He throws a challenging look to my eyes before returning his to the road, and I plunge in. “I’m surprised you drive. Moreover, that you drive an SUV … a very nice one, but an SUV.”
“I see, and what, pray tell, did you expect me to drive?” He’s still challenging me, but his mood is as light as I’ve ever seen it. Vermont must agree with him.
“I suppose a sports car of some sort. Don’t get me wrong, this suits you, and I don’t like sports cars. Good choice … well done.” Now I’m just rambling like an idiot, but the chuckle he returns tells me he’s enjoying this, talking.
“And what have you got against sports cars?”
“There’s something odd about seeing a full-grown man fold himself into a car that looks entirely too small for him. It’s emasculating in some way.” Wow. Did I just say that? Oh yes I did, and I’m apparently not done. “I mean, an SUV says, I know how to work. I do things other than look pretty. Mind you, yours says, I know how to work, but I also have more money than I know what to do with, so I’m going to sink a small fortune into my SUV made for a ‘working man.’” And oh yes, I used my finger quotes on that one.
He’s glancing at me wide-eyed, as I’m apparently powerless to stop talking for some reason. But at my words, he laughs, open-mouthed, beautiful, straight white teeth showing, he laughs. My God, he is beautiful. I shake my head in mortification, but he’s enjoying this too much.
“So, dear Ms. Monroe, what other things about me would you care to deconstruct?”
“I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t stop talking, and the more I talk, the harder it is to stop. Nervous habit … but really, why do you drive an SUV?”
He’s still smiling at me, amused at my bizarre behavior. “I guess it comes in handy when I need to haul things, or when I need to get around Vermont in the winter. And, yes, Ash, I know how to work.”
“So, you haul around hookers in your SUV?” Fuck! What has gotten into my mouth? But he’s chuckling at my ridiculousness. He did give me the floor after all. Still, I try to move the conversation back to some semblance of logic. “So you come to Vermont often then?” Well, isn’t this just turning into a normal conversation?
“Yes. Often enough. My family is from Vermont.”
“Family?” I don’t know why I’m shocked to hear him mention it. He must have come from somewhere, but I’m surprised to hear it nevertheless.
“Did you think I was spawned from hell itself?” He’s smirking, but I shake my head anyway. I could never assume anything like that.
But he’s opened the door, and I have no intention of not passing through. “So, tell me about your family. Where are they now?”
He eyes me speculatively. He’s deciding whether he wants to continue this conversation or not. I thought I was the one with a buried past, but every sidestepped question and refusal to delve deeper convinces me further that this man hides as much from me as I do from him.
Eventually, his expression softens, and he responds, “Washington DC … for the most part. My father is involved in politics, and my mother is involved in charities … any charity, every charity… It really doesn’t matter. We’re not close.”
“Why?” I’m entering the danger zone, and I know it. I’ve been here plenty in my life, but I’m powerless to stop my mouth now.
His face hardens further with every second that passes as I wait patiently for a response, and to my utter shock, he gives me one. “Let’s just say they don’t agree with my lifestyle choices.” As he continues to glance at me while I process his words, his face falls, and his eyes show a sadness I’ve never seen before. “I don’t blame them for that. A lot rides on their reputation. Fortunately, discretion is the name of the game at Trimbles … for the most part.” His brow furrows at this last comment as sadness is replaced with resentment.
But as quickly as his emotions shift from one to another, they flip yet again, and he looks at me with a gentle smile and one last comment. “Now stop talking so I can concentrate on driving. Your loose tongue is turning me on, and if you keep distracting me, I’m going to have to pull over and fuck you. Quite frankly, I’d very much like to get you to a bed to do that.” He smiles one last small smile before he returns his eyes to the road.
And as I return to watching him, I realize he indeed knows this place. He’s home.
After a few hours of very comfortable silence, I start to see signs for Lake Champlain, and as the scenery we pass becomes more and more lush, Derek pulls off the highway onto a smaller road that weaves farther and deeper into the woods. Another hour or so, and many more small, heavily wooded roads later, we pull off onto a long lane that takes us deep into thick and secluded woods. After about a half mile, a contemporary single story house appears before us, and we pull up out front. It is oddly out of place, and yet it blends with the environment perfectly.
As I look to Derek in confusion, he ignores my questioning expression. Derek unlocks the door and lets us in the house. It is beautiful. Simple, contemporary, and yet, at the same time rustic, but not at all campy—instead authentic and comfortable. I’m suddenly glad I packed jeans and not a dress. I would definitely be overdressed otherwise, and for the first time, I notice Derek is in jeans as well. I’ve never seen him in anything but slacks, incredible rich slacks, but slacks. Casual just hasn’t been my experience with him. Yet, now, as I take in his appearance, suddenly very aware of his clothing, I realize just how perfectly at home he looks here in his jeans. They are faded and worn, but fit him perfectly, and as I walk behind him, I can’t help but take in the view from the rear. A man’s butt in jeans is always something to enjoy; Derek’s impressive butt in jeans—yes, he has more impressive attributes than just his cock—is downright shameful. He’s gorgeous, and this place suits him. I always assumed him to be cut from the fabric of city life—our high-rise, downtown, plush surroundings, dress-to-the-nines sort of existence—but this is so very him, and I love it. And this is my type of space too, warm and inviting.
The floors are wide-plank hardwood; the kitchen is sleek and modern but still warm and neutral. The furniture is perfectly worn leather, and the wool rugs that cover the floor are amazing and high quality. The large windows overlook the surrounding woods. The thick trees surrounding the house are nearly claustrophobic, but in the most amazing and comforting way. There is no view but the thick trunks of trees, branches, leaves, and the forest floor as far as the eye can see. Off the back of the house is a well-maintained pond, manmade, with perfect landscaping and stone work surrounding a good portion of it. The large deck off the back expands the width of the house. It has no rails and simply ends as it overhangs the closest edge of the pond. I have no idea how they’ve melded the water with the house without losing the foundational integrity of the house, but it is stunning. You could literally lie at the edge of the deck and stare straight down to the pond beneath. For that matter, the water is so close I could reach out and touch it a mere foot below.
As Derek shows me around, I fall more and more in love with the place. I could stay here forever with him. Trimbles fades to the background of my mind, and I’m suddenly and completely at ease. I know we’ll only be here for one night, but I have every intention of forgetting the rest of my life until we leave this place tomorrow. I want this break from that life; it is a much-needed respite.
Derek walks me down a long hallway to the master bedroom. One entire wall is made up of windows that open to the same long deck and pond beyond. The bed is large and inviting, and as I eye it longingly, I imagine Derek making love to me here. I want him to make love to me more than ever before. I thought that giving myself to another man would somehow dash that desire for him, but on the contrary, I can’t wait for him to “reclaim” my body, as he spoke of the night before. It is more than a want, and far more like a desperate need pulsing within my body. I do belong to him, and I need him to take me back from that disgusting man and all his romantastic bullshit. Derek catches me looking longingly at the bed and whispers, “later,” as he pulls me from the room.