Distracted (11 page)

“I’m nearly finished.”

Soon he put down his pastel crayon and came over to
the couch. Sweat beaded on her upper lip as she held the pose.

“Don’t move,” he whispered. He knelt beside the sofa
and kissed her tenderly. Soon his lips were hungrily moving down
her neck and fastening on her half-hidden nipples. His hand slid
under her skirt, and he began rubbing her. Within moments she was
purring into his ear.

“This is what I wanted you to do the first night I
wore this,” she confessed.

* * *

It had been two months since she had left D.C.
Patricia called for an update.

“Erin? How are you and Spence getting along?”

“Fine. Everything’s great.”

“I’m calling because I’ve had a chance to review the
outline and chapters you’ve filed. I know you can work faster than
this. What’s the problem?”

“No problem. Everything’s great,” she repeated.
“Spence has been painting a lot lately.”

She neglected to say that she was his subject and
that when he wasn’t painting, they were either in bed making love
or eating. It occurred to Erin that the bulk of her time had been
spent on pleasing herself and Spence. She hadn’t even had time to
read the paperbacks she’d brought along.

“Well, you’ve got him on a schedule, at least, but
the quality is not there. These chapters are too thin and they’re
primarily technique. We need more input from the artist’s point of
view. Do a little psycho analyzing, for God’s sake. That was your
minor in college, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s right. Will do. Thanks for calling.
Bye.”

Erin hung up quickly, hoping that Patricia had been
stalled.

Spence, who was painting her toenails for his next
pin-up poster, asked, “Who was that?”

“Patricia McDowell. She wanted to know how we’re
doing on the book. I lied, of course.”

He lifted her foot, blew gently on the red polish and
smiled wickedly.

“Spence,” she said with a sigh. “This is a bit silly,
don’t you think? I’m not your doll baby.”

“No, you’re my pin-up girl. Believe me, there’s a
difference.”

“Haven’t I done everything you’ve asked?”

“Haven’t I done everything you’ve asked?” he
echoed.

“Mostly, but it’s time to stop playing around.”

“But I like to play with you.”

“Spence. You’re a grown man, and men don’t act this
way. Quit tickling my feet.”

He grinned lecherously. “I know men don’t act this
way. They just wish they could.”

“We need to buckle down and work,” she said frowning.
“Maybe this house and all of your toys are too much of a
distraction. How would you like to come home with me?”

“You mean D.C.?”

Erin quickly shook her head. No, the last thing she
wanted was for Spence and Aidan to meet. Aidan. Hmmm, she thought,
she hadn’t thought of him in a couple of months.

“No, I mean Pennsylvania. Do you remember I told you
about my family’s cabin at the lake? It’s far from everything. We
could focus on the book there.”

Spence was doubtful.

“I really like it here, though. I’ve got all these
sketches going. I think it’s a great series. Don’t you enjoy
working with me?”

“I do; I love it. But Patricia didn’t hire me to wear
sexy underwear and pose for you. I really appreciate the fact that
you like my body, but I have a mind, also.”

Spence put down the nail polish brush and stared at
her in mock horror. She was reclining on the couch, a white fur
cape hanging from a shoulder. Faux diamond pendants dangled from
her ears. Her lips were vivid red, her eyes ringed with black fake
lashes. She wore a black corset that pushed her large breasts out
like torpedoes. The corset ended above her navel. A pair of black,
lacy panties completed today’s ensemble.

“Baby, how could you ask me to give up all of this?”
he asked in anguish.

“I think you’re over reacting. I think I look
slutty.”

“You’re wrong. You’re a goddess.” He kissed her
cheek, careful not to smudge her red, glistening lips and whispered
against her ear. “I’ve got to sketch you now, while I can still
stand up.”

Once again, Erin’s resolution to buckle down and
finish the project dissolved.

Chapter Eleven

Erin texted her sister, saying she would be there
soon. She recalled the phone conversation and how she had hedged,
explaining only that she was bringing a client to work at the cabin
for a few days.

After twelve hours on the road, the packed SUV
cruised down a long, dusty driveway. It stopped in front of a white
clapboard house with dark green shutters. In the distance, Spence
spied a red barn bearing a large painted star. Chickens bobbed and
weaved in the July heat, separated from the driveway by a wire
fence. A couple of barn cats, fat and luxuriant, were perched
outside the fence, focused on the jerky movements of the plump
hens.

A brown painted fence stretched from the barn and
into the woods on the far hill. Cattle dotted the hillside and in a
separate, smaller pasture Spence saw white spots.

“Those are sheep,” Erin said with an incline of her
head. “I told you I was a farm girl. Come on, my sister and her
husband are waiting to meet you.”

Erin caught Spence’s hand and pulled him towards the
house as the front porch opened. A tall woman, a slightly faded
version of Erin with a few extra pounds on her hips, stepped out
and arms open.

Erin dropped Spence’s hand and rushed up the steps,
sweeping her sister into a bear hug.

“I’m so glad to see you honey,” Mariah said, her
cheek pressed against her younger sister’s golden hair. She looked
beyond Erin’s shoulder and into Spence’s eyes. Her warm smile and
green eyes were welcoming. He saw her lips move against Erin’s ear
but didn’t hear her speak, “Oh my, he’s gorgeous. I want your
job.”

* * *

“Mr. Spence, this is your room for tonight,” Mariah
said, pushing on the door. “My husband, Jerry, hasn’t had a chance
yet to air out the cabin. It’s been closed up all winter.”

White walls painted many years ago had faded to
cream. The queen-size bed bore a handcrafted quilt, washed so often
its flowers were pastel. A narrow window reached from the floor to
the ceiling.

Erin walked over to the window and slid open the
curtains, admiring the view, pastoral and green. “I’ve always loved
this room,” she said.

Spence moved behind her, slid his arms around her,
enveloping her body. He pushed his chin against the back of her
neck, his lips caressing her hair. Erin instinctively leaned into
his embrace.

Mariah’s eyes widened as she watched the couple,
already oblivious to her. She backed to the bedroom door and
slipped out, closing it quietly behind her. She suspected from the
moment she saw her sister’s face, her “client” was much more than
that. Their embrace only confirmed it.

She went down the stairs and into the farmhouse
kitchen. Warm, cozy and filled with century-old wood cabinetry, the
kitchen was Mariah’s retreat. Dried herbs and flowers hung upside
down from the large wooden beams, usually a copper kettle kept
water warm for her multiple cups of tea. Marsh, the family’s dog,
snored under the spacious oak dining table.

Jerry came in, stamping the mud onto the wooden grate
by the back door. He sat down on the nearby parson’s bench, bent
over and began unlacing the work boots. He pulled them off and
reached under the bench for his leather mocs.

“Are they settled in? Did you take them up to their
rooms?”

Mariah smiled impishly, raised her dreamy eyes from a
cup of tea. “Room.”

Jerry’s eyebrows shot up.

Mariah chuckled. “Well; she’s allowed.”

“Hey,” he said, his hands defensively in the air. “I
say ‘Go for it.’ What’s he like? Bookworm?”

“Not exactly,” Mariah said, arching her eyebrows
suggestively.

Upstairs, Erin held her breath until her chest hurt
and sanity returned. She tried to pull away, but the window blocked
her escape to the front and Spence’s chest, warm and intoxicating
against her bare shoulders, eliminated that route. She stepped to
the right, but his arms tightened around her rib cage.

“Where are you going?” he said, his breath soft and
moist against her neck. His lips caressed her earlobe and she
shivered.

“We agreed we wouldn’t do this here,” she said.

“Don’t worry, She’s gone.”

“That’s not the point. You know …”

“I can’t stop, either,” he said, finishing her
sentence.

Spence stepped back towards the bed and sat, pulling
her onto his lap. Antique metal springs squeaked as he swung both
of their legs up and onto the bed. Erin closed her eyes and sighed,
warmth spreading as she pressed close to him. He muffled her lips
with his, cutting off a throaty gasp.

“Spence. You’re not being fair.”

He pushed up on one elbow and caressed her heaving
breasts.

“I know. I’m sorry. I said I’d behave, but I don’t
think I can.”

Erin sat up and looked out the window.

“What’s Mariah going to think? She doesn’t know about
us, about you, except that you’re my job. We’re here to work.”

Erin frowned and continued. “I can’t help the way I
react to you. It’s just a natural response because I’m a healthy
female and you’re a … ah …”

He smiled and waited. “What am I?” he prompted,
stroking her hip.

“You’re a sexy man and you know it. So quit using it
against me. You know I’m vulnerable and when you get me started I
can’t stop. Right in front of my sister, too!”

Spence lightly kissed her. “I apologize. How can I
make it up to you?” he whispered, his lips against her cheek. Then
he grabbed her head and noisily smacked in her ear.

She laughed and shoved him off of the bed. “A wet
Willie. That’s all I need,” she said, wiping her ear.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, Mariah and Jerry heard
the thump. A body hitting the floor? The walls of the old farmhouse
were too thick to eavesdrop, but they recognized Erin’s giggle.
They smiled at each other.

“Hey, as long as she likes him, it’s okay with me,”
Jerry said.

“I know. It’s her life. But this thing with Aidan …
they still live together.”

“They live in the same apartment. It’s not the same
thing,” Jerry said.

“Yes, but it’s still complicated.”

“Like I said, as long as she likes him and he likes
her.” Jerry looked up at the ceiling. “It’s their business. I don’t
like to get involved in other people’s business.”

“You said that already. But she’s not ‘other people.’
She’s my sister!”

“And she’s an adult. She’s taken care of herself for
the past ten years; she can take care of herself now. No meddling.
Leave them alone,” he warned.

Mariah rolled her eyes at her husband.

“I’m not a meddler. But I’m not going to let some
playboy artist use my little sister.”

“I don’t think he’s using her.”

“How do you know?”

“Knowing your sister, I’m sure she’s got him wrapped
around her little finger.”

Mariah chuckled at her husband’s opinion. Hopefully,
she thought, he’s right.

* * *

An hour later, Erin and Spence rounded the corner of
the barn. Ducks and chickens waddled about the yard, scratching and
pecking the ground. Marsh, the Australian Shepherd, walked behind
them, occasionally pushing Erin’s legs with his nose.

“It’s his job,” Erin said at Spence’s quizzical
expression. “He thinks I’m one of the sheep and he’s trying to tell
me where to go. He’s not just a sheepdog, he’s also a good
babysitter. He always kept Mariah’s kids in the yard and out of
trouble.”

“How many children do they have?”

“They have three. They’re almost grown up now.
Mariah’s a bit older than I am, and she’s been married for more
than twenty years. Their oldest is Tom. He’s nineteen and at
college. Samantha, their second, is seventeen and she’s a camp
counselor during the summer. She’s been working at the camp across
the lake for three years. When she goes to college she’ll probably
study sports recreation. She’s the tomboy. Then there’s Benjamin.
He’s twelve. He’s here somewhere. I guess he has a lot of chores to
do during the summer and when he’s finished, he probably jets out.
I know I did.”

“You grew up on this farm?”

“Yes, it’s been in my family for more than a century.
When our parents retired, they moved to Florida. It is the law, you
know.”

“Seems to be.”

“Well, I was in college in D.C. and I wasn’t
interested in the farm, so I sold my half to Mariah and Jerry.
That’s how I could afford to go to such an expensive university. I
had enough left over to stay in D.C. and establish myself as a
freelance writer. Eventually, I became an editor with steady
jobs.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yes indeed. I love editing. I’m a fair writer, but
I’m afraid I’m not the creative type. I admire creativity in others
and wish I had their talent, but I’ve become accustomed to the fact
that I’m a left-brainer -- logical and analytical. You’re a
right-brain thinker. You’re intuitive and artistic.”

“Does that mean you’re smarter than me?”

“No! I think you’re wonderful.” She blushed. “I mean,
I think your work is wonderful.”

Spence smiled at her embarrassment and said
nothing.

“Don’t torment me.”

“Me? I’m innocent. You’re the one who’s doing all the
talking.”

“Right, I’ll shut up. It’s only getting me in
trouble.”

Spence captured her hand and squeezed it gently. “I
like listening to you.”

Erin stumbled and Marsh, ever faithful, bumped her
behind her knee. Move along. “Alright,” she said, laughing. She
reached down and brushed the dog’s soft, furry ears. “I’m
going.”