by Sasha Gold
I flee the room, escaping upstairs like my life depends upon it.
I’m in such a state I know I won’t be able to get started on the nonprofit paperwork I’m supposed to complete. Instead I draw a bath. A bubble bath to be precise. I pile my hair up on top of my head and settle into the mountain of bubbles and hot water. My whole body hums with some peculiar awareness that I blame on Mr. Branson.
The warmth seeps into my skin and I let out a small moan. Closing my eyes, I imagine what it would be like to kiss his lips. When I first met him, this afternoon, I sensed he was angry or disappointed or something. Often people think I’m younger than I am, so maybe he’s annoyed Atkinson and Wainwright sent a junior employee, a candidate instead of a seasoned CPA.
My mind drifts back to his frowning mouth and how this evening he’d smiled a few times over dinner. Especially when he showed me Ben. In the shadowed nursery, I could see how much he loved the boy. The smiles he gives me are different. They’re heated and my body responds in a way that’s both shameful and intoxicating.
My breasts tighten. My nipples harden to stiff peaks and I cup them, imagining how his hands would feel on my breasts. My breathing grows shallow, more rapid. I shouldn’t indulge in dirty thoughts about my client. I know that. I shudder as I cup my breasts. Arousal burns along every nerve in my body.
A noise startles me. A door closing. I jerk my hands away. Mr. Branson’s room must be right next door. I finish washing, feeling guilty and self-conscious about my wild imaginings. It’s not like he could possibly know, I assure myself, as I step out of the tub and dry off.
After my bath, I put on my nightgown and just when I’m about to get into bed, there’s a knock at my door. My heart jumps into my throat and I grab my thick terrycloth bathrobe. I shouldn’t answer the door dressed in a robe, but my feet move of their own volition. I crack the door open and see his handsome face. I’m surprised by how tall he is. Standing so close to him makes me feel like I’m tiny in comparison.
“Yes, Mr. Branson,” I whisper.
His lips quirk as he looks at the way my hair is piled up on top of my head. My friend Anna says I look like a pineapple with my hair like this. It’s not very becoming, but I remind myself, I’m not here to impress anyone. I’m here to work.
“I like the sound of my name on your lips, but I think it’s time you call me by my given name.”
What would Harvey Atkinson and Gerald Wainwright say about me calling such a big client by his first name? He must notice my trepidation because he adds, “I insist.”
“That seems a little…” His scent hits me with a force that undoes my reason and I can hardly think, much less argue.
“I won’t tell if you don’t. Come with me.”
Pulling back, I shake my head. “I’m not decent.”
“I’m only going to show you the full moon from the upstairs terrace. No one will see you but me and I’ll keep one eye closed.”
I can’t help but laugh at his charm. He’s not threatening at all, not like before. Perhaps a little forward, but not menacing. He holds out his hand. I take it and allow him to lead me down the hall. I’ve never touched a client before, much less held a client’s hand. Everything feels surreal, and even though I know I shouldn’t do this, I’m powerless to stop. We step out onto a terrace, the night sky dark with only the hint of the moonrise on the horizon.
A cool breeze blows, making me shiver. Walking barefooted sends a chill up my body. I should have put on my slippers. I’m underdressed compared to him. He’s still in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and boots.
The brow of the moon crests the horizon, and lifts into the sky.
“Did you know,” I ask, “that the full moon in June is called the Strawberry Moon?”
“I think I heard that once upon a time.”
“It’s the truth. My grandfather read all the time and told me that each full moon has a name and that’s June’s name.”
We watch in silence as the moon ascends. The quiet evening, the stillness of the land, makes the moonrise seem magical. My grandfather loved the night sky and especially shooting stars or other such phenomena. I think about him when I see the starry sky, which isn’t too often, living in a city.
“I’ve never watched the moonrise. Like this.” I stumble over my words, not knowing how to say how special this feels to me.
Will turns to face me. “You really are an innocent girl, aren’t you?”
I feel my face heat. This isn’t really a professional conversation, but I suppose I have only myself to blame. I’m standing on this man’s terrace in nothing more than a gown and robe. If we’ve crossed a line, I’m not complaining.
“I promised my grandfather I wouldn’t date until I got my degree, and I’m only a sophomore.”
“You still have two more years of college?”
“I do.”
He knows that. I told him I’m only twenty, but every so often he asks an odd question or phrases things in a peculiar way.
His beautiful mouth curves into a smile. “You’ll have to go straight to marriage, won’t you?”
I laugh. “And skip dating altogether?”
“Dating is overrated.”
“That’s what all my girlfriends say, too.”
His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips and I’m not that innocent that I don’t know what he’s gunning for.
“It’s been such a long day,” I tell him, taking a step back.
He straightens. “Of course, Rebecca. Let me take you back to your room.”
I’m sorry to leave this beautiful spot and the sweet moment with him. My grandfather’s no-degree-no-date mandate never seemed like a sacrifice before, but I also never had a man like Will Branson inviting me to see the moonlight.
Mr. Branson, Will, has me so confused I can hardly think. When he looks into my eyes, I feel like I’m falling. That sounds like a terrible feeling, but with him, the sensation is pure bliss. There’s something about this place that casts a spell on me.
A sound calls my attention. A plaintive mew comes from a nearby tree.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
“It’s just a kitten. Probably stuck in the tree.”
I peer into the foliage of the nearest tree. “Can we go downstairs and see if it needs help?”
“It will be fine, Rebecca. If it got up, it can get down.”
Will knows a lot about animals, obviously. He’s a rancher, after all. I’m sure he’s right, but the pitiful sounds make me feel so sorry for the kitten. It doesn’t help that I’ve always wanted a cat, but couldn’t have one. My grandfather wouldn’t have one, or a dog for that matter.
Another sad mewl comes from the depths of the nearest tree. The branches sway and the leaves rustle. It’s quiet for a moment and then a desperate scrabbling breaks the quiet.
I put my hand over my heart. “Poor thing. I’m going to worry all night.”
Will rubs the back of his neck and grimaces. “You want me to get it down, don’t you?”
“Very much.”
“I’m not used to taking orders.”
“It’s just a request.”
“Still...” he shakes his head. “I have people to do things for me. Take care of what I want taken care of, but there’s something about you that makes me want to take care of what you want.”
“You’re doing a good deed for the kitten too.”
I try not to laugh at his grumpiness. It’s true. The ranch is in the middle of nowhere, but there are dozens of people running back and forth to do his bidding. Gardeners, cooks, maids, cowboys.
“You’ll have to pay me, if I rescue that cat.”
Another mew tugs at my heart. “Name your price.”
I cannot believe I just said those words.
He growls in response and stalks back into the house. I follow him down the stairs and out the front door. I’m afraid to step off the porch because I’m barefooted, so I remain at the top of the steps and watch as he hoists himself into the
tree. His powerful body vanishes. The tree swishes and I hear his soft voice as he speaks soothingly to the kitten.
A breeze stirs and fades. The night is quiet. I’m not used to the silence of the country. It’s nothing like the chaos of the city. Shouting, horns and sirens. Not huge open spaces and calm. I’m not used to men offering to rescue kittens, either, although I suppose he didn’t exactly offer. But he didn’t refuse.
He drops from the tree, his movements surprisingly agile for such a big man. Clasped in his strong hands is a small tuft of a kitten, her big eyes shining in the moonlight. She mewls and a cat, somewhere on the porch, gives an answering meow. The mother cat trots around the corner and brushes against my leg.
Will sets the kitten down and we stand on the stairs and watch the pair of cats until they disappear into the shadows.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “That was kind of you.”
His eyes hold me with an intensity I can’t resist. He stands a step lower than I do, but he still has several inches on me. We’re close, really close. Facing each other like this feels even more intimate and compromising than looking at the moon on the terrace. I want to back away, but can’t find the will.
“I don’t like cats,” he says.
“Really?”
“Not much. I guess they’re okay, but I did that for you.”
“And I appreciate it.”
He sets his hands on my waist. The touch is light but I know how powerful he is and I’m sure his strong hands hold me just where he wants me. Captive.
“That will cost you,” he murmurs.
“Will it?” My heart bangs against my ribs so hard I’m wonder if he hears.
“I want a kiss for rescuing that kitten.”
I respond without thinking, clasping his head and brushing my lips against his. It’s daring, crazy, impulsive, all things I’m not known for, but the feel of his lips on mine is perfect, and once I start, I don’t want to stop. I give him another kiss, a little firmer. My fingers brush over his scar and a jolt goes through his body. I didn’t mean to touch him like that, or to even kiss him, but when I pull back, I’m glad I did. The look of amazement on his face is worth the embarrassment that washes over me.
“Promise you won’t tell,” I whisper.
“Tell what?”
“That I kissed you my first night here.”
He scowls. “Who the hell would I say anything to?”
“Someone at the agency. My boss.”
He nods, like I’m talking crazy-talk or something. Of course, he doesn’t get what I’m saying. He’s probably never had a boss, and even if he did, he wouldn’t worry about getting fired for poor work performance. Kissing in the moonlight has got to top the list of what not to do with an important client.
He runs his finger under the fabric of my robe and his touch on my bare skin makes me shiver. When he tugs the robe, I know he can see the delicate lace of my nightie, a particularly expensive piece I got from the lingerie shop. I clasp his wrist but it’s no use. He’s so much stronger than I am, he hardly notices.
“That’s a wicked little temptation you have on, Rebecca.” His voice is gruff.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I was the only girl in the store who didn’t have a boyfriend. They all talked about how much their guys loved certain outfits or fabrics and I never understood what they meant. I do now. He only sees the edge of the nightie but the hunger in his eyes makes me weak.
“Looks fancy. Pricey. Who did you buy that for?”
“I didn’t pay for it.”
His demeanor changes. The air between us crackles with tension as he waits for me to say something more. For some reason, he looks irritated. “That so?”
“They gave it to me. At my last job. All the girls got stuff like this.”
A growl rumbles in his chest. “Have you worn this for anyone yet?”
I shake my head. “Of course not. This is the first time I’ve had it on.”
He nods and keeps his gaze on me. I can see the hard look fading from his expression. “I better take you back to your room. Too much of this moonlight is going to have me imagining all sorts of different things.”
Me and him both.
Neither of us speaks as we make our way into the house and down the hall, but when we get to my room, he sets his hands on my shoulders. “My room is across the hall. Please let me know if you need anything.”
In the dim light, I can’t make out much, but his touch on my shoulders heats my skin, even through the thickness of the robe. Suddenly, I wish I’d stayed for another kiss or three. I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve never had this reaction to a man. I’m on my first serious job and here I am crushing on the client.
“I don’t think I’ll need a thing. I already feel like a princess. I’ve never slept in a four-poster bed before.”
He smiles and draws a lock of hair from my face. “Rebecca,” he says softly.
The tone of his voice steals my breath.
“Yes, Will?”
He pauses for a moment as if trying to find the words. I wonder if he feels the same thing I do and thinks it’s crazy, too. We’ve just met and yet it seems like we’ve known each other far longer.
Finally, he breaks the silence. “I’m happy you’re here.”
“Thank you, sir. I hope you still feel happy a week from now.”
He laughs and it fades away to a groan. “I’m positive I will still be happy.”
I step into my room and close the door behind me. I lean against it and feel my heart soaring. That wasn’t even a real kiss, but the way his lips felt on mine was heaven. I can still feel the weight of his hands on my hips. When I get into bed, I lie there for a long time, wide awake. This is unethical. Beyond unethical. I feel like I’m watching myself make a terrible mistake, but I can’t hold back. I’m certain that if he wants me to kiss him again, I won’t say no.
Chapter Four
Will
I probably wake every seventeen minutes during the night, that’s what it seems like. Every cell in my body is tight and completely aware of the sweet, innocent woman sleeping in the bed across the hallway. Each time I open my eyes, my cock is harder than the last time until, finally, dawn breaks and I take a long, hot shower.
The water hits my shoulders and sluices down my body as I grasp the thickness of my cock and imagine sinking into her tight, hot little body. I picture hot, fierce fucking, which of course, I wouldn’t indulge in the first time. I’d take her slowly and tenderly, but only after I’d loved every inch of her.
I know she’d be shy and modest, probably want the light off. I wouldn’t be that kind. I’ll have candles everywhere, casting soft golden light across her naked body. I’ll have her displayed on my bed for my pleasure and then I’d taste her innocence. Make her come while I devour her.
The hot water pounds my back while I stroke my cock, coming as I imagine what her tight sheath would feel like when I took her for the first time. I roar as I shoot my load against the marble walls. The moment my climax passes, I know it’s not enough. I’ll be hard the instant I see her again.
The next time is twenty minutes later at breakfast. She sits at the table in a demure little matching sweater number. The sweater clings to her breasts, barely, in a way that is too much and not enough. Little tease. Her slacks are a conservative beige and she wears shoes, the type that look like ballet flats. It’s as if she dressed to go work in an office, but she’s so beautiful, I catch my breath. Her hair is loose, but she has a ribbon tied to keep it out of her face as she studies my tax returns.
“Will,” she says, glancing around. “I shouldn’t have kissed you last night.”
We’re supposed to be getting to know each other this week, and I suppose she thinks that doesn’t include kissing. If she wants to play it this way, that’s fine. For now.
I shrug a shoulder. “We’ll blame it on the moonlight.”
Relief washes over her face. She gives me a grateful smi
le and returns her attention to the papers on the table.
This should make me fucking insane, a woman scrutinizing my taxes, but I don’t care. The agency had her sign a confidentiality agreement. Whatever she finds out, she can’t discuss with anyone, and there are plenty of people who want to know more about me.
She can analyze anything she wants. I’d let her go sit at my computer and look at my search history if I had any decent internet to speak of. I only get email a couple of times a month. One of the benefits of living in the sticks. Little to no communication, which suits me fine, now that I have my girl.
I never eat much in the morning. Margie, the cook that’s been with my family since my parents were newlyweds, tries to tempt me every morning with French toast, omelets, and bacon. I never eat a bite other than the occasional piece of toast. Ben would love me to eat breakfast with him, but I’m always ready to get to work. If he wants company over breakfast, he can talk to one of the ladies I pay to watch him.
Rebecca sips a cup of tea and nibbles on a few berries. I sit across from her, about to take a swallow of coffee as she lifts a fat strawberry to her mouth. I’m mesmerized. Her teeth sink into the red fruit and she sucks the juice. A drop escapes and she licks her lips. Any other woman, I’d suspect of putting on an act, but not Rebecca.
She traces the column of numbers with her finger as she studies the form and when she reaches the bottom, she lifts her gaze to mine. I’m still standing by my chair, my coffee cup halfway to my mouth, staring like a love-sick pup.
“Can I ask you a rude question, Will?”
Her words jerk me back from my trance and I shake my head to clear my jumbled thoughts. My cock strains painfully against my jeans. Who is this girl? How can she hold this power over me? Since the plane crash, I’ve built a wall around me a hundred feet thick. Aside from a few single nights here and there, I haven’t been with a woman. And now this woman, scarcely more than a girl, has me acting like a randy teen.
“Maybe I shouldn’t. I’m sorry. The agency told me it was rude to ask this sort of question. I’m sorry.”
I try to gather my scattered thoughts to understand what she’s telling me and I realize she was waiting for a response.