Chapter Two

     “Do I get the recliner, too?” he asked, following her to the small kitchen in the far side of the studio. She looked back at him. Oh, crap. The recliner was in her bedroom. Why had she mentioned the recliner? There were many times that she had imagined him in her bedroom, but never, in her wildest dreams, did she ever think it would happen. Oh, please, don’t let there be dirty clothes on the floor.


     “Um… sure,” she choked handing him a beer. “It’s upstairs. Follow me.” The thought never crossed her mind that she could refuse.

     He closed the distance between them quickly. He easily took two of the stairs at a time, forcing her to quicken her pace. There was only one door at the top of the curved staircase, a lovely oak door with a clouded, beveled glass panel filling the center. She turned the crystal door knob and swung the door open. As he stepped in, he could clearly see that this is where she really lived. The studio below was simply decorated, light and airy and very minimal. This was warm and welcoming and very personal. Pictures of families and children littered the shelves where she had made room amongst the endless rows of books. There seemed to be no male around her age in any of the pictures though she was in several herself. He didn’t see any male influence in her room at all. Guess there’s no boyfriend either. There were starfish, seashells, sand dollars and other signs of the sea scattered about. The bed itself looked as if it was carved of driftwood; with branch after branch entwined together almost like something he would see in a fantasy movie. Above the bed was a huge gallery picture of a thicket of tall trees with the sunlight dappling through to the forest floor. It had to measure 6 ft across. The wall facing the door was one large window. It looked out over the same garden pond that had captured his imagination earlier. In front of the window was an old, well-used recliner of espresso colored leather. It looked almost like a club chair, but it was bigger. There was an olive green chenille blanket thrown across the arm and a tattered book on the cushion.

     “Frenchman’s Creek?” he asked, picking up the book and running his fingers over the edges where the cloth had deteriorated with age and use. She took the book from him and smiled shyly as she caressed the cover.

     “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites.” With a far-away look, she returned the book to its place on the shelf.

     “What’s it about?”

     She chuckled slightly and let out an embarrassed breath, “a woman falls in love with a pirate and joins him in his adventures on the sea to escape her own life.”

     He looked at her and smiled. He could almost see her petite frame standing on a pirate ship, with the wind blowing through her chocolate locks.

     “These are beautiful,” he said, fingering the three sand dollars on the side table near the bed where he sat his beer. “You have lots of shells.”

     “I found those myself. I grew up near the beach. These are like having a piece of home here with me.”

     She removed the blanket from the recliner and tossed it onto the bed, which she thankfully had taken time to make this morning. She had quickly scanned her bedroom as they had entered and was relieved to see that there were no clothes littering the floor. She motioned to him to sit in the recliner.

    “It’s probably not as big as one that you might have, but it works for me. I’ve had it for a long time.”

     He slid his nearly six-foot frame into the chair and pulled back the fulcrum to raise his feet. He shifted his weigh down a little in the chair as he relaxed, so that he could rest his neck on the top of the back.

     “It’s comfortable, but a little short for me. Got a pillow?”

     She grabbed one of the two silk throw pillows that were decorating her bed and tossed it to him.

     “Ah, that’s better,” he said closing his eyes.

     She couldn’t get over the sight of him leaning back in her recliner in her bedroom with his eyes closed; seemingly content enough to actually nap there. She realized she was holding her breath. She let out a deep sigh and forced herself to concentrate on her task.

     The clicking of the camera confirmed that she was at it again. Snapping pictures. It was funny that it didn’t bother him. The chair really was comfortable and the sun shining in through the window basked him in a warmth that made him want to stay right where he was. The clicking paused.

     “I just want to move this one lock of hair,” she said, her voice closer than he thought she was. He opened his eyes in time to see her long, graceful neck just above him and the swell of her breast peeking out as her blouse gapped. He quickly closed his eyes again. Heat started rising from the pit of his stomach. She was clicking away again. He kept his eyes closed trying to dismiss the sight of the light blue lace that encircled her breast. Her skin was tanned beneath her white top and he couldn’t keep from wondering if she was also tan under that lace. Maybe he could ask her to loosen a few buttons. It would only be fair. He opened his eyes, dismissing the thought and watched her as she took the pictures. She was older than him, but probably not more than five years. She was enchanting. Her big brown eyes were very expressive and her lips were full and pink. She was trim, he would even call her athletic, but she definitely had curves. She brushed her long waves back across her shoulder as a few unruly locks had fallen forward. He wondered how soft her hair was.

     “I like that.”

     “What?” he asked, startled out of his thoughts.

     “The way you are looking at the camera. It’s good. And you don’t even have your shirt open,” she grinned.

     He grinned and stretched his hands over his head. She had a hard time containing the sigh she felt in her throat. Surely, Shakespeare must have had such a man in mind when he penned the story of Venus and Adonis. She couldn’t keep her eyes from traveling across his figure taking in those perfect cheekbones, the deep brown of his eyes with just a touch of green, his incredibly luscious full lips, muscular shoulders and biceps, and his long, lean, strong body. She had to look away before her face betrayed her.

     “I’ve got p-plenty of shots,” she said quietly. She wished she didn’t. She wished she could start all over. She didn’t want him to leave yet.

     With a sigh, he sat up and released the foot of the recliner. He was being dismissed. It was over. He looked at his watch. It hadn’t seemed like two hours. “Will I get to see them?”

     “Yes, I’d like your opinion. I know you weren’t that comfortable with some and I want to make sure I have your approval before I submit them to the magazine.”

     “You know, most photographers don’t really care about my opinion, much less my approval,” he smiled, stepping closer to her.

      “I wouldn’t want you to be unhappy with your shots,” she looked up at him shyly. No matter how good the picture was, she would not publish a photo that would make him uncomfortable. Not him. Not Sid. “I’ll have prints done and ready for review in a couple of days.”

     “I could stop by after practice on Wednesday,” he said hopefully. She seemed slightly nervous again. Or was that him? There was that smile again. My God, what the hell had gotten into him?

     “Wednesday then.” She turned and led him back out and down the stairs. The thin man, the driver, slipped out the door while the jovial security guard waited for his client.

     “Thank you,” he smiled and took her hand. “It was more fun than I expected.”

     She grinned back at him, “Anytime.” His hand was so warm as he squeezed hers. He gently released his grip and turned to the door. “Sidney,” she called. He turned back to her and raised his eyebrows. “Good luck in Boston on Saturday.”

     He grinned back at her and winked, “Wear your jersey on Saturday. That’ll be all the luck I need.” Then he disappeared into the sunlight.