by Thea Dawson
“Come on!” He grabbed her hand and pulled her back into the kitchen. “But first, more champagne!” He winked playfully, filling her glass then pouring the last of the bottle into his own. They clinked glasses again.
“Has anyone ever told you have the most beautiful eyes?” Richard asked her.
She stared into her glass as if it would give her a clue how to deal with this situation.
“I’m serious,” he went on. “I’ve never seen blue eyes as dark as yours. They’re captivating.”
“Thank you.” She smiled self-consciously, still looking down.
“Look at me so I can see them.” It was an order, gently but firmly given, and it sent a thrill rocketing through her.
She raised her eyes to his again and he looked deeply into them. Part of her wanted to hide from him, but it was too late; she’d already fallen into his own dark gaze and was mesmerized.
“Have another sip,” he ordered.
Obediently, she did. Then he carefully took her glass out of her hand and put it on the counter along with his own.
“Now I want to do this with both hands.”
Again, he pulled her toward him, this time wrapping both strong arms around her, and again, she let herself sink into his embrace as their lips met again. She felt him stroke her hair then run his hand down her spine to the small of her back where he traced the delicate curve of her waist.
She pulled him closer to her with one hand, running her other hand across his broad chest, feeling the firm, well-defined muscles under his dress shirt. He stooped to move his mouth to her neck. She leaned her head back and sighed softly, then he pulled back. She opened her eyes to see him smiling wickedly.
“I have an idea,” he said. He suddenly picked her up under the arms and lifted her so that she was sitting on the counter. She looked at him in surprise. “Now I don’t have to bend down,” he said with a grin and leaned in toward her neck again. She laughed and reached for her glass and took a sip. Drinking champagne, making out with Richard in his kitchen ... it was too deliriously, deliciously ridiculous.
He stopped kissed her. “What are you so happy about?” he asked slyly.
She was closer to eye level with him now. “Maybe I’ve had too much to drink,” she whispered.
“Maybe you should have a little more,” he whispered back conspiratorially.
She raised her eyebrows, lifted her glass and took another sip.
“Here, I’ll distract you—no, you distract you—” he laughed at himself; he was buzzed too, she could tell, “and you just pretend not to notice what I’m doing.” And even as he was speaking, she felt him undo the top button of her dress. And the next one. “Notice anything?” he asked innocently.
She shrugged in mock-innocence. “Nope, not a thing.”
“You’d better have another sip,” he said, undoing the third button.
“You’re the boss,” she giggled and obeyed.
Should she stop him? Of course you should, whispered that annoying, sensible voice. The implications, the awkwardness, your job! There are boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed!
Another button came undone and she felt his warm mouth on the curve of her breast. She let her fingers tangle themselves in his dark, wavy hair and shivered deliciously.
Another button came undone and she felt him slide one bra strap down her shoulder. He kissed her collarbone, her neck, her lips. He gently bit her earlobe and ran his hands over her breasts. Hardly aware of what she was doing, she began tugging at his tie, eager to reach the skin beneath his shirt.
“What do you say we skip the couch and just head upstairs?” he whispered hoarsely in her ear.
She hesitated just a moment. It wasn’t too late to pull back, to make things less complicated, to call tonight a bit of silliness, nothing more, but desire ran too strong at this point. It had been too long, and she had it too bad.
She just nodded.
He lifted her down from the counter and they began to make their way up the stairs, stopping every few steps to kiss and fumble with each other’s clothes. On the landing, he pushed her up against the wall and ran his hand up under the skirt of her dress until it rested on her hip. He began to slide it under the waistband of her panties. She wondered if he would just end up taking her here, standing on the stairs. Crazy, crazy, crazy...
Some semblance of common sense asserted itself just long enough for her to say, “I don’t—I’m not on birth control or anything ...”
“I think I’ve got a condom upstairs somewhere,” he murmured, his fingers brushing her now-bare nipple.
She gathered the strength to push him away. He looked down at her for a moment, surprise momentarily masking lust. She grinned wickedly. “Race you to the top!”
She gathered her fallen dress around her breasts and broke away upstairs. She heard him laugh breathlessly as he pounded up the stairs behind her. She turned the corner into the master bedroom. He was right behind her and together they tumbled onto the enormous bed. She lay under him, engulfed by his strong arms and his delicious scent. She could feel his hardness nudging her and opened her legs slightly to accommodate him. He groaned and she playfully bit his ear.
“Behave or I’ll spank you,” he whispered.
Although he said it jokingly, the words sent a fresh jolt of desire through her. “I’d like to see you try,” she whispered back.
He laughed softly. “You’re driving me crazy. High time we got you out of these clothes.”
“Likewise,” she replied. More fumbling. Somehow she slipped out of her dress. Her already-undone bra went with it. She finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it off, pausing to plant kisses all over his chest. He groaned. She smiled with satisfaction at his desire for her. Slowly, she began undoing his belt, moving her lips down his hard, flat stomach as she did. The button, the zipper ... with his help, she pushed the khaki pants off along with his boxers.
She moved her hand teasingly all around his erect shaft, continuing to kiss his stomach, his hips, the tops of his legs. Finally, she ran her tongue from the base of his shaft to the tip and took him fully in her mouth.
“Oh, God,” he moaned.
She began to move up and down on him, enjoying the velvety texture of his skin and the musky taste of him, but she’d barely started when he gently pushed her away. “Too much,” he gasped. “I want to do this properly.”
She let him push her over onto her back. He leaned back for a moment, simply gazing at her in the moonlight that streamed through the window. She smiled a little self-consciously.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
She smiled again.
“You have a great smile. I wonder what I can do to get you to keep smiling?” As he spoke, he ran a hand over her chest, pausing to caress the nipple of one breast before catching it gently between two fingers and pinching gently. Then a little harder. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes.
His lips were on hers again, kissing her deeply, passionately. She felt the full weight of his body against hers and melted into his embrace. His hardness pressed between her legs. She squirmed under him, lifting her legs slightly.
“Oh, God,” he groaned. “It’s been such a long time.”
“Me, too,” she breathed, relishing the revival of long-buried sensations.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded breathlessly.
He groped in a bedside table, and swore briefly. Celia wondered what they would do if he didn’t have a condom, but then he found it and swiftly put it on. He caught her up in his arms and pushed her down onto the bed again. He pushed her legs open with his own as she lost herself in the sensation of his kisses. She moaned as he entered her, slowly at first, then more quickly. He sat back on his knees and placed her left ankle on his shoulder. The deeper penetration made her gasp.
She looked at his face in the moonlight, his eyes closed, his mouth half open in a silent groan, his just-too-long hair framing his handsome face. A light sheen of
sweat covered his muscular chest. As she looked at him, he turned to the ankle he still gripped and kissed her foot. She had to repress the urge to whisper—or shout—something crazy. Instead, she gave voice to her pleasure with moans and sighs. With his free hand, he stroked her breasts, her waist, the tiny bud between her legs.
“Oh, Celia,” he groaned.
“Come here,” she replied. She pulled him down, wanted to feel his entire body on hers. She ran her hands over his back, his arms, his ass, every part of his that she could reach; it all felt delicious.
He began to thrust more urgently. She pushed back against him, allowing her own pleasure to build along with his until it reached the breaking point at the same time his did. They came together, their mingled gasps filling her ears.
They lay tangled together, spent, for a long time afterward. She let her fingers stroke his hair, enjoyed the feeling of his strong arms around her. Slowly, as her conscious mind reasserted itself, she began to wonder if she should do or say something, but when she realized he was asleep, she relaxed. She pulled the blankets over them and let herself drift off as well.
12
When dawn broke the next morning, Celia lay in bed for a while. Richard lay next to her, snoring gently. She let the events of the night before play over in her mind. It had been ... amazing.
But what now?
She stared at him, not sure if she wanted him to wake up or stay sleeping. She let her gaze linger on his handsome face; simply being able to stare at him to her heart’s content was a luxury. She resisted the urge to reach out and stroke his face.
What would happen next? Would it be awkward? Would they laugh about it? She could no longer deny that she had it bad. Was she in love with him?
Probably.
She sighed. She slid quietly out of bed. She took a bathrobe belonging to Richard from the back of the door and put it on, picked up her scattered clothes, and slipped out of the room. She was tempted to shower in the big master bathroom, but she didn’t want to wake him, and anyway, her things were in the guest bathroom. She had a quick shower then wrapped herself in his robe again, luxuriating in its thick softness. It smelled like him.
It was still early, almost another hour before she’d have to get the kids up, so she tiptoed downstairs and made a pot of coffee. She listened to the hiss and bubble as the coffee dripped into the pot and simply stared blankly for a while. What next? She wanted to see him again, but she was nervous, too. Did she regret last night?
I guess I’ll find out.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table. She knew she should get dressed, get made up, look pretty, but the solitude and the silence of the morning were precious. One way or another, things would change once she wasn’t the only person awake, and she treasured the last bit of time that she had before she had to face the consequences of last night. She sipped her coffee and took some deep yoga breaths, willing herself to stay in the present, and not lose herself in anxiety for the future.
She heard his footsteps before he entered the kitchen. Moment of truth. Would it be awkward? Romantic? Was this the end of her job, or the beginning of something else entirely?
“Good morning,” they said to each other at the same time.
He was showered and fully dressed, his slightly damp hair a contrast to his well-pressed dress shirt, tie, and khaki slacks.
“Would you like some coffee?” Celia asked, wondering if it was presumptuous of her to offer him coffee in his own house.
He glanced away from her as if looking for something. “No, thanks.”
Awkward, then. Celia felt her heart sink as the tension in the room rose.
“I wonder—” she began to say, just as he said, “Found ’em,” and picked up his keys. Celia stopped. There was a tense pause. Richard sat down at the table across from her. She met his eyes, still hoping that maybe, just maybe ...
“About last night,” he began.
She nodded warily.
“It can’t happen again.”
Although she’d been half expecting it, she felt as if she’d been slapped. She forced herself not to react and simply nodded again.
Richard went on. “It was ... you’re very nice and all, but I’m just ... I’m not looking ...”
She tried to take some pleasure from the fact that this was the first time she’d seen him at a loss for words. At least some of the cocksure arrogance had been wiped away. But it didn’t lessen the disappointment that was blossoming in her chest.
“It’s okay,” she said, her voice coming out hoarser than she would have liked. “It was fun, but I can see how it would get awkward. Don’t worry about it.”
He sat back. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised or relieved or something else. “I’d better get to work,” he said. “You can see to the kids, right?”
“Aren’t you going to stay until Peyton gets up?” Celia asked, now allowing some emotion into her voice.
“I looked in on her, but I didn’t want to wake her. I really should go. I have a lot of things I need to get done.”
“She was so excited to see you,” Celia said, letting her own hurt come out on Peyton’s behalf. “Just have a cup of coffee and stay a bit. It’s almost time for her to get up anyway.”
“I’ll see her this evening.” His voice was brisk and business like now. He was back to his arrogant self. “I’ll pick up some coffee on the way.”
You bastard, Celia thought, remembering the look on Peyton’s face when he’d called the night before. She just stared at him.
He stood up. “Actually, I should be able to get off work early today. I’ll pick up Peyton myself. Don’t worry about getting her this afternoon.”
She blinked. “Okay.”
“Well, I’ll be off then. See you ... next week.”
Celia nodded. “Right,” she said, and had to clear her throat. “See you.” Her stomach rolled nauseatingly at the thought.
He left the room. She heard the front door open. When it shut, the house seemed to suddenly become empty.
She sat at the table, stunned, still holding her coffee. A woman on the verge of middle age wearing her boss’s bathrobe, she thought. An adult women with three kids who thinks that a one-night stand is going to lead to a relationship.
An idiot.
She took another sip of the coffee but it was lukewarm and tasteless. She tossed it down the drain, rinsed the cup out and went upstairs to get the children ready for school. It took all her willpower not to tell Peyton that her dad was a jerk, that he was in such a hurry to escape from the mistake he’d made last night that he hadn’t bothered to stick around until she woke up. Instead she told her that her that he’d gotten an emergency call first thing that morning and had gone to work early. She wasn’t sure what kind of emergency a professor of engineering would be likely to have, but Peyton didn’t question her and, although she looked glum, she took it better than Celia had expected.
Celia dropped Lily and Peyton off at school, then went to her shift at the Co-op with Rosie and Rowan. Even after her shift, she lingered there longer than necessary until she realized she was just stalling before going home. She finally went back to her house, dragging Rowan, Rosie and two bags of groceries across the threshold. She’d been gone less than 48 hours but her house seemed to have changed. It seemed smaller and more threadbare than she’d remembered, but it was also familiar and strangely comforting.
Richard was in a foul mood most of the day. He was grouchy with his students, brushed off the friendly good mornings from his colleagues, and snapped at Janice, the department secretary, for forgetting to fill up the copy machine with paper.
He shut the door of his office sharply behind him, quite sure that he’d regret that last one in particular; Janice was not only gossipy but also vindictive, and a mean secretary could make his life all kinds of miserable. He sighed. Now he owed two women apologies.
But of the two, he regretted hurting Celia much more. Over and over, he replaye
d his blunt words to her, and over and over, he was haunted by the hurt look on her face that she’d tried so hard to hide.
“I’m an asshole,” he muttered to himself, sinking into his chair and putting his head in his hands.
The night with Celia—that amazing, passionate, intimate night—had been a mistake. Of that there was no doubt in his mind. It had been years since he’d connected with a woman like that, not since he and Melanie had first fallen in love, and maybe not even then.
But he wasn’t ready. Not for the kind of emotion that Celia had elicited, not for the kind of vulnerability he’d felt when he’d woken up that morning and memories of their night had come flooding back. Not to mention the complication of her working for him and being a kind of surrogate mother to Peyton. He could hardly expect her to be a surrogate wife as well.
What had he been thinking?
Despite the long journey home, he’d been alive with happiness and adrenaline when he’d returned, elated by the email from Susan that he’d received while waiting for his flight at SFO. He’d felt as if months of accumulated stress had rolled away, leaving him with optimism he hadn’t felt in ages.
And somehow, the fact that Celia had been waiting for him at the end of the journey had made it even better. What a joy to come home at the end of the day and have another adult to talk to, to confide in. And when that adult was as sweet and thoughtful and beautiful as Celia ...
Had he taken advantage of his position as her boss? As long as they were on an unequal footing, any kind of relationship between them was ethically suspect at best. She’d been more than willing, he knew, but she’d also been tipsy. Would she have gone through with it if he hadn’t given her three glasses of champagne first? What a cad, to ply her with alcohol, sleep with her, and then leave.
He’d somehow turned into the kind of man he feared his daughter would fall for someday.
He groaned quietly, remembering the sight of her stretched out on his bed in the moonlight. He remembered kissing the arch of her foot. The passion had been real. Last night had felt so good, so right ... but in the cold light of morning, he’d felt a kind of sick regret that wasn’t helped by a mild hangover. The wounds that Melanie had left ran deep. The long, painful disintegration of his marriage had drained him emotionally, and he knew he wasn’t capable now—and maybe ever—of giving Celia the trust and commitment that she deserved.