On Friday, the day of the party, she sighed as she entered her office and saw another gift. Opening it, she laughed out loud and quickly covered her mouth. It was a bright yellow slicker, complete with matching boots and umbrella. The front closed with traditional frog hinges, but on the back was a duck splashing through puddles with the words, “You Quack Me Up,” across the back. Slipping the card out of the envelope she read, “Sorry my Lil Sweetheart, I couldn’t resist. Can’t wait to see you tonight, JB.”
What in the world was she going to do? She was confident when it came to men who tempted her with diamond earrings and expensive champagne, but how do you fight a man who gave you things your heart had longed for from your earliest memories? It was impossible and frustrating, not to mention nerve-wracking. He knew things about her no one knew; was he psychic or what? Had he investigated her, found out somehow about the poverty she’d been raised in, the cold institutions in between the many foster homes where they only wanted the monthly check from the county? She hadn’t been abused, just neglected, unloved and lonely. She’d buried those painful memories long ago. Now each day brought them back. Christmases where the only gifts were from charitable organizations that knew nothing about her, birthdays she kept quiet about, afraid someone at school would ask her what gifts she’d gotten. Dances and the prom weren’t something she even thought about attending. There was no money for frivolities, and even if there had been, it would have been spent on the “real children.”
These things were better left buried, she assured herself as she put the box in her office closet. It was all in the past, and she’d fought hard for her independence. No man was going to reduce her to a child, filled with longing and need for something that didn’t exist in her world and never had.
Tonight she would make it perfectly clear to him that while she appreciated his generosity and thoughtfulness, it was over. In reality it never began; they shared a few days in Vegas, some phone calls and one horrendous spanking where he reduced her to a sobbing toddler. Granted, she’d overstepped the bounds in more ways than one, but it would not be repeated. There were many lovely women attending tonight’s gathering, some of them looking for exactly what John had to offer. Their relationship, such as it was, would be over in less than 24 hours. Blinking the tears from her eyes, she blew her nose and concentrated on last-minute details.
John hadn’t been sitting on his laurels in Texas. During the time he was away, his home in New York had been undergoing major renovations. He knew exactly what he wanted and was not shy about getting it. Two bedrooms had been completely remodeled and modifications to other areas of the house were nearly completed. It cost him a small fortune, and he knew he was taking a chance, but her happiness was priceless. In his heart, he was certain Erica was the woman he’d been waiting for, and everything had to be perfect.
She had a long vacation coming up, four weeks to be exact, and frankly he didn’t care what plans she had made. He would get her to change them one way or another. His home on the lake was ready for her down to the smallest detail, and come hell or high water, he would get her out there, at least to see it. After that, if she still refused him, he would regroup. He was a patient man, to a point, but he wasn’t above using his extensive means to get what he wanted and he wanted Erica. It wasn’t purely selfish. She needed him as much as he wanted her. If he didn’t believe that, with his entire being, he never would have gone to such lengths. Now it was time to stake his claim. Tonight there would be some discussion and some decisions made. He was fairly sure he could out-stubborn his little sweetheart. If not, there were other ways.
Leaving his study, he stopped at the bar, poured a glass of scotch, and did a final walk-through. Every detail had been attended to, and he could picture her in this house -- she belonged here. Stepping out to the terrace, he looked at the over-sized swing. It faced the water and offered a spectacular view of the lake. The pool glistened in the glow of the setting sun. It would be time to close it up for the winter soon, unless they were lucky enough to catch a few more days of Indian summer. He wondered whether Erica was a good swimmer and pictured days playing in the water or lounging on the deck of the pool. It was a pretty dream. Checking his watch, he turned back to the house and drained his drink. In a few hours, he would learn whether all his plans for the future were possible, but one thing was sure: he wasn’t going to give up easily.
Erica dressed with care. She’d been a little surprised when Sam requested she wear a cocktail dress tonight instead of her usual business attire, but after some consideration, she admitted he had a point. She would stand out far more in her tailored business suit, and it was supposed to be a fun affair.
Clients typically waited weeks and in some case months before suitable matches were lined up to meet. Dressing appropriately would enhance the ambiance of the affair, taking it from a business to a social gathering.
The dress she chose was sexy and sophisticated. Black-sequined and body-hugging, it came to several inches above her knee. On a whim, she added seamed stockings and a garter belt, along with extremely high heels. The scooped neckline showed plenty of cleavage without being vulgar, and she loved the tight, fitted sleeves. Her jewelry was silver and onyx, and the earrings dangled, sparkling with her every movement.
Her hair was swept up in an intricate design, giving her even more height, which pleased her. The one image she did not want to convey tonight was that of a child. Surely when JB saw her, he would stop this inner-child nonsense and realize that she was a grown woman.
Would she date him then, if he promised to treat her as an equal and not a little girl? She wasn’t sure. He was attractive, wealthy and charming. Except for spanking her so purposefully that one time, it was an appealing prospect. Their time together since then, however, had been minimal. Who knew what his plans were for her in the future? His manners were impeccable, and she was confident if he said he was going to do something, he would follow through. A relationship with him would require serious forethought. He wasn’t the type of man to let her behavior go unchecked, obviously. There would be no more drunken lap dances, not that she made a habit of that kind of thing, but currently she could if she wanted to. That was the issue, freedom to do exactly as she pleased.
Well, she thought, checking her appearance and picking up her evening bag, maybe he would meet the perfect match tonight and this would all be a moot point. Stranger things had happened.
Sam sent a car for her. Arriving early, she set about checking last-minute details. The caterer had everything under control as did the bartender. Flowers adorned every available surface, their scent perfuming the rooms. She adjusted the lighting to a warm, golden glow and bent to light the fireplace adding a warming touch to the fall air. The veranda doors were ajar, an open invitation to guests who wanted to venture outside for a little privacy. Soft music filtered through concealed speakers, adding another layer to the relaxed atmosphere. The hardwood floors gleamed as she walked from room to room, inspecting everything, her heels clicking in a rapid tattoo. Rounding a corner, she ran into a wide, masculine chest and nearly fell.
“Erica,” John scolded, grasping her elbows as he steadied her. “Slow down, sweetheart, before you take a spill.”
“JB,” she gasped as she regained her balance. “You’re early; the party doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.”
“I know,” he replied, tipping her chin up with one finger. “I wanted to talk to you privately for a moment.”
“I’m very busy,” she stammered nervously. “Why don’t you get a drink at the bar? The others will be along shortly, I’m sure.”
“I’m not interested in ‘the others,’ as you are well aware,” he replied, his smooth voice betraying the slightest Southern drawl. “If I haven’t made myself perfectly clear, let me do so now. There’s not a woman on God’s green earth you could present to me that would entice me to change my mind. It’s you I want,” he said, moving his large hands to take her trembling ones.
“John,” she said, sighing, “it’s impossible. We want very different things out of life and I…”
“Sam, good to see you again,” John smiled over Erica’s head. “Johanna, you look lovely as always.” Releasing Erica’s hands, he slipped his arm around her waist and turned to shake Sam’s hand.
“Glad you could make it,” Sam replied as he grasped John’s hand in a firm grip.
“Everything looks perfect, Erica,” Sam said, looking around. “Anything I need to deal with before our guests arrive?”
“Not a thing, Sam,” Erica replied, trying to edge away from John as unobtrusively as possible.
“Good,” John smiled, pulling her securely against his side. “Then you won’t mind if I steal Erica away for a moment.”
“Not at all, Mike and Brandy will be here any minute. I’m sure we can handle things. You two go on and take all the time you need.”
“Thanks, Sam,” Erica snapped. Her pleading eyes moved to Johanna, the message clear.
“Sam, I was going to ask Erica to help me…” Jo began, turning to her fiancé.
“It can wait,” Sam replied, staring into her amethyst eyes.
“But, Sam…”
“I said it can wait, baby, or I can help you right now,” he offered, his hand slipping down to pat her bottom in warning.
“No,” Johanna said, defeated, “that’s alright. Sorry, Erica.”
“Don’t worry about it, Johanna. Come on, JB,” she said, slipping out of his grasp and hugging Jo. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, come find me,” she whispered in her ear before walking toward her office.
John reached out and snagged her hand, pulling her to a stop. Looking at Sam, he jerked his head up, indicating the upper floor. “May we?” he asked.
“By all means,” Sam smiled, giving his permission. “You won’t be interrupted,” he promised, looking into Jo’s eyes meaningfully.
“Thanks. Let’s go, sweetheart.”
John took Erica’s arm and led her to the back of the building through the busy kitchen, where he took two flutes of champagne from a silver tray. Looking at his hands holding the glasses, she had a split second when she thought about running out the back door.
“We talked about making poor decisions in Vegas, sweetheart,” he said gently. “That would be one,” he advised, reading her intentions.
Glaring at him over her shoulder, she stomped to the back stairway and opened the door.
Watching her sweet bottom as she climbed the stairs and smelling her perfume in the enclosed stairway, he wished he had a free finger to loosen the collar of his crisp white shirt. Entering the apartment, she moved to the living room and sat quickly on the leather sofa, keeping to the corner where at least she only had one vulnerable side. John handed her a glass and took a seat on the opposite end, giving her plenty of space.
“Okay, you got me up here,” she said stiffly, before taking a sip of her drink. “Let’s hear your spiel.”
“You say that like it’s something I’ve practiced, and possibly used many other times. I can assure you that is not the case. What I’m going to say to you, I’ve never said to another woman,” he said, pinning her with his eyes.
“Sorry,” she replied quietly, looking down into her glass pensively. “I just don’t understand what you want from me, JB. All the childish gifts clearly indicate that you’re looking for a little girl. I don’t want that kind of relationship,” she insisted.
“Don’t you?” he asked, watching her fidget.
“No! I don’t,” she yelled, getting to her feet and stamping her foot as she glared at him.
John smiled and took a sip of his champagne.
“And don’t laugh at me,” she ordered, narrowing her eyes.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her, hiding his grin in his glass. “Tell me about your childhood.”
“Why? Why do you care about my childhood?”
“I’m curious; humor me.”
“It was wonderful,” she said crossly, sitting back down on the couch. “We lived in a big, white two-story house in the country. My father was a doctor, and my mom stayed home and baked cookies. We had a dog named Spot and a cat named Fluffy. Anything else you want to know?” she demanded, crossing her legs and leaning forward.
“Only why you’re lying,” he drawled, his eyes narrowing.
“How do you know I’m lying? Oh, you had me investigated,” she said as the truth dawned on her. “Well, then you know my background isn’t up to your standards,” she said, rising. “You better go downstairs, JB, and find a suitable match before all the good little girls are taken.”
“Sit down, Erica.”
“I have work to do,” she snapped, taking a step toward the door.
John rose quickly and planted his body directly in front of her. When she moved to side-step around him, he took hold of her arm above her elbow in a firm but pain-free grip.
“I don’t make a habit of repeating myself, but as you already have one spanking coming tonight for lying, I’ll make an exception. Now sit down.”
“Why should I?” she demanded, tipping her chin up and staring into his eyes with challenge.
“Because if you don’t, instead of spanking you later after you’ve completed your duties, I will put you over my knee right this second and make you howl with remorse. I expect that will make it a pretty uncomfortable evening for you, as well as embarrassing because I don’t intend to stop until you’re crying your eyes out. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” she growled, yanking her arm away and dropping to the couch.
“Good, now tell me about your childhood, and I’d prefer the truth this time.”
“Why don’t you tell me,” she sassed. “After all, you paid the investigators. Let’s see if they earned their money,” she continued, studying her nails and refusing to look at him.
“Alright, you were removed from your home around the age of three. There was a younger sibling, a little girl not quite a year of age. You were separated from your sister and placed in a temporary home established by social services. After several months, you were moved to a foster family, but it didn’t work out. Over the next twelve years, you transitioned many times between foster homes and what they refer to as ‘orphanages’ and I call ‘holding tanks.’ You never bonded with any family. How could you when your stays ranged from a few weeks to several months. At sixteen, you ended up back in a holding tank where a social worker helped you apply for emancipation. After that, you were on your own and seemed to function better. You graduated from high school before your class and entered college at seventeen. Through financial aid and student loans you were able to complete your education. Dorm life agreed with you, and although you made few friends, your grades were excellent and you received your BS in business management when you were twenty-two.
“After college, you went to work for a Manhattan firm where you stayed until Sam offered you a job. We won’t go into your parents; I see no reason to cause you anymore pain. Have I missed anything?”
“No, you’ve been very thorough,” she replied, her blue eyes slightly glazed, her body stiff.
“Sweetheart, come here,” he said softly, holding out his arms.
Erica looked at him but stayed where she was, silent and frozen.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded, her voice cold as ice.
“I want you to let me help you,” he replied gently. “I want to hold you and comfort you. You’re trapped, honey. Trapped in a world where no one gets in and you can’t get out. Whatever emotions you have, or allow yourself to have, are based on the experiences of your childhood. Oh, you play the game, laugh and flirt and occasionally have a physical relationship with a man, but it doesn’t involve your heart.”
“So what!” she snapped. “I’m a survivor, I don’t need anyone.”
“Everyone needs love, baby. You’re a beautiful package, on the outside. Inside, it’s not so pretty is it?”
“Wh
at’s that supposed to mean? I never asked you to love me, JB, not you or anyone else. I play the hand life dealt me and so far I’m doing just fine. So what if I don’t form deep, lasting relationships? It’s not a sin to be independent.”
“No it’s not, but when was the last time you had a meaningful friendship? Have you ever been in love? Do you have any close friends?”
“Of course I do,” she insisted.
“Who?”
“I have lots of friends; Johanna, Brandy, Sam, even Mike are friends.”
“No, they’re people you work with, and of course they are friends in a sense, but who do you call when you’re upset? If you’re ill, who comes to take care of you? Where do you go on vacation and who goes with you? Who are these friends, Erica?”
“I’m never sick and where I go on vacation is my own business,” she said, refusing to make eye contact with him.
“I’ve decided to make it mine, Erica,” he said.
“Why? Again, what do you want from me? You already know I don’t have serious relationships, so what’s in it for you? You’re attractive, I’ll give you that,” she continued. “And while I might be tempted to fuck you, I’ll never fall in love with you, so if that’s the plan, you’re wasting your time.”
“It’s my time to waste,” he shot back, “and this isn’t about sex. As a matter of fact, I don’t think I will ‘fuck you’ as you so nicely put it. At least not until I have a woman in my arms and not a bitter child in a lovely body.”
“That’s ridiculous. What makes you think I’m bitter? Is that something your investigators came up with?” she asked snidely as she rose from the sofa and began to pace.
The Last Match Page 5
