Read Romance: Catching Helena Handbasket for Free Online Page B

scurried barefoot across her carpeted floor to answer the summons.
         She opened the door to a vision that stopped just short of stealing her breath.
         Dressed this evening in a sharp ivory suit that accentuated the cast of his ebony hair and the sharp hue of his gem blue eyes, not to mention—she couldn’t help but notice—every muscle on his ever lovin’, oh so fit physique, Trey also came bearing a scented, dew glistened bouquet of gorgeous ruby red roses.
         “Wow,” Helena breathed, inordinately pleased with herself on her high level of impulsive articulance.
         “Right back at ya,” Trey breathed in return, his wide-eyed gaze taking a long walk down Helena’s voluptuous form.  “You’re beautiful Helena.”
         Feeling her cheeks flush at this rare compliment, his date accepted his flowers with a gracious smile and walked them in to a nearby kitchen; where she grabbed a water pitcher from her refrigerator and tossed the flowers inside.
         “The pure jade vase, my personal favorite of my extensive collection, is on loan to the Louvre,” she said over her shoulder to an amused Trey.  “Sometimes, my dear, we must make do.”
         Setting her fresh new floral arrangement at the center of her table, Helena grabbed her ivory clamshell purse from its place on the same table and headed toward the door.
         “So let’s make like defective fireworks and blow this Popsicle stand,” she offered her arm to Trey.  “Or, you know, some other misbegotten, tired cliché that I as a book editor should never, ever employ.”
         Trey chuckled.
         “Brilliant,” he kissed her cheek, adding with a shrug, “As lovely as you look tonight, Helena, I do have one minor suggestion to make in regards to your wardrobe.”
         Her smile dissolving, Helena fixed her fists on her hips and narrowed her eyes in his direction.
         “Oh do you now?” she snapped.  “And just who are you as a man to dictate your date’s wardrobe?  I must say that is an extremely sexist statement, one I’d never expect to hear coming from you…”
         “So sorry, so sorry,” Trey apologized, hands held up before him as he suddenly seemed in fear of his very life.  “It’s just that-well—the club I’m taking to you is very high class and exclusive, and they require that all of their patrons wear a specific article of clothing before being admitted into its rather posh, upscale confines.”
         “Oh, does it now?”  Helena snapped, hoisting her chin upward.  “So just what am I lacking here?  What must have item of clothing do I need to fit in with your hoity toity friends at this super exclusive job?”
         Trey grinned.
         “Shoes, Helena,” he told her, motioning toward her bare feet.  “They are an exclusive, hoity toity apparel item, to be sure—but I’m sure you have a pair, somewhere in your wardrobe.”
         Following the direction of his gesture, Helena felt her cheeks flush as she regarded her patently bare feet.
         “Oh, right,” she muttered, turning for her bedroom.  “I should have some of those around here.  Somewhere.”
         Moments later, or at least after Helena had found herself some fitting footwear, she found herself in the passenger seat of a sleek ebony Jaguar; racing across a velvet ebony nightscape to the downtown area.
         “Nice wheels,” she praised, pressing her nose against the passenger seat window as she admired the shimmering blanket of stars that ruled the night sky.  “Nice town.”
         “Thanks and thanks,” Trey nodded.  “It’s always nice to see Manhattan—and my car, for that matter—through a fresh, very lovely pair of eyes.  So tell me, Helena—how do you like your new apartment?”
         Helena shrugged.
         “It’s beautiful,” she allowed.  “And for once I’m not fighting to the death for bathroom space with six