"I made you some coffee," she offered, in hopes that he would accept her gesture of appreciation and peace. He smiled. His nose was red from the cold, but his eyes were warm and inviting. He took her breath away. "And, ummm, thank you...for this. I was about to call him this morning," she informed him. He shook his head at her. "What? Why are you shaking your head at me?" she asked.
"Because you should have seen to this weeks ago," he informed her.
She sighed. "I know." Then looked up at him sheepishly. "I'm here to help." A brow kicked up with that statement. "Are you now?" he returned, amused. She gave an eager nod. "I tell you what, you wanna help? I'm starving, and I'm sure he's hungry, too. How about you go fix us something to eat? And don't burn it...can you do that?" He chuckled.
"I won't burn it. I'm a good cook," she whined.
"Um-hm," he mumbled doubtfully.
"I am, you'll see. Give me a few minutes and I'll have a lunch prepared fit for a king and his apprentice." She turned and dashed off, her mind diving into her refrigerator and cabinets for an idea of what to prepare. Inside, after five minutes searching for something worthy to feed them for their hard work, she realized she didn't have anything for the appetites they would have. She groaned, but hey, she had to do what she had to do…
"Would you stop laughing at me! I could have cooked something, but you guys were hungry! Weren't you hungry?" this she asked to the young man in attendance who was biting into the deliciously made and delivered pizza. He nodded his agreement. He was hungry. The pizza was good, and he was warming up and grateful for the hospitality. Everett had paid him in advance and now he was getting fed. Plus, he didn't have to work out there alone. What more could a guy ask for? "At least I made a good salad and garlic bread to go along with it," she pointed out as Everett sat chuckling, as he, too, bit into the hot, cheesy pizza. "I haven't gone grocery shopping yet. When you live alone, food is not a big deal," she continued.
"And when you bring it home, it helps to know how to cook it, too," he inserted, then took another bite.
"Everett Styles...I—can—too—cook! Oh, that's it! I'm going grocery shopping today. I'm gonna get ready right now. When I get back here, I'm going to cook the most awesome meal you have ever experienced in your life!" she declared. He nodded with a look of yeah sure, then winked his eye at Tom, the young man, who grinned and shrugged.
"You'll see! You're probably gonna want seconds, too, and you'll beg to take some home!" she declared, marching off to get her purse, coat and gloves.
"Hey, before you go…where do you want all that wood stacked we're splitting?" he asked in between chewing the pizza.
She stopped with her things in hand. "Stack it against that long wall beside the basement door." He nodded and continued eating, looking comfortable and right at home in her kitchen. She stood a moment, transfixed by him. He asked Tom if he wanted more soda. The answer was "yes" and he continued devouring pizza. As if he'd always lived there, Everett rose and got more Pepsi out of the refrigerator, one for himself and Tom. Handing it over, he sat back down and continued to eat.
Realizing she stared at him, he looked up with a gesture of what? "You need some money?" he asked. That snapped her to.
"Nooo!"
He suddenly rose and was walking without hesitation to her. "Oh, I get it! You want a little smooch before you head off to the store!" Grinning and winking, he approached her as if to deliver. Shocked and shaken, Sylvie ducked out of his reach, squealing in disbelief. "Man! You better get on'way from me! I don't know where your mouth's been!" she exclaimed, embarrassed with Tom sitting in the kitchen in full hearing and sight.
"I can tell you where it hasn't been—on you." It was said, so low and sultry, Sylvia felt heat suffuse her entire being. Her face was on fire. Her heart started slamming and a long-forgotten sensation uncoiled in her lower being. She gulped and made a sudden face, then warned him in a whisper with a finger pointed up at him. "Everett Styles...you watch your—" she didn't get to finish because his large hands grabbed her upper arms, pulling her against him. She squealed out an "eek!" and jumped away from him, her heart slamming even more.
"You best get on your way to that store, woman. Else I'm gonna have to treat Tom to the sight of me kissing the hell outta you," the way he said it was very convincing. Sylvia, again, took off to open a big distance between them. Speechless, she stood by the kitchen door putting her coat and gloves on. Unable to take her eyes off of him as he stood where she left him...desire to do as he threatened strong in his expression. "Hurry up back here. I'll be hungry again before you know it," he informed her. Sylvia still couldn't find her voice. She wasn't use to anyone like him.
On the way to the store and as she shopped, she was still shaken by him. It seemed that he had, for some reason, turned on the total seduction and charm towards her. He had completely unnerved her. Her mind was buzzing with his actions. His outright boldness. His jumping in to see about her heat and warmth, despite the inconvenience and discomfort it brought him. It was obvious he had paid Tom for his services, as well. She would have to reimburse him for that. She wasn't about to have him spending any money on her. She could take care of herself. She didn't want to be obligated to him. Funny, where was the strong sense of anger and resentment that use to come with those thoughts? She sighed; he was wearing her down. Picking up all the necessities she was running low on or out of, she decided to prepare barbecue pork. That wouldn't take long to cook. Corn on the cob, coleslaw, collard greens and corn bread. That ought to fill his gut. After picking up more items, she paid her $220.00 grocery bill. Her car was loaded and off she went for home, planning how she would prepare the meal in the most efficient manner.
Hoping that they were still in the back, she tooted her horn. They were, and helped her bring in the groceries. With the last bag in, Tom went back out to finish bringing in more wood to the basement. "Holy cow, woman! You think you bought enough groceries?" Everett exclaimed at the bags everywhere. "I don't shop every week, sir, just once a month." He was looking through the bags as she was unloading them. "You bring anything to snack on?" Sylvia turned around looking at him with one hand on her hip. "You cannot be hungry again so soon!" He looked up as if offended. "I beg your pardon...and why not? You see this body? You see these muscles?" He raised his left arm, flexing his bicep for her. Slapping the large, rock hard muscle.
"A man's gotta eat to grow muscles like that." Sylvie rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Everett Styles, you're an arrogant ham," she declared.
"Um-hm, and everybody wants a slice. Including you...but you can have more than a slice," he flirted and winked at her. Sighing and shaking her head, Sylvia walked over to where he stood, leaned down into one of the bags and came up with a bag of California trail mix, then slapped it against his chest. "Here...now get back to work. I have groceries to put away and a dinner to prepare."
"Yes, ma'am." He saluted, taking the trail mix and opening it as he went into the living room to suit up again. "So, what's for dinner?" he called from the living room, stepping into his suit. "Barbecue pork ribs, collard greens, coleslaw, corn on the cob, and corn bread. How's that?" Fully suited up, he stepped into sight, looking at her unsure. "I guess I'll see when it's on the plate." That statement snapped her around to him. "Look, you, just get out of here; and when it's all done, you best be hungry and ready to eat!"
At the dinner table…
"Now what do you have to say, Mr. Styles?"
He was leaning back in his seat, gut full, a satisfied look on his face and a toothpick sticking out the corner of his mouth. His head drew back, stretching his neck so he could give a good hollow belch. Sylvia laughed out loud. "You pig...at least say excuse me." He shook his head and winked. "That's a compliment to the chef...by the way...Shawn Everett McPherson at ye service, madam," he said in a thick Irish brogue. Sylvia melted. "Shawn? Everett? McPherson?" she repeated each as a question. "Aye, madam. At ye service. I am a man content and satisfied." But his piercing eyes sent out
a message otherwise. Exhaling the effects of that bold stare, Sylvia asked, "And where did Styles come from?"
"I was advised, so I changed it. They thought Everett Styles was more romantic. It's what I use on all of my paintings for book covers. My personal work bears my real name—McPherson."
Sylvia smiled wistfully. "I see," she whispered softly.
He sat leaning back comfortably, staring at her. She was just as quiet, returning his gaze. After a few minutes with the silence stretching between them, Everett finally spoke up. "I think I will capture you on canvas after the first time we've made love. You will be as satisfied then as I am now. I'll want you sitting back against my headboard. Your legs drawn up beside you, your naked calve, thigh and hip bare. A satin maroon sheet barely covering your waist, held fetchingly at your breast, baring just enough to drive me to distraction. Your hair mussed, your skin dewy from sweat, your lips swollen from my kisses. Your eyes dreamy with enchantment."
Sylvia stared, then sighed deep. This man was casting a spell on her. He was carefully binding up her heart, to which one day...he would steal. In preparation of that day, she hadn't a clue as to how she might stop him. If she were completely honest with herself, she knew...she wanted to remain...completely clueless.
Chapter Ten
She’d rewritten the query letter at least three times. Sitting as she was in an oversized cozy chair with her feet up on the ottoman, she should be productive. A small floor lamp standing behind, the soft glow shining down over her shoulder enhanced by the crackling, warm fire glowing beside her. The laptop that was propped up on her lap offered no assistance. She found it hard to concentrate—as if that were anything new of late. Forcing herself to focus and think, she once again read the query letter to a prospective agent. Trying to put herself in the agent's shoes and seat, the first thing to realize was that they received hundreds of query letters weekly. In order to succeed, she had to create a letter that captured one's attention. She needed to write a letter that held their interest and caused one to think of the possibilities her writing style would offer. She needed to present all of this in as few words as possible. After the third attempt…she sighed deep and long, inhaling and exhaling slowly, dropping her head back. This problem hadn't always been. This predicament had arisen just recently, with her mind constantly flooded with thoughts of him. What was she going to do? Things were getting out of hand. Pulling her legs up and setting her feet on the floor, she sat her laptop down and rose to walk into the kitchen. She was hungry and couldn’t decide what it was she wanted to eat.
Standing with the refrigerator door open, she reached for the lone orange sitting on the center rack. Closing the door, she stepped to the side and began rolling it on the counter to soften its peel, simplifying the removal and loosening the juice. Popping a segment into her mouth, she savored the cool citrus sweetness of it, turning to lean against her kitchen counter. The phone loomed large suddenly, calling her attention to it. Why? Because of him. She wanted to call him. She wanted to hear his voice. What was he doing right now? Was he wondering what she was doing? “I’m thinking about you,” she answered out loud as if he’d asked the question. Sighing deep, she finished her orange and went to her basement door and down the stairs. She would gather some wood in the log carrier and bring up a bundle for the night.
The fireplace helped keep the chill out of the air since she kept her thermostat set at 60°F. She found that it was too expensive to heat her house with LP fuel alone. She’d done that last winter and it had cost her an arm and a leg. Not this year, she wouldn’t. Looking around her finished basement with its rustic décor, pool table and other amusement games…she realized that this house was probably too big for her to be living in alone, but it was comfortable and to her liking. It fit her, who she was, and allowed her to easily implement the type of furnishings that expressed her style of living. With her carrier loaded, she walked past the bar and turned on the lights to it, then picked up the remote to the 36-inch TV in the wall entertainment center and clicked it on. Setting the wood on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, she went to the refrigerator freezer and removed a large, ring tray of jumbo shrimp. A spur of impulse found her whipping up a quick salad. She then took out two New York Strip steaks and two large potatoes. After activating the works to cook in her small basement kitchen, she went behind the bar and picked up the phone. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she quickly dialed his number before she lost her nerve.
“Hello?” His voice was soft, while deep and masculine; the timbre of it reaching to her core.
“Hi.” She swallowed, afraid.
“Hi,” he returned, not sure who he spoke to.
“It’s me…Sylvia,” she informed him nervously.
“Sylvia! Wow, what a surprise! Is something wrong?” he asked, stunned to hear her voice over his phone. He looked across the kitchen at the refrigerator door that he’d left open to answer the phone. He was starving. He’d been painting most of the day and hated to stop when his rhythm was just so. There were days when he struggled with one of his paintings, and others, where the talent seem to flow from him. Today had been just one of those days, ending just a half an hour ago because the hunger grew sharp.
“Nothing…I, uh, well…echm…umm…” She gulped and swallowed deep, then with her eyes closed as if not seeing would block her embarrassment, she softly climbed out on the limb. “I haven’t had dinner yet and I’m hungry, and I thought maybe you would be, too…I mean, if you’re not…that’s fine…but I thought we could maybe…well, keep each other company a couple of hours. Play some pool, maybe shoot some darts…whatever you’d like to do,” she finished, sighing in relief to get it out. She could hear him chuckling through the phone line.
“Whatever I’d like to do, hmm?”
She could hear the grin in his tone as well. “Well, not whatever! You know what I mean.”
“I see.” He snickered. “I think, dear lady, that your timing is perfect. I also happen to be hungry—starving, in fact. Sure, I’d be delighted. Is there anything I can bring…um, maybe a bottle of wine or something?”
Smiling and giddy, with the nod of her head Sylvia answered, “Sure. A bottle of wine would be nice.” What a relief…it hadn’t been as hard to do as she thought.
“I’ll be over in about thirty minutes then. I need a shower. I have paint all over me and I worked out earlier, I better take care of that. Trust me—you would not care for the smell of me right now.”
“Well, I guess you better head for the shower then. See you when you get here.”
“Lady, I’ll be there with bells on.”
Hanging up, Sylvia paused a moment to savor the delicious thought of his presence there, but for only a moment did she pause. Heading back to the small kitchenette counter, Sylvia unwrapped the steaks, rinsed them off, placing them on the thawing plate, making sure to season and marinade them. She then opened the frozen shrimp tray, placing them in cool running water to aid in a faster thaw. Grabbing the logs, she dashed up the stairs and stacked them by the fire. She gave her home a quick survey to make sure everything was as it should be. Satisfied, she closed her laptop, placing it neatly on the end table to anchor the pile of papers. With that spot tidy, she rushed to the stereo and started her 25-disc CD player, setting it on shuffle mode. The first soundtrack to start the evening was Stevie Wonder's You are the Sunshine of My Life. Smiling at the atmosphere playing Stevie in the background set, she hurried into her bathroom. Her intention was to do a quick wash-up, but second thought had her stripping down and starting the shower. Pinning her hair up out of the way, she stepped into the warm, invigorating spray.
Again her intention was for a fast shower, but with him on her mind...it did something to the way she was suddenly feeling. Her body was responding to her thoughts, stimulating every nerve ending and making her skin ultra-sensitive to every caress with the sponge netting and fragrant cream wash. The spray of the warm shower pelting against her skin was soothing as she
lathered up one arm, slow with pleasure, turning gently in a dreamy state so that the tiny jets had her tingling as it bounced off of her back and buttocks. From her arms, the lathering bath continued across her chest, over and around her breasts. Her nipples tightened to an achy hardness, which was what it took to snap her out of it.
Stunned at her state of rising arousal, she knew she’d best hasten this shower before it led to full sexual awakening. A moment later she stepped from the shower, looking immediately up at the bath clock. Ten minutes was burned in that shower. After a rapid patting all over using a soft, thick and thirsty towel, she grabbed her bottle of lotion and stopped. It usually took her ten minutes to completely lotion her body down after a shower, which she faithfully did under normal circumstances. No time for that tonight; it seemed to her that she and the clock were in a race. Thank goodness Avon understood this, providing a lotion moisturizing spray, which of course she had, taking advantage of that post-haste. She laughed out loud as she next grabbed the feminine deodorant spray for her lower regions, and then the stick for the underarms. “Good grief! Do men go through all of this to smell good?” She chuckled in wonder at the things women did to feel good about their bodies, their carriage and the way they smelled. Turning to her bathroom vanity, she pulled open the bottom drawer and removed a little, lacy dark-red pair of undies, followed by the matching bra.
Five minutes gone. She had fifteen minutes.
“This is crazy!” she screeched, still grinning, pulling them up as they rolled with her damp, moist skin, making her laugh out her frustration trying to straighten them. Two snapping shakes to the bra and the fight was on with that. “Ooh! Would you cut it out!” she scolded the clock. It had to be a proven fact when you’re not in an urgent hurry, the bra goes on without a hitch, when you are… "Argh! I hate this thing!” this exclamation after hooking it, turning it, only to find after pulling it up and over, that it was inside out. She knew it when it hooked that odd way, but prayed it was a 'different bra'. Not!
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