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“I'm sorry I won't be having breakfast,” he says, finally breaking the tense silence that seems to have enveloped us.
He must have seen my expression fall, because he hesitates slightly, searching my face. “This, um… has nothing to do with what happened earlier. I'm really just late.”
I nod wordlessly, my chest tightening with a strange emotion. Maybe it's the earnestness in his voice or the subtle tenderness in his steely gray eyes, but... for some reason, I believe him.
“Have a great day. Sir,” I add as an afterthought, nervously wringing the napkin in my hands.
“Curt,” he says after a momentary stretch of silence. “Just call me Curt.”
Without waiting for my response, he turns around and walks out of the kitchen, leaving my head and heart reeling with emotions I can't fully comprehend.
It takes a while before I realize that I’m staring into space with a foolish smile.
Get it together, London.
Chapter Four
Curt
I wake up painfully hard.
The past few days have consisted of me trying not to pay mind to London’s presence in my house. Yet her every action – hell, her very existence – affects me in the most complicated way. I keep trying to remember the little girl in pigtails that was my sister's best friend. It’s a futile way to distract myself from this staggering attraction that I feel towards her. However, there's no reconciling the woman she's become with the girl she was.
Somehow, she’s found her way to my dreams every night since the day she arrived: a daring, yet evasive temptress that leaves me with a consuming hunger every morning, one that lasts through the day. It's an endless cycle of torture.
I've never wanted a woman with such vigor… such insistent urgency.
Every morning as she serves my breakfast, I have to hold myself back from getting lost in her luminous brown eyes while I think of the thousand and one things I'd like to do to those luscious lips.
I usually don't eat breakfast, but I find myself showing up at the table every morning. She sits at the chair opposite mine and we eat together, mostly in silence. But sometimes, she’ll brave a question or two about the food or my work.
I like talking to her, though. I like the husky timbre of her voice and the way it seems like she almost speaks in whispers. I like the genuine interest in her eyes whenever she's listening to me and that reluctant smile that unconsciously curls at her lips when she finds something amusing.
It didn't take any time at all to realize that I want so much more than that provocative body of hers… I want to know her, to know the story behind that deep sadness that I occasionally glimpse in her eyes.
This feeling is new for me. I’ve had plenty of women in my bed over the years, sharing what’s supposed to be the highest form of intimacy with me, and I’ve never felt more than passing affection. Nothing I’ve ever had with a woman went beyond a few nice rolls in the hay.
The way I want London is different. It’s raw and primal, pounding in my veins. It’s more than lust, more than passion – everything in me screams out for her. I want her body, her heart, her soul.
But there's no way I'm acting on those feelings. Aside from the fact that London is my baby sister's best friend, she's way too good, too innocent for a jaded man like me.
I let out a ragged sigh as I sat up in bed, already thinking of ways to rid myself of the relentless hard-on pushing against my stomach. I briefly consider wanking, but a quick glance at the small digital clock on my bedside table has me discarding the idea.
A cold shower will have to do.
I stand from the bed, stretch lightly, and start to walk toward the bathroom. Suddenly, I hear a loud, jarring sound cut across the room, making me stop in my tracks. I walk towards the window to investigate the sound and I'm shocked to see London wrestling with a lawn mower.
The whirling engine seems to pull her this and that way while she struggles to stay in control. For a second, I stare at the sight in complete shock, wondering if my eyes are playing tricks on me. It takes me a moment to remember that she’s the hired help, and seeing her do chores shouldn’t feel so strange.
I watch for a while, amused at the unexpected scene unfolding below. She obviously doesn't know what she's doing. I wonder why she's decided to take this task upon herself. Why wouldn’t she just ask me for help?
Suddenly, she lets out a loud yelp as the lawnmower jerks out of her grip, causing her to lose balance and fall backward.
My heart skips violently and before I know it, I'm sprinting out of my room.
By the time I got out into the yard, London is sitting on the ground, gently cradling her left ankle in her hands. The lawnmower has stopped whirling and lays quietly a few feet away from her. I rush over to her side, placing my hands on her shoulders as I search her face.
“Are you okay, London?”
