. He leaned into the hallway to stop me from exiting.
"Why?" I wondered.
"Babe, you're in danger," he answered. "I got hired by General Plum to act as your bodyguard." No. No. No. No. No. What did he want? I haven't talked to him in twelve years.
"What's your rank, officer?" I demanded.
"Major," he replied.
"Tell General Plum I don't need or want his help," I snapped. Ranger grabbed my arm as I attempted to walk past him. I felt a shock enter my arm from his hand. The electricity moved through my arm to my core. Ranger made my body hum from a simple touch. What would happen if we had sex? "Let me go."
"No," Ranger said. "I have to protect you, Stephanie." Ranger didn't release my arm until I relaxed.
Frank promised to stay out of my life after I left home at eighteen. He left me hanging out to dry when I ran over Joseph Morelli with his car. It wasn't totally my fault. Joe deserved a worse punishment than that. Frank Plum supported everything that bitch, Helen Plum, wanted. That woman deserved to die. It's a pity she's still alive.
I could still hear the shrew yell, "Stephanie Plum, how dare you embarrass Valerie and me? You deserve to rot in jail for hurting an upstanding resident of the Burg. Why me? Why does my slutty daughter have to harm the father of my grandchild?"
Joseph Anthony Morelli and I share a daughter, Isabelle Marie Morelli. I got pregnant at age sixteen when he took my virginity behind the eclair case in Tasty Pastry. It wasn't exactly consensual, but I didn't classify it as rape, either. I allowed him to coerce me into having sex. I'm partly to blame, and I took responsibility for my actions. Belle was a pretty girl. Her hair and eyes were dark like Joe's, but she had a porcelain skin tone like mine.
People would assume she was Valerie's daughter, and I honestly didn't mind. Valerie did marry Joe, after all. Oh, I forgot to mention a key detail. My daughter knows me as the "forbidden, slutty" aunt. I have an active restraining order to keep me from Belle and Joe. It was a useless piece of paper. When I moved to New York, I left my old life behind. If I never saw Joseph Morelli again, it would be too soon.
Belle didn't know she was my daughter. I lost custody after I ran over Morelli with dad's Buick. Valerie tended to Joe as he healed from his broken leg. They got married the summer after Belle's second birthday. I let Valerie adopt her niece, and I use the word "let" loosely. The Burg never talked about my pregnancy or losing custody because grandma Bella scared everyone. She'd curse them for tarnishing her great-granddaughter's reputation.
"How did you find me?" I asked.
"Your photo was on the cover of Allure," he replied. "General Plum recognized you."
"That explains how he knew my surname," I said. "But it doesn't tell me how you found me here." I demanded to know how General Plum tracked me down. I stopped using the name Plum after graduating from college. The magazine world knew me as Anie Lewis. My residence and phone number are not registered under either name. People would be hard-pressed to find me. I would have known if someone was following me. I've lost many tails in my days.
"My friend, Hector, found you. He compared your DMV photo at sixteen to every image in the tri-state region. Hector said Stephanie Michelle Plum's name was now Stephanie Michelle Lewis," Ranger explained. "Your father is worried about you."
"Ya. Right. Whatever. Daddy dearest didn't seem all that concerned when he told the courts to put me in jail for hitting Morelli," I grumbled. I didn't want to have this conversation with a complete stranger. Even though it was twelve years ago, the pain made it feel like yesterday.
Ranger grabbed my hand and gently tugged me toward the door. "Your friend, Pamela, asked you to call her when you get home," he said. I nodded since I couldn't find my voice. His hand felt warm in mine. Electricity flowed between our palms. Ranger entwined our fingers to increase the surface area of skin we touched. I was annoyed by the situation but loved the connection I felt with this muscular stranger.
He released my hand when we got to his black Mercedes SUV. His hand moved to my lower back as he guided me to the passenger seat. Was it wrong for me to enjoy his touch? "Where are we going? I have to be in New York by tomorrow afternoon," I asked when he climbed into the driver's seat.
"I planned to take you to Trenton, but I will take you to New York instead," he replied. He connected his phone to Bluetooth, then tapped a number. Ranger didn't have names assigned, which I thought was strange. "Yo necesito una reserva de hotel para dos." (I need a hotel reservation for two).
"No, he doesn't," I said. "El puede quedarse conmigo." Ranger quickly glanced my way, raising an eyebrow. (He can stay with me). My intuition told me I could trust this man with my life.
"Si, gracias," the man on the phone replied, then hung up.
"Ranger, I have a two-bedroom apartment in Queens. You don't need to stay in a hotel when you can stay with me for free. Save your money. My apartment is secure," I explained. I gave him my address and waited for him to enter it into his GPS. "The building has a doorman with a strict visitors' list. If your name wasn't on the list, you could not enter. He requires proof of identification before permitting you inside the building," I warned. Ranger nodded.
"Why did you offer me a room in your home?" Ranger asked. I wondered if he had never received such an invitation before.
"I trust you," I replied honestly. "You're the only person who has my address. Please, don't share it with General Plum."
"It's our secret," Ranger said before giving me a 200-watt smile. I mentally fanned myself. "What's your story?"
"It's a long, complicated tale," I replied. "You probably already know everything."
"I'm willing to bet that I don't," Ranger said.
I shrugged and looked outside the window at the scenery passing by. "How far back should I go?" I asked.
"As far back as you want to share," he replied.
"Okay," I said and began my tale. I found myself wanting to share the story with the attractive Adonis sitting beside me. "I grew up in an Italian-Hungarian home. Frank is Italian, while Helen is Hungarian. Our neighbourhood had some German, Irish and Slavic families to prevent inbreeding." Ranger didn't seem too impressed with the genealogy lesson, but he needed to understand the dynamics of the Burg.
"I was six years old when I got lured into the Morelli's garage. They are a pure Italian family; both parents came from a long line of Italians. Joe, the youngest child of three, played a game called choo choo. He promised I could be the train. I willingly followed him into the garage. He got me to remove my underwear and stand with my legs spread apart. I won't go into detail since I'm sure you could guess what happened next," I said.
I could see him clenching his jaw. He did not like my story. Ranger had no clue what the youngest Morelli boy had done to me.
"Anyway, after that incident, Helen yelled at me. I got grounded for the summer. She told the neighbours what the Morelli boy had done but placed the blame on me. At the time, I believed I was a bad person. Helen warned me to stay away from the Morelli boys, but I didn't listen. It was my fault that Joe touched me."
"Babe, how old was Morelli?" Ranger asked.
"Oh. I guess I forgot to tell you he was eight," I replied. "He didn't get punished. It was my fault for defying Helen's order."
"Morelli needs to pay," he growled. "I don't care that he was a child at the time. Nobody has the right to sexually assault a child."
"If you think that now, maybe I should stop talking," I snapped. Ranger had no idea how much worse the story would get.
"Please, continue," Ranger said.
"For ten years, I managed to avoid all the Morelli boys. Even Joe's cousins were like him. During the summer, his brother, Anthony, cousin Mooch and Joe would lie beneath the boardwalk and lure girls to join them. Many girls became women that day."
"When did you become a woman?" he asked, quickly catching onto the plot.
"I was sixteen. After school and on weekends, I worked behind the counter inside Tasty Pastry. Stacy was the barista, and I boxed or bagged pastries for the customers. It was a slow night. Stacy had an exam the following morning. She left an hour before closing to study. I had closed a few times by myself, so I knew the procedure. At a few minutes to nine, Joe Morelli entered the bakery to order a cannoli," I replied. Ranger reached over to wipe a tear off my face that I didn't notice had slipped from my eye.
After I dried my damp cheeks, I continued, "He talked me out of my pants and virginity that night." I reflectively rubbed my stomach. The bikini line incision slightly burned as I remembered everything. Ranger took my left hand in his. He entwined our fingers and placed them on his muscular thigh. I looked at him in shock.
"Please, continue," he gently requested.
"Anyway, before Joe left, he ate his cannoli and dropped fifty dollars on the counter. He said, "Thanks for the memories, Cupcake," then left without another word. I thought nobody would know I had sex, but I was sadly mistaken," I said.
"How did everyone find out?" he asked.
"Tasty sweet and fun to eat. She squirmed and fought. But I did not. She turned me on. Her virginity is gone. I had to cum. Inside Stephanie Plum. My name is Joe. I have to go. See ya Cupcake."
"Why did you tell me a poem?" Ranger wondered.
"That's how everyone found out. It's what Joseph Morelli wrote in every men's bathroom stall in Trenton, New Jersey," I replied. "General Plum read the poem when he used the restroom in Pino's."
"Morelli's dead," Ranger growled.
"No. Joe married Valerie. They have three girls together. Isabelle, Angie and Mary Alice," I replied. "I don't want anything to do with Joseph Morelli or my old life."
I could see Ranger was trying to work something through his mind. It's as though he recognized the woman's name but could quite place it. Sighing, I said, "Valerie was my older sister. She's two years older."
"Morelli married your sister?" he asked, shocked.
"Yup. When I was eighteen, I ran over Morelli with Frank's Buick, breaking Morelli's left leg in two places," I replied. I rubbed my abdomen again. Ranger didn't miss the action, but he didn't ask either, to which I was thankful. "Joe fell in love with Valerie when she took care of him. They got married within a year. Their oldest daughter turned two before their wedding."
My heart ached. I missed Belle. She was the light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel I call my life. Belle didn't know I was her mother. The restraining order prevented me from speaking to her. She'll be thirteen in five weeks; on St Patrick's day.
"When did you get into modelling?" Ranger asked.
"During college. I helped a friend, Peter Lewis, with his photography project. His professor, Leanne Williams, loved his pictures and said I was photogenic. Her husband was a modelling agent. Peter and Leanne created my portfolio, and the rest is history. It paid for my education," I proudly said.
"What did you study? Did your parents pay for school?" he asked. I snorted at the second question and shook my head no. Didn't I already answer the school question?
"Business Economics. I have an MBA, though I graduated in the bottom five percent of that program. Maybe I should have quit while I was ahead. I paid for college by working during the summer and between classes at the campus coffee shop. Modelling paid off my student loans," I replied. "I have to start thinking about a new career. I'm at the top of the age spectrum for modelling."
"General Plum had a few suggestions," Ranger offered.
"Listen, Ranger. I am not interested in what Frank Plum has to say. He stopped being my father when I was eighteen," I defiantly said.