Six and Counting

Chapter 3

                Emily, on the other hand, bristled about the downstairs living area, dusting in record time, straightening couch pillows and loading the dishwasher with clanks and bangs, all the while chanting in her head, "He is my boss! He is my boss!" After speed-cleaning the family room, Emily finally cooled down enough to plop on the sofa facing the ocean, still irritated with Mr. McNeal's high-handed manner of speaking. Even if he was her boss, she still deserved to be treated with respect, not barked at like a—like a… well, like a dog!

                About fifteen minutes later Shane entered the family room. Emily heard his tread on the carpeted stairs and jumped to her feet, but he waved her down when he appeared, saying, "Please, sit. You're entitled to a break."

               He flung himself into the brown leather chair at right angles to her sofa, darting glances at her through the loose hair falling over his eyes. Emily hesitantly sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together on her knees, and said, "I am really sorry—"

                "Don't apologize.” The author cut through Emily’s words bluntly.  “It was my bad. No one should be spoken to the way I spoke to you. It showed a lack of respect, and God knows I have loads of respect for you! My place has never looked this good. The food is actually edible, and healthy, too. When I'm in my head writing, I sometimes speak without thinking, and I'm sorry for sounding like a jerk." Shane sat forward now, his hair hanging in his face. Emily studied him, noticing how youthful he appeared, though he had to be forty at least. Of course, the mismatched sweats, long hair, and casual method of speaking belied his age. Latching onto the author’s compliments and cocking her head she asked,

                "You like my food? And my cleaning? What were your other housekeepers like?"

                Shane sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin and grinning to himself. For one thing, they sure as hell didn't look like Ms. Emily Wakeland, with her tight little butt, slim waist, and curly hair that begged to be touched. Of course, saying that was out of the question, so Shane reformulated his answer.

                "Oh, you know how most people are when the boss isn't around. I came home a coupla times and found the place trashed. Once there was a party going on, even though I'd called earlier that day saying I'd be returning! The older housekeepers weren't any better. The place would look grimy, and for me to notice dirt, well, it's gotta be pretty bad! So, if you want to sit down and admire the view for a while, knock yourself out. It's why I have the place. It gives me inspiration," and Shane rolled out the word like an orator while Emily hazarded a smile. Then she looked away and spoke tentatively.

                "I love it here. The kids love it here. That's probably why I’m so defensive. I don't—I don't want to be sent away. It's your inspiration, and it's our rehabilitation..." She paused, and Shane shook his head to interrupt.

                "Quit worrying about being kicked to the curb, Emily. Remember our agreement last week? Yeah, I'm not used to kids, let alone five in my house, but I'm not an ogre. I think we're working out okay. If I'm in my office, that's when I don't want to be disturbed, and all of you have been pretty good about that. Besides, I usually try and write during the quiet times of the day or night. Actually, I'm pretty easy going, contrary to how I sound sometimes. So forget about losing your job or home. I'm happy, and you should be." He stood abruptly, thinking he might have spoken too freely.

                Glancing about and attempting to break his serious tone, Shane zeroed in on the French doors. Pointing at a nonexistent spot he drawled, "Now, I think I see fingerprints on that glass door. Get back to work."

                Shane winked through his glasses and headed toward the stairs, a sudden vision of a seduction scene starring him and Emily bombarding his brain. He knew he had to get the thoughts down, not questioning from where they came.

             Taking the stairs two at a time, Shane entered his inner sanctum and immediately began typing as the images crowded his thoughts. Envisioning himself seducing Emily interested Shane, but his author self didn't stop at seduction. Shane wrote a whole scene, fantasizing the two of them edging closer; he reaching out to touch her hair hesitantly, her eyes drifting shut with full, plush lips parting on an exhaled sigh. He would lower his head slowly to capture those plump lips...Shane’s imagination painted such a vivid picture it seemed real to Shane, though he chastised himself for lusting after a widow with five kids who was in all likelihood still mourning her late husband. It didn't stop him from finishing the scene, however, or for getting turned on by what he wrote. Shane's power of description was extraordinary, and with his muse just two floors below, well, he resigned himself to a cold shower after a quick run on the beach.