One Look At You (17 page)

“You’re giving me a bad reputation,” he says.

“I’m giving you a bad reputation?” My voice goes up in half-derision. But we immediately lose the thread of conversation when his hand caresses my shoulder. His movement is slow and almost hypnotic. I feel my whole being turning into a hot mass.

He leans over to kiss my neck as he puts one arm around me. I moan from the sensuality of his action. I cup his jaw and direct his face upward. We kiss slowly, our tongues playing with one another. I move his hand down to my chest and I feel a sharp intake of breath. “Are you naked underneath?” he asks in a gruff voice.

I nod and he kneads my breast through the fabric. He plays with my nipples and I’m unable to breathe in excitement. We kiss deeper and I slowly take down the straps of my sundress until the dress falls to my waist. He bends to suck at each nipple. I groan and he says, “You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” I greedily respond.

On and on, he laves my breast with his tongue until I whimper. Heat ignites deep inside me as he positions my left leg across his body. “Lean back,” he orders and I prop myself on my elbows as I lower myself on the backseat. He lifts my dress and stares as I move my legs apart. He turns his body and slowly moves his hand up and down my legs. My eyes widen as his thumb settles on my mound and begins to move in circles, spreading my juices around. His eyes are dark with passion and I am starting to climb from the delicious feeling.

I feel him penetrate me with two fingers, moving them in and out in a rhythm. “Tell me what you want,” he says and I shake my head, unable to say the words.

“Tell me,” he whispers more insistently. He moves back and then leans over to put his tongue on me, and I have to stop myself from screaming. His mouth and fingers are moving in perfect harmony to please me and bring me to the edge. As I feel myself getting closer, my pleas become urgent. “Please, please, I want you …” It feels like I’m in suspended motion, just waiting for him to push into me.

He takes off his pants with some effort, opens a foil packet, and puts on the condom. I feel his hands lifting me up so that I can straddle him. With my knees on either side of him, he puts his hand on my behind and slightly raises me as he enters. I understand what he wants me to do as he squeezes my ass, so I slowly go up and down while impaled upon him. At first, I move slowly and uncertainly, but as I feel myself coming closer to the peak, I begin to move much faster. I cling to him and whisper, “Come with me.” He looks deeply into my eyes as we’re both seized by a rush of intense sensation. I feel him convulsing in spasms deep inside me. The pleasure is so intense that I moan loudly and rain kisses on his face.

“We’re here,” I hear him say softly while lightly touching my arm.

My eyes squint shut as I ward off the sunlight coming through the tinted glass of the car. “How long have I been sleeping?” I ask, hurriedly sliding to the side. I’m embarrassed to know that I’ve slept on his lap.

“An hour or so.”

“I’m so sorry. Your legs must be asleep by now.”

“Don’t worry about it. You slept like a baby. I hope you’re well-rested now.”

“What about you? I’m sure it wasn’t comfortable for me to be resting my head on your lap.”

“No big deal. The discomfort was from something else.” He winks naughtily and I can’t help but smile. How does he always manage to make everything about that? The man is wicked and insatiable.
But then,
so are you,
my inner voice snickers
.

“Where are we anyway?” I ask as I look outside the window.

“Carmel by the Sea.”

My eyes widen in delight. “Are you serious? I’ve wanted to come here for the longest time but I never had the chance.” I am so happy I turn to him to show my appreciation with a tight hug.

“I had a feeling you would like it here,” he says drily. “You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” His tone is light, but he fixes his gaze on me to see how I respond.

“I’m not jaded, but sometimes I find it hard to believe in fairy tales and happy endings.” Now that I’ve said it, I feel foolish. I sound like one of those women who have had one too many heartbreaks. This is not the case at all. The truth is, I don’t believe anyone would want to be in a relationship with me when there are thousands of gorgeous, interesting women out there. Even now, I wonder what Tony sees in me. I guess it’s a novel experience for him to be with someone like me, but how long will it take for him to get over that?

Tony says nothing, but his lips are set in a tight line and his eyebrows furrow.

“So why did you really choose this place?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Just a whim,” he says, but I get the feeling he leaves something unsaid.

“I’m glad you did,” I say as I hold his hand lightly.

A few minutes later, we go up the driveway of a house right next to the beach. The cottage is dove gray with wood siding and double-hung windows. It’s surrounded by lush grass, a flower border, and perennials and herbs in the distinctive style of an English garden. I look at him questioningly.

“My father’s house,” he says briefly.

“Does your father come to California a lot?”

“Not at all. He keeps it for sentimental reasons.” He opens the door, steps out, and then offers me his hand as I get out of the limo myself.

“What do you mean?”

“My father built this house when he got married to my mother. They spent many vacations here. It was a place where they could get away from the madding crowd – from my father’s business interests in England and my mother’s celebrity status in Brazil.”

“They seem to have been very much in love. What happened?”

He sighs out loudly and I apologize for my curiosity. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

He turns to the driver. “Thank you, Lucas. We’ll see you tomorrow.” After acknowledging his employer, Lucas steers the limo out towards the street.

I follow Tony as he walks up the pathway to the front door. He unlocks the door with a key he fishes from his pocket. He opens the door wide and waits for me to go in. The house is spacious with hardwood floors, crown molding, and comfortable but spare furnishing. The open floor design makes a great room out of the living room, kitchen, and dining areas. Sunlight filters from the vaulted ceilings, bathing the entire area in natural light. There is a casual, homey atmosphere one wouldn’t expect from a multi-million dollar property.

“It’s lovely,” I say in admiration.

“I know. The last time I was here was three years ago.”

“How is it so perfectly maintained?”

“Mrs. Fritz does a wonderful job. She’s been with my father for twenty years. I think she keeps everything spotless, hoping that someone will come for at least a few days every year. She was quite excited to hear from me this morning. She said she’d be leaving some stuff in the pantry, as well as ready-to-heat trays in the fridge.”

“Your family is very lucky to have her.”

“So true.” I follow him to the couch, where we sit side by side. He stays silent for some time. Then he says, “I wasn’t being rude to you earlier. I just didn’t know how to answer your question.”

“What do you mean?”

“I remember, as a child, that my parents were happy together. When we would come here for holidays, I can still remember the laughter – the fun we had. I don’t know what happened. One day, I just found myself traveling with my mother to Brazil and staying there till I went back to England for my degree. My mom never said anything, but I guess it was easy for me to blame my father since he wasn’t around when I was growing up. So, to answer your question, I really don’t know what happened between them. But when I found out that, after all these years, my father never sold this house, even though he never visited again, I kind of had a paradigm shift in my way of thinking.” He makes a slight moue of regret.

“Do you think they’ll ever get back together again?”

“I am not six anymore so that wish vanished a long time ago. But, if they ever rekindle the spark, so to speak, I’ll be very happy for both of them.”

I stare at him with envy. “You’re very fortunate, you know. I never knew my father.”

He looks at me with sympathy in his eyes. “Livie, is it better to have experienced something good and then lost it, or never to have experienced it at all? That’s a question for philosophers.” He stands up then, and asks, “Hungry?”

“Starving,” I answer in all honesty.

“Let’s go to the kitchen and find something to eat.” We both open the huge refrigerator and see a platter of finger sandwiches, a pan of lasagna, and a bowl of green salad. On the countertop is a tray of mini dessert cakes and cookies.

“How many people was Mrs. Fritz expecting?”

He laughs. “I guess she just went overboard. You can heat the lasagna in the oven and I’ll set the table.” I pick up the tray and put it on the countertop while I preheat the oven. Tony is opening some cabinets to get plates, glasses, and cutlery.

While he busies himself with the table setting, I make a simple vinaigrette and toss the salad lightly. I arrange a few of the finger sandwiches on a square dish. “Twenty minutes for the lasagna and we’re all set,” I announce happily.

“In that case, let me open a bottle of white wine and we can start with that while waiting.”

I’m a little anxious about drinking the wine, and it probably shows on my face because I hear him chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Livie. I don’t intend to get you drunk. There’s no need for that, is there?”

I smile, though I’m a bit uncomfortable with what he’s said. Does he mean he knows I’d do anything he asks, or that intimacy is better when both parties are sentient?
Snap out of it, Liv. You overthink everything.

He pours the chardonnay into the wine glasses and then clinks my glass with his. “To a great weekend!”

I sip slowly, relishing the crisp, fruity taste. I look up to see him gazing at me. “What?” I ask, conscious of the way he looks at me.

“You look like you’re deep in thought. Either you’re very wary about blacking out again, or you’re really into the wine.”

“Just enjoying the white wine,” I readily respond.

“Good.”

“So what’s on the agenda?” I ask in a light tone.

“Don’t you just want to lie on a hammock and nap all day long?”

“Absolutely not! It’s my first time here, so I want to play tourist.”

He gives an exaggerated snort of disgust. “Ugh! All I want to do is lie on the couch and read a business book.”

“Really? That’s your idea of relaxing?”

“Fine. Let it not be said that I am a lousy host. After lunch, we’ll make the usual rounds – visiting the artists’ shops on Ocean Avenue, skinny dipping at night…”

My eyebrow lifts when he mentions the night swimming part, and we both giggle.

After some time, the timer rings and I stand up to get the lasagna from the oven. “Watch out for the hot pan,” I warn him as I put the pan on a trivet in the middle of the table.

I put some salad on two plates and hand one over to him. We simultaneously reach for some finger sandwiches and start eating them. Then we cut into the lasagna and have a taste. “Uhmm, everything is so good,” I say with my mouth half-full.

“I’ll be sure to pass on your compliments to Mrs. Fritz.”

“It seems such a waste for a house this beautiful to be unoccupied.”

He shrugs. “Well, we’re all busy… and I think my father just wants it preserved for the memories, so…” he trails off.

I say nothing and then, not wanting to cast a pall over our meal, I say brightly, “So, global warming. What are your thoughts on that?”

He grins. “Oh, you don’t really want to talk about that, do you? Because that’s one subject matter I know a great deal about. The executive director of Greenpeace is a friend of mine.”

“For real?”

He nods.

“You move in rarefied circles,” I say with a touch of awe.

“Not at all. He was a classmate at Cambridge. I know many people, but they’re not all rich or famous, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not referring to the rich or famous bit. Just that you know people who are trying to make a difference in this world.”

“A few. And you’re right. These are people who matter because they’re fighting for change.”

“Is there any cause you strongly support?”

“I’m on the board of half a dozen non-profits. but the one I devote a lot of time to is the plight of the coffee workers.”

“Isn’t that self-serving, though?” I ask challengingly.

He frowns. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re CFO for Gallo’s.”

“Are you saying I care about them because I care about the bottom line of the company? Happy workers means more profits?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

He looks hurt at my implication. “Gallo’s serves and sells only ethically certified coffee – you already know that. We source only from farms which are independently audited for their methods of growing and processing. Again, I don’t have to tell you that,” he says with a scowl. “But I’m talking about workers in those areas of Central and South America where labor exploitation still takes place. I was involved with the NGOs even before I joined Tio Maximo. You forget that I come from the country that is responsible for a third of the world’s coffee production, so I saw first-hand what it was like for the workers before the NGOs got into the picture.”

He seems so passionate and sincere when he talks that I feel bad about judging him. I reach for his hand across the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think your involvement was so deep.”

“You thought I’m one of those people who thinks that supporting something means writing a check?”

I nod without saying anything.

“At least you’re honest about it.”

“Tony, don’t get me wrong. I just thought that, with your killer schedule, that’s really all you can afford to do.”

“No, I don’t blame you for thinking that way. You’re right. Time is valuable. But, when you get to know me better, you may be pleasantly surprised.” I already am. I sigh inwardly.
Now if only I’ll get to know you better.

“So, would you like me to make a pot of coffee to go with those tiny cakes at the counter?”