Desire Love and Passion

chapter 3



Willow was taken to the property in a tinted private sedan. The property itself was about a mile away through heavily treed terrain; it was indeed a true hideaway. The brick walls that marked the boundaries were masterfully disguised behind perfectly manicured hedges and a heavy wrought iron gate swung open as the car approached.

There was a manned security booth with hi-tech cameras and scanners giving the place the look of a fortress. She wondered how he got out. The massive expanse of deep green lawn was parted by a curvy cobblestone driveway, which the car lumbered lazily around. The house did not come fully into view at the entrance. The trees that fanned the front were expertly placed to lend privacy to the house and its occupants.

The car took a small bend and then the mansion came into view. It was a beautiful Victorian masonry two story house that sprawled out against a backdrop of dense woods. They came to a stop outside a carriage house, right in front of the vehicle James had been driving that morning, as well as three other vehicles. The carriage house itself had four garage doors.

The driver opened the door for her and she climbed out. He led her along a cobblestoned path and to the front of the main house. She supposed it was the main house, because to the left and right of the porticoed entrance were what appeared to be townhomes. They were all connected by a cobblestone walkway, but each having individual doors.

The driver, who had introduced himself as Giles, opened the front door for her. When she stepped inside, the door closed softly behind her. Willow stood in the grand entrance way looking around.

“The coat room is to the left,” she heard his voice coming from someplace else in the house.

She stowed her purse and coat, then took a moment to marvel at the house. The entrance way where she stood was lighted by two large globes hanging from chains that themselves hung from the mouths of dragons.

Directly in front of her was a large room. The dark wood of the floor boards that highlighted the perimeter of the room gleamed like onyx. The contrasting gray marble tiles added depth and brightness to the room. Wide Victorian squat stairs were to the right of the room; the staircase curved along the wall as if it were some giant snake. The room itself had a high ceiling and from that high ceiling hung a grand chandelier the likes of which Willow had never see. Bright white LED lights gave the room the appearance of daylight.

“Straight ahead and to the left,” she heard him shouting. “I’m sorry just a little tied up back here.”

She followed the directions, passing through the room that emptied into another large hallway. To the left, was a short passageway and to the right, a door. Directly ahead, were glass doors and windows. They were fashionable draped as one would expect in such a house.

The short corridor to the left dumped her into the galley way of a huge kitchen. The kitchen was built for someone who enjoyed cooking and enjoyed company while cooking. The massive wrap around island had a serve top and space to seat at least a dozen people. He was facing her direction, a plume of steam rising from a pot he’d opened.

“That smells good,” she said.

“I hope you like it."

“What are we having?”

“Pasta and my unique, secret meat sauce.”

“Do you need a hand with anything?” she volunteered.

"If you don't mind fetching the bread from the oven," James said.

James noticed she wore stockings below her mini-skirt. Her blouse was long but its v-cut showed enough to be flirty but not over the top. Her hair was caught behind her in a loose bun. As he watched her place fresh garlic rolls on the platter he provided, he wondered if the stocking ended in laced top and garter. He wondered if she’d dressed for him tonight.

"You're staring," she said without looking up.

"I…I…."

She caught him off guard.

"If you don't stare, I won't," she said.

"You are infinitely more pleasing to the eyes."

"And you are infinitely more interesting."

They were dining in an enclosed outdoor living area. The table was set for two. A patio heater kept the area warm, without being stuffy. The outdoor living area had a clear glass roof, massive glass windows that automatically retracted, leaving the area open when desired or fully enclosed as it was now. This was truly a luxurious lifestyle.

He lit two candles before they sat. There was a wonderful view of the evening sky beyond the glass as the last glow of the sun danced between trees.

"Is a casual dinner always this elaborate?" she asked looking at the two course spread.

"I like to dine as if there's always someone across the table from me," he admitted. "Of course, it is better when there is actually someone across the table. Especially if that someone looks like you."

"Thank you, you’re too kind. I thought you lived at St. James Place.”

“I have a flat and an office there.”

“I like to think I know a lot about politics and celebrities, but I never knew you had a house in this part of London.”

“I’ve never had anyone here except my staff,” he said.

“Until now,” she added.

“Yes, until you.”

“I promise your secret is safe with me,” she said. “Besides, it’s as I told Larry, my privacy is every bit as valuable as yours.”

“And I am grateful for that.”

“How do you do it?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“Keep this a secret.”

“If I told you that, you would have to stay.”

“Let’s have a toast,” she proposed holding up her glass of white wine. “To being good neighbors.”

“To new friends,” he said as his glass touched hers.

They talked about the lighter side of the news over dinner. James flinched every time she would look up at him from those long lashes that seemed to fan out and brush her cheeks when she looked down. The lighting played beautifully on her face.

"So besides cooking and driving like a maniac, what other hobbies do you have?" She asked.

"I'm not going to live down that accident, am I?"

"That depends on how many Brownie points you earn. You currently have two, one for breakfast and one for dinner."

"How many points do I have to earn?"

"Let's say ten," she said looking directly into his eyes. "There are massive points for fixing my car quickly."

"So a week's worth of breakfast, lunches and dinner should solve it," he said.

"No way," she said. "Brownie points are unique. But, I think you have more pressing matters on your plate than hanging out with your neighbor."

"That all depends on how I structure my plate," he retorted.

"I think the people like your plate just fine," Willow replied. "So what other adventures do you gets up to?"

"Reading," he replied. "I like to catch up on history, I have developed a love for science fiction movies and I play tennis with Martin and his wife."

"The Prime Minister?" Willow asked.

"Yes."

"Isn't that a little lopsided?" she asked.

"I drag Cassie with me."

"Cassie?"

"Cassandra," James explained. "She is Larry's sister. She pretends not to mind. If you’re up to it, I would love you to play as my partner one of these days."

"I haven't played tennis in a long time. I'm afraid I wouldn’t be much of a partner."

"It's like riding a bike," James said. "A few balls over the net and you’ll be fine. It’ll come back to you quickly, I’m sure."

"You won't like me when I play," she said in a conspiratorial whisper that only excited the butterflies in his stomach. "I don't play nice."

"Is that in all physical activities?"

"Oh, James," she said lowering her voice. She’d said it in such a manner that he felt warmth spread throughout his lower body. He was grateful he was sitting down. She was definitely flirting with him.

"You are a tease."

"You started it," she countered.

His right hand covered her left. His fingers made gentle lazy circles over the skin. He found it interesting that she always looked directly at him, but she was difficult to read. He couldn’t tell if she was studying his scar or just looking at the man behind the scar. She was definitely not like any other woman he had ever dated. He knew what pity looked like. He knew resignation. He could not find any of those emotions in her eyes. She had a playful smile on her face and he was thoroughly enjoying seeing it directed towards him.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"You," she said without hesitation. "I will admit I did not expect you to be so normal, if that is the correct word. Yet, here you are, like any regular guy."

"I am a regular guy."

"You are anything but," she said removing her hand from his.

Willow did not miss the slight tightening of the smile, the flash of anger which disappeared into disappointment, then resignation. It happened so quickly it was almost as if it were the lights playing on his features. It was her ability to quickly read people and situations that made her good at her job, and perhaps the same reason she was single at twenty eight.

What demons haunt you, James Alexander Monroe, she thought.

"We should clear these dishes," he said looking away from her. "I hope you have room for dessert."

Willow helped him clear the table. She loaded the dishwasher against all protests from him. In another ten minutes the kitchen was clear of all evidence of dinner except for a pot of meat sauce that was cooling on the stove to be later jarred and refrigerated.

She roamed the living room area after he disappeared down the hallway. There were pictures of his family on the wall above the fireplace and on the mantle. There were also pictures of his old army unit, but the only picture she found of him was as a child. The picture was of a pretty blond girl, a dark haired older boy, she assumed was his brother, and a dark haired James staring straight at the camera. Even then he had captivating eyes that seemed to look right through you.

He cleared his throat as he entered the room. Willow turned to look at him.

"You are noticeably absent from this collection," she said.

"I see myself in the mirror every morning," he replied.

"What about before the war?"

"That was a different life."

"I didn't know you had a sister." She pointed to the picture with the three children.

"I didn't. That is Stacey Wagman," he replied.

Willow knew of Stacey Wagman. She was the fiancée he had ditched to go to war. She was the woman he was supposed to marry after the fiasco in Miami.

"You’ve known her for a long time."

"You never really know a person," he said with a note of sadness in his voice. "But we were friends for a long time."

"Do you keep in touch?"

"Yes."

"Is this Larry's father?" She pointed to a picture of an older gentleman dressed in military uniform.

"Yes. He was my commanding officer."

"You knew Larry and Cassandra before going to war?"

"No. I hired them when I got back."

"Oh."

"I'll get dessert and then we can talk more about you and less about me."

He started towards the kitchen and she followed. The fresh scent of coffee percolating teased her nose. He must have done that while she was busy perusing the photos.

"My life is not as colorful," she said.

"I beg to differ."

He removed chocolate mousse cake from the refrigerator.

"What did Larry tell you about me?" she asked.

"I haven't spoken to Larry. I usually make my own decision regarding my dates," James said though he knew Larry had done preliminary checks on the new property owner. "Larry is for the hard stuff. Are you a Russian Spy?"

"No."

"How about an Iranian Spy?"

"No."

"A spy of any sorts?"

"No."

"Do you have plans to overthrow or disrupt the government?"

"That depends on what you mean by disrupt," she gave him a sly smile. "If you not attending your duties as you should is disruptive, then I suppose I'm guilty as charged."

"I would classify that as a much needed distraction," James replied.

"Well, then the answer is no, I have no intention of overthrowing or disrupting the government."

As he moved towards the cabinets and removed dessert plates, he was only a few feet from her. He placed the plates on the counter top then turned to look at her.

"Then, all that's left to discover is the really interesting stuff. And, I prefer to find out those things myself," he said and moved towards her. He took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it.

"There is nothing interesting to report," she said.

"Okay, tell me about your photography then."

He removed coffee cups from another cupboard.

"I point the camera and press a button," she explained.

"You are saying that in the hope that I missed that CKQ poster you had over the fireplace of your home. It had three signatures and on the bottom WB Marketing."

She gave him a sharp look. The poster he referred to was an original blown up poster of her first printed ad for CKQ Clothing Company, one of the largest top of the line designers in the world. The advertisement had been a smashing success. It plucked her company from relative obscurity and propelled it into a media powerhouse in the fashion and design industry.

"I only left you for a second," she said.

"Willow Barnes Marketing," James said.

"Okay," she confessed. "I started a marketing company straight out of college. I’m not a marketer. I’m more of an image consultant. I did some marketing courses in college but my degree is in photography and graphic design."

"Is that image as in what you want to portray or as in print selection?" he asked. "I’m not hip with these new age job descriptions."

"It is not new age. The job is a little bit of both. Sometimes you luck into a photo. That’s what happened with that particular photograph."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw the fellow just outside Arsenal Stadium. He was just bouncing a ball and I started snapping away. The photo you saw was frame thirty three. To capture that precise shot at that precise moment was sheer luck."

"He wasn't a professional model?" James asked.

"Not at the time."

"That is infinitely more interesting than politics," he said. "Cream and sugar?"

"Yes, please."

They took their coffee and cake went back to the outdoor living area. This time they settled into a comfortable rocker. The lights were low and the patio heater provided a warm cozy atmosphere.

"So you’re a soccer fan then," he said.

"Heavens, no," she said. "My date was a huge Arsenal fan. If I like any team it would be Manchester United. I just thought I would get great pictures for my collection, that’s all."

"What happened to that date?" James asked.

"Let's just say I don’t know what the inside of Arsenal Stadium looks like. The only great thing that came from that day was that photograph and of course what came after."

"Wow, now I feel intimidated."

"You have nothing to worry about. I'm your neighbor. We have to play nice. That’s the reason I said yes to your invite." Even as she said it, she knew it was not entirely true and she suspected that he knew it, too.

"I thought you came for my cooking skills."

"When you invited me for dinner I didn’t really expect you to cook. I thought you’d have a cook here to prepare us dinner. So perhaps it was the charm, the good looks, the hero factor or all the above."

"The good looks?" he asked, a note of skepticism creeping into his voice.

"Come on, you know you are a handsome fellow. And this," she turned and traced the line of the scar with her finger, “this just adds allure."

He flinched under her touch though he did not move away from it. People avoided his scar. Most women he dated pretended it wasn’t there.

"It’s only visible because you give it power," she said in a soft voice.

"It’s visible because it is there." He caught her hand and removed it. "You are perfect, beautiful, and flawless so you don't understand."

"Not all scars are as visible as yours. You are a handsome man with a scar and the story of a lifetime. When your chapter in history closes, it will be anything but boring. If you think about it from that perspective, then all is well."

“How about this perspective? I think you are extremely beautiful and this evening is the most fun I have had with a dinner date in a long time.”

“I’m flattered. I’m having a good time, as well.”

“Excellent,” he said. “So a third date is not out of the question.”

“Third?” she asked.

“Well, breakfast and now this. Besides, if I say this is our second date, then maybe I can get away with doing this.”

He leaned towards her, hesitant for only a second. His mouth touched hers gently. He lightly kissed the sides of her mouth. His hands were on the sides of her face. His thumbs passed slowly over the smooth skin of her cheek, across her face, hands moving gently and he slowly fanned out his gentle caress to her ears. He brushed away loose strands of her hair and as he did so, he heard a soft sigh escape her lips.

James wanted to pull her across his lap and explore every inch of her. He held himself in check for now, unsure how she might react. His tongue moved lightly across her lips. She sighed again and he felt her hot breath against his lips. He gently captured her upper lip between his and she moved closer to him.

James expected her to close her eyes. In his experience women did not take kindly to his scar this close. She didn’t close her eyes, though. This excited and encouraged him. He turned his attention to her bottom lip. It was then that she put her hands on his shoulders. He felt them slide across his back.

"Don't," he said simply as he clamped his hands over hers and removed them.

She looked at him as if he had done the unthinkable. Her lips were slightly parted and she looked flushed and embarrassed. She stood up quickly, pulling her hands from his.

"I have to go," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No need to apologize. If you will find your driver, I'll get my coat."

"Willow -."

"Dinner was good."

"Please, let me..."

"James, please. Let's just call it a night."

James could not look at her. He felt like an idiot. He got up and went to the telephone just inside the kitchen. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door; the driver had arrived. They didn’t talk all through the wait for the driver. He busied himself clearing the wine glasses and the dessert plates while she rummaged through her purse for whatever she might have misplaced.

He stood awkwardly as Giles waited at the front door.

"Thanks for dinner," she said.

"I, I...” He hesitated. What could he say? He wanted to kiss her. She had kissed him back. And that moment had gone from sweet to embarrassing and awkward in a heartbeat. He knew it was his fault. “Thank you for coming."

"Good night."