Taken by the Tycoon (9 page)

“Violet, there you are! This is Beverly. And Emily. Girls, this is my date, Violet.” He handed Violet a drink and pulled her close, nudging Beverly out of the way in the process. Beverly and Emily nodded politely to Violet then walked away wearing disappointed expressions.

“Thanks for saving me,” he said.

“Anytime.” She pushed down the green-eyed monster inside her as he threatened to surface. Stuart was here with her, and clearly he was proud of that fact. A warmth coursed through her veins.

They sipped their drinks and talked with people passing by. Only a few people noticed they were “together,” and all of them appeared to take their coupling in stride. Violet was beginning to wonder if her fear of being ostracized was groundless, a mere figment of her imagination.

After her second drink, Stuart whispered in her ear. “Come with me.” He took her hand and led her outside. The area just around the building was well lit, but he tugged her wrist urging her to follow him into the black night.

“Stuart, where are you taking me?” Her stomach clutched with a combination of nerves and excitement.

“You’ll see.” Within a hundred feet they reached a golf cart at the edge of the course and he motioned for her to climb aboard. She settled into the seat next to him, and he flipped on the lights, illuminating a few feet in front of them, and her anxiety lessened with the ability to see. He whipped the cart around the golf course like an old pro, transporting her through the honeysuckle-scented night, the wind lightly blowing through her hair. When they reached the ninth green, Stuart stopped the cart and flicked off the lights.

“Now what?” Violet asked, her voice shaking with excitement, though she already had an inkling of the naughty thoughts on his mind.

He helped her onto the green. “Let’s take off those shoes of yours,” he said, his lips finding the hollow of her throat.

Without hesitation she kicked off her shoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What if someone comes by?”

“Who would come all the way out here?” he responded then went back to nibbling on her neck.

“Security,” she answered shakily. Her desire for him was making her legs tremble.

He hugged her close and whispered, “It’s just you and me, my darling. Now let’s get you out of that dress so that I may have you.”

The pitch-black surrounding them disoriented her. She couldn’t remember a night this dark. Usually the darkness was lit by street lamps or the glow from an interior light, or the moon—something. But they were encased in a night so deep, so inky that it left her feeling blind and heightened her other senses. The smell of the grass and Stuart’s woodsy cologne mixed with the delicate, low chirping sounds of wildlife in the background fused to bestow an earthy flavor onto the evening that Violet found unexpectedly arousing.

The silky fabric of her dress slid down her arms, over her hips, and fell onto the ground. It felt unreal, not unlike a dream in which you’re not sure how you wound up outdoors, practically naked in public with an incredibly sexy man. Stuart unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, and she stripped herself of her pantyhose, thinking how smart the younger generation was to forego the stupid things.

He lay her down on the soft, manicured grass. Amazingly, it felt like a luxurious carpet brushing against her skin. He got up and removed his jacket and pants. As he lay atop her, she began to fumble at the buttons of his shirt, wanting that intoxicating skin on skin contact.

“You are so good for me, Violet.” His lips claimed hers, his tongue dancing at a seductively slow pace, languorously entwined with hers. She returned his kiss eagerly, placing a hand on the back of his neck and drawing him closer. Ready for him, Violet hooked her legs around his waist and his erection poked at her pelvis. She wanted him, and brazenly reached between his legs encircled his shaft with her fingers. He let out a moan then bent his head to suckle her breast.

“I need you,” she cried, shifting under him to make it easier for him to enter her.

“What is it you need?”

“I need you to fuck me, sir.”

“You need me to pound that little cunt of yours into submission, don’t you?”

Surrendering to her most base desire, she cried, “Yes! Yes, that’s what I need.”

In a swift, practiced movement, he plunged his cock between her folds. She held him tight as he rocked in and out of her wet, welcoming pussy with firm, sure strokes. He sheathed himself deep inside her and she scratched at his back, biting the inside of her lip to keep her from screaming out in ecstasy.

He pumped his hips into her, and his pelvis ground against her clit over and over again until involuntary clenches of her muscles seized the lower half of her body. Waves of bliss began to trickle out over her until she experienced her climax all the way into her fingertips.

As she drifted back to earth, she grabbed his rock-hard ass with both hands and rode the rise and fall of his thrusting buttocks until with a strangled cry, he came inside her. Looking into the vacuous black space in front of her, she said, “I love having you inside me. Sometimes I wish you could always be there.” As soon as she’d said it she feared she’d said too much. Men didn’t like to hear clingy admissions like that.

“Me too,” he murmured before kissing her again.

They lay on the well-manicured outdoor bed for a few more moments. It was Violet who broke the spell. “Do you think anyone will be missing you?”

“No.”

“Do you think the security teams make rounds? And someone might be by here any time?” Her anxiety was back. Their little romp had been delightful, but the real possibility of being caught naked had returned to the forefront of her mind.

“I doubt it, but we can get back to the party if that will make you more comfortable,” he said affably.

“Thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek and started trying to find her clothes in the dark, uncertain whether his lack of concern was due to his age, his personality, or the fact that his power and position left him untouchable in many ways.

Stuart turned on the golf cart lights and helped her on with the rest of his clothes. He donned his formal clothes and Violet helped straighten his tie. “Do you think we look like we’ve been… you know?” she asked nervously.

“What, like I took you out onto the ninth hole and fucked your brains out?”

She gave him a “You’re-such-a-bad-boy” look. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

“No, you look fine.”

She couldn’t tell if he was lying. He didn’t care nearly as much as she did what people thought, and she decided to make a trip to the restroom as soon as they got back to check her appearance.

Moments later, Violet peered at herself in the mirror of the ladies room and reapplied her lipstick. Stuart had been right, other than an extra glow on her cheeks and a tangle in her hair, there were no other signs that she’d been ravaged on the golf course during the previous hour.

As she studied herself, Violet hardly noticed society doyenne Amanda Van Dermeer next to her until the woman spoke.

“I see you’re getting around after your divorce. Landing on your feet. Like a cat, eh Violet?” Amanda made a meowing noise, than snickered.

Surprised, Violet looked up at her reflection. “What?”

“You’re here with Stuart Swearingen?”

Violet nodded, a knot forming in her stomach.

“Well, he does get around. I’m just surprised you were up for playing ‘Mommy.’” Amanda stared at her reflection in the mirror and dabbed her nose with powder.

“What do you mean?” Violet’s heart beat in her throat. Had the woman seen her outside with Stuart? And what was she talking about—Mommy?

“Honey, his mother died a few months ago. Looks like he’s searching for a replacement.” Amanda glared at Violet. “Though I’m not sure why
you’re
robbing the cradle.” Amanda snapped her compact shut. “But to each his own. Have fun, dear.” She gave Violet a condescending pat on the shoulder before sashaying out the door, shaking her head.

Violet glanced up to see her face had flushed scarlet. Tears pricked at her eyes.
I will not cry. I will not cry
, she took up the mantra. Grabbing a tissue, she averted her eyes to the ceiling to avoid the pitiful picture of the woman who stared back at her.

His
mother
?

Had his mother really died recently? Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Could she really be a replacement, a stand-in for the mother he’d lost?

When she thought of the sex between them, it seemed ludicrous, almost sick. But the woman in front of her looked like she could be Stuart’s mother. The Barbie twins who had accosted him earlier—they looked more likely to be his lovers.

Full-on sobs wracked her body and she locked herself in one of the stalls, grateful she was the only person in the bathroom. How could this be happening? Earlier, in Stuart’s arms, she’d been so happy. She’d finally started to believe that their age difference didn’t have to matter, that people wouldn’t care, and everything between them would work out fine. But now, with this new information about Stuart’s mother, it felt as though he’d been toying with her, playing games with her heart.

It took her ten minutes to compose herself. When she came out, she found Stuart and asked him if his driver could please take her home. She told him she’d come down with a headache and would like to leave.

“Aww, my poor dear.” He kissed her forehead gently.

He offered to leave with her and she protested, but he insisted on riding in the car anyway. Before they left, Stuart had his driver fetch an icy cold towel for her head. He made Violet lay down on the backseat while he fussed over her.

“I’m fine, really,” she insisted.

“You can’t be fine if you need to go home, Violet. Now be still. Do you have any aspirin in your purse?”

“I already took some,” she lied.

“Good girl. You must take care of yourself.” He stroked her temple. His consideration touched her, but it wasn’t enough to make her forget the horrible conversation with Amanda in the ladies’ lounge.

She sat up promptly. “Why didn’t you tell me that your mother died?”

Confusion clouded his handsome face. “Huh?”

“Your mother. Amanda Van Dermeer told me that your mother just died!” Accusation rang in her voice.

“She did, last Fall. I don’t know, it never came up.” He shrugged.

“That’s great. Just great.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lay back down.

“What do you mean? It wasn’t so great for me,” he said, a note of hurt in his voice.

Frustrated, she said, “I’m sorry. I meant that it’s real convenient that you lose one mother and start dating another. And you forget to tell me about it.”

“Violet, that’s nuts. You’re not a mother to me.” He reached out and touched her arm. He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

She jerked her arm away, “Of course you think that. You miss your mother, and for some reason you thought I’d be a good replacement. And I’ve been stupid enough to think all this was a good idea. I’ve been thinking, ‘what a wonderful man he could be with me by his side.’ I kept thinking that I could help you grow… but that isn’t right, Stuart. That’s not healthy.”

He looked as if he’d been slapped in the face. “What’s not right, Violet? I’m crazy about you, and I thought you liked me.”

“I do, but this is not going to work. If you weren’t subconsciously thinking of me as a mother figure, then why didn’t you tell me about your mother?”

He darkened. “I don’t like talking about it.”

Seeing the pain in his eyes, Violet softened. She knew from experience that losing one’s mother was a terrible blow.

They pulled up to her house, and Violet leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Stuart. For everything. Please don’t call me.”

With that she got out of the limo and walked up the steps to the dark, empty house.

The French toast on her plate had grown soggy. Violet had made her favorite breakfast hoping it would cheer her up, but her usual hearty appetite had deserted her.

She piddled with her fork, swirling the bread around in a copious amount of syrup. She knew what was wrong. She’d forgotten the powdered sugar. Getting up, she opened the cabinet and was retrieving it when Margaret walked into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” her daughter said with a yawn.

“Good morning, dear. Would you like some French toast?” Violet asked.

“Sure.” Margaret plopped down at the table, and Violet handed her a heaping plate.

Violet set the powdered sugar down next to Margaret and slumped back into her chair.

They sat quietly for a while before Margaret said, “Aren’t you going to eat yours?”

Violet looked up, unaware she hadn’t eaten but a couple of bites. She took a bite and smiled at Margaret. Best to put on a good face.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, sweetie.”

“I don’t believe you. You haven’t done anything but mope around here ever since I’ve been back from Dad’s.”

Violet started to protest, but Margaret continued. “Is it Stuart Swearingen? Has he been a jerk to you?”

“What? What makes you think this has anything to do with Stuart?” Violet blustered.

“I heard you went to the ball at the country club with him, that’s all.”

“How did you hear that?”

“Mother, you have to know if you go out with Stuart Swearingen, everyone is going to know about it. Darla’s mom told her, and she told me.”

Violet bit her lip.

“She said you made a cute couple.” Margaret shrugged and took a bite.

“She
did
?” Violet asked.

Margaret nodded, chewing.

It surprised Violet to hear something positive about her and Stuart. Was it possible there were people in her circle who wouldn’t judge her too harshly? Wouldn’t that be a dream come true…

“So what did he do?” Margaret persisted.

“He didn’t do anything.”

“I’m confused, so why are you so depressed?”

“You said it yourself—he’s too young for me.” The corners of Violet’s mouth drooped.

Margaret’s face clouded. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t thinking. Besides, who cares how old he is? He’s hot. And rich.”