Free A Slow Boil by Karen Winters

looked entirely confused.
    “I tried to make you a lemon pound cake as a thank you for
everything you did for me this week.  But something went wrong. 
Horribly wrong.”
    “You don’t have to thank me for anything.”
    “I wanted to, though.”  My voice had gotten small and
quiet.  He set his fork down and looked up at me with that odd expression
he sometimes got, like he was debating something inwardly.  He seemed to
reach a decision after a moment and gestured for me to come around to his left.
    “Miss Lane, kneel down here by my side.”
    This was the oddest thing he’d ever asked of me but my brain was
half comatose by this point and the prospect of getting off my feet was hugely
appealing.  I sank down on the carpet next to his chair, sitting rather
than kneeling, with my ankles tucked underneath me.
    “Yes, just like that.  Close your eyes.  Rest.”
    He picked up his fork and resumed eating.
    “The lamb is perfect, Miss Lane.”
    “Thank you.”  My voice was no louder than a whisper.
    I felt his left hand come to rest lightly on top of my head. 
After a few strokes, he reached down and pulled out my pony tail holder,
dropping it to the floor behind me.  Then he ran his hand up from the nape
of my neck to my crown, gently pulling his fingers through the strands and
loosening them around my face.  His ministrations felt so good, so
relaxing, I felt myself leaning toward him and soon my cheek was resting
against his thigh.  I could hear him continue to eat his dinner and take
sips of his wine as he played with my hair.  Within minutes I was again
succumbing to sleep.
    The next thing I knew I was moving.  No, wait, I was being
moved.  Where was I going?  Up.  Up, up, up.  I could hear
footsteps and I struggled to open my eyes.  All I could see was the side
of Mr. Hunter’s face, his strong jaw mostly, and a bit of his ear.  Mr.
Hunter turned his eyes down to mine.  He was so close.  Why was he so
close?  Was this a dream?  Would the Mr. Hunter in my dream mind if I
touched the scruff on his jaw?  I decided to find out and raised one of my
hands, running a finger lightly across his chin.  Raspy.  Good to
know.
    “You fell asleep in the dining room.  I’m putting you to
bed,” was all he offered in explanation.
    I realized then that I was still at his house and he was carrying
me upstairs.  Embarrassment swept through me, and I began to struggle to
be let down.  His grip was too firm, however, and before I could try
again, we were in the guest room.  He laid me on the bed, pulled the
covers down on one side, moved me over and then bent over my legs.  I felt
him take off my shoes and socks, and then he pulled the covers back over me and
tucked them up around my shoulders.
    “You're too exhausted to go home tonight.  You can sleep here
again.  Don’t leave in the morning.  I’ll drive you home when you're
ready to go.”
    I nodded, the comfortable bed pulling me quickly back into a
restful state of semi consciousness.
    “One last thing, Miss Lane.”
    I half-opened my eyes to see him fingering a strand of hair that
had fallen across my cheek.
    “No more pony tails.”

Chapter
7
    Mr. Hunter was sitting at the kitchen island sipping a cup of
coffee and reading his laptop when I came down in my jeans and t-shirt the next
morning around eight.
    “Sleep well, Miss Lane?”
    “Like a log.  I feel so much better.”
    “Very good.  Help yourself to coffee if you’d like. 
Otherwise, I have tea or juice.”
    “Coffee would be great.”  I pulled another mug out of the
cupboard, poured myself a cup, and sat down at the island across from Mr.
Hunter.
    “Can I make you something for breakfast?”
    “I feel like I should be asking you that.”
    He looked up at me briefly.  “I noticed that you restocked my
eggs for me, and I'd be happy to fry you up a couple in return for your
thoughtfulness.”
    “Thanks, but I think I’ll just have some toast.  I don’t
usually eat