Jane Shoup

Whispered Intent

Elle Emriche

Warning

This e-book contains sexually
explicit scenes and adult language. This material is meant for mature
audiences!

...a fascinating tale of whispered promises and intent…it
will blow your mind ...Kudos to Ms. Emriche for such a captivating story.

4.5 Rating -Sheryl, Sensual
Ecataromance

…a knock your socks off, sexy as
hell, story that will have you begging for more. The sex scenes are
explosive...The characters captured my heart...

(Top Rating 5 'A Lifetime Keeper!)
-Tammie King, Nigh Owl Romance Reviews

The plot is intriguing, fun and dangerous…a
fun read…the kind of fantasy romance that titillates and is a bit too dangerous
for real life.

-Sandi Potterton, Just Erotic
Romance Reviews

Other books by Elle
Emriche:

Valley of the Shadow
(historical erotic romance)
Revenge at Mirror Lake (contemporary erotic romance)
The Appropriation of Isabel (contemporary erotic romance)

Pedestals
(suspense/thriller)

Shadowplay
(suspense/thriller)

Hope (historical romance)

Jayna Incarnate (historical
romance)

The Telling (historical
romance)

Crimson Hall (historical
fiction)

Whispered Intent

A Whispers Publishing
Publication

August 2008

Copyright ©2008 Elle Emriche

Cover illustration copyright ©
2008
Rene Walden of BG Designs

ISBN Not Assigned

All rights reserved.  No
part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,
electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an
information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote
brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the
Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

All characters in this book have
no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation
whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even
distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all
incidents are pure invention.

Published by:
Whispers
Publishing
, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

Jenny Oliver chewed on a
knuckle absentmindedly and read over the advertisement she was working on for a
roommate. ”‘Non-smoker,’” she muttered.

“‘Neat, professional person
to share large two-bedroom apartment in historic district.’”

Her dark blonde hair was
pulled into a ponytail, but the shorter layers would not stay put. In her
oversized red sweatshirt, with one knee propped up in front of her, she looked like
a graduate student cramming facts for an exam.” Maybe I shouldn’t say
two-bedroom.” What she had was a large one bedroom with a ‘bonus’ room the size
of a large walk-in closet. That was the room she would have to move into, if
someone answered the ad.

Her cell phone rang and she
reached for it, checking the caller id before hitting the talk button. It said
Oliver
,
Carla
.” Hey, Mom.”

“It’s the third of the
month,” Carla Oliver started in without preamble.” Do you have your rent taken
care of for the month?”

“I told you it was
covered,” Jenny reminded her in an exasperated tone.

“I know what you told me. I
also know how stubborn you are.”

Jenny sighed and pushed the
notebook with her advertisement and about a hundred tiny doodles away. Like she
wanted a damned roommate, anyway.” Mom, look; Mitch hurt me, but he didn’t
devastate me. My rent is paid so please stop worrying.”

“Because you know we could
help. We’d be glad to help.”

“I know that and I
appreciate it,” Jenny replied slowly.”But I don’t need it right now.” It was a
lie, but her mom and dad didn’t have the money to spare.

“Well, if you change your
mind…”

“Mother!”

“Fine,” Carla gave in.” I
won’t say another word. Are you going out tonight?”

“Please! Me? Not go out on
a Saturday night? Are you kidding?”

“Jen,” her mom chided.

Jenny
only hesitated for a split second.” I was invited to a party. Somebody at
work.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. She had been invited–and decided not to go,
but if she didn’t come up with an excuse, her Mom would insist she come over
for dinner. Not that she minded dinner with her folks, but, face-to-face, Carla
Oliver would sniff out the whole truth and that was not a scene she wanted to
deal with.

The grim truth was that her
ex-boyfriend, whom she should never have trusted, although he’d mostly seemed
trustworthy over the year and a half they were together, had pretty much
cleaned out her checking account out of sheer spite. Of course, her mother knew
that because Jenny had completely lost it when she found out. What Carla Oliver
didn’t know was how totally wiped out she actually was. Somehow, many of the
expenses of the past year had gone on her one and only credit card and her
miniscule savings had trickled away until just over a hundred dollars remained.
A hundred and four dollars and eighty-six cents, but who was counting?

It wasn’t like Mitch had
gotten rich from what he’d taken. She’d had less than three thousand dollars in
her checking account. But it wasn’t like he’d needed the money either. He
didn’t have gambling debts to pay off or a drug habit that made him crazy. No,
it had just been an irresistible combination—a little greed and a big slap in
face for her. It had been a low, despicable, rotten thing to do, and she hoped
he paid for it at some point in his life. She was sure as hell paying for it.
Of course, she’d been the idiot who’d shared her pin number with him. The
thought still made her cringe and burn with stupidity. If there was any silver
lining, it was that she’d learned. Never, ever again would she be taken in like
that.

“Well, I’ll let you go so
you can get ready,” Carla said.” What about tomorrow? Can you make it over for
supper?”

“I have got to do some
Christmas shopping tomorrow,” Jenny replied fervently.” Not that I can do much
this year, but I haven’t gotten a single thing.”

“Oh,
honey, will you look at that?” Carla said excitedly. “It’s snowing. Is it
snowing there yet?”

Jenny looked to the window
and, sure enough, a light flurry of snow had started falling. She smiled at the
sight of the first snowfall of the year. “Yeah, it is.”

“Tell
you what,” Carla said, “let’s forget Christmas presents this year. We’ll just
all be together and forget about silly presents. There’s none of us that need
anything, anyway. I’ll talk to Chris and Meg about it.”

Jenny’s eyes prickled. Her
mom wanted to make things easier because of what Mitch had done, but the idea
of changing their family tradition because of her was heart wrenching. “Mom,
no,” she replied in a thick voice. “Let’s keep things normal. I don’t want
anything to change because I was an idiot.”

“You weren’t an idiot,” her
mom contradicted. “You were taken in by somebody who didn’t have the decency we
thought he had.”

Jenny didn’t trust her
voice for the moment. She shoved a fist against her mouth and turned her head,
waiting for the urge to burst into tears to pass. She noticed an envelope had
been slipped under her door. People weren’t supposed to solicit in the
building, but they did it anyway.

“You go out and have a nice
time tonight,” Carla said with forced cheerfulness. “And drive carefully,
especially if it’s snowing.”

Jenny grinned and shook her
head. Carla Oliver lived to worry. It would never change. “I will.”

“Everything will be fine,
Jen. You just have to put Mitch out of your mind.”

“I know. I’m okay.”

“All right. I’ll talk to
you later, then.”

“Bye, Mom.”

“If you change your mind,
I’ve fixed lamb stew.”

“Bye, Mom,” Jenny repeated.

Carla could hear the
laughter in her daughter’s voice and it made her feel a little better. “Bye,
sweetie,” she answered, giving in.

Jenny
disconnected the call and sat back. Her mother’s stew sounded good. Running
home and pretending she was a safe, protected girl sounded good, too, but she
wasn’t a child. If she went home, she would fall apart and that would upset her
parents. She sighed heavily. On her depression scale of one to ten, she was a
six today. Nine physically hurt, six just felt dull and worthless. “And weepy.
And weak,” she muttered as she got up to get whatever had been slipped under
her door. “And fucking stupid.”

She
noticed the envelope had no writing on the outside of it. “Solicitation from a
tanning salon,” she guessed. “Beat those winter blues with a golden tan.” She
pulled out the folded paper and was surprised to see a typewritten letter
addressed to her. She glanced down to see who had sent it, but there was no
name and no signature. Frowning, she read.

Dear Jenny,

I’m
sorry for the trouble you’ve had. A person like you should never have had to go
through what Mitch put you through. I see you and I think there’s nothing I
wouldn’t give to be in his place. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever
seen.

Jenny took a step
backwards, but continued reading.

I know you’re in need of
money right now because of what happened. I have a fantasy that involves you and
I’m willing to pay to bring it to life. Here’s my idea: go down to the old
laundry room tonight, the one no one uses anymore. Go to the row of dryers on
the side, put your hands on top of the machine in the middle of the row, keep
your back to the door.

Jenny’s throat suddenly
went dry. Her arms crossed in front of her, the letter slightly shaking, she
read it with wide eyes.

I want to touch you—only to
touch you—and for that, for only a few minutes of that, I’ll leave you with a
hundred dollars. You can bring your phone along or whatever you want to make
you feel safer. I won’t hurt you, Jenny. I won’t ever hurt you. I swear—I want
only to touch you. Wear a skirt.

Jenny’s heart hammered. She
glanced at the lock on the door and then used the deadbolt. Who had written
this? Obviously someone who lived here, because it was a high-security
building. Guests had to be let in by a resident. But, who knew about Mitch?
She’d only told her mom and Zoe, her best friend at work. She’d been too
ashamed to tell anyone else. So who knew? Her mom wouldn’t have told anybody,
nor would Zoe.
Unless it was Mitch, playing some sick joke
. Jenny’s eyes
narrowed thinking about it. No. He wouldn’t give up a hundred dollars. Unless
maybe it humiliated her sufficiently to make it worth it. Did he hate her that
much?

Maybe he’d told somebody.
She walked to the peephole in the door and looked out on an empty hallway. She
rubbed her arms, chilled, and backed away from the door, feeling very alone.
The emptiness of the apartment pushed in on her, mocked her.

She went into the kitchen
and poured herself a glass of wine, feeling incredibly self-conscious, as if
someone watched her every move. “Paranoid,” she whispered. She drank half the
glass and then sat and reread the letter several times. She racked her brain
for every male in the building. It had to be somebody who lived here.
Otherwise, how would he know about the old laundry room? The ‘new’ one wasn’t
really that new; it was at least five or six years old, but spacious and clean
with decent machines. The fact is, most people in the building had their own
washer and dryer. She rarely saw anybody when she traipsed down to the basement
to do laundry.

The laundry room! How would
she ever get the nerve to go down there again? “Oh, my God,” she said, shaking
her head. “I have a stalker.” A stalker who had called her beautiful. He’d said
she was his fantasy.
He?
What if it wasn’t a
he
, she suddenly
wondered. She read the letter again and a shiver raced through her.

Leaving the letter on the
table, she took her glass of wine and meandered through the apartment. She
ended in her bedroom, in front of her favorite piece of furniture, an antique
vanity table with a large circular mirror. The surface of the mirror wasn’t
perfect. It was wavy looking in areas and had a few dark spots on it. She
studied her reflection as she sipped her wine. It seemed like it had been a
long time since anyone had called her beautiful, and even longer since she’d
thought of herself that way. Why was it so much more natural to focus on
problems and flaws than what was good?

Her features were all even
and regular, except for wide, silvery-hazel eyes. They were a unique enough
color to constantly draw comments. Her hair was dark ash-blonde. At one time
she’d had highlights, which had looked really good, but she hadn’t been able to
afford them lately. Too bad; the highlights had made a difference. With a
hundred dollars she could splurge. She grinned at the absurd notion. Like she
would have ever considered doing something like that!

Maybe she’d call Zoe and go
out, after all. Why the hell was she staying shut up all the time? Mitch had
high-tailed it two months ago, but the strain had come between them months
before that. And now
she
was acting like a nun or a hermit? As if she’d
done something wrong that deserved this penance? It was bullshit. “That’s
exactly right,” she muttered as she walked to get her phone. “I should grow the
fuck up.”

* * * *

Zoe said something, but Jenny
couldn’t quite make out the words over the blaring music. They’d gone to a
favorite bar of Zoe’s, but the place was so loud and smoky, it was giving Jenny
a headache. “What?” she said, leaning forward.

“I said I’m glad you came
out tonight. It’s about time,” Zoe said loudly and distinctly in order to be
heard.

Jenny nodded, despite the
fact that she felt just the opposite. The bar scene always left a hollow ache
inside her. Plus, she’d spent thirty dollars tonight, which was stupid when she
didn’t have money to blow.

Zoe had a head full of
black curls tonight and they bopped all over the place when she moved her head
to the beat of the music. She sipped on her vodka tonic through a straw,
oblivious to the table of yuppies behind her who apparently found her amusing.

“Wana’ dance?” a man
slurred in Jenny’s ear. She turned to the stocky, balding man in a business
suit who jiggled slightly as he waited for her answer. “Um, no, thank you,” she
said apologetically. “I was just getting ready to leave. Work tomorrow and
all,” she said too quickly, not wanting to hurt his feelings. He’d leaned on
the back of her chair for support. He had what looked like some spittle on his
chin. He gave a shrug and ambled off. Feeling guilty and a little bit creeped
out, Jenny turned back to Zoe to inform her that she really was going, but a
fresh glass of wine was being slid in front of her and Zoe was paying the
waitress. “This is the last one,” Jenny said pointing at her glass.

“What?” Zoe called.

“Last one,” Jenny repeated.
“I’m going to go.”

“No,” Zoe protested.“C’mon.
It’s just getting going!”

And so it was. Three more
rounds of drinks were sent to their table and Jenny was hit on twice more.
Once, by a decent-looking guy who couldn’t keep his eyes off her tits, and once
from a guy who motioned her close in order to grab hold and French kiss her ear
canal. No thank you.