by Tina Folsom
“The truth about my life isn’t going to help you, as we both know, because I’m sure you don’t want to tell your parents what I do.” She looked straight at him, and suddenly her words felt like a challenge.
“Then tell me what your life would be like if you weren’t an escort. We have to tell my parents something. So what kind of job would you have?”
There was no hesitation when she answered, “I’d be running a matchmaking business.”
His forehead furrowed. Had he heard correctly? “Matchmaking? You mean like Match.com or eHarmony.com?”
“Not exactly. Those are online dating sites. My company will have a much more personal touch. I will meet every client and find out what they’re really looking for and then match them to the person they’re most compatible with. There won’t be any computers involved.”
“And you think something like that has a chance when everybody these days just goes online if they’re looking for a date? Don’t you think it’s a little old-fashioned?”
“There’s nothing old-fashioned about love. Would you really leave choosing your wife up to a computer? Wouldn’t you rather have a live person who understands you and your desires help you with that search?”
Paul had to admit that Holly did have a point. “And what kind of clientele do you expect for a business like that?”
“Professionals, mostly—well-educated people, people with money. After all, this service isn’t cheap.”
“Funny, I can actually see you doing something like that. You know, talking to clients, making them open up to you to tell you what they’re looking for. I think you’d be good at that.”
For the first time since she’d arrived, she gave him a broad smile that reached all the way to her eyes. “Thank you.” She sipped her water. “How about you? What do you do to afford a place like this in Manhattan? Or is it all family money?”
He stiffened instantly. “No. I never took a dime from my parents, though they did spring for my education. No student loans here.” He made a grimace. “I’m a broker.”
“You mean you sell real estate?”
Paul chuckled. “No. I broker business deals. Big mergers.”
Holly edged forward on the sofa as though she was truly interested in his answer. “How do you do that?”
“I figure out what kind of companies would benefit from being joined and then I draft proposals and go in and talk to them individually and explain why they should merge. I point out the advantages, and when there’s interest on both sides, I help set up the deal and work out the details.”
“Sound a little like matchmaking to me. I assume they pay you well for all that work?”
He smiled. “Extremely well.”
“So what deal are you working on right now, or is that a secret?”
“I just closed a deal a bit over a week ago, so I’m actually in a lull until something else starts up. I have some free time.” Time he wanted to spend with Holly.
“And what do you like to do in your free time, Paul?”
He noticed that she’d started to interview him, and he let it happen. After all, she needed to find out about his life, his likes and dislikes, and his quirks, so that their charade would be realistic.
“I like to try out good food, hang out with my buddies, or go to off-off-Broadway shows.”
“Theater?” she asked.
“Yes, particularly the small stages. You can find real gems there. Up-and-coming actors and great playwriting. It can teach you a lot about people and what drives them.”
“I hadn’t pegged you for a theater buff. I did a little theater in high school. I loved it, but I hated being typecast.”
Paul laughed. “Let me guess—the ditzy blonde.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, laughing. “No wonder I quit.” Then she settled back into the corner of the sofa. “Okay, back to you. What else do you like doing? Any sports?”
Was she trying to assess whether he was fit? Surely, she must remember his toned physique. After all, she’d seen him naked. “I lift weights, and when I’m in the Hamptons I run on the beach every morning. Other than that, I love sailing.”
“Do you have a boat?”
“My parents do. And they rarely ever use it, so there’s never been any need for me to buy my own. When I’m in the Hamptons, I take theirs out. Have you ever sailed?”
“Once or twice. But often it’s too cold on the San Francisco Bay to really enjoy it.”
“Well, when it’s windy, it gets cold on the Atlantic too, but when it’s hot everywhere, you’ll appreciate cooling down on a boat. Besides, you could get a great overall tan.”
Holly’s lids lifted when she seemed to figure out the meaning of his last words. He could vividly imagine Holly lying on the deck of his parents’ boat with only suntan lotion covering her body. The thought made him rock-hard, and he shifted in his armchair, crossing one leg over the other to hide his bulge.
Holly looked past him. “Tell me about your family. Do you have any siblings?”
He took her change of subject in stride. It was better to concentrate on something other than Holly’s luscious body. “One sister, Olivia. She’s married and has a three-year-old boy, and another one on the way.”
“Oh? How far along is she?”
“I think seven months. You’ll meet her. She and Quentin will be there for the anniversary party. As well as their little brat.”
“Brat?”
“Jonathan. He’s a handful.” A cute handful, though.
“You don’t like kids?”
She looked as though she was disappointed, but he could be wrong.
Paul shrugged. “Let’s just say, I’m indifferent to kids. And I’m certainly not keen when they behave like Jonathan.” Not because he didn’t love the child, but because he didn’t know what to do with him. He just didn’t have the kinds of skills that would get Jonathan to stop crying when he was upset about something. And it frustrated him to see his nephew upset all the time. A child should be happy.
“What do you mean?”
“He screams, he runs around like a maniac, he throws temper tantrums. His parents can’t or don’t want to control him.” Or they didn’t care enough to notice.
“There’s always a reason for a child to behave like that. Maybe his parents aren’t giving him enough attention.”
Funny, Paul’s mother had said the same. And Paul himself was suspecting it too. “So, do you like kids?”
A warm smile spread on Holly’s face. “Yes. They are tiny little wonders.”
He felt himself return her smile. Then his gaze locked with hers, and he couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about. All he saw was the woman who’d turned his world upside down that night in the Hamptons.
And all he wanted was for her to do it again.
11
Over dinner at a small French neighborhood bistro, Paul had told her more about himself—practical things, like how he liked his coffee, what foods he liked and didn’t like, the clothes he felt comfortable in, where he went to school, what university he attended, and much more.
Holly had tried to commit every word to memory, and having to concentrate so hard had at least distracted her from how good Paul looked and how charming he could be when he wasn’t throwing her out of his house.
In fact, for the entire evening he’d been the perfect gentleman, opening doors for her as if she were a lady, rather than a call girl he was paying for. On the walk back to his place, he’d quickly switched sides with her when a drunk had passed them, making sure she didn’t have to walk too closely to the man who reeked of alcohol. She’d appreciated his thoughtfulness.
Now she lay in his bed, tossing and turning, thinking about whether she’d done the right thing in accepting his proposal. Having seen glimpses of the real Paul would make it even harder to go home after this week was over. Though when he’d said that he was indifferent to children, his words had reinforced her resolve never to tell him about the preg
nancy. He didn’t want children, so why should she burden him with this knowledge?
Holly sat up in bed and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was well past midnight and she couldn’t sleep. Her baby-doll nightgown clung to her breasts and sweat ran down her cleavage. She reached for the water bottle on the nightstand and found it empty.
“Damn,” she cursed under her breath. She needed cold water to cool down her heated body.
With a sigh, she pushed back the blanket and got out of bed. The carpet swallowed the sound of her footsteps as she walked along the corridor toward the kitchen, when she heard a moan coming from the open plan living area.
She rounded the dividing wall and stopped, scanning the room. The shades weren’t drawn, letting light from the New York skyline shine into the room. The dim light was sufficient for her to see where the moan had come from—and why.
Paul lay on the couch, his chest bare, his boxer briefs pushed down to his knees, his groin exposed. One hand was gripping his erection, moving up and down on it, while the other cradled his balls.
Holly slapped her hand over her mouth to suppress the gasp that wanted to come out of it. She should turn around immediately and go back to her room, but her feet wouldn’t follow her silent command. As if they were rooted to the ground, they didn’t move. Fascinated, she watched Paul. His eyes were closed, the cords in his neck bulging as he pressed his head back into the pillow. His chest muscles flexed and the light danced on it with every movement, reflecting in the sheen of sweat that covered him.
Her gaze drifted lower again, drawn to his cock. With every downward stroke, the tip of it peeked from his fist, already glistening with pre-cum. She’d never seen a more erotic sight than that of Paul pleasuring himself. Her body reacted to him instantly. Wetness pooled between her legs, and her nipples hardened. She rubbed her hands over them to take away the sudden ache, but knew it was useless. Only one thing could take away the ache: Paul’s mouth on her and his cock inside her. But she couldn’t go down that road again. It would lead to nothing.
Yet it didn’t stop her from watching him. He would never know that she’d seen him, and at least she could enjoy the thrill that now raced through her at seeing him masturbate. It also told her another thing: even though he wanted sex, he hadn’t tried to force himself on her, despite the amount of money he’d paid for her company. Instead, he’d taken himself in hand and was slaking his lust on his own.
Or was he taking care of himself because he didn’t want to sleep with an escort again? Was he still as disgusted about having slept with her as he’d been that morning, after their night of passion? None of his demeanor earlier in the day or during their dinner had suggested that, but then, Paul was probably hiding his feelings the same way she was.
Only, his feelings were those of disgust, whereas hers were altogether different.
Holly couldn’t take her eyes off him, and wished it were her hand that stroked him now, that squeezed his hard-on and drove him ever closer to his climax. She wanted her hand to touch him and to cradle his balls, her mouth to capture him, her tongue to lick and suck him. And then, just before he came, she wanted to mount him and take him deep inside her and ride him until he shot his hot semen into her and filled her with it.
She wanted all those things and more. But all she would get was to watch, to see how Paul found pleasure by himself. She knew she should give him his privacy and not spy on him, but she couldn’t turn away. This was more exciting than any porn movie she’d ever watched. More thrilling than anything she’d ever done—except for the night she’d spent with Paul.
Holly moistened her lips and slid her hand to her sex, cupping it through the thin fabric and feeling how it pulsed in her hand. Her eyes were glued to Paul’s cock and his hand moving up and down on it, while she rubbed her finger over her clit. Through the fabric she felt the warm wetness that saturated her female folds.
His cock would slide into her with one thrust, and she would engulf him in her wet heat. That thought made her even hotter.
When another moan, this time louder, came from Paul, she felt a shiver run through her. Then she saw his body jerk and a moment later, semen spurted from his cock and rained over his hand and stomach.
Her womb clenched and she rubbed harder and faster over her clit. Seconds later, she pressed her lips together tightly in order not to make a sound as her orgasm broke and washed over her.
It took seconds before she was able to walk back to the bedroom and close the door silently behind her. Only then was she able to breathe again.
This was crazy! She had to get herself under control or the week ahead would turn into a disaster, making her life even more of a mess than it already was.
From now on she had to restrain herself and see him only as a client, a man she had to remain indifferent to, because there was no place for her or her child in his heart.
12
The drive from Manhattan to Montauk had been surprisingly pleasant. Holly had turned out to be a great conversationalist. Paul didn’t know why he was surprised. After all, as an escort she had to entertain the men she was with. Already, during dinner the previous night, he’d realized how easy it was to talk to Holly.
They had exchanged more information about their lives, all so their story wouldn’t blow up once they met his parents. Or so he told himself, though a part of him knew that he’d told her things about himself and his life so that she would get to know him better and maybe understand why he’d reacted the way he had over two months earlier.
He pulled into the driveway of his parents’ house and came to a stop. Killing the engine, he turned to her. “Ready for show time?”
Holly nodded. “I think so.”
“Good.” He got out of the car and lifted their luggage out of the tiny trunk. Meanwhile, Holly had gotten out and closed the passenger door.
With his key, he unlocked the door and set the suitcases down in the foyer. When Holly came in, Paul smiled at her and reached out. “We’ll have to hold hands. Just for my parents,” he murmured. When she accepted his hand and he felt her warm palm clasping his, a pleasant wave of warmth shot from his hand up his arm, then spread through his body.
“Mother? Dad?” he called out, but there was no reply. “Maybe they’re in the backyard.”
He pulled Holly with him as he walked down the wide hallway and into the open plan living area that opened up to a large terrace with a view of the pool and the little poolhouse adjacent to it. Opening the French doors, he stepped outside and let his gaze wander. Nobody was at the pool or sitting on the terrace. Beyond a row of shrubbery that provided some privacy, a wooden dock led over the sandy beach out onto the water. His parents’ boat was docked there, which meant they weren’t out on the boat either.
“Strange,” he said, turning to Holly. “They knew I was coming today.”
“Maybe they’re just out running errands.”
“Hmm, well, let’s get settled in the meantime.”
He looked at Holly, who appeared flushed all of a sudden. At the same time he realized that he was still holding her hand. It had been such a natural gesture that he hadn’t even noticed it.
“Do you want something cold to drink?”
She gave him a grateful smile. “That would be great.”
He led her back inside and walked through the adjacent dining area into the kitchen.
“Wow, what a kitchen,” Holly commented.
“Pretty big, huh?” He smiled. “And wouldn’t you know it, my mother hates to cook. She has a cook come from the village every day to prepare her and Dad’s meals so she doesn’t have to.”
Holly glanced around. “What a luxury.”
Reluctantly, Paul released her hand, walked to the refrigerator, and took a bottle of water from it. His eyes fell on an envelope marked Paul pinned to the refrigerator door with a magnet.
“Sorry, it’s plastic again.” He handed the bottle to Holly and took the envelope from the door. He pulled out a s
heet of paper and read it, then looked into Holly’s quizzical gaze. “It says here that they had to drive up to Boston to get great-aunt Mirabelle. Apparently they didn’t want her to take the train, and Mirabelle refused to accept the chauffeured car they wanted to send.” He winked at Holly. “She drives my mother crazy. You’ll love her.”
“Your mother or your great-aunt Mirabelle?”
“Great-aunt Mirabelle, of course. Trust me, my mother will despise you from the moment she sees you.”
“What? Well, thanks a lot for telling me now!” Holly grumbled.
Paul took a step toward her and took her hand. “It’s nothing personal, but my mother will despise every single woman I bring home, unless she handpicks her. And that’s the whole reason you’re here: so I can make it clear to my mother once and for all that I will choose the woman I’m going to marry one day, and that she has no say in the matter. And the sooner she realizes that, the better.”
Holly’s expression softened a little. “You and your mother don’t get on.”
“Well, let’s just say she has very high expectations and I haven’t met any of them.” He would never meet his mother’s expectations, because he had no intention of pandering to her wishes.
“I find that hard to believe. You’re successful in business, you take good care of yourself. What could she possibly have to complain about?”
Had Holly just paid him a compliment?
Paul shrugged, not wanting to give too much weight to a flattering remark. “Mothers. How do I know what makes them tick?” Then he changed the subject. “Let me show you to your room. My parents will assume that I’ll put you into the room next to mine so that I can sneak into your room at night without being seen. We have to keep up appearances.”
“I understand,” she answered, and turned toward the door.
As he led her upstairs, luggage in hand, he felt her eyes on him. Did she really think he was taking good care of himself? Had she meant this in a physical way? Fuck, he sounded like a thirteen-year-old wondering whether the most popular girl in school had the hots for him. Ridiculous! He had to stop thinking like that. Clearly it was his dick talking. Even after masturbating the previous night, and again in the shower this morning, he couldn’t get his libido under control. Maybe it would be a good thing if he didn’t spend the evening alone with Holly.
