Wolfe's Lady

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “You have an interesting perspective.”,” his composure was back as if the awkward moment never happened although she noticed he didn’t answer her question. “It is late. Shall I walk you to your car? I presume it must still be at school. ”

  “Thank you but I live just down the block. I can walk. I walked over to the school today, too,” Stella said, gathering up her purse. “Thank you for the tea. I enjoyed it.”

  “You are most welcome, dear lady. Allow me to walk you home.”

  For just a second, she wondered if he mocked her or if he spoke in all seriousness. After deliberation, she decided it must be the latter. His manners smacked of the Victorian Age and no one had ever called her “dear lady” in her life. Coming from anyone else, she might have been offended but somehow, delivered in his crisp British way, she found it somewhat endearing. Nor had anyone asked to walk her home since the third grade but Stella, somehow flattered, agreed.

  “Thank you, I would like that.”

  Out in the bright August sunshine, they sauntered down the sidewalk, peering into the shop windows that they passed. At a local photograph shop, they admired the bridal couples, the new babies, and the family portraits. Catching a glimpse of their reflection in the display window, Stella noticed that they made an attractive pair, Darien with his dark hair and topaz eyes, she with her light ash blonde hair and blue eyes. Fair and dark, they contrasted but in a way that worked.

  “Look,” she said to call attention to their reflected image. “We make a striking pair, don’t we?”

  Darien beamed. “We do, indeed.”

  They paused in tandem to admire their contrast and then Darien focused on a display of vintage jewelry in the shop window.

  “Those are exquisite,” he exclaimed. “Look at the fine workmanship and the attention to detail in each piece. Most modern jewelry is so bland, so without life compared to these.”

  They were pretty, Stella thought, but pricey.

  “I like that one.” She pointed to a beautiful black cameo surrounded by half pearls.

  He leaned forward to see the exact piece and nodded.

  “You have excellent taste, Stella. It’s the best of the lot, by far.”

  At the corner, the old hotel stood four stories tall. Like the jewelry, it was vintage, a throwback to an earlier era. Made of solid brick with granite trim, the thick walls were sturdy.

  “We’re here,” Stella said, extending her hand to shake.

  “Thank you for walking with me.”

  Darien Wolfe accepted her hand and held it in his. His palm against hers was very warm and he moved so close that she could inhale his very masculine, musky aroma.

  “A gentleman sees a lady to her door,” he said, his voice deepening into a sensual level. He tucked her hand into his arm and escorted her into the lobby.

  They crossed the wide, ornate lobby to the antique elevator and stepped into the car. His proximity excited her but she felt anxious. No matter how attractive Darien Wolfe might be, he was almost a stranger and they would be working in the same hallway.

  That strict conduct code hadn’t mentioned whether or not staff members could date but Stella couldn’t help but think that they would frown on it if not forbid.

  At her floor, Darien insisted on walking the length of the corridor to her apartment door. Stella inserted the key and opened it.

  “I am home.” Her voice was a little too breathless and high pitched. “Thank you.”

  He leaned against the open door frame, lithe and appealing.

  “Oh, no need to thank me, Stella, but if you must, you can show your appreciation with one kiss.”

  He moved fast, she thought, and without guile. Because she found him very attractive, Stella nodded and faced him.

  “All right, then, one kiss.”

  Darien stepped forward until a scant half inch separated them and with slow precision, he leaned down and put his mouth on hers.

  From the moment his lips touched hers, Stella was lost. The warmth of his mouth ignited a sweet fire that spread through her body, delicious as honey, heady as wine. Her body sang with delight and her mouth responded to his greed by wanting more, by taking what he gave and returning it.

  The space between them vanished and he put his arms around her, drawing her so close that she could feel the beat of his heart. He kissed her until she could not breathe, until she thought she might faint from the dizzy delight. By the time, he released her, her mouth felt swollen and her body weak, pliant like modeling clay. If he had wanted, he could have taken her and she would have been powerless to stop him. They both knew that, standing close, his topaz eyes hypnotizing hers.

  “Stella, Stella, Stella,” Darien said. “You enchant me and I look forward to seeing you again.”

  Before she could open her mouth to say good-bye, he turned and with a graceful tread moved away, gone into the mouth of the elevator before she could call out. She stared after him, touched unbelieving fingers to her mouth, and then went into her apartment.

  In a daze, she put down her purse and walked to the front windows, leaning to see if she might see him when he exited the building.

  Chapter Two

  On the first day of school, a Monday, Stella pulled her good navy blazer and skirt from the closet and donned them over a white, lace-trimmed blouse. She then put on panty hose and slid her feet into her best black pumps with three-inch heels. Stella wanted to look professional and did, although she expected she would be roasting by noon. Tempted to change into khakis and a polo shirt, she almost did but changed her mind at the last moment. She would wear her best for her first official day in the classroom.

  Stella regretted that choice as soon as she stepped into her classroom. Although the school was air-conditioned, heat rose to the third floor and all but negated it. Her classroom felt more like a sauna and she stripped off her blazer before the students began arriving. Just as the bell rang, Darien stuck his head in the door, dressed in neat dark slacks, a button down white on white dress shirt, and a red tie. He looked competent and also very attractive.

  “Good morning, Stella. You look lovely for your first day.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t expect it to be this hot, though.”

  He grinned, showing those long eyeteeth. “Wait until November; then it will be cool. Here they come!”

  A babble of voices filled the hallway punctuated by slamming locker doors and many feet stomping. Stray giggles rang out above the other noise and when the whirlwind began to settle, twenty students burst into her classroom and careened into seats just as the tardy bell rang.

  “Good morning, class,” Stella announced, standing in front of the desk. “I am Miss Raines.”

  Forty eyes stared back at her, the stranger from another place.

  Stella realized that most of the students would have grown up together, that their families would know each other for three generations back, and that here, she was the outlander. After a few moments of silent stares, noise emerged from twenty mouths. At first, there were a few snickers, and some whispers that crackled through the room with speed. Then, the noise erupted in earnest as some asked questions, others giggled, and some snapped bubble gum in rhythm. Their cacophony of sound hit unbearable levels as they chattered, discussed, and even cussed. She tried to field the questions but they came at her, too fast to sort, let alone answer as they came.

  “Why did Mrs. Brennan retire? I wanted to take history because my brother said she was easy.”

  “Where do you come from?”

  “How old are you? Have you ever taught before?”

  “Class, please.” She strove to sound teacher-ly but felt that she fell short of the mark. “I came from the Kansas City area and as far as I know, Mrs. Brennan retired to enjoy her grandchildren more.

  The rest is really none of your concern. Let me hand out the class syllabus and go over the basic classroom rules.”

  “Aw, gee, Miss Raines, it’s just the first day.” A freckle faced boy in t
he front row protested. “Let’s get more acquainted.”

  “Yeah, let’s get to know each other,” another student chimed in and the noise rose again, spiraling beyond her control.

  With her hands on her hips, Stella struggled to call them down but her loudest voice vanished under the torrent of sound. Great, she thought, the first class decides to try out the new teacher and I have no control over them. Any minute, Mr. Sanderson would be here and her teaching career would be over before it began.

  “Please, class, quiet down!” Stella shouted but nothing changed. Exasperated, angry, and almost ready to cry, she stomped her foot and searched for something to say. Two boys began playing catch with a baseball one of them must have smuggled in their backpack while a girl, whose spaghetti string top failed to meet the student dress code standard, rubbed her sandaled feet against a boy’s cowboy boot.

  The classroom door burst open and slammed back hard against the wall, with such force Stella feared it might crack the glass. She expected to see Mr. Sanderson, irate and red-faced, but it was Darien who stood there, arms folded across his chest with a stern expression on his face. His topaz eyes burned like kindled fire and when he opened his mouth, he roared.

  “Enough of this nonsense, class! You will be silent and you will sit down. Mr. Brown and Mr. Egan, please hand me the baseball.

  Thank you. Miss Garcia, you must report to Mr. Sanderson because your garments fail to meet the moral standards set for dress in this school. I expect every single one of you to show Miss Raines complete courtesy and your full attention. Should my presence again be required, each one of you will serve Saturday detention until Christmas. Is that understood?”

  By the time he uttered the last three words, the noise died, faded away, and silence reigned. It was so quiet by the time Darien stopped that Stella could hear the clock on the wall tick and the voice of another teacher lecturing down the hallway. Darien bowed to her, from the waist in a courtly fashion and faced her. He grinned, turning away so no one else could see his expression.

  “Carry on, Miss Raines,” he said as he retreated.

  After that, the class was a model of manners and decorum.

  Stella passed out the syllabus she had slaved over, checked out textbooks to each student, and made her first efforts to match names to faces. By the end of the hour, she was calm and assumed the control she lost so early.

  When lunchtime arrived, Stella sighed with relief and pulled out the chair to sit down at the desk for the first time all morning.

  Her feet ached and she slipped off the pretty shoes. She pulled her simple lunch bag from the bottom drawer of the now organized, neat desk. She opened her simple sandwich and debated if she wanted to go down to the teachers’ room to buy bottle of iced tea just as Darien strolled into the room, as always, confident and lithe.

  “Dear Stella, please put away that plebian food and come with me. No need to hide that concoction that some call tea from me but please leave it here. I have a lovely dinner waiting for us in my classroom.”

  Plebian? She wasn’t sure if she should be insulted; her simple lunch must be beneath his standards. Even so, she was curious enough to follow him into his classroom. Every desk was in linear order and the top of his desk was empty save for two plates and a platter of food. Sliced roast beef, thin shaved turkey breast, pastrami slices, assorted cheeses, black olives, green grapes, and strawberries lay in an artistic, appetizing fashion. Stella gaped at the food, delighted with the array.

  “Darien, it looks delicious! Where is the bread?”

  He laughed and then put a mock frown on his face.

  “Surely you would not pollute such fine meats with bread, Stella. There will be no sandwich making here. I prefer meats and the occasional cheese to grains. I thrive on protein.”

  Maybe he was on the famous no-carb diet, she thought, although she had never seen a man who seemed not to need a diet more than him. Darien was well made, lean and yet muscular.

  “Thank you,” Stella said, as she selected a few slices of meat, some olives, and cheese. The meats were tender, delicious, and just right for the hot, humid day. “It’s a pleasant lunch; all that could make it any better would be champagne.”

  Darien grinned. “And we would have that, my lady, if we could but alas, Mr. Sanderson has a policy against alcoholic beverages on school property. How did your morning go after I settled your first class?

  “It went very well, actually. I think the word spread that I have your protection.”

  His eyes raked over her, with something like hunger as he nodded.

  “You do, my dear Stella, in more ways than you know.”

  She would have asked him what he meant but the bell rang and she had to hurry back to her classroom for three more classes.

  Her planning period was the last hour of the day and she looked forward to it with zeal. Still, she had to face the next class first. With a sigh, she sat down at her desk to find the lesson plan she had prepared. But Stella forgot all about lessons when she saw the gift box on her desk.

  It was small, wrapped in silver paper with a bright red bow.

  Intrigued, Stella picked it up and gave it a slight shake. Hoping that it wasn’t a prank gift with a live frog inside, she opened it with careful fingers and found the beautiful cameo she had admired in the shop window.

  Here in her classroom, the pearls shimmered against the black onyx behind the cameo and she touched it, amazed. No one could have given it to her but Darien but she could not quite figure out how he had placed it on her desk without her notice. With delight, she pinned it onto her blouse and met the next class with a new authority.

  It was as if the pin provided her with courage and confidence, because Darien gave it to her. She felt cherished, something she had never known with a man before.

  When that last period began, she put her classroom to rights, straightening desks and picking up stray papers. She wanted to thank Darien but she could tell he had class—she could hear his splendid voice down the hallway. So she waited and after the mad rush of students out the doors ended, she walked down to his classroom. He sat at his desk, writing, and did not look up until she spoke.

  “Darien, I wanted to thank you for the cameo. It is lovely but you shouldn’t have. I’m sure it cost a great deal.”

  He came to his feet with one swift motion and beamed.

  “No, no, no. You are most welcome, Stella. It is far too beautiful to languish in a shop window. Do you have plans for this evening? No? Then might I invite you over to see my behemoth of a house?”

  Stella could not say no. She wanted to see his house although it was strange he called it a behemoth. That made it sound like it was alive.

  “I would love to see your house. I need to change, though.

  These shoes are killing my poor feet.”

  He moved closer, standing so near that she swore she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her skin. His proximity titillated her and she took another step forward so that they stood so close that if she raised her hand, her fingers would brush against him.

  Darien’s eyes met hers and she felt some invisible electrical charge pass between them. He moved and his hand rested against hers, skin-to-skin, warm against it.

  “Of course you can change. If you like, I will even banish the bad shoes forever.” Come with me and I’ll drive you by your apartment.” As he spoke, he shifted position so near now that his body heat radiated out toward her in waves. That made her want actual contact.

  Stella shifted just enough that their bodies touched, shoulder to hip. His warmth on contact filled her with a rush of desire but she struggled to remain focused on their polite exchange despite their growing physical flirtation.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  Darien Wolfe leaned toward her, his lips scant millimeters from hers.

  “I want to do it.” His breath, sweet smelling, wafted against her cheek and Stella thought he hinted at far more than giving her a ri
de home.

  “Let’s go, then,” Stella said, stepping back before she drowned with desire or yielded to temptation.

  “I’m delighted!” he said, crooking his arm for her to grasp so she did, hoping that Mr. Sanderson might be gone for the day.

  He wasn’t. When they sauntered past the principal’s office, Mr. Sanderson exited and almost bumped into them. His eyes scanned them, top to bottom, and he grunted his disapproval but said nothing.

  In the parking lot, she tried to guess which of the remaining vehicles might belong to Darien. Stella rejected the pickup truck, the Volkswagen Beetle, and the fire engine red Camaro. That left a vintage sleek black Packard, a silver Corvette, a well-worn, high mileage Chevy, and an El Camino. It had to be the Packard or the Corvette so she was not surprised when he led her to the Packard.

  “What do you think of my automobile?” he asked, with a sideways grin.

  “I like it. What year is it?”

  He opened the door for her. “This is a 1939 Packard.

  Everything is restored to the original quality.”

  After a brief stop, when she dashed upstairs to change into black denim jeans and a bright scarlet blouse, to slide her aching feet into a pair of huaraches, they headed toward Darien’s home in the Packard.

  It was a classic car and a class ride, smooth as sailing on a calm sea. The seats were leather and everything screamed luxury.

  The well-tuned engine was almost silent as they drove to the far edge of town, then down a long lane lined on either side by beautiful evergreens. At the end of the drive, Darien pulled up before a huge square house with a native stone chimney on one end. She recognized it immediately as being from the American Craftsman movement, the once popular style that downsized the Victorian Queen Anne to a large but comfortable family home. In recent years, such homes, bungalows and the larger so-called cottages, found a new fan base in urban couples and anyone who appreciated vintage anything. Stella liked their unique touches, so different from the suburban ranch style home where she grew up, where every home on the block was virtually the same.