Never Too Late (6 page)

"It's a
win-win arrangement for both, sugar pie," she heard Val saying. "As
your sugar baby, I'll keep that male apparatus of yours in good working order
and you can come to me any time day or night, and we'll talk business, or we'll
talk about this..." her voice trailed off, and Andrea thought she heard
Jerry grunt, though it could have been the ship.

"Sugar
pie?" Val said. "Don't go getting soft on me now. Don't I please you?
Take a look at me, honey bun. Don't
these
please you?" Val let out a long moan, and Andrea could imagine her running
her hands over her ample bosom for Jerry's perusal...

The sound of
voices coming from the end of the passageway made Andrea jump with a start.
Glancing back, she saw a couple turn the corner and start toward her. She
quickly moved away from the door and continued down the passageway to her
stateroom. The room was just as it had been when she left for dinner, so she
knew Val had gone directly to Jerry's stateroom about the same time she'd gone
to Alessandro's. But she refused to dwell on what was happening behind the
closed door to the honeymoon suite.

But tomorrow,
she just might take Alessandro as her lover. She had a fairly good idea how to
treat one now. But before then, she'd go to the ship's novelty shop and buy the
pair of bikini briefs she'd seen earlier. It had been all she could do to keep
from bursting out laughing at the image of an octopus with tentacles stretched
across the front pouch. When she saw the briefs, she'd visualized Jerry
prancing around the room with an octopus clinging to his male part. But she'd
be buying the briefs to give to Alessandro at some point, she reminded herself,
though she couldn't bring that image to mind. The sight of Jerry strutting his
stuff kept pushing the image of Alessandro aside. Then maybe she'd simply buy
the briefs and put them away for another time, another man. She sighed. Taking
a lover was becoming increasingly more complicated.

Two-hundred-and-three, two-hundred-and-four,
two-hundred-and-five...

Hands clasped
behind his head, Jerry increased the pace of his sit-ups. He'd go to four
hundred if that's what it took to keep his mind off Andrea. Damn her. And damn
his cock for going all soft on him when Val was primed to give it her all. But
when Val stripped off her clothes and stood in front of him, and he saw her
flat flawless belly, and silicone implanted breasts, all he could think of was
Andrea and the tiny stretch marks on her belly, each one representing the
culmination of their love—a son, who had been a challenge, and three beautiful
daughters who'd brought him more joy than he could express. And when he looked
at Val's implanted breasts, what he saw was Andrea with Megan at her breast,
not a breast filled with silicone, but one filled with milk for their first
child. Megan. Tiny and newborn, and the most beautiful and miraculous little
thing he'd ever seen....

By then he was
soft and had no desire to touch Val, much less complete the job she'd started.
All he'd wanted was to send her on her way, which he had. But he'd have to come
to terms with things. The marriage was over, they'd be signing divorce papers
in the near future, and somehow he'd have to start functioning as a man again
or he'd wither and die...

Two-hundred-and-fourteen,
two-hundred-and-fifteen, two-hundred-and-sixteen...

The sound of
Andrea's voice broke his concentration. He stopped in a sitting position with
his hands clasped behind his head and saw her climbing onto a state-of-the-arts
exercycle
while talking to the fitness instructor, who
was explaining how to use the thing.

Andrea was
wearing a pair of tight white stretch shorts and a snug white tank top that
clung from dampness to her breasts, so she'd undoubtedly been jogging on deck.
A terrycloth headband held her hair off her face, which was flushed and damp.
In fact, her whole body glistened beneath the florescent lights of the gym. And
for the first time since hell-and-gone, he was getting hard just looking at
her...

Two-hundred-and-seventeen,
two-hundred-and-eighteen...

Andrea let out
a giggle. Which caught Jerry's attention again. He glanced over to see the
fitness instructor—a well-muscled guy in spandex shorts and a tank top—with his
hand on Andrea's knee, pressing down to make her foot push against the foot
pads on the machine. She giggled again and said it tickled. The man moved his
hand and patted her thigh while looking at her with a
meet-me-later-baby
expression on his face...

Two-hundred-and... Two-hundred-and
...
Jerry paused. Two-hundred-what? Hell, he'd lost count. Glancing over, and
noting that the fitness jock had left to hit on another woman, Jerry dragged
himself up to stand, reached for a towel, and walked over to where Andrea sat
pumping the foot pads while staring at the digital dials on the machine.
Rasping the towel over his chest, which was beginning to itch with the new
growth of hair, he said to her, "Since when have you been interested in
fitness?"

Andrea pushed
harder against the foot pads, quickening her pace on the machine as she
replied, "Since I decided I don't want to get old and flabby."

Jerry watched
the muscles in her thighs flexing as she pumped, thighs still smooth and firm
he noted, even at her age. He had an irrational urge to climb behind her on the
machine, slip his arms around her and plant his palms between those smooth firm
thighs. From there he'd explore her crotch and see if he could distract her
like he used to. It never took much back then. He'd glide a hand up her thigh,
do a little teasing, cover her mouth with his, and that's all it took. She'd be
his for as long as he wanted to get it on with her, which never had a cut-off
time. Not with Andrea. She was as eager as he. The splashing and horsing around
in the Jacuzzi afterwards more often than not got things going again...

"Thinking
about your sugar baby?" Andrea asked, pausing mid-push to stare at his
crotch. She ran the tip of her tongue around her parted lips...

And the
reaction intensified. "It happens when I'm working out," Jerry
snapped.

"Yeah,
right." Andrea wiped her face with the hand towel draped over her
shoulder, tucked it down the front of her tank top to mop her breasts, tossed
it over the handlebars of the machine, and started pumping the foot pads again.
"Val said she had a knack for getting the soft ones back into action
again," she said in labored breaths as she pumped.

"What in
hell are you talking about?"

"Your
flag. It's up," she said, without slowing. "Val apparently worked her
magic on you last night. You look like you're ready for action again." She
gave a wry laugh. "Don't worry sugar pie. I wasn't peeking in the window.
But I couldn't help hearing moans of ecstasy coming from your stateroom when I
passed on my way back from having an after-dinner drink with Alessandro in his
stateroom."

Jerry glared at
Andrea as she sat pumping the foot pads, sweat sliding down her temples and
glistening on her chest, causing her damp tank top to cling to her breasts. Her
lips were parted, her tongue appearing often to swipe along them, reminding him
of those times when she was eager and ready for him...

Hell. He ought
to grab her arm and yank her off the machine and throw her on the floor and
show her what a real man could do. And for the first time in months, he felt
like a real man. And Andrea hadn't done a damn thing to make him hard except
pump a machine to get in shape for an Italian sugar
pup
who'd screw her, feather his Majorca nest with her half of the divorce
settlement and drop her flat. "
Shit!
"
He hissed. Turning abruptly, he headed for the bench press.

***

Andrea took her
place at the dining table beside Jerry. The Danforths had not yet arrived for
lunch, so she'd be forced to endure Jerry's presence alone for a few minutes.
But it was even more awkward now. The session in the fitness center earlier
that day had troubled her in a way she hadn't expected. Her legs held up
miraculously well as she'd pumped the foot pads on the
exercycle
,
all the while she'd been trying
not
to notice Jerry's bare, muscular chest. He was in better shape than when they
first married. Barely into his twenties then, he hadn't yet filled out to the
man-in-his-prime specimen he was now. But it came to her, as he stood watching
her, that at forty-eight, Jerry had a body like a man in his thirties. It had
been years since she'd noticed. Why a latent desire for him had to come during
a workout while he stood watching, pistol cocked and ready for his sugar
baby,
had been totally humiliating.

But tonight
would be her turn with Alessandro, her chance to be completely free of Jerry
before their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary tomorrow. Neither she nor Jerry
had talked about the upcoming event and she hoped to keep it that way and let
the day pass, unnoticed. Tonight, with Alessandro, she was certain she'd forget
she was Mrs. Jerry Porter, because she was, for all practical purposes, no
longer Jerry's wife.

She could do
it
with Alessandro. All she'd have to do
would be to strip off her clothes, shut her eyes, think about Jerry bumping and
grinding in the octopus briefs, pretend Alessandro was Jerry, and try to let go
and enjoy the ride. Who knows? Maybe Alessandro would bring out the fire and
passion Jerry once had. But with Jerry, lovemaking had also been fun. And free.
Things just happened. Wild, crazy things. A little deviant perhaps. Kinky, most
definitely. And incredibly satisfying...

Until Scott
came along. Then things changed. Jerry changed. She changed.

But maybe that
was the way things happened. When one love faded, it was time to build another.
Alessandro was put together right, definitely a man in his prime, and tonight
she'd make an honest attempt to enjoy what she and Jerry once had...

"Having
cocktails with your I-S again tonight?" Jerry asked.

Andrea looked
at him, puzzled.

"I-S.
Italian Stud," Jerry explained.

"Now who's
being trendy?" Andrea quipped. "And yes, Alessandro is expecting me.
He's really a very charming and interesting man. I enjoy his company
immensely."

"So he
turns you on, does he?" Jerry mused.

"I don't
believe that's any of your business," Andrea clipped.

Jerry let out a
short guffaw. "Baby, it's written all over your face. I know that look. It
comes when you let go of your South Carolina inhibitions. But does your stud
get you to strip and dance on the bed, or twirl a jock strap between your
teeth, or kneel at his feet and slither your way slowly up the length of his
naked body?"

Andrea looked
at Jerry, stunned. She couldn't deny doing those things, and much more. And she
couldn't imagine doing them with any man but Jerry. Why it was that way, she
couldn't explain. Just that it was. Lifting her chin, she said, with an air of
calm, self-assurance, "My relationship with Alessandro is on a much deeper
level."

Jerry's loud
laugh had heads turning their way. He gave the onlookers a contrite smile, then
said to Andrea, in a sober tone, "If you haven't figured it out yet,
sweetheart
, the man will go as deep as
your pockets will allow."

Andrea
bristled. "And I know for a fact that Alessandro appreciates me as a
woman, and you can't stand the thought of that."

"Keep
believing whatever you want," Jerry said. "But while you're living in
La
La
Land, you might ask yourself if Alessandro
Cavallaro would have given you a second glance if he'd passed you in a grocery
aisle. Then ask yourself the same question if he saw you pulling your BMW up to
Daddy Ellison's twenty-two-room mansion in Mt. Pleasant."

Thoroughly
miffed by Jerry's condescending attitude, Andrea said, "Not every man is
after me because of my father's money. You noticed me my first day at college
when I was wearing my roommate's old jeans and tee-shirt because my bags hadn't
arrived and you thought I was a poor college coed who didn't have two dimes to
rub together."

"Hell,
Andrea, that was twenty-five years ago. You're not nineteen anymore, and
Cavallaro's a man in his prime who's at least ten years younger than you."

"Many
younger men in their prime like older women," Andrea huffed, struggling to
maintain her composure, determined not to become defensive.

Jerry let out a
short guffaw. "Sure they do, as long as those older women have money. Take
a look around at the single women aboard. Any one of a dozen in this room have
more going for them for a man in his prime than you. But Cavallaro's not just a
man in his prime. He's a gigolo, which eliminates all the hot little numbers
ready to crawl into his bed, and narrows the playing field to you and a
half-dozen other older women aboard. Compared to them, sure he'd rather have
you in his bed while picking your pocket. You're still reasonably good-looking
for a middle-aged woman."

Hand gripping
her water glass, Andrea was primed to hurl its contents in Jerry's face when
the Danforths arrived.

Lillian
Danforth looked from one to the other, and said, "I hope we're not
interrupting something."

"Actually,
you're just in time," Andrea said. "Jerry and I were having a
disagreement about the way society views a relationship between an older woman
and a younger man, as compared to an older man and a woman young enough to be
his daughter. When it's an older woman, it's assumed she has money. But when
it's an older man—"

"Andrea's
touchy about her age," Jerry said, cutting her off. "But I think we
can all agree she's not bad for a woman pushing fifty."

"Forty-five,"
Andrea corrected.