“Chelsea and her twin brother are twenty-one.”
I’m too slow to stop the sharp intake of breath or the “what?” that slips from my mouth.
“You heard right. Chelsea and her twin brother turned twenty-one a few months ago.” She looks far too young and fresh for this to be true.
“How old were you when you had them?”
“I was almost nineteen.”
“That’s young by today’s standards. Was it true love?”
She hesitates, and I sense she’s feeling uneasy. This is not uncommon. Most widows feel a level of guilt about being with me. They’ve often spent years faithfully with one man.
“I thought so at the time, Rome. It was definitely true lust, and it was the time-old clichéd story. Girl meets boy. Girl and boy can’t keep their hands or other parts off each other. Girl gets pregnant. Boy marries girl. All their plans go up in lust and being parents and responsible becomes their new path. Things go well for a while, then circumstances and life starts to wedge between them, until finally she becomes a widow, twenty years later. That was eighteen months ago, and here I am, starting over.”
Yeah, she’s right. Definitely not the first time I’ve heard this story. Unfortunately, it’s far too common. There’s more to her story, and for some reason, I want it all—in good time.
“What would your old path have been, if you hadn’t met him?”
“His name was Phillip,” she says. She mentioned him last night, but now I feel by reinforcing it, she’s giving me permission to think and talk about him by name as well. “It was so long ago, I really wasn’t decided on what my dreams were. There just seemed to be so many opportunities, and they were all not geographically where I was at the time.”
This confuses me a little. “I’m not sure what you mean, Oz.” She squeezes my hand as if drawing strength from me.
“The opportunities were in the city. I just wanted to get out of the outback, away from the drought and dying cattle. We were in the grips of another drought in our town, about that time. It was just red dust, as far as the eye could see. It gets into everything.” She shudders a little at the memory, and I realize just how much this affects her.
“If you’re not a farmer or a cattleman, then you’re stuck in a tiny town providing essential services like medical, banking, post. And even then, it’s only the most rudimentary of services, like my parents. They ran the post office and general store. I didn’t want that life to be mine. And then I met Phillip, and I ended up exactly where I didn’t want to be. Only difference was, I did want to be with the man I was pregnant and very quickly married to.”
“So it was more than lust, you fell in love, even if it was young love.” I lighten my tone playfully and tug at her arm in fun.
She grins and tugs at my hand right back.
“Oh, it was lust and yes, it was love too. I loved Phillip with all my heart. I gave him everything.”
Carlene was saying one thing but there was a big “but” in her tone, and I’m not going digging there now, maybe not ever. For now, I need to keep the conversation rolling. The key to being a good companion—good conversation. Hot sex works too, but one thing invariably leads to another when the trust is built with conversation.
“So, you told me you moved from the outback to the coast when your husband died. That’s got to be a massive change. Other than the obvious, why? Why did you move from the town and people you knew?” These questions are knocking at me because I’m sure, somewhere in here, lies the keys to the real Carlene.
Her shoulders tense, and I feel it right down through our joined hands briefly before she fights to relax and I wonder how forthcoming she will be.
“Rome, I’m not proud to say this but when Phil, died, I couldn’t get out of there quick enough and move to the Gold Coast. Over the years, Colanara had squeezed the life out of Phil, and it had done a damned good job of doing the same to me. I had to get away.” She is begging me to understand what she’s gone through. These two weeks, I’m totally here for her however she needs me and right now, she needs me to hear her.
“There was no life for me out on the land anymore. So, I headed to the coast. Something totally the opposite to what I knew. I figured I was going to start a brand new life. And if I was going to do that, then I needed it to be totally different to what I was accustomed to. The other one didn’t fit me anymore.” Her voice trails off and I hear the emotion, the catch in her throat, the pleading in her eyes for me to understand. This is a woman who feels a lot of guilt about moving away from where she’d been.
She gathers the strength and resolve to go on. “The outback life actually hadn’t fit for the few years before Phil’s accident. When he passed, it just amplified everything, and I had to get out of there. I feel embarrassed to say, it was only a matter of a few weeks and I’d left. I know it shocked a lot of our neighbors and people in town. The looks they gave me. You would have sworn I’d committed a crime selling the property to the gas miners and getting out of there.”
I squeeze her hand tighter in understanding. I’m about to pull her into my arms to offer comfort, but it’s as if she reads my mind and breaks free to stride on through the firm sand toward the water’s edge.
This is her way of asking for a little space. We touched too close to the wound, and the pain struck hard.
I understand her words and position so well. I’ve lived it too. I follow along a few feet behind her. Here if she wants me, but giving her the space she needs to compose herself as well. I may just have been exactly where she was and I’d totally changed my life. I know what it’s like to just have to get out for your own sanity and survival.
A big part of me knows there’s another change coming in my life. This feeling, the restlessness, is one of the main reasons I backed away earlier in the year, from doing exactly what I’m doing now.
I need to be fully invested in a client, and it had been harder and harder to reach that place before I took the time off. Funnily enough, I don’t feel this way with Carlene so far, although I’m sure it will happen soon. It always does.
She drifts back to me after a few minutes and looks more composed. I casually brush my hand against hers, offering the connection if she wants it. A little to my surprise but very much to my liking, she slips her hand into mine.
“It’s similar to here, you know, where I live. But on the other side of the Pacific. Although, it’s nowhere near as commercialized or busy as here. That’s different, though.”
I look up at where she’s pointing with the hand I’m not holding. She’s pointing to the sun rising above the buildings. “Where I’m from, the sun rises over there.” She throws her head to the right, gesturing at the ocean.
“Same ocean, just different sides, right.”
“Something like that,” Oz agrees.
“I like the sound of a place like this, only less commercial.”
“I’m happy with it. In fact, I’ve really found somewhere I feel at home. I wasn’t sure it would be the case when I moved, as I explained, it’s just so different.”
I can understand that, probably better than most, and I get the rare urge to extend our connection by giving her a little of me—something I don’t do with a client.
“I used to live in New York for a long time. It’s a crazy busy place and kind of has a heart-beat and soul of its own. There came a time when it didn’t fit anymore, and I found myself on the opposite coast with a different life.”
I note the fleeting surprise before she nods and politely doesn’t push. I’m a little disappointed. I don’t like clients asking about my story, and I go to great conversational lengths to avoid their questioning. We make it a rule not to divulge too much personal information about ourselves. Somehow, with Carlene, it feels different. If she asks, I’m also sure, I’ll answer her honestly.
“I don’t think I’d like New York. I’ve discovered I’m not much of a city girl. Where I live now, is the best of both worlds. I have access to anything
the city can provide but with the peace and tranquility of living in a much less populated area. So I’m happy with my new place. Now, I just need to figure out what to do with my days. For a long time after I moved, I was so tired. All I did was exist. I think it was because I’d spent the last years working like crazy to keep us afloat. It’s only been the last few months, the fatigue has started to go. For months, each day, I’d get up and wander for hours along the beach or around the shops or the malls, something like that. Stuff I’d never done.” This sounds more like the women here I knew.
“Do you like shopping? We have some great shopping here.” It isn’t my most favorite thing, but if she wants to shop, I’ll struggle through with a smile on my face and two strong arms to carry her purchases.
She looks a little uneasy, and I wonder what I said to make her feel that way. Then she tugs on our joined hands.
“What?” She has me a little off balance.
“I have a confession to make.” For the first time, her expression turns truly playful, and I love it. “I really don’t like shopping. It gets hollow after a while. Sure, I will buy a few things for the kids and myself, while I’m here, but I have no intentions of spending hours, aimlessly walking a shopping mall. Surely they can’t be that different from home?”
“So you’re not looking for a sexy cocktail dress for a dinner or function?” I tease, picking up on the playfulness she laid down.
“I’m not really into clothes. I have no need for a fancy wardrobe. I tend to stick to practical. It’s not like I go anywhere to justify purchasing something fancy. It would just sit in my wardrobe and collect dust.”
The idea of not walking the malls certainly appeals to me, then I realize it’s kind of sad. A beautiful woman like Carlene should have a reason to dress up and feel special about herself, regularly. From what she’s told me, I’m certain she’s missed out on so many things most women take for granted every day.
I need to right that. She deserves to have someone take care of her for a bit. This realization only makes me want to show her more, try even harder to open her up to more experiences. Show her how beautiful she is and how life should be.
And there’s an experience I really need her to try now. Rather than think about it any longer, I decide it’s time for some action. Time to put mission, Make Carlene Feel Beautiful into force.
With far more assuredness than I honestly feel, I move in and press my lips gently to hers. I swallow her initial surprise and gather her against me. The tension in her body releases in levels as I nibble carefully along the line of her lips, encouraging her to open to me, to seek more from me, to need me.
She lets out a breathy sigh and shivers a little. That’s the sign I’ve been looking for. I drop our flip-flops and her hand. I cup one hand to the side of her head and the other I use to hold her against me. My dick is stirring between us as she lets out another little moan, finally taking the hint and opening her mouth for me.
My tongue slips into her mouth with all the practice and experience of the master I am. She dodges me for a few seconds, before I grow impatient at her hesitation and suck her tongue into my mouth for some more serious conversation.
The bite of her nails into my shoulders and the hard pebbles of her nipples against my chest let me know, I’m definitely on the right track. I slip my hand down her back until it rests on her lush ass, where I pull her completely against me. I want her to feel just what kissing her is doing to me, and her low whimper is my reward.
Finally, I ease up on the intensity and let her breathe. This kiss we’re sharing is a taste. It’s about waking her up to what could be between us, a sneak peek into how hot I’d make sure it is for her.
Gently, I break the kiss. More and more people are joining us on the beach. I don’t want an audience, a suggestive comment, or a whistle causing her to retreat. It’s all going forward for the next two weeks to the new Carlene. The beautiful, desirable Carlene. No going back to the old Carlene. This is my new mission, and I’m gladly accepting it.
Chapter 5
Carlene
I’ve been off balance ever since Rome kissed me down on the beach in the early morning light. Something happened when his lips met mine. It’s as if my body has suddenly woken from a long, long hibernation. A forgotten energy is pulsing through me now. A heightened awareness of myself as a woman and very much of Rome as a man. It’s a need to be near him, to absorb his essence.
Maybe I should talk to him about it, but I have no clue what to say or where to start? Is it okay to want a man again? Would it be okay to let him run his hands over my body, kiss me, touch me, and mercy—fuck me? How can I be forty and still feel as clueless as I had at sixteen?
We eat breakfast down by the beach, and I have my first real lesson in tipping. The whole tipping thing is going to take a little getting used to. In Australia, you leave a tip if you feel the service is good. Even then, it’s not expected, although certainly appreciated. Here, a totally different story. The tip is part of the bill. Okay, give me another couple of attempts at it, and I’ll have it sorted, I hope.
After breakfast, we head back to the hotel for a quick change of clothes, before we hit the Santa Monica Pier. We’ve been on the move ever since, and so far, it’s exactly what I hoped for and more.
An eclectic mix of people, sights, sounds, music, and food. The hours are flying past as we walk hand in hand, exploring and taking in the beachside sights. There’s the carnival rides on the pier, the near naked men and women at muscle beach, and no end of crazy and bizarre things to look at. A complete overload on my senses in every way…and then there’s Rome…
I’m loving it all.
Since we’ve been out exploring, Rome has been the perfect, patient guide. Not once has he seemed to mind stopping for me to look at something he’s probably seen a million times before, but for me, is all shiny and new.
Now we’re strolling down a little side street off the main shopping area, and I can’t resist walking into a little new age shop. The smells coming from the open doorway and the window displays are pulling me right in. The walls are lined with crystals, jewelry, essential oils, and all manner of interesting things. I’m fascinated in this foreign environment but for a reason I don’t understand, I feel very much at home and relaxed as well.
My eyes take in the riot of colors, shapes, and sizes of the crystals.
I can feel Rome studying me.
“What?” I ask, suddenly very self-conscious of my obvious wonder at everything this store holds.
He chuckles a little and gives me a playful but intimate tap on the nose. The sort of familiarity you’d see with lovers. “You look so gorgeous standing here trying to decide what to look at first. It’s like watching a kid in a candy store.”
Heat races to my cheeks.
“They’re all so pretty. I don’t know where to start.”
He leans in close and whispers in my ear. “The trick is to pick the crystal which draws you in the most. Scan the shelves then don’t think. Just feel. Which one draws you to it? That’s what you need right now in your life. The energy in your body will mesh with the energy of the crystal to amplify it.”
I can feel my forehead crease a little into a frown. Do I believe him?
“Go on. What have you got to lose? At the very least, it’s a bit of fun,” he urges.
He’s right. Today is very much about having fun, enjoying his company, and experiencing new things. I step forward, away from his direct influence, and this time, study the shelves. A few seconds later, I spot a piece I just can’t look past.
It’s so beautiful.
Without thinking, I move directly to a smooth crystal with rounded edges. The beauty is about the size of a baseball and roundish in shape but not anywhere close to a sphere. The colors though, are what have captured my attention. The center of the crystal is a stunning watermelon pink color. The deep pink blends into blues, greens, and in places, black.
Magnificent is the word for
it.
So much so, I pick it up, and immediately, I’m surprised by the cool weight of the crystal. It feels so good against my skin, I subconsciously bring it to my face and place it against my cheek.
I love it.
In fact, I’m so enraptured with it, I initially miss Rome beside me until he speaks, “interesting choice of crystal.”
Is there a hint of amusement and a little smirk I’m seeing? What have I unwittingly picked up?
“Do you know what type of crystal it is?” he asks.
I have no idea, however there’s a little card on the shelf that no doubt has that information. I glance over and read.
“Rainbow tourmaline, perhaps?” I quirk an eyebrow at him in fun.
He grins. “It is and a beautiful piece at that, but nowhere near as beautiful as the lady holding it.”
“Oh, the gentleman is too kind,” I joke back with him.
A more serious tone settles over him. “I wasn’t joking or just saying something, Carlene. You’re beautiful, and I want you to know that’s what I honestly think.”
I can’t hold the intensity in his eyes with mine any longer. It’s too revealing, too direct.
Does he really think this? He’s the beautiful one. I’m just a simple and practical woman from Australia on an adventure.
To break the connection of his gaze, I transfer the crystal back and forth between my hands a few times. The cool rock truly is stunning, but what business do I have with something like this? Then why do I feel the overwhelming need to buy it—to keep it as mine?
“It’s a lovely piece, just arrived yesterday, and I don’t think I’m going to have it for long.” An older woman with twinkling blue eyes nods at the crystal in my hands with a knowing confidence. She’s dressed in a way I could only describe as a modern-day hippie. “The colors are stunning and give it so much power.”
“Power?” I ask curiously, not really understanding what she is getting at.
“All crystals have their own unique energy and resonance signatures. This one is particularly special because it blends several colors. The blue/green color is about thought, communication, and expression. The black protects against negativity. The violet is representative of spiritual development.” She pauses with theatrical flair. The woman looks between Rome and me, drawing out the drama. “Finally, the dominating color in this piece is the deep red pink color. The watermelon shade promotes sexuality and love. Judging by the energy flowing between the two of you, I’m not at all surprised this was your choice.”
When With Rome (Perfect Gentlemen Book 1) Page 6