by Wegner, Ola
She pushed away from him gently. “I like it but perhaps it’s too simple for the occasion? What do you think?”
Jake stared down at her uncomprehendingly for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s a very nice dress.”
Amy let out an exasperated sound. “You’ve been to such parties many times so you must have noticed how women dress.”
He shrugged. “Not really.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You had to see the wives of your business partners.” she insisted.
“Most of men I do business with have children in college.” He tried to kiss her, but she averted her face and his lips ended up touching her cheek. “Their wives don’t look like you at all.”
“Don’t.” She squirmed out of his embrace when he attempted another kiss. “You’ll ruin my make-up. It took me twenty minutes to apply it properly.”
Jake hung his head down, making a puppy face.
“Oh, don’t do that,” Amy snorted impatiently at him. “And go dress yourself,” she added, looking pointedly at his jeans and old t-shirt he still wore. She pushed him towards the bathroom. “We really can’t be late.”
* * * *
“They’re just talking.” Matt Harding stood next to Jake.
“What?” Jake turned his head to look at the older man.
Harding was one of the wealthiest, if not the wealthiest man in town and Jake had done a few good deals with him in the last two years. The man wasn’t afraid to do business with a young entrepreneur. And he’d certainly made a good profit out of it.
Harding laughed and handed the younger man a glass with scotch. Jake took it, and gulped down a healthy portion, temporarily forgetting that he was the one driving this evening.
“I said that they’re just talking,” Harding repeated. “Relax.”
Jake’s eyes returned to Amy as if he hadn’t heard Harding’s words.
For the last twenty minutes, Amy had been talking with the younger brother of the lady of the house. He was a severely pimpled geek, currently working on his doctorate. He wrote a paper about some early nineteenth century English woman writer. It was the historical show based on her book that Amy watched so often. Now her expressive face was turned up to the skinny blond dude. Her eyes shone with interest as she hung on his every word.
“That was smart of you to fish her out when her father is financially pressed,” Harding noted casually, receiving an immediate angry stare from Jake. “Come on. You cannot deny it,” he added calmly.
“That’s no one’s business,” Jake murmured, perfectly aware that the older man was entirely correct.
Harding raised his glass. “No offense. I would have done exactly the same thing in your shoes,” he said, his pale blue eye rested on Amy. “She’s a sweetie, and such a hot little body. She must be a firecracker in bed. You’re one lucky bastard.”
Jake went red in the face, his jaw clenched, as he faced the older man ready to strangle him with his bare hands.
Harding only laughed. “Shit, you’re in deep with her, aren’t you?” He shook his bald head, and smiled broadly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t mean anything wrong. Wish you and your lovely wife all the best,” he said sincerely, patted the younger man’s back and walked away to the other end of the room.
It took Jake a moment to calm down after Harding walked away. Amy still kept listening to that smart ass. Her big pretty eyes focused on his face, following his every word.
He always feared that she would get interested in some academic type, one that could talk with her about books and poetry. Jake didn’t read. To be precise he did read, but his interests in literature were strictly limited to financial reports, the New York Times, and sports magazines. He didn’t feel the need to read anything more. He knew that his wife loved books, and devoured them daily. Almost every week there was a parcel with the new books she’d ordered. He respected her love for the written word, but personally thought it to be a waste of time to read stories about some fictional people. In his rare free time he much preferred to simply slumber on the couch in front of the TV, lately with Amy perched on his chest, of course, with a book in her hand.
She never questioned his total lack of interest in literature. She never tried to encourage him to read anything. He thought that perhaps she didn’t mind that he wasn’t the bookish type. But he wasn’t that sure of it now, when he could see her looking in admiration at this skinny dude, telling her some long tales about his so called studies. She looked very impressed now. She never seemed to be impressed with his achievements, like with the fact that he’d made his first million before he was thirty years old, barely out of nothing.
He gulped down the rest of his scotch, took another glass of it from the waiter who passed by, and marched decidedly to his wife and the bookish man obviously trying to impress her.
He wrapped his arm around Amy’s waist and drew her to him. She didn’t protest, but neither did she acknowledge his presence.
The man glanced at him uncertainly a few times, but kept talking and Amy still seemed to hang on his every single word.
“So you think that it’s possible Cassandra actually didn’t destroy her early love letters?” she asked breathlessly.
The man pushed his chicken chest up, with an expression of a tenured professor and not some surely underpaid postgraduate student and pursed his lips. “I’m positive of that. I want to prove that these letters were hidden somewhere by the family and the rumor was spread that she’d asked Cassandra to burn them. It’s obvious that they wanted to protect her reputation, and the fact that she was a much more liberated woman than society would have accepted in Regency England. I hope to find the final proof during my trip to England next month.”
“That’s so exciting,” Amy cried, her eyes shining, her entire face beaming. “If you managed to find those letters that would be really something, a breakthrough. You know that I actually visited her house last summer.”
“Really?” the dude inclined his head with interest.
She nodded. “Yes, but I was there just for one day.”
Jake decided it was high time to recapture his wife’s attention. “Amy, Mrs. Harding mentioned to me she wanted to talk with you about your possible participation in the committee she runs,” he reminded her gently of her obligations to him.
Amy replied, “Yes, of course. I’ll go talk with her right away.” She turned to the scholarly man once again. “I would enjoy hearing more from you about your research.”
The dude bowed his head like some fucking hero from a period movie. “I’ll be happy to inform you about my next discoveries.” He sounded nonchalant. “Just give me your email and the phone number.”
“Sure.” Amy opened her tiny purse, clearly looking for something with which to write, but couldn’t find anything.
“Amy, dear,” Jake leaned to her, “I’ll take care of that.” He smiled at her warmly. “I see that Mrs. Harding is looking in our direction.”
Amy smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you. You’re sweet.” She turned to the dude one last time. “Thank you and I hope to hear from you soon,” she said eagerly then hastily walked away.
Jake could see how the other man’s eyes rested on her ass when she made her way through the crowded place.
“Your wife is very intelligent and possesses an inquisitive mind,” the dude murmured, his eyes still glued to his wife’s behind.
“I know.” Jake grabbed the man’s shoulder and maneuvered them together into a quiet corner.
“Look, I’m going to say it only once,” he started calmly, when he was sure that no one heard them. “Leave my wife alone. I don’t want you calling emailing, talking to her or contacting her in any way. Is that clear?”
Dude laughed. “You must be kidding. She’s not your possession.”
Jake sipped some of his scotch and raised his brow. “I’m serious.”
The younger man appraised him for a moment. “Your wife and I have a lot in common. We share an intellectual
bond, something that you obviously cannot understand. And for your information, money may not be enough to keep a woman like Amy around for long. She needs something more.”
Jake finished his drink and smiled. “I think we should talk outside about this,” he proposed calmly.
Instantly the man’s satisfied expression disappeared from his pimpled countenance. After a moment’s hesitation, he mumbled, “No, that’s not necessary.”
“Are you sure?” Jake asked pleasantly.
Dude swallowed. “Perfectly sure.”
“Good.” Jake put the empty glass on the smooth surface of the small table beside him. “And don’t even try to bond in any way with my wife in the future,” he added, before walking away without a second glance in his direction.
Soon he found Amy, engrossed in conversation with Ben Harding’s wife.
“Jake!” Beth Harding exclaimed when he saw him approaching. “Your wife is simply charming. Why have you kept her hidden from us for such a long time?”
He smiled as he wrapped his arms leisurely around Amy’s petite frame. “I just wanted to have her all to myself for a couple of weeks.”
“Oh, you sly thing,” Beth laughed at him coquettishly. “But now you will not take her away from us. She agreed to help me in my charity work.”
Amy looked up at him and they exchanged amused glances.
“Well, I’m afraid I have to run now. I must check on dinner.” Beth touched Amy’s hand. “I’ll phone you Monday so we can make the arrangements.”
Amy smiled her sweetest smile at the woman. “Of course, Mrs. Harding.”
“Beth, please,” the other woman chided her gently.
“Beth,” Amy relented.
They watched as the hostess walked hastily away.
Jake smiled down at Amy. “And you were so afraid of this evening,” he whispered, drawing her closer to him. He wanted to pull her even closer but he had to remember that they were in a room full of people. “You charmed everyone.”
Some even more than he would like to see, he added quietly in his thoughts.
Amy frowned, rose up onto her toes, sniffed him, and frowned. “You were drinking,” she whispered in accusation.
“Just one glass of scotch,” he said,
Her frown deepened. He knew she was displeased. She didn’t like him to drink. If she smelled liquor on his breath, she wouldn’t allow him to kiss her, even if he’d imbibed only one beer.
He felt her stiffen. “You’re driving,” she pointed out.
“You’ll drive the way back.”
She sighed. “Just don’t drink more.”
“I won’t, I won’t,” he assured her quickly.
Soon dinner was announced, and Jake escorted Amy to the table. His chest swelled with pride as he listened to her interacting with other guests. She was kind and charming, and had a ready intelligent reply to any question addressed to her. It would have been a perfect dinner, if not for the fact that the skinny dude had been seated on the other side of Amy. Jake supposed that Beth Harding had thought that Amy, as a librarian, was the only person among the guests who shared her brother’s interests, so she sat them together.
During the dinner, Jake made sure that he engaged Amy’s attention, and not her neighbor. Conveniently, he sat beside her so, while eating and talking with others, he could touch her discreetly under the table.
More than once she tried to slap his hand from wandering up her leg. He observed how flustered she became until the second course came. No wonder, he smirked. To his delight, he discovered she wore some fancy stockings for the occasion, and not the pantyhose he hated that she preferred for everyday. Perhaps it was the scotch he’d had earlier on an empty stomach, or the presence of Beth’s brother, on her other side, but suddenly he felt both lightheaded and possessive. His hand crept further under the hem of her dress, stroking the soft, warm, flesh above the edge of the stocking. He even tried inserting his fingers between her thighs, but she clasped them together tightly, making it impossible.
Her small delicate fingers, wrapped surprisingly strongly around his wrist, pushing his hand decidedly away from under her skirt. Next moment he felt the stiletto of her shoe dig purposely into his foot. He bit his lip to stop himself from protesting aloud, and reluctantly, but resignedly removed his hand from her thigh.
The dinner ended. Jake went with the other men to the library, leaving Amy in the company of Beth Harding and the other wives of his business associates. Despite the fact that he’d promised Amy not too drink more, he had another glass of scotch, accompanied with a cigar. He could hardly refuse when other men drank and smoked. He was pretty sure that the others would have immediately guessed why he refused to drink. He didn’t want to hear the comments that his wife had already wrapped him around her little finger. It didn’t matter that it was the truth.
He was more than happy when the evening came to end. He didn’t feel his best for sure by the time Amy bid goodnight to their hosts, and walked him to the car.
She was silent on their way home, while he slumbered against the window frame. The first words she spoke to him were when she pulled his car into the parking lot under her building.
“Are you able to get upstairs by yourself or should I ask the porter to drag you there?” she asked coldly.
That remark sobered him. “I’m not drunk.”
“Right,” she snorted.
She got out of the car and shut the door on her side. He followed her to the elevator, his moves slightly less energetic than hers.
She was silent the entire way to her condo. When they got off on the top floor, she marched to her condo not waiting for him. She opened the door and walked in.
He walked in after her, feeling his head pounding more and more with every passing second. He removed his coat, leaving it dismissively on the chair in the hallway. On his way to the kitchen to drink some water, he removed the rest of his attire, his tie, evening jacket, and lastly his slacks. He thought that the water might help him to feel more human but it didn’t work a miracle. He decided that a good night’s sleep was the best possible cure for his condition, with his lovely wife in his arms, of course. It was good that tomorrow was Saturday and he could sleep in.
He was surprised when he turned the doorknob, and the door didn’t open. Amy had locked the door.
“Amy?” He tapped gently at the door. “Amy, are you all right in there?” He knocked on the door this time. “Sweetheart, let me in,” he murmured, his forehead supported against the smooth surface.
Unexpectedly the door opened, making him temporarily lose his balance.
Amy was standing in front of him already dressed in her cute pink pajamas he liked so much. She didn’t look pleased.
“I don’t sleep with drunks,” she snapped, throwing some stuff into his arms.
The next moment the door snapped closed in front of him, leaving him alone in the semi-dark hall, just with a small pillow and a blanket.
He stood like that for a few moments, hoping for her to change her mind. But when he saw beneath the door when she turned off the bedroom light, he sighed and walked slowly back to the living room.
The couch was too small for him, his feet always sticking out the other end. But, other than sleeping on the floor, this was his only option. With a resigned sigh, he curled up on one couch, first removing Amy’s prized Paris pillow. He wrapped the blanket around himself and snuggled into the pillow she’d thrown at him, inhaling her faint scent on it.
Chapter Sixteen
Amy was just opening the fridge to take out the potato salad, when she felt Jake’s arms wrapping around her from behind. He walked up to her so quietly that she didn’t even notice. Tilting her head to the side, to allow him access to her neck, she closed the fridge and put the bowl with salad on the counter. It was nearly seven o’clock and he’d returned home some fifteen minutes ago.
“I thought you were tired,” she said, doing her best to ignore his hand going under her top, while she tr
ied to remove the cover from the bowl.
“Tired but not that much...” he murmured. One of his hands pressing her to him, lifting her up his body, the other one reached for her breast. “I feel invigorated after the shower.”
Amy sighed, removed the lid over the bowl with the potato salad, and pushed it aside. Obviously, he wasn’t as hungry as she thought he was before. At least as far as food was concerned, she noted dryly. Good God, the man had stamina.
She turned into his arms, and took his face into her palms to kiss him. He lifted her t-shirt up to her collarbone, cupped her breasts, and kneaded them gently, his thumbs grazing her nipples.
She’d forgiven him a long time ago for getting drunk, almost ruining their first serious social occasion. To tell the truth she’d forgiven him the very next morning when she’d seen him sleeping awkwardly on the too small couch, his limbs twisted in a strange way to accommodate his size. Naturally, she’d pretended to be offended for a day or so, and kept her distance from him, before she’d allowed him to apologize to her, and granted him her forgiveness, after the right amount of groveling on his part. It was hard to stay angry with him though. He seemed to be so miserable when she refused to talk to him and let him touch her. She couldn’t bear him like that for long, her heart tugging in her chest at his hurt puppy like eyes following her everywhere.
As she gazed down at his mouth closing around the tip of her breast, she could only appreciate how good it felt when he sucked on her like that. All the tension after a long day swept away from her. When she thought about the number of times they’d had sex in the last several days, it seemed to her almost physically impossible. She read somewhere that men over thirty were past their sexual peak, but her Jake was certainly an exception to that rule.
She closed her eyes and started counting. They did it this morning just after waking up. She had barely woken, lying on her tummy, when he was already inside her, pushing her down into the mattress. He kissed the back of her neck, grunted over her, and put her old bed into a rocking motion. There was also one time in the middle of the night, and another before going to bed on the couch when they were supposed to watch a movie on DVD. They’d made love three times in the last twenty four hours, and clearly he was ready for the fourth time.
