The text was simple:
I look forward to seeing you tonight. I shall pick you up myself. Remember, I will text you at exactly 8:00 pm. I expect you to answer me straight away.
Kind of bossy
,
she thought. And yet, she was thrilled by the words. He wanted her. She thought it a little amusing that even his text messages sounded British. Bossy or not, she’d be
waiting
to answer that text.
She had a lot of texts messages from Julie, which went from,
Just checking in to see how you’re doing
to
Please call me. I’m really worried now!
She did owe Julie an explanation. The girl and her other co-workers were virtually all she had here. She had a few relatives and friends scattered in the Northeast. Her cousin, Tina was the only one she spoke to on a regular basis. Tina kept her abreast of all the gossip up there as well as any problems that came up with the house she’d left behind but still owned.
She called Julie who picked up on the first ring.
“It’s about time! Jesus Christ, Jen! Where are you?” Julie sounded worried.
“If I told you, you’d never believe me.” Jen teased. She couldn’t help it.
“Tell me anyway. Are you at least okay? You sound like you’re feeling much better than when I texted you yesterday morning.”
“Oh, I’m more than okay Julie. I’m at his house.”
“Whose house?”
“Who do you think?
His
house.”
“You’re at . . . Dorian Taylor’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Shut the fuck up
! No way! How in the world did you end up there?”
She briefly explained the unexpected invitation and the lovely dinner, but nothing more.
“So, did you do it?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.” She smiled mischievously, anticipating spending tonight with him.
“Well, if you don’t want to say. Oh the
hell
with that! Just tell me one thing. Was he as good as he looks?”
“Better.”
“Holy shit! I can’t believe you let him fuck you on your first date. And here I thought you were an innocent country girl!”
Geez, did everyone use the word “fuck” these days when talking about making love? It sure seemed like it.
Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Hang on a sec Julie. There’s someone at the bedroom door.”
“You’re in his
bedroom
? Is he there?”
“Yes I am. And no he’s not. Listen, can I call you back when I get home?”
“Sure. Make sure you do. You
slut!
I’ll have more questions.”
“Later gator.” She clicked the phone off.
Pulling the robe tightly around her, she went to the door. Ian Devereaux stood there, armed with a silver serving tray which held a carafe of coffee, an elegant porcelain teacup, a small crystal pitcher of milk and a matching bowl of sugar.
“Good morning, Ms. Reese. Mr. Taylor thought you might like some coffee in privacy while you get ready for your day. I’ll come fetch you in shall we say, a half-hour?”
“Come fetch me?”
“For breakfast of course. What would you like? Enrique can make anything you want.”
She thought about Dorian telling her how good Enrique’s croissants were. Even more, she thought about what he’d said about picturing her eating them.
“I’ll have the croissants.”
“Very well, Enrique will prepare them now.”
Chapter 12
Jennifer was relieved when Ian came for her. The kitchen was a good distance away and she would have found it difficult to locate. As they traveled through a never ending maze of hallways, she marveled at the sheer size and elegance of the house. The outside boasted a Mediterranean style and the inside kept the same theme. All of the doorways in the main part of the house were arched and open.
Looking up she noted the ceilings were either tray or vaulted. Most of the house was painted in a light off white, very tasteful. Even with its modern decor, the house exuded warmth.
She peered into the dining room where the now empty, highly polished dining room table sat. She blushed, recalling what Dorian had said he wanted to do to her on that table.
“Nice!” Jennifer exclaimed when she walked into the kitchen. It was huge. The cabinets and trim were all cherry wood
, and the counters black granite with chips of stone which flickered intermittently like embedded jewels. All the appliances were stainless steel. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that they were the best money could buy.
Enrique looked up from the stove, if you could call it that. It was astounding with its many electronic buttons and large cooktop.
“Good Morning, Ms. Reese.” He smiled cordially.
“Good Morning
, Enrique.” She sat at the breakfast bar on one of the padded, wrought iron stools and watched him move about the kitchen. She noticed how handsome he was. His hair was a deep lustrous brown, his teeth pure white and he had a full mouth and large brown eyes.
Geez! Is everyone around Dorian Taylor flat out gorgeous or what?
She thought.
Gorgeous or not, no other man could hold a torch to Dorian as far as she was concerned. There was something in his beautiful eyes that touched her very soul.
“I’ve prepared croissants as you requested.” He set down two plates in front of her. “Chocolate and Pecan. I was unsure of your preference Ms. Reese.”
“Please
, call me Jennifer. I love chocolate, but the pecan ones look really good too.” She put one of each on the serving plate he’d laid out for her.
Looking up at the clock, she noted it was coming on the noon hour. She really should be getting home and preparing for work tomorrow. She knew damn well her boss was going to expect double the work just for giving her Friday off. God, she hated him!
Unfortunately, Florida’s economy was even worse than Maine’s. She had a degree from Colby, a top school, a 3.95 GPA and still had trouble finding a job.
She felt that unwanted twinge of home-sickness again.
She sighed and ate two chocolate croissants
. I’ll call Tina when I get home today
, she thought.
“Are you alright, Ms. Reese?” Enrique asked.
“Oh yes. I’m sorry. I guess I was lost in thought. These croissants are the best I’ve ever had by the way.”
“Thank you, Ms. Reese. I mean . . . Jennifer.”
“You’re welcome.” She picked up one of the Pecan pastries and ate that too. “I may as well confess. I have a sweet tooth.”
He laughed easily. “That’s okay. I also love sweets.”
“Tell me, what’s it like to work for Dorian?”
“It’s a dream come true. I come from Cuba on the boat. He was looking for a personal chef. I worked as a chef in my country, but never thought I would get the job.”
“Did he sample the food? I mean, he’s such a picky eater from what I’ve seen.”
“No. Mr. Devereaux did. He recommended Mr. Taylor hire me right away. I’m grateful to them both. Mr. Taylor has . . . very specific tastes.”
She saw a flicker of uneasiness on his face then it was gone.
Perhaps he was uncomfortable talking about his employer,
she thought.
She said no more.
They were both silent for a moment. He poured her another cup of coffee and said quietly, almost revere
ntly, “Mr. Taylor is a good man, Jennifer.”
“Ah, I see you’ve had your breakfast.” Ian came breezing into the kitchen, with his usual cheerful smile.
“Yes. It was incredible. Enrique is very talented. Can you please give me a ride home Ian? I have some things I need to do.”
“Of course, but you’re welcome to spend the day here if you’d like.”
“I’d love to but I really do have things to do at home. My boss expects me to have some paperwork ready first thing tomorrow.”
“Very well.” He paused. “I’m sure Mr. Taylor has informed you he will be picking you up tonight. I suggest you be ready. He’s not a man you want to keep waiting,” he said seriously.
Jennifer felt a stab of anxiety. She really didn’t know that much about Dorian Taylor.
Ian dropped her off around 1:
30 pm. After spending time in Dorian’s home, her apartment appeared all the more drab, seedy and depressing.
She knew she should get some work done, but she was so tired. She laid on the couch with the TV on for background noise and fell asleep.
When she awoke, she had no idea how long she’d slept. What time was it? She heard the boom of thunder. Just like clockwork, the usual afternoon thunderstorms. It was 4:00 pm.
In four short hours she’d receive a text from Dorian.
It was Sunday and God only knew how late he’d keep her up. He seemed to be a night owl. She wasn’t.
She checked her phone for messages. She had one from Tina. Weird, she’d planned on calling her today. She dialed the Maine number, keenly feeling the 1,200 mile distance between them.
Tina picked up on the second ring. “Hey Jen, glad you called me back.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing really. Just wanted to catch up. I miss you.”
“I miss you too. How’s everyone up there?”
“Same old shit. Oh, by the way. Guess who I ran into at Old Orchard Beach a few weeks ago?”
“Who?”
“Jesse Moore.”
Jennifer was silent for a moment. Jesse Moore. The one guy in college who she’d had a major crush on. He’d never even looked her way. “Really? What’s he doing now?”
Like I care,
she
thought
.
“He’s working for some big time lawyer in Boston. Anyway he asked about you.”
“You’re kidding. I didn’t think he knew I existed.” She’d watched the ruggedly handsome, blue-eyed, blond haired guy so much during her time at Colby she was on the verge of becoming a stalker.
“I know. Go figure. But he did! Asked where you were and how you were doing. He was really surprised when I told him you moved to Miami.”
“Surprised? Why?”
“Jen, we were all shocked when you left Maine. Especially for a place like Miami. Maine is still as boring as hell, but Miami is like, well an entirely different planet.”
“You have no idea.” Jennifer looked out the window. She’d heard police sirens and watched as the cops landed in the parking lot, got out and ran to the back of the complex, guns drawn. She locked and bolted her front door.
What had she been thinking moving here? She was used to wide open spaces and fresh air. A place where there was very little crime. She was quickly learning there were far worse things than boredom.
“Are you . . . okay? You sound funny. Was that police sirens I heard?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. And yes that was sirens.”
“You should move back, Jen. The farm seems so barren now with all the livestock sold off and the house sitting empty. Maybe Jesse is interested in you. That would be great, don’t you think?”
Ah, baiting me to come home with the promise of a man she’d really wanted
.
In hindsight, he was a great looking guy and an asshole. Somehow, the two seemed to go together. She was over him. But her parent’s death and the sorrow of an empty home were things she wasn’t over.
She thought of the farm house, forlorn and lonely with no one to love it and care for it as her family had. It tugged at her heart to think of it. It still belonged to her. She wouldn’t sell the place. It had been in her family since her grandfather had built it with his own two hands.
The craftsmanship alone was impressive and the house, barn and pens which sat on over 30 acres of prime farm land would fetch a good price, even in this economy. She couldn’t sell it, just couldn’t. It was the one tie that bound her to Maine, to
home
and gave her roots. She’d never feel that way about Miami.
Then she thought of Dorian and how anxious she was to see him again. He was so different than anyone she’d ever known. It wasn’t just the sex either, well okay, it was partly the sex, but she sensed there was much more depth to him. Home didn’t have to be a place, did it? Couldn’t it be a person? Could that person be Dorian Taylor? Jesse was chopped liver compared to him. Actually, most guys were.