Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Pansies

After their blissful night, the abrupt way Trip woke Georgette an hour before sunrise the next morning made her wonder if maybe she hadn’t dreamt the erotic adventure. His excuse was concerned that the neighbors would see her leaving his house and he didn’t want gossip started. His rude dismissal of her knitted a frown between her eyes. In his hurry to get her out the door, he missed it. She was vexed because it was his idea that she sleep over. Usually she skulked home at midnight. Maybe she would conveniently forget to record the broadcast of his little show or better be completely away from the office all together or maybe away from the business grounds. She could head out of town on a shopping trip or upstate for a few days. A vacation would be a good idea before the holiday rush.

As she drove home, she plotted various revenge scenarios, also. The plotting, which considerably cheered her, continued while she showered and got dressed. Since she was awake, she thought she would get to her office early and get some paperwork finished before her meeting with Mr. Hutchins. She gave a short feverish prayer that the infamous Mr. Redden would be absent.

When Georgette arrived at the garden center the next morning, a huge black truck was parked in front of the gate. Her semi-cheerful mood evaporated. It always irritated her that customers arrived an hour before the gates were open to the public. They parked at the gate, which made it almost impossible for the employees to enter. She pulled in beside the truck which looked monstrous in the thin morning fog. Slamming the door of her jeep, she rounded the front of it and walked into Rod Hutchins.

“What the hell?” she said. The impact knocked her back a few steps.

“Sorry, Miss Witt. I thought you saw me.”

“It’s too early for clear vision. What are you doing here? Our meeting isn’t until 10 this morning.” She yelped out the words. How could she face this man without a cup of coffee in her system?

He gave a sheepish grin, which showed a set of wolf like teeth. “I’m early, because it’s the only way to exclude Redden from our meeting. I feel he’ll hinder us, more than help.”

“True. I really don’t think I can deal with him without at least three cups of coffee before hand.” Her fingers fumbled with her keys, as she tried to remember which one to use. He had completely unnerved her with his abrupt appearance.

“How many cups do you need before you can deal with me?” He asked, not bothering to hide his wolfish grin.

“A cup and a half.” She finally found the right key. The gate opened with a rusty moan. She barked out orders to him. “Drive in and park at the blue door on the right side of the building facing the A-framed greenhouse. Mind the pansies. We just planted them and they are fragile. So don’t tromp all over them.”

He laughed. “I really don’t think you need any coffee. You’re so stern and commandeering, I believe you could command a Naval Ship with nary a problem.”

“Scoot inside, before someone driving by thinks we’re open. I’ll be right behind you, once I lock the gate again.”

“Aye Aye, Captain.” He saluted and did as she bade. She was careful not to show her amusement, but once he was inside the gate and out of sight, she laughed loud enough to startle a jogger passing by on his morning run.

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Wednesday’s Morning Edition

The shrill sound of a car horn blaring woke Jennifer from a restless dream, one that she had more often that she cared to admit. She believed sleep made a person vulnerable to memories that should stay buried, memories that still held power over her. She cursed the dream, resenting its invasion. Now that she was awake enough for her mind to wander, sleep would be elusive to recapture, so she crept out of bed. She felt achy all over. She stumbled to the bathroom, thinking a hot bath would soothe her sore muscles.

Dale was extra zealous with his lovemaking the night before. His appetite for role-playing games met her own, which kept her from tiring of his company. They had dallied longer than planned. She didn’t care because she had no schedule to keep, but Dale did. He had to hurry home. As they dressed, his mind was on the excuse he had to perfect, their decadent romp momentarily forgotten. Jennifer hated the harried way they always parted, but she couldn’t do anything about it.

They had met a month ago, when the agent who was suppose to show Jennifer a home had an emergency with another client and couldn’t reach her to reschedule the appointment. Dale was called in to rescue the sales pitch. Looking back, she felt their meeting had been fate, because of the immediate chemistry they both felt simultaneously. Jennifer rarely mixed business with pleasure, but the moment she saw the way his eyes kept straying to her shapely legs all through the house tour, she knew he saw diversion written on them.

Their affair started a week later, during a third tour of homes. He had a picnic lunch waiting for them, complete with strawberries and champagne. In the kitchen, he seduced her with expertise. Every kiss and touch felt right. They fit together, like spoons in a kitchen drawer. The interlude lasted three hours. Jennifer had the foresight to clear her afternoon, because the previous tours had lasted hours due to their lingering talks. That day instead of the art of conversation, they engaged in the art of sex. Neither of them had any regrets afterwards.

She knew he was married, but that didn’t stop her from partaking of a slice of the Dale pie. Jennifer had issues with men and commitment, but who didn’t at her age. Women these days over 38 often did. Many sought therapy or support groups. Some turned to drugs or alcohol. Her method of dealing with the issues was to explore clandestine affairs with unavailable men, emotionally or martially. They were always discreet and never made demands on her heart, until Dale Larkin—man of wicked intellect, whose intuition of her hidden passions was the knight in tarnished armor, who rode her into shadows where she found solace in his touch.

She sat in the steaming bath water, trying to deny that Dale was no different than the others. She could end the affair at any moment and never look back or think twice about it. But a glimpse of a bruise on her thigh, the brand of his love told her different. He possessed her in a way that no other man had before. The combination of his wit and taste for decadence seared her soul. Dale instinctively knew her moods, knew when to be tender and when to be carnal. He could read the flecks of color in her blue eyes, predicting her needs. At times this frightened Jennifer. Her fear was that with every encounter, he would steal more of her heart. As much as she feared this, she was beyond strength to stop it.