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The American Princess - Best Love Story Ever

Page 21

by Jennifer Tate


  "Perhaps. But in the past, you were dealing with amateurs—neophytes when it came to getting the women they wanted. Among the 100 million men who'll dream of having you, will be the rich and powerful. Men who have everything this world has to offer—except you. And those men are adept at getting what they want. What happens when you're invited to the White House, and the President wants to show you his private etchings—and the allure of older men."

  "You're an older man."

  "I'm not sure that one month qualifies me."

  "Allure or not, I'm too young for the President. But Chrissy Evert dated President Ford's son. Maybe I should be looking for President's sons."

  "Why not, you carousing cat? Unfortunately, while you're looking for President's sons, the crazies will be looking for you. Look at what happened to Monica—stabbed at a tournament in Hamburg by a guy who didn't like to see her beating Steffi. Once you add Tawny Cat sex appeal to the equation, the crazies will be drawn to you like poison ivy to campers."

  Suddenly, she was worried. "What should I do?"

  "I wish I could tell you. What I want for you is what will make you happiest. But if what makes you happiest is supernovadom, then you must see yourself as an entertainer first and a tennis player second. People are demanding to be entertained, no matter what they're watching. Andre Agassi is one of the few tennis players who recognizes the importance of showmanship. Garth Brooks is another performer who understands that he's an entertainer first. That's why he's the supernova of New Country."

  "Will you help me?"

  He hugged her. "Of course. You'll never be alone. I'll always be there for you."

  "Promise?"

  "I promise. If supernovadom is what you want, I'll do everything I can to make it happen for you. We won't let your dream pass you by while you're dozing."

  "I would like to be a supernova, but I only want to light up the tennis world if you're there with me."

  "I'll always be there with you. Relax until you've reached the round of sixteen in a tournament. Then we'll undress you, before we glam you up a little. But it's not just fewer and more appealing threads that will make you a celeb. I see in you the potential to be a better player than Billie Jean, Martina, or even your favorite."

  "Chrissy," Betty-Jo said, before she gave him her best French kiss.

  "Your combination of talent and beauty, will make you the biggest tennis sensation of all time."

  "Do you really think so?"

  "I know so. Now tell me your bear's name."

  "I Love Only You Brad."

  "I hope so, Tawny person, because that love will be tested when the hungry hippos arrive."

  "Nothing gets to eat me except you, not even your imaginary hippos. Now please, Bad Brad, finish doing me."

  He looked at his watch. "In a minute. It's almost time." She laughed at her mandarin, and urged him on.

  Later she asked, "So, how close did you come?"

  "Missed by thirty seconds."

  "Don't feel too badly, all you need is a little more practice, and I'll make sure you get plenty of that." Happy and fulfilled, she stretched for her lover. "You know, if all Chinese men conduct their business while inside their concubines, it's no wonder they're so numerous. Accidents are bound to happen."

  -42-

  BETTY-JO CHANCE & BRAD RAIDEN

  A Tawny Mountain Woman Fantasy

  Brad wanted Betty-Jo to play in the Canadian Open, in Toronto, in mid-August. Canada's international women's tennis championship was a Tier 1 event—the last big tournament prior to the U.S. Open. Playing it would sharpen Betty-Jo's game, let her meet his parents, allow him to attend the Sheik and Belinda's wedding, and, as it turned out, make her the leading lady in his mountain woman fantasy.

  He was looking forward to a leisurely three-day drive to Toronto, and apparently, so was Betty-Jo. They got off to an early start on Thursday, and by two-thirty, she was looking relaxed and sounding affectionate.

  "Bad Brad," she said seductively, while sliding her hand along his inner thigh, "if you stop, I'll show you some scenery, the kind of scenery I know you like. Remember our first night together. I was at your mercy, and you had the only virgin you're ever likely to have?"

  Brad's memory of his Tawny Cat, responding to him for the first time, came frolicking back. "That's one evening I'll never forget."

  "Considerate as it was of you to deflower me on a satiny bed, I missed out on loving in Old-yellow." She nibbled at his ear, and then she bit.

  "Did I ever tell you that I love it when you play easy to get?" he asked.

  "Today I'm especially easy. You owe me a fun time in Old-yellow, and I feel like being taken advantage of now. But you do have an option. You can make love with me now, or watch while I strangle your ducky." She grabbed Lucky Ducky by its neck with one hand, and his fully awakened manhood with the other.

  "You're right. I've been negligent in not extending our lovemaking to Old-yellow's reclining seat. And I'll make it up to you. But please, don't hurt my Ducky."

  She grinned at him. "If you make me happy, your ducky stays healthy."

  "There is one little thing. I'd appreciate it if you'd wait until we get to West Virginia. I have this fantasy about West Virginian mountain women, and it now looks as if you're as close as I'm going to come to having one. Not that I'm complaining." He ran his finger tips lightly across the nape of her neck.

  "Complaining? I'll be more fun for you than your finest mountain woman fantasy. Your mountain woman is going to take naughty to a whole new level. Stop Old-yellow so I can get my suitcase."

  Betty-Jo retrieved her suitcase, and climbed into the back seat. "Let's see," she said. "A quality mountain woman would wear cutoffs—no panties. Too bad though, it's difficult to believe that a real mountain woman would shave her love triangle. Perhaps you should have considered that before you played Bad Brad the pussy stylist with mine. Then a real mountain woman would wear her halter Daisy Mae style—just one strap."

  Brad was beside himself. His princess was creating his fantasy mountain woman right behind him. He started to adjust the rear view mirror for a sneak preview, but the ill-tempered mountain woman thumped him on the side of his head.

  Tawny Cat could be a great actress, he thought. She can change her persona like a chameleon changes color. With men you know what they are—boys, until they're ancient. Even middle aged and proper princes contemplate becoming a tampon so they can put their whole selves in. Granted, in, is a wonderful place to be, but perhaps tampon time is the wrong time to be there. Tawny, on the other hand, is impossible to label. Sometimes she's a lady, a southern belle—other times she's a Tawny animal. Day-to-day she's a gal, full of fun and loving, and occasionally, she does that girlish thing, with a charm and silliness that drives me crazy. Today, she's happy to be my tawny mountain woman fantasy.

  "No shoes on your mountain woman, City Boy," the mountain woman said, as she stretched her shapely leg, and wiggled her toes on the armrest beside Brad's seat. "Long hair over the shoulders, a barrette on one side, and perspiring. We mountain women run around a lot, in the mountains and the back woods. Pull off at the next exit."

  The next exit was the Blue Ridge mountain town of Bastian. Betty-Jo hopped out of Old-yellow, and ran beside him on a deserted side-road. Brad grinned as he watched her run. You haven't seen a mountain woman run until you've seen Tawny sprinting along with only one overworked halter strap struggling heroically to contain her cupcakes.

  Half a mile down the road, she flagged him down, and slumped onto the seat beside him. "Howdy, City Boy," she said, "thanks fo' given a po' tired mountain-gal a lift. Ah jus' don't know what ah'd ah done if you hadn' come along jus' now. Lordy, ah mauht a bin et by a bar. But ah do feel safe with you." She swung across the seat, pushed Fun into his arm, and nuzzled his ear.

  "The hell with West Virginia," he said as he breathed her in. "Plenty of mountain women in Virginia—mighty fine mountain women."

  Perspiration glistened in the cl
eavage between Fun and More Fun, and Betty-Jo's halter, where it covered her polka dots, was sticking to her. He wanted and needed her—badly. He reached for her halter strap.

  "City Boy! What ah you doin'? Stop!"

  "Gonna have me a mountain woman," he growled.

  "Lahk hell you ah!"

  Betty-Jo was out of the car, and running before he could grab her. She had a lengthy head start, but she was running barefoot, so he finally managed to overtake her under a Bigleaf Magnolia. She remained hostile. "Ged off ah me, City Boy," she snarled before she tried to knee him.

  He flipped her onto her stomach, and spanked her playfully. Finally, she implored him, "Stop, City Boy! Ah give up. Have yo' way with me—whateve' you want."

  Later, floating like a helium filled balloon, he cuddled and kissed her. "Tawny Cat, what would I do without you?"

  She hugged him, and then ran her fingertips slowly over his back. "Probably get one of those inflatable women that they advertise in men's magazines."

  "Probably," he conceded, "but somehow I can't believe that a plastic doll would be nearly as much fun as you."

  "How could it be? With me you have your very own amusement park, and a variety of theme parks as an added bonus."

  "My very own amusement park I understand and love—but theme parks?"

  "Sure. Where I'm a virgin, and you're an experienced, I'll-teach-you-exactly-what-I-want guy, or I'm a Tawny Concubine and you're my Mandarin, and most recently, where I'm a Tawny Mountain Woman and you're a City Boy who has decided to take advantage of me."

  "Must admit, I've always liked theme parks, but your theme parks—I love!"

  Two days later, heading into Toronto on the QEW, he was listening to new country on CISS FM, and considering what his catnapping Tawny Cat meant to him. He had been well aware that something important was missing in his life. But initially, romancing the moth slayer had been a sporting endeavor, as much as the need to fill the emptiness inside him. That changed with their first kiss, because suddenly, the emptiness was gone—suddenly, she lit up his life. 'You Light Up My Life' had become their song. It was the song that he played most often when they were lounging around, nuzzling or dancing. He would crank up their song, fire up a candle or two, and savor his princess—her aroma, her taste, her warmth, and her beauty. 'She dazzles me like the dawn, and comforts me like the night,' he thought. Occasionally, he would pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

  Tawny Cat was cheerful, loving, and frisky—a marvelous quality in a woman when it's you she's being frisky with. He was hitched to happy. The little things—her glance, or her hand in his—sent waves of ecstasy racing through him. She wrestles with my soul, and then plays hopscotch on my heart. I can't imagine my life without her.

  -43-

  BRAD RAIDEN

  Return of The Tooth Fairy

  The phone rang as Brad and Betty-Jo were leaving their room for the whirlpool at the Prince Hotel in Toronto. Brad went back to answer it.

  "Hi, Grasshopper. Your mother told me you were staying at the Prince. Are we getting together while you're here?"

  "Sandra Manderville, seducer of innocent youths from my past. Of course we are. How's tonight look?"

  "According to 'The Rules', I need at least three days notice."

  "I'm still thinking dinner tonight: seven-thirty, the Vista Room at the Ambassador Hotel?"

  He glanced over at Betty-Jo. She was standing at the door, her hands on her hips, scowled at him.

  "To hell with 'The Rules'. I'll meet you there," Sandy said.

  "Afraid or embarrassed to have me meet your fiancé?"

  "Afraid. He's the jealous variety."

  Brad grinned at Betty-Jo. "I suspect I'll find out if my girlfriend's the jealous variety as soon as we hang up."

  "Is this is going to be a problem for you?"

  "Hope not. I'll make the reservations. I'm looking forward to seeing you."

  "Likewise, Grasshopper," said the sexy voiced Tooth Fairy.

  * * *

  Betty-Jo was devastated and furious, but she didn't know which to be first. "I'm looking forward to seeing you, Tooth Fairy," she mimicked. "How could you do this to me?" Her emerald eyes blazed, and then clouded over.

  Brad was willing to do penance, but she rebuffed his attempts to hold her. "I'm sorry," he said. "Please try to understand. When I left Toronto to go to Coastal, I was dating Sandy. At Coastal, I met you, and at Queens, she met an English Prof. type. She's marrying him, end of August. She probably feels as I do—that we didn't have an opportunity to properly say goodbye, and thank you. I want to see her to end it the way it should be ended."

  "In bed!" she said as she crossed her arms.

  "You know, it's rude to cross your arms at your lover." She left her arms crossed, and hugged herself for some small measure of emotional protection. "I may have to sneak up on you from behind." He moved toward her, and she retreated, arms still crossed. "How can you doubt that you're the only woman for me—ever!"

  She fought against the seductive power of his voice. He knows darned well what his voice does to my heart.

  "Take at least three Sandy's before I'd trade you in," he said with his grin, before he backed her against the wall, and kissed her. It was their secret kiss.

  "Refresh my memory. Why did I sleep with you in the first place?"

  Brad laughed and said, "And while we're making love, don't forget the 'joyfully give myself to Brad,' part of your promise."

  Later, as they lay intertwined; she was surprised at how much better she felt.

  "Bad Brad, I do trust you. But ever since I was a little girl, and the tooth fairy forgot to leave a quarter under my pillow, I haven't trusted tooth fairies. And that goes double for a tooth fairy who's also a cougar type."

  "Trust me, Sandy's now a docile sugarplum fairy, not a prowling cougar."

  * * *

  Brad arrived at the Vista Room shortly before seven-thirty. Sandy showed up fifteen minutes later. She looked radiant, and for a moment, he couldn't help but think that the Arabian sheiks—with their harems—might have the best approach to women.

  He gave her a great-to-see-you-again hug, and held her chair while she was seated. He wanted her to feel good—partial repayment for the memorable times she had given him.

  "Why are you doing this to me?" he asked.

  "You like?" She stood back up, and twirled so her dress rode up her thighs.

  The Lord's prayer flashed into his head. The part about, 'and lead us not into temptation'. "Yummers!" he said.

  Sandy sparkled. "I'm afraid that you're doing it to me as well."

  "So tell me about your new love."

  "Ralph is twenty-six. He's my English teaching assistant—two more years to go for his doctorate."

  "I was under the impression, that now-a-days, those Profs. would rather risk being turned to salt—like Lot's wife, when she looked back and saw God destroying Sodom and Gomorrah—than chance being caught looking twice at a nubile co-ed such as your own sexy self."

  "Those are the Profs. The universities pay their TAs so poorly that I suspect we nubile coeds are considered to be part of the compensation package."

  "If they gave you to me, I'd consider it payment in full." Sandy's smile came and stayed. "I was heartbroken when you called, and said you were dumping me. It made me start to think about the important things in life."

  "Things like is there a God, life after death, and intelligent life elsewhere in the galaxy?"

  "No. Things like how could you have allowed some bible salesman type to bed my Pop-tart?"

  "And eat your porridge," Sandy said with a laugh.

  "After you'd experienced the ultimate in loving with me, I was certain that all other men had been ruined for you. We did things together, that I thought you'd be thanking me for—for the rest of your life."

  She laughed again, and looked enchanted. "When you ravished me the first time, and then stood up on the bed, and did your Alpha-Dog imitation, that's w
hen you came close to ruining all other men for me."

  It was his turn to laugh. "Let me guess," he said, "this soon-to-be husband of yours is short, intellectual, and bearded."

  "How did you know?"

  "All intellectual Prof. types are short guys with beards. If they were tall, they'd be basketball players, and if they didn't grow beards nobody would know they were intellectuals. I know, because if I hadn't made it to the NHL, I was going to become an intellectual type myself."

  She studied him. "I suppose you could grow a beard, but how were you planning to make yourself short?—'cut off your head, and rid yourself of twenty pounds of ugly fat in the process.'"

  "What is this, get Brad night?"

  "Grasshopper, I may be marrying short, intellectual Ralph, but there will always be a special place in my heart for you, especially if you stop referring to me as your Pop-tart."

  "I would hope that I still lurk in some dark, decrepit corner of your heart. After all, I'm not completely ignorant. I've read Shakespeare, Hemingway, Browning and Keats. How many times did I tell you that you're 'a thing of beauty [and] a joy forever'?"

  Sandy sighed, "I know you did, and it made me love you, but have you read George Eliot, Tolstoy, Ibson, Proust or Beckett?"

  "I could."

  "I know you could, but I also know that you wouldn't want to—at least not yet."

  "Sandy, there's a side to you that I failed to fully appreciate. But in fairness to me, I did get up close and personal with your dangerous, sexy side."

  "In tight with my sweater-puppies."

  "I'll always remember them fondly, except for the part where the malicious Tooth Fairy decided they needed protecting. My preference is still for the Pop-tart over the Tooth Fairy."

  That brought a smile to her lips, and made her eyes sparkle. "Let's order now, and then dance while we're waiting for dinner."

  After they had ordered, he moved her onto the dance floor, and took her in his arms. As she swayed against him, he slid his hand down her back until it was resting on familiar territory.

 

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