Indecent Encounter: The Silverhaus Affair

by M. S. Parker

  “Do you love them? The films you make?” Chelsea asked.

  I scrubbed the back of my neck, struggling to find the right words. She had no idea what I did for a living until a minute ago, and now I felt like she saw right through me. Her eyes were on me, but the glow of a starlet’s ambition that I was used to seeing was absent, and I had to admit, it caught me off guard. I wasn’t used to having to work for women’s attention or to prove myself to anybody. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

  “Uh…well…I spend most of my time making my father’s films,” I said with a shrug. “They’re big commercial successes.”

  “So you have one of your own you want to make?”

  Again, I felt as if she was looking inside me, and it made my chest ache for a reason I couldn't quite figure out.

  I cleared my throat and said, “Well, yes, actually. I’m just taking over our first independent film, and I think it really has a chance to be something special.”

  She smiled and nodded. “If a movie has heart, the audience will find it. Sometimes it’s through word of mouth, like on my college campus. If we go to see a really great movie that speaks to us, we talk about it, tell all our friends to go see it, and you know, it’s like a snowball rolling downhill, it builds and eventually everyone has to go see it and then, before you know it, it goes viral, and you have a huge success.”

  “You know, that’s exactly how I should pitch it to my father…a long-term investment.” The gears were spinning in my mind. She was right and I was just feeling the excitement again, talking about my project when I heard my cell phone ring.

  I’d been expecting a call. I fished my phone out of my pocket and saw the name on the screen. I said, “Speak of the devil.” I rolled my eyes. My father had the worst timing. I was just getting to know a little about Chelsea. “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  Chelsea smiled again, and turned back to her work under the stairs. I went across the foyer and cut through the library to my office.

  “Good news, Henry, I know how to make the indie film a success,” I said, and headed to my office.

  “Alex, please, get your priorities straight. Have you looked over the specs for the alien series? I think the fourth script is our best bet. The climax should be a real seat-shaker,” he said.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. My father based his script opinions on whether or not the action sequences would be loud enough to shake the movie theater seats. He was old-fashioned, egotistical and stubborn as a mule. He prided himself on pulling himself up by his bootstraps and making mountains of money in a cutthroat industry, but he had no affinity with the artistic side of films. To him, it was all about the profit margin, the cha-ching he heard in his head at the thought of each ticket sale.

  “Look, I was thinking, if we make the indie film a priority it’ll pay off in the long run.”

  Before I could finish, he cut me off with a gruff tone. “That’s not what I called about. Your little joke with the mail-order whore paid off. All of my friends and work associates heard about it and I’ve been the butt of endless jokes. Everybody got a good laugh. Is this what having children brings?”

  Henry was on the verge of ripping me a new one. He couldn’t bear that his friends might view him as over-the-hill, no longer able to get a woman on his own. I’d walked as far as my office door, each step and each of his words, bringing more tension, until my hand curled into a fist.

  “And now I hear she’s still there. What on earth are you doing, Alex? Get rid of her.”

  I stopped short outside the threshold of the door and clamped my teeth, gritting them to keep from snapping back at him. I relaxed my jaw and finally spoke, “For your information, I chose the only woman on the website who didn’t have ulterior motives, so Jamison put her to work. She’s cleaning out the crawl space under the front stairs right now.”

  “Ridiculous. You’re letting yourself be taken in by this girl? She’s after your money or a part in a movie,” he barked.

  “You’re wrong,” I threw back.

  “Fine, Alex. Find out the hard way. I don’t have time for this right now.”

  I opened my mouth to defend myself, but the silence of the disconnected call said it all.

  Fuck. The old bastard did it again. I wanted to throw my phone at the wall. Why did my father always have to do this? Or better yet, why did I always let him push my buttons?

  I marched over to my desk chair and flopped into its soft, leather comfort. I raked a hand through my hair. I swore, my old man was going to drive me to drink. I blew out a breath and let my hand fall from my head onto the stack of movie scripts he’d been nagging me to review. I grabbed the script off the top of the pile, and rolled my chair back to settle in for some reading.

  Alien movies. Yeah, like that’s what the audiences really wanted. The brain-dead young people who made up the largest demographics of moviegoers weren't into aliens anymore. He was so out of touch. It was zombies, walking dead, ghouls with rotted flesh falling from their carcasses, that’s what was popular now, not freaking aliens. And yet, the more I thought about the moviegoers, the more I began to think maybe Chelsea was right. Not all young people were artistically defunct. Maybe audiences were tired of meaningless fluff movies, and they wanted something with a message, something with a philosophy about life that they could talk about after the movie, not just treat a movie like a ride at an amusement park.

  I thumbed through the pages, intending to read it, but my father’s words still echoed in my head. What bothered me more than his dismissal of my passion project, the indie film, was his condemnation of Chelsea. That had been totally uncalled for. He hadn’t met her. He didn’t know anything about her. Give the poor girl a break, for Christ’s sake.

  Without reading a single word, I closed the script and tossed it on the desk. Leaning back, I closed my eyes, and steepled my fingers under my chin in thought.

  Chelsea came into my mind in a flash. That soft black hair, that lithe body, the round softness I glimpsed through the gap in her shirt.

  Oh, Jesus.

  Knowing I wouldn’t be able to focus until I cleared my head, I decided to go for a swim. The pool house was a quick walk across the courtyard from my office, and I slipped in the back door less than two minutes later.

  The small building consisted of an airy sun porch, a changing room, and a large bathroom centered around an open shower with a rain shower head. I was just ducking into the bathroom to find the goggles I’d left there when I saw her.

  A wave of white shampoo suds glided down her long, wet, hair. I followed the bubbles as they slipped down her back and onto her round ass. Chelsea lifted her arms to rinse her hair again, and the slight turn revealed one perfect breast, the nipple dark and tight under the showering water.

  The thought of raking my teeth over that hard nub and pinching it between my fingers made my cock jerk in response. I wanted to run my fingers over her porcelain skin and push them into her tight slit. I'd bet she was wet from more than the shower.

  Her waist was tiny, and curved out to her smooth round hips, just visible over the wall of the shower. I could almost feel my arms slipping around her, palming a handful of ass and pulling her onto my hard cock. I inched forward to see more before I stopped myself.

  She was supposed to be a harmless joke on my father. I'd intended to meet her, pay her, and send her home. Once she was here, I'd thought she would be an easy fling, a quick summer affair, or at least a one-time stress relief, but seeing Chelsea that first time had changed everything.

  Maybe I needed to make my intentions known. My blood roared at the idea of consummating whatever connection we had right now. I could easily slip into the shower and fuck that tight pussy. Except, I knew that if I did it, it'd all be over, and I didn't want that. I wanted more. I wanted to run into her around the house. I wanted to be surprised by what she said. I wanted those eyes on mine as we finally wrapped our bodies around each other and came together. Drawing out the sexua
l tension between us would make it even more deliciously hot, I decided.

  I made it back out to the sun porch where I had to sit down and catch my breath. I felt like I’d been kicked in the chest. She was gorgeous, but I didn’t understand the effect Chelsea had on me. It wasn't like anything I'd experienced before. All I knew was, joke or no joke, I wanted her to stay.

  Chapter Eight

  Chelsea

  Brushing my hair up into a ponytail made me wince. My arms ached, my back was stiff, and I could even feel the pull of tired muscles in my butt and thighs. Still, I was beginning to like my job, and I could even see the possibility of getting along with Jamison despite his stiff British exterior. I smiled at myself in the tiny mirror of my attic bathroom. I didn’t even mind that the shower was broken up here, because I’d discovered that the pool house bathroom was like a private luxury spa with one of those fancy rain type shower-heads.

  It was still early even by Jamison’s standards, and I smiled again. I had been up for an hour, sitting at the small writing table in my room. It felt good to see the scribbled pages of my screenplay stacking up next to my laptop. I could’ve easily typed it all, but something about this room and being in a mansion that was built before modern technology was invented inspired me to write the old-fashioned way, with paper and pen. After talking with Alex about the independent film he wanted to make, my imagination felt like it'd been set on fire. I started writing in the evenings or whenever I could manage to catch a few spare moments while on a work break.

  Not that Jamison gave me many breaks. The butler was still testing me, though he was running out of disgusting tasks. After I’d finished sweeping out the crawl space under the stairs, I'd organized everything in it and labeled all the boxes. Jamison had no choice but to tell me I'd done a good job.

  I smiled and tapped my pen on my notepad. It appeared I was finally winning the stuffy old Brit’s approval, and the work routine was falling into a rhythm. I imagined the rest of the summer would go even more smoothly. By the time I returned home, I'd have enough money for Karl, and at least a partially finished screenplay.

  I closed the lid of my laptop and set my notebook with the finished pages on top. A sharp pang of guilt pulsed in my stomach. There on the desk was the pamphlet for Rainbow Roads. I should’ve emailed Zach that morning for an update. I hadn’t been checking in on my brother as often as I’d planned, partially because of the complications with Zach, but also because, as each day passed, I found myself more and more absorbed into my job and my life here. I carefully tacked the pamphlet on the wall and reminded myself why I was here.

  The thought of my brother in a program that would help him flourish was enough to banish all my aches and pains. I couldn’t help but look around with a buoyant smile. The sweet attic room was light and airy, the perfect retreat from the not so bad job after all. Maybe Lady Luck was starting to smile on me for once.

  I descended the tight staircase and discovered I had the small servants’ cottage kitchen to myself. I savored my extra time, making my morning coffee with the extravagant espresso machine that ground imported Italian beans. Despite my menial position, all of my food and such was provided for, and Jamison didn’t skimp on the staff provisions either. I felt like I was surrounded by all the small luxuries I could ever want.

  When the buzzing of the coffee grinder was done, the morning settled back into blessed stillness. After the constant clatter of living in a college dormitory, the servants’ cottage was a peaceful sanctuary. I sat back and listened to the ivy rustling outside the window. Although the fancy coffee machine made espresso and café Americano, this morning I’d pushed the button for a frothy cappuccino. I heard the sound of the steam foaming the milk. I stepped over to the machine near the kitchen window to watch as the milk-foam billowed up in the cup. This time I heard a new sound in the still morning. Somewhere outside, water was lapping.

  I wondered about it as I waited for my special cappuccino cup to fill to the wide, round rim. It brewed fresh, and straight into my coffee cup. As soon as it finished, I grabbed the cup and headed outside. The sound of the water had reminded me that I could sit by the swimming pool. One of the wicker lounge chairs along the sun deck would be the perfect place to finish my heavenly morning.

  I floated out the front door of the servants’ cottage, and instead of heading across the courtyard to the main house, I turned right toward the pool. My coffee sloshed, and I lost a dollop of the lovely foam down the side of the cup as I ducked under the leafy, vine-covered pergola.

  I blinked. Did I just see a naked man?

  I peered through the morning glories and caught another glimpse of golden skin. It was Alex. He strode along the sun deck and dove into the pool in one graceful arc. His naked body sliced into the water with only a small splash, and I watched as his powerful arms cut strong, steady strokes. He swam back and forth with ease, and I was mesmerized. Unable to help myself, I crept along the length of the pergola scouting out a better vantage point. Wow. Talk about “perks” of the job.

  The early morning sun was just touching the water when I found a gap between the morning glories and the climbing roses. Alex’s body moved through the clear water with the clean strokes of a practiced swimmer, and now, I could see all of him.

  Wide shoulders tapered to a tightly muscled back, and his even tan suggested this was a daily practice. If that was true, I was setting my alarm clock early every day. He kicked, barely causing a splash, and I traced the defined muscles of his calves up to his flexing thighs and to the round crest of his tanned ass. It jutted out of the water and rolled with each long stroke. Instinctively, my fingers flexed around my coffee cup as I imagined what it would feel like to have my hands on that firm set of muscles.

  He flipped at the edge of the pool, his feet slapping the surface as he somersaulted under water and then pushed off the wall. It was all easy, the smoothness of his actions hinting at the power he left in check. Hot damn! The competitive swimmers I knew at college would look like sticks next to Alex. He was an oak, not just tall, but solid and strong.

  My cappuccino was getting cold, but I was unable to tear my eyes away. I teased myself, wishing he’d turn over and practice the backstroke, when he stopped at the wall right in front of me and stood waist deep in the water. I froze. Could he see me through the climbing roses? He shook the water out of his gold-streaked hair and smiled to himself, clearly enjoying the morning exercise. He rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms, and stretched. I savored each reach and pull, as the morning sun dried his body and I practically whimpered. All I could think about was pressing my cheek against his solid chest and feeling its warmth.

  My fantasy slipped into visions of me brushing my lips across every dip and curve of his sculpted abs, me naked in front of him in the water and…oh, my. He pulled himself up onto the pool deck, and I gasped out loud. I cringed and prayed he wouldn’t come to investigate the sound. Alex cocked one eyebrow and stood facing the climbing roses. Thank god I was completely hidden in the shadows of the vines, because I couldn’t breathe, much less move.

  My eyes widened as I took another look. Good Lord.

  He was huge.

  I’d never seen a man so well-endowed. It hung thickly against his thigh, another muscle waiting to be flexed. If this was what he looked like just out of the cool water, my mind buzzed with the thought of Alex aroused. I remembered the first time I tried giving a hand job and glanced down at my hand gripping the coffee mug. I wondered if I could even close my fingers around him.

  My stomach twisted at the thought of having Alex in my hands and my gaze was pulled back to his magnificence. My boyfriend experience in college had consisted of a few fun encounters and two short-lived relationships. All I knew for certain was that they were all boys. Alex was all man.

  I wanted him in a different way than the boys at college. There was no silly flutter of flirtation, or giggling rites of passage. More than curiosity or fun, my body ached to be touched by his, ent
ered by him. I wanted his hands and mouth running over every inch of my body, leaving me burning. I imagined my fingers exploring his velvet soft skin as I lowered my head to taste him for the first time.

  I felt a throb run through the center of me, and the deep desire to have him inside me was unlike anything I’d experienced. I realized I wanted him purely because he was a man and I was a woman. Primal. Primitive. And not as surprising as I'd have thought. Something about his presence, the mere look in his eyes and–well, damn, that sculpted body–pulled pure carnal lust from every cell in my body. It was metaphysical, beyond logic.

  Suddenly, my clothes were too tight, too restrictive, I wanted to shed them and feel the cool morning air on my skin. I knew I could call out and Alex would find me hiding here. The thought electrified every nerve and I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

  Alex, not hearing anything else from my direction, shrugged his shoulders and snatched up a towel from a nearby lounge chair. I blinked as if coming out of a trance, and remembered those lounge chairs were the reason I’d come outside in the first place. I was going to drink my coffee in one of those chairs, except now my coffee was cold.

  He wrapped the towel around his waist and turned away from me. I let out a breath. My shoulders relaxed. If just looking at him left me breathless, what else could he do to me? Right now, hiding in the flowers, I didn’t want to know. I saw the statuesque blonde woman reappear from the pool house, waving to Alex with a big smile. Alex’s head snapped up in a short nod, and he went around the pool to walk arm in arm with her toward the main house.

  “Lucky,” I muttered.

  “Yes, lucky I found you, otherwise, you’d be late for work.”

  Oh crap. I jumped. Jamison stood behind me with his arms crossed. When I turned, I sloshed more of my drink. By now it looked as if a volcano of frothy milk had erupted over the sides, and foam dripped to the ground. “I was just enjoying the roses, the pergola, it’s so…um…beautiful back here. I’m so lucky to work here.”