Thinking about how little time she had left, she made a snap decision. Smiling mischievously, she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Make me dinner at your house tomorrow night,” she said.
Brett looked at the expression on her face, then shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said, groaning under his breath.
“I think it would be a great idea,” she countered, then stood on her toes and shyly kissed him.
Brett lifted her higher, holding her against him as he took over the kiss, deepening it while her feet dangled a half foot from the floor.
After several moments, he put her down and took a deep breath. “I need to get out of here,” he said. “I’ll cook you dinner tomorrow night, but I might be beaten up by all your brothers,” he said, laughing at himself.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” she whispered.
Antonia slept the sleep of the dead that night. She woke early the next morning and stretched languorously. Tonight was the night. She wanted one more night with Brett before she left. She wanted one more memory.
She showered and changed quickly, pulling on a pair of khaki pants and a white sweater. She left her boots in the closet and slipped her feet into a pair of loafers.
After a breakfast of fresh fruit and juice, Antonia left the house, waiving goodbye to Sal, but telling him that she was having dinner with Brett tonight. She walked around the garage to get her motorcycle, but at the last moment, she changed her mind.
Staring at the Porsche, she considered driving it one more time. She’d have to leave everything behind when she left here in a few days, she might as well enjoy the car while she had the chance.
Tossing her bag in the passenger seat, she got in, enjoying the feel of the soft leather once again. The engine roared to life and she put it in gear, shooting off down the driveway.
She was one of the first people in the library this morning so she chose a spot directly under the stained glass dome light. She retrieved her books from the shelf and dove in. After three hours, she’d narrowed her choice to three - Seattle, Washington – Bridgeport, Maine or Louisville, Kentucky.
On a sheet of paper, she listed the pros and cons of each city. Once that was done, she was able to look at the subject more objectively. And the clear choice was Bridgeport, Maine.
Refusing to allow herself to cry again, she put the books onto the shelf for re-filing and left the library. Driving to a mall just outside of Washington, D.C., she moved on to her next errand. And after two hours of shopping, she found exactly what she was looking for.
By that time, it was four o’clock, so she drove home and changed for her dinner with Brett. Walking in the house, she saw a message from him telling her that he’d pick her up at six o’clock.
Laughing out loud, she rushed upstairs and changed clothes. She pulled on a loose, yellow dress that flared out in an A line to her calves. It had two layers, the underskirt was a dark yellow, and the outer layer was a soft, lemony chiffon.
Brett picked her up precisely at six o’clock and drove them to his house. It was a gorgeous, Tudor home near Embassy Row, the area of the District of Columbia that contained the huge homes where the ambassadors and their families lived. It was one of the few areas in the district where the houses had yards.
His home was protected by two wrought iron gates that opened automatically when he drove up. A long driveway, lined by stately oak trees led the way to the house which opened to a beautiful lawn complete with rose bushes just starting to spread their leaves and bloom, a myriad of daffodils with their bright, shining yellow faces reaching for the last rays of the sunshine.
“This is wonderful, Brett,” Antonia said, impressed by the stateliness of the house.
“What were you expecting?” he asked, parking the car in front of the house.
“I’m not sure. I guess some penthouse apartment decked out in mirrors and leather,” she teased. “But nothing like this.”
Brett raised one eyebrow. “Mirrors?” Antonia laughed. “I didn’t know!”
Brett didn’t respond. He got out of the car and came around to her door just as she was getting out. “Do I get the grand tour?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said and put a hand on the small of her back to guide her inside.
The front foyer was black and white tiles with a large, black iron chandelier hanging down in the center of a curving staircase. In the center of the oval entryway, was a large bouquet of flowers which brightened up what would otherwise be an intimidating foyer.
He led her through the house, showing her the family room with its huge fireplace already stacked with firewood, the living room which was very formal with heavy mahogany furniture covered in formal tapestry type fabrics. There was a morning room with whicker furniture and softly flowered cushions and healthy green plants in all corners, a dining room that would comfortably seat thirty or more people, and bedroom after bedroom, all done in different shades but with heavy furniture, canopied beds and ornately carved panels.
The whole house reminded her of a countrified medieval castle nestled in the mountains somewhere in Europe but with a homey touch. “This is really wonderful,” Antonia said as they came downstairs again and entered the kitchen where the smell of something delicious was stronger. “Did you grow up in this house?” she asked, bending down and looking into the oven to find out what they were having for dinner.
“Um hmm,” he said distractedly, peering into the refrigerator, then lifting the tops of each pot and sniffing.
Antonia stood up to see what had distracted him, hoping it was whatever was cooking. She was starving. But he was staring at her. Antonia’s face immediately burst into flames. It was as if he was reading her mind. Because ever since she’d walked into the house, she’d wanted to touch him, have him touch her.
He must have noticed the look of hunger on her face and realized that it wasn’t for food anymore. He came over to her and lifted her up so her face was at the same level as his. “Why did you suggest dinner here tonight?” he asked, her feet dangling in the air.
Antonia’s hands were on his shoulders, amazed at the strength in his arms. Bravely, she said, “Because I wanted you to make love to me.”
Brett groaned and pulled her close, kissing her passionately. And for the next two hours, they were insatiable. Neither could get enough of the other. They made love twice before finally laying beside each other on the large sofa in the family room. Brett’s hand was brushing her hair back, his fingers twirling in the curls. “Are you hungry?” he said.