The Cayman Proxy (Box One): An Erotic Hotwife Box Set

by KT Morrison

  “So glad you could make it,” he said.

  “Now that I’m here.”

  “It happens a lot, that’s why I always send out that e-mail.”

  “I thought it’d be easier just letting the navigation tell me where I’d find you.”

  “These mountain roads get tricky, some of em are private, won’t even show up. Don’t worry, I’d say about forty percent of my guests do the same thing.” He opened the gate of the pickup, slid a bale out.

  The horses were up at the fence, six of them, hanging their heads over. One bold one snorting and nodding, pushing the others, stomping a foot. Kiley went to them, pet them. Jay threw a bale over, went back for another.

  “I didn’t know you had horses,” Kiley said.

  “They’re not mine. They were Tess’ idea. They’re hers, I guess. They grew on me, I look forward to seeing them but I don’t ride them.”

  “Does Tess still come here too?” Jay had gone through a divorce about two and a half years ago. He never seemed to be put out by it, seemed to her like it had been pretty amicable. Jay and Tess had grown up kids off in college now and he made it seem like he and his wife split so they could go off and do their own things. Like they were friends but that the romance was gone, they’d grown apart.

  “Yeah, she comes up to visit her babies. She rides them. She’s mostly here in the summer,” he said, slapping a horse on the rump. “Neither of us had the heart to take this place away from the other, so we split it.”

  She watched him throw the last of the hay over, leaning on the fence to watch them eat. She picked hay off the back of his fleece vest when he came to stand with her. They stood a moment and watched them. He pushed his worn out ball cap up off his face, asked her if she was ready for a workout today. She lied and told him she was.

  She walked across the plowed section past her rental, a step behind Jay. Jay introduced her to two guys pulled up next to them in the driveway, windows of the charcoal grey Cayenne powered down. Two doctors, not from Chicago, Jay went to school with them at Duke. Stylish and fit, looking good in their expensive down jackets and polarized sunglasses.

  Guy in the driver seat pointed a finger at her, put the hammer down, shot her with it. “Hey,” he said, “Pharm rep.” Not a question, a statement. It felt oddly like an insult. He didn’t mean it as one, but it pointed out he didn’t think she was a doctor. Too pretty, probably—she must be selling drugs. Everybody these days putting labels on people, summing them up. Everybody so smart. She shot him back and winked. Maybe he was a nice guy.

  She listened to them make small talk, stuff about snow, trails, wax and waxless. She had a meeting in Denver on Monday morning, all day thing, shaking hands with a lot of execs from Jakobsen-Mueller, then Tuesday through Friday she was at the PharmExpo at the Colorado Convention Center. Most of that material would be over her head. She was no chemist but attending did give her a better understanding of the products. Every little bit helped. She had a hotel booked for tonight, a Holiday Inn back in Grand Junction. She hadn’t even checked in yet, coming straight here from the plane after she picked up her ski gear.

  Jay slapped their roof, and they drove off headed to the house. She and Jay got in their vehicles and she followed him up the hilly drive sliding between the tall, snow covered pines. The drive opened up around a bend revealing a huge, beautiful log home, high above them on a ridge, behind that was Mt Garfield and a pale, pastel chalk line of cliffs drawn under an enormous cold, clear blue sky.

  Some of the other skiers were already there and she parked the Subaru between two almost identical silver Volvo SUVs both with ski racks. Jay introduced her to some of the people standing and chatting at the stone foot of the monolithic home. She was polite and gracious, giving everyone her smile, her bag over a shoulder and her hand holding her just-purchased ski gear in the checkered shopper. They were nice people, older, professionals. Medical or tech, a lot of women there too and she felt comfortable with that.

  Jay brought her in, showed her his place. Walked her through, under the ceilings that had to be fifteen feet tall, the open living area with the chalet roof that just went up and up, a stone column thrust in the centre, a roaring fire in its root. She knew the place would be nice, but this was something else.

  “This place is incredible. I see why you two worked it out.”

  “I like it in the spring and winter, she goes for the summer and fall. We don’t cross paths and we’re all happy. I want it for my kids too.”

  “They come up? Use it?”

  “Not as much as they say they’re going to.”

  He walked her down a wide circular stone staircase that went down a level from the main floor. Not a basement, the room still tall and a window that looked out onto a tiered deck, an outdoor fire, and manicured shrubs below that beautiful mountain view.

  There was a water tank out there, it looked like. Like half of one, the top of it cut off. A huge metal water tank with long trussed legs, once green, now rusted, faded block letters that said Bronx. It looked like something on a New York City rooftop in an old movie. There was a cedar deck built around it up high near the top, different levels, seats and an umbrella, folded up. There was a ridge behind it, rocky and steep, bracing it. Running up the ridge was a huge stone fireplace, a blazing fire in the rocky cavern at its bottom.

  “What is that?”

  He laughed, said “That’s the hot tub.”

  “It is?”

  “Yeah, it’s an old water reservoir and we had it cut down, brought here. Then that fire heats it up, pipes that run to it. No motor or anything, no pump, just convection. Moves the water to the tub above.”

  “It’s huge.”

  “Yeah, it takes forever to heat up. I got that fire going around six this morning. It’ll just be ready when we get back. Six or seven hours.”

  “Six or seven hours of skiing? You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s fun. We’ve got meals out on the trails, a hot chocolate station. It’s not a race,” he said. Then added, “Well not really, but I’m sure some of us will be racing. You can come back here any time, not every one finishes, some just do a half day.”

  “I’ll finish,” she said. Wondered why she said that.

  They walked through a family room, huge brown leather couches and rustic wooden slabs of furniture, wrought iron accents, all facing a blank, black television. This floor was quiet, no one moving around down here. He showed her down a hall, and held a door open for her.

  “You can get yourself dressed in here,” he said. “Just come on up when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, I’ll just be a minute.”

  He lingered, still leaning on the black handle of the door. “You know, you can use this room if you like. I mean, stay here. I know you have a hotel room probably, but I just mean it might be a late night, you’ll be tired. I have lots of space here and if you don’t want to drive all the way back to Grand Junction—”

  “Thanks, but I should get back tonight. I’ve got a lot to get ready for the conference—”

  He put his palms up, gave her a nod, said “It’s here if you want to use it.”

  He closed the door behind him and left her to it. It was a nice little guest room but windowless. The wall behind the bed was honey-stained log and then stone down to the floor. The bed was a double, very high, but soft and pillowy under a quilt covered in stitch-work bears. She threw her stuff onto the bed and went through the shopping bags.

  She pulled out the items she’d bought at the ski shop, tore the tags off. She undressed and squeezed herself into the tight, black stretchy pants. There was a mirror on a dresser and she saw herself in it. Was this what people wore? She just took the blonde kid’s word for it. She put on an uncomfortable shirt, then a zip up fleece which felt instantly warm. Then a slim, bright green shell with a black racing stripe down the sleeve. That was going to be the fastest thing about her. This whole kit, including the ski rental, had cost her just over
a thousand dollars, all put on her expense account.

  She stood in front of the mirror and looked at how tight it all was. She turned and looked at her ass, the jacket short and slim, the curves of her cheeks revealed, hiding nothing. If that fucking kid made her look stupid…

  She grabbed the boots and went back upstairs. Everyone was getting themselves together out by the cars, putting their skis on, laughing, talking. She watched them a moment, standing with her back to the roaring fire, letting it warm her before she had to go back out in the cold.

  Everyone out there was wearing this same tight gear and she was relieved. She went outside, the heat trapped in the fabric pulled instantly away by the chill. She got her skis off the roof and put them on the ground. She tried stepping in like the kid at Checkers had showed her, but she couldn’t get it to lock.

  A short, slender woman, late forties helped her. She held the ski and used her other hand to help her lock the boots in place.

  “Thank you,” she said. “They’re rentals,” hoping that would mean something.

  “You’re not in the ski club are you? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” The woman had a pleasant face, the beginnings of wrinkles coming along where she would smile.

  “No, I’m from Chicago.” How could she be in the ski club, doesn’t know how to put skis on.

  The woman nodded at her, maybe smirking. “So you’re a friend of Jay’s. And how do you know him?”

  “Oh, we work together I guess. He’s a customer of mine.”

  The woman looked at her, looked down at her slim figure and legs. She felt a little like she was being measured.

  “Are you a nurse or something?”

  “No, I’m in sales. I sell heart—”

  “Ah,” she said. Hearing enough. “I like the way you talk…that accent.”

  “Yes, I grew up in London. I’ve only been here in the States for two years now.” Kiley used that accent like a sales weapon. The cheapest thing she felt she did was play it up. She could drop it completely if she wanted, or make herself sound like some wild, foul-mouthed chav. For her doctors she put it on: Public School English, spoke eloquently, properly. Not the way she was raised, that’s for sure. She created a character for them, and they remembered her for it. And that was the point. To be remembered. She was the proper little British girl, always well-dressed, handwritten Thank you notes on real paper, she was their Lady Grantham or whomever from that Downton show. That was the extent of her deceit in her practice, the rest of her success was in forging relationships.

  “Are you staying near here?”

  Kiley realized she was being investigated. It just hit her. “Oh no, I have a convention this week in Denver. I’m staying in Grand Junction tonight.” She added, “I have a room there. The Holiday Inn.” Maybe that was going too far. But she wanted this woman to know there was no hany-panky going on, as they say. Her profession had a reputation, relatively unfounded too. She had associates who she knew out-sold her and she wouldn’t consider them attractive at all. She was always at odds with how pretty pharmaceutical sales reps were perceived. Especially since she looked like she was one of the ones who earned that reputation, and nothing could be further from the truth. And Jay had to be twenty years older than her. Almost her father’s age.

  Some doctor’s wives acted like these pharm companies only hired sorority girls and Hooter’s waitresses. Like all it took for success was a pretty face or a big rack, that a doctor would fall for that shit. Kiley was pretty and it helped, but she fucking hustled. And she cared too. She forged honest relationships with doctors, a lot of them women. But this idea of some sort of corporate prostitution always bubbled just under the surface. There were doctors who didn’t get it, of course. Dinosaurs. Misogynist pricks who put their hands on you and you had to sort of take it, be polite and find a way to get his hand off your ass with a smile on your face, keep that friendship at all costs.

  “Well, have fun today,” the woman said, and slid away from her, over to her group of friends. She looked away, didn’t want to see if there was any whispering, women looking over their shoulders at her.

  It was time to make friends. She wasn’t going to ski alone out there today. She worked her way over to the finger-pointing hotshot from the Porsche. She got herself next to him, getting the hang of the skiing thing, not doing too badly she figured.

  “Hey,” he said again, looking pleased to see her. “First time on skis?”

  “Shit, I thought I was doing well.” This guy was full of accidental insults. What if this wasn’t her first time, what if she had a bone disease or something. Or maybe he was a genuine sleuth.

  “We have a trophy for drop-outs too, the one’s who can’t hang,” he said. Stupid smile, her own reflection in his sunglasses. Did this guy think that worked on girls, being a shithead? You know what, it might for a fit doctor who drives a Porsche. This was turning out to be some day. It made her look forward to the boring convention.

  She laughed for the guy, touched his arm. This was business and this was Jay’s friend.

  5

  Water Tower

  The first hour was fun. The first hour felt good to her. Got her heart going, the blood pumping, stretching her body out, feeling what it could do. It was a beautiful day for them to be out, couldn’t be better. Blue sky, so deep and dark it bordered on navy. No haze to it, not a cloud in the sky, the sun was bright, the snow clean and lit up a painfully brilliant white. Everyone was in good spirits, enjoying the effort, the breathtaking scenery. She’d dropped finger-gun, slipped away and put herself in with another group. A mix of men and women, friendly, middle-age types.

  The second hour was alright too, but that was where she started to think that you couldn’t possibly do this for six more hours. This same thing? But we’re barely even started. She stayed with her middle-age gang and liked their pace.

  Back pain started in the third hour, not sharp and dreadful, just an ache. She’d stop every ten minutes, and bend over, try and stretch it out. At the end of the third hour everyone bunched up on the trail where there was a pickup truck parked. The gate was open and a local club member was giving out bottles of water, he had fruit and some of those expensive fitness bars. She grabbed an orange and a water and one of the bars.

  She dropped her friends in the fourth hour, let them get up ahead and she settled in with a new group. They were alright, not as funny maybe, but weren’t interested in setting too much of a pace and she liked that. The end of the fourth hour was nice, someone had built a little hut out of palette boards, a bar with a little roof and awning. Same guy from the last station was there, older guy with a white Santa Claus beard, and he was serving up all sorts of different hot chocolates. She had two of those, amaretto and then a tiramisu flavoured one.

  The group seemed a lot smaller in the fifth hour. All the hotshots were showing off far up ahead so you couldn’t even see them. Her new group packed it in at the hot chocolate stop. She found it so hard not to join them. Her back couldn’t be relieved now. Her shoulders were on fire, her triceps quivered from using the poles. Legs were holding up on the bright side. Her helpful friend showed up behind her, had brought some other ladies with her. They were nice for a while but they asked too many questions. They would stop when she stopped to stretch or catch her breath.

  How far were they going to travel? What was the point of this? Who would like skiing so much they would do it this long?

  The remaining skiers, about half of what started, stopped on the trail again. The man with the white beard was there and she couldn’t be happier to see him. He had picnic baskets with bread and really great cheese, fruits, nuts, cookies, platters with cold meat, more hot chocolate. She grabbed a plate and stuffed herself. Then got herself alone and lay in a snowbank and looked up at the sky. Everything hurt. Her waist, her stomach, back. Everything. Even her fingers were sore, felt like they’d all been twisted sideways by using those poles for so long.

  Jay sat down next to her
in the snow. “You going to make it?”

  “I said I would.”

  “You’re doing good.”

  “Thanks.” She sat up, she felt so groggy, if she closed her eyes it felt like she was falling backwards.

  “If you can outlast these guys,” he said, pointing with five fingers at the skiers, who were, like her, laying out in the snow, “there’s a trophy and a prize. It goes to the last person to drop out. You just have to get closer to finishing than these guys.”

  “Oh, I think someone tried to explain that to me. I didn’t get it. If I come all this way, almost make it—I’d rather finish than get a trophy for nearly making it.”

  He laughed, grabbed her shoulder and squeezed her, “That’s my girl. Come on.”

  He helped her up, and she felt a little wobbly. Her detective friends were packing it in. She figured she’d be better off going alone now anyway, needing all her concentration, all her resolve.

  “Do you know that woman?”

  “Who,” he said, “Carol?” He nodded to the woman who helped her lock into her bindings this morning. “She’s a friend of Tess’, she’s from the Ski Club. She’s nice. Were you skiing with her?”

  “Yes, she helped me this morning. I like her.”

  “You can do this, right?” He said, giving her a pep talk. He looked no worse for wear. His face was bright and happy, his posture unaffected. Pretty impressive for any age.

  “Body’s weak, mind’s strong,” she said getting her poles, tapping her temple.

  “Your body’s definitely not weak,” he said. “We’re just at altitude. It’s supposed to be harder.”

  “Yes, it’s the altitude that’s getting me.” Was that a body compliment? He wasn’t the type to do that. She was slim and fit looking, people just assumed she was athletic.