Page 19 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Nineteen

Alice

You’re never too old to play.

Stay young at heart.

“You ever been married, Alice?” Hunter asks as he pours me a glass of water before his afternoon story-slash-nap time.

I’ve come to enjoy our midday ritual. It’s hard to explain, but our time together feels intimate in a way that’s not physical or any sort of cheating. Maybe it’s like therapy, like we have an unspoken agreement that what’s said during our time in his study will never leave this room.

“I have not,” I say.

“Can I give you some sage advice?” He sets the water on the end table.

“Sure.” I use my finger as a bookmark and rest the book on my lap .

“Skip the big wedding. Go to the courthouse if you want to make it legal or have a minister or priest marry you midweek with a witness if necessary, but skip the theatrics. Save your money. If your parents are paying, ask them to give you the money instead and invest it.”

“Spoken like a true romantic, Mr. Morrison.”

He settles on the sofa. “Just trust me. It’s not worth it.”

“Well, I don’t think I would have taken this job had I planned on getting married.”

“Because I’m your sugar daddy?”

Laughter bubbles up my chest. Despite his “fetishes” or rich-guy eccentricities, Hunter Morrison is a kind soul.

He peeks open one eye and glances at me with a smirk. “Don’t deny it. You’re grossly overcompensated, yet somehow worth every penny. Go figure.”

“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” He chuckles. “By the way, the hand soap you made for my bathroom is amazing. It’s robust and masculine. What’s the scent?”

“Vanilla.”

He barks a laugh.

“Cedar and citrus,” I say with an unavoidable grin because I bought the handmade soap from a local store where they cut and sell it by the ounce. He doesn’t need to know all of my secrets. “Is it weird that my favorite character in this story is the dog?” I ask, returning my attention to the book.

“Montmorency is a hoot,” he says. “But you gotta love the camaraderie between the men.”

“For sure,” I say, opening the book and reading to him. By the end of a chapter, Hunter appears to be asleep.

However, before I utter the first word of the next chapter, he says, “You’re a beautiful young woman with a calming disposition. Why don’t you have dreams of getting married?”

I pause, waiting for him to open his eyes or move another part of his body, but he doesn’t.

“Um,” I clear my throat. “Why would you ask me that after giving me sage advice not to get married?”

“My advice was to forgo a big wedding. But now I’m curious why you don’t want to get married.” His chuckle triggers a little cough, so he fists his hand at his mouth.

“Water?” I ask.

Keeping his eyes closed, he shakes his head and relaxes his folded hands back onto his chest. “I know it’s none of my business. What can I say? My nosey wife has rubbed off on me.”

“I’m just unlucky in love. That’s all.”

“So is my daughter, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying. I’m not sure poor Murphy will get an official ‘I do’ out of her. But perhaps the third time’s a charm.”

“Why did she break off her other engagements, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She’s commitment phobic. Indecisive. Her mother calls her a ‘free bird.’ And that’s great. I support that, but then just admit that you won’t make a good lifelong partner. You know?”

I nod slowly. “Do you think Murphy’s the one? Or will she back out?”

“He’s a great guy. But, just between us, he’s not the one either. I don’t think ‘the one’ for her exists.”

“Maybe he’s the exception.”

“I doubt it. He can’t love her like she needs to be loved.”

I rest the open book face down on my lap. “What do you mean? ”

“My daughter is like me, even though she’ll never admit it. And I’m needy as fuck.”

I roll my lips between my teeth to suppress my laughter. Hunter’s self-examination is not only shocking but refreshing.

“Of course, I tell everyone else she’s like Vera, but it’s a lie. That girl is neurotic as hell. Free bird my ass. And Murphy doesn’t give a shit if she’s pissed at him for something stupid. He’s not a groveler or a people pleaser.”

“Opposites attract. Maybe he’s exactly what she needs.”

“Oh,” Hunter peeks at me, “she absolutely needs a man like him. But give it time, and what she wants will trump what she needs.”

“What does she want?”

“Someone who worships her. Spoon-feeds her ego.”

“Is that my job? To worship you and spoon-feed your ego?”

His chest bounces with laughter. “Vera would kill me if I asked you to get on your knees for any sort of worship, so just read to me and tell me I’m handsome.”

In the most unromantic way, I love Hunter Morrison.

Despite the dick-sucking clause in my contract, Vera, Hunter, and I are a threesome. As with any good threesome, there are power struggles and alliances. I’m not sure where my loyalty lies. It depends on the day.

After story time, I iron Vera’s air-dry-only jeans. She’s not immune to enjoying the perks of a homemaker, and perfectly pressed denim is one of them .

“There you are,” she says, stepping into the laundry room with an inflated smile. “I have a favor.”

“Mrs. Morrison, I work for you. You can call it a duty or a task.” I glance up from the ironing board.

“Very well,” she flicks her wrist, “I have a task for you. Will you bake something and deliver it to Rupert Rawlings? He lives in the two-story next door.” She points in that direction.

“Sure. Anything specific you want me to bake?”

“Something wholesome, like an apple pie.”

I laugh a little.

“Hunter and Rupert are very competitive. And it’s Rupert’s birthday. He’s just barely younger than Hunter. Both men are proud of their financial portfolios and their full heads of hair.”

I unplug the iron. “Do you want me to sing to Rupert?”

She snorts, shaking her head. Then she narrows her eyes. “Would you?”

“Of course. I love that they’re competitors and friends.”

“Oh, no. They’re not friends.” Vera fiddles with her rings.

“Rupert wanted this house, and Hunter outbid him the same day Rupert’s dad died, and he was too preoccupied to bid higher.

So Rupert knocked on the door of the house he lives in now, offered the owners, who were not planning on selling, a price they couldn’t refuse.

And he did it all just so he could be our neighbor and torment Hunter.

If Hunter buys a car, Rupert one-ups him with the same car that’s worth just a little more.

When Hunter used to jog around the lake, Rupert followed him just to make Hunter run faster until he was ready to vomit by the time he got home.

So now Hunter only runs inside on the treadmill. ”

“Then why are you having me bake a pie for his birthday? I draw the line at poisoning anyone.”

Vera follows me upstairs to her bedroom, where I put her jeans in the luxurious walk-in closet filled with hanging tags on unworn clothes, gobs of sparkling jewels and real gold necklaces and bracelets, shelves of red-bottomed shoes, and complete with a crystal chandelier hanging in the middle.

“This isn’t about those two men. It’s about me. And it’s about you.”

“Me?” I close the drawer and raise my eyebrows.

“Hunter wanted a homemaker, so I hired you. But he’s treating you like his mother, who, yes, was a homemaker.

However, putting my husband down for a nap in the afternoon by reading him a book is going too far.

Not on your part. You’re just doing what is asked of you.

But he needs a little reality check. So that’s why I want you to take a pie to Rupert for his birthday.

After all, a homemaker would absolutely do something kind like that for a neighbor. Right?”

She’s asking me? I’m just playing this role for fun, money, and a lack of anything better to do with my life. And I like story time, but I won’t tell her that.

“I mean,” I shrug, “sure. So you’re trying to make Mr. Morrison mad? Jealous?”

“I’m just trying to pull his head out of his ass. He’s getting lazy. I have to lube myself for sex and be on top every time. It’s getting ridiculous.”

The threesome was figurative. Still, I snicker.

“Sorry.” Vera sighs, sitting in the cream velvet chair at the end of the closet island. “I miss really good sex. I miss sex that never makes it to the bed. Have you ever had that? The feeling of being desired and just … ravaged.” She briefly closes her eyes. “There’s nothing li ke it.”

I fold my hands in front of me as if we’re discussing the dinner menu.

“Blair says sex with Murphy is out of this world. I want out-of-this-world sex. Instead, I have a sexy, silver fox husband who doesn’t offer out-of-this-world sex anymore. It’s definitely in this world . It’s like … Iowa sex.”

I snort.

“I’m serious, Alice.” She grins. “Don’t settle for that kind of sex. I honestly thought hiring you would get him a little …” She taps her pointy, manicured nail on her front teeth. “Riled up. Inspired. Horny.”

I twist my lips and nod.

“Not for you. Like when you watch a steamy movie, and then you have great sex.”

She’s not saying the word “porn,” but that’s what she’s implying.

“I should be sexier?”

She bites the inside of her cheek and slowly shakes her head. “You’re plenty sexy. We need to figure out something else. What book are you reading to him?”

“ Three Men in a Boat .”

“Oh, for the love of god. How is that supposed to inspire anything in the bedroom? You need to read him something where the hero bites the heroine’s bare ass before really giving it to her. You know?”

I return a contemplative nod. How did I get so lucky? And what is wrong with me that I, in fact, feel lucky to have landed this “role?”

“If I’m going to deliver this pie to Rupert today, I should make sure I have all the ingredients in case I need to run to the store. But I’ll give your request some thought for when we’re ready to start another book. ”

“Thanks, and sorry. I needed to vent. I’ll save it for my therapist next time.”

“No. It’s fine. I’m a good listener. It’s just getting late.”

“Of course.” She stands, tossing her hair over her shoulders. “I’ll tell Hunter I’m in the mood for a drive, so he won’t know you’re making a pie that’s not for him. Then we will have dinner reservations later, so you can call it for the day after you deliver the pie.”

“Sounds good.” I head to the kitchen while she turns toward his study at the bottom of the stairs.

After I make the pie, smooth my ponytail, reapply red lipstick, and unbutton the top three buttons of my dress to show a little cleavage, I exit through the door to the terrace, nearly running into Murphy coming into the house.

“Whoa!” He jumps aside to avoid a pie collision. “Sorry. I was looking at my phone.”

I ease my death grip on the pie. “It’s fine.”

“Where are you going with that pie? It smells amazing.”

“Sorry. It’s for Rupert Rawlings.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s his birthday.” I offer an exaggerated smile.

“Hunter can’t stand that guy.”

“I’m aware.”

Murphy narrows his eyes. “So, what are you doing?”

“I’m being neighborly as a good homemaker would be.”

“Did Vera put you up to this?”

I blink without responding.

“This is beneath you. Don’t let them put you in the middle of their fucked-up issues.”

“I’m a big girl. I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the job. ”

His gaze drops several inches. “You missed a few buttons.”

I keep my chin up. “I didn’t.”

“You look like you’re offering more than pie for his birthday.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“I don’t fucking approve,” he snaps, and quickly recovers with a long sigh and a headshake. “That was out of line,” he stutters. “I’m sorry.”

“Bad day?”

Murphy rubs his temples. “I have a headache.”

“Anything I can do?”

He drops his hands and stares at me. “You can give me a piece of that pie.”

“I can’t deliver a birthday pie with a piece missing.”

He crosses his arms. “You just said ‘anything.’ Did you not mean it?”

“Where’s Blair? Oh, and I’ll wash the dishes as soon as I get back. I don’t want to wait any longer to deliver the pie.”

“Blair’s getting a massage. It’s just the two of us and that pie. And I want a piece.”

After a brief standoff, I lift the edge of the foil and pinch off a tiny piece of the crust. Then I lift it to Murphy’s mouth. He doesn’t look at my hand. It’s as if our gazes are glued. He grabs my wrist and wraps his lips around the tips of my two fingers.

Holy shit.

I can’t breathe.

My skin tingles and my nipples harden beneath my bra. I hate his perfect life and the woman who will be his perfect wife. I don’t want him having out-of-this-world sex with her. I looked for him. He’s the entire reason I’m in Lake of the Isles.

And now he’s here, but it’s too late.

Too late to rectify the past.

Too late to have a future.

Too late to want him this much.

As his grip keeps his lips pressed to my fingers, I swallow hard.

“Smart ass,” he says, releasing my wrist before shouldering past me without looking back.

I brush my hand over my dress, pushing my nipples back into hiding before continuing toward Rupert Rawlings’ house.

After ringing the doorbell twice with no answer, I turn to head back home, then the door opens.

“Can I help you?”

I turn and smile. “Mr. Rawlings?”

“Yes.”

Indeed, he has a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. Symmetrical face. Charming smile. Rupert is effortlessly cool like George Clooney.

I go into character as if the curtains just opened on the stage, and the spotlight is on me. Confidence is just good acting.

“Happy birthday to you …” I sing each line with a wide smile. I don’t go full-on Marilyn Monroe “happy birthday, Mr. President,” but I do my best to make Vera proud. And from the look on Rupert’s face, he’s pleased with my performance.

“This is from the Morrisons.” I hand him the pie. “I’m Alice, Mr. Morrison’s homemaker. I hope you like it.”

Rupert shifts, posture straightening, gaze sweeping head to toe. “Yes. I heard he had a homemaker .” His tone implies more than homemaker.

I keep smiling, letting his dirty imagination run wild.

He nods at my chest. “Does Vera let you walk around the house like that?”

I keep my shoulders back, chest out. “I’m not allowed to suck Mr. Morrison’s dick. That’s the only house rule.” I give him the full show, batting my eyelashes.

“Well, damn, young lady. One sec …” He holds up a finger before setting the pie on a credenza and jogging up the curved grand stairway behind him, shoes tapping on the marble.

A few seconds later, he returns and hands me a black business card with a number but no name.

“Call me. Whatever that schmuck is paying you, I’ll pay double. ”

I smile, trapping the card between two fingers and seductively sliding it into my bra. “I’ll think about it. Hope you blow out all of your candles.” I pivot and skip down the stairs to the sidewalk.

“I’m telling Hunter you spanked me in my birthday suit.”

I bite my lower lip and giggle.