items in a paper sack and went to find the fuses he knew were stashed in a utility room. James had dressed in torn blue jeans and a well-worn tee shirt for the excursion to Willow’s house. He took the Land Rover from the garage with an earful of protest from Larry and Simon, the head of his security services. James was not, as a matter of security and his safety, allowed to drive unaccompanied. His status and position required round the clock security.
Willow opened the door after the third ring of the doorbell. Her dark hair was hanging loosely around her face. He realized looking at her face that she hadn't been wearing makeup yesterday. His initial thought was that the smoothness of her face was a product of great skin and good makeup but no, it was all her. She truly was a stunning beauty.
She wore an over-sized man's shirt that stopped at her mid thighs. The shirt had what looked like the letter M or a badly embroidered W in Old English. He felt a bit silly standing in her doorway appraising her like this. He looked at her hand and came to the conclusion that she was single. A beautiful young woman like her most likely was not single, though. The good ones were never single.
James felt he was jumping ahead of himself only because she was the first beautiful woman who had not flinched at the sight of his scar up close and personal. Even as he scolded himself, it dawned on him today more than yesterday that she was all legs: miles of them. A pair of glasses, absent from their previous meeting was perched precariously at the end of her nose.
"You," she said.
"Were you expecting someone else?" he asked. "I said I'll see you in a bit."
"No, I wasn't expecting anyone. I thought when you said see you in a bit you meant later."
She stepped away from the door as a means of invitation. He walked into the house.
James had never seen the house before yesterday. It was a rather large house for a single person. It was a wood and stone structure with a carriage house garage tucked away in the back. It blended in nicely with the wooded area that surrounded it. The inside was a marvel of Italian tiles, rough lumber and stones.
It was the only other house on this dead-end street in Hampstead. When the markets went belly-up five years ago, James bought every acre he could get his hands on. John was the only hold out, refusing offers of three times property value. The decision to purchase this particular street took careful thought. It was one of the few suburban streets buffeted by National parks on three sides. It provided above all else, privacy.
"What's in the bag?" She asked.
"Breakfast and fuses."
"I don't cook," she said.
"Lucky for you, I make a mean omelet."
She led him to the breaker panel in the garage. In a few minutes the whole house was powered up. He followed her into a large kitchen. It featured a large island in the center with a pan-rack overhead. All the counter tops were of solid red onyx; unique to say the least. A four foot wide refrigerator was recessed into a wall and on the opposite side, a similar sized range that boasted double ovens.
"Deliveries don't get way out here, so how do you eat if you don’t cook?"
He placed the shopping bag on the island.
"There's always frozen," she replied. "Besides, I can live on coffee and salads."
"I see. That's the secret to that body."
She made a deep throaty laugh. She threw her head back when she did it. He immediately thought about kissing her neck. He wanted to hear that voice purring his name as he kissed her.
"Flattery will not get you out of fixing my car. Neither will breakfast."
He removed eggs, frozen croissant dough, and more from the bag.
"You'll sing a different tune when you taste my vegetarian omelet."
"I thought a man of your stature would have better things to do with his time than make breakfast for a stranger. And if not better things, at least more interesting things that make tabloid news."
"Every dog has a day off."
"So, where were you in a hurry to get to?"
"Anywhere but me."
"Oh," she said. "That’s kind of difficult, I’d imagine."
"Tell me about it. Some days you feel like a slab of beef in a den of carnivores."
"That difficult, huh?" she asked.
"More like frustrating."
He found that it