by D. S. Dehel
“Here we are.” He hopped up the stairs, and waited while India labored over each step. Her feet were crazy sore from both the heels and walking on rough surfaces. Once she reached the top step, he opened the door and sprang inside.
“Matt?” She had no idea what he was up to.
He stuck his head around the door frame. “Alarm. Come on in. It’s toasty warm in here.”
She sighed at the wave of heat that rolled out the door and greeted her by wrapping itself around her cold calves. “That feels marvelous. Your oil bill must be outrageous.”
“We don’t pay it.” He locked the door behind her and reset the alarm. “So we keep it warm enough to wear shorts. I, however, prefer it slightly cooler, so my room isn’t as warm. This way.” He led her from the marbled-floored vestibule down a short hallway that opened up into a central area where the ceilings had to be at least twelve feet. Everything was paneled in dark wood, and beginning on the left, a carved staircase snaked its way into the dim recesses of the house.
As she followed him up, the plush red rug felt heavenly on her battered soles. The pounding of feet came toward them from above. Within seconds, a tall -- Of course, he’s tall -- solid, strawberry-blond man came into view. “Hey, Matt?” What had started as a statement ended as a question.
“Hey, Axel. Did you meet India?” Matt either didn’t notice or ignored the mingled look of shock and horror on Axel’s face.
“I did earlier.” He wrinkled his nose. “What did you do to her?”
“There was an incident involving a duck pond. I brought her here to clean up, since her shower is broken.”
“Oh, okay.” Axel shrugged as if this were an everyday occurrence. Maybe it was in Sweden, or at least, that’s where it sounded like he was from. “I’m going to get something to eat. Would you like anything?” The last was directed at India.
“No, thank you. I really like the hat, by the way.” She genuinely wanted to get out of the hallway. She no longer dripped, but the stench of pond bottom mud was worse.
He beamed. “Thanks.” Then without further preamble, Axel trotted off, making more sound than one man should be able to create with just his feet.
Matt gestured upward with his head, and they climbed on. The idea of a shower spurred her on.
Chapter Four
Although it was after one in the morning, music and the sound of canned television laughter could be clearly heard from behind some of the doors. A plain wooden door made of the same dark wood sat the end of the hall. “It’s quieter down here.” He used the keys he still held to unlock the door. “Wait here a second.” He disappeared inside, then a moment later, a light came on. “C’mon in.”
The room was also paneled in wood, but this was a warm honeyed oak and the carpet and drapes were navy blue. She had taken in only this much when Matt ushered her to a door on the far side, and she couldn’t blame him for hurrying her. The mud had dried, and now she left a small snowstorm of brown flakes in her wake. “Bathroom.”
He flipped on the light to reveal Nirvana tiled in white and grey.
“Oh my. This… this is…” She held her arms out and let them flop to her side. A small cloud of putrid dust rose around her.
“A nice perk, no?” Matt gave her a quick tour. “Towels, and the rack is heated.” He picked up a towel that had been left on the floor. “The shower.” Here, he tugged open a glass door. “The controls are a bit fiddly, and watch out, the water can get hot quickly.” He waved a hand at the plastic bottles that littered the shower floor. “Use whatever you need.” He opened a nearby set of louvered doors and ripped out a washcloth and several towels. He plopped the latter on the towel rack, handed her the washcloth, then looked around. “I think that’s it.”
“Thank you so much.” India was torn between gushing and shoving him out the door. “I’ll try to spend less than an hour in here.”
He frowned.
“I’m kidding.” Mostly. “I’ll hurry.”
“Take your time.” He pointed to the bedroom door. “I’ll just find something to watch. Just toss that towel in the hamper.”
She waited until he shut the door to scurry over to the shower, chuck her shoes near the drain, and hop in, clothes and all, then she turned all the knobs up full blast, which wasn’t smart because the water was freezing, but soon became scalding -- the perfect temperature. The shower had multiple jets at various heights, perfect for sore muscles and for rinsing the mud out of her dress. Once that was done, she stripped layer by layer, soaping and rinsing herself clean, picking what she hoped were leaves out of her hair, and removing one squashed bug from the side of her hip.
Reluctantly, she turned off the spray. She really could have spent a great deal of time in the shower. After wringing out her wet things and drying her hair as much as she could with a towel, she wrapped herself in the largest bath sheet -- one large enough that she didn’t fear losing it as she walked -- and peeked through the bathroom door. Matt had changed out of his suit and now wore athletic pants and a plain white T-shirt. He lounged on the bed, feet crossed, one arm tucked under his head reading a novel. That was the sexiest thing she had seen in years.
He was so engrossed in the book that she watched for perhaps thirty seconds before he glanced up, then did a double take that ended in a smile. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you.” She held out her pile of damp things. “If you could point me in the direction of the dryer, I’ll toss these in. They should be done fairly quickly. The thought of putting damp clothes back on gave me the willies.”
“Oh, yeah. Here.” He sprang up and grabbed a pile off of the dresser. “I thought maybe you could wear these. I’ll take those to the dryer.”
“I don’t want to put you to any more trouble. You’ve already done enough.” And my underwear is in there.
He made a dismissive noise. “Switch.”
“If you’re sure --”
Seeing she wouldn’t win this argument, she handed over her things.
“Be right back, and then I can kiss you properly.” He disappeared down the hall, shutting the door firmly behind him.
The entire pile consisted of a T-shirt and sweat shorts, but Matt sized. Actually, not quite. The T-shirt emblazoned with the crest of the Milton Rovers must have been his, but would be too small now. Same with the shorts.
She hung up the towel and slipped on the T-shirt. One look in the mirror told her this could be problematic. The shirt itself was cream and therefore translucent. I wonder if he gave me this shirt on purpose. He’ll be able to see right through it.
The shorts were black and tied, so they weren’t a problem.
Matt had not returned by the time she emerged from the bathroom the second time. Unsure what to do, she surveyed the room. The furniture was Arts and Crafts in style, plain and pretty at the same time, but there were only a few pieces, a bed, a dresser, and two nightstands. A flatscreen television was mounted to the wall over the dresser.
In general, the room was neat. No clothing decorated the floor, though a sock peeped out from under the bed, which was at least a queen and certainly long enough for his legs. A blue duvet and stacks of standard pillows were the only ornamentation, no fancy useless pillows.
The linen-fold, carved paneled walls -- this was no cheap hardware store paneling -- bore little decoration, with one notable exception: on the far side of the bed hung a few framed pictures and the banner of the Milton Rovers.
Curious, she went to take a closer look. The banner bore the same claret and black crest as the shirt she wore. One of the photos showed a house in profile. The house was made of grey stones of various shades. In the distance, she could see the field from the photo she’d won in the auction. This must be his home in England.
The second photo showed a man and a woman standing in the garden of a cottage similar to the one in the previous photo. The middle-aged couple beamed at the photographer, arms around each other’s waist.
The final photo depicted a fo
otball stadium. A man and a teenager stood in front of the entryway. The man waved a Rovers pennant and the teen’s T-shirt bore the team crest.
A man and a boy. India began to feel queasy, so nauseated she put her hand on her stomach. He’s not a boy, not really. He’s in his late teens. She leaned forward for a closer look. In one hand, the teenager held a phone. She’d been so excited when Nolan had given her the same phone for her thirtieth birthday. She’d been thirty, and Matt hadn’t even gone to University yet.
Oh my god, what am I doing here?
“India? Are you okay?”
She hadn’t heard the door. “Sort of.”
“Are you sure?” He tilted his head.
Fatigue and nerves overwhelmed her. “Matt… I mean, I guess I could have looked it up on my phone -- where is my phone, anyway? -- but --”
“Your phone is in your purse.” He pointed to where her black bag sat by the dresser.
“Oh, okay. Thank you. So, um, Matt, how old are you?” She fiddled with the ties to the shorts.
He came around the end of the bed. “I’m twenty-six. I’ll be twenty-seven in September. Why?”
“Why?” Again, she sounded on the brink of hysteria. “Because I just turned forty in January, and I kissed you, and if you give me the chance, I’ll kiss you again, when I shouldn’t be kissing you at all.” I need to get out of here. What have I done? She brushed past him on her way to who knew where.
“Whoa. Wait.” He caught her arm. “Why can’t you kiss me? You’re divorced, right? Because I don’t condone cheating.”
“Yes, I’m divorced, but did you miss the part where I said I was forty?”
“You’re forty. So what?”
“I’m…” She tried to do mental math, but her brain wouldn’t cooperate. “I could be your mother.”
“Really?” He sounded amused. “You’d have been thirteen.”
“Well, I could have been your mother. Regardless, I’m old enough to be an aunt or big sister.”
“So? I don’t care how old you are.”
“But --” He doesn’t care. She crossed her arms. “You really don’t care how old I am?”
He sighed, looked away, then looked back. “I’ll be totally honest, you are older than I thought because you don’t look a day over thirty-five, but really, what difference does it make? I want you.”
“You want me?” She couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice. No one had ever been so blunt with her in her entire life.
“I do.” A small smile turned his lips upward. “I thought about accidentally-on purpose forgetting to turn the dryer on so you’d have to stay longer, and that would give enough time to figure out some way to talk you into my bed.”
He wants me. And I’m an adult. He’s an adult.
Matt let go of her arm. “I’ll take you home if you want.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Please don’t. I want you.”
That earned her a genuine smile. He put his hands on her waist. “So you don’t go anywhere. Now, to kiss you properly.” No hesitating kisses this time. His lips met hers firmly, and she pressed back urging him on. His fingers gripped her waist, and he pulled her closer, his hands sliding to her ass. She slid her hands up his chest and looped them around his neck.
Her heart pounded and her blood raced to parts she figured had atrophied. For the first time in a long time, she wanted someone. Not okay, we’ll have sex, but genuine desire bordering on lust.
Is he a kisser? I mean, he definitely can kiss, but is he a toucher? There’s so much I don’t know about him, but he definitely likes kissing.
They took their time, just kissing. Long, languorous kisses that made her heart pound and wish he’d move his hands, but it was uncomfortable because he stood at least six inches taller, maybe more.
I’ll look up his height tomorrow.
He must have been thinking the same thing because he broke their kiss and gestured toward the bed with his head. She nodded.
Now how to do this without making a hash of it?
Matt groaned and made a face. “Argh.”
“What?” Has he changed his mind?
Color flared along his cheekbones. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah, for me too, although I think we’re talking about different time scales.” She hadn’t had sex in two years, though she was very friendly with her vibrator.
He gave a low laugh. “That may be, but I never thought I’d have sex tonight.”
“Me, either.” Where is he going with this?
“Unless you…” He waved a hand in the direction of her purse. He let out a breath. “Protection.”
“Oh.” She could feel her cheeks grow warm. “I should have thought of that. No, I don’t.”
“Not a problem.” He headed for the door.
“Where are you going? If you’re going out, I’ll go with you.” It only seemed fair.
He laughed. “I live in a house with six other men. Someone is bound to be able to help us out.” He kissed her nose. A quirk she found she really liked. “Back in a tick.”
She watched him leave, then sat down on the bed, feet on the floor, and flopped back. She really was out of her element. The last time she’d had sex with a stranger -- many years ago -- they’d discussed safety, of course, but she never would have had the aplomb to just go ask friends for spare condoms. The world had changed while she was playing house with an idiot.
She closed her eyes, shoved those thoughts aside, and focused on the moment. His bed was really comfortable. If he didn’t come back soon, she might fall asleep, even with her feet dangling off the edge.
The door scraped across the carpet and the lock clicked. “That didn’t take long.” She opened her eyes and saw him smiling at her. He looked just as handsome upside down.
“Salé is ever dependable.” He tossed a few packs of condoms on the side table, and they promptly slid across and fell behind. Matt shook his head and went searching for them.
His awkwardness charmed her, and distracted her from the fact that Salé knew they were having sex.
“There.” He set the packs firmly on the table, put his hands on his hips, and surveyed her. “You have found one of my favorite positions.”
“Oh, yeah?” She arched her neck to get a better look at him.
“Mm-hmm.” He leaned across the bed and kissed her, a strange sensation upside down.
“I can think of several that begin this way and one that stays this way.”
He lay down on the bed. “I like the way you think.” Face to face now, she could see gold flecks in his green eyes. “I will be happy to show you what I mean, but not tonight. I think we’ll keep it simple tonight.”
She sat up and turned so she could see him better. “We don’t have to do anything. You look -- what’s the word? -- fashed. You look completely fashed.”
“Ooh, look at you using slang.” His voice held a gentle tease.
“All those hours of Britcoms had to pay off somehow.” She stroked his hair. “I’m serious, though, you do look tired.”
“I am, but not that tired, and you’ve had a long day, too.”
“I’m not that tired.” I can’t imagine ever being too tired to want you.
He caught her hand and kissed her wrist, a move so unexpected and sensual that she sighed. She leaned toward him, and he met her halfway. This kiss was electric, not tentative at all.
Game on. And her heart sped up. No more playing around.
Matt sat up and cupped her head in his hands, pulling her into a deep kiss. He tasted of butterscotch, sweet and surprising. He pulled away and kissed her neck, right below her ear. No one had done that in years, and it turned her on more than she had words to express, just a soft moan. She could feel his smile against her neck. “Lights on or off?”
“Whatever floats your boat.” She ducked her head and found his lips.
He ran a finger along her collarbone, raising delightful goosebumps. “My boat? What about yours?”
>
Ooh, he’s one of those guys. Yes! Too many men forgot their partner. “You’re doing just fine, and I have a feeling I’ll be happy either way.”
“Hmm.” He bit his lip, a wonderfully sexy move. “I know.” He slid out of bed and switched off the lamp on the nightstand, then flicking on the track lighting over the dresser, but dimming it to a warm glow.
She pointed to the other nightstand lamp. “I’ll get this one.” There was no way to turn it off from the bed without falling out, so she stood and finally found the switch on the cord.
“Better.” He faced her across the bed, then he yanked the comforter and sheet down.
“Good thinking.”
They faced each other across the vast expanse of the bed, and for a second, her brain asked what she was doing here. It must have reflected on her face, because he climbed on the bed, arms open. “C’mere.”
How could she resist an invitation like that? She climbed onto the mattress and melted into him. Enough thinking. This isn’t my first one-night stand. Just go with it.
So she did.
Matt was a torturer, one of those men who took his time, which gave her tacit permission to explore as well. She slipped her hands under his shirt. Warm, soft skin greeted her fingers. His muscles rippled as he shifted, and her heart kicked up a notch. Strength was an aphrodisiac for her, knowing he could overwhelm her -- but chose not to -- gave her a secret thrill.
Something about her touch must have turned him on because he suddenly tugged on the hem of her shirt. “As much as I love the way your breasts look in my shirt, you don’t need it anymore.”
She backed off the bed and yanked off her shirt, tossing it to the floor. For a long moment, he let his gaze trace her exposed flesh, as palpable as if he’d used the tongue that peeped out between his full lips, and her body responded.
“And you don’t need that.” She pointed to his shirt. “Come to think of it, those pants will just get in the way, too.” And you’re so tall that it’ll take me a month to get them off you.