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“Lie to you? You hold my clothes hostage and expect me to be honest.”
“True.” He pursed his lips, but his eyes still twinkled with amusement.
“It’s not funny.”
He changed his expression, altered it. The humor vacated and he suddenly understood—I was far from happy at his game. “I see. Look, I’ll get your clothes, and if you want to go after lunch, I’m not going to stop you. However, if you want to stay, play some more, clarinet, whatever, then why put on your clothes again?”
I wagged a finger at him. “You’re dressed.”
“So are you.” He leaned back on the worktop, crossing his ankles nonchalantly.
“It’s a bathrobe.” I shook a lapel.
“By definition, you’re dressed.”
“Are you usually this argumentative?” I snapped.
“Only when somebody argues with me.” His lips curved upward again.
Try as I may, I couldn’t stay angry with him. His face held an expectation of compliance and I caved. I shrugged and spun around. “All right. Feed me and we’ll see.”
He laid place mats on the glass-topped dining table and asked if I wanted wine. I turned him down. I needed a clear head. The first glass of ice-cold water I quaffed in one go and he offered me a second.
I sat at one end, conscious of my clothing and lack of underwear. I hugged my knees together and ensured that the robe remained snugly about my legs. The food was delicious. Tagliatelle with mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers and white sauce. Simple but filling.
The conversation was initiated by Stefan, who morphed into conductor mode, guided me to open up and talk. He launched me into a short autobiography by asking how I’d learned the clarinet. A quick history of three itinerant teachers, each with their own foibles, drifted into revealing other facts. He found out my mother lived close by and that my father was deceased—he offered his sympathies. I also let slip that the relationship with my sister was strained.
“Like me and Hans, my brother.” He raised a glass of water to his lips and took a sip. “He lives in Stuttgart. We don’t see each other very often. His heart is always in Germany. He hated England.”
“Older?”
Stefan nodded, lips pressed together, and I caught a grimace.
“Big sister doesn’t like me because she thinks I pushed back and got away with it. I, on the other hand, believe she played the angelic child and reaped the rewards.” Charlene, in my opinion, had been spoiled rotten.
“Manipulative. Yes, I recognize that in Hans.” Stefan tore off a piece of bread.
I ducked my head because Stefan’s comparison embarrassed me. I’d been harsh with my words about my sister. Charlene hadn’t been that bad. She and I had been rivals for our parents’ affections, the usual sibling angst. With her gone to Scotland, my views of her had softened.
“Maybe,” I said, toying with the last piece of pasta.
“Lost your appetite?” He leaned back in his chair, tossing his napkin on the table. He slipped his hands behind his head and stared directly at me, expectantly. Crunch time. Lunch was over.
“It’s delicious. Really good, Stefan.” I smiled.
I uncrossed my legs and the robe slipped down my thighs. A waft of cold air swirled about my ankles. I put down my fork. My trembling hand had betrayed me. How quickly I succumbed. Doubts in the shower washed down the plughole and dismissed.
“Do you want to play the clarinet?”
I shook my head. The edges of the robe drifted farther apart and my cleavage showed.
“Take you home?” He leaned forward, pushing his plate to one side then resting his elbows on the table. A keen look.
My pulse increased.
My answer came without thought. Another act of impulsive Callie. I gave my shoulders a little twist and the robe easily descended. It slithered down my arms, uncovering my breasts and baring my erect nipples.
“I’m taking you to bed.” Stefan stood and held out his hand. “Then, I might give you your clothes back.”
