by Detour (lit)
“Do I smell coffee?” Kayla asked, calling attention to her presence for the first time.
Morgan glanced up from his task and a slow grin curved his lips. “Good almost afternoon, sleepy head.”
“I never sleep late. Must be the mountain air.”
“Yeah, right,” he quipped back with a chuckle as he put the potato and knife down and reached for a coffee mug. He poured her a cup of coffee then held up the mug with a teasing grin. “Come and get it.”
What living, breathing female could pass up such an invitation? Kayla rounded the island only to discover, much to her disappointment, that he was in fact wearing jeans and socks, no shoes and of course no shirt.
He held the coffee mug up just out of her reach as he surveyed her attire.
“Your shirt,” Kayla responded, stating the obvious. “Are you cold? Do you want it?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On what you have on under it.”
“Nothing,” she answered honestly.
“I want it.”
“Your shirt?”
“That too.”
Kayla’s hands went to the top fastened button. He watched as she undid one, then two. Her hands went to the third, which would expose her breasts to his view...
Buzzzzzzzzzz!
“Fucking turkey,” Morgan groaned.
With his free hand Morgan grasped her at the nape of the neck and pulled her to him for a quick, searing kiss. He then closed his eyes, took a deep breath, stepped back and extended the mug of steaming coffee toward her. “Hold that thought until I finish our Thanksgiving feast.”
“There are feasts,” Kayla responded as she took the coffee from him. “And then, there are feasts,” she added watching him over the rim of the mug as she took her first heavenly sip. Kayla may have been a novice when it came to sexual innuendo and bantering, but so far she was holding her own.
“I promised myself that we were going to have a nice Thanksgiving dinner, and that’s what we’re going to do. So behave ... until after dinner.”
“If you insist,” she agreed with a negligent shrug, a shrug calculated to dislodge the unbuttoned shirt from her shoulder. It slid down her arm stopping just shy of her distended nipple. “Anything I can do to help?”
His eyes were riveted to the exposed swell of her breast. She watched the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed convulsively.
“Peel potatoes? Knead the dough?”
Buzzzzzzzzzz!
“Damn it,” Morgan cursed the sound of the oven buzzer still ringing in their ears. “Out of my kitchen, tempting wench. You make it damn hard for a guy to play Julius Childe.”
Kayla’s eyes slid slowly down his chest until they at last rested on the unmistakable bulge straining the front of his jeans. “Yeah, I’d say hard was an apt description.”
“Kayla,” Morgan warned with a noticeable catch in his voice. “Go drink your coffee in front of the fire. Watch the parade on TV. Anything.”
“Anything?”
“Anything,” he agreed with a pained groan. “As long as you do it out of my reach.”
Kayla’s stomach growled and she realized she was starving. For food. She hadn’t eaten since she stopped for a light lunch yesterday. If she was to have a prayer of keeping up with Morgan’s sexual calisthenics during the next few days she had to keep up her energy level, and to do so, she needed nourishment. “I’m going,” Kayla relented then added with a chuckle, “Do your thing Julius.”
In the great room Kayla buttoned her shirt, curled up on the sofa and pulled the burgundy and navy, Indian print, fleece throw over her chilled legs. She picked up the remote and idly channel surfed the television stations, chuckling from time to time as she heard Morgan swear as he rattled and banged around in the kitchen.
“He has to have a satellite dish,” Kayla thought to herself as she noted the vast number of channels he was able to tap into. Which made perfect sense up in the mountains where normal reception would be spotty at best. Her thumb developed a steady rhythm on the channel up button and the stations flashed by so quickly she didn’t have time to see what was on, until...
“What the...”
Kayla’s thumb moved to the channel down and she clicked once, twice.
“Oh my God,” she gasped under her breath. A nude woman was laying on her back on a bed, her head hanging over the side while the man leaning over her was thrusting his erection down her throat. Kayla couldn’t see what the man looked like because his head was buried between the woman’s legs. The scene quickly switched to another couple on the floor beside the bed. Kayla cocked her head to the right then to the left as she attempted to figure out how the couple on the floor managed to get into the position they were in without breaking a vital piece of equipment. Realizing she had stumbled on to an orgy scene playing on one of the X-rated cable stations, Kayla felt herself blushing hotly -- absurd considering her age and the activities in which she had indulged with Morgan the previous night. Nevertheless, she found watching other couples performing such intimate acts on Morgan’s big screen television embarrassing. Still, if she were honest, she couldn’t deny it turned her internal heat level from simmer to a near boil.
Kayla squirmed uncomfortably and with a moan of frustration returned her wayward thumb and thoughts to the up button. She found the safe, G-rated Thanksgiving Day parade Morgan had suggested earlier and laid the remote but not the temptation aside.
Realizing it was too quiet in the kitchen she called, “Hey Morgan, are you asleep in there, or did you sneak outside to dispose of the charred remains of the turkey?” It took so long for Morgan to answer that Kayla was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t really slipped outside to dispose of the bird.
“Are you questioning the skills of the master chef?” he answered her question with one of his own. He’d been watching her from the kitchen when she stumbled upon the Playboy channel and hadn’t been able to resist chuckling at her reaction. At first she’d been shocked, intrigued, then clearly embarrassed, reminding him of a naive teenager who’d been caught sneaking a peek at a porn magazine. It had also shot his resolve to hell, nearly compelling him to skip the main course and jumping directly to dessert, or to be more accurate, jumping the dessert. Regretfully, his damnable predisposition toward reason had prevailed. They needed to eat. Once dinner was out of the way, they could enjoy their time together without interruption or distraction, with enough leftovers to keep them going for days.
“At this point, you could be a hamburger jockey in a greasy spoon for all I care. I’m starving,” was her easy response.
“According to The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Cooking The Perfect Thanksgiving Dinner, I should be able to satisfy that particular craving in about half an hour,” Morgan informed Kayla then held up the book. There were Complete Idiots Guides on every subject from Understanding The Internet to Tax Returns, Auto Repair to Sex. Morgan just hoped the author thoroughly researched his subjects because despite his boast, Julius Childe he was not.
“And the other craving?”
“That’s dessert.”
They ate Thanksgiving dinner buffet style seated on pillows at the large coffee table Morgan had moved closer to the fireplace. Dinner was a complete success, despite the fact that the mashed potatoes were a little lumpy and the brown-and-serve rolls were burnt on the bottom. During all her years of playing the role of perfect wife Kayla had cooked countless Thanksgiving dinners to perfection. But never had one tasted as delicious as the one she shared with Morgan before the cozy fire.
“Isn’t this when we’re supposed to share what we’re thankful for?” Morgan asked as he squirted generous mounds of whipped cream onto their pieces of pumpkin pie.
“I think that was supposed to be before we ate.”
“So we do it in reverse this year.” He took a moment to think while he took a bite of his pie - a pie he’d confessed to purchasing from a widow in town yesterday morning before the blizzard
hit. “At this moment I’m immensely thankful for unexpected blizzards. Your turn.”
“And I’m thankful for rock slides and detours,” Kayla responded, easily falling into the spirit of things.
“And for fantasies realized,” Morgan inserted.
“And for whipped cream,” was Kayla’s contribution as she scooped up a healthy dollop with her finger and carried it to her mouth where she proceeded to suck it off.
As Morgan watched her action, desire heated his gaze and a predatory smile curved his lips. He picked up the can of whipped cream, went to his hands and knees and began to crawl around the table toward her. “Dessert time. I’ll take my shirt now.”
* * * *
Much later after they'd cleared away the remains of their Thanksgiving dinner, Kayla and Morgan cuddled on the sofa in front of the fire, talking as if they'd known each all their lives.
"If you could describe what you wanted from a relationship, what would it be?" Morgan asked.
A gentle smile of remembrance curved Kayla's lips. It was a question she found incredibly easy to answer. "Last year, my daughter and I went to Gatlinburg for vacation. One evening while we were exploring the shops, we met an elderly couple walking in the opposite direction on the crowded sidewalk. They were holding hands and he was so protective, making sure she wasn't bumped or jostled. The man had thinning silver hair, wore a gaudy tropical print shirt and baggy shorts that showed his skinny legs and knobby knees, yet when they looked at each other, I don't think I've ever seen such love and devotion so openly displayed by two people. I remember thinking at the time, what an incredibly lucky lady she was. That what they had, was what I wanted."
"She was probably the old coot's long time mistress," Morgan suggested with a chuckle.
"Cynic," Kayla countered.
"Gaudy shirt, shorts and knobby knees, huh? Tough act to follow."
* * * *
They had three more glorious, passion filled days together, and by Monday morning it was time to return to the real world and to her life which Kayla intended to change as drastically as her time with Morgan had changed her. The roads were cleared and Morgan had managed to get her car running.
It wasn’t until yesterday, while Morgan was outside working on her car that Kayla discovered exactly who he was. While looking for something to read, she found a book on Morgan’s desk. It was the next novel in the Blind Justice series and wouldn’t be available to consumers until mid-December, just in time for Christmas . . . written by none other than Morgan Warner, her favorite author. Turning the book over to the photograph smiling up at her from the jacket, Kayla couldn’t believe that she’d been more intimate with this man than with anyone else in her life, and not once had she made the connection.
When he came back inside she’d held up the book like some form of accusation for not telling her who he really was.
“You’re Morgan Warner?”
“Guilty,” he’d responded as if it were no big deal. “Does it matter?”
“No, of course not. I love your books,” she answered honestly. “I’ve been waiting for this one to hit the shelves.”
“That’s an advance copy,” Morgan answered the question she’d been thinking but hadn’t asked. There was no mistaking the closed look that had clouded his handsome features, and she was almost sorry she’d seen the book. “You’re not going to go awestruck groupie on me are you?”
“I hope not.”
Her straightforward, genuine response had a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll second that. I’m just an ordinary man, Kayla. A man who has been lucky enough to do well at a job he enjoys but often wonders if all the trappings, or traps, that go with the success is worth the price he’s expected to pay. Can you understand that?”
That was when she’d recognized that she’d come to know a side of the famous author which few people were privy to: Morgan Warner, the real person, not the image created by publicity hype to promote the sale of his books. They were just Morgan and Kayla, two people sharing an extraordinary experience.
Kayla closed her car door and inserted the key in the ignition, determined not to look back. She’d accepted from the beginning that her time with Morgan was merely a fantasy realized, a life altering detour on the course on which her life had been headed.
* * * *
Six months later, Kayla sat at her desk in the studio office, pulling photographs from a leather bound portfolio. This was the third time she’d rearranged the portfolio but couldn't seem to get to progression of the photos arranged to her satisfaction.
“Mom, there’s a man in the lobby looking for you,” her daughter informed her as she entered the office. “He asked me to give this to you.”
Kayla’s heart stuttered in her chest when she saw the familiar, hard bound book her daughter laid on the desk in front of her. So much time had passed without a word from him, was it possible?
“Mom? You okay?” Kellie asked, the concern in her voice unmistakable.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Kayla answered, unable to disguise the slight tremor in her voice. Noting the bookmark placed inside the book, Kayla’s hand trembled slightly as she opened the cover to find the inscription written inside.
To my lovely Kayla,
There are men out there wise enough to recognize
and appreciate that there is nothing more beautiful
nor as exciting as a rose in the full bloom of maturity.
Never settle for less than you deserve.
Thank you for the fantasy.
I love you,
Morgan
Kayla wasn’t aware that she was crying until her daughter demanded, “What the hell is going on, Mom. Who is that man?”
“He’s the man who happens to be very much in love with your mother,” answered a very dear, very familiar voice from the office door way.
Kayla couldn’t believe her eyes when she looked up to see Morgan standing there wearing of all things, a gaudy tropical print shirt, and shorts several sizes too large. Barely aware of doing so, Kayla was out of her chair and across the room, stepping into the arms of the man who’d held her in her dreams practically every night for the past six months.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t a kiss filled with passion, but a kiss of promise. Warm and tender, filling her head with visions of happily ever after. Kayla had actually forgotten her daughter was still in the room until Kellie left, closing the door behind her.
Leaning back slightly, she looked up at Morgan and asked, “Why did you wait so long to contact me? Every time the phone rang for the past six months, I kept hoping it would be you on the other end.”
“Some of the hang-ups were me,” he confessed. “I just wanted to hear your voice.” With a sigh he pulled her back to him until her head rested against his chest. “When we were together at the cabin, you were at such a vulnerable point in your life, sweetheart. You needed time to get to know who you are, the woman I saw, the one I fell in love with. Unless I gave you that time, I didn’t have the right to ask you to share that woman with me.”
“And if I’d met someone else during the time you felt I needed?” Kayla asked, her lips warm against his shirt covered chest.
“I can’t deny that possibility gave me a lot of restless nights. I kept having nightmares where I was forced to beat up silver haired, knobby kneed old codgers.”
Feeling like a love struck adolescent, Kayla couldn’t suppress her giggles as she pulled back in his arms and looked up at the man she loved. “The attire doesn’t suit your image, Morgan."
Leaning down, he pressed a feather light kiss to her lips. “I figured if I planned to ask the lady to marry me, I should give her what she told me she wanted. Although I’m afraid the silver hair and knobby knees will have to wait a few years, quite a few I hope, if you’re willing to share those years with me.”
The End