Addicted To Him (Man Season) (2 page)

As soon as she flicked the phone
shut, Westcott knocked it away and set her hand on him, encouraging her to
fondle him while he continued to arouse her with his fingers.

“People will see us here,” she
worried.

“No, they won’t. We’re not under a
streetlight. Kiss it.”

She was confused. He was making her
feel like no one had ever done before but it was humiliating, being right there
in his car with people passing by, and knowing her mom was in the restaurant
right in front of them.

“Wait, I can’t do this here.”

“Relax. No one can see us.”

“But I can see them.”

“So close your eyes.”

He knelt down in the darkness, hiked
up her skirt and yanked her panties down. Then he lifted her hips and began to
drink at her like a cup.
Tegan
couldn’t help but
gyrate beneath him, the orgasms building in little waves until they burst out
of her in a torrent of pleasure. She put her hand to her mouth to keep from
screaming.

“This is so not right,” she
whispered.

“But it’s so good, hum?” he asked,
raising his head to smile at her. “My turn,” he said hoarsely.

Tegan
kept her eyes closed tight as she
bent to his lap and took him into her mouth. He groaned as if in torment as she
explored him with her mouth and tongue. The scent of him was dusky and sweet,
arousing her back to a crest of desire. He realized she wasn’t through and
eased his hand between her thighs.

“Stroke it, that’s right,” he sighed.
Tegan
dared open her
eyes,
watched his silhouette as he flung his head backwards, his chest rising up and
down in quick bursts of anguish. “Now, get ready, get ready…”

She moved her lips over him in a
dizzying motion, felt his need growing and expanding. His flesh was hot, firm,
wonderful
.

Finally he came, shooting into her
mouth so forcefully she was afraid she’d drown. But she took all of him, and
more, until he couldn’t spare a drop. He raised her off of him, zipped his
pants.

Without a word he started the Jaguar
and steered them away from the curb.
Tegan
readjusted
her clothing, sat looking straight ahead, fearing she’d done something to
displease him.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Fine,” he answered curtly.

“Was I horrible at it?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t understand why …”

“Look,
it’s
over. It was good.
Great, in fact.
I’ll take you home
now, and you can clean up before your mother gets home.”

CHAPTER TWO

Westcott remained silent at the wheel
during the drive to
Tegan’s
neighborhood. Her
questioning glances failed to elicit one response.

“I don’t get you at all,” she said,
tears welling up in her eyes.

“You’re part of a rather
non-exclusive club. Of which I am a member myself.
Partridge Street
, did you say?”

“Yes. But …”

“Here’s the street. Which house?”

“There, the blue one, with all the
flowers.”

“Of course.”

He pulled the car into the driveway,
turned off the engine. Then he sighed, laid his arms on the steering wheel, and
his head on his arms.

“I suppose you think I’m some kind of
perverted fool,” he whispered.

“No, but you ARE confusing the hell
out of me.”

He raised his head, glanced at her
and laughed. There was
a hollowness
in the sound of
it. He suddenly seemed sad and alone.

“You’re a beautiful girl,
Tegan
, worthy of someone so much better than a man like
me.”

“I’d like to be the judge of that.”

“Would you?
Why,
because I’m rich?”

“No.”

“Why then?”

“Oh, you intrigue me, I guess. You
always seem so lighthearted, smiling your way through life, in spite of the tragedies
of your youth. In the photos I’ve seen …”

“In the photos you’ve seen I am
playing a part: the handsome, self-assured billionaire movie mogul. I guess I
must be a better actor than all those agents and casting directors told me if
people can’t see it’s an act.”

“Why do you do it then?”

“I can’t say.”

“You can’t say, or you won’t say?”

“I have my reasons but it’s
complicated.”

“I think I’d better go in. I’m
hungry.”

“Right.
I’m a cad,
aren’t
I, seducing you in public and not even offering you dinner for your trouble?”

“Cad?
That’s an old-fashioned word.”

“Maybe I’m an old-fashioned man.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I am so sure!
Goodnight, Mr. Westcott.”

She stepped out of the car, walked
slowly towards the house without looking back. She heard the driver door open
and slam shut, then his footsteps as he came up behind her.

“Wait,
Tegan
.
I don’t want it to end here, like this.”

She turned around, was going to try
to act blasé about the situation but the desperate look in his eyes stopped her
cold.

“Well, come inside and I’ll make us a
couple of omelets.”

He nodded, followed her into the
house. It was a cheerful, relaxed home full of old, repurposed furnishings and
colorful art.
Tegan
led him into a bright kitchen
with green and white ivy-covered wallpaper and fresh white cabinets. The
appliances were vintage but in good working order.

“Hand me that skillet, would you?”
she asked him, pointing her eyes towards a cast iron beauty hanging on the
wall.

He took it down, gave it to her then perused
the fridge for the eggs while she heated up the pan and melted some butter in
it.

“I’ve never actually done anything
like this before,” he admitted as they sat at a mid century chrome table,
eating their cheesy omelets and toast.

“What do you mean? You’ve never had
an omelet?”

“No, I mean sitting here in a small,
cozy house, having a simple meal with a woman.”

“So you’ve been rich your whole
life?”

“Afraid so; I’ve always lived in
enormous, elaborate mansions with servants fulfilling my every need. I never
had a chance to enjoy such a simple pleasure.”

“Poor you,” she grinned. He was so
child-like at times, brought out the nurturing instinct in her. But then she’d
catch a hot glance from those azure eyes and her insides would flip. It was
difficult not to watch his beautiful mouth as he talked and ate and sipped his
coffee. Why on Earth would a gloriously gorgeous man like him find her the
least bit interesting? She was pondering that question when he startled her by
saying, out of the blue:

“I’ve been stalking you, you know.”

“What?”

“Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve
seen you. I might as well come clean about it before this goes any further.”

“I don’t understand you.”

He sighed, wiped his mouth with a
napkin then leaned closer.

“About a year ago I walked into
Lieberman Realty, looking to buy a vacation home in
Montana
.”
Tegan
perked up, her eyes glowing. “I saw the most beautiful, green-eyed girl with
strawberry blonde hair, sitting at a desk there. I had an urgent appointment
and couldn’t stay to find out who you were. When I came back the next day they
said you’d been let go. I did a little digging, found you at the florist shop.
Ever since, I’ve been sneaking by when you were too busy to notice me. I
watched you through the glass windows, thinking about how good it could be with
us …”

She was quiet for a moment, trying to
comprehend what he was saying. For awhile she’d been feeling as though someone
was watching her but when she told her mother Callie had chalked it up to
nerves and the paranoia that comes with living in the modern world.

“Why didn’t you introduce yourself?”

“I’ve been resisting it for months,
though I wanted to desperately. I even bought that building across from the
florist shop and turned it into a studio so I could try to catch your
attention. When I realized that I had, I decided to make my move.”

“You actually bought that building
just to be near me?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you as shy as all that? You
certainly didn’t act shy in your car tonight!”

“It isn’t shyness that holds me back.”

“What is it then?”

The front door opened, a voice
called, “
Tegan
, are you home? Whose car is that in
the driveway?”

Tegan
stood, a bit frantic. “I’m in here,
Mom.” Then she whispered to Westcott, “God, I’d forgotten she’d be back
tonight! What do I do?’

“Introduce us, maybe?”

Callie St. Clair stepped into the
kitchen. She was a slim, sepia-skinned woman with curious dark eyes and a shock
of brown curls framing her narrow face. Her welcoming smile dropped to a
startled frown when Fleet Westcott stood up and nodded his hello.

“
Tegan
,
who’s your guest?”

“Mom, I want you to meet Fleet
Westcott. He owns the building across from the florist shop. He was nice enough
to drive me home so I cooked him dinner.
Mr. Westcott, this
is my mom, Callie St. Clair.
She’s a pharmacist at the local drugstore.”

“How do you do, Mrs. St. Clair?”

He held out a hand to her; she took
it.
“Fine.
It’s nice to meet you. Mr. Westcott, was
it?
Oh, not that movie producer?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Weren’t you involved in a scandal several
years ago?”

“Mom, that’s kind of rude, isn’t it?”

“No,
Tegan
,
she has a perfect right to ask about it. I am a guest in your house, after
all.”

“Well, I’ve read about it. And I
wouldn’t bring it up in conversation. Anyway, I figured it was tabloid stuff,
invented by sick minds for the most part.”

“No, what you read is very true. You
were a child when it happened, I should think. I was barely a teen myself. My
father was a beast; he abused me and my mother until she poisoned him just to
get away. He died and she wound up in jail because of what she did. There are
those who said I did the poisoning, and she took the rap to save me.”

“Did you?” Callie asked.

“Mom, really?”

“I’m not asking out of pure
curiosity,
Tegan
. Once I get my degree in psychology,
I’ll see these cases quite often. I’m taking classes at UCLA, Mr. Westcott.”

“Good for you! Never hurts to improve
the mind! But to answer your question … no, I didn’t poison him. That’s too
subtle an approach for me. I wanted to shoot him. He made life a living hell
for my mother, and for me. I hated him. He ruined my childhood, and her youth.
He even took her sanity. She spent the remaining years of her life shut up in a
world of her own making … a make believe world where she was a safe, complacent
child, playing with rag dolls, and where I and my father had never existed.”

Tegan
placed a gentle hand on his to calm
the fierceness of his gaze. He flinched then nodded at her appreciatively.

“Looks like you turned out okay, in
spite of it all,” she said with an encouraging smile.

“Doesn’t the truth about my parents
disturb you? It would some people.”

“No, you can’t help what your
relatives do. And I can understand why you would be so bitter. But the past is
the past. We can’t change it; we can only learn from it.”

“My smart girl!”
Callie grinned. “Well, I’ve had a
long day at the drugstore. I’m going to go study a bit before bedtime. Mr.
Westcott …”

“Call me Fleet, please?”