No, no she thinks as she suddenly loses power in her car. All the electronics in the cabin flash at her before dying. This can’t be happening, not now she laments in her mind realizing that her car battery had just died. “Perfect,” she mutters under her breath sarcastically as she looks out into the night, seeing the worst storm of the decade lash through the forest of evergreens, swaying them from side to side. The hurricane force winds shaking the car as the rain pelts against the window, lightning flashes in the sky illuminating the shadow of a house just up the road.
It’s better than sitting here she thinks to herself, mentally preparing for her ordeal through the storm to the house. She clasps the door handle, lifting it slightly before the wind rushes in and rips the door from her hand, slamming it open; icy rain flying through the open portal. She quickly steps out and struggles to shut the door against the raging wind, the rain knifing through her dress. Fucking weatherman, she thinks, couldn’t see this storm? She starts her walk to the driveway, leaning into the wind lest she gets blown away.
The one hundred meter driveway feels like an eternity to her as the rain slashes through her dress and stings her exposed skin on contact. What should have been a pleasurable stroll was turned into a battle against the elements as she makes it to the awning covering the door. She looks up and takes a hold of the bronze knocker with chilled, shaking fingers. She slams the knocker against the door three times, crashes barely heard above the booming of thunder above.
No answer.
She goes to knock again when the door swings inward with a hiss of wind. She looks up and sees him.
He holds the door open with one hand, his other holding up his white downy towel around his midsection. He looks out into the storm, surprised to see someone standing on his front porch. He sees her look up at him, as he takes in her image. Blonde hair turned black as night framing her face as it drips into the puddle at her feet, her dress clamped against her body, hugging her every curve, soaking wet, making rivulets run down her bare skin which glows red with exposure. Her mascara smudged around her eyes and down her cheeks from the storm.
She goes to open her mouth as he says, “Come inside, I’ll grab you some towels and some spare clothes for you,” as he waves her in. Without another word she comes inside, almost falling as she stumbles up the step, right into his arms. He feels her shivers as he catches her by the upper arms, steadying her. He pushes the door shut behind her, the howling wind being reduced to a low moan in the background.
“Make yourself at home, I’ll be back in a minute or two,” he tells her before running up the stairs, two at a time, exposing his muscular thighs to her. She looks around his mudroom, noticing how Spartan it was. Plain white walls, a simple closet to one side, white tiled floors with no pattern on it. She moves into the hallway, following him and seeing more of the house. Tiled floors gave way to polished oak hardwood, the walls painted a soft yellow with picture frames of nature and wildlife adorning the walls, a grandfather clock nestled beside the base of the stair. She sees doors leading into a living room area, a soft white carpet on the floor contrasted against the black leather couches, low coffee tables matching the couches with a fireplace in the middle of the room.
“Here you go,” his voice says from behind her, startling her. He had moved with such silence and grace that she never noticed him coming up close behind her.
“Thank you,” she replies to him, reaching out and accepting a different white towel and some spare clothes from him; all male. She notices that he had replaced his towel with a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. Simple, yet extremely sexy.
“There is a bedroom up the stairs where you can change. It’s the first door on the left,” he tells her as he steps aside. She nods her head and heads towards the stairs. The steps are silent as she goes up, intrigued by what else she will find there. At the top of the stairs the hardwood floors continue as she walks into the first bedroom on the left. Here, the hardwood gives way to a plush blue carpet, the walls painted a soft beige colour, elegant nature pictures hanging on the walls, including one of Monet’s lily ponds.
There is a king sized four poster bed with a canopy, curtains hanging down and tied at the posts. As she reaches out to run her hands through the curtains she remembers her soaked dress. She reaches down and grabs the hem of it, careful to not squeeze it too hard and wring it out on the floor. She pulls it upwards, listening to the sticky sounds as it pulls away from her skin; pulling it above her head. She opens the closet and finds it empty, only plastic white hangers inside. She grabs one of the hangers and puts her dress on it, hanging it off the hook behind the door for it to dry out.
She walks naked over to the bed, running her hands through the curtains, discovering them to be extremely soft. Silk? but she’s not sure. She then leans down and pushes on the comforter on the bed, her hand sinking into it. I bet that’s comfy. She walks back towards the towel she dropped on the floor; picking it up and wrapping herself in it. The fire in the living room had warmed her up and stopped her shivers, but the towel is even warmer. She snuggles into it, feeling herself getting warmer and warmer by the second, drying all the water droplets that lingered.
She drops the towel to the ground again and regards the clothes. A pair of grey sweatpants with white drawstring. At least they’ll stay up, then. She slips them on, feeling of soft the inside of it is against her bare legs. She then examines the top, a simple sweater dark blue. Way too big, but it’s all I’ve got. She pulls it on, loving the same warm soft feeling. I was right. The sleeves hang past her hands and the sweater dangles past her waist. She senses a faint smell of man on the sweater, mmm.
She notices a mirror facing the bed and examines herself. He has some good tastes; I actually look good in all this. Now what to do with my hair? She picks it up and lets it drop. She can feel how damp and wet it still is from her five minutes out in the storm. It’ll dry quicker if I leave it down.
She then walks over to her purse, taking out her mascara once more. She glances around the room. Kleenexes? She spots a box on the bedside table. She cleans herself up as best she can, removing her racoon eyes and mascara lines from her cheeks, before reapplying it. That’s better, she thinks as she grins at herself. She moves back to the bedroom door and heads back down the stairs to the living room to rejoin her mysterious saviour.
She slips down the stairs and into the living room noticing that he had restocked the fire, making the room significantly warmer as the flames licked up the chimney. He is sitting on a chair to the right of the fireplace, a glass of red wine in his hand. He looks up at her as she enters, moving to sit on the couch across from the fire, noticing a glass of red wine poured for her too. “I took the liberty of pouring you a glass as well,” he says motioning with his own glass.
She looks down into her lap, blushing, as she reaches for the glass. “Thank you,” she says looking into his icy blue gaze before taking a sip. “I’m Nicole,” she says as she places her glass back down on the table beside the couch.
“Curtis,” he replies to her, dipping his head in her direction. “You’re lucky I was home,” he begins to tell her, “or you may have been stuck out in this storm.”
“Thank you for taking me in, I hope I won’t be a burden,” she answers him with a slight gleam in her eye.
“Nonsense, you won’t be a burden. It’s my pleasure to have you, it’s nice to have company for a change,” he tells her before raising his glass to his mouth, the flames dancing within the red wine. He notices her quick glance down to his hand and the slight upturn of her mouth upon not seeing a wedding band but chooses to say nothing. “So what brings you out this way?” he asks.
“I’m traveling back to my parents’ house. I wanted to surprise them tonight, but I guess that won’t be happening anymore due to this infernal storm,” gesturing to the window and the bright flashes of lightning. “I can’t believe the weatherman was unable to predict this storm happening!” He smiled gently at her over the rim of his glass. “Do you live here by yourself then?”
“For parts of the year. This is one of several properties I own. This, however, is my favourite one.”
Her eyebrows rise at the mention of several properties. He must’ve inherited money; he looks way too young to have earned all of this. But he doesn’t have the air of superiority that those born into wealth always seem to have. He seems …. Humble almost.
“May I ask you what you do Nicole?” he interrupts her thoughts.
She blushes heavily. Do I make something up? Or do I tell him what I really do? Before she could stop herself she was telling him what she really did, “I’m a medical student just finished up my third year, but I work two jobs at the same time. I’m a bartender/waitress during the week and I work as a model on weekends.” Her face blushes even more, and not due to the wine or heat of the fire. “You need something to pay the bills, right?” she says as she tosses back her bangs from her eyes. He nods his head in agreement with her second statement before taking a sip of wine.
