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Christopher widens his eyes in a subtle fuck off gesture. “That’s fine. Elliot, meet Siena.”
I nod. “Hello.”
“Hi.” She beams.
I hear a sound coming up the hall to see a drop-dead gorgeous redhead . . . also scantily clad in one of Christopher’s T-shirts. “Ah . . .” I smile. Two of them . . . I really am interrupting. “Hello.”
“Meet Chantel,” Christopher interrupts me.
“Hi,” she purrs as she hungrily looks me up and down.
She’s familiar, I’ve seen her on the circuit. With looks like hers she’s easy to remember.
My eyes go back to my brother’s and he twists his lips in a further fuck off, right now gesture.
“I’m sorry for the interruption, ladies, but I need to steal my brother for a few hours.”
“Oh no . . .” Siena frowns.
“Ah, duty calls,” Christopher replies casually as he walks into the kitchen. “Party’s over, girls. Until next time.”
“Aww,” they both complain.
I smile and follow my brother. I remember these days well. So many women, so little time.
Elliot turns on his coffee machine and makes two cups. “What the fuck are you doing here at this ungodly hour?”
I glance at my watch. “It’s ten thirty and we have a major issue.”
“What’s that?” he mutters dryly as he sips his coffee.
“There are killer ducks roaming around my new house.”
“What?” He frowns.
“Ducks, at least a dozen. They attacked me this morning, chased me, wanting my blood.”
His eyes widen. “Like, duck ducks?”
“Yes, Christopher,” I snap. “What other kind of ducks are there?”
“Well, what do you want me to do? I know nothing about fucking ducks.”
“Get dressed.”
“Why?’
“You’re helping me catch them.”
“We can’t do that?” he splutters. “Call somebody.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not calling someone every single time something goes wrong in this house. I want to do it myself.”
“Listen,” he mutters into his coffee. “If you must do this little-man-versus-the-wild experiment in enchanted land, can you at least leave me out of it? I’m a city man, haunted castles with wild animals are completely out of my realm.”
“No.” I stand. “Hurry up.”
“Fuck’s sake.”
The girls appear in the kitchen. “We’re going.”
Christopher stands. “Frederick will drive you home.” He kisses Siena and then turns to the redhead; his hand drops to her behind as he kisses her and I know from his body language that she’s his favorite.
They turn to me. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” I fake a smile. Fuck off already. I want to go. Christopher walks them to the door and I hear the soft giggles of the girls as they say their goodbyes.
Not so long ago, this was me: how did this life ever captivate me for so long?
I’m way past stupid women; womanizing just doesn’t excite me anymore.
I know it was fun at the time, but looking back it’s all a blur. Not one of them ever stood out.
Not like her.
I get a vision of Kate last night on top of me, the way she looked down at me as she rode me . . . the sheen on her skin, the arousal in her eyes . . . a tingle runs through my body at the mere memory.
“What’s that look?” Christopher mutters as he walks back into the room.
I look up, my fantasy interrupted. “What?”
“What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking you’re taking too long. Hurry the fuck up.”
I bring the car to a stop outside the front of my house. Christopher and I peer out the window. “I don’t see any ducks,” he says.
All seems silent.
“Hmm.” I open the car door slowly.
“Be careful they don’t peck your old fella off,” Christopher says as he climbs out of the car.
I look around, the coast seems clear. “My old fella would win a fight with a duck, hands down.”
Christopher and I stand on the edge of the gravel driveway. We go around the side of the house and look down toward the lake. “So where are they, then?” he asks.
My eyes roam around the lake, and over the paddocks. “I don’t know . . .” We both turn in a full circle as we search.
Completely peaceful.
“I don’t see any ducks,” he repeats.
With hands on his hips he looks over the valley. “Umm . . . EJ?” he calls.
“Yeah,” I call back.
“Is that your land over there too?”
I look back to see that he is looking over paddocks to the right of the house. “Yeah.”
He narrows his eyes as he focuses on something in the distance. “What’s it doing?”
I walk over and look to where his gaze is. “What is what . . . ?” I fall silent.
There’s a huge, black sheep, but it’s a different kind of sheep, with curly, round horns. We watch as it walks backward, takes a hard run-up and then head-butts the fence post as hard as it can.
We hear the bang as it connects; the sound echoes for miles.
“What the fuck is that?” I whisper.
