A Timeless Woman Read online

  A Timeless Woman

  By

  Stevie MacFarlane

  ©2015 by Blushing Books® and Stevie MacFarlane

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

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  MacFarlane, Stevie

  A Timeless Woman

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-227-4

  Cover Design by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books’ or the Author’s advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

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  Chapter of Contents:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About Stevie MacFarlane

  Ebook Offer

  Blushing Books Newsletter

  About Blushing Books

  Chapter One

  Margie straightened her desk as she slipped her stockinged foot back into her shoe. Taking her bag out of her bottom desk drawer, she withdrew her silver compact and clicked it open, checking her appearance as the rest of the staff scattered. By the time she smoothed her hair and touched up her red lipstick, she was virtually alone but for two of the cleaning staff. Breathing a sigh of relief, she put her compact away and snapped her bag closed. Slipping on her gloves, she rose and made her way to the coat rack, removing her black wool coat.

  “You should hurry along, Miss Margie. The parking lot will be deserted by the time you get downstairs. This isn’t the best area for a woman alone once it gets dark.”

  “Thank you for your concern, George, but I’ll be fine,” she assured him with a small smile. “I’d rather leave a few minutes late than fight the traffic. I’m not afraid.”

  George huffed, bending over to empty a trash can into his big rolling bin.

  “Can I ask you something?” he said, straightening and holding a hand to his back.

  “Yes, I guess so. What is it, George?” Pulling her coat on, she began to button the front.

  “Why do you always wear black?” he asked curiously.

  “I’m in mourning, George,” she said simply. Straightening her collar, she patted her tight blonde bun once again.

  “But, Miss Margie, you’ve been here nigh on three years and I’ve never seen you wear anything but black. Surely your mourning time is over.”

  “Well, when I first came here, I was mourning my husband,” she said, looking away. “Then my uncle passed away and a few months ago, my aunt. It seems like I’ll be wearing black at least until the end of the year. Does that answer your question?”

  “It does and it doesn’t,” the wizened old man said with a sigh. “You’re a mighty pretty woman, if you don’t mind my saying so, and just once before I retire I’d like to see you in something cheerful.”

  Margie watched his eyes travel from her plain black pumps to the heavy black rimmed glasses she wore. She knew everyone thought of her as an ‘odd duck’ as her uncle would say, but she didn’t dwell on it. At this point in her life, she had no one to please but herself, although she would have liked to accommodate George. Many nights she’d observed him watching over her from the upper window as she made her way to her car.

  “Thank you, George. I have no close living relatives left so if you’re still here next spring, I may surprise you,” she teased. “You have a good night now and take care you don’t injure your back.”

  “Don’t slip out there now,” George called after her.

  “I’ll be careful,” she assured him. “I have my galoshes in the car if need be.”

  George shook his head.

  “Galoshes,” he mumbled. “Who calls them galoshes anymore?”

  Alone in the elevator, Margie pulled her black scarf out of her coat pocket. When the shiny doors slid open, she looked with dismay at the thick snow beginning to swirl outside the glass fronted building. Why hadn’t she worn shoes more suited to the weather, she thought, or at least switched to the heavy black oxfords she kept in her desk? Tying her scarf over her head she pushed the door open, her breath immediately stolen by the strong wind. Thankfully, her consistent early arrival assured her a parking space close to the building but she still picked her way cautiously, slipping and sliding to the vintage 1960 Ford Fairlane. Opening the back door, she sat and pulled her fur-trimmed black galoshes over her shoes and zipped them up. Grabbing her snow brush she quickly cleaned off what snow she could before getting in and starting the vehicle. Turning on the wipers, she briskly rubbed her hands together as she waited for the car to warm up, something she’d learned many years ago.

  Unfortunately, when she put it into gear, it lurched back and then stalled. Frowning, she put the car back into park and tried again. This time when she turned it over, all she heard was a few sputters and a sad little groan.

  Margie put her head down on the steering wheel and vaguely recalled an appointment to have the car serviced for winter. She thought it was next week, but it could have been last week. Those were exactly the kind of details that frequently slipped her mind. Putting the car in neutral, she got out and began pushing on the trunk, trying to get the car back into the parking space. Rocking it with all her might didn’t budge it, so she turned around and set her feet, pushing with her backside. Two pushes later, she found herself sitting on her butt in a pile of slush, and for the first time in four years, she gave into a completely childish impulse and let out a frustrated scream while kicking her feet. “Son of a bitch!”

  Suddenly two strong hands clamped under her arms and easily lifted her to a standing position.

  “Having problems, Miss Whitcomb?” her boss asked, not bothering to hide his grin.

  “Mr. Mitchell,” Margie gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest. “I didn’t see you.”

  “I know,” he replied, openly smiling now. “I saw you having difficulties but before I could get to you, you’d gone down. Are you all right?”
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  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just need to get my car out of the way in case the weather gets worse and the snowplow driver doesn’t see it,” she answered blushing. “I’d hate to have anything happen to it.”

  “I don’t blame you, it’s a classic. Let’s see what we can do. Get inside and I’ll give you a shove. Just hit the brake so you don’t go up on the curb.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mitchell.”

  With minimal effort, the large man had her safely back in her spot and Margie climbed out of the car with her bag in hand before closing the door.

  “Aren’t you going to lock it?” he asked taking her elbow.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t. You see the locks freeze and I’m afraid I won’t be able to get in it. I’ll just go back into the building and call a garage to have it looked at.”

  “Don’t you have a cell?” he asked, still holding her arm firmly.

  “No, but don’t worry about me. It’s only a short walk to the bus stop and once I make arrangements I’ll…”

  “Miss Whitcomb, the last bus went through five minutes ago,” he advised her calmly.

  “Oh, well, then I’ll walk. It’s only a couple of miles,” she stated, forcing a confident smile.

  For the first time, his expression became stern and her heart fluttered.

  “Nonsense,” he scolded quite firmly. “I can give you a ride. What’s your address?” he asked as he steadily moved her toward his black SUV.

  “That’s really not necessary, Mr. Mitchell. I don’t mind walking at all.” Tentatively she tried to pull away from his grasp. The last thing she needed was to spend even a few minutes enclosed in a warm dark space with the man who frequently haunted her fantasies. Colton Mitchell was easily the most attractive man she worked with. His tall, broad frame and jet black hair transformed nightly into an endless assortment of knights, military heroes, and exiled lairds fighting to reclaim their Highland homes. He’d even been a Vampire in one dream, his sharp gleaming teeth descending to claim her pale throat. No, she had enough issues to deal with. Spending time alone with a man was not on her list of things to do, especially not with someone who already invaded her peace of mind. Romance of any kind was out. When he stopped and turned her to face him, taking her other arm in his grasp she nearly panicked.

  “Look, Miss Whitcomb, I’ve always thought of you as an extremely smart young woman. In fact, I’ve admired your exemplary work ethic as well as your cute and quirky ways, but right this moment I think you’re being quite ridiculous. There is no reason in hell for you to walk home in this weather and I’m not prepared to stand out here arguing about it any further.” With that he swiftly marched her to his vehicle, opened the door and with a minimum of fuss deposited her in the passenger seat. “Buckle up,” he ordered before shutting the door with a firm click.

  Margie opened her mouth and clamped it shut again. Oh, Lord, he had a dominant nature, and although she’d suspected it for a long time, the knowing made everything so much worse. Her heart was nearly beating out of her chest now and blood rushed through her body, throbbing in completely unacceptable places. She knew her cheeks were on fire and she dropped her gaze to her lap and quietly gave him her address as soon as he’d settled in his seat.

  *

  Colton glanced at her several times during the relatively short drive to her home. She was silent and seemed almost embarrassed to be alone with him. This was strange for a man who was accustomed to women using all kinds of ruses to get him alone. He knew he was attractive and probably doubly so due to his wealth and standing in the community. While he’d had his share and then some of girlfriends, there was no one currently in his life who inspired much interest. Miss Whitcomb had been in his peripheral vision for a number of months. He found her unique and somewhat mired in a time warp. Her modest mode of dress was unusual in a time when women seemed to want to flaunt everything they had and he quite admired it. She wore black, always, but it suited her with her fair coloring, blonde hair and small build. Often he’d been tempted to reach down into her hair and pull out the combs she wore just to see what it would look like as it tumbled down. At times, he spent his lunch contemplating what she wore under those fitted black vintage dresses and watched closely to see if he could glimpse a stocking top or garter. It was unnerving to say the least and he generally gave himself a stern talking to when he found himself distracted by thoughts of her.

  Her house was situated in a cul-de-sac in a development designed in the 1950s or thereabouts. Somehow he wasn’t surprised, and pulling into her drive, it suddenly became a matter of great importance for him to get a look inside. Shutting off the vehicle, he sent her a warning look when she reached for the door handle that had her hand pulling back. Getting out he moved to her door and opened it, placing both hands on her waist and lifting her down.

  “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Mitchell,” she stammered out when he failed to back up. “I can see myself to the door.”

  “I believe it’s customary for the gentleman to see the lady safely inside, Miss Whitcomb,” he replied with a small smile as he took her arm and escorted her up her snow-covered walk.

  “Well, thank you again…”

  “I also believe proper manners would indicate a nice warm drink should be offered on a night such as this,” he suggested somewhat hopefully.

  *

  Margie’s hand stalled in turning the key and she looked at him over her shoulder. The weather had not improved and she could hear her aunt’s voice scolding her. Marjorie, when a man has gone out of his way to assist you, it’s only good manners to invite him in and offer him a warm cup of coffee before sending him on his way. Not every man is like, he who shall remain nameless.

  Margie’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “Oh course, Mr. Mitchell, how thoughtless of me. Please come in.”

  They entered a small foyer where she opened a closet removing her coat and hanging it up. Tugging off her galoshes she placed them carefully inside on a boot rack and slipped off her shoes. Immediately she was several inches shorter and he marveled at the difference.

  “May I take your coat?” she asked, holding out her hand.

  Colton shrugged out of his overcoat and handed it to her, before toeing off his boots. Carefully she added them to the tray where they started dripping. She hung his coat on a hook on the back of the closet door and left it open, positioning it so it was directly over a register in the floor.

  “This should be quite warm and dry very soon,” she said meaningfully as she led the way into the living room.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised, yet he was, by the absolute perfection of the area. Overstuffed furniture dominated the room. The dark wood accent pieces were polished to a high shine; crocheted doilies were placed on the arms of the furniture as well as under anything that could possibly scratch the surface of the antique pieces. There was a lovely bar set on a silver tray, complete with ice bucket and highball glasses. Several decanters of liquor with which to offer guests a choice of beverage were clustered on another tray. Photographs in ornate silver frames were scattered about the room and he watched fascinated as Marjorie dropped gracefully to her knees in front of the fireplace and quickly started a fire.

  “I would have done that,” he offered gently when he found his voice.

  “I’m used to it,” she replied rising. “Would you still like coffee, or something stronger?” she asked, looking at her toes.

  Colton considered for but a moment before answering. “Coffee if that’s not too much trouble,” he replied. A cocktail could be made much too quickly.

  “Not at all, I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  “May I come with you? I’d like to see more of this remarkable house.”

  Margie paused as though considering and then shrugged her shoulders before motioning for him to follow her. He wasn’t disappointed. They passed through a lovely dining room and he absorbed as many details as he could. It was purely Victorian, the china closet fair to bursting with china, teapots and silver accessories. A richly colored oriental carpet covered the center of a gleaming hardwood floor and the table and chairs were heavy mahogany. A huge etched mirror hovered over the sideboard reflecting the soft lights of the chandelier she switched on as they passed through.