CHAPTER 8
T
he next night, Jacqueline passed on Evan’s invitation to join him and a couple other writers for drinks. Instead, she went back to her hotel room. She told herself it was to go over the notes for the next day’s interviews. But that wasn’t the only reason. She was hoping for something else. She pulled out her iPad and looked over the information for the next day’s speakers. But her mind kept returning to Randall and the look on his face when she’d told him to keep the key. Just the thought of how his eyes had narrowed before dropping to her cleavage made her wet with longing.
I’ll never be able to concentrate without some relief.
She headed for the bathroom.
Moments later, Jacqueline eased into the hotel room’s soaking tub, filled to the rim with hot, bubbly water. The mixed fragrance of lilies and musk enveloped her as richly as the water, teasing the tendrils of hair that had escaped her hastily created bun. Leaning against the bath pillow, she opened her legs, allowing the water to soak her clit before she ran a tentative finger between her feminine folds, down and back again.
Ah!
Repositioning her head against the bath pillow, she reached for the loofah and washed her body in a slow, leisurely fashion. All the while she thought of Randall, and wondered if he would take her up on her offer and use the key.
He’s probably downstairs with his friend James. Or maybe another woman?
Jacqueline shook the thought out of her head. The last thing she needed to be was possessive. She had no claims on the handsome scientist and set her heart to the fact that even if they connected, it would more than likely be a short-term fling. That thought wasn’t too appealing, but she’d have to cross that good-bye bridge when she came to it.
Letting the loofah fall into the water, Jacqueline reached down, cupped her breasts, and held them above the suds.
I wonder if he’ll be surprised to learn that these are real?
She ran her finger around the areola and, feeling a squiggle travel from there to her heat, ran her hand across her flat stomach, down between her legs, and back. Picking up the sponge once more, she ran it lightly over her nipples until they stood at rapt attention. She grazed the firm nubs with the tips of her French-manicured nails. Her nether muscles clenched as the sensation of tweaking her own nipples once again ran through her body. Her hand moved beneath the water, and again, a finger eased between her lower lips. She touched her nub as lightly as she had her nipples, closed her eyes, and imagined it was Randall’s hand between her legs, and his finger making her harden with each delicate stroke. She’d had a full bikini wax just days before leaving home, along with a spa treatment that consisted of a sugar scrub followed by a shea butter body soufflé. The result? Skin that was smoother than a baby’s bottom and blemish-free.
She lifted one long, toned leg out of the water, and then the other.
I wonder how it would be to wrap these around your waist, Randall. How would it feel to hold on tight while you screw my brains out with what I’m sure is a big, thick appendage!
She closed her eyes. And heard a click. Her eyes flew open. She sat up, heart pounding as fiercely as a drum being played in a marching band.
Could that be him? Is he here?
She listened intently but heard nothing else.
You want him so badly you’re imagining him here. Chill out, girl. The minute you stop getting your hopes up is the minute they stop getting dashed.
She slid down farther into the tub, resting her head on the bath pillow and closing her eyes.
“Jacqueline.”
Clearly, the noise hadn’t been her imagination. He had come to her! She remained still, with her eyes closed, wanting to savor the moment just in case she opened them to find that this was all a dream.
She heard him kneel, felt him staring at her body. Slowly, ever so slowly, she opened her eyes. “You came.”
A wisp of a smile ran across his face at the double entendre. “You thought I wouldn’t? If you’ve changed your mind, just say the word and I’ll—”
“I haven’t changed my mind.” The words came out in a breathless rush. Jacqueline closed her eyes, hoping against hope that she hadn’t just come off sounding like a desperate fool.
“Look at me.” She opened her eyes. “You are a vision of loveliness, my dear.”
He reached for the sponge, dipped it in the soapy water, then held it up and squeezed. Rivulets of water cascaded down her body and bounced off her nipples. He ran the loofah over her breasts and across her stomach before lifting one of her legs out of the water and running the sponge from her calf to her inner thigh.
She lay back and watched him, smelling the musky cologne that for the past two days—from the car ride to the concert—had driven her wild. Her smile was slight, her breath catching in her throat as she watched his eyes devour her body. She knew that tendrils of hair had escaped her upswept ponytail and now lay wet and clingy on her long, exposed neck. Her eyes remained fixed on his as he replaced the sponge with his hands and traced lazy circles across her stomach, her nipples hard and glistening as they protruded out of the water.
“Simply beautiful.”
His voice was low and husky with desire. Without looking, she knew he was already hard for her, ready for her, wanting her.
Ditto.
Finally she turned her head toward him and whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I hoped you would be.”
His touch was tentative. He took a strand of wet hair away from her face and gently placed it behind her ear, then ran his forefinger down her cheek and neck and across her weighty breasts. He cupped one of them in his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“They’re real.”
This comment brought out an amused smile. “Surprised?” “I am. These days most generous cleavage is courtesy of a surgeon’s deft hand. Very rare to find a woman who’s been so . . . naturally blessed.”
“Do you like them? Big breasts?”
“I love yours.” This as he used his finger to tease her already erect nipple. First one, and then the other. “You’re even lovelier than I imagined.”
“Oh, so you have been thinking about me.”
“I’ve thought of little else from the moment you joined me at the taxi stand.”
“Then I’m glad I went outside of my comfort zone and gave my spare room card to you.”
“Me too.”
She watched him as he stood, a nice-sized bulge clearly evident at the front of his slacks.
“That water must be getting cool. Let’s get you dried off.”
Jacqueline pulled the stopper and stood—looking much like a water nymph or goddess—as water and bubbles slid down her silky, hairless skin. She stepped out of the soaking tub and into the fluffy white towel that Randall held for her. In other words, she stepped into his waiting arms.
For a moment he simply held her, his nose against her neck, breathing in her freshly bathed scent. He nuzzled her neck. She wrapped her arms around his, marveling at how well they fit together. Her five foot eight was a perfect complement to his height of six feet; a simple tilt and her mouth would be aligned with his.
One small tilt and she could claim the succulent lips she’d eyed each time they’d met She eased back her head. He raised his. Their eyes met, both pairs dark with desire, glistening with the excitement that comes with illicit, daring adventures, with spontaneous delights. She lowered her eyes to his mouth and slowly leaned forward. Their lips touched. She shivered, giddy with the knowledge of what was happening: Randall, live and in beautifully living color, here, with her, in her room. Just like she’d envisioned.
She pressed her soft, slightly thick lips against his much fuller ones, loving the way his neatly clipped mustache tickled her upper lip. He smelled so good. He felt amazing, his body toned but not overly muscular, his close-cropped, curly hair soft to the touch. When she ran her tongue against the crease of his mouth it immediately opened. His tongue met hers—softly searching, expertly exploring—even as he pressed the towel against her body, drying her off and making her wet at the same time.
The kiss deepened. She pressed her body against his, moving her head along with her tongue, an oral exchange that was sensuous and promising. His hands left the towel and became entwined in her hair. Still kissing her, he reached for the clip that held up her silky locks. He made quick work of freeing her hair from its bondage and tossed the clip aside. She stepped back, allowing one of the barriers to their being skin-to-skin to fall away.
They both watched the towel slide to the floor. Randall quickly wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. The kiss was different this time: intense, scorching hot, ravaging. His hands ran up and down her body, cupping her butt cheeks and pushing her against his rock-hard erection. Her hands were busy too, spanning the width of his shoulders, running down his waist to his hips and back. She pressed herself against him, her breasts flush against his chest as their tongues dueled and danced together. Randall eased a hand between them and—much as she’d imagined mere moments before—slid a finger between her sticky wet lips.
She gasped, her hot breath escaping into his mouth before her head fell back. She placed her hand over his, willing him to go harder, deeper. It was only one finger, but it had unleashed a madness to have all of this man. Shaky hands reached for his belt buckle, impatient to free the beast that she’d felt against her pelvis. It wasn’t happening fast enough. The buckle, the belt loops, the lack of experience at undressing a man in a hurry.
Damn you, belt buckle. Come loose!
“Whoa, baby,” Randall drawled after ending the kiss. “No need to rush. We’ve got all night. Here, let me help you with this. In fact, this bathroom is beautiful, but I think the bed will serve a much better purpose for what I have in mind.”
They left the bathroom with Randall unbuttoning this and removing that as they went. By the time they reached the bed, he was down to tee and boxers, having removed his shoes as soon as he’d arrived. Jacqueline eased onto the bed, naked and available, poised on one elbow with her head resting against her hand. She watched as he removed his T-shirt. Their eyes locked as he slid the Calvin Klein extra-large from around his hips.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, looking at his dick standing at attention.
She didn’t speak; only nodded. What she saw made her pussy clench and her mouth water. For two days she’d wondered how it would be to fuck the successful scientist. Now, she was getting ready to find out.
CHAPTER 9
I
t was Friday afternoon. The conference had ended. Randall and James sat at a table for ten in Kerry Simon’s restaurant, LA Market. They were joined by esteemed doctor Darshana Chatterji—the Western-trained Indian MD who was boldly and somewhat controversially presenting modules on using Eastern spirituality to facilitate healing—along with six other world-renowned guests.
“Who’s missing?” one of the colleagues asked when everyone had been seated and an empty chair remained.
“A person from the media will be joining us,” Dr. Chatterji explained. “Wait,” he continued, holding up his hands to ward off their protests. “She comes as my personal guest, not as a reporter. She will not bring a microphone and notepad but rather will simply listen to our table talk. She herself is quite intelligent and I believe might add beneficially to our conversation.” He looked up, standing as he did so. “Ah, here she is now.”
Eight pairs of eyes followed Dr. Chatterji’s. What they saw was perfection personified. Jacqueline fairly floated to the table, simply arrayed in a dress of turquoise silk, with simple silver high-heeled sandals and understated jewelry. Makeup was minimal and her hair was in a conservative ponytail, emphasizing her almond-shaped eyes, pouty mouth, and long, kissable neck. Every man’s thoughts were exactly alike. She looked magnificent. As one, the table stood as she reached them.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, making eye contact with each man as Dr. Chatterji pulled out her seat. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Not at all,” Dr. Chatterji said, his sixty-plus-year-old eyes bright with admiration. “We only just arrived. Gentlemen, I present to you Ms. Jacqueline Tate, whose article on holistic healing was recently recognized by the Harvard Medical School and debated as a class project.”
Appreciative comments went around the table. Jacqueline heard them, but her eyes settled on Randall, whose brow arched in speculation as if to say, “You didn’t tell me that.”
Her eyes shifted in response.
A smart girl never reveals all of her secrets.
Their conversation moved from technology to taste buds as the waiter approached with their drinks and waited for their orders. The men deferred to Jacqueline, who acknowledged their manners in asking her to choose first. “Thank you, guys, but really. I just arrived. Please place your orders and by the time it gets back to me I will have decided.”
They did, their choices ranging from decadent orders of crispy pork belly, prime fillet, and lamb tagine to the more health-conscious Dr. Chatterji, who ordered a haricot vert salad with citrus vinaigrette. All eyes were on Jacqueline as she voiced her choice.
“I probably should choose the salad, Dr. Chatterji, as you have. But I must admit, I have a ravenous appetite.” She let that double entendre hang in the air for just a moment before she looked at the waiter and said, “I’d like the Angus burger with extra bacon and mayo and, oh, could I get a side of mashed potatoes?”
“Excellent choice,” the waiter responded, clearly smitten with Jacqueline’s flirty nature. “I didn’t get your drink order. Could I take that as well?”
“Sparkling water, please.”
With all of the meal orders placed, the conversation meandered back to the conference and which topic would dominate both attendee conversation and media coverage. Most of those around the table felt that Randall’s forward-thinking idea of using plant stem cells for human healing would be at the forefront, while a few felt that Dr. Chatterji’s concept of holistic healing, specifically integrating the power of the Divine, would prove more newsworthy in the news climate of today.
“What do you think, Jacqueline?” James asked with the merest hint of daredevil glee in his eyes.
She’d been quiet the entire conversation, taking in and mentally recording everything that was said. Along with her high IQ, she had a near-perfect photographic memory, and when it came to conversations, almost total recall. But now, since asked directly, she was more than happy to contribute to the conversation.
“Both topics are quite important,” she began, her voice low but firm. “Stem cell research has been at the forefront of medical research for quite some time, and while the use of plants has always been a part of the equation, I think you”—she turned to him—“Randall—excuse me, Dr. Atwater—have approached this possibility in a whole new way.
“That said, I am totally enthralled with the possibilities expressed by Dr. Chatterji.” She looked at him with a warm, admiring smile. “The concept of holistic living predates modern medicine by thousands of years, doesn’t it?” Dr. Chatterji nodded. “What is now deemed alternative was yesteryear’s standard medical practice, administered with a respectable degree of success. To my knowledge, issues such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s did not exist. Did they?” While glancing at the others at the table, she’d mostly focused her attention on Dr. Chatterji, and did so now as she asked the question.
“Diseases come and go,” Dr. Chatterji explained, sitting back and placing steepled hands on the table. “Many, in fact most, are created by lifestyle and diet. If you look to countries where people live the longest, you will see that theirs is a mostly vegetarian diet with a lifestyle filled with exercise, usually in the form of work. There is also some type of spiritual component to their existence, an entity or deity that fills them with faith, lowers their stress levels, and increases their overall happiness. We make it hard, but actually it’s quite simple to live a healthy life.”
“That is well said, Doctor.” Jacqueline paused as the waiter delivered her sparkling water. “But if what you’re saying is true and what you want to do is effective, aren’t you liable to put yourself out of business?”
“If I could lessen health problems through prevention, then having to change my occupation would be an easy sacrifice, and I believe that all of my colleagues around the table would agree.”
“Speak for yourself,” James said, his face a mask of skepticism even as he smiled to show that he teased. “I need my money! And as long as there are sick people, I will have a job.”
Dr. Chatterji did not join in the laughter. “Unfortunately, Dr. Sullivan, you are absolutely right.”
Their food arrived and conversation lessened as they ate. Jacqueline made a big show of taking the first bite of her large, juicy burger. “Oh my goodness,” she said, still chewing. “This is delicious!”
Darshana responded. “It looks very good. Maybe I should have ordered it after all. At the very least I would have enjoyed a good meal, and at most I could help Dr. Sullivan earn more money!” His eyes twinkled with humor. Those around the table laughed at this rare joke from a very serious man. They all declined dessert, and one of the doctors, a top neurologist who practiced at Johns Hopkins, insisted on paying the check.
Jacqueline stood, and the men followed suit. “I hear that the view from the ION Rooftop Patio is amazing. Anyone want to join me there for coffee or tea?” The question was general but her eyes were on Randall.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. The conference is over, but I and a few colleagues still have work to do.”
“I’m one of the colleagues he’s talking about,” James said, stretching. “Besides, I need to check in with the chief.”
“The chief?” the neurologist queried.
“His wife,” Randall explained.
“Ah yes. I have one of those.”
There was laughter around the table. Jacqueline turned to the Indian doctor. “What about you, Dr. Chatterji?”
He looked at his watch. “I have some reading to do, but my flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow. I guess another half hour won’t hurt.”
“Anyone else?” Various nays abounded. She hooked her arm through the doctor’s. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
“Oh goodness, don’t tell my wife.” His smile was mischievous. “She doesn’t know about my girlfriend.”
“His wife is his girlfriend,” Randall said as he passed. “And has been for the past forty years.”
“Forty-two years, thank you very much.”
“That’s quite a milestone,” James slapped him on the back as he too walked by, just behind Randall. “Congrats.”
Jacqueline and Dr. Chatterji fell into step behind Randall, James, and the rest of the group who’d been at the table. She furtively watched Randall’s long strides as he and James chatted. He laughed at something James said and Jacqueline noted his nice, white smile, his succulent lips and trimmed mustache. She remembered the way that mustache had felt as it tickled the top of her v-spot, and allowed herself the merest of smiles.
He’d said no to meeting her on the rooftop. She refused to let herself “go there” and feel bad about it. She’d been wined, dined, and screwed out of her mind, as Kaitlyn had put it. Just a good time girl, as she’d said she wanted. Perhaps their hookup was a one-time thing. But a few times during dinner, she’d caught him looking. And if what she read in his eyes was any indication, she’d be with the doctor again.