by S. E. Rose
Chapter 8
Laura’s Playlist: “Moment of Surrender” by U2
The next morning, I feel calm and content. I remember yesterday and I feel the butterflies start again. Jesus, pull yourself together, Laura. I start out the door for my morning run and meditation, knowing I will see him. My book is the furthest thing from my mind. Damn it, I think to myself. I am here for a “no distraction” session not a “have a summer fling” holiday. But I trudge out the door and down the path anyhow, and just as I do every morning, I see him on the path. Our morning meetings are not quite like the other times we have spoken. Most mornings, Jack is either walking or jogging and barely acknowledges me. But this morning when I see him, I see his jog falter for a brief second and then he recovers and slows.
“Good morning, Laura,” he says in his sexy morning voice. I can see his eyes moving up and down my body and I find myself shifting a bit.
“Morning,” I reply as I gaze at him.
“I’ll see you later on then,” he breathes as he stops in front of me, his body close to mine. I can smell his sweat and his cologne and a hint of toothpaste. Damn it! Did I even brush my teeth yet? How can he still smell minty from his toothpaste? Clearly, I’ve been brushing wrong for all of these years. Note, if I get the chance to take this fantasy to the next level, I will make sure to get a front-row seat for his morning tooth-brushing ritual.
“Sure thing,” I say with a smile. “Six thirty sharp.”
He nods and then wishing me a good morning he is off jogging in the opposite direction. I meditate longer than normal and realizing the time, I sprint back to the house to find a very annoyed Hagrid meowing at the back door.
“I know, I know, Mr. Kittyman. I’m sorry,” I mumble as I scramble around to get him his food and fresh water. I roll my eyes at myself. Good thing my cat is as verbose and demanding as my children or I’d have him on an unneeded diet. I am the worst cat mom ever! I make an inner note that I need to work on improving my cat mothering skills. I can’t help but laugh a little after all the times I have had to remind the kids to feed Hagrid and now I mess it all up. At least he seems to not mind too much, he hasn’t clawed me in my sleep yet, yet being the operative word. I lean over and kiss him on his head and he purrs and rubs against me. Guess I am forgiven.
I do my best to focus as I make my tea after my shower and hunker down at my computer. Somehow, I am finally able to focus after thirty minutes and I become entrenched in my writing. My conversations from yesterday seem to bring thoughts and ideas to my mind that I hadn’t previously considered and it pours out of me like a faucet onto the glowing screen. My fingers glide across the keyboard and my typing begins to speed up, matching my thoughts. I lose all track of time and only when I feel Hagrid’s incessant head butting on my leg do I finally glance at the clock on my computer screen. Good God, is that the time! I jump up and run to throw dinner in a bowl for Hagrid before commencing with a teenage-like dismissal of half my wardrobe before I find something acceptable. I don’t have a clue how fancy or not fancy the place is where we are going. I settle on a summer dress, knowing that I can grab a cardigan or shawl if I see Jack has on something nice otherwise this will do. I put on some strappy sandals and wait by the front door repeatedly checking my hair and makeup in the mirror in the living room. I look acceptable. I can’t help but compare the woman in the mirror with the girl I used to be. While I look better than I did five years ago, when I had buried myself in kids after Sean’s death and had all but given up caring about my health or my looks, I am not the nineteen-year-old slender sexy girl that met Sean. I sigh. I look at my arms. They have some muscle tone after several years of working out and yoga. My legs, which let’s be honest, are not my best asset, are acceptable now. With the wedge sandals on, my calf muscles look passable. I touch up my reddish-brown hair and silently smirk to myself. The creams I’ve been using on my skin for the past decade have helped ward off wrinkles and my eye creams do wonders for my eyes. My dark-blue eyes look back at me once more as I assess my face. I may not be that girl anymore, but damn it, I look decent.
At 6:28, I hear a car and look down the drive. It’s him. He gets out of the car with graceful movements. I find his ability to move like a dancer interesting considering his size. I, on the other hand, would be tripping over pebbles and stumbling up to the front door. I sigh a breath of relief when I see he is wearing dark dressy jeans and a white, linen button-down shirt. I open the door and greet him. I watch as his eyes trail up from my feet to my head. And I can see him suck in a deep breath.
“You look lovely,” he breathes and kisses my cheek in a very “how are you doing” European manner.
“Why thank you,” I say. “You don’t clean up too badly yourself,” I continue with a smirk. He grins and asks if I need anything before reminding me to lock up. He takes my hand and leads me to the passenger side door and like a perfect gentleman helps me into the car before shutting the door for me. As he gets in, he turns with a mischievous grin and asks if I’m ready, to which I reply that I am.
“Where are we going?” I ask with honest curiosity.
“A little place not far from here,” he replies, giving nothing away.
“OK. You really don’t give much away, Mr. Ross,” I tease.
“I like to keep you on your toes,” he says with a grin and a wink. We get in his car and he turns on a playlist from Oasis. Memories of my time here in college flood back and I brush them aside. We drive for about thirty minutes or so before we pull into a small pub. We are led through the pub out back and I realize it has a patio with amazing views of the North Sea. In fact, I can make out the castle at St. Andrews in the distance. He watches me, trying to read my expressions I think. I try to remain neutral. Two can play at this game.
We have a delicious dinner of locally caught fish and fresh vegetables and we are on our second glass of wine when there is finally a lull in our conversation. We’ve talked about all kinds of things from politics to travel. I learn that he is as well-traveled as I am which impresses me. I laugh a little when he says I’ve one-upped him with my Antarctica expedition, a continent he hasn’t gone to yet. But I’m equally enthralled by his tales of living aboard a sailboat in the Indian Ocean for a few months.
After collecting my thoughts, I ask, “So do you always take out the guests at the properties you oversee?”
I can tell my question has unnerved him. “No, you are the first one,” he replies quietly. “Do you always go out with the help?” He seems to pull himself together and gives me a smirk.
I laugh. “No, I’m a busy woman, Jack. I don’t often have time for myself.”
“That’s unfortunate, Ms. Stevenson. We’ll have to work on fixing that,” he says with a sexy smirk. “But as you are here on your own for three months, I think there is plenty of time to remedy the situation.”
“True.” I internally grin. I hope that was internal as I see an eyebrow rise above one of those amazing green eyes.
“So your kids keep you busy then?” he questions. “No time for dating?”
“Let’s just say I have always been more of a supporting character in my family members’ lives. So to answer your question, no, I don’t have much time for dating nor do such opportunities often present themselves,” I explain.
“Supporting character?” he laughs.
“Well, my husband and my kids have or had very…how can I put this…big personalities.” I smile. “I do not.”
“I beg to differ, Laura,” he responds. He draws out my name at the end of the sentence and hearing it from his lips excites me. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am blushing, and I take in a breath to steady myself.
“Dessert?” he asks. I stare at him, wondering if there is anything implied in his question. “Earth to Laura?” he says, laughing.
I shake my head, bringing myself out of my fog. “Do you recommend anything here?” I ask.
He nods and raises a finger as a waiter comes over. “We will sha
re the dessert special and two glasses of your best port,” he commands. The waiter nods and hurries away.
I raise an eyebrow with curiosity. He gives me a warm smile. We talk about St. Andrews as we gaze over toward the city. Our dessert arrives a few minutes later with our port. It is some sort of chocolate cake; a perfect circle of decadence with a drizzle of what appears to be a berry glaze over the top in a perfect grid pattern.
“Ladies first,” he says, waving with his fork. I hesitantly reach over and using the side of my fork I carve out a small piece. I can see chocolate ooze from the inside and I lick my lips. This is going to taste heavenly, no doubt about it.
Once we have finished off the dessert and our port, he calls to the waiter. “On the slate, please,” he says nonchalantly and the waiter nods with a quick, “Yes, sir, Mr. Ross,” before ducking back inside.
“Shall we?” he asks, reaching for my hand.
“Your tab?” I ask with a half-laugh, half-smirk.
“My family comes here often,” he says not elaborating. I just nod and take his hand. We walk into a garden next door strolling silently for a while. I can see the sun getting a bit lower in the west and realize it must be nearing 11:00 p.m. even though my eyes see it more as four or five in the afternoon. He reaches for my hand, encasing it in his. It feels good and I suddenly wish I had brought my shawl as the cold wind whips past us from the North Sea giving me goose bumps. As though sensing my discomfort, he releases my hand and brings me closer to him putting his arm around my shoulder.
“You’re cold,” he states. I nod with a small smile.
“I’ll survive,” I whisper, feeling incredibly warm now that his arm is around me.
We walk in silence for a bit longer and then come out into a clearing; I realize we have made a complete circle in the garden and are now back by the cars. He leads me toward his vehicle and opens the door for me.
Once settled back in his car, he turns on some music. This time it’s “What Gets You Off” by Jack’s Mannequin. Interesting choice of music, I think to myself. I notice he presses various buttons including one that increases the car’s temperature. The music is soft and he reaches for my hand brushing my knuckles with his finger.
“I’ve had a wonderful time tonight, Laura,” he breathes.
“Ditto,” I murmur, feeling a million bolts of electricity shoot through me as his finger caresses my hand. He releases my hand and throws the gear into second as we pull out of the restaurant parking area. We ride back to my cottage in silence. I hear him humming along to the music and I am so comfortable and warm that I almost start to doze as he drives. I suddenly realize that he has the seat heaters on and I smile to myself.
“What?” he asks. I am now aware that he has been watching me.
I turn to him still smiling. “Nothing, just enjoying myself.” He shakes his head and grabs my hand gently and tucks it under his so that I am grasping the stick shift. He moves my hand as he changes gear, pulling off the main highway. His finger draws lazy circles on the side of my hand as he maintains a steady gaze forward. I turn my head back to the street as I find myself staring at him. I squirm in my seat and he grasps my hand more tightly. Unspoken words seem to pass between us. I’m thinking of nothing but wanting to see him naked, to touch his skin. I’m not sure what’s come over me, but I suddenly am feeling more daring than usual.
He slows as he approaches the turnoff for my cottage. My mind begins to go into overdrive again. Should I ask him to come in for a drink? How does this part of the date work? I’m still contemplating this as he comes to a stop in front of the cottage. I garner all my courage and turn to face him.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” I squeak.
He smiles at me. “Sure.”
We walk in silence through the garden. I fidget with the key trying to open the door. I can’t get it to work. I feel his heat as he steps behind me. His chest touches my back and I can see his arm extend, rubbing against mine as he places his hand on mine and with a twitch of his fingers he deftly unlocks the door. I push it open and Hagrid comes bounding up to us.
I turn on a light and head towards the kitchen.
“Just let me feed Hagrid and then I’ll see what wine I have,” I say to him as he follows me.
“I can feed him if you like,” he says, taking the cat in his arms.
“Uh…sure, his food is—”
“On the counter by the sink?” he finishes my sentence as he motions to the cat food with his head.
I smile. “You got it,” I say as I open the fridge. I pull out the last two bottles of wine I have. I turn to see Jack pouring food into Hagrid’s bowl. I have a wonderful view of his ass and I can’t help ogling a bit.
He turns and catches me, and I blush. He smirks but doesn’t say anything.
“Well, it’s Chardonnay or Chardonnay,” I announce as I hold up the two bottles. He saunters over to me slowly and I draw in a breath. He takes the bottles of wine and sets them on the counter and then stands inches from me. I can feel the heat radiating from him once more and I suddenly feel flushed. I’m forced to crane my neck, so I can look him in the eye.
His eyes are dark with desire as he leans down, so our mouths are millimeters apart. But then he stops, his eyes still locked on mine. He’s waiting. It takes me a full ten seconds to realize he’s asking permission. When this understanding finally hits me with the force of a tidal wave, I close my eyes and lean forward until our lips are just barely touching. And that’s all it takes. He presses against me, his lips caressing mine, teasing, taunting me. His left hand stays firmly planted on my lower back, keeping me pinned to him, while his right hand moves behind my neck, controlling the angle of my head and the depth of our kiss. For just a few minutes, I forget about everything. I forget about my past, my heart that was shattered when Sean died, my life that I’ve slowly started to put back together, my kids, my work, everything. For a few minutes, all I feel, think, see, and smell is Jack, and I want more.
He pulls back much too soon and gazes into my eyes. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now,” he admits.
“You have?” I ask him.
He nods. “I have.”
I grin. “I may have been wanting you to do that for a while, too,” I say to him. He grins back at me.
“What do you say we venture over to my place? I may have the makings of a Snakebite or perhaps you could try a different cocktail?” he suggests.
Suddenly, my mouth is too dry to speak, so I manage a nod.
“Just one minute,” I say to him as I duck out from his embrace and practically sprint to my room. I pause in front of the mirror. He is asking me to stay the night with him, right? It’s his classy way of inviting me over, no? I decide an overnight bag would look presumptuous, so I pull everything out of my purse except my wallet and stuff a change of clothes inside. I take care of a few things and then I make my way back to the kitchen.
He is sitting on a chair petting Hagrid as Hagrid seemingly devours his food.
“Ready?” he asks as he rises and takes my hand, not waiting for a response. He gets me settled in the car and then heads toward his home.
As we approach the turnoff, he opens the gates with some sort of electric opener in the car. Odd, they must not always keep them closed as they were open the other day. I stifle a sarcastic comment about being rich as I know he lives in the modest keeper house just beyond the gate.
He pulls up to the house and turns off the car. He guides me with a hand pressed to my back toward a side door and produces a key that almost makes me laugh out loud. While I have a skeleton key to the cottage, this one is very ornate and I wonder what the key to the manor house on the property looks like if the gatehouse key looks like this.
He swings open the door and guides me inside. I am momentarily blind in the dark until he turns on a lamp on a small side table. It’s a cozy little hallway with oak wood paneling halfway up the walls and thick oak trim surrounding the doorways and ceiling.
The upper half of the walls are painted in a deep blue and a few oil paintings hang on the walls. I squint in the dim light wanting to get a better look at them as they appear to be originals and are vaguely familiar to me, but he turns around quickly and grabs me around my waist, pulling me flush against him. In a fluid movement, my purse is on the floor and his hand is behind my neck, guiding my face towards his until I can feel his breath against my lips. My eyes close as I lean in slightly. And then he presses his lips firmly and hungrily to mine, his tongue dancing across my lips coaxing me to open them. I part them ever so slightly and his tongue claims my mouth as his, exploring every crevice of my mouth. He abruptly pulls away and grabs my wrist dragging me down the hallway. “Come,” is all he says.
I follow him into a living room and he asks for my drink selection.
“Surprise me,” I tell him as I take a seat on a sofa. A minute later, he hands me a gin and tonic with a twist of lime. I take a sip.
“Alright?” he asks.
“Yes, delicious. Thank you,” I say to him.
He downs his quickly and waits for me to finish. He watches me closely, and I shiver from the intensity of his stare. When I finish, he takes my glass and sets it down on a table. He holds out his hand to me, and I take it.
“Let me show you more of my home,” he murmurs as he pulls me closer.
“OK,” I say slowly as my eyes find his lips. All I can think about is how those lips feel on mine.
Instead of showing me the rest of the first floor, he leads me up a narrow set of stairs and down a corridor to a rather grand-looking door with intricate carvings. He pushes it open and swings me around not giving me a chance to take in the room. He turns to me and then stops, looking greedily up and down my body. He licks his lips as though I am a tender morsel of meat ready to be eaten. I feel goose bumps again, but not from the cold.
“You are so beautiful, Laura,” he says, slowly running a finger from my cheek down my neck and skimming across my breast. “You deserve to be the main character of your own story.”