Read Online The Color of Heaven - 09 - The Color of Time by Julianne MacLean - Free Book Online
Authors: Julianne MacLean
Ads: Link
wall. “Is that your own bathroom?” I asked with fascination as I crossed to the open door next to the closet.
Indeed, it was a private ensuite with an enormous bathtub that could fit two people.
“It has jets,” I noticed as I bent over it.
“Yeah, but I never use it,” he replied. “I’m a shower person.”
“I’ve never taken a bath with jets before.”
“Do you want to use it now?” he asked.
I turned to him hesitantly. “Are you crazy?”
“Why? There’s no one here. The housekeeper’s gone to her nephew’s wedding in Freeport overnight, and my parents won’t be back until tomorrow. The groundskeeper left at five and he won’t be back until Monday morning. You don’t have to be home until midnight.”
“So we’re completely alone?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.
“Yep.”
I glanced down at the luxurious jet tub and didn’t see how I could refuse such an opportunity—to live for a moment like the rich and famous.
“Do you have any bath suds?” I asked, imagining myself sinking into it like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman .
“Anything you want,” Ethan replied.
“Do you plan on joining me?” I carefully asked.
With a friendly, open expression, he approached. “Only if you want me to.”
My heart pounded wildly as I considered it.
Just then, the sound of car tires crunching over the gravel in the driveway caused us both to turn. A car door opened and closed. I felt a rush of anxiety as Ethan hurried out of the bathroom to look out the window in his room.
“Who is it?” I asked, following him and hoping it would be Chris and his girlfriend, or some other friend of Ethan’s.
“Crap. It’s my parents,” he replied, letting the curtain fall closed. He turned to face me. We stared at each other with wide, panicked eyes.
“What are they doing back?” I asked. “I thought they were going overnight.”
“I don’t know.”
“Should I hide? You could sneak me out later.”
He frowned at me and shook his head. “No, we’re not doing that.” He took me by the hand and led me out of his bedroom and down the wide corridor toward the staircase. “I’m going to introduce you, and if they don’t like it, they can lump it.”
We hurried to the stairs just as the front door opened. We were halfway down when his father entered, stopped under the chandelier, and stared up at us with shock and displeasure.
Chapter Eighteen
I had seen Ethan’s father only once before, from afar, the previous summer, at a restaurant in downtown Portland. Chris and his girlfriend Jean had pointed him out to me, and even then, I’d found Mr. Foster intimidating.
Dressed in a casual gray dinner jacket with a navy golf shirt and jeans, sporting a full head of thick dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples, Mr. Foster set his suitcase down and waited for us to reach the ground floor.
“What’s going on here?” he asked in a deep, accusing voice.
Ethan squeezed my hand. “Mom, Dad… This is Sylvie Nichols.”
They stared at me in silence. I felt as if my insides were about to burst into flames.
Working hard to be charming, I held out my hand. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Foster. It’s so nice to meet you.”
For a few awkward seconds, neither of them responded, until at last Mrs. Foster—a sophisticated looking blond woman in white linen pants, a rose-colored blouse and silk scarf—reached out to shake my hand. “Hello, dear.”
Mr. Foster turned to Ethan and spoke harshly. “We need to talk. Right now .” He pointed to the front parlor, then turned to me. “You can wait outside.”
While he shoved Ethan across the hall, causing him to stumble forward onto the rug in the parlor, I quickly moved past Mrs. Foster and hurried out the door.
Standing on the enormous front veranda, I strained to listen to their conversation inside. It started with quiet, angry voices, and I heard Mr. Foster say, “Is she the local girl?”
I was unable to make out Ethan’s reply.
“You
Indeed, it was a private ensuite with an enormous bathtub that could fit two people.
“It has jets,” I noticed as I bent over it.
“Yeah, but I never use it,” he replied. “I’m a shower person.”
“I’ve never taken a bath with jets before.”
“Do you want to use it now?” he asked.
I turned to him hesitantly. “Are you crazy?”
“Why? There’s no one here. The housekeeper’s gone to her nephew’s wedding in Freeport overnight, and my parents won’t be back until tomorrow. The groundskeeper left at five and he won’t be back until Monday morning. You don’t have to be home until midnight.”
“So we’re completely alone?” I asked, tilting my head to the side.
“Yep.”
I glanced down at the luxurious jet tub and didn’t see how I could refuse such an opportunity—to live for a moment like the rich and famous.
“Do you have any bath suds?” I asked, imagining myself sinking into it like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman .
“Anything you want,” Ethan replied.
“Do you plan on joining me?” I carefully asked.
With a friendly, open expression, he approached. “Only if you want me to.”
My heart pounded wildly as I considered it.
Just then, the sound of car tires crunching over the gravel in the driveway caused us both to turn. A car door opened and closed. I felt a rush of anxiety as Ethan hurried out of the bathroom to look out the window in his room.
“Who is it?” I asked, following him and hoping it would be Chris and his girlfriend, or some other friend of Ethan’s.
“Crap. It’s my parents,” he replied, letting the curtain fall closed. He turned to face me. We stared at each other with wide, panicked eyes.
“What are they doing back?” I asked. “I thought they were going overnight.”
“I don’t know.”
“Should I hide? You could sneak me out later.”
He frowned at me and shook his head. “No, we’re not doing that.” He took me by the hand and led me out of his bedroom and down the wide corridor toward the staircase. “I’m going to introduce you, and if they don’t like it, they can lump it.”
We hurried to the stairs just as the front door opened. We were halfway down when his father entered, stopped under the chandelier, and stared up at us with shock and displeasure.
Chapter Eighteen
I had seen Ethan’s father only once before, from afar, the previous summer, at a restaurant in downtown Portland. Chris and his girlfriend Jean had pointed him out to me, and even then, I’d found Mr. Foster intimidating.
Dressed in a casual gray dinner jacket with a navy golf shirt and jeans, sporting a full head of thick dark hair with a touch of gray at the temples, Mr. Foster set his suitcase down and waited for us to reach the ground floor.
“What’s going on here?” he asked in a deep, accusing voice.
Ethan squeezed my hand. “Mom, Dad… This is Sylvie Nichols.”
They stared at me in silence. I felt as if my insides were about to burst into flames.
Working hard to be charming, I held out my hand. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Foster. It’s so nice to meet you.”
For a few awkward seconds, neither of them responded, until at last Mrs. Foster—a sophisticated looking blond woman in white linen pants, a rose-colored blouse and silk scarf—reached out to shake my hand. “Hello, dear.”
Mr. Foster turned to Ethan and spoke harshly. “We need to talk. Right now .” He pointed to the front parlor, then turned to me. “You can wait outside.”
While he shoved Ethan across the hall, causing him to stumble forward onto the rug in the parlor, I quickly moved past Mrs. Foster and hurried out the door.
Standing on the enormous front veranda, I strained to listen to their conversation inside. It started with quiet, angry voices, and I heard Mr. Foster say, “Is she the local girl?”
I was unable to make out Ethan’s reply.
“You
Similar Books
