HEART by MS IMAGINE RATED FRT

What might have gone through a certain Tracy's mind upon his first meeting with a certain associate of IR.

It was the cool click of expensive heels and the elegant turn of slender ankles that first made his acquaintance. As he slid out from under the car, Alan took his first sight of a designer outfit - black snake skin, oh mama, tight and dangerous in all the right places. She curved, oh did she curve with her cutting poise and glacier eyes, and she was blonde.

In his head, the velvet smoke of a woman's voice sang 'ooo, barracuda...'

Something thumped in Alan's chest, something a lot like hopeless, dreamy lust.

"Can I help you Ma'am?"

"Mister Alan Tracy?"

Thank you, Alan praised heaven silently, because she was foreign, so perfectly high-end British that her accent could have cut glass. And he loved foreign girls. In fact, Alan had to pause a moment before answering her as that feeling in his chest expanded and burned.

Could it be?

Was this love at first sight?

His lungs spasmed and forced him into movement.

Ah. No, not love; he'd just forgotten to breathe.

"Yes Ma'am." He went to offer his hand, then remembered it was covered in grease. And it wouldn't do to have this pretty little thing - would you look at that gorgeous, turned up nose? - covered in grease.

"Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. It's a pleasure to meet you, Alan."

How did she do that? That thing with her voice? It was a lovely voice, rich and warm with a hint of dryness at the edges but it shone on him like sunbeams.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine," Alan replied, immediately kicking himself for using such a stupid line. "What can I do for you, my Lady?"

"I have something for you." Alan's eyes went wide. "From your father." And shrank back to their normal size.

She reached a gloved hand into her purse - help him, it matched the slinky dress - and produced an envelope which she immediately offered. Alan's fingers curled around its edge and his eyes caught hers - and they were twinkling!

She was Aphrodite. Venus. A glorious Cleopatra in snake skin, standing right before him, and all he could do was stare stupidly...

"Although circumstances won't permit it at the moment, I hope we might take tea together some time and get to know each other better."

His fingers grasped the envelope now, but she hadn't released it. She's flirting? Is she flirting with me? Heaven sent me an angel that flirts! Say something, you idiot!

"I'd like that very much -"

"Ahem."

Alan jumped. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward barely reacted. Her lips curved deeper and the flash of a dimple showed in her left cheek - Alan swallowed, hard - but she remained where she was, hand still attached to the mysterious envelope that now rested on Alan's palm. Alan couldn't break his gaze from her.

"Begging your pardon, Milady, but we must be off or we shall be late for your next h'appointment."

She smiled at Alan, released the envelope and withdrew her lovely little hand.

"Indeed. Thank you, Parker."

Knees knocking quietly with all the tension, Alan shot a frustrated glare toward the ill-timed pain in the neck that'd interrupted them. He was an older man, her chauffeur, Alan guessed from the uniform. He was scowling fiercely at Alan too, from beneath two - or was that one - massively bushy brow. That wasn't even the half of it. The old man had a magnificent nose that dwarfed the rest of his face. Really. It sprouted out of his forehead and hung round and low over his lips, an appendage so out of proportion that it could have had a brain and life of its own. Alan could almost imagine it getting up and doing a dance or singing a little trumpeting song on command. As if sensing the younger man's stupefied mocking, the chauffeur sniffed.

"At your convenience, milady," he said with a snotty facsimile of a high-born accent.

Those twinkling eyes rested on Alan again. He swallowed a pathetic whimper.

"Until next time then, Alan."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She turned, giving him a worship-worthy view of some other curves that was instantly committed to memory. And then she strode out of his dirty garage taking all those lovely snake-patterned sunbeams with her.

The chauffeur glowered with one last, dirty look. Alan thought he saw the nose give a contemptuous twitch. With a huff, he was gone.

Ooo, barracuda.