Amy possesses an aura of quiet intelligence and introspection that is immediately noticeable upon meeting her. Her eyes, a shade of warm hazel, seem to hold a depth of thought and sensitivity that belies her outward demeanor. Framed by a cascade of chestnut brown hair, her eyes often reflect a world of emotions, conveying a sense of empathy and understanding that draws people towards her. Her features are soft, exhibiting a natural beauty that is enhanced by her genuine smile. Amy's lips curve easily, and when she laughs, it's as though a light has been switched on in the room.
Her expression often carries a hint of curiosity, a testament to her inquisitive nature and thirst for knowledge. Amy gave a soft tap on the door as it swung open, Amy was met with an unexpected sight: of a tall naked torso standing before her. This was no ordinary torso, though; it was a chiseled, well-defined, six-pack-adorned masterpiece.
She found herself blinking repeatedly, unable to comprehend the scene unfolding before her eyes. Why would a grown man choose to greet someone at the door with nothing but a single white towel, snugly wrapped around his waist?. Leaning casually against the doorframe, he exuded an air of confident nonchalance. With one hand supporting his tall, muscular frame,
Amy couldn't help but notice the kind of physique that could easily make any woman's heart race. Even her own, she admitted inwardly. Of course, she hadn't had any personal experiences with men; her virgin status was something she was acutely aware of, a fact that still held true.
Her gaze traveled upwards, finally locking onto his face. At that moment, her heart seemed to take on a life of its own, thumping in a rhythm that mimicked the infectious music emanating from somewhere within the man's house. The situation had taken an unexpected turn, and Amy could feel her emotions dancing in time with the lively tune, caught between disbelief and a strange, undeniable attraction.
A rush of sensations enveloped her, leaving Amy slightly breathless and dizzy. The hue of her cheeks matched the vivid scarlet petals of the roses she cradled in her arms. It was an unusual role for her; she wasn't a florist or a delivery person by any means. The local florist happened to be her close friend, Helen, and due to an unfortunate bout of influenza, the regular delivery person was indisposed. So, true to her nature as an exceptional best friend, Amy had willingly stepped in to lend a hand.
Helen's plea's had been hard to resist, especially considering this particular delivery was for a VIP client. The floral boutique was inundated with Valentine's Day orders, all to be meticulously prepared for the following day. Given Helen's whirlwind schedule, Amy had been presented with the task with little opportunity for refusal. Of course, Helen's cunning offer of complimentary roses might have had a hand in swaying her decision – a gesture that perfectly aligned with Amy's affection for the delicate blossoms.
And now, there she stood, facing the impressive entrance of 163 Alice-court in the affluent suburb of Burr Ridge, nestled within Chicago. Her eyes were momentarily entranced by the half-naked Adonis before her. With rapid blinks, she snapped herself back to reality, remembering her purpose and the bouquet that occupied her trembling hands. Yet, oh my, her senses hadn't deceived her – the man before her was truly stunning. His damp, sun-kissed hair held a golden radiance under the afternoon sun, capturing her attention almost as much as his well-defined physique. Amy couldn't help but admire the sight before her.
Piecing all together along with the hastened breaths that mimicked an asthmatic episode, the racing heart reminiscent of finishing a marathon, and the buoyant sensation within her head and stomach – Amy deduced that her current state was a direct result of her lifelong absence of witnessing a naked man in the flesh. Granted, if she included the occasions she had encountered her young nephews during bath time, she could dispute this claim. However, men of this caliber, so sculpted, so perfectly formed, and exuding such palpable masculinity, were an entirely different category. The power in his sinewy arms was palpable, his physique practically radiating vitality.
"Can I assist you with something?" His inquiry disrupted her reverie, grounding her once again. The spell was broken, and Amy blinked a few extra times as she reoriented herself to the situation at hand.
"Umm." Her voice betrayed her, barely audible and uncertain. Her throat felt parched, as if she had swallowed a handful of desert sand. Attempting to speak again only resulted in another awkward "Umm..." Fearing that further words might only escalate her seeming idiocy, she turned to nonverbal communication, utilizing gestures to bridge the gap.
With a blend of anxiety and determination, Amy practically thrust the bouquet right under his stunning face. The sudden gesture caught him off guard, prompting an instinctive step backward. "So... sorry," she managed to croak, her vocal cords finally relenting. While the sound that emerged was far from her typical voice, it was a relief to at least convey her message audibly.
"No problem at all. Just caught me by surprise," he responded, his tone reassuring as he tried to dispel any lingering awkwardness. A thought flitted through Amy's mind: Gosh, his voice is incredibly pleasant. His words held a certain charm that she found inexplicably captivating.
"Darling, what's taking so long?" A melodious voice drifted from somewhere within the house, punctuating the moment. "Come back to bed." In response, the handsome man turned his attention toward the source of the voice, a soft smile curving his lips. "Be back soon," he replied, his voice a gentle caress.
He's even sweet with his wife, Amy mused, feeling a pang of disappointment as she made assumptions about his marital status. His smile, accompanied by those eyes as clear and blue as a summer sky, appeared kind and sincere.
But then, the reality of her own unmet expectations weighed on her: Why do all the charming and attractive ones have to be taken? It seemed like a cruel twist of fate, a consistent pattern where the desirable ones were already spoken for, while the eligible ones were akin to those tricky parallel parking spots she always struggled with. She couldn't help but curse her luck and her lack of parallel parking skills.
Abruptly, his focus snapped back to Amy, and what she glimpsed in his expression sent a shiver down her spine. The once soft azure eyes, hinting at a gentlemanly disposition, had undergone a transformation. The gentleness vanished, replaced by an intense gleam that held a touch of wickedness – like a devil poised to indulge in his mischievous plaything. His warm, amiable smile morphed into something entirely different, the edges of his lips curving into a mischievous grin.
In that instant, a disconcerting realization washed over Amy. The man's demeanor had shifted dramatically, a stark contrast to his previous self. Her instincts bristled as a sense of wariness settled in her gut. The transition was so striking that it left her questioning the authenticity of his earlier appearance. What could have prompted this sudden change? The curiosity was tinged with caution, and Amy couldn't shake the feeling that she was now standing before an entirely different person than the one she had encountered just moments ago.
Alert bells blared in Amy's mind like a siren warning of imminent danger. Playboy alert! Playboy alert! Her internal radar screeched urgently as his wicked gaze seemed to undress her, igniting a fierce blush that heated her cheeks to an even deeper shade of scarlet. Before she could retreat to a safer distance and assess the situation, his grip closed around the bouquet and, inadvertently, her hands.
"Hey, let... let go." Her voice wavered as she struggled against his firm hold, desperation to free herself evident in her every movement. But his response was a playful shake of his head, that mischievous grin still intact, his eyes gleaming like a co-conspirator of his unspoken intentions.
Amy persisted in her efforts, attempting to escape his unyielding grasp, but his fingers were unyielding, like steel clamps that had latched onto her. It was as if they were held in place by some sort of unbreakable force, making her feel almost trapped.
"I said..." She began her protest, cut off once again when, suddenly, he released her. The abruptness of the action almost caused her to stumble, her words catching in her throat.
"Why—" Amy's voice caught, ready to unleash her exasperation, only to be silenced by yet another interruption. His husky words entered the fray, punctuated by a seductive pose as he leaned against the doorframe, his body contorted with a flair that could have graced the pages of Vogue.
Perplexity etched across her features, Amy couldn't help but ask, "Huh? Excuse me?"
His response was almost infuriatingly confident. "Obviously, you're here to gift me these roses." The husky undertone remained in his voice. "You must like me, otherwise why else would you be here? After all, Valentine's Day isn't until tomorrow."
Her attempt at retort was once again silenced, her words obliterated as her gaze caught sight of a blonde entering the scene. The newcomer struck a pose with all the fashion sense of a runway model, further cementing the ludicrousness of the situation. Oblivious to Amy's presence, the blonde leaned into the man, planting a peck on his cheek before embarking on a strange journey across his face.
She couldn't believe her eyes – the woman made a series of bizarre, puckering sounds like a fish out of water, from his lips to his Adam's apple. It wasn't until the man cleared his throat that the blonde finally seemed to take note of Amy's existence, her attention shifting from her fishy endeavors to the unexpected guest in their midst.
My, oh my! Amy's eyes nearly plummeted to the ground when the blonde woman swiveled to meet her gaze. Clad in nothing but a loose towel, strategically draped to prevent any breast-related mishaps, the blonde's presence was nothing short of astonishing. A cursory glance from the woman lasted only a moment. In Amy's estimation, she held about as much significance as the potted plant adorning the front porch. The woman promptly pivoted her attention back to her companion.
"Hunter, sweetie," she simpered, punctuating her words with a kiss right in front of Amy. "You took an eternity, so I had to come hunt you down." Hunter, seemingly disinterested, had his gaze wandering far from the immediate scene. Yet, Amy found herself unintentionally in the crosshairs of his wandering eyes.
My goodness, could they at least find a private room? Amy felt an urge to berate the couple for their conspicuous intimacy in broad daylight. And why was she still lingering here, anyway? Her task was accomplished; it was time to take her leave. But in an odd twist of fate, she found herself intrigued by the idea of settling the score with this infuriating Hunter, who continued to direct flirty grins her way. As if choreographed, the blonde abruptly redirected her attention to Amy, her gaze brimming with malice. "What's keeping you here? Who are you, and what's your game, kid?"
Kid? Well, that was the last straw. Amy snapped. Who did this woman think she was, addressing her like she had just popped into existence yesterday? She was almost thirty, for crying out loud. This blonde bombshell was a solid decade her junior, and that gave her no right to launch such an offensive. Amy's age was a sensitive point, and she couldn't bear having it spotlighted. Amy's frustration brimmed to a growl-worthy level. It seemed the younger generation had a glaring lack of respect for their elders. Amy was determined to set this disrespectful record straight.
With steely resolve, she balled her hands into determined fists, raised her chin to meet their gazes head-on, and declared, "I am here—". "To present me with Valentine's Day roses," Hunter interjected with a mischievous grin. That was the final straw. "You wretched creature!" the blonde screeched, a sound akin to an enraged cat dragging its claws across a chalkboard, an assault on Amy's eardrums. If she endured even another moment of this bimbo's vocal assault, she could practically feel her auditory senses slipping away.
What was the course of action here? Amy pondered. In that moment, she found her gaze ensnared by Hunter's eyes once more. A devious glint shimmered within them, and then it struck her. The puzzle pieces fell into place. She now understood the meaning behind his earlier words about roses and Valentine's Day. This infuriating man wasn't bound to the blonde by marital ties; they were nothing more than casual partners in their escapades. Or, to dispense with euphemisms, they had more than likely just engaged in intimate activities before Amy's untimely knock on the door. And now, if her instincts served her well, Hunter seemed poised to end this liaison and was using Amy as his escape route.
Hold on, you handsome trickster. You won't slip away so easily. Before the blonde could further ravage her eardrums, before her own simmering temper could erupt like a boiling kettle, Amy took decisive action. With a swift and determined motion, she hurled the bouquet squarely into Hunter's face, seized their towels - one in each hand - and with a forceful tug, stripped the coverings from their forms. The exposed tableau was now open for all to witness: the black cat perched on the fence, the birds in the trees, the bees gathering nectar from flowers on the porch, and anyone unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse at that precise moment.
A scream tore from the blonde's lips; a growl resonated from the man. Amy didn't linger to gauge their reactions. Swiftly pivoting on her heel, she sprinted for her life, hastening like a fugitive pursued by the very devil himself. Well, she did acknowledge, in her brief pause halfway down the block, that the devil, in his unadorned state, was unlikely to embark on such a chase. Yet, she had to halt, gasping for breath, her limbs protesting any further movement, as if her lungs might indeed collapse under the strain.
Incredible! Amy's own audacity in wrenching their towels away left her astounded. It triggered an outburst of laughter so intense that her stomach ached from the convulsions. Once she had managed to quell her amusement, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret. Her hasty escape had cost her the opportunity to fully appreciate the extent of his, well, masculine splendor. Enough with these frivolous thoughts, she reprimanded herself sternly.
What was with this sudden preoccupation with the male physique? Was it due to her biological clock's incessant ticking, its reminder that the time was nigh for her to contemplate motherhood? She shuddered at the prospect of her looming thirtieth birthday. How could she even ponder producing offspring when her intimate "forbidden door," as she whimsically labeled it, remained securely locked? And to compound her worries, where on earth was she supposed to locate the elusive key? An irreverent notion slipped into her mind - a fanciful scenario where Hunter held the secret to unlock her metaphorical door. Her heart took an unexpected leap at this mischievous thought.
Oh dear, she had entangled her hair in the midst of her internal musings. Settle down, she admonished her racing heart. She pressed a reassuring hand to her chest, tempering the frenzied beat. No use inviting cardiac distress; there was surely no hospital nearby in this part of town.
Once her pulse steadied, her focus inevitably shifted back to the enigmatic Hunter, his blonde hair and striking azure eyes. What on earth was she entertaining, thinking that he might somehow possess her elusive key? This man-beast, a virtual Casanova, held a dismissive view of women, treating them as casually as bacon on a breakfast plate. His gaze, akin to a ravenous canine eyeing a prime steak, hinted at his insatiable appetites. But she was resolute - not an ounce of her would be served up on his plate, even if that particular steak had seen better days, verging on being as tough as old leather.
Amy released a resigned sigh. There was no purpose in wallowing in such thoughts now. She needed to make amends, to reach out to Helen and express her apologies for the tumultuous events. Helen might lose a VIP client, but safeguarding her staff from the advances of the likes of Hunter was paramount. Setting that matter aside for later contemplation, Amy turned her steps toward her car, her shoulders drooping under the weight of the day's occurrences. She mentally commenced a countdown, each passing day bringing her closer to her impending fate. However, that fateful day materialized faster than she had anticipated.