Protege(35)

They walked a bit farther, as the day was warm and the skies were clear. “Tell me your thoughts on women,” he said as the house came into view.

“What do you mean?”

“Does the thought of touching a woman excite you?” He had no difficulty speaking of such things.

She, on the other hand, suffered a touch of juvenile embarrassment. “I wouldn’t really know what to do.”

“You’d do what you like. You have the advantage of knowing exactly how various attention feels.”

“I’d try anything once.”

He chuckled. “Which is why your application is the conundrum it is. What about letting a woman touch you?”

She shrugged. “That could be nice. Delicate. But in the end, I think I’d still feel like something was missing. I’m pretty sure I’m playing for the right team.”

“But you’re willing to switch from time to time if the mood strikes.”

“Either a mood shift or alcohol,” she joked. He laughed, and a thought crossed her mind. “Does the idea of watching me with a woman excite you?”

“In a sense. You’re very innocent and I’m intrigued by your reactions. Everyone should have at least one experience with a partner of the same sex. I think it’s closed-minded to automatically assume we’re born unanimously heterosexual.”

His words surprised her. “Have you ever . . .”

“Been with a man? Yes.”

Her lips parted. She couldn’t imagine it. “Do you enjoy it?”

He shrugged. “I’ve enjoyed some partners more than others. Sometimes it’s the setting of the scene rather than the players that make it exciting. However, I find monogamy to be the most satisfying.”

“But you’re not involved with anyone at the moment.” Clarification was key. Who knew what these people could abide? She, however, was very uncomfortable sleeping with another person’s man.

His smile was reserved, not quite reaching his eyes. “Yes, at the moment I’m unattached, because I choose to be.”

His answer was vague, telling her he didn’t want to discuss the details of his personal life. She respected his privacy and let the subject drop, despite her growing curiosity. Why wasn’t he married if he’d been doing this for ten years? One would think he’d test his theories on himself.

Gravel crunched under their feet as they made their way across the drive. She shivered as the shadow of the chateau fell over them. He glanced at her. “Cold?”

“No, just a chill.” As he held the door he released her hand, and she was sad to let the intimate connection go. “Thank you for showing me around.”

He nodded. “I have some work to do. I think lunch on the veranda would be nice.”

That was her cue. Nodding, she smiled, wishing for an excuse to stay in his presence a moment longer. “Any special requests?”

“Lea usually cooks Italian, so something light would be appropriate.”

“Yes, Sir.” She turned and he caught her wrist. He’d done that a couple of times and she wasn’t sure what the expectant look in his eyes implied, because it wasn’t always sexual, but it was definitely intimate. On impulse, she lifted up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw.

His thumb rubbed over her wrist and he let her go. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the office.

The materials at her disposal added to how grounded Fernweh made her feel. Every opportunity to meet his needs left her with a sense of self so different from the drifting life she’d been leading. She hadn’t had the urge to hide a single time since arriving. It was as though feeling needed somehow pulled her out of her shell and dissolved some of her fears.

For lunch she prepared a Cobb salad with a batch of sweet tea. It was absurd how much joy she derived from setting an outdoor table with linen napkins and dishes different from the ones they used at breakfast. So far she’d counted three hutches full of china.

During lunch, Jude comfortably eased his posture on a patio chair. In the direct sunlight the red highlights hidden in his dark hair were particularly beautiful. The only drawback was his sunglasses hid his eyes. They were his most expressive trait.

“At three o’clock we’ll use the gym. After that, I want you to shower and meet me in the room behind the library.”

“Where’s the gym?”

He pointed across the lawn. “In that building there. There’s a dressing room where you’ll find the proper attire.”

Ah, pants. “And what’s behind the library?”

“That’s where I’m going to wax your *.”

She choked on a sip of tea and placed her glass on the table, the ice rattling. “Wouldn’t a salon be better for that?”

“Why would I give someone else the pleasure? My *. My job.”

She laughed, but her face remained unmoved and devoid of sensation.

“I suspect you’ve never been waxed before, Brazilian or otherwise.”

“Using a razor makes me nervous. Hot wax terrifies me.”

He wiped his mouth. “Lunch was delicious. You’re quite the little chef, Collette.” Folding his napkin on his plate, he said, “There was nothing on your application about a fear of wax.”

“I didn’t know slathering it on my genitals was in my future.”