Heaven Inside You(2)

She loved her job. Her job was her life. In fact, she had nothing but her job. Although she didn’t necessarily love the company she was with. Recently, it appeared that talent was made to take the back seat more and more when it came to making business decisions. She was quite weary of having to “crunch the numbers,” and her instinct sometimes wasn’t enough to convince the powers that be to go with a particular hunch, that the money would come if only they would believe in her vision. All they wanted to know was whether a book would sell, and they were increasingly hesitant to take risks in the process. They kept telling her she had to stick to the “formula” and let go of everything else. Yeah, right.

The same sense of dissatisfaction was hitting her in her personal life. She did go on dates every now and then, but the whole dating-bar-social scene was too complicated for her liking. She’d always been a straightforward kind of gal with simple tastes. All she wanted after a long day at work was a good long soak in her bathtub and hearty Italian takeout or sushi, followed by—in absence of the real deal—a much needed close encounter with her vibrator. The way she saw it, it was preferable to play with a plastic object than a man with a plastic heart. She just didn’t want to waste time dating guys who had the feelings of a grape.

Deep down, she knew what she really wanted. As a good old-fashioned Southern girl, she craved a loving marriage, a home filled with the laughter of an adoring husband and the innocent voices of children. She wanted to find the passion she read so much about in all those steamy books. Despite her age and life as a modern, independent woman, she still believed in fairy tales.

However, she wasn’t about to fall for just any guy. It was hard to meet someone who saw life the way she did and found meaning in all the little things. Most of the men she was exposed to were deeply involved in the corporate rat race and wouldn’t have time for a meaningful relationship, much less a family. She wanted more. Much more. A confident, strong man with a heart of gold, who would sweep her away and make her his willing love slave. He’d be forceful and tender, lovingly dominant. He’d want her every day with an unrivalled need and most of all, he’d love her forever.

He’d also love her full, thick, hourglass body.

Although her friends kept telling her how pretty and wonderfully “voluptuous” she was—God bless them and their kind hearts—she recognized the truth for what it was. She knew she couldn’t change her size sixteen frame, her naturally unruly hair, hips she wouldn’t fit in low-rise jeans and breasts she could barely squeeze in her 38Ds. She’d be delusional if she imagined herself as anybody’s type.

Of course, she wasn’t overly bothered with the situation. It was a case of take it or leave it. Far be it for her to apologize for being more of an Amazon than a Barbie doll. Olivia was a champion for honesty and had no love for games. Men—at least the ones she had known—seemed to be turned on by petite, delicate, flirtatious women like her sister Fiona, and she couldn’t change reality. Why, the Ideal Woman was all over TV, posing in front of the camera, showing off her skinny ribs in a thong bikini!

Now Fiona knew her way around a man and could twist one around her dainty little finger. She’d always had a knack for handling the male of the species, making them feel like kings with empty flattery and coy smiles. Four years younger than Olivia, Fiona was the very image of a beauty queen. She moved with grace and dressed with style. Her makeup was always flawless, her manners impeccable—when she wanted. One would wonder if she woke up in the morning perfectly groomed and ready to go.

Yeah, Fiona was what Olivia could never hope to be. Luckily, Olivia didn’t want to be Fiona. Not that Fiona was better than her in everything. Olivia’s own almond-shaped green eyes were probably her most redeeming feature. Those eyes, she suspected, tended to give away a little more about her than she wished anyone to know. And her full lips were once described by an artist friend of hers as “luscious, full and perfect…an artist’s dream.” Although she had nothing against her lips, she didn’t know how true a declaration that was. She suspected that same artist was just trying to get in her good graces. Or more likely in her pants. She suppressed a snort at that thought.

All she knew was how she felt inside, those hidden feelings she kept safely tucked in the recesses of her heart. Perhaps one day someone would see through her easygoing, pleasant façade. Her passions ran deep and strong and dark. Sometimes they overwhelmed her so much her thoughts and emotions were just too hard to contain, and on the hardest and loneliest days, tears would fall unrestrained. Nothing seemed to move her lately but the fantasies she submitted to late at night in the privacy of her bedroom—visions of bondage and love, commanding words and tender endearments.