Three and a Half Weeks(6)

After, we drove to his house in his very fast, very sleek sports car.

“Ella, allow me to show you around,” he said, and while taking my jacket his fingers grazed skin and whoosh. It felt as if an electric spark snapped and crackled up my arm.

As I walked around the palatial estate, gaping at and running my fingertips over surfaces and fabrics, my attention was diverted from Mr. Blackmon for a few moments. Turning around suddenly to ask him a question, I caught him staring intently at me. He was leaning against a wall on one hip, showing off those long, luscious legs, and he had his middle finger through his heavy sterling key ring. He was rhythmically swinging his hand, so the keys would spin around his finger. For some weird reason, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from that masculine yet elegant hand and its perfect, sinuous rhythm… until he laughed, a deep-throated, sexy chuckle that liquefied my insides. It broke the spell.

“Do you approve?”

Do I approve of what? “Of?” I squeaked.

“My home, of course.”

Glancing around at the cavernous room, I nodded slightly. “It’s amazing.” And, naturally, it was. Gleaming mahogany-colored hardwood flooring stretched across the expanse of the great room, whose walls were in very masculine tones of pearl gray, taupe, and chocolate. Beautiful pieces of sculpture dotted the room, as well as a few impressively large-scaled paintings. Expensive Persian rugs were spaced precisely on the floors, and the sofas and chairs had clean lines and simple but luxuriant fabrics.

Finishing my tour of the place, he happily (and even proudly!) boasted that it sat on land that originally hosted an insane asylum. The asylum was later converted into condominiums and houses were built around it to form the gated community, in which he bought the largest one with the highest elevation of the whole campus. Naturally.

I looked out the conservatory window and marveled at what lay before me. The view alone was worth millions and I wondered why an insane asylum was ever sited at such a place. The palatial house sat high in the sky overlooking Portland, like a snow globe hovering in the clouds, looking down in judgment on the city skyline.

Well into my second glass of vino, I was already significantly tipsy—but it was all good, since he’d very recently trampled on my fantasy with aplomb, a feat akin to delicate daisies being crushed under the biggest steel-toe boots possible. This, what I considered to be our second date (my visit to his office sort of being the debut), but actually our first, was when he gamely introduced me to his medieval torture chamber that he charmingly called his dungeon.



Pushing himself off the wall, he strode over to where I was standing. “Come, Ella, let’s have a drink in the library.”

I took his hand and he led me down a long hall to double doors. Just beyond those doors was his library.

“Oh my God, this room is beautiful,” I exclaimed, for it took my breath away. Rich mahogany wainscoting lined the walls from floor to ceiling. A Mission-style mantel framed a stone hearth, currently hosting a cozy fire. On the two far walls, there were books lining shelves from floor to ceiling and a sliding ladder attached to handily reach the books on the upper reaches. The furniture, rugs, desk—everything was meticulously perfect.

“Sit,” he ordered me and I complied. It did strike me as odd how he didn’t ask but rather told, but I instinctively kept kowtowing to his superior rank.

“Would you like a drink?”

“Um, sure, if you’re having one.”

He nodded and walked over to a cabinet. When he opened it I could see there were numerous bottles of wine, stemware, and probably every bar accouterment available at Williams-Sonoma.

“So, Ariel Strong, since this afternoon, you’ve learned much more about me. I think I’ve given you fair warning. Even so, you’re here with me tonight. Might I consider it your capitulation?”

“Capitulation?” There goes my cat-in-heat voice again.

He smirked. “Are you not fond of the word? Perhaps you would prefer acceptance?”

I gulped my wine. Things weren’t going as I’d envisioned in my fevered imagination. In my original version of the play script, this is when he’d begin to seduce me and we’d end up in bed, having the most incredible, mindbending sex ever. He’d peer into my eyes longingly and swear he’d never met anyone like me before. Afterward, I’d officially be dating the most eligible bachelor, possibly on planet Earth. Alas, I had to make major revisions in the plotline. Instead, we once again dissected our potential relationship in terms too clinical to suit me—me or any other woman in the world.

“Acceptance? Of your terms?”