Romance: My First Time With The Tycoon

by Ally Nelson

  “It’s not finished, yet,” she said, as they tapped their glasses together. “I still have a little more to go. I’m stuck on this one point; it’s just making me crazy because I don’t know quite how to word it. You know?” She took a sip of the wine.

  “Oh, yes, I do,” he said emphatically. “Happens to me more than I care to admit.” He picked up his fork. “If you like, I could always take a look at it. Sometimes it takes a fresh pair of eyes to see something you might be missing. I think every writer goes through that sort of thing, really. We are none of us perfect, by any means.” He glanced at her and the corners of his mouth curled in an impish smile. “Some of us even have to pretend to be someone we’re not in order to succeed.”

  Knowing he meant writing under the pen name of W.T. Hamilton, Ashley reached over and pushed lightly at his arm in admonishment. “I’ll take you up on that offer,” she said. She took her first bite of the casserole, moaning at the flavor. “Oh, my god,” she mumbled around her mouthful. “This is so good.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  “Mm, yes. I do. It’s wonderful.”

  They ate in silence for several minutes. Finally, Tom ventured, “Ashley, there’s something I need to ask – and please forgive me if I have misconstrued anything.”

  She looked up at him. “What?”

  His handsome features pinched together in a light frown. “Well, it’s just…” He stopped, sighed in frustration. “I really don’t know quite how to say this, but since that night at the restaurant, I can’t help feeling that you’ve been a bit…distant…with me. I thought you might still be upset that I hadn’t been home when I said I would meet you, but I’ve also been worried that you might have encountered some trouble at work because of what happened.”

  Ashley shook her head and swallowed. “No,” she said. “I didn’t get in trouble. As far as I know, nobody is aware of it – and I’m pretty sure Chef DuBois would come down on me hard if he found out.”

  Tom looked at her, his eyes full of confusion and concern. “Then what is it?” he asked softly. “Are you still upset with me? Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

  “Okay.” Ashley put down her fork. Planting her elbow on the table, she held up her hand, index finger raised. “One: I am not mad at you. You explained what happened, you apologized, and I forgave you. Over, done with, gone; moving on.” She licked her lips and raised a second finger. “Two: if I was upset with you, we wouldn’t be sitting here having dinner together and I wouldn’t be happy to let you help me with my paper.”

  “But there is something,” Tom pressed. He shook his head. “Ashley, I spent most of my life with women, I know the silences, the withdrawals, every minute change that means something. There is something weighing on your mind. Something is different, and it didn’t happen until after that night.”

  “All right,” Ashley said sharply, and immediately felt guilty when she saw him recoil slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” She spread her palms on the table. “Yes – okay. You’re right: something is different. It’s me.” She shook her head. “And you’re probably going to think I’m crazy or stupid or something.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “I just…never expected my first time would be over the sink in the men’s room where I work.”

  Silence.

  “Ashley,” Tom said softly, “are you…were you…?”

  “A virgin?” She let out a short laugh and nodded. “Yeah. I know that’s hard to believe, considering I’m twenty-one and most girls my age have gone all the way. And don’t think that makes me some kind of a prude. I had boyfriends before I came out here to go to college. I gave head and got fingered, even let a guy go down on me once, but I just never found the guy I wanted to go all the way with. Once I got to California, between work and school I was too busy or too tired for a relationship. I know it sounds crazy but I wanted to focus on getting my degree, first.”

  “It doesn’t sound crazy,” Tom said, still speaking in a very low voice. “It’s actually quite a wise decision. Education is very important. You should be commended on your dedication.” He paused and looked away. “I only wish you had said something to me, that night…”

  “Why?” she demanded. “What difference would it have made? I acted like a total groupie, completely doe-eyed, practically wetting my panties because you wanted me. And at the time, I really wanted it, too. I couldn’t stop myself, even if I tried. So don’t start thinking you forced me, or that I was having second thoughts because that’s not what happened. I wanted you. I still want you. And yeah, when you didn’t show up later that night, I figured that was it. You said you were sorry but you didn’t make any other moves on me, no indication that you were still interested.”

  “Oh, but you’re wrong,” Tom said suddenly, shaking his head. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, Ashley. You are easily the most incredible and most beautiful woman I have ever met.”

  She scoffed at this. “Please,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. “I realize your friend – Melinda? – is a Lesbian but she’s also a knockout. You put me next to her? I’m ketchup, she’s salsa. Okay?”

  “Not to me,” Tom said. He pushed back his chair and got up, only to kneel next to Ashley a moment later, looking up into her eyes with an intensity that startled her. “A young woman’s first time should be something special,” he told her. Reaching out, he took her hand and wrapped his fingers around it, holding onto it firmly. “If you will allow me, I would like to ask for the chance to amend this error and give you the experience you should have had – to take you out on a proper date, and then to make love to you properly, in a bed.”

  Ashley felt herself blushing at his proposal. At first she wanted to laugh, thinking this was all a joke, that he could not possibly be serious. But when she looked into his eyes…well, she could not deny the sincerity she saw there. “I have to finish my paper,” she said, at last.

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “By all means. School comes first.”

  “I won’t be free until next Tuesday, either. I have to work this weekend but I have that day off, no work or classes.”

  “All right,” he said. “Tuesday it is, then.”

  Ashley shook her head. “Okay, you can get up off the floor, now.” She waved him away. “Get back up to the table and…I don’t know…finish your dinner.”

  “Would you still like me to look at your paper afterwards?” Tom asked.

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” Climbing to his feet, Tom took a moment to sweep in and plant a kiss on Ashley’s cheek. “Tuesday,” he whispered in her ear, before retreating to his seat.

  Ashley snagged her wine glass. She thought about what Tom said to her, about how he couldn’t stop thinking about her and that she was beautiful and incredible. She still couldn’t believe that. Some men will say anything. But Tom…he wasn’t like any man she had ever met. Charming, sophisticated, and sensitive, he also came across as very sincere. I guess we’ll see just how it goes, on Tuesday, she decided, and finished off her wine in one large gulp.

  Chapter Eight

  Ashley could not stop herself from feeling nervous about her upcoming date with Tom. Well, maybe ‘nervous’ wasn’t the right word. Excited? Yeah, that sounded better. Excited, with a little nervous on the side.

  She had just poured herself a cup of coffee when she heard a knock. Curious, she pulled her light summer robe around her body and tied the belt as she made her way to the door. She had not had a shower, her hair was a mess, and she probably still had lines on her face from the creases in her pillow case. Peering through the security hole, she saw…a bouquet of flowers. Ashley snorted in amusement. She knew it had to be Tom, but she decided to tease him a little. “Who is it?” she called through the still-closed door.

  “A hopefully dashing caller,” he replied, “who would like to invite you out to brunch.”

  Ashley unlocked the door and opened it. “I thought our date was supposed
to start this evening.”

  “We agreed on Tuesday,” Tom said, still hiding behind the cluster of wildflowers. “We didn’t agree on a precise time.” He peered around his fistful of blossoms and smiled. “Good morning.” He held out the bouquet. “For you.”

  “So you really are a romantic,” Ashley said, as she accepted the offering.

  “You didn’t think I just wrote about it, now, did you?” he asked, feigning surprise.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you wrote from experience,” she said dryly.

  “Sorry to disappoint, but I must confess that I have never driven a limousine, nor have I ever robbed a jewelry store,” Tom said. “But I did want to prove to you that I am capable of romance and of being a gentleman. Contrary to what happened last week at the restaurant, I am not in the habit of having sex with young ladies in public toilets. That was completely out of character for me, and I am still surprised at myself that it happened.”

  “I guess it was one of those ‘heat of the moment’ things,” Ashley said. “Like I said before, it’s okay.” She jerked her head. “Come on in. I need a few minutes to get ready, but I want to put these into some water, first.”

  “Take as long as you like.” Tom followed her inside.

  “You want some coffee while you wait?” Ashley called over her shoulder. “I have a K-cup machine, so it won’t take more than a few minutes.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Okay.” Ashley found a glass vase under the sink that had come with a floral arrangement from her parents last year when she had been laid up for a week with the flu. Good thing I saved this. She put the flowers in the vase and added a bit of water. Setting them on the breakfast bar, she smiled. “They’re beautiful,” she said. She looked over at Tom. “Thank you.”

  His blue eyes creased at the corners as he smiled. “You’re quite welcome,” he said softly.

  For a moment, Ashley struggled to resist the urge to just go over, throw herself in his arms, and kiss him. If you do, you probably won’t get out of here for the rest of the day. While spending the whole afternoon in bed with a sexy Englishman did seem very tempting, Ashley decided to stick with the original plan. “Okay, so – I’ll go get ready. Be right back.” She hurried off to her bedroom and closed the door. A little distance gave her a chance to breathe. Calm yourself down, girl! He wants to romance you? Let him romance you!

  She raced into the bathroom and took a quick shower. Because the weather called for warm and sunny, she opted for pastel floral tank top under a white gauze shirt with short sleeves and a pair of light cotton white capris and a pair of lavender deck shoes. She pulled her still-damp hair together in a French braid and secured the end. Satisfied, she went out to meet Tom. “Is this acceptable for brunch?” she asked, striking a pose.

  “Quite,” he said, his whole face lighting up with a smile the moment he saw her. He looked her over like appraising a valuable work of art. “Very lovely.” He straightened and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  “You bet.” Grabbing her purse, Ashley hooked the strap over her shoulder before taking his elbow and letting him lead her from the apartment.

  Of course, he had to drive a damned Jaguar convertible. Bright red, it had a cat’s face emblem on the grill instead of the traditional leaping panther hood ornament. Ashley smiled as Tom held the passenger door open for her. She slipped down inside the black and red leather bucket seat. “Wow.” Tom closed the door and started around to the driver’s side. Ashley looked at the center console with all the digital panels and dials as she secured her seatbelt. “Well, this will be a first,” she remarked, as Tom dropped in behind the wheel.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve never ridden in a Jag before.”

  “Oh, it’s a wonderful vehicle, I can assure you,” Tom said. “The engine is amazingly quiet for a sports car. And if it gets too windy, just touch this.” He reached down between them and pressed a button.

  Ashley heard a whirring sound. Looking over her shoulder, she watched as two robotic flaps opened up behind their seats and a black top rose up and stretched out above their heads, sealing closed over them in a matter of moments. Tom hit the button again and the roof receded. “Okay, I’m thoroughly impressed,” she said. “Now, show me what this bad boy can do. Remember – I’m from Michigan. If there’s one thing a girl growing up outside of The Motor City can appreciate, it’s a good set of wheels.” She pulled on her sunglasses and settled back. “Drive on, ‘Reginald,’” she said, using the name of the limo driver from W.T. Hamilton’s Chauffeur series.

  Tom let out a cackling kind of laugh. “With pleasure, madam,” he said, and started up the engine.

  Chapter Nine

  An hour later, they sat in under an umbrella at a table on the brick patio at Alcove, enjoying crab cake benedicts with fresh-squeezed orange juice. Conversation traveled the spectrum from favorite foods to places they had each visited over the years. Ashley decided to grill Tom about his origins. “So, where in England are you from?”

  “Westminster,” he replied. “It’s in London, on the north bank of the Thames.”

  “You said you had three older sisters.” Ashley speared a forkful of egg. “Were they nice to you, or did they kind of keep you in your place, dress you up in their clothes, put make up on you…?”

  He chuckled and looked down at his plate. “Nothing like that, I can assure,” he said, wiping his mouth before returning his napkin to his lap. He shifted. “They were all quite protective of me, actually.” He hooked his elbow over the back of his chair and crossed his legs at the knee. “I had been somewhat sickly for the first few years of my life. When I began school, there were children who – as they are wont to do – treated me somewhat abysmally. My sister Mary, three years my senior, had been my champion. She would take on anyone, even the boys. Having four strong ladies in my life, my sisters and our mother – five, including Nan, who was often about – taught me to have a healthy respect for women very early on. That is why you will never find a weak female protagonist in any of my books. They might be young but they are never so innocent that they do not understand something of the world around them and all its dangers.”

  “Unlike some books with female characters who are completely ignorant about everything, even their own bodies,” Ashley remarked, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but how can you be a woman in this day and age and never even masturbated?” She lowered her voice on the last word so as not to disturb the people at the neighboring table. “It’s unrealistic.”

  Tom chuckled and rubbed his forehead with thumb and forefinger. “Yes, well,” he said. “Not everyone is adept at creating strong characters.”

  Ashley could tell by his smile that he would not sit and trash a fellow author – even a rotten one from his own country who deserved it – because of that polite streak of his that stretched to the far ends of the earth. She decided to let the subject drop. “So, I guess being sick as a kid, you did a lot of reading.”

  “Yes, actually, I did,” he said. “That’s when I developed my passion for literature. I absorbed it all, from classic European authors to American novelists. I love stories about real people finding themselves in real situations, breaking the rules of convention and overcoming social barriers.”

  “Which is why your first series was about a rich woman having a relationship with a guy who was basically her servant.”

  “Exactly. I wanted to show that love can transcend class systems, and that two people from completely diverse backgrounds could find something in common. Yes, in the case of The Chauffeur, Leslie and Reginald begin that discovery through carnal relations, but by the end of the series they find that they share grief and loss over the tragic passing of loved ones.”

  “Because, basically, we’re all the same,” Ashley said. “Regardless of race, religion, gender preference, political leanings, and financial status, we’re all human beings and we need each other to survive.”

  “Yes!” Tom pra
ctically crowed. He reached across the table and covered Ashley’s hand with his own, gripping lightly. “You understand. So few people can see that, they are so blinded by everything around them that they too often do not see what is right before them.”

  She smiled. She loved how happy this made him, how passionate he became over it. She had often seen Tasha get the same way. Creative people. She remembered how she and Tasha had visited art museum in Detroit, and how her friend had wept as she stood in front of a Monet and talked about how the artist had been going blind but still managed to paint such beauty, and then remarked about how she had wished everyone could have that kind of vision. Ashley could see Tom felt the same way. I’m not an artist, but I can understand where they’re coming from, and why it means so much to them.

  After breakfast, they took to the road again. Before long, they found themselves on the coastal highway headed north, the beautiful Pacific Ocean stretching out on their left. Tom turned on the Jag’s stereo, blasting Jefferson Airplane and The Who on the satellite radio’s oldies station. Ashley looked over at him, the wind whipping through his black curls, and he flashed her a wide grin, her own smile reflected in the mirrored lenses of his sunglasses. Reaching across the center console, she took his hand. He laced their fingers together and curled them in against his midsection. Ashley felt a rush of excitement from that simple touch. She had boyfriends in high school but had never really clicked with them. Not like she did with Tom, which had been almost instantaneous. It had nothing to do with the fact that he wrote her favorite books, either, now that she thought about it. This was the man of her dreams. The kind of man she had always wanted: older, wiser, and yet one who treated her with respect.

  They pulled off at one point at a beach access and got out to walk along the shore. Tom rolled up his jeans and removed his shoes and socks. Barefoot, they walked hand in hand. “God,” Ashley said with a loud groan. “This is the most cliché thing in the Book of Romance.” She held up their linked hands. “Walking together on a beach, like this.”