Maybe Baby (13 page)

“About what?” he asked, looking surprised.

“About staying here, without you being here. It’s going to make me feel really weird,” I said quietly.

“I see no reason why it should,” he replied nonchalantly. “You heard me ask Thatcher to see to your every comfort. He'll inform the rest of the staff to do the same.”

“I know,” I replied, “but what about when I’m off work? I mean, it’s sort of like I’ve been separated from the group.”

“You're not seriously thinking about going to work tomorrow are you?” he asked, incredulously.

“Well, yeah,” I answered. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You're not to leave the manor, do you understand?”

“Whoa Trey, I don’t understand.”

“I’ve already explained to you how I feel about you. If the first message you received with the jewelry left under your bed covers wasn’t clear enough, this latest one certainly was. No— I’m afraid I cannot allow you to put yourself at risk until we find out who's behind this.”

“I appreciate your concern for me and I no more want to stay in that cottage by myself than you want me to, but we have to draw the line somewhere. I still need to work. I could go behind your back and go in anyway tomorrow, you know that. So let’s please find a way to make it happen, okay? I want to work tomorrow.”

I saw a flicker of amusement cross his handsome features.

“Tell you what,” he offered, “why don’t I take you upstairs to my suite, and let you draw yourself a nice relaxing bubble bath? How does that sound?”

“I’d really like that,” I answered.

“Good, and while you're doing that, I'll make a couple of phone calls, and get myself packed for tomorrow’s trip. Then we’ll meet up and discuss tomorrow, sound fair?”

“Absolutely,” I agreed, flashing him a smile.

Trey led me upstairs through his suite of rooms to the large bathroom. There was a double marble shower at one end. In the center was a sunken bathtub with jets. The double vanity was against the adjacent wall next to the commode. The bathroom was ceramic tile throughout, with brass fixtures, ceiling fans, and one wall was completely mirrored. Trey gathered some clean towels and washcloths for me.

“Your suitcase is on the bed. You can unpack the rest of your things after your bath. I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

I nodded and smiled. I filled the sunken tub with vanilla bath oil. It felt so relaxing. After I finished my bath, Trey wasn't back yet so I found a short silk nightgown to wear to bed. I was so tired and Trey's king-sized bed was so inviting that I crawled beneath the sheets feeling safe and secure for once.

I woke up to a dark room and was momentarily alarmed until I remembered where I was. I heard the shower going in the bathroom. The clock on Trey’s nightstand read 11:33.

Trey and I still needed to have our talk. The shower stopped and within a few minutes, the bathroom door opened and he flipped the light off as he came into the bedroom. He was wearing only a pair of silk boxers. His stomach was flat and taut. He climbed into bed next to me and leaned over to set his alarm. I moved over to him and kissed him.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, turning over and pulling me close.

“I expected you to wake me. We're supposed to discuss tomorrow, remember?”

“It’s all taken care of,” he announced. “I called Rebecca and she will swing by here about 8:45 in the morning to pick you up for work, okay?”

“Great,” I said, happily.

“She will drop you back off here at 4:15 p.m. after your shift.”

“I don’t really think I’m comfortable staying here without you being here. I just feel weird about it.”

“Nonsense. This is where I want you this week, understood?”

“Whatever,” I replied pulling the covers up to my chin. I dozed off again briefly, waking a bit later, feeling Trey’s warmth right next to me. I snuggled closer to Trey, pressing my backside against his front to see if anything stirred.

“What,
are
you doing, Tylar?”

“Nothing,” I answered, continuing now to swivel my hips ever so slowly against his crotch. "Go back to sleep."

“I hardly think so,” he whispered. “Tylar, we talked about this earlier, remember?”

“No. You talked and I listened."

“Do you know how much I want to touch you? Do you know how much right this minute I want to be inside of you?”

“Then why
aren’t
you?” I asked. “What are
you
afraid of?”

His eyes darkened. “I'll tell you what I'm afraid of. I’m afraid of starting something that we can’t finish. I’m afraid that I may do something that will send you reeling back in time to some sick memory or childhood dream. I don’t want to be the person that evokes some deep dark memory or painful experience you’ve tucked away in your subconscious. I want to be the person that's there for you once you have found the answers, and works with you to chase those demons away.”

“You know, the fact you won’t touch me makes me feel all that much more damaged and undesirable. I’ll never be good enough for you, will I, Trey?”

“What?” he choked. "All I'm saying is that we need to take this slower." He continued to stare at me with those exquisite, blue eyes that totally drove me to distraction and riddled me with thoughts of moving things further …right this minute. I shrugged my pink robe on and headed to the bedroom door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

“To find another bedroom.”

I located a small empty bedroom around the corner from Trey’s wing. The wall switch turned on the light on the nightstand next to the made-up double bed. It was a pleasant enough room, definitely free of distractions. I climbed between the sheets and surrendered to sleep.

Chapter 15

Trey came to my “new” bedroom at 6:30 the next morning, waking me as he sat down on the bed beside me. He was dressed impeccably in a pale blue oxford button-down dress shirt that brought out the intensity of his sapphire eyes. His gray, tailored trousers accentuated his lean, muscular build. The gray and blue Repp striped silk tie made his Armani traveling executive look complete.

“Hey,” he said, sounding business-like, “I’m getting ready to take off for the airport. I just wanted to make sure you're settled in.” He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “There are larger rooms available—”

“This one's fine.”

“Okay then. Well, you have some time to get your things from my suite and get situated in here before you leave for work. Thatcher will get you anything you need if you let him know.”

“Fine,” I answered, not meeting his gaze.

“I want you to stay here all week. I'll give you a call when I can, but my schedule with the trial is fairly brutal. You can always leave a message for me on my cell and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. I left my business card with all of my contact information in Atlanta on top of your suitcase back in my room.”

At that point, I was merely nodding my head each time I received an instruction from him, half-listening. I wanted to go back to sleep.

“I guess that’s it, unless you have any questions for me?”

“Nope,” I answered rolling over so that my back was to him. “Have a safe trip.”

“Have a good week,” he said. I felt the bed shift as he stood.

“There's one other thing,” I heard his soft, silky voice. He'd come around to the other side of the bed, and was down on his haunches in front of me. He leaned over, his thumb brushing a tear that had spilled onto my cheek. He kissed me softly on my lips, stroking my hair. I threw my covers back a bit, raising myself to my knees to be level with him. I laced my arms around his neck and buried my face against his shoulder. He smelled so good. I was probably leaving tearstains on his impeccably ironed oxford shirt. He pressed me to him, his chin resting on my hair.

“Will you promise to be good and just stay here while I’m gone, please? I don’t want to be worried about you during this trial.”

“Yes I promise, Trey.”

He gave me another squeeze, kissing the top of my head. I pulled back, lifting my face to his. We kissed again, this time our lips moved sensually, passionately. I pressed myself to him, and my teeth gently tugged at his lower lip as we slowly parted. And then he was gone. I heard the heavy front doors downstairs open and close a few moments later.

My bedroom faced the front of the manor. The circular driveway was in plain view from the window. I could see that a limo was taking Trey to the airport. Thatcher was standing outside with him holding a leather duffel bag as Trey spoke to the driver. Trey held his leather briefcase; his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder. He looked like a model. He got into the limo as Thatcher handed him the leather duffel, closing the car door. The limo moved down the driveway. I watched it getting smaller and smaller, until it was a speck. I felt lonely and empty.

I padded down to his room to get my belongings. I felt closer to him just being around his things. I looked at the rumpled sheets and covers on his bed. I suspected he'd slept restlessly last night; the sheets were un-tucked at the end of the bed, the blanket and duvet twisted around each other. His boxers were on the bathroom floor where he'd stepped out of them. The bathroom still smelled of toothpaste, mouthwash, and his delicious aftershave. His navy blue terry robe was on the hook of the bathroom door.

I decided that, although I wasn't going to sleep in his room this week, there was no reason not to enjoy his amazing bathroom. I shut the bathroom door and stripped off my clothes. I wanted to take a shower where he'd been just an hour before. I shampooed my hair with his shampoo and conditioned it with his conditioner. I rubbed his body wash all over me, and shaved my legs with his razor.

Once dressed, I realized I'd need to return to my cottage to get more of the essentials. I'd have someone go along with me later after work. I went downstairs and nearly collided with Thatcher as he came into the entrance hall from the dining area.

He brought me a bagel and fruit as I requested, being overly polite and accommodating. Made me wonder if he did this often for Trey's female guests.

After breakfast, I went upstairs to collect my purse. I noticed that my bed had already been made up. Trey’s robe was hanging on a hook on the back of my bedroom door. I'd be pissed if someone moved it back to his room or, heaven forbid, laundered it. I heard the sound of a car horn outside. Mrs. Johnson was right on time. Trey was right, two minutes into the drive over to the Belle; Mrs. Johnson insisted I call her “Becky.”

She told me I'd be busy all week helping in the winery. She’d provided an employee nametag for me, instructing me it was mandatory to wear at this location because of tourists. It was primarily a security measure.

We arrived at the winery, which looked like a regular barn from the outside but was entirely refurbished inside. There was a door leading to the wine cellar, the site of my new assignment. I followed her down the narrow wooden steps to the cool dampness of the wine cellar. This wasn't too bad after all. I was going to like this. If nothing else, it was a great way to beat the heat outside. She led me through a narrow corridor, and then opened a wooden door to a large room that held the corking machine. It was fairly loud, and Becky shouted for the girl that was operating it to shut it off.

“Here’s your help, Gina,” Becky said to the girl.

“Tylar, this is my niece, Gina,” she said. “Gina, this is Tylar Preston, your help for the week.”

Gina cracked a dazzling smile as she walked over to me, wiping her hands on her pants and smoothing her short-cropped strawberry blond hair. “A fellow ‘cellar rat,’ welcome,” she said, holding her hand out to greet me. I shook her hand, confused by the job title. Gina laughed at my confusion.

“Don’t take offense; that's just what everyone in the wine business calls this entry-level position.”

“I’ll leave you to the training, Gina,” Becky said, making her way to the door.

“Don’t worry Aunt Becky,” Gina replied, still smiling. “I’ll have her up to speed in no time.”

“Just behave while you do,” Becky replied, shaking her head. I got the impression that Gina was a handful for her aunt.

“First off, we need to get you the proper uniform,” Gina said, selecting a clean apron from a stack on a shelf. “Tie this around you because it does get dusty down here, amongst other things,” Gina said in an accent that didn’t sound southern.

“Have you worked here long?” I asked, putting my head through the apron and tying it in the back.

“Only since I was a kid,” she answered.

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Gina said, taking a shop rag and wiping off the tool on the machine that lowered the cork into the bottle. The machine did not look high-tech whatsoever, but then again, this wasn't a major winery.

“I’m originally from New Jersey,” she explained. “Aunt Becky's my mom’s sister. I used to spend nearly every summer here. This is not my real job,” she explained. “I just came over to help my aunt out with this bumper crop. In return, she's cutting me a sweet deal on fifty cases of wine for our club.”

“You have a club?”

“Sure do,” she said, cracking her chewing gum. “My husband, Ian, and I opened it last year in Atlanta. That’s where we live now. It's a kickin’ place.”

Throughout the rest of the morning, Gina trained me in the art of being a cellar rat at a winery. It mostly consisted of tasks such as “hold this” or “clean that.” She instructed me on how to affix the labels onto the wine bottles. It wasn't rocket science, but it was nice having someone like Gina to talk to while doing redundant tasks. Gina was the type of person who'd never met a stranger. After spending just a couple of hours around her I felt like I'd known her forever; direct and unpretentious, I liked her immediately.

As it turned out, Gina’s Aunt Becky lived about a quarter of a mile down the road from the Sinclair Manor. I told Gina about staying at the manor. I noticed the raised eyebrow and soft little smirk that escaped from her after I mentioned it.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she replied, getting a shit-eating grin on her face. “How do you like Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair?” she asked innocently enough.