Sugar Daddy (25 page)

“But what about sealing the deal?” My hand dropped down his front, bringing him to full erection inside my fist.

He took my fingers off his cock. “It’s not right, Shay.”

“Who the hell are you to decide?”

“This isn’t just a job. I don’t want you fucking me because I got you to sign some damn contract!”

“Oh yeah? And this isn’t a friggin’ game to me either.”

“No, no it’s not.”

“This is what you wanted! What you’ve pai–”

He pressed his fingers to my lips. “Don’t. Don’t you say it. You know it’s different now.”

“You don’t want me.” The cruel truth gutted me.

“Fuck. Are you blind?” His hips jutted forward. His lips were one decisive slash. “But not now, not tonight, and not like this.”

“Because of what I said about my daddy?”

“No.”

“Leila’s affair?”

“No, Shay.”

He tensed when I neared. I opened my robe and his rumbling groan vibrated through me. My mouth brushed his chest. “Don’t you want this?”

He panted, licking his lips.

“Don’t you feel this?” I pushed inside his briefs where he surged into my palm. “Fuck me.” I wet my other hand and lowered it to his balls.

“Ah, God. No.” Jumping away, he roared, “This is not what I want!”

I crashed to the floor.
This is not what I want. You are not what I want, not...I want.
Losing Delilah, Palmer’s year-long refusals, learning about my daddy’s betrayal...discoverin’ after all that fucking trauma what I wanted.

Angry sobs exploded from my chest.

Arms came around me. His voice soothed me. “Don’t, oh Christ, don’t, Shay.
Shh,
please, darlin’, please.”

Not tonight, not what I want.

“That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.”

He was warmth.

I was so cold it hurt.

I relinquished myself to him.

Once the wracking sobs slowed to hiccups, he lay me on the bed. Reardon spoke clearly. “I am not rejecting you.” He laughed uncertainly at the sight of my body, the robe tangled aside. Covering me with a sheet, he shook his head. “That’s not even possible.”

“Imma explode if you don’t have your sinfully hot way with me soon, just sayin’.” I sniffled pitifully.

He regarded me from a chair beside the bed. His hands hanging between his legs, he hunched forward. “Here’s the thing. I don’t want to have sex with you.”

I rolled away from him. He tugged me back, grabbing my hand. “I want to make love to you. I want it to mean something. And I haven’t…”

“When was the last time?” I whispered.

“Can’t remember.”

Oh, Jesus.
“C’mere, baby.”

Snuggling together, he whispered to me in downy tones, like a lullaby.

Notions that were true and genuine and beautiful.

For a few short hours, I had him. And it felt like love.

* * * *

Another busy week passed. Texts, sexts, clandestine phone calls shuttled between me and Reardon. A quick meet, greet, and grind rounded out Hump Day nicely.

Our relationship was beginning. Palmer pretended mine and his wasn’t ending. His awkward caresses and the odd kiss to my shoulder irritated me.

“Mmm, hmm
.
He ain’t stupid, baby girl,” was Addy’s take on it the following Saturday. She passed me the bucket and mop and pointed to the patchwork tile floor of the store. Her housedress matched the flourishing blossoms of a greeting card I picked up and replaced: gaudy as hell.

Rinsing out the mop, I muttered to myself until her warm brown hands were on my cheeks, her cherry pit eyes stark and truthful. “Y’all ain’t gonna find any disapproval here, Miss Shay. Anyway, I know you got the imp o’ Satan on your shoulder.”

“Augie.”

“Yas’m. That be the one.”

Once I finished Spic-n-Spanning the tile, she urged me out the door. “Go on and scoot now, and have a good time with your fella.”

“But I’m not seein’ my fella,” I protested.

“Gotcha.” She had–I should’ve said
I don’t have a fella
. “And yes y’are seein’ him.” She pushed a white box decorated with a gingham bow across the counter. “And you be seein’ Augie, too. Tell him he and I need to have us a good talk-to soon, been missin’ that sumb–”

The door rang with the day’s first customers and she switched tracks midstream, “Well, how-do, the Tillmans? Ain’t this jist a fine, fine day right down here-a?”

Happy as the proverbial pig in mud, I swung into the reserved space next to Reardon’s Land Rover at the back of Rad-Slaughter. Whirling the box of goodies from Addy, I entered the swank offices only to be waylaid by the blonde blow-up doll again.

I dodged left. She parked her ass in front of Reardon’s door.
Bitch better move it because I am not above a little hair pullin’ or face scratchin’.

The double deluxe doors opened, and his throat clearing gained my arch nemesis’s attention. “Mr. Boone, she’s not in the appointment book, and she didn’t sign in.”

He stopped her with one hand and one eyebrow raised. God, it was so hot seeing him in command. “I understand, Miss Leggett.”
Leggett?
Seriously? Bet that was a bogus pornstar name. “However, for future reference, Miss Greer is always welcome to interrupt me.”

Dis-missed
.

The doors closed behind us, I tsked. “Workin’ on a Saturday?”

He reclined with an eat-you-up expression. “Always working, Miss Shay.”

He was fully suited, freshly shaved and mighty damn fine, and he had to know the way he said
Miss Shay
sent flames shooting up my legs and setting fire between my thighs.

“So what they say is true?”

He cocked an eyebrow in question.

“No rest for the wicked.” I blinked innocently.

“None at all,” he agreed, toying with the hem of my sundress. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I lifted the lid of Addy’s box. Pinching a sloppy chunk of blackberry cobbler, I licked the juicy blue-black filling. “Brought some sweets.”

Reardon’s breath hitched. “God, that looks good.”

“Mmm
.
” I lasciviously swirled my tongue along the icing. “Addy made it. Want some?”

“Please.”

“Such good manners, baby.” I fed him a giant piece of the scrumptious crumbly cake.

When his mouth was good and full, I added, “And, I’m just makin’ sure She-Ra out there keeps her filthy mitts off you.”

A flurry of crumbs blew out of his mouth. “She-Ra?”

“Sheila,” I affected my best Aussie accent. “Whatever.”

He chuckled. “Her name is Cheryl.”

“Well, she ain’t no oil painting.”

“You certainly have a way with words, darlin’.”

I preened.

“And Miss Leggett is an excellent assistant,” he gently chided.

I pouted.

Dipping low, I kissed away a smear of blackberry juice from the corner of his lips. “I parked in your lot too, hope you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

Reluctantly throwing out the empty pastry box–tempted to lick the bottom–I caught Reardon watching me, an indulgent glimmer in his eyes.

“Where you off to then?”

“Farmer’s Market on Marion Square.” I headed to the door, where he joined me.

“You want company?”

“I’d love it.”
I leaned back as he gripped the handles, caging me against the door. “You think you can handle Augie though? ’Cause I’m spendin’ the morning with him, and he thinks you’re one helluva hot commodity.”

His fingers curved over my hips. “You two have a good time. But you let Mr. DuBose know I’m a one woman man.”

“Will do.”

Walking me across Miss Leggy’s territory, he asked, “See you tonight?”

“You can bet on it.” I winked at him over my shoulder to see him leaning against the doorway.

“Oh, believe me, I am
.
”

That goddamn better be the
I’m finally gonna get some
look
.

Crossing the street, I turned for a last look to find him standing in his office window, a shimmering shadow. I touched my heart before blowing a kiss and backed away, smacking into a tall wall of linen, rich cologne, and two hands halting my progress.

“Too busy oglin’ Mr. McFuckMe to pay attention to where you’re goin’?” Augie performed a sweeping bow in Reardon’s direction.

“Can it, Casanova. He knows all about little your crush.” I took his elbow, losing us in the maze of stands and tents shading hundreds of handmade goods, gourmet foods, and oodles of plant varieties.

“Don’t know what you’re callin’ little, honey.” He stopped to perv on a good-looking guy’s ass. Both our heads tilted to the right as we checked him out. “Obviously you haven’t seen–”

“Stop it right there, Augie. We are not talkin’ about your…” I leaned in close to whisper, “endowments.”

“Endowments are for the arts, honey. What I’ve got is more monumental.”

“August!” I grabbed his arm and marched him off. “Let’s feel up some veg, already.”

Inspecting the zucchinis and summer squashes, we traded the usual suggestive remarks, which inevitably led to more talk about Reardon.

“Our tycoon get a taste of poon yet?”

“Let me tell you, the trustafarian is definitely a vagetarian.”

“I’m to take it he’s a real mogul of the muff?”

“Yeah, Richie Rich likes a good–”

“Isn’t this charming?”

How was it possible for a voice to ooze like vile slime? “Slaughter, to what do I owe the inconvenience?”

“I saw you coming out of HQ and had to say hello.” He bent over my hand.

I had a mind to knee him in the balls.

Unfortunately, he straightened too soon, putting his hand out to Augie. “The esteemed Mr. DuBose, I presume?”

Augie did me proud. “You must be Slaughter, the pig’s trotter I’ve heard so much about.”

Slaughter’s boisterous laugh was as false as his intentions. “Ah, so the effete companion has some
cojones.
Delightful. Tell me, Miss Greer.” He aimed his sharp eyes at mine. “What do you think of our lovely Miss Leggett?”

“Serviceable enough for the office, but not in the runnin’ anywhere else.”

“Sure ’bout that?”

“As sure as I am you must lead an incredibly dull life to spend so much time tryin’
to piss me off.”

“I think I like you.”

“
Feelin’ not mutual.”
Fuck-face.

He heaved a disheartened sigh. “Time was you couldn’t see our Reardon for the pussy.”

“Interesting analogy. But he’s changed.”

“It would seem. But a leopard doesn’t change his spots overnight, nor does a blackguard turn upstandin’ citizen. You’d do well to remember that.” He surveyed the square like a missionary sizing up the heathens. “I’m lookin’ out for you.”

The hell, you say.
“And as I’ve said before, you’re nothin’ but a wolf in a sharp suit.”

“You don’t really know him.”

“Beg to differ.”

“He hasn’t told you, has he?”

“What?” I snapped.

“Why he’s indebted to me.”

I called his bluff. “I know all about his family.”

“No, my dear, I’m certain you don’t.” His poker face was formidably in place.

“And he’s your protege.” I shot my chin up with willful arrogance.