by Golden Angel
“Yes, he’s actually owner of the minority share of Polenta,” she said. And then, with his encouragement, she found herself pouring out all of her worries about Vincent and wondering why Martin had the majority share, her concerns that Vincent’s intentions with the restaurant weren’t what Martin would have wanted (or what she wanted, for that matter), and her lack of experience with the restaurant business and her determination to do the best for the staff there. Throughout the entire recital he was supportive, listened attentively, and asked concise questions. He wanted to know her impressions, her insecurities about Vincent and even just the niggling that her instincts were giving her. And he made several small jokes, releasing some of her tension.
By the end of the conversation she was feeling very comfortable talking to him, which he assured her that she should. After all, it was part of why he was so good at his job. And she felt completely comfortable handing over her uncertainties about Victor to him. Mostly she felt relieved, finally feeling like she was making the right decision.
“Can you come by my office sometime this week and drop off all the papers? Or I could come pick them up some time that’s convenient for you.”
Sarah thought it over. She had the keys to everything in Martin’s restaurant and home offices. Fortunately all of the past years’ accounting books and restaurant notes were in the home office; at the end of every fiscal year he moved all of that paperwork home so that it wouldn’t clutter up the office at the restaurant. Only the current year’s numbers were at Polenta.
“I have all of Martin’s notes and books from previous years here at home,” she said. “If you wouldn’t mind coming by and getting it, that would be great. I’d bring it to you but I’m not entirely sure what you’ll need and there are a lot of papers. I’ll be home Wednesday evening if that works for you.” Today was Monday but she and Patricia were going to Polenta for dinner tomorrow and she’d rather not cancel if she didn’t have to.
“Wednesday is fine,” he said. “I’ll start doing the preliminary background check on Vincent in the meantime, based off of the information you’ve given me.”
“Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. Have a good night Mrs. Brown.”
“You too, Mr. Blake,” Sarah said and hung up the phone. Glancing at the timer she saw that she’d been on the phone for over two hours. Oops. She’d kept him past his 10 pm limit. Although he hadn’t seemed to mind. Leaning back in her chair she felt… strange. Talking to him had been almost as much fun as talking to Patricia. Letting all of her worries out made her feel strangely empty inside. And his voice… good grief. Sarah shivered a little. He should do voice overs for commercials. She’d buy what he was selling.
Immediately Sarah felt guilty again but she brushed it away. A girl couldn’t help how her body reacted. There had been other times throughout her marriage when she’d been attracted to some aspect of another man but she’d never had any trouble keeping her vows, even though Martin hadn’t ever made her feel sexy or sexual. That just wasn’t what their marriage had been about. For a moment Sarah wondered what Derrick would look like and then she giggled. Probably like a troll. No one could have that fantastic of a voice and be good looking.
Definitely time for bed.
Even though Martin was gone she always slept on her side. Sarah didn’t need that much space, just her small corner of the world. Snuggling under the covers she quickly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 2
Derrick walked up to Mrs. Brown’s small, two story single family home with his leather file case securely in hand. He’d already started investigating Vincent Holme, just the basics, and so far hadn’t come up with anything unusual. Forty-six years old, never married, attended college and obtained a degree in business management, which is where he met Martin Brown who had majored in History. Which did beg the question: why wasn’t Vincent running the show at Polenta? But then he’d looked into their word records and found out that Martin had been working in restaurants since he was sixteen whereas Vincent had no practical experience until after they’d graduated and gone into business together.
Still, why not split it fifty-fifty? No wonder Mrs. Brown was nervous.
Taking in the small but exquisitely landscaped yard, he wondered if she was the one who had planted the bushes that were flowering pink and cream in a row under the first story windows or if they had always been there. He’d done a little digging on his new employer too – standard stuff. Sarah Brown, maiden name Fairchild, thirty-eight years old, 5’3” and 133 pounds according to her driver’s license. Tiny woman really. Compared to him, anyway. Her license picture had been pretty enough, brown hair, nice smile. He liked that she’d attempted to smile, it showed the same kind of cheerful personality that he’d noticed when talking on the phone with her. Working for clients that he liked was always a nice perk. She’d worked in a retail store for a few years but had become a housewife after marrying Martin. No children, strangely enough. That might require deeper digging. Did he really need to know that? Probably not. It was just a curiosity that niggled at him. A loose end. He didn’t like those. It’s what made him such an effective investigator.
Martin and Vincent had opened Polenta fifteen years ago. It had a rough couple of years at first but had eventually gained a crowd of regulars and now was one of the locals’ favorite places to go for family friendly food and drink or just to hang out and have a nice night at a bar. A lot of bars and restaurants were switching over to becoming dance clubs on weekend nights; Polenta was one of the few places left where you could just go and have a conversation on a Saturday night. Made it popular for people who wanted to be able to talk without having to yell over a live band or a throbbing techno beat. Sounded like his kind of place, actually. He’d have to visit it sometime.
Finishing his observation of the house, noting nothing out of the ordinary about it, Derrick started walking towards the blue front door. He could spy matching blue curtains in the lower front windows; the curtains upstairs were white and lacy looking. The house was obviously newer and well maintained; the white paint coat on the exterior couldn’t have been more than a year or two old at the most. The grass was cut low, the bushes kept trim, and the windows were squeaky clean. All in all it looked like a pretty nice place to live.
Ringing the doorbell, Derrick straightened himself up and waited.
Even having her driver’s license, he hadn’t been prepared for the reality of Mrs. Sarah Brown. For instance, in the picture her hair looked brown but it was actually a deep auburn, shining with lighter red highlights. Her eyes were hazel with flecks of green and gold in them, and as she looked at him they grew very, very wide. The mouth that dropped open was pouty, pink, sweet looking. And with her mouth hanging open like that he could feel his dick stirring as he had an extremely inappropriate thought about his new employer. God she was so tiny compared to him, she might not even need to get on her knees she could just lean over and… enough of that.
Derrick cleared his throat, which was feeling suspiciously tight, and held out his hand.
“Mrs. Brown? Hi, I’m Derrick Blake. It’s nice to meet you.”
Sarah’s mouth closed with a snap as the man’s huge hand reached out to her. She was getting a crick in her neck just from looking up at him – and there was a lot to look at. He towered over her, a huge looming hunk of muscle with broad shoulders, biceps that were barely encased in the simple black t-shirt he was wearing, and an easy smile on his dark face. A gleaming smile, actually, pearly white against the smooth ebony of his skin. Wordlessly, Sarah reached out her hand and shook his, feeling almost dream-like as she stared up at him. The hand that was engulfing hers sent sparks flying through her.
He exuded masculinity. Sexuality. His voice reverberated through her bones, the sight of him made her want to melt into a molten heap of sex, sex, sex and more sex. Good golly Miss Molly. Sarah’s blush heated her cheeks as she tore her gaze away from his and looked down at their hands. The contrast
of their skin caught her eye, her tiny white palm completely encased in his very large, very dark hand. He had the biggest fingers she’d ever seen – they were like sausages! What would that feel like for a woman, to have those big fingers pushing…
“Um. Hi. I mean hello. It’s nice to meet you Mr. Blake,” Sarah managed to stammer out as she forced her eyes back up to his, trying to get a handle on her shocking attraction to him. His eyes were deep brown. Like melting chocolate. Intense melting chocolate. She felt trapped as she stared up at him, unable to break away from his gaze. “Please, call me Sarah.”
She didn’t know why she said that. Maybe because it felt too weird, this man who already knew so much about her anxieties calling her anything other than her first name. After all, he was going to come into her house and investigate Martin’s best friend and business. Might as well call her by her first name. Or maybe she was just searching for something to say, anything that didn’t make her sound like a complete idiot. It wasn’t right that a man could be this good looking and have that phenomenally sexy voice. Hearing it in person made her want to sit him down and talk to her, for hours.
“Then call me Derrick, please. May I come in, Sarah?” he asked and she realized that she was still standing in the doorway, holding his hand. The way he looked down at her made her suddenly very aware that she was wearing a low-cut shirt. Her jeans were fine, they covered everything, but her cleavage had never seemed more visible. Immediately she snatched her hand away and backed up, trying to pretend that she was just getting out of his way. Pretend that she wasn’t retreating from him.
“Sorry, like I said, I’ve been a bit out of it,”
“Completely understandable.”
She felt like such a liar, seeing him standing there with those warm, sympathetic eyes. Obviously he saw a grieving widow, but that’s not what was making her act so strangely. That’s not what she felt like. Thinking about Martin still made her sad and it was still occasionally odd to wake up without him, but it had been three weeks and she’d found herself adjusting. She still mourned him, but the loss wasn’t overwhelming at all. Last night, ad dinner with Patricia, she’d admitted how guilty that made her feel, but her friend had made the good point that it wasn’t like Martin had been around the house a lot anyway, so it’s not like she was used to having him there. How could she miss what she hadn’t had?
Sometimes she wished he was around to bounce ideas about Polenta off of, but if he had been then he’d be the one bouncing ideas off of her.
“Come on, I’ll show you Martin’s office,” she said brusquely, trying to shed her body’s reactions to him. Fake it till you make it. That was one of Patricia’s quips when Sarah had asked her for advice on being sexy and enticing Martin. It hadn’t worked in seducing him to her bed but maybe the reverse would be easier. She couldn’t help her body’s reaction, but that didn’t mean that she had to give into it or even show it. And the more she acted like there was no reaction, hopefully the more she’d cool down.
It only took a few minutes to show Derrick around the small home office, how the files were organized and then Sarah headed for the door, trying not to feel like she was running. In the doorway she paused.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Soda? Coffee?”
Derrick smiled appreciatively at her thoughtfulness. “Coffee please, I wouldn’t mind a pick me up. No cream or sugar. I shouldn’t be here more than a couple of hours.”
Sarah nodded and disappeared.
He definitely wouldn’t be here more than a couple of hours. His reaction to the breathtaking widow, who was also his employer, had been extremely inappropriate. It wasn’t her fault she was gorgeous with luscious curves that a man could easily fall into. Pouty lips that begged to be kissed, to be opened and… yeah okay. Don’t go there. Focus. Job. Work. Her late husband. That should cool his dick down but it didn’t. Grimly he reached into his pants and shifted the rebellious member so that at least he’d be able to sit and work.
Those jeans she was wearing showed off her curvy hips and the sweet swell of her ass far too well. And the deep v of her cleavage was nice. In fact, the whole package was pretty spectacular. Also, very off limits. Taking advantage of a grieving widow didn’t exactly get a guy any brownie points. IT would also be extremely unprofessional to flirt with an employer. Anymore than he already had. Right then. Derrick resolved to keep thinking of her as “the Widow” to help and keep his hormones under control. When was the last time a woman had affected him this much? He liked women, always had, but there was something special about this one. Something in her eyes maybe. Probably grief, asshole, get back to work.
Sighing, Derrick started pulling out drawers and looking through the contents of the office.
****
It took fifteen minutes for Sarah to get her act together and bring Derrick his coffee even though it only took about five minutes to make the coffee. She was spending the rest of the time trying to control her insane reaction to him. Not once in her entire life had she ever met a man who inspired such instant lust. There was no other word for it. How humiliating. And he was so professional and polite, not at all interested in her and yet she felt like she was a bitch in heat. It was a pure chemical reaction on her part and her body apparently didn’t care that Martin had died three weeks and that her arousal on sight was more than unseemly, it could even be considered disrespectful to Martin.
So she quivered and stalled and tried to get her body back under control. Coffee. Black. Ebony, like onyx really… okay woman, get a hold of yourself.
By the time she walked into the office she had calmed herself down. At least until she saw him sitting behind the big oak desk. The desk had always seemed to dwarf Martin; she’d sometimes thought to herself that he looked like a child playing at his father’s desk. It was a big, heavy piece of furniture, set higher than most desks she’d seen and simply made without any ornate carvings or woodwork. An intimidating and stark piece of furniture. Derrick’s massive frame looked completely at home behind it, his dark skin lit with the soft light of the lamp on the desk, his brow furrowed as he looked through the files. She wondered what it would feel like if she stroked her fingers over the satiny smooth looking skin on his bald head. Or down the hard lines of those bulging muscles.
When her pussy clenched she realized that she needed to get out of there. Martin’s office had been decorated to be masculine and he’d always seemed to use it to show how manly he was. Derrick just settled in there like he belonged, no show necessary, and it was enough to send a wave of shivering heat through her body.
“Thank you,” he said, lifting those gorgeous dark eyes to hers, his voice rippling like a current along her nerves and zinging straight to her clit.
Damn her traitorous body anyway.
“You’re welcome,” she said, as smoothly as she could. And then she fled.
Huddled in a chair in front of the television she realized that her jeans felt too tight, the low-cut v-neck shirt too hot and too revealing. Her lost libido was stirring, making her want to moan as it threw up images of fantasy. Derrick’s large fingers on her breasts, dark against her creamy skin and rosy nipples, the thick digits sliding down and pushing into her body… god just two of his fingers would be as thick as Martin…
And that cut her off again.
She felt sick. She was a terrible person. Terrible wife. Terrible widow. So what if she and Martin’s sex life had died out long before he’d passed? He’d still only been gone for three weeks and here she was, with a body that was aroused and on edge for another man. But she hadn’t succumbed. Sarah comforted herself with that thought. She hadn’t flirted, hadn’t expressed her interest and she was doing her best to shove her fantasies away. That was what counted right? People in monogamous relationships occasionally ran into someone else that they were inadvertently and unabashedly attracted to, but the important thing was that they didn’t act on that attraction.
Plus, hadn’t she heard that desiring sex after th
e death of someone close was normal? Sex was reaffirming. In fact, the last time she and Martin had made love was the day after his grandmother’s funeral, several years ago. It had comforted Martin, been what he needed.
They just hadn’t had much of a sexual spark between them, although when they’d first married she’d been hopeful that perhaps her romances had it right and her married life would be filled with hot sex and incredible orgasms. Unfortunately that had never happened. Martin had never been interested more than once a month or so and slowly the time period between occurrences had lengthened. Sarah hadn’t minded because sex just hadn’t been that big a thing for her.
But Martin had never made her feel as aroused as just the sight of P.I. Derrick Blake did.
Sarah buried her face in her hands, rubbing them harshly over her skin. For the first time in her life she felt like trying to masturbate. See if she could bring herself to orgasm just to get these desires out of her head and body.
Blearily, Sarah blinked her eyes and tried to concentrate on the TV program. It took her a few minutes before she realized she was watching Jersey Shore. Immediately she recoiled and changed the channel.
*****
Derrick needed an accountant. There was something odd about the books but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what. Fortunately his best friend Nick just happened to be a stellar accountant and since it was after October 15th – the fall financial deadline – Nick wouldn’t be too busy again until the end of January when tax season was gearing up. Glancing at the clock he saw that he’d been here almost three hours, more time than he’d originally planned on.
He ignored the part of him that said it was because of the pretty woman in the other room. As if such a lackluster word as ‘pretty’ could ever really be used to adequately describe her. When she’d brought the coffee in it had taken all of his acting skills to pretend he wasn’t watching her cross the room.
