Naughty Nubile Niece Ch. 01

"Just make sure that when you do come back, you're fit for human company. I'm going to be retiring in a year or two, and the last thing I want to do is open up the paper one morning and find out that you've eaten a bullet because you couldn't handle the stress."

"All right, all right!" He threw up his hands in surrender. "Jesus. Why don't you just run the company for me?"

Loretta snickered. "And miss all the fun?"

Damn the woman, he fumed to himself later that night in his condo. Who does she think she is? A lightweight suitcase lay open on the bed, its half-full state mute testament to an evening of half-hearted packing. I should fire her and show everyone who is really running things.

It was a tempting prospect, tempered by the knowledge that if he fired Loretta, he would probably lose control of Chapel Financial in a few months. Not that Loretta would do anything. But the woman had an encyclopedic memory, uncanny attention to detail, and managed his daily schedule and meetings and business trips so well he hardly had to think about them. Jason shuddered to imagine the sort of mess he would make of them if forced to cope on his own. And if she ever followed through on her increasingly-frequent hints to retire and move upstate, he didn't want to think about how he would go about finding someone who was half as good at her job as Loretta was.

He abandoned the bedroom and roamed around the condo, as restless as a caged animal. Outside, the sun was setting over the Hudson, gilding the steel and glass skyscrapers of the Manhattan skyline in gold and red and bronze. But there was no one to share the view with, no one to talk to, no one to spoil with his wealth, to marry, to raise children with. He was alone, and had been for almost the entirety of his adult life. His relationships after college had been few and scattered, none lasting more than a few months.

"There's something missing in you," Cecelia had said, two years ago, when they broke up. She stood at the door, tears glimmering in her eyes. "You're like a locked room with no key. Why the hell can't you let me in, Jason?"

"I'm trying."

"No. You aren't. You say you are, but we both know better." The dark-haired woman hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. "It's not the money, Jason. And it's not how you're always at work or back here with your nose buried in a spreadsheet. I could live with that. Or maybe I could make you realize that there's more to life than dividends and ROI. I don't know. All I know is that even if you were the right man for me, I'll never be the right woman for you."

Cecelia had been right. More than any of his infrequent lovers, she had seen into the core of him. He couldn't give his heart to her, or to anyone else, because someone else already had it in her keeping.

Jessica.

He shoved the thought of his sister violently aside, and went to find a drink. A big one.

Chapter 2: Road Tripping

Getting out of the city the next morning was a nightmare. Even though Jason had timed his departure for the pre-dawn hours, and started his journey when most sane people were still asleep, just fighting his way north through the early morning traffic so he could get into the Holland Tunnel and out of Manhattan nearly had him screaming in frustration. And New Jersey, if it could be believed, was even worse. Construction on the tollway in Newark had him at the point where he was considering simply taking the nearest exit, turning around, and going back home.

But by around seven-thirty he had finally escaped the infuriating maze of orange cones, flashing lights, merging lanes, and blasting horns. The tollway opened up, traffic thinned, and he was able to press the gas pedal in his Mercedes down until he hit a cop-safe seventy-three. As the northern suburbs of Philadelphia disappeared in his rear-view mirror and he emerged into the rolling farmlands of eastern Pennsylvania, a knot of tension seemed to loosen in the back of his neck, one that had been there for so long he had almost forgotten it was there. Instead of the usual financial news, he tuned the radio to a classic rock station (though, these days, classic rock seemed to mean everything up to and including the late nineties), rolled down the window, cocked an arm out the side, and let the car eat up the miles.

This is my country. These are my people, he thought, gassing up outside of Pittsburgh. No matter how high he climbed, no matter how much money was in his bank account or what kind of car he drove, he would always, in his heart, be the son of working-class parents from small-town Illinois. One who was much more comfortable in a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt than a suit and tie. Money certainly hadn't changed that. And, he swore, it never would. But he would be facing his family in the next few days, and that had always been something that was fraught with peril.

Family. His family. Jason sighed as he crossed the West Virginia panhandle and into Ohio. For the past twenty years, he had done his best to keep temptation at bay, a decision which had hurt his mother, thrown Ashley into confusion, and had infuriated Jessica. When he had found himself suddenly, astoundingly wealthy, he had done his best to take care of his mother and siblings. His father had died when he was still in college, a victim of too much hard work and not enough caution when it came to things like diet and exercise. But he had paid off the mortgage on the tiny house on Franklin Street, so that his mother had one less thing to worry about, and had set up college funds for Ashley's kids and Jessica's daughter. His brother Austin had fulfilled all their teenage fears, and had been in and out of the correctional system since he was nineteen. Right now he was currently serving time in prison, the result of trying to hold up a liquor store with a pair of pruning shears. Jessica, for her part, had flatly refused to accept anything that smacked of charity. But Ashley and his mother and even, occasionally, his oldest sibling, had all been happy to spend long summer days at the house he had bought out at Crab Orchard Lake, a summer retreat much more luxurious than the simple camping spot their family had been able to afford when he and Jess and Ashley and even, yes, damn his eyes, Austin had been kids. The place had it all. Swimming, hiking, even a few muddy beaches. And the fishing was spectacular. Jason hoped that his sisters and mother hadn't thrown away his tackle, though it had been literally years since he had baited a hook.

Loretta must think I need to get in touch with my roots. Well, a week of fishing, grilling, and watching the stars at night doesn't sound like a bad idea to me. Hell. Maybe I'll decide to move out here permanent and telecommute for the rest of my life. That would serve them all right.

He spent the night in Dayton, in a featureless, anonymous hotel room where he tossed and turned uneasily, and ate a big grease-filled breakfast at a diner the next morning of the sort that would make most of the executives at Chapel Financial go running to the closest yoga instructor or faint dead away. By ten, he was back on the road. Traffic was light on a Sunday morning, and after slipping down south through Cincinnati and Louisville to get onto Interstate sixty-four, he crossed into Indiana just after noon. The air was warm, in that absolutely perfect way you only got in late spring, when it seemed nature itself was trying to impress you with how fast it could make things grow, and puffy, slow-moving cumulus clouds moved slowly through a sky of cobalt blue. In the fields on either side of the highway, corn and soybeans and wheat were almost painfully green. As he crossed the Wabash River and into Illinois, Jason felt a sense of welcome. It might be nearly twenty years since he had spent any amount of time in the state where he'd been born and raised, but he would never be a stranger.

Downtown Marion was the same as it had been on his last visit. Maybe a few more businesses on Main Street had empty storefronts, but unlike many of its smaller neighbors, the town was holding on. The coal fields that had given Marion a period of prosperity were long since closed, but being near the state university in Carbondale had buffered some of the impact. And there were even signs of new construction going on north of town, which could only be something good as far as the town was concerned.

Since he had no idea if there was any food at the lake house, Jason stopped at the local Kroger and stocked up with enough supplies for a week or even a little longer, if a brain tumor took hold and he decided to stay. Then he drove around town idly, his eyes drinking in the familiar sights. The high school had a new scoreboard for the football team, it seemed, and the home where he had grown up (and where his mother still lived) was looking neat and tidy, with a spanking-new coat of white paint and a couple baskets of flowers hanging from the roof of the front porch. He resolutely avoided the prison where his youngest sibling was spending time as an unwilling ward of the state, and after an hour or so of aimless wandering, pointed the nose of the car west and out of town.

Crab Orchard Lake had been created back in the 1930s, back when there was actually federal money for that sort of thing, by damming a slow-moving creek that had drained an area of low-lying swampland. The resulting lake had become a vacation and weekend spot for people in the area, with three separate campgrounds and a couple of pricy subdivisions. The lake house itself had been originally built in the early fifties by a retired coal baron who apparently wasn't all that fond of company. Long, low, wood-built and rambling, it stood on a promontory named Hickory Point, surrounded on three sides by water. The only way to get in was through a narrow gravel driveway with tall trees growing on either side.

Jason sighed as he parked and turned off the engine. Aside from the faint whisper of the wind and the sound of birdsong, it was eerily quiet. Far more quiet than it ever got in New York. The reason that the city never slept, he had once remarked to a friend, was that it was so damn loud outside.

The house seemed to be holding up well, though. Which it should, Jason thought, considering that he paid a landscape service to take care of the outside, a cleaning service to take care of the inside, and all the maintenance and upkeep as well. The grassy verge around the front porch seemed to have been mowed recently, the gravel lot was neatly raked, with no muddy potholes, and the roof looked to have been reshingled in the not-so-distant past. Jason frowned, wondering if he had been told about that, or whether Jessica or his mother had simply passed the need along to Loretta, who would have taken care of the issue with her usual brisk efficiency.

But the parking area, apart from his car, was blessedly empty, and the door was locked. Jason pulled out the seldom-used set of keys and opened the front door, pulling his suitcase in after him. The huge front room was clean, the heavy wood furniture gleaming as he snapped on a light, and he nodded in satisfaction.

Well, let's enjoy our vacation.

Thirty minutes later, he was bored out of his skull.

Usually, by Sunday night, he would be getting ready, in his own mind, for the week to come. There were always meetings of one sort or another to prepare for - meetings with clients, meetings with his executive team, meetings with other companies who were eager for Chapel Financial to invest. And there were so many other things to do. Financial news to read, trends to track, wondering whether bad weather in Argentina would make it worthwhile to dump more money into Brazilian agriculture, or whether political instability in Brazil meant they should pull the plug on the country altogether. It never, ever stopped.

But now...nothing. Even if Loretta hadn't flatly forbidden him from watching the financial news, what would he do with any insights when he wouldn't be in the office for at least a week? And he hadn't driven a thousand miles just to sit and stare at a television, anyway.

So Jason unpacked, putting his clothes away in the master bedroom, and unloaded the groceries and made sure the fridge and freezer were both plugged in and running. There was nothing in the fridge but the remains of a six-pack that had obviously been there since last fall. He poured the three bottles down the drain, wrinkling his nose at the skunky smell, and filled up the fridge with bread, cheese, cold cuts, fruit, vegetables, and everything else he had bought, including a couple of twelve-packs of beer. The wine that he had dithered over was set in the wine-rack next to the cooking station, and he stowed some pasta and breakfast foods in the cupboards over the stove.

With nothing better to do and a few hours before he could start getting the evening meal ready, he took a quick shower, changed into shorts, sandals, and an old gray University of Illinois t-shirt, opened a beer, and wandered out onto the back deck. The sun was beginning its slow fall to the western horizon, but there was still plenty of activity out on the lake. Jason could count at least a dozen boats - most of them fishing, but a couple of canoes or kayaks were being paddled around by enthusiastic couples, and he even, way out in the distance, spotted a rooster-tail of water being thrown up by a water skier. On the far side of the lake, he could see the bobbing heads of swimmers near one of the campgrounds, and there seemed to be some sort of volleyball game going on close to the shore. When the breeze stilled for a moment, he could hear thin, tinny cries, as if the noise was coming from a far-off radio.

This...isn't bad, Jason thought, sitting down and putting his feet up. The breeze ruffled his hair, and he pushed it back with his fingers. He kicked off his sandals, wiggling his toes in the breeze. The air was soft, the sun was warm on his face, and for once he didn't have to look forward to waking up and putting a tie that felt like a noose around his neck. He didn't have to think about anything. If he wanted, he could stay up until one or two in the morning, drink beer until he passed out, and sleep until noon the next day.

Though...he squinted. There was one black dot, out on the lake, that seemed to be getting closer. Tan arms rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and Jason could see the faint spray kicked up by churning feet.

What the hell, Jason thought irritably, when it became obvious the swimmer was headed for the house. This is private property. What does a guy have to do to get a little privacy? Put up an electric fence? Or maybe stock my part of the shoreline with piranhas?

He scowled and got to his feet as the nearing figure stood up in the shallowing water and splashed towards the grassy shore.

She saw him at the same time as he recognized her, and his mouth fell open in shocked memory. She had the same cheerleader's body that he had learned with his mouth and hands when she was eighteen. The same coal-black hair, falling in a dripping coil around her tan shoulders. The same narrow waist, the same high, sweet breasts, perfect for a lover's touch.

In his shorts, Jason's cock stiffened, the reaction to his little sister fierce and primal. Time hadn't sated that urgency, nor had distance. A year could go by. Ten years, twenty, a hundred, and he would still want Jessica with all the passion of the teenage boy he had once been. Almost before he knew it, he had taken a step forward, wanting to tear off the bottle-green bikini that did absolutely nothing to hide her gorgeous body, throw his sister to the grassy ground, and ravish her, slaking two decades of frustrated lust in an endless, splintered moment.

"Jessica?" he whispered, his voice shaking. "What are you doing here?"

"Uncle...Uncle Jason?" the young woman said sharply in reply. "What are you doing here?"

And Jason's world came crashing down.

"Emily?"

Oh, Jesus. Not my sister. My niece.

Chapter 3: Home Cooking

Standing on the grassy verge of the lake, stunned by the mysterious, unexpected presence of her uncle, Emily felt terribly, horribly exposed.

Part of it was the bikini. Even her mother, who was about as far from a prude as it was possible to get in this part of the country, had thought it was a little bit daring. Cut high on the hips, it made sure that everyone noticed her slender waist, and the top was little more than an excuse to show off her tits. Although they did not need any help at all, a little clandestine support in the cups lifted her breasts high, while barely meeting the minimum standards for decency. Even so, she had come close to falling out of the top entirely during her afternoon swim, and she'd had to stop and adjust the fit so often she'd almost decided to take it off entirely.

Probably a good thing you didn't, Emily Helene Chapel. Uncle Jason would probably have had a heart attack if you'd walked out of the lake with your bare boobs bouncing around.

Uncle Jason! What was he doing here, at the lake house, in Illinois, on a Sunday afternoon, with no warning at all? For most of her life, her uncle had been a benign, far-off presence. The mysterious wealthy relative who made sure his family had everything they needed, but who almost never showed up for Christmas or Thanksgiving or any other family holiday. Emily could count the times she had seen him in the last five years on one hand, and the phrase, 'Will Jason be coming?' had become a slightly bitter family joke among her mother and grandmother and Aunt Ashley.

And the way he had looked at her, when he had called her by her mother's name! There had been something hot in his eyes, something wild and dangerous. Even now, with the realization that she wasn't his sister washing over his face, Emily couldn't deny that instant, animal attraction. Her uncle wasn't cut like a body-builder, or one of the roided-up meatheads she sometimes saw in the gym when she went to work out, but his legs were very nice. Long and lean, and not too hairy. And even the faded, baggy t-shirt couldn't hide his broad shoulders, or how flat his belly was. And under his dark hair, almost the same pitch-black hue as hers, he had the softest, kindest brown eyes she had ever seen.

"Emily." But now those brown eyes looked almost...frightened? "I'm sorry. I thought..." The older man laughed helplessly, and rubbed his jaw. "I thought you were your mother. Just seeing you...you looked like Jessica did, back when she was your age." He tried to smile, though the expression looked a little demented, like a sick pumpkin. "Though you better not let your grandmother see you wearing that. She would never have let your mom wear that kind of swimsuit."

"Oh, Mom has one that's a lot like this one," she grinned, relieved at the change of subject. "I gave it to her as a birthday present, back last August, when I got this one at the mall in Carbondale. We just make sure that Grandma doesn't see us wearing them." She made a gesture at her bikini. "Mom's just has a little bit more up here, and a little more down there. And it's dark blue, kind of navy, you know. Not green. Luckily we're practically the same size."

"I can tell."

Emboldened, she walked up the slope towards him. "I didn't know you were here," her uncle said. He frowned in confusion. "How did you get out here, anyway? I didn't see a car."

"My car is in the shop," she said disgustedly. "Right after graduation," which her uncle had not bothered to attend, her brain reminded her, which made her voice sharpen in irritation, "this idiot rear-ended me at the corner of Market and College, when I was stopped at a red light, if you can believe it."