Chapter 13- Daisy
G etting to know you…
My plan was simple - visit the ducks and do some outdoor painting. I figured it would help calm my nerves while I waited for Grant to arrive. He said we’d start working on getting to know each other better. He also said we’d discuss Mad Max’s failings some more. Was he serious? I’m honestly not sure what to expect when it comes to the man I married.
But, no one told me we were going to have a storm this evening or that Daffy was the silliest little duckling around or that Geraldo, the alpha male of the swan pond, is the spawn of the devil when you invade his favorite refuge.
And, absolutely nothing could have prepared me for the sight of my husband, soaking wet with his wavy, dark hair a mess and that white dress shirt clinging very nicely to his sculpted frame while one very angry swan flaps and honks and pecks at his head and hands.
“Get the fuck off of me, you goddamn menace! AHHHHH!” he roars, flapping his arms as if he’s got wings, too, and stomping toward the swan in a show of force. “I’m going to stuff my pillow with you, you bastard.”
It would work on the ducks but Geraldo is made of sterner stuff. He honks louder and aims for Grant’s kneecaps.
“Glad someone finds this amusing!” he barks at me.
I can’t help it. The sight has reduced me to breathless laughter and put the thunderstorm far from my mind as I attempt to explain the situation. “Daffy got mixed up with the first crack of thunder and didn’t follow his flock. I kept trying to catch him and return him to his mama but then we wound up in here and Geraldo-”
“Ah-ha! Trapped you, bird brain!” Grant cries, victorious as he slams the door to another section of the winery closed in Geraldo’s face.
“There’s no way out of that part.”
“Damn right, there’s not. He can sit there tonight and reflect on the proper behavior of swans while I call a taxidermist.”
“You would not!”
“Watch me. I’m replacing them with something more docile like rabbits. I don’t care how elegant they look. This whole lot needs to go.”
Shaking my head at his hissy fit, I gently ask, “You won’t really call a taxidermist, will you, Grant?” Then, I hit him with my best pleading eyes.
He rolls his in response. “Fine, I won’t call the taxidermist… yet.”
“Why are you even down here?”
“Because you’re afraid of thunderstorms,” he huffs.
A quiet ‘oh’ escapes my lips with his answer. He came looking for me? “You read my flash cards?”
“I only saw the one. And, while I can’t tell you my favorite at the moment, I’ve decided my least favorite movie is that Hitchcock film, The Birds.”
“Is it really?” I ask, grinning from ear to ear.
I get a half-smile in return. “Are you really frightened of storms? You seem fine to me.”
“Only because you’re here.”
The half-smile melts into a scowl. Did I say something wrong? I meant it.
Grant peers out the door into the night. “I think the storm is moving away and we’re both soaked. That duckling will be safe enough here until the morning. Let’s return to the house.”
“Alright.” With a pat on Daffy’s feathered head, I gather up my art supplies.
“Allow me,” Grant insists, taking them from my arms and causing a pleasant little shiver to race along my spine. “Why did you bring all this down here anyway?”
“To paint the sunset.”
“In the middle of a storm? Never mind. Of course, you’d do that.”
Now, I’m the one scowling. Why must he be cross when I wish to be pleasant?
Quietly, I struggle to match his longer strides as he trudges toward the house with his armload. Should I thank him for coming to find me or have I left that too late? He’s a difficult man to interpret. I’d love to draw him though. The tightness of his mouth when he’s pensive or the softness in his eyes when he lets his guard down ever so slightly, Grant would make an excellent subject for an artist. And, a very handsome one.
Safely inside again, the empty hall echoes with our footsteps after he deposits my supplies in the kitchen. “Warm up, dry clothes, then dinner,” he announces, leading me up the stairs. My heartbeat quickens as he takes me straight into our bathroom. “I’ll have some dry things waiting for you after your shower.”
“Aren’t you going to shower, too?” I ask, glancing at the huge three-person shower behind me.
“This house has more than one bathroom, Goldilocks. Meet me in the kitchen when you’re dressed.”
I don’t know why I’m disappointed he didn’t want to shower with me. There was no reason to expect he would and he’s made it plain he doesn’t really want me. One bit of teasing over the vibrator hasn’t changed his mind about that. I’d like to explore a safe sexual relationship with Grant while we’re married but, if that’s not what he wants, oh well. Deciding not to worry about it, I let the hot water work its magic.
When I step out of the bathroom though, I find my nightgown from our wedding night spread out on the bed along with a man’s bathrobe made of thick, incredibly soft, burgundy cotton. Interesting choice if you wish to remain indifferent.
I also find Mad Maximus in the trash bin beside the bed. Now, that’s just petty, Mr. Barclay.
Smiling to myself, I slip on fresh panites and the robe, leaving the nightgown untouched. His delicious bergamot and birch fragrance surrounds me in the oversized garment. I love knowing that it’s his.
He’s already in the kitchen when I join him, heating up some of the lemon chicken penne Jenna made earlier. His hair's still wet and tousled with a few stray droplets clinging to the ends above his brow. He’s wearing pajama bottoms that match the robe and a white tee which accentuates his tanned skin. The muscles of his back ripple under the fabric when he reaches into the cabinet for two bowls. Fascinated, I note the prominent veins in his forearms and hands as I step closer. “Do you workout?”
Without turning, he nods. “Six days a week, six AM, run and then weights.”
Sounds regimented but then that sounds like Grant. “Where? There’s no gym equipment here. Unless it’s hidden in the hedge maze…”
His eyebrows raise at my comment but he doesn’t address the hint. “I have equipment at my place and I usually run Lyon Loop.”
“In the city? Don’t you stay here part of the time?”
“No, this was my grandfather’s house. I’ve not stayed here much since I was a boy but that’s going to change. Wine?”
“Please.”
He suggests we dine in the study with my flash cards but I don’t need the cards to think of a question for him. I’m full of them. As soon as we’re seated, me on the chaise lounge by the window and him at the desk, I ask one. “The winery is a large building to be sitting empty… barring one angry swan. How long has it been since wine was made here?”
“Since a well-known sommelier told my great-great grandfather many years ago that he had created a subpar version of vinegar.”
“Harsh. Why didn’t he keep trying?”
“Because we Barclays like success. If we’re not good at something, we prefer to quietly sweep it under the rug and carry on.”
“Well, that explains some things.” I look up, giving him a playful grin and expecting to see a scowl. He doesn’t disappoint but he’s scowling rather intently at my thighs where the robe has spread apart. Closing the gap, I pretend not to notice and ask another question. “May I ask who the lady in the picture is?”
He nods stiffly and eats another bite. “My mother.”
“Oh, she was very beautiful.”
“She was a model.”
A model? No wonder she looks so much more glamorous and elegant than me. “Mrs. Keating told me she passed away when you were young. What happened to her?”
“An aneurysm. She woke up complaining of a headache one morning. She was gone before nightfall. No one realized the danger until it was too late.”
He recites it the same way he told me his workout routine but that can’t disguise the pain in his eyes. That sort of unexpected loss would be traumatic for a child to cope with. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I rise from the chaise lounge, propping up on the edge of the desk to be closer to him. “That’s so tragic. I’m very-”
“What happened to your mother, Daisy? If I may ask...”
It’s that gentle ‘if I may ask’ that helps take away the sting of him cutting off my words of sympathy. “A car accident. It’s hard to talk about. It was so-”
“Sudden,” he finishes for me.
I realize that he understands that more than most people do. “Words of sympathy, no matter how kindly intended, don’t diminish the pain, do they?”
“No, they don’t. Are you comfortable on the desk?” he asks next, glancing at my exposed knees.
“I’ve sat in far less comfortable places.”
He mulls that over, scowling at his food. “Anders told me you slipped away from him today when he took you to the city. You’re not to do that again, Daisy. It isn’t safe.”
I glare at him as he continues eating. “I wasn’t aware Anders was my bodyguard.”
“He’s not but I can hire one if you decide to be willful.”
“Willful?”
“I’m a very wealthy man and you are my wife. It’s best to be prudent. Some of my partners have had to take similar steps to protect what’s theirs.”
“What’s theirs? Do you hear yourself?” I ask, stabbing a piece of pasta. It’s too good not to eat.
“I don’t know why my wish to protect you should upset you.”
“Because you’re issuing a command and making me feel like a child.”
“That’s not my intent. I’ve also decided we will keep your previous employment between us.”
“Because you don’t want it known that you married the cleaning girl?”
“That’s correct.” I stare at him, surprised by his bluntness. “Don’t look like that. You’ve never been the focus of public scrutiny before.”
Haven’t I? Try having strangers stare at you like you’re diseased or dangerous when they pass you on the sidewalk. I keep the thought to myself and let him carry on.
“The society page can be cruel, Daisy. My stuck-up family can be crueler. I want this year to pass without anyone wounding you as Lincoln did earlier.”
I think he just doesn’t want to be embarrassed by me but his concerned tone softens the blow a little. “So, these are simply amendments to the terms of our marriage?”
“Exactly. Just as I said I’d start staying here more often.”
“Does that mean you’ll be sharing my bed then?”
His eyes drop down to my thighs again, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he answers. “Perhaps in Canada at least.”
Despite his hesitation though I don’t think he’s completely against the notion. Crossing my legs to readjust my position on the desk, I don’t miss the way Grant’s eyes track my movements. He can’t see up the robe with the way I’m turned but it gives me a secret naughty thrill knowing I’m practically naked under it.
Setting down my empty bowl, I pick up the stack of flash cards. “If you don’t have any fresh edicts to share, we have some work to do.”
An hour later, the wine is gone and I’ve pivoted so that my feet might rest on the arm of his chair. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes casually studying my ankle. We’ve already filled out the two dozen flash cards I’d prepared earlier and come up with a few more. It’s not as much as most people know about their spouses but it’s a start.
“You said you studied art. Where?” he asks.
“CCA, right here.”
“How long were you there? And, what styles did you prefer?”
“Two years until there was no tuition money left. I studied Impressionism and Expressionism and then got caught up in Abstract.”
The scowl becomes a smirk. “Is that why those canvases in the bedroom look like finger paintings?”
“They are finger paintings. Adult finger painting is considered its own form but you use more than your fingers. It is admittedly messy.”
“As my carpet can attest.”
Blushing, I wish I’d taken the deep cleaner to it sooner. I didn’t think about the fact he’d be coming home tonight. “Are you interested in art?”
He shrugs. “Art can be a good investment.”
“An investment, yes, but it doesn’t have to be a famous piece or by a renowned artist to be enjoyable, does it?”
“I doubt it would be very valuable if it wasn’t.”
“But, monetary value has nothing to do with the enjoyment of a piece. Art is… art.”
He doesn’t seem bothered by my indignant tone as his fingers capture mine. Holding them up, he takes a closer inspection of them. “Paint under your nails even after a shower.” He sounds amused. I start to draw my hand back but he holds on. “I am not chastising you, Daisy. I simply wish to understand you better.”
“I wish the same about you.”
He lightly turns my wedding band around my finger. “I’m going to take tomorrow off from work. We need to find a diamond engagement ring for you and I think it best if we do that together.”
My heart gives a dumb little flutter over his words until I realize why he’s saying this. “To help add to the story of our whirlwind romance?”
“Yes, that’s right. Are you tired? Your eyes are growing heavy.”
“Yes, I suddenly feel rather weary. Were you going to come to bed, too?” I ask, sliding off the desk.
But, as I’m sliding, my hip catches the flash cards. My arms jerk forward in an attempt to grab them. It only serves to undo the robe’s belt that has come loose during our long talk. On my feet, my heated flesh immediately feels the chill. I don’t have to look down to know the robe has spread wide open and my breasts are bared.
My husband’s hungry gaze soaks in every inch of me, lust and wry amusement dancing in his eyes from his place in the elegant leather desk chair. His lips twist deliberately downward, as though he’s fighting a smile more than he wants to frown.
“Rosy pink and perfect, just as I predicted,” he murmurs. “And, look… such a sweet blush spreading downward as I thought.”
I cannot draw a breath as he slowly rises to his feet. “It looks like you’re cold, wife,” he husks, licking his lips. “Where is the lovely gown I laid out for you to wear under my robe?” There’s a hint of wickedness in his tone.
“I chose not to wear it,” I whisper as he straddles my feet, pressing me back against the desk. His proximity does not frighten me though. It thrills me.
“You do seem to have your own ideas about things. Not that I’m complaining in this instance.” He leans forward enough for me to feel his hardness jutting forward from under those pajama bottoms. “You asked me a question before our cards landed on the floor, didn’t you, Daisy?”
My lungs can’t wait any longer for air. I suck in a greedy breath and my greedy-needy hormones have me arching my back, showing off what I have and begging for his touch. Let him look at me. Let him touch me. He’s my husband. “I asked if you wanted to come to bed, too.”
At a torturously languid pace, his hand rises from his hip to cup one breast, squeezing it enough to make me moan. His thumb brushes across my nipple. The pebbled bud tightens to an impossibly stiff peak and my insides clench. A powerful wave of arousal sweeps through me as my breath turns into gaspy pants. “Grant…”
Eyes on me, he circles the nipple with one finger, studying my response as his frown turns upside down. He’s truly smiling at me, twice in one day. It’s as pleasing in a way as the electric heat his touch brings.
“That is tempting. Very, very tempting, wife.”
Nodding, I thrust my hips forward a fraction, wanting to feel more of his erection.
And, that’s when he steps back, his hand falling away from my breast.
With purposeful movements, he gathers the front of the robe and reties the belt, covering me from view. “But, this isn’t our arrangement. Getting to know each other better and me staying at the house more often will suffice to convince others our marriage is real enough, don’t you think?”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’ve trapped you in this marriage but I will not force things on you in that respect. I’m very serious about not taking advantage of you, Daisy,” he pledges, sealing those words with a gentle kiss on my forehead.
“But, you wouldn’t be…”
“A year from now, we’ll divorce and I wouldn’t want you to walk away with regrets. So, please be a good girl and go upstairs… before I forget everything I ever knew about being a gentleman.”
I start to obey but my stubbornness wins out. “What if I didn’t want your gentlemanly side?”
A strangled laugh and his eyes blaze with desire but he turns me around and gives me a gentle push toward the door. “Go, Daisy. You don’t need to see that side of me to earn your money.”
So much for seducing my husband tonight.