The Affair: Week 1 by Beth Kery

others.”
    “You thought my dressing habits related to my age? Or my difficulty in not following your instructions did?”
    “Both.”
    Her back stiffened at that. “I’m twenty-three.”
    His succinct nod seemed to say,
well it all makes sense then
. Irritation shot through her.
    “You’re not
that
much older,” she said impulsively. The cool glance he gave her revealed she was mistaken; it made her feel about twelve years old. What she’d said was technically true. He didn’t look much older than his early thirties or so, but he
seemed
decades older. Maybe her blurting out those words was her desperate attempt to even the playing field.
    He took another bite of meat. “I’m thirty,” he said with infuriating calmness after a pause. “And years are one thing. Experience another.”
    “I have a master’s degree in palliative and hospice nursing. I’m very well qualified to take care of your stepmother. And I have
plenty
of experience,” she defended.
    That small smile quirked his lips again. “How did you manage all that in twenty-three years?”
    She hesitated, frowning. She realized she was being defensive, but his aloof contempt annoyed her. “I have an early birthday. Plus I did my bachelor’s degree in three years,” she mumbled, already regretting her outburst. Despite her flash of annoyance at his small, patronizing grin, the thought struck her that he had a very sexy mouth. He gave a small shrug.
    “Even if you weren’t as experienced as you are I wouldn’t complain. You’re very good with my stepmother. She likes you.” He shot her a hard—or was it bitter?—glance. “And that’s rare. Please just follow my instructions from now on,” he said after a moment, picking up his water glass.
    “I will,” Emma said shakily. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, to respond so defensively with a patient’s family member. She normally let criticisms or suspicions in regard to her youthful appearance slide right off her. Her work always ended up being a testament to her worth.
    “Good night,” he said.
    “Good night,” she said under her breath.
    Despite the fact that he’d been looking at his plate when he dismissed her, the prickly sensation on her back gave her the distinct impression his gaze was on her as she left the room.
    * * *
    After her shift the next night she exited the Breakers and walked out into a warm July evening. There were no stars or moonshine, and the air felt close. She inhaled deeply before she climbed into her Ford Focus, smelling rain. Heat lightning flickered on the distant western horizon. How fantastic would it be, to live here and be able to take a midnight swim on a humid night like this before a storm broke, to wash away the residue of the day in the cold, refreshing water?
    The thought triggered an uncontrollable vision of slipping into that lovely pool that overlooked the lake and swimming toward the near-naked, sexy form of Michael Montand.
    Get a grip.
    Her fantasies were getting out of hand lately, she realized with disgust as she dug around in her purse for her keys. Her dreams, which had been dark and disturbingly erotic for the past few nights, were just plain out of control. Nor were they making for a restful night’s sleep. She twisted the key in the ignition.
    Nothing happened. She turned the key again.
    “Oh no. Not tonight.
Start
, you bitch,” she hissed heatedly. Her car seemed unimpressed by her cursing, however. Emma imagined it silently flipping her off for not having it serviced for months on end.
    Sensing defeat, she placed her forehead on the steering wheel and sighed in intense frustration.
    It was almost eleven thirty. Colin had been exhausted all week. He’d said on the phone earlier that he was determined to get to bed early tonight. He still hadn’t gotten used to waking at six a.m. to catch a train into Chicago for his new job as a forensic science technician. Amanda didn’t have a car. She took mass transportation