Fumbling through the drawers she found her boy shorts and a white stretch top. She dressed quickly and tumbled into bed, her hair still wet. When she woke up she’d have a hairdo like Einstein, but she was too tired to care. She pulled the crisp, white sheet to her chin, and stretched her arms out on both sides of her. The mattress molded comfortably around her body. It felt as if she was lying on feathers. There was enough space for four of her on the bed. Suddenly, she felt lonely and cold. Hot, unwelcome tears found their way over her cheeks anew, dripping into her hair. She turned her face into the softness of her pillow, pretending that she wasn’t crying at all.
Fraya surprised herself by sleeping right through until the following morning. It was the first, uninterrupted stretch of sleep she had in months. Her pain was gone, at last–no doubt courtesy of Emilio’s precious sperm–but she was in a foul mood. It had nothing to do with denied orgasms and spiteful men, she assured herself.
She needed coffee. A morning without coffee was a dangerous thing. Normally Fraya had her first cup even before she was fully awake, another cup while she got dressed, and another for breakfast. Anything less would leave her grumpy for the rest of the day. The rumbling sound of her tummy reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the day before yesterday. Now, feeling rested and no longer in agony, her hunger kicked in with a vengeance.
Fraya pulled a T-shirt and sweat pants over her sleep wear and made her way downstairs. In the entrance she turned to the left, to where she guessed the kitchen should be. She opened a door next to the lounge, but found it to be the dining room. There was a fourteen-seat table in dark wood with antique chairs, each one unique. Maybe Emilio was a collector of old books and chairs.
The door next to the lounge proved successful. It was early. Maria wasn’t in yet. She went through the cupboards, finding coffee beans and sliced, freeze-dried bread dough that looked nothing like the dehydrated type she got from the food stores. It was made from a hundred percent wheat flour, she saw from the nutritional label, unbaked, the type you had to pop in a toaster to cook. She was filling the coffee machine with water when a voice made her jump.
“You’re up early.”
Fraya flung around to see Emilio crossing the floor, looking irresistible in running shorts, a thin T-shirt, and trainers. His clothes were showing off way too much muscle for her wellbeing. She was still upset about his so-called revenge and punish fuck, but he made it hard for her to be angry with him when his smile was so warm and genuine.
“Do you mind?” She motioned at the toaster where her bread was grilling.
Suddenly embarrassed at the memory of how much she had enjoyed having him in her mouth last night, she felt her cheeks grow hot and her insides turn warm, much warmer than the red-hot coils of the toaster.
“I’m rather hungry,” she said.
Damn, that line came out all wrong. Good thing he couldn’t read her mind.
“Fraya,” he said, his voice stern, “why would I mind? This is where you live.”
The way his eyes lingered on her breasts unnerved her more than what she wanted to admit. He could order her to her knees right now and she’d do it without blinking, without having her first coffee. She reprimanded herself for her thoughts, looking everywhere but at the bulge in his hot, tight pants. God, she was needy.
“Want me to show you how to work the coffee machine?”
She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”
“Let me get this,” he said, giving her his reassuring smile, the one she thought he had lost somewhere between shagging her in his office and the blowjob of last night.
Honestly, she could repeat the desk scene. If he had just given her a few more seconds, she would have crashed around him to pieces, coming so hard it would have been impossible to walk. When he held out his hand, she frowned. Was he asking her to perform some decadent sex act with a silent instruction? The tightness in her womb told her how willing she was to obey.
“Can I have the coffee?” He raised his brow.
“Huh?” she asked, blinking.
He motioned at the jar she clutched against her chest.
“Oh. Yeah.” She handed him the glass container.
“Are you alright?” His imploring gaze lingered on her face. “I didn’t want to wake you for dinner. I thought you needed your rest. Did you sleep okay?”
She shook her head, but said, “Yes.”
“Fraya?” He frowned.
“What?”
“Which is it? Yes or no?”
“Yes or no what?”
“Did you have a good night’s rest, or not?” He frowned again, but this time a smile plucked at his lips.
“No.” She shook her head again. “I mean, yes.”
He chuckled. “While you make up your mind, let me prepare you some coffee. You seem to need it.”
She watched his backside as he bent over the machine, hearing nothing of the instructions he gave while he scooped the beans into the grinding compartment. Soon heavenly smelling ground coffee dropped into the filter.
“There we go.” He pressed the button. “Should be ready in a few minutes.”
He gave her a peck on the cheek and moved to the backdoor. Fraya’s hand went to her face, to the spot his lips had touched. It seemed a rather platonic kiss after the intimacy of the day before. Emilio acted as if it had never happened, as if it didn’t cross his mind, and here she was craving him worse than food. It wasn’t the discomfort she had lived with for the past year that fueled her desire now. It was something else. Maybe she really needed that orgasm.
“Aren’t you having breakfast, or...” she cleared her throat and waved her hand in the air, “coffee?”
His grin curved those sexy lips she’d rather have on certain naked parts of her body. Fraya jerked when the bread popped from the toaster. She turned her back on him, busying herself with the toast, burning her fingers.
“I always go for an early run,” he said. “I have breakfast after.”
“Mmm,” was all she could manage, feeling his pause before she heard his shoes hitting the gravel path. Fraya closed her eyes and blew out a puff of breath.
She turned back slowly and watched through the open door as he made his way up the road heading for the front, his rock-hard body a too real reminder of what she needed more than coffee this morning.
After two slices of toast, Fraya still felt hungry. She was delighted to find strawberries, grapes and melon in the fridge. She couldn’t remember the last time she tasted fresh fruit. It was wonderful not to have jelly fruit squares for a change. She prepared a fruit salad, which she carried outside with her second cup of coffee. It was a beautiful morning. She found a sunny spot at the veranda table and installed herself, trying to calm her rioting body and fragile nerves with the serene surroundings.
Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the chair back and took a deep, cleansing breath. Something about her situation was off. For some inexplicable reason she wasn’t nearly as upset about Gene’s decision than what she should have been. Practically, he had bowled her over. But she should be feeling more emotionally. Maybe it was the shock, and it was going to hit her later. She forced her mind in a different direction, considering the arrangements she had to take care of now that she was here. That should do it. Planning and organizing always had a calming effect on her. But then the sound of those running shoes came crunching right back into her senses, cutting a path straight to her gut. She opened her eyes warily. Emilio slowed his pace and stopped at the bottom of the steps, his hands on his hips.
As much as she hated his arrogance, she couldn’t keep her eyes off that body. He smiled at her, catching his breath. You’d say butter couldn’t melt in his mouth, Fraya thought. Looking at him now, one would never guess how wicked he could get behind a closed door.
She finally said, “There’s more coffee,” and almost bit her lip for how stupid it sounded.
He came up the stairs and paused next to her.
“Thanks, but I’ve fallen behind on work with the ... unforeseen turn of events. I’ll have something at the office.”
Her stomach dropped and fell into a deep, dark hole. And it took her mood with it. Why was she suddenly so disappointed when she should be relieved?
“Oh,” was all she managed.
He had the nerve to ruffle her hair before he hurried to the kitchen door, only to stop in his tracks.
“Granny?” she heard him exclaim.
In the next instance she saw a small, slender woman walk onto the veranda. She looked very elegant in a two-piece suit and patent leather shoes with a matching handbag. Emilio jumped forward, wrapped his arms around the tiny woman and almost lifted her off her feet.
“Careful,” she said, her voice filled with laughter. “At my age you’ll crack a rib if you squeeze like that.” She turned to Fraya. “Grip of an Anaconda he has, this boy. But I guess that you already know.” She winked.
Emilio put his hands on the slight woman’s shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to meet my new granddaughter-in-law, of course,” she said, shooting him an incredulous look.
“Is there even such a word?” Emilio said.
His grandmother clicked her tongue. “There she is. Very real. And very pretty.”
Fraya got to her feet.
“Well?” Emilio’s grandmother turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to introduce us and offer me a chair, or do I have to stand here at my eighty-five years?”
Emilio held out his hand for Fraya. Fraya allowed herself to be pulled to his side, not sure if she should shake hands, or kiss the other woman’s cheek. Before she could do either, Emilio’s grandmother embraced her.
“Welcome to the family, Fraya.” She gave another squeeze and let go. “You can call me Ofelia. And congratulations for doing what we believed no woman could accomplish–dragging my grandson to the altar. My, you’re such a pretty thing. Soon, I hope to thank you for my great-grandchildren.” She gave Emilio an accusing look. “The ones he owes me before I die.”
“Grandma,” Emilio said with a note of warning, but his eyes were all smiles. He pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down.”
“Don’t you ‘Grandma’ me with that tone of yours. Now, have a seat and tell me all about your mating. I couldn’t come yesterday. Had a bad spell of constipation. At my age it gets difficult, you know.” She winked again. “Old body is not what it used to be.”
“Thank you for coming,” Fraya said, fumbling with the hem of her T-shirt.
Emilio got up and kissed his grandmother on the head. “Well, you two girls get to know each other. I have to go. I’ll come by later tonight, Granny.”
“You sit right back down, Mister,” Ofelia said. “You’re not going anywhere. I may not live until tonight.”
It was with much surprise that Fraya saw Emilio obey. So, a big, muscled man like Emilio was afraid of his little, frail grandmother, scarcely a head taller than herself.
“Have you children had breakfast?” Ofelia looked at Fraya’s plate. “You can’t grow strong on grapes.”
Fraya opened her mouth, but Ofelia was already on her feet. “If I’m not mistaken I smelled coffee when I came through the kitchen. You,” she pointed at Emilio, “pour me and your beautiful little wife each a cup, and I’ll fix some real breakfast.”
Fraya shook her head. “Really, that’s very kind Mrs. ... Ofelia ... but not necessary. I’ve had toast and I think Emilio is in a rush to get to work.”
“Rush? Gmfp.” Ofelia stuck her nose in the air. “He’s on honeymoon.” She hooked her arm through Fraya’s. “Come on, girl. That commercially produced bread is not food.” She mumbled under her breath, “You may as well eat cardboard.”
Fraya had no choice but to follow, and as she looked back at Emilio, she caught him grinning with a look of affection and admiration.
* * * *
His grandmother made him and Fraya sit at the kitchen table while she fastened an apron and started preparing pancake batter. Eggs, being as scarce as they were, were expensive as hell, but just as well he kept a supply, because Ofelia refused to use the synthetic type. And with the amount of baking she insisted on doing, she was always exceeding her flour ration at the food store and often plundered his stock. Emilio smiled inwardly as he watched her wrinkled hands work.
“So, tell me everything about the mating.”
Emilio turned to Fraya and deliberately kept quiet. He had to admit, it was good to see her squirm in her chair. He could imagine her squirming on his lap, too. She looked edible with her bed-tousled hair and bare feet. It was clear where she had tumbled from and he could drag her right back there.
“Well,” Fraya glanced at him, a plea for help in her eyes, but he played ignorant, “it was in Toronto, where I lived.”
“And why did you not have it here?” Ofelia dusted the flour from her hands on her apron.
“It ... it...” Fraya looked at him again, “...was a bit sudden.”
“Mmm.” Ofelia looked at Emilio. “I always knew he’d do something like that.”
“Like what?” he said, making mock innocent eyes at his beloved granny.
“Elope.” Ofelia started beating eggs. “How did you meet Emilio, Fraya?”
Fraya bit her lip. “In Zone 11,” she said slowly, looking at him again. “A year ago.”
Zone 11 was a bittersweet memory, one where he didn’t like to go. Part of him cherished it, while another part of him found it too agonizing to recall. If Gene hadn’t gotten cold feet, Fraya wouldn’t be sitting here right now looking totally fuckable. If he stayed in her presence too long he was going to have her for breakfast and he guessed she was still mad at him for last night. Sooner or later she had to give in to the truth. Using sex as a weapon wasn’t very noble, he knew, but it was his only means. Fraya was much too strong and stubborn to give in without a good fight.
Ofelia said, “Zone 11? A year ago? Emilio never indulges me with what’s going on in his life. Tell me more.”
Emilio left Fraya sweating for another second, and decided he’d probably made her suffer long enough.
“Fraya was my best friend’s girlfriend. He got cold feet on their mating day and I stepped in,” Emilio said.
“Mmm.” Ofelia smiled knowingly. “I suppose you would like to go through the house, Fraya? Start redecorating as soon as possible?”
“Redecorating?”
Ofelia’s smile turned indulgent. “Every woman wants to imprint her own style on her home.”
“Oh.” Fraya fingered the rim of her coffee cup. “There’s nothing wrong with the house. I ... like it just fine.”
The women in Emilio’s life–his mother, grandmother and cousins–had always taken care of furnishing and decorating his house. It wasn’t as much the interior as the exterior of buildings that excited him, and he happily left the task to the female members of his family. The idea of Fraya turning the bricks and walls he lived in into a home with her own, personal touch warmed his heart. It was something they had to talk about. He wanted Fraya to know that she could do with the house as she pleased. He needed her to feel at home. It was as much hers now as it was his.
“Nonsense,” Ofelia said. “I know the best places to shop. We’ll set up a date.” She moved to the stove and poured a spoonful of batter into a pan.
* * * *
Fraya witnessed a relaxed banter between Ofelia and Emilio, and sensed a bond between the two. She had been close to her parents, and her aunt, but she had not known anything like that again. It was only her own fault for not having friends, for not allowing anyone near her heart.
“Did you hear what I said?” Ofelia said.
“Excuse me?” Fraya gave her an apologetic smile.
“I asked if you preferred syrup, or cream.”
“With what?”
“With your pancakes, dear.”
“Oh. I don’t know. I’ve never had pancakes for breakfast.”
&nb
sp; “Have both,” Ofelia said with determination as she placed a golden brown pancake on Fraya’s plate.
Emilio passed the cream and the syrup. It was clear who wore the pants when it came to his granny.
Three pancakes later, Fraya watched Emilio kiss his grandmother goodbye in the driveway and open the car door for her. The brand new Aujag jet engine model surprised Fraya. She had expected Ofelia to drive a classic, something less sporty, and definitely with less speed. Emilio waited until the vehicle had disappeared down the lane before he turned back to the house.
“I thought you had to be at the office early.”
He grinned. “You try and defy her.”
“She seems a wonderful lady.”
“Yes. She’s something else.”
“And she still drives herself?”
“Hardheaded like a mule. But I’m only letting her because I know she’s capable. She’s not a danger to herself or anyone else.”
Fraya lifted her brow. “An Aujag?”
“Can still be a hell driver if she wants to be.”
“Ofelia? A hell driver?”
He shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”
“You’re very close, aren’t you?”
“She means the world to me,” he said.
“You told her the truth about us.”
“She’s the only one who can deal with the truth. And she’s discreet.”
She looked into the distance, not sure what to say to that.
“What are your plans for the day?” he said, suddenly sounding formal.
“I have to go to town to cancel the apartment Gene and I rented, and to apply for my Chilean identity chip.” She looked at her feet. “I’d also like to try and get hold of Gene. Make sure he’s alright.”
She looked up when he didn’t answer. His face suddenly looked darker, his mood sulkier.
“Good idea,” he said, his voice level. “Take Pablo. I don’t need him. I usually drive myself.”
The Astronomer Page 13
