Chapter 3: Morning After
Taylor plastered a smile on her face as she walked into the study, the scent of ink and old paper mingling with the faint tang of Caleb’s aftershave. He glanced up from his computer, his brow furrowed, and she felt the familiar prickle of guilt crawl up her spine. "Everything okay?" he asked, his voice soft, almost tentative. She nodded, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Yeah, just tired. Long day at work." She leaned down to kiss his cheek, her lips brushing his skin, and she hated how her body stiffened at the contact. "What are you working on?" she asked, her voice too bright, too eager.
He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, the strands sticking up in every direction. "Just trying to finish up this Peterson report. It’s a real pain in the ass." He swiveled his chair to face her, his eyes searching hers with a kind of quiet concern that made her stomach twist. "You know, I was thinking, maybe we could go out for dinner tonight? Just the two of us." Taylor’s chest tightened, her mind flashing back to the night before, to Henderson’s hands on her, his breath hot against her neck. "Oh, honey, I’d love to, but I promised Sarah I’d meet her for drinks tonight. We’ve been planning it for weeks." The lie slipped out so easily, so effortlessly, and she hated herself for it.
Caleb’s face fell, just for a moment, before he forced a smile. "Oh, okay. Well, maybe tomorrow then." His voice was light, but she could hear the disappointment lurking beneath the surface. "Yeah, tomorrow sounds great," she said, her own smile brittle. She kissed him again, her lips lingering on his for a fraction too long, as if she could somehow make up for the betrayal with the gesture. Her mind was already racing, though, trying to figure out how to navigate this dangerous game she’d started, how to keep the lies from unraveling.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows, but Taylor felt like she was moving through a fog. She couldn’t shake the memory of last night, the way Henderson’s hands had gripped her hips, the way he’d whispered filthy things in her ear, things that made her cheeks burn even now. She knew she should end it, should cut ties before things spiraled out of control, but the thought of his mouth on her, his body pressing into hers, sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. She was playing with fire, and she knew it, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop.
She was in the kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air, when the doorbell rang. Caleb was still asleep, his soft snores drifting down the hallway, and she hesitated for a moment before answering it. Who could be here this early? She peered through the peephole, and her breath caught in her throat. It was Henderson. He was holding a casserole dish, a smug, knowing smile playing on his lips. Her heart pounded in her chest as she opened the door, the cool morning air brushing against her skin. "What do you want?" she hissed, her voice low, her eyes darting toward the staircase.
"Good morning, Taylor," he said, his voice smooth, almost teasing. He held up the casserole dish, the scent of sausage and peppers wafting toward her. "I just wanted to welcome you and Caleb to the neighborhood properly. I made this myself. It’s my famous sausage and pepper bake. I thought you might enjoy it." Taylor stared at him, her mind racing. Was he doing this on purpose?
The soft creak of the stairs upstairs made Taylor freeze, her breath catching in her throat. "Caleb's still asleep," she whispered, her voice trembling as she glanced toward the hallway. "You shouldn't be here." The words slipped out, but they felt hollow, like she was trying to convince herself more than him.
Henderson’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something dark and knowing. "Oh, I don’t want to wake him," he drawled, his voice low and smooth. He held up the casserole dish, the ceramic gleaming under the kitchen light. "Just thought I’d drop this off. A little neighborly gesture." He took a step closer, his cologne—something heavy and masculine—filling the space between them.
Taylor’s stomach twisted, her hands gripping the edge of the counter behind her. "I can’t," she said, her voice firmer now, though her body betrayed her, leaning slightly toward him. "It’s not a good idea." But the way her pulse quickened told a different story, one she wasn’t ready to admit.
He tilted his head, his gaze piercing, almost predatory. "Can’t what, Taylor?" he murmured, his voice a velvet tease. "Can’t accept a simple casserole? Or can’t resist me?" The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting, daring her to answer.
She swallowed hard, her mind racing. Part of her wanted to shove him out the door, to slam it shut and lock it tight. But the other part, the part that had been simmering since the backyard, wanted to see how far this would go. "Just for a minute," she said, her voice barely audible. "Just to take the casserole." She stepped back, letting the door swing open wider.
Henderson stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the room. He placed the casserole dish on the counter with a soft clink, his eyes sweeping over the kitchen. "Nice place you have here," he said, his tone casual, but his gaze lingered on her, not the room.
Taylor crossed her arms, trying to steady her breathing. "Thanks," she said, her voice tight. "So, you dropped off the casserole. You can go now." She tried to sound firm, but the words came out shaky, uncertain.
He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down her spine. "Is that any way to treat a neighbor who’s just trying to be friendly?" he asked, taking another step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. The distance between them was almost nonexistent now.
"I don’t think you’re just trying to be friendly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He was so close she could see the faint stubble on his jaw, smell the faint hint of whiskey on his breath. Her heart pounded, her body betraying her resolve.
He leaned in, his lips hovering just above hers, his breath warm against her skin. "What do you think I’m trying to do, Taylor?" he murmured, his voice thick with intent. The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.
She closed her eyes, her body trembling as she fought the pull. "I shouldn’t," she whispered, the words barely audible, filled with a mix of guilt and longing. But her hands were already moving, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
"But you want to," he finished, his lips brushing against hers, teasing, testing. She let out a soft moan, her resistance crumbling as she leaned into him, her body betraying her mind.
Their lips crashed together, the kiss deep and urgent, his hands tangling in her hair. She kissed him back with a hunger she hadn’t known she possessed, her fingers gripping his shoulders as if she might fall if she let go. His tongue slid against hers, the taste of him intoxicating, and she felt herself melting into him.
Taylor pulled away, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body trembling. "Caleb will be up soon," she said, her voice shaking. "We have to stop." But even as she said it, her body leaned toward him, craving more.
Henderson’s eyes darkened, a flash of frustration crossing his face. "Not yet," he whispered, his voice low and insistent. He pulled her close again, his hands sliding down her back, pressing her against him. "Just a little longer."