by Cybill Cain
“No, thank you. I’m not interested in dating you.” I’d told him this before, but there was always the hope that repetition would help him finally get it.
“Sure you do. You’re just playing hard to get. Women do that to make themselves seem like they’re worth having. They think it makes them special.”
“The fact that you think that way is just another reason that my answer won’t change. I want you to think of me as not interested, because I’m not. Please remove your hand from my door.” He chuckled.
“Say what you want, I know how you really feel.”
“Clearly, you don’t. I am not interested, now or ever, Todd. Do you hear me? Can you grasp the words coming out of my mouth? Not interested. Don’t ever ask me again.” His eyes narrowed, giving me a glint of something cold, before he dropped his head and stepped back, taking his hand off the door.
“You don’t have to be a bitch about it, Annie.” I bit back my response to that, knowing it was pointless to explain that his calling me a bitch for turning him down was yet another example of why I was turning him down.
I glanced in the rearview as I drove out of the parking lot. Todd was standing there watching me, and a sense of foreboding passed over me, making me shiver. I was glad to leave him behind me once and for all.
***
The next day dinner time came and went, and my fancy guest had still not arrived. When it was nearly midnight I assumed they must be coming tomorrow, and headed upstairs to paint. I’d had this idea in my head all day that I wanted to try and get out before it slipped away from me.
I stripped as I was climbing the stairs, dropping my clothes off in my room and grabbing the old shirt I’d picked at Good Will in case I got chilly. It had been white when I got it, but now it was covered in paint spatters, little spots of all the art I had made over the last few years. It was the only thing I liked to wear while painting. The old button up ended at mid-thigh on me, and made me feel sexy. The feeling always tapped into my sensual nature, and I believed it gave my art something of an edge. If the artist was passionate, so was the art, that was my motto.
I also liked to listen to music when I painted. I had a killer stereo system in my attic loft that I used when I was alone here, and headphones for an MP3 player when I had guests. Since I was alone, I put on The Very Best of Fleetwood Mac, turned up the volume, and grabbed a clean canvas.
I worked in a variety of mediums, depending on my mood. Tonight felt like oils. They were slick and sensuous, covering the canvas like a lover, making it wet while defining the hidden treasures waiting to be found in its confounding blank nature.
I moved my light umbrellas around to focus on the canvas. I was also a photographer, and found the soft muted light could be as helpful in painting as it was taking pictures. I had other more direct lights, and of course the sun was always best, but sometimes I wanted something that lent an atmosphere of romance to the setting of my mind.
Stevie sang sweetly in my ears as I mixed the oils, and I felt my conscious mind slip away from where I was physically, sliding into the soft muted romantic images that had been haunting me all day.
I could see a tall handsome man, holding a woman passionately in front of a window that looked out onto a raging sea. There was a storm, a hurricane, my mind corrected, but she looked so safe and warm in his arms that it would never touch her, and she knew it. The look on her face sparked a feeling of longing inside me to have that experience, too.
When I approached the canvas I could see her so clearly I felt myself become her. The strong arms held me tightly as I painted, and I wondered as the image from my mind started to form on the canvas, why I couldn’t see his face.
***
Max
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but Escape was a three story house set on a hill. It was nearly four in the morning. I couldn’t see it very well in the dark, but it looked like it was painted in light turquoise with white trim. The porch light was on, and I took the short flight of stone steps up to the porch in long strides, starting to feel badly about dragging Ms. Clemons out of bed.
I was imagining some kindly old lady, rotund and usually happy when her boarders showed up at decent hour. Before knocking I hesitated, wondering if I should just go to a hotel for the night, and check in here tomorrow, but Meenan had said she knew I was coming. I took a breath, feeling exhausted from my long day, and decided to knock.
When my hand touched the door it swung open. Surprised, I stepped inside, and looked around. I was in the foyer of what looked like a regular home. Dim lights were on in the room to my right. I leaned in and found a warm comfortable looking living room, filled with big soft furniture in seascape colors. I stopped and looked at the far corner near the window with closer attention.
Set up there was a small table with a dark red velvet drape and a large crystal ball. I stepped in, careful to not bump into anything, and took a closer look. Beside the crystal ball was a deck of tarot cards. My hand reached out to touch them, stopping just before I made contact. Was it rude to touch them? I wasn’t sure why, but it felt that way. My hand dropped back to my side, leaving me a little disappointed.
Before I could change my mind, I was distracted by the sound of music. Moving back out to the foyer, I stood there a moment trying to figure out where it was coming from. After a few seconds I realized it was coming down the long stair case in front of me. I could almost hear the tune, but not quite. Following it up, I climbed the first flight of stairs and stopped. It wasn’t on this floor.
I took the second flight up, and entered a narrow hallway. The music was much closer here, and there was a light on at the end of the hall. The door was open, and though I was surprised to find anyone up at this hour, I moved closer planning to announce myself.
Fleetwood Mac’s Gypsy started just as I reached the door. The music was loud, but I could have called out, would have called out, but when I saw the back of a naked woman standing in front of a partially painted canvas, all the air woofed right out of me. This was definitely not the portly matron I had been expecting!
Her long dark hair was up in a bun. Her lithe softly rounded body was covered in paint spatters and hand prints where she had touched her skin. As I watched, she put her hands on her knees and bent down slightly, taking a closer look at the canvas while she sang along with Stevie Nicks.
She sounded quite good, but she looked even better. I had the insane urge to walk in and put my hands in the paint prints on her hips. My mouth went dry when she bent over further, taking a hand off her knee to rub it across the slick wet canvas that held her attention.
I felt like a voyeur, but I couldn’t move. The graceful bend of her arm, the perfect roundness of her hips, and the line of her neck all combined to make me hard and stupid in her doorway. I knew that if she turned around and found me staring at her like this, it would damage our future interactions irrevocably. I knew it, but as she belted out Gypsy like she was on stage in front of thousands, I couldn’t move.
I continued to watch as her hand came up, scratching her chest absently. More than anything I wanted to see the colorful mark she’d left behind on her skin, and the breast beneath it. We were both lost in those few moments, she in the world of her painting, and me in the world of her.
Finally, I shook myself and retreated back down the hall, going down to the second floor landing before stopping to catch my breath. I held onto the railing as I saw her again in my mind’s eye. She was primal and raw like no woman I had ever seen before, and that nature spoke to me in a language that I felt I had once known, but had forgotten.
Was she a guest here, too? No, she seemed at home. Was she the daughter of the owner? Or was she the owner? Was I going to be spending a month here with the sensually painted goddess I’d just glimpsed?
The idea did nothing to bring the blood back to my brain. Instead, I immediately saw her naked over me, while she stared into my eyes with the same intensity she’d used on her painting.
&
nbsp; I heard the music stop. I moved back down to the foyer with a speed that surprised me, a little out of breath from the adrenaline that was moving through my body. I took a few quick breaths, and willed my heart to stop pounding before I called out, “Hello?”
***
Annie
I jumped when I heard the deep male voice call out. I glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly four thirty, which startled me, too. I’d been lost for nearly four hours, but hadn’t even noticed the time passing. I pulled on my painting shirt, buttoning it as I walked, curious to see if this was the mystery guest I’d been expecting all day.
“Hello,” I answered as I started down the stairs. When I got to the first floor landing I stopped, seeing something I never expected waiting for me at the bottom.
He was tall, six five to be precise, at least according to his IMDB page. He’d started acting when he was in college, and had spent the last decade building a reputation and repertoire that made him one of the most sought after actors in the world.
His last relationship had ended more than a year ago, at least according to the press. He had dark hair and striking hazel eyes. The kind of eyes a girl could get lost in if she stared at them. He had been photographed by some of the most famous photographers in the world, I knew that, too, because I had my favorite autographed shot of him pinned to the ceiling of my attic studio, right over the day bed where I sometimes took naps. I’d purchased it online several years ago. He still looked just as handsome today.
Max Alexander, Hollywood’s latest golden god was here, in my foyer, dressed in a dark green button down shirt and tight black jeans, looking at me like he wanted to climb the stairs between us, and sweep me into his long strong arms. But that couldn’t be, could it?
I floated the rest of the way down the stairs, my eyes never leaving his, while a thousand things I wanted to say galloped through my mind. One by one I dismissed them. First, because I had nothing to say that hadn’t been said a thousand times. I love your work. I’m your biggest fan. All nice things to hear, but if I couldn’t be original and memorable, then best to say nothing at all. Yes, my mind agreed. He’s here to get away from all that. A dithering idiot of a hostess gushing all over him was the opposite of the experience he was seeking here.
By the time I got to the bottom of the steps I’d made up my mind to pretend that I didn’t know who he was, and spare us both countless awkward moments. Besides, the truth was I didn’t know who he was, only who the internet and talk shows made him out to be, and that was hardly who I should expect him to be. This was his vacation, he deserved the chance to be whoever he wanted to be, just like anyone else.
“May I help you?” He blinked, surprise blooming on his handsome face.
“I think you were expecting me? Thomas Meenan arranged for me to stay here.” I smiled and nodded, ignoring the thudding of my heart that I was sure he could hear even from where he was standing.
“Yes, he called and told me to expect someone. He was thin on the details. I was expecting you earlier.” His dark sexy eyes scanned me from head to toe, and then back up again. Inside I hung my head as I realized what he was seeing. Way to go with the first impressions, my mind snapped.
“I finished late on the set, and didn’t get on the road from Wilmington until midnight.” He paused, and then looked me in the eye, extending his hand. “I’m Max, by the way. Max Alexander.” Don’t I fucking know it?
“Hi, Max. I’m Annie Clemons. Welcome to Escape.” I took his hand and tried not to stare when it disappeared completely, wrapped up in the warmth of his. He hesitated, and turned his head to look at me like he was waiting for something. Maybe it was for me to do the very thing I had just decided not to do. Did he need constant validation of his celebrity status? Was he going to turn out to be like all the other prima donnas after all?
“Nice to meet you, Annie,” he finally said, releasing my hand. I was mortified to see that I had gotten paint all over him.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” I started, but he looked at his hand and then back at me, while a slow smile spread across his sexy lips. “Follow me, I have some paint remover in the kitchen that will take that right off.” I led the way, hurrying because first I had to wash my own hands before I could help him. “Wait right there a second. I need to do mine first.” When I finished I turned to face him, and caught him staring at my ass. I cleared my throat, and raised an amused eyebrow at him. When his face started turning red he looked so adorable I could hardly be offended. “Come here.”
He approached the sink as if it were a firing squad. I wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant until I turned, and pulled his hand under the faucet. The position put my hip against him and his very large erection. He hissed under his breath when my hip caressed him, making me want to do it again. It was an evil impulse, and an unfair one. I was barely dressed after all, his reaction to this situation wasn’t completely unrealistic, nor was it unflattering. He’d been with some of the most beautiful women in the world, if he found my ass a turn on, I considered that a compliment.
I made my hips behave, and pretended to be as oblivious of his arousal as I had of his stardom. As I cleaned his hand he leaned in closer, until his head was right next to mine. “So, are you an artist, or are you just up at this hour painting the house?” His voice was so deep it made me tingle all over, the feel of his breath on the side of my face intensified the sensation exponentially.
“A-Artist,” I stuttered, my cool mask of nonchalance slipping with every second that passed. This wasn’t fair, damn it. I wanted to be cool.
“I’d love to watch you work.” I stopped washing his hand, and turned to face him, putting me nearly nose to nose with him.
“What?” He blinked, and started to turn red again before stammering.
“I’d love to see your work,” he said, his eyes refusing to meet mine, despite our closeness. He sighed, “Sorry, it’s late and I’m wiped out. I hardly know what I’m saying.” I went back to washing his hand, finishing quickly before handing him a towel to dry with.
“Let me go out and get your bags, and we’ll get you tucked in, in no time.”
“I’ll get it,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder to stop me. I was taken with the notion that he was so big he could move me around any way he wanted with hardly an effort at all. I had some definite dirty thoughts on just how he could move me around, before my mind reminded me not to lose sight of the man in the face of the fantasy.
“Careful,” I warned us both, my voice breathy enough to betray just what that touch did to me. “You’ll get paint on you again.” His eyes fell to his hand on my shoulder, and then went back up to mine.
“I’ll risk it.” He squeezed my shoulder once, gently, before removing his hand and heading out to get his stuff. When he was gone I let out a long deep breath, and tried to tell my weak knees to stop it. He was back in no time, with only a backpack and one bag. “Light traveler?” He shrugged and smiled at me.
“In my line of work you learn to travel light, because you’re always traveling.” I led him up the stairs, wondering if he was staring at my ass again, hoping a little that he was.
I had set up his room earlier in the day, the last one at the end of the second floor hall. It was the nicest one I had, decorated in dark woods with sumptuous pillows. There was a large deep chair in the corner by the window. I was already picturing him reading there. He’d been snapped more than once carrying books in his hand. It was one of the things I loved about his persona. Any man who reads is a man who can talk about something more than surface things, because his head is stuffed with thoughts longing to get out.
“You have a bathroom attached to your room. We have Wi-Fi access, the password is ESCAPE2HERE, all caps, and the number 2. When you get up, I’ll make you breakfast. Meenan sent me a list of things to pick up for you, but if you want something else, I can go back out later today and get them for you.
“We have cable access complete with HBO. Also, there
is a DVD player with a selection of movies available downstairs. We have Netflix access, as well. The TV in your room, and the one in the living room are both hooked up and ready to go.
“We have a fully equipped laundry facility that you can use, or I can assist you by doing your laundry as part of your stay.” I stopped there, he looked so tired I felt bad for doing this now. “I’ll tell you the rest in the morning, after you’ve gotten some rest.” The intensity of his stare was as powerful as it had been when I first saw him, only this time I thought for a second he was going to invite me in. I was perversely disappointed when he didn’t.
“Thank you, Annie. Good night.”
“Good night, Max. Sleep well.” I pulled his door closed and scampered away. I had told him there were movies, some of them were his movies. I had to take care of that, if I planned to keep my fangirl in the closet, gagged and tied.
After ten minutes of frantically cramming DVD’s in places around the house, I took a hot shower, and curled up on the sofa so that I would hear him when he got up. It took me awhile to get to sleep. I kept picturing him upstairs stretched out in the king sized bed, wondering if there would be room left for me, too.
3- Hidden Treasures
Max
The sun kissing my face woke me up. For a second I forgot where I was, and looked around, trying to remember. Slowly it came back to me. The images of what I had seen in the attic when I arrived here, and my brief meeting with the bewitching woman who owned Escape. I fell back on my pillow with a sigh. Thoughts of her had kept me hard and awake far too long last night, despite my exhaustion.