Desire: Love and Passion - By Lesia Reid Page 0,11

in love with her from the moment those big brown eyes had stared up at him from the car. His feelings were not rational. It was not that he fell in love with her; it was as if he had always loved her. Something familiar and sensual in her woke a part of him that had never existed before. He wanted her. He felt he had always wanted her, and not just for a quick romp in the sack.

"The car is a write-off," Larry said.

James turned to the intruder. He was deep in thoughts. Larry was briefing him on the wrecked cars.

"What?"

"The Volkswagen is a total write-off. I have arranged for the Porsche to be sold to a salvage dealer and arrangements for the replacement have already been made."

"Buy her a new car."

"I say we offer her market value for the car before the accident."

"Buy her a new car," James repeated.

"Her car was three years old I think -."

"Buy the newest model in the same style," James said. "Also Larry, please send two dozen orange and white roses to WB Marketing and arrange for Giles to delivery similar to her home."

"Is there a message?" Larry asked abruptly.

"Yes," James said. "Sorry."

"I beg your pardon, Sir."

"The message should say sorry."

"Sir, I do not believe -."

"You only hide behind formalities when you have something to say that you know I won’t like, so spit it out already. What is it?"

"I think it is enough that we are getting her a new car. I do not see why we should grovel at her feet. It was an accident plain and simple."

"Thank you for your observations. Now do as I said and let me know when the flowers are delivered."

Larry was surprised, taken aback even. James was usually mindful of his input.

The doorbell interrupted the otherwise quiet afternoon. Willow was skeptical as she opened the door. She made a mental note to install a peephole in the front door so she could see who her visitors were before opening up. It was the driver from the previous evening. He stood with a large basket of roses.

"Giles?" she said hoping she had recalled his name correctly.

"Miss Barnes," he said politely. "I was asked to deliver these to you."

"Oh," she said as she took the basket from him. "Thank you. Please, if we’re going to be bumping into each other on this small rock, call me Willow."

The driver smiled. He then gave her an envelope. It was not the one that came with the basket. It was a separate note. The envelope bore the beautiful and neat insignia of JM. She thanked Giles and closed the door. She put the basket of flowers on the nearest surface that would have it and opened the envelope.

It read, 'I am sorry about last night. My intention was not to make you uncomfortable. I would like to try again. I promise to be more civil this time. Wednesday evening 6:00 p.m. Please give your answer to the messenger'.

"Oh my," Willow said as she ran to the door. Giles was standing there as if he knew he had to wait. "I am so sorry. I thought that was it. Please come in. I am so sorry."

He nodded curtly as if to say he understood but stood his ground.

"Come in," she repeated.

"I do not want to take up your time," he said.

"We don't have to be so formal."

"Yes ma'am," Giles said but did not enter.

Willow gave up. This time she left the door open. She found a pen and scratched a quick reply on a piece of paper, stuffed it in the envelope and gave it back to Giles.

"Have a good evening, ma'am."

With that he turned and left.

James was caught between anxiety and apprehension. He stared at the envelope that Giles returned to him. His thoughts were unusually negative. What if she’d said no? What if he’d missed his chance with her?

It was late evening just before bed when he finally decided to read her reply.

'Hello James, I would like to thank you for the offer. However, I believe it is best if we do not see each other again. I too, am sorry about last night. I was not my usual self. - WB.'

He folded the paper and tucked it away in the top drawer of his bedside table. The answer was disappointing but not unexpected.

He lay on his back, hands folded behind his head. He thought about her, about her smile. He remembered the way she felt against him, how