The Widows of Sea Trail-Vivienne of Sugar Sands

by Jacqueline DeGroot

  “The expression is you’re batting five hundred.” He opened a pantry door and flicked on a light. There were tall bakers racks neatly parked along the wall, each holding at least fifteen baking sheets on its multi-shelved chrome frame. There must have been at least ninety shiny siliconlined baking sheets. “Help yourself.”

  “My gosh, what do you need all these bakers racks and ovens for? You have a kitchen big enough to feed battalion.”

  “It often does. I help feed the homeless. I hire women from the church to make baked goods for the mission I founded. They come in every other Thursday and make all manner of things that we distribute to the homeless on Fridays.”

  “You’re amazing. How could any woman not love you?”

  He stopped in his tracks on the way back to the grill. “I’m pretty sure that I haven’t heard you say that you did, tonight.”

  He didn’t bother to turn around. I grabbed a cookie sheet and dumped the fries on it just in time to hear the oven ding saying it was preheated. I shoved the tray inside and dug the muselet, the cage that had covered the champagne cork, out of the trash compactor. I untwisted the wires and fashioned a crude ring using the metal disc proclaiming that the champagne we were drinking was Veuve Clicquot, as the decorative part.

  Then I marched out onto the stone terrace of the summer kitchen and knelt on one knee at Philip’s feet. “I love you. I’ve been in love with the idea of you from almost the beginning of this matchmaking thing, but I’ve been in love with you since you bared your soul, told me your heartbreaking story and asked me to help you let go of your past. The day Roman carried me in from that awful storm I told myself that I wouldn’t settle for anything less than the type of love Matt has for Cat or Roman has for Tess, and you’ve shown me that I don’t have to. Philip, would you do me the honor of becoming my husband?” I held the makeshift ring forward, the metal cork topper above the twisted wires making it look like an oversized signet ring.

  He put the spatula down and wrapped his arms under my elbows and lifted me to my feet. His kiss wiped out all thought, and I’m fairly certain I dropped the ring. I know I burned the French fries. But neither one of us cared. Turns out we both like them extra crispy.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Ironing out the details “You never answered me,” I mumbled around the bite of cheeseburger I was chewing.

  He chomped on a French fry, nibbling it from the end down to his fingertips then he popped the end piece into his mouth. “I like the idea of you being my wife, don’t know why I didn’t think of it,” he said, and I looked over in time to see his big grin.

  “Seriously, I always knew where this was going to go. It was just a matter of getting you on board. So how are we going to do this? Fanfare or elopement,” he asked.

  “Oh, I hadn’t bothered to give that any thought whatsoever,” I said. “What do you want?”

  “Well, I suppose I do have to run this by my attorneys, that might take a couple of days, that won’t bother you, will it?”

  “I will be giving up some of my husband’s benefits when I marry you, so I hope you’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Sweetheart, if I go first, you’ll get it all. I want to see my attorneys to make sure you’re taken care of properly, not so I can do a pre-nup.”

  “Oh. Well, then I guess I’m fine with that.” I looked around the kitchen where we sat eating our cheeseburger and crispy fries on greasy paper plates. “Don’t know what I’ll ever do with a kitchen like this though. So make sure you leave me those church ladies numbers when you go. Hate to see all this go to waste.”

  He laughed outrageously, snorting some of the champagne he’d been sipping at the time.

  “Sorry,” he said as he used his napkin to swipe at his face.

  “Do we have to live here?” I asked. I thought of all the events alreadyon my calendar that I had been looking forward to: the bike ride to Bald Head Island with the Sunset Cyclists, Anne Harris’birthday party at Las Palmeras on July 1st, Pat Wilson’s at La Cucina on July 29th, Jo Oler’s fall cooking classes. Even though Jo had recently sold Sunset Gourmet to Stephen and Ann, on Craig’s List no less, I was looking forward to seeing her at the classes—I loved those classes. Hmmm . . . I wondered if she would consider catering our reception? Thoughts about my poor abused calendar, now rumpled and tossed in my kitchen drawer at home, careened around in my head. I realized in that moment that I couldn’t plan my life out now, not even the next few months. I had someone else I had to consider now and that was going to take some getting used to. While I wanted to be with Philip, I also wanted to be with my friends. He would have the same issues. And then of course there was Michael, and the plans he and I would have to make. Just how was this all going to play out? But Matt and Cat had managed combining two very active lives, so had Roman and Tess. I was confident that Philip and I would find our own compromises and settle into a lifestyle that worked for both of us.

  “No, we can live wherever you want. I suspect this will be home base though. I want to travel. And of course, I know you want to spend time with your friends, which is fine with me, as I can always golf. The Strand has plenty of golf courses to keep me busy.” He leaned over and kissed my bare shoulder. “That is, when you’re not keeping me busy.”

  I took the last bite of my cheeseburger and then gulped down what was left in my champagne glass. “God, I’m full. But that was a fantastic meal.”

  “I would have bought you lobster.”

  “Thank you. But really, this was perfect, absolutely perfect. Except that I ate too much.”

  “Would you like more champagne?”

  “The bottle’s empty.” I had turned it upside down in the ice bucket myself after refilling our flutes.

  He pulled me off the seat and walked me around the corner and down a short series of steps, then turned me by the shoulders so I was looking through a huge glass door. On the other side of the door was rack after rack after rack of wine bottles. He leaned over my shoulder and pointed to the right where I saw floor-to-ceiling racks of champagne, distinguished from the wine bottles by their foil encrusted tops.

  “A never-ending supply, my dear. My dowry to you.”

  “You should have mentioned this earlier. I wouldn’t have played so hard to get.”

  He guffawed and slapped my back lightly. We were getting wasted, and it was lovely.

  “C’mon, let’s take a bottle upstairs, I want to drink out of your navel.”

  “Well we’ll never keep this buzz that way, can’t you think of something larger?”

  His eyebrow lifted in that very sexy way he had. “I can indeed. Here,” he opened the door, and used his arm to motion me inside, “pick out two bottles while I refill the ice bucket. Then I want to do what they do in the movies.”

  “Uh oh. What kind of movies?”

  He laughed, his head thrown back as if I’d just said the funniest thing. “Regular Hollywood movies. The kind where they leave their clothes trailing all through the house. When the housekeeping staff gets here tomorrow, I want them to whisper behind their hands.”

  “That’s hysterical!” I hooted with him. “Hey, and we can attach some of your neckties to the bed posts and they’ll think . . .”

  His head turned and his eyes found mine. In a husky voice, he said, “I have special silk scarves especially for that. Grab those bottles and tell me what you want taken off first,” he said as he whipped his belt off and dropped it to the floor. He was unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his waistband when I came out of the wine cellar with cold bottles of Grand Cru in each hand.

  “Well what’s it to be?” he asked.

  I had removed my wrap earlier. The only clothing I wore was my dress, that and my underwear. I didn’t want to go though the house, in front of all those windows in just my bra and panties. After that monstrous burger and all those French fries, I was sure I’d have a pauch to hide. “How about my underwear?”

  He smiled, “Agirl who knows what she wa
nts. I love it.”

  He knelt and lifted my hem to my waist and then with both thumbs, he slowly drew my panties down and helped me step out of them, then artistically draped them over one of the steps leading from the wine cellar.

  He dropped his shirt in the kitchen, grabbed the ice bucket and added ice, opened a cabinet and took out two new glasses. In the foyer he unzipped my dress and helped me out before tossing it onto the hardwood floor. On the grand staircase he insisted I hang my bra on the newel post at the landing. I was already naked so I put the bottles on the steps, pushed him down on one, and pulled his pants off. These I left at the top of the stairs. His underwear I tossed up on to the high hanging chandelier.

  “They’re going to need a ladder to get that down,” he mumbled.

  “You wanted them to talk.”

  “About your underwear, not necessarily mine.” “Fair for the goose . . .”

  He was wearing only a t-shirt as we climbed the last carpeted steps that lead up to the master suite. “We probably should have taken the elevator,” he said as I stumbled up the last two steps ahead of him, “but I sure would have hated to have missed this view.”

  Had I been sober, I would have cringed at the thought of where his eyes were focused. I turned back to see that despite what I thought my butt looked like, he definitely was finding it pleasurable to look at. His penis was tenting his undershirt, considerably.

  “You know what’s going to be nice?” I said.

  “What?” he asked as he followed me into the suite, the champagne glasses clinking along with the ice in the bucket.

  “Making love in a bed. We’ve dillied and we’ve dallied quite a bit, but now we can do it all in a bed.”

  He put the bucket and glasses on a side table then took the bottles from my hands and put one in the ice bucket. The other, he opened and poured. Handing me a glass, he filled his and then we clinked them together. “To waking up in bed with a sticky woman glued to my side. Now stand on your head so I can fill you up,” he whispered and leaned in to kiss me.

  I laughed and reached down to stroke his cock and he jumped back three feet.

  “Jesus woman, your hands are cold! And cold is definitely not what we want down there!”

  I had just carried up the chilled bottles and had forgotten how cold my hands were. We both looked down and watched as his impressive hard on shriveled some. “This can’t be good,” he moaned.

  I laughed and took a swig of my drink, holding it in my mouth to warm it. Then I knelt at his feet and took him into my mouth. I sucked him and the sparkling wine down. The clash of sensations caused his hand to grip my head and I watched as he trickled some champagne from his glass along the length of his penis so that I could lick more off it.

  We worked together as a team until I had slurped down the best part of two glasses and his seed. Laying on his bed, tucked under his arm, my head resting on his shoulder, I looked up at the ceiling. I was not surprised to discover my naked self staring back at me. It figured he’d have a mirror over his bed, bed posts with rings on them, and special silks to attach me to them.

  But right now, the man who had paid a matchmaker to find him a wife, was sound asleep, snoring softly. He’d drunk more champagne from my body than I drank in total because he wouldn’t give up and I couldn’t quit laughing. In the end, I’d finally forced him to accept the fact that it was not going to happen for me tonight, that I’d be more receptive in the morning. I’d had way too much to drink, and was content to just fall asleep in his arms. He promised me a rain check and had even gotten up to write me one. I was gripping it in my hand, hanging off the side of the bed, and I could see it reflected in the mirror above. I lifted my hand and reread it for what must have been the tenth time. “I promise you orgasms, and cheeseburgers—thick juicy ones that leave you sated and spent. And as much champagne as you can possibly drink—but not at the same time!”

  I smiled and let it flutter to the floor where I would retrieve it in the morning. For now, I needed sleep. And some inkling about how to handle this little issue with Michael.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Hangover Iawoke to arms wrapped around me, and warm breath fanning my ear, then to a head that felt so fuzzy that I could hardly bear to lift it. I groaned and it hurt inside my eyes.

  “I was wondering when you might open those baby blues.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  He chuckled and I felt it reverberate through my body, and not in a good way. “We can spend the day in bed if it suits you.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Just let me stand under the shower for a while.”

  “Alone I take it?”

  “If you don’t mind. I don’t have the energy to suck my gut in or uncross my eyes at the moment,” I said as I moved out of the circle of his arms and shoved the duvet that felt like a cloud aside. “I feel as if champagne is leaking out my pores.”

  “How about I give you some time to pull yourself together,” he offered. “How much time do your figure you might need?”

  “About four hours,” I mumbled as I closed the bathroom door behind me.

  I could hear him laugh as he got out of bed and tripped over the ice bucket. The stream of curses that followed caused my lips to rise at the corners. I could only imagine how that must feel—really, really ice-cold water on naked, waking feet.

  The shower did me a world of good and the coffee waiting on the countertop when I walked out of the tiled enclosure turned out to be my salvation. By the time I had dressed and made myself up, the fog had lifted and I was able to function almost normally.

  I met Philip in the kitchen where he was making breakfast. All carbs, as we both knew anything greasy was not going to work on our stomachs. He had homemade oatmeal with escalloped apples and cinnamon, and French toast made with raisin bread and syrup. It hit the spot and miraculously stayed down. The mimosas made with yet another bottle of champagne and some fresh squeezed oranges was the hair of the dog to clear out the remaining cobwebs and jolt me into second gear.

  “So what’s planned for today,” I asked.

  “I thought we might do a little museum hopping then relax by the pool until it’s time to get ready for dinner.”

  “The pool? Where’s there a pool?”

  “Here, on the second level. There’s a full gym, too—I don’t have a beach for you to walk on, but you can use the treadmill, the stair stepper, or the elliptical trainer if you’d like.”

  “No thanks. I swore off exercise for this weekend. I’ll do some laps in the pool later though. I may be up to it by then.”

  “You’ll have to do them naked.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a house rule. All beautiful women swim naked in the pool.”

  “I’m not a beautiful woman, not by a long shot. You

  Vivienne of Sugar Sands must need glasses or contacts.”

  “I’ve had Lasik—my eyes were corrected, and they are

  damned near perfect. And you are beautiful.”

  “Then your standards are woefully low.”

  He walked around the table and pulled me to my feet.

  “You just don’t know how much of a total package you are.

  You’re sweet, sexy, a good sport, and very down-to-earth.

  And I find you utterly beautiful.”

  He kissed me on the lips, then on each bare shoulder. I’d

  dressed in a halter-styled dress, planning on layering with

  a matching sweater. I shivered with desire, his lips were so

  warm and firm as they trailed down my arm that I couldn’t

  help but tingle as I felt the intense heat course through my

  veins.

  “I would love to continue, and work my way down your

  throat to your breasts and beyond, but I’ve already called for

  the car. And judging from your reaction, all your dressing

  and making up efforts could easily go to waste if we don’t

  get
on the road.”

  “Let me just get my purse,” I whispered. Then artfully,

  I ran my fingers over what I suspected was a pronounced

  arousal under his belt. He grabbed my wrist at the last second,

  keeping me from getting away.

  “On second thought, he is my driver, and he is on salary.” “I want you to show me your city. We can play when we

  get back while we’re in the pool . . . naked.”

  “Is this how I can expect our marriage to be, you teasing

  me and then denying me the pleasure of your charms?” I smiled up at him. “I’m not denying you anything, I just

  thought you might like sitting on the edge of the pool while

  I . . . well never mind.”

  “No, don’t never mind me. What were you going to say?” “Let’s just say, breakfast was nice, but I’m going to

  need some protein later, as much as you can muster up.” I

  used my best Marilyn Monroe imitation, which I knew to be fairly good. I could do the sexy, innocent, young thing to

  perfection . . . when I put my mind to it.

  He groaned and I put my hand over his erection. “No

  lunch for you then. I want you starved for protein by the time

  we get back,” he said in a low throaty voice.

  “Trust me, I will be.” I patted the long column bulging

  under his zipper and he whimpered.

  “We’re going to be perfect together,” he murmured when

  we were settled in the back of the limo. His hand, wrapped

  around mine, lifted my hand to his lips and he kissed each

  knuckle. “Just perfect.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Pool party We toured the city and saw the Imax Dome, the live rain forest, Discovery Place, and the Bechtler Museum of Modern Art before heading back to the house. And with no discourse whatsoever, we went up to the master suite where we both took off all our clothes and donned thick plush robes. Within minutes we were poolside with vodka tonics in our hands.