Chapter ２
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A man I’ve never seen before is in the kitchen.
And when I say man, I mean man.
He is masculine in a way only someone older can be, with the authority and confidence that comes with age. He has light stubble on his face, defined cheekbones that narrow down to a firm chin. His hair is neatly cut, a few gray strands through the brown at the temple. A thin, white long-sleeved sweater that he has pushed up to the elbows exposes tanned and muscular forearms. The sweater hangs loosely down his torso, revealing a toned chest. Strong but lean legs are hidden behind dark slacks. And he is barefoot. Why that affects me so much, I don’t know.
It doesn’t even occur to me that I should be afraid. Instead, I let my eyes travel slowly back up, taking in every aspect of this amazing specimen of a man. When I get to his face, I realize he is looking at me the same way. His eyes are traveling up my naked legs, over my tiny sleep shorts, up my exposed torso. Oh my, I still have my arms above my head, so my top has ridden up, showing the beginning of the small swells of my breasts. His gaze slows. My stomach clenches in a way it never has before, making my breath hitch. At a snail’s pace his eyes wander over my breasts. Then they go higher, stopping at my parted lips. And then his gaze meets mine.
His hazel eyes are so dark, filled with a longing that I can’t explain, yet somehow seems so familiar.
But then he blinks a few times, shifts on his feet, and clears his throat.
“You must be Arlene.”
Cold dread is rushing through my body. Oh my God, this is Leonid’s dad!
Leonid’s dad, who has just seen more of my body than anyone has since I was a kid. Not even my older sister has seen any part of my breasts in years. I quickly drop my arms and fold them across my stomach to hide the bare skin. But then I notice my n*****s are poking against my top, and I shift my arms up to cover them instead.
He seems to be amused by my embarrassment, and my cheeks burn. Then I realize he’s waiting for an answer.
“Yes,” I finally say, all breathy. “I’m Arlene.”
“Nice to meet you, Arlene. I’m Machel, Leonid’s father.” With that reminder, his face shutters.
3MachelI turn my back to the little siren standing in my kitchen.
Was I just lusting after my son’s girlfriend?
Disgust rises up in my stomach. I can only blame the lack of sleep. She was a mirage, a vision out of a dirty dream, standing there in hardly any clothes, a heady mix of innocence and temptation with a hungry look in her eyes.
Hungry? No, it couldn’t have been. I must have imagined it. She is my son’s girlfriend; she wouldn’t have looked at me—an old man—with hunger.
“I’ve just made some coffee. Do you want some?”
“Yes, please.”
Her quiet voice sends electricity straight to my c**k. This is so not me. I never let emotions or hormones control me; I control them. I learned my lesson with Leonid’s mom years ago.
I force myself to talk about Leonid, just to keep my head straight.
“Is my son up yet?”
When she doesn’t immediately respond, I turn and find her biting her lip. I quickly focus on her eyes, as her lips will only bring my thoughts back in the gutter.
“No…it was a late night, so he probably won’t be up for a while.”
I snort. “Yes, he was never an early riser.”
She grabs the coffee mug that I hold out to her and sits at the kitchen table, opposite me.
“I—I didn’t think you were back from the conference till tonight?” she asks while lifting those big, blue eyes at me.
“I got homesick.”
Her laugh is unexpected, and the way her smile lights up her face takes my breath away.
“Homesick isn’t something I would expect a grown man to be.”
“Grown man, uh?” She’s blushing again. “I’m always homesick when I’m away. I love this town. I love my home,” I explain with a shrug.
“You have such a lovely house,” she responds eagerly. “Leonid tells me you’re an architect and designed it yourself?”
“That’s true.”
“It’s really beautiful. I think my favorite part is the patio at the back with the built-in seats and firepit—it’s just perfect. All I wanted to do when I saw it was to curl up in one of the seats with a book and stay there all day.”
“I’m glad you like it. It’s situated so you have the perfect view of the sunset over the bay.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to see it. Leonid said you built it—the seats and all—yourself?”
“I did, yes.” The pure admiration in her eyes does something to my chest. “I was pretty much hands-on when it came to building the whole house, not just the outside. It made the place more mine, you know? The outdoor seating area needs to be repainted, though. I’m doing that this summer.”
“I’ll help.”
This time, I’m the one who’s laughing. She’s blushing again, looking down at her hands.
“You’ll help?”
“Well…if you’d want me to. It’s the least I could do, staying for free in your house.”
I can vividly picture it: Arlene in a pair of cutoff shorts, working next to me in the sunshine while sweat rolls down her back.
“You’re here on your summer break, to relax after finals. There’s no way I’ll put a paint brush in your hands.” When she tries to argue, I add in a stern voice, “No, young lady. It’s final.”
“Okay, Mr. Wright,” she’s replies demurely.
“Please, call me Machel.”
“Okay. Machel.”
How can every single word that comes out of her mouth sound so goddamn dirty? I swallow and change the topic.
“Do you want some breakfast?”
“I’d love some,” she says and gets up from the chair. “But I insist on helping with it.”
Her top is stretching across her tiny, tempting t**s, and I know I can’t have her close to me. Not like this.
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