by Ash Harlow
“Do you always, you know, help yourself around here?”
“Used to.” The cork releases with a pop. He gives the top a quick sniff and shrugs, then pours a couple of inches into two bucket-sized glasses. “I won’t now that Oli’s married.”
“So, why are you here tonight? Are you checking up on me?”
“No. We’ll talk about it after dinner. I’m famished. That bread will be done in three minutes.” He disappears back into the pantry and comes out smiling. “This olive oil is amazing.” The bottle is the sort of shape that looks expensive, and has a ceramic pourer. He tips some into a small flat dish, dabs his finger in it and holds it up to me.
I’ve got no idea what he expects me to do.
“Taste,” he says.
I look at the dish and back to his hand. “Off your—” I don’t get to say anything else as he pushes his finger into my mouth.
“The pantry’s too cold for the flavor to come out properly. It tastes better warmed on skin.”
I’m dying of embarrassment because his finger feels so nice in my mouth and I catch myself sucking gently and swirling my tongue around it. He keeps it there. My pussy throbs with its own memory of Luther’s fingers. Our eyes meet and his expression is level as he pulls his finger free. Next thing he’s taking out silverware and arranging napkins as though he hadn’t just brought my pussy to life.
Right on time he takes the bread from the oven. We eat seated at the kitchen island which feels more friendly, less intimate than the dining room. Luther has added a number of touches to the simple dinner I had planned, and managed to turn it into something quite special. By all accounts this man is dedicated to his clients and works long hours, yet somehow between all of that, he’s learned a lot about food.
The silence between us as we eat is comfortable. Luther is attentive to my wine glass, and I’m attentive to the amount I have to drink.
He compliments me on the soup after his first taste. Tearing off a piece of warm bread, he dunks it in the olive oil and passes it to me. It’s delicious, and I thank him, but he shrugs it off, although he continues to do it throughout the meal. When we’ve finished eating Luther helps clean up and the way he moves around the kitchen you’d think this was his house. He doesn’t hesitate or open the wrong cupboards the way I do. It’s another mark of the brotherly relationship between him and Oliver, and I remind myself that I mustn’t do anything to put that under strain, because that would place Darcy in a difficult situation. Number one, I have to stay out of Luther’s bed, not that I think that offer will ever be repeated.
He’s back in the pantry. “Do you want tea?” he calls.
He drinks tea in the evenings? That’s a surprise. “Sure,” I say.
He reappears with a teapot and a canister of leaf tea. He makes the tea then excuses himself and leaves the house, but he’s soon back.
“Forgot these,” he says, holding up a small cardboard box he’s retrieved from his car. I’m astounded as I watch the usually scowling, bad boy, tattooed lawyer set up a tray with tea cups, a pot of tea, and a plate of brightly colored macarons.
This looks like domestic rather than sexual seduction.
“Follow me,” he says, carrying the tray through to the living room. I take a seat on the large sofa because clearly, tonight, Luther is the host. He pours me tea, and passes me a dainty plate with a raspberry-colored macaron. Taking his own tea, he settles into a chair opposite. Finally, it seems, I’m going to find out why he’s here.
Luther leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs. I meet his eyes and hold his gaze for what feels like minutes before I notice the hint of a muscle twitch in his cheek.
“I need your help,” he says.
15 ~ LUTHER
Even as I say the words I’m not convinced this is a good idea. I talked it over with Oliver yesterday because my need for help with Rachel is urgent. He suggested Ginger. I said he was crazy but at the time, he managed to convince me that the idea made sense. He wouldn’t have been so confident if he had all the facts. Like the fact that only Ginger’s virginity stopped me from fucking her. That person the night after the wedding doesn’t even feel like me anymore because I can’t imagine doing such a destructive thing as taking Ginger back to my house.
That is until now. She’s sitting opposite me with a tiny piece of raspberry macaron caught on her lip. I want to kiss it off, or use my finger to push it into her mouth and feel her warm tongue and the way she sucks me, again.
I can’t be this close to Ginger without making all kinds of bargains and excuses about why I should have my hands on her. I need to take a restraining order out on myself, yet here I am about to propose that she comes and lives with me.
Fuck, Oliver, this is insane.
She’s giving me this odd look and I’m glancing at her, and then over to a bookcase in the hope that the real solution to my problem might appear on the shelf. Ginger is bad for me. She makes me second guess myself, and she makes me indecisive, both actions that are completely foreign to the way I normally act.
In my work I deal with facts, no matter how painful they are for clients, so I pull on my lawyer face and get on with the job I’m here for.
“I have a girl coming to live with me, permanently, this weekend. A five-year-old. Rachel.” Ginger’s pretty eyes grow enormous.
“Umm, wow.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of sudden. I’m her legal guardian, and the poor kid’s circumstances have changed.”
Ginger’s face relaxes a little. “You never fail to surprise me.”
“Life’s never dull when I’m around. Anyway, I need a nanny, and obviously I’m not going to find the right person by Sunday, so I need somebody to fill in.”
Her face screws up in that cute way I’m trying to ignore. “Let me think. There must be somebody in town—”
“You.”
“Me?” Her startled look returns. “I don’t know much about children, Luther.”
“Of course you do. You help out at the school, you can cook. I’ll get you some books to read up about it. It’s only temporary. I’m sure you won’t damage the child. I’ll pay you well, but you’ll have to live in because I’m not always in Waitapu. I’m picking Rachel up this weekend. Timing’s perfect. Oliver and Darcy are home Sunday so you can move straight from here to Ormidale.”
“Wait. I have a life, Luther. I can’t just drop everything for you.”
“It’s not for me, it’s for Rachel.”
“I’m working at the school, helping out with their holiday program, and—”
“Perfect. Rachel can go with you. She’ll be starting there after the holidays, anyway.”
“I have a job, working with Darcy.”
“That’s not full-time. You can still do that while Rachel’s at school.”
She stares into her teacup as if the solution is among the leaves. I’m willing her to agree because otherwise I’m taking Rachel to work with me. “I’ll have to think about it,” she says.
“Look, I know I’m sounding pushy—”
“You always sound pushy, Luther.”
“Fine. But listen, I’m asking you as a friend.”
“I didn’t know we were friends. I mean, you don’t exactly act like one. You either want to have sex with me, or you want nothing to do with me. And now that you have a problem, you expect me to drop my life and help you.”
She has a point. I’ve been a total asshole to her, but that was for a very good reason. “I’ll pay you for the privilege of helping me with my problem, along with providing you with a car and a house to live in.” I name a sum of money that makes her eyebrows shoot up for a moment, but she still doesn’t look convinced.
“It might be a good idea if you tell me about Rachel,” she says.
Some interest. That’s a good start. “Okay. She’s nearly five, and she’s been raised in Auckland since she was a baby, by a woman Rachel believes is her grandmother.”
“Believes?” Her eyebrows are
getting a workout tonight.
“Yeah, it’s a convoluted situation.” I push on to prevent more questions. “Even though I’m Rachel’s guardian, it’s been impractical for me to try to raise her. Now Rachel’s grandma is moving to Australia for family reasons. I don’t want another temporary situation for the child so I decided she can come and live with me.”
“A child is for life, not just for…”
“Christmas? I think that applies more to puppies and kittens.”
“What I’m trying to say is that you’ll have her forever, Luther, and she’s not even your child. Rachel can’t just live with you until you get tired of her. It’s a lifelong commitment. Have you thought this through properly?”
I take a mouthful of tea, wishing I’d opted for scotch. “Of course I have. She’s a sweet kid. Adorable, even. I’ve spent a lot of time with her in Auckland.” This is bullshit because I haven’t thought this through properly at all, I’ve simply reacted. There is no alternative. Rachel is mine to care for.
“Where are her parents?”
“They’re dead.”
“Hell, the poor kid. How? Car accident?”
We’re heading into dangerous territory, but I’m good at this and I can carry it off. “Illness. And, her father vanished, so we say he’s dead. Come on, Ginger. Help us out here. It’s just until I hire a proper nanny, and I have an agency looking for one.”
“So, just a few weeks.”
“That’s all.”
“I guess I can give you a few weeks. But I’m doing it for Rachel, okay?”
“Thank you. I’ve got an employment contract here for you to sign.”
“A few minutes ago, Luther, you said we were friends. Does it really need a contract?”
Fuck yeah it needs a contract. “I think it’s best. It’ll keep things professional.”
“Speaking of professional...” She pauses, bites her lip then sits straighter in her chair. “We’ll be living under the same roof. Don’t you think that might be awkward?”
It’ll be awkward as hell, but having Rachel around will keep me in line.
“Hence the contract. You’ll be an employee and I won’t want a sexual harassment suit.” I’ve already made it to the door. I want to grab the contract from my briefcase and have her sign before she changes her mind. It’s in the entrance hall. I pull out the contract and see the other package I’d forgotten about. Fuck it, I’ll bring everything.
Back in the sitting room I pass the paperwork to Ginger. “Read this. The terms are standard but you’re welcome to run it by another lawyer before you sign.”
“It’s okay. I trust you’re not going to rip me off,” she says, taking it from me.
I pour myself a scotch because I can almost hear her next question. “Before you sign, I need you to assure me that you understand the terms are binding.”
“Of course,” she says as she reads. She flips the page and I find I’m holding my breath. “Whoa, wait, what’s this? I can’t take Rachel anywhere near my mother?”
“That’s right,” I say. Our eyes lock. She’s waiting for me to elaborate, and I’m not going to unless she asks the right questions. I won’t lie to her, but I won’t give her anything extra, either. There are a lot of reasons, but mainly, it’s for Rachel’s protection.
“Why?” she finally says.
“Because to put it mildly, Virginia, your mother is a full-blown narcissist who meddles in every fucking thing you do. She has an unhealthy control over your life, and I don’t want Rachel exposed to that shit. That term is non-negotiable. Understand?” My words are harsh, but I keep my voice reasonable.
“Yeah, I get it, but it doesn’t need to be written into a contract. You could have simply asked me not to take Rachel near my mother. If you want me to help you with Rachel, you need to trust that I’m not going to sabotage the way you want her raised.”
She’s right. I do have to trust her. But it’s a fine line between trust and naivety. People end up in trouble when they’re too trusting. I trust Oliver, and Cole because I love them enough that I’d probably forgive them if they fucked up. I trusted Jean Carson to take care of Rachel, and she was perfect. But humans are fallible. Why would you trust someone who hasn’t proved they have your back? Anyway, I’m not going into all of that with Ginger, so I’d better back off a bit.
“Maybe I overreacted. I’ve never had a kid to look after and I’m trying to manage everything to make things as smooth as possible for her. Rachel’s life is tragic enough already so I’m erecting some fences and safety nets for her. It’s a lawyer thing, I guess. Put it in writing so that there’s no misunderstanding.”
Ginger shakes her head. “Maybe we should have had a contract for Saturday night before I came back to your house.”
I grin. “That wouldn’t have worked. I’d still have added a virginity clause.”
“Think about that. It’s virginity, Luther, not an STD. You can’t catch it.”
I laugh because she’s thrown my own sort of line right back at me. She continues reading the contract and it strikes me how much I enjoy being in Ginger’s company. I’ve spent so much time conditioning myself to being offhand with her when, in truth, she’s fun to be around. I’m quite comfortable sitting here together, in Oliver’s house. So comfortable, in fact, I’m tempted to use my old room and stay over. Except, I wonder if that’s where Ginger’s sleeping. And I wonder about my real reason for wanting to stay.
“Do you have a pen?” she asks.
I pull one out of my briefcase and pass it to her, watching her sign the papers..
“What now?” she asks, sliding the contract across the low table towards me.
“We need to shift you from here to Ormidale on Saturday. I’ll go up to Auckland Saturday evening and be back on Sunday with Rachel, then, we’ll probably wing it for a bit.”
“Don’t expect this transition to be smooth. She may like you a lot in her safe Auckland environment, but prepare for some rough times ahead.”
“Kids are resilient,” I say, using the line family court lawyers like to throw about.
Ginger actually rolls her eyes. “Please don’t use that as an excuse when Rachel needs you to step up for her. Kids are also good at hurting and hiding it when they don’t want to disappoint someone. She might feel vulnerable when she comes to live with you. It’s possible she’ll be wondering whether this is permanent, or if she’ll suddenly be shipped off somewhere else next year.”
“Wise words from someone who claims they don’t know anything about children.”
“I was a child myself once.”
“Very funny.”
“Helping with the after-school daycare, you pick stuff up.”
I slip the contract back into my briefcase and see the package again. I pull it out and place it on the table in front of Ginger.
“What’s this?” she asks.
“Replacement panties for the pair I ruined.”
She opens the bag and peers in. “How many pairs did you buy?” she says, pulling out one pair and holding them up.
I chose them all. The pair she holds have the tiniest triangle of ivory lace and not much else. “One pair, then back-ups, just in case.”
“Are you planning to rip them off me again?” she teases.
I cannot even answer that question.
“I have something of yours,” she says, pushing off her seat.
“My T-shirt?” I ask, stopping her at the door.
She nods. “Yeah, sorry for hanging onto it, but it makes a good sleeping shirt.”
“If you like sleeping in it, keep it.” She smiles at me. It’s not some saucy seductive smile, it’s something better. It’s filled with gratitude and pleasure and it’s genuine.
“If you’re sure,” she says.
“I’m sure.” I want to ask her to promise to wear it in the kitchen in the mornings while we have breakfast. Just the T-shirt and one of the pairs of panties I bought her. Nothing else. Bare feet, no bra. Fuck.
This is all starting to hit home. We’re going to be like this little family. I hope like hell we’re happy.
16 ~ GINGER
Yay, I get to keep the T-shirt. For some reason, that feels significant. Like a win.
He stood when I stood, and I’m leaning against the door frame watching him. I’m unsettled because a couple of minutes ago I signed a contract that means I’ll be living in his house. It’s only a few weeks, I think in an attempt to calm myself.
Our eyes lock despite the distance between us, then his scan my body and return to my face. My pussy’s getting wet, and I’m thinking this time, yeah? It’s just Luther and me in the house and I feel as though if I so much as breathe it will break the spell of whatever is happening between us.
He says my name as he steps towards me.
I swallow, and keep watching. I know what I want, but the other night I played the game wrong and failed, so this time I intend to wait for clues.
He stands so close to me I swear I can smell everything about him. His own scent rich with pheromones, his cologne, legal papers, dusty law books, scotch, court rooms, the ocean, sex.
“How the fuck, Virginia Hough, are we going to live in the same house together?”
His voice is like thunder tumbling about in the distant hills. It vibrates through me and the only response I manage is a sound, a few vowels strung together. Not even a word. I tremble, he’s that close and I want him so much. Every brave resolution I’ve made just evaporated. Resist him? Not a freaking chance. One touch and I’ll climb his body and cling until I have his cock in me. I wet my lips and the corner of his mouth quirks.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
There’s no sign of disappointment from him, just the bounce of his gaze from my eyes to my mouth and back again.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Ginger. I don’t take what happened between us on Saturday lightly. Do you know how hard it was for me to step away from fucking you? Don’t for one moment think it was easy for me to resist you.”
“Okay.” Right then, my defenses collapsed.
