Money Shot (98 page)

Ivy arrived a bit late. She had completely panicked when it came to picking the right outfit for the evening. The worst part was that she couldn’t ask Libby for advice. She was already sick with guilt about hiding the truth from her friend. They had never kept secrets and shared even their most embarrassing moments with each other, but this was different. This was beyond anything Ivy had done in her life. She was about to seduce a man, try to sleep with him, hoping to get to his money, and was that even legal? It definitely wasn’t more legal than lying about having worked for twenty hours trying to find her boss the perfect match and ending up pimping herself out to him.

She had sent him a carefully scripted string of messages she had supposedly exchanged with this “perfect match” on his behalf. The conversation had quickly escalated to arranging a dinner at one of Boston’s most extravagant fine dining restaurants. She had even sent him photos of herself, dressed in a seductive shirt with a plunging neckline, revealing her young breasts pushed up as high as possible in the tightest, most padded bra she owned. He had approved her “choice” and agreed to the dinner arrangement.

Now, her heart was fluttering with a mix of fear and excitement. She had settled on a high-waist black pencil skirt tightly hugging her slender hips and a sheer navy blue shirt, which flowed over her pale heaving breasts, pushed together in a lacy bra. She had bought black nylon stockings and suspended them with garters as she pictured a seductress should carry herself. She had tried to look older by applying a heavy smoky eye make-up and blood-red lipstick. Despite her efforts, all she felt like was
cheap
.

Ivy closed her eyes for a moment and reminded herself, “It would all be over in a few hours. It would be over and you can stay in college. Relax, breathe, don’t give yourself away. You are twenty-three-year-old Blair.” As if encouraged by her own pep talk, she took a deep breath, walked in the restaurant and told the hostess her new name.

“Your company is already here. This way, please.”

“So,” Connor cleared his throat, “you are an arts critic?” He made a barely discernible gesture towards a waiter standing nearby and a new bottle of wine magically appeared on the table, the red, velvety liquid splashing against the walls of Ivy’s crystal glass. Her face was flushed and her palms were already sweating. She had a tipsy glint in her eyes and her mind was enveloped in a warm mist.

“Y-y-yes,” she stuttered, her nerves getting the better of her.
It was all a mistake. He knows
. “I… I critique… art,” she managed to mumble and immediately winced at how stupid she must have sounded. Connor, on the other hand, seemed completely composed. The measured half-smile didn’t leave his face and she couldn’t figure out if he was enjoying her company or mocking her.

“That’s brilliant,” he said enthusiastically. “So, tell me, who is up and coming these days? I’m on the market for some new art myself.”

Ivy froze. She hadn’t done her homework. She had thought it would be so much easier to charm a man, but Connor was sitting across from her completely at ease, absolutely confident and exuding the primal power of a predator, a winner. He looked absolutely immaculate too. His dinner jacket’s sleeves bulged with the ripples of freshly exercised biceps and his broad shoulders were straight and somehow menacing. Ivy took another sip of her wine.

“All this talk about work…” she trailed off. “I was thinking we could… we could talk about something a bit more fun.”

“You mean about
sex
?” Connor’s nonchalant tone rang in her head. She choked on a piece of her dinner, completely unprepared for this turn in the conversation. Or what had passed for a conversation up until now. But wasn’t this her goal all along? The only problem was she had never
had
sex, so there wasn’t even much she could say on the subject. Somehow, though, even the word, coming from his lips, produced a strange warmth spreading between her legs. Her face was flaming.

“How do you feel about coming to my place for a drink?” he spoke as if he already knew he had the upper hand. Had he ever been rejected by a woman in his life? His calm confidence suggested he always got what he wanted. He would get her too. Her fake messages to him had been brimming with sexual undertones. She had made it clear she was up for play. Only, she had to live up to “Blair’s” words now.

When the check was settled, he stood up and extended a hand towards her. She took it and immediately felt lightheaded as he gripped her, a current travelling through her body. As she stood up, he leaned in and whispered in her ear, still holding on to her small hand, “You are right, Blair, let’s talk about something a bit more fun.” His breath so close to her ear sent goose bumps up her bare forearms and she knew it was too late to change her mind now. Even in silence, she had already agreed to follow him.

The private limo was already waiting for them at the entrance of the restaurant and Ivy climbed in, almost breathless in awe. Coming from a family with strained financial abilities at best, she had never been in physical touch with luxury. In fact, when she had first set foot in her college’s lavish halls and theaters, she had felt like a princess. This, however, was an entirely different class of luxury.

She ran her hand along the smooth leather of the white salon and shivered. It was like stroking the expensive fabric of a dress she could never afford. Connor slid in beside her and the driver closed the door behind him. Ivy had seen this scene a million times in the movies, but she never thought people lived like this in real life. She almost chuckled when Connor gave a quick instruction about the address and pushed a button that automatically pulled down the divider, so that they were in their own private capsule of glittering surfaces and dim light. She really was in a movie! Connor reached out to take two frosted glasses from the small inbuilt fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne with a convoluted French inscription.

“To a fabulous night with a fabulous lady,” he toasted.

Ivy smiled. The awkwardness had almost disappeared now that she was alone with him and enthralled by the beautiful objects around her. She could breathe in his deep, masculine scent as he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar. She smiled and sipped her champagne, secretly congratulating herself on taking the clever move. She had been wrong. He didn’t suspect anything. Perhaps beautiful women really
could
hold the power over any man they chose. He had been a perfect gentleman throughout the evening and she had no reason to worry. He seemed
enchanted
.

Ivy finally relaxed and sank back into the soft leather, her head pleasantly light from the sparkling champagne. She closed her eyes, the smile never leaving her face, attractively dimpling her flushed cheeks. Then she felt it. His touch on her knee. He had placed a hand over it, slowly crawling upwards. It felt so good, like a natural complement to the warm leather under her palm, the fizzing champagne bubbles dancing against the roof of her mouth, the wood musky scent coming in subdued waves from his chest. She let herself enjoy his upward stroke, aware of the lustful heat that was spreading between her legs.

Connor leaned in and inhaled her aroma, his breath tickling the sensitive skin on her neck. His hand squeezed her thigh and she gave out a quiet moan, his touch moistening her panties and making her crave both of his hands all over her, ripping and grabbing and rummaging. He grazed her earlobe with his lips and Ivy instinctively arched her back and pressed her aroused pussy into the leather seat. Connor seemed to be perfectly aware of the effect he had on her and without giving her a warning, he moved his hand over to her transparent shirt, where her hardened nipples were poking through the lacy bra. He lightly brushed over them with his thumb and Ivy gasped, reaching to catch his wrist, but Connor gently placed her hand back on the seat. Her breathing had become rough and quick as she closed her eyes even tighter, afraid she might make a loud sound. The small perky mounds of her breasts were too sensitive under his fingers and every time his palm rubbed over them, she twisted with painful pleasure, the lace slightly scratching against the raw delicate skin of her nipples.

When Ivy thought she couldn’t take it anymore, her small body writhing in her seat, Connor’s hot breath showering her ear, he suddenly slid his hand down and buried it past the hem of her tight skirt, slowly caressing the inside of her thigh. A potent shudder spread down her spine and her limbs felt numb. She regretted putting on the stupid skirt. She could barely part her legs a few inches without ripping it to pieces. Connor’s fingers were now just out of reach of her throbbing, wet, aching pussy, and she shifted down, desperate to give him access to the hottest part of her, overwhelmed with an insatiable craving for more of his touch. His fingers glided up her smooth inner thigh.

She almost screamed as just at that moment the limo came to a sharp halt. Ivy opened her eyes, disoriented and overwhelmed with the peculiar, reckless pain stinging her agitated and unsatisfied body. As if impervious to her state, Connor sat up, straightened his tie and smoothed his hair back. Frustrated to madness, Ivy pulled down her skirt and ran her forefingers under her eyes to remove the smudges of mascara she was sure she had caused with her heedless motions.

The evening chill rushed through her head and cleared her mind a bit. She looked around at the well-lit grand front entrance of Connor’s estate home. The enormous house stretched up for at least three floors disappearing into the dusk. He held out his bent arm and she shakily hooked her small hand around it, feeling the hardness of his taut muscles. The nervous flutters returned once again to her stomach and she looked up to his face for reassurance. He smiled warmly at her as if the whole incident in the limo hadn’t happened at all and for a moment she wondered if she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

The front door opened as if on cue and a serious-looking butler stepped out of the way with a respectful nod. Ivy felt like she was starring in a film once more. Connor gallantly led her inside and she almost gasped with wonder. She was at the foot of a huge double staircase, a cathedral-style ceiling soaring up above her head. The gentle glint or wrought iron railings, the deep and soft carpets enveloping her feet, the glittering chandeliers and gilt painting frames, the fresh flowers in extravagant vases and all the vast open
space
made her head spin.

“Would you be needing anything, sir?” the butler asked, bringing her back to the present moment. Without letting go of her hand or turning back, Connor ordered some more chilled champagne and led her up the stairs. They weaved their way through a complex network of corridors, finally arriving at a double door at the end of a royal-blue carpeted hallway. Ivy couldn’t stop looking around the entire way there. Even though she tried to restrain herself, so as not to appear too eager or too impressed, a painting or an ornament kept attracting her attention and she couldn’t help but look around as if she had landed in an alien world.

The bedroom wasn’t any less grand than the rest of the house. Ivy thought that was what royal bedrooms must look like with the massive canopy bed, the smooth crackling of the wood in the fireplace, the generous room and the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the quiet, black night. There were ornamentally-framed mirrors everywhere, multiplying her reflection times and times over.

“Why don’t you take a quick shower and just relax,” Connor suggested and his voice implied he had absolutely no intention of offending her. He was making her feel comfortable. “I’ve left something for you there. You might feel more comfortable in it,” he added and went over to a side table to pour himself a drink.

Ivy stepped in the light marble bathroom, which was pleasantly warm despite all the stone and glass surfaces around her and only dimly lit by the elegant wall light fixtures. She stripped down her clothes and looked at her naked body in the full length mirror on the door. Her smooth, bare skin was almost luminous in the faint light. As she slathered on the expensive shower lotion and breathed in its luxuriant flower scent, she heard the clinking of glasses and a door closing out in the bedroom. She hurried out of the shower and examined the long exquisite boutique box placed on the vanity top, tied with a tasteful ribbon. She pulled on its end and opened the lid to reveal a set of classy white-lace lingerie, next to which her own looked pathetic and cheap.