He released me, sliding his hand downward, pulling the sheet with it. My hands flew up to cover myself, but he caught them in both of his, holding them while he arched over, languidly kissing one of my breasts. My eyes closed, and I lay backward onto the pillow. He pulled his mouth away very slowly, the tip of his tongue the last part of him to lose contact with any part of me. Involuntarily, I cried out in protest. In a split second, his mouth was on my other breast sending an electric shock to the lower part of my belly. My hips rose up, and he pinned my body to the bed with his torso.
Easing his lips off of my tingling skin, he whispered, “Are you hungry?”
Oh, my god yes, famished, I thought, my eyes still closed. I could eat you alive.
“I’m starved to death,” I said huskily, putting my arms around his neck.
“Good, because I have pancakes with Nutella and cream started.”
“Oh!” I said, mortified. “Yes. Breakfast. Yum!” I sat up, and tried to look like the kind of girl who might sit properly at the table, discussing the weather and politics, instead of the sex-crazy succubus I felt like inside. “Pancakes. Very kind of you.”
Eyes dancing, he was already peeling his sweater over his head and kicking off his slippers. “Bad luck, breakfast has to wait now.” He slid his pajama bottoms to the ground, exposing his marble-hard thighs. “That little taste of you really whet my appetite,” he rolled onto the bed and threw back the sheet. “It’s all your fault for being so delicious.” Straddling me, he said, “Now I’m starving too.” He leaned over me brushing his stubble against my cheek, and whispered into my ear, “And pancakes aren’t what I’m looking for.”
****
With my cheek resting on Edward’s broad bicep, and my arm draped across his chest, I began falling into a post-coital nap. For just that moment, the rest of the world fell away. There was no Stephen, no Ben, no Mother, no advanced degree to earn, no new career to get started on, and no empty kitchen waiting for me.
This must be what Aunt Suze means when she talks about being fully present. If the roof caved in and killed me right now, I could die happy.
“Much as I hate to move, I’d better get up if I’m going to send you off with a proper breakfast,” Edward said, gently moving my head to the pillow. “It’s 5:30. You’ll want a minute to go back to yours and dress so we can get to the kitchen on time. I don’t think Roth will accept ‘caught up in the throes of passion’ as an excuse for tardiness.”
My stomach turned over when he mentioned Jasper Roth. “He can’t know about us!” I said. Edward tilted his head quizzically. “I mean, of course, no one here can know. I mean, really, it’s none of anyone’s business.”
“That’s true enough,” Edward said, walking into the galley kitchen. “What’s between us is between us.”
Why do you care what Jasper thinks? I asked myself. I didn’t like the question. Shut up, Juliet.
“What I’m trying to say,” I stammered out loud, “is that there must be rules against…you know, fraternization or whatever.” I waited for a response and got none. “It’s just that we have to think professionally, right?” No answer. “Can I use your bathroom?” I called.
“Go right through. You don’t have to ask any more,” he answered.
By the time I got back from the bathroom, he had a steaming cup of foamy coffee sitting next to a gorgeous plate of chocolatey pancakes.
“Sweets for the sweet,” he said, leaning over and nuzzling my cheek.
What was I doing? I had just been preaching to Posy about sticking to the plan, and as of yesterday, hot sex with my co-worker under my boss’s nose, and a ten-thousand calorie breakfast had definitely not been part of it.
“Edward, listen…”
“Shh,” he said, putting his finger to my lips. “Not this time, Wordy Girl. This time let’s just enjoy our day, and not talk it to death.” He looked at me long and hard, with something like appreciation in his green-gray eyes. “All I know is this – I just made earth-moving, mind-twisting, bone-dissolving love with a woman who really means something to me. That’s a good thing. Now eat your pancakes. We’ve a long day ahead of us.”
“Edward, why in God’s name is there a carton of orange juice on this list? If you don’t want to squeeze orange juice every day – and I mean every day – before breakfast, you don’t want to work at Thornton Hall,” barked Jasper Roth as he burst through the swinging oak door leading from the dining room to the kitchen. “Oh, it’s you.”
“And good morning to you, Mr. Roth,” I said, cheerily. I’d seen his moods before, plenty. No doubt he was feeling the stress of hosting holiday guests. He thought he’d take it out on Edward, but even this bad-tempered greeting couldn’t pop the balloon in my chest and slam me back to earth. I all but forgave him for his bad behavior in my cottage last night. Anyway, after my blissful night, those feelings of anger were a very distant memory.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Yes, we did establish that. And I did, indeed, sleep very well, thank you for asking,” I said evenly, as I turned my back turned to him. I monitored a cast-iron pot of steel-cut Irish porridge, trying to appear busy. I felt him staring at the back of me, and I started to get uncomfortable.
The hairs on my neck prickled. Did I have missionary-position bedhead? I tried to think back to whether or not I’d thoroughly brushed my hair after skulking back to my cottage. You’re fine, Juliet. Keep it calm and easy, I counseled myself. He can’t read your mind. Nothing could blacken my mood today. After the things Edward had done to me, relaxed wasn’t a strong enough word to describe my state.
Sneaking a look back at my employer, I noticed he looked good this morning…really good. He was very casually dressed in a black, half-zip cashmere sweater and khakis. His dark curls were gleaming and his skin was a high color. He’d probably just come off the treadmill.
I smiled inwardly, after a night of perfect sex, does every man have to look like a meal? It’s bad enough I’ve just slept with a colleague, don’t even think about what it might be like with your boss. Especially not this boss. This married boss. Still, my mind wandered without my consent. Just because the familiar smell of his aftershave piqued my interest, it didn’t mean I was going to act on it.
I couldn’t wait to call Posy. It had been too early to call her when I’d left Edward’s cabin in the dark, and I’d had to hit the kitchen before sun-up. My cell doesn’t work on this vast expanse of land they call the grounds of Thornton Hall. When I want to communicate, I have to use the house phone in the laundry or the kitchen. There wasn’t much privacy to be had, so I always had to plan calls strategically. Maybe I’d even tease her and tell her I’d been eyeballing stormy Mr. Roth, thinking about him right before I’d succumbed to Edward. She was always after me to stop being such a prude.
This morning, though, I thought it best to stay above Jasper’s games. I’d seen his moods at the ski lodge, I’d seen them in the
