A man who accomplishes what I have by my thirties isn't one who succumbs to blackmail. I am a man who seizes an opportunity when it presents itself, especially if that opportunity includes four days—and nights—with Kimbra Jones.
Mike and I met our freshman year of college and the rest is history. We both come from financially stable families. Neither was wealthy. Some might say middle-class. No matter the title, we were comfortable, but still we both longed for more. That drive helped me focus during a rough time. Our business ambition became my life.
We worked hard and did our homework. We studied the markets, economy, and fiscal environment. It became obvious with the aging demographics that no matter what happens in other markets, people will need pharmaceuticals. The development and patents are a nightmare. Let someone else do that. We focused on logistics, getting each pharmaceutical from point A to point B in the most efficient and economic fashion. Add in the fact that medication is consumable, the concept was golden. Together we built Buchanan and Willis into the pharmaceutical logistics giant that it is today.
"Tell you about Kimbra?" I reply to Helen. "I'd suspect you can tell me more."
Her wrinkled hand covers mine. "Son, don't bullshit an old woman."
Laughter rings from my chest. "Never."
"I know our Kimberly Ann, but I want to hear about this Kimbra."
A smile spreads over my face. "She's a dynamo. She's obviously beautiful and a good person, but she's more..." I go on, telling Helen the same things I'd said to Kimbra, extolling her assets. With each word, I see the pride beam from Helen's eyes.
"And you two have been together..."
I repeat our story, our fabrication. As I do, I add the truth. "But honestly, I noticed her long before the Christmas party. How could I not? She was gorgeous in that gold dress, but my first staying memory is from nearly three years ago. Twenty-two years old. Her resume was excellent but her experience was limited...in HR," I add, fighting a foreign sensation to blush, no doubt brought on by my recently acquired knowledge of her experience in other matters. "My manager," I go on, "in her department was impressed with Kimbra during the interview process. Enough so that he'd already offered her the position. I was still skeptical. That was until she walked in. She exuded confidence and competence. Nothing intimidates her. I've watched as she's quieted a roomful of angry employees."
"Now, surely, you don't have angry employees."
I scoff. "Sometimes financially strategic decisions aren't always received with enthusiasm. The thing about Kimbra is that she cares. Employees will ask for her by name and not only the ones in the corporate office, but also those in our satellite centers in other states. She remembers all their names..." As I go on and on, it hits me just how closely I've watched Kimbra through the years. There's no pretense as I recall that first afternoon. "She entered my office and stole my breath."
Helen's eyes narrow. As the lines around her eyes and lips become deeper, her cheeks rise. "I don't think that your breath is the only thing she's taken."
"What are you two talking about?" Kimbra asks as the screen door slams and she comes out onto the porch.
My gaze meets Helen's. Will she rat me out? Will she tell Kimbra how much I've truly fallen for her, that this is much more than a weekend arrangement? That this is something I've been fantasizing about for years. Well, minus the farm, sex toys, and funny-as-hell grandma.
You can't make that shit up.
"Duncan was just talking about his company," Helen says. "I had no idea it wasn't limited to New York. I know!” she adds with the same enthusiasm she had for her vibrator. “You could open one of those—what did you call it?—satellite centers here in Indiana, and then we could have our Kimberly Ann home."
I reach for Kimbra's hand and pull her toward my lap. The rocking chairs are solid and wide. There's plenty of room for her to be with me. As our hands connect, a part of me feels complete. I couldn't explain my need to touch her, to be in contact, if I were asked. It's a new feeling that I can't dismiss. Our eyes meet for only a second, as if she's embarrassed to move closer in front of her grandma.
Helen stands. "Kimberly Ann, take it from someone who was married for over fifty years: when your man wants you to sit on his lap, do it."
"Yes, Kimberly Ann," I say, emphasizing her longer name and tugging her down. I've already witnessed that Helen is just about as good at whispering as Kevin. Nevertheless, when she leans closer and speaks in Kimbra's ear, I do my best to pretend not to hear.
"And now this old lady is going to leave you two alone. If I were you, I'd ride him good."
"Grandma!"
My breath catches as Kimbra's cheeks turn the deepest shade of red and her chin drops to my shoulder.
Helen pats Kimbra's shoulder. "If you need me I'll be in my room. Ignore the noise. My electric toothbrush is loud."
We sit in silence, well, except for the low rumble of my laughter, as Helen goes back in the house.
Finally, Kimbra relaxes, lays her head against my chest, and sighs. "I tried to warn you about her."
"Stop apologizing. I think she's fantastic. I am, however, a little disappointed that you don't listen to her advice better."
She cranes her neck toward me. The red in her cheeks has subsided. It's the blue of her eyes that have me mesmerized. "I did listen. I'm here."
It's my turn to whisper. I do it with purpose, making sure my warm breath blows over her sensitive skin. "I believe she mentioned something about riding..."
Kimbra's head moves back and forth. "Not on my parents' porch in the middle of the morning while my grandmother is..."
"Brushing her teeth," I volunteer.
Kimbra buries her face against my chest. "She has dentures."
We both break out in a fit of laughter.
Kimbra's hand rests upon the crook of my elbow as we follow her family down the aisle of the country church. While the surroundings are quaint and the stained-glass windows ornate, I'm having a hard time noticing anyone or anything but the beautiful woman beside me. She went with Susan and her mom to someone's house. I think it was a friend of a friend who once worked with Judy. I got lost on the connection story. That doesn't matter.
Before they left, Judy reminded them all to wear button-down shirts. Kimbra seemed to understand why, though until she returned I had no idea. The thing was, she didn't have anything like that with her. It was Susan who finally offered one of Kevin's. When she did, Kimbra's eyes lit up and she went to her bedroom—the room we’re sharing. When she walked back out, my cock grew to the point where I knew standing wouldn't be appropriate. I didn't trust Helen not to call me out.
With her short little jean shorts, Kimbra wore the shirt I'd worn on Thursday afternoon. She looked so damn cute with it all rolled up, her amazing tits visible from the unbuttoned neckline, and the shirttails tied in a knot at her hips.
Fuck!
I'll never look at the shirt the same way again.
When they returned, each one had her hair styled and makeup done. Kimbra's long auburn hair was wrapped and pinned, with dangling curls. Though I tried to touch it, because it showed off her sexy-as-hell neck, I was quickly swatted away.