A man I've never seen before is in the kitchen.

And when I say man, I mean man.

He is masculine in a way only someone older can be, with the authority and confidence that comes with age. He has light stubble on his face, defined cheekbones that narrow down to a firm chin. His hair is neatly cut, a few gray strands through the brown at the temple. A thin, white long-sleeved sweater that he has pushed up to the elbows exposes tanned and muscular forearms. The sweater hangs loosely down his torso, revealing a toned chest. Strong but lean legs are hidden behind dark slacks. And he is barefoot. Why that affects me so much, I don't know.

It doesn't even occur to me that I should be afraid. Instead, I let my eyes travel slowly back up, taking in every aspect of this amazing specimen of a man. When I get to his face, I realize he is looking at me the same way. His eyes are traveling up my naked legs, over my tiny sleep shorts, up my exposed torso. Oh my, I still have my arms above my head, so my top has ridden up, showing the beginning of the small swells of my breasts. His gaze slows. My stomach clenches in a way it never has before, making my breath hitch. At a snail's pace his eyes wander over my breasts. Then they go higher, stopping at my parted lips. And then his gaze meets mine.

His hazel eyes are so dark, filled with a longing that I can't explain, yet somehow seems so familiar.

But then he blinks a few times, shifts on his feet, and clears his throat.

"You must be Arlene."

Cold dread is rushing through my body. Oh my God, this is Leonid's dad!

Leonid's dad, who has just seen more of my body than anyone has since I was a kid. Not even my older sister has seen any part of my breasts in years. I quickly drop my arms and fold them across my stomach to hide the bare skin. But then I notice my nipples are poking against my top, and I shift my arms up to cover them instead.

He seems to be amused by my embarrassment, and my cheeks burn. Then I realize he's waiting for an answer.

"Yes," I finally say, all breathy. "I'm Arlene."

"Nice to meet you, Arlene. I'm Machel, Leonid's father." With that reminder, his face shutters.

3MachelI turn my back to the little siren standing in my kitchen.

Was I just lusting after my son's girlfriend?

Disgust rises up in my stomach. I can only blame the lack of sleep. She was a mirage, a vision out of a dirty dream, standing there in hardly any clothes, a heady mix of innocence and temptation with a hungry look in her eyes.

Hungry? No, it couldn't have been. I must have imagined it. She is my son's girlfriend; she wouldn't have looked at me-an old man-with hunger.

"I've just made some coffee. Do you want some?"

"Yes, please."

Her quiet voice sends electricity straight to my cock. This is so not me. I never let emotions or hormones control me; I control them. I learned my lesson with Leonid's mom years ago.

I force myself to talk about Leonid, just to keep my head straight.

"Is my son up yet?"

When she doesn't immediately respond, I turn and find her biting her lip. I quickly focus on her eyes, as her lips will only bring my thoughts back in the gutter.

"No.it was a late night, so he probably won't be up for a while."

I snort. "Yes, he was never an early riser."

She grabs the coffee mug that I hold out to her and sits at the kitchen table, opposite me.

"I-I didn't think you were back from the conference till tonight?" she asks while lifting those big, blue eyes at me.

"I got homesick."

Her laugh is unexpected, and the way her smile lights up her face takes my breath away.

"Homesick isn't something I would expect a grown man to be."

"Grown man, uh?" She's blushing again. "I'm always homesick when I'm away. I love this town. I love my home," I explain with a shrug.

"You have such a lovely house," she responds eagerly. "Leonid tells me you're an architect and designed it yourself?"

"That's true."

"It's really beautiful. I think my favorite part is the patio at the back with the built-in seats and firepit-it's just perfect. All I wanted to do when I saw it was to curl up in one of the seats with a book and stay there all day."

"I'm glad you like it. It's situated so you have the perfect view of the sunset over the bay."

"Oh, I can't wait to see it. Leonid said you built it-the seats and all-yourself?"

"I did, yes." The pure admiration in her eyes does something to my chest. "I was pretty much hands-on when it came to building the whole house, not just the outside. It made the place more mine, you know? The outdoor seating area needs to be repainted, though. I'm doing that this summer."

"I'll help."

This time, I'm the one who's laughing. She's blushing again, looking down at her hands.

"You'll help?"

"Well.if you'd want me to. It's the least I could do, staying for free in your house."

I can vividly picture it: Arlene in a pair of cutoff shorts, working next to me in the sunshine while sweat rolls down her back.

"You're here on your summer break, to relax after finals. There's no way I'll put a paint brush in your hands." When she tries to argue, I add in a stern voice, "No, young lady. It's final."

"Okay, Mr. Wright," she's replies demurely.

"Please, call me Machel."

"Okay. Machel."

How can every single word that comes out of her mouth sound so goddamn dirty? I swallow and change the topic.

"Do you want some breakfast?"

"I'd love some," she says and gets up from the chair. "But I insist on helping with it."

Her top is stretching across her tiny, tempting tits, and I know I can't have her close to me. Not like this.

"Sure," I say. "But why don't you go get dressed first?"

That adorable blush is back as she looks down her body and quickly folds her arms over her chest again.

While she is down the hall changing, I muse over the fact that my bone-deep tiredness seems to have vanished. The construction and architect conference I had been attending the last days was interesting, but the closing event wasn't tempting enough to keep me in the big dirty city, not even with the prospect of no-strings-attached company with one of the women attending. Instead, the good weather forecast had me driving all night to get home, and as a result, I've been awake for more than twenty-four hours. I'm probably half-delirious from lack of sleep, and that's for sure the reason for my insane fascination by this way-too-young girl. How old is she again? I think Leonid said she was nineteen.

Way-way too young. And not to mention, my son's girlfriend.

I've cracked four eggs into the frying pan and toasting bagels under the grill by the time Arlene walks back into the kitchen. Her skirt goes all the way down to her knees and the white T-shirt is just that-a white T-shirt. It's obvious that she has put a bra on. It's one of those padded ones that makes your boobs look bigger and hides any hard nipples.

I hate those bras.

But this morning, it's a blessing.

"Leonid still sleeping?" I ask as she helps set the table.

"Uh." She bites her lip, looking uncertain. "I assume so," she says in a low voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I-I didn't look into his room."

"His room? Are you not staying in his room?"

"No," she admits. "I'm in the guest room."

"Did you two have an argument?"

"Well-no, it's not that. It's just." She takes a deep breath, but her voice is a mere whisper when she continues. "I'm just not ready to share a bed with anyone yet."

I'm shocked, on so many levels. Leonid became sexually active at an early age, and for him not to sleep with his girlfriend sounds.just strange. But despite feeling a bit of admiration for my son, the voice shouting the strongest in my head is saying: She's untouched! No man has had his cock inside of her!

My sleep-deprived mind is screaming for me to claim her, claim her as mine, ruin her for any other man.

Jeremie, where are these disturbing thoughts coming from?

"That's very admirable," I say with what I hope is a normal tone. "I'm glad my son is respecting your wishes."

"Yes," is all she says, looking down.

Arlene asks me about the area when we sit down to eat, and I have no problem telling her about this town that I love so much. I suggest places for her to visit, the best beaches, trails for long walks, and where to spot wildlife. She soaks up every word, asking questions, and seems eager to go explore right this moment.

"Why did you decide to come here after your exams? Don't you miss you family and friends?" I ask her.

"I was hoping to relax a bit after all the finals stress. And home is not a place that is relaxing." She laughs, but her eyes turn distant.

"Why is that?"

"Well.there's always some type of drama with my older sister, and my twin brothers-they are younger than me-they always get into trouble. Then Mom will get mad at my dad because he is too lenient with my sister, and Dad will get mad at Mom because she's too lenient with the boys. There's always fighting and never a quiet moment, always drama and arguments." She sighs. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offload like that."

"And who's the most lenient with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your mom or your dad-who is the most lenient with you?"

She looks taken aback by my question.

"Um.neither. I never cause any trouble."

I would love to find out why my question is making her feel so uneasy, but instead, I ask her about her hometown. She tells me about a park and a couple of walks she likes, but in general it sounds like an industrial town with not much charm or soul.

I can't believe that two hours have passed by the time my son makes his way into the kitchen.

"Dad! What are you doing here so early?"

"I drove back through the night. You know me, can't stand big cities."

"Yeah." His gaze drifts to Arlene, and misplaced jealousy surfaces in me when he puts his hand on her shoulder. I get up from my seat.

"I'll put a fresh pot of coffee on," I offer, mostly just so I don't have to look at them.

Behind my back, I hear my son mumble, "I'm so sorry."

I assume he's sorry for Arlene having been forced to spend time with me on her own.

But I'm wrong.

4Arlene"I'm so sorry," Leonid whispers and sits next to me, the smell of alcohol still strong on his breath. "I was totally out of line last night. I never should have tried to push you into doing something you didn't want to do."

From the corner of my eye, I can see Romantensing, his head turns our way and his expression is hard. I feel mortified that he's overhearing this conversation.

"It's okay," I whisper.

"No, it's not. I was drunk, that's my only excuse. It won't happen again, I promise."

If I could only believe his promise. I think his patience with me is slowly withering away. I've told him before that I don't want my first time to be a drunken hook-up, yet last night, when we got home, he kept trying to push me. Even when I said no, he was all wandering hands, all drunken coercion. I wasn't scared, but still felt very vulnerable. I made sure my bedroom door was locked, and I couldn't help but cry myself to sleep. He's never been that pushy before.

"Okay," I say again, and I smile just to make this conversation end.

"Thank you, sweetheart, for being so understanding," he says and nuzzles his face in my hair. His hand lands on my leg and starts moving up and down, and I wonder how much he really understands.

I almost jump in my seat when a cup of coffee is set in front of Leonid with a little too much force.

My boyfriend sits back and thanks his father.

"So you've met," he says after a big swig.

"Yes," I say and try to tell myself I don't have to feel guilty about chatting with his dad. Although the way my body reacted to him was definitively wrong. Something is wrong with me. I've never reacted that way to Leonid, not even when we've been making out. And even now, when Leonid is sitting next to me with only shorts and a tight tank on, showing off his fabulously toned athlete's body, it's still fully clothed Romanmy eyes drift to. "Your father has been telling me about the marina and a walk up to the Styke's viewpoint."

Leonid rolls his eyes.

"I'm sure he has. My dad always has the most exciting ideas."

I look at Machel, afraid that he'll take offense at Leonid's mocking tone. But he just lifts an eyebrow at his son.

"Well, I thought it sounded great. I'd love to do that," I rush to say. And I mean it too.

Perhaps Leonid doesn't want to hurt my feelings, as his tone is normal when he replies, "Sure, we can, some time. We're here for three weeks. But not today. I've arranged for us to meet up with Georgiaand play some ball this afternoon. He's convinced he can still beat me in basketball even though he hasn't played since leaving school."

"Really?" I say and laugh. "Leonid became the second highest point scorer on his team this season," I tell his dad. Romanis proud of his son's achievements, that much is clear, and the two of them talk sports for a while until Romanyawns.

"I'm sorry, I need to get a few hours' sleep. I've been up all night."

"Oh, did I keep you up with all my questions?" I ask, feeling bad.

"Not at all. I enjoyed our conversation very much," he says slowly. The way his hazel eyes are taking me in makes me believe it.

That surge in my stomach is back.

5MachelI love the early mornings-this quiet intermission before life hits you in the face. I'm a loner. I always have been. I like my own company, my projects-tinkering on my boat or fixing up my house. I volunteer as a handyman at the nursing home, fixing whatever needs to be done and then having coffee and a chat with the residents. Then I go home, make a meal for one, and enjoy a beer and the view from my garden, feeling happy. I don't need a woman by my side. After things went down the drain with Leonid's mom-not that it was ever far from the drain in the first place-I had a few girlfriends. But God, it was hard work. Too much work just to secure some regular access to sex. Now, I might hook up with some random woman when I'm out of town for business, but never anyone local-this town is way too small for one-night stands. The rest of the time, my right hand does a damned good job when combined with some select internet sites.

While scanning the horizon, I take a deep lungful of air and let it out with a contented sigh. Solitude really is underrated. I can't think of anything worse than having to adjust to another person's habits or schedule, feeling guilty whenever I want to spend time on my own. Like during my precious morning solitude.

"Good morning, Machel."

I quickly turn and see Arlene standing in the doorway to the patio. I haven't seen her since yesterday morning. They were gone when I woke up from my nap and hadn't come back yet when I went to bed for the night.

"Arlene! You're up early. I didn't even hear you two come home last night."

She steps onto the deck. The sunshine is playing with the blond and brown tones of her hair, and it brings out all the shades of blue in her eyes.

Thankfully, she's dressed this morning.

"I don't tend to sleep in."

"Did you have a good night?"

Her eyes turn distant. Avoiding my gaze, she takes in the horizon that I'd just been admiring.

"Georgiaand Leonid were playing basketball for a while. Then we went to a party." She laughs quietly. "There seem to be a lot of parties here."

I don't push her with more questions; I don't need to-her lack of enthusiasm tells me all I need to know. "What are you doing today?" I ask instead.

"I-I don't know yet. I was hoping maybe to go for a walk. Are there any walks I can do from the house?"

The quiet desperation in her voice breaks my heart. She turns her blue gaze to me, and I find I'm choked up when I say, "Let's go."

"Sorry?"

"You've got your tennis shoes on. What are you waiting for?" I smile and step onto the lawn.

"What?" She laughs, her eyes suddenly alive with joy. "Like, right now?"

My smile just spreads wider, and she laughs happily while eagerly following me down into the garden.

"Don't you have to work?" she asks when I guide her through the small gate in the hedge.

"I'm always up long before I have to leave for work. I've got time for a walk."

The small path below my house joins a bigger path where we have to climb over a fence. It's not too high, and I easily scale it, as I have a hundred times before. It's not that easy for Arlene-she's wearing a skirt. She throws one slender leg over the top bar, and her skirt rides all the way up her thigh. I stop breathing. She throws her other leg over. I see a glimpse of white cotton undies. Innocent, crisp, white cotton undies.

Oh my God.

All the blood in my body rushes south. I quickly turn away from her. I'd been doing so well this morning, keeping any sexy thoughts away from her. But now they're all flooding back. On a shaky exhale, I start telling her about the area, just to distract myself.

I feel more in control when, after about ten minutes, I lead us off the path and onto an overgrown trail. Another few minutes and the trees surrounding us open up to an expansive view of the bay. I don't know if she notices, but Arlene grabs my arm as she stops, looking at the view in wonder.

"Machel," she whispers, her voice binding me to her like her fingers around my arm. "It's spectacular. The blue.the green."

"Yes, it's beautiful," I reply quietly. Her cheeks are rosy, her eyes twinkling.

"To have all this on your doorstep." Her lips are parted.

"Yes, to have all this, so close."

She looks up at me, and I blink a few times before I manage to get out of my funk. Damn, what's going on with me? I clear my throat and force myself to look away from her.

"That's Marlock's beach," I point out. "And up there, that's Styke's viewpoint."