- Caprice — A Glamorous Erotic Series
- The Author
- Main Characters
- Sweet Manhattan Fling
Caprice — A Glamorous Erotic Series
Caprice is an erotic series that follows best friends Maren and Caprice — two journalists at Germany’s biggest tabloid magazine FLASH. Reporting on events around the world, they jet-set to meet celebrities, aristocracy, and members of high society. Maren and Caprice research their stories with hard-hitting dedication and even physically involved …
Each episode is unique: sometimes gentle and other times a little rough. Different writers ensure each story’s individual flair. Since each author maintains her own writing style, Caprice is a completely new erotic experience from one glamorous event to the next.
Angelina Kay grew up in New York with her grandparents. After graduating from college, she was drawn back to Germany, where she worked as a freelance journalist at a newspaper. Today, she lives on a big ranch in California and dedicates herself completely to her Mustang horses and her work as a writer.
Caprice LaCroix is spontaneous, domineering, and strong-willed. She’s a confident diva who’s part French and doesn’t hesitate to let everyone know, mon chéri. Having grown up just outside Paris, she learned to fight her way through life. It’s her fight that makes her relish sticky situations. Caprice noticed early on that she could hold men in her spell. Her tenacity got her the job at FLASH. Her reporter’s intuition not only leads her to exclusive and scandalous stories, but also into situations where she can live out her fantasies. Much more exciting than searching for one lone partner for life! Besides, her body is far too special to be admired by one man alone …
Maren Janson is the yin to Caprice’s yang. She’s just a “naïve country girl.” Or at least that’s her act. The boys, with whom Maren grew up, in a small German village, experienced that first hand. After she was drawn to the big city, she landed at Germany’s biggest tabloid magazine, FLASH, in Hamburg. Maren knows that her girly, naïve ways incite mens’ protective instinct, and she takes advantage of this to serve her own needs. Still, one day she hopes to meet Mr. Right. But until she finds him, she likes to have her fun with the city boys …
Sweet Manhattan Fling
Translated by Anna Matussek
It was almost the end of the workday, but the weather was still sweltering hot. Journalist Maren Janson sat in Walter Stein’s office and looked up at him expectantly. The Editor in Chief of FLASH magazine seemed lost in thought, whilst gazing at Maren’s long, slender legs.
Maren was dressed for the heat: distracting white shorts paired with a figure-hugging lilac blouse.
Walter managed to pull himself away from the sight of her lightly bronzed skin and drummed his fingers on the desktop. He took a deep breath.
“I want to send you to the USA,” he began “New York City, to be precise.”
“Great!” Maren sat up in excitement “Who’s it about?”
“Bob Halliwell. This guy’s a celebrity even outside of the U.S.”
“Isn’t he that pastry chef everyone’s been making such a big deal about lately?” She furrowed her brow. “So, I’m supposed to profile a pastry chef for our FLASH readers?”
Walter nodded. “Bob Halliwell’s creations are edible works of art in and of themselves, some of them are one of a kind, tailored especially to the client’s personal ideas and tastes. There was a photography exhibition in New York last month, all about his original creations. I want to take advantage of the hype and make him a public figure over here, as well. I’m sure there is no shortage of tasty photos of him.”
“Hardly,” Maren said, “and neither a shortage of calories, which I am exposing myself to by writing this piece.” She winked at her boss. “Aren’t you thinking of my poor figure at all?”
Walter looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He blustered, “What do I care about your figure? I want background on this man and anecdotes too. No one is expecting you to stuff yourself silly.”
Maren rolled her eyes. “Apparently Bob Halliwell’s creations aren’t only visually impressive, but are meant to be simply delicious. My body will be in serious danger of expanding.”
“You’re only meant to taste a little bit of everything and not dive into the cake.” Walter paused for breath; considering the image of Maren emerging from a giant cake with a whisp of cream just covering those nipples that he could see pushing gently at her shirt. He cleared his throat. “A certain amount of tact is required for this job. That's why I thought of you, your delicate nature will surely have Halliwell eating out of our hands. But remember Maren, he lives for his job and the mere mention of calories or health concerns will not be well received.”
Maren gave him the thumbs up. “So the guy is sensitive, too?” She asked, feigning innocence.
Walter, still too busy with his imaginings took her seriously. “That’s how artists are, even when they are confectioners. The perfect subject for you.”
Amused, Maren looked into Walter’s eyes. “Well, I will have to handle this baker with kid gloves then.”
Walter leaned back, his arms crossed.
“Don’t underestimate the man. Halliwell has his own baking show on primetime television and won’t make time for just any journalist.” Walter opened the drawer and placed a file on the table. “The competition has already dubbed him the high priest of diabetes. I want to avoid that kind of blunder. I am completely relying on your tact and sensitivity. Bob Halliwell refuses anyone information who isn’t willing to get down and dirty on the job."
Maren smiled, lifted her head and replied. “So I won’t be able to avoid having to taste the entire range myself?”
“That’s right,” he said, running his hand over his thinning hair. “For heaven’s sake, do not refuse anything. Just be yourself — open, inquisitive,” he choked slightly, searching for the word. “And sensual.”
Amused, Maren cocked her head to the side. Her curiosity about this confectioner was peaked. “I can definitely do sensual. You will get your article, even if I need to go to a fat camp afterwards. I’ll send you the bill for the starvation spa.”
“Yeah right, that’s what you think!” Stein growled and pushed the file towards her. “Make the story exciting from a culinary point of view, too. Although Halliwell produces sugary treats, he does advocate the use of high quality ingredients. Celebrity chefs and confectioners of his caliber are very on-trend at the moment.”
Maren flipped through the papers. “Which basically means using butter instead of margarine and honey instead of white sugar. I’ll bet you anything, that the quality Halliwell holds in such high esteem, will probably also be much more calorific.”
“That is the price of good taste,” Stein teased. “Make sure that you draw a secret or two out of him.”
Maren blew one of her blonde strands out of her face and looked up. “I intend to. Trust me, I will manage to find that fine balance between complete indulgence and healthy consciousness.”
Walter nodded, reached into the drawer and handed her a ticket. “Your flight leaves tomorrow and Lori has already booked your room. So now I’ll just wish you good luck, a strong stomach, and Bon Appetit!”
“Thanks, I’ll need all of that.” Maren pocketed the ticket and the file. “I hope Halliwell doesn’t just have candy in mind but allows himself a real meal once in a while, too.”
“He’s powerfully built but is not fat in the slightest, so I presume that is the case,” Walter said. “However,” he continued with a sly smirk, “some people apparently subsist on confectionary alone.”
Maren thought about all the amazing restaurants in New York. It would kill her to only eat candy and nothing else.
“The things you do for FLASH …” she thought while leaving the editorial office. She still needed to pack and research Bob Halliwell's back story.
Dawn was breaking as they reached John F. Kennedy airport and her plane was preparing to land. Maren was tiredly blinking towards the strip of lights on the runway, guiding the pilot in. From her window seat, she could make out a blackish red sky and the glittering lights of Manhattan. She had reached her destination.
Once inside the terminal, she freshened up in the ladies room at the airport, then collected her suitcases. She politely refused the help of a uniformed luggage porter. Five to ten dollars a suitcase? Too steep.
Maren loaded her smart bags onto a baggage cart and started walking. A big comfy bed was on her mind, I gotta get some sleep, she thought, marching towards the exit.
She was still deciding between taking a cab or the Cary Airport Express-Bus into Manhattan, when a man walked up to her.
He was a little taller than her with a broad build. His short brown hair was disheveled. In the midst of all the chaos he had a rogue’s charm, but he still seemed strikingly manly and attractive. Maren gulped.
When he looked at her inquisitively, she got lost in his dark eyes, which seemed almost black in contrast to his light brown hair. He felt strangely familiar and immediately likable from the moment she laid eyes on him.
Bob Halliwell! She suddenly realized. The photos she had seen of him so far had not done his magnetic presence justice in the slightest. She knew he was in his mid-thirties but he had retained his youthfulness, which shone through especially when he smiled.
“Are you Maren Janson?” he asked.
Wow! What a sexy, gravelly voice, she thought! “That’s me!”
Maren reached out her hand. “Mister Halliwell, how did you find me in this crowd?”
“Call me Bobby,” he urged. “I always find beautiful women, no matter how large the crowd is. Your boss described you to me. Tall, slim, blue eyes, with sassy bobbed hair.”
She looked up skeptically. “That description applies to many women.”
“Yet still I found you. When I saw you, I knew, that’s her.”
Maren looked at him in surprise. “Then I can only congratulate you on your abilities. It’s sweet that you came to the airport yourself. Especially at such an ungodly hour.”
Bob raised his eyebrows. “Have you forgotten? I’m a baker. I’m awake at this time anyway. I love the dawn.” He pointed to his companion and then to Maren’s luggage cart. “My colleague can take care of that. I thought it might be more comfortable for you to be picked up.”
“That’s very nice of you”, Maren replied and meekly and gratefully let herself be led through the crowd by Bobby.
When they stepped outside of the terminal building, as they were walking to his luxury limousine, as if from nowhere, a storm of flashbulbs suddenly broke out all around them. Bobby winked at her, “How does it feel to be the one in the spotlight for a change?”
“Not as unfamiliar as you might think,” she smiled coyly as she ducked into the car.
Although privately she was wondering, do they really need to take my picture when I’m completely exhausted and getting off a long-haul flight? From the car, she observed as her American counterparts crowded around Bobby.
A reporter pushed towards the car. “Who’s the woman?” he called out, as Halliwell’s bodyguard pushed him back. “A new assistant on your show?”
“No comment,” Bobby said, whilst blocking another oncoming reporter. He was unfazed by all the commotion surrounding him and with one relaxed movement, settled into the seat next to her.
“Drive,” he told the chauffeur commandingly and then solicitously made sure that Maren was sitting comfortably. Maren breathed a sigh of relief as the car started, the mob of reporters dwindling quickly into the background.
“Annoying,” Bob sighed and his gaze lingered on her face, “but as a successful reporter you must also know how the other half feels.”
“That’s true, once someone’s fame surpasses a certain level, then they’re fair game for the media. Then I have to admit we can be pretty relentless.”
“I try to see the positive in everything,” Bobby admitted. “My famed taste for sweetness will now be making headlines for a very different reason.”
“In what way?” Maren wanted to know.
He smiled at her as his gaze took her all in. “What could be better than to be caught in the company of a beautiful woman early in the morning?”
“Ah!” Maren laughed, in what she hoped was an enigmatic way. “But don’t get the wrong idea. I am just exhausted and so perhaps a little more pliant than usual.” Then what he had said struck her, she hesitated. “Do you really think I’m sweet?”
“Very sweet actually,” Bobby admitted, “And despite your long trip, you don’t look tired to me at all. Your deep-blue eyes are sparkling. I am sure you will make a splash on the pages of New York’s tabloids.”
Flattered, Maren waved his compliment aside, regaining her composure, “But that’s not why I’m here. You, Bobby, have to make a splash on the pages of FLASH for my readers.” She looked out into the streets, where traffic was slowing down.
“This is our common goal,” said Bobby. “But before we start with that, you will have to rest. After breakfast at my café, I will take you to your hotel.”
“Breakfast?” Maren quickly sat up. “At yours?” In preparation of the sweets that lay ahead, she hadn’t eaten anything but a little fruit since getting the assignment. She was in the mood for a hearty brunch with scrambled eggs and dark rye bread and not for sweet cakes and tarts.
The car began to slow down. It took a right turn and drove a few hundred yards down an alley and came to a stop behind a high rise.
“Take Miss Janson’s suitcases into the hotel,” Bobby instructed and helped Maren out of the car. He gallantly offered her his arm and led her through a narrow alley to the main road.
“The front of the café is worth seeing,” he explained while pointing at the large glass façade that framed the elegant interior perfectly.
Intrigued, Maren's eyes were drawn into the dining room. Apart from all the buffet tables from which the visitors were helping themselves, the interior design was reminiscent of a traditional Viennese coffee house.
“Come,” said Bobby, warm yet commanding at the same time. He opened the door. The murmuring voices swelled up and enveloped her, warm scented air wafted around her and she immediately felt relaxed and her guard dropped. An enticing aroma of herbs, garlic, lemon, and fruit filled the whole room.
“I thought this was a café,” she muttered as her mouth started to water.
“It is” said Bobby happily, “My six-times a day café. Six is my favorite number.” He gave Maren a meaningful look.
“Six or Sex?” she rebutted cheekily, interpreting his look, she hoped, correctly.
Bobby laughed. “Well, if you are asking: I like both.” He winked at her.
“Like most artists,” Maren countered.
“Six meals a day — how does that work?”
“Breakfast, second breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and a midnight feast. Not all of my guests can stomach sweet pastries first thing in the morning before they go to work. You can have those too, of course, but mostly they’re served in the afternoon. Veggie tarts and quiches dominate the menu until after lunch.
Bobby led her through the stylish and elegant café. He noticed immediately that all the men in the room turned to look at his beautiful companion. Bobby understood their reaction well. It also struck him that the room had filled with sexual electricity since Maren had appeared.
This woman had that certain something, he thought, as he noticed how conversations had stalled and some men were craning their necks.
Bobby stole a glance at Maren. She looked good enough to eat. Her long, slender legs, emphasized beautifully by the stilettos she was wearing, and her elegant walk, enthralled him. She was wearing a figure-hugging blue dress that stopped just below the knee, accentuating her feminine curves. Her make-up was discreet, which made her seem refreshingly natural.
Maren didn’t seem to notice the attention she was attracting. Her eyes were fixed on the buffet table, making Bobby smile to himself.