Page 10 of Leather and Longing
Paul smiled. “No, you didn’t,” he chided gently. “Nixon died in ninety-four.”
Adam arched his eyebrows. The merest hint of a sardonic smile flashed across his face. “Just testing.” Then he resumed his position, staring out of the window.
You cheeky sod.
In spite of Adam’s disdain, Paul couldn’t stop smiling at the breakthrough. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He waited to see if anything else was forthcoming. When silence resumed, he went back into the kitchen.
Time for phase two of my cunning plan. After all, the way to a man’s heart and all that.
That made him pause.What do I want with his heart?
He switched on the newly cleaned oven and took the fresh chicken from the fridge. It didn’t take long to ready it for roasting. He shoved a couple of lemons and a handful of garlic cloves into its cavity, then rubbed over the skin with butter and thyme, adding a sprinkling of chopped rosemary to finish it off. Then he took out the bread flour, yeast and other ingredients he’d need. Paul exited the house and went to the trunk of his car to take out his secret weapon, on a sort of permanent loan from his mum. She’d never miss it: she rarely used it anyway and Dad had been pleased to gain some more space in the kitchen cabinet.
In the kitchen Paul measured out the ingredients and switched on the bread maker, choosing the correct program. He’d brought bread flour with different seeds in it, on Taylor’s recommendation. He and David hadn’t eaten store-bought bread since David had discovered Taylor made his own. Soon the machine was chugging away, alternating between periods of kneading and proving the dough.
Once the chicken was in the oven, it was time for Paul to finally get to see his bedroom. He planned on returning home in a day or two to pick up the rest of his things, once he’d seen how much space was available for clothes and belongings. As hepassed through the hallway, he was pleased to see the door had remained open.
Well, that’s a good sign.
He went upstairs and pushed open the door to his room, entered and stopped dead in the middle of the floor. A large bay window ahead of him looked out over Steephill Cove. He could see the Lighthouse, the houses nestled around the small bay; he could even see across to the Beach Shack, the café at the opposite end of the bay. He squinted at it, trying to see if he could make out the figures moving around. Below the café stood a single figure, a fishing rod in his hand, flung out into the incoming tide. Paul didn’t need binoculars to tell him it was Andy, the owner of the café. He was often seen on the steps below the Beach Shack, reeling in a bass or two.
Paul walked to the window and pulled up the bottom half, allowing the fresh sea air to waft in. He could taste the salt. Seagulls circled above, their cries loud and strident.
A sea view—heaven.
“Doesn’t get any better than this,” he murmured quietly to himself before looking around. A wide bed with a brass headboard dominated the space with items of furniture around it: an empty bookcase, a table and chair in front of the window and a tall oak wardrobe. Next to the bed was a small oak cabinet with a lamp upon it. A chest of drawers faced the foot of the bed, a mirror across the top of it. The floor was covered in a thick carpet and the curtains hanging at the window looked heavy enough to shut out all light. It wasn’t a small room by any means, and Paul felt he could be comfortable there.
Next stop was the bathroom. It was large, with a toilet, washbasin, large pedestal bath and a spacious, walk-in shower. What puzzled Paul was the layer of dust. It was as if the room was never used. One look in the cabinet under the washbasin revealed the cleaning products, and Paul set to work. It wasn’tlong before every surface was gleaming. Satisfied with his efforts, Paul descended the stairs and re-entered the kitchen. He could already detect the aroma of roasting chicken and baking bread.
Come on, Adam.How can you resist the smell of freshly baked bread and roasting chicken?
So much for his secret weapon. He’d really thought the tempting aromas would have brought Adam out of his cave, but clearly the mountain had to go to Mohamed.
It was time to break the ice.
Paul exited the kitchen and paused in the doorway of Adam’s room, watching him turn slightly in his direction, his eyebrows knitted.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” Adam snapped. “Either come in or leave me alone.”
Any points Paul felt he’d scored with the compilation were lost, and his optimism wilted. He was rooted to the spot, uncertain of what to do or say.
Adam let out a harsh sigh. “This doesnotbode well.” He made an impatient noise at the back of his throat. “I seem to recall you telling me your name last Friday, but I obviously thought it of no consequence because I’ve forgotten it.” Before Paul could utter a word, Adam scowled. “Well, what’s your name, boy? I’ll have to address you at some point, even if your stay herewillbe short-lived.” There was no hint of a smile playing about those pink, full lips.
Why the hell am I noticing his lips?Paul gave himself an angry shake and then stiffened as Adam’s words took root.Boy?
It conjured the memory of a hand on the back of his neck, the palm warm, the fingers strong. An imperious voice…
Indignation flooded through him.
“My name is Paul Vaughan, and far from being a boy, I’m twenty-five,” he flung back. No sooner had the words left hislips than he froze.Talk about brain disengaged while mouth in operation.
Something about Adamdefinitelyrubbed him up the wrong way.
Those black eyebrows arched. “Oh, I seem to have ruffled your feathers. My apologies.” He didn’t seem the slightest bit apologetic, however. Adam straightened in his chair. “You have more backbone than some of your predecessors, that’s for certain.”
“I didn’t realize being able to stand up for myself was a required skill for this position.” Paul made an effort to breathe more evenly. This wasnothow he’d wanted their first day together to go.
“Speaking of skills, what are your qualifications? I’m assuming you have some,” Adam said dryly.
