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I showered and dressed, wanting to sneak downstairs hopefully before Barnaby or Madame were up and about. Philip and I had left the kitchen quite a mess. I prayed I would beat my cook and my man to the catastrophe. Madame would not be pleased. She disliked people—and yes, that included me—fiddling about in her domain.
Yawning widely—I had logged about three hours of sleep in total—I made my way downstairs. This ragged, sleepy Henri was not a good look for the man meeting with the city council in four hours to pitch a new idea for the wine tours in the area that might be met with some resistance. Ah well, so be it. I’d not wish to change a thing about last night, even if I were still moving about as a zombie, my thoughts sluggish and tangled like a ball of yarn left out for the kittens.
“What has happened in here?!” I heard Madame asking of someone as I neared the kitchen. I grimaced and froze, cursing myself for not waking earlier to clean up the mess Philip and I had made of things.
“It appears as if Master Gaudion and a guest were making something that required no clothing and copious amounts of butter,” Barnaby answered in that dry way of his.
Damnation. When did my staff sleep?
I had a moment of utter indecision. Should I carry on as I had planned or just sneak off back to bed? Recalling that Philip had ejaculated on the front of the dishwasher had my slippered feet hustling into the kitchen. Both glanced my way, shocked to see me. Madame’s hands were fisted on her hips. Barnaby was holding my trousers and a pair of wet briefs he had fished out of the sink. I could feel my face warming, but I stiffened my shoulders just as Papa would have done when faced with an embarrassment.
“Good morning,” I said, easing into the wide sunny room to find a clean sponge under the sink. I could feel them both staring at me as I soaped the sponge and set about into washing down the front of the dishwasher. When that was done, I threw the sponge into the trash, took the clothing from Barnaby, and cleared my throat. “If at all possible, could we have breakfast served in the solarium later than usual? Mr. Greco may sleep in so do not look for him too early. I’ll have a plate of fruit and an egg white omelet with ham and radish in my office as soon as it can be made. Oh, and some coffee please, milk and sugar on the side.”
“Oui,” Madame replied.
“Merci,” I said as I walked out as if I had not just scrubbed my lover’s spunk off the Miele. Good Lord above what had my life turned into?
Proceeding to my office with haste, I closed the door behind me, blowing out a breath that puffed my cheeks. This is what happens when one gives into one’s desires.
It seemed that Philip Greco was one of those surprising desires. Akin to discovering that you enjoyed liver when you thought you despised it for years. I held up the damp drawers, sighed, and then dropped them into the trash can beside my desk. I’d buy a new pair to replace them.
I moved around the room, trying to sort my sleepy head, running my fingers over Papa’s huge mahogany desk as I daydreamed about last night. It was such a rarity for me to let go like that. Philip was the perfect bedmate. Vers, which was important to me for some days, I wished to be the pitcher and other days, the catcher. He was pushy, a little rough, and talked so filthy my cock was growing hard just recalling his long-winded admiring speech about my balls.
A soft rap at the door jarred me from my naughty thoughts. I sat down, rolled the chair in, and crossed my legs under the desk. I did not need Barnaby to see me with an erection after he’d found a pair of BVDs resting atop a soaking cereal bowl.
“Yes, come in,” I called as I pretended to be reading something on my blank and quite dark desktop screen.
Barnaby came in carrying a tray with some coffee. “Perhaps you might wish to put your glasses on before reading that screen, sir?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” I replied, taking a moment to turn on the damn desktop and rummage about on my desk to find my reading glasses. “I meant to do that, of course,” I commented as I slid the fashionable horn rims onto my face.
“Of course, sir. Would you like me to draw the draperies in here?”
“Please, yes, thank you.” This room still had morning shade, but it would creep in soon. It was more than a bit depressing to spend my days cloistered like that damn French vampire Philip was so fond of calling me, but one did what one must.
“I’ve laid out two outfits for you to pick from for today’s outing and I shall have the Mercedes out front at exactly eight forty-five,” he said as he placed the tray on the desk and moved around the room tugging the thick drapes closed.
“Very good. I think I’ll go with something cool and casual,” I said, my sight on the news coming up on the computer as I dropped a sugar cube into my coffee, gave it a stir, and then lifted the cube out of the dark roast with my spoon and dropped it into my mouth to suck on it. “Perhaps that new blue Rhobeck houndstooth with—” And my brain slammed into reverse. My gaze flew from the front page and the latest drama in the Senate to Barnaby, who was fiddling with the tiebacks he’d just unhooked. “Did you say you already laid out my clothing choices for the day?” I asked as casually as I could.
“Yes, sir, both are lying over the squires tufted chair in the corner as there was a rather large lump under the covers which made placing them on the bed precarious.”
“Files de pute,” I whispered under my breath. “I can explain his presence in my bed.”
“You need not explain anything. This is your home and who you wish to invite to slumber in your bed is your decision and yours alone.” He puttered about, pressing the curtains with his hands before coming to the desk to grab the trash can as he always did. The man had a hang-up about trash in trash cans. He glanced into the rubbish can, and I sank back into my seat. When our eyes met, his were placid, but he did have one eyebrow slightly raised. Just slightly. My face was as hot as the coffee sitting untouched at my side.
“I can explain the briefs in the trash as well,” I hurried to say.
“Sir, please, there is no need. Personally, the staff is thrilled to see that you and Mr. Greco have hit it off. Well, I’m not sure that Madame is quite as thrilled to see her kitchen in such disarray and her prized goat milk butter smeared over the counters…”
“Mon dieu.” I sighed aloud and got a soft sound of amusement from Barnaby. “I will make sure Madame gets extra grocery money for her shopping this next week. And as for Philip in my bed, it was just a…” I waved a hand in the air as I searched for a good word, “glitch.”
“A glitch, sir?” Barnaby asked, holding the trash can between his hands.
“Yes, a…uhm, a wild night. A passionate hookup. It will not happen again, rest assured.”
“And why not if I may dare to ask?”
I stared at him. “Since when do you dare to ask me anything? You always just ask.”
