He swallowed, still looking at me. “That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
I must have been beaming, I was so happy he liked them. Oysters were a staple growing up and I’d been so happy to find some at Southbay’s this morning.
“I had no idea these things were so delicious,” he muttered to himself as he reached for another. “Are there any extras for you to have?”
“No, sir. I only bought a dozen.”
“Sit, please.”
I took my seat.
“Here.” He slipped an oyster into my mouth and I inwardly agreed with him. They’d turned out perfectly.
“Add these to my favorites, Miss Lane.”
“Yes, sir. I’m glad you like them.” He offered me another, this time looking into my eyes as he fed me.
“Imagine, all the time I’ve wasted in my life when I could have been eating oysters.”
I laughed. “I’ll help you make up for lost time this summer, I promise.”
He offered me the last one but I shook my head. He smiled his thanks to me as he ate it. “That was amazing, Miss Lane. I’m kind of speechless.”
“There’s no way the rest of dinner is going to top that.”
He looked at me so affectionately, I knew there was no way I was misreading his expression. I felt a blush start to creep up my neck and rose with his plate. “But I’ll get it for you now, if you’re ready.”
“Yes, my dear, I am. But walk slowly.”
I rose and walked into the kitchen as slowly as I could, wondering if Mr. Hunter was looking at my behind or drawing out dinner or both. All good, I thought to myself as I gently covered his filet mignon with the sauce, scooped some mashed potatoes with roasted garlic next to it, added a side of fresh peas I’d lightly drizzled with lemon, and brought his plate back in.
“Would you like me to freshen your martini?” I asked as I lowered the plate to the table.
“No thank you, my dear. I’m fine for now. But please, sit down again.”
He cut into his filet mignon and put his head back as he savored it. “You grilled this,” he said after swallowing.
“Yes, sir. I saw the grill outside a while ago and decided to use it tonight.”
He continued eating in silence, the only sounds in the room the scraping of his knife and fork. He looked at me while he ate with a serious expression that I couldn’t quite read. Finally he offered me some potatoes and peas, which I happily took, having got quite hungry myself.
“My dear, that was possibly the best meal I’ve ever eaten in my life," he said, pushing his empty plate to the side.
“I’m so glad you liked it, Mr. Hunter. There’s still some cake if you'd like dessert tonight.”
He shook his head and looked at me fondly. “I don’t think I could eat another bite if I tried.”
“Can I get you a nightcap?”
He closed his eyes briefly and sighed, a smile playing across his face. “Yes, my dear, a brandy. Get yourself one, too, if you’d like.”
I got up and moved his plate to the other end of the table, then went to the liquor cabinet and poured two snifters of brandy.
“Have you had brandy before, Miss Lane?” He asked as I set our drinks down and resumed my seat.
“My dad gave me a taste once.” I smiled and took a sip. “Wow. This is much better than I remember.”
He chuckled and took a sip of his, keeping his eyes on me. He was silent for a few moments and then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and fiddling with his glass. “Miss Lane, would you mind if I changed the rule about waiting for me in the kitchen? I like your company at dinner.”
I looked at him in surprise. “No, sir, I wouldn’t mind at all.”
“You don’t have to say yes. I won’t hold it against you.”
“I’d rather sit out here with you, sir, than by myself in the kitchen. You’re much better company than the refrigerator.”
“High praise,” he laughed, taking a sip of brandy.
“Well, the fridge is mad at me for spending too much time with the stove.”
“Is it giving you the cold shoulder?”
“Ha!” It was my turn to laugh. “Good one, Mr. Hunter.” I smiled widely at him.
Suddenly his expression changed. “Oh, I should pay you tonight in case I don’t see you before you leave in the morning.” He stood and moved toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”
I sipped at my brandy while he was gone. It was affecting me a little bit, not having eaten very much, and I rested my head back against my chair, closing my eyes.
Mr. Hunter came back in, sat down, and put my envelope down next to my snifter. “Here you are, my dear, enough to get you to LaPorte and back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hunter.” I smiled at him with my head still back.
“No, thank you, Miss Lane.” He took a sip of his brandy and smiled at me, then picked up my hand and raised it to his lips, looking up at me from under his eyebrows as he kissed the back of it. “For everything you do for me.” He continued to hold my gaze, while he lowered my hand and put his on top of mine, lightly stroking my fingers. His lips had felt so warm on my hand, and now his fingers felt so delicate, belying the strength with which I’d heard them play the piano. I could feel my pulse starting to pick up and I bit my lip to try to get control of my body.
“Don’t do that.” Mr. Hunter smiled again and lifted his hand to my mouth, gently pulling my bottom lip free and rubbing his thumb over it. “I don’t like it when it looks like you’re hurting yourself.”
I swallowed and found my voice. “It doesn’t hurt, Mr. Hunter. I’m not a masochist.”
He chuckled and took a sip of brandy. “Why do you do it? Bite your lip sometimes, I mean.”
I took a sip of brandy, too. “I”m not even aware I’m doing it most of the time, but when I am aware of it, I’m usually trying not to blush.”
“Another reason not to do it. I love it when you blush. You look so innocent.” He looked down into his brandy, then back up at me.
“But it’s embarrassing to blush at my age. I’m not a little girl, and not as innocent as you might think, Mr. Hunter.” I smiled at him and raised one eyebrow, trying to give him a worldly-wise look.
He laughed. “No one is any more, my dear. That’s why it’s so refreshing.”
He was smiling that way that made his eyes crinkle. I took another sip of brandy. “I’ll make you a deal, sir. I won’t try to prevent blushing if you smile more.”
He looked at me appraisingly and raised his snifter to mine. “That’s easy to agree to.” We clinked glasses and talked for a while longer, neither one of us in any hurry to wrap up the night. Finally, however, we were done with our brandies. Mr. Hunter helped me carry in the dishes and he loaded the dishwasher for me while I set up the coffee. We walked upstairs together and said goodnight to each other in front of my door. I turned to go in and he started down the hallway to his room.
“Miss Lane.” I turned around. He was coming back toward me, an expression on his face I hadn’t seen before. I looked up at him as he came to stand right in front of me. “If I don’t see you in the morning, have a good time this weekend.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hunter. I hope you have a good weekend, too.”
He looked at my mouth and stepped even closer, the look on his face intensifying. Determination mixed with something predatory, that was it. He cupped my face and leaned down to me, saying in a low voice, “Forgive me for this, but I have to know.” His lips met mine, so lightly at first I barely felt them, just touching me with his mouth, not really kissing me. He brushed them back and forth over mine, then pulled gently on my bottom lip. My lips parted and he kissed me for real, pressing harder, moving his mouth over my bottom lip, sucking it lightly, then moving to my top lip, then both at once. My hands came up to his shoulders, holding onto him, returning his kiss, my mouth opening to his. I could taste brandy on his lips. His hands slipped down to my neck at the same moment his tongue
entered my mouth and I stifled a small groan as he pulled me closer to him, the pressure of his mouth increasing, the sensation of his tongue stroking mine quickly going to my head.
All too soon he pulled away. He looked down at me, his thumbs caressing my throat. “Delicious, just as I thought.” I felt his hands leave me and he straightened. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I whispered automatically, having no idea what he was thanking me for.
“Remember to call me tomorrow when you arrive.”
I nodded.
He looked me over one more time, a slight frown forming between his eyebrows, then headed toward his room.
Chapter 14
“Oh, he wants you, Sylvia. He wants you bad.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Kissing you like that? Come on, what else could it mean?”
Britt and I were less than twenty minutes into our drive to LaPorte, and I’d already told her everything that had happened last night.
“I don’t know. He’s been getting more and more affectionate toward me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Maybe he just wants someone to dote on. When he kissed me it wasn’t passionate or amorous, just kind of gentle, like he was curious, or I don't know.” I shook my head and rubbed my eyes.
Britt laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this discombobulated. It may have been gentle, but it seems to have done the trick.” She looked over at me with a smile.
I put my head back on the headrest and closed my eyes, reliving the feel of Mr. Hunter’s lips on mine, his fingers on my neck.
“Girl, the only question now is do you want him?”
“Yes,” I hissed out, finally admitting out loud that I had the hots for my boss.
“I knew it.”
“How?”
“You told me he was your type before even moving in with him. I figured that unless he turned out to be some kind of ogre, you’d end up crushing on him. He not an ogre, is he?”
“No. He’s wonderful.”
“Well then, I say go for it.”
“Go for it? What, throw myself at him?”
“Of course not, you’d probably hurt yourself. No, I mean, let it happen. He wants you, you want him, you’re alone together all day in that big house. And you in that accidentally-looks-amazing dress. It’s just a matter of time.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, still thinking. “In fact, I wouldn’t throw yourself at him at all. He’s kind of a control freak, right?”
“No! Well, maybe a little.”
“Then let him set the pace. You just go along with it.”
“But what if he goes too slowly?”
“You little harlot!” She laughed. “I’m getting to know the real Sylvia Lane this summer. She’s very interesting.”
“You know what I mean. Now that I have these feelings for him, they’re always there, you know? I can’t just turn them off. What if he spends the whole weekend regretting kissing me?”
“He won’t. Trust me, he’s a man, and a lonely one at that. But if he does ...” she turned to look at me, giving my hair and clothes a once over. “When was the last time you got a haircut?”
“I don’t remember. Last fall?”
“Let’s do some girly stuff this weekend. Haircuts, manicures, some shopping. I know that’s not your idea of fun, but we could both use a little polishing up.”
“Actually, that does sound like fun. We’re still doing the museum, though, okay?”
“As long as we can still go out tonight.”
“Deal.”
“Deal.”
We got to LaPorte around nine and checked into a hotel Britt had found online. While Britt was freshening up in the bathroom, I gave Mr. Hunter a quick call to let him know we’d arrived safely. Our conversation was brief and businesslike, and I was about to say goodbye when he asked me if I knew when I’d be getting home.
“I don’t know yet, Mr. Hunter. Sometime tomorrow night. Would you like me to call you before we leave?”
“Please.”
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, Miss Lane. Have fun.”
“Will do. Goodbye, sir.” I hung up just as Britt was coming back in the room.
“Sir?” She asked me with a raised eyebrow.
“He’s a bit formal about how he likes to be addressed.”
“Ah,” was all she said but she gave me a little wink.
“What?”
“Just imagining how much fun you’re going to have once you get him to unwind a little. You know, he’s probably got a lot of pent up … energy.”
“Now who’s the harlot?” I laughed in mock outrage.
“So why were you talking to him already?”
“I promised to let him know when we arrived. He worries.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet.”
“I know.”
“Okay, let’s head out.” She picked up her purse from the bed.
“Just a second.” I dug my envelope out of my purse to transfer some bills to my wallet, intending to leave the rest here. Something was different. I pulled out the money and counted it. “Mr. Hunter gave me too much.”
“What?”
“There’s six hundred here instead of five.”
“Maybe he made a mistake.”
I shook my head. “He didn’t. This is what I’m talking about, Britt. He does stuff like this all the time. How am I supposed to get him to take back the extra money?”
“You don’t. You buy him something with it. So, ready to go?”
And with that innocent-sounding question, Britt launched Operation Do LaPorte, which meant a light day of breakfast, shopping, sightseeing, lunch, hair appointments, manicures, snacks, more shopping, then more shopping. Dinner. Sightseeing. The club. Dancing. Drinks. More drinks. More dancing.
I collapsed on the bed when we finally got back to the hotel at three a.m. Britt was trying to kill me. That had clearly been her plan all along. I mumbled as much to her and she laughed. “Yeah, you figured me out. You had fun, though, right?”
“There are worse ways to die, I suppose. But tomorrow we’re doing things my way.”
“Deal.”
The museum specialized in regional art but had a surprising number of pieces in its international collection, a couple which I even recognized. Britt kept up a polite interest for as long as she could, but after a couple of hours, when I'd seen everything, I told her I was done as soon as I hit the gift shop. She perked up at that. I found a small print of one of the paintings I’d most admired and then a little abstract print caught my eye. It was perfect for Mr. Hunter. Britt had spotted a jewelry display and was looking at earrings while I paid.
“These are pretty. They’d go perfectly with your uniform.” She pointed to a pair of sparkling midnight blue pendants. They were really pretty, and small enough to wear during the day.
“Are you going to get anything?” I asked her while I stalled, feeling like I’d already spent too much this weekend.
“I’ll get a pair too if you get these. They’re perfect for you.”
“Okay, let’s do it.”
We paid for our earrings and exited the museum into the afternoon sunlight.
“Ah,” Britt said, closing her eyes, “the air is so fresh here.”
“I know. It’s relaxing just to breathe it in.”
“So, is there anything else you want to do this afternoon?”
“Not really, I guess. Oh wait, is it okay if we go back down to the waterfront? I want to make another pass through the fish markets and see if anything looks good enough to bring back.”
“Is your mind getting back to work already?”
If she’d only known how many times I’d caught myself thinking about Mr. Hunter this weekend. Did he like the chili? Was he heating up the pot pie according to the instructions I’d left? Did he regret kissing me? Did he miss me?
“You’re the one who encouraged me to improve my cooking, and to spend the ext
ra money Mr. Hunter gave me on him," I teased, giving her a nudge with my elbow. “I bought him a print already, and now I’ll bring home some seafood.”
“How’s the cooking going?”
“Really well. He’s loved everything I’ve served him, but even that doesn’t seem like enough. Thursday he set out both breakfast and lunch for me, so he’s finding ways to pay me back for that, too.”
“There must be something else you could do, something else he likes. Maybe you just have to get to know him better.”
“He did tell me once that he likes to be obeyed. I could offer to become his little servant girl, kneel at his feet, that kind of thing.” I’d said it without thinking.
“Ooo. Kinky,” Britt laughed.
I didn’t laugh back, lost in my thoughts.
Britt stopped walking and put a hand on my arm. “Are you serious?”
“No, of course not. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Girl, you have got to be kidding me.”
“It’s just that I like making him happy. Sue me.” I pulled myself back together and arched my eyebrows a few times suggestively so she’d know I was joking. I was joking, right?
“No, sue him, remember? But I guess the sexual harassment suit is dead now that you’re a willing harassee, so what else have we got to work with?”
We were taking our time strolling back down to the water, stopping to look in windows we'd missed yesterday.
“Let’s see," I played along. “I could sue him for being too handsome.”
“No damages.”
“Too used to living alone? Sometimes he takes the last cup of coffee in the morning without offering to make more.”
“That’s terrible. You should really reconsider working there. I don’t know how you stand it.”
We laughed together and I gave her an impulsive hug. “Thanks, Britt.”
“For what?”
“This weekend.”
She hugged me back. “Any time, Syl. Any time.”
We were finally done with our weekend in LaPorte around six. I called Mr. Hunter to tell him we were leaving while Britt fiddled with getting all our shopping bags into the trunk.
“Hi, Mr. Hunter. It’s me, Sylvia - I mean, Miss Lane.”
A Slow Boil Page 13