When she was training me for those first few weeks I was here, she would get teary eyed just talking about leaving to move in with her daughter’s family to help take care of them.
Just as I’m setting the vegetables on the table, the back door opens and shuts. With each tick of the giant grandfather clock in the corner of the rustic dining room, my heart rate increases, and I feel like I am going to crawl out of my skin. Partly because I want to crawl into his lap and pick up where we left off last night.
The roast is the only dish left to set on the table, but I’ll wait until the clock strikes the hour before I put it out.Everyone knows what time they are supposed to be at the table and, according to Mr. Harlow, if the food is cold when they sit down it’s not because it was set out too early.
Mr. Harlow is strict about punctuality and being considerate of other people’s time.
With five minutes to spare, I go into the kitchen to transfer the roast from the warming pot to its setting tray and cut it into slim strips.
The hairs on my neck stand up and my hand cutting through the tender meat stops mid-slice. I can feel him standing behind me, I didn’t even hear him come into the room.
“We need to talk.” His deep voice is closer to my ear than I would like. Even in a lowered volume, the timbre sends a shiver up my spine.
Holy shit, my lower belly is already tingling.
My hope that he will avoid me is erased and I stand stiff as a board. “There really isn’t anything to talk about, you don’t have to worry, I won’t bother you while you’re here.”
He is silent behind me, but I refuse to turn around and face him. The heat of his chest is on my back as he surprises me by setting the heels of his palms against the countertop on each side of me, caging me in. “What if I want to be bothered?” He leans forward to lower his head next to mine, his voice low, “What if I want to bother you?”
His breath is hot on my ear and neck, his beard barely touching the shell of my ear making my shoulders shudder. My nipples pucker against the frumpy shirt I’m wearing and the ache in my center has my whole body warming, my panties getting wetter by the second.
I clear my throat and try to be firm, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” but it comes out breathy and needy.
He stays there, his chest just a hair’s breadth from touching my shoulders and it takes everything in me not tolean into him to close that tiny gap that feels so big.
I remind myself that all the good sex in the world isn’t worth losing the good life I’ve had for the past six months and I return my focus to the roast in front of me.
The back door opens again and I hear boots on the hardwood floor. He steps away from me and I realize that the clock struck the hour and I still don’t have the roast on the table.
Cool air moves across my neck in his absence and I want his heat back. I quickly cut the rest of the meat and when I turn, I’m in the room alone.
When I step into the dining room, Mr. Harlow is already in his seat at the head of the table, fully dressed like he has been outside working all day even though he is on bed rest this week. Marley has been ensuring that he is not working.
I set the roast on the table in its place close to him and go to my seat at the other end behind the siblings and to the right of Mr Harlow.
Little Lainey Rai, Gray’s daughter, is smiling at me across the table with a new gap in her teeth. She was talking about that tooth being loose yesterday and I smile back at her and tap my upper lip in recognition when I wink at her. Her smile gets even bigger.
“Where’s Kinley?” Mr. Harlow grunts.
Marley speaks up, “I haven’t seen her today, Daddy, she’s probably working on something and doesn’t even know what time it is.”
Kinley is an artist and frequently forgets the rest of the world around her when her focus is lost in a new project. She’s a bit moody and tends to distance herself.
That’s when Breanna breezes into the room, skips Kinley’s seat next to Marley, and takes her seat next to me. Mr. Harlow watches her in disapproval but doesn’t say anything.
The hairs on my neck are standing up again, I can feel hisgaze on me even though I am trying to avoid looking at him. My body is humming with need and I cross my legs as I place my napkin in my lap, trying to ease the ache that is making this the longest dinner in the history of dinners.
It only just started.
Chancing a tiny glance across the table, his eyes are on me and he is smirking like he knows what his presence is doing to me. I square my shoulders and try to pretend that I’m not thinking of what it felt like to lower onto him, every inch stretching me, like I did last night.
My face turns scarlet and I look down at my food.
“So, Dad, how are you feeling?” His deep voice vibrates through me.
As soon as Mr. Harlow stabs a piece of roast to put it on his plate, the exchange of dishes starts. Everyone starts to fill their plates, the sound of cutlery tapping and scraping fills the room with the controlled chaos of plates floating around the table.
“I’m fine son, I think those doctors jumped the gun a bit, there’s nothing wrong with me.” One would think that Mr. Harlow is a heavy smoker by the low, gravely growl of his voice, but he’s never smoked a day in his life.
