Sapphire Beautiful (4 page)

Perhaps a bit more insurance that I won’t back out of the deal like the other girls? 

At eight o’clock I’m just about ready to give up when there’s a knock on the front door.

It surprises me that I’m shaking with fear. I’ve only had two lovers: my high school sweetheart and my husband, who I met in college. I’m not exactly what you’d call extremely experienced sexually. How in the world do I think I’m going to be able to please a man who wants me as a mistress? I’m used to being intimate with men who were friends first and then lovers. Men I shared a lot more with than just a bed. This arrangement is just supposed to be about sex.

Second thoughts and doubts quickly overtake me. Am I really going to be able to do this? I always looked down on girls who engaged in quick hookups and one-night stands and now I’m the one taking money for sex.

What a hypocrite.

When he knocks again, more loudly, I know I have to do something. Is there any way to cancel the contract? Return the money?

I already spent it.

Claudia said this is my one and only shot. McNally or nothing. And right now I’m not in a financial position to choose nothing.

I have to sleep with whoever I see behind that door. No matter how old, or how hideous the man is, I’m going to have to lay down and let him fuck me.

When he pounds on the door one more time I know I have to answer it. I take in a deep breath and open the door.

“Are you Mary?”

I nod.

I’m doing my best to keep my mouth closed so my jaw doesn’t drop to the floor.

There is a boy standing at the door.

Okay, maybe not a
boy
, but he’s not exactly a man either. At least he’s not what I imagine when I think of a man. 

“Are you Mr. McNally?” Calling someone who barely looks eighteen Mister doesn’t seem right.

He nods.

We stare at each other for several seconds. His mop of thick, black hair doesn’t look like it’s ever been properly styled. And his smooth skin is pale, giving the appearance of someone who rarely goes out in the sun. He’s tall, definitely over six foot, but the ill-fitting clothes he’s wearing make him look more slender than I think he probably is. If he got a decent haircut and wasn’t wearing clothes that look like they were from a Goodwill reject pile the guy might actually be attractive.

I immediately get the impression that he was one of those kids who never quite fit in in high school. No matter how hard he tried he just wasn’t quite like everyone else.

Not that I have too much room to talk. I wasn’t exactly Miss Popularity myself. I wasn’t a reject either. I was one of those kids who just got lost in the shuffle.

“Do you want to come in?” I offer once my initial shock has worn off.

I move out of the way so he can enter.

“My name is Dante,” he tells me as he glances around my house. “Nice place.”

His name takes me off guard. I’m a medieval scholar and his name is Dante. If I believed in a higher power I’d wonder if this was some kind of cosmic joke.

We stare at each other awkwardly as I close the door behind him. I want to ask him if he’s even graduated high school yet. I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to be arrested for having sex with a minor.

“I’m twenty-two,” he says as if he’s reading my mind. “I know I look young. So do you, by the way. Claudia told me that you’re thirty-two. You look like you’re just a few years older than me.”

“Does it bother you?” I ask. “That I’m in my thirties.”

He shakes his head.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask. “Wine? Beer? Soda.”

“Sure,” he replies, but I can see his attention is on my vast library. He’s drawn to my book collection like a magnet.

“You can tell a lot about a person by what he or she reads.” He’s already inspecting the spines of my hardbacks.

“What did you want to drink?” I ask again.

His focus is still on my books. “Are you a grad student?”

I knew the subject would eventually come up. I just didn’t think it would come up this quickly. What do I do when I’m not being paid to screw him?

“I’m not a grad student.”

When he turns to face me he looks skeptical. “You have a lot of books about medieval history and culture. Shelves filled with them.”

“And your name is Dante,” I say in an attempt to lighten the mood and change the subject. I don’t really want him to know about my life outside of our arrangement.

He doesn’t smile. His expression actually doesn’t change at all. “I wish I could tell you that I was named after Dante Alighieri, one of the greatest poets in history, but neither of my parents has an intellectual bone it their bodies.”

“About that drink?” Another desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

His eyes meet mine for a few moments. It’s a look that says:
You may be older, but I’m the one in charge
.

The person with the money is the person with the power.

“I’d like to finish looking at your books.”

My throat goes dry. “Okay.” Being a professor I’m used to being the one in control, at least in the classroom. And most of my students are around Dante’s age. The situation in which I now find myself has kind of shifted the ground under my feet. I feel completely off kilter.

I wait patiently as he scans the rest of the titles. And I’ve got a lot of titles. A huge library filled with thousands of books.

“These aren’t history,” he says when he gets to Doug’s bookshelf. I’ve gotten rid of most of his personal items, but I haven’t attempted to tackle his collection of books yet.

“Cultural anthropology?” Dante raises an eyebrow which seems to indicate that he’d like an explanation. Those books are a lot different than the rest of the collection.

“Those are—um—
were
my husband’s.” 

He stares into my eyes. His gaze is so intense that it chills me.

“I was married. He—um—died.”

“You should get rid of his books,” Dante states coldly.

“I know.” There’s another moment of awkward silence between us.

Then his eyes land on a lithograph I have displayed in the hallway right across from the library. I like to think of it as the centerpiece of the house. It’s one of Salvador Dali’s illustrations of Dante’s
Divine Comedy
, an epic poem from the Middle Ages that is considered one of the greatest works in literature.

Ship of Souls illustrating Purgatory: Canto Two is a haunting image. Of the one hundred illustrations that Dali did for the
Divine Comedy
Ship of Souls is the artwork that spoke to me the most.

The lithograph cost a small fortune, almost as much as all of my living room furniture, but every time I look at the piece it takes my breath away and I know the money spent was worth it.

I wait as Dante studies the artwork. He seems to be extremely deliberate in everything he does, and equally intense.

Once he’s finished with his examination he stares at me again. 

“Do you want that drink now?” I ask.

He nods, but still doesn’t tell me what he wants.

“Beer? Wine?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

I turn and head toward the kitchen. To my surprise Dante follows me. I expected to get the drinks and bring them to him, but he’s trailing me like a puppy.

“I could bring the drinks out to the living room, if you’d like to relax in there.”

He shakes his head. “That’s okay.”

Everything in the kitchen is inspected with the same intensity that he used to analyze my books and artwork. I half expect him to start opening the cabinets so he can examine what’s inside each and every one of them as well.

“Do you like Merlot?” I ask. It’s the only wine I have on hand. I’m not much of a drinker, but a friend of Doug’s from college gave us a bottle when he visited last year.

“Okay,” he says, not actually answering my question. But I take that as an affirmation to open the bottle.

I search the utensil drawer for the corkscrew that I’m pretty sure is hidden near the back. When I finally find it I feel like I’ve discovered some long lost treasure.

I give Dante an awkward smile as I hold up the corkscrew. “Found it.”

He just nods in return.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I’ve felt so uncomfortable with someone. The conversation between us is so uneasy it’s almost painful. I’m having an extremely difficult time imagining having sex with him.

My stomach sinks when I realize that with things being so awkward there’s a possibility he may change his mind and decide he doesn’t want to have sex with me.

Will he want his ten thousand dollars back?

It’s already gone.

I’ve got to get my head in the game and figure out a way to make him happy. At least happy enough not to ask for the money back.

I grab two wine glasses from the rack and pour the Merlot.

“Let’s toast,” I tell him. Touching my glass to his I say, “To our arrangement.”

He gives me the slightest hint of a smile in return. At least that’s a start.

Doug liked to drink Scotch. He’d sit on the back porch with a glass nearly every night before we went to bed. He said there were very few things in life better than watching the stars with a glass of Scotch in your hand.

Before I have a chance to ask Dante if he wants to sit on the porch with the wine he downs the contents of the glass in one gulp.

“I’d like to see the rest of your house.”

“Sure.” I set my wine glass on the counter and urge him to do the same.

He follows me back to the front entrance and I show him the living room, which is directly across from the library. Even though Doug and I picked the most expensive furniture we could afford Dante does not seem all that impressed with it. He simply nods as he glances around.

One thing that does manage to catch his attention is the framed family portrait that I have on the mantle over the fireplace. It’s the last photo my sister and I managed to take with our parents before they died.

He looks back and forth between me and the photo a few times.

“That was taken a few years ago,” I tell him. “Before my parents died.”

He nods, but doesn’t comment. Dante is definitely not a person of many words.

As we walk back down the hallway I point out the laundry room, which is next to the kitchen. “You’ve already seen the kitchen. I have a back porch off the kitchen. It’s too dark to see now, but there’s a garden out back.”

Another nod.

“Let’s go upstairs then.”

We climb the narrow staircase up to the second floor. “There are two guest bedrooms and a guest bath. Only one room is actually used for guests. The other is an office.”

He takes a quick peek into each of the rooms.

I hesitate as we approach the master bedroom. The reality that I’m actually being paid to have sex with a person I barely know begins to suffocate me.

When I look over at Dante there’s a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It’s subtle, like everything about Dante seems to be, but it’s definitely there.

I have little doubt that he wants to do more than just see the master bedroom.

My chest completely tightens. This is it. I’ve got to perform.

My legs nearly go limp I’m so nervous, but somehow I manage to walk into the bedroom.

Dante glances around, but doesn’t comment. He stares at me for a long moment instead.

I have absolutely no idea what to do or say. My heart is thumping so wildly I feel like I might have a heart attack.

Taking in a deep breath I try my best to calm down. It’s been over a decade since I’ve been with anyone but Doug. I was an undergraduate when we met. I was Dante’s age when we got married.

That’s a long time to have sex with the same person.

I’ve never considered myself the most seductive woman on the planet. I have absolutely no idea how to seduce someone I don’t even know.

But I know I have to do something. Dante is looking at me expectantly and I’m the one being paid.

“Do you want me to take off my clothes?” My voice is so small and soft I barely recognize it.

Of course he nods. For a split second I wonder if he’s even capable of a reaction other than nodding.

My hands shake as I unbutton my sweater.

When Dante bites his bottom lip I’m glad to see that he’s added at least one more response to his repertoire of reactions.

I allow my sweater to drop to the floor. Then I unbutton my jeans. They’re tight-fitting so it takes a moment for me to wriggle out of them. 

The jeans join the sweater in the small clothing pile at the foot of the bed.

Standing in front of Dante in just my bra and panties feels a bit degrading. I remind myself that he’s already given me ten thousand dollars and I have to give him what he wants in return.

“Should I take off the rest?” My voice quivers.

To my surprise he shakes his head. He unbuttons his shirt instead.

I gasp when he takes his shirt off. His entire left arm, from shoulder to elbow, is covered with a dark tattoo. That’s the last thing I expect to see, but I recognize it immediately.

It’s the Cerberus from another one of Dali’s illustrations of Dante’s
Divine Comedy
. The three-headed monster, a hellhound, is the centerpiece of Dali’s illustration of Inferno: Cantos Six. 

Not that I have a lot of experience with tattoos, but it doesn’t seem like something the average twenty-two-year-old would have inked on his arm. 

His name is Dante, although he insisted rather bitterly that his parents did not name him after the poet.

I wonder if I should say anything. It seems like such a huge coincidence that we both seem to have an affinity for Dante and Dali.

Opening that door might lead to a discussion about me being a medieval studies professor by day when I’m not his mistress by night. I don’t want to go down that road. 

When he removes his jeans I notice his erection is straining against the material of his boxer briefs. He seems to have things on his mind other than talking about medieval poets.

At least he’s turned on despite my extremely clumsy attempt at seduction.

After staring at me for what seems like an eternity he closes the distance between us. He places a single index finger on my collar bone and slowly runs it down the length of my chest.