We Will Always
Have The Closet
By Natalina Reis
We Will Always Have The Closet
Copyright © 2015 by Natalina Reis.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: January 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-386-1
ISBN-10: 1-68058-386-7
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To my dad, Fernando Reis,
who was always my hero.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
CLOSETS AND REAL ESTATE
Petra
Jonas might be a douche bag, but God could he decorate a house. Tip-toeing across the lush white carpet, Petra admired the scene around her. The whole house was decorated in clean-line, elegant furnishings set against architectural works of art. Continuing her journey along the hallway, she found herself in his bedroom. The large, well-lit space screamed of good taste and peaceful nights. In spite of her time constraints, she stopped to caress the graceful African sculpture of a woman who stood guard just inside the door. Carved from lovely colored rosewood, it felt silky to her touch. Stepping further into the room, she dug her fingers into the white throw, a lacy masterpiece as fragile as a spider’s web and twice as intricate draped over the royal-blue bedding. From floor to ceiling was a painting of the ocean floor, a breath-taking whirlwind of blues, greens, and reds. Even the curtains adorning the window-covered wall spoke of beauty and craftsmanship. Her heart filled with envy and yearning for all the beautiful, artistic items around her. Petra clenched her fists. I hate you, Jonas!
As she reached for the delicate, antique French desk to touch the inlays before rifling through its contents, she heard the front door open. Shit! Frantically, she looked around for a place to hide. She darted into her only option—the closet—pulling the door toward her slowly until she was totally immersed in darkness.
“Hmph.” She felt herself bump into someone. Her first instinct was to run out, but her common sense dictated she stay put. If she left the closet, Jonas would catch her red-handed, and she was not going to give him the satisfaction. It was pitch dark in the oddly small closet and she couldn’t see who was behind her, but she could feel his hard body crushed against hers, his muscle tight against her softness. Unsettled, she wiggled in vain, trying to put some space between them. The empty hangers swung by her head and she reached up to stop the ensuing rattle. Who made such a tiny closet?
Strong hands spun her around until she was facing the stranger. “Don’t say anything,” the male voice whispered in her ear. His warm breath on the side of her face sent an irrational shiver of pleasure through her. Her forever curious hands, caught between their bodies, moved of their own accord to explore the stranger’s sculptural hard muscles in unabashed awe. “Get a grip, you idiot,” she chided herself in a soft, but audible voice.
“Are you nuts?” the man whispered. “Do you want to be caught?” They both stiffened at the approaching sound of high heels clicking on the wooden floors. It was not Jonas, after all.
“Maybe I don’t care if I get caught,” she spat in an annoyed whisper.
“Well, you did hide in this freakishly small closet, didn’t you?” he said by her ear, sending shivers down her spine once again. “Can you move away a bit?”
“Don’t you think I would if I could?” she replied, getting more irritated by the second; mostly with herself since her body seemed to be enjoying the close quarters a lot more than she felt was appropriate. She tried to wiggle her body away from his, succeeding instead at an even more intimate contact. By the feel of the hardness growing against her hip, he was also obviously enjoying their closeness. “Could you please control your loins?” she hissed between her teeth.
“Loins? Really? Who says that nowadays?” He chuckled quietly, touching her ear with his lips. A soft moan escaped her lips as a frisson of pure pleasure ran through her. What kind of magic was this? “I’m not the one rubbing herself against my so-called loins, so just stop it and it will behave.”
The sound of footsteps was now obviously too close for comfort, so she had to bite her tongue in order not to rebuke his accusation. What nerve. He actually believed that she was doing it on purpose? Who does he think I am? Some over-sexed vixen with the outlandish habit of cornering strangers in closets just for kicks? “Who the hell are you?”
Her annoyance faded away and was replaced with a smile when the stranger actually tried to shake her hand. In the extremely confined space, they succeeded only at a brief brush of hands and another uncomfortable head encounter with the dangling hangers. “Sam,” he whispered. “Sam Corra. You?”
“Petra Galatas,” she whispered back, keeping her ears glued to the approaching sound of steps. “What are you doing here?”
“Would you believe, checking out the closet space?” Petra stifled her laughter against Sam’s chest. “I was retrieving an item that belongs to me. And you?”
“Kind of the same,” she confessed in a tiny voice. “Jonas has something that does not belong to him that I very much want to see returned to the rightful owner.”
Sam’s hand covered her mouth in warning as the clicking heels found their way into the room at last. Her heart jumped in her chest and her hands began to shake. She heard Sam’s voice in her ear, “Trust me.” The door to the closet opened in a shock of sudden light. Before she could so much as blink, Sam had grabbed hold of her around her waist and crushed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. For a moment, the pleasure of his warm lips swept her away into a place and time where she was not trespassing in her ex-husband’s house. Too soon, his lips pulled away and she groaned in protest before snapping into reality.
A very tall woman was staring at them as if she had just discovered a nest of alien eggs. “Who the hell are you?” she yelled in a strident voice that belied her elegant stance. “And what are you doing in the closet?”
Petra’s eyes fell on the impressive male figure with whom she’d shared the closet and…her lips. He was not a bit bad to look at, she found. Tall, dark hair cropped short, and glittering green eyes that promised a world of surprises and delights. Sam looked at Petra for the first time as well and for a moment seemed truly bewitched by what he saw.
“Who are you?” Sam asked, suddenly turning his attention to the tall woman.
She seemed outraged by his question, as if she expected them to know exactly who she was. “I am Mr. Linden’s Realtor,” she answered, composing herself. “I’m here to meet with a couple interested in the house.”
Petra jumped at the opportunity. Grabbing hold of Sam’s arm, she quickly stated, “That would be us. We got here a little earlier than expected.” Sam looked at her with ill-di
sguised admiration.
“You’re Mr. and Mrs. Cody?” The woman appeared confused. “I thought you would be older. You mentioned grandchildren in your emails.”
It was Sam’s turn to step up to the plate. “Yes, we always refer to our pets as our grandchildren. We have two adorable wieners.”
Petra smirked a little in amusement.
“No pets are allowed in this house.” the woman said emphatically. “The homeowners’ association has very strict rules about that.”
“No worries,” Petra assured her. “They’ll be staying with friends that own a farm outside town.”
The Realtor eyed them suspiciously, but Petra could tell she was warming up to the possibility that they were indeed prospective buyers. “What were you doing in that closet?”
Sam chuckled. “Ah that, well, we got frisky…”
Petra laughed and joined in. “I get excited around good art, and there’s a lot of great art in this house. I guess I got a bit broody…”
The woman stared at Petra as if trying to figure her out and then turned her attention to an out of place knick-knack on the dresser. Sam had circled around and was now behind the Realtor mouthing the word broody with a questioning look. She rolled her eyes and shrugged. The other woman, having decided they were who they said they were, lifted her eyes back to Petra and offered to show them the house. Sam circled back to slip his arm around Petra’s shoulders and follow the elegant blonde to the living room.
“You need to distract her so I can get what I came here for,” Petra whispered while the Realtor was giving her speech about the house.
“No way, I also need to retrieve my…object,” Sam protested cryptically. “You distract her.”
The woman had abruptly turned around to look at them. “Are you interested in looking outside at the patio before making a decision?”
“Sam here adores the outdoors,” Petra exclaimed, unraveling herself from his arm. “He would just love to have a look. I have to use the little girls’ room. But I totally trust you, sweetie. Whatever you decide, it will be okay with me.”
Sam threw her a poisonous look, but she could tell he was somewhat amused. “No, cupcake. You have to come and see it also. I wouldn’t dream of making a decision without your approval.” Under the pretense of a kiss, he pulled her against him and whispered in her ear, “Nice try, missy.”
Since neither would allow the other to be alone, Petra resigned herself to pretending to be Sam’s wife while the self-centered Realtor tried to sell them a house Petra could only afford in her dreams. Sam kept a tight, yet gentle hold on her throughout the whole visit, and when they were finally escorted out the door, he was still holding her hand.
Petra looked at him, then at their interlaced fingers. “Are you going to let me go now?” she asked.
“I don’t want to,” he said, pulling her closer to him, a wicked smile on his lips. “I kind of liked being your husband in there.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she protested without conviction. His lips lingered above hers, driving her to distraction. “We don’t even know each other. For all I know you may be a mass murderer.”
Throwing his head back, he broke into a peal of laughter. She rolled her eyes in frustration and amusement. “You may be right, Petra,” he finally said, his nose touching hers. “But I intend to have a lot of fun getting to know you.” Then he kissed her.
Too winded for words, Petra shoved him not-so-gently away from her. Their lips detached, but the warmth lingered. Damn, she really liked those lips. Sanity prevailed and she found her voice. “Stop doing that!” It came out louder than she had planned, but it didn’t seem to faze him in the least. His handsome face, still too close for comfort, sported an amused smile as his hands held on to her waist.
“Let’s walk and talk,” he suggested, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead with his hand.
“As tempting as that sounds, I’m afraid I must decline,” she exclaimed sarcastically, his hand leaving a tingling path along the side of her face. “I really must go.”
Sam’s hand tightened a little around her waist. “Please, what harm could it possibly do to walk with me in a very public park? I am perfectly harmless, I assure you.”
A chuckle escaped her lips. Harmless he was not. His pleading looks burned a hole into her heart’s armor. He’s right, though. There is no harm in walking together for a few minutes. “All right, you don’t have to embarrass yourself.” She gave in with a wave of her hand. “I will walk with you, but nothing else. If you try to kiss me again I’ll bite your tongue off.”
His hands shot upwards in surrender. “Hey, I was all lips,” he protested. “You were the one with the tongue. But who cares about semantics, right?”
Sam led her to a nearby park and a coffee stand. “Cup of joe?” he asked her, hand reaching for his wallet. “Flat White, please,” he told the barista.
“Same for me,” she said, still not sure why she had agreed to this. The man was a total stranger, one she had found sneaking around her ex-husband’s house like a thief; in fact, she had probably interrupted him in a robbery. Stealing a glance in his direction, she once again felt her heart race at the sight of Sam’s handsome figure and the memory of his lips.
A lonely bench a few yards away offered a place to sit and talk under the shadow of a tree. Sam sipped his coffee and watched Petra from underneath half-closed lids. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing in there?” he asked in between sips.
“None of your business,” she exclaimed. “What about you? Were you stealing something?”
Adopting an outraged posture, Sam protested, “Me, stealing? You hurt my feelings. I would never stoop that low.”
“Then why were you in Jonas’ house?” she insisted, taking the cup to her lips. Petra was mystified by his amused smile and twinkling eyes. “What?”
Sam reached across and wiped a bit of milk foam from the corner of her mouth. “You have a foam mustache,” he said, laughing softly. “Very endearing.” His finger brushed its way to her upper lip in the sexiest of caresses. She quivered at the touch.
“Well, I wear it well,” she joked nervously, trying to ignore his finger still busy removing the offending stain from her skin. “Can you stop that? It tickles.”
His eyebrow shot up along with the corner of his mouth. “We are at an impasse, Petra,” he said, finally retrieving his hand. “I won’t tell you my business at Jonas’ house, and you won’t tell me yours. Using my impressive powers of deduction I am going to assume that you are one of Jonas’ many disgruntled girlfriends, in his house to exact some kind of payback.”
Petra made a throaty sound, something in between a chuckle and a heave. “Girlfriend?” she exclaimed. “Please. You are so far from the truth you’re going to need a compass to find your way back.”
Silence met her words, and for a moment she thought she had finally managed to hit a nerve. But Sam was pondering something, studying her as if trying to figure out a puzzle. “No girlfriend,” he mused, still staring at her inquisitively. “Art thief? Competitor? Cleaning lady?”
Petra laughed. He was grasping at straws now. She almost took pity on him and told him the truth. Almost. “This has been…educational,” she said instead, standing up, “but I must go. I do have a job besides sneaking around in other people’s homes, you know.”
Following her lead, he stood as well. His hand moved so fast, she didn’t have the time to fence it off; or maybe, deep inside she didn’t want to. Next thing she knew, his long arms were wrapped around her again and his lips hovered dangerously close to hers. “I will let you go, Cinderella,” he whispered, his eyes intent on her lips, “but you have to leave me your glass slipper. How else will I find you again?”
Fighting the urge to lock her lips with his, Petra looked into his eyes instead, which did nothing to reinforce her resolve. “No glass slipper,” she replied, unsuccessfully pushing him away and ordering her body and heart to behave. “We won’t see each
other again. I have no time in my life for…whatever this is.” Or could be.
His grasp on her tightened as she tried to wiggle herself away from him. “Did I mention I have amazing powers of deduction?” he said, his voice thick with naked desire. His lips brushed hers teasingly as he played with the medallion on her necklace. “I will find you, Cinderella, even if your evil stepmother locks you in the cellar.”
The promise of his lips made her turn to mush in his arms, but he was apparently not one to be taken for granted. In a swift move, he freed her from his embrace and walked away from her, the mocking ghost of a smile on his lips. “See you soon, beautiful,” he yelled as he moved away.
There she stood, feeling ridiculously bereft and empty, watching him as he vanished around a corner. What just happened? No, no, no…she had promised herself never to feel this again. Damn you, Sam!
Chapter Two
PUMPKINS, ART, AND CLOSETS
Petra
St. Vincent was an old church, one of the oldest in Seattle and well loved by all its parishioners. Petra had grown up Catholic, having a Greek for a father and an Italian for a mother. She remembered fondly all the hours spent in that church, whether it was attending Mass with her family or catechism classes with the other local children. She had warm memories of tiny old rooms warmed by little bodies and the fire of many wonderful bible stories told by young women eager to make a difference in the spiritual life of a child. She was not much of a practicing Catholic—she rarely attended Mass these days—but she had never been able to completely detach from her childhood parish or even stay away for very long. Like a moth to a flame, she kept turning up on the stone front steps of St. Vincent Parish church as eager to help as the catechists of her childhood.
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