by Wendy Burke
At least I can say I’m the same size I was in high school. Yeah, whatever—you never had a date then either. And, what the hell is wrong with me? I can decide in a split second if something has to be amputated or repaired, but I can’t make a fucking decision about my personal life? If people only knew how much of a chickenshit I am, teeter-tottering on personal decisions.
The one time she sat across from a psychologist, her diffidence had been tracked to the moment she’d become Jason’s parent figure and caretaker. She didn’t believe the professional’s words, being angry at your parents is normal, or maybe you should think of placing him with another family member.
Placing him?
Like a piece of furniture that didn’t quite fit with the rest of the décor? Like some sixteen-year-old with a surprise pregnancy? Hell, no! As the lone, remaining connection to the parents she so loved, and the little brother she so adored, she would raise him, her future be damned. And refusing to put any onus on Jason, she ended that counsel and never thought about it again…well, until now.
Take the internal insecurity, add in her casualness, her double-digit clothing size, then toss in being content as an unattached professional—well, yeah, that could equal some of the reasons why—she thought anyway—she hadn’t had a continuing intimate relationship since college. Maybe being driven, and a workaholic, was another reason. She didn’t care for the nose-in-the-air doctors with whom she worked who equated their cock size to the amount in their savings accounts, and thought they were superior due to the Dr. in front of their initial-for-a-first name.
Could be.
In her mind, she remained plain old Abigail Lewis—Abby—sister of Jason, friend to some, doctor to quite a few more. But she never used the title in introduction. Not a big deal, what I do with it is important.
Her dedication and drive however, left her single and much of the time, alone, physically and emotionally. So what would it hurt to have a little libidinous fun?
Sitting in the same café every morning for the past week, she’d spent at hour or more at a time filling out the application. She didn’t want to invest the time at home because, although he might be a dear and caring little brother, if Jason caught wind of her investment, she’d never hear the end of it from the adorable, not-so-little-anymore twerp.
This is for me and me alone. I’ve spent more than enough of my life doing for others, it’s about time I did something for me.
She figured she’d be rejected by the 1Night Stand service and the proprietor, Madame Eve, might think her to be one picky bitch. Hey, she asked for likes, dislikes, specifics—I just gave’er what she asked for!
Done.
Glancing about at the other morning diners, she held her breath and hit send.
No turning back now.
***
She followed the precise directions to the Castillo Retreat in Charlevoix, Michigan, a beautiful little town in its own right, then drove through and eastward away from the expanse of Lake Michigan to the northern side of Lake Charlevoix.
Other than the main lodge, it appeared there were no lodgings—smallish, rough-hewn log cabins were sprinkled through the woods, some near the lake’s edge, none within view of another.
Number ten awaited her. She parked her Jeep in the gravel pad next to the structure, grabbed her small bag, and went inside.
The interior matched the outside, rustic yet romantic. The aroma of fall roses greeted her. A vase overflowing with autumn flowers anchored a central table. Their scent nearly overwhelming as she reached for the heavy cream-colored linen envelope with Dr. Abigail Lewis scripted on it. She replaced the packet where she found it. Biting at her bottom lip, she sighed. What the hell am I doing! Disgusted with her inability to accept what she’d gotten into, she left the paperwork and explored the cabin.
Stowing her small bag in the bedroom, she trailed a finger along the creamy, lace-trimmed spread covering the over-sized king bed, unable to wrap her mind around the idea that the next twelve-or-so hours were designed for her ultimate pleasure. The thought tickled her deep between her thighs. But….
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
Trying to chase away the ridiculous notion, she shook her head. She rarely thought of herself of a sexual being, her life too busy for such nonsense. But, with the amount of money spent on the encounter, there would be no backing out and no walking away. She deserved to be happy in that regard. She just had to be convinced she deserved the attention—whether she had to pay for it or not.
Returning to the main room, she found a mini-bar held a selection of her favorite beers and wines, and wondered if the beverages were her date’s choices as well. Opening a bottle of Incognito White, she poured a glass then wandered onto the porch. She plopped into a deck chair and rested her head on the cushion. Michigan’s north woods were on the cusp of full-blown autumn. The maples—silver, red, and sugar—fought a losing battle with waning sunlight, their leaves morphing into brilliant shades of fire orange, gold, red, and a myriad of hues in between. A bombing run of acorns exploded from a nearby oak, with fat gray squirrels scrambling underneath to store enough for winter.
She closed her eyes, content to enjoy the forest quiet. Doubts intruded on the calm.
What the hell am I doing here? That’s right—I squandered my best years in an operating room and worrying about a kid who can take care of himself better than I can. Look where it’s gotten me—paying for sex. If only I had cats—even crazy, old cat ladies have companionship.
She struggled with the turn of her thoughts. I’m a well-respected professional with enough money and friends to be happy…. But for the most part, neither warmed her bed at night.
Physician—heal thyself. What a joke!
The empty spot in her heart ached, rubbed raw by years of romantic loneliness. The few men who had tried to salve that hurt did more injury by their feelings of inadequacy—unable to compete with her on a professional level. And, their ideas of helping her with small suggestions of maybe you need to join a gym, I have dietician friend who could help you with your weight, and I’d really like it if you wore….
The Doc Martens she’d bought on a whim came in handy kicking the insulting men’s asses to the curb.
And, when it came to love, I had such wonderful examples….
She nearly dropped the phone when, studying at Harvard, her mother had mentioned over the phone she was pregnant.
Mom, I’m twenty-one years old! People will think I had a baby and dumped it off on you. Abby chuckled at the memory—what a silly thing to say! She still heard her mom’s response: I hate to break it to you, Abigail, but this ain’t about you, honey! Yes, her parents had been terribly in love.
The room phone disturbed her depressing musings. “Damn.” Dragging herself from the chaise, she stretched her neck, hearing the crackle of her vertebrae. Getting old, Abby. Stepping inside, she answered the phone. “Yes?”
“Dr. Lewis would you please follow the instructions in your visitor’s packet? Your guest will arrive shortly. Thank you.”
She’d been relaxing longer than she’d realized.
She studied the note.
Welcome, Dr. Lewis.
I hope you are finding the Castillo Retreat relaxing and delightful. 1Night Stand takes into consideration both parties requests and appetites when designing their encounter.
Your date will arrive shortly. Please get comfortable by undressing and wearing the robe provided and relax on the massage table in the spa room. He expressed on his application that he has great hands. If you are accepting, he would like to begin the evening with a massage.
Despite knowing you’re a physician, your date is slightly self-conscious about his appearance, so by having you wear the blindfold provided, he’ll feel more comfortable. You may have some concern having one sense taken from you. I suggest you and your partner decide on a safe word. Should either of you feel uneasy at any time, with any action, use the agreed-upon word to stop the encounter.
Have a wonderful evening.
Madame Eve
“What the hell? He’s self-conscious? I’m the one bare-ass naked under nothing but a robe”
Staring at the envelope, she waited for the words to change even slightly. They didn’t. Dammit. With a grunt of irritation, she tossed the paperwork on the table and headed for the spa room.
He’s self-conscious. “Hmmm.” Disfigured from some accident, deformed at birth, marred by a bad case of adolescent acne? “Quit being so ridiculous, Abigail!”
She began to undress and caught a glimpse in the full-length mirror and sighed. She shouldn’t be disgusted—she had a beautiful, round figure, or so her mother told her all through high school, with well-defined arms and shoulders from her love of kayaking and canoeing. Hours in the medical center’s private pool helped as well. Regardless, an evil, self-destructive thought crossed her mind; He’ll wonder who delivered the cow then demand his money back.
Covering with the cozy bathrobe provided for her doused the notion. She lay down on her back on the towel-wrapped table and as directed, slipped the small blindfold over her eyes.
The world went dark. Not a frightening dark, but a deep, restful absence of light, a peaceful black.
Under the blindfold, she closed her eyes to the world. So quiet. She dozed, she had no idea how long, until the closing of the door brought her around.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Dr. Lewis. Or may I call you Abigail?”
“Abby is fine.” She turned her head, following the deep, satiny voice of a man. Quiet steps moved behind her head. He stopped. Fingering the knot of her robe, she tightened it, covering herself, hoping to ward off the odd sensation of him studying her shape.
The lonely spot between her legs pulsed when a heavy hand lit on her shoulder.
His breath fell warm and solicitous on her ear. “What would you like rubbed first?”
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven