“That was my next question.”
“I mean, he’s so kind to me, he makes me feel so special. He calls me his princess.”
“Oh lord, you didn’t stand a chance, did you?”
“I don’t think I did. When I first met him, I thought he was the handsomest man I’d ever laid eyes on, but there were some things I couldn’t figure out about him. Now that I know those things weren't anything to worry about, there’s nothing stopping me from falling at his feet.” Literally.
“What things?”
“Oh, you know, like the reason your aunt quit. It turns out their personalities just didn’t mesh and he avoided her when he could, and wasn’t very nice to her when he couldn't.”
“What else?”
“I finally took your advice and googled him but there wasn’t anything, so I asked him one evening what exactly he wrote. Turns out he’s a translator for the University.”
“How does he afford that house on a translator’s salary?”
“He inherited some money when his parents died, and I guess they were pretty wealthy.”
“What else?”
“He’s never been married, though he was in love just once, when he was younger. Oh, that was the problem with him hesitating to start anything with me. He thinks he’s too old, that our age difference makes him a lecherous old man. His words.”
“But he’s over that?”
“He sure seems to be.” I smiled as I took the last bite of my pizza. “He said I may be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”
“Wow. This sounds way more serious than a summer fling.”
“We haven’t talked about it yet, but I can tell he doesn’t want me to leave in the fall. But that’s a long time from now, so who knows, right? Maybe we’ll hate the sight of each other by the end of the summer.”
“I seriously doubt that, Sylvia. I seriously doubt that.”
I did too, I thought, lying in Mr. Hunter's bed that night, my body spent, his arm draped over my hip, his last whispered “perfect girl” lingering in the air as we succumbed to sleep.
The rest of June was hot. Really hot. I’d never experienced this kind of heat and couldn’t believe how much it affected me. I could barely move without breaking a sweat, everything I lifted feeling heavier than it should, including my own arms and legs. Mr. Hunter’s thick curtains finally made sense, as they kept the rooms relatively cool when drawn against the sun during the day. But by late afternoon, I felt like I was moving in slow motion, the simplest things like chopping an onion or preparing a salad seeming to take forever. It felt like time itself had slowed, giving in to the heat, everything giving into the heat. Dinner was late several times but Mr. Hunter wasn’t immune himself and waved aside my apologies with an understanding smile.
He tried so hard to keep me comfortable. He went through the house at night, opening windows to let in the cooler evening air. He told me to work less, then not at all if I didn’t want to. He brought me glasses of water during the day and offered me more sips of his drinks at dinner to make sure I was getting enough fluids. One especially hot night he pulled me onto his lap, pulled my zipper down to my waist, eased my dress off my shoulders altogether, unhooked my bra and ran an ice cube over my torso. He licked the melted water off my body, no relief left in the world but his cooling tongue on my flesh.
I came out of my stupor the first week of July, when the heat finally broke. It was astounding to find myself suddenly attuned to my surroundings and motions as I made dinner the first cool evening, fully aware of myself again. This was me, making dinner, for Mr. Hunter, who would be on the other side of that door in half an hour. Mr. Hunter, the man I loved. Mr. Hunter, whom I needed to see. I found him in his office.
“Miss Lane?” He looked up at me in surprise as I ran in, my limbs finally feeling light again, like they were mine, like this was me.
I threw myself onto him and kissed him everywhere I could touch. His jaw, his cheeks, his forehead, his eyes, his neck, his ears, his mouth, again and again, everywhere, everywhere he was I wanted to kiss. I pulled his hair, bringing his mouth to the angle I needed, delving into it with my tongue, running my other hand over his delicious, perfect chest, pressing myself against his groin, doing everything in my power to express what I felt for him, needing to express it, my feelings for him just having grown during the heat wave but having no capable outlet.
“I want you,” I choked out as I unfastened his belt and undid his zipper. I could feel him hardening underneath my hands and my lust for him exploded even more, like a string of firecrackers going off inside me. I stood up, yanked down my underwear, and straddled him again, rubbing my wetness against his hard length, letting him feel how swollen and hot I was for him. “I want you,” I said again, this time with more urgency, now that I could feel the difference between our bodies. Now that everything was perfect again.
He swept things aside on his desk and lifted me to the edge, pulling my skirt up to my waist and pushing my legs apart. “Wider,” was all he said, as I lay back, bumping things with my head, not caring, spreading my legs as wide as I could, completely open to him, all his.
He stood looking down at me for moment, taking in my wanton supplication, running his hands back and forth over the insides of my thighs. Then he gripped my hips and plunged himself inside me. I pulled him down to me with a fierce groan, digging my hands into his hair, holding him to me as tightly as I could. I couldn't seem to get him close enough as I writhed up, using every muscle in my restored body to pull him into me.
“You want me,” he gasped into my neck, beginning his thrusts, his hands in my hair.
“So much,” I managed to get out. He pulled up and braced his hands on the desk on either side of my head, watching my face as he moved above me. I turned my head and kissed his beautiful fingers, the only part of him I could still reach with my mouth. He put his hand on my cheek, and I drew one of his fingers into my mouth, sucking on it as he kept moving within me, completely filling me, every cell in me awakened and alive and desperate for him.
He watched my face as we both grew closer to falling apart. I climaxed first, having no ability to hold back and wait for him, releasing his finger to cry out my pleasure. He joined me soon, his final thrusts violent, his expression one of almost pain as he released into me. He stayed braced above me, still watching me as I came back together.
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life,” he said almost to himself, returning his hand to my cheek, caressing it tenderly with his thumb. I looked up into his eyes, my love for him surely written all over me, like a third presence in the room. I let my eyes tell him the truth this time, not trusting my voice yet. He read them once, twice, then leaned down and kissed me so delicately I barely felt his lips.
I let out something close to a sob and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He eased out of me, but picked me up and sat back down in his chair, holding me around him, neither one of us ever wanting to let go. If we weren’t ready to say the words yet, that was okay. We both knew.
Dinner was very late that night.
I went back to my mostly-obedient self after that, but my little outburst seemed to have changed something in Mr. Hunter. It was like he finally let go of any concerns he had about us being together, reassured finally that I wanted him as much as he wanted me. He was freer with me in conversation, opened up more about himself, teased me less frequently, touched me more often.
Another week or two passed. Mr. Hunter was working more than ever. His Wednesday appointment turned out to be the day he went to campus to meet with whomever he was working with to discuss their projects. He confessed that some Wednesdays he hadn't had meetings set up but had left the house anyway so that Mrs. Sheridan could clean his office. He’d while away the hours in coffee shops or bookstores, waiting until it was safe to come back. The way he told the story made me laugh out loud.
The last week of July we had our first argument since the night he took me out t
o Pierre’s.
“Miss Lane, I believe this decision is mine to make, not yours.”
“I can do it myself, Mr. Hunter.”
“At least let me get someone in here to help with the meals.”
“No way. I don’t want any strangers in my kitchen.”
“Your kitchen?”
“Yes, it’s mine now. I should have told you.”
“Fine, you can have the kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’m having someone come in on Saturday to get the house ready, and that’s final."
“You are so stubborn.” I was beginning to give in. I really needed the time this weekend to finalize my University application, which was due Monday.
“I was just about to say the same thing.”
“You told me I was expected to work harder when you had company. I’m just trying to do my job.” I’d had my arms crossed but now that I’d won the point about sharing my kitchen, I reached up and put my hands on his shoulders.
He slid his hands over my hips. “That was before getting accepted at Noble this fall became your most important duty. I changed your job description. I should have told you.”
Thursday evening he came down to the kitchen while I was making dinner, something he did now at least three or four times a week. He’d offer to help with whatever I was making, and if I didn’t need help, he’d sit at the island, watching me work, making small talk.
I handed him a couple of ears of corn and asked him to shuck them for me while I started pot of water to boil and then went out to start the grill. When I came back in, he cleared his throat.
“So my brothers arrive Sunday around three, if their flight’s on time.”
“Yes, sir, I know.” I pulled some chicken breasts and lettuce out of the fridge.
“I’ve been wondering what to tell them about us.”
“Oh?”
“I mean, obviously not about our dinners, but I’m not sure what else I should say. I thought I'd better ask you how you want to handle it.”
“I haven’t thought about it yet, to be honest. What are my choices?”
“I want to do whatever makes you the most comfortable. Whether that’s pretending that you’re merely my live-in housekeeper or telling them that you’re my girlfriend,” he looked up me, his use of that word for the first time not lost on either of us, “is entirely up to you.”
I moved to stand behind him, putting my arms around his shoulders while he continued working on the corn.
“Will they give you a lot of grief if we tell them we’re together?” I rested my chin on his shoulder.
“Some, I’m sure. How much I don’t know.”
“Would you rather pretend we’re not together?”
“No, frankly. I don’t mind telling them the truth and it’s going to be almost impossible for me to keep my hands off you for a week, especially if you go back to sleeping in your old room while they’re here.”
I kissed the side of his neck.
“But I’ll do whatever you prefer, Miss Lane. It’s up to you.”
“Then I think I’d rather not leave my boyfriend’s bed. Now that you’ve given me the kitchen, it’s the next thing on my list. Let’s tell them.”
Chapter 21
Mr. Hunter’s brothers were charming. Robert was the elder of the two, Jonathan the younger. Both had the same good manners and dry wit as Mr. Hunter but were more outgoing and relaxed. Mr. Hunter introduced me to them as his housekeeper-turned-girlfriend, one arm around my waist. Robert looked at Mr. Hunter with a question on his face but Jonathan reached out immediately for my hand, shaking it with enthusiasm and asking me how I put up with Adam. I grinned and said I had him pretty well-trained at this point, which made everyone laugh, and that was it, I was accepted.
I got my application turned in Monday after lunch and biked to Southbay’s for a few things I’d forgotten to get on Saturday when Mr. Hunter and I had driven into town to load up on groceries. When I returned I could hear Robert and Mr. Hunter talking in the living room.
“She’s awfully young, Adam.”
“I’m perfectly aware of her age.”
I guessed they were talking about me and didn’t want to hear it. Instead, I pulled the door closed and got busy on dinner. Mr. Hunter and I had agreed it would be too much for me to serve everyone, so I’d been setting out meals buffet-style in the kitchen, where everyone fixed their own plates. Still, there was a lot of food to make.
Even with the door pulled closed, I could hear unfamiliar noises in the house. Laughter, children running on the stairs, doors banging. I turned on my radio, figuring no one would notice it, and wondered how Mr. Hunter was coping.
I found out a couple of hours later when he came in for a quick visit. He picked me up off my feet and kissed me.
“Are you doing all right down here? Need any help?”
“No, I’ve got it. How are you handling all the commotion? It sounds like a parade is going on out there.”
He shook his head with a grimace. “It’s great to see my family, I mean that, but I’d much rather be in here with you.”
“My poor man. I’d make up something for you to help me with, but it’d be rude of you to stay in here. Now, go on back out, and I’ll see you at dinner.”
“You’ll sit with us tonight?”
I’d declined to join the family last night, figuring they needed some time together to catch up but now I was eager to learn more about them. “I’d love to.”
Dinner was ready at six, although the children had wandered in at five-thirty. I found simple tasks to keep them busy as I put the dishes together and set everything out. When the adults arrived, everyone started filling their plates and heading into the dining-room. I stayed until I was sure everyone had what they needed and then took off my apron, made a plate for myself and brought it in. Everyone was seated except Mr. Hunter, who was standing behind my usual chair.
“Here you are, Miss Lane,” he smiled, pulling the chair out for me.
“Thank you, Mr. Hunter,” I smiled back as I sat down.
He made drinks and poured wine, then sat down, putting a hand on my knee under the table.
“This is delicious,” Jonathan's wife Cecilia said, taking a bite of the rice dish.
“Thank you.”
“The salmon’s done perfectly,” Robert added.
“I love what you’ve done with the asparagus.” Robert's wife Joanne turned to me from the other end of the table. “Normally I don’t care for asparagus, but this is delicious. How did you make it, Miss Lane?”
“I roasted it with olive oil and sea salt. And please, call me Sylvia.”
“Sylvia, you’re an amazing cook. No wonder Adam’s so taken with you,” Jonathan said.
I felt Mr. Hunter give me a squeeze on my knee. I hadn’t consciously intended to make a one-hand-only meal but was glad I did, his touch so familiar at this point that I would have felt lost without it.
Apart from answering a few more generic questions about myself, I kept quiet through most of the meal, just absorbing what details I could about Mr. Hunter’s family. The conversation floated around me as I gleaned that Robert and Joanne were both attorneys, that Jonathan was an executive at an insurance company, and Cecilia worked for an internet company. They were all obviously well-educated and successful, and I tried to imagine myself at thirty, wondering what I’d have to show for myself. As they chattered on about their jobs, houses, and children, their lives seemed so far away from where I was that I found myself beginning to pay more attention to the kids, feeling more at ease with them than I did with the adults. For the first time ever in Mr. Hunter’s company, I felt too young.
When we went to bed that night, he asked if something was bothering me. I sighed and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find the words to describe how I’d felt at dinner. He played with a strand of my hair, waiting patiently, watching my face with concern.
“It’s just that all this time we�
��ve been together, I thought our age difference was a potential problem for me. It’s not a problem for me, that’s not what I mean, but you were so worried that you were too old for me, and Britt was concerned about your intentions too, and I was only focused on how you being older was not an issue, not the other way around.” I rubbed my face, frustrated at my incoherence. “What I mean is, it never occurred to me until tonight that my age might be a problem for you. That I’m too young for you.”
He looked at me with so much affection, running one of his fingers up and down my cheek.
“Sylvia, I don’t care if you’re twenty-one, thirty-one, or forty-one.”
He only called me Sylvia during our most intimate moments. I rolled over to face him, reading nothing in his expression but truth.
“But -”
“But,” he leaned in to kiss me. “But.” He kissed me again. “But.” Again. “Miss Lane, the princess of buts.” Again.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “That did not sound right. I do not want to be the princess of buts.”
He ran his hand over my rear. “Sorry, my girl, but you kind of are.”
“Stop it,” I giggled. “I’m serious. I felt so young at dinner. Don’t you want to be with someone who’s finished their education, has a career, someone who’s at the same stage of life as you?”
“You will finish your education, you will have a successful career, and as far as my stage of life goes, my life was empty until I met you, so what difference does it make?”
This was as close as we'd come to discussing the future, and it sure sounded like he wanted me in his. Did I want him in mine? Without a doubt. Not a single doubt.
“Adam.” It passed my lips in a whisper.
“Say it again.”
“Adam.”
“Come here.”
Jonathan joined me in the kitchen late Wednesday morning as I was putting together lunch. I turned down the radio so that we could talk more easily.
“I feel so bad that you’re doing all this cooking. Are you sure we can’t help out?”
“No, it’s okay, Jonathan, but thanks for offering. This is actually the first week I feel like I’m earning my salary. Your brother pays me way too much.”
A Slow Boil Page 20