Taken by the Tycoon (8 page)

Without warning, Stuart sent his cock into high gear, ramming against her sensitive cervix with each thrust. It hurt, but Violet hung on, gritting her teeth. Then after the first few bangs, the most exquisite orgasm flooded her consciousness. She held him tightly until the pounding stopped hurting and she started to float away. Her arms grew weak, and it was all she could do to hold onto him.

Only she didn’t want him to stop. She heard herself whispering in a feeble voice, “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” It sounded like someone else was saying it, like it wasn’t coming from her. She felt almost removed from the scene, as if she was in a different place.

Stuart kept fucking her. Hard. He lifted her ankles onto his shoulders and continued at the frenetic pace. She smiled and her breasts jiggled as their bodies slammed together at break-neck speed. It was like being fucked by a jack-hammer. Damn! It felt sooo good, she never wanted the ongoing orgasm to end.

He took one of her breasts in his hand and squeezed her nipple hard as he filled the condom. “Mmm.” She moaned, limp as a dishrag. “Damn, you fucked me so good.”

He collapsed beside her and curled his body next to hers. “You’re right, baby. I did.” Enveloping her in his arms, he kissed her hair. “Thank you for coming with me on this trip.”

Giving him a squeeze, she said, “I’m glad you asked me. I feel like the luckiest woman in the world—being here with you.” She worried she might be revealing too much of her feelings, but she was too honest to play games and he’d said he liked things transparent. If she scared him off, so be it.

“
You
feel lucky, huh? I’m the one who’s feeling lucky. You could have any man you want, Violet. I feel fortunate you chose to be with me.”

“What?” She turned around to face him, shocked.

“What do you mean ‘what’?”

“I mean, don’t be ridiculous. I’m over forty. Getting any man I want?” She snorted.

“Violet, you’re incredible. For the jillionth time—I don’t care how old you are!”

Suddenly conscious of her age and her nudity, Violet sat up and reached for a towel to cover herself. “Well, I do.”

Heaving a sigh, he sauntered over to a table across the room, tapped a cigarette from the pack, and lit it. He contemplated her, then shook his head.

“Get dressed. I want to take you to dinner.”

Violet nodded and went to into the bathroom to get ready.

* * *

That evening, Stuart took her to an exorbitantly priced restaurant. As soon as they arrived, the maître d’ escorted them to a table that had been reserved especially for them. Flowing curtains ensconced them in the oversized booth, giving them privacy in addition to a view of the romantically lit dining room.

Stuart slid in close to her, their legs touching, his hand in position to occasionally wander beneath her dress. The wine steward came to their table and Stuart ordered a bottle of wine that appeared to impress even the expert. “Exquisite selection, Mr. Swearingen,” the man said before scurrying off.

When the waiter came to their table, Stuart ordered for them both. “The lady and I will have the surf and turf. And I believe we’ll have a bottle of Cristal as well.”

Violet observed how Stuart commanded the situation. He was used to being in charge, used to being obeyed. The thought sent a light shiver down her back. She loved obeying him.

But then Stuart’s carefree, reckless spirit reminded her of a child. He challenged her fixed notions about the way one “should” behave. He was, at the same time, refreshing and concerning.

After they finished their salads, hidden behind their wall of seclusion, he kissed her. She was becoming accustomed to his kisses, actually craving his full, sensuous lips against hers. When the main course arrived, Stuart carefully dipped a bite of lobster in drawn butter before feeding it to her.

Violet opened her mouth to receive his offering. As he slid it between her lips, the lobster’s buttery flavor mixed with the creamy texture delighted her taste buds. Delicious.

“Tell me about your daughter. Margaret, right?” he asked.

Violet was so surprised she almost choked. She finished chewing the bite in her mouth then said, “You know Margaret?”

He nodded. “Yes. We’ve met.”

She fiddled with the napkin in her lap. “So, have you dated any of her friends?”

“No. You know I don’t date schoolgirls. Anyway, your daughter seems like a lovely girl. You should be proud, Violet.”

“I am! And I agree. She is lovely.” She wiped her mouth with the napkin. “I wonder what she’d think of this,” she said, speaking into her hand.

“What’s that? You wonder what she’d think of us?” He gestured at the two of them.

She took a sip of champagne and nodded.

“Are you having a nice time?” he asked.

She smiled and patted his hand. “Of course!”

“Then I think she’d be happy for her mother.” He winked at her.

“Maybe. She’s about to go to Europe for a month, then college in the Fall.”

“Europe sounds like fun. What college is she going to?”

“Brown.”

“Ah, great school. Takes me back to my Harvard days. “

Her ears perked up. “You went to Harvard? When did you graduate?”

He laughed. “I didn’t. Went there for a couple of years though.”

“Why didn’t you graduate?” She leaned forward, eager to hear the details.

Raking his fingers through his hair, he replied, “I got kicked out.”

Violet’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to cover her surprise. “What happened?”

“We had a difference of opinion, and they expelled me, much to my mother’s dismay. She always wanted her son to graduate from Harvard.” He sighed.

“C’mon, Stuart what did you do?” Violet prodded.

“Officially? They called it cheating, but I considered it exercising entrepreneurial spirit.” He casually took a sip of wine.

“So, you were merely being an entrepreneur? Why did they think you were cheating? I don’t understand.”

“I started a business that sold notes from different classes. We paid the best students for the notes they took in various classes, and we sold them. The idea caught on and became a big hit. If you overslept or if something else kept you from attending class, you could purchase the notes and not get behind. Then we expanded to offering review sessions before big tests for the larger classes. The problem came when we began offering “extra advantages” for certain tests for large fees.”

“Why was that a problem?”

“The administration felt our “extra advantages” were too close to the answers for the tests.”

“Oh dear. Were they?”

He flashed her a wicked smile. “Of course.”

“Stuart!” She hit him with her napkin.

“Okay, okay. I was young. Reckless. I’ve learned my lesson about staying within legal and moral parameters…”

“I should hope so. No wonder your mother was disappointed.” Violet shook her head.

He nodded. “More champagne?”

She nodded and he refilled her flute, then his.

He raised his glass. “To your daughter having a more successful academic career than mine.” They clinked glasses and sipped their bubbly.

“Stuart, you’re incorrigible.” She beamed at him.

He straightened his spine, pretending to be insulted. “I’ll have you know that I am a work in progress.”

Violet laughed. “Aren’t we all?”

He chuckled, taking her hand. “Go with me to the Summer Ball at the club.”

“Do
what
?” His request caught her off guard.

“I want you to go with me to the Ball at the Club.” He kissed the back of her hand.

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?” he asked indignantly.

“Stuart,” she patted his arm. “You’re too young for me. If we go to the Ball together, people will talk.”

“So?”

“Well,” she stumbled over her words, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He titled her chin up. “That’s not very submissive,” he chided.

She frowned.

“What’s the big deal? We’re two adults who enjoy each other’s company. I don’t see a problem in that.”

Her brow furrowed.

“I
am
of legal age, you know. In fact, I’m over thirty. It’s not like I’m eighteen.” he added.

She slapped his arm playfully, “I know that!”

“Prove it,” he said, a challenge in his words.

“I’ll think about it,” she promised.

“Oh, you’ll do more than that.” He pulled her to him and quieted her protests with a kiss.

Damn! She had a run in her stockings. Margaret continuously told her nobody wore pantyhose anymore, but Violet was from a different era. In her mind, you couldn’t attend a ball without something covering your legs. It just wasn’t done.

She peeled off the ruined pair and tossed them into the wastebasket. Sighing, she opened her closet and took out a new package. Good thing she had a spare.

Stuart would be arriving at any minute, and she wasn’t ready.

Violet couldn’t believe he’d talked her into going to the ball with him. Her stomach crawled with nerves. Of course she’d be proud to be seen on Stuart’s arm—he was one of the most eligible bachelors in the state—but it bothered her that he was so much younger than her. What would people say?

Violet had grown up in a community where gossip ruled the ladies’ social gatherings—which had evolved from bridge clubs to bunko parties. Nevertheless, in her world, being “appropriate” was of utmost importance. Her mother had raised her to believe your identity is forever intertwined with what people think of you.

Violet pulled on the second pair of stockings. She was torn between what she wanted to do, and what she knew she was “supposed” to do. She wanted to enjoy her budding romance with Stuart. Unfortunately, that might be construed as ridiculous, and she could be making a complete fool of herself. What if people shunned her? And it wasn’t just about her. If she lost her social connections, she’d risk the future of Musical Mentors.

During this moment of self-doubt and indecision another fear crept from the back of her mind up to center stage. What if Stuart were merely toying with her, playing games?

His affection for her felt real. When she looked into his eyes they were full of intensity and passion. But she knew he had a reputation as a player, and she hoped against hope that he was genuine in his desire for her.

Violet stared at herself in the mirror. Her body had held up well over the years, but she still had some sags and bags she wished she could make disappear. Didn’t everybody?

Not if you were twenty-five and hit the gym five days a week. Brushing those depressing thoughts aside, she focused on applying her makeup. The doorbell rang before she was done.

Crap.

No one else was home to answer the door, so she quickly dabbed on some lip gloss as a last touch then realized she still had to pull her dress over her head. Oh dear, she should have put the dress on first then applied the lip gloss. Too late now. Snatching the dress off the hanger she quickly wriggled into it and made a quick assessment of her appearance.

The amber, silk dress flattered her, hugging her curves with soft, shirred ruffles that met on one hip that was ornamented by a jeweled broach. The hue accentuated her coloring and looked stunning with her hair.

Grabbing her shoes up from the box, she carried them, running towards the front of the house. Out of breath, she threw open the front door.

Stuart stood before her looking like a cover model for GQ Magazine. His jacket hung from his frame as though it was made for him. Violet tilted her head. Of course he’d have custom-made suits.

He looked every inch the part of the debonair oil baron. His hair, longer on top, shorter in the back suited him perfectly. He looked at the same time like a man to be reckoned with, and an impish young man who could get into mischief at a moment’s notice.

“You look ravishing,” Stuart said, sweeping her into his arms for a kiss.

“Why, thank you. So do you.”

When he let her go, she bent to put her shoes on.

“Ready? I have champagne in the car.”

She laughed. “Are you trying to get me drunk before we even get there?”

Holding his arm out to escort her, he said, “I hadn’t thought of that, but yes, that’s a smashing idea.”

They got in the limousine and he poured them each some champagne.

“To us,” Stuart said raising his glass.

Violet smiled, enjoying the sound of the crystal flutes clinking together.

After too short a ride, they arrived at the country club, which had a red carpet set up in front. A cameraman was taking everyone’s picture. Violet froze; all visions she’d had of keeping a low profile were now destroyed. She’d hoped to enter the party unannounced and blend into the crowd. Maybe no one really had to know that she and Stuart were here
together
. She could forget that now with the photographers lining the entrance.

Summoning all her courage and ignoring the butterflies flitting about in her stomach, Violet emerged gracefully from the car. An easy smile masked the anxiety that threatened to consume her.

She and Stuart walked over to the backdrop for photographs. He crushed her to him possessively. The cameraman said, “On three. One, two, three.” A flashing light blinded her, but Violet kept her smile plastered on her face. Stuart thanked the photographer and whisked her inside.

On the way inside they greeted several acquaintances, and no one reacted as though it were odd to see them together. Violet took a deep breath and tried to relax.

They entered the ballroom, and Stuart offered to go get her a drink. As he walked away, one of her frequent tennis partners, Paige, approached her. They made small talk about the weather, their gowns, and their children. After a bit, Violet made an excuse and went looking for Stuart.

There he was. Across the room he stood, a drink in each hand, holding court with a blonde at each elbow. Both of the Barbie clones appeared to have been poured into their low-cut gowns. Violet cringed and was about to turn away when Stuart looked up and caught her gaze. His eyes rounded with a “help me” look, and he motioned her over.