“Wait outside,” Reed ordered but the other man didn’t make the slightest notice.
The dark skinned man closed the door behind him and Reed glared at him.
“I told you to stay out.”
“And look where I want to go.” He amusedly smiles while winking at me.
I don’t get over my amazement this is an amazingly, gorgeous, free masculine show in my own office. Reed's partner is built like a train ready to board. This man has nothing that is waste.
“Excuse me, are you lost?”
The man of 1.80 meters, with Indian features but with big green eyes like the English prairie itself, comes forward quickly while he smiles delightfully at me.
“I am Suraj Kumar and he is...” Ouch. Did he just get a nudge in the back? I look at them strangely.
“She knows me.” He spoke with his usual seriousness.
The truth is that I don’t know you that much. I know your name and that you turn me on, that I’m crazy to jump your bones but little else.
“Nice to meet you, Suraj.” I push the keyboard away and prop my elbows on the desk. "I appreciate the visit, but I'm busy.”
I sound rougher than desired but I can’t waver; I act like a self-sufficient female or do I throw myself over Mr. Indifferent like a sexual prowler and we come out in the newspapers. Museum director violates a work painter in her office, says the only witness of the incident.
“It will only be a few minutes.”
“Are you also a painter?” His smile is magnificent.
“Painter?” He looks at his friend but he doesn’t answer.
“I'm a police inspector.”
“I don’t understand. Have we suffered any theft? Are we in danger? I can’t help but sound more frightened than usual.
“Just my heart in seeing you.” I am stunned by such a confession but the Indian bonbon is not shy and continues with his explanation.
“In the last year there are many museums that have suffered robberies. All the thefts are concentrated on important works of inestimable value; I’m hoping you do understand the seriousness. My department, despite working tirelessly, has not been able to get clues that will take us to the thief. Today, Stonebridge is the only archaeological museum of international renown that has managed to emerge unscathed from the misdeeds of the Watchmaker.”
“Watchmaker?”
“Yes. This thief works in the shadows, and the only tips we have are those he has decided to give us. Loose pieces of a Henry Graves pocket watch dated 1930.”
“A thief with good taste.” I answer surprised meanwhile the inspector affirms with a nod.
“I have requested permission from the general council to be able to work directly with you and the museum.”
“You’re scaring me...”
“I wish I didn’t but I can’t. It is a matter of time for the Watchmaker to lay his eyes on Stonebridge,” he sighs annoyed. “Bruce Ayers offered me his full collaboration as long as the beautiful Anne Foster accepts my annoying company.” And there is his flashing smile again.
“I'm afraid that Bruce's eyesight is not very good.” I answer with simulated modesty.
“You are right. Beautiful is a word that falls short to describe you.”
Wow...
“Go away,” his hard, icy voice sounded like a grunt between his teeth.
“Anne, I’ll see you tomorrow, is that okay?”
“It seems perfect to me...” That sweet tone of voice was mine?
The handsome inspector stretches out his hand and offers me a card with his information. His fingers rub mine and the sensation is pleasant and seductive but no tremors or electricity as with my iceman.
“Don’t hesitate to call me...” Seductive answer and I fill myself with pure feminine pride. Self-esteem on the top of the Eiffel Tower.
“I’ll do it.”
Suraj wanted to continue talking but Reed stepped in front of him with both hands on my desk, breaking whatever was happening.
“We didn’t see each other.” He's angry. And why?
It’s clear that I did something that he didn’t like. If he only knew the desire I have to erase that bad mood with my feminine and purely carnal methods.
“I waited for you.” He continued disillusioned.
“Who?”
His gestures of please don’t play dumb with me made me even redder than my hair. I don’t know very well why I’m having this conversation, I don’t know why he’s scolding me and I don’t know why I listen to him but I need to explain myself.
“If you mean that I didn’t come to work yesterday, it’s because I moved to a small apartment near Stonebridge and decided to take the day off but were we supposed to meet up?
“I told you we would talk.”
“And that means some kind of commitment?”
“I think I was clear.”
“I don’t think so.”
His look gets even bleaker. He's angry. His face doesn’t show any sensation but the arctic blue of his eyes becomes blurred, frustrated. It’s funny but in his eyes the only expression of feelings that he is unable to control is concentrated. In him resides coldness, his anger, his amusement and how I would like to check his desires too.
His aura of mystery and curiosity surrounds me. I must flee from Reed before falling into the deep, deadly hole I don’t want to return to.
“Gentlemen it has been a pleasure but it is very late and I would like to return home. Suraj, I’ll wait for you tomorrow at about ten?”
“Of course, I'll be here. See you tomorrow.”
The inspector left with the same smile with which he arrived. What a lovable man but... Wait! You forgot to take your friend, the one who doesn’t move and who doesn’t stop looking at me with a chiseled, hard face.
Well, I'll have to use all my wiles to save myself from this or I'll be lying on the couch with my legs open, begging him not to leave me.
“Anyway ...” I simulate a bad yawning, “I have to go home, so I’d better collect everything and ...”
“I'm not very talkative.”
“You don’t need to confirm it,” I raise an eyebrow while I keep the laptop. He is upset and getting more every second but it’s his problem. I can’t lose my identity again in front of a man.
“How about your painting? Is it all right...?” I distract him while I pick up my coat.
“Yes.”
“And the furniture fits in with the decoration?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.” To say I’m talking is to extreme. I’m monosyllabic. “Well, I'm glad. I'm going home.”
“I'm waiting for you.” Go on, it seems the talk continues.
“And I said we didn’t have a date.” I'm getting mad.
“Until later,” he said disappointed.
“I’m sorry.”
“Many hours...” His pupils dilate teasingly and I want to eat him as dessert. I’ve got to be kidding! It’s his style but he is adorable. Self-esteem begins to soften.
“I’m sorry. I swear if I had been here, I wouldn’t have stood you up.”
“Oh no?” Shit, I've fallen into the trap.
“That’s not my style.”
“Then redeem yourself.”
“Sorry?”
“You stood me up. You owe me and you must have dinner with me.”
“We had no plans together.” I try to hide my smile but I can’t. He is emotionally blackmailing me.
It’s working... I shrug my shoulders carefree and I fall for it.
It’s divine to see him so relaxed. I love it and he conquers me every second a little more. Is this normal?
“I don’t go out with strangers,” it excites me to see him beg.
“We’re not strangers.”
Of course not, do you remember your body grinding against mine in the Temple of the Passions? Your smile says yes you do and I do too.
“I must go.” I don’t sound convincing.
“Let's order something.”
“How? Here?” The idea doesn’t displease me. It is an intermediate point between unknown strangers and a romantic date. It can be interesting
He looks at me, he is expectant. I have a man in front of my desk that I don’t know anything about but he makes me tremble as no one has ever done before. He is handsome, he smells like vanilla, cedar and intrigue and because of that nonsense of destiny he wants to dine with me. Am I delirious or is there a hidden camera from my secretary?
“Sometime you'll have to eat dinner,” he wants to convince me. I can just eat him!
“I have to go...” Is he willing to insist on something else?
“You'll have dinner with me.”
“What if it turns out that I have a date?”
“You will tell him that he can begin to forget you.”
God! I'm dead and I've been resurrected.
“I won’t do that...”
“Anne, you don’t have a date with anyone and you don’t need to pull any ropes. You already have me.”
I do? Wow and twice Wow!
“Make yourself comfortable, have dinner with me.”
“Are you giving me an order?”
“Not at the moment.”
“I don’t accept orders. I thought that in the Temple it was clear that the submissive, little girl role doesn’t go with me.”
“You don’t need to defend yourself tooth and nail with me.”
“It's not that...” Yes, that's it. It terrifies me to lose my identity.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. At home you don’t have dinner and I don’t have company.”
I sigh resignedly. You’ve won and in the deepest part of my core being I am delighted with your insistence. I try to seem indifferent but I can’t.
The man in front of me meets all the requirements that we all dream of in the loneliness of our imagination. The man made dream is of flesh and bone and I have him in front of me. Self-esteem dancing with my feet.
“Shall we order?”
Reed gives me a sincere smile that he has never offered me until now, and I am delighted in his enthusiasm. His shoulders relax and he even seems happy. Please, you’re making me crazy! Let's forget the dinner and go on to dessert.
“Pizza, Indian, Japanese ...” He said enthusiastically. “You choose.”
“I haven’t had pizza in a while and I like it a lot, do you feel like it?”
I won’t deny you anything. “Barbecue and extra cheese?”
I adoringly agree. The most handsome man on earth is happy to have a pizza in a cardboard box in the old-fashioned chairs in my office. Yes! That's me.
I watch ecstatically as he calls with his cell phone. He has big, well-pedicured hands. He’s relaxed. He isn’t the same man that he was when he entered. You can feel the calm in his movements and a slight touch of fun in his look. He's not exactly who he appears to be, but who cares?
“You're not a painter. I'm convinced you're the designer. It's clear by your clothes. It's too expensive for a wall painter.” He affirms when he finishes ordering dinner.
“I added some cheese sticks. I'm starving.”
Please, in that mouth even the simplest comment becomes an incendiary torch. I'd love to feed you in that manly mouth while... God, I'm going crazy.
“You're good?”
“Of course,” it’s better to refuse to recognize, “but you haven’t answered me. Are you the decorator that Bruce sent?”
“You haven’t answered me either. Do you prefer to do it on the desk or on the carpet?”
“What?” The heat rises up my thighs.
“I prefer a flatter surface but I will adapt to your tastes,” he smiles and looks at me sideways and I could eat him alive.
“For being our first time, I’ll choose the desk” I don’t plan on him intimidating me, if you want a little word game, here I am.
“He raises an eyebrow accepting the challenge. God, you’re not real.
“I'm not a gentleman but tonight I'll give you an advantage.”
The deliveryman arrives at that moment with two smoking boxes breaking the climax, and I take advantage of the distraction to turn around and ventilate my heated neckline.
I’m not the type of irresistible woman, maybe someone that’s great but little more, so what’s happening? Do you like me? Do you want company tonight? Do I jump you or wait for you to do it? On the floor or sofa? Am I shaved? Self-esteem, smoke coming out of my ears.
The dinner turned out to be much more than I expected. We talked for more than an hour. Maybe I talked more and he just asked me but his interest seemed sincere.
“Was your husband also an archaeologist?”
“One of the best.”
“How was he shot?” I'm surprised.
“How do you know about John?”
“What you’ve said.”
“I don’t remember,” I said thoughtfully but decided to continue without giving greater importance, after all when I am at his side my feet don’t tread the earth.
“That night John worked late. They had just discovered a very important excavation and he was a perfectionist. He didn’t want to leave until all the pieces were in place. He never neglected any detail, except for me. Some thieves entered at midnight thinking about finding some pieces of value but it wasn’t like that. The police found broken furniture and signs of obvious resistance. Everything indicated that John tried to defend himself and he was shot. He didn’t have any opportunity.”
“Was he alone?”
“At that moment, yes. Marc was working with him but left minutes earlier. John didn’t want to go home until all the relics were labeled.”
“Weird...”
“John was like that. Everyone knew his obsession with perfection.”
“Do you still love him?” What? But what question is that?
I look concentrating at the soda can thinking about the answer while I sigh, this isn’t time for confessions, much less if they are about my most hidden secrets.
“I wouldn’t know how to explain it. Death causes many feelings but forgetting is not one of them. Death takes away your reason, but the memories and what you feel for that person is the exclusive property of whoever stays. Love, hate or disappointments are feelings that don’t go away with death.
We both remain silent. I don’t know what he thinks and I don’t want to explain myself.
“You're good at listening.”
“No.”
“Oh no? Then you’re a very good actor.”
“I never did it.”
“Listen or act?”
“Talking to a woman and be interested in what she says.”
“Ah.”
“Ah.” He repeats it in jest.
“Then you have a double personality.”
“Two?”
“Yes. You are the cold and indifferent man who can live without caring about anything, but on the other hand, you are a simple man who enjoys a bad pizza in an office with the company of an incorrigible nut.
“That seems...” My eyes are narrowed waiting for an explanation that doesn’t arrive.
“Anne Foster...” He snorts seriously as he crushes the cardboard box.
“I’m listening.”
“I'm making a mistake.”
“Do you always have control of everything you do or say? It must be very difficult to live like that.”
“It is.”
“And why do you do it?”
“It's the only thing that offers me mental stability. Balance is fundamental in my life; if I lose it I lose myself.”
“Control, balance and stability, very desirable but not very real qualities.” I answer disappointed.
“You sure about it?”
“I’m simply saying that if in life everything is part of a premeditated and controlled present, then what do you have for dreams? Illusion, surprise or admiration would be destroyed by a cold strategic plan of balance.”
“Like pain, suffering or lack of
love.” He assures me with confidence.
“It could, but experience has taught me that tears dry out, but a numb heart never softens.”
“Are we talking about love?”
“No, we are talking about living without fears. For us to be able to reinvent ourselves and never stop dreaming.”
For a few moments we both fell silent. I imagined that just as I have my own sorrows to face so did he.
“Any other magnificent quality?” I try to cut the tension in the air. He scratches his chin thoughtfully.
“Controlling, persistent, introverted, proud, quiet, bad humored...”
“Quite a jewel,” and I laugh. “Anything positive?”
He squeezed his face simulating concentration with his thumb caressing his chin. His cute eyes sparkle naughtily and I can’t help it, every minute at his side I melt a little more.
“Friend of my friends,” he answers in a serious voice.
“What?”
“Friend of my friends,” he repeats seriously.
“That doesn’t mean anything. We are all friends of our friends.”
“Yes, but Miss Sympathy 2015 had great results in her presentation speech with that, which will also help me conquer you.”
“Oh, yea! And peace to the world, I'm a pacifist.
I laugh without being able to contain myself, then he smiles with me. He is so serious that a slight upward tilt of his lips seems to be the best of smiles and a merit that I attribute to his happiness.
“Let's see if we understand each other, up until a few hours ago you hadn’t said more than four words and now you've said eight, and you’re teasing me? I’m so pissed.”
Reed opens his eyes surprised at me, then throws his head back and offers me a clear and cheerful laugh.
“Never. Not once, no one has ever dared to call me dry and boring.”
“For everything there is a first time.”
“I'm finding out.”
His smile widened from ear to ear and I cannot help but feel satisfied with myself. He smiled with all his face and it’s thanks to me. I am fascinated by the discovery.
“You have a beautiful smile.”
“Look, there you have the quality you were looking for.”
The full lips expand in a big smile and the rebellious black hair caresses his forehead. If I were brave, I would rush to comb it with my fingers and enjoy its contact, but I’m not.
Diana Scott - [Stonebridge 01] Page 4