She lay back and watched him, smelling the musky cologne that for the past two days—from the car ride to the concert—had driven her wild. Her smile was slight, her breath catching in her throat as she watched his eyes devour her body. She knew that tendrils of hair had escaped her upswept ponytail and now lay wet and clingy on her long, exposed neck. Her eyes remained fixed on his as he replaced the sponge with his hands and traced lazy circles across her stomach, her nipples hard and glistening as they protruded out of the water.
“Simply beautiful.”
His voice was low and husky with desire. Without looking, she knew he was already hard for her, ready for her, wanting her.
Ditto.
Finally she turned her head toward him and whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I hoped you would be.”
His touch was tentative. He took a strand of wet hair away from her face and gently placed it behind her ear, then ran his forefinger down her cheek and neck and across her weighty breasts. He cupped one of them in his hand and gave it a squeeze.
“They’re real.”
This comment brought out an amused smile. “Surprised?” “I am. These days most generous cleavage is courtesy of a surgeon’s deft hand. Very rare to find a woman who’s been so . . . naturally blessed.”
“Do you like them? Big breasts?”
“I love yours.” This as he used his finger to tease her already erect nipple. First one, and then the other. “You’re even lovelier than I imagined.”
“Oh, so you have been thinking about me.”
“I’ve thought of little else from the moment you joined me at the taxi stand.”
“Then I’m glad I went outside of my comfort zone and gave my spare room card to you.”
“Me too.”
She watched him as he stood, a nice-sized bulge clearly evident at the front of his slacks.
“That water must be getting cool. Let’s get you dried off.”
Jacqueline pulled the stopper and stood—looking much like a water nymph or goddess—as water and bubbles slid down her silky, hairless skin. She stepped out of the soaking tub and into the fluffy white towel that Randall held for her. In other words, she stepped into his waiting arms.
For a moment he simply held her, his nose against her neck, breathing in her freshly bathed scent. He nuzzled her neck. She wrapped her arms around his, marveling at how well they fit together. Her five foot eight was a perfect complement to his height of six feet; a simple tilt and her mouth would be aligned with his.
One small tilt and she could claim the succulent lips she’d eyed each time they’d met She eased back her head. He raised his. Their eyes met, both pairs dark with desire, glistening with the excitement that comes with illicit, daring adventures, with spontaneous delights. She lowered her eyes to his mouth and slowly leaned forward. Their lips touched. She shivered, giddy with the knowledge of what was happening: Randall, live and in beautifully living color, here, with her, in her room. Just like she’d envisioned.
She pressed her soft, slightly thick lips against his much fuller ones, loving the way his neatly clipped mustache tickled her upper lip. He smelled so good. He felt amazing, his body toned but not overly muscular, his close-cropped, curly hair soft to the touch. When she ran her tongue against the crease of his mouth it immediately opened. His tongue met hers—softly searching, expertly exploring—even as he pressed the towel against her body, drying her off and making her wet at the same time.
The kiss deepened. She pressed her body against his, moving her head along with her tongue, an oral exchange that was sensuous and promising. His hands left the towel and became entwined in her hair. Still kissing her, he reached for the clip that held up her silky locks. He made quick work of freeing her hair from its bondage and tossed the clip aside. She stepped back, allowing one of the barriers to their being skin-to-skin to fall away.
They both watched the towel slide to the floor. Randall quickly wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. The kiss was different this time: intense, scorching hot, ravaging. His hands ran up and down her body, cupping her butt cheeks and pushing her against his rock-hard erection. Her hands were busy too, spanning the width of his shoulders, running down his waist to his hips and back. She pressed herself against him, her breasts flush against his chest as their tongues dueled and danced together. Randall eased a hand between them and—much as she’d imagined mere moments before—slid a finger between her sticky wet lips.
She gasped, her hot breath escaping into his mouth before her head fell back. She placed her hand over his, willing him to go harder, deeper. It was only one finger, but it had unleashed a madness to have all of this man. Shaky hands reached for his belt buckle, impatient to free the beast that she’d felt against her pelvis. It wasn’t happening fast enough. The buckle, the belt loops, the lack of experience at undressing a man in a hurry. Damn you, belt buckle. Come loose!
“Whoa, baby,” Randall drawled after ending the kiss. “No need to rush. We’ve got all night. Here, let me help you with this. In fact, this bathroom is beautiful, but I think the bed will serve a much better purpose for what I have in mind.”
They left the bathroom with Randall unbuttoning this and removing that as they went. By the time they reached the bed, he was down to tee and boxers, having removed his shoes as soon as he’d arrived. Jacqueline eased onto the bed, naked and available, poised on one elbow with her head resting against her hand. She watched as he removed his T-shirt. Their eyes locked as he slid the Calvin Klein extra-large from around his hips.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked, looking at his dick standing at attention.
She didn’t speak; only nodded. What she saw made her pussy clench and her mouth water. For two days she’d wondered how it would be to fuck the successful scientist. Now, she was getting ready to find out.
CHAPTER 9
It was Friday afternoon. The conference had ended. Randall and James sat at a table for ten in Kerry Simon’s restaurant, LA Market. They were joined by esteemed doctor Darshana Chatterji—the Western-trained Indian MD who was boldly and somewhat controversially presenting modules on using Eastern spirituality to facilitate healing—along with six other world-renowned guests.
“Who’s missing?” one of the colleagues asked when everyone had been seated and an empty chair remained.
“A person from the media will be joining us,” Dr. Chatterji explained. “Wait,” he continued, holding up his hands to ward off their protests. “She comes as my personal guest, not as a reporter. She will not bring a microphone and notepad but rather will simply listen to our table talk. She herself is quite intelligent and I believe might add beneficially to our conversation.” He looked up, standing as he did so. “Ah, here she is now.”
Eight pairs of eyes followed Dr. Chatterji’s. What they saw was perfection personified. Jacqueline fairly floated to the table, simply arrayed in a dress of turquoise silk, with simple silver high-heeled sandals and understated jewelry. Makeup was minimal and her hair was in a conservative ponytail, emphasizing her almond-shaped eyes, pouty mouth, and long, kissable neck. Every man’s thoughts were exactly alike. She looked magnificent. As one, the table stood as she reached them.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she said, making eye contact with each man as Dr. Chatterji pulled out her seat. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”
“Not at all,” Dr. Chatterji said, his sixty-plus-year-old eyes bright with admiration. “We only just arrived. Gentlemen, I present to you Ms. Jacqueline Tate, whose article on holistic healing was recently recognized by the Harvard Medical School and debated as a class project.”
Appreciative comments went around the table. Jacqueline heard them, but her eyes settled on Randall, whose brow arched in speculation as if to say, “You didn’t tell me that.”
Her eyes shifted in response. A smart girl never reveals all of her secrets.
Their conversation moved from technology to taste buds as the waiter appro
ached with their drinks and waited for their orders. The men deferred to Jacqueline, who acknowledged their manners in asking her to choose first. “Thank you, guys, but really. I just arrived. Please place your orders and by the time it gets back to me I will have decided.”
They did, their choices ranging from decadent orders of crispy pork belly, prime fillet, and lamb tagine to the more health-conscious Dr. Chatterji, who ordered a haricot vert salad with citrus vinaigrette. All eyes were on Jacqueline as she voiced her choice.
“I probably should choose the salad, Dr. Chatterji, as you have. But I must admit, I have a ravenous appetite.” She let that double entendre hang in the air for just a moment before she looked at the waiter and said, “I’d like the Angus burger with extra bacon and mayo and, oh, could I get a side of mashed potatoes?”
“Excellent choice,” the waiter responded, clearly smitten with Jacqueline’s flirty nature. “I didn’t get your drink order. Could I take that as well?”
“Sparkling water, please.”
With all of the meal orders placed, the conversation meandered back to the conference and which topic would dominate both attendee conversation and media coverage. Most of those around the table felt that Randall’s forward-thinking idea of using plant stem cells for human healing would be at the forefront, while a few felt that Dr. Chatterji’s concept of holistic healing, specifically integrating the power of the Divine, would prove more newsworthy in the news climate of today.
“What do you think, Jacqueline?” James asked with the merest hint of daredevil glee in his eyes.
She’d been quiet the entire conversation, taking in and mentally recording everything that was said. Along with her high IQ, she had a near-perfect photographic memory, and when it came to conversations, almost total recall. But now, since asked directly, she was more than happy to contribute to the conversation.
“Both topics are quite important,” she began, her voice low but firm. “Stem cell research has been at the forefront of medical research for quite some time, and while the use of plants has always been a part of the equation, I think you”—she turned to him—“Randall—excuse me, Dr. Atwater—have approached this possibility in a whole new way.
“That said, I am totally enthralled with the possibilities expressed by Dr. Chatterji.” She looked at him with a warm, admiring smile. “The concept of holistic living predates modern medicine by thousands of years, doesn’t it?” Dr. Chatterji nodded. “What is now deemed alternative was yesteryear’s standard medical practice, administered with a respectable degree of success. To my knowledge, issues such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s did not exist. Did they?” While glancing at the others at the table, she’d mostly focused her attention on Dr. Chatterji, and did so now as she asked the question.
“Diseases come and go,” Dr. Chatterji explained, sitting back and placing steepled hands on the table. “Many, in fact most, are created by lifestyle and diet. If you look to countries where people live the longest, you will see that theirs is a mostly vegetarian diet with a lifestyle filled with exercise, usually in the form of work. There is also some type of spiritual component to their existence, an entity or deity that fills them with faith, lowers their stress levels, and increases their overall happiness. We make it hard, but actually it’s quite simple to live a healthy life.”
“That is well said, Doctor.” Jacqueline paused as the waiter delivered her sparkling water. “But if what you’re saying is true and what you want to do is effective, aren’t you liable to put yourself out of business?”
“If I could lessen health problems through prevention, then having to change my occupation would be an easy sacrifice, and I believe that all of my colleagues around the table would agree.”
“Speak for yourself,” James said, his face a mask of skepticism even as he smiled to show that he teased. “I need my money! And as long as there are sick people, I will have a job.”
Dr. Chatterji did not join in the laughter. “Unfortunately, Dr. Sullivan, you are absolutely right.”
Their food arrived and conversation lessened as they ate. Jacqueline made a big show of taking the first bite of her large, juicy burger. “Oh my goodness,” she said, still chewing. “This is delicious!”
Darshana responded. “It looks very good. Maybe I should have ordered it after all. At the very least I would have enjoyed a good meal, and at most I could help Dr. Sullivan earn more money!” His eyes twinkled with humor. Those around the table laughed at this rare joke from a very serious man. They all declined dessert, and one of the doctors, a top neurologist who practiced at Johns Hopkins, insisted on paying the check.
Jacqueline stood, and the men followed suit. “I hear that the view from the ION Rooftop Patio is amazing. Anyone want to join me there for coffee or tea?” The question was general but her eyes were on Randall.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. The conference is over, but I and a few colleagues still have work to do.”
“I’m one of the colleagues he’s talking about,” James said, stretching. “Besides, I need to check in with the chief.”
“The chief?” the neurologist queried.
“His wife,” Randall explained.
“Ah yes. I have one of those.”
There was laughter around the table. Jacqueline turned to the Indian doctor. “What about you, Dr. Chatterji?”
He looked at his watch. “I have some reading to do, but my flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow. I guess another half hour won’t hurt.”
“Anyone else?” Various nays abounded. She hooked her arm through the doctor’s. “Looks like it’s just you and me.”
“Oh goodness, don’t tell my wife.” His smile was mischievous. “She doesn’t know about my girlfriend.”
“His wife is his girlfriend,” Randall said as he passed. “And has been for the past forty years.”
“Forty-two years, thank you very much.”
“That’s quite a milestone,” James slapped him on the back as he too walked by, just behind Randall. “Congrats.”
Jacqueline and Dr. Chatterji fell into step behind Randall, James, and the rest of the group who’d been at the table. She furtively watched Randall’s long strides as he and James chatted. He laughed at something James said and Jacqueline noted his nice, white smile, his succulent lips and trimmed mustache. She remembered the way that mustache had felt as it tickled the top of her v-spot, and allowed herself the merest of smiles.
He’d said no to meeting her on the rooftop. She refused to let herself “go there” and feel bad about it. She’d been wined, dined, and screwed out of her mind, as Kaitlyn had put it. Just a good time girl, as she’d said she wanted. Perhaps their hookup was a one-time thing. But a few times during dinner, she’d caught him looking. And if what she read in his eyes was any indication, she’d be with the doctor again.
CHAPTER 10
Randall strolled to the hotel gym, actually looking forward to the workout. The early morning meetings of the past week had left him little time to exercise. But the conference had ended and today, Saturday, he had a couple hours to do what he wanted before being picked up to spend a day in Malibu, meeting with like-minded souls on ways they could positively impact the world. Later on, he would join James and a team of doctors from UCLA who specialized in brain malfunctions for a two-day pow-wow on how his research could help their cause in finding cures.
He entered the exercise room, turned the corner, and saw two perfectly round, nice and firm cheeks. The woman wasn’t facing him. Her butt did the greeting. One more second of checking out the toned calves, nice thighs, small waist, smooth skin, and long hair secured in a ponytail and he knew who was running on the treadmill. He hadn’t planned on running; was more interested in weights. But on second thought, a little cardio never hurt nobody.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, mimicking the greeting she’d used earlier in the week, when they met in the restaurant’s lounge. He mounted the treadmill next to her and began pushing bu
ttons to set his workout. “I thought you’d be packed and headed back to the border.”
“No, I’m going to be stateside a while,” she said, not even breathing heavily even though a thin sheen of sweat coated her skin. “When not attending conferences, I’ll be based in D.C..”
This got Randall’s attention. “Really? That’s right next door to where I live.”
“Which is?”
“Alexandria, Virginia.”
“How far is that from downtown D.C.?”
“A half hour or so, depending on traffic.”
He started running, setting a pace that matched Jacqueline’s strides. For a few moments, only the sound of rubber slapping rubber was heard between them. A few more early risers broke sweat while using the elliptical machines, stationary bicycles, and weights; mostly with earbuds erasing the sound of the outside world.
After he’d settled into a comfortable stride, Randall resumed the conversation. “What will you be doing in D.C.?”
“A friend of mine is starting up an online publication. I’m helping him set up the website, write copy, provide moral support.”
“So you design websites, too? Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“Plenty, but I told you I’m a geek. That includes embracing the sciences and having a love for tinkering with computers and computer programs.”
Jacqueline increased the pace on the treadmill. Randall put in his earbuds and concentrated on his workout. Fifteen minutes later, she brought the machine to a stop and stepped off of it. “It’s all yours, guy.”
“You’re out of here?” Jacqueline nodded. Randall slowed his machine from a run to a walk. “When are you checking out?”
“Tomorrow. What about you?”
“Monday.”
“Great! We’ll both be here this evening, so I’ll get the chance to pay you back.”
The Perfect Affair Page 5