Read Online Caress Part One (Arcadia) by Josie Litton - Free Book Online
Authors: Josie Litton
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from the world until her recent death at the age of
ninety-one.
Maybe Emma would discover something that could shed light on
the matter.
Realizing that I was back to thinking about her, I groaned.
Naked, I walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped under it
before it had time to warm up. The initial rush of cold water was a shock but
it did nothing to stem my wayward thoughts.
Neither did jerking off. I tried, really, not to think about
Emma but that didn’t last long. Whatever else she was doing to me, she’d
claimed a starring role in my X-rated fantasies.
Later, dried off and lying in bed, I stared up at the
ceiling as I wondered which guest room she’d chosen. Somehow, I didn’t think
she’d opt for a view of New Jersey, as picturesque as that might be. The odds
were that she was lying right above me.
Realizing that did absolutely nothing for my state of mind.
I slept fitfully, disturbed by dreams of dumbwaiters, blondes, and myself,
incongruously behind the wheel of a classic 1950s Chevy Corvette muscle car
while a young woman who looked like Emma laughed beside me.
Not too surprisingly, I woke up feeling as though I hadn’t
slept. Forgoing a shave, I pulled on sweats and decided that, it being
Saturday, I’d hit the gym. But first, I wanted to check on Emma.
The apartment was quiet, too much so. I wandered out into
the living room, looking for her there first, then in the dining room, the
screening room, and finally on the wrap-around terrace that gave the main floor
of the apartment a 360-degree panoramic view of Manhattan and beyond. No Emma,
just a few pigeons who ignored me.
I was starting to wonder if she was still asleep when the
front door opened and Emma walked in. She was wearing jeans that hugged her
exquisite ass and long legs. Her hair was brushed back and held by a couple of
tortoise shell clips. So far as I could tell, she didn’t have any make-up on.
For sure, the blush that spread over her face when she saw me was entirely
natural.
“Oh…” she said, sounding a little breathless. “You’re
here.”
Where did she think I’d be? I was sure that Isaac had passed
along the message that I’d be back, just not until late.
She gave me a small, tentative smile as her eyes darted
toward the master suite almost as though she was looking for someone else.
She thought I might have brought a woman home with me?
Why the hell would her thinking that shock me? If I wanted
to bring a woman to the apartment, I would. We wouldn’t be doing it on the
kitchen counter, as enjoyable as that could be, but still--
And if Emma hooked up with someone--
Hell, no! She’d be too busy. I’d see to that.
“Taking the day off, Miss Whittaker?” I was being a douche
but I didn’t care. I was too busy watching the flicker of surprise deep in her
remarkable eyes, followed by a quick flash of steel.
Oh, yeah, there was a lot more to Blondie than big blues and
a reckless streak. She had backbone.
That pleased me. It made her a hell of a lot more
interesting than she would otherwise have been. It also made her fair game, at
least up to a point.
“On the contrary, Mr. Phelps,” she said coolly. “I’ve
actually been making good progress, which I’ll be happy to discuss with you.
Over breakfast, perhaps?” She hefted the bag she was carrying. “The bagel place
I remembered is still around the corner. I got extra.”
Without waiting for a response, she moved toward the
kitchen. I followed. I told myself it was because I just happened to like
bagels but the truth is I was enjoying the view. Did the woman have any idea of
how she looked from the back? Poetry in motion didn’t get close to it.
“I’ll make the coffee,” I offered, feeling suddenly
magnanimous.
There were a few things about the apartment that I already
knew had to change and I’d fixed the first of them. Rather than shudder at the
thought of coffee from a 1950s style percolator, I’d installed a
ninety-one.
Maybe Emma would discover something that could shed light on
the matter.
Realizing that I was back to thinking about her, I groaned.
Naked, I walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower and stepped under it
before it had time to warm up. The initial rush of cold water was a shock but
it did nothing to stem my wayward thoughts.
Neither did jerking off. I tried, really, not to think about
Emma but that didn’t last long. Whatever else she was doing to me, she’d
claimed a starring role in my X-rated fantasies.
Later, dried off and lying in bed, I stared up at the
ceiling as I wondered which guest room she’d chosen. Somehow, I didn’t think
she’d opt for a view of New Jersey, as picturesque as that might be. The odds
were that she was lying right above me.
Realizing that did absolutely nothing for my state of mind.
I slept fitfully, disturbed by dreams of dumbwaiters, blondes, and myself,
incongruously behind the wheel of a classic 1950s Chevy Corvette muscle car
while a young woman who looked like Emma laughed beside me.
Not too surprisingly, I woke up feeling as though I hadn’t
slept. Forgoing a shave, I pulled on sweats and decided that, it being
Saturday, I’d hit the gym. But first, I wanted to check on Emma.
The apartment was quiet, too much so. I wandered out into
the living room, looking for her there first, then in the dining room, the
screening room, and finally on the wrap-around terrace that gave the main floor
of the apartment a 360-degree panoramic view of Manhattan and beyond. No Emma,
just a few pigeons who ignored me.
I was starting to wonder if she was still asleep when the
front door opened and Emma walked in. She was wearing jeans that hugged her
exquisite ass and long legs. Her hair was brushed back and held by a couple of
tortoise shell clips. So far as I could tell, she didn’t have any make-up on.
For sure, the blush that spread over her face when she saw me was entirely
natural.
“Oh…” she said, sounding a little breathless. “You’re
here.”
Where did she think I’d be? I was sure that Isaac had passed
along the message that I’d be back, just not until late.
She gave me a small, tentative smile as her eyes darted
toward the master suite almost as though she was looking for someone else.
She thought I might have brought a woman home with me?
Why the hell would her thinking that shock me? If I wanted
to bring a woman to the apartment, I would. We wouldn’t be doing it on the
kitchen counter, as enjoyable as that could be, but still--
And if Emma hooked up with someone--
Hell, no! She’d be too busy. I’d see to that.
“Taking the day off, Miss Whittaker?” I was being a douche
but I didn’t care. I was too busy watching the flicker of surprise deep in her
remarkable eyes, followed by a quick flash of steel.
Oh, yeah, there was a lot more to Blondie than big blues and
a reckless streak. She had backbone.
That pleased me. It made her a hell of a lot more
interesting than she would otherwise have been. It also made her fair game, at
least up to a point.
“On the contrary, Mr. Phelps,” she said coolly. “I’ve
actually been making good progress, which I’ll be happy to discuss with you.
Over breakfast, perhaps?” She hefted the bag she was carrying. “The bagel place
I remembered is still around the corner. I got extra.”
Without waiting for a response, she moved toward the
kitchen. I followed. I told myself it was because I just happened to like
bagels but the truth is I was enjoying the view. Did the woman have any idea of
how she looked from the back? Poetry in motion didn’t get close to it.
“I’ll make the coffee,” I offered, feeling suddenly
magnanimous.
There were a few things about the apartment that I already
knew had to change and I’d fixed the first of them. Rather than shudder at the
thought of coffee from a 1950s style percolator, I’d installed a
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