Layers(22)

The traffic is light. I navigate through the city streets with one of my earphones playing The Pixies in my helmet. The music and the night’s calm ambiance set me in a relaxed mood, surprisingly far more relaxed than I anticipated I would be just before meeting Daniel again. I slow the scooter down before the first speed bump at the entryway of the scenic path leading to “Seacliff,” Daniel’s neighborhood. I’ve passed by this area before but never took the time to actually admire the view of these peaceful streets located just above sea level. The streets are an impressive blend of landscaped flora and Spanish-style luxury estates. The address Daniel provided me is for one of the estates on the streets with a view of the Pacific Ocean. I halt beside a wide, high fence that surrounds what seems to be endless land. Two security cameras slowly adjust to focus on me as I buzz the intercom.

“Hey, Haley. Follow the main road till you come to the house.” Daniel’s husky voice guides me behind the monitor.

The electronic gates open, allowing me entrance to the estate. Wow, this property is enormous. The scooter rolls for a few short minutes on the split-brick drive till I reach a one-story Spanish style house with beige stucco exteriors and curved terracotta roof tiles, quite modest when compared with its neighboring mansions. Given the car and the vast land Daniel owns I idly think how the interior must be decorated with nothing but high-class furniture and fixtures.

Daniel waits for me by the open door in jeans and a dark gray tee, his damp hair in a crazy mess, as if he’s just gotten out of the shower. Daniel in the shower … He looks almost illegally dazzling.

“Cool scooter. Didn’t know you were a biker.” He chuckles in a fond manner.

I fake a frown and reply, “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Mr. Stark.”

Nearing me, he hugs me and I am bathed in a fresh, seductive Daniel smell. He stretches his hand out to hold my chin, tilting my head up to face him. Finally, I think.

“Drop it with the Mr. Stark. You lost your right to call me that when you rejected my job offer,” he says in a semi hard voice, and caresses my chin with his thumb. I beam.

“Point taken, Mr. Daniel.”

He chuckles, sliding one of my curls between his finger and thumb, studying it for a prolonged moment. “Let’s get inside.”

I’m surprised by the interior of the house; it’s very different than what I expected. It’s so homey and simple, decorated in natural colors, nothing too stylish or too modern. Plainly, I love it.

“This is my humble casa.” He smiles, using the same words I used to describe my apartment yesterday.

Yesterday? It seems like ages ago.

“Would you like the grand tour?” Daniel suggests. Soft hazel eyes stare at me expectantly.

“Of course I would.” After all, it’s not every day I’m invited to Daniel Stark’s home.

“The living room,” he says, referring to the room we’re currently in. His hand on my lower back makes it hard for me to concentrate on anything. Soft light coming from a few standing lamps sets gives the room a calm feel. In the middle of the ample space lies an oversized L-shaped cream sofa with two wide brown leather recliners by its side. A low dark auburn coffee table occupies the area beside the sofa, positioned firmly over a thick orange shag rug. A large flat screen TV is on the front wall; on the adjacent one is a contemporary tile fireplace. I take in the room and can’t help but admire what I see. It oozes coziness.

“Kitchen.” Daniel tilts his chin, directing my attention to a vast but minimal, stainless steel and dark mahogany kitchen with a long eat-in island and eight red barstools. The kitchen looks impeccably clean—I would even say clinically clean. Taking my hand in his, Daniel leads me to a wide corridor that ends in doors to three different rooms. I enjoy the touch of his skin on mine, especially as his thumb lightly grazes the palm of my hand. The first door opens to a fully-equipped gym, with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The second is a state-of-the-art game room that wouldn’t disgrace any commercial arcade hall. Daniel squeezes my hand softly, directing me back to the hall. The last door we stop at leads to a home cinema room with two rows of four black leather theater loungers positioned on a dark gray, almost black, wall-to-wall carpet, facing a screen that covers the entire front wall.

He runs his other hand through his damp hair making it messier than it already is. Contemplating something for a moment, he looks somewhat lost, as though having an internal debate. I observe him from the side. What would that debate be about? He shakes his head and, linking my hand in his, leads me to the opposite side of the house. We return through the hall in comfortable silence. When we pass the living room, there’s another corridor, shorter than the one we’ve just walked through. This one leads to two huge rooms: one is Daniel’s office, decorated in warm brown furniture that contrasts with the sheer white, bare walls. There are more than four active monitors on a massive computer table, making me think I’ve stepped inside a war room. The room next to the office is his master bedroom; I contemplate whether it’s the size of our entire apartment. There’s a natural wood king-sized bed in the middle of the room, one of the largest beds I’ve ever seen. I think how it would feel to lie here next to him on the same bed, feeling sweet warmth swim through me.

And then another thought crosses my mind, bothering me: who’s been sleeping with him in this bed? I’m not sure what disturbs me more, the fact that he’s had someone here or the fact that it bothers me more than I care to admit. Back to the present, I admire how the room seems to exude a sense of ease and serenity with its cream-colored walls and the spectacular panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean through the floor to ceiling windows.