Sugar Daddy (23 page)

“I’m so sorry, babe.” I massaged his tense shoulders until he relented enough to let me slip under his arm.

“He’s a far better man than me.” He tucked me under his chin.

“You still take him out on the ocean.” I knew this
.

“Yeah.” He smiled, reminiscing about his brother at sea. “He liked to be on the water, still does. Could’ve been worse, he could have come back under the flag like so many thousands of others. He could be lost to us in so many other ways: homeless, alone, and unemployed.”

“He has a job?”

“Of course, we Boones are no slouches.” Pride filled his voice, “Works for Boone and Sons Fresh Seafood. Suppliers of The Crab Pot and other fine eateries up around 17 North.” He shook his head in disbelief. “He certainly has no lack of ladies willing to look after him, either.”

“Got ’em lined up around the block?”

“Pretty much.”

“Must be a Boone thing.” I tugged on his tie.

“You think?”

“I know,” I mumbled, his lips warming mine with a glide of tongue and a smooth kiss. Arching my back to his hands, I lifted onto tiptoes, bringing him as close as possible.

“We got a family gathering back home in a couple weeks.” His fingers elongated my neck for his lips.

I shuddered at his caress. “Okay.”

“Would you join me?”

“My time is yours.”

He ceased the dance of his lips down my throat. “Not as my employee.”

“As?” Hooker, whore, PA-paramour? I waited to see how he’d spin this.

“My girlfriend.”

“Yes.” I’d give him this. If only to see his boyish smile–that one right there–light up his face.

“Really? You want to come with me?”

“Sometimes you’re so damn dim. Yeah.” I snuck to his ear to mention, “And make no mistake, I want you. I do want to come with you.”

“I’m glad.” He took us backward, planting my ass on his desk. Pulling up my top, he sank his lips between my breasts. His hands crushing the mounds together, he licked both sides, closing his mouth around one areola and the other until they were puffy bright pink peaks.

Yanking his dangling tie, I bit his bottom lip. “Remember, not gonna do it on a desk the first time.”

His hips hitched to mine. “Got something else in mind.”

My panties ripped. He threw them aside, hauling me to the edge of the desk.

“You ready?” His eyes blazed between my thighs.

Hooking my legs under his arms, he kissed the tendon at the top of my leg. Then he bit hard. Relishing his force, I bucked, bunching handfuls of his hair in my fists.

“Impatient?”

Using the stranglehold of my thighs and hands, I gave him a bird’s eye view of my fingertip winding through my needy lips, landing on my clit.

The flat of his tongue followed so fast I let him go, bracing my hands on his shoulders, my heels flat on the desk.

I writhed while he worked me over, clapping his hands under my rear to dive his pointed tongue inside me with quick thrusts. He pinched my clit, bringing it to his mouth, and I moaned, “Oh yeah, oh...oh...
ahhh
, Reardon.”

I hauled him up, kissing the hell out of him.

Then he tried to make me look presentable, without my undies.

“Sorry about your panties.”

“No, you’re not.”

He shrugged, putting on his jacket.

I eyed the bulging mass at his groin. I so very much wanted to touch it. “You gonna be okay there, big boy?”

“Think I can manage it,” he winked. Oh, I so wanted to see him manage his cock, with a nice firm grip
.
We stood together, as close as possible without setting off his pocket rocket. “You available tomorrow night?”

“You askin’?”

“Yes.”

“What I think y’all are askin’?”

“Yeah.” His cheeks flushed, his eyes dropped.

“I think I can fit you in.”

“What do you want to do?” Chuckling, I asked, “Besides the obvious?”

Lips close to my ear, his deep voice resonated the promise of hot nights filled with wanton sex. “Mmm
,
besides making love, Shay. What else would you like to do with me?”

A loaded question if ever I heard one. It took a mighty effort to decide, but I settled for, “Kinda still hung up on the whole romance, seduction thing you promised.”

He eased back, acting innocent. “Day out with the boys on the trawler in addition to the cocktail party from hell didn’t do it for you?”

My fingers dug into his sides, hitting ticklish spots up and down his ribs. “Wasn’t it a gala?”

“Fete, maybe.” He lowered his mouth, pressing two soft kisses before taking my lips in a searing kiss, his tongue searching mine out, advancing and retreating.

I breathlessly moaned, “Mmm, fete it is.”

This
was a tete-a-tete I could learn to love.

Chapter 10

Sealing the Deal

I was in for a penny, in for a pound, and my heart pounded every time I thought of Reardon. It was naive, stupid, and it definitely wasn’t about the easy cash for a quick screw anymore. With a disapproving
harrumph
and her holier-than-thou comments, Constance–my newly named conscience–settled in for the long haul, sizing me up and talking me down from my pie-in-the-sky ideas of being Reardon’s girlfriend.

The grass is always greener,
too-correct Constance advised with a know-it-all smirk.

Maybe the grass only
looks
greener because it’s well tended,
I retorted.
Mowed...often...in fact.

I wanted to get mowed, ploughed, licked, sucked–

Loved?
Connie snidely remarked.

Loved?

She referred to a conversation I’d overheard the morning after the launch party for Jeremy Ladson. Temp had whispered, “I don’t know how long she can keep this up, Reardon.”

A clatter of kitchenware sounded as loud as my heartbeats. “Sorry, Temperance. I know. It’s either like this, or I have to let her go.” His voice sounded raw.

Sneaking to the corner, I’d flattened myself to the wall to see Temp’s hands on her hips. “Don’t be such an ass.”
Nice one.
“You want to lose her?”

“She’s married!”

“Words only now, by my reckonin’.”

“Shay’s different.”

Temp had whisked the eggs like she was scrambling his brains. “So she is, young man. She’s falling in love with you.”

What? No I wasn’t. Our arrangement was a matter of economic convenience. Nothin’ to do with my emotions.

I’d hurried away, hiding my face, flustered by emotion. Walking me to my car, Reardon held my elbow but kept his eyes forward. He’d stopped me from shutting the door, bending to kiss the top of my head, letting go with a tap of his knuckles on the roof.

* * * *

My concerns about basically everything were waylaid–the most miniscule amount–by Jane when we had our second post-launch lunch. At least for a couple minutes.

“I’ve known about Reardon’s proclivities for some time.”

Proclivities?
Pro-clitties, more like.

“Mom and Daddy don’t though.”

Amen for that.

“I don’t want this to end badly for you, Shay.” She gnawed on a chicken wing. “How much has he told you?”

“Very little. I know about Ransome.” I reached for her hand. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, when you meet him, don’t be givin’ him those puppy dog eyes. He’s the least sorry sumbitch you ever met.”

“Sounds like my kinda guy.”

“He’s every girl’s kinda guy, judgin’ by the rumors.” She winked. “But I’d say Reardon’s more your match. If y’all can handle the fallout.”

“What do you mean?”

“He can be aloof and an all-around pain in the ass. But he didn’t seem that way with you.”

“He’s not. Usually.”

“Makes sense.”

“What does?”

“Y’all got somethin’ more than chemistry in common.”

“Such as?”

Rummaging through her bag, she’d spared me a knowing look. “Been emotionally destroyed, right? But fought your way out of it, anyway y’all could.”

Fuck.

* * * *

A couple days later, I was back at The Tides, plucking my way through the knee-deep pluff mud of a possible relationship, when I was still attached to Palmer. No one answered the door, so I let myself in, feeling like the Penthouse Pauper from Aerosmith’s fuck-anthem
Love in an Elevator
. I helped myself to the liquor cabinet and headed to the balcony to watch the palm fronds and reeds dancing below in the evening’s hazy heat.

A few minutes later, Reardon moved through the lounge, dropping his jacket, unknotting his tie, unbuttoning his shirt at the neck and wrists.

When he joined me, I lifted my heel to the lower railing and arched my back slightly. “You’re late. This doesn’t bode well.” I played back the words he’d said so many weeks ago.

He caught on with a sexy smile, sauntering to me. “What you gonna do, Shay? Demote me?”

Promote you to head Pussy Licker more like.
Chief Cunnilinger, Sheriff of Naughtyham…

As he closed the distance, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “You’re tired.”

“Never too tired for you.” He surrounded me in his arms, against the sleek banister. We skipped right over the ‘hi there’ kiss and went straight to ‘God, I missed you.’ Greedy, plundering mouths saying everything.

A great storm rolled in behind us, charging the atmosphere with electricity that raised the ends of my hair. Thunderclouds unleashed jagged lightning streaks that escaped to the Wando River.

I hummed into the warm musk of his throat.
“
Hmm
.
You okay?”

“I should be asking you.” Studying my eyes, Reardon plaited his fingers through my hair.

“And you do, a lot. Y’all are very attentive, not just in the sack.” His lips quirked. I tried again. “You look after so many people, baby, who takes care of you?”

Intensity wrapped around us while the indistinct yells of kids running wild in the playground below made him squeeze my fingers. A familiar aching wistfulness overpowered me. “Don’t you want children?”

Under the same sad spell, he said, “No.” His voice was so desperately low, so completely raw, and sure. “I have nothing to give a child.” A terrible tightness pulled his expression inward.

My heart seized. “Reardon.” I reached for him.

He withdrew, sitting on a sun lounger, trying to appear relaxed by crossing his arms behind his head. “I made plans for tonight. There’s something I want to give you, in the bedroom.”

I ignored the hot thrill his words suggested. “We could talk, instead.”

Sitting forward, he winked. “Oh, there’ll be talkin’. Dirty talk.”

Aaand he was back
.

“You look sexy. I like your sandals.”

More House of Jessica Simpson than styled by that Louboutin fellow, my sandals did the walking.

“Maybe we should start by taking them off.” He motioned to his lap. “Put ’em here.” His fingertips tucked inside the straps, jerking me closer. “Pretty.” My ankle in his hand, he slowly unclasped the tiny buckles, working thin leather lashes from my ankles, heels, toes. Soon, his hands massaged the soles of my bare feet, sending shockwaves to my swelling center.

He stood. “Come.”

After the half-million-mile trek to his room, he took his damn sweet time. Door closed. Lights low. Wine decanted and sipped. He turned me toward the mirror, lips against my shoulder.