Two to Tango (Erotic Romance) (3 page)

With the way my calves looked in the stiletto heels, I’d have been more surprised if he
wasn’t
looking at my legs.

My legs have always been my best asset, making up for a lack of fullness in the chest. If I’d stuck with stripping, bigger boobs would have been my next investment.

My legs, however, are nice and long. Longer than they should be. My knees have cute, round kneecaps, like English muffins.

As I walked along the pathway, enjoying the thrill of having my legs ogled by a cute guy, I counted the length of time since I’d been with a man. Over eighteen months. That was a
long
time. For all I knew, my vagina might have closed right up from lack of action.

My cheeks blushing, I peered back over my shoulder one more time.

He was still looking.

Charlie
 

How long had it been since I’d touched a woman’s legs, let alone a sexy pair like hers?

Six weeks.

It had been six weeks since I’d been with anyone, so,
basically forever.

As I watched her walk in the wrong direction—the one that would take her to the golf club rental building—I felt something in the pit of my stomach.

In addition to the intense physical attraction, there was a disturbing gut feeling of wrongness. This woman in the red dress was the newest problem in my life, and I had to fix it, because I’m the responsible one who fixes everything. My whole world would fall apart if I didn’t do what I do. I see a problem, I make a plan, I fix the problem.

But those legs of hers.

Seeing those long, gorgeous legs up close had made me stupid. And then, when I’d looked into her eyes, everything got so much more complicated. She had pale, blue eyes—the kind that have a ring of silver around the iris. Big, innocent eyes. Like those of a newborn baby. My cousin’s daughter had eyes that color when she was first born. They turned green within a year, but at first they were the color of a winter sky—
winter sky mid-morning, chance of snow later in the day.

Why did the Girl in Red need to have such long legs and pretty eyes? The rest of her was equally intoxicating—a full mouth, high cheekbones, and smooth skin with a hint of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Even in the dim light of the moon and the soft lanterns of the west gardens, I could see she was a true beauty.

No wonder
he
had chosen her. I could fault him for many things, but not for his taste in women.

The way she walked in those high heels—with strength and fragility at the same time—I couldn’t take my eyes off her until she disappeared around a corner.

Only then did I reach behind me and remove the thorns that had lodged themselves in the back of my legs when I’d bodily assaulted the bushes. I’d felt the stinging immediately, but didn’t want to be picking thorns out of my rear while a captivating young woman stood watching me.

Now that she was gone, I gathered up the phone I’d dropped when the door had knocked me off my feet. The screen flickered, but it wasn’t dead yet. The last message was from Duncan, cajoling me into picking his lazy ass up from his pool house and driving him to some frat party. We’d both turned twenty-nine already, which wasn’t
old
, but the idea of going to some keg-fueled party full of drunk co-eds made me
feel
old.

The last time I’d taken Duncan to one of his parties, the evening had taken an unexpected turn for the horrifying.

Three sorority girls had glued themselves to my side as soon as I walked in the door. That part wasn’t so bad. They eventually gave up on getting me to dance or do shots, and followed me into the house’s library. I didn’t know the owners of the house, but I immediately felt respect for them. The room was perfect, full of old books, a crackling fireplace, and brown leather chairs.

I settled in for the evening, with a first edition Sherlock Holmes.

The three girls asked me to read to them, and I agreed. They gathered around my feet, sprawling out on the wool rug before the crackling fireplace. This was back in February, when you could run a fire all day without needing to crack a window.

After two of the girls fell asleep, and before I hit the third chapter, the brunette was up on my lap. I wanted to keep reading, but she put her hand down my jeans and changed my mind. With her legs wrapped around my waist, I carried her into the adjoining den, where we fucked around for an enjoyable amount of time.

When we were done, she burst into tears and confessed she had a boyfriend. I got dressed and starting edging toward the door. Going after another dude’s girl was not my thing.

“Why’d you have to be so cute?” she cried.

I replied, “Coming to a house party with a purse full of condoms and jumping on a guy’s lap seems like an odd choice for someone in a relationship.”

That only made her cry harder, which put me into problem-solving mode. The study provided: I located the bourbon inside a credenza, poured two tumblers, and sat her down on a chair next to the desk where she’d just had her knees up next to her ears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

I sipped my bourbon and felt every day of my twenty-nine years as her story unfolded. She’d been having a difficult time in her second year at college, mostly with money, but with grades as well, as she’d taken a part-time job back in October to support herself. Recently, however, she’d been introduced to a wealthy man who wanted to “spoil” a special girl.

The bourbon I was sipping did little to wash away the sour taste in my mouth as she told me more about this man. She didn’t have to say his name, because the details gave him away.

I knew exactly who her
sugar daddy
was. Everything he did was the same as the previous time.

First, he’d put her up in a nice apartment. Then, he’d given her a car. She quit her job and started splurging, buying new clothes and shoes with the cash he slipped into her pockets whenever he visited. She stopped worrying about her grades, because she didn’t need a degree to be a mistress.

At the beginning, he’d encouraged her to carry on with her usual life, even suggesting she might see other guys her age.

After Christmas, though, he’d been angry. She’d gone home to visit her family rather than stay in the luxurious apartment, waiting for him, in case he slipped away from his family to see her.

By the time I’d finished my second bourbon, I had everything solved. She would sell the car the next day, move back into the dorms immediately, and break up with him via text message, so he couldn’t try to talk her out of it. I even wrote the text for her, using the key phrases I knew he wouldn’t argue with—specific phrases about asking God for guidance and forgiveness. He wouldn’t argue with that.

“I can’t send this,” she said tearfully.

“You have to.”

“I love him. And I think he loves me.”

“Fine.” I cleared my throat and set the empty glass tumbler on the desk between us. “Let’s pretend he loves you. And let’s imagine he leaves his current wife and marries you. Let’s just close our eyes right now and imagine this.”

She blinked over at me, her face showing her confusion at my business-like tone.

“For real. Close your eyes,” I said.

She furrowed her brow and glanced around the cozy den, then she finally closed her eyes.

“Next winter, you’ll be with
him
,” I said. “He’ll still be moody and possessive, but you’ll never have to worry about money again. Now imagine your first big family gathering. Thanksgiving. There you are with a golden roasted turkey, cooked in your new kitchen that would make Martha Stewart blush. You proudly set the turkey on the table while the cook who actually prepared it stands in the shadows. She’s a nice Russian lady with white hair. Your new husband begins to carve the turkey, and you look across the elegant table at your new stepson. As you lock eyes with your new stepson, you lick your lips, because try as you might, you can’t forget that cozy night in February when you went to a house party to flirt with guys. You ditched your friends, ditched your panties, and came three times while
your future stepson
fucked you on a desk. A mahogany desk.”

Her eyes flew open.

“You’re…?”

“Yes, I’m Charlie.”

Her eyes were wide with shock. “Fuck.”

“Should I call you Mom? You’re younger than me, but we are a very traditional family.”

“No,” she gasped. “I’ll break up with him. I’ll end it tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? It might be cozy, the three of us sharing a roof.
Mom
.”

“Fuck.” She jumped up from the chair and ran for the door.

I sat in the chair with tented fingers, like an evil supervillain, listening to her yell at her friends to wake up so they could leave the party.

Once they were gone and I was alone, I grabbed the nearby wastebasket and vomited.

When I was done being sick, my hands were trembling. I sent a message to Duncan, telling him his ride was leaving in five minutes, and to meet me at the car.

The brunette probably thought I was the devil.

Little did she know, I hadn’t a clue who she was until she’d told me. My father’s mistress. The idea sickened me.

Had fate brought us together that night? Or was fucking one of my father’s mistresses inevitable, since apparently I had the same taste in women as him?

On the drive home from the party, Duncan bragged about all the phone numbers he’d collected. There’s a reason I call him Numbers as a nickname. He’ll approach a cute girl and take her picture with his phone, then stare at the screen and talk about what a sweet picture it is. She’ll ask to see the photo, he’ll refuse to hand the phone over because it contains “super secret military stuff.” They’ll both laugh, because Duncan has long hair and is basically the opposite of someone you’d guess is in the military. He offers to send the photo to her phone, if she reveals her numbers.

This isn’t the most elaborate scam, but it works the majority of the time. My stepmother says it works because Duncan is so “adorbs,” he could get away with murder. Murder? Maybe. Duncan couldn’t get away with a DUI, though, so I’d been his chauffeur for the past few months.

We drove home that chilly night in February, making fresh tire tracks in falling snow, and I pretended to be impressed by his five new numbers. He’d never call the girls. He just liked knowing they were in his phone.

~

After the Girl in Red turned the corner and disappeared from sight, I sent Duncan a reply saying I had important family business and couldn’t drive him.

I went back into the building and down to the maintenance room, to get washed up.

My shirt was filthy from digging around in the gardens. I pulled it off and grabbed one of the button-down groundskeeper uniform shirts hanging on the wall in the maintenance room.

Back in February, I’d confronted my father about the brunette, and he’d denied everything. I warned him that he had no prenuptial agreement with his current wife, and he’d lose another half of the fortune if he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. He merely looked amused.

When I see problems, I attack them with a sensible plan. When my father gets in trouble, he starts writing checks. After his last divorce, we had to refinance the club with a massive new loan, and because of rate changes on that loan, we’d had to cancel the recent renovation. One more mistake by him, and we could lose everything. My promise to my mother would be broken, and I wasn’t about to let that happen.

It was out of love for my mother that I started following my father around, starting in February.

I didn’t keep an eye on him every day, because my current stepmother kept tabs on him for her own reasons, but I followed him enough that eventually I caught him.

He was in a steam room at the club, with a woman. There was no mistake about what they were doing on the other side of a locked door. He must have known I was there, because I got a well-timed emergency call about a security problem at the front entrance. It was a false alarm, but by the time I returned to the steam rooms, the woman was gone.

My father acted innocent as he toweled off from his shower and got dressed. What he didn’t know was I had seen the clothes of the woman he was banging. Tossed carelessly on the floor next to the steam room was a very distinctive red dress and matching jacket. I knew eventually I’d track the woman down and formulate a plan to scare her off, I just didn’t expect it would happen so quickly.

I’d expected her to be attractive.

I had
not
expected to develop feelings for her after just a few minutes of talking.

Maybe I hit my head when I fell?

I’m not one for hopes and daydreams, but as I buttoned up the groundskeeper’s uniform and set off in search of the Girl in Red, I really hoped I was wrong about her. I hoped it was just a coincidence she had the same red dress as my father’s mistress.

Skye
 

When I reached the golf club rental building, I realized the cute groundskeeper had screwed me. This was not the way to the main entrance.

At least a nice old man sweeping the walkway was kind enough to let me in through a locked side door, then escort me to the ballroom. I thanked the man and gave him a hug, which seemed to surprise him. I guessed that the rich ladies who were members didn’t hug him much.

I slipped into the ballroom and took the first empty seat. I’d imagined the
ballroom
would be straight out of a fairy tale, with grand staircases and gleaming marble floors, but it looked like a boring hotel conference room. The carpet was a dizzying swirl of peacock feather colors.

The room was set with multiple round tables, and a woman stood on a raised podium, talking about the facility’s tennis courts. The smell of food hung in the air, and my stomach tried to leap out of my mouth to get at the finger food being taken around by staff in white dress shirts and burgundy vests.

When one of them passed near enough, I grabbed as much cheese, crackers, and chicken skewers as I could without making a spectacle of myself. When a waiter with champagne came by, I took one for myself and another for my
friend
. The waiter didn’t blink. He was probably well aware of imaginary friends and double helpings of champagne with frozen raspberries floating on the bubbles, but he didn’t let on.