Addicted To Him (Man Season)

by McClung, Mila

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Are you as shy as all that? You certainly didn’t act shy in your car tonight!”

  “It isn’t shyness that holds me back.”

  “What is it then?”

  The front door opened, a voice called, “Tegan, are you home? Whose car is that in the driveway?”

  Tegan stood, a bit frantic. “I’m in here, Mom.” Then she whispered to Westcott, “God, I’d forgotten she’d be back tonight! What do I do?’

  “Introduce us, maybe?”

  Callie St. Clair stepped into the kitchen. She was a slim, sepia-skinned woman with curious dark eyes and a shock of brown curls framing her narrow face. Her welcoming smile dropped to a startled frown when Fleet Westcott stood up and nodded his hello.

  “Tegan, who’s your guest?”

  “Mom, I want you to meet Fleet Westcott. He owns the building across from the florist shop. He was nice enough to drive me home so I cooked him dinner. Mr. Westcott, this is my mom, Callie St. Clair. She’s a pharmacist at the local drugstore.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. St. Clair?”

  He held out a hand to her; she took it. “Fine. It’s nice to meet you. Mr. Westcott, was it? Oh, not that movie producer?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Weren’t you involved in a scandal several years ago?”

  “Mom, that’s kind of rude, isn’t it?”

  “No, Tegan, she has a perfect right to ask about it. I am a guest in your house, after all.”

  “Well, I’ve read about it. And I wouldn’t bring it up in conversation. Anyway, I figured it was tabloid stuff, invented by sick minds for the most part.”

  “No, what you read is very true. You were a child when it happened, I should think. I was barely a teen myself. My father was a beast; he abused me and my mother until she poisoned him just to get away. He died and she wound up in jail because of what she did. There are those who said I did the poisoning, and she took the rap to save me.”

  “Did you?” Callie asked.

  “Mom, really?”

  “I’m not asking out of pure curiosity, Tegan. Once I get my degree in psychology, I’ll see these cases quite often. I’m taking classes at UCLA, Mr. Westcott.”

  “Good for you! Never hurts to improve the mind! But to answer your question … no, I didn’t poison him. That’s too subtle an approach for me. I wanted to shoot him. He made life a living hell for my mother, and for me. I hated him. He ruined my childhood, and her youth. He even took her sanity. She spent the remaining years of her life shut up in a world of her own making … a make believe world where she was a safe, complacent child, playing with rag dolls, and where I and my father had never existed.”

  Tegan placed a gentle hand on his to calm the fierceness of his gaze. He flinched then nodded at her appreciatively.

  “Looks like you turned out okay, in spite of it all,” she said with an encouraging smile.

  “Doesn’t the truth about my parents disturb you? It would some people.”

  “No, you can’t help what your relatives do. And I can understand why you would be so bitter. But the past is the past. We can’t change it; we can only learn from it.”

  “My smart girl!” Callie grinned. “Well, I’ve had a long day at the drugstore. I’m going to go study a bit before bedtime. Mr. Westcott …”

  “Call me Fleet, please?”

  “All right, Fleet … it was nice meeting you. I know Tegan thinks I can’t handle her seeing men because I lost her dad so recently, and she believes I’m afraid to be alone but I’m not.”

  “Mom …”

  “Shh! I know, too much information. But as long as we’re airing our dirty laundry I thought I’d add that. Goodnight, you two. Don’t forget to clean up!”

  She winked then exited through the living room door.

  Tegan started collecting dishes; Fleet helped her.

  “You really should try to put the past behind you,” she sighed.

  “I have tried, but it’s a problem my heart refuses to resolve.”

  “That must put a damper on your love life.”

  “What love life? You’re the first nibble I’ve had in two years!”

  “Is that all I was, a nibble?”

  He smiled. “Well, more like a feast for the starving!”

  “Tell me, now, why you’ve been so hesitant about meeting me. Do you think I’m not good enough for you?”

  “No, that isn’t it at all! You’re too good for my lot. Though, I really don’t have any family left except my uncle, Ned Grant. And he’s a doctor so he wasn’t around much. I was raised by an English couple, the Digbys.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She moved to touch his cheek. He stared deep into her eyes. The tension stirred between them; he slipped his arms around her and sunk his lips into hers. His tongue fondled hers, arousing her.

  “Wait, please, not here.”

  “Come with me, then. I want you, Tegan. Right now.”

  She nodded, fled with him out the front door. They hurried into the Jaguar, remained silent, singeing each other with desperate glances as they rode through the tangle of freeways towards the coast. They traveled north towards Santa Barbara then Fleet pulled into the gated drive of a seaside mansion. It was dark, creepy, like something you’d see in ghost stories.

  He settled the car into a low level garage then led her up a winding flight of stairs past an indoor pool and into a humongous hallway flanked by dark paneled walls and a wide, elegant staircase. A dapper fellow with gray-streaked hair entered from a back room, greeted them with a bow.

  “Good evening, Fleet, young lady.”

  “Hello, Digby. This is Ms. St. Clair.”

  The man nodded his hello. “What can I get for you? Dinner? A drink?’

  “Nothing, Digby. We’re going up to my room.”

  “I see.”

  Tegan felt embarrassed, realizing the man would know they were up there, together, making love.

  “Don’t worry about Digby,” Westcott whispered as they took the stairs. “He’s discreet.”

  “Is he the only other person here?”

  “Yeah, his wife, Martha, died last year.”

  They made the landing and stepped into a cavernous room that overlooked the ocean. As Tegan ventured towards a large oval window to admire the moonlit view, a bevy of bats flew across the scene. She squealed.

  “This place gives me the creeps! I fully expect Scooby Doo and his friends to pop out of the woodwork and call you out on some crime you’ve committed!”

  He laughed. “I never thought of my house as a cartoon setting, but now that you mention it, it fits. Come to bed.”

  “Shouldn’t we relax a bit first? I’m pretty spooked right now.”

  “I’ll fix that.”

  He began to strip with his back to her. The sinuous lines of his all-over tan body overwhelmed her with desire, erasing any other thought or feeling she’d had. He turned towards her, revealed that he was hard and ready.

  Tegan gasped, scooted out of her skirt and blouse, shaking as she started to unclip her red bra. Westcott smiled as he admired the bra and its matching panties.

  “My car was so dark, I had no idea you were wearing something provocative. You’re a closet sex fiend, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe. Would you like to take them off for me?’

  “You know it!”

  She giggled as he swept her up and onto a gigantic black canopy bed. The silk, champagne-colored sheets were cool against her back. He unhooked the bra, flung it onto the floor and began to kiss her through the panties.

  “You’re going too fast. Take it slow, please?”

  He nodded, peeled the panties from her hips and tossed them.

  “It must be wonderful to wake up here every morning.”

  He was caressing her breasts with his lips. “No, not really,” he stopped to say, “not when I’m always alone. Things are only wonderful if you have someone to share them with.”


  “Would you like me to stay here all night, and share the morning view with you?”

  “I’d love it! But what about your mother?”

  “I’m a grown woman. I can do as I please. I guess I have been a little too worried about her. But even if I caught hell for being here, I wouldn’t care!”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  “No, it’d be worth it! Especially if you keep doing that!”

  His magic fingers were working their spells on her, raising her up to heights of desire she’d never known existed. His mouth captured a nipple, she jumped with delight. Then he rolled his tongue over her breasts. She felt the welcome tightening that meant she was about to explode.

  Westcott moved down to ease his tongue inside her. She didn’t think she could bear it – it was too good. The orgasms went off like fireworks. He smiled and lifted himself up above her. Then he thrust himself into her and wound her up all over again. He groaned in utter submission as he came – the force bouncing her up off of the bed. They wailed together until both were sweating and completely spent. Then Tegan turned over on her side, trying to hide the flood of tears that were pouring over her face.

  “Tegan, what is it? You’re crying!”

  He twisted her around so he could see her.

  “It’s nothing, really,” she said.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no, it’s kind of hard to come down so fast after being that high. You just about flew me to the moon!”

  He laughed, held her close. “Next time I’ll fly you to Mars!”

  He yanked a handkerchief from a nightstand drawer and dried her tears.

  They laid in the dark afterwards for hours, talking quietly about love and pain and everything in between. He finally drifted off to sleep in her arms; a troubled sleep, full of nightmares that made him toss and moan.

  Tegan watched him until her eyes would not stay open then she joined him in sleeping, wondering what excitements the new day would bring.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Tegan woke alone in the big black canopy bed. The harsh morning light glared in her eyes; she rose, puzzled, drew the drapes shut. Then her vision cleared and she saw the note on his pillow.

  It said; “Digby will drive you home. Had an emergency at the studio. So sorry, my darling flower girl. Fleet.”

  She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her sails. She’d conjured a fantasy of spending the morning with him, lounging in his room, munching on fruit and pastry – and each other – then maybe taking a stroll on the beach below; even jumping into his indoor pool for a naked swim once Digby was off to do errands.

  Now she had to dress quietly and be driven home like a child from camp, miserable and hungry.

  She dragged herself into the bathroom, searched the cabinets for a fresh toothbrush. She could barely find anything among the clacking bottles of pills; rows and rows of painkillers and sedatives and anti-anxiety drugs. And every one had Fleet Westcott listed as the patient.

  “Why would he need all of these pills?” Tegan wondered aloud.

  A firm knock on the bedroom door startled her; she wrapped herself in one of Fleet’s robes and rushed to answer it.

  “Good morning, Miss,” Digby said with a smile. “I’ve been instructed to make you breakfast. Would you prefer it in bed, or in the dining room?”

  “Oh, please don’t go to any trouble, Mr. Digby.”

  “It’s simply Digby, and it isn’t a bit of trouble.”

  “Well, could I eat in the kitchen then? I could keep you company while you cook it.”

  “All right.” He seemed amused at her suggestion. “I’ll be getting things ready. Would you prefer a quiche with bacon, or waffles?”

  “A quiche, if it isn’t a bother!”

  “It isn’t. You can take a shower first, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, yes, I’d love to! I’ll be down soon!”

  “Excellent!” he nodded then stepped lightly down the hall.

  Tegan threw off the robe and entered the shower in Fleet’s magnificent stone bathroom. The shower stall was curved in an arch, with a matching window overlooking the sea. She had a modest moment when she noticed a yacht passing by but realized the sailors would need binoculars to see her.

  As she rubbed the musky bath gel into her skin, she caught the scent of it – it smelled like him, like Fleet. So that’s where that intoxicating fragrance had come from. She breathed it in, let it envelope her senses. If only he were there to enjoy what that fragrance was doing to her. She couldn’t bear it one second more – gently slipped her hand between her thighs and played her fingers upon her flesh until she burst in a fit of rapture. All the while she was seeing Fleet in her mind, imagining him there beside her, kissing her, molding her to serve his needs.

  She cried out softly, “Fleet, where are you!” then she gave her body over to the urges within her. It was good, but ultimately unsatisfying without him to finish the job.

  Breakfast was a lovely affair. Digby was quite a talker; had her in stitches relating stories of his family in England, especially his great uncle Smythe who’d been a cook for the Queen Mum back in the day.

  “Please, no more,” Tegan begged, tears ruining her mascara. “You should do stand up, you’d be a smash!”

  “I’ll consider it, if I ever lose this position.”

  He began to load the dishes into the dishwasher.

  “May I help?”

  “No, no, you’re a guest here.”

  She stood, stretched her legs; admired the fresh sunshine streaming through the glass-paneled door. Just outside she could see a garden full of bright red and pink flowers.

  “Your gardener is talented! Some of those flowers are really hard to grow. Believe me, I know. I’ve tried and failed, with several of them!”

  “I am the gardener, so I thank you for the compliment. It’s a restful occupation, helps me think out my troubles.”

  “My mom says the same thing. I’d bet you two could really hit it off, if only …”

  “If only what?”

  “She isn’t looking for companionship yet. My dad died last year following a long, tough battle with cancer. She was a trooper through the whole thing but life kind of lost its joy for her after that, you know? I wish she was ready for dating. I’d certainly steer her in your direction if she was!”

  “I haven’t thought of finding someone else, since my dear Martha died. But a chap does get lonely.”

  “Digby, tell me about Fleet. He seems so miserable and confused. I’m not sure what to make of him.”

  “Neither do I, frankly. The young man has had a hard life. I don’t know how much of his past he has told you …”

  “I know all about his parents.”

  “I see. And then having that Ned Grant as his guardian; I can’t tell you how often I’ve had clashes with that cur over Fleet’s upbringing. But that was years ago. Fleet is a grown man now. He has to make his own decisions.”

  “I don’t understand. He’s a wealthy producer. Hasn’t he been making his own decisions in all that?”

  “Sometimes, yes, but the boy, forgive me, the man lets Ned Grant wield too much power over him. I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be talking about these matters. Are you ready to go home?”

  “Sure. I like you, Digby, I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “No, Miss, not at all. It isn’t every day that a lovely young lass tells me such a nice thing. I like you, as well. I think you’re just the sort of woman Fleet needs; which of course, means Ned Grant will hate you at first sight. Watch out for him, if you ever have the bad fortune of meeting him.”

  “I will.”

  He drove her back to the little blue house on Partridge Street, and was quite admiring of her mother’s landscaping, and her mother, too, who was pulling weeds by the back yard arbor.

  Callie came walking towards them, wearing her usual weary expression. But when her eyes met Digby’s they lit up like sparklers.

  “Who’
s this now, Tegan?”

  “This is Digby, Fleet’s … what should I call you?”

  “Butler would be the correct term.”

  “Okay, though it seems a bit Old World for California.”

  “Quite a few Californians have butlers, darling. I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Digby.”

  “The same to you, Mrs. St. Clair. Tegan has told me quite a lot about you.”

  “All good things, I hope.”

  “Yes, yes, quite.”

  “Digby was admiring your flowers, Mom. He’s a gardener, too.”

  “Oh, would you like to see some new plants I’ve just put in?”

  “Yes, I’d love to.”

  He stepped out of the car, followed her to the back yard. Tegan felt a bit invisible.

  “I guess I’ll go inside,” she yelled to Callie.

  “You do that, honey. See you later.”

  Tegan stood there, unbelieving. Her mom hadn’t looked twice at a man in years and there she was chatting up Digby like a schoolgirl. Was it spring or something?

  She entered the Cape Cod style house, climbed the narrow stairs up to her bedroom. It was a private haven; the windows surrounded by sheltering poplars and palms but still open enough so that the sun could slip through and heat up her shivery bones. The bed was built into the wall, with curtains she could close for warmth. The rest of the room reminded her of a Swedish log cabin with its unvarnished wood paneling and red patterned rugs.

  She perused her wardrobe for some fresh duds, realized she didn’t have that much clothes. Not like other women. She’d buy something on clearance, wear it a few times then take it to Goodwill. And her shoes were sensible flats she could be comfortable in at work. There wasn’t one pair of heels or anything glamorous in her closet. The only thing she ever splurged on was lingerie and she wasn’t sure why, except that it made her feel sexy and kind of wicked.

  She threw on some jeans and a faded T shirt and snuggled up on the bed with a dog-eared copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn that she’d found in a second hand shop a few days before.

  She couldn’t get past the first chapter – her mind was too busy trying to solve mysteries. Why had Fleet run out on her? No emergency could be so dire if a man truly wanted to stay with a girl. It’d been an excuse; she knew that. She felt used, and angry and hurt. And yet she was desperate to be near him again, to breathe in the scent of him, to taste the tangy sweet juices of his kisses, to feel the length of him sinking into her.