Love of Steele

by Ivy Raine

  Something popped and a blast of musty air hit Marta in the face. She felt Stash reach around her, and moments later, a yellow light flooded all around them, colliding with the darkness and making the fog look even thicker.

  “Oh, my god! Someone’s actually paying the electric bill.” Stash shut and locked the door behind them. “Well, what do you think?”

  Marta looked around. “Hmm. It’s definitely not the castle you promised me, but it’ll do.”

  It was cute. The fairly large room they’d stepped into looked like it was the living room. A black, leather sofa was pushed up against the wall on their left, and flanking both sides of it were empty book cases. Beyond that, at the far end of the room, was a black rectangle that Marta assumed headed off into another part of the cottage, and along the front wall was a set of steps that wound up and into blackness.

  “This is the kitchen.” Stash pulled her around the corner to the right and flipped on another light. The kitchen was a small galley kitchen but appeared to possess all of the necessary apparatus. “And dining room,” he said, walking to the other side of the kitchen. He worked the light switch up and down, but nothing happened. “Oh, well. Can’t expect everything to work, I suppose. Anyway, this is the dining area. You’ll like it. It’s like a sunroom with views of the ocean on three sides.”

  Marta turned on the sink faucet as they walked back through the kitchen. “It works!” The water sputtered to life, pushing out a belch of rust and mud before running clear. “Does this mean we can shower?”

  “You can.” Stash opened the tiny breaker box near the kitchen door. “But you might want to wait until the water warms up. We keep the breaker off when no one’s staying here.”

  Marta shivered. “Any heat? It’s a little chilly.”

  “Nothing romantic. Just plain old baseboard.”

  “As long as it’s warm.”

  Stash turned the knob on the wall and within a few seconds, Marta smelled the heat and heard the tinny pops as the heater warmed up.

  “I’m gonna crash on the sofa. You can have the bed. It’s upstairs in the loft.” Stash flicked his thumb toward the stairs. “There’s a shower up there, too.”

  Marta grabbed her bag and headed up the steps. She stopped and looked at Stash, already spread out on the sofa. “It’s really dark up there.”

  Stash opened one eye. “Tell me you’re not afraid of the dark.”

  She shrugged, a little irritated that he used her lifelong fear as cheap entertainment. “It’s not a crime, you know.”

  He groaned and pulled himself to his feet. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you tucked in.”

  It was almost like being back home. As a child, her dad would chase away the shadow monsters before she went to bed, only in this scenario, Marta wondered if Stash wasn’t the real monster. She kept her bag clutched tight to her chest as they tripped their way into the darkened loft. When the lights came on, Marta was more than a little surprised at what she saw. The entire room was done up in pinks and pale greens. It looked like a room out of a fairytale.

  “This is adorable!”

  Stash grunted. “Yeah. Well, you can probably see why I prefer the sofa. Too much pink will destroy a man’s testosterone levels.” He sat on the bed and bounced up and down. “Top of the line mattress and down pillows.”

  The little mattress pat he did with his right hand nearly sent Marta running in the opposite direction. “I…think I should get a shower before bed.”

  “Want company?” Nary a hint of a smile touched Stash’s lips.

  “No, I do not, thank you very much.” Marta glowered and pointed to the steps – the only thing that separated their sleeping quarters.

  Stash slapped his legs and stood up. “Don’t say I didn’t offer to wash your back.”

  Marta gave him the stink eye. “Don’t say I didn’t refuse.”

  He grinned. Even in all his exhaustion and three day shadow, Stash looked like a million bucks. “Sleep tight and dream about me.” A mischievous glimmer lit up his face, and he blew her a kiss before thumping back downstairs.

  Pulling down the blankets, Marta noticed how everything looked pristine and fresh – almost like they were expected. She shook her head. She knew that was impossible since she hadn’t even decided to come along until they were back on the road.

  As she lay awake that night listening to the waves rushing in and right back out, Marta marveled at how the day took her in an unexpected direction. It all kind of scared her – but God help her, she liked it.

  Chapter 4

  “Breakfast!”

  Marta pulled her pillow up around her ears. She wasn’t sure if she was attempting to block out the sunlight or the sound, but neither could be reckoned with.

  She blinked and sat up. “Well, Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  “Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity!” Stash called up the steps. “Hurry up! Grub's getting cold!”

  The smell winding its way up the steps was delectable, and Marta found herself following it down the stairs and right into the kitchen.

  “Oh, my!” She pulled a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “And what’s wrong with this?” Stash looked down at his full length apron and took on the injured look. “Men can cook, too, you know.”

  “Now I know, which means that when I get married my husband can just forget the pretending. If Stash Steele can do it, any man can.”

  Stash stopped in mid salt sprinkle and eyed her up. “That does not apply to everything, beautiful. There are some things that only Stash can do.”

  By the time Marta realized he was looking at her assets shining through her thin tee shirt, he’d already gotten an eyeful. She pulled her long curls over her chest and did her best to pretend it hadn’t happened. After all, she told herself. She was the idiot that waltzed down the steps half dressed.

  “So,” she said, pointing to the frying pan in a desperate attempt to distract him. “Where’d you get the bacon?”

  It took a second or two for Stash to change gears. “Oh. That. Well, you probably won’t believe this, but the fridge is full.”

  Marta narrowed her eyes. “Full, huh?” She opened the refrigerator and an apple came rolling out. “I’m beginning to wonder about this entire trip, Stash Steele. Everything’s just a little too convenient. Now, fess up.”

  He looked her right in the eye and at that moment, Marta knew the gig was up.

  “Okay. I was supposed to come up here this weekend with – her. But, you know how that went. That’s why everything’s clean. She likes it that way. And to think I blew a hundred bucks on that stinking maid.”

  Marta didn’t know why, but the thought of Stash bringing another woman into the cottage sent a streak of jealousy though her. And all over a man she’d met barely twenty-four hours earlier. “I happen to like clean, too, so the maid wasn’t a total waste.” She eyed up the bacon. “And the food? It didn’t get here on its own.”

  “I sort of borrowed your car this morning and went into the village. Do you mind?”

  “Did you run the rest of the gas out?”

  Stash dangled a piece of hot bacon under her nose. “I filled it back up. Now you owe me seventy-five dollars' worth of timeshare.”

  Marta snatched the bacon from the fork. “You’re evil, Steele.”

  Stash bent down and planted a quick kiss on the end of her nose. “No. Just smart.”

  “And how much money do you have left? Can’t be much more than four hundred.”

  “Plus your thirty-two,” he reminded her. “We’ll be fine. We don’t have to worry about rent and the electric’s paid – at least for now.”

  Marta opened the refrigerator again. “Looks like we’re good on food for at least three weeks. What did you do? Buy the entire store?”

  Stash laughed. “I tried, but they refused to sell it. Come on,” he said, nodding toward the dining room. “I want to show you the view.”

  Mart
a stopped. She’d heard that line before.

  “Seriously, you little dope,” he said, leading her into the dining room. “The view’s gorgeous in the morning.”

  And it was – if you don’t get sick looking at waves crashing against the shore. Marta swallowed the knot in her throat. “It’s beautiful.”

  “That’s where I’m taking my morning bath,” he said, nodding toward the ocean. “Want to join me?”

  Gripping the edge of the table, Marta tried to slow her racing heart. “No, thanks. You go ahead. Just – be careful.”

  “Sit.” Stash pulled out a chair. “I’ll bring everything in and then we can eat.”

  Breakfast smelled delicious, but Marta couldn’t remember tasting any of it. Her mind reset each and every time a wave sloshed up on shore. If she closed her eyes, Marta could almost imagine that she was still sixteen – on the beach on a day much like the one they were in. It started out daring and fun and ended… A rumble of thunder shook the windows of the tiny cottage.

  “There goes my morning salt bath.”

  A rush of relief overcame Marta and she felt the tell-tale headache start in her right temple. “Too bad,” she said, trying her best to sound disappointed for him. “It’s a little cool today, anyway, so a shower’s probably a better way to go.”

  “Are you okay? You’re completely white. Was it the food?”

  Marta struggled to get out a little laugh. “No. Just a headache. I get them when I’m stressed.”

  Stash cleared their plates away. “Don’t be stressed. I think I have a job lined up.”

  Marta stopped rubbing her temple. “Already? How did you manage that?”

  “Gas.”

  “Gas? What’s that got to do with a job?”

  “When I so generously filled up your tank I happened to notice a help wanted sign hanging in the window. Apparently the gas station is also a repair shop and they’re looking for a mechanic. The owner told me to stop back in later today. That’s what I call karma.”

  Marta rolled her eyes. “You can’t lie to karma, Stash. I think even karma knows your real motive for filling up my tank.”

  “You know,” said Stash, “if my main objective wasn’t getting in your pants, I might actually…well, we might be really good friends.”

  “Consider yourself in the friend zone. There. See how easy that was? Now we can go on with our lives.” Marta didn’t mean to sound quite so curt. As a matter of fact, the curtness came out of nowhere before she could stop it.

  “So,” he said, grabbing up the salt and pepper, “do you want me in the friend zone or not?”

  “Friends are good. Don’t you think? They don’t expect more from you than you’re willing to give.”

  “And they let you use their car,” Stash said, raising a brow and smiling in that come hither way of his.

  “Do you even know how to be friends with a woman? Have you ever been friends with a woman?” Marta could see exactly what Stash was about. He made no effort to hide the fact that he was a womanizer, and Marta kind of felt a bit of glee at the fact that a woman finally gave to him what he’d been dishing out. “Were you friends with her?”

  Stash’s dark brows knit together. “I suppose you mean Devon.”

  “Devon? That’s her name? Well, then I suppose I mean her. Were you friends?”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” Stash laughed. “No one can be friends with Devon. She’s one of these girls that keep you at arm’s length unless she wants something from you and then she’s all over you making you think…well, you get the picture.”

  “Hmm. Kind of like you.”

  The look of disgust on Stash’s face amused Marta. “No. Nothing like me. Women know exactly where I stand with them. I make no secret out of what I want, and if I can’t get what I want, I have no use for them.”

  A flare of anger surfaced and Marta found herself wanting to pack up her meager belongings and take off. She chastised herself for even considering doing something so stupid. She knew exactly what he was before she ever left Port Hamilton, and the six hour drive to Connecticut didn’t magically change him. Suddenly, the idea of entertaining a misogynist for an extended length of time no longer seemed like such a good idea.

  “So, basically I’m just a chauffeur – a useless chauffer.”

  Stash grunted. “No, beautiful, you’re a friend. A friend who lets me use their car.”

  “I can’t wait until I’ve saved enough money to go back home,” she grumbled. “Then you’ll have to find a new victim.”

  “Victim? Seriously? I told you I needed a ride to Connecticut, and you needed a job. It’s a mutual leeching. I wasn’t proposing, for god’s sake, and you can’t really blame me for trying to get a little ass in the process.”

  “I never said you were proposing, and I wouldn’t be caught dead marrying someone like you,” she hissed. “Just cut all the innuendo, okay? Try actually being a friend. You might like it.”

  There was no way Marta was going to let this go any farther than friendship. She’d made that mistake once before.

  “I’m gonna get a shower,” Stash grumbled, grabbing up the last of the dishes and stomping away.

  Marta flinched when she heard the dishes slam into the sink. Now she’d really pissed him off. She waited until she heard the water whining through the pipes to the shower before she ventured into the kitchen. Other than a small chip in one of the plates, nothing was broken. She quickly washed the dishes and headed upstairs to get dressed.

  It was a long time before Stash emerged from the bathroom. So long, in fact, that Marta had entertained the idea of knocking to be sure he was okay. She knew she’d overreacted and she didn’t really blame Stash for feeling the way he did. Everything he said was the absolute truth.

  When the door opened, Marta breathed a sigh of relief. Stash no longer looked angry, but he did look positively delicious. He’d shaved, showered and he actually smelled good for a change. This was as close to a male model as she’d ever come, and she found herself internally drooling over the total hunk standing in front of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted. Suddenly, she felt like she was back in high school, sitting behind her two year crush. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  He walked straight to her and put a hand on each of her shoulders. “Friends. Forever. It’ll be hard, but I’m gonna try my damnedest. Fair enough?”

  It pained Marta to hear those words, but it was the only option. “It’s fair, but forever’s a long time, Stash.”

  “I don’t know what you’re so afraid of, Miss Marta, but whatever it is, I hate it.” He stood back and gave her a quick exam. “You look beautiful. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting a job.”

  Marta couldn’t help but laugh. “Thanks, but I hope I get a job based on my qualifications.”

  “That’s not the way it works around here,” he said, grabbing her bag. “This is a tourist village and that means looks are everything.” Stash grabbed the car keys and handed them to Marta. “I’d suggest starting with Mirelli’s at the ritzy end of the beach. Bigger tips.”

  “A restaurant?”

  Stash opened the door, letting in a bit of sun peeking through the rain clouds. “Why not? By the time you add in your tips, you’ll be better paid than if you worked nine to five in an office.”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m a bit overqualified.” Marta scrunched up her nose. The thought of forsaking her bachelor’s degree for an apron, even for a short time, seemed so…wrong.

  “Does the tree grow from the top down or the bottom up?”

  Marta shook her head in defeat. “Point taken, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

  “Hello!” A deep, raspy voice hailed them.

  Stash threw up his arm and waved to the old man doddering across the sandy patch between their beach houses. “Good morning, sir. How are you?”

  Marta eyed Stash up. He had the ability to morph between a grease monkey and a politician in the blink of a
n eye.

  The old man eased to a halt and squinted up at Stash. “Better than I deserve, I suppose.” He looked at Marta. “You young folks just move in?”

  Stash nodded and put out his hand. “Temporarily. I’m Stash and this is Marta.”

  “Hmm. Well, if you need anything, I live right there,” he said, pointing to the severely weathered mauve house. “My name’s Al.” Spinning around, he pointed to the lamp post just at the end of their meager yard. “Your bulb’s out. I been keepin’ up with the replacement for about two years now, but it goes through ‘em like water. You need to replace the whole damn thing. It’ll save me some bulbs.”

  Stash laughed and gave the man a quick slap on the shoulder. “I’ll have it taken care of, and we’ll pay you for your bulbs.”

  “No need for that. It keeps me useful. Stop over sometime,” he said, waving his arm toward his house. “The wife’s been gone for a few years, so it’s a little lonely now and then.” He looked down, his voice softening. “Forty-five years is a long time to love someone.”

  Marta’s eyes met with Stash’s. She knew they were thinking the same thing.

  Stash shook Al’s hand again. “We’ll do that, Al. Just let us know.”

  “That’s really sad,” said Marta as she eased her van down the one lane road that led to the highway. “He seems lost without her.”

  Though he pretended not to be bothered, Stash was clearly preoccupied as he played with the button that ejected the cup holder in and out. “Yeah. It’s a shame, but both people know going into it that only one’s gonna be standing at the end. There is, however, a simple solution to that – don’t get married.”

  Marta looked over at him.. “I’ve never met someone quite as jaded as you.”

  Stash shrugged. “Works for me.”

  “Anyway,” she said, changing the subject, “I might need to borrow a little money.”

  Stash’s brow shot up faster than the speed of light.

  “Clothes,” Marta said emphatically. “I just need to buy a few under things, if you don’t mind. I didn’t exactly leave the house yesterday morning with our little trip in mind. I have exactly one extra set of clothes, and I wouldn’t even have that if my mother hadn’t insisted.” She looked over at Stash. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”