Adrienne opened her eyes and panicked when she didn't recognize where she was. After a moment, however, all that had happened the previous evening flooded her memory. Throwing back the covers, she looked around the room. Padding gently to the door, she tried the knob. It was open. Okay, another tick in the "not a serial killer" box.
Moving back into the room, she noticed an armoire. Inside were several pairs of jeans, some skirts, plain white cotton panties, dresses, stockings, socks, and various tops, all in natural fabrics. All of it was in her size and most of it was to her taste. Hm. Half a check in the "possible serial killer box". Shrugging, she pulled out a low v-necked, emerald wool sweater, a burgundy button-down with French cuffs, and a pair of low-rise, boot-cut jeans. She searched the rest of the drawers and the room's three dressers, but couldn't find any bras. She could wear her corset again, but she had done quite of bit of running in it and she wanted it washed before she put it back on her skin. Ah well. She would just go braless; Lucas probably wouldn't even notice.
As she was about to leave the room, she noticed another door. Crossing her fingers in the hope that it led to a closet, she found instead, a private bathroom. A porcelain claw foot tub dominated the room, which also boasted a bidet and a corner dedicated to a shower. Looking longingly at the tub, she walked to the shower and turned on the water. Three shower heads came on, all centred in the middle of the stall. Hm. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She rummaged in the closet for soap and a washcloth while waiting for the water to warm. Expecting something like Dial, or perhaps Caress if she were lucky, she instead found triple-milled soaps and whipped soaps, thick bath and shower gels, pure essential oils, LUSH bath bombs and bubble bars, sugar scrubs, body butters, and clear glass jars of bath salts. She even found various oils and expensive conditioners for her hair. Tearing up a bit at her bounty she entertained the thought that maybe this forced exile would be less "not so bad" and more 'mini-vacation'.
After taking her shower (40 minutes without running out of hot water!) she found various dental implements and freshened up so as not to fry her host with her dragon breath. She checked her face in the mirror, and grimaced to find a veritable rainbow that ran from the middle of her forehead, and around her right temple, to rest on her cheekbone. She opened the bathroom cabinet to discover cotton pads, alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, bandages, antibacterial ointment, and more witch hazel. She gingerly dabbed the livid bruising with witch hazel, cleaned the small wound, and applied some ointment. Fortunately, the wound had already closed enough to no longer require butterfly bandages.
Leaving the bathroom, she picked up a comb from the dresser and began the long, arduous process of combing her thick, waist-length hair. Fifteen minutes (and two very tired arms) later, she braided it into pigtails and tied some red ribbons that she found around the ends to keep them from raveling.
Emerging from her room in a warm cloud of honeysuckle she stood still, closed her eyes, and listened. She heard a rhythmic noise coming from another part of the house, so she followed it. As she grew closer, she realized that it was the sound of someone running on a treadmill. Entering the room, she saw Lucas' back as he ran—flat out ran--with an even, measured tread. He was wearing nothing but gym shorts and footwear and for that, she was immensely grateful. She looked admiringly at the physique that his clothes had only hinted lay beneath their confines. He had brawny forearms and they, as well as his calves, were covered in a good amount of soft chestnut hair. His hairless back was strong, with well defined muscles sleekly rippling under his skin.
Slowing down, he jogged for awhile, then stopped the machine and dismounted. As he turned, he noticed her and grinned, removing ear-buds from his ears. His furred chest and abs were heaving like a bellows, doing interesting things to his musculature. "How long have you been standing there?"
She blushed. "Not long. How far do you run?"
"Fourteen miles, every day."
She tried not to, but she couldn't help but notice just how precariously his shorts clung to his hips. She could almost just make out the line where his happy trail ended and the real fun began. "That's pretty intense," she murmured.
He leaned against the treadmill. "I'm a pretty intense sort."
Looking up at him, she felt her lip and chin wobble, so she bit them. After valiantly fighting for a few moments, she burst out laughing at the same time that he did.
"That was rather cheesy, wasn't it?" he said, ruefully shaking his head.
"It's alright. I'll allow it," she responded.
"A beneficent beauty. What kind of creature have I allowed into my home?"
Chuckling nervously, she said, "Oh, stop, or I'll have to lock up your tongue with the rest of the silver."
Winking at her, Lucas started to saunter by, then turned to examine her face. Taking her gently by the chin, he looked at her face, gave a satisfied nod, and said, "That's healing well. You did a good job tending to it."
"Well, I may not be a medic, but I do have some paltry skills," she riposted.
Lucas laughed, and started walking backwards, saying, "I'm going to go take a shower. You can have whatever you can find for breakfast."
"Oh, you've already eaten?"
"No, but I figured that you're hungry, now."
"I'll wait for you," she said, shyly.
Pausing, he gave her an intensely approving look. "Give me a half hour."
*******************************************
After Lucas completed his ablutions, he dressed in black jeans and an over-sized black, cable knit cashmere sweater over a black button-down. Meeting her in the kitchen, he asked. "Have you done any exploring?"
"A bit," she admitted. "Mostly around your amazing kitchen and pantry, though. You have enough food to feed an army!"
"I like to eat and I like to eat well."
"Well, I like to cook. Since I'm imposing on your hospitality and, since you don't cook, why don't I do it for you while we're here?"
"You want to cook for me?" he asked, slanting a look at her.
Shrugging, she said, "We have to eat. I can cook. It's only logical."
"Seeing as how I was going to make us a couple of nice, big bowls of cereal for breakfast, your way is probably better."
"Speaking of which," she paused nervously, but then forged ahead, "You're a bachelor, yet you have a fully appointed kitchen full of herbs and spices, and your guest room is full of women's clothes. I'm a little confused."
"Well, I have a fully appointed kitchen because that's how I bought it, appliances and all, and I have herbs and spices, and a room full of women's clothing because I have sisters who like to visit often."
"Oh," she whispered quietly, drawing imaginary circles on the green marble counter-top with her finger.
He sighed deeply. "I'm not a serial killer, Adrienne. I'm not going to, I don't know, rape you, salt you, and put you in my freezer for hard times." She nodded. "Now, if that's settled, make me something delicious, or I just may be tempted to eat you all up."
She grinned. "How do you feel about an omelette and some baked oatmeal?"
"Less chattery, more cookery."
Adrienne laughed and began to prepare breakfast. First, she prepared the oatmeal with raisins, honey, bananas, and cinnamon. Then she put in into a loaf pan and popped it into the oven. When that had almost finished baking, she fried some bacon, set it aside, then, in the same pan, she put in some eggs along with fresh chives, mushrooms, and the cooked bacon. While that cooked, she warmed some cream with vanilla bean, and a shot of whiskey. She grated fontina on the omelette and folded it over. After plating the omelettes, she took out the baked oatmeal, scooped some into bowls and poured the warm vanilla cream over the top.
After having set the table, Lucas watched her in awe, occasionally asking questions about why she was doing something. After she sat down, he inhaled deeply. "Woman, I may just have to kidnap you."
"Save your criminal debut until you taste it. It may not be as good as it looks or smells."
He took a bite and his face stilled. Looking at her, he said, "You're right," Her face fell. "It is so much better."
Giving him a face and a shoulder punch, she said, "Thank you," It always gave her a thrill when someone enjoyed her cooking, and it didn't hurt that it was currently being enjoyed by the type of guy who gave her wet dreams. They ate in companionable silence and when they were done, Lucas washed the dishes. While he was doing that, she made a mirepoix and put it, as well as a trimmed leg of mutton studded with garlic cloves, a bouquet garni of rosemary, bay and sage, and an entire bottle of merlot, into his crock-pot to braise for their dinner.
"Come on, he said. I'll give you the tour." Leading her from room to room, he bypassed all of the places that he knew she had seen, to show her the rest of his one story. It didn't take long, as it wasn't that big. The rest of the tour just consisted of his bedroom and bathroom, another bathroom off the living room, a breakfast nook, and the room that captured her heart. A library. He watched indulgently as she flitted from shelf to shelf, pressing her clasped hands to her chest and fawning over his collections of first editions, modern nonfiction, and literature in French, English, Gaelic, Russian, and Roumanian.
"Do you speak all of these languages?"
He nodded. "I'm something of a polyglot," he said, carelessly.
She tilted her head. "I, also. I speak French, of course, English, Hebrew, Latin, and I'm learning Arabic." She grinned, and then said, "Say something in Gaelic.
Reaching out to tug one of her braids, he said, "Tá tú go h-álainn."
She giggled. "What does that mean?"
