by Mac Flynn
The next morning after classes I drove out to the house and was greeted at the driveway entrance by a speeding vehicle careening down my way. I swerved, complete with screaming action, and avoided a bad double car crash by nearly wrecking my car against a tree. The other car drove past and I saw Miss Sievers at the wheel; she glanced at me and in those eyes I felt a thousand and one fires try to consume me. Fortunately the car window somehow didn't melt from the heat, and she drove out of sight.
I drove the rest of the way like an old lady late for a date with her maker, and arrived at the house ten minutes late. The place looked deserted, which reminded me that I hadn't had any breakfast, but I boldly went where I'd gone before and climbed onto the porch. I knocked, but nobody came to the door. Fortunately the knob was unlocked and I let myself in. The place was quiet but for a consistently irritating noise from upstairs that sounded like feet stomping on the floor.
I went up and noticed the door to Benson's room was open, so I crept down there and peeked inside. The man himself paced the room and grumbled to himself. "Damn her! Stupid son of a-"
"-dog," I finished for him.
He jumped at my surprise intrusion and whipped his head to the door so hard I heard a crack. "Angel! Is it that time already?"
"Noon is usually at this time," I told him.
"Ten past twelve. You're late," he scolded me.
I shrugged; what was he going to do, fire me? "Miss Sievers was so glad to see me she nearly caused our cars to hug each other."
"That must have been her parting gift to you," he replied. "She's left my employ, and I'm glad for it. I'll need you to be her replacement until I can find another one."
I wasn't happy for the promotion. "Wait a minute, we agreed on a week, remember? This is a dry test run to see if I can do this." I hoped the rest of this test wouldn't be dry; I could have really used a drink right about then.
He sat down on the bed and ran his hand through his thick hair, giving him a wild look. It didn't help that he hadn't combed it and was still in his pajamas. "I expect to get another secretary within that time, but I must plead with you to stay with me until then. I have a head for numbers, but for schedules and cooking the connection to the neck is severed."
"When that happens I'll be sure to have the duct tape ready," I promised.
He snorted. "You have some wit about you, but I can see your hands are shaking. The near-miss with Constance must have been very close."
"Any closer and our cars would have been a car," I told him.
He slapped his knees and jumped to his feet. "Well, let's get this day started. I was at least careful to have Constance make the schedule light so we have most of the day to play." He opened the drawer to a nightstand beside his bed and pulled out a black booklet, which he handed to me. "This is my schedule book. I follow it exactly to the letter. Everything else you'll need is in my desk drawer in the study located down the hall from the living room." I opened the book and saw that neat handwriting had written down everything from when meals would be served to an exercise hour in the afternoon. It left me feeling constrained, so I slammed the book shut and held it out to him. He glanced from my hand up to my face. "Is something wrong?"
"I've memorized all the appointments for your business, so I don't need this until tomorrow," I replied.
He didn't take the booklet. "Are you sure?"
I tossed it at him and he juggled it in his hands. "Positive. The other stuff is mostly just food and exercise." His stomach grumbled, and mine joined his to make a chorus of hunger. "Speaking of which, where's the kitchen?"
He chuckled, took the book and put it back into its drawer. "I'll show you after I dress." He changed his clothes and led me downstairs, through the dining room on the left and into the rear of the house. Back there was an impressive kitchen filled with all the amenities I wasn't used to having, including ant-free fridge and rodent-less sink. Benson sat himself down at the island in the center and gestured to the fridge. "Let's see how you cook breakfast," he invited me. I envied a person able to make a living and get up at noon for breakfast.
I cringed. "Remember that joke I made about the scrambled eggs?"
"Yes, why?"
"I wasn't exactly joking when I made that joke."
"Well, give it a try and I'll tell you what I think," he invited me. Thus began the second mishap of the day after the near-car crash. After the flames were put out on the stove and the pan deposited in the sink, Benson looked at me in amazement. "I had no idea you could catch eggs on fire."
"Yeah, one of my specialties is flambeing everything out of existence, or at least edibility," I explained. "You should have seen what happened when I boiled water."
He glanced over at the still-smoking pan with the charred remains of the eggs. "I have an idea of what happened. Perhaps I'd better cook my own food while you're here."
"For our own survival that would be a good idea," I agreed.
We exchanged places and he managed to make a decent, safe meal of toast and milk. With the fire danger known as breakfast out of the way we had some time to kill and bury before a scheduled phone call from someone named Greg Monroe. "Would you like to be shown the grounds?" Benson suggested.
I shrugged. "Sure."
I expected to be led outside, but instead Benson guided me upstairs. "There's a few things I need to take care of before I go outside."
"Things?"
"You'll understand when you see it." That sounded ominously kinky; I wasn't sure whether to be excited or nervous, so I opted for stoic.
We stopped at a door before his bedroom and he opened it to reveal a modern bathroom complete with jacuzzi. I would have killed to try that thing out, but first I needed to see the grounds to know where to put Benson's body. He took out a large bottle from beneath the sink and sat down on the edge of the jacuzzi; that's when things got wild. Benson slipped his shirt over his head and revealed a pale but finely chiseled chest. My eyes roamed over those nice, hard abs and down to the waistband of his pants. Heat pooled between my legs, and for a fleeting moment I dreamed of two people in the jacuzzi.
I must have squeaked because he glanced up and smirked at me. "You're drooling," he informed me.
I shut my drooling mouth and blushed. "Sorry."
"I'm sure you're surprised by my physique." Yeah, surprised, that was the word... "I exercise on my machines as much as I can to keep fit." He held out the container to me. "Do you mind?"
My mind was long gone, turned to ooze at his nakedness. "What mind?" I murmured. Then I snapped myself out of my daze and shook the dirty thoughts from my head. "I mean mind what?"
"Applying this sunscreen to my body." My inner slut squealed. "I burn easily without it, especially on this nice a day."
"Um, sure." My shaky hands took the bottle, and he angled himself so I could sit behind him and apply the sunscreen to his back.
"I can get the front," he assured me.
Damn. "All right," I replied. I sat on the edge of the jacuzzi behind him and applied a good slop of the stuff to his back. My hands rubbed all over his broad, strong back, gliding over every crease and muscle. Images flashed in my eyes of me stripping and rubbing my breasts against those hard muscles. I bit my lip to keep back a groan, and I grinned when he relaxed beneath my fingers; he was like putty in my hands.
"You're much better than Constance," he whispered.
My reply was in a tone deeper than normal. "Thanks." All good things must come to an end, and he'd grow suspicious if I kept rubbing him for the rest of the day. I finished the last of the creases and patted him on the back. "All done."
"Thanks." I slid off the jacuzzi and watched him lather the front of himself. Unfortunately, that was soon done and he stood. "Now the clothes." I had a giddy moment of undressing him with no intention of redressing him, but that wasn't his meaning. He donned the same dark trench coat and fedora hat I'd first seen him in, and stretched out h
is arms before me. "What do you think?"
"I think you have some serious problems," I told him.
He chuckled and dropped his arms. "I'm aware of that."
"So what happens if you don't make all these battle preparations?"
"Then the sun wins the battle and I'm laid up for a few days with severe burns," he replied.
I cringed. "Ouch. But this will help you avoid that misery, right?"
"Perfectly," he assured me. "Now I'll show you the grounds."
