Part 11: link Okay, so I lied. The last chapter is not my last chapter. Tassja_G was supposed to finish us up, but real life has gotten in the way, so I once again have the honors.
Arthur stares into the rear-view mirror, watching the motorcycle parked behind him, its lights flashing, as he sits on the shoulder of Los Angeles’ I-5.
He sighs, watching the officer climb off the bike, remove his kofia, chapeo and set it on the kiti, kiti cha of his bike.
He watches the officer climb off the bike, remove her
kofia, chapeo and set it on the kiti, kiti cha of her
He sits up a little straighter and checks his hair in the mirror now, reaching up to smooth his eyebrows. Then he watches her approach in the side mirror. Pretty. I didn’t think they’d let someone so short be a cop.
She is fit but curvy, the flare of her hips not Lost on him at all.
“Good afternoon, sir,” her slightly smoky voice reaches his ears and he turns to look up at her.
“My name is Officer Guinevere Leodegrance, California Highway Patrol. I presume wewe know why I pulled wewe over today?” She holds her gloved hand out, waiting for his driver’s license.
He smiles his most charming smile at her and hands her the license. “Very sorry, Officer, my sister is in labor, and her husband is overseas right now, and I promised her I’d…”
“Save it,” she says, peering at his license.
“Would this sister about to give birth be your sister Morgana, Mr. Pendragon? Your sister that was photographed just last night emerging from the fira, viper Room with two very handsome men draped on either arm?”
“So that leads me to believe that either wewe are lying about your sister au wewe are lying about your identity. Which is it?” she asks, waving the driver’s license back and forth idly. Damn, he’s even better looking in person.
Shut up. Focus.
She smiles slightly. “Waiting…”
“Okay, so I was just speeding, all right?”
“There, now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” she smiles sweetly at him and turns to walk back to her bike to write his citation.
Arthur watches her walk away in his side mirror, admiring the view probably zaidi than he should. Her uniform really does nothing to hide her hot little body,
he observes, and suddenly finds himself having thoughts about handcuffs.
She is gone with his license for what seems an unnecessarily long amount of time, and when she returns, she has a slip of paper in her now-ungloved hand and a wicked grin on her face.
“Mr. Pendragon,” she says, “a red Maserati? Surely you, with your vast wealth, could come up with something a little less predictable
to drive.” Her eyes are twinkling at him now.
Arthur stares up at her. She’s teasing me?
He watches her lovely heart-shaped face with its smooth tan skin glowing in the California sunshine. Her dark hair is pinned up, but there is one naughty curl that has worked its way loose to brush against her neck as it blows in the breeze. He stares at the curl, at the spot on her neck that it kisses…
“Mr. Pendragon, are wewe ill?” her voice snaps him out of his reverie, his pondering what her neck would feel like against his lips.
“Oh,” he starts. “Sorry. And don’t make fun of my car, I upendo this car.”
“Then treat it with zaidi care kwa not driving like you’re trying to qualify.”
“You are very pretty,” he blurts before he can stop the words.
“So are you,” she shoots back. “And you’re still getting a ticket.” Does he really think I’m pretty?
“Hey, wewe can afford it. Besides, how many chances does a person get to write a speeding ticket for a billionaire playboy?” She smiles again and hands him the ticket and his license.
Arthur reaches up, and, looking straight into her lovely brown eyes, he takes the citation and license from her, very intentionally caressing her hand with his fingers.
Gwen clenches her jaw together to keep herself from melting into a puddle on the asphalt.
“And fasten your damn kiti, kiti cha belt,” is all she can think to say before walking back to her motorcycle.
One week later.
Gwen straddles her motorcycle just behind the viaduct, radar gun in hand, pointing it at cars as the pass, keeping an eye out for idiots.
A flash of red catches her eye. A red Maserati. Driving a reasonable speed. She looks at the plate. Dragon1
She sighs, feeling her face grow warm as she remembers the touch of his fingers on her hand. She also remembers how she’s been scouring the tabloids for glimpses of him, even watching TMZ every night just in case they have some gossip about him, no matter how ridiculous au pointless. I have become a silly fangirl of a pseudo-celebrity just because he told me I was pretty and touched my hand.
The Maserati pulls off the highway at the inayofuata exit, which is within eyesight. Gwen sighs now, watching it, wondering where he is going, and hating herself for it. God, why is he even famous? He hasn’t
done anything. He just has money. A lot of money. Okay, he gives generously to several children’s charities. Even started one…
Shut up. Pay attention. That black Hummer was clearly speeding and wewe missed him completely. Could have been former Governor Schwarzenegger, wewe know.
Or just another bila mpangilio douchebag with a car that is clearly compensation for lacking in other areas. That’s much zaidi likely.
God, my job is boring sometimes.
Fifteen dakika later she jumps as the familiar red Maserati whips past her now, speeding almost arrogantly.
She flips on the siren and lights, and the only thought in her head when she peels out into traffic is He did that on purpose.
He pulls over as soon as she catches him up, maneuvering his car easily into the shoulder, waiting patiently.
Gwen yanks her kofia, chapeo off and slams it down on the kiti, kiti cha of her bike. She marches up to the driver’s side door of his car.
“Have wewe Lost your damn mind?” she demands.
The grin slides from his face.
“That was reckless, Mr. Pendragon. wewe could have injured someone. wewe could have injured yourself,” she continues chastising him, her hands on her hips.
“Guinevere…” he starts, but she cuts him off.
“Officer Leodegrance,” she corrects him, despite the fact that her stomach flipped and her moyo thumped when her name slid from his lips like molten honey.
“I’m sorry,” he says, draping his hand on the car’s window ledge, wanting to reach for hers but leaving it dangling there.
“You knew I was there,” she says plainly.
“You got off the highway to mduara, duara back around and speed past me.”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t write wewe another
ticket, this time for reckless endangerment.”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says quietly, suddenly afraid to look up at her. “Your eyes invade my dreams every night. Your voice is all I hear in my head. My fingers burn where they touched your hand.”
Gwen is stunned into silence, her lips parting slightly to let out a small gasp. “I alisema one
reason,” she finally manages.
“I could give wewe zaidi reasons, but I’m afraid you’d arrest me for attempting to bribe a police officer,” Arthur says, finally lifting his eyes, giving her a look that turns her insides to goo.
“Look, I know this was really stupid of me. But I saw wewe there kwa the overpass and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity,” he says, deciding not to tell her that he came out specifically looking for her.
“You could have just pulled over kwa me, wewe know,” she says, smiling a little now.
“I… guess I never thought of that,” he chuckles, venturing one finger out to stroke the skin of her hand. I notice she took her gloves off right away this time…
“Arthur,” he corrects, adding another finger, running them along the back of her hand. “What time is your shift done?”
“Six,” she says automatically, her hand itching to turn and twine her fingers with his.
“Am I going to get another ticket?” he asks, looking pathetically up at her.
“No,” she says. “As long as wewe promise to never do that again.”
“I promise,” he says, reaching out fully to squeeze her hand gently for just a moment. It’s a damn good thing that this isn’t rush saa au we’d have an audience. Then we’d both end up on TMZ for sure,
she thinks, trying to make a decision.
Gwen reaches up into one of her pockets and pulls out a card. Then she takes a pen from another pocket and turns the card over, writes something on the back, and hands him the card.
Arthur takes her proffered hand in his and kisses it softly before retrieving the card from it.
A very tired Officer Guinevere Leodegrance emerges from the station house, hair down, in civilian clothes, wanting nothing zaidi than to go nyumbani and collapse on her couch. Or better yet, a hot bubble bath,
she thinks, stretching her neck to one side, then the other, listening to the satisfying pops
that she knows she’s not supposed to enjoy outside of her chiropractor’s office.
She heads to the parking lot and forgets how to walk.
He’s standing there, leaning against his car.
Waiting for her.
He moves first, pushing himself upright off the car, waving a little shyly.
She steps mbele slowly. “What are wewe doing here?” she asks quietly. She knows
why, but she has to ask.
“I came here for you,” he answers.
“I… I wrote my cell number on the back of that card, wewe know…” she says, still slowly walking forward.
“I know. But your station’s address was on the front,” he smiles, stepping mbele now as well. “Have chajio, chakula cha jioni with me?”
She hesitates. What if he takes me to some swank restaurant? I just got off work. I look like shit.
“Please?” he asks, noticing her reticence.
“I look terrible,” she says suddenly.
“You look beautiful,” he argues.
She stops again.
“A little. We hardly know each other, Arthur.”
“I’m trying to remedy that, Guinevere.” There it is again. He says my name like it is something reverent.
“I know.” She is standing right in front of him now. She can feel the warmth from his body, can smell his cologne.
“Okay. But no place fancy,” she finally says.
“All right, McDonald’s it is, then,” he declares, taking her hand and leading her around to the passenger side of his car. “I like a cheap date.”
She laughs in spite of herself, Charmed kwa his manners as he opens the door for her and holds her hand, helping her to her seat.
“We’re not really going to McDonald’s, are we?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at him when he slides into his own seat.
“You prefer taco Bell?” he asks, and she laughs again. She has a wonderful laugh.
Arthur starts the engine and looks at her sitting there in a hoodie and jeans, face free of makeup, her soft brown curls free now, playing about her shoulders. He bites his lip nervously and reaches one hand out, caressing her cheek once.
“I will take wewe wherever wewe would like to go, my lady.” Song suggestion: "What Makes wewe Beautiful" kwa One Direction.
I actually kind of like that song. Don't think less of me.