Cuddle Bear, page 12
Why did he want to keep our new relationship a secret? I frowned. He hadn’t sounded happy about his last boyfriend doing something similar, so why suggest it for us? Was he worried we wouldn’t last? Did he think it wasn’t worth the disruption at work?
I blew out a long breath.
Maybe I needed to prove to him I was going to be more than a summer fling. I slid closer and kissed his nose, and his brow furrowed in his sleep. I would just try extra hard to be good to him and eventually he would come around. Today I would start letting him know exactly how serious I was. With that decided, I kissed all over his face and jostled the mattress. “Maurice.”
“Hmm?” He turned his face away, and I blew into his ear. He waved his hand in my direction and shook his head.
“Maurice. Wake up.”
“Huh?” His eyelids cracked open.
“Come on. We need to get to my house.” I rubbed a hand over his chest and one of his powerful shoulders. “Mrs. Riggins will have breakfast ready soon. It also doesn’t seem like the electricity is back on here, so you’ll want to shower over at my place.”
“Breakfast? She will? How do you know?” He sat up and blinked at me, confusion written on his face.
“Because she always does. We need showers. I know I’m sticky. Come on.”
He grunted. “Ugh. I’m all gross with sweat.” He sniffed his armpit and wrinkled his nose, and I lost the battle to stay serious, laughing until I felt drunk. The lantern was still going strong—we’d forgotten to turn the light off last night, but I was glad because I wouldn’t have wanted to miss the expression on his face.
“Not a morning person? I thought you were.” I tried to hide my grin, but he pouted in my direction, so maybe I failed.
He groped around on the nightstand and snagged his glasses. With a huff, he plopped the frames on his nose. “You always see me post-coffee.” I tried to kiss his lips, but he turned away, grumbling, “Morning breath.”
With a snort, I pecked a loud smooch on his cheek instead. “Come on. Grab your stuff. Do you have a suit bag? You can borrow anything I own, just take the things you don’t want to share with me.”
“Razor. Toothbrush,” he mumbled, listing them off on his fingers. Maurice really was adorable this early in the morning. He glared at the windows, then the lantern. “It’s still dark.”
I kissed his solid neck and sucked on the salty skin until he moaned, and then an evil impulse struck. I shoved him until he was on the edge of the mattress.
“What are you doing?”
I crawled around him and hopped off the bed. Winking, I grabbed his feet and dragged them down until they touched the floorboards. “There. Now walk.”
“Bah.” He stood and smacked my ass hard enough to sting before I could get out of the way. All I could do was laugh.
About forty minutes later I pulled the Maserati up in front of my house, and Maurice sort of scrunched down into his seat beside me, looking even more like the cute cuddle bear I knew him to be at heart. He rubbed his hands along his cheeks. “Your staff will know you spent the night with me, rather than staying here in your own bed.”
“So?”
He glanced out his window, and I leaned forward but couldn’t catch a glimpse of his expression. “It’s just weird that other people know that much about your life. . . and now my life.”
“Is it?” I turned off the car and opened my door. “It’s always been this way for me.” The staff at the house was like family, but he sounded as if he thought they were strangers. Eventually he would understand. I got out and he followed after me to the rear of the car. “Will you come back for dinner?” I used the key fob to pop the trunk, then stuffed my keys in my pocket.
“We haven’t had breakfast.” He touched my side with his hand, almost as if he was checking to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming. “Yes.”
My immediate impulse was to do a victory dance, but instead, I grabbed his suit bag, then slung the strap of the small backpack he’d shoved his things into over my shoulder. “Great! Let’s go.”
“I can carry my own belongings.” He held up a hand.
“Nah, I already have them. Let me.” I dodged away and started toward the front door.
“Fine.” He chuckled and sounded more like usual as he closed the trunk.
We went inside and the lights in the foyer blinded me until I got used to it. I’d planned to shower first, but Mrs. Riggins strode toward me from the hallway to the right of the stairs.
“Sir, your meal is ready.” She came directly toward me and took Maurice’s suit and backpack. He raised his hands to snatch the items from her, but she was quick and went directly up the stairs. “I’ll take these things to the Rose room.”
“It’s beside my bedroom,” I said, in answer to his questioning glance. We could put everything where it belonged later. She probably assumed he was staying over because of something to do with the storm, but that was fine. Soon enough everyone would know Maurice belonged with me.
He looked stiff enough to shatter as I guided him to the dining room. I sat at the head of the long table because it was the seat I’d inherited when my father passed away, and I supposed it was habit at this point.
“Wow,” Maurice said, and for a moment I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but he turned one of the mahogany chairs so he could get a better view of the elaborate backrest. “These weren’t here before when I visited.”
“Oh, I had them hauled out of storage. A man by the name of Mr. Vidal carved all sixteen chairs and the dining table by hand. There is a china cabinet somewhere. I think it’s in what used to be my mother’s sitting room.” I took a deep breath and started in on a tale I knew by heart. “The story goes that in 1860 my great-great grandfather Lawrence Hazard Guidry lost a duel to Mr. Vidal. The man was within his rights to shoot him dead, and Lawrence was already wounded. He carried the limp from the fight his whole life.”
“Oh.” Maurice traced a finger along the head of a knight in the center of the chair, then along the spiral supports on the sides and the detailed windmill that made up one leg underneath.
“The reason for the duel was that my great-great grandfather wanted to marry Mr. Vidal’s youngest daughter. She was the prettiest of ten, and Lawrence Guidry, romantic fool that he was, said Mr. Vidal might as well shoot him through the heart, if he wouldn’t allow his girl to marry him. You see, she was supposed to go back to Spain and marry a boy there, rather than some American, who was clearly not good enough for any of the Vidals.”
Maurice smiled and gestured at me. “Lawrence didn’t die.”
“Not then.” I knocked my knuckles against the table. “Mr. Vidal was so moved by Lawrence’s declaration that he allowed the wedding to happen, and as an apology for giving Lawrence a limp that pained him every single day, he carved this dining set and the accompanying pieces. Its theme is Don Quixote, which I always thought was Mr. Vidal’s little continued joke at Lawrence’s expense.” I grinned at Maurice as he studied the detailed carving around the edge of the table. “My father told that story at parties with vigorous reenactments. Depending on how much he’d drunk, the duel was a sword fight, sometimes pistols, and once it occurred at sea with cannons on ships.”
Maurice snickered. “Do you actually know what happened?”
“Hell, for all I know, Mom bought the dining set at a yard sale. We do have a Lilliana Vidal in our family tree, though.” I winked at him.
He chuckled and sat on my left, then gave Justine, one of Mrs. Riggins helpers, a nearly painful smile when the girl carried out a tray of food, her red braid bouncing against her back with her quick steps. She grinned back at him as she set down our plates, and I enjoyed seeing the people in my life get along together.
“I’ll be right back with your coffee, Mr. Guidry. What would you like, sir?” she asked Maurice.
“Nothing special. Coffee is fine.”
She nodded and hustled off.
“This looks good,” Maurice said with his eyebrows raised.
“It’s standard.” The scrambled eggs and toast were typical, but there was a small bowl of cubed avocado and raspberries to go with it, so clearly we were showing off for guests today—and I wasn’t opposed. “Mrs. Riggins makes sure everything in the house is edible.”
He hummed and shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth, and his eyebrows danced higher as he ate another bite. I dug into my own food. The coffee was served while we were eating, and again Maurice was a bit awkward about taking his mug, but maybe he would get used to things if he were simply around more. As Maurice tipped the coffee to his lips, he moaned.
“Thank you,” he called after Justine, and she turned to wave but kept moving.
I shook my head at him. “More awake now?”
“Mm.” He closed his eyes to savor the dark brew.
“Shower with me?”
He coughed and set down his mug. The way he licked his lips had my groin tightening and stomach warming. “Do we have time for that?”
With a shrug, I rubbed my hand across his lower back. “I am the boss.”
He took another deep sip of his coffee and shook his head. “No. No, you can’t have that attitude or everything will implode at work.”
This conversation wasn’t going the way I’d planned. Leaning my chin on my fist, I widened my eyes in his direction. “You’re right.” Embarrassment heated my face and had me squirming in my seat. “What do you suggest we do to keep things the way they should be?”
He shrugged and slurped his coffee, staring hard at the tabletop. “It’s not bad that you want to do things like. . . that with me. I just don’t want to mess everything up at the office.”
“I get it.”
He cleared his throat, and I could tell he was mentally searching for a change of topic. I drank my coffee to give him time.
“I’m going to send out the invitations to your big summer bash this week. Is the list finalized?” His words had desperation around the edges, so I let our former conversation die.
Groaning, I shook my head. “I have to add a few people whether or not I want them to show up. I’ve been putting it off.”
His nostrils flared and an imperious downward twist of his mouth let me know a lecture was coming. “That’s the danger when you throw a party like this. You don’t want to offend clients. There will always be a few who turn up that you wish wouldn’t, but you must invite them anyway. We can’t lose money because someone didn’t get to eat a few ribs on your lawn.” His nose wrinkled.
“Indeed.”
He straightened and his shoulders went back. “You should invite Indy Yves.” He spoke so softly I had to lean toward him to catch the words. “His shop is up-and-coming in St. Loren, and I’ve heard he has mail-order clients as far away as New Gothenburg and Los Angeles. He would really enjoy socializing with everyone, and he’s making most of your wardrobe.” Maurice stared across the room rather than looking at me, and there was something peculiar about the way he was acting, but I couldn’t work it out, so I wrote it off as him still not quite being awake.
“Okay, do it.”
He nodded, and we didn’t talk about much else. After we finished breakfast, I showed Maurice to the Rose room, which had a beautiful, connected suite and a good view of the grounds.
“The walls are blue!” he said with a laugh as I opened the window and the spicy smell of blooms invaded.
“That’s the reason for the name,” I said.
We got ready for work separately, and I didn’t love it, but I did enjoy that we arrived at work together. I checked the parking lot, and as usual, we were the first in. I turned toward him and leaned close because I wanted one last kiss before the day started, but he put up his hand and touched his fingers to my lips. The gesture that was supposed to ward me off only drew me closer as he traced along the seam of my mouth.
“Not here.”
An unhappy pang reverberated in my chest, but I nodded.
The day was too fucking long because we were still doing storm cleanup on most of our projects, on top of the normal day-to-day work. It was after one in the morning before we stumbled out to my car again.
On Wednesday we ended up going in early and staying close to midnight. Maurice ate a late dinner with me, which I loved, and then went home to his place on the lake. I’d tried to convince him to stay over at my house, but he’d said he had to check his kitchen for mold, and I couldn’t argue with that. The weather had torn up St. Loren more than I would’ve thought possible.
By Thursday morning he was wavering about staying with me outright until the electricity was fixed, probably because I’d asked Mrs. Riggins to make all the dishes I’d noticed he tended to order when we had meals together. After a lot of consideration, he drove home at the end of the day. It really, really sucked. I wanted him in my bed.
Friday morning I was determined to get him to stay overnight with me because I’d liked it and wanted him beside me to sleep. . . and do other things. Maurice and I were seated in the dining room and already showered and dressed for work, when Justine brought out loaded plates of biscuits and gravy, along with the usual coffee.
Maurice let out a contented sigh as his food was set in front of him, and Justine grinned and gave me a wink. She was in on my spoil Maurice plan and seemed to approve.
After one forkful, he smiled. “This is delicious.”
“Isn’t it?” I grinned. I loved it when Maurice was happy.
“I haven’t been lifting all week, though. I should probably eat lighter.” His sad tone had me setting down my own silverware.
“Eat what you want. We’ll make it up over the weekend and next week. I want to see you heaving around weights.”
He studied my face. “You want to go work out with me? I don’t really do cardio.”
I shrugged. “Sure, why not.”
He nearly bounced in his chair like a kid and grinned. “Okay!”
We both stared at his pocket as his phone vibrated because the buzzing was louder than a pesky fly. He sighed and dragged the nuisance out of his suit jacket pocket, then scowled at the phone screen so hard my heart began to race.
“What’s wrong?”
“Lacey.” He glared as if he wanted to set her on fire. “She wants us to go to the Sloppy Frog tonight with her.”
“I do owe her a drink.”
He gasped as if I’d shot him. “For what?”
“Without her we might not be together.” I cupped his cheek, and he leaned in to my touch before shaking me off.
“Do not tell her that! She will be awful forever and consider it a green light to all future meddling projects. You’ll cause chaos in the entire city.”
I laughed and kissed him as excitement stampeded through my stomach. “I want to take you out.”
“Fine.” He pouted while he texted her back and it was cute.
Not that I was attempting to be nosy, but when I was finished with my food, I noticed Maurice had left half of his on the plate. I stared at the leftovers, and he drank his coffee and kept shooting glances at the biscuits as if he would’ve rather eaten them. Should I say something? I arranged my silverware on my plate to give myself time to think, but the war between silence and my opinions battled it out until finally I blurted, “Do you have health issues I don’t know about? High blood pressure? Cholesterol? Diabetes?”
He frowned. “No, why do you ask?”
“You like food, and I don’t want to. . . . I’ve had food issues in the past. I tend to overeat when I’m stressed. High school was a nightmare. My father was a lot of my problem because he put too much pressure on me. My mother was ill. I don’t want to assume anything, especially since you told me that your ex made you uncomfortable about the topic of food.”
“But?” His lips thinned into an unhappy line that let me know I needed to tread lightly.
I rested my hand on his thigh and gave it a squeeze. “But eat your breakfast.” I grinned. “You like it. We’ll eat healthy for lunch and get off our asses for real this weekend, I promise. I’m not running some campaign to destroy whatever health goals you have.”
“Healthy dinner, too,” he said, snapping up his fork with enthusiasm. “And no beer tonight.”
“You like the beer.”
He sighed and nodded. “I do.”
Leaning over, I brushed a kiss to his cheek. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll tell Mrs. Riggins to go greener.”
His bottom lip jutted a little and I couldn’t hold in my grin. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Maybe stuff like this on the weekends?”
I shrugged. “Sure. This was my fault. I told her to cook your favorites and gave her a list of everything I’d ever seen you eat and like.”
His mouth fell open, and then he laughed. “I guess I didn’t realize my top ten foods were so filling.”
He grabbed his phone out of his pocket when it vibrated again and poked at the screen. “We’re on the hook with Lacey tonight.”
“Great.”
That morning Bern Evangelos messed up part of the job he was doing for the post office, and I had to meet him to fix it, which wasn’t terrible for his first time working in the field, but it needed me personally to smooth things over. One thing after another kept us busy all day.
Maurice and I couldn’t even share lunch.
Near quitting time, I was heading in to my office and Maurice was bent over the keyboard at his desk muttering about something, when the outer door burst open and Celestine stumbled into the room, making a beeline directly for Maurice. I pointed at him, and he stopped, nearly falling over. His blond curls were a frizzy, everywhere mess, as if he’d been tugging at them.
“Can I ask you a question about Lacey?” He turned morose eyes on Maurice, who glanced up as his eyebrows lowered in a way I’d never seen.
