His American Fling (11 page)

“It’s beautiful.” I looked at the Italian silk duvet in a silver sage with brown piping along the edges. The duvet and the Egyptian cotton piped sheets on the black-cherry king sleigh bed must have cost a fortune. In England their king size bed is the equivalent of our queen size.  Although the bed was big, it still allowed for plenty of room for the rest of the furniture.  The matching black cherry chest of drawers and night stands with antique brass-plated
hardware filled the room. The lamps were a Trenton shape with white silk bell-shaped lampshades. He had great taste, better taste than I have.

Chapter 5

A Momentary Lapse of Sanity?

Campbell watched her put her things away and had a sharp pang of regret.
I should think before I speak.  What made me want her to move in for three weeks?  We haven’t even had a real date. She’s pretty though…but so American, so energetic, so optimistic.  Who goes back to law school in their thirties?  Only an American, an optimistic, gung-ho American.
  He watched her rub her hand along the duvet. 
She must really like my duvet.
 

Campbell continued to watch as she climbed onto the bed next to him, resting her head on the pillow and looking up at the high ceiling. He reached over and brushed the hair away from her gray eyes, his hand coming down to rest on her cheek. It happened again. Whenever he touched her he felt an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was sexual; it was sensual; it was emotional. It was a connection he hadn’t made before with anyone in his life. It both attracted and repulsed him.  Skeptical that these feelings would last, more than anything, he didn’t want
them to control him.
  I have to take control. I can’t let myself do anything else that’s rash or impulsive. Right, like asking her to move in for three weeks.  What was I thinking?
Oh well, it’s only three weeks. Three weeks!

“It’s 5:00 pm, I’m feeling peckish. What do you want to do for dinner?” He asked.

Still on her back, she rose up on her elbows and said, “Well, I guess this is where I decide how I’m going to pay back my debt. It means I have to decide if I cook or do we dine out?  I don’t really feel like cooking, so...”  She grinned at him.

Just the thought of her licking and sucking him caused all the blood to rush to his groin. He shifted to give himself a little room inside his boxers. Maggie smiled when she realized that he was responding to what she was suggesting.

Moving towards him, she narrowed her eyes and threatened, “You better take me out to a nice restaurant.”

Her fingers slid to his belt buckle and zipper, unfastening them while he watched. She pulled his trousers and boxers down to his knees revealing a masterful erection so hard it was purple and glistening. Slipping her hand
around him, she let her tongue go to work. Campbell held his breath and rested his head back against the headboard. He reflexively put his hand lightly on the back of her head pushing deeper into her mouth. Maggie kept her pace as Campbell’s hand grew heavier on her head as he began to lightly thrust. Shuddering from the sensations in his penis, his breathing became fast and ragged. He found it hard to keep from pushing her head down further. And then his whole body exploded with electric sensations of pure unadulterated pleasure.

He cried out, “Oh bloody hell... that’s… yes, that’s it...oh, yes.”  When he was finished, he looked down and saw her wiping her mouth. Being a gentleman, he handed her the bottle of water on his night stand.  She took a drink and then sat up next to him. 

Sighing, he finally admitted, “I’m shattered. I don’t think I’ve been this knackered in my whole life. I haven’t had this much sex since I was...blimey, I don’t think I’ve had this much sex, ever. I can’t believe it took me thirty-eight years to get to the point where my biggest problem is that I’ve had too much sex,” he sighed.

Rolling her eyes, she laughed at him, “Your biggest concern is an overabundance of sex? I’d say mine is dinner.”

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?”  He waved his hand at her.

“I’m okay. You can treat me later.”

Campbell took her to one of the better Indian restaurants with the decor straight out of a Bollywood movie. He studied her, wondering why he found her so alluring when just a week ago he wanted to run from the sight of her. There was something both sweet and naughty about her. The rumors were right, American women were adventurous in bed. Was it the sex that made all this so enticing? Were these feelings just a response to his desire for sex and the explosion of pleasure she had unleashed inside him?

As she studied the menu, he wondered what was wrong with him. Why couldn’t he just enjoy the moment, stop worrying about the future and feelings?
Maybe because Gemma gutted me when she left, and I haven’t allowed myself any feelings since.

She grinned as she took in the restaurant’s arches, ceramic elephants, beads and wallpaper heavily saturated with red,
purple, pink and gold. “It’s over the top, but I love it.”

They ordered chicken korma, lamb vindaloo, nan and several vegetable dishes. 

Maggie took a bite of the lamb vindaloo and her mouth caught fire. She glared at Campbell in pain. Waving her hand in front of her mouth she squealed, “How can you eat this…” Maggie paused trying to remember what it was called.

“Vindaloo.”  Campbell interjected.

“Vindaloo?”

“I thought you liked spicy things?” he teased.

“Spicy, not molten lava!  This is too spicy! No head for you tonight, my tongue just melted.”

He laughed heartily and then leaned forward to kiss her, slipping his tongue into her mouth. She pulled back, realizing he had just played a joke on her. “You cheeky devil!  Slipping me more of that Vindaloo! You wait, I’ll get you back!” She grabbed a glass of water and started chugging to cool the fire in her mouth. She filled up on the rest of their meal and, after paying the bill, they went back to the townhouse.

That night they went to bed early, the sex and punting having worn them both out.  Campbell draped himself around Maggie and kissed the back of her head. “Good night Maggie.”

She held his hand and squeezed it, “Good night Campbell.”

*********************

Campbell stopped by Downing College and talked to Dean Hopkins about the samples he had taken. “I’m taking the samples to Addenbrookes hospital to try to determine if there is some pathogen in the bathrooms.  It is rather unfortunate that the Americans have left because I no longer have access to them for testing. I suspect that, if it is in the dorm, they will clear up as soon as they get home.”

Dean Hopkins removed his spectacles, rubbing his eyes before looking up at Campbell, “I appreciate your work, Professor, but please, let’s not publicize this until we know if there is a problem.”

Campbell nodded. “Agreed.”

When he arrived at the hospital, Campbell took the refrigerated samples inside and gave them to the laboratory with explicit instructions on what tests to run. He went back upstairs, running into Henry as he was leaving.

“Campbell, are you up for lunch?” Henry asked as he punched the elevator button.

“Where are you going?”  Campbell asked.

“I thought I’d go up the road to the pub.”

Campbell paused a minute and then nodded. “Sure. Come by and get me.”

“No, I’ll meet you there, I have a meeting downtown.”

“Cheers.” Campbell turned and went into his office.

At lunch he made his way to the table and found Fiona, dressed in black slacks and a red silk short-sleeved blouse that was unbutton to reveal a little cleavage, and Henry talking. Both were drinking a pint of beer. 

“I didn’t think you would start without me.”

They both pointed to their watches, “It’s 12:30!”  Fiona said.

Campbell grinned. “Sorry, but I was reviewing samples I took from Downing.”

“Downing College?”  Henry asked.

Campbell told them the story of the illnesses and the samples he took. He told them that he still had several test results to get back, but so far they were all negative. 

“A conundrum.”  Henry said with his brow furrowed.

Campbell frowned and shrugged. “Unfortunately, my American guinea pigs went home and only a few students are still living there.”

Fiona chirped up, “You have Maggie to
test; she’s still living in the dorm, right?”

Campbell blushed red and couldn’t make eye contact with either of his friends. Fiona and Henry looked slyly at each other.

“What’s going on Campbell, you’re blushing.”  Fiona asked.

“I couldn’t very well let her stay in her dorm if it might cause her to be sick, could I? I told her to move in with me until school started.  By then I hope to find out what it is and correct it.”

They both let out little yelps. “You’ve managed to get the Yank back in your guestroom!  Oh, this is promising.”  Fiona smiled playfully.

Henry looked at Fiona and gave her a stage look of amusement, “Next thing you know, he’ll be sharing his bed with our American cousin.”

Fiona slapped her face, “My God, what will we do if Campbell Adair actually starts to enjoy himself?”

“Obviously it will mark the Apocalypse,” Henry said.

“Enough!”  Campbell yelled at them, “Leave me be. Stop trying to marry me off.”

“Marry?” She laughed heartily, “We’ll settle for you getting a good shag!” Fiona patted Campbell’s back and pretended to comfort him. “Ah, poor Campbell, unable to deal with the concept of pleasure. Believe it or not, it’s not a crime to have fun, Campbell.”

Henry piped up, “It’s not a crime to get laid.”

Campbell exhaled in frustration and growled, “No, the only crime will be when they find your two bodies impaled on Parker’s Piece.”

They all laughed, but Campbell was worried. He knew he should have told them the whole truth, but he just couldn’t bare the look of salacious satisfaction on their faces when they found out he was sleeping with and enjoying the company of an American.  He’d break it to them some other time.

Campbell arrived home and found
Maggie in the laundry room folding clothes.  She had cleaned the house, stripped the beds and in general, made herself useful. He could smell something delectable coming from the kitchen.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Pot roast, carrots, potatoes.”

He took a deep breath, “Smells good, Yorkshire pudding?”

“No Yorkshire pudding, I don’t know how to make it.”

He put his keys down on the breakfast counter. “When will it be done?”

“Half an hour.”

“I’ll go up and freshen up and then come down and show you how to make Yorkshire pudding.  Pull out the muffin tin and grease it.  Turn the oven on to preheat.”

Maggie thought he looked tired with lines creasing his face that weren’t there earlier. His tie was loosened, the top button on his shirt undone, yet he was still sexy. She watched his long limbs glide gracefully up the stairs. 
Is it because he’s British, or just because it’s Campbell, but he seems to do everything gracefully.
 

Maggie stomped her way through life,
rather ungracefully. She felt like a barbarian compared to him. The man’s tastes were impeccable, his grammar and speech correct, his posture straight, his hair perfectly cut. Still, she couldn’t help but notice that he had a hard time being happy. What good were his good looks, money, and talent if he just walked through life? It brought a smile her face just knowing he’d laughed more in the last two days than he had in all the time she had known him prior to that.

Jogging lightly down the kitchen stairs, he went right to the cupboard and pulled out the flour, milk, salt and egg. They mixed it and poured the batter into hot oil at the bottom of each cup of the muffin pan. Campbell put it in the oven and then he took out the roast and vegetables. Campbell sliced the roast and set the table. By the time they were ready to eat the Yorkshire pudding was done. 

At the dinner table Maggie asked Campbell about his day as she poured him a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“All the tests so far on the dorm samples have been negative. However, we still have several tests results coming back so it’s early days yet.”

“Early days.”  She smiled at the British euphemism for “too soon.” She had begun to note all of the strange things that the British said. It began when she told Campbell that she was going to a shop that was kitty-corner to the hat stall on the market. He had cocked his head and looked at her as if she were speaking Russian.

“Kitty-corner?” he asked.

“Yeah, kitty-corner, okay, catty-corner...whichever way you prefer.”

“You sound daft. Am I supposed to know what you’re saying?”

She was miffed. “Of course you are. It means diagonal to something. If I stand on one corner and point to something that is diagonal to me, it’s kitty-corner.”

“I think you made that up.” He said with certainty.

Taking a deep breath, she clenched her jaw. “I tell you what, the next time you meet an American, you ask them.”

A few days later he came back to her and admitted that an American doctor at the hospital knew exactly what he was talking about when he said it. Campbell didn’t
apologize; he simply said with a twinkle in his eye, “Obviously, you’re not as daft as you look.”

They finished the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Campbell looked at her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “That was just what the doctor ordered. The bee’s knees.  Thank you.” He picked up her dish along with his and took them to the dishwasher. Together they cleaned up the kitchen and turned out the lights.

They retired to the parlor to watch television, sitting comfortably together on the sofa. Occasionally Campbell would read part of an article in his
Nature
journal in-between shows or during lulls in the action. It seemed so natural to both of them to be sitting next to each other spending some quiet time. Around ten o’clock Maggie stood and announced she was going to bed. Campbell soon followed and they were fast asleep within minutes.