Page 5 of Her Reclusive Beast

“Max?”

“Hmmm?” His attention has apparently drifted off. One large hand is idly stroking the skin exposed by my shirt riding up. His touch is gentle but firm and it’s giving me inappropriate ideas. Plus, I like it a little too much.

“I don’t understand. If you’ve already rewritten the book and you want to wash your hands of Rudnam, why am I here? You could have simply sent the book in and called it a day.”

“But then I wouldn’t have met you, little one.” His voice is gentle, almost embarrassed. I push back firmly with both palms until I can see his eyes. They’re a pale blue, startling in the middle of all that dark hair and they look intelligent and… tentative.

I smile into them, raising one hand to touch his cheek. All of this is so inappropriate and yet I can’t resist. “You could have come to New York.”

He shakes his head swiftly. “No. I don’t travel.”

I frown again in confusion. He’s clearly not housebound. He has a car. “I don’t understand,” I finally confess.

“I know. I… I’m not ready to explain, sweetness. Stay and edit the book. We’ll talk again when that’s done.”

Abruptly, he picks me up and deposits me on my feet. His hand seems to linger for a minute on my waist, but then it, too, is gone. He leads me inside and down another side passage. A narrow door opens to a small room with an aged brown easy chair and a lamp. Heavy curtains obscure the window, but a cozy fireplace dominates the opposite wall. A stack of yellow legal pads sits on a small side table. Max picks them up and separates the top ten or so, then hands them to me. “Here. Get started with this and then we’ll talk about the ending when you’ve finished this section.”

I gape at him. “But this is all handwritten!”

He shrugs with a hint of arrogance. “The story demanded it.”

I blink at him, then stare down at the top of the first pad. Half of it is crossed out with broad slashes and there are little cramped scribbles in the margins. “But this will take forever!”

His beard splits again. “Then I guess you’d better get started. You can use the desk in the office you snooped in earlier. I won’t be needing it until you’re done.”

I groan, but my attention has already been caught by the first paragraph. This is good. Really good. I turn and exit the small room, still reading, only to realize I’m completely lost.

“Where is the office again?”

Max smirks. “Follow me.”

As soon as I sit down in his over-sized leather office chair, I’m lost in the story. I type and edit at the same time. I’ll need to do another couple of passes later, but this first round will be the most time consuming simply because I have to attempt to follow his almost three-dimensional layout. However, the words grip me and before I realize it, the room is dark, lit only by the eery light of the computer screen. I can no longer make out the scribbled words on the pad. And it’s long past Max’s six o’clock deadline.

On the other hand, there’s no way I can finish this in less than ten days without working around the clock. Surely he understands that? I get up to turn on the overhead light. My stomach seizes the opportunity to rumble loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten all day. Sighing, I leave the office and quietly navigate towards the kitchen. The house is silent once again. There’s no sign of Max. Did he go to bed? I’ve actually no idea what time it is.

Just after eight, the clock on the stove informs me when I make it safely to the kitchen. I wonder if my suitcase is still out by the road? I’m certainly not going to go out to fetch it now. I open the fridge door with another sigh, only to stand back in surprise. A tray sits there, with carefully wrapped dishes and a sticky note bearing my name. It’s both sweet and, well, weird. Why not bring me the tray if he was going to the bother of fixing me a meal?

The kitchen is large, dark, and silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator. It’s too big a space to eat in peacefully at this time of night, so I take the tray and grab some cutlery beforeretreating to my room. My suitcase is lying on the bed, none the worse for wear. I curl up by the headboard and dive into the quiche and salad Max left for me. It’s delicious and makes me even more curious about him. Why does he hide himself away out here? I understand wanting to live far away from people, the peace and tranquility of the deep woods, but tonevertake a trip to the city? Not even one closer than New York, like Boston? It makes no sense.

Nor does his gentle touch or those endearments he murmured earlier on the porch. He did call me baby, right? That wasn’t just my imagination? If Max is convinced he has feelings for me, romantic or otherwise, why would he not act on them? At least to the point of having a personal conversation or something.

I move the tray to the dresser and tug my small suitcase off the bed before curling up under the covers. I’m too tired to do more than brush my teeth before bed. I fall asleep to the tactile memory of Max’s fingers skating over my skin.

The morning light wakes me to the point where I can’t ignore the sunshine any longer. I groan as I roll out of bed, still dressed in yesterday’s outfit. I need a shower, stat.

The warm water helps revive me, but I remain fuzzy-headed as I stumble towards the kitchen and coffee.

Max is already there, hunched over a steaming mug at the table. His watery eyes assess me and then he sneezes. Uh oh.

“You sick?” I ask quietly.

His expression indicates he’s ready to argue, but eventually he sighs and shrugs. “Probably picked up a bug in town yesterday. Another good reason to avoid people,” he mutters.

I nod and look in the fridge for something I know how to cook. Toast. I can manage that.

I pop a few slices of whole wheat bread in the toaster. “Maybe you should spend the day in bed, see if you can knock it outof your system,” I suggest. Max’s eye roll is such a typical male response I can’t hold back a small smile.

I slide the finished toast in front of him before adding more bread to the toaster. “Do you need more than that? I’m never very hungry when I’m sick.”

---