by Anne, Betsy
* * *
Unbelievable.
I never have to go into the city, except this one day to sign some contracts. Wouldn’t you know it? The trains are delayed, and cabs are nonexistent. Even the Uber drivers are backed up by an hour or more.
I jumped the gun when I left the office, and told Wick I was on my way. He’s waiting in his car at my place now. I shoot him a quick text: I’m sorry, I’ve never seen a backup like this. I have no idea what time I’ll make it there. There is a key in a fake rock in the plant to the right of the door. Go in and make yourself at home. I’ll keep you updated!
He responds: Don’t stress, lass. I’ve got it covered. I’ll have a nice cocktail waiting for you when you arrive.
Come on, stupid train!
I finally drag myself to my door two hours late. My sympathies go out to everyone who does that on a daily basis. When I open the door, the most heavenly aroma fills my senses. Baked pasta: the models’ forbidden fruit.
“Wickham? I’m here, I final … ” he rounds the corner, and he’s carrying two wine glasses, filled with a blood-red vintage.
“All is well, you made it,” he says, handing me a glass and clinking it with his. “Here’s to long days that help us to enjoy the evening’s pleasures.”
“You Scots have a toast for everything, don’t you? I’ll definitely drink to that.” I swallow a large gulp. This isn’t the cheap stuff I buy at the grocery store for a Wednesday night, this wine is rich, and flavorful. “Whoa, that’s good. And what is that delectable aroma?”
I drop my things at the door, and follow him into the kitchen. He grabs my hand, links our fingers and kisses it.
“Well, I wasn’t quite sure if you’re fond of Haggis, so I made some baked ziti. Italian is my specialty,” he says, laughing knowing that anyone who’s not Scottish would never willingly eat sheep guts cooked in it’s stomach. Just knowing what it is makes me queasy.
“You’re correct, sir, I couldn’t even look at that stuff. I’m grateful you didn’t molest my kitchen with that recipe. I’m starving; is the ziti ready?”
“Just keeping it warm. You sit, I’ll plate.”
My dining-room table has never been used. I don’t really know why I bothered to buy one, except the space needed something there. Wick has set the table, complete with all the candles he could find, and it’s beautiful.
Later, I’m stuffed. I was so famished when I got home, that I overate his incredible food until it finally caught up with me.
“Wick, that was so delicious, I don’t know how to thank you. I’m sorry for being late and making you wait on me,” I say as I push myself up out of the chair like I’m nine months pregnant. I sidle over to the living room and plop down into the overstuffed couch, realizing I may never get out.
Wick sits down next to me, and places his arm around my shoulder. I snuggle into the nook of his arm, and fight every inclination to fall sound asleep. He hugs me into his body, and kisses the top of my head. It feels unusually comfortable for a second date, especially given the fact that all we’ve done physically is kiss.
“Tell me a story, Wick. Tell me about yourself and your family,” I say, my eyes closed, halfway to dreamland.
“My family moved to the states when I was seven …,” he pauses.
“And? Don’t leave me hanging,” I say groggily.
“My story is boring. True immigrant’s tale. I’d like to hear more about you. Did a photographer really call you fat? I would’ve punched his lights out,”
I hear him continue to speak as I fade into a blissful sleep.
When I wake up, I’m in my bed, and he’s gone. I get up to check the place, and everything is cleaned and put away. There’s a note on the kitchen counter.
“I didn’t want to wake you; you were sleeping so peacefully. I’m off work this weekend, and I’d love to take you out again. I’ll call you tomorrow/today. XX Wick PS: Thank you for sharing your home with me.”
What a gentleman. I must have been knocked out cold for him to have done all of this without waking me up. Nothing like a big pasta meal for a sedative. I may as well go back to bed and try to dream of him and his food.
He’s busy at work the next few days, so we don’t get to see each other. I talk to him at night on the phone before bed, but I miss being around him. He calms me.
* * *
Wick and I went out four times over the last two weeks, and I’m over the moon about him. I only wish he could open up more to me more about his past. He offers bits and pieces, at my pleading, but that’s it. I’ve learned that his brother was an exceptional athlete. It played a large part in the decision for his family to move where they did, so Lachlan could have better opportunities to pursue sports. He was drafted by the Major Leagues in college, left to pursue a professional baseball career. Two years in, he was in a car crash, which ended his career.
That’s where Wick stops. He won’t tell the rest of the story. I don’t yet know about the extent of his injuries, or what he’s doing now. It’s like pulling blood from a stone. All in due time, I suppose.
For as little as I get from him emotionally, I don’t get much more physically, either. He’s attentive and incredibly sweet, but we’re no further along than we were at the beginning of our relationship to hitting the bedroom. We kiss, a lot, no complaints there, and we snuggle, but he pulls back when it gets too hot. I’ve seen and felt some pretty impressive erections through his pants, so it’s not physical, for sure. I know we’re proceeding slowly, but this pace is downright glacial.
Chapter 9
Wick and I each spent Christmas Day with our families, but today is our Christmas. I had no idea what to get him, but when I was shopping I saw a beautiful cashmere sweater the exact color of his eyes. Not very personal, but it’s all I could come up with.
He’s coming to my place tonight so we can celebrate. I spent yesterday with Mel, Brian and the kids, and our parents. I was Lou’s shadow all morning. She brought every gift under the tree to me to help her open it. She’s spoiled rotten, mostly my fault, and no one minded her being the queen of Christmas. I sent Wick selfies of her and me throughout the day, including a photo that Mel took of the two of us curled up together taking a nap.
Wick shares no word at all about how everything goes with his family. That is one tight lid he has on this particular drum. My crowbar is bent trying to get into it, but I know he has to be the one to voluntarily open it up.
He cooks us a delicious meal of steak and potatoes, with salad, bread and wine. On the outside, a simple meal, but the flavors are a complex blend of fine ingredients: The perfect metaphor for something else in my life, perhaps?
“Thank you, Wick, once again for a delicious feast that makes my lack of cooking skills even more humiliating. Where did you learn to cook like that?” I ask, trying my best to build on my limited knowledge of one Wickham Dunmore.
“The fire station I worked at in the city. One of the older guys was an amazing cook, and he took me under his wing,” he says, very noncommittally. “Are we doing presents now? Because I can’t wait.”
He hands me a large envelope while we’re still sitting at the table. There’s a small red bow on the front.
“OK, this isn’t the puppy I asked for, is it?” I say, just trying to lighten the mood a little; he seems serious right now.
He’s also nervous. Now I’m nervous wondering what the hell could be in the envelope. I feel my hands shake a little as I open it. It’s a brochure for a resort in Wisconsin with spectacular views of Lake Michigan. It looks incredible.
“I’ve booked us for the weekend of Valentine’s Day. I hope that’s OK,” he says, taking a large sip of his wine.
Why is he so nervous? It’s just a weekend away for us. Then it hits me. Maybe he’s planning on this being the weekend we finally consummate our relationship. I walk over to the living room, to get more comfortable on the couch. He follows, with an unsure look on his face.
“Do you like it? Am I
being too presumptuous about Valentine’s Day?”
“Wick, I love it. It’s such a kind gesture, and I look forward to it. I do have a question, though. Will we be in the same bed?”
May as well lay it out there, I’ve got nothing to lose.
“Well, yes. I know you’ve been frustrated with me, and I appreciate your patience. I have my reasons for behaving the way I do.”
“Will you share them with me? I’m just so curious, why the wait? I will admit, I do feel more aroused when we’re together. It’s like an extended foreplay.”
“I will, I promise, in my own time, OK? This whole relationship has turned my existence upside down, and I’m trying my best to manage pretty unfamiliar ground. I’m hoping that by February, I’ll be ready for this.”
I can’t help but notice he has an erection. Now I’m more confused than ever. I pretend not to see it, and thank him again for the gift. I rise to clear the dishes, and watch him out of the corner of my eye. He takes a long deep breath, eyes closed, and the bulge disappears. Wow. That’s some self-control.
I give him his sweater, and he loves it. He yanks off the tag, as I hold my breath begging it not to rip a hole, and throws it on. I never thought he could be more gorgeous, until now. It makes the color of his eyes absolutely pop from his head, and his dark hair look even darker.
“I’m afraid I’ve outdone myself and must insist that you wear that twenty-four hours a day,” I say, ogling him.
“What if I have a really good reason to take it off?”
Wait, what? Is he teasing me after the conversation before?
“Don’t toy with me, Wick. My poor, weak heart can’t take it.”
He stands up, slowly removes the sweater and pulls me up to standing in front of him. He takes my hands, and places them on the buttons of his dress shirt. I’m frozen for a moment. I’m not quite sure what the means.
“Unbutton it,” he whispers.
My fingers start shaking, and my body heat is rising. I fumble with the first button, and it’s a long shirt, we could be here awhile. I tell myself to calm down and focus on the task at hand. I even unbutton the cuffs. I see his muscled chest and his abs for the first time. I hear myself swallow. He has a small amount of chest hair, and the rest is bare.
“Take it off,” he whispers even more softly than before.
I’ve seen countless men with no shirt on, but this is so erotic I feel as if I’ll melt into a puddle at his feet. I grab the top of the collar, and slowly peel the shirt over his broad shoulders, and continue down his torso and back until it drops onto the floor. Another full erection has joined the party. This won’t be the night, will it? He’s made such a big deal out of our trip. I don’t understand, but right now, I don’t care. I’m enjoying this moment.
Even with my height, I still only reach his shoulders. I’m face to chest with him. He smells so manly: I don’t know if it’s cologne or just his natural scent, but it’s intoxicating. He keeps his eyes on my face, as he leans down to grab the bottom of my blouse. I unhook the loop at the back of the neck, and he raises it above my head. I’m not wearing a bra, so I’m standing in front of him naked from the waist up. His eyes fall from my face to my bare breasts. He has an intense look. I stand in wait for him to lean down and kiss them, or to feel his hands knead them, but nothing happens. We stand in our respective places, taking in the scent and sight of each other, but neither of us moving. He closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. His erection doesn’t go away, it seems to intensify.
When his eyes open, they’re black with desire. He moves in closer to my body, as close as possible without touching, and he inhales deeply once more. An unusual mix of ferocity and calmness emanates from his pores. The small, unclaimed area between our bodies is buzzing with electric current.
I have no idea how much time passes, but he is the first to move, and it’s slow and deliberate. He lifts his hands to my shoulders, and touches me with just the tips of his fingers. He draws an invisible line down the outside of my arms, and heat radiates from them. I stand like a tree planted deep in the ground, unable to move, only bend and sway. He mimics the action again, and this time the touch is even lighter than before, almost imperceptible.
I think he’s hypnotized me, I can’t move. If the fire alarm went off right now, they would find me burned to death, stuck in this spot. My heart rate, which was off the charts just a minute ago, has slowed to a light thump. My eyes close involuntarily to take in the sensation even more fully. Another moment passes, and I feel his sensuous mouth on mine. It wakes me from my trance. He’s stepped back a little, and is putting his shirt back on. I feel confused, and unsure of my whereabouts, as if someone has awakened me from a deep sleep.
“What’s happening? What are you doing?” I ask, as I watch him put his shirt and sweater back on.
“I can’t rush this, Rebecca. I don’t want to. I can’t seem to help myself around you; it’s really difficult.”
“Don’t you want me?” I ask, with a quiver in my voice.
I can’t understand: If he’s that attracted to me, why doesn’t he just rip my clothes off and go to town.
He looks pained.
“I want you more than anything or anyone I’ve ever longed for in my life. Please try to be patient with me, I swear to you, I’ll get there.”
He looks disappointed with himself. I go to him, put my arms around his waist and hug him tightly. He relaxes into it and hugs me back. I want to crack open the window to his mind so that I can understand all of this. I’ve developed some strong feelings, and I’m worried about him. I’m sure whatever the situation is, it can’t be any worse than what my active imagination is telling me.
“It’s OK, Wick. I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got nothing but time.”
* * *
Our big weekend is coming up. We’ve been spending as much time as we can together, and have even had a couple of sleepovers. He slept on the couch a couple of times before I insisted he try it in the bed with me.
“I swear, Wick, I’ll keep to my side. It’s chilly tonight, I need your body warmth,” I say, and he relents.
“OK, sweet girl, you win.”
We snuggled all night long. I don’t think either of us slept a wink, but it was wonderful to have him close. I felt his hardness many times throughout the night. He would roll over, breathe deeply, then come back to me. It had to be exhausting, I feel guilty that he has to go to work and try to function on no sleep. His job is dangerous enough without being sleep deprived.
“Thank you for a terrible night’s sleep, lass. However, I wouldn’t have changed a moment. I love you near me, I feel whole,” he says as he rolls over to face me and touch my tired face. He leans in and kisses each eye, then my lips, in his tender way.
“Are you going to be OK this weekend, Wick? If you’re not ready, we can postpone it,” I say, hoping he’ll take the bait and talk about his issues.
We leave in two days, and last night was the first night we’ve shared a bed. The added pressure of a full weekend may be too much.
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. This weekend is for both of us.” He kisses me again. “I really care for you, Rebecca. Thank you for waiting for me. I know I’ve been elusive, and all I can give you is the promise that I’m trying to open up. I have to go, but I’ll see you tonight, love.”
Love? We haven’t said those words yet, even though we both drop hints. I love him with all my heart. I just haven’t wanted to tell him until we get past these communication roadblocks. He has baggage, I just don’t know what or how much.
Chapter 10
I can barely breathe. Today is the big day: We’re leaving for our trip. He’s been quiet ever since we spent the night together. I’ve given him a couple of outs, but he’s insisting we go. I’ve packed enough clothes for a weeklong trip to Europe. It’s cold up there, really cold, but it’s Valentine’s Day. I need nice dresses for dinner and, of course, lingerie that I pray will be seen.
He’s at
my place at noon sharp. When I open the door, the sight knocks me over. He’s standing there in his nice jeans, boots, the sweater I gave him for Christmas and dark sunglasses. He looks like sex walking. My libido can only take so much.
“Seriously? Look at you, Mr. Sex-on-a-stick. You’re too gorgeous for your own good. Get in here before my neighbors think I’m hiring escorts,” I say, trying my best to start this weekend on a light note.
It should be fun: A loving couple going away for a romantic weekend, with the small exception that one of us can’t seem to cross an imaginary line to sexual intimacy.
He smiles at my joke, then hurriedly steps inside. He gives me a lingering look, taking in my outfit. I pulled out all the stops today and dug deep into my closet for some of my high-end designer duds. I’m wearing skin-tight, black suede leggings, a low-cut emerald-green blouse, and above-the-knee stiletto boots. He looks appreciative.
“I don’t have to guess what you’d look like strutting down a runway. Becca, you look stunning. I don’t think I want to share you looking like that. I would have had a lot of trouble if I’d known you when you were modeling in New York. I’m a jealous man,” he says, looking deadly serious.
He is? I’ve never seen this side of him before. Yet, another layer peeled back on the Wick onion.
“Well, that’s no longer a worry. My runway days are over. All the wonderful meals you’ve been cooking for me will definitely make sure of that.”
“You need meat on you bones, love, and I’m happy to help.” He grabs my rear, and pulls me in close.
We’re the same height with me in my boots and we stand eye-to-eye. He stares at me lovingly and holds my face. He’s so close to saying something, I can almost see the words on his lips, but he kisses me instead. That was a missed chance to express our love for one another.
“You ready? I know I am.” He swats my butt, and grabs my two large suitcases like they weigh nothing; I had to throw them down the stairs this morning.
