Copyright 2006 by LadyLincoln







     There was a nearly old home always out yonder, where everyone knew it must have looked nearly one hundred years old. It was debatable anyone had ever lived there before now—after the Whitney family had moved into the home across the street from that other quaint home. Karen Ann had always secretly admired that other house from a distance, wondering about the neighbors inside she had never—up until this point—seen.

    That warm afternoon, Karen had first noticed his face—then his magnetic eyes—his hair. He stood a “perfect” 6’3, had tussled black hair, and lovely hands. She had not yet summoned enough courage to speak to him, as she feared that his divine face might not match what she had expected his speaking voice to be…a song. He oftentimes would be outside, by the little garden his wife, Karen had supposed, planted for him. Every fresh summer morning previous to this one, he had been outdoors…and today was no different. He would be seen carefully plucking and trimming a long stemmed rose for his lapel, before taking his “usual” route towards the city, as she would oftentimes watch him from her upstairs bedroom window in intrigue…

     One most days like this one, while Karen was doing her knitting or mending, she would spend her free time gazing out that window once she was alone. It was oftentimes quiet, unless she heard the frequent hammerings of the handsome stranger’s nails. She oftentimes frequently wondered what exactly that gentleman was doing…all there was to be heard was that continuous tap, tap, tap. The house he was living was in obvious disrepair. She was once again gazing out her window, not able to draw herself away – as she ultimately should.

     Karen had desperately tried distracting herself with her sewing; but somehow she could not draw herself away from that open window as the summer breezes blew in…the hammering had continued. Leaning in, she also noticed that even as the tiny droplets of perspiration ran down his forehead, he was still was attractive to her—very appealing to her eyes. A small smile curved upon her lips…She was somewhat surprised he had not noticed her watching him from that close distance.
She wanted him to…nearly…almost there.
Please look at me! She secretly cried.

     She watched him organize his paintbrushes, brush a hand through his course black hair, continually ponder to himself and effortlessly paint his “shabby masterpiece.” He had quite a talent and patience for that sort of hard labor—and an appealing ruggedness to match it. He was wearing his work shirt wide open on this exceedingly warm summer afternoon—and Karen had happened to take another glance. She found herself flushing and wondering what he looked like upon closer inspection…She had debated for sometime as to whether she should properly introduce herself to this intriguing gentleman…but something inside of her entire being told her to stay away for the means of her own protection.

     Karen had summoned enough courage at last, and brought over a tray of cookies she had just freshly prepared that day with a fresh pitcher of water. She placed her most beautiful bonnet over her head, and carefully checked over her appearance—although she was not sure as to why. Her attractive neighbor was just refreshing one of his paintbrushes as she quietly approached him—steadying herself on the inside; trying not to blush or keep her eyes upon the curves of his chest.
“Hello,” she said very softly—finally finding her voice and appeasing her curiosity. He smiled kindly, and revealed his perfect teeth to her for the first time.
“Hello,” his voice sent shock waves all through her. It was in fact like a sweet melody.
“You purchased the old Baker Mansion…” Karen had commented shyly.
He nodded, “yes. It for me was an exciting find. I adore restoration work,” he smiled again, his eyes shining. She was already intrigued. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said—immediately noting her silent attraction to him.
He always knew when women were longing to be closer to him. He could read women like books; but this particular one had a daunting air that he could not quite peer into as of yet—but he soon would.

     Karen felt her hands shaking furiously as she held the tray of items for this gentleman while he met her gaze…admiring her form as well as she was his own. He assumed that since she was becoming too flustered to tell him her name he would speak first.
“My name is Thomas Bradley,” he said, as the familiarity made her smile. She felt at home with that name. “But I usually prefer to go by my last name Bradley, or just simply called Brad. I loathe the name Tom,” Karen raised an eyebrow.
“I am…Karen Whitney,” she uttered out.
He nodded, “is that plate of delicious looking cookies for me?” He asked her gently. She couldn’t help but continue to blush in his divinely irresistible presence.
Oh, how I want to touch you!
She had nearly forgotten about the tray—she was still lost in his deep brown eyes.
“Yes…” she said.
“Ah, well, it is fondly appreciated but I am not a huge fan of cookies. I have a low tolerance for sugar—but for you, I will make an exception,” he said in his obvious attempt at a flirtation.
She took the bait, as he chuckled to himself. She had this wall around her that not many had broken through—but she was always reaching out for someone—he felt.

     “Your own home is quite lovely in its quaint little way,” he added, noting it.
“I am hopeful of adding another story to it someday in the near future,” Karen commented. “We need the space for our growing family…” she said, nearly biting her tongue.
He smiled, “not me. I bought this place on a whim for myself. I don’t need the hassle of a family.” She could not hide her surprise—she wasn’t the first.
“So—you live alone? In this spacious home?” She was awe struck.
“Sure,” he shrugged. “I repair the home and sell it for a hefty sum and move on…” he sounded wistful.
She began to assume that he was a “drifter” sort, given the fact that he had not a family to think of. He read into her thoughts.
“I float from place to place. I’m not the clingy sort. I grow restless for a taste of adventure. If I settled—life would become a dull existence for me…” he explained.
“That should not prove true had you a wife to love and settle for…” she said thoughtfully, meeting his handsome gaze once more. “Perhaps,” he said, as he began to paint once more. “If I were to meet the right woman,” he noticed her cheeks grow red. He smiled, knowing her wall of rigid resistance wanted to crumble to the likes of him.

     Karen handed him her tray and told him to return that day it at his leisure. He was certainly a dashing gentleman, but she still knew very little about him…less than she wished to in that moment she was sharing with him. She felt some instant longing—some she had felt guilty for. She was feeling lonely for her absentee spouse…more so than usual. That sense of longing would always be with her—she knew that—he could not be home to satisfy this need she felt arise in her heart. She grew more aware of this clinging desire when she gazed into the eyes of Thomas Bradley…He had sensed this. He had been alone for nearly seventeen years. Although he had not been deprived of the greater pleasures of life—he had never had the privilege of knowing someone as outwardly “genteel” as Karen Whitney. She was so unlike the women he had known in the past—and he had known plenty.

     Not long after, he had left a note on her door: “The cookies were wonderful—the dashing Brad,” he has quite an ego… Karen thought to herself.
Not that this concept was completely unfounded. He was certainly more dashing than most—but she had never been the sort to marvel at the physical—but he had made her question everything… that “dashing Brad” as he had pinned himself also left her a long stemmed rose, one of the ones she knew that he’d cherished.

***

     She stood by the window once again, letting out a sigh, clinging to the beloved flower that he had offered as a simple gesture of kindness…and then secretly prayed that he would finish his “handiwork” so she and the other intrigued females would stop gazing at him with longing in their “weepy” eyes. Karen was feeling ashamed for thinking unsavory thoughts about her neighbor. It was as if he knew she was thinking about him…at that very moment, he was knocking on her door again. She felt her hands shake as she had haphazardly approached the door…

     “Mr. Bradley,” she addressed him formally.
“Call me Brad, I have never been one for those technicalities,” he said; only bowing slightly rather than full down towards his waist as commanded by etiquette.
He was actually sporting a gentleman’s frock instead of his work shirt and she could not debate whether she preferred him as this dashing gentleman or “crafty” restorer. She knew far too many gentlemen… “What are you about?” Karen asked him teasingly.
“We can discuss that over afternoon brunch,” he smiled sweetly. She could not hide her amused smile.
“Brunch?” She asked in a completely different tone. He grinned, knowing full well what her answer would be…the flushness in her expression told him the attraction was there and twinkling eyes confirmed it. “Well…” she did toy with the idea and the possibility that she would go…“Yes, I would like that very much,” she replied softly— still not altogether sure she should have accepted.

     Upon that, he’d revealed another rose and presented it to her effortlessly, as she flushed joyfully. My God! She thought helplessly—it is a sin to look as divine as he does this day! Perhaps Karen now realized the reasons why he had referred to himself as “dashing” – there was certainly more to him than meets the eye. As she followed him to his awaiting open horse carriage, she again noticed Thomas admiring her desirable form, despite the fact that she was far from different, and most certainly unlike any matron he was accustomed to associating himself with…but that had little mattered.  

     By the end of their brunch, Thomas was clearly enchanted by Karen. She was certainly an extraordinary conversationalist. The ring of her laughter was quite appealing as well, as was his own intellectual pursuits in her own view. Karen had quickly given him credit for his dashing appearance, as she was not so easily seduced by that aspect of a man…but what was it about him that made it so difficult for her to forget her proper finish school teachings? Now, since he had proven his intellectual worth to her as well as his obvious physical appeal, Karen would allow him to carry on with his flirtation…Helplessly or not, she was utterly enchanted.

     “Thank you for quite a lovely time, far too brief though it was…” she had said with a smile, turning to him as he’d offered her his arm in a most gallant manner as they made their returns.
“The pleasure was mine entirely, Mrs. Whitney,” as he said her name with the fullness of his perfectly contoured mouth, Karen felt her arousal rise a little from deep within her. She wanted to say, “Come inside…please!” …And fully explore the contours of both his mouth and chest…as he felt this silent plea from her, he met her silent gaze of longing, as he too was fighting off his own impulses to take her into his arms and kiss her right then. His hands had been gripping at his tipped hat for support, but had wanted to take a firm grip onto her body instead. Karen let out a secretly frustrated sigh as she slowly pulled away from him. She didn’t wish to.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bradley…” she said softly, closing the door.

     He stood there for a single moment, toying with this new situation. He was as attracted to her as she was to him—he now discovered. After their eyes had met for the last time before she closed the door, he wanted so desperately to reach out for her. He nearly had. He longed to ask if he could come inside…and he knew she had desired to ask it of him. Thomas was cursing himself for wanting to see more of her…so much more! He stood by her door somewhat longer and opened his mind again to her most intimate thoughts.
He was so handsome…so much I ache for touch…his eyes are very powerful...
At least—that’s what he wanted her to be longing for.

    Karen hurriedly returned to her upstairs window to watch him slowly move away from her door. She clung to the curtains, as she fought off tears, watching him quickly turn to cling to the doorknob and achingly force himself away from it for the last time…
I shall return for you…someday.

*Finis