Chapter 3: Confrontation

"Florida?!!!" he could hear her initial confusion turning into flaring anger as soon as he had reached the top of the stairs.

"What do you mean Martha moved 3 years ago?... But why?" The growl that followed her demanding questions made him cringe. It took very little convincing to change his mind about joining her in the kitchen. Therefor Andrew sat down on the thick plush carpet of the first floor, his back lazily resting against the wall as he tried to blend out the misgivings of the young woman on the phone.

"Uncle Bruce you should have told me!" Bella's accusing tone soon faded into silence though as she finally started to listen in earnest.

"At least according to plans he should have." Andrew murmured clearly irritated, but too worn out to care. It wasn't like he had counted on Smith's assistance. The years spent with Catherine did teach him better than that. The tendency the old family friend seemed to have to make his own life hard was no secret, especially not since Catherine had left for Hawaii. Yet as for making the transition for Bella more difficult than necessary, that was something he just couldn't understand.

However, he was not in the mood to argue. Feeling constantly drained since Catherine's departure and emotionally paralyzed after having received news from her death, he felt very little motivation to remind Smith at promises he had made to his client.

Instead, his mind used the momentary peace that settled around him to wander. Back to happier days when no loud word had ever fallen within the walls of the old house, which he had grown to love as his own home. Times when Catherine's glowing personality and radiance were almost palpable in the air. The scent of lavender slowly seemed to return to him as he closed his eyes. The fragrance of her perfume suited her so well, flowery gentleness and elegance with a touch of fiery passion evoked by oriental spices, and all of them melting into a sensual harmony. The memory of it drew him under her spell as much as the images that started floating back to him.

The sound of her laughter: so soft and utterly ladylike, never rising above a chuckle. The texture of golden locks dipped in honey and sliding between his trembling fingers like liquid silk. Pure sunshine. Her every touch reminded him either of loving warm caresses, or burning desire that shut through both of them with an almost primal need. How many times did he rest his head tired and aching from the pressure and worries of the world in the soft nest of her lap he couldn't tell anymore. All he knew was that he longed for her caring warmth and guiding strength with a desperation he hadn't even known existed within him before he met her.

She would never look at him again with desire burning in her lovely blue eyes, he'd never see her features constrict again in the ecstatic haze of complete abandon. Those smooth arms that lend him strength and security would never hug him again close in their possessive embrace, neither would her rosy lips capture his hungry tongue to claim him as her own with a deep, passionate kiss. Her vibrant personality people felt drawn too, the elegant grace with which she handled every challenge of life, the peace she could give him with a single touch had been forever taken from his life to fade away slowly in the fragile world of his memories.

Catherine. His Catherine. She was gone.

Andrew's grey eyes opened to look up at one of the many paintings she had inspired. She had never allowed him to draw or paint her, yet she was still there in every single movement when he lifted the brush or pencil, in every shade he used, in every theme he picked over the past years. His muse and source of inspiration had all along accompanied him on his quest to search for his voice as an artist.

She had been his companion in many ways, had encouraged and strengthened him when ideas eluded his mind, through artist's blocks and maniac phases of creation she had been there, right by his side. She seemed to value his artistic attempts regardless of their quality and not out of neglect of perfection or true beauty, rather decorating her home with them despite her exquisite taste.

"Nothing is more perfect than reality. Accept no substitutions." She used to tell him calmly, whenever he got discouraged by the results of his efforts.

The words still echoed in his head. He could almost feel her breath on his cheek, so warm and soothing, little puffs full of erotic promises for the night to come.

The smile on his lips was melancholic as he descended the stairs, secretly hoping that he might find Catherine seated at the breakfast table, wrapped in nothing but her pale yellow silky kimono. Her eyes would pierce him the very moment he'd enter the kitchen. The corners of her sweet mouth would tilt up just the slightest bit at the sight of his messy hair before she'd hide her amusement behind an impatient frown.

Andrew could never bear the idea of her slender eyebrows knit, her eyes shielding the emotions welling up in her heart with the icy stare that appeared every time she was displeased with him. A single look of disappointment on her face literally used to bring him down onto his knees, seeking her favor immediately. His system seemed to crave her approval as much as the air to breath.

He would come to her eagerly, shower her shapely calves with adoring butterfly kisses, tickle the side of her knees with the tip of his tongue, longing and hopeful to hear her soft sighs of contentment as his warm lips trace up along her legs slowly, starting to build her desire for him. She used to make him work for every single inch her thighs reluctantly parted under his hot breath, reaching higher and higher while worshipping the smooth skin of her inner thighs with hungry, wet kisses. Her unique fragrance urged him on, sweeter and more appealing than any artificial scent. It would slowly ripen from the pure feminine essence of the desire his caresses had heated to the evidence of burning lust by the time the tip of his nose brushed against the smooth center of their mutual pleasure.

Instead of his adored companion the image of Catherine's upset niece welcomed him on entering the kitchen area. His heart fell as reality returned to him, yet the way the young woman was sitting at the counter, with her fingers drumming on the Italian marble and her dark brows furrowed, reflecting the effort she must have put into digesting the information received that day, the faintest of all smiles crossed his lips. Her looks and gestures could hardly ever come anywhere close to her aunt's beauty and grace, but neither could the fact be denied that the two of them were unmistakeably related.

"So has Madam already decided on breakfast?" He asked in a teasing and overly upbeat voice, moving around the kitchen with a familiar ease that only deepened her frown.

"I'd like to talk first." she insisted, slipping off the chair and moving over to the table as he came around to inspect the content of the fridge.

"Omelets are my speciality, but would probably have less appeal to someone with your tastes, so how about pancakes with jam, or strawberry and some whipped cream?" He asked casually, starting to get out the ingredients.

Grateful for being able to get engrossed in the preparations, he avoided her eyes but couldn't help noticing the irritated little "Humph!" his choice of words coaxed out of her.

Bella placed her hands on her hips and raised her chin in a subconscious gesture.

"Someone with my tastes doesn't want breakfast. I want to talk. Now!" she barked back at him, the initial disbelief that had her temper partly paralyzed after having learned about her aunt's relation with this man turning into the first breezes of a furious storm.

Breaking up one egg after the other he merely shrugged, his attention never leaving the bowl in front of him.

"Too bad. I want breakfast." He threw back and she thought she had seen his eyes light up for a moment before he haphazardly added "Now."

Her eyes widened for a moment but soon narrowed, catching the mocking in his tone unmistakably. Having her flaring temper usually under the tight control of her shy demeanor, Bella had got used to not having the final say in most cases, yet something about his behaviour just made her snap. Spending her teenage years as the chubby ugly duckling had given her a quite thick skin when it came to teasing, but the idea of an invading gigolo making fun of her in her very own home seemed just too much to tolerate!

"How dare you talk to me like that!" She demanded walking up to him with steady strides and a piercing glare. "This is my home, my house, how dare you tell me what to do?!"

She came to a sudden halt when he turned from the counter, leaving barely a few inches between their bodies. Why do tall people just seem so intimidating? She wondered, her teeth dancing over her bottom lip nervously. Her insecurities, however, only lasted a moment. As soon as he cocked an eyebrow at her questioningly, she already remembered the attitude that had made her initially want to slap him. Instead her eyes narrowed.

"You might have manipulated my aunt but that is certainly not going to work with me. I don't care how much she payed you and how much extra you took, the merry days are over! This is my house and I want you out of here!" she hissed at him with a determined glare before her lips curled into a sarcastic little smile. "Now!"

She blinked. Again and again. Not believing that he actually started laughing at her. She was close enough to feel his breath on her face as he threw his head back and broke into a hearty laughter, his chest rumbling under his white polo shirt. Her ears registered the rich sound she had already become so enamoured with earlier, making her mind almost forget about the actual situation.

"Just what do you think is so funny?!" she demanded feeling the control of the moment slip more and more out of her hands with every suppressed chuckle he tried to fight in vain.