Pleasure Seekers (15 page)

F
aye knocked on the door to the adjoining suite. The door opened. Bart stood there in a pale gray linen suit, matching shirt open at the throat and a pair of black slip-ons. He’d elected not to tuck the hem of his shirt into his waistband. His look was casually chic.

Shifting, she presented him with her back. “I need your help.” She’d managed to zip her dress halfway.

Bart couldn’t move. Faye was a vision of ethereal femininity. She’d spent two hours in a boutique trying on countless garments before she finally selected an A-line slip dress in lime-green chiffon with a lavender underskirt. The garment was perfect for her petite figure.

It took only twenty minutes for her to choose a Louis Vuitton wedge sandal in a soft pearl hue. He’d surprised himself when he’d sat patiently watching her model dresses and shoes for his approval because accompanying his late wife had not been an option. Deidre had claimed she always wanted to surprise him, and most times she did.

Deidre Dunn-Houghton had been a pretty, young woman who’d inherited her frumpy taste from her maternal grandmother. The older woman had assumed re
sponsibility of raising the child after Deidre’s mother’s downward spiral into a world of alcohol and pills that eventually took her life when she was injured in a horrific automobile accident. Unfortunately Deidre suffered the same fate as her mother when she swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills after her fourth miscarriage in eleven years of marriage.

Bart blinked once. Everything about Faye had snared him into a sensual maze from which he did not want to escape. The play of light in her gold-flecked eyes was mesmerizing, the glistening sheen of her satiny-brown skin hypnotic, and the curves of her body sent his libido into overdrive whenever she fixed him with her sensual stare. Everything about her seduced his senses because she had a way of staring at him that made him feel as if he were the only man in the world.

Faye peered at him over her shoulder. “Will you please zip me up?”

Bart prayed she hadn’t felt his trembling fingers when he completed the task. “You’re…” His words trailed off when a bell echoed throughout the villa. Lowering his head, he kissed the nape of her neck. “Don’t move.”

Faye smiled. He sounded so mysterious. “What is it?”

“Give me a minute, and I’ll be right back.”

Bart walked out of the bedroom and through a narrow hallway to the space doubling as a living room. He opened the door; a young dark-skinned man stood on the veranda.

“Bartholomew Houghton?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

The man handed him a cloth-covered flat case. “This is for you.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, he removed a pen and receipt. “I need your signature.”

Bart scrawled his name on the receipt. He reached into the pocket of his slacks and handed the messenger a tip. “Thank you.”

The messenger nodded. “Thank
you,
sir.”

Bart closed the door and returned to the bedroom. Faye sat on a chair, legs crossed, one sandal-shod foot tapping rhythmically on the floor.

He winked at her. “I thought I told you not to move.”

Faye gave him a saucy grin. “Your minute was up.”

He beckoned to her. “Come here.”

She moved gracefully off the chair, the hem of her dress flowing fluidly around her shoes. She appeared taller, more willowy with the four-inch lacquered wedge heels. He handed her the case.

“What’s this?”

“Open it, Faye.”

She complied, her hands shaking noticeably when she saw what lay on a bed of white satin. An amethyst briolette suspended from a necklace of beaded peridot was the perfect complement for her dress. The case also held a pair of peridot briolette earrings.

“They’re beautiful.” She stared up at Bart. “When did you get these?” She slipped the wires into her pieced lobes.

He took the necklace and fastened it around her neck. The amethyst briolette lay between her breasts. “I called a jeweler and told him what you were wearing.”

“You have impeccable taste.”

“I know,” he whispered without a hint of modesty. He extended his hand. “It’s time we head over to the festivities.”

The weather and the setting were perfect for a beachfront wedding. Hundreds of yards of gauze secured to bamboo poles billowed in a gentle ocean breeze. Lighted candles under chimneys formed a path upon which the bridal party would proceed to the beach. Eight tables, with seating for four, were set up under the makeshift tent.

“Are you a friend of the bride or groom?” Faye asked Bart as they neared the wedding site.

“The bride’s father and I were college roommates.”

“Which college did you attend?”

“I did my undergraduate work at Yale, and I got a graduate degree from Columbia.”

“What were your majors?”

“Architecture at Yale, and business management at Columbia. Where did you go?”

“I went to Pace College for marketing and finance, then on to NYU for an MBA.”

Squeezing her fingers gently, Bart smiled and nodded. “Nice.”

Real nice, Faye thought sourly. So nice that the company she’d given her blood, sweat and now tears to for five years had given her account to two knuckleheaded interns—one who was sleeping with Faye’s boss, and the other who was the son of a vice president. Talk about nepotism and preferential treatment.

Bart let go of her hand and looped an arm around her waist. “Is there anything else you want to know about me?”

Tilting her head, Faye smiled up at him. “Is there anything lurid in your past that I could use to sell to a tabloid?”

Throwing back his head, Bart laughed. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, beautiful, but I’m no A-list movie or rock star. In fact, on a scale of one to ten, ten being shocking and scandalous, I’d come in about a two.”

“You like being that inconspicuous?”

“I prefer it. Once your face is that recognizable your life changes so dramatically that you can never go back to do what is considered ordinary. When actors or performers really hit it big, they preen on the red carpet while their adorning fans scream for their attention. Then when they decide they want anonymity and a photographer puts a camera in their face, they’re threatening lawsuit because of an invasion of privacy. Once you whore for the public there’s no turning back.”

Bartholomew Houghton managed to keep a low profile, but Faye wondered how much her life would change now that she’d become his companion. And there was no doubt a mixed-race couple was certain to drawn some attention.

Leaning into Bart’s length, she made herself a promise. She was going to enjoy her role as social companion to one of the world’s richest men until he decided it was over, or she did. And she was realistic and mature enough to know that it would eventually come to an end.

A tall woman in a becoming pale pink suit approached
them. “Bart, I’m so glad you could make it.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him flush on the mouth. “Gary told me you sent back your response indicating you were coming, but he also expected you to call.”

Releasing Faye, Bart reached up and extracted his ex-roommate’s sister’s arms from his neck. “It’s nice seeing you again, Abbey. We’ll talk later, but first let me introduce you to my guest.” The woman stared at Faye as if she’d just materialized. “Faye, this is Abigail Grogan, the bride’s aunt. Abbey, Faye Ogden.”

Abbey’s bright blue eyes narrowed as she shot Faye a suspicious look. “I thought you were bringing your cousin.”

Bart frowned. “She couldn’t make it. Abbey, you’re forgetting your manners,” he chastised softly.

A flush spread over Abbey’s face. “I’m sorry, Bart.” She nodded to Faye. “Nice meeting you, Faye. Is it all right if I call you Faye?” she asked facetiously.

“Of course you may, Abigail.”

Abbey checked her watch. “We’re going to be starting in less than half an hour. The wedding planner will show you to your table. I’m sorry to rush off, but I have to see if my niece needs my assistance.”

A woman wearing a headset came toward them as Abbey scurried away. “May I have your name so I can direct you to your table?”

“B. Houghton and guest,” Bart said, reaching for Faye’s hand.

The woman checked off their names on a list attached to a clipboard. “Please follow me.”

Faye noticed several women whispering behind their hands as she passed their table. A slight smile curved her mouth when she heard one of them say, “Vera Wang.” It was apparent they’d recognized her dress’s designer. The garment was simple and elegant, the colors reminding her of green and lavender jade.

Bart and Faye where shown to a table several feet from the bridal table. He seated Faye, leaning over and inhaling the subtle fragrance of cologne on her bared flesh. His gaze lingered on her profile.

“Can I get you something from the bar?”

Tilting her chin, Faye met his gaze. “I’d like a soft drink, please.”

He noticed waiters were coming around with trays of champagne and finger foods. “I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“Thank you.”

As Bart made his way toward the bar, he stopped a waitress and asked her to serve the woman with the short blond hair. He pointed to the table where Faye sat.

The waitress’s mouth dropped open. “Is…is she Eva, the…the girl who won
America’s Next Top Model?
” When Bart gave her a puzzled look, she said, “I saw the television show when I was in New York.”

Bart had no idea what the woman was talking about. He rarely watched prime-time TV shows. Public television, CNN and networks devoted to business and finance were the exceptions. Newspapers were his preferred medium of information.

“No, she’s not
that
Eva.”

The waitress smiled. “But she is as beautiful as Eva.” Her voice was filled with awe.

Bart had to agree with her. Faye wasn’t the Eva this woman was stammering about, but she definitely was beautiful. He’d enjoyed watching her try on clothes and surprising her with the necklace and earrings.

It’d been a long time since he was given the opportunity to spoil a woman. The first and only one had been his wife. He had no living relatives other than his cousin, who’d moved to Utah to marry a Mormon.

His personal net worth was staggering, he had no heirs to whom he would leave his fortune, and he wanted to enjoy what was left of his life; with Faye as companion he was certain he’d never be bored.

When he received Enid’s invitation for her spring soiree, his first inclination was to decline, then he changed his mind. The moment he saw Faye Ogden’s legs, feet and finally her face he knew he’d made the right decision to attend. Unknowingly, the petite woman with the blond hair, gold eyes and sassy attitude had changed him.

G
arrett “Gary” Grogan led his daughter, stunning in a Carolina Herrera wedding gown, over a flower-strewn path to where her groom, wedding party, three dozen guests and string quartet had gathered on the beach in bare feet. The rays of the setting sun, the calming sound of the incoming tide and the harmonic melody of the wedding march completed the surreal setting.

Faye couldn’t stop the flood of tears filling her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. She wasn’t certain whether they were tears of joy or tears of regret; joy for the young couple repeating vows that would bind them and their lives together or regret for her own short-lived marriage.

Bart took a quick glance at Faye. His held his breath for several seconds before releasing it. She was crying. For the first time since meeting her she appeared fragile, vulnerable. Gathering her in his arms, he kissed her cheeks, tasting salt on his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, as a fresh wave of tears flowed. Faye buried her face against Bart’s chest.

Bart patted her back. “It’s all right, baby.”

Faye took delight in the warmth and smell of the man
holding her to his heart. He reminded her of what she’d missed, had been missing since her divorce; she missed being held, missed making love, loving and being loved.

Reaching inside his jacket, Bart removed a handkerchief. He dabbed her tears, taking care not to smudge her eye makeup. Anchoring a hand under Faye’s chin, he raised her face. Moisture had spiked her lashes and turned her eyes into shimmering orbs of burnished gold. Smiling, she lowered her lashes demurely and he was lost, and enchanted by a delicate femininity that in no way detracted from the strength he’d come to admire.

“I cry at weddings.”

Cradling her face between his hands, his lips slowly descended to touch hers, her mouth sweet and warm under his. “And I cry at funerals.”

“Somehow I can’t imagine you crying,” she whispered.

He kissed her again. “Why?”

Faye couldn’t respond, not with his mouth making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. It was not easy to remain in control with him so close, with his kisses sending her pulse spinning.

“Why?” he asked again between soft, nibbling kisses over her lower lip.

“Because…” She never got to complete her statement, because the sound of applause captured her attention. Zarcarias and Helena Grogan-Crane were now husband and wife.

“We’ll continue this later,” Bart promised.

Everyone on the beach waited for the wedding party
to sit at the bridal table before they returned to their assigned seating.

It wasn’t until hours later, when Faye and Bart were alone, that they were able to talk without someone eavesdropping on their conversation. They lay on a blanket on the beach, facing each other.

The wedding and reception that had begun at sunset went on for hours. The music from the string quartet gave way to a local calypso band with steel pans that had the entire wedding party and their guests up on their feet until they retired to their respective tables to dine on a sumptuous feast of Caribbean-inspired dishes.

A renowned caterer and his staff had prepared platters of lobster, crab, conch, fork-tender filet mignon, jerk pork and chicken, along with side dishes of fried plantain, rice with pigeon peas and the ubiquitous crudités with exotic vegetable dips. The distinctive spices in the dishes were the perfect complement for the potent rum punch and finest vintage champagnes. And for the first time in a very long time Faye overindulged.

When it came time for the limbo, she lifted her dress above her knees and shimmied under the length of bamboo. She and a male cousin of the groom were crowned limbo king and queen. She’d felt Bart’s gaze on her the entire time the young man danced with her when they celebrated their victory.

She’d lost count of the men who’d asked her to dance, but once she found herself in Bart’s arms he refused to re
linquish her. After a while the other men stopped asking. What they didn’t understand was that she wasn’t there for them, but for Bartholomew Houghton. He was paying
her
for companionship.

The bride and groom had retreated to their honeymoon bungalow half a mile from the resort, while their guests continued to drink and dance until the clock signaled the beginning of a new day. Soon after, Faye told Bart she wanted to leave because she was beginning to feel the effects of the rum punch. They’d walked back to their villa, changed into T-shirts and shorts before walking down to the beach.

Splaying a hand over Faye’s back, Bart massaged her bare skin under the cotton fabric. “How’s your head?”

She smiled. “It stopped spinning.”

“How many drinks did you have?”

“I took a few sips of champagne and had a couple of glasses of rum punch.”

His fingertips caressed the length of her spine. “The punch was like Hawaiian Punch.”

Faye smiled again. “Yeah, right. Hawaiian Punch with a little extra.”

Shifting on the blanket, Bart nuzzled the side of Faye’s neck. “How did you meet Enid Richards?” She told him about Enid eavesdropping on her conversation with her best friend at the Four Seasons, and their subsequent meeting.

“I’m glad she did,” he mumbled, placing tiny kisses along the column of her neck. “I’m glad you signed on with her, glad I decided to come to her soiree and ecstatic because I have you all to myself.”

I am not your chattel.
Faye swallowed the words poised on the tip of her tongue.

She
had
to learn to play the game in order to win the ultimate prize: a half million dollars. Bart had given Enid a million dollars for her services for the summer, a sum to be paid out in amounts that would not raise a flag with the IRS.

Moving closer, she placed her leg over his. “Me, too.”

“Me, too, what?”

“I’m glad that I met you, that I’m with you.” Why, Faye thought, did she sound so sincere? When had she become such an accomplished actress?

The fingers of Bart’s left hand feathered over the nape of her neck. “Show me how much you want to be with me.”

For the first time since she’d come face-to-face with the man holding her to his length, Faye took the lead. Instinctively, her body arched toward him as she closed her eyes and kissed Bart, kissed him with a passion she’d withheld from every man since ending her marriage.

His fingers circling her neck, tongue slipping between her parted lips and the growing erection he was unable to conceal quickened her pulse and sent waves of excitement coursing throughout her body. Aroused, Faye pressed closer.

Bart, deepening the kiss, reversed their position until she lay between his legs. The motion elicited an unbidden pulsing between her thighs that made breathing difficult.

Bart reversed their position again; this time he lay between Faye’s legs, and went completely still, unable to move because he couldn’t move. If he did, it would be to
break his promise not to make love to Faye. He was enthralled by her smell, the satiny feel of her skin, the sweetness of her mouth.

I lied,
Bart’s inner voice taunted. He’d lied to Faye and to himself. He’d told her that he wouldn’t sleep with her when that was exactly what he wanted to do.

He’d accomplished and accumulated more than he’d ever dreamed of achieving, but he wanted more.

And the more was Faye Ogden.