2 Maid in the Shade (7 page)

“Yes,” he replied solemnly.

“Did she order from room service?”

He
hesitated.

“Honestly I’m very discreet, but I confess, after going through what I did, what you read about in the papers,
I’m afraid I’ve developed a morbid curiosity when it comes to untimely death. Maybe this is my way of working through it,” I lied shamelessly.

His
face softened in understanding, “She checked herself in but ordered drinks from room service.”

“Two identical drinks
?"

“
No, I did happen to look at her bill when the police asked for it; it was a Skinny Girl Margarita and a Jim Beam, a bottle with a clean glass.

“That’s a little insulting isn’t it? Asking for a clean glass in the finest historic hotel in
Charlotte?”

C
hristopher smiled, “They pay a premium for the insulting remarks.”

“But
it is strange. That she planned her death, had company, and was worried about her weight enough to order a low-calorie cocktail so shortly before she killed herself?”

“I never thought of it that way, but people are creatures of habit when it comes to their
liquid libations. Or maybe her visitor had bad news he or she delivered shortly afterward.”

“
So do you think her guest was a man?” I have given up making assumptions based on people’s drink orders, especially in the South where some women of class take a certain pride in knocking back a shot of bourbon.

C
hristopher answered carefully. “He was a man, tall, nondescript looking, at least from the angle our camera caught; the hat and raincoat didn’t help. But it was a suicide. I overheard the police say there were no hesitation marks. So I suppose she was resolute. Maybe her visitor broke off a relationship with her. Young professional women are often pretty high strung. I imagine they don’t handle rejection well.”

I
paused in the middle of stuffing the coveralls in the bag and considered throwing him against the wall and showing him what else a high strung young professional woman could do.

I
nstead, I continued questioning him as I headed out the door and toward the elevator. “Was there anything else odd about this?”

“Not
hing atypical, but a glass and bourbon bottle were missing. He may have taken them because he didn’t finish the bottle or because our barware is highly prized. People love the monogram. We just charge it to the room.”

“I
do apologize,” I said as we reached the elevator. “I’ve kept you too long. I should be going now.” I handed him a waiver for the items I was taking to the cleaners, and he whipped out a pen and signed with a flourish.

“I’ll see you out,” he insisted.

We rode down the elevator, while he quizzed me about how I had come to be in this business, showed quite a bit of shock when I mentioned my alma mater and seemed intent on delving past the edited version of my career which I was equally determined to keep to myself.

A
s my great aunt Bessless used to say “You don’t have to tell everything you know.”

W
hen we arrived at the desk I requested my Range Rover. As I turned toward the valet to surrender my ticket, Christopher quickly put his hand over my own.

“I’d be honored if you would join me here for lunch.”

I was mentally thumbing through my list of excuses just as Ben breezed through the door. I felt the air change around me before I saw him. There was a second of silence as all eyes turned toward him. Ben made his way to me purposefully with the grace of a panther. It was always like this with us when we came together. The rest of the world paused, fell away and time suspended until he reached me.

He
was wearing a dark v-neck t-shirt, a light jacket with the sleeves pushed up roughly to his elbows and charcoal jeans. Ben always wore shades of grey or black which threw his dark hair and piercing eyes in sharp relief against his ivory skin.

W
omen were drawn to Jared when he sauntered into a room bringing an element of raw joy and sexuality with him. With Ben, both women and men became quieter, stepped back a pace, drank him in with the respect you would give a work of art in a museum. To them, I realized with a smile of amusement, he seemed completely unattainable.

C
hristopher dropped his hand immediately from my own. I felt like the runner up in a contest after the winner arrives.

“Why,
what an honor to see you sir! Is your mother visiting again?” In a quick undertone he explained, sotto-voiced—“He is an Earl.”

“I know,” I whispered back as Be
n crossed to the concierge desk, and grabbed me in a tight embrace, kissing me on the check.

C
hristopher’s expression was priceless. “You know each other?”

“Very well,” Ben said “and I’m here to whisk her away to lunch.
” He turned his gaze back to me, “if you don’t mind using your monstrosity out there.”

“If you’d like to dine here, s
ir, it would be our pleasure, and of course, as my guests.”

“So generous of you,” Ben said smoothly, “but I made plans elsewhere
.”

C
hristopher took my business card and I reassured him I would be back as soon as the cleaning was complete.

“When the linens are finished: I usually bring one
bill for my labor and a separate one for specialty cleaning, like the draperies. I will also have the gratuities on there, if it isn’t a problem?”

C
hristopher replied, “If it isn’t too much trouble can you just put it on one invoice please? The bookkeepers like to keep things simple.”

“Naturally,” I assured him, “some people might second guess my expenses if they aren’t broken down, but you’re the client.”

“I imagine now that I know your work we’ll be seeing more of you. That is,” he looked at Ben, “if you plan to continue this enterprise.”

“Of course I do,” I said
, “Ben is just-”

“Starving,” Ben interrupted, “I am terribly sorry but we must be going if we’re to make our reservation.”

We quickly said our good-byes and Ben tipped the valet and took the wheel of my car.

“Where are we going
?" I asked.

“
How much time do you have?”

“Nothing else scheduled today so you choose.”

“Wonderful,” he said, “I would have hated all of my plans to go to waste. But are you sure? All day?”

“All day,” I affirmed, smiling, “what do you have
in mind?”

“
In due time,” he said, expertly pulling in front of Delmonte’s, and in moments he emerged with a gorgeous picnic basket and blanket.

W
hen I saw the blanket I told myself it was silly to feel the heat that washed over me. “It’s a blanket, for a picnic,” I told myself sternly. But the second the blanket was tossed into the Rover my focus altered and every time I glanced over at him I could feel my heart pause.

W
e took 485 toward Bridle Springs while I quizzed him, in vain, about our destination. Just after passing my little town, Ben quickly turned onto a dirt road shaded by a heavy forest until we reached a beautiful clearing. It hadn’t been mowed for some time, because wildflowers had sprung up everywhere. Perhaps two acres away there was a fresh pad of cement in a large perfect square which might have been a partially finished foundation for a home or large barn.

“Is it okay for us to be here
?” I asked a little nervously, “Do you know the owner?”

“
I do and it’s fine. Now let’s have that picnic shall we?” He grabbed the basket and blanket and strode over to a place where the deep emerald of the trees met the lavish wildflowers. It was almost as colorful as a Kincaid painting, an artist I have never really cared for, but this was real.

B
en spread the blanket expertly while I opened the basket.

T
he picnic hamper was lovely, with little pockets for linen napkins and cutlery. Every elegant repast Delmonte’s had ever devised for a picnic was in abundance. I marveled as I quietly pulled out champagne grapes, salads in covered glass bowls tipped with silver, crystal glasses with a bottle of bubbly (alcohol removed), and a variety of tapas.

“
Anything the matter?” Ben asked earnestly.

“
It’s just so beautiful, and this setting, I can’t believe you did all this... How you arranged it so quickly.”

“
I know you, perhaps better than you think. If we were living in England, and graced with such a sunny day, I would have planned something quite different for an escape. It wouldn’t be this warm. But we would go to the country house, leave London on the weekends, you remember it? We have the horses there.”

“
Remember it? It’s hardly just a house! Do you still have the swans? And could we have wolfhounds obediently stationed on each side of the fireplace?” I asked teasingly.

“As you wish,” he said smiling, knowing I would pick up on the quote from “The Princess Bride.”

“Ben”-I started but he must have known I was about to quash his daydream. He put one finger over my lips and said, “Let’s see what else we have.”

He
began to pull more magic from the basket and poured our drinks.

W
e ate gingerly, and now and then he would feed me a bite of something as I tried not to hold his gaze too long. It was nothing like the nights when he had come to visit my loft downtown when he was just passing through Charlotte. There we had ordered takeout and wolfed it down at the granite bar in my small kitchen. Even in this open space the sensuality of the connection was there, no matter how hard I tried to see him again as merely the son of a lovely woman my father had been married to so briefly.

O
ur jackets had been left behind in the car but as soon as we had packed up the basket Ben pulled off his shirt. “No rush right? No harm getting a little color is there?”

"Not at all," I said unable to keep my eyes off his taunt abdomen,
made more perfect somehow by a scar just under his ribcage. “Go right ahead, as long as you don’t mind getting a little red.”

“I don’t really burn, surprisingly,” he said, stretching out “I’m outdoors more than you would imagine.
”

I
had an idea that he would be very red in a moment. “Close your eyes.” I whispered.

His
eyebrows rose in slight surprise, and then with a pleased look, he contentedly did just that.

I
opened the basket, selected one of the remaining strawberries and straddled him.

He
opened his eyes again in consternation.

“Closed or I stop,” I said sternly.

He smiled and shut them again.

I
took a moment to study his patrician brow, his hint of a four-o’clock shadow his perfectly formed lips, dear God, I wanted to stop seeing him as a man again but I couldn’t seem to turn it off. To be perfectly honest what I needed was to turn me off. Teasing Jared that morning had definitely gotten my engine running.

I
took the first strawberry and brushed it against his lips. He opened his mouth and I slowly fed it to him.

“
Gretchen,” he whispered, and opened his eyes in time to see me place one end of the next berry between my teeth. I leaned down over him and placed the other end in his mouth. He took a bite just as I removed the other end from my mouth. I squashed it all over his high cheekbones and down his neck before I scrambled off him.

He
moved quickly, grabbing my shirt, pinning me down on my back and with one arm held my arms above my head.

“
And you? Still hungry, darling?” He lowered his face to mine and without taking his eyes off me he reached into the strawberry container and rubbed one against my lips, gently crushed it and rubbed the strawberry juice on my neck, down past my collarbone.

Then he lowered his lips to mine and kissed me ever so softly, loosening his hold on my arms enough so I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him to me, responding with a primal ferociousness that mounted in intensity. Suddenly he broke the kiss and his lips traveled down my neck, licking the juice as he began to move lower.

I
took advantage of his distraction to bring his lips back up to mine, then without breaking the kiss I rolled him over so that I was on top again.

“
Control freak,” he said smiling as he reached up and unpinned my hair. I pulled my shirt over my head ignoring his quick intake of breath before I fastened my lips on his, biting his full lower lip gently and working my way down his chest. He grabbed my arms and looked at me intently.

“
If you want me to stop-” I began. Suddenly I grew still, catching a movement in the woods out of the corner of my eye.

I
t was enough to pull me back to reason. It was a panting steaming reason, but there was enough to make me freeze.