Her Naked Present

Deborah

AFTER TWO WEEKS

I had always followed the rules.

I covered my lips with my hand when I laughed to stifle the sound. When I cried, I did so alone in my apartment. I only used the f-word once, when I dropped the casserole and spilled lasagna all over the kitchen floor, and even then, I was alone.

Without a doubt. I was single and often felt lonely.

I dressed suitably for each position, first as a typewriter, then as a secretary, and finally as the executive assistant to the president of Alvarado's Media Empire.

So, what was I doing travelling from California to Washington on my own, dressed inappropriately, to deliver vital papers to my boss's holiday property on the coast?

What else is there? Of course, I can't ignore the fact that I was in love. Sebastian Alvarado, my gruff, arrogant, but attractive boss, has smitten me.

Yeah. Wasn't everyone? He was six three and a half feet tall. That was fortunate because I am six feet tall in my stocking feet. Or, as my buddy Vivian put it, my stalking feet. He had the face of a fallen angel: dark hair that had been shaved into a demon bald cut, heavy brows, long, dark, curled lashes that framed eyes a strange shade of gold, and a tattoo that rippled down one arm from his shoulder to his wrist.

The tattoo twisted like two snakes twining together, black and enigmatic against his tanned skin, stupid, yet it gave me the impression that they shared something unique.

Not that I ever wanted or could describe what it was to him. The eyes, tattoo, and height made him appear deadly, which he wasn't, at least not if you didn't compete with him in business.

Then, every time, he got his way. He had a prominent nose and the most beautiful, dazzling white teeth I had ever seen.

His physique was the most important thing to me. It was ideal. My fingers itched to pinch his sculpted butt, which had broad shoulders and a sculpted butt. Or them, depending on how one saw the situation.

I saw his sweaty naked legs every day when he came into the office, and I could attest that his calves and thighs deserved to be licked. Repeatedly. I'd do it if I had a lot of courage and another job to go to.

Not that I couldn't have; I was a great administrative assistant, and other companies and people from all over the place had offered me offers.

I turned them all down. Alvarados just had one company, and I was only interested in AME, and now with Sebastian Alvarado.

That was why I was here, driving along Highway 101, the hazardous, narrow two lanes stuck between the raging ocean and the primordial forest, and occasionally dropping down between the raging ocean and the precipitous cliffs.

I hadn't seen a single house or automobile in the twenty-five miles since I'd gone through the tiny Washington town, only a few stray seagulls fighting the wind. I knew Sebastian had bought the land for twenty miles in every direction when he bought this home. He stated he liked being alone, but the loneliness was getting to him.

What if my vehicle breaks down?

But I had a fully charged cell phone in my purse, and the car wouldn't break down.

The Miata was brand new and sporty, perfect for my new image. Like new clothing, new hair, new makeup, laser eye correction, new boobs—okay, Sebastian paid me well, very well, but I couldn't afford new boobs. Nonetheless, I had purchased a Wonderbra, which provided me with fantastic boo-bies. Deborah was a whole different person! I am.

I rolled down the window, letting the wind blow over my shoulder-length hair, and slammed the gas pedal, intending to corner like the professional driver in the commercial.

Don't try this at home!

The wind blew in through the window, sending one of the artistically highlighted strands into my mouth. I threw it up. Another strand of hair flew into my eyes. I made a blink. I swerved when I peeled one eye open in time to notice a fast-approaching curve. Overcorrected.

The tires slid off the roadway and onto the small shoulder with a painful bang. In a panic, I let off of the gas pedal. The vehicle fishtailed.

Branches hit the side mirror.

I managed to steer the car back onto the road, slowed almost to a crawl, and was relieved that no one had seen me make a fool of myself.

I took a deep breath and returned to my previous fair and legal speed, which I maintained through the turns.

I looked at the odometer. I still had five miles to go before I arrived at the turn to Sebastian's house. Then I'd visit him and explain about the phone call and the documents, and because it was becoming late, he'd have to let me remain. I'd paired my casual oatmeal linen pants with a tight-fitting pumpkin camisole that bared my arms — pretty buff after gym workouts — and emphasized my small waist.

___________

One slowed to a crawl as the mansion approached, knowing what Sebastian had claimed about his home—that it was a castle built by an early twentieth-century timber magnate indulging in a grandiose gesture of wooing to the young woman of his dreams. I wasn't impressed, and he'd lived in blissful seclusion until the end of his days.

Sebastian purchased it at auction, stripped the interior, and totally refurbished everything before relying on me to select the furnishings, fixtures, and appliances, despite the fact that I had no idea what his house looked like. Not until I saw it for myself.

My heart pounded in anticipation as I imagined myself in our home.

The road widened. The trees split. The castle appeared in the distance.

I hit the brakes hard.

This was not what I had anticipated. Absolutely not.

In my mind's eye, I saw a palace similar to Cinderella's, except the roofs might not be such an ugly hue of blue.

Instead, the location was tall and slender, protruding into the rushing clouds like a crude penis sign. It overshadowed the towering trees around it and sat perilously close to the cliff's brink. To my startled eyes, it appeared to be a monster, the last of its kind, on the verge of lonely suicide.

The wind had blown away every trace of softness from the gray stones, leaving the harsh surfaces naked and desolate.

On each of the three floors, sightless gargoyles peered out from the corners, and the apex of the gray slate roof caught wisps of clouds as they billowed and vanished.

The large front porch was a vast expanse of shale built one step up from the soil, with rough granite columns supporting the Neanderthal brow of a roof.

I convinced myself that the house will look better once the sun came out.

The sun emerged. The house was in disarray.

Golden rays from the west glinted on the windowpanes, transforming them from empty sockets to watchful eyes, and the shadows became more distinct.

I looked around the house for Sebastian, but no one moved in the grass or among the shrubs inside the circular drive in front of the house, and not even the sunlight could penetrate the shadows beneath the trees that encircled the home.

Perhaps he was in the garage behind the house. Or maybe he'd gone to town or was on the run. He could be anywhere, but I was here, and I was going to remain.

I drove up to the porch. I applied the brakes, clutched the steering wheel, and took a long, deep breath.

This was just what I desired. This was what I'd planned for, shopped for, and fantasized about. I would never forgive myself if I turned back now.

I didn't deserve happiness if I turned back now.

This is something I could do.

I always set the emergency brake, even on level ground, because it was the responsible thing to do. I took my leather briefcase—a present from Sebastian—and my handbag from the passenger seat.

The wind caught the car door as I stepped out, springing it back with such force that I worried about the hinges.

I pushed the door shut with my hip, opened the trunk with the key control, and took out my suitcase, my enormous, hefty, fully loaded suitcase. To get it out of the trunk, I needed both hands and all of my freshly acquired gym-built muscles.

As I dragged my luggage onto the sidewalk and toward the entrance, I thanked God for luggage wheels.

The wind pushed me sideways, twirled my hair, and grabbed my camisole. I could hear the waves crashing far below, angrier than ever. The air smelt like brine and seaweed, evergreens and the great outdoors.

The castle loomed over me as I walked one foot, then the other, then the other. The shadows engulfed me. I came to a halt when I walked onto the porch's stone floor. I blinked, allowing my eyes to adjust to the low lighting.

Despite being shielded from the harsh wind, I trembled in the chilly, earthy atmosphere.

I dragged my suitcase up the one step, the wheels rattling as they rolled over the gray slate slabs.

The handmade door loomed in front of me; I'd ordered it from the eccentric artisan myself, and I knew it was black walnut accented with Brazilian mahogany. Nevertheless, I couldn't see the texture or shine of the wood, and the enormous brass lion's-head knocker was simply a gleam in the darkness. I pushed the little button on the trim.

Within, chimes chimed.

Nobody replied.

I rang once more, then gingerly tried the huge iron handle. It had been locked.

Sebastian had not returned home.

I have the option of going back now. Tell myself I tried, and schedule another day. I knew there would never be another day. It was a case of now or never. Then I went through my key ring and found the key that opened the lock.

After all, I was Sebastian's secretary.

I had witnessed his determination. I addressed his mother by my given name. I even had the spare key to his safe-deposit box. I was perfectly legal to use the house key he'd given me. It all happened after two weeks of being with him, battling against his intolerable tantrums.

I inserted it into the lock and turned it. The door opened easily and quietly. I exhaled a sigh of relief as I gazed into the foyer.

Better. This was superior.

Warm and civilized, rather than brutal and overwhelming. When I turned on the light, a thousand prisms danced across the pale cream walls, far above my head.

I caught my breath as one of the prisms touched the blinking light on the security system. I left my purse and keys on the table near the entryway. Then dashed to the control panel.

I entered the code.

"Sebastian, Mr. Alvarado!" I exclaimed.

There was no response.

Well. I'd go inside and wait for him.

I dragged the suitcase through the doorway. As I closed the heavy door behind me, I noticed the windows on either side. These were nineteenth-century leaded glass from one of the East Coast's famous homes. I'd found them, and I was relieved to see that they were as lovely as the price suggested. Each pane had been carved in a diamond shape and set in mahogany, catching, reflecting, and dividing the light into glints of color.

I received no response other than silence. He was simply not present. As a result, he was outside. Running, possibly resistant to the elements, his powerful legs covering the distance.

He claimed that running cleaned his head. He encouraged me to try it and welcomed me along. I assured him my thoughts were clear enough.

I wasn't about to put on shorts and chase him down. He took off his shirt half the time to show off a trail of black hair down his breastbone and across rippling muscles, as well as the exotic tattoo that rippled when he pumped his arms. I wanted to lick the bead of perspiration off his nipple and run my hands over his thighs to check if they were as substantial as they seemed every time he came in after jogging.

Will I accompany him? That's right. I'd pass out before they got out of the parking lot.

It was severe enough that he had a weight bench in his office and lifted weights after working long hours, and he complained about his neck being tense.

So here I am, alone in this house, waiting for my first lover to return home.

My palms rubbed against my pants.

He had no idea he was my first lover, or that he was even my lover. It was my job to describe my strategy. I considered creating a PowerPoint presentation; after all, conferencing was a tool they both used and understood.

However, a little reflection on the scene brought to mind the humiliating sermon about reproduction, abstinence, and sin delivered by old Sister Theresa in eighth-grade health, and I had hastily returned to my scheme an instructive discussion conducted in enticing conditions.

So it was a good thing he wasn't here, because it gave me time to recover from my lengthy travel and put the alluring conditions into action.

I knew which bedroom I wanted to be the master.

Sebastian's quarters.

I was daring. I was brave.

So why was I tiptoeing over to my bag, quietly scooping it up, and tiptoeing back up the stairs?

Because I'd spent my entire life waiting in the wings for love to find me, and now I'm standing onstage and demanding attention...and I'm going to get it any way I can.

With nice outfits. . . or wearing nothing at all.

Clouds quickly obscured the sun. The brightness has vanished. The wind rocked the windows as rain splattered across the glass.

The storm has descended. And I know he's coming home now...and now I have to decide what to wear, or else, wear nothing at all.