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I clamped my thighs together, trapping my hands between my knees. I knew how to please myself. I’d been alone for so long that some nights called for it, but I didn’t want the storm chaser to be Blake’s name, so I resisted the urge.
The madness climbed. I breathed through it.
The need would go away. It had before.
I sat up and flipped the buckles of my overalls free. I wiggled out of them, flicking the lightweight cotton across the room to my laundry bin. I hurried into the shower and blasted the hot water against my tingling skin. I nearly poached myself as I stood under the scalding spray, soaping away his scent, scrubbing my scalp.
I couldn’t quite stand the idea of a cool shower with the wind howling outside the windows and the tide roaring with a late fall storm, but I finally had to turn the taps to cold.
I had to push away the lust that threatened to put me under.
The icy needles of water didn’t help.
It tightened my nipples to diamond points and created another layer of torture on my skin. The shrill old-fashioned phone ring from my cell saved me. Only one person had that ringtone. I slapped the water off and wrapped myself in my huge bathrobe. Heedless of the puddles I was making, I rushed to my phone.
“Hi, Philomena.”
“Oh, thank God. I thought for sure I was going to get your voicemail.”
“I was in the shower.”
“You’re not working?” The hopeful tone made me smile.
“No, that job didn’t work out.”
“That’s wonderful!”
I laughed. “Gee thanks, Phil.”
“No, no. I’m sorry
.”
I could see her ringed fingers fluttering in my head. How many times had I talked her down from a full blown flutter? Too many to count.
She sighed. “You know what I mean. You’re an artist, not a corporate assistant. That sort of environment will kill your creativity.”
But it was okay to do all her bookkeeping and paperwork of course, but I didn’t mention that. She was right. I’d never been suited for the office. Well, not until Blake. I’d adapted almost immediately. I liked taking care of his things and showing him just how capable I was.
God.
What the hell was I thinking?
I’d gone in there to convince him to sell me my house somehow, not take over his assistant’s job. Just because I was good at a job didn’t mean I was meant for it.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
“Are you all right, sweetie?”
My eyes misted at Philomena’s careful tone. “I’m getting there.”
“I really wanted you here yesterday, sweetheart.”
“I know.” I played with a fraying string off my cuff.
“Margaret made the most amazing turkey. It was just like when I was a girl. We totally went traditional this year.”
“Oh, yeah?” I listened with half an ear as she went on about food and who was there, who got drunk and who was sleeping with who. Phil was definitely the gossip queen of Marblehead. She had a huge Thanksgiving feast every year, and couples, orphans, and all manner of people in-between went to her yearly get-together.
