SevenSensuousDays Page 4
“Maybe he had business to attend to.”
Maybe he’d come to his senses after checking her out and regretted what he’d done.
“He didn’t flirt,” Tessa explained, “or pull me on his lap, kiss me senseless, or anything else the other couples were doing.” She frowned, then shrugged. “Thankfully, he didn’t leer.”
He’d eased her hair off her shoulder. He’d touched her cheek and stroked the back of her hand even though she was nude, exposed, his. Those innocent and brief intimacies had been wonderful, but didn’t predict what would happen during their week. What would he do when they were together and alone? What might he fail to do? Reflecting on that, Tessa said, “At the auction, he didn’t even talk much, practically not at all before he left.”
Felicity arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow, but didn’t bother to lift her lids. “Has Ronnie called to say he’s cancelled the appointment?”
“Not yet.”
“Then he’s not planning to. Certainly not at this late date. Relax. You’ll have a great time.”
Physically, yeah, there would be orgasms. Of that, Tessa had little doubt given her attraction to him as a young, healthy, and decidedly attractive male. However, even if she had wanted to, they couldn’t screw twenty-four hours a day for a full week. He was sexy as all hell but not Superman. “What if he doesn’t want to talk? At all?”
Felicity lifted her shoulders. “Why would you want him to?”
“We can’t fill each and every minute with sex.”
“You’ll be sleeping some of the time.”
“Come on, be serious.”
“Sorry.” She suppressed her smile. “Mention some stuff about sports, cars, technology. That’ll get him going. All men like to drone on endlessly about that stuff.”
“I’m aware of that. But it’s not what I meant. What if he doesn’t want to talk about important things, like what makes him tick, how he feels, his hopes, his dreams, his worries?”
Felicity rolled her head to the side and looked at Tessa, her sleepiness gone for the moment. “You’re not expecting him to discuss what he’s been through, are—”
“No. Of course not. I don’t want to dredge up anything bad. But I would like to get to know him even if it’s just a little bit. The real him, not the mask he puts on for the world.”
“Why?”
Tessa stated the obvious, at least to her. “He seems like such a nice man, the kind I’d like to get to know. And it’ll make our time together that much better, including the sex…maybe especially the sex.”
Even if Logan was the best lover in the world, he couldn’t send either of them over the moon time after time if there wasn’t some kind of connection between them, the beginning of friendship, a spark of interest that went beyond fucking. It would be like indulging in hot fudge sundaes to the exclusion of everything else. Sure, they tasted great at first, but eventually you’d tire of that and would want something substantial.
Substantial was all Tessa had to offer given that she wasn’t movie star gorgeous.
Doubt and a bit of concern crossed Felicity’s lovely face. “Actually, that kind of intimacy makes it more complicated, possibly painful in the long run. You really don’t want that, sweetie. Just accept it for what it is and have a good time. Exactly as guys have always done and probably always will do.”
“Some guys,” Tessa countered. “Not all. Maybe he wants to get close. Maybe he doesn’t know how. Most men don’t.”
“Because they’re only looking to have a good time.”
“I don’t believe that. And I’m really hoping it won’t be that way with Logan. My god, seven days together without actually talking, just surface stuff and constant sex?”
Felicity chuckled. “Sounds like a male wet dream to me.”
It sounded lonely to Tessa. Worse, it underscored her role. That she was no more than an escort to him, a stranger without a mind, heart, soul, or feelings. No different from the treatment she’d received from the popular kids in school.
She recalled those few agency appointments when her clients had wanted a warm body, not a real woman. Those evenings were as endless as her blind dates where absolutely nothing had clicked between Tessa and the guy. During those encounters, she hadn’t been able to get away quickly enough. Throw sex into that kind of mix, nothing but mindless, heartless fucking, and it wouldn’t be pretty or something she could look forward to. “I can’t operate like that.”
“Sure you can. Fantasize. Everyone else does it all the time. Remember what I said at the auction? That you’ve been kidnapped and brought to the sultan’s harem? Go with that.”
“Ladies.” The attendant returned with Tessa’s wine and a fresh bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries. “Enjoy.”
“Exactly,” Felicity said to Tessa. Biting into one of the treats, she sent bits of the chocolate glaze flying, then moaned softly at the taste.
Tessa sipped her wine, troubling over what to do during the times she and Logan weren’t crawling all over each other, or if the sex started to get old. Always a possibility when one was only going through the motions, looking for the next orgasm high. She could use her imagination, as Felicity suggested, concocting any number of lusty scenarios. But she and Logan would have to eventually face each other upon awakening or during a meal.
How long could they talk about the quality of the food or the weather or sports? If she didn’t get bored to death, he would. Then what? Push the plates off the table and go at it again, filling the endless hours? Just like an old married couple trying to put the spark back into their relationship when both of them couldn’t have cared less about the other.
She made a face, not wanting to settle for that, not with Logan. The few times he’d let his guard down, he’d seemed so kind…so lost and yearning. Who could blame him after what he’d been through?
Tessa wanted their week to be magical, even if she had to take charge, like Scheherazade with her master. A tale Tessa had read about right after Logan had won her, lured by the thought of an Arabian harem. In the story, the sultan had planned to dispose of Scheherazade after enjoying her for one night. That babe wasn’t about to die and told him a tale that had him demanding more. Each evening she did the same, stopping just before she’d finished her narrative, drawing it out for one thousand and one nights. By then, the sultan had gotten to know her and had fallen in love. She’d conquered him. An awesome ending.
And totally unrealistic, Tessa knew, for her week with Logan. Men like him didn’t fall for women like her. However, she could still try to draw him out in order to enhance their mutual pleasure.
Less than a day from now.
The following afternoon, sun poured through the back window of the Lincoln Continental. Not one cloud marred the azure sky, the blue so deep it almost hurt to look at it. With her face tilted upward, Tessa regarded the towering trees. Crepe myrtles, according to the Architectural Digest article. Their trunks were gnarled, limbs heavy with leaves that canopied parts of the secluded road, allowing only a little light to spill through the foliage. Even with the windows up and the air-conditioning on, she caught a hint of the vegetation’s fresh, earthy scent.
She spoke on a sigh, “Wow, this is something.”
“And we haven’t even reached the driveway yet,” Wallace said.
True. According to the Google map, they wouldn’t get there for several miles. Tessa sagged back in her seat, her convertible laptop perched on her thighs. She’d spent the ride from the District to Virginia doing more research, learning that Logan had earned his billions—yes, billions with a B—from the numerous pediatric medical devices he’d designed, along with his majority stock in the companies that manufactured them.
He’d received his bioengineering degree from Stanford. According to one of the articles, he now did most of his work from home, which partly explained why he could give seven full days to romping around with an escort. Of course, none of the articles she’d read about him or the amazing dev
ices he’d designed came close to answering her most pressing questions.
She regarded Wallace, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair that could use a trim, his features pleasant but ordinary, unlike the agency’s male escorts. He’d been Ronnie’s chauffeur for decades, taking her or the young women she employed wherever they needed to go. From what Felicity had said, Wallace and Ronnie started dating a few years back, during her second bout with breast cancer. They were now a couple. Committed. Happy.
“What?” he asked, noticing Tessa watching. “I’m driving too slow? Too fast?”
“You’re doing fine. Can I ask you something?”
“My uniform’s at the cleaners. That’s why I didn’t wear it today.”
He’d dressed in a tan polo shirt and brown khakis. No doubt because he and Ronnie had plans after he dropped Tessa off.
“You look good,” she offered. “Distinguished. Stately even. Except for your hair. Next weekend I’ll give you a trim. You’re too negligent about that. Most men would kill to have your hair. You should take care of it.”
He arched one graying eyebrow as if he didn’t believe her blather for a minute.
Tessa fidgeted in her seat.
“Is that what you wanted to ask me?” Wallace said. “How I keep looking so good despite my excessively long hair?”
She laughed, then blurted, “No. You’re a man, right? I mean, you’re a man.”
Amusement flooded his face, softening his wrinkles. “Last I looked.” He glanced from his reflection in the visor’s mirror to her. “But thank you for noticing. Ordinarily, I’m invisible to women your age.”
The way he teased reminded Tessa of her dad before his remarriage when he so easily forgot about her. She sighed. “I’d like to ask you something…about your preferences, as a man.”
Immediate caution replaced Wallace’s previous levity.
“Not that,” Tessa said, meaning sex. She left the word unspoken. Unwilling, unable to go further.
No need. Wallace’s shoulders relaxed as though he understood her clearly.
“When you were young,” she began, “that is, when you were in your early thirties or so and you were with a woman, did you ever want to talk to her?”
He tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel. “What do you mean by talk? Banter? Flirting? Exchanging ideas? Sharing what was in my heart?”
“Yeah. The last. Sort of.”
“Intimate conversation that’s not really intimate?”
She clarified, “Like you’d do with a buddy. You know, share stuff. Only with a woman.”
“Who wasn’t a friend, or was she?”
This was getting too complicated. “Do men like to talk to women? Do they ever feel comfortable doing so—that is, if they’re not desperate and simply can’t help themselves, or figure they have nothing to lose because the woman will remain a stranger? Is that how men truly are, or do they really want what they never voice…to be heard, understood, comforted? Rather than just being told a bunch of BS they should know doesn’t mean squat.”
“BS? How do you mean?”
“The way some women come on to men. You know, the tired old line—you’re so big, so strong, so handsome. Do men actually want to hear that kind of junk rather than something more substantial?”
Wallace took his attention from the road for a moment, giving it to her.
“Guess they do, huh?” Tessa asked.
“I can’t speak for all men,” Wallace said, his focus back on his driving. “However, I would think most would want what you first said. An honest conversation, rather than being praised for no good reason, or because the person shoveling the compliments wants something.”
“Even young guys feel that way?”
He rubbed his sagging neck. “It’s been a while for me, but yeah, even when I was young, I liked to have someone who got me, so to speak, which led to some pretty decent talks with women.”
“And it’s what made your moments together pleasant, right? I mean, it enriched your obvious, uh, physical attraction to her. Clearly, if she was gorgeous, you would have been attracted anyway. But let’s say she was just ordinary, not anywhere near beautiful or built like men want. You know, tall, slender. If she wasn’t like that, there probably wouldn’t have been much continuing attraction between the two of you if you hadn’t at least talked to her first, gotten to know her even a little bit. Right?”
He frowned slightly.
Tessa wasn’t certain whether it was from confusion or dismay at where their conversation was heading.
She plowed on. “All I’d like to know is if men are really that disconnected from their feelings, or if it’s just an act they put on to protect themselves. Can they really have a good time, or what they consider a good time for days on end, without any emotional involvement or conversation at all?”
He checked his rearview and sideview mirrors despite the road being private and deserted.
Tessa sighed.
“As I’ve already said,” he answered at last, his words measured, “I can only speak for myself. Connecting with a woman deeply has always been far more frightening and, at times, downright painful, than just having a good time.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“That said,” he continued, again cautiously, “I wouldn’t trade those deep moments for anything. They’re what made my life worthwhile. Any man who settles for less, for fling after fling, even if it’s with gorgeous babes, is a damn fool in my opinion. Unless there’s something wrong with him, every man needs exactly what a woman does. Someone to care and come home to. Someone who’ll stand with him against the world. When you engage with people on nothing but a superficial level, it leaves you wanting more. It also leaves you alone. I can’t imagine anyone wanting that forever.” He paused to clear his throat. “We’re here.”
Tessa lowered her hand. To the side were numerous outbuildings, a barn, what appeared to be a stable, acres and acres of cleared land enclosed by brown rail fences that stretched to the horizon. In front stood the main house. Consisting of two floors and sprawled between a copse of myrtles and evergreens, it was all wood and glass, the front windows towering at least thirty feet high to the A-frame roof. Sunlight glanced off the panes and the pond, which looked far larger than it had on the Net. Beads of moisture clung to the grass as though someone had just watered it.
Catching movement in her peripheral vision, Tessa turned and stared at the rustic front door, constructed of a dark wood. Arched and decorated with black wrought iron hinges, it swung inward.
Logan came out to the porch, no doubt having heard the Lincoln’s approach or having watched from one of the many windows.
A flush of stubborn desire heated Tessa’s face, throat, and chest despite her concern over whether they’d talk, or he’d continue to find her acceptable, maybe even attractive. Right now, she didn’t give a damn about her looks or words. She’d worry about both later.
At this moment, she couldn’t look at Logan enough. He’d dressed in worn jeans and a gray T-shirt. His feet were bare, his hair tousled as though he’d combed it with his fingers. His shadow of beard was delicious and welcomed. Tessa wasn’t certain what she’d expected, but his casual attire and demeanor comforted her more than if he’d worn khakis and a sports shirt.
Wallace said something.
Tessa didn’t respond, not having heard his comment. She was far too absorbed by the man she’d be spending the week with. Logan’s shoulders seemed broader than she recalled, his body more powerful. A scant breeze pushed his tee against his chest, outlining his firm pecs and abs. The material fluttered above his fly, the delectable bulge between his legs.
He came down the steps, washed in sunshine, his strides loose, confident, seductive.
Wallace touched her arm. Tessa tried, but couldn’t take her eyes off Logan. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Did what I say help?” he asked.
Logan halted at Tessa’s door, ready to take possession of her.
She had no idea if it had. Only the next hours and days would tell.
Chapter Four
She looked fresher than Logan recalled, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Mascara and a bit of lip gloss was the only makeup she wore.
He liked that and suddenly looked forward to seeing her right after a shower, her skin scrubbed clean, rosy from the water’s warmth and his hands. The image sent a thrum of pleasure coursing through his body that tingled his scalp and concentrated heat in his groin.
At the auction, she’d been made up to appear seductive, theatrical, less real, her lips reddened, which only made her appear oddly virginal. A little girl playing dress-up. So unnecessary. Especially that silly rouge on her cleft and nipples.
Wondering what their true shade might be—a frail pink or dusky rose—Logan regarded her black tank top, clingy and cut low. The fabric accentuated her sumptuous breasts and erect nipples. She’d paired the top with beige linen shorts that exposed quite an expanse of her legs. Perched on her thighs was a small laptop.
Tessa closed the computer, then hurried it into one of those oversized purses women appeared to prefer over the easier-to-carry kind.
Logan would have bet several years of his life that she’d been Googling him, learning even more than what was likely in his agency file. What the fire had destroyed. How it had forever marked him.
With that awful consideration, he had to face what he’d tried not to think about before. Being exposed and possibly judged. Tessa seemed like a nice person, but she was only human after all. Once they got down to the reason she was here, she’d know the full truth, not what the articles or his file may have hinted at. She wouldn’t say anything, of course. But he’d see the startled reaction in her eyes.
Easy to take when a woman was with him for only a couple of hours. He wasn’t a vain man by nature and could get through that. But Tessa and he had a full week together.
Logan’s doubt about all of this returned so quickly, his hand stalled on the car’s handle.