New York, Summer, 1921 . Your new neighbor across the lake is the mysterious bachelor , Dutch. His reputation for excess and extravagant parties precede him in the prohibition era. But after an invitation to one of his soirees, you discover your...
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"I hope I'm not intruding," Tom said, coming out onto the terrace. You did your best to remain unbothered by his presence, taking care to seem very interested in the napkin that you folded over and over. As always, his scent preceded him and you knew you were doomed from the moment the breeze picked it up and carried it over to you. You inhaled slowly and discreetly. There was something else that lingered there too. You looked up to see. He was holding a bouquet of violets. Wildflowers, actually, but his favorite flower was prominently displayed.
"Not at all, Dutch," Harrison said excitedly, "Alfred, could you grab another setting?"
Your butler nodded and disappeared to retrieve more dishes.
"Please join us," Harrison said, motioning to the chair. Tom nodded and took a seat, gripping the flowers still. He wore a short sleeve gingham shirt with small peach colored checks and cream slacks. His hair was slicked back but a curl must have escape during his transit. It hung loosely against his brow. He looked absolutely delectable, like an ice cream cone. You could just see yourself just feasting on those tanned, toned arms and that smooth neck. You looked away quickly before the thought could take you any further.
"What brings you about the house?" Harrison asked as he reached for another sandwich.
"I have such an abundance of these in my garden" Tom said waving the flowers in his hand, "I thought you would like some for the house."
"Those are wildflowers, no?" you said in a contrary tone, "I've seen them grow all around the lake."
"Quite right," Tom agreed, "but the violets come from my garden."
"I didn't see any violets in your garden and I was there for quite a while," you responded with a steely gaze. Why was he being deceitful, even about his flowers?
Tom chuckled softly.
"No, you wouldn't have. They grow on the south side of the property,"
His eyes were suddenly serious and penetrating. He held your stare with that all too familiar witchcraft of his.
"I made sure they were the first thing planted when I bought the place. An entire field of them right outside my bedroom window. It's the first thing I see when I wake up every morning."
You let out a long, unsteady breath. You were entirely unaware that you were even holding it. Your cheeks felt flushed and you were certain their appearance betrayed you.
Alfred returned with a plate and flatware for Tom.
"Alfred, could you please put these in some water?" you smiled pointing at the bouquet. He nodded and Tom smiled politely as he handed them to him. He seemed disappointed that you didn't take them yourself but how would that look in front of Harrison?
"So, Dutch-,"Harrison started but you interrupted.
"Why do you call yourself Dutch?" you said, your eyes narrowed at him. You grew tired of this game now. You waited seven years for answers and now Tom was here, under your roof, presenting flowers and that dashing smile of his. He may have the demeanor of another, but you knew better. You caught glimpses of your Tom here and there. It was in the way he laughed, the way he smelled. Mostly, it was in the way his eyes could strip you of all your defenses, leaving you naked and aching for him to cover you with those lips.
"It was a nickname I picked up in the war," Tom replied without breaking a sweat. He reached for the lemonade and poured himself a glass.
You thought that may actually be true. However, it made more sense if your last name was Holland, not Parker.
"But why?" you pressed him, "Are you from Holland or something? You sound English." you gave a small and interested smile. You watched his reaction closely, gauging just how comfortable he was with his deception.
Harrison watched you two like a tennis match. He had that lost look about his face that he got whenever you spoke about fashion trends in Paris or Cole Porter's latest piece.
"I'm from southwest London, darling," he replied with charm. Your lips gave a slight curl. Darling. Be careful, you thought, or you'll give yourself away.
Tom realized his faux pas with his over familiarity and quickly changed the subject.
"Haz, you've got to come by and see the new automobile. She's got 70 horsepower!" he exclaimed with a clap of his hands.
"Dutch, just say the word and I'll join you for a drive any day!" Harrison laughed with enthusiasm. He was so enraptured by Tom, it was irritating. Anyone could swoon over his absurd wealth and decadence. But it wasn't him. He was so much better than that. You found this persona revolting. Dutch was all pomp and pageantry. You missed the staunch earnestness of Tom.
"My, another automobile," you simpered.
"How do you afford such luxury?" you asked dryly. Harrison looked over at Tom, eager for his answer. Tom took another sip of his lemonade to stall.
The doorbell rang again.
"That's gotta be Maribel!" Harrison jumped up and raced inside.
Tom looked at you over his glass. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. You tilted your head and arched an eyebrow at him.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" Tom said lowly. He set his glass down and crossed his arms.
"Quite," you said curtly.
A smile touched his lips as he shook his head slowly. His eyes sized you up, drifting down your neck, lingering over your décolletage. From there the skin stopped and the fabric started.
But you liked the way he watched you, perhaps a bit too much. Your thighs began to tremble. You shifted in your seat, crossing your legs. Every small move was deliberate: the purse of your lips, the swell of your chest, the cock of your shoulder so some fabric slipped down. It was all for him and he didn't miss any of it.
"Careful, darling, "Tom said, "or you may just lose the rest of your frock," he threatened you with a seductive growl.
"There you go - making promises again," you smirked.
