The Honeymoon House. Patty Salier
almost as though he were living with her.
She caught her naked reflection in the bureau mirror. She wondered what it would feel to have Paul Richards’s strong hands caress her breasts. Her bare nipples grew hard at the thought.
Stop fantasizing about Paul, she ordered herself. Don’t repeat what happened with Kevin.
But lying in the bubbly warm bathwater, she couldn’t get Paul Richards out of her mind. She visualized him climbing into the bath with her. She could almost feel his powerful masculine body sizzling against hers. She quickly turned on the cold water to startle her body back to reality.
At the burglarized construction site, Paul held in his frustration as he showed the Barrys, a young married couple, the damage inside their remodeled house. Butch began repairing the built-in drawers in their bedroom bureau that had been yanked out, scratched and thrown to the floor.
“Mr. and Mrs. Barry,” Paul began, feeling at blame for the entire situation, “my company’s insurance will cover everything that’s been stolen. Tonight, I’ll have my men spick-and-span your home until it’s shiny clean. We’ll even repaint the nicks in the walls and have the new carpeting steam-washed. Whatever you want. You just tell me.”
When Paul saw a hopeful smile on their faces, his muscles relaxed a little. Though burglaries occasionally happened on construction sites, Paul hated seeing his customers unhappy. He guaranteed superior construction and worked on their houses as if they were his own. His goal was for his customers to move into their new or remodeled homes totally satisfied with his work.
When the owners left, Paul put on his leather tool belt and joined Butch and two laborers to make the house brand-new again.
At three o’clock in the morning, an exhausted-butsatisfied Paul finished painting and cleaning up. As he packed his tools into his van, his mind drifted to Danielle. He wished he could have stayed at her apartment longer.
Butch put on his motorcycle helmet. “Going back to your new lady’s place?”
Paul climbed into his van. His normal reaction to Butch would have been an easy no. He liked his independence. He didn’t need to feel connected to anyone. But with Danielle, he was aware of a yearning that he didn’t quite understand.
“I’m going home, Butch.” He started up the van’s engine, relieved that it didn’t sputter out.
Paul drove toward his Santa Monica apartment, knowing he needed to get some sleep, but he found himself diverting his route a few blocks and ending up on Danielle’s street.
He slowed his van as he neared her apartment building. He stopped at the curb a few yards away from her complex and turned off the engine. Her apartment on the second floor had a small balcony. The Monterey pines somewhat blocked his view.
His heart quickened when he noticed that her living room lights were still burning. Her glass balcony door was open, letting in the summer evening’s cool breeze.
He wondered how late he would have stayed at her apartment if he hadn’t been forced to leave. He felt the sudden urge to ring her doorbell and ask if he could come in for a little while.
Paul knew he was thinking crazy. He regained his senses and was just about to start up his van, when Danielle appeared at her balcony door.
Three
Paul’s fingers froze on the ignition key as he watched Danielle walk over to the railing and look up at the star-filled sky.
Through the trees, he could see that she was wearing a flimsy nightgown. The light from the living room filtered through the fabric. Her breasts jutted out against the material, and he could barely see her nipples protruding.
Paul held his breath. He forgot he was in his van, parked on her street. He was aware only of Danielle’s naked hourglass form silhouetted under her nightie.
His hands were perspiring as he held the steering wheel. He slowly opened the van window to let in more air so he could breathe. His body became wide-awake.
Just then, Danielle leaned over the railing and peered down at the street. Paul’s heart hammered against his ribs. He was invading her privacy. He hoped she didn’t see his van through the Monterey pines lining the sidewalk.
On her balcony, Danielle stretched her body and breathed in the sweet, pine-scented evening air. Then she went back into her apartment, locked the balcony door and leaned against the glass door.
Was that Paul’s van she’d seen in the shadows of the pines and the streetlights? Her skin tingled under her nightgown at the thought that he might have been watching her.
What a crazy idea, she silently told herself as she drew the white curtains across the balcony door. Why would Paul Richards be parked outside her apartment at four in the morning, watching her? Was this just another of a zillion fantasies she was having about him?
She went to the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of cold orange juice to cool her heated body. Paul Richards had been permeating her mind all evening. That’s why she couldn’t sleep and had gone out on the balcony. No wonder she thought she’d seen his van parked under the trees, as he admired her from afar.
When she put back the orange juice, she noticed the hammer magnet Paul had left on the refrigerator door. Why had he put his magnet on her door? Did he feel as close to her as she felt to him? She gently touched the metal, as though caressing him.
She quickly brushed away her sensual thoughts and returned to her bedroom, where Lisa was lightly snoring. She quietly climbed into her twin bed.
As she lay on her back, she felt an aching in the tender area between her legs. She couldn’t get rid of the vision of Paul watching her standing in her nightgown on the balcony.
She closed her eyes and pictured Paul’s warm palm snuggled between her thighs, caressing her to ultimate pleasure. She didn’t remember falling asleep.
At her architectural office, Danielle anxiously checked the coffeemaker to see if her mocha java brew was ready. Her plans for Mr. Harrington’s honeymoon house had been approved by the building department, but she had a couple of small revisions she wanted to discuss with him. A meeting had been arranged for that morning.
She set up two chairs at her petite conference table. She constantly shifted them to get the perfect angle to talk to Mr. Harrington. She glanced at the digital clock on her desk. He was expected at any moment.
She couldn’t wait to tell him about her new ideas for the interior of his house. She flipped through the spec sheets she’d written designating the specific details, such as white metal windows, recessed lighting, a marble floor in the entry, thick beige carpeting upstairs in the master bedroom and plenty of custom-made closets. She’d listed high-quality everything.
She knew that the more she pleased Mr. Harrington with her work the closer she came to asking him if he could select her as the architect for his children’s library.
The loud knock on her office door startled her. She held her breath and excitedly opened the door.
“Mr. Harrington, I—” Her words caught in her throat when she saw Paul Richards standing there. “Paul, what are you doing here?”
“Am I late?” he asked, looking a bit concerned. His muscular arms were filled with folders and papers that were about to spew out on the floor.
She leaned out the door frame. “Where’s Mr. Harrington?”
“Didn’t you get his message?”
“No,” she replied, panicking.
As Paul struggled to balance the stack of materials, she glanced at her answering machine. The message light was blinking. She’d been so nervous and excited about her meeting that she’d forgotten