The Astronomer

by Charmaine Pauls

  She pulled a shaky hand through her hair. “I’m just... it’s been a crazy day. I feel like shit.” She straightened and unbuttoned her khaki pants. “And some privacy would be nice.”

  His face was tight. “I prefer to watch.”

  He crossed the floor and pushed her back down on the bench. Grabbing the legs of her tight pants, he pulled them down and over her feet.

  “Our deal was about having sex, not watching,” she said, feeling alarmed.

  She knew him. He was worried, and angry, and if the cool she knew he fought so hard to maintain snapped, she didn’t want to feel his wrath coming down on her. Because he would take it out on her in bed, and she was one crazy, perverted woman for wanting it.

  “Watching is sex,” he said slowly. “Watching can be more intoxicating than any physical touch.”

  “We should have defined ‘sex’ before we made our pact.”

  His hand stroke over the bridge of her foot. “You accepted my terms without asking for a contract. Maybe you should have. Then you would have understood that sex for me is not only about touching, Fraya.”

  She pulled her foot away awkwardly when his hand moved up her leg. “I need to shave.”

  He threw her pants on top of the washing basket and looked up at her, his eyebrow cocked. “And?”

  “There are things a man is not supposed to see.”

  He straightened. “And there are things a woman is not supposed to do.”

  She got to her feet. “Don’t start. I’m just as capable of doing this job as any man.”

  “Not if it’s going to get you killed.” His tone was calm, but she could see a muscle twitch in his temple.

  “This is not an argument I intend to get into.” She walked to the tub and faced him. “Watch if you have to. I’m dirty, and damn tired, and all I want right now is to get clean and to feel like a human being again.”

  He didn’t say anything as she turned her back on him and removed her underwear. She let the black cotton thong and bra slip to the floor, too worn out to worry about his reaction, before she tested the temperature, turned off the tap, and lowered herself into the welcome water.

  Closing her eyes, she absorbed the warmth. She tilted her head back under the water and held her breath for as long as she could. When she surfaced and opened her eyes, he stood at the end of the bath, watching her with a guarded look.

  She wiped the hair from her forehead. “What?”

  “You’ve lost weight. And I don’t like it.”

  “You know how it is in the desert.”

  “You need to take more supplies. You’re wearing yourself out. Your strength will suffer.”

  He had a point. “You’re right. I was really busy.”

  “Too busy to eat?”

  “Kind of.”

  “I’ll employ someone to feed you, if you keep this up.”

  “Are you so worried about your goods?” she said, her lip curling.

  “Yes,” he bit out. “I like looking at you. And I don’t like to see you neglect yourself.”

  “You like looking, do you? So, this is sex?”

  “Don’t mock me, Fraya.”

  “I’m not. I mean it. I really want to know. Do you truly see this as sex?”

  “A part of it.”

  From the way his pants strained against his erection, she knew he sounded more casual than what he felt. He took a step forward and she watched with widening eyes as he got into the foot-end of the bath, jeans and all.

  He sat down on the edge and pointed at his thigh. “Put your foot here.”

  Fraya gaped at him. “Your pants...”

  He smiled lopsidedly. “I think they’re made to handle a bit of water.” He patted his leg again. “Here.”

  Reluctantly, Fraya lifted her foot. She was too damn tired to argue, anyway. His hand reached for her and moved her foot until her sole was flat against his thigh, her knee slightly bent. She could feel his hard muscle through the fabric. Her insides tingled. Damn. He was right. This was a part of sex too. Pure and lustful. Even if there was a thick layer of clothes between their skins.

  He took the razor from the wooden bowl on the window ledge. When his intention became clear, Fraya said quickly, “You’re not serious.” She tried to pull back, but his fingers locked around her ankle in a steel grip.

  “Stop moving, or you risk being cut. Or spanked, which you deserve, may I add.”

  Her eyes followed his hand as he reached for the shaving cream and foamed it in the palms of his hands.

  “I don’t consider either an effective form of foreplay,” she said.

  He chuckled, smoothing the foam over her leg. “I don’t practice blade cutting for foreplay.”

  Fraya decided it was better not to say anything, less she provoked him with a challenge to show her exactly how much he believed she would enjoy his spanking. With gentle, sure strokes he started shaving her leg. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he worked his way around to her calve. The joke was on her, because Fraya felt herself heating. Just watching him was making her wet. And he seemed oblivious to his effect on her. A little bit of guilt touched her soul. Maybe she had been a bitch. His only sin was to have been concerned. But her job was something she would fight tooth and nail for. She would protect it like a lioness.

  “Why don’t you just take them off?”

  When he lifted his eyes they were questioning. He seemed lost in the task at hand and her heart softened.

  “The pants?” She motioned to his jeans, soaked to the knees.

  He flashed her a quick grin and returned his attention to his work. “If I do, I won’t keep my promise not to fuck you.”

  She was silent at that too. Good point. Or was it? The razor scraped softly over her upper leg. He smoothed it in long strokes over her skin, not missing an inch. Was this sex too? Being pampered by a man, taking care of her most intimate needs? It felt like sex, because she was already so hot it could boil the bath water. Yet, it felt like more. Caring. Fraya realized that where her body was concerned, she had nothing to hide. There was no shyness, no shame. They had reached a level of comfortableness. She could expose herself and let him own her, like she had promised he could. But when it came to her soul, it was a different ball game all together. Every time he came a step closer, her heart inched two steps back. And she couldn’t help it. A part of her couldn’t open up to him. Maybe it was the part of her that knew he would never love in any way other than physical. And boy, his physical was good. Could that ever be enough?

  Too soon, his self-appointed assignment was done. Fraya bit her lip as she watched him study his handiwork. His palms ran over her skin, around the back of her legs and up the inside her thighs. Only when he seemed satisfied, did he push her legs apart. She allowed him to look at her like she knew he liked to.

  Without moving his gaze from her body, he said, “There too?”

  “What?”

  His eyes met hers. “Do you want me to shave you there too?” he repeated patiently.

  Fraya gasped. “I’ve never done that.”

  “Do you want me to?”

  She blinked. Did she? It wasn’t something she’d ever considered. Why would she? “Would you prefer it ... like that?”

  He gave her his seductive smile. “I don’t have a particular preference. You have to feel comfortable.”

  This was not making her comfortable. It had the opposite effect. She was almost squirming to feel his hands on her.

  He looked amused. “So? Made up your mind?”

  This was too intimate, going places that exceeded the physical. Fraya shook her head. “Probably not a good idea. I’m in the field a lot. Wouldn’t be able to...” she cleared her throat, “maintain it.”

  He was amazingly casual about it. “Alright.” He released her foot. “You’re all slick and smooth. Feeling more like a human being?”

  She could only nod. Without another word he got from the tub, leaving a puddle of water on the tiles when he pulle
d off his pants. He wrung them out over the basin and carried them outside, draping them over the balcony rail.

  Fraya took a big gulp of air. Why couldn’t the man wear underwear? She watched him step back inside, taking a pair of running shorts from his sport bag and pulling them on. The white shirt fell in a heap on the floor and was replaced with a red cotton T-shirt. He put on his trainers, tied a bandanna around his head and strapped a heart monitor onto his wrist.

  “Going for a run?” she asked, sitting up in the bath, even if she knew the answer. A part of her was disappointed at seeing him go.

  He gave her a smile. He seemed more relaxed, less angry. “I think it’s safer for you that I go out for a while.” He grabbed a towel from his bag and draped it around his neck. “Got to work off this cooped-up energy.”

  She didn’t need to ask what energy. She knew the answer to that one too. Emilio replaced wild, satisfying sex with running. What she didn’t know, was if his need was born from caring for her, or just for her body. She closed her eyes and shook her head. This had to stop. This crazy hope taking shape in her heart. He had been clear from the start. It was just sex. And that suited her fine. Her life was complicated enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Fraya got out of the cooling water, put on a gown without bothering to towel herself dry and went downstairs to the kitchen just in time to see Emilio arrive at the door. He was drenched in perspiration from his run. She took a bottle of water from the fridge and offered it to him.

  “You should be in bed,” he said.

  “I’m alright for now.”

  “Let me have a shower, and I can throw something together for lunch.”

  “I could do that.”

  “I want you to relax.”

  He walked past her, went upstairs, and a minute later she heard the water in the shower come on. Fraya went into the lounge and lay down on the sofa. Despite her intention, she fell into a deep sleep.

  Fraya woke to the sound of Bach. The soothing symphony came from the ceiling speakers, soft background music that filled the condo. She had slept for a long time. It was dark outside. The overhead lights were lit on a dim setting, casting the house in a warm glow. A delicious smell of garlic and onions came from the kitchen. Fraya sat up. Her eyes fell on the large picture window facing the pool, and then widened. The pool was outlined with candles burning yellow against the pitch-black night. There were candles everywhere: on the wooden deck, on the low stone wall bordering the pool and along the path leading to the sliding doors. She looked around for Emilio, and decided to follow the aroma coming from the kitchen.

  She found her mate in front of the stove, shaking prawns over butter in a pan. A glass of white wine stood on the counter. His broad chest and his feet were bare, his sculptured ass hugged by his jeans, and his hair fell loose over his shoulders, black and shiny. Fraya had an urge to come up behind him, to run her palms over his back, but instead she padded to the counter and leaned against it, one foot balanced on top of the other. He didn’t look up or acknowledge her presence, but she knew he was aware of her by the way his pants suddenly strained in the front. It had been too long. Fraya gulped. She picked up his glass and smelled the bouquet before taking a sip, then hummed her approval. It was crispy and cheeky. Delicious.

  “Viognier,” he said without looking away from the pan. He added a pinch of grated ginger, which immediately perfumed the air. Only then did he turn from the stove, took a bottle from an ice bucket and poured another glass. He took back his drink and offered her the full glass, his head bent for their eyes to meet.

  She lifted her lashes to enjoy the deep blue of his eyes, and involuntarily parted her lips when her gaze shifted to his mouth, to the full curve of his bottom lip that she could almost feel against her tongue. He bent down further, slowly, making his intention clear before he kissed her lightly. He didn’t move his lips. It was as if he knew she needed to taste him, to draw her tongue along the line of his mouth. His lips were cool. He tasted of Viognier. He was scrumptious. He surprised her by pulling away from the kiss, not lingering enough for it to intensify. His patience was commendable. She knew how much he needed her, because she needed him more. While they were separated she had to increase the hormone dose, but she hadn’t taken the serum since that morning. He had kissed her when he had arrived, giving her the potion that made her crave him. But this time, her need was infused with want, and she was all too aware of the shift in the scale. She wanted more than what she needed. Fraya stared into his eyes and inhaled sharply. She was falling for him. No, a voice said in her head. She had fallen a long time ago. She trembled in shock as the truth dawned on her. She was in love with her husband, her mate. Her heart stopped. She loved the man who kept her for sex. She was emotionally dependent on the man who was going to set her free when their year was up. He was the one who had suggested the mating. She was the one who had asked for a deadline. And he had accepted willingly, gladly maybe. Would he keep her, when the year was up? Would he ever have wanted her, if the physical were never a factor? For the first time in her life, Fraya felt emotionally out of control. She felt like crying. It took some effort to hide her emotions, but Emilio saved her by saying, “Are you hungry?”

  She nodded and turned from him, hiding her face in her glass.

  “I’ve set up a table outside,” he said. “Come. Bring your wine. Sit down and relax. Your dinner will be served shortly, Dr. Riber.”

  For the first time since they had been mated, Fraya wished for Emilio to call her Mrs. Larraín, but he, as per her request, called her by her maiden name, as if he had resigned himself to their future separation. He escorted her to the deck and left her at the small table set for two. She stared at the stars as she waited, thinking how stupid she had been for not seeing it sooner. She had allowed her mind to rule her decisions, and had unwisely ignored her heart in the process. Now, it was too late to save it. Her heart belonged to a man who was her mate, her lover, for now, but not forever.

  Emilio served a simple meal of stir-fried prawns on a bed of jasmine rice with a green salad on the side. It was mouthwatering. The setting was beautiful. His gentleness was touching. It was perfect, and Fraya wasn’t going to spoil it by mulling over the future. She took a greedy sip of her wine, and determinedly decided to focus on the present, the moment that existed.

  “You’re spoiling me,” she said. “This is so beautiful, Emilio. It’s simply perfect.”

  “It’s not. It’s not nearly as perfect as you. It’s far from what you truly deserve, but it’s what I could manage, considering we’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  Fraya looked around her once more. “Where did all of this come from?”

  “I brought the candles from Santiago.”

  “You planned all of this?”

  His preconceived candlelight dinner surprised her. She thought he was still very much angry with her for how they had parted.

  “In fact, I have a confession to make. This is my apology dinner.”

  “Apology dinner?”

  “To say that I’m sorry for what I said. About Andrews. And about not trusting you. I know I infected you that night in Zone 11. What happened between us wasn’t your fault. It was mating heat. There was nothing we could do to avoid what happened. I’m a possessive man, Fraya, and what I said was done in the heat of the moment. I can’t justify it, or excuse it, but I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  “I’ve been wrong, too, Emilio. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was hurt and humiliated. You were right about Andrews.”

  He looked at her sharply. “Did he try anything with you?”

  “No, nothing like that. I just know instinctively that I can’t trust him. I know it’s unjustified, but I get the feeling that he’s trying his best to steal my job.”

  “If he’s becoming a problem for you–”

  “No,” she said quickly, “it’s nothing I can’t handle. Besides, I don’t want to spoil the evening by talking about him.”

&
nbsp; “Am I forgiven then?” Emilio said, looking endearingly hopeful.

  “You’ll have to show me how badly you want to be forgiven.”

  He smiled at that. “An apology fuck?” She flushed. “What I have in mind for tonight is a lot gentler. You’re injured.”

  “I’m not made of porcelain. I won’t break.”

  “Sometimes I forget how tough you are.” His eyes traveled over her. “Eat. You need calories to make up for how you’ve starved yourself.”

  She took a bite of the food. “Mmm. You have to cook more often.”

  “I don’t think so. Unless you want to live on a diet of prawns. This is all I know to prepare.”

  “Who taught you?”

  “Cookbook.” He smiled warmly.

  “The condo is spectacular now that the construction is done.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  “When are you starting on the second phase?”

  “I thought I’d give you some time to enjoy it without the ugly frameworks and littering of building materials.”

  “Wise decision.”

  They ate in silence for a while.

  “How is the new hotel coming along?”

  “We’re on schedule. I’m happy with the development.”

  “Your family?”

  “Everyone’s fine. They all send their regards. And Ofelia is sulking because she’s got no one to cook pancakes for.”

  Fraya laughed. “And you don’t count?”

  “She doesn’t come around as much when I’m on my own. No one does. You seem to be the center of attraction around the house.”

  He smiled again, went quiet and lowered his eyes.

  “I’m sorry about the time and the distance, Emilio. I know it’s hard, physically, I mean. I’ve got the serum, but you...”

  He met her gaze again. “How are you doing?”