By the Bay

© Lily Rockmore, 2009

Chapter Three

"I… my sister is missing. She's nearly two hours late in coming home now. Anything could have happened to her, sir. I'm so worried…"

Even as she said those words, they heard the creak of the back door opening. Anita turned swiftly to see her sister coming through the door, her hair windblown, cheeks flushed. Relief had her feeling weak, but she found enough strength to scramble to her feet and throw her hands around her little sister, just to make sure she was truly there.

"I'm so sorry, 'Ka," Meera said, genuinely sorry for forgetting the time. She'd been having such fun that she'd not even noticed the darkening of the clouds. She could only guess how worried Anita could've been. "I know you were worried. I'm so sorry I wasn't home earlier."

Anita pulled away from her sister, not knowing if she should scold the girl of hug the air out of her. She concluded that she'd already done the latter, so she might as well do the former.

"How could you be so irresponsible, Meera? You knew that I'd be worried sick if you're so much as ten minutes late. Two hours, Meera! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I know, I know. I've nothing to say for myself, 'Ka. I forgot the time, and I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

Jay watched the exchange with interest. They were speaking in a foreign tongue – Tamil, he assumed since she'd told him she was from the South – and were using graphic hand gestures to illustrate their point.

Anita's sister looked nothing like her. They were complete opposites, in fact. The younger girl had bountiful blonde curls and dark eyes, but he had to admit that the family resemblance was there, in their bone structure. He was not surprised that she, too, wasn't of pure Indian descent.

He had just decided to leave them to their family squabble when Anita turned, fury burning in her blue eyes. It was the first time he'd seen her angry, and was transfixed by how the emotion lightened the color of her eyes to a softer blue. In a corner of his tainted mind, he began to wonder how her eyes would look in other scenarios, specifically when her blood was hot with passion. Would it turn black? Or an even lighter blue?

He shook his head at his thoughts. It must've been too long since his last woman. He was acting like an over-eager schoolboy, his thoughts almost always revolving around her. It was almost pathetic, really, since she seemed to show no interest in him at all.

Anita seemed disinclined to talk to her sister, and he didn't say a word as he volunteered to help her clean up the mess on the floor. She protested, and he didn't dare insist, for the look in her eyes told him that she was still mad at her sister. As he left the kitchen, he felt another pair of eyes on him, but when he looked up, there was no one where Anita's sister had stood.

*

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Anita had just returned to the kitchen after locking the front door when her sister blurted the question with no trace whatsoever of shame or guilt. Anita stopped walking and simply stared at her sister in shock.

"Are you?"

She couldn't get her throat to work. The question had just taken her by such surprise…

"No. No, of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?"

Her hand flew to her heart, as though to massage an invisible pain. Her sister continued to stare at her, a foreign maturity reflected in her eyes. What could her sister possibly know about the ways of men and women? She narrowed her eyes at her sister.

"Meera, is there something that you're not telling me? Did something happen? Are you hurt? Just now, when you were late -."

It was a relief when Meera chuckled. "'Ka," she said between chuckles, "you should know me better than that."

"Well, you scared me." Anita sighed as she took a seat opposite her sister. "Why did you ask me that, all of a sudden?"

Meera shrugged. "I don't know. Just the way he looks at you, I suppose." Disinterestedly, she picked up her book and started reading.

Anita took a moment to digest that. "And how

does

he look at me?"

Without looking up, her sister shrugged and continued reading. Anita nudged her foot.

"Mmhmm," Meera muttered without bothering to look up.

"Meera? How does he look at me?" Impatiently, Anita tapped on the table to get her sister's attention.

"Mmm."

"Oh, give me that!" Anita snatched the book out of her sister's hands, making Meera look at her sister with a sly look in her eyes.

"How

does

he look at me?"

Meera smiled, a sinister, cat-like smile that let her sister knew she was up to no-good.

"He looks at you," she said, before continuing in a whisper, "Like he wants to kiss every inch of your body. Every single inch."

The book came back to Meera, flying across the table toward her head, but she was too busy laughing to catch it.

"Why, you little pig!"

She stumbled out of her chair when Anita stood up, making a mad dash for the backyard.

Jay stood by the windows in the library, watching the two women running across the backyard, shouting taunts and curses in both English and Tamil. They ran around the backyard twice, like little school girls, before Anita pinned her sister to the ground and began to tickle her. Their laughter floated to his ears, and he couldn't help but join in as well.

*

He dreamt of her that night. It was either his overactive imagination or his needy body that made him dream of dusky skin and blue eyes, but for those few hours, she had felt so very real.

He could see her, stretched out on a beach. Her skin wet and sticky with wet sand, hair tantalizingly covering her breasts like a mermaid. From where he stood, somewhere a few feet in front of her, he could see that her hands were straying up and down her thighs. Up and down, and with each movement, his body would beg, strain, plead to move closer to her. But there was something stopping him, preventing him from kneeling in front of her and taking her in his arms.

So, he had to watch, his forehead beaded with sweat, as her fingers traveled higher and higher 'til they skimmed the crown of sinful curls. He could smell her – god only knew how he could – and the scent lathered his frame like thick, warm perfume. Then her finger disappeared into the silky crop, and he swallowed as she threw her head back, lips parted in a silent gasp.

Her thighs parted slightly, and he fought against the force holding him again, promising it that he would give anything to go to her in that moment, but it was pointless. There was no pity in his restrainer.

As he watched, one finger was joined by another, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan, resulting in a mewl that had his blood curdling. Then she was stroking, caressing, circling, faster, faster, her fingers moving to pleasure only herself… until, with a shudder that gave him goosebumps, she called his name.

Jay awoke just in time to feel a sticky wetness rapidly coat the inside of his thighs. Cursing, he rolled off the bed to avoid getting anything unexplainable on the sheets, then hopped with as much finesse as possible to the cupboard. Mumbling, he wiped himself off with a towel. Then he paused to take a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed, burying his head in his palms. His heart still thudded with the impact of his orgasm. In fact, every few seconds, a tingle ran up his abdomen, making his muscles quiver. Lord, he thought. He hadn't done that since he was a curious twelve year-old.

With a large sigh, he fell back onto the bed, his face still covered with his palms. He had to stop thinking about her so much. It was fucking with his mind. She was just a maid, after all. And an innocent, probably. He had no business thinking of her in that way.

But he wanted her

. Oh, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly that he still hurt after coming all over himself.

Jay groaned, burying himself between the sheets again, shutting his eyes tightly, willing himself to think of something else.

His half-sister, Catherine, came to mind and he thought of her for a while. Catherine Mae, with her gray eyes and dark hair. He wondered if she'd finish school soon, and if he would get to see her before she got married and had a brood of her own.

A few minutes later, he smiled in his sleep, thinking Catherine looked rather attractive with blue eyes and dark skin.

*

"I've to go," Meera mumbled as she saw the first hint of dawn appearing on the horizon. Her companion mumbled, and she felt a kiss being pressed to the dip of her neck. A hand wrapped around her middle, tightened, and Meera felt the familiar tingles returning.

"Don't go just yet." The voice, rough from sleep, whispered in her ear. She sighed, wishing she could stay just a little while longer, but Anita would be awake soon. And if her sister found her gone, the consequence would be catastrophic. "Stay with me. Come away with me."

Temptation, she thought. She'd fought it and lost over the past few days. But this was a battle she couldn't afford to lose. Her sister was important to her, and she didn't want to leave her alone and set off for another country like an ungrateful wretch. But damn, the lure was so strong.

"I can't. You know why," she chided softly instead, linking her fingers through longer, fairer ones.

She heard a sigh, then a pained groan. Meera chuckled, turning over to place a kiss to her lover's full lips. "I… I'll be back tonight."

She knew she was being watched as she covered herself with her sari and gathered her hair in a bun. Then, with one last, lingering kiss, she hurried out the door, leaving her lover sighing on the bed.

*

She was dusting the foyer when he trudged down the stairs the next morning, dressed in a loose black shirt and trousers. He stopped when he saw her running a feather-duster behind the mirror and over the cupboards, humming to herself. Her back was to him, and although she was wearing the looser dress today, he remembered just how small her waist was. Fragments of his dream assaulted him, and he had to suppress a shudder.

Anita turned when she heard him clearing his throat. For a moment, she forgot that Madam Ruth had told her never to look her employer in the eye, for when her eyes met the brilliant green of his, she couldn't look away.

Stupid and crazy

, a voice told her, but she ignored it.

He was wearing black today, she noted, and the color contrasted well with his golden skin. He'd rolled the sleeves of the shirt up, and she could glimpse a hint of his tattoo. An image of him, half-naked, flashed in her mind, and she bit her lip.

When his lips turned up in a smile, she remembered her manners and averted her eyes.

"Good morning," she said softly. "Would you like breakfast?"

He briefly wondered how she could've gone from such a wanton in his dreams to a passive woman by day. "Yes, thank you." She was looking at the floor again, he thought irritably. He hated it when she did that. Her eyes were too beautiful for her to hide them, and he didn't like the subservience that came with the rationale behind the action. But at least, he noted, she had been doing less of it lately, as though she could not help but meet his gaze. The thought made his skin tight.

The other maid served him today, the one who looked like a squirrel. He hid his disappointment behind a cup of tea and ate in silence while watching Anita dust the hall from the corner of his eyes.

It was addiction.

She

was addiction. He hadn't tried opium before, but he was sure that its effect would be the same as her presence.

After breakfast, the maid handed him a note that she said had arrived that morning. He groaned when he read it. Madam Ruth, the woman his father had placed in charge of the house, wanted to pay him a visit that evening to see if he was settling in well. He knew he couldn't reject the invitation without being improper, so he told the maid to cook something English for dinner.

He re-entered the hall just in time to see Anita trying to heft up the stairs, the large bag of books he'd purchased last night. She dragged the bag up three steps, and paused to take a breath before trying again. Jay smiled a little before striding over to her and picking up the bag, slinging it effortlessly over his shoulder.

"They're my books," he said in lieu of an explanation, and Anita didn't contest it. She followed his lead up the stairs.

He set the books down in the library, and Anita got to work instantly, kneeling before him and undoing the knot on the bag. She calmly took the book the books out and shook them free of dust, placing them in a neat stack, innocent to the man who was standing above her with passion plain in his eyes.

The sight of her on her knees before him was the final straw. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever witnessed, especially because she didn't know what wicked things could be done in that position. Quickly, he turned and palmed the decanter of whiskey he'd set on the table last night. After several long, burning swigs, he looked at her again, and found her eyes on him. Those large, blue eyes staring at him from her perch on the floor. His throat itched for another shot of the whiskey.

Then she turned away, returning to her task, and he settled behind the desk, leafing through the draft he'd already written for the novel. He had just skimmed his fingertips over the golden keys of the typewriter when it hit him. A book! Of course. Books. A diary. Of course!

Anita jumped visibly when she heard the typewriter go off like a gun behind her. She turned to find the Duke tapping away on the machine as though the fury of hell was challenging him for the use of it. She shook her head and returned to her work, neatly stacking the books on the shelf before exiting the room, leaving him to his privacy.

*

Nanthini needed with preparing the evening meal, and that chore kept Anita occupied for most of the afternoon. She skinned chicken, peeled potatoes and diced vegetables while Nanthini figured out just how to roast chicken. Anita couldn't blame her for not knowing how to. Nanthini hadn't worked in an English house before. But she smiled when she saw how eager the older woman was to learn.

After fifteen minutes of watching her struggle to read from the book of recipes, however, Anita took pity on her and shared her best recipe with her. For that, Nanthini was grateful, and they worked side by side 'til the meal was displayed in fine-boned China bowls and set on the table in the dining room.

Anita ticked off the mental checklist she'd made, just to be sure that she didn't miss anything out. Madam Ruth had been called away to another part of the island earlier that week, and had trusted Anita – since she had more experience in the upkeep of a large house – to make sure everything was running smoothly. Anita certainly didn't want to disappoint her.

"Looks great, doesn't it?" Anita said with a smile.

"Definitely," Nanthini said, her head bobbing as she agreed.

"What time is it?" Even as she voiced the question, the large bell in town chimed, telling her it was six in the evening.

"He should be down soon," Nanthini said. "Come, let us get cleaned up to impress Madam Ruth."

Anita smiled as she followed Nanthini back to the servants' quarters after giving the table-setting another once over.

*

When they heard Madam Ruth's carriage pull up, and saw no sign of the Duke, Anita took the liberty of heading upstairs to check on the Duke. She wanted to stop by the bedroom first, but the clatter of the typewriter was unmistakable from the stairs. Had he forgetten that he was having guests today?

She gently rapped on the door, but he didn't respond. The noise from the typewriter didn't even cease for a second. She rapped louder, then called out to him, but she supposed he could barely hear her through the noise.

Slowly, as if dreading what she would see behind the door, she slipped it open slightly, and peeked behind it.

He was crouched behind the keys, with a frown between his eyebrows, fingers moving over the keys with strong purpose. A stack of paper lay on the table, and, she noticed with a grimace, the whiskey decanter was empty. Her heart sank. She hoped he wasn't one of those men who was addicted to the liquid devil. Her grandfather had been such a man and had died before his time because of it.

At that moment, he stopped typing, and the silence in the room was almost deafening. Taking the opportunity, Anita rapped on the door once again. This time, she got his attention, and he looked up at her with a scowl. She swallowed when she noticed that his eyes were glazed, just like her grandfather's had been when he'd imbibed too much. Anita was instantly scared, for she'd seen how out-of-control her grandfather had been when drunk.

"Yes?" The snipped comment made her bite her lip.

"Uh, s-sir. Madam Ruth is here."

"What?"

He looked away from her, turning back to look through the papers on the table.

She spoke louder this time. "Madam Ruth, sir. She sent you a note this morning?"

"Note?"

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just stood there for a few seconds. Then she decided to try again.

"Sir, Madam Ruth is -."

He cut her off before she could get a sentence out. "Could you do me a favor, Anita?"

She took a step forward, thinking that perhaps he'd come to his senses and was about to ask her to get his jacket from the room. She was wrong.

"Please leave me alone."

Anita blinked. "But sir, she's waiting for you downstairs."

It was his turn to blink. "What? Who?"

"Madam Ruth."

He blinked a few more times before running his palms over his face. His hair was tousled, and his eyes glittered dangerously. Her eyes flit back to the empty decanter, then back to him as he groaned.

"Is it six already?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

He stood up quickly and placed a large paperweight on the stack of paper.

"Is there any way you could hold her off for a few minutes while I clean up?" he asked as he walked towards her. She stepped from the doorway to allow him to brush past her, but he stopped just in front of her, waiting for her reply. She was left to stare at the skin revealed by his open collar. Swallowing, she averted her eyes.

"I will try, sir."

He didn't move.

"Anita," he called softly, the smooth baritone of his voice washing over in waves. She swallowed again and nodded without looking up.

"I'd like you to look at me when you speak to me."

Anita could hear the commotion downstairs, with Madam's voice ringing through the house like a bell. And yet, all that noise became secondary to her when she heard those words. They stroked some sort of need in her, a need she didn't understand. It made her throat hurt. She bit her lip and kept her head bowed.

"Madam Ruth says it isn't proper," she replied, her voice as soft as his had been.

She jerked when she felt fingers on her chin, but didn't pull away. His fingers were gentle and undemanding, and she didn't feel a need to.

Her eyes met his shyly, and he felt desire for her rush through his body like a harsh bolt of lightning. Somehow, her body had swayed closer to his – or his had drifted closer to hers – and now, if she took a deep breath, her breasts would graze his chest. He wished for that to happen, but her breaths remained shallow enough that her bosom stopped just short of his chest.

He held her chin for a few seconds more, admiring the curve of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips, never wanting to let her go. Her skin was so soft under his fingers, and the smell of jasmine was spinning a web around him.

"You're beautiful," he told her, the words tumbling off his tongue, as though he could not hold it back any longer. The rich blue of her eyes softened, and he saw the change in their color. Cobalt blue to a lighter azure. God, she was exquisite. All he wanted to do was slide his lips against hers.