Curves for Him - 10 Delicious Tales

by Aubrey Rose, Dez Burke, A. T. Mitchell, Catherine Vale, Marian Tee, Harper Ashe, Eliza Gayle, M. G. Morgan, Shirl Anders, Milly Taiden

  “Nice to meet you, Chase,” Blake said informally, putting out his hand. “And thanks; it feels good to be back home. And you can call me Blake.”

  Soon they were threading through rush hour traffic and Blake barely took in the scenery from his tinted windows, his mind far away as he wondered about his father having anything to say about him at all – to anyone.

  As if reading his mind, Chase added lightly, “Your father asked me to apologize that he couldn’t meet you at the airport himself. He’s in the middle of a crucial meeting and couldn’t get away.”

  Blake’s lips slanted in an ironic smile. “I understand perfectly.” He’d understood for years – but his mother couldn’t. That was one of the reasons she’d left his father after thirteen years of marriage. His father, the workaholic, the business mogul. He’d rarely ever found any time to spend with his wife and young son. And then when Blake’s mother, Sophie Harrington, couldn’t take it anymore she’d packed up and left, taking the ten-year-old Blake with her. In time the divorce came through and Sophie successfully closed that chapter on her marriage and eventually moved on with her life.

  What had always surprised Blake the most was that his father had never fought to get his only son back. Not even for holidays or summer visits. It had taken him a long time to realize his father must have actually been relieved that Blake had chosen to leave with his mother. Months turned into years...and not a word was ever exchanged between father and son. Until now.

  “Your father said to take you to the villa, his home just half an hour’s drive from here.” Once again, Chase cut into Blake’s brooding thoughts. “He plans to join you once he’s finished with the meeting.”

  Blake nodded, channeling his reflections to the here and now. Within the comfort of the car’s plush interior, he went over his earlier words. Did it really feel good to be back? Had it been wise to return to a father who’d never cared to see him?

  And yet Blake knew he’d needed to come back. Back to his roots, his home. Whether it had been a wise decision remained to be seen.

  ***

  Kira Taylor looked up from her computer and smiled when her boss, Bretton Carter emerged from his private elevator and walked into the expansive reception area.

  “Hello, Mr. Carter,” she greeted warmly, her white, even teeth flashing in a bright smile. “How was your meeting?”

  “Thank you, Kira; it went well. You could say it reached its logical conclusion.”

  Which meant, Kira surmised with a hidden smile, that her boss had finally won the bid to take over a certain mega-successful software firm after months of drawn-out negotiation.

  “Hold all calls please,” he ordered, and then with a brief nod went into his office which was behind a huge steel door at the end of the corridor.

  Kira looked after him a little worriedly. She’d have thought winning the deal would have put her boss in high spirits, but judging from his somewhat short demeanor that wasn’t the case. In fact, he looked a bit tired and drawn. Kira knew firsthand how hard he worked for a man in his fifties. And yet she guessed that his ill mood had much more to it, no matter how hard he might try to conceal it. Kira wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that his only son was arriving in the country that very day?

  Kira knew most of the details, of course. Although she’d only been working as Mr. Carter’s secretary for a little over a year, the older man had come to trust and value her far more than an employee and more like the daughter he’d never had.

  Kira walked into his office minutes later with a coffee tray and found him seated at his desk. At age fifty five he was still very handsome, with an impressively tall and fit build of a man fifteen years younger. He had touches of grey in his sleek dark brown hair and crow’s feet at the edges of his blue eyes which added more character and distinction to his clear-cut good looks. But right now he looked very much his age at the moment.

  Did his son’s return bring back sad memories? Or was she simply reading it all wrong and it was just fatigue making her boss so uncharacteristically moody?

  “I brought in some coffee,” Kira said softly as he looked up at her.

  He broke out a grin. “You’re a lifesaver, Kira. Pour me a cup, will you? I could use a caffeine jolt.”

  That’s more like it, Kira thought, handing him a cup of the dark brew. The old Carter charm was back, the kind that complemented his steel-like business judgment. She watched with almost maternal affection as he sipped gratefully.

  Then as she turned to leave, he surprised her with his next words.

  “Kira, you know my son’s flying into the country today, don’t you?”

  Kira nodded, hiding her deep curiosity as she faced him once again.

  He continued, “He’s probably now on his way to the villa. I sent Chase to pick him up from the airport. Wasn’t even sure which flight he’d be on. He also didn’t mention in his letter how long he intended to stay – nothing about his mother either.”

  Her boss’s voice seemed to alter slightly on the last sentence, and Kira’s eyes were drawn to his face. Could he still be in love with his British ex-wife, even after so long?

  Once, a few months ago, Mr. Carter had told her about how he’d met her, all those years ago when he’d been a university student in England. They’d bumped into each other in the school library, and he’d picked up her fallen books. He’d straightened and looked into her deep blue eyes – and they’d fallen in love.

  For them it had been a whirlwind romance... they became study buddies, surfed together, played tennis on the university courts and went to pubs. Six months after the day they’d met, they were married in a chapel in the small town where they went to school. Two years later they had a son. The same year Bretton Carter finished college and it was then, despite Sophie’s family’s protests, that he brought them all home to the United States.

  The first few years were tight because Bretton chose to fend for himself, without the help of his parents who ran their own thriving event planning business. When Blake, his son, turned five, Bretton had made his first million from a lucrative takeover deal. After that there was no turning back.

  Kira didn’t wish to seem like she was prying, but asked softly, “Are you pleased about your son’s homecoming?”

  Her boss was silent for a few moments, before he let out a deep sigh. “Yes. I believe I truly am. Now that he’s finally decided to return – permanently or otherwise – I realize how badly I’ve missed him.”

  As well as his mother, Kira thought compassionately. It must have been hard letting go of one’s first love. Bretton Carter might be the picture of a strong-willed and driven, sometimes downright inflexible, corporate mastermind, but Kira saw beneath all that. He was a good man, even adorable. She looked up to him as a father, especially since hers had been nothing but a letdown for as long as she could remember.

  “Do you...remember anything about him?” she asked. “I mean, really? I understand he was ten years old when your ex-wife took him with her.”

  “Oh, I remember him all right,” Bretton said, a little twinkle in his blue eyes. “A troublemaker, but a cute one. He may not know it, but even though his mother never let me know where they were, she always sent information to keep me abreast of Blake’s progress. Over the years she also sent me a few photos of him. And I even have one here, from when he finished his Masters from Oxford. Always was a bright one.”

  Kira watched as her boss reached into his top drawer, unearthing a beautifully framed photo. Placing down the tray she’d been taking out, Kira went behind his chair to look over his shoulder.

  “She sent this photo three years ago. He’s got plenty of Sophie when it comes to the brains but I’d like to think he takes a lot after his father in looks,” Bretton said with a proud, humorous smile.

  But Kira was barely even listening, her eyes fastened on the image of who could only be the sexiest man she’d ever seen. The photo did nothing to scale down the smoldering gorgeousness of each w
ell-formed feature. He certainly had a strong resemblance to his father though his hair was much lighter in shade. His eyes were a startling grey, fringed by thickly meshed dark lashes a woman would kill to have. A square-edged face like a fashion model’s and just a hint of dimple in his chin, plus lips too edible looking to be borne. He was smiling into the camera, displaying a devastating smile that did things to Kira’s insides.

  It was just a shoulder shot, but Kira could see his broad frame wore the graduation garb quite well, and the hat sat rakishly on his head, matching the daring glint in his beautiful eyes. He was definitely something special, at least in the looks department and just looking at him brought the strangest twitching in her hidden folds.

  Kira swallowed tightly before she could speak. “You said he was cute, sir?” She managed to say with a light laugh. “I’d say you slightly understated. He’s very handsome.”

  Kira hoped she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. Calm yourself down girl, she chided silently, practically swooning over his photo. But damn he looked hot, like one of those sexy models you’d see in those pricey cologne ads.

  “Thanks,” her boss said, chuckling at her candidness. And then he sobered as he carefully placed the framed photograph on his desk, close by him. “I guess there’s nothing wrong with putting it there now where I can see it.”

  “Not at all,” Kira assured him. It shows you really cared, she added silently. You cared all along.

  “Well, I’d better finish up here then,” Mr. Carter said briskly, breaking the sentimental mood. “I’ll soon be heading home to meet my son. We’ll have dinner; maybe catch up on all we’ve missed.”

  “Yes sir,” Kira said, tone deferential as usual. Picking up the tray, she glanced at her boss one more time before leaving the office, hoping in her heart that all would go well.

  Chapter Two

  Blake emerged from the shower, feeling refreshed. He’d arisen from his reviving nap half an hour ago, and now he felt sure he’d got rid of the faint jet lag he’d been suffering earlier.

  As he dried his hair, the intercom on the bedside chest buzzed, and he went to answer it.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Blake?”

  Blake paused, holding his breath at the sound of that unmistakable voice reaching him in its gravelly, well-modulated baritone. He replied tentatively, “Hi...Dad.”

  Blake thought he heard a sigh that sounded like relief, before his father spoke again.

  “Hello son. And welcome back. Chase informed me that your trip was hitch-free, and I understand you were napping earlier.”

  “Yeah. Jet lag caught up to me. I’m just in from the shower,” he answered. Blake couldn’t help thinking how much they sounded like strangers. Which they were. The last time they’d spoken, he’d been a mere boy.

  “Great, I just came in myself and I’m up in my own room. I hope you wouldn’t mind us dining together this evening – say seven? I told the private chef Marcello to fix something special for us.”

  “Of course, I’ll be down promptly,” Blake replied.

  “Great,” his father said again, and next came a heavy silence. Both seemed to be listening to the other’s breathing – almost as if hoping to find answers within.

  At last, moments later Blake said, “Well, I’ll see you in a little bit then,” before hanging up. He let out a ‘whoosh’ and then muttered to the large, sumptuously furnished bedroom, “See that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Blake figured they’d jumped one hurdle – at least they’d shared their first civil conversation even if it was over the phone. They might not get along so well face to face. But Blake decided to cross that bridge when he got there.

  Opening his closet, he picked out what to wear from the newly unpacked clothes hanging there.

  ***

  It was a ten minutes to seven when Blake descended the circling stairway to the living room which matched the lavish vastness of the whole villa. It was grandly furnished and stately. In the middle stood a tall, broad shouldered man dressed in an open-necked dress shirt and trousers, his hair a distinguishing grey at the corners. Blake recognized him instantly.

  “Evening, Dad,” he said and his father turned fully to face him. They both regarded each other from the distance separating them. For several moments they simply stood and studied each other. Blake didn’t know what his father saw, but as for him what he saw was the same man he’d known eighteen years ago – except this one had more grey in his hair, a few lines etched into his still-handsome face...and perhaps a little more waist. He still had that self-contained, aristocratic bearing Blake remembered him for.

  Sometimes it amazed Blake that he remembered anything at all.

  “What would you like to drink before dinner?” asked his father at last. He turned to the drinks bar. “How about some scotch?”

  “Thanks; that sounds fine,” Blake replied; unbuttoning the jacket he’d worn over his shirt and slacks. Moments later his father handed him his drink.

  “We’ll go in to dinner in a minute,” said Bretton. “I thought we’d talk a while. Take a seat, son.”

  “Sure,” Blake said dryly, feeling more like a guest than a son in his own father’s home. Settling into one of the plush leather seats, he watched his father silently as the older man took the chair opposite.

  “So, what is it you do now?” His father asked, sitting back.

  “I’m into IT consulting and software development.”

  “I should have guessed. You always were good with computers and all that stuff even at a young age. Would’ve been surprised if you got into anything else.”

  Blake found himself smiling wryly. “Well I did consider starting up as a bassist in a rock band but I guess I needed something more challenging.”

  There it was; the token dry joke to set things even more at ease, thought Blake as his father chuckled.

  “I’m glad for you anyway. Glad you seem to be doing well,” Bretton said with a nod. “So now that you’re back – how long do you intend to stay? For a while I hope.”

  Blake paused thoughtfully. “Didn’t exactly have it all planned out. So I’m not really sure.”

  “Hmm. And your mother? What did she think about your return?”

  “Mom died six months ago,” Blake said simply. Just like that.

  There was a resounding crash when the half-empty glass of scotch his father held slipped from his limp grasp, fell and smashed on the polished floor. Some of the liquid spilled onto the hem of his father’s pants, but he didn’t seem to notice as he sat there, still as a stone.

  “Dad?” Blake sprang to his feet in concern.

  “No...,” Bretton was saying as if from far away, shaking his head in disbelief. His eyes seemed glazed in his drawn face, before his gaze focused on the worried-looking Blake.

  “Where...how?”

  Feeling like such an insensitive bastard for the thoughtless way he’d broken the news, Blake said quietly, “In a hospital in Kent. She’d been suffering from cancer for months...”

  “But you wrote to me a few months ago and never mentioned this.” His father’s voice was firmer now, and angry.

  Blake shrugged. “I guess I couldn’t bring myself to break such a delicate piece of news in a letter. Besides....” Blake paused, and then said deeply, “I didn’t realize you’d care.”

  Blake thought he saw his father flinch, before they both turned as a burly and bald-headed man in a uniform of black shirt and matching trousers rushed in saying, “Did I hear glass breaking...?”

  “Yes,” Blake said quickly, thankful for the interruption. “My dad dropped something.”

  “Very unlike you, sir,” the bulky man said worriedly.

  “I know, Wellman. Help me clear up the mess, will you?” Bretton said in a controlled tone. He rose to his feet and carefully stepped around the shards of broken glass.

  As Wellman disappeared, father and son looked expressionlessly at each other and the moments ticked by. “I�
�d better go up and change my pants,” Bretton said at last. “When I come back down, we’ll eat.” And without another word, he left the room.

  Blake let out a sigh, his fingers raking into his hair as he felt a strange heaviness. He’d really acted out of turn. Blurting out his mother’s demise like that hadn’t been planned but he couldn’t help admitting that he liked that it had an effect. Let the old man get to feel something for once. Bretton Carter’s trademark cool had been shattered along with that crystal tumbler, if only for a moment.

  Blake had meant it when he’d said he didn’t think his father cared. Blake had been so certain his father had forgotten them – a faded memory from photos in a forgotten album. Hell, the man had practically ignored them for almost twenty years. The main reason Blake had even decided to come back was because he’d sensed that it was his mother’s wish for him. Why should Blake feel sorry for his father now just because the man had suddenly been taken over by emotions? Bretton’s shock, dismay and pain had been palpable. But Blake was ready to put it all down to guilt. That’s all it really was. And that’s why Blake felt no pity for him.

  ***

  Dinner was delicious. A balance of rich and simple dishes with the flavors combined perfectly using fresh, seasonal foods. Blake was pleasantly surprised considering what he’d heard and remembered about American cooking. The meal was world-class and he didn’t hesitate to tell this to the private chef who served the meal.

  His father made no more mention of his mother, nor about anything they’d spoken about earlier. Conversation was focused on comments about the food, light topics such as the cooling weather and some current world affairs. Bretton Carter was quite composed and back to his normal self by all indications.

  “What exactly do you intend to do during your stay?” Bretton finally asked over after-dinner coffee. “You left your job in London, I presume?”