Sugar (26 page)

Cole lifted his forehead from Sarah’s. “I got you something.”

He retrieved his jacket and passed her the square box he’d earlier tucked into his pocket.

“I didn’t have time to get it gift-wrapped,” he apologized, passing the gift over. The blue bow stuck on top had been the most he’d had time to do.

“That’s so thoughtful, thank you,” Sarah said, taking it and lifting the lid. “I can’t think what it is,” opening the hinged jeweler’s case.

Watching her, Cole tensed, belatedly wondering if his “gift” was such a good idea.

Sarah’s head shot up. “You got me Ben Wa Balls!” Put like that, he couldn’t tell if she was pleased, offended, or simply surprised.

He followed her gaze down. Two weighted platinum orbs sat on a bed of midnight blue velvet, the pull cord and adjoining chain set with miniature sapphires and diamonds. “I had them engraved,” he said, pointing to their paired initials etched into the platinum.

“They’re beautiful,” she said. “I didn’t know Ben-Wa Balls could be so . . . elaborate.”

Wondering if he maybe should have gotten her something more conventional, a diamond tennis bracelet or earrings, he asked, “Will you try them?”

She hesitated. “Now?”

Originally he’d meant to wait until they got back to her place, but given how their day had gone, who knew what they might face when they got there. “Sure, why not?”

Her mouth firmed as if decided. “All right, though I’m a Ben-Wa Ball virgin. I may need some practice putting them in.”

Cole shrugged. “I have some time.”

He helped her down, and she slipped inside the stall with the box. Impatient, Cole walked back and forth before the mirrors, pausing every now and again to stare at the stall door. Other than her feet and a suggestion of motion, Sarah was hidden from him. Was insertion a . . . process? Should he offer to . . . help her? He’d never given such a gift to anyone but when he’d come across a certain high-end and very discreet boutique in the Upper East Side, he hadn’t been able to resist.

Eventually the stall opened. Smoothing her dress, Sarah stepped out. She came toward, slender hips sexily swaying, her steps unrushed but in no way mincing.

“How do you feel?” Cole asked, scouring her face for a reaction. “They don’t hurt, do they?” he added in sudden alarm. He’d assumed she knew to leave the pearl chain out for removal but maybe he should have made certain first.

Her mouth tilted in a smile. “No, they don’t hurt but I definitely feel . . . something.”

Cole grinned. “Define
something
.”

She licked her lips. “Every step, every movement I make brings on a sort of delicious feeling of . . . fullness. It’s hard to describe but suffice it to say, I hope you don’t have other plans for tonight.”

So the balls were doing what they were intended to do— heightening arousal. What better way to relax from the stress of the day? “Every step?”

She nodded. “Yes.” Pitching her voice lower, she confided, “My panties are already soaked through, and we haven’t even left the bathroom. We’d better catch a cab home.”

Every step, every movement
. Cole felt his grin broaden. “It’s such a nice evening, I thought we’d walk.”

M
onday morning Cole had scarcely settled into his office chair when the crackle of the intercom cut in. His assistant, Karen, called out, “Mr. Canning, your mother is here to see you. Shall I show her in?”

Cole hesitated in answering, girding himself for the confrontation that was certain to come. He didn’t need a crystal ball to know the reason for his mother’s unscheduled visit, or to predict that the fallout would be fierce. The infiltration of paparazzi on Saturday had born the predictable result. Sarah was outed as Sugar and he as her “blue blood billionaire boy toy.” Their joined names were splashed across every major gossip column and blog, not only for New York but nationwide.

Reaching up, he straightened his tie. “Yes, thanks.”

He’d barely got the words out when his office door opened. Dressed in Prada from head to foot, her blond helmet hair freshly colored, and wearing the ubiquitous Mikimoto pearl earrings and choker, his mother marched inside. “Ridiculous girl, she forgets this was my office for nearly thirty years.”

Cole rose to greet her. “Mother, this is an unexpected . . . pleasure. What brings you to Midtown?”

He crossed to the front of the desk to pull out a chair for her, but she waived him off. “What I’ve come to say won’t take long.”

Clearly she was braced for battle. Cole felt himself doing the same, his stomach clenching as though he was still the truant boarding school student who’d been sent down for ditching class and smoking a joint. But he wasn’t that sheltered brat, not any longer. In Iraq he’d once faced down a mob of militant sympathizers who’d blocked his jeep, not to mention risking capture, death and disfigurement for two consecutive 365-day tours. His mother was pushing seventy, didn’t own any weapons, and barely reached five foot two wearing heels. They’d butted heads before he was old enough to shave. What was there to be cowed by?

“Very well, Mother, I’m all ears. What’s on your mind?”

She drew back, nostrils flaring. “Don’t toy with me, Colvin.” He hated when she called him Colvin, an ancestral surname with which she’d seen fit to curse him. “I may have stepped down as head of this foundation, but I still read the papers.”

She produced a rolled up
New York Post
and held it out as though disciplining a puppy that had broken its housetraining and soiled. Instead of using it to rap him on the nose, she threw it down on his desk blotter.

He shrugged. “I went to a wedding on Saturday with a friend, big deal.”

“You attended a
gay
marriage as the escort to a
pornographic
film star.”

“Same sex marriage is legal in New York State and Sarah is a
former
adult film actress.”

“Actress, huh! Don’t play semantics with me. She’s a slut.”

Like water off a duck’s back, his mother’s insults tended to glide off him. But hearing her speak of Sarah so, Cole felt his calm slipping— and his temper rising. “That’s enough. Sarah is my friend.”

Her mouth pursed, drawing his attention to the lines puckering her lips. They were both too old for this, the fighting, the pointless lecturing. “Yes, I know all about your degenerate
friends
and until now I’ve held my peace. But this time you’ve gone too far. You’ve jeopardized not only your already tattered reputation but the standing of this foundation.”

Cole took a deep breath. “If you feel I’ve violated the morality clause in my contract, you’re free to make your case to the board. On second thought, screw the board. I’ll be happy to step down.” He wasn’t bluffing.

“Oh yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you. Once a quitter, always a quitter, or so your father used to say, God rest his soul.”

The depth of her hypocrisy never failed to amaze him. His parents had barely tolerated one another. Separate bedrooms and separate lives had been their domestic status quo since he could remember. When his father had died suddenly of a heart attack in his mid-fifties, he’d done so in the arms of his mistress of many years.

“Running this foundation is the sole structure to your unstructured, dilettante lifestyle. Without it, you’d be free to pursue your . . . perversions full time.”

His perversions, seriously? “This may be news to you, Mother, but these days nearly everyone owns a flogger and a copy of
Fifty Shades of Grey
.”

Flushing, she held her ground, not that he’d expected any less. “I’m past caring what you do in private.”

“Glad to hear it,” Cole shot back, wondering if she’d had him followed. He wouldn’t put it past her. Wartime Iraq didn’t have much to recommend it—bad heat, bad food, and almost constant mortal danger—but at least he’d been beyond her reach.

“But under no circumstances are you to see that . . .
creature
in public again.”

An ultimatum—she really should know better than to go there. “And if I do?”

Lips trembling, she gathered a deep breath. “You will leave me no choice but to cut you out of this family including its fortune.”

“I see. If that’s all Mother I have work to do. I hope you’ll forgive me for not walking you to the elevator.” He gestured her toward the door.

“I hope
you
understand. I won’t warn you again.”

He stepped back behind the desk. “Have a good day, Mother.”

Watching her huffy exit, he considered his next move. Her ultimatum hadn’t really surprised him. It alarmed him even less. Soldiering in Iraq had shown him how very little in the way of material comforts he needed to get by. Untainted food and water, a change of clothes, and a few hours of sleep in an actual bed had risen to luxury status. Even if she made good on her threat to cut him off, he’d be fine. He had advanced explosives expertise that any number of government defense contracting firms would covet, and a modest personal savings. He knew a lot of people with a lot less going for them.

Slipping into his seat, he picked up the newspaper and studied the captioned photograph. One thing was certain. The camera loved Sarah. Even caught by surprise with her eyes shell-shocked and her mouth ajar, she was a stunner.

More than his mother’s ultimatum, it was his feelings for Sarah that had him shaken. At some point over the past weeks, he’d stopped thinking of her as a fuck buddy and started treating her like his girlfriend.

Going as her date to the wedding had been a mistake and not just because of the paparazzi showing up. Looking on as Peter and Pol exchanged vows and rings he’d been slammed with the sense that he and Sarah were the only two in the room. He was falling for her. Beyond the sex, he loved being with her. Making breakfast together, fighting over the water temperature in the shower, and zoning out side-by-side on the sofa watching
Doctor
Who
—it was as if he experienced everything for the first, magical time.

But more than anything, his revelations about what had gone down in Iraq bound them. For two years he’d steadfastly refused to talk about the war to anyone, even other vets. But Sarah wasn’t anyone. She touched a part of him that no other woman had ever come close to reaching, made him vulnerable in ways he’d never before been. As any soldier knew, vulnerability was weakness and weakness led to danger— big danger. If he didn’t fix his attitude and fast, he might fall the rest of the way in love with her.

Pushing back from the desk, he picked up his iPhone and brought up Candace’s number. He hadn’t seen her since the night he’d met Sarah, almost two months ago. Curious as to what kind of greeting he’d get, he hit Send.

She picked up on the second ring. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“Hey, beautiful, how’s the headache?”

“It disappeared two months ago along with you.”

“Yeah, I know—my bad. I should have called. I’ve been slammed with work.” The bullshit excuse was the best he could do.

Fortunately for him she was still sufficiently interested not to hang up, not yet anyway. That didn’t mean she wasn’t up for making him squirm. “I saw you in the paper with your
girlfriend
. Funny, I wouldn’t have figured you for the wedding type.”

He forced a shrug into his voice. “What can I say? It was a slow news cycle, so they had to come up with something. I was helping out a friend, that’s all.”

“So Sugar Halliday is what, your bestie?”

Skirting the question, he said, “I didn’t call to talk about her, I called about you. The Foundation’s holding a cocktails and dinner thing at the Met tomorrow night. We’re hoping to raise startup funds for the new mentorship program, and I’d love to have you on my arm. This time I promise to make sure any pasta is gluten-free. C’mon, what do you say? It’ll be fun.”

“Is Sugar busy?”

Cole blew out a breath. “You’re the first person I’m calling” That much at least was true although if she gave him much more grief he’d close out the conversation and move on to the dozen or more prospects in his address book.

As if sensing he was reaching his limit, she softened her voice and said, “In that case, I guess I’ll forgive you.”

Wishing he felt more of . . .
anything
, Cole said, “Great, I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Sounds perfect . . . And Cole?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you called. I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah, me too.” The glib lie rolled off his tongue as smoothly as before only now it brought an unprecedented pang of conscience.

Cole clicked off the call. Beautiful, wealthy, and pedigreed, Candace would be the perfect antidote to the rumors that he and Sugar— Sarah—were an item. But more importantly, their “date” was almost certain to get back to Sarah. A picture was indeed worth a thousand words and given the guest list of high profile public figures, including the city’s mayor, there would be plenty of paparazzi covering the event. He didn’t want Sarah to get the wrong idea about them, especially since he’d gone off map the other day and let his emotions get the better of him. They had a good thing going—and another seventy plus films to power through. So long as they stuck to their sex only agreement, there was no reason he couldn’t continue seeing her. The situation was winwin for them both.