The One He Chose

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The One He Chose Copyright  2011 by Wendy Burke ISBN: 978-1-61333-033-3 Cover art by Dara England All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC Look for us online at: www.decadentpublishing.com

The One He Chose Wendy Burke

A 1 Night Stand Story

The One He Chose

Chapter One I want to get drunk, get fucked, and not give a damn. Grace shook her head, not believing she had just typed those words in an email to her brother. Sorry, John, you know I’m not like that, but I’m just really missing Ben today. I’m not going to say don’t worry about me because you will anyway, and it’s much appreciated. I’m gonna call it a night. I’m fine, so don’t sit up all night being concerned. Smooches…Grace. Grace Witzler hit “send,” then shut down her laptop and slid it into its bag next to her bed. She couldn’t help but glance at the photo on the nightstand—her handsome Ben in Bermuda shorts, bare chested, his arms wrapped snugly about her middle, lifting her from the beach. She smiled at the photo, remembering the vacation and how wonderfully that day had ended. An emotional hiccup formed in the back of her throat. “Oh, Ben.” Not one to feel sorry for herself, tonight she allowed a bit of wallowing. Her beloved Ben had left her a year ago tomorrow, his athletic brawniness reduced to barely one hundred pounds at the end. Two days shy of his fifty-sixth birthday, his death left her a widow at forty-two. A tear slipped from her eye, as she burrowed into the sheets. She grabbed the pillow from the empty side of the California King and hugged it to her chest. “I miss you, Ben. I miss you so much.” She cried herself to sleep.

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Chapter Two Sweat ran down Grace’s back, her gray PROPERTY OF SYLVANIA SOUTHVIEW T-shirt soaked nearly black. She usually took pride in her wellcoiffed, wavy hair but the gym’s mirrored wall reflected more of a drowned-rat chic look. She closed her eyes to her image and went back to concentrating on her audio book. Her mind stayed occupied as she pounded away the miles on the treadmill. The timer on her wrist vibrated, encouraging her to disengage from her labors. Her ninety minutes completed, she slowed to a walk, her body returning to a normal rest. When she opened her eyes her neighbor, Jake VanAbel, stood in front of her waving a FedEx envelope. “They left this with me.” She smiled at him, surprised at his presence. He’d been her around-the-house lifesaver during Ben’s illness, a “brother of a different mother” as her husband had called him—and here he was again, helping out. She popped out her earbuds. “You didn’t have to make a special trip, Jake.” “No big deal.” He cracked the top of a plastic bottle and handed it to her. “Thank you.” She took a long pull of water and a covert ogle of his six foot two, former-major-league-first-baseman’s build. “What is it?” His good-lookin’ mug crinkled into an odd face. “It’s water, Grace—you know, that stuff that comes out of the tap in the kitchen?” Even though she’d always appreciated his humorous sarcasm, she rolled her eyes at him. Too much time coaching adolescent boys had turned him into a lovable smartass. Stepping from the machine, she wiped down the handholds and approached him. “No, in the envelope.” “I don’t read my neighbor’s mail.” She took the cardboard mailer from him, studying the return address. “Castillo Resorts. Probably a time share pitch.” He shrugged, “Doubtful—if it were, they wouldn’t have shelled out for FedEx.

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I’d at least open the thing before tossing it.” She fanned herself with the envelope. “Well, thanks, Jake.” She forced herself not to stare as he turned and headed for his own workout.

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Chapter Three Sitting at her kitchen table, Grace tore open the envelope. Attached to printed brochures, itineraries, lists, and suggestions she found a handwritten note. The writer had passed penmanship with flying colors. Dear Mrs. Witzler, My sincerest condolences on the death of your husband. He contacted me before his demise to secure for you a vacation of a lifetime, one which will leave you grateful, fulfilled, and breathless. He selected this retreat package with the ultimate care, hoping the one he chose for you will remind you always just how much he still loves and cares about you. All you need to do is pack, follow the instructions below, and open your mind, body, and soul to an experience specifically tailored to your needs. One last thing. Enjoy Yourself! Madame Eve—1NightStand PS: If you are unsure about the validity of this purchase, please email us with any questions you may have. “What the hell?” Grace sucked in a breath, steadying herself. “Benny, what did you do?” She flipped through the enclosed paperwork. An all expense paid, oneweek stay at the Castillo Retreat-Banff in the Canadian National Park of the same name near Calgary awaited her. She hadn’t been back to the stunning scenery of Alberta since her honeymoon with Ben. Now, she would revisit it, alone. She put her hand to her mouth, holding back sudden tears. A knock startled her. She turned in her chair to see her brother, John, peeking in through the sidelights of the back door. She swiped hastily at her cheeks and waved him in. He had a knack of knowing the exact moment to show up. “Hey, John!” His scruff brushed her cheek where he left a wet smooch. She always found herself content when he was around. A tall bear of a man, yet gentle and comforting. “Hey, yourself.” He plopped into a chair, stretching out his long legs. “As an

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FYI, I didn’t sit up all night worrying about you.” “Well, thanks. I appreciate that.” They eyed one another in total sibling understanding. “What are you doing in Sylvania?” “Just down here to pick up the last of Travis’s stuff.” John smiled, his hazel eyes twinkling like a kid on Christmas morning. “The place should be ready to move into next weekend. I can’t wait to show you the granite in the kitchen!” The two men had designed their new home, and Grace had never seen her brother so happy. The relationship had been a surprise, considering Travis hadn’t celebrated his thirtieth birthday and John could see fifty. Travis was a cutie and smart as a whip. Grace smiled at her brother, enjoying his impish happiness. If he could find fulfillment after the death of his partner three years ago, maybe she could move on. It would be quite a challenge, though. Ben Witzler had been the ultimate husband and spoiled her beyond words. A lawn mower roared to life and Grace’s gaze shot toward the kitchen’s bow window. Clad in a Colorado Rockies T-shirt and jersey shorts, Jake started on his lawn. Before he finished, hers would also be perfectly manicured. Warmth filled her. What would she do without him? John toyed with the paperwork on the table. “Going on a trip?” She stifled a disappointed whine—he didn’t know he was interrupting prime Jake-watching time. She turned back to the table and shrugged, “It’s the weirdest thing. The letter says Ben arranged this stay in Banff before he died.” Her brother raised a shocked eyebrow as he perused the spread-out packet of information. “What?” “Madame Eve! Gracie, do you know what this is?” “A vacation…?” “It’s a helluva lot more than a vacation!” “I thought the Madame Eve part seemed odd, but….” Sometimes her brother confounded her, more so now that he slumped back in his chair, wearing a broad smile. 5

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“Benny, Benny, Benny.” “John, please!” “I knew he was thoughtful, but this is really something.” Her confusion grew when her brother wrapped an arm about her shoulders and squeezed. “What?” “He planned for everything. Your beloved husband is gonna get you laid from beyond the grave!”

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Chapter Four Their debate about whether Grace really needed a sex life ended a half hour later; John insisting she’d be much happier with that sort of companionship— Grace disagreed, explaining she had plenty in her life to keep her occupied and didn’t need the game-playing and possible disappointment which went along with new relationships. “Travis and I will see you at dinner, Saturday.” John pressed his lips to her forehead and left. She wasn’t angry with him, just irritated in an entertained way. Why would he tease her about her post-Benny intimate encounters? Or, more factually, complete lack thereof? “If you don’t believe me, call Madame Eve,” he’d insisted when she protested that he must be mistaken about Ben’s intentions. Impossible, as the correspondence stated: All communication via email only, please. As she waited for her laptop to power up, she hunted for something to drink. Heading for the refrigerator, she took a detour to the liquor cabinet. Barely afternoon, still she retrieved Ben’s bottle of Glenlivet and his favorite crystal snifter. She sat back down at the table and splashed in two fat fingers of the amber fluid. She logged on, and before she could open an email window, an IM box blinked on her screen. The sender’s ID: Eve_1NS. Good afternoon, Mrs. Witzler. The direct greeting stunned her. The raised glass shook in her hand, spilling whisky on the keyboard. Tentatively she typed, Hello. Pleased don’t be shocked by the IM. All your contact information was forwarded to me well in advance. Grace calmed and laughed to herself. That’s my Ben. Your husband gave a very thorough description of the retreat he desired for

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you. Do you have any questions I may answer? A sip of scotch centered and emboldened her. Just what is this? How do I know you’re not a sick stalker or something? Mrs. Witzler, no need to be alarmed. Please refer to our business statement included in your paperwork, indicating where you can do more background checking on our services if you wish. Okay, I may do that…no offense. Our business particulars are always available to our clients. Specifics regarding those we serve, however, for privacy reasons, are strictly off limits. This, of course, includes everything your husband has shared with us about you. Understood. I want to assure you, this is not a prank. Benjamin contacted us about eighteen months ago and explained your collective situation. He wanted to make sure you were properly attended to one year after his passing. He told me a great deal about you—your devotion, your forthrightness, and most importantly, how very much he loved you. Grace glanced down at the letter and brochures scattered about her kitchen table. She didn’t bother to stop the tears which dripped on her itinerary. She wiped her nose with a paper napkin; Madame Eve’s words warmed and wounded her. Benjamin wrote you didn’t “give a damn” about yourself for a long time— only about him. And he mentioned that after he died, you wouldn’t go searching for the kind of intimacy you shared with him before he took ill. Grace’s cheeks radiated embarrassed heat. This stranger talked about her widowed sex life. Ben told you that? Grace—may I call you Grace? Please don’t be self-conscious about this. Your husband only wanted the best for you—for your happiness. She nodded and spoke into her Scotch. “Leave it to Benny to think of everything.” So what do I do now? You have all the instructions, oui? Yes. Choose the week you would like to visit. A car will be sent for you. You will 8

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board a private jet and after a few hours, arrive at a lovely resort in the breathtaking Canadian Rockies. All you have to do is enjoy yourself.

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Chapter Five Grace sighed, watching Jake trim the hedges in her front yard. The man never fatigued. He puttered on his property, then made sure her landscape was as pristine as his. After yard work, he’d sometimes jog, rather than drive, to the high school, to put his Southview Cougar baseball team through nearly major leaguestyle drills. Kids loved him and parents revered him for turning around some of their more incorrigible teenage boys. The school system knew him to be a walking public relations machine. Sainthood was fairly far off, but making him the next superintendent of schools seemed to be Sylvania Southview PTA’s next project. Grace snorted and shook her head at the man with the hedge clippers. He’d never take the job— politics wasn’t his game. Sitting in an Adirondack chair on her porch, waiting for the driver to pick her up for her “beyond-the-grave booty call” as her brother had styled her date, she thought about her life, specifically the last year without Ben. While she’d been lonely for him, her friends hadn’t deserted her after his passing. She’d heard that happened sometimes when one half of a couple died. Quite to the contrary, Grace lived among people who loved and cared for her. She grinned thinking about the sometimes-odd, rag-tag bunch made up of, for starters, her neighborly protector, Jake, her brother John and his delicious partner Travis. The last time the four of them had gone to dinner, she and Jake ended up in a giggling pile in the restaurant booth. John had always been told he was the spitting image of singer Trace Adkins. The award-winning artist was playing the Huntington Center downtown that night so John dressed the part, bedecked in a black cowboy hat. Dinner became one long laugh-fest as the foursome was interrupted time and again by unwitting star seekers. It had been all Jake’s fault really. Between the Brokeback Mountain comments and singing Hillbilly Bone-er, the four of them had been dangerously close to getting tossed from the eatery! “Grace, stop with the nerves already!”

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Hearing his voice she caught herself chewing at the inside of her bottom lip. “What?” Blinking away her thoughts, she eyed Jake wiping his sweat-dimpled forehead with his hem of his T-shirt. Grace enjoyed the little, innocuous show— his blond-dusted six-pack rippled with his movement. Nearing forty-five, he still had his World Series-winning physique from more than a decade earlier. She was glad his shirt momentarily covered his face; she’d hate to be caught leering. “If I had known what was in that envelope when I delivered it two weeks ago, I would have torn it open and taken this trip myself!” I’m sure you would have, Jake! Despite their discussions about how this trip had come about, she had left out one very important detail—the arrangement courtesy of Madame Eve. “Just relax and enjoy Ben’s gift.” Before she could open her mouth to respond, he continued, “You and your brother—the analytical twins!” The budding conversation stopped when a black limo pulled into the drive. “Wow! This is a first class operation.” Jake chuckled. Grace sighed. “I guess.” He stripped off his work gloves, tossed them aside, and then took her bag from the stoop. He gave her a bump with his hip. “Hey, c’mon now—no secondguessing.” She loved the weight of his arm draped about her shoulder. “Ben really did it up nice for you. You owe it to him to have a good time.” He escorted her to the car, where a dark-suited man waited by the back door. “C’mere.” He hugged her. Wrapped in his strong, reliable arms, guilt washed over her—she enjoyed his embrace and knew she was safe in his hold. Tall and strong, warm and a bit sweaty from his labors—dammit!—his warm cinch reminded her of Ben. His lips delivered a noisy smooch to her cheek. “Go have fun.” “Thanks, Jake. I hope to.”

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Chapter Six Breathtaking. Cliché, yet no other word came to mind to describe the Castillo Retreat, Banff. The spirit of Frank Lloyd Wright hovered about the compound, from immense structural pieces to small, ornamental details. The lines were clean and unobtrusive, allowing the great wilderness of the Canadian Rockies to take center stage. “Mrs. Witzler, good afternoon!” Grace shook the welcoming hand as she tipped back her head to take in the multi-storied lobby. “This is quite the place.” “Yes, isn’t it? We’re very proud.” The young man, dressed in sharply creased chinos, white shirt, and navy blazer, introduced himself as Martin. “I will be taking care of you throughout your stay. If there is anything—and I do mean anything—you need, any question you want answered, a warm brandy at three a.m., just pick up the phone and it will be yours.” Anything? Please, Benny, tell me he’s not my date. He leans more in John and Travis’s direction. But thanks for the personal concierge! “I do have one request right now, Martin.” “Anything ma’am.” “Show me to your bar.” Four hours, seven shots, and two bottles of wine later, Grace settled into a chaise lounge in the corner of the terrace bar and rested her eyes—too much sun, too much scenery, and possibly a bit too much alcohol. Throughout the evening, she had dismissed at least three men who wanted to make her acquaintance. A mistake? Maybe she had waved off the one suitor with whom she was meant to have the experience purchased by her dear Ben. You can’t force this stuff, honey. She lifted her head and to look around a vast midnight blue sky dusted with millions of stars. The brightest one winked at her. I see you, Benny. Out of nowhere, Martin appeared. “May I take you to your suite, Mrs.

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Witzler?” She extended her hand and he steadied her ascent from her lounge like only a gentleman could. “I’m bagged, aren’t I, Martin.” “I think you’re enlightened, ma’am.” She wound her arm through his, allowing him to guide her. “You’re very kind.” “And you are very lovely, if I may say so, Mrs. Witzler.” They rode the elevator in silence to her floor. Martin unlocked the door of her suite and led her safely inside. “Anything else this evening?” “Just tell me I didn’t make a drunken spectacle of myself.” She smiled at him. Where do these people come from? Obviously an English butler school valedictorian! “On the contrary, you were quite pleasant and had the loveliest conversations with dozens of people.” He dropped his head slightly, “And, if I may add, you were the most attractive woman on the terrace. I hope I’m not being too forward.” Grace plopped into a fatly upholstered chair and put her hand to her chest, trying to contain her giggles. “Oh, Martin, you just made my day!” “Ah, well, thank you, ma’am. If that is all, I will say good night.” “Thank you.” She followed him to the door and secured it from the inside. She thought about exploring her suite, but the excitement of the private jet ride, the altitude of the Canadian Rockies, and maybe too much of the juice of varietal grapes seemed to have sucked any remaining energy from her. She shed clothing en route to the expansive bedroom with the million dollar view, then crawled naked under the heavy down comforter and fell into a well-needed, dreamless sleep.

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Chapter Seven Grace woke—surprisingly—sans hangover. Peeking at the bedside clock, it read nearly one p.m. She left the expansive, barely disturbed bed and wandered to the wall of windows. When she tossed open the heavy fabric, a high sun revealed a perfect day. The robe she found in the closet seemed to weigh more than she did. Wrapping the soft terry cloth around her, she explored her room. She found a thick welcome envelope prominently displayed on the coffee table, and another with Day Two Itinerary scripted on its heavy parchment. Before she could tear it open, a rich aroma caught her attention. She followed the alluring scent and found its source. How did that coffee maker know I was awake? The mugs were sturdy, hand-painted in a design which matched the ceramic sugar bowl and a tiny pitcher filled with real heavy cream. She sprinkled in a bit of sugar, tanned the black liquid and sipped. She decided she could never drink coffee anywhere else again. Benny, you picked a great place, honey! A phone blooped quietly nearby. “Hello?” “Good afternoon, Mrs. Witzler. Did you sleep well?” She smiled; she could easily get accustomed to this kind of doting attention. “Yes, Martin. Thank you.” “How is the coffee, ma’am?” “Outstanding!” “I take it you’ve found your daily itinerary. Would you like me to order you some lunch before you head out?” Uh, head out? What the hell is he talking about? “Sure, that would be lovely.” Lovely? Grace, when did you start speaking…er, talking…like this? “Very well, ma’am. Anything in particular?” “No, I trust you. Surprise me.” Martin worked his magic while she showered and dressed; her bed had been made and all the suite’s draperies were opened to let in the day. When she

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wandered into the main room, a fresh breeze welcomed her, along with a room service table set up on her balcony. Her stomach growled, beyond hungry. Still she took her time, enjoying the atmosphere and her midday meal—baked prairie chicken with green apple glaze, white fingerling potatoes, and a salad of unusual crunchy mixed greens dressed with a tangy vinaigrette. A slice of wild berry pie nearly put her in a post-lunch coma, but she didn’t give in to full-tummy syndrome. With the Day Two Itinerary envelope awaiting her perusal, she obviously had things to do.

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Chapter Eight She followed the directions laid out in her itinerary. Her adventure began with a favorite activity, hiking by compass. She set off, carefully tracking the trail markings and headings left in the packet. A test? She didn’t know, but whatever lay at the end of this hike would be rewarding. In life, her Ben had never disappointed, so despite a few nerves, her heart warmed to the notion this trip of his was designed only for her happiness. She walked for more than an hour at a leisurely pace, not thinking of much of anything, just enjoying the amazing scenery which enhanced her trek. On occasion, she slowed to study her directions. Her concentration wandered, thinking about the “well-appointed, off-resort location” to which she hiked and wondering just what she was getting herself into. If she ever found the place she sought, her instructions told her she would be spending the night, so she’d stuffed her pack with clothing and toiletries for at least a day away. A half hour later, she ducked through low pine boughs and frightened a whitetail doe. The path widened, opening to a clearing with a rough-hewn log cottage. She smiled, holding back the tears. How Ben would have loved this place—high in the Rockies, no other voices, no cars, no phones, just birds chattering about the waning days of summer and leaves rustling high in the trees. A gently flapping piece of heavy parchment tacked to the door caught her eye. Welcome, Grace, please make yourself at home was artistically noted in calligraphy. She turned the doorknob and went inside. She sighed happily, taking in the large room; open and airy, decorated in Frank Lloyd Wright style, the lines and accoutrements matching that of the home resort. A sleek table in the fore-area held a square vase of native summer flowers—blue Columbine, red wood lilies, delicate purple fairy slippers, and the unusual yellow Nuttal’s violet. Under the windows in the front of the room, thickly upholstered love seats; on either side, loaded bookshelves. A nook held a small kitchen area. Her eyes widened and she arched an eyebrow entertaining

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sexual possibilities on the king-sized, four-poster bed. Then again, the pillowstrewn, fluffy lambs’ wool Greek flokati rug in front of the river stone fireplace could be a great location for an interesting interlude. The only real doorway inside the cabin led to a well-appointed bathroom. She plopped herself and her pack on one of the loveseats then untied her hiking boots. With a small sigh, she wondered what the next hours would hold, yet she wasn’t concerned—attentive to nearly a fault, the Castillo’s staff had promised her a relaxed stay, sure to spoil, and Madame Eve assured her those involved in these engagements were intensively screened—safety and the ultimate romantic experience 1 Night Stand’s goal. “Darn it, Ben,” she said, noticing the sweating, sterling silver ice bucket and her favorite Moet champagne resting in its icy confines. In her thick, rag-wool socks she padded across the room to the kitchen area where she found an artfully arranged selection of fruit and cheese. She snagged a juicy slice of sweet pear, and poked her nose into the refrigerator. It was stocked with four more green bottles, along with other, more traditional fridge fare. “Well, okay, a little party for me.” She took the bottle from the bucket and with three and a half turns of the wire, removed the cage from the Moet’s top, peeled off the metallic cap, and with a careful wiggle, pulled the bottle from the cork with an exuberant pop! “Ha!” She’d spilled nothing Returning to the kitchen, she ignored the proper glasses and hunted for a regular tumbler. She silently scolded herself when the bubbles burned her nose. In her mind, Ben chuckled at her. Leaning against the counter, she sighed, pleasantly content. Running her hand through her hair, down the nape of her neck, it came away slick with sweat. Might as well put the tub to good use. Glass in hand, she went into the restroom and looked around. The bath was immense! Plugging the drain, she cranked the handle and tested the water’s temperature. A fancy bottle on the tub’s edge caught her eye. She flipped open the top and smiled—honeysuckle, her absolute favorite. A good squirt foamed the 17

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water and filled the room with the flower’s scent. While the tub filled, she had plenty of time to retrieve some supplies. She positioned her champagne and the fruit and cheese board within reach of the deep bath and stripped off her hiking garb, tossing the clothes into a corner. Just what I need. She gave the full length mirror and her naked image a sour look. Oh well, hopefully it’ll be dark by the time he gets here. She raised her glass to her reflection, and sank into the bubbly water. Would the man she awaited be younger than she? Older? Would he be attracted to her and she to him? If not, what then? A refund from Madame Eve? It didn’t matter, she would enjoy herself in whatever way the night engendered. After all, this was Ben’s gift to her. The bottle emptied with her contemplation. Ooo, wrinkly! She left the tub and wrapped herself in a luxurious bath sheet. She dried slowly, then retrieved lotion from her pack. “Come fuck me” lotion Ben had called it, as the moisturizer hinted at a slight hue and shimmer. She started at her toes and worked the cream into every pore. When finished, she turned toward the full length mirror to study herself. Well, I’m not eighteen anymore! Not even slightly embarrassed by her figure, still it certainly wasn’t that of the college soccer star she once had been. She dug into her pack. “Black, red, or cream?” Taking one brassiere from each lingerie set she turned her back to the doorway and flung them over her shoulder into the main room. Bed you win, floor you lose! She closed her eyes and slowly faced the portal. “Yes, cream!” The opal-shaded demi was the lone item of clothing on the bed. She retrieved the undergarments and with a quick glance through the large windows wondered if anyone was observing her selection process. “Who cares if they are!” Back in front of the mirror, she slinked the set’s thong over her legs and adjusted it properly. Maybe I should’ve bought a large. The stretch lace bra was next. Nothin’s gonna help forty years of gravity, Grace! Sometimes she wondered why she was so self-deprecating; she was a perfect, toned “C” cup. The stressed fabric only made “the girls” look fuller. She maneuvered and stuffed, 18

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propped them in properly, and made sure their most notable assets—nipples, were tucked in snugly. She struck a pose. This is a good as it gets. “Whatever, Grace!” Donning the short kimono, she stowed the empty Moet bottle, grabbed a fresh one and headed to the porch. Settling into a double chaise lounge, she sighed at the view. The sun was just beginning to set. Looking up to a jagged, snow white peak, her gaze sloped into a deep green valley with a tiny lake, in between, meadows feathered into pine stands. She spotted a Bighorn Sheep carefully navigating a craggy outcropping. Feet up, glass in hand, Grace relaxed. She didn’t think about Ben or her crazy weeklong journey. She just emptied herself of everything and enjoyed the quiet background conversation of birds and the fallen leaves playing tag. Hours passed, the day dimmed. Grace had spent it in anticipation of the next few hours, dozing, and eventually missing her dear Ben. The first of the evening’s stars shone above her. She raised her glass in a toast, “I know, Ben, it’s time to move on, but I do still love you.” Wrapping a thick cotton blanket about her shoulders, she gave in to the champagne and fell asleep on the double chaise.

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Chapter Nine Was she dreaming? Breathless and warm, she mmm-ed in sleepy delight and drew herself in to intensify the tickling between her thighs. Her back met something warm and solid. Ben, her somnolent mind told her. She lay back, giving in to the specter sensations. Her head rested on a strong shoulder. She reached behind her, feeling well-fitting denim. Gently she stroked the hard thigh, coaxing a protective leg over her hip. In her stupor, it responded to her wishes, her legs now weighted down by a muscular haunch. She groaned into the phantom’s body; it responded with a nuzzle to her neck. When she whimpered, firm lips kissed her cheek, well-trimmed whiskers tickled her. “Grace.” The deep voice worked its way into her consciousness. She sighed in her haziness and clutched the imaginary hand resting on her tummy. Whoever or whatever held her carried a familiar scent, one that elicited trust and caring. Out on the porch, the mountain air had chilled. Despite the comfort of the presence around her, her body responded with a shiver. A hand slipped into the lace triangle of her thong, caressing the area between navel and Nirvana. Definitely not a dream. She blinked, slowly coming to life. The frightened tone of her inquiry shocked even her. “Who are you?” “Relax.” His lips lovingly met her shoulder. “Ben sent me.” He didn’t seem to have any malicious intent—well, at least not at the moment. And Madame Eve wouldn’t allow something hurtful to happen. “What do you…?” The hand cupped her waxed-for-the-occasion pubic area. His callused digits followed a natural path. It’d been so long since someone had

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touched her in this manner, nearly two years. She didn’t blame Ben for the extended dry spell, only the disease which had dampened his interest and stamina. “I want you to relax and let me make love to you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” So, this is how this Madame Eve stuff works. With little thought, she relented to her physical loneliness. She closed her eyes and shoved the lace below her hips. The stranger assisted until her legs were completely bare. “Yes, please.” He was strong, agile, and wonderfully gentle. A warm, sincere, somewhat familiar voice tickled her ear. “Grace.” She leaned into him, wanting to sigh in happy relief and cry in terrible sadness. His arms about her, she slowly turned into his embrace. She closed her eyes, waiting for the initial kiss. Then, it came, gentle yet deep and although he was a stranger, she felt a profound connection, a silent conversation. She raised her hand to touch his cheek in encouragement. Blinking in the darkness, desperately wanting to see her soon-to-be lover, her eyes finally focused and the world came to an abrupt halt. “Jake!”

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Chapter Ten Her lips were sweet and wanting, softer than he imagined. Her body easily molded to his. He caught his breath; this scenario had only taken place in his dreams. He nuzzled her, happy she didn’t shy away or try to cover herself. A part of his psyche had insisted she would bolt from this potential change in their relationship. Her possible excuse for rejecting him already formed in his brain— she wouldn’t want to change the dynamic of their friendship. His wanting id smacked his sensible ego and any concern scattered. “Hi, Gracie.” He held back a chuckle as her words tripped over each other. “How…why…where did…dammit…Jake!” He touched her face, the skin of her cheeks like satin against his callused hand. She quieted and in her eyes Jake saw relief, yet terrible confusion. He drew her in; her trim body trembled in his caress. “It’s all right, Grace. It’s all right.” She mumbled into his chest. “Is it, Jake, is it really?” “Gracie.” Tears wet her green eyes, yet Jake saw in them the one thing he’d known always existed between them—trust. “I will never hurt you; you know that. Ben wanted you to have a happy life, whether he was there or not. And for some reason, he thought—after his passing—that I could make you happy.” “Of course you do, Jake. You’re my best friend.” He touched her lips with his index finger and took a breath; her baffled cuteness made him terribly weak. He was overwhelmed that what he’d longed for all his adult life lay curled against him. Words he’d waited so many years to utter finally left his mouth, “You make me happy, Gracie.” His forehead to hers, he closed his eyes and smiled. “I’m in love with you, and have been for a very long time.” “I know, Jacob, I know,” she whispered. And maybe she did. Jake had known Grace for nearly twenty years, neighbors

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for about the last dozen. His mind, soul, and body had ached for her the moment they met, yet, he’d smiled for the camera as he stood next to his best friend, Ben, when the two married. He would never admit it, but he was a hopeless romantic. They’d been close pals; buddies who teased, who didn’t blush at innuendo, whose eyes caught, held, then gently glanced away. Had she seen his longing in the thousands of days they’d been acquainted? He thought so. But she’d never shied away from him and never led him on. Then, she kissed him, her lips tentative at first, then they overtook his mouth with renewed purpose and in a way he had only fantasized about. Jake returned the affection. His was a kiss of comfort and understanding, of promise and protection, of passion and guilt, and of dedication and desire. He whimpered when her mouth left his. She tucked her face in the hollow of his neck, quiet sniffles against his skin. He wrapped her up tightly, snuggling her in his arms and the thick cotton blanket, hoping to comfort her. He couldn’t imagine her mental state—confused, amazed, wondering, and probably shocked. “He loved you so much. Ben loved you so much.” She lay quietly in his arms for a long moment. He wondered if he’d expressed himself properly or maybe said too much. Crickets serenaded in the mountain air, calling out to their mates; their song reflected Jake’s hope. He’d agreed to Ben’s arrangement; Grace just had to do the same. She didn’t need to search far for a willing lover. He shook his head in amusement, watching as she wiped her cheeks on her sleeve like a little girl. She turned her face to his—in her eyes shone wonder, a mystifying realization. “Ben chose you for me?” “No, Grace. You’re the one he chose for me.”

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Chapter Eleven Ben’s proposal made no sense, yet all the sense in the world. If Grace were to see herself, surely a halo of stars circled her head, complete with chirping bluebirds. She could now empathize with Wylie E. Coyote when it came to taking a skillet to the noggin. What would Jake want with me? The retired professional baseball player was interesting, intelligent, good-looking, and in excellent shape. Her friends all called him “a perfect catch.” She knew he had dates and friends with benefits, but for some reason stayed perpetually single, always having some long, detail-less story over beers about how another possible continuing relationship had come to an end. But, here he was, with her. Physically, and even psychologically closer than they’d ever been. Stunned, her confusion chased away any salaciousness. She unwrapped herself from Jake’s hold, kissed his cheek, and went into the cabin. She wedged into the corner of a loveseat and emptied her mind with a long sigh. She’d been ready to embark on a clandestine physical adventure, far away from anything that resembled her everyday life. Then her real world showed up and crashed the party. Ben chose him for me? It’s not right that he wants me to want Jake—even though I do. Please Benny, tell me you’re not up there having a laugh over this because it’s not funny! She swiped a tear from her cheek. She still had no answers, no bailout to this odd circumstance. A floorboard creaked. Jake crouched down before her, warmed her hands in his. She gave him the best smile she could conjure, considering, and it pained her to see his handsome face furrowed with concern. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I startled you, offended you.” His cheeks reddened, and he added in a whisper, “Molested you.” “You didn’t. I just….” “I don’t want you to think I tricked you, because as much as I want to be here

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with you, it wasn’t my idea.” “Madame Eve’s idea, I’m sure.” Her tone held more irritated sarcasm than she anticipated. “No. Ben did set this up.” Bewildered, slightly angry and definitely embarrassed, she didn’t want to feel better, not right then. But when he sat beside her and surrounded her with his reliable arms, she couldn’t help but listen to his explanation. “Remember the weekend Ben insisted you go stay at your brother’s in Ypsilanti? He wanted you to have some time for yourself, a break from taking care of him 24/7.” “I only went because you stayed with him. I didn’t trust anyone else.” “Do you still trust me?” “Of course, I do.” She relaxed a bit and settled into his hold. She didn’t know the direction of this chat, but she needed to be near him as he spoke. “Ben and I had some great conversations that weekend. He told me things that I never knew about him, about you, and about myself.” “What would you have not known about yourself, Jake? Ben had great perception about people, but he couldn’t know everything.” “True, but he knew from the moment you and I met that I loved you.” Whether from over indulgence of champagne, lying too long in the cold air, or too much honesty, her skull began to pound. She shook her head. “What are you getting at, Jake?” Not one for tears, he’d only cried once that she knew of—at Ben’s funeral. But to her amazement, a silent torrent raced down his cheeks. “He knew my feelings for you,” he choked. “I felt so guilty about it because I thought I betrayed my two best friends. But, I also loved you both too much just to go away.” She stroked his cheek with her hand, wiping away a few tears. She smiled at him when he took it and kissed her palm. “I learned how to control my feelings, learned how to deal with the fact you’d never be mine. It was terribly weird,” he chuckled awkwardly, “almost uncomfortable when I bought the house next to yours. Everything seemed to 25

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work out, though. I had to pat myself on the back—I could carry a torch for you and not make you uncomfortable.” “But, you had all those girlfriends, Jake—especially when you were still playing professional ball.” “That’s the lifestyle, Grace. Sure some of those women meant a little something to me, but not enough to continue a relationship.” His eyes left hers and Grace understood why—he’d just bared his soul. She heard the terrified, getting-it-all-out-in-the-open click in his throat. “That weekend, Ben told me he knew…knew I loved you. He told me he bore no animosity because he cared for and admired me too much. He respected that I never made a move or put you or me in a situation where one of us could trip over the line.” He wiped his face, shook his head, and chuckled, “But, he didn’t want you to flounder in the emotional sense after he died. And, he wanted to give me the nod to have what I’ve always wanted. You.” She took a breath, holding on to her emotions, keeping her tears in check. For the umpteenth time that evening, she shook her head. It was too much to comprehend. All those years of Jake’s caring glances, his reliability, his warm words were more than those of a steadfast friend. He’d been in love with her. And Ben. He’d been a doting husband, but to show his care and concern for her after his death was above and beyond any sacred vow. She moved from her place on the loveseat to sit in Jake’s lap, wrapping her arms about his shoulders. She had missed a man’s whiskered chin tickling her neck. “You probably think I’m pathetic, huh?” He smiled at her when she lifted her head to negate his thought and look into his eyes. “I just thought it better to be near to you than to try to tie my emotions to someone else. There would never be any betrayal—but it didn’t keep me from wondering how you’d feel in my arms or what it would be like to kiss you in more than a neighborly way.” And, now he was. “If this doesn’t work for you, just let me know, I’ll leave. We’ll be no less friends.” His words, although gentle, broke her heart. How could he think that? She leaned out a bit from his embrace and took his handsome face in her 26

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hands. She said nothing, just gazed into his gray-blue eyes, studying him, letting the evening’s confessions settle. When his jaw nudged hers in invitation, her lips met his, warm and slow. Initial thoughts of shock and strangeness dissipated. Kissing Jake seemed the most natural thing in the world. Heat pulsed within her. When her mouth worked more fervently, he responded; at first tentatively, then he slid his strong hand under her kimono. When his fingers plied a stiff nipple through her lace bra, her body tingled in a way she had nearly forgotten it could. “Uh, Grace,” he mumbled between kisses and her suddenly eager groans. “Yes, Jake.” “I guess this means I’m stayin’, huh?” Shock filled his face as she left his lap. But his expression cleared when she yanked on the legs of his faded Levis. She then turned her attention to doing away with his flannel boxers. “If you left now, we’d both have a big problem.” She took in a surprised breath and licked her bottom lip. “Uh, no pun intended.”

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Chapter Twelve You are one lucky bastard, Jake VanAbel! He leaned over the side of the loveseat and found his travel bag right where he dropped it. Flipping open a pocket, he found immediately—thank God!—what he’d packed. But before he could tear open the condom wrapper, Grace had snatched it from his hand. His spine stiffened to the point of snapping as her soft hands grazed the insides of his thighs. His head thunked back into the heavy upholstery when she gripped his cock to steady it as she rolled the latex onto its girth. He focused and reached out to cup her gorgeous backside, drawing her toward him. Turnabout being fair play, one hand slipped between her legs and his touch was rewarded with an amazing groan. She leaned into him, her cheek rubbing his. “Please.” His hands about her trim middle, he encouraged her onto his lap. The soft skin on the inside of her knees skimmed the outside of his quads as she straddled him. They moaned together when he slid into her. He tossed back his head, closed his eyes, and barely breathed—the wait of so many years now over and well worth it. Despite her age, she had the feel of a teenager—slick, narrow, and tight, to the point where he debated whether to stop and ask if she was in pain. But, at the same time, he could do nothing, his mind and body paralyzed, too stunned that the woman he loved was finally making love to him. He wanted terribly to look into her beautiful eyes, watch her face as passion danced across it, but the sensations enveloping his member locked inside his gorgeous friend had him nearly unconscious. The whisper tickled his ear. “Help me, Jake.” He blinked away his selfish enjoyment, still shocked. So, this isn’t another fantasy! “Gracie.” Gazing at her, he swallowed hard, trying to temper his physical response. But as she pistoned on him, her wrap fell open, and the sight of her

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lace-bound breasts was all it took for him to lose any semblance of composure. His arms circled her waist, her skin like warm satin to his touch. He controlled her frenzied movement, held her steady and took manly charge. He wanted to be gentle, but her tightening passage teased him so terribly his brain moved from love-making to fucking mode. Sliding his grip around to her backside, he made a dream come true—grabbing her ass and forcing her down upon him. He gasped as she squirmed. Well beyond physical, it seemed his presence inside her opened some portal to emotions long locked away. His body continued to be strong, bold, but his mind was scrambled, addled with the notion that perched upon him was the fulfillment to his life’s every desire, the ultimate gift of mind, body, and spirit. With a wail, she leaned back and cried, “Jake, uh….” He pulled her into his hold, containing her shudders as her orgasm clamped down on him, imploring him to come. His body arched, every muscle rigid as she pulsed about his member, his vision blurred as his climax approached hard and fast. Grace’s pretty face was the last thing he saw, her contented sighs the last thing he heard before being suddenly rendered momentarily deaf and blind, screwed into sexual unconsciousness. He dropped back into the sofa. Small, continuous kisses brought him around. Warm and lusty words filled his ear. “Thank you, Jake, thank you.”

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Chapter Thirteen Grace fluffed the down pillows and propped them and herself against the slatted headboard. She sat crossed legged on the bed, watching Jake’s mesmerizing, re-flannel-boxered backside as he prodded the fireplace to life. She’d always admired his physique, had seen him shirtless countless times over the years, but now viewed him in a whole new light, as a man in love with her. He had a gorgeous, athletic body, well built with useful muscle, rounded with just a bit of age. Where Ben had been compact and brawny, a solid rock of a football offensive lineman, Jake had the perfect build for a first baseman. He gave her a wink, as he left the floor. “Champagne? She nodded. They certainly had something to celebrate! She remembered their first meeting—a sunny June day over the third base rail at Coor’s Field in Denver. Jake was riding high with the Rockies baseball club, Ben had just retired from the Broncos. Both men were born Ohio Buckeyes, so displaced from home the two had become fast friends. Now that she thought about it, there had been a twinkle in Jake’s gray-blue eyes for her even then. As odd as it seemed for the immediate situation, she said a little prayer of thanksgiving. Those in the cosmos watching over her must care for her a great deal to provide for her so completely. She expected to feel tremendous guilt when—if—after Ben’s passing she moved on to have sex with another. She would have with anyone else. Watching him return with the celebratory wine, calm filled her. Warm, make that flushed, and happy, and at the moment unsure what gave off more heat and light—the stone fireplace across the room or Jake’s beaming, boyish grin. She took a glass and he poured for the both of them. “Well.” He climbed into bed next to her. “Well.” She lifted her champagne, tilting it slightly toward him. “To Ben and the one he chose for me.” “And, to the one he chose for me.” The crystal clink rang though the room. They drained their glasses. She took

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his empty and along with hers placed it on the nightstand. As she leaned over him, his strong, warm hand caressed her bare backside. “I’ve only wanted to do that for…oh…about forever.” She smiled at him, enjoying his touch, then moved into his lap. The feel of her best friend holding her, his chin on her head, being that close to someone who’d loved her for so long tickled her beyond expression. “I love you, Gracie.” She’d used these words in their platonic life, but now the meaning had happily intensified. “I love you, Jake.” Her lips were drawn to his neck. She nibbled there; his response hummed against her mouth. Her hand wandered. Her finger traced his collarbone, mapped his hard chest, toyed with the fine blond hair along the midline of his torso, split his still-solid six-pack, feathered about his navel then moved to the soft down trail leading into his plaid boxers. She slipped her hand under the elastic and played at the base of his penis—immediately rewarded with his arms clutching her more tightly, a wanting sigh in her ear. “You’re killin’ me.” He nudged her and she followed his body’s directive, allowing him to slowly lay her out on the bed. Jake hovered above her. She smiled at his gorgeous face, a tiny grin lighting up his features, setting off his adorable dimples. When he playfully smooched her neck, she giggled like a teenager. He propped himself on his elbow. “How is it that we’ve already “done it” and we’re both still half clothed?” She shrugged, coy. He untied the sash of her kimono. She rose toward him and he assisted her with a gentle tug on her hand. She thought her heart would beat from her chest, when with great intention, he slipped the silk from her arms. The fabric skimming over her skin forced her into a pant, every nerve ending aflame, dispatching the wildness of want through her body. A feral electricity went through her as Jake’s callused index finger traced down her spine, his hand sliding under the lace stretched across her back. She tossed back her head, exposing her neck. She wasn’t disappointed when Jake took a moment to graze there. He kissed her cheek and stripped her bra over her head. 31

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*** She. Was. Beautiful. Still, Jake found her body amazing and would not hurry. The two of them had the rest of night, the week and, he prayed, the remainder of their lives together. He watched her closely as his finger followed the midline of her body. He so badly wanted to paw her like a thirteen-year old, get his hands on what had been hinted to him under a T-shirt, teased him from the top of a modest bikini, and hardened him when she was caught in a cold breeze. But he didn’t. He leaned into her, his body weight directing her back into the sheets. She writhed beneath him, jutted her bust toward him. He’d make her wait; he too could tease. Her breathing deepened and her back arched as his finger ran the line of her sternum. Absolutely fucking stunning! When her small hand took his, guiding it to grasp a breast, his fingers paid particular attention to a hard nipple and he nearly came where he lay. His mouth found hers, silencing a pleading moan. Her hands again yanked at his shorts. His eyes stayed locked with hers and he left her mouth long enough to strip the boxers from his legs. “Jake, please.” He had to hear it, had to hear her say the words he’d fantasized hearing her say for years. “What, baby?” “Please,” she moaned. “Please, make love to me.” Taking her face in his hands, he gazed into her eyes, lovingly insisting upon her attention. “I thought you’d never ask.”

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Chapter Fourteen By the flickering firelight, Grace saw Jake lean over and snag a condom from the bedside table. She held back a somewhat surprised snort. Had he secretly hid the rubbers about the cabin when she wasn’t looking? She was in awe at his pace, she knew he had the quick hands of a first baseman, but never had she seen a condom donned so rapidly and with such deftness. She took him in her hand and despite studying him earlier, he appeared harder and larger than she expected. For a split second, she hesitated. Grace, what are you doing? But, when his fingers closed around hers in encouragement and assistance, she surrendered, her knees splaying open in welcome. Her mind was clear. He’s my best friend, has been my comfort for all the past terrible months. Why wouldn’t he be the perfect choice? Her breath stopped when with great precision and purpose he slipped into her. She had led their initial coupling, and even though indescribably enjoyable, the thrill of being “taken” turned her on beyond comprehension. “You feel so good. Damn!” When his eyes met hers, they shone with tears. “I love you, Gracie.” Swallowing hard, she did her best to keep her emotions in check. All in the same moment, she wanted to sob in elation, relief, and sadness. No reason for the last of the feelings—she had what she wished for and as a bonus, he was someone she knew and cared about. And, in those dark days after Ben’s death, even wondered about—how Jake’s arms would feel about her in a more-thancomforting cuddle, how he would taste if she gave him the most innocent of kisses. She realized reality far surpassed any innocuous musings. The gravity of her life and the people in it hit her dead center. She had always known she was loved, but the realization of the depth of that affection overwhelmed her. Family, friends, coworkers and now a new romantic partner, hand-selected by the first man with whom she’d ever been in love.

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His deeply sexual moan rumbled against her cheek. She held tightly to his shoulders, her hips in unison with his tempo. He groaned again; was he holding back, reining himself in? “You needn’t be so gentle, Jake. You’re not going to break me.” He responded to her encouragement, caressing her knees, spreading her wider as he speared into her. She reveled in the sound of his skin slapping against hers, his balls teasing her butt with every plunge. Her internal muscles strained, waiting to release. And when they did, she slammed her head into the linens and let go. She wailed, thrashed, dug her nails into Jake’s tight butt. She was quickly rewarded when Jake grabbed her hips, shifted them higher and picked up his tempo. She squealed as Jake called her name, pinned her to the bed and ground into her. She reveled in his heft commanding and controlling her. And, when he locked his mouth on hers, expressing what words could not, she came in a way she never had before. His strength dominated her. Screwed into the mattress, unable to buck or shudder away the orgasmic energy flowing through her, she climaxed again. In her invigorated dizziness, she reprimanded herself for not taking advantage of her neighbor’s generosity sooner.

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Chapter Fifteen Grace slipped up against the headboard, keeping her movement as gentle as possible; she didn’t want to wake Jake. She pulled the comforter about her bare body to warm herself. Peering over him, she saw nothing left in the firebox but ash. No wonder it’s so cold! A glance through the half-parted curtains revealed a gray and misty day. She angled her head to listen more closely to the silence. She thought she heard a creak on the porch, a shadow pass by the window, then nothing. Grace left the bed, picked up Jake’s T-shirt, and put it on to ward off the chill. Padding quietly toward the door, her toe skimmed something on the hardwood floor. She bent to pick up the parchment envelope. The handwriting which had scripted her name on the front seemed familiar; in the dimness of the room, it looked like Ben’s. She sat on the floor and leaned up against the bed. Slowly, she opened the note. My dearest Gracie, Honey, if you are reading this, you have taken the vacation I purchased for you before my death. I’m assuming you were shocked, but pray you had a wonderful time with Jake. He is the finest of friends. What you may not know is I asked him to care for you in the way I couldn’t while fighting this terrible disease that finally separated me from you. I know the two of you have always had great affection for one another, and I wouldn’t have held it against you in the slightest if you had taken comfort with him while I was ill. I know, however, both of you were too devoted and respectful to do that. Gracie, you were selfless and unselfish all those months and didn’t give a damn about yourself, only me. You made my life a joy.

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Please, now, go be happy and live! I love you baby. Ben

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~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

Wendy is a displaced Cheesehead, proud to have been born and bred in Wisconsin. She was a migrant worker for years in the radio business, until she landed in Ohio and refused to leave. When she isn’t writing for pleasure and publication, she is a TV newsroom assignment manager – a great job for her as she gets to tell people where to go and what to do! She shares her clean, yet perpetually dusty, house with her chef husband and two spoiled rotten cats. (One of who takes great delight in harfing up a hairball on Wendy’s pillow at 3AM.) Decadent Publishing has been a godsend for her as she can finally stop talking to the people in her head and allow them to speak for themselves!

Visit Wendy online at: www.whateverwendy.blogspot.com