Commencement (12 page)

He strode towards the door, stopping once to let me retrieve my purse from the top of the machine, before pushing out of the exit and depositing me gently on the curb.

“Milady,” he said, bowing ridiculously as he opened my door, “your chariot.”

“Why thank you, uh, sir knight,” I said, feeling deliciously foolish.

“My pleasure.” He bowed again, took my hand and kissed it, before closing the door.

God help me, I blushed again. Everywhere.

W
e didn’t speak much
during the drive, and I was grateful for it. Scrabble champion or no, my nerves were so raw I don’t think I could have strung together a coherent sentence if my title had depended on it. Thomas turned on the radio, a satellite station that played mellow classical music. He held my hand for most of the ride, his thumb caressing my skin.

“What a rare gift it is,” he said, raising my hand to his lips to press a gentle kiss to my knuckles, “to sit with someone in comfortable silence.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” I said.

“Were you?”

“Yeah, really. But now I’m going to ruin it, because I’m dying to know where we’re going, and I think I might have it figured out.”

“I doubt it,” he said.

“We’re headed to Portland,” I said, “to a hotel on the coast.”

“No, well, sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“You’ll see.” He smiled as we exited the interstate.

Ten minutes later we turned down a gravel road that led to a private dock in Portland Harbor. I sat forward in my seat, straining to make sense of our destination. Then I saw it. A small ferry at the end of the road with a ramp leading to its deck. We drove up the ramp and onto the boat.

I moved to open my door, but he stopped me.

“No need to get out. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Look.” He pointed out my window, over my shoulder.

It was an island, one of a dozen small, private estates that dotted the water of Portland’s Denton Cove coastline . A house glimmered at the center of it. It was glass and steel, surrounded by towering pine trees and snow-laden cliffs. Waves crashed against a rocky beach, and as the sun began its lazy descent below the horizon, shades of lavender, teal and orange were glinting in the winter light. “Wow,” I said as the ferry pulled up to the dock.

Thomas revved the engine, draped his arm over the back of my seat and winked at me.

“Shall we?” he said, and backed the Jaguar off the ferry and onto a gravel road that wound up to the house.

“
T
his is dazzling
,” I said as we walked into a foyer so large and open it could only be described as an entrance hall.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s just… beautiful.”

The house was modern but crafted from warm, traditional materials like dark wood, marble, glass and stone. The foyer opened into the rest of the house, several steps down leading to a large living space lined with enormous floor to ceiling windows. Oversized leather furniture filled the space, and at its center sat an elegant stone fireplace that was open on three sides.

“Dr. Grayson,” a voice echoed off the marble from across the room. A short woman in a puffy down winter coat approached us, her long gray hair coiled in braids on top of a face that was pink with cold.

“Yes, Mrs. Linsley,” Thomas said, crossing the room to greet her. “Thank you for meeting us.”

“No trouble at all, sir.” She smiled. “No trouble at all. One thing?”

“Yes?”

“I was just outside and it looks like we’ve got a winter storm coming in. Nothing to worry about, you and Ms. Claremont will be quite safe and warm, but I wonder if you might let the staff go early? I know you said you didn’t need them past dinner. But do you think you’ll require them for serving as well?”

“Goodness no. By all means let them go home,” I heard Thomas say as I wandered down the steps into the living room.

“Oh good,” said Mrs. Linsley. “They’ll be grateful, sir. I’ll let them know.”

“Of course.”

“If you’ll head to the kitchen, Chef will fill you in on tonight’s menu, and I’ll take Ms. Claremont to her room.”

“Certainly,” he said.

“Just through there,” she said, pointing down a long hallway. “Now then, Ms. Claremont?”

I met her at the top of the stairs, but she reached my suitcase and garment bag before I could.

“Oh gosh, let me take that,” I said, embarrassed.

“Nonsense,” she scoffed. “You’re here to relax. I think I can carry a little suitcase.”

“Thank you.” I smiled and followed her down another long hallway to what felt like another wing of the house. “Is this like a vacation rental?” I asked. “Or a bed and breakfast, or something?”

“It’s a private estate rental. Owned by an investor who uses it only a few days of the year, so the rest of the time he rents it for private use.”

“Wow. It’s just, wow,” I said lamely.

“It is a lot of wow.” She laughed as we stopped outside a door. “Case in point.” She swung the door open and stepped aside.

More floor to ceiling windows, except these windows were framed with steel beams that climbed high and vaulted, crisscrossing over the ceiling like fingers intertwined. A chandelier dripping with concentric circles of crystal sent sparks of light glittering off the steel and glass and cascading in luminous patterns over a large four-poster bed. Sheer white curtains billowed from the bed, wafting in a breeze that—I hadn’t realized till that moment—was chilling me to the bone. I shivered.

“Oh my Lord. I’m so sorry, Ms. Claremont,” said Mrs. Linsley, racing to an open panel of glass to drag it shut. “We open these windows to freshen the rooms and someone forgot to shut this one.”

“Oh, it’s alright.” I smiled. “It’s incredible, actually. A stunning house.”

“I hope you enjoy your stay here,” she said. “Our contact information is on the refrigerator in the kitchen. Should you need anything just give us a jingle.”

“I will, thank you.”

She left me alone, shutting the door behind her. I walked to the windows and pulled the panel open again, stepping out onto the balcony to admire the view. The sea was definitely roughing up. I’m no sailor but I’ve lived around the water long enough to recognize the signs of a storm. I shivered again, more from excitement than cold this time. There is nothing so romantic as a storm, and I couldn’t wait to share this evening with Thomas.

My phone buzzed. I pulled it out of my pocket and looked at the screen. It was him.

D
id you find your present
?

W
e r
in the same house, why r u texting me?

B
ecause I don’t dare
come see you right now. We won’t make it to dinner.

I
swallowed hard
.

O
kay
. Wait, what present?

C
heck the bed
.

I
went inside
, closing the balcony door behind me, and walked to the bed where I found a box wrapped in black and white damask paper.

F
or me
?

O
pen it
.

I
ripped open the paper
, lifted the lid and folded back two sheets of lightly scented tissue paper. It was an exquisitely crafted ensemble of French lingerie. Bra, panties, garter belt and stockings all in black, with fine lace and embroidery decorating the delicate sheer fabric. I reached for my phone.

B
eautiful
.

J
ust like you
. I was hoping you’d wear it tonight.

I
will
.

G
ood
. Get dressed, dinner is in 20 mins.

I
threw
the phone back on the bed and ripped off my coat. I found my suitcase in the dressing room just off the bathroom, a bathroom that felt like it was about twice the size of my apartment and with a bathtub so large it looked like I’d have to drain the harbor to fill it. I made a mental note to take a long, leisurely soak in that bad boy later. For now, I had to concentrate on going from road weary to glamorous in a flash.

I put my hair in a bun and took a quick shower to calm my nerves and freshen up, then ran a brush through my hair. Thankfully the steam of the shower had put a little wave into it, so I didn’t need to do much. Next was makeup. I focused on my skin and eyes, forgoing lipstick for just a hint of stain.

When I slipped into the lingerie, I realized how completely pathetic my own collection is. I had long thought I had a pretty fancy array of naughty undergarments. But in comparison to the feather-light honeyed silk that was currently caressing my skin, my own collection was utter trash. I was going to have to go naked for the rest of the weekend now, because no way was I going to be brave enough to wear those potato sacks I call lingerie in front of Thomas after he’d given me this magic.

I pulled on my dress and pumps with just minutes to spare, but almost strained a muscle trying to drag my zipper up my back.

“Why are these things always murder to get up, but super easy to pull down?” I growled at the empty room as I teetered around in circles, fingers snapping for the zipper like a Chihuahua having a hissy fit.

I gave up and walked into the bedroom just as my phone buzzed again.

D
inner is served
. ;)

O
n my way
.

A
s I walked
down the hall, heels clicking an ungainly echo on the marble floors, I caught the double meaning in his text. Intended or not, dinner was indeed served. We’d been starving for each other since the moment we met, and tonight, finally, we were both on the menu.

The lights were dimmed throughout the house, and there was music playing softly. Despite the ungodly racket my heels were making on the floors, he hadn’t heard me approach. He was at the windows in the living room when I saw him, engrossed in thought, face turned to the sea, his handsome profile outlined by the glow from the fireplace. He’d dressed down for dinner, his white button up shirt open at the throat, revealing a hint of that sexy, sculpted chest. His shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, his tattoos clearly visible, and I could see the muscles bunching underneath the inked bands as his arms flexed. His feet were bare, and even they were sexy. I’d never thought of feet as sexy before but damn if his weren’t. He was so gorgeous my breath hitched and I inhaled sharply, causing him to turn.

“Hey,” I said softly when he saw me.

“Hey,” he echoed, a smile breaking across his face like the waves on the rocks below us, fast and wild. “God, you’re breathtaking,” he said as he walked towards me.

“I feel a little overdressed,” I said, arching an eyebrow at his feet.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “I dislike wearing shoes in the house, sorry.”

“Oh, I’ll take mine off too.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, his eyes sliding over my legs. “Those shoes are incredible. Besides, I’ll do that, later.”

I laughed and pulled my hair to the side, turning my back to him. “Zip me up?”

I felt his hands on my waist, gliding up my back to the zipper, and then he pulled it up and leaned his weight against me, his lips pressing to the nape of my neck as he fastened the hook at the top of the dress.

I shivered and turned in his arms, my eyes lifting to his. Even with him in bare feet and me in five-inch heels, he towered over me. I rubbed my arms, my eyes roaming from his lips to the sexy lines of his jaw and throat.

“Cold?” he asked.

“Not at all.” I smiled, shaking my head.

“Nervous, still?” he said, arching his brows, blue eyes flashing with amusement.

“Definitely.”

“Good,” he said and pressed his lips to mine softly, his hands circling my shoulders, holding me tightly to him and deepening the kiss. His tongue teased and promised, his hands ambling over my backside, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched me.

He broke the kiss and I felt bereft, my lips plumped and primed, ready for more.

“Come on,” he said, taking my hand. “Our food is getting cold.”

H
e led
me down a hall into an enormous dining room filled with the largest table I’d ever seen. The table was empty.

“Oh,” I said, surprised that there were no place settings laid out.

“We aren’t dining in here,” he said, pulling me towards a bank of French doors at the back of the room. “Too stuffy and formal. Instead, we’ll be in the solarium.”

“Nice,” I said. “Although with tonight’s weather, it’s more of a rainarium, I suppose.”

“Too true,” he said, opening the door wide and ushering me through. “But it’s also magnificent.”

“Oh my God.” I gaped at the scene in front of me. “It’s like being in a genie’s bottle.”

Beams and columns of etched silver steel framed panes of glass that fit together in geometric patterns reminiscent of a Moroccan oil lamp. The perimeter of the room was lined with deep benches, sumptuously upholstered and piled with pillows. The sky bellowed, a crash of thunder that signaled the storm was upon us. Lightning cracked and strobed through the glass, casting shadows through the rain—writhing rivulets that ghosted over cushions, our skin, the floor, and the white cloth that covered the table at the center of the room. A single elegant chandelier hung high above us, its crystals sparkling in the flickering light from the candles on the table below. The table was set simply, with fine white china and polished silverware.

“I’m glad you like it,” Thomas said as he pulled out my chair for me.

“I do, it’s incredible,” I said as he tucked me in.

“Wine?” he asked, moving to a sideboard behind me to retrieve the bottle.

“Definitely.”

I watched as he sliced the sleeve from the neck of the bottle and twisted the corkscrew. Strong lithe fingers pulled the cork firmly from the bottle with a pop.

“I love watching your hands,” I said. “You have sexy hands. Very expressive.”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to caress my cheek before retrieving my wine glass and filling it. “These hands can’t wait to express themselves all over you,” he said, smirking.

I shivered at his words, took the wine glass he offered, and drank deeply.

“Easy now.” He laughed as I gulped, a rich husky sound that sent a thrill of anticipation up my spine. “Now, I hope I can get this right,” I heard him say behind me. “Chef was very explicit in his instructions and I hate to think I could ruin his masterpiece with a simple misapplication of sauce.” He lifted a plate over my head and set it in front of me.

Thinly sliced medallions of duck breast, their skins crisp and shining, lay on a bed of roasted root vegetables and haricot vert. A deep crimson sauce glazed the edges of the plate.

“Wow.”

“I hope you like duck?”

“Yes, absolutely.” I nodded. “What is the sauce?”

“A reduction of port wine and mixed winter berries,” Thomas said as he placed his own plate on the table and sat opposite me. “Chef was adamant that I put the sauce on myself, just before serving. Otherwise he was concerned the duck skin would go soft.” He winked at me. “Can’t have that, can we?”

“Certainly not,” I said, slicing into the duck for my first bite. I chewed and moaned with pleasure.

“So I did alright, then? With the saucing?”

“I think your expert application of the sauce is what sends this meal right over the top, really.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He laughed as he chewed and reached for his wine glass. “Tell me, how does my gift fit?” He arched a brow and took a sip of his wine.

“Like I’ve been dipped in a vat of liquid silk. I love it, thank you. How did you guess my size?”

“I confess, I cheated.”

“You called Sasha.” I grinned and popped a forkful of roasted potato into my mouth.

“I did.” He nodded.

“Smart man,” I said. “I really love the lingerie, it’s beautiful and this place,” I said, gesturing with my fork, “it’s amazing. I wouldn’t even know how to go about finding a place like this.”

“Another confession,” he said. “I wouldn’t either, but my mother’s best friend is something of a private concierge.”

“Oh?”

“He finds people what they want and delivers it to them.”

“He’s very good at his job,” I said.

“He is. I emailed him this week, told him what I wanted, and within six hours I had this place reserved for us for the entire weekend.”

“He’s a magician,” I said. “Did he procure my gift as well?”

“Heavens no.” He laughed. “I’ll have you know I selected that myself. Stayed up all night to annoy a shop girl at a little boutique I know in Paris.”

“Annoyed her?” I asked, scrunching my nose.

“Yes.” He smiled sheepishly. “I persuaded her to take me on a video shopping spree around the store. She obliged, albeit begrudgingly.” He reached for the bottle of wine and refilled each of our glasses. “She cheered up when she saw what her commission would be, and was almost pleasant by the time I asked her to expedite the package across the pond.”

“I’m so glad.” I laughed, lifting my glass to take a sip.

“Let’s have a toast,” he said, raising his own glass. “To ill-tempered shop girls, express delivery…”

“Rainariums,” I said, “and sauced duck…”

“To the impressive early acquirement of your business degree,” he said.

“Thank you.” I nodded, smiling.

“And to the freedom,” he said, his eyes darkening in the candlelight. “At long last, to be together. And to spend our time as we wish.”

“Yes,” I said, my heart fluttering at his words.

“Jane, I want you to know, you are…you are so very dear to me.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Likewise.”

“And I…I respect you…”

“Okay,” I said, confused. While I was glad to have his respect, this wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation someone had pre-sexy times.

“Before we go any further, tonight, I just think that I should—”

Music cut him off—an urgent refrain of violins that I recognized at once as the theme song for the Wicked Witch of the West from
The Wizard of Oz
film.

“Speak of the devil,” he said grimly, pulling his phone from his pocket. He silenced it, and set it face down on the table. “Before we go any further, I must burden you with some truth. My hope is that it won’t change anything between us. It certainly doesn’t for me. But I realized today that I don’t get to make that decision for you.”

“Okay, you’re starting to make me nervous now,” I said.

“No, I’m sorry, it’s just—” his phone buzzed and skittered across the table. He caught it just as it fell over the edge. He glanced at the screen, then looked up at me.

“Take it,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded and rose from the table, then exited the French doors into the vast empty dining room beyond. I sipped my wine and watched the rain as it streamed over the windows, a steady rhythm that was both soothing and sad. I stole a glance through the doors and saw him pacing, his shoulders tight, one hand agitating his curls as he spoke. Whoever was on the other end of that phone was definitely not very dear to him.

I stood and began clearing the table, moving our plates to the sideboard, leaving only the candles and our wine glasses. I tend to clean when I’m bugged. Straightening my environment gives me some small measure of control over it. I was bugged right now, and I had a pretty good guess as to why. The only thing I wasn’t certain of, was how bad it was going to be.

The door opened and Thomas walked back in.

“I’ve turned it off completely,” he said. “We won’t be interrupted again.”

“Good. Sit.”

He walked to the table and sat down, and I did the same, reaching across for his hands, lacing my fingers with his.

“I should have told you,” he said, staring at our hands.

“That you’re married?” I said. “Yes, you should have.”

“I’m so sorry.” He stole a glance at me.

“I forgive you,” I said. “Because I assume you’re also about to tell me that you’re getting divorced.”

“We’ve been getting divorced,” he said, nodding. “For close to four years now.”

“My God. Why that long?”

He sighed heavily, pulled his hands from mine and took a deep draught of his wine.

“A number of reasons,” he said as he set his glass down. “The largest being money. My family has a lot of it, and she wants it.”

“Gross,” I said. “Greedy people suck.”

“They do indeed.” He laughed. “I really am sorry, Jane,” he said, placing his hands over mine again. “You deserved to know. My only defense is that I haven’t thought of myself as married for years. I didn’t intend to deceive you.”

“Well…” I sighed dramatically, withdrawing, then sitting back in my chair. “I am pissed.”

“Alright.” He nodded solemnly.

“That woman has seriously damaged the buzz we had going just before she called.” I winked at him.

“Then I shall do my best to rekindle it.” His expression relaxed into a grin. “If you’ll permit me?”

“I suppose…” I tilted my head and studied him, letting my eyes roam, appreciating his masculine beauty in the candlelight. “I might be persuaded.”

“Shall I continue courting you?” He smiled, and rising from his chair, he stepped towards me.

“Oh, I don’t know, that might be getting tedious. I got quite a lot of poetic texts this week—nearly enough to publish a chapbook. I’m thinking of calling it
Sexts from the Professor.
” I turned in my seat, facing him, and slid one high-heeled foot up the back of his calf.

“Minx.” He laughed. “I haven’t begun to court you.”

“Please, no more poetry. I can’t take any more.” I laid the back of my hand over my forehead and feigned exhaustion.

“Let’s see,” he said, capturing my hand and holding it in both of his. “I’ve done flowers, and gifts. I’ve bought you dinner twice now, and—”

“Poetry, don’t forget the poetry.”

“And poetry, we’ve covered that rather thoroughly as you’ve pointed out.” He patted my hand. “That leaves, chocolate and dancing, I believe.”

“Chocolate and dancing?” I sat up in my chair. “I like both of those.”

“Then come with me.” He pulled on my hand and I stood up, my body brushing up the hard column of his torso as I rose.

His arms circled my waist and he pulled me to him roughly, his lips slanted over mine, kissing me deeply, desperately.

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes searching mine.

“For what?” I whispered.

“For being you.” He smiled. “Now, come with me, for I know where there is chocolate.”

W
e raced
down the hallway together, bare feet slapping and high heels clicking as we skidded around the bend into the kitchen.

“Holy crap!” I said.

“Indeed.”

“Nothing should surprise me about this house at this point, but Jesus, it’s just like, one epically stunning room after another, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he agreed. His voice was muffled and I looked over to see his body half buried in the huge refrigerator. He emerged, a white ceramic dish in his hands.

“Will you get the oven door?” he said, nodding at a bank of four doors to the right of me.

“Sure.” I pulled open the door of the only oven that was lit and obviously prepped for some purpose. “What’s that?”

“This,” he said, setting the dish on the oven shelf gingerly, “is Chef’s chocolate soufflé.”

“Oh, wow.” I peered in the oven window after he shut the door. “Neat. I’ve never watched a soufflé’ baking before.”

“And you won’t be now,” he said, laughing. “I promised dancing.”

We raced down the hallway again, stopping halfway on our way back to the dining room for Thomas to lift me, and carry me the rest of the way, since my high heels made it hard for me to keep pace. We were breathless and giggling when we arrived. Thomas sat me down and turned to a control unit on the wall to press a few buttons.

“What’s your fancy?” he asked. “Classical? Jazz? Latin? Easy Guitar? Whatever that means.”

“Easy Guitar.”

“Got it,” he said as music began playing. He walked to the French doors and threw them open, connecting our rainarium to the larger dining room. I followed him, watching as he knelt on the benches and vigorously turned handles attached to the windowpanes. They canted at his efforts, opening to the night air, a cool wet mist wafting in from the rainstorm.

He moved to the table, cleared it of our wine glasses, and set the candles on the sideboard, then folded the table itself and tucked it to the side of the room. He held out his hand to me and smiled.

I took it and he pulled me to him, tucking my hand in his, just under his chin, as his other arm circled my waist, strong and warm.

“Dancing,” he said, arching a brow playfully. He stepped into me, and I stepped back, just as slow and sexy guitar music began playing on the speakers.

His hips pressed into mine as he led us around the room, his feet never missing a step.

“You can dance!” I said, delighted.

“I can.” He unfurled our bodies, twirled me, then snapped me back to his arms. “Pricey English educations include dancing instruction.”

“I’m impressed,” I said as we glided. “Are you secretly James Bond or something?”

“With you I am,” he said with a laugh. “With you I’m….I’m…” We stopped moving and his hands coasted up my waist to cup my face. He kissed me, his lips pressed to mine, hot and soft—almost reverent, before he deepened the kiss and lifted me, holding me tight against him as he walked up the few steps to the dining table in the room behind us. He sat me on the table, and I spread my knees, pulling him to me, wrapping my legs around him, caging him to me. His hands stroked lower, over my thighs and down the backs of my knees. I shivered and he broke the kiss, then stepped back, lifted my ankle and slid the shoe from my foot.

“So this is really happening,” I said, breathless and wide-eyed. “This is really happening now.”

“This is really happening now.” He nodded, his blue eyes a dangerous shade of sapphire. “Finally,” he whispered, his hands finding my other foot and removing the shoe. He dropped them both to the floor and then slid his hands up my thighs again, searching for the strap of my garters.

My hands trailed along the hem of my dress and curled around the edge, pulling it up, exposing the bare skin of my thigh. I lifted my gaze to his and he held it fast with his own. His fingers searched blindly for the clasp, found it, and popped it open, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips as he did so. His fingers snuck under the lace band of the stocking and peeled it down, over my knee, my calf, until it slipped off my toes, leaving only the memory of spidery silk on my skin. He did the same with the other, then snaked his hands up under my dress. His eyes watched mine as he moved, fingers feathering over the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I gasped and leaned into him, then pushed his hands away.