Another Choice – Chapter 3

“Another Choice” by JunoMagic

Chapter 3

In the morning, just after she had packed her suitcase and bag, she was convinced that he would not come, that the invitation had just been flirtation, and not meant seriously at all.

But at eight o’clock sharp a sleek black Mercedes pulled up below the window of her living room. Her stomach tightened with nerves, and her hand was cold when she picked up her luggage. When she closed the door of her apartment and turned the key, the sounds of these everyday activities seemed to echo around her as if there was some special significance to them today. As if she’d never be back …

Before she opened the door of the car, she called upon her coolest and most self-assured smile. The smile she aimed for before meeting an especially difficult client. “A Mercedes? And no chauffeur? That is unexpected.”

He quirked one of his dark slanted eyebrows. “I don’t like BMWs – they are a bit too volatile for my tastes. And I have always liked to be in control.”

With a swift movement, uncoiling himself from behind the wheel with the boneless elegance of a snake, he was out of the seat and moving around the car to meet her. He curled his fingers over hers, to relieve her of her suitcase and her bag, standing right in front of her, and very close to her. “It is good to see you again, Corinne.”

She swallowed. Her pulse was vibrating in her throat. “I did not believe you would show up.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “Such things don’t happen in real life.”

Almost imperceptibly, he shook his head. “Sometimes, they do. Though maybe it would be better, if they did not.”

Then he took her luggage and quickly stowed it in the trunk of the car.

The trip to the airport went by in a blur of speed. El Sternendom was weaving through the traffic as if he wanted to win a race, silent, with perfect control of the car’s speed and manoeuvrability. He was a relaxed driver, in complete control of the powerful machine. It occurred to her to wonder if he had a pilot’s licence.

As it turned out, he did, but for this flight he would be relying on the services of his pilot so he could spend the time on board with her. She was not surprised that the plane was another sleek and powerful machine. Only this one was elegant in silver, not black. The red carpet leading up to the plane conjured up another reminiscence of “Pretty Woman”. But she was not a prostitute. And she had stopped believing in knights in shining armour a long time ago.

She laughed out loud at the name. It was called “Vingilot”. A long time Tolkien fan, Corinne recognized the name at once.

“So are you really a Tolkien fan, or is it just because of the ears?” she asked.

El gave one of his very French shrugs, accompanied by another delicately lifted eyebrow. She rolled her eyes at him, and climbed up into the plane.

At take-off she was not sure if it was the plane or the man that made her stomach flip and tighten. They were seated in comfortable armchairs with covers made of soft beige leather. His piercing eyes locked with hers, a faint smile indicated that he was not completely unaware of the effect he had on her.

Once they were in the air, he disappeared behind the seats to switch on classical music and produce a bottle of the finest Tuscan prosecco Corinne had ever tasted.

“Exsultate justi? Isn’t that a little dramatic?”

He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling. “What could be more dramatic than flying through the clouds with a beautiful woman?”

She shook her head and raised her glass in appreciation of that compliment. The rest of the flight was a kind of visual torture. Hours with nothing to do but look at a … he was not handsome, she decided. He was beautiful. A strange, sad beauty that tugged at her heart the way some paintings did.

He seemed content to sit with her in silence, answering her questions, but not making any attempts to keep a conversation going. As if he was wavering between the exultation expressed in the music they had listened to after the start and deep, silent introspection.

The silence did nothing for her peace of mind, as it allowed her think about him, to wonder about him, and contemplate how fucking crazy she was in simply upping and awaying with him like that. Not that it had been much of an act, with never using up her vacation days anyway and no family to inform of her whereabouts.

For a while she entertained the crazy notion that he was actually giving her a few hours’ worth of time to just look at him and think about him on purpose, because although El had finally leaned back in his seat and lowered his lids, she could have sworn that he was neither sleeping nor dozing.

And God help her, whether he had intended it or not, that was just what she did.

Watching him.

She passed an hour just admiring the shape of his skull, trying to determine whether he would look better with his hair all grown out and long, like one of Tolkien’s elves, or in that short blue-black stubble. In the end she settled on the “damn you all to hell”-stubble. It accentuated the delicate curve of his skull and those amazing ears. And how could such an accident of nature look so utterly erotic, she wondered. Or had she only spent too much time watching “Lord of the Rings”?

She probably spent another hour gazing at his face. Those wide, sensuous lips. So serious. The long, proud nose, the chin decisive, the bone structure prominent and clear cut. Clear cut. A description she must have read a thousand times in romance novels, without really understanding what it meant. Like a statue, she mused. Only alive, breathing, just a little less than perfect. Which was of course what made him look so … perfect. Slender, of course. But not thin. Or rather, on the delicate verge between lithe, but strong, slender, but substantial enough to feel secure in his arms, and … brittle?

When the thought occurred to her that even his knees were actually beautiful, she shook herself out of her reverie. Get a grip on yourself, Corinne, you’re getting even crazier than this situation warrants, she told herself firmly.

She was very grateful when they arrived. At their destination another Mercedes was waiting for them, this time dark metallic blue, but just as big and classy as the first one.

“Where are we going?” she asked at last, as they sped out of the town.

“To the coast,” he replied, his eyes on the road. “I think I mentioned that I’ve got property there.”

Raising an eyebrow at him would have little effect in the car. Additionally, Corinne was aware that she could not move her eyebrows separately in a graceful or meaningful manner. In the end she settled for asking another question. “What kind of property? Is it far?”

“About an hour, and I’d rather not spoil the surprise.” He gave her a quick smile.

Her heart promptly sped up, and she tried to concentrate on his earlier words: ‘I cannot give you what you are looking for.’

Yet here she was, in a state she’d never visited before, with a man she didn’t know at all, offering to … do for him whatever he needed. And she rather had the feeling that he wouldn’t have brought her here, if he were not willing to accept whatever she had to offer.

She rubbed her forehead. After the noise of the flight and with the tension of too many thoughts chasing each other in her mind, she found herself fighting a headache. She stared at her hands, studying the lines on her palms. But they did not give anything away. They never had. The future was all hers, and all unknown. If this was her way of having a midlife crisis or the most glorious adventure trip of her life remained to be seen.

She closed her eyes.

“We have arrived.” His breath was gentle and spicy at her throat, as he leaned over her to loosen her seat-belt. Her pulse sped up, she could taste her excitement at the back of her tongue. Nearby she heard the rush of waves. From farther away shrilled the cries of sea-gulls. “Come with me.”

She blinked, slightly disoriented. Before she could move, he had slipped out of the car and was opening her door, holding a hand out to her. She allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

“Turn around,” he commanded her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he turned her westwards.

“Oh!” she gasped. The car was parked at the end of a crumbling driveway that led down to a sandy beach in the sheltered curve of a cove. Beyond the beach a path led up on low cliffs that jutted out into a ocean. At their end a white lighthouse sparkled between the lighter blue of the sky and the darker hue of the ocean.

She had never seen anything like this before, so free, so lonely, and so beautiful.

“My house,” he murmured.

“Oh,” she repeated. She was glad that he held her, or her suddenly weak knees would have made her stumble. “This … this is amazing.” She turned towards him, all at once acutely aware of their close proximity. “Beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it. Shall we?” He did not move, waiting for to regain her balance. When she felt surer of her feet, she nodded. “I think I’m all here now.”

“Good.”

He took her luggage out of the trunk. For himself, he had only a black travelling bag. He allowed her to carry her own bag, but would not relinquish her small suitcase to her.

“It is not as far as it looks,” he assured her.

“Then you could allow me to carry my own things,” she retorted. But he only shook his head and smiled.

On the craggy promontory the wind was cool and strong. As she looked across the width of whitely crested waves to the other end of the cove, she glimpsed the glittering lights of windows in the sunshine a few miles northwards. The settlement to which the lighthouse belonged.

Then they stood in front of the lighthouse. El produced a key and after a moment held the door open to allow her to enter his house.

They stood on a landing above a large living room. The roar of the waves was softened to a muted rhythm of waves and wind. This room at the foot of the lighthouse was square, with a high ceiling and columns that separated the living space from the landing with its dining area and spacious kitchenette. A front of glass windows and doors led out onto a terrace. Comfortable sofas and arm chairs in a pale, off-white colour were arranged on a smooth wooden floor. To the right an open fireplace promised warmth for cold evenings. To the left of the door a spiral stair led up to the next story and she suspected that a bathroom could be found behind a door to the right.

He allowed her to take everything in, waiting patiently until she turned towards him. For a long moment they stood silent in front of each other. Corinne suddenly wondered about her question and the promised answer. He had promised to give her his reply here, but when?

His eyes met hers. She held his dark gaze unwavering. Her decision had been made when she closed the door of her apartment behind her.

“The … bedroom is upstairs,” he said in quiet voice.

With a deep breath she exhaled her tension.

oooOooo

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« Chapter 2 oooOooo TBC …

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