Distracted

by Madeline Sloane

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Erin teased. “It’s bedtime and you need your rest. We have to get up early tomorrow and get to work. Remember, Patricia’s breathing down my neck to get this project done.”

  “I just want one …”

  “Sorry. No can do,” she pulled away and walked to the door. “Goodnight, Spence.”

  In her old bedroom, Erin sat on a chaise and kicked off her flip-flops. She leaned against the wall and sighed. Oh, that gorgeous man, she thought. It wasn’t fair. He was too handsome, too funny and smart. And, too good in bed, she added. She closed her eyes and hugged herself, smiling.

  After a few moments of self satisfaction, Erin opened her eyes and admired the room. The walls had long been stripped of the flowered wallpaper of her youth and replaced with blue paint. Posters of sports figures plastered the walls. Spectacular photographs of people snowboarding, skateboarding, surfing, kicking soccer balls and shooting baskets dominated, although there were a few hunky singers and actors in the mix.

  A portrait sat on the dresser. Erin picked it up and lovingly looked at the Chappell family. Mariah and Jerry flanked by their children, Marsh the dog and Sammy’s cat, Mr. Jinks. They looked so happy. Erin ached with sweetness of the scene and her own desire for a family like Mariah’s.

  A light rap at the door startled her out of her reverie.

  “Go away, Spence.”

  “It’s not Spence,” Mariah whispered.

  “Oops. Sorry.” Erin quickly opened the door.

  Mariah noted the framed photograph in Erin’s hand.

  “This is beautiful,” Erin said, placing it back on the dresser. “You’re so lucky.”

  “Thank you. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s always been and always will be the best part of my life.”

  Erin put her arms around her sister and leaned her head against the taller woman’s shoulder. Mariah patted her arm.

  “I wanted to make sure you had everything you need. I’m sorry I assumed you two would be sharing a room. I, uh, thought that you, uh …”

  Erin giggled. “I know. It’s hard to explain. I’m not sure I even know what’s happening. I need my own space, though.”

  Mariah, spotting an opening, sat down on the chaise. She smiled encouragingly.

  Erin sat on the bed and embarrassedly studied her nails. “Like I said, it’s hard to explain. I got a call from one of my regular publishers. They have a contract with this artist, a recluse who needed help finishing a book. Seems he gets distracted easily and wasn’t meeting his deadlines. The project is very important to them.”

  Mariah smiled again and nodded.

  “The arrangement was fairly straightforward. I was hired to be a live-in nanny, of sorts, an editorial nanny. That means I keep him on target, help him with his outlines, take dictation, clean up his rough drafts, and make him stick to a word count.”

  Mariah nodded again, patiently waiting for the juicy bits.

  “It was fine, at first. I left Aidan in charge of the apartment. He hasn’t talked to me since the first say of the assignment. You know, he’s still looking for a place, so I’ve let him use the second bedroom for awhile. It’s hard to find nice apartments at a reasonable price in D.C. I leased a car and drove out to the Outer Banks, to an island called Ocracoke. It’s spectacular. Birds everywhere.” Erin’s face became dreamy as she described the house.

  “It’s remarkable, really. It’s like living inside a glass box, it has so many windows. The walls are white, a gallery for Spence’s paintings. Oh, Mariah. Wait ‘til you see his paintings. They’re so beautiful. His colors are so rich, so saturated and so … um … so sexy. His paintings are among the most exciting work on the contemporary art market. Universities offer classes that study his technique. That’s why the publisher wants the book.”

  Mariah leaned back and crossed her arms. “You know enough about art to help him write this book?”

  “No, but I don’t have to. Like I said, my job is to keep him on target, persuade him to talk about his art and about his life. That’s the hard part. He’s so reserved. People think he’s standoffish, but really he’s just incredibly shy.”

  Mariah chuckled. “Shy, eh? He doesn’t look shy to me.”

  Erin blushed and averted her eyes. “You’ve got to remember, we’ve been working together for a few of weeks now so we know each other better. He’s comfortable with me. I know; there’s this thing going on between us. It’s not ethical, but I can’t keep my hands off of him.”

  Mariah arched an eyebrow at Erin’s confession.

  “I can handle it. I don’t want a relationship. Not that he wants one, either. It’s just a physical thing. I know that. Once the job is over, that’s it. I’m back in D.C.”

  Mariah wasn’t convinced. “You say this is just a fling?”

  “Yes. No. I’m really not sure what it is. God, he’s so handsome and sweet. From the beginning he’s been so kind to me. I feel guilty. I was hired to work with a headstrong artist and instead I’ve been on a tropical vacation with sexiest man I’ve ever met.”

  Erin ducked her head in shame. Mariah waited.

  “He’s a dedicated artist and it’s amazing to watch him paint. I’m lucky, I guess. He trusts me.”

  “You think he trusts you?”

  “Oh yes. I know he does.”

  Erin had always been overly confident as a child, but Mariah could tell from her bravado that she wasn’t as sure of herself in this situation.

  “Well, call me crazy but I don’t think you’re walking away from this as easily as you say.”

  “What are you saying? That I’m in love with him?”

  Mariah didn’t miss Erin’s nervous laugh. “Maybe. Just be careful. You’ve got a good life in Washington. I’m just worried that you’ll get too involved and be hurt.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I learned my lesson with Aidan.”

  Mariah stood and gave her sister a warm, comforting hug. “Okay. Go to bed, sis. We don’t give wakeup calls around here. The roosters take care of that.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Erin slept restlessly that night, kicking the covers off and then pulling them back on. She hugged one of the pillows and told herself, over and over again, “I’m asleep.” It didn’t work. By 2 o’clock, she gave up and, grabbing one of her pillows, tiptoed down the hall to Spence’s room. She slowly turned the doorknob and peeked in.

  Moonlight flooded the room and she could hear Spence’s gentle breathing. She reached out and touched his bare chest.

  “Spence?”

  “What? Is everything okay?”

  “I miss you.”

  Spence slid over in the bed and swept the covers to the side. Erin curled against his chest, hugging her pillow. He dropped the blanket and tucked it around her.

  “Better?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  It may have been dawn, but if it was only the rooster could tell. Spence jerked awake at the eerie screech.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “It’s the rooster,” Erin murmured sleepily. She rolled over, facing Spence and put her extra pillow over their heads. “This will help.”

  But it didn’t. Spence could feel her breath, silky on his face. He became all too aware of her leg pushed between his. Her hand rested against his chest, rubbing it softly in her sleep. He couldn’t see. The pillow created a feeling of sensory deprivation, heightening his other senses. He kissed Erin’s nose and she grunted softly, moved closer. He touched her breast. Flannel? Was this some kind of nightgown? Like a blind man, he explored with his fingers, moving over lace, buttons and what felt like small knots. Flowers? The nightgown buttoned down the front to her knees.

  Erin woke slowly to the sensation of Spence’s hands over her breasts. He kissed each one softly.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.”

  “Spence? I was dreaming about you.”

  “Yes?” he asked, taking advantage of her distraction. His fi
ngers sought warmth between her thighs and he caressed her softly.

  “Oh, what a nice way to wake up,” Erin said, sighing. “I like it when you do that.”

  Her skin tingled at his touch. This is so right, she thought. Could this be love? How could it not be? The idea drugged Erin. Each kiss, stroke of his finger, soft bite and lick became a heightened sensation. He can feel it too, she thought, as their kiss slowed and deepened. His hands stilled and for an eternity they were connected only through their lips, even their breathing synchronized. She could feel his pulse in his tongue, felt as it picked up. Ah yes, he feels it.

  Spence growled softly and swung his leg over Erin. Pushing her onto her back, he pinned her hands behind her head, burying them in the soft pillow. Then, shoving her legs wide with his knee, he entered forcefully and they fused. He paused at Erin’s gasp but then she bucked against the savage sensation and begged for more. She marveled at the blending of his strength and her softness.

  Inevitably, he sank into her arms and she frantically kissed his cheeks, his ears and neck, cooing. Their heartbeats slowed and they quietly lay on the bed watching the sun rise. Erin had so much to say, but couldn’t open her mouth. Her lips felt dry and bruised, her throat parched. Her body ached, yet she cherished each throb. Spence pulled the blanket over them and tucked her against his chest. She yawned, closed her eyes and fell back asleep.

  * * *

  That morning, the family gathered in the farmhouse kitchen. The windows were open to the July breeze and the sounds of livestock: chickens clucking, cows mooing and Marsh, the sheepdog, barking at an errant sheep.

  “I love cooking with this old, black frying pan,” Jerry said.

  The official cook of all egg dishes, he whisked nearly a dozen fresh eggs into a yellow froth. “Cheesy, scrambled eggs are my specialty,” he said, winking at Erin.

  “Spence, why don’t you get the orange juice out of the ‘fridge and pour everyone a round?” Mariah asked as she put a platter of bacon on the table.

  Erin rose to help but Spence put a staying hand on her shoulder. “I can handle this. You keep buttering the biscuits.”

  In Spence’s honor, Mariah had made a Southern-style, country breakfast, which included grits.

  “Can’t get this kind of service at those Waffle Houses in the South,” she joked.

  “You’re right about that, ma’am,” Spence said, his North Carolina drawl more prominent this morning.

  Ben, who hadn’t had a chance to meet Spence the day before, looked interestedly at their guest.

  “You’re a Confederate?” he asked.

  “A Southerner,” Spence explained. “Confederates went out of style after the Civil War. Now we’re plain old Americans, just like ya’ll.”

  Ben, already forgetting Mariah’s warning, began his favorite game of Twenty Questions.

  “Where do you live? The ocean? What kind of boat do you have? Wow; how fast have you gone? Yeah, I can sail, but I’d prefer your speedboat. What do you do? What kind of art? Oh, like that dude Van Gogh? You make much money? You rich? That’s cool. You play sports? Any good? Did you play pro ball? Really? Get outta here. No way. How long? What happened? That sucks. You married? No? Got any kids? Well, how am I supposed to know, Mom? People have kids nowadays without being married. Alright, I will. Sorry Mr. Spence. Sorry Aunt Erin.”

  Erin, breathless from watching the Ben-Spence marathon, couldn’t believe that this twelve-year-old kid could get more out of Spence in three minutes than she had in two months.

  “You played baseball?”

  “When I was younger. That was a long time ago,”

  He reached under the table and squeezed her hand, then held it in his lap. Mariah, who noticed the gesture from her vantage point at the stove, ignored it. Sure, she can handle him, Mariah thought.

  “We’re going to the store after breakfast. You need anything?” Erin asked.

  “I thought you took care of that yesterday. I’m sorry, was the cabin that much of a mess that it took you all afternoon to get it ready?” Mariah replied.

  Erin opened her mouth, then abruptly closed it when she recalled how she spent her afternoon. “No; it was fine. We just did a little exploring.”

  “That’s right. We were exploring.” Spence echoed.

  Ben piped in, “Hey, I know some good places. Let me know next time you guys go exploring and I’ll come with you.”

  Spence grinned and said, “Sure will, Ben. Thanks.”

  Mariah gave Ben her evil eye and growled, “What did I tell you yesterday? You go about your business and you leave them alone. They’re working.”

  Jerry broke into the fray, bearing a bowl of steaming eggs. “Ah, perfect. Now, dig in everybody. Even bookworms need a good breakfast to start the day.”

  Mariah turned her evil eye on her husband.

  * * *

  On the way to town, Erin chatted about Eaton, so named for a prominent pioneer. About 2,000 inhabitants were scattered throughout the mountainsides, most on farms settled in the late 1700s and early 1800s, with another 8,000 in town. The jewel of the region was Breakthrough Lake, spring fed and crystal clear.

  Surrounded by verdant forests of white pine, cypress and hemlock, the lake had become a resort in the early 1900s. Wealthy families yearning to escape the city during the summer would flock to the lakeshore. Some built extravagant lodges; others built small one-room cabins like the Andersen’s. Their bedroom and bathroom had been an addition built in the 1950s when the newly married couple was expecting their first child.

  Breakthrough Lodge had become a popular retreat. Through the years it evolved into a youth camp. Teens in the area loved it because it meant summer jobs and short romances with city girls and boys.

  When Erin worked at Breakthrough Lodge, she also had a summer romance. It lasted for two years. She even selected the same college as her boyfriend.

  “Eventually,” she said, “we got married.”

  “What? You’re married?” Spence was incredulous.

  “No. Not anymore. We’ve been divorced for a year.”

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  Erin didn’t answer. She hadn’t thought about telling him about Aidan because, well, because when they first met it wasn’t his business. Theirs was a working relationship and he didn’t need to know about her personal life. Then, when things changed, and they changed so quickly, she didn’t even think about Aidan. Spence dominated her thoughts as easily as he dominated her body.

  She glanced at Spence. He was staring out the passenger window, frowning. She had never seen him angry.

  Ten interminable minutes later Erin pulled into the half-empty lot of Peachy’s, the area’s grocery store. Once a mom-and-pop operation, it had been in business since 1842. It had evolved from a feed store into a general store, and now served as the area’s grocery/video/gas station/beauty salon/pet store. Each generation of the Peachy family had added on to the business, expanding it as their various interests and talents emerged.

  Cindy Peachy ran the gas station, smiling at customers while she checked their oil and washed their windows. She took pride in offering good, old-fashioned service.

  “Well, hey girl. Long time no see,” she called out when Erin climbed out of the SUV. Cindy’s eyes widened when she saw Spence. She quickly closed her yap; she’d ask Mariah about her sister’s new man later, she thought.

  Erin waved and smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. “Hi Cindy.”

  She pulled a shopping cart from the corral and headed for the store. Spence followed quietly, his eyes widening with interest. Peachy’s, to the untrained eye, was quite monstrous. Through the years and as the business diverged, additions were haphazardly slapped together. The people of Eaton understood this. Newcomers, however, weren’t impressed.

  “This place is hideous,” Spence said, adding. “Well, most of it.”

  Erin lifted her chin. “I think the place is great,” she said defensively.

  She foll
owed his gaze and noted a new business in the complex – an open-air coffee house. Wrought iron draped with realistic grapevines camouflaged the ceiling. Pretty wrought iron tables were artfully placed on the newly installed terra cotta tiled floor. Water gurgled from the large olive jar urn fountain. She sniffed appreciatively at the aroma of exotic coffee blends and fresh cooked pastries. “That’s nice! Another Peachy has come home,” she said.

  As she and Spence surveyed the cafe a movement from one corner caught her eye. Behind the counter, a young woman operated an espresso machine.

  “That’s Shelia Peachy,” Erin said. “She must have opened this café after culinary school. Have I been gone that long?”

  The sound of metal scraping tile caught her attention and she turned to see Katrina Hall, a beautiful prissy-pot she knew from high school, stand abruptly from one of the iron chairs. She knocked over a cup of coffee and it poured onto the table top and began to drip right into a designer handbag.

  Erin smirked as the woman swore aloud and grabbed napkins, dabbing at the spill. The guy with her, a hunk in jeans and a flannel shirt, seemed unperturbed. Erin didn’t recognize him and wondered if he was new in town. She snickered at Katrina’s dilemma and when Spence eyed her quizzically she shrugged and said, “She was a stuck-up snot when I knew her in school. Nice to see karma in action.”

  Spence watched the interplay between the enraged beauty queen and her companion and noticed that despite her apparent hostility at the guy, she sat back down. He couldn’t figure out if she liked him or not. He sighed knowing that women would always be a mystery to him.

  As they moved through the entrance, Billy Peachy looked up from his station in the hair salon. “Erin,” he called. “Welcome home. Give me a call and I’ll squeeze you in.”

  Spence looked at the nearly empty salon, then at the effeminate young man teasing the hair of an elderly woman.