My Son's Girlfriend

by Cassandra Dee

  “You mean, touching you,” he rumbles deep in his chest.

  “Yes,” I say, cheeks flushing red. “We were in public, and I’m your son’s girlfriend. We can’t be doing that under any circumstances.”

  I’m so embarrassed to say these words and I blush a bright red. But Jordan doesn’t seem bothered. He nods thoughtfully, looking across the terrace.

  “Believe you me, sweetheart, that definitely occurred to me. That I was touching someone who actually belongs to my son.”

  “Well I wouldn’t say belongs,” I interrupt quickly. “I mean, Jimmy and I have never exactly … well, you know, done it.”

  That makes the alpha male’s head jerk around quickly, those blue eyes sharp.

  “What do you mean, you’ve never done it?”

  I blush again because this is so uncomfortable and embarrassing, but somehow, I need to tell Jordan about the truth between me and his son.

  “Well, Jimmy just seems so shy sometimes,” I say softly. “He’s a star athlete, but people are often different in their private and public lives. So yes, Jimmy and I have never really … well you know, made love,” I say, my voice almost inaudible now. “We’ve kissed for sure, but that’s about all there is.”

  Jordan looks absolutely thunderstruck.

  “So you’ve never been touched by a man,” he growls. “Never.” Those blue eyes shine bright, like he’s been given a gift he never anticipated.

  “Never,” I confirm softly. “It just didn’t feel right, you know? There are boys at school but they’ve never been into me. In fact, Jimmy’s kind of the first one who even asked me out.”

  My man shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

  “You’ve never been asked out?” he echoes with disbelief.

  “No, not that,” I say quickly. “I’ve been asked out before, but it was always by guys who only wanted one thing. You know, the kind who say “come to my dorm room after the party and we can hang out,” or “there’s a closet I know in the back of the Biology building.” It’s so ridiculous. It was clear that they didn’t want to date, they just wanted to hook-up. But Jimmy was different. He was the first guy who actually asked me out on a date without any hint that he wanted to hook up.”

  “But you haven’t hooked up,” growls Jordan again.

  I shrug uncomfortably.

  “We haven’t,” I confirm in a small voice. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe there’s something about me that’s just unlovable or unsexy. I don’t know,” I say, shrugging my shoulders helplessly. “I thought I was going crazy until Jimmy came along and asked me out. That’s why I’m so appreciative of your son.”

  Jordan’s big hand caresses my scalp, tunneling through my curly locks. Like a cat, I nuzzle into his palm, loving the warmth.

  “But see,” he says in a low voice. “This is what we’re not supposed to be doing.”

  “I know,” I reply in a small voice. “But the thing is that it feels so good, and I’m just not sure.”

  He’s silent for a moment, still stroking my scalp.

  “It’s confusing, isn’t it? You’re in love with my son except it doesn’t sound like love. It sounds more like you’re best friends, or not even that if you don’t talk very often. Maybe you’re just friends.”

  My shoulders slump.

  “I know,” I say quietly. “I’ve been thinking that myself lately. Maybe Jimmy and I … well, I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel like we’re a couple at all. He’s too into other things, whether it’s lacrosse, hanging out with friends, or getting drunk. He’s not into me, at least not sexually,” I say sadly, looking at the floor.

  Jordan makes a noise in his throat and one big hand grasps my chin, tilting my face up to look into those blue eyes.

  “You’re absolutely sexy and desirable,” he growls. “Don’t let any of those boys, including my son, tell you otherwise. Hear?”

  Heat floods my body and I nod slightly, never taking my eyes from his.

  “Thank you,” I say softly. “I believe you Jordan.”

  And with that, the big man sighs before turning away slightly.

  “Tell me Katie,” he rumbles, looking back at me. “What drew you to Hudson in the first place? And don’t tell me it was the beauty and grandeur of the Marks Building,” he says with a rueful smile.

  I laugh then, the melody tinkling a bit in the breeze.

  “No, it wasn’t the architecture, although I was impressed when I set foot on campus. Where I’m from, you don’t really see Gothic Revival or Palladian architecture. It’s more clapboard and shingles where I’m from,” I say wryly.

  He cocks his head, looking at me oddly.

  “Where are you from sweetheart? I’d love to know. I’m around New Yorkers so much, and you know how we are as a group. We think the world begins and ends with this island. The outer boroughs don’t even count.”

  I giggle at that one.

  “I know, and Manhattan’s only something like three miles wide and fourteen miles long. It’s crazy right? Brooklyn’s right over the water, but I hardly ever go.”

  Mr. Marks smiles ruefully again.

  “I know. I don’t think I’ve been to Brooklyn in about fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen years?” I gasp. “But it’s right across the river.”

  Mr. Marks nods. “Yep, I’d say about fifteen years is right. It’s not that it’s geographically far. After all, I could just board my private helicopter and land somewhere in a different borough. It’s that I ask whoever’s in Brooklyn to come meet me, so there’s no need to travel.”

  I laugh then.

  “Well, I’m not so lucky,” are my words. “I can’t just snap my fingers and say, “Come find me here.” A lot of people actually expect me to go to them, so I’ve been to Williamsburg a couple times. Besides, it’s a really great scene. Lots of different people with wacky hair and wild clothes.”

  “It’s the new downtown, hmm?” Mr. Marks muses.

  I nod.

  “Absolutely. I guess Manhattan is just so high priced now that all the artists have moved. It makes sense,” I say. “I don’t know that much about real estate, but I think the per foot price in Brooklyn can be half of what it is in Manhattan.”

  “Less than that,” snorts Jordan. “Half would be a neighborhood near Prospect Park, like Windsor Terrace or Kensington. The further out you go on the train, the cheaper it is. I’ve thought about doing some development there, so who knows? Maybe I’ll head over to scout for some properties.”

  “But I thought you said you never go to Brooklyn,” I tease. “Or is it going to be different this time?”

  Jordan lets out a laugh, eyes twinkling.

  “You’re right,” he concedes. “I usually send my lackeys to do all the prep work, and that includes the preliminary footwork. But hey, you never know,” he grins. “If there’s money to be made, then I’m there. In the end, they’ll need my signature anyways.”

  I nod, but everything about this conversation has just reminded me about the chasm between me and this alpha male. After all, he’s a billionaire property developer, whereas I’m a penniless student at Hudson. He’s got droves of people working for him, whereas I’m lucky if I can get the barista to take my order at the campus café. He has a lifetime of experience under his belt, whereas I’m naïve, unknowing, and most likely just too young.

  But Mr. Marks doesn’t seem to mind. He shoots me another dazzling smile, the sunlight glinting off that coal black hair.

  “So Katie, you never did tell me where you’re from,” he rumbles. “We’ve established that it’s not Brooklyn. But maybe New Jersey? Queens?”

  I laugh then.

  “Hardly. I’m from Iowa. Have you ever heard of Grinnell?”

  “The school?” he asks, brows lowering.

  “Yes, the school. But also the town that Grinnell’s in is called Grinnell. I’m from there,” I say. “My parents are professors at the college.”

 
“Nice,” says Jordan approvingly. “What do they teach?”

  “Well,” I say, drawing a deep breath. “Both teach studio art. They’re in the same department, but the thing is that they split a job. They’re both faculty, but they share one position.”

  Jordan quirks his head then.

  “What do you mean, split a position?” he asks. “You mean the way there are co-CEO’s?”

  Again, this man’s experience is on a different level than mine, so I nod slightly.

  “Sort-of. I don’t know much about CEO positions, but I’d imagine that if there are co-CEOs, there might be two jobs at the corporation. By contrast, my parents don’t have two jobs. They share one. They’re both the Distinguished Professor of Studio Art. It’s kind of like when you have working moms, and two moms might split one job? That’s what my parents do.”

  I can tell Jordan’s a little puzzled.

  “But why did they do this?” he asks. “Did it start when you were a baby, and they wanted to be home more to help take care of you?”

  I shake my head.

  “No, it started about seven years ago. My mom was the professor with tenure, but then she decided she wanted to go part-time. The thing is that there aren’t really part-time professor positions. It’s all in or nothing. So she proposed that my dad, who was a lecturer at the time, fill in for her twenty hours a week. The Dean said okay, and that’s that. But the thing is that now we only have one income,” I murmur. “That’s why they couldn’t come out for Parents Weekend. The cost of two plane tickets and a hotel on one professor’s salary isn’t enough.”

  I can tell that Jordan understands. He knows that cost of living in NYC is high, and even if he’s not suffering for it himself, the billionaire is aware that one tiny studio apartment here is the same price as a six bedroom mansion where I’m from.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “My parents didn’t come to Parents Weekend when I was in college because one, we didn’t have anything like Parents Weekend back then, and two, because they didn’t think I needed a college education. They figured I was throwing money down the drain by getting a four year degree.”

  My brow scrunches.

  “Really? My parents think that a four year degree is non-negotiable. If I didn’t get one, I think they would commit suicide.”

  Jordan throws his head back and laughs then, showing off perfect white teeth.

  “But that’s because you’re the child of academics. My parents are a lot more blue collar. My dad worked a factory job for forty years, and came out of it okay. No serious injuries, with his body and mind still intact. So he wanted to get me in with the union too, since it’d worked so well for him.”

  I cock my head.

  “Yes, but union jobs are disappearing. I thought there was a huge push against labor, and all the most famous unions are slowly seeing their authority wane.”

  Jordan nods his head seriously.

  “Exactly. You’re a smart one, little girl. But back when I was in high school, my dad didn’t believe that. Labor was all powerful then, and he figured that he’d had a good life working with his hands, and I would too. Of course, he thinks differently now, but it’s taken decades to open his eyes.”

  I smile softly at him.

  “But you did it. You paved your own way and went to college over the objections of your parents.”

  He nods, his expression pensive.

  “I did, and it wasn’t easy. That’s why I know what you feel like Katie. You feel like you don’t belong at Hudson, with all these prep-school kids who wear designer clotehs. You feel like you’re an imposter because all their parents are high tech moguls and investment bankers, while your parents share one job. But trust me, honey, I get it. Once upon a time, I was that imposter too. I felt like everyone around me had tons of familial support, and I was the only one working my way through college.”

  “So you had a job?” I ask softly. My heart pounds. Wow, I never expected this from Jordan Marks. After all, he’s a powerful CEO in a city full of billionaires. He rules Manhattan, and people jump when he says ‘jump.’ And yet at the same time, there’s more to the billionaire than that. He’s struggled. He’s put himself out there, and struck out on his own, even when the chances of success seemed low. He’s had to fight to get where he is, and my heart swells because I respect him immensely for it.

  Meanwhile, Jordan’s still speaking to his experience.

  “I did work through college,” he drawls. “All four years. I’ve flipped burgers, pumped gas, and even driven a taxi. Nothing was below me. I had to put food on the table, not to mention buy books and pay tuition, so yeah. I’ve had my share of greasy burgers.”

  That makes me laugh.

  “Really?” I ask, so delighted that the air almost whoofs from my lungs.

  “Really,” he says drolly. “You know that place over on Sixth called Busty Babe Burgers? I used to work there.”

  I almost collapse with laughter then.

  “But I thought they only hired busty babes at Busty Babe.”

  He nods.

  “Exactly. But guess who was in back wearing an apron while flipping patties? Yours truly, that’s who.”

  I almost dissolve into giggles then because Busty Babe is a dank and dark dive. It’s underground and smells like cheap beer even at 11 a.m. The only thing they have going for them are the busty babes they hire as waitresses, prancing from table to table in little more than a tight top and booty shorts.

  “Come to think of it,” says Jordan with a quirk of his eyebrow. “You’d look good in a Busty Babe get-up.”

  “Noooo!” I squeal, almost howling with laughter. “Those clothes only come in a size XS, and unfortunately I’m an XL.”

  Jordan crinkles his brow as if thinking.

  “No, it can’t be,” he muses playfully, rubbing his jaw like a learned scholar. “The girls are busty babes so they can’t possibly fit into extra smalls, could they? I mean, how do they squeeze into those tiny t-shirts?”

  I shake my head with mock disapproval.

  “It’s because they want the t-shirts to stretch where they’re supposed to stretch. The girls are like Barbie dolls. They have tiny frames with huge knockers, so when they put on the t-shirts, the material’s really, really tight where it’s supposed to be.”

  I thought that explained it, but Mr. Marks won’t accept that as an answer.

  “No sweetheart,” he says with a lift to his eyebrow. “I think you’d look a million times better in a busty babe get-up than one of the so-called busty babes. I mean seriously, Barbie? It’s not my style at all and hasn’t been any guy’s style for about forty years.”

  I giggle, going red all over. Oh wow, this man really likes my shape with the compliments he’s paying me, and the way that blue gaze is traveling appreciatively over my curves. So I shoot him a playful smile too.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” is my low murmur. “Holding up very well.”

  Jordan grins, flashing those white teeth.

  “Yeah? Which part?”

  Which part? I grow red, unused to flirting. But at the same time, this man is so magnetic and delicious that I don’t want to stop.

  “I think it’s your hair,” I begin slowly, pretending to think hard as I look over that broad, tall frame. “I like black hair.”

  “Oh, so it’s my hair that’s drawing you in?” he asks with a smile.

  “Yeah, your hair,” I say coyly. “I like how it’s sprinkled with gray around the temples.”

  “I’ll get my barber to make sure it stays that way then,” he says with a dry smile. “What else?”

  Oh my god, is this guy fishing for compliments? It seems so unlike Mr. Marks. After all, this isn’t a man who needs compliments on anything. He has the best of the best, and already knows it. What I know, or what I think, doesn’t matter.

  But at the same time, I know Jordan’s different around me than he is around other people. The alpha male is more careful, choosing his words so
that they don’t accidentally hurt me. Yes, he’s commanding and dominating, but he respects my intellect too. Mr. Marks knows that I like to read, and I’ve already shown that I’m somewhat conversant when it comes to politics, economics, and even real estate, his forte.

  So I know this man likes me. He likes me a lot in fact, judging the way he teases me and looks my curves over. He wants me to like him too, and the truth is that I really do. A lot.

  So I smile sunnily at him, tossing my head back.

  “What do think we should do next?” I ask in a coy tone while batting my lashes. “Since it’s clear that Jimmy’s not going to miss us, what’s next on the itinerary?”

  The gleam in Mr. Marks’s eyes deepens, and that big body advances, making me go hot.

  “Well, did you have something specific in mind?” he rumbles, one black brow arched. I almost throw myself into his arms then. I want him to make me into a woman, and to complete what his son couldn’t finish. But I can’t be that obvious so instead, I back away slowly while shooting him a naughty smile.

  “I know what I want,” is my throaty purr. “But do you?”

  In an instant, the billionaire’s on me, his lips seizing mine in a ravenous kiss as our bodies burst into flame. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is an affront to his son, and the relationship I have with Jimmy. And yet … nothing’s going to stop us now.

  Chapter 6

  KATIE

  “If you want me to stop, just say the word,” he growls in a low whisper. “But sweetheart, you feel so good,” Jordan adds in an agonized whisper. He’s bearing down on me, staring at my lips, and looking into my eyes. That male gaze is full of desire, and I can’t resist him. In fact, I don’t want to resist him.

  “Yes,” I whisper against his lips. “Make me yours.” The words are barely past my lips before Jordan pulls me up tight against him, his lips crushing mine as his tongue explores my mouth in hungry passion. I moan as arousal erupts and spreads through my body like wildfire, our tongues twisting around each other, his lips caressing mine. The hand behind my head is now a fist in my curls, and he lowers me down to the ground with the help of his arm around my waist. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m not even embarrassed by my horny moans, so desperate for his body.