Taken by the Tycoon

by Normandie Alleman

  “I want you to go with me to the Ball at the Club.” He kissed the back of her hand.

  “I can’t do that!”

  “Why not?” he asked indignantly.

  “Stuart,” she patted his arm. “You’re too young for me. If we go to the Ball together, people will talk.”

  “So?”

  “Well,” she stumbled over her words, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  He titled her chin up. “That’s not very submissive,” he chided.

  She frowned.

  “What’s the big deal? We’re two adults who enjoy each other’s company. I don’t see a problem in that.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “I am of legal age, you know. In fact, I’m over thirty. It’s not like I’m eighteen.” he added.

  She slapped his arm playfully, “I know that!”

  “Prove it,” he said, a challenge in his words.

  “I’ll think about it,” she promised.

  “Oh, you’ll do more than that.” He pulled her to him and quieted her protests with a kiss.

  Chapter Seven

  Damn! She had a run in her stockings. Margaret continuously told her nobody wore pantyhose anymore, but Violet was from a different era. In her mind, you couldn’t attend a ball without something covering your legs. It just wasn’t done.

  She peeled off the ruined pair and tossed them into the wastebasket. Sighing, she opened her closet and took out a new package. Good thing she had a spare.

  Stuart would be arriving at any minute, and she wasn’t ready.

  Violet couldn’t believe he’d talked her into going to the ball with him. Her stomach crawled with nerves. Of course she’d be proud to be seen on Stuart’s arm—he was one of the most eligible bachelors in the state—but it bothered her that he was so much younger than her. What would people say?

  Violet had grown up in a community where gossip ruled the ladies’ social gatherings—which had evolved from bridge clubs to bunko parties. Nevertheless, in her world, being “appropriate” was of utmost importance. Her mother had raised her to believe your identity is forever intertwined with what people think of you.

  Violet pulled on the second pair of stockings. She was torn between what she wanted to do, and what she knew she was “supposed” to do. She wanted to enjoy her budding romance with Stuart. Unfortunately, that might be construed as ridiculous, and she could be making a complete fool of herself. What if people shunned her? And it wasn’t just about her. If she lost her social connections, she’d risk the future of Musical Mentors.

  During this moment of self-doubt and indecision another fear crept from the back of her mind up to center stage. What if Stuart were merely toying with her, playing games?

  His affection for her felt real. When she looked into his eyes they were full of intensity and passion. But she knew he had a reputation as a player, and she hoped against hope that he was genuine in his desire for her.

  Violet stared at herself in the mirror. Her body had held up well over the years, but she still had some sags and bags she wished she could make disappear. Didn’t everybody?

  Not if you were twenty-five and hit the gym five days a week. Brushing those depressing thoughts aside, she focused on applying her makeup. The doorbell rang before she was done.

  Crap.

  No one else was home to answer the door, so she quickly dabbed on some lip gloss as a last touch then realized she still had to pull her dress over her head. Oh dear, she should have put the dress on first then applied the lip gloss. Too late now. Snatching the dress off the hanger she quickly wriggled into it and made a quick assessment of her appearance.

  The amber, silk dress flattered her, hugging her curves with soft, shirred ruffles that met on one hip that was ornamented by a jeweled broach. The hue accentuated her coloring and looked stunning with her hair.

  Grabbing her shoes up from the box, she carried them, running towards the front of the house. Out of breath, she threw open the front door.

  Stuart stood before her looking like a cover model for GQ Magazine. His jacket hung from his frame as though it was made for him. Violet tilted her head. Of course he’d have custom-made suits.

  He looked every inch the part of the debonair oil baron. His hair, longer on top, shorter in the back suited him perfectly. He looked at the same time like a man to be reckoned with, and an impish young man who could get into mischief at a moment’s notice.

  “You look ravishing,” Stuart said, sweeping her into his arms for a kiss.

  “Why, thank you. So do you.”

  When he let her go, she bent to put her shoes on.

  “Ready? I have champagne in the car.”

  She laughed. “Are you trying to get me drunk before we even get there?”

  Holding his arm out to escort her, he said, “I hadn’t thought of that, but yes, that’s a smashing idea.”

  They got in the limousine and he poured them each some champagne.

  “To us,” Stuart said raising his glass.

  Violet smiled, enjoying the sound of the crystal flutes clinking together.

  After too short a ride, they arrived at the country club, which had a red carpet set up in front. A cameraman was taking everyone’s picture. Violet froze; all visions she’d had of keeping a low profile were now destroyed. She’d hoped to enter the party unannounced and blend into the crowd. Maybe no one really had to know that she and Stuart were here together. She could forget that now with the photographers lining the entrance.

  Summoning all her courage and ignoring the butterflies flitting about in her stomach, Violet emerged gracefully from the car. An easy smile masked the anxiety that threatened to consume her.

  She and Stuart walked over to the backdrop for photographs. He crushed her to him possessively. The cameraman said, “On three. One, two, three.” A flashing light blinded her, but Violet kept her smile plastered on her face. Stuart thanked the photographer and whisked her inside.

  On the way inside they greeted several acquaintances, and no one reacted as though it were odd to see them together. Violet took a deep breath and tried to relax.

  They entered the ballroom, and Stuart offered to go get her a drink. As he walked away, one of her frequent tennis partners, Paige, approached her. They made small talk about the weather, their gowns, and their children. After a bit, Violet made an excuse and went looking for Stuart.

  There he was. Across the room he stood, a drink in each hand, holding court with a blonde at each elbow. Both of the Barbie clones appeared to have been poured into their low-cut gowns. Violet cringed and was about to turn away when Stuart looked up and caught her gaze. His eyes rounded with a “help me” look, and he motioned her over.

  “Violet, there you are! This is Beverly. And Emily. Girls, this is my date, Violet.” He handed Violet a drink and pulled her close, nudging Beverly out of the way in the process. Beverly and Emily nodded politely to Violet then walked away wearing disappointed expressions.

  “Thanks for saving me,” he said.

  “Anytime.” She pushed down the green-eyed monster inside her as he threatened to surface. Stuart was here with her, and clearly he was proud of that fact. A warmth coursed through her veins.

  They sipped their drinks and talked with people passing by. Only a few people noticed they were “together,” and all of them appeared to take their coupling in stride. Violet was beginning to wonder if her fear of being ostracized was groundless, a mere figment of her imagination.

  After her second drink, Stuart whispered in her ear. “Come with me.” He took her hand and led her outside. The area just around the building was well lit, but he tugged her wrist urging her to follow him into the black night.

  “Stuart, where are you taking me?” Her stomach clutched with a combination of nerves and excitement.

  “You’ll see.” Within a hundred feet they reached a golf cart at the edge of the course and he motioned for her to cl
imb aboard. She settled into the seat next to him, and he flipped on the lights, illuminating a few feet in front of them, and her anxiety lessened with the ability to see. He whipped the cart around the golf course like an old pro, transporting her through the honeysuckle-scented night, the wind lightly blowing through her hair. When they reached the ninth green, Stuart stopped the cart and flicked off the lights.

  “Now what?” Violet asked, her voice shaking with excitement, though she already had an inkling of the naughty thoughts on his mind.

  He helped her onto the green. “Let’s take off those shoes of yours,” he said, his lips finding the hollow of her throat.

  Without hesitation she kicked off her shoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What if someone comes by?”

  “Who would come all the way out here?” he responded then went back to nibbling on her neck.

  “Security,” she answered shakily. Her desire for him was making her legs tremble.

  He hugged her close and whispered, “It’s just you and me, my darling. Now let’s get you out of that dress so that I may have you.”

  The pitch-black surrounding them disoriented her. She couldn’t remember a night this dark. Usually the darkness was lit by street lamps or the glow from an interior light, or the moon—something. But they were encased in a night so deep, so inky that it left her feeling blind and heightened her other senses. The smell of the grass and Stuart’s woodsy cologne mixed with the delicate, low chirping sounds of wildlife in the background fused to bestow an earthy flavor onto the evening that Violet found unexpectedly arousing.

  The silky fabric of her dress slid down her arms, over her hips, and fell onto the ground. It felt unreal, not unlike a dream in which you’re not sure how you wound up outdoors, practically naked in public with an incredibly sexy man. Stuart unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, and she stripped herself of her pantyhose, thinking how smart the younger generation was to forego the stupid things.

  He lay her down on the soft, manicured grass. Amazingly, it felt like a luxurious carpet brushing against her skin. He got up and removed his jacket and pants. As he lay atop her, she began to fumble at the buttons of his shirt, wanting that intoxicating skin on skin contact.

  “You are so good for me, Violet.” His lips claimed hers, his tongue dancing at a seductively slow pace, languorously entwined with hers. She returned his kiss eagerly, placing a hand on the back of his neck and drawing him closer. Ready for him, Violet hooked her legs around his waist and his erection poked at her pelvis. She wanted him, and brazenly reached between his legs encircled his shaft with her fingers. He let out a moan then bent his head to suckle her breast.

  “I need you,” she cried, shifting under him to make it easier for him to enter her.

  “What is it you need?”

  “I need you to fuck me, sir.”

  “You need me to pound that little cunt of yours into submission, don’t you?”

  Surrendering to her most base desire, she cried, “Yes! Yes, that’s what I need.”

  In a swift, practiced movement, he plunged his cock between her folds. She held him tight as he rocked in and out of her wet, welcoming pussy with firm, sure strokes. He sheathed himself deep inside her and she scratched at his back, biting the inside of her lip to keep her from screaming out in ecstasy.

  He pumped his hips into her, and his pelvis ground against her clit over and over again until involuntary clenches of her muscles seized the lower half of her body. Waves of bliss began to trickle out over her until she experienced her climax all the way into her fingertips.

  As she drifted back to earth, she grabbed his rock-hard ass with both hands and rode the rise and fall of his thrusting buttocks until with a strangled cry, he came inside her. Looking into the vacuous black space in front of her, she said, “I love having you inside me. Sometimes I wish you could always be there.” As soon as she’d said it she feared she’d said too much. Men didn’t like to hear clingy admissions like that.

  “Me too,” he murmured before kissing her again.

  They lay on the well-manicured outdoor bed for a few more moments. It was Violet who broke the spell. “Do you think anyone will be missing you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think the security teams make rounds? And someone might be by here any time?” Her anxiety was back. Their little romp had been delightful, but the real possibility of being caught naked had returned to the forefront of her mind.

  “I doubt it, but we can get back to the party if that will make you more comfortable,” he said affably.

  “Thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek and started trying to find her clothes in the dark, uncertain whether his lack of concern was due to his age, his personality, or the fact that his power and position left him untouchable in many ways.

  Stuart turned on the golf cart lights and helped her on with the rest of his clothes. He donned his formal clothes and Violet helped straighten his tie. “Do you think we look like we’ve been… you know?” she asked nervously.

  “What, like I took you out onto the ninth hole and fucked your brains out?”

  She gave him a “You’re-such-a-bad-boy” look. “Yes, that’s what I mean.”

  “No, you look fine.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was lying. He didn’t care nearly as much as she did what people thought, and she decided to make a trip to the restroom as soon as they got back to check her appearance.

  Moments later, Violet peered at herself in the mirror of the ladies room and reapplied her lipstick. Stuart had been right, other than an extra glow on her cheeks and a tangle in her hair, there were no other signs that she’d been ravaged on the golf course during the previous hour.

  As she studied herself, Violet hardly noticed society doyenne Amanda Van Dermeer next to her until the woman spoke.

  “I see you’re getting around after your divorce. Landing on your feet. Like a cat, eh Violet?” Amanda made a meowing noise, than snickered.

  Surprised, Violet looked up at her reflection. “What?”

  “You’re here with Stuart Swearingen?”

  Violet nodded, a knot forming in her stomach.

  “Well, he does get around. I’m just surprised you were up for playing ‘Mommy.’” Amanda stared at her reflection in the mirror and dabbed her nose with powder.

  “What do you mean?” Violet’s heart beat in her throat. Had the woman seen her outside with Stuart? And what was she talking about—Mommy?

  “Honey, his mother died a few months ago. Looks like he’s searching for a replacement.” Amanda glared at Violet. “Though I’m not sure why you’re robbing the cradle.” Amanda snapped her compact shut. “But to each his own. Have fun, dear.” She gave Violet a condescending pat on the shoulder before sashaying out the door, shaking her head.

  Violet glanced up to see her face had flushed scarlet. Tears pricked at her eyes. I will not cry. I will not cry, she took up the mantra. Grabbing a tissue, she averted her eyes to the ceiling to avoid the pitiful picture of the woman who stared back at her.

  His mother?

  Had his mother really died recently? Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Could she really be a replacement, a stand-in for the mother he’d lost?

  When she thought of the sex between them, it seemed ludicrous, almost sick. But the woman in front of her looked like she could be Stuart’s mother. The Barbie twins who had accosted him earlier—they looked more likely to be his lovers.

  Full-on sobs wracked her body and she locked herself in one of the stalls, grateful she was the only person in the bathroom. How could this be happening? Earlier, in Stuart’s arms, she’d been so happy. She’d finally started to believe that their age difference didn’t have to matter, that people wouldn’t care, and everything between them would work out fine. But now, with this new information about Stuart’s mother, it felt as though he’d been toying with her, playing games with her heart.

  It took her ten minutes t
o compose herself. When she came out, she found Stuart and asked him if his driver could please take her home. She told him she’d come down with a headache and would like to leave.

  “Aww, my poor dear.” He kissed her forehead gently.

  He offered to leave with her and she protested, but he insisted on riding in the car anyway. Before they left, Stuart had his driver fetch an icy cold towel for her head. He made Violet lay down on the backseat while he fussed over her.

  “I’m fine, really,” she insisted.

  “You can’t be fine if you need to go home, Violet. Now be still. Do you have any aspirin in your purse?”

  “I already took some,” she lied.

  “Good girl. You must take care of yourself.” He stroked her temple. His consideration touched her, but it wasn’t enough to make her forget the horrible conversation with Amanda in the ladies’ lounge.

  She sat up promptly. “Why didn’t you tell me that your mother died?”

  Confusion clouded his handsome face. “Huh?”

  “Your mother. Amanda Van Dermeer told me that your mother just died!” Accusation rang in her voice.

  “She did, last Fall. I don’t know, it never came up.” He shrugged.

  “That’s great. Just great.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lay back down.

  “What do you mean? It wasn’t so great for me,” he said, a note of hurt in his voice.

  Frustrated, she said, “I’m sorry. I meant that it’s real convenient that you lose one mother and start dating another. And you forget to tell me about it.”

  “Violet, that’s nuts. You’re not a mother to me.” He reached out and touched her arm. He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

  She jerked her arm away, “Of course you think that. You miss your mother, and for some reason you thought I’d be a good replacement. And I’ve been stupid enough to think all this was a good idea. I’ve been thinking, ‘what a wonderful man he could be with me by his side.’ I kept thinking that I could help you grow… but that isn’t right, Stuart. That’s not healthy.”

  He looked as if he’d been slapped in the face. “What’s not right, Violet? I’m crazy about you, and I thought you liked me.”