Man of Fortune

by Rochelle Alers

  “Yes,” she said after an interminable pause. “She has proof that her husband has been cheating on her.”

  “Has she confronted him?”

  “I told her not to until she speaks to a lawyer. She doesn’t want to use the one she has because he’s a family friend. I don’t want Renata to end up screwed like I was.”

  “Does she have children?”

  “She has two teenage girls. I know it’s going to destroy them when they find out their parents are breaking up. They adore their father.”

  Duncan wrapped his arms around Tamara’s waist. “Do you think there’s the possibility she might consider marital counseling? There’s always a reason why men and women cheat.”

  “Have you ever cheated on a woman?”

  “No. Are you asking because you think I’d cheat on you, Tamara?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t.”

  “Has a woman ever cheated on you?” Tamara felt the strong, steady beating of Duncan’s heart against her back.

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do when you found out?” she asked.

  “I stopped seeing her.”

  There came a beat. “I can’t imagine what Renata is going through because I’ve never been faced with a cheating partner. I take that back,” Tamara retracted quickly. “I had a pretend boyfriend in junior high who took one of my friends to the movies. Of course, my so-called best girl couldn’t wait to call me up to tell me. I suppose they expected me to go off on him but I decided ignoring him was better.”

  Duncan laughed. “Pretend boyfriends don’t count. What about high school?”

  “I didn’t have one date in high school.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “No, Duncan, I’m not kidding. I wasn’t willing to put out, so I became persona non grata. The alienation was overwhelming, but I managed to cope by taking as many AP courses that I could. I graduated at sixteen and by the time I entered college I was already a junior.”

  Duncan whistled. “You’re really a brainiac.”

  “Not really.”

  “You shouldn’t have to apologize about being smart. Embrace it.”

  Her smile was dazzling. “Okay. Tamara Wolcott is smart!”

  “There you go. Was your ex your first lover?”

  “No. I met a film-school student and we started out as friends. One night we had too much wine and ended up in bed together. I don’t know who was more shocked, because it was the first time for both of us.”

  “Blind leading the blind,” Duncan whispered.

  “That’s mean, Duncan. I’m certain the first time you slept with a woman you were no saint.”

  He sobered quickly. “You’re right.”

  “Enough sex talk. I think it’s time for you to begin your lessons.”

  Duncan pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “Baby, can we begin tomorrow?”

  Tamara emitted a soft moan. “Why are you putting off the inevitable?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Learning to cook,” she countered.

  “Oh, man. I should’ve never agreed to this cooking lesson business.”

  Shifting so as not to disturb the puppy, Tamara stared at Duncan. The lenses of his glasses had darkened in the light, not permitting her to see the emotion lurking in the depths of his eyes.

  “If you don’t want to do it, then I’ll take my baby and go home.”

  “No, please stay.”

  Her gaze dropped to the lines of tension ringing his mouth. “What if I cook tonight and you watch? We can have a simple meal with candlelight and music.”

  Duncan grimaced. “I don’t think I have any candles.”

  “Yes, we do. When I called in the grocery order I had them include candles and flowers.”

  He kissed her again, this time along the column of her neck. “There’s no way I’m going to let you go.”

  There’s no way I’m going to let you go.

  His pronouncement lingered with Tamara as he seated her at the dining room. The overhead chandelier was dimmed to its lowest setting and the soft light from vanilla-scented pillar candles cast flattering shadows over the bone china, crystal stemware and silver place settings. Music flowed from speakers concealed throughout the first floor.

  Rounding the table, Duncan sat opposite Tamara. “I can’t believe you cooked everything in half an hour,” he said, filling a glass with a dry white wine.

  The actual cooking time had been about thirty-five minutes. Prep time, which included cracking the hen’s breastbone in order to make the bird lie flat when broiled, had been about ten minutes. Then she had placed the seasoned hen in the refrigerator for an hour to marinate in extra-virgin olive oil, coarsely ground pepper and sea salt.

  “Preparation and marinating the bird takes up most of the time,” Tamara explained. “Whenever I work days I usually prepare whatever I’m going to cook the night before. That way, when I get home, all I have to do is either broil it or put it in the microwave. I eat, clean up the kitchen and have the rest of the evening to relax.”

  “That’s easy, but not as easy as ordering in.”

  “Eating out and ordering in isn’t healthy for you unless in moderation.”

  Duncan winked at her. “Yes, Dr. Wolcott.”

  “I’m serious, Duncan.”

  He sobered quickly. “I know, Tamara. Cooking and cleaning are not my areas of expertise. I have a plaque in my office that reads Numbers Rule. Numbers are my little friends. They don’t talk back.” He raised his wineglass. “Cheers to the cook.”

  Tamara raised her glass, touching it to his. “Cheers.”

  She took a sip of wine, holding it in her mouth for several seconds before letting it slide down the back of her throat. The wine was excellent. She picked up her knife and fork, cutting into the browned and crunchy skin of the hen. “I’m willing to bet if I order a complete blood workup on you you’d be surprised at the results.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Tamara. I just had a complete physical, including blood work and I’m pleased to report that I’m quite healthy.”

  “Do you work out?” She wanted to know, because for someone who probably spent hours sitting behind a desk his body was rock-hard.

  “Yes. There’s a gym set up on the street level of the brownstone that all the building employees use. There are treadmills, elliptical and rowing machines.”

  Tamara stared at her dining partner. No wonder he didn’t have an ounce of fat on his lean frame.

  “How often do you work out?”

  “At least three to four times a week. I usually go to work in sweats, work out, and then take a shower at the office. I keep a supply of shirts, ties, suits and underwear at the office to change into, along with grooming supplies.”

  “That’s really convenient. I signed on with a gym in my neighborhood but I hardly ever get to use it. After working twelve straight hours all I want is to go home and sleep.”

  Duncan drained his glass, then refilled it and Tamara’s. “You don’t need a gym. Your body’s perfect.” He stared at his dining partner over the rim of his glass. Everything was perfect: the meal, the candlelight, the softly playing music as a backdrop. Even the white bouquet was perfect. When he’d asked Tamara what the flowers were she’d identified them as violets, lily-of-the-valley and sweet peas.

  The only flowers he was familiar with were roses, tulips and hydrangeas because they were his aunt’s favorites. A wry smile touched his mouth. Within days of meeting Tamara he’d sent her flowers. Unfortunately, it hadn’t happened with Kali because she was allergic not only to flowers but also to perfume. Whenever they were together he’d had to forego wearing aftershave and cologne.

  He didn’t cook and neither had Kali. He only discovered that after he’d had the kitchen renovated. He’d wanted the gourmet kitchen to be a surprise, but the joke was on him when his fiancée announced she didn’t want to learn to cook. Why should she when she was going to marry a wealthy
man?

  Her explanation had made Duncan take thought as to why Kalinda had pressured him to propose marriage. When he’d broached the subject she’d apologized profusely, declaring she would marry him even if he’d been a pauper.

  “Duncan, are you all right?”

  He blinked as if coming out of a trance. “Yes. Why?”

  “I just asked you about the plans for your party?”

  “It’s…they’re good. I’m letting a friend’s wife handle everything. She’s an event and wedding planner. How’s it going with your father’s birthday celebration?”

  “We’ve decided to have it at the Hudson Terrace.”

  “The Hudson Terrace on Forty-Sixth Street?”

  “Yes. Are you familiar with it?”

  Raw hurt glittered in Duncan’s eyes. “Yes. I’m quite familiar with it. It’s a beautiful place.” He and Kalinda had contracted to have their wedding and reception at the opulent Hudson River venue with its all-season rooftop lounge.

  “I’d like to invite you to be my date for that night.” Tamara gave Duncan a lingering look when he didn’t respond. “If you don’t want to come with me, then I’ll ask Rodney.”

  “Who the hell is Rodney?”

  She bit on her lip to keep from laughing. Duncan sounded like a jealous lover. “He’s my roommate.”

  “What’s the deal with you and your roommate? Are you sleeping with him, Tamara?”

  “What!” The word exploded from her mouth.

  “You know you heard what I said.”

  “I heard it, but I can’t believe you’d ask me something like that.”

  “And why not, Tamara?”

  “Because it’s disgusting. Do you think I’d invite you to get into bed with me if I was sleeping with another man who happens to be living with me?”

  “I don’t know, Tamara. You tell me.”

  “I like you, Duncan—a lot. And to me that translates into sleeping with one man at a time.”

  Duncan rested his elbows on the table. “There’s something wrong with your translation because we are not sleeping together.”

  Her fist came down, rattling china and silver. “But I do want to sleep with you,” she shouted.

  As soon as the words were out Tamara knew she couldn’t retract them. She’d said what lay in her heart, what she’d felt from the time she’d sat on the floor of the elevator and Duncan had put his arm around her.

  Pushing back his chair, Duncan came around the table and held out his hand. He watched Tamara staring at his hand. He counted slowly, telling himself that if she didn’t take his hand when he got to ten then he’d walk away from her for the second time that day. He was certain she heard his sigh of relief when she placed her palm on his. His hand closed over hers as he helped her to her feet.

  Tamara closed her eyes when she found herself cradled against the chest of a man who’d quietly ingratiated himself into her life. Whenever he touched or kissed her she was reminded that she was a woman—a woman with strong passions she’d repressed and denied.

  Before she had a chance to react, she found herself swept up in his arms as he carried her across the living room to the staircase. So many thoughts crowded her mind, so many questions she wanted to ask, but she found herself completely mute. Wrapping her arms around Duncan’s neck, she buried her face against his shoulder.

  I want him.

  I need him.

  The statements played like a litany, burning a tattoo on her brain. Tamara didn’t know why she wanted Duncan Gilmore when it hadn’t been that way with any other man—and that included her ex-husband.

  With Edward it had been more of a need for his approval. Subconsciously, she’d replaced her father with Edward: if she excelled then she would get the praise she felt she so rightly deserved. It wasn’t about sex because it’d taken them two years to sleep together, and they’d only done so when she’d become his wife.

  However, it would be different with Duncan because she was different. Tamara wasn’t curious about sex and she wasn’t seeking his approval. Duncan had come to Tamara at the very best time of her life.

  She was secure in her career, solvent, and she knew what she wanted. For the first time in her life she was in complete control. The insecurities she’d harbored as a little girl and an adolescent were gone.

  Tamara knew she would never wear a single-digit dress size, and she had accepted that reality. It’d taken three decades for her to learn to love herself, because in the past she’d learned not to expect loving from others.

  The love she’d felt for her college boyfriend had been more of a dependency. He was her first lover and she’d wanted to hold onto that significance. In her relationship with Edward he’d become that father figure—someone she could go to for wise counsel. She’d viewed him as her teacher and her protector.

  The man cradling her to his chest wasn’t a father figure, but an equal. Duncan Gilmore was a man who treated and respected her as a woman. He was gentle, generous, and above all, she trusted him.

  * * *

  Duncan prayed that what was about to happen wasn’t a dream and then when he awoke, he wouldn’t be in bed alone fantasizing about what he’d wanted to do and share with Tamara Wolcott.

  He’d met Tamara less than two weeks ago, and during that time he had experienced a gamut of emotions he hadn’t known existed. The initial attraction had been purely physical. The image of her standing in the elevator buttoning a shirt that exposed more than it concealed was branded into his brain.

  The first thing that had shocked him was the deep gold-brown color of her skin, then the look of surprise in her dark slanting eyes when she realized he could see her breasts through a white lace bra. Tamara was too startled to notice, but he hadn’t been able to control an instantaneous erection. Yes, he’d experienced them as a teenage boy, but not as a sexually experienced man.

  The short time they were trapped together in the elevator had proved to Duncan that Tamara Wolcott was unique, that his reaction to her was more than infatuation. She’d had her share of ups and downs, good and bad, yet in the end she had emerged stronger, more secure.

  He’d had to deal with the loss of two women in his life, but instead of dealing with his grief and moving on he’d allowed it to drag him down emotionally. He’d put up a shield: not gotten involved, not permitted a woman to get too close. When he found a woman wanting or asking for more, he preferred to walk away.

  But Duncan didn’t want to walk away from Tamara. Not only did he want her in his bed, he also wanted her in his life. What she didn’t know was that he was willing to give her anything she wanted that was in his power to give.

  Tamara would never replace Kalinda because she wasn’t Kalinda. His love for his dead fiancée had come out of a need to protect. What he was beginning to feel for Tamara was an aching need for fulfillment.

  Professional success had come easily—too easily, but it was personal success that was always elusive. He’d dated women of different races and ethnic backgrounds, hoping to find a sense of contentment. At first he’d enjoyed the variety, but after a while he’d found himself bored with having to mentally switch gears to adjust to not his criteria but theirs.

  Then he’d met Kalinda Douglas. At first he’d found her withdrawn, reticent, like a frightened child. Once she’d opened up to him, Duncan knew she needed rescuing. What he hadn’t known at the time was that it was her overprotective, controlling parents she needed to be saved from, not herself.

  And he’d appointed himself her knight in shining armor, her guardian angel. He’d set up a bank account for her so she could withdraw money to buy what she’d deemed forbidden. The first time she bought a bra and panty set from Victoria’s Secret she called him at his office to say she had something to show him. He’d given her a key to his condo, so when he walked in later that night he found her sprawled across the bed in a black lace thong panty and demi-bra that had revealed more than it had concealed. That had been the first time he’d made lov
e to her, and it was the time he’d realized Kalinda was not a virgin.

  Duncan knew Tamara wasn’t a virgin; she hadn’t professed to be one. There was no doubt she wasn’t as sexually experienced as he, which meant he had to go slow with her. She’d admitted to sleeping with a bumbling boy and with a man old enough to be her father, and he found that almost laughable.

  He’d known from their first kiss that Tamara Wolcott was a sexy, sensual woman, and each time he touched or kissed her he’d felt her response. She wanted more and he wanted much, much more.

  Walking into his bedroom, he placed Tamara on the bed. Reaching down, he took off her shoes. Duncan had closed the sheers over the terrace windows, but not the drapes and the light coming through the delicate fabric from the street provided enough illumination to see the outline of her body. He took off his glasses, leaving them on the bedside table.

  He smiled when Tamara raised her arms to welcome him into her embrace. Sinking down to the bed, he supported his weight on his elbows as he lay between her legs.

  Slowly, tentatively, he brushed his lips against hers, inhaling the lingering scent of wine on her breath. “I will protect you,” he whispered.

  Tamara nodded because she couldn’t bring herself to speak. She’d known—something in the back of her brain had communicated when she was trapped in the elevator with the well-dressed man—that their lives would be inexorably entwined.

  Perhaps her fear of small spaces had prompted her to give him an abbreviated version of her life story, but Duncan had been her rock in that elevator, someone she’d leaned on and relied upon to keep her calm. She was falling in love with him not so much because she needed him as because she wanted him.

  Her hands went to his shirt, gathering fabric and pulling it up and over his shoulders. She’d wanted their coming together to be slow, leisurely, but Tamara knew that would have to be another time.

  She smiled in the muted darkness when he sat back on his knees to unsnap the waist of his jeans. There were only the sounds of air flowing through the central-airconditioning vents and their breathing, each keeping perfect tempo with the other.