Madam of Maple Court (26 page)

Matt Waterhouse looked pretty much as Marcy had described him, so, as Pam walked into the restaurant at seven o'clock that Friday evening, she recognized him immediately. Although according to Marcy he was only in his mid forties, he was already almost totally bald, skinny, with ears that stuck out from the sides of his head. He was sitting at a table in the center of the serving floor wearing jeans and a red polo shirt when every other man in the place was dressed in a suit or at least a sport jacket and slacks. He was reading a newspaper, looking neither left nor right. As she clasped her hands together to still their shaking, she wondered that he was so calm when she was such a wreck.

She'd spent over an hour deciding what to wear. She'd finally settled on a navy blue blouse with a small white design and a navy skirt slit to the knee on one side. As Marcy had suggested, she wore simple opera pumps that slipped on and off, with taupe thigh-high stockings. Her hair was smoothly combed and curved against her jaw. Her makeup was understated, her jewelry limited to a silver choker and silver drop earrings. She had taken off all her rings.

"Mr. Waterhouse," she said to the maitre d', who nodded and almost genuflected at the mention of her liaison's name. "Of course. Mr. Waterhouse said he'd be expecting a dinner companion." She felt conspicuous and wondered whether he was looking down his nose at her. Did he know she was a "paid companion"? No, he probably looked at everyone that way, as if examining a specimen or some lower form of life who would be dining with one of his most important guests. "This way, madam." Madam. She almost laughed at his unknowing double entendre. He led her to the table she'd anticipated.

As she approached, Matt put down his paper and stood. "Good evening, love," he said, then leaned forward and bussed her cheek as if he'd known her forever. "I'm so glad you could join me."

"I'm glad I could as well," she said, not sure what else to say. The maitre d' held her chair and she settled across from this man, her first customer. She unclenched her fingers from the strap of her small purse and put it on the corner of the table. Not knowing what image Matt wanted to project, she didn't want to indicate that this was a first meeting in front of the maitre d' so she said, "It's nice to see you." She had no idea what a prostitute said when first meeting a John.

"It's lovely to see you, too." His voice was deep and, although he was making an obvious effort to keep it low, there was a force, a drive to the mellow tones. "Marcy has such wonderful taste. You look smashing."

She smiled despite her jangled nerves. "Thank you, Matt."

"Is your name really Pam? I know many of Marcy's ladies use false ones. You don't have to tell me, I'm just curious."

"When I first decided to do this I vowed to lie as little as possible."

"That's a good plan," he said. "So, honest lady, tell me a little about yourself."

"There's not too much to tell." She explained that she was a widow with no children, that she lived in Westchester, and that, currently, she was involved in several charity committees. She quickly discovered that one of those organizations was a pet charity of Matt's and they talked about its great work, which was chronically underfunded.

"Do you come here often?" Pam asked.

"I'm here at least once a week. I like to be seen here and frequently run into business associates. There's something about showing up in jeans with one beautiful woman after another that tickles my piano keys."

Was he the rebel he wanted everyone to see or was he merely making the point that no one could deny him entrance anywhere? She and Vin had been to Sparks a few times, and once one of the business associates they'd arranged to meet had arrived without a jacket. The maitre d' had insisted he wear one of the navy blue ones the house kept for just such occasions. She could picture Matt telling the powers that be here that either he dressed the way he wanted or he'd dine elsewhere. Interesting man. Vin had always been so conscious of his appearance and she marveled at how unlike her late husband this man was. She decided to let that subject drop. "Since you eat here so often, you can probably suggest the best thing on the menu," she said.

"What do you like?"

There was something in his tone and direct gaze that gave the question a deeper meaning. "I like most everything," she said with one suggestively raised eyebrow.

"My kind of woman." They agreed on her entree and he suggested a particular, very pricy but very ordinary merlot. When he'd had finally enough money to indulge, Vin had insisted that they both study wines, mostly in order to make a good impression on others. Pam quickly realized that although Vin had little flair for the subject, she enjoyed going to tastings, visiting vineyards on wine tours, getting to know vintages and how to pair food and wine. Over the months they'd studied, she'd developed a discerning palate and an amazing ability to cherry-pick wonderful but not exorbitant wines from a list. "I've been here a few times," she said, softly, as the sommelier approached, back rigid, expression set, "so I hope you don't mind but I remember some of the items on the wine list." Wine book was a better term, since Sparks specialized in their cellar. She'd discussed wines with the then-sommelier on previous visits. It tickled Vin to watch her show her stuff. "There's a really nice Chateau Troplong Mondot that was a particular favorite of my late husband's. It's a St. Emilion and it's priced quite a bit less than the one you mentioned." She knew the money meant little but her creativity might impress him.

Rather than being surprised by her perceptiveness, he seemed relieved and said, "Wonderful. I know very little about wine, so I always order one of the few I know."

"The same wine as usual?" the sommelier said as he leaned over the table.

Matt motioned his head toward her and she ordered the wine.

"A fine selection," he said, looking a bit nonplussed. "You seem very well informed."

"I like to think so. I see that the one you have listed is the 2002. Is that the only vintage you have?"

The sommelier's expression softened and his voice became more friendly. "We used to have the 1998, for a different price, of course, but we're sold out. The 2002 is almost as good."

"Fine. We'll settle for that."

At the word "settle" the sommelier started, then actually smiled. As he left the table, Matt leaned forward. "I'm impressed. You really sound like you know what you're doing."

She put her hand in front of her face to cover her grin. "My late husband was a bit of a wine snob, and I have to admit that the stuffy sommelier brought out the worst in me."

The remainder of dinner was very enjoyable and, for a while, she forgot why she was with this charming man. He said all the right words about Vin's death and she found that the pain was now nonexistent. "I think I'm happier now," she confessed, both to Matt and to herself, "than I've been in a long time."

They discussed their backgrounds and told amusing anecdotes from their pasts. He really liked the wine and quickly committed the name and vintage to memory. When the check arrived, Matt dropped his platinum credit card on the silver tray and it was whisked away by the waiter. "Could I interest you in a nightcap at my place?" he said, his voice rising over the background noise.

She was momentarily puzzled. Didn't he know she was bought and paid for? When she raised an eyebrow he winked at her. "I'd like to show you my apartment," he continued loudly.

Ah, she thought. Those at nearby tables could make out what he was saying. He obviously loved giving the impression that he had propositioned a date. "I think I'd like that, Matt."

Sotto voce
, he said, "You're quick on the uptake."

"No problem."

Matt's penthouse was atop a corner building on Central Park West. Pam tried to control her jitters as they took the interminably slow ride up in the elevator. She was conscious of her desire to wring her hands but locked her fingers around the handle of her pocketbook and stared straight ahead.

The view from the wide living-room windows was spectacular. Silently he opened the sliding door to the terrace and she walked outside, leaned on the parapet, and looked up at the stars, then down at Central Park. When he put a hand in the small of her back she jumped. "If I'm insulting you I'm sorry, but you haven't done this very often, have you?"

Should she tell him the truth? She'd thought about how to handle slightly sticky situations like this and had decided to tell the truth wherever possible. "No, I haven't. You're my first—"she stumbled over the word,—"client."

Matt slid his hand up her back and rested it on the nape of her neck. She felt his breath on her ear as he leaned close. "That's delightful. Thank you."

She turned slowly and saw his face very close. "For what?"

"For letting me be your first. It's quite a privilege."

A light breeze rippled her hair. "It's totally scary."

His laugh was rich. "I guess it is. Would you like to call the whole thing off?"

She considered, then smiled at him and said, "No. I look at it this way. If we had met under other circumstances and ended up here, I wouldn't have balked at making love to you. So how is this different?"

Matt shook his head slowly. "It isn't." Then his lips found hers. His kiss was soft, suggesting things she realized she wanted. This was a big step but one she now wanted to take. She snaked her arms around his shoulders and held him close. They kissed for a long time, heat slowly flowing through her. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed him more firmly to her. Then he leaned back against the parapet.

"I would like to see you," he said. "May I take your blouse off?"

She had deliberately worn items that were easy for her to remove, so she slowly unbuttoned her blouse and, as his eyes wandered hotly over her body, she tossed it onto a lawn chair. Then she unfastened the front closure of the lacy pink bra she wore. When her breasts were free, she felt a light breeze cool her skin and pucker her nipples. She'd never been partially naked like this, outside beneath the stars and moon. It was intimate and sensual.

"I like your decisiveness, and you're so lovely," he purred, pulling his polo shirt over his head. Then he pressed his chest against hers, moving slightly so her nipples rubbed against his whorls of chest hair. She let her head fall back so he could kiss and nibble at her throat.

"You feel so good," she whispered. "I like what your lips are doing."

He kissed a steamy path down her throat, then across her collarbone and back to her ear. Then his mouth found her breast and he nipped at her flesh, making her jump. He didn't ask whether what he was doing pleased her so she moved against him, moaned, and generally made it obvious that she was reveling in the sensations he was creating.

His fingers found the fastening of her skirt and it quickly followed her blouse and bra. She stood, wearing only panties, thigh-high stockings, and her pumps.

"You're beautiful."

"I'm glad you think so."

While she spoke, he pulled off the remainder of his clothing and she saw his already rigid erection. Her knees trembled, not with reluctance or fear, but from anticipation, and she realized she was soaking wet with need. She wanted him, not because it was her job for the evening but because he was a sexy man whom she liked very much and who obviously wanted her. His desire for her was a strong aphrodisiac.

When she started to remove her panties he stopped her. "I want to do that." He took her hand and led her to a thickly cushioned lounge chair and sat down, leaving her standing beside him. He hooked his thumbs over the sides of her lacy pink panties and slowly pulled them down, then pressed his face against her belly.

She looked around, aware with a small part of her mind that they were above most of the city, with a warm breeze caressing her heated skin and a desirable man making love to her. She glanced at the nearby skyscrapers, wondering whether anyone on a balcony could see them. She found it a very arousing thought.

His thumbs gently parted her outer lips and his mouth found her swollen clit. When the tip of his tongue flicked against her, the jolt of pleasure almost buckled her knees and knocked her off her feet.

"Come," he said, guiding her to the chair beside him. Then he slid to the foot of the lounge and crouched over her until he could again find her clit with his mouth, his fingers playing with her nipples. He was an expert at inflaming her and driving her toward climax. Why did he care about her pleasure? she wondered. She was being paid to pleasure him. She didn't question any of it, just enjoyed.

As she felt her orgasm build he pulled away. He quickly found a condom and, as he put it on, he said, "I want to be inside you when you come. I want to feel it on my cock."

He slowly opened her with his erection, then manipulated her clit with his fingers until, with a long, deep moan, she came, feeling her vaginal muscles squeeze him. When she came down, his cock was quiet inside her. "Now for my pleasure."

"What can I do?"

"Just be hot, and wet, and eager." He turned her onto her stomach and stroked her buttocks. Was he going to try anal penetration? She had never done that before and wasn't sure she was ready to try. Didn't she have some obligation to do whatever he wanted? Could she? He must had sensed her reluctance. "Don't worry," he purred. "I won't do anything you won't like."

Rather than playing with her anus, he pulled her into a sort of crouch and entered her vagina from the rear. It felt strange, and his hard cock touched her in what felt like different places. Quickly she found that she was arching her back and matching his thrusts with her own. She reached between her legs, and when she cupped his testicles he began to grunt with each stroke. Finally, he roared with his pleasure and collapsed on top of her.

They moved so they were side by side and it was several minutes until they could get control of their breathing. Finally he said, "That was wonderful. You're a very sexy woman."

"I thank you, kind sir," she said, not knowing what else to say.

"I assume you know that I never entertain a woman twice. I don't know why I've made that a rule, but I have. Right now I rather regret it."