Setting the Terms

 

The staccato notes of Pathétique lightly pummel my body. I could get used to this.

On-demand hot water set at whatever temperature I want, and a recycler to keep the water at that temperature. Tunes that reverberate through the tub, massaging me to whatever beat I select. A heated tub back so I don’t shock myself into Tuesday from icy porcelain. Someday I’d like to bring my portable music player and have Juliette show me how to plug it into the audiotherapy feature. I can use one of my own playlists to pound myself into oblivion. Wonder how the music of Justice would travel through the water?

Mmm…Beethoven for the tub this morning. I always did like Moonlight Sonata, and Van Cliburn is a masterful pianist. Ahh…Forget breakfast. Bring me a decanter of something 150 proof. I’ll just stay here the rest of the day.

She also set me up with body wash, and even brought me a disposable razor. Pink plastic. Well. Maybe a hot wash rag for a few minutes first…I doubt she’s invited many men to spend the night with her. It may be hard to get my foot much farther inside her door.

Whoa, boy, slow down…the woman doesn’t know how to take a compliment from a man. Can’t expect the keys to her kingdom quite yet.

But she finally called me by my given name. One hurdle overcome. Next? Her safety. We have to talk about moving Events. Which reminds me—I reach for my phone and call Jack. I might need my brother’s construction know-how.

Mercifully, by call’s end, I can feel my fingers and toes recovered from hypothermia. Washed and shaved, I lie back in the lapping water to soak and dream of happily ever afters.

Appassionata ruins it. Damn. This is not the tune I’d want if I were sweating out a hangover. Angry stuff, like a toddler throwing a tantrum, banging on the piano. It makes my head throb. Time to get out of this tub. I'll send the offending music down the drain along with the bathwater.

Good. Juliette’s not downstairs yet. Maybe I can repay her for my pampered night’s rest and morning’s decadence by making breakfast. A reconnoiter inside the refrigerator unearths necessities. The panel to the left of the La Cornue range contains a sauté pan for omelets and a roasting pan for bacon. From the right panel, I grab a muffin tin.

When she joins me, Juliette palms a remote from the hearth and creates fire in the kitchen’s keeping room. A bench built into the end of the island services a table facing the sea. She pulls placemats and cloth napkins from drawers and sets the table for us.

“Smells good. How can I help?”

Traces of wind-blown Bambi are still on her, with Joan in the background, gearing up to take on the world. I suddenly covet a kiss from both of them.  “How about something to hold the muffins when they come out of the oven?”

She springs to one of her étagères and comes back with a sterling bowl, lined with a patterned napkin. “Will this do?”

Mushrooms sizzle as I push them around the pan. There's good flow between us, working together. “Perfect. What would you like in your omelet?”

She peers around my shoulder. “What are you putting in yours?”

My arm wraps around her waist. A good fit. “I’m sautéing some mushrooms right now. How do Swiss cheese and spinach sound?”

“What lovely kitchen skills you have, Leo.” It's like she’s reciting from Little Red Riding Hood.

She nibbles on a piece of cheese and her eyes sparkle like the sunlight dancing on top of the sea outside her windows. I want to gobble her up, but dial it back to, “The better to care for you, my dear.”

 

*****

 

The unnaturalness of Leo sitting beside me in my house is fading. Oddly, I don’t mind  him taking over my kitchen. It feels cozy, like something friends would do. A little back and forth banter as we prepare the food. Enjoyable.

I check my panic meter. It’s still in the safe zone.

“How did you enjoy your bath?” I pull apart a steaming muffin filled with plump fresh blueberries, debating whether a chunk of butter would be overkill.

His eyes widen. “Oh, Princess, such extravagance.”

He's found my Achilles' heel. I peek up at him through my lashes as I chew. “I probably do have a lock on hedonism.”

His lips stretch into a seductive smile. “Your cheeks are sporting that lovely shade of rose again, Juliette.” He leans in to whisper in my ear, “And I don’t think the sea air has anything to do with it.”

A warm earthy musk underneath the body wash and blueberries is uniquely this man. My chest expands on a deep breath. “Isn't it wonderful, feeling the music through the water?”

“Appassionata saved my life.”

Ah, he knows music. Another tick in the plus column. "So you liked it?"

Even the flex of Leo’s jaw as he chews is sexy. “It kept me from relaxing myself right under the water.”

I roll my eyes and fork some bacon with a bite of omelet dripping melted cheese. “I don’t plan to live anywhere else the rest of my life, so I splurged on outfitting this house. It’s my sanctuary, my refuge.”

“Thank God.” He puts down his fork, pauses, then lowers his head to mine. His kiss is feathery soft on my closed mouth. “I’ve been dying to do that.”

I cross my knife and fork on my plate. “That wasn’t a kiss between friends, Leo.”

His gaze roves over my face, stopping at my lips, then popping up to study my eyes before sliding to my lips again.

I love the way men’s bodies respond, going hard all over as testosterone rushes through veins, ready for action. My greedy body leans in for another kiss. Warm lips brush mine, teasing my senses with his man-smell, the firm softness of his mouth, the rumble in his throat as the kiss deepens. The demand of his hand at my back.

My fingertips find his cheek. I scan his tanned face with its frame of dark hair, dark brows, dark chin. It lingers over his sculpted lips, glossy from our kisses. I can still feel those lips on mine, the power waiting to be unleashed. The power I want to tap into, slather all over me.

But, first things first. It’s unkind to lead the man on. I sit back and steady my racing heart. We need to talk.

Grasping the coffee cup gives my hands something else to do. “Leo, what was that look I just saw in your eyes?”

His hands comb through his hair, shoving it out of the way. “I think you know, Juliette. We both know.” He laughs quietly. “You’ve seen it almost from the moment we met. I want you.” His voice is deep.

I’ve known it. And yet…“I thought it meant you were happy.”

“That, too.”

“So…this is about sex?”

He frowns and wraps a hand around my arm. “Look at me, Juliette. What’s going through your mind?”

I pull my legs up under me and face him. He reaches out to cup my face and stroke it with his thumb. My cheek tingles.

“Your stand on romance, Leo. When you say you want me, you’re talking about more than sex, aren’t you?”

His response isn’t immediate. “I’m a guy. Sex is always part of the equation.” His eyes are smoky and dark. “But you’re right, the romantic in me wouldn’t be satisfied with that alone.”

As I suspected. “I’m not looking for a relationship, Leo.”

He takes in my words. “Why aren't you?” His gaze digs deep.

“Why do I need to?”

“There’s so much more to share than just our bodies.” One of his big hands strokes down my hair, from crown to waist. His other reaches to thread fingers with mine.

“Between men and women, Leo? Pain. That’s the more they share.”

He strokes the length of my hair again, as though I'm a restive animal he's gentling.

“Yes, there’s the potential for pain. But the flipside is the potential for comfort and happiness.” He leans in to press his lips against my temple.

“For a while, maybe. But the cost is too high.”

“Juliette.” His hold on me tightens. “What happened in your past to make you think that?

Images of my ex and painful depravities swim in my mind’s eye. I suppress a shudder. “What makes you think something happened? Look at your law practice, Leo. Look at the ugliness, the pain. You deal with it every day. I don’t know how you can believe as you do.”

He tilts my face up to his so he can stare into my eyes, examine me, search my very soul. “What are you saying? You want me as much as I want you. I’ve felt it.”

“Yes. I want you. My body wants you.”

Even the tide outside the windows seems suspended, bound, waiting on our conversation.

Finally, Leo cocks his head, and his eyes narrow. “Are you trying to tell me that you’d be willing to go to bed with me, but you won't consider falling in love with me?”

The space between our gazes electrifies. The feel of his hands on me scalds, the heat of his gaze penetrates, the waves of energy off his taut body radiate through me.

“Yes, Leo. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

His face clouds, brows drawn down hard over eyes that glitter like agate, jaw square and granite-hard.

I give in to my earlier impulse and slide a finger along its chiseled edge. “I don’t plan to fall in love with you, Leo.”

He grasps my hand and holds it, squeezing hard enough to ache. “You seem pretty sure about that.”

Without a quaver in my voice I say, "I’m definite."