Can’t Buy Me Love: Steamy Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 4

  As she talked, it gave me the opportunity to stare into her. She’d either fallen in love with talking to me, or grown used to my staring, because I could see her relax more. The more she relaxed, the more she radiated that intangible cheerfulness that allured me.

  I observed her small mannerisms, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, or twirled her unmanicured nail around her locks. I liked that her nails weren’t fake, but natural, yet beautiful.

  She held a serene beauty, and her face would light up like a happy cherub as she spoke. Her sense of comfort around me put me at ease.

  This was new.

  Especially for a first date.

  Did it classify as a first date?

  And her lips. Those gorgeous fucking lips. Yes, I was reserved, and extremely awkward around women I didn’t know, but I started to feel like I’d known her forever, and that made my nature rise.

  I felt an erection I was almost powerless to suppress, but I managed to control myself. It was hard enough to be filled with anxiety around regular women. Being in her presence tested every trigger I had. But then she found a way to reassure me, and I literally fought not to fall into her arms.

  I wanted to kiss her, to trace the delicate softness of her lower lip with my tongue.

  To feel the way my lips would sweep against hers, and how it led me to experience fireworks in my belly? That would be magical.

  “What about you?” She asked. “I’ve talked long enough.” She blushed with an embarrassed redness to her cheeks.

  “No, no… I didn’t mind listening to you talk,” I confessed. “You’re very interesting.”

  “Me?” She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “I doubt it. I’m just a regular girl looking for a regular guy who loves the simple things.”

  She insisted, so I gave in. I told her about Paisley and Kendan, about my parents and their solid, hardworking, nature. How my father loved to romance and surprise my mother for the sake of keeping the passion alive.

  “That’s so sweet,” she cooed. “My dad loved to do the same thing with my mother. He’d come home with flowers just because, and sometimes he’d pay my sister and I to behave while he took her out for a night of dancing, or whatever they did on date night.”

  “Do you like to dance?” I asked, feeling the tiniest shriek of fear rise in my throat. I certainly hoped not. I had two left feet.

  “I mean, when nobody’s looking.” She blushed timidly. “I’m not really coordinated. I’m just good at my yoga flow sequences.”

  Thank God!

  We shared a quiet smile. In movies, this moment would be the one where the awkward guy — me — meets a shy, insanely beautiful woman at the bar — her — and these two strangers connect to something in each other.

  This scene would end with a kiss. A sweet kiss.

  Perhaps… if we were more relaxed.

  No. No. Not even then.

  I decided that it would happen at the perfect moment. That moment wasn’t it.

  I didn’t want to rush a thing.

  I’d only known Gigi a handful of time, but that hour was all the time I needed to know I wanted our first kiss to be special.

  And that I wanted her to be my wife.

  And if she allowed it, I would actually have my way with her lips. I’d have the rest of my life to kiss her just because.

  Silence filled the air between us again. This time, instead of it being awkward and crampy, it was comfortable. I felt relaxed and expressed. She created a safe space.

  So I went in for my version of the kill. With my gaze level and direct, I quietly asked. “Do you believe in… love at first sight?”

  Now that I was more relaxed, I could see the nerves flutter in her belly. She was just as nervous as I had been. She’d just manage to smooth it over by taking control and assuring me she just wanted to have a good time. We’d had one, but it was time to get down to business.

  “What do you mean?”

  I gave her a small half-grin. “If I wanted to marry you tonight, would you let me?”

  Her pretty brown eyes met mine. The corners of her mouth turned up as she contemplated what I’d said.

  “Perhaps,” she replied. She flashed me a knowing smile, and her eyes deepened in color with a secret knowing. “Do you want to marry me tonight, Hollis?”

  My nature started to rise again; beneath the surface, the most primal part of expressed desire to ravish her. I bit down on the urge to grab her and take her. Once I actually warmed up to a woman, I knew how to take control and be man in the bedroom.

  Grace didn’t just warm me up. She had me whistling hot like a teapot.

  “Well, you’re aware I’m seeking a wife.” I allowed my eyes to peel away from her face as I admired her full package. I did it amorously, taking care not to leer at her like a piece of meat. “And that I’m more than willing to pay for a woman’s hand in marriage in order to cut to the chase.”

  “Well…” Her eyes gazed away as she reflected internally. “That is true. But you said you’re shy with women, and we’re having a very comfortable conversation…”

  Her words drifted off as our gazes met. She seemed a little doubtful, which I could understand. Even if there was money on the table, for a beautiful young woman like her, I was asking for lot. I looked at her, steady in my belief that she was what I wanted.

  “That’s exactly why I’m asking you, Gigi. I’ve never felt so comfortable around a woman. And you’re gorgeous. You deserve to have someone you can rely on, especially after all you’ve been through.”

  “How would this work?” She asked. Her tone remained soft, but her demeanor was a little more formal. She wasn’t a smooth negotiator like Jenna. She was unnerved, reality hitting her that this was very, very real.

  “Well, I’d like to get married. But it doesn’t have to be immediate,” I added, raising my hand. “I’m willing pay you $250,000 as a wedding gift. You can get the ring of your choice — money isn’t an issue for me.”

  “But what do you need in return, Hollis?” Worry lines wrinkled her pretty face. Concern saturated her voice. “Money is nice — and that amount is more than sufficient, by the way — but how can I provide your return on investment?”

  “Love me.”

  She paused. “Love? That’s it?”

  “Yes.” I shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “What about cooking and cleaning?”

  I shook my head. “I can cook myself, but I have access to a private chef. And I’m not really messy, but I have a housekeeper.”

  “Sexual needs?” Her face strained with anxiety. “What about sexual needs? We haven’t discussed—“

  I held up my hand to silence her. “This” — I gestured around us — “isn’t the kind of place to have that conversation. I’d much rather have that in private.”

  Her face drained of color. I assured her there were no weird kinks or creepy fetishes for her to worry about.

  “I… I get it.” She finally said. “I… I guess, I really just don’t understand, you know? Wouldn’t arrangements like these require… I don’t know, a contract of some sort? Wouldn’t someone pay for this because… they had to?”

  “Life and its nuances are relative, sweetheart. I’m not rich — we know Seattle is expensive. But I have more than enough to take care of you. If you accept my hand in marriage, you and your sister are welcome to move into my home. Or you can keep your place.” I shrugged to show gentle indifference. “But I would want you to be with me. To spend time with me. To get to know me. To provide companionship. To be my wife — and maybe, if I’m lucky, learn to love me.”

  She blushed. Her head tilted with the slightest nod. I would have missed it if I weren’t so perceptive.

  “Most of all,” I added, “I’d expect the opportunity to love you unconditionally.”

  Her breath hitched. “You’d pay to love me?”

  “I don’t see it as paying for your love,” I said. “Money can’t buy me love, no matter how much I’d g
ive for it. But I know some women grow to love their husbands over time. I’ve done my research.”

  She chuckled as her eyebrows furrowed with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “You researched marriage?”

  “Yes.” I nodded, dead serious. “I read articles, surfed the net, and even watched documentaries on mail order brides and arranged marriages.”

  Her eyes looked at me with a question that didn’t need to be verbalized.

  “I didn’t want to order a woman I couldn’t have a natural conversation with. I didn’t want to marry someone desperate for citizenship. I’m desperate for genuine love and connection. My affection, my heart, my… drive?” I hinted, causing her to arch her brow. “I want to channel it all into one woman I know will commit to me for life.”

  “And you’re certain it’s me?” She looked at me. Her eyes held the angst of conflicting thoughts. Hope that this wasn’t a ruse. Fear that I was dead serious. Anxiety over whether this would actually work in her favor. Perhaps slight dread that I had a huge skeleton in my closet, something so big and deep and nasty, that she would have to wait until she was stuck with me to discover.

  “I’m no psychic,” I joked, and my nerves started to rattle again. “But my needs are simple, and we’ve been pretty comfortable and straightforward with each other. I’m willing to provide a contract — you can get whatever you want — I’ll have my lawyer right it in. I can even get full checks for your sister’s tuition.”

  She gasped softly in surprise. “You’d completely pay her tuition? On top of $250,000?”

  “Yes,” I affirmed. “You’ll get a monthly allowance, if you need one, and we can discuss a financial bonus every three to five years. Do you like children? Do you… see yourself having any?”

  She nodded, waiting to see where this would go.

  “I’d revise our post-nuptial agreement to reflect payment for every child you give birth to.”

  Her mouth dropped open in a hushed “O” of surprise.

  “Wow…” She finally replied. “This is a lot.”

  “I know,” I replied, giving her a rueful look. “I’m sorry to overwhelm you. I just cannot stand dating. I’ve craved to have a beautiful woman with consistency. A woman I can call my own and love every day for the rest of my life. I can’t stand games. I can’t stand when relationships end. I can’t stomach the idea of continuing to waste my time going from woman to woman, and not finding what I need.”

  She was so still I thought she’d frozen into place. My heart quickened, and I prayed that she didn’t suddenly grab her purse and run.

  Eventually, she broke from her trance. “I… completely get it. It’s crazy, but not completely. Marriages were traditionally business transactions. One where a woman exchanged herself for financial security and class, even if it were arranged against her will.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to push or pressure her. “It is a big decision to make, Gigi. I’m ready for the rest of my life, but I understand you might need to think this over.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps not.” She waved flippantly. “I’ve had more than enough time to think about this, especially when I felt you stood me up earlier today.”

  I blushed again, feeling relieved that shit at the office hadn’t destroyed my chances with her.

  “Hollis,” she said, “I’m willing to take you up on your offer, and to review your contract. I’m willing to learn what pleases you, and to enjoy your company - that’s not asking too much at all, especially since you’re already pleasant company.”

  “Thank you,” I blushed, feeling hopeful.

  “But…” Her tone trailed off, and her gaze intensified. “Before we walk down the aisle, there’s something you should know.”

  Grace

  He looked at me, slightly tense, as if he were waiting for me to confess to a crime, or something of that nature. I saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and waited intently for my revelation.

  “You’ve been calling me Gigi all night.” I smiled apologetically. “I realize I’ve never told you my full name. It’s Grace.”

  He smiled, with relief. “That’s a beautiful name, Grace.”

  “Thank you. I figured you should know what your wife’s name is. You know, since you’re marrying me and all.” We shared a warm grin. I reached out and touched his arm playfully. “You’re welcome to continue calling me Gigi, if you would like.”

  Over the evening, as martini and whiskey glasses were refilled, Hollis had become a lot less anxious, and a lot more comfortable. By the end of the night, it was I who was nervous more than anything.

  On the Uber home, which he graciously paid for, I thought about his proposal. I’d accepted. Mostly. It was easy to say yes in the moment because sitting and talking with him just felt so…

  Comfortable.

  I’d read wild stories on the Internet regarding young women selling their virginity to men for money. Just a few months ago, one teen sold her virginity for two and a half million euros.

  You read stories like that and think, “Wow, she must be really gorgeous to be desired like that.”

  You also wonder if it ’s worth giving yourself up to someone you don’t know or love.

  Unlike these tales, this was a more of a long term business exchange. Yet marriage was still a marriage of the heart. And that’s where the challenge was.

  Our dilemma was weird. I didn’t love Hollis - we’d just met. But I loved the energy we shared, and I loved how straightforward he was. We had become so comfortable it felt like a normal date. Well, if you didn’t mention the fact that our affection stopped at a sweet, lingering hug, which ended with a soft kiss on his cheek.

  The red kiss of my lipstick stained his cheeks, creating a striking contrast. It looked perfect, almost like a selfie he could take for an Instagram photo.

  Additionally, Hollis actually aroused womanly desire within me. Desires that made me realize why I’d never give myself sexually to Bobby.

  Bobby was my first boyfriend, but after four years, I could look back and see that while there was love, we were never in love. Love would have brought him to me at night. Love would have made him keep his junk in his pants. Most of all, Love wouldn’t have made a sex tape, or hinted that maybe if I’d “give it up” he wouldn’t need to go anywhere else.

  Love would have waited, or broken up with me after an honest discussion that he needed something else.

  One evening at the bar with Hollis and I knew what it meant when a man demonstrated serious interest. From his demeanor, to his willingness - and desire - to demonstrate his ability to compensate, he was genuine. The honest way he confessed his social discomfort was refreshing, because it meant he wouldn’t spend time trying to be anyone he wasn’t.

  No, I wasn’t offered two million dollars to marry him. But I was offered a hefty wire, an ironclad prenup, and the ability to secure myself and my sister’s future.

  My worry was that love wasn’t involved. We both knew it was something that wouldn’t happen overnight, but potentially over time. He assured me sex wasn’t an issue, that I had nothing to worry about.

  But I had no idea how I would sexually satisfy a man like him, a man who could provide so much, when I’d never sexually satisfied a man at all.

  * * *

  Just two or three days ago, I’d never felt so sure of anything in my life, but standing in front of the judge made reality set in.

  I didn’t know this man from Adam, yet here I was signing my life away. He could be an axe murderer for all I knew.

  What was wrong with me?

  Nevertheless, life was about calculated risks. With a hefty cash deposit in my bank account, there wasn’t anything for me to really worry about. Even if this marriage didn’t last, I would have more than enough to float on until I strategized something to help Heidi with her college tuition.

  I wasn’t worried about getting financially screwed over. My estate lawyer, the one who helped me all of these years, congratulated me on getting elo
ped. He offered to look over the prenup agreements with his team. They explained all the legalese in plain language. They were also pleased to inform me this was the most generous prenuptial agreement they’d ever seen.

  “Where did you meet this fine young man?” He asked.

  “He just came and swept me off my feet one night.” I wanted to be a little sphinx-like. I refused to reveal I was marrying the mysterious the man with the ad in the paper — whose ad that had gone viral in a manner of days, and then had abruptly been replaced with a public announcement that a bride had been secured.

  “It certainly appears he has fine taste,” the lawyer remarked. “You’re a bright, young, responsible woman. You deserve a man who will provide for you as much as your father has. He would be so proud.”

  The lawyer had been the closest thing to a father figure since my parents’ passing, so hearing these words brought tears of joy to my face.

  Hollis and I agreed to take a regular day off and get it over with. I still held a little anxiety over whether or not I’d be able to please him sexually, but I had grown certain over the past few days that we could establish and maintain positive chemistry.

  We would be married dagnabbit. We didn’t have a choice. We had to if we were going to make this work.

  But when the judge looked at me, standing there in my nicest cocktail dress, and wearing my nicest shoes, ready to recite my vows, I gulped.

  I looked at Hollis timidly. He stood next to me, so handsome, but just as guarded. He didn’t really need to do this, did he?

  Our eyes met. He blushed and his hand trembled. Then I remembered who I was marrying. A sweet man with a humble guy next door appearance, generous pockets, and a foundational desire for stability. We met for this very moment, and watching him reminded me that he was more terrified of what we were doing than I was.

  Yes, he was terrified, yet beneath the bashful surface, I saw his tenderness, which I craved to feel. He possessed the unyielding masculine strength I’d been missing from the loss of my father the past four years. Yes, he was intensely shy - and yes, to the point of awkwardness, but it didn’t matter. I felt an intangible fortitude in this older man that a boy — one my age, like Bobby — wouldn’t be capable of providing.