Andrea followed the direction of Val's finger, and to her shock, saw that the man was Jerry. Wearing wrap-around sunglasses, khaki Bermuda shorts, and a tropical print shirt that was unbuttoned down the front, he was acting like God's gift to women, with one woman gazing up at him from her lounge chair, another leaning into him while peering over his shoulder at what looked to be a tourist flyer in his hand. Although the sight of him was comical—his looking for all the world like a middle-aged man going through a kind of male menopause—she couldn't help noticing his abs. She knew he'd set up a fitness center at work, but she hadn't realized he'd been using the machines. She also noticed that the matt of chest hair that used to drive her to distraction was gone. Obviously a last-minute defoliating in preparation for the cruise.
It came to her that Jerry had fashioned himself after the male models on the covers of the novels she read, covers he'd poked fun at in their earlier years, but now ridiculed with condescension. "He's not my type," she volunteered, assuming Val pegged Jerry for her.
"I wasn't thinking of him for you," Val said. "I can see he's not your type, but he'll do for me. He's a spitting image of Mel Gibson, and look at that beefy chest."
Andrea couldn't dispute that Jerry resembled Mel Gibson, more so as he got older, and her women friends had been quick to point that out, but she could dispute his lack of chest hair. "It's been waxed. Gigolos do that, sort of a sign of the trade," she said, even though she knew squat about gigolos.
Val laughed. "I know for a fact he's not a gigolo. I talked to him on deck right after the life-boat drill. He's divorcing his wife. She's a real bitch."
Andrea, ready to leave a trail of claw marks down Jerry's recently waxed chest, said in a tightly-controlled voice, "He told you that?"
"Not in so many words, but she treats him like shit, and from the way he talked, she's one cold fish in bed." Val propped her sunglasses on top of her head and smiled at Jerry, who was looking their way. He caught Andrea's eye, held it momentarily, then winked at Val and gave her a thumbs up.
Val leaned forward, giving him a view of her ample cleavage, and said, "He's also obviously a man who likes to get it on. No wonder he's dumping the mannequin."
Andrea stared at Val. "Mannequin?"
"His wife," she clarified. "Those society women are all alike, which is why their husbands find sugar babies, but the guy looks really hot. I bet he'd be one satisfying stud in bed."
Andrea almost laughed aloud. Jerry might have been a stud at one time, but their long-ago romps in bed had lost their appeal. Slipping into bed before Jerry and feigning sleep had been her ploy to get around it. "Looks can be deceiving," she said. "I've heard some of the hottest-looking men can't function below the waist. If you're looking for action in bed, he might not be the one for you. He looks well past his prime, got to be in his late forties if he's a day."
"Frankly, I don't care whether he can function in bed or not. He's well off financially so what goes on in bed is irrelevant. Besides, that's what sugar babies are for, to take men's minds off everything that keeps them from functioning as a man. My last sugar daddy couldn't do it at all without Viagra, but after one week he was back in business. He was one happy guy, I can tell you that."
Andrea glared at Jerry, incensed that he'd shared what went on in their bedroom with this woman, someone he'd never met before today. "What makes you think he has money?" she asked, wondering if he'd spilled the extent of their finances to her as well.
"I spotted him when he was coming aboard. His clothes are definitely high end. He also told me he owns his own company, something to do with cleaning up oil spills, and he has several helicopters, a fleet of boats, and over two hundred employees."
Andrea eyed Jerry in disgust. He'd warbled like a nightingale to this woman while singing his own praises. Couldn't he recognize a fortune hunter when he saw one? Well, maybe he deserved the woman. "He told you all that?"
"Not exactly," Val admitted. "I had to pump it out of him, but once you start flattering the older guys they tell all just to keep the compliments coming." She gave Andrea, a discerning smile. "You really are new at this, aren't you?"
"New at what?"
"The single scene, shipboard flings."
"Well yes," Andrea admitted. "It's been twenty-five years since I dated, and that was with my husband. Actually, I wouldn't mind a shipboard romance, but after the cruise I'd want it to be over, just a short-term romance to make the cruise memorable."
"I suppose I can understand feeling that way at your age. For me, I'm looking long term and lucrative. They're called sugar daddies. I'd say that hunky guy definitely has the makings of one."
"You said he's still married," Andrea said, somewhat illogically, in that Jerry was soon to be unmarried, and before long he'd no doubt be in bed with one of the bimbos hanging onto him. But she refused to let that bother her. Jerry was free to do as he pleased. They'd agreed as much.
Val shrugged. "The married ones make the best sugar daddies. They have to be discrete and clever about slipping away, so they treasure every moment they spend with their sugar babies, and once the gifts start coming, you feel like a queen."
At that instant Jerry looked their way and Andrea saw Val give him a finger-tip wave. He smiled and winked again. Yes, Andrea decided, he deserved this scheming sugar baby, but not until after the marital asset pie had been divided. This woman could siphon off a sizable amount of money before that time. "He doesn't look the type to shower a woman with gifts," she said, though there had been a time when Jerry brought flowers at unexpected times, and surprised her with expensive jewelry, and teased her with sexy lingerie from Victoria's Secret. Lingerie she'd packed for the cruise.
"Trust me. He's the type. He's got that look on his face right now, imagining me sitting nude and brushing my hair after we'd had sex, and him coming up behind me at my dressing table and kissing me on the side of the neck before draping a diamond pendant over my head and bingo. I have a diamond pendant."
Andrea looked at Val, stunned. That was precisely the way it had been when Jerry gave her the emerald and diamond pendant on their twentieth wedding anniversary. She looked at Jerry and there was no question he had that look on his face, but he was looking at Val.
Peeved that Val seemed intent on cutting into her half of the marital assets, Andrea said, "With two-hundred employees to support, I doubt he'd be willing to spend money on expensive gifts for a woman."
"Honey, any functioning male with disposable income is willing to spend it on the right woman, and two-thousand a month isn't a big chunk for a man with his own company, considering what he gets in return. I just have to convince that gorgeous hunk that he needs a sugar baby."
"I presume you mean keeping him happy in bed."
"Of course keeping him happy in bed, but that's only part of it. You also become his companion and confidante, and you provide excitement and renewed enthusiasm for life, and for sex. It's a win-win working relationship for both parties for as long as it lasts."
"But I don't see how the sugar daddy wins," Andrea said, while trying to grasp this new single-scene concept. "He's putting up money for something his friends get for free."
"Think of it this way," Val explained. "While the rest of his buddies are buying drinks for hit-and-miss women during Happy Hour, your sugar daddy knows he can come to you any time, day or night and be treated like a king. But the sugar bowl isn't just for men. Powerful, self-made women and wealthy divorcees can have fun too. Sugar mommies write the checks and set the rules for the arrangement, and in return they have their sugar pups—younger, good-looking, male companions in top shape who treat them like queens and keep them happy in bed."
Andrea glanced at Jerry, who was slurping up the attention like a big stupid lapdog. The woman who'd been peering over his shoulder now had one hand curved around his arm, and the woman who'd been sitting on the lounge stood on the other side of him, her highball glass raised while poking the straw between his lips.
&nb
sp; "Don't even think about it," Val said, when she saw Andrea's attention focused on Jerry. "I saw him first. No disrespect intended, but he clearly likes the younger women. Not those two with him, though. I know, because he keeps looking this way, and they know it too. Just watch. As soon as I start toward them they'll take their cue and leave."
She stood in her tight shorts and snug tank top, and giving a little hip wiggle, sashayed over to where Jerry stood, and just as Val predicted, the two women who'd been fawning over Jerry eyed Val with uncertainty, gave Jerry an affectionate hug, and strolled off.
"Excuse me, signora. Is this seat available now?" a deep male voice said in a soft, incredibly appealing Italian accent. Andrea looked up to see a tall, dark-haired man, handsome as the devil and looking ten years younger than she, peering down at her. If there was anything to the term, bedroom eyes, this man had them. A man in his prime, his broad chest was clad in a navy turtle neck, and his tight white pants defined his maleness. The term, sugar pup, came to mind.
"Signora?"
"Oh yes, please sit down." Andrea felt a little giddy in the man's presence, wondering why Val hadn't gone after him instead of Jerry. "My friend seems to have lost interest in my company," she added.
"Which is her loss, and my gain." The man's voice was as smooth as thick cream. He settled his large frame into the lounge chair, turned those sleepy hooded eyes on her, and said, "Please allow me to introduce myself, signora. I am Alessandro Cavallaro."
Andrea offered her hand. "Andrea Porter," she said, knowing her last name was common enough that she wouldn't be pegged with Jerry.
To her surprise, Alessandro Cavallaro bent over her hand and kissed it, then held it sandwiched between his palms. "My pleasure, Signora Porter. I noticed you when you first boarded the ship," he said in that smooth, deep voice while peering into her eyes. "And you appear to be travelling alone. Am I right?"
Andrea glanced at Jerry, who stood staring at her, but a moment later, Val cut off his view by moving in front of him and shoving a straw hat on his head. "Yes, I'm travelling alone," she said, while watching Val trail her finger down Jerry's waxed chest.
Alessandro Cavallaro leaned toward her and said in a soft low tone that suggested pillow talk, "Then I assume you are also unattached, correct?"
Andrea glanced at Jerry, whose attention was focused on Val. But then, Val had a body that would catch the eye of any hot-blooded male. Jerry was no exception.
Although she didn't want to share a bed with him ever again, for some inexplicable reason, she didn't want Val in his bed either, but that was only because of the newness of their situation. During their twenty-five years of marriage it had never occurred to her that they would ever sleep with anyone but each other, but that was where they were now.
"Yes," she replied, at last. "I'm unattached."
Alessandro Cavallaro smiled, displaying perfect white teeth, and said, "Well, Signora Porter, we have at least two hours before the first call for dinner, so perhaps you'll do me the honor of telling me everything there is to know about you."
CHAPTER 4
Jerry stood at the wide viewing window of the fitness room while watching Andrea make a complete fool of herself. The same man he'd seen her with earlier was hovering over her like the cougar-hunter he was, and she was soaking it up, smiling and batting her eyelashes and flirting like a woman half her age. He let out a little grunt of amusement. The man was in for a rude awakening if he managed to get her in bed. But since he and Andrea were going their separate ways, what she did, or more aptly did not do, in bed was no longer his concern.
Long slender fingers gliding into the crook of his elbow drew his attention away from the scene beyond the window. "A penny for your thoughts, sugar pie," Val said.
Jerry peered down at Valerie Williamson, the sleek little number who seemed determined to warm his bed. "Just checking things out on deck."
The woman slipped in front of him, resting her back against his chest, and said, musingly, "She's my roommate, in the middle of a divorce and looking for adventure on the high seas. Alessandro Cavallaro will take care of her. He's an expert at giving women what they want. That body of his is nothing less than a state-of-the-art sex machine, and he knows it. Spends hours in the gym keeping fit, and he's got brains too. Lots of older women want him for their sugar pup."
"What's a sugar pup?" Jerry asked while eyeing scene beyond the window.
"On, man. Your generation really is behind the times. I tell you what." Val turned around to face him. "I'll come to your stateroom after dinner tonight and tell you all about the sugar bowl." She trailed a finger down his chest and along his waistband.
Jerry glanced over the top of her head and watch, with disgust, as Alessandro the sugar pup planted a kiss on the flat of Andrea's wrist. She was even more naïve than he'd figured. How obvious could a man be, drooling over a woman old enough to be his... much older sister. But Andrea wasn't responding like a sister. She was practically slavering over the man. Even from a distance he could see her nostrils flaring and her chest heaving.
Val glanced over her shoulder in the direction of his gaze. "Pathetic isn't it, but she's been completely turned off to sex by the guy she spent the last twenty-five years with, so she's primed for action with a real man. When Alessandro's through she'll think she'd died and gone to heaven, and that creep she's been married to? History."
Jerry glared at Andrea. "What else did she tell you about her husband?"
"Not a whole lot, but I could tell from the start she's not into the sugar bowl scene." Val cuddled against him and slid her arm around his waist. "You, on the other hand, sugar pie, are a man after my own heart. In shape, active, virile." She gave his butt a pat. "We'll check out your plumbing later." She winked, and sashayed off.
Jerry's attention was immediately drawn to the window where he saw Andrea walking off with her Italian stud, the man's hand resting on the small of her back. Hell and damnation! He went back to pumping iron. Vigorously. Energetically. Single-mindedly.
***
It never occurred to Andrea that she and Jerry would be stuck together at the same table for all their meals for the duration of the cruise, so when their assigned sitting was announced, she made a point of taking a seat across the table from Jerry, which precluded having a conversation, but since it was a table for six, four more people would be joining them.
Alessandro sat two tables away, which placed him two tables beyond Jerry's left shoulder so looking at one man meant seeing the other. It could not be avoided. But she could ignore Jerry by contemplating her upcoming evening with Alessandro. He'd invited her for an after-dinner drink and promised her an unobstructed view of sunset from the viewing window in his first-class suite. When she agreed to come, she made it clear that hopping in bed wasn't an option, but looking at his handsome face and strangely inviting lips, she might allow a goodnight kiss, and who knows where that would lead before the cruise was over.
A group of people that appeared to be a mother, a father, a son about fourteen, and a grandfather, approached the table. They stood for a moment contemplating the seating arrangement, then the woman leaned over Jerry, and said, "I notice you haven't ordered yet. Would you mind moving around the table so my family could sit together? My father-in-law is hard of hearing, and it would make things easier for him."
Jerry looked across the table at Andrea, clenched his jaws momentarily, and replied while standing, "No problem." After he'd seated himself beside Andrea, he looked in the distance, and Andrea knew he'd spotted Alessandro. She also knew Jerry had seen them together earlier, which she found absurdly satisfying. Jerry had been so sure she couldn't turn a man's head, and she'd managed to snag the handsomest, most eligible bachelor aboard.
Leaning toward Jerry, she said, in a hushed voice, "Are you enjoying the cruise?"
"It's great," Jerry replied in a low, quiet tone. "Couldn't be better."
"Do you have plans after dinner?" Dang! She hadn't expected to ask that. It
just slipped out.
"Possibly," Jerry replied. "And you?"
Andrea looked at Alessandro, who tipped his wine glass toward her and smiled. She smiled back. "As a matter of fact, yes." She draped her napkin across her lap and tried not to stare at Alessandro, but her gaze kept shifting that way.
"He's a gigolo," Jerry commented.
"Ha! You wish," Andrea said in a hushed voice. "It happens Alessandro owns a villa in Majorca and a sixty-four-foot yacht for cruising the Mediterranean."
"And you believe him?"
Andrea kept her voice low so the others wouldn't hear, while saying, "I have no reason not to. He showed me pictures of his yacht and his family. He has two sisters, one of whom is married to a count, and his parents are currently cruising the Mediterranean on their own private yacht. He even invited me to spend some time at his villa in the very near future."
Jerry stabbed an artichoke heart from the salad that had just been placed in front of him and said, in a muted voice, "I can't believe a woman with three grown daughters can be that naïve."
"That's not quite right," Andrea said. "The truth is, you can't believe a woman with three grown daughters is capable of catching the eye of a handsome hunk like Alessandro Cavallaro."
"Handsome hunk?" Jerry let outa cynical laugh. "Single's lingo doesn't suit you, sweetheart. Comes across exactly as what it is. A middle-aged woman trying her damndest to sound trendy."
"Well if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black!" Andrea snapped. "You had your chest waxed!" She looked across the table and saw the couple staring at them.
"I'm surprised you noticed," Jerry said, his voice low once again.
"How could I not," Andrea quietly hissed. "You were standing with your shirt unbuttoned, sandwiched between two women the age of our daughters, while slavering and drooling like a St. Bernard. I'm surprised you didn't trip over your big fat slobbery tongue."
Coming To Terms Page 3
