Sudden Legacy

by Kristy Phillips

  My room was across the hall from Alex’s. My windows faced the back of the house, and if I pressed my face against the glass I could just catch a glimpse of the southern most part of the solarium below and to the right of me. It was dark. Julien had turned off the lamp.

  Was he asleep?

  I climbed into bed and slumped against my pillows. I didn’t expect to get any sleep. My brain was overflowing with thoughts of our unexpected visitor. How had he not known about Alex? What were his plans now that he did? Was he going to stay? I snuffed out the flame of hope that sprung from that thought. I wasn’t a strong enough person to let myself fantasize about happily ever after scenarios. The facts were the facts; Julien was a hedonistic playboy. Playboys didn’t make good parents - they were practically children themselves.

  “You are traveling alone Chérie?”

  We were lounging on a secluded stretch of white sand beach. The yacht was anchored towards the middle of this small cove. We had come ashore alone. It was mid morning and all the other members of our party were still abed.

  I shaded my eyes from the glare of the sun. Julien sat up taller so that the shadow of his head fell across my face, blocking the sun. He was backlit in a glorious halo.

  “Of course not,” I answered. “I have Gus with me.”

  Julien looked surprised. “Gus?”

  I shifted my weight a bit, reaching around to the waistline of my pants. I unclipped the latch by feel and held Gus up for inspection.

  Gus was a very worn handmade bear. He was small enough to fit easily in the palm of my hand. He was attached to a carabiner clip for ease of securing him to baggage or clothing.

  “Bonjour, Gus. Comment faites-vous, monsieur?” Julien said to the little bear. “He looks well traveled.”

  “He is.” I studied Gus closely, though I knew every stitch by heart. “My mother made him to accompany her on her first European adventure. I thought it fitting I should bring him with me on mine.”

  Julien took Gus in hand and held him up to his ear, pretending to listen intently. He answered agreeably in French, “Ah, oui, oui. Il est le plus beau de cette période de l'année,” then let Gus have another turn to speak. This went on a few more times before Julien handed Gus back to me with a look of approval.

  “I imagine he has proved himself most useful. He knows a great deal about the area.”

  “Does he?”

  “Oh yes. He thinks I should show you intérieure l’anse.”

  My heart skittered at the unknown word. It’s true what they say; French is most definitely a sexy language. He could have just said he wanted to show me a landfill, but the way he said it he made it sound like paradise.

  I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing my trusty khakis and a tank top. “Am I dressed appropriately for ...lonce?” Not that it would have made a difference if I weren’t. I had packed extremely light, and much of my wardrobe was on par with my current outfit. He made a big show of assessing my ensemble, cocking his head first left, and then right. “Hmmm, we can deal with your wardrobe when we get there,” he said cryptically. He stood and held out his hands to help me up.

  L’anse turned out to be a small inlet that divided the cove’s beach in half. We followed the mini stream into the lush vegetation. The greenery was too thick to allow for walking on the edge of the stream, so we plodded through the shallow water, enjoying the feel of the silty sand on our bare feet.

  After several minutes the vegetation began to clear a bit. We followed a bend in the stream to a small pool that was being fed by a tiny waterfall. The drop was no more than ten feet or so above us, but it was enough to produce a humming white noise. I took a deep breath, enjoying the clean, jungle smell of misty vegetation. I spun around slowly, taking it all in.

  “It’s beautiful.” My voice sounded breathless even to my own ears.

  “Oui, Chérie, there is much beauty here,” he answered, but he was looking at me as he said it. My pulse sped up. I was beginning to know that look well. That look made me feel like the most desirable woman on the planet. “Now, about your wardrobe...” He stepped closer and plucked at the strap of my tank top.

  The wad of cotton batting where my brain used to reside was of little use in helping me to form a coherent response. It was probably for the better that my brain was no longer in residence, because the majority of my blood had migrated farther south anyway, humming through my veins in all the places awaiting Julien’s touch.

  “Is there a problem with my wardrobe?” My breath was coming in short little gasps. He seemed to be enjoying the show, delighting in each piece of evidence of my body’s response to his.

  “Oui.” He whispered the affirmation, keeping his lips a hair’s breadth from my own. “You are egregiously over dressed.” I leaned into him, melding our lips together, effectively silencing him.

  The shore of the pool was smooth hard clay. It was cool against my naked back, in stark contrast to the heat of Julien’s body above me. His lips were everywhere, running over me like hot silk.

  A floorboard creaked in the hall, pulling me from my reverie and causing me to look up at my door as it slowly opened. Julien stood in the doorway, the pale moonlight casting his body in shades of gray and muted blues. My heart beat an erratic tattoo and I grew dizzy with elated anticipation. He was here, in my room, as if I had summoned him with my heated memories. He stood mutely, his eyes boring into mine in silent question.

  I swallowed audibly and kicked back my covers, freeing my legs. He took that as an invitation and met me at my bedside as I stood.

  “Enchanté de vous rencontrer,” he whispered as he slowly cupped my cheek. He hesitated at each movement, the whole time seeming to be asking my permission with his eyes. I nodded in encouragement and raised my face for his kiss. He didn’t disappoint. With agonizing slowness he brushed his lips across mine. When I pressed against him, he eased back, staying close enough for me to feel his heat, but not quite touching me anywhere else besides his lips on my lips and his hand on my cheek.

  Shivers ran up my body, standing every hair on end. I moaned and tried to draw him closer the only way he would allow - with my tongue, sliding it against his in an erotic plea. Finally, in frustration, I grabbed his lower lip between my teeth and gently tugged. This made him smile and chuckle against my mouth. He ran his hand around to the back of my head, cradling my skull and keeping me from pulling away.

  I released his lip and he trailed hot kisses down my throat and across the delicate bone of my clavicle. My nipples grew hard and strained obviously against the satin of my night slip, yearning for his touch. Still he kept a small distance between us. It was maddening.

  Breaking the kiss, he stepped back and knelt in front of me. I just stood there, waiting to see what he would do next. He placed the tips of his fingers on each of my ankles, and slowly started running them lightly up my calves, then my thighs, catching the fabric of my slip and pushing it up the higher his fingers grazed. I fought a giggle as he ran his touch over the plains of my ribs, and lifted my arms as he traveled over the sides of my breasts, bringing my slip up and over my head so I stood before him in nothing but a lacy pair of panties.

  He took me in hungrily. “Prenez-vous la crème dans votre café?” His voice was husky, and he smiled wickedly as he hooked his index finger in the band of my sole remaining garment. He eased them down my legs, eventually ending up once again in a kneeling position, my panties pooled around my ankles, and his face level with my sex. I felt very exposed and vulnerable, but excited at the same time.

  He looked up at me as he ran his warm hand around my calf and applied a gentle pressure to the back of my knee, urging me to lift my foot. I did as encouraged, stepping out of my panties. He repeated the caress on my other leg, with identical results. He knew exactly what he was doing. Each singular touch left the rest of me craving his attention. I was literally quaking with the want of him. I gasped as he ran his fingers lightly over the close clipped hair at the juncture of my th
ighs. His hand continued upward, splaying over the expanse of my abdomen, up between my breasts, stopping just at my sternum and pressing me backwards. My equilibrium shifted and I allowed my knees to buckle against the edge of the bed causing me to fall back onto the mattress.

  Julien loomed over me, still not touching me as I wanted him to. I could feel his eyes wandering all over my body like a caress. He locked eyes with me, deliberately holding my gaze as he hooked a hand behind my knee and dragged it a few inches to the side. He did the same with my other leg, opening my legs wide enough for him to stand between them. I could see the outline of his erection straining against the fabric of his pajama bottoms. God I want him. I need him. His wicked smile was back as he guessed my line of vision.

  Bracing himself with his arms, he was careful not to touch me. Leaning in, he ran his nose softly over my shoulder and breast, pausing to take my nipple into his mouth. His tongue flicked over the taut flesh with a whisper light touch. It was torture. I wanted him to suckle hard and deep. I wanted him to press himself roughly against me - in me - but he just continued with his butterfly touch, making his way down my body until he was once again kneeling before me, this time between my legs.

  I clutched the sheets tightly in my fists as I felt his hot breath at the apex of my thighs. When his tongue followed his breath it was almost too much to bear. At first it was more of the maddening half touches. Ghostly flicks of his tongue across my sensitive flesh. I writhed around on the bed, raising my hips in a futile attempt to connect with him in a more solid way, all to no avail. Every time I thrust forward, he backed away, keeping the same light pressure on my sex.

  Just as I was about to scream out in frustration, he showed me mercy, slamming into me and burying himself to the hilt. It was as if he’d pushed a detonator. I exploded around him in a climax so violent it woke me. I sat straight up like a bolt, noting I was tangled in my twisted sheets and my ratty pajamas were bunched and twisted around my trunk and legs in a sweaty, one hundred percent cotton, anaconda imitation.

  I glanced at the clock in an attempt to orient myself. 3:39. I kicked out of my bedding and pulled angrily at my pajamas. My heart was still pounding and I noted with annoyance a dampness in my underpants. Humiliating proof of my arousal, and the power this man held over me even still, after all this time.

  I awoke the next morning surprised to note the time as 9:34. How had I slept in so late? Alex usually woke me around 7:00 rain or shine. I listened carefully for sounds of life below stairs. I could hear muted thumps and movement from the kitchen, and a familiar scent was wafting up the stairs.

  Ten minutes later I stood in front of the bathroom mirror trying to look at myself objectively. I had put on my favorite pair of jeans – the ones that hugged me in all the right places and showcased my butt to the fullest. For a top I had decided on a snug fitting lavender colored Henley shirt. I didn’t usually wear much make-up, and I didn’t want to seem like I was trying too hard, so after washing my face and brushing my teeth, I settled for a light layer of mascara and a dab of lip-gloss. Sighing in frustration at my hair, I gathered it into a ponytail. That would have to do.

  I practiced looking nonchalant. I tried slouching a little bit to exude apathy. I practiced a few different “Good morning”s. Finally, confident that I could at least pass for neutral if not unaffected, I made my way downstairs.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised to find both Alex and Nan in Julien’s thrall. He always was an incredibly charming son of a bitch. It stood to reason that neither age nor sex could grant one immunity from him. No one noticed me at first, which allowed me to watch them unguarded for a moment. The three of them were wearing aprons. Nan had on her usual blue gingham. Alex had a maroon “kiss the cook” apron that had been folded over on itself to allow for his size, and the only legible word was “kiss”. Julien’s apron was comically feminine. It was a cream colored apron with large apples and apple slices. There were ruffles around the skirt and running up the sides of the armholes.

  The counter was a mess of flour and eggshells and various other sundries. The standing mixer had been employed. Julien was manning the stovetop while his adoring audience cheered him on from their respective stations; Alex atop the counter by the sink, Nan next to the dishwasher.

  “The trick is to spread it très mince,” he was saying as he angled the pan this way and that, coating it in a thin layer of batter.

  Nan craned her neck to see over his shoulder. After a moment, Julien gave the pan an expert flick of the wrist and the contents flipped neatly over. Alex squealed in delight and Nan “Ahhh-ed” in appreciation. “You make fancy pancakes look so easy, Julien.”

  “They’re called crêpes, Nan,” I corrected. Three heads turned to look at me. “Mama! Good morning!” Alex beamed a smile at me but made no move to jump down from his perch and hug me. I smiled back at him and came over to steal a kiss. “Good morning, love.”

  “Jewian make pancakes!” He squirmed a bit with excitement.

  “Good morning, Chérie. I was just-”

  I cut him off, “-Showing off in the kitchen? Yeah, I gathered as much.” I smiled to let him know I was teasing.

  Nan swatted at my arm. “Be nice Lara. Julien here was making us a fancy French breakfast. He’s quite talented in the culinary arts.”

  I regarded Nan with amusement. “He’s quite talented in many things, Nan.” I raised my eyebrows to confirm my innuendo. There was nothing I liked more than shocking Nan.

  Nan’s eyes bugged out a bit and her mouth dropped open at my audacity. Julien gave a polite cough and if I didn’t know better I would have sworn I saw a light blush creep up his cheeks. He turned away to put the crepe on a plate and pour another.

  “You flatter me, Lara. If memory serves, you are quite adept at making the filling, no?” And just like that he had smoothed over the awkward moment I had created. Nan jumped at the chance for a subject change and went to the fridge to collect fruit.

  Just as Julien and I began plating the crepes, Pops came in through the side door. He took in the messy kitchen and elaborate crepes. “What’s all this?”

  “Breakfast,” I answered.

  “Breakfast?” He scowled.

  “Crepes,” said Julien. “They are a specialty of mine.”

  Pops turned his scowl on Julien. “It’s after ten in the morning.”

  Nan came over and popped a blackberry into Pops’s mouth. “Well, call it ‘brunch’ then. Have a seat and I’ll get you a plate.” I could see Pops struggle momentarily with whether or not he should lecture the resident youth on the benefits of rising early, but in the end his stomach won out and he sat himself down at the head of the table.

  Alex was attempting to climb into his chair but his knee kept slipping on his folded apron. “Mama, my chair swippy.” It wasn’t a whine so much as a concerned observation. Julien scooped him up and deposited him on the seat while presenting him with a fruit crepe topped with whipped cream. I was momentarily taken aback by the sight of their similar faces side by side. Alex really was a carbon copy of his father.

  As we ate I snuck quick glances around the table. My eyes settled on Julien’s lips. I was mesmerized as his tongue darted out to lick a bit of cream. I quickly averted my eyes, blushing scarlet as my dream came back to me from the night before. Avoiding Julien and his lips, I continued my perusal of the table occupants. I watched as Pops ate three servings and politely complimented Julien on his cooking. I watched as Alex made a glorious mess stuffing his face with fruit and crepe. I watched as Julien helped Alex wipe his hands and face with his napkin, and Nan commented on what a natural he was. Her comment gave me pause. I thought for sure it would make Julien uncomfortable, but oddly enough, it didn’t. He thanked her with an impish wink and served himself a second helping.

  There we were, the five of us, having a family breakfast. It felt comfortable and right, as if we had done it every morning of our lives. My head spun at this strange twist my life had taken. Just yesterda
y I had sat at this very table over a cold bowl of cereal, never dreaming that a mere twenty-four hours later I would be sitting across from Julien himself. And what was more; he wasn’t the careless bastard I had built him up to be, but rather a startled new father who seemed to want to know his son. Julien’s gaze met mine and turned from amiable curiosity to alarm as I realized with horror that my own eyes were suddenly filling with tears.

  I managed a quick “Excuse me,” before bolting from the table. I bypassed the stairs and headed straight for the back door. I didn’t know where I was going; I just needed to get away for a moment. There was too much happening for me to take in and make sense of. As I was passing the barn I caught sight of my gelding, Chester. I hadn’t been riding in over a week. No time like the present. Not bothering with a saddle, I mounted him bareback and urged him out of the paddock.

  I kept to a reasonable pace. For the most part I followed the fence-line, then veered into the woods, making use of a deer trail. Our property wasn’t large at twenty-five acres. I knew every piece of it, having grown up here all my life.

  I slowed Chester with a gentle tug, then gave him his head to wander as he pleased. I could smell the smoke of a distant brush fire, and was lulled by the hum of bees as we passed near a hive. It wasn’t long before we ended up at the small stream that trickled through the oaks. I dismounted and scooped a handful of silty mud. Smearing a thick “O K” on Chester’s haunches, I smacked his rump, sending him on his way. It was a system I had set up with Pops when I was little. The mud message was my way of letting Pops know I was unhurt should Chester make it back to the house before I did. Chester was like a twelve hundred pound carrier pigeon.