The Other Side of the Mirror : Chapter 2

The trip to Lance’s estate house was fairly uneventful. Even with the occasional wrong turn that was prompted by Nora’s outdated and inefficient GPS system, we made good time. This was because Nora had what was referred to as a lead foot. Speed was the name of the game for that woman no matter what she was doing. Be it driving a car or walking down the sidewalk, Nora didn’t know the meaning of the word slow.

I, on the other hand, have always been prone to take my time. I believe that personality trait has been a considerable aide in my career. One of the vital aspects of my job is to be able to take in and remember as much about a person, place, or thing as possible. It’s difficult to do that when you’re rushing about.

When Nora first got her license, it took a good deal of effort for me to remain calm while a passenger in her car, but, over the years, I eventually settled down and stopped fearing for my life. In fact, I actually catnapped between wrong turns during our drive.

We’d heard that the estate was old and established, but no one mentioned that it resembled a resort hotel. To add to the illusion, we were greeted by a valet who assured Nora that he would be extra careful parking her recently restored nineteen sixty-six Ford Mustang convertible.

We’d arrived late morning, which was fairly early in accordance to social etiquette, so I was surprised to discover that the other guests were already gathered near the pool behind the house. Some were actually using it.

A man, who introduced himself as Radcliff, greeted us at the door and escorted us to our rooms. By his accent and skin color, I guessed him to be from Jamaica, but the formality of his dress and behavior intimidated me into not questioning him about it. I marveled at the breathtaking décor as he guided us through the grand house that still contained much of its original furnishings. It was just my taste. It made me think of one of my favorite period television mini-series, “Downton Abby.” It so reminded me of that show that, if it wasn’t for the fact that Downton Abby was filmed in another country, I would have questioned if this house was used to film it.

I would have been happy to simply sit in the ambiance of my room that was the size of half of my apartment, but Nora was hot to mingle with the other guests. After standing at the door and taking a long, longing look at the room that I’d been assigned, I closed it and reluctantly followed my friend down the richly carpeted hall to the winding staircase that led to the French doors that opened to the oversized flagstone patio where the rest of the guests were laughing and drinking.

When I saw no sign of Lance, I jokingly whispered that he was probably going to make a grand entrance like the Great Gatsby. Nora laughingly agreed.

Including Lance, we totaled eight in residence for the long weekend. Nora and I were the only guests who were not associated with Zuckerman Realty in some way.

Since our host was nowhere to be found, and Melanie Gaines was the only one that Nora and I knew, it was necessary to make the rounds with introductions. Needless to say, Melanie jumped at the opportunity to introduce me to each and every guest by my full name. With every introduction, she insisted on pointing out that Ms. Sleuth was a sleuth. To my disappointment, unlike Lance, each and every person who I suffered an introduction to had a little witty comment about it. A few of the guests had already started drinking, so their wit was emphasized by the abundance of alcohol that was freely flowing. As a result, laughter at my expense abounded for an easy hour.

When Radcliff mercifully announced that lunch was ready, I practically ran toward the dining room to get away from them all. In doing so, I barreled straight into Lance. To my humiliation, we both went down. Fortunately, he was walking by a settee near the grand staircase and it cushioned our tumble.

I was acutely aware of the solid embrace of his surprisingly muscled arms when he instinctively caught my fall. It gave me no choice other than to rest my cheek against his rock hard chest. In doing so, I could hear his powerful heart beating at a pace that seemed just a bit faster than normal.

Although it was only a few seconds in length, our stunned silence felt excruciatingly long. He finally broke it by jokingly saying, “If you wanted me to hold you, I can think of better approaches.”

Red faced and far too mortified to appreciate his wit, I struggled to free myself from his embrace and stand up. In doing so, my hand accidentally rested on his stiffened manhood.

“Okay, then,” he chuckled. “There is a time and a place for everything, dear woman. Lunch first, if you please.”

I yanked my hand away from his bulging crotch as if I’d touched a hot iron and stood upright. I was certain that my cheeks were so flushed that they matched my red hair as I pulled it away from my face while doing my best to regain my balance and composure with as much dignity as I could muster. “I’m so sorry… I…”

“Esmerelda. Is it not?” he said with a slight smirk on his face and a glint of amusement in his eyes as he stood and straightened his clothing. I didn’t miss the fact that he was eyeing my torso with great interest.

Realizing that I was probably a tussled mess as well, I quickly smoothed and realigned my top. It was a fairly form fitting tee shirt that had shrunk just a little in the wash. I knew this when I’d grabbed it to wear that morning, but, since my pile of dirty laundry far exceeded what I had left that was clean to wear on this unexpected weekend excursion, I put it on without much thought. What I hadn’t realized until that moment was that it was now tight enough to accentuate the size and shape of my breasts in a way that could be misconstrued as an invitation under circumstances such as this.

After what just happened, I could only imagine what he thought of me in my sexy shirt. I resigned myself to changing my shirt as soon as possible while I added the fact that I’d worn it in the first place to my list of humiliating events.

I would have smoothed my hair, but there was no help for it under normal circumstances, so I didn’t bother.

Tears of humiliation threatened to pour fourth as I choked out validation that I was indeed Esmerelda. It was followed by more apologies for my clumsy behavior.

His dark eyes danced in the afternoon light that poured through the opened French doors and oversized windows. It was clear that he wasn’t in the least bit bothered by the fact that I’d just had my hand on his crotch and knew that he’d been aroused by our little tumble.

Men!

Extending his arm, he teased, “I believe the safest place to be is by your side, Esmerelda. Shall we?”

Frustrated, at a loss for words, and too choked up to be able to enunciate them if I was able to find them, I slid my hand through the crook of his arm and allowed him to escort me into the oversized dining room.

The guest list consisted of three men -with Lance making four- and four women -myself included. By the looks of pure jealous hate as we entered the room, I gathered that the women were all unattached -or, at the very least, had designs on Lance for the weekend. I also got the impression that one of the men did as well. This was a time when I regretted being so astute about my surroundings.

He boldly asked a man, named Peter, to move out of the chair next to him so that he could seat me where we could comfortably converse. Fortunately, Peter was one of the few guests who showed no animosity toward me. His jovial compliance with Lance’s request was a welcome respite from the otherwise tense atmosphere.

It took a while before the guest’s attention left me and Lance and turned toward good conversation and even better food. I’m fairly content with my station in life and never really coveted that of the rich and famous, but, if I had to covet one thing, it would be the fact that they always have a fantastic cook at the ready.

Since Lance made no mention of our little hallway fiasco during our luncheon conversation, but favored me with topics that were both intelligent and interesting, I soon relaxed and forgot about my humiliation. I was so engrossed in his stories about his family history that I robotically ate every bit of food that he felt the need to pile onto my plate. By the time I’d realized what I’d done, my stomach suffered extreme discomfort and I was in the need of some rest and an antacid.

Disappointed at the turn of events, Lance escorted me back to my room. He disappeared briefly, only to reappear with a bottle of antacids. I thanked him profusely while my shaky hands fumbled with the bottlecap. Something about this man’s nearness just sent my body into a jitter fest. Yet, I couldn’t imagine being in a room without being close to him.

He reached forward and placed his hand over mine. It felt soothing and warm. I could feel my jitters easing up.

“Here. Let me help you,” he said in a soft coo-like tone.

Chills that bordered on erotic traveled up and down my spine as I reveled in his touch. For a brief moment, my abdomen contracted with desire. With the cap removed, he had no reason to continue keeping his hand over mine. Even so, it took a moment for him to pull it away. When he did, I felt an immediate sense of disappointment and loss.

Our eyes locked for an intense moment as his face drew closer to mine. For a second, I thought that he might kiss me. My entire body stood at attention in anticipation of what I was sure would be a fantastic and memorable experience before my tortured stomach ruined the mood with a great big hiccup.

“Take your antacid and get some rest,” he said as he stood to make a reluctant exit. “I’ll check on you in a few hours.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I watched him close the door behind him.

Furious over the missed opportunity, I popped the antacids into my pouting mouth before yanking my overly seductive tee shirt off. My breasts were strong and firm, so I hadn’t bothered to wear a bra. Looking down at my hardened nipples, I groaned at the realization that they must have been poking at the fabric of my tee during our almost kiss.

With the desire to escape what was turning out to be a day of embarrassment, I curled up on the bed and willed myself to sleep.