The Proposal Ch. 02

"I'm his godfather." He was rather proud of that one. But he turned serious again. "These people are very important to me. And they'll be going to Vegas with us, I thought you might want to know some before hand."

"Ok…we still going?"

"Why would we not be?"

"I don't know…"

"Listen…Amber…I know I've been a dick lately. Work has me stressed. I apologize." That was a bold face lie, but he was a good liar. It helps in banking.

"It's ok. You pay me for this, remember."

He did, and cringed internally at the mentioning of it. They pulled into the long driveway, and up to the huge house. She figured you had to have a massive crib to house six children. She couldn't even imagine what that would be like as a woman, birthing all those screaming little toads, and then having to raise them, feed and clothes them. She was one of four, but six was a completely different order of magnitude.

She had been to his place, and it looked exactly what one would think a forty-year-old bachelor pad would look like, stuffed with expensive art and the latest technology. This place was a home, even if it was a huge one. The children ranged from eighteen to four, and she knew that she would not be able to keep their names straight, and instantly felt bad. The youngest was Jonathan; she hung her pride on that.

Margie was a beautiful woman with a ready smile who ushered her into the kitchen as soon as they walked in, and put Amber to work helping her put dinner on the table. Apparently the kids were all studying their age appropriate materials, and Amber wondered what their secret was. Powerful sedatives?

The kids were allowed to eat in front of the TV in the rec room after studying, and the grown ups ate at the dinner table. Except for Sarah, and Amber could clearly tell that the young girl had a crush on Jonathan. Was that healthy? And what about the fact that she felt jealous? She pushed those emotions aside and tried to focus on the conversation, seeing again how at ease he was.

Even more so then when he was just with her, he seemed to be opening up, laughing, leaning back in his chair, as if the tension was visibly bleeding out of him. She sipped her wine slowly, trying to keep up with their conversation, but she didn't know the people they spoke of, had never been to the places they mentioned, and apparently Markus and Margie had been married longer then she had been alive. That was a kick in the uterus.

Finally Jonathan sat up, and she took that as the signal that they were leaving. He got the door for her, as always, and she slid inside, waiting for him to roll down the driveway.

"Nice people."

"Thanks. Bit much on the god thing, but they are strange like that."

"I noticed that. But you seemed very relaxed in there."

"My second home. Me and Markus go way back."

"I could tell. Listen. I'm sorry if I've caused any relationship looking drama lately. It is just that…I'm here. That's what you wanted, somebody to be here. I'm here. Anything you need, I'm here." She was not entirely satisfied with the way that came out, but she thought she had done a decent job of wrapping what she wanted to say in what she knew he wanted to hear.

He nodded, looking over at her. "Thank you. I'm glad I found you."

"I'm kinda glad myself."

"Pick you up Friday?"

"I gotta wait that long?"

"You gonna burst?"

"No, remember you bought me a vibrator."

"I gotta see that." They smiled at each other, and she knew that she would get action that night. A guaranteed recipe to kill whatever bad mood he might be in.

They all laughed at her camera, but it was her introduction to private air travel, and they could all go to hell. She told them that, too, and that brought out more laughter. Morrison had brought his wife, who was wildly suspicious until she spotted Margie. Angela's marriage to Morrison could be called unstable at best, dysfunctional being a more honest term. Randy, being the other single member of their little crew, had acquired his own arm candy, but she was mostly looks, and not much for conversation. Amber did see her eyeing Jonathan, and figured that she was trying for an angle to move up the wealth ladder. But this one did not worry her. You could poke her tits and let all the air out.

She had never been to Vegas, so he indulged her, and had the taxi driver take the scenic route down the strip on the way to their hotel.

"You'll have time to explore. We have tee time tomorrow, so you can play."

"I'm going to the spa with Margie."

"Good, get all buffed for me."

"Anything for you."

The hotel room was very similar to the one in the Hilton. A bit bigger, a bit gaudier, but probably spoken of very well on the Travel channel. She took pictures of it, too. Dropping onto the bed, she watched him stalk across the room, sensing the restless energy in him.

"Come here." Her voice had him stop cold, and he came. She pulled him onto the bed, and before he could stop her, she had him naked. She moved fast, knowing fully well by now what he would do, where his hands would go. The stage where he could just push her buttons by knowing women was over, and now he was the one slightly behind. She was fast, kissing, licking, nibbling, and sucking him deep into her throat. He cried out as she worked him over, going up and down the hard shaft, her finger teasing his prostate.

He was gasping for air, his mind unfocused, sweat cursing down his skin as she sucked him off. She knew him, knew him well by now, so she brought him close, excruciatingly close. He could feel it churning, but then she backed off. It was sweet torture, taking him to the edge, leaning him over, and then pulling back. She did it again, and he screamed, begging for release. She dared again, but mistimed it by a hair, his cock twitching in her mouth. Jacking it with her free hand, she sent it shooting into her mouth, sucking it dry.

"Ohhh…ohhhh, my god."

"You okay?" She crawled on top of him, her tits and hair hanging down into his face.

"Well…my left side is not hurting, so I guess that feeling was not a heart attack."

"That's not funny."

"Easy, I'm not that old."

"I'm being serious, you okay? You have been all tensed up lately."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Bullshit."

"I'm ok, I'm telling you."

She put her nipple in his mouth, and he sucked it like a little kid, his eyes closed, lying back on the pillow. Slowly she ran her fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead. "I'm here, my sweet little sugar daddy."

"So, does she call you daddy?" Morrison was a terrible golf player. But he made up for it with a talent for gratuitous shit talking, which always disrupted just about anybody.

"You mean in bed?" Jonathan was the best player amongst them, so they were always paired up against Markus and Randy, who were currently trying to decide how they were going to get out of a sand trap, walking around the little ball as if it would levitate on its own if they stared at it long enough.

"Yeah." Randy and Jonathan were watching them from the shade of their golf car, enjoying the tasty refreshment of a cold beer.

"Sometimes. I'm telling you, it's like porno sex with that girl. Awesome. The noises, the way she looks, the whole thing. Unbelievable."

"Cool. But you think you are falling for her."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you brought her out here, and made me bring my wife. Which ensured that Margie would be here, who might as well be your emotional compass."

"You should be better to your wife."

"I know." Morrison shrugged, taking a sip from his beer. "Done a lot of damage there, though."

"With toys?"

"Come on."

"I'm being serious. This has nothing to do with my girl, or anything. Angela is a good girl."

"I know. I'm taking her to Sandals during the kids' spring break to patch things up. Honestly this time. I've been reading Margie's books. And I think that guy you told me about is really helping." He left it unsaid that if Jonathan told anybody that he was going to marriage counseling, he would kill him.

"Get the new one yet?"

"Yeah. So you and Amber…"

"I don't know dude, I don't know." Jonathan watched Markus chip the ball, sending it onto the fairway. Standing, he pulled out a pitching wedge, walked onto the grass to his own ball, looked downrange once, whacked at the ball, and listened to Morrison hoot and holler when the ball landed on the green, two feet short of the hole. Too easy. Too bad not everything was like that.

"I've never been to a Spa."

"It is heaven on earth, and I mean that." Margie smiled at the younger woman as they lay down on the massage tables. Amber had always assumed that two tables in the same room were a movie prop, but Margie explained that they were often used for couples. Which lead them to Jonathan.

"You can't tell him I told you this," because I'm not sure why I'm telling you, she didn't add," but I really like him. Not just…well…"

"I know about your arrangement."

"Oh…ok."

"It's ok, I don't judge. I was there when he brought the escort out."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Nice girl. We were in Lake Tahoe, skiing. They had some business thing going in conjunction with the trip, so he thought he needed a date, and got this escort. Big ol' tits, I mean DD, hourglass body, blond hair, from central casting or something. But really smart, said she went to school at UC Davis. Good conversational, really strong flirt. It was sad, really." She smiled knowingly. She knew how that night had ended.

"Huh. Well…"

"You know why you are here?" Margie turned her head to look into the big green eyes, seeing how nervous the girl was.

"So that he can…"

"No, so that I can. You know he made Morrison bring his wife? If he had let him bring his little mistress, Markus would not have brought me, because he knows how I feel about that. You have to understand…Jonathan is a very sweet man. But he does not trust himself."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, take Angelina for example. He loved that woman. I mean, devoted. Unreal. He would have given her anything, and did. You think he's rich now, you didn't know him before he got divorced. Just as a frame of reference. But she was totally wrong for him, cheated on him, all kinds of stuff. When he let her go, he still loved her, despite everything. Gave her millions of dollars above what he should have, could have gotten away with, and let her go out to L.A. or something to start a new life without asking for anything. She said things during their divorce trial, they were just not true. He was so hurt, he never fought for custody, nothing. He could not bring himself to drag her name in the mud, so he lost his daughter.

"He has a daughter?"

"Yeah. He has not seen her in four or five years now, except in pictures. She's Sarah's age. They used to be really good friends. He never mentions her because I think it hurts him to bad. And he told Markus that he's afraid he is falling for you. So he brought us out here to look at you. I write books about relationships, and he thinks I'm some kind of expert."

Amber sat in stunned silence, her mind trying to keep up with the flood of information. The masseuses entered the room, and they lay in silence, letting themselves be worked over. They did not speak about it anymore during the rest of the day, and then Angela and the other bimbo were around, so she let it go, but her mind kept coming back to it.

She watched him closely at dinner that night, trying to see the signs that would tell her what it all meant. But he was his charming self, flirting with her, but Angela and Margie as well. She knew that most of the people at this table had been friends for going on two decades or longer. She was an outsider, as much as she wanted to slip into their midst's and confront him.

It was not until that night, in the hotel room, that she brought it up. The sweat was sticky, the smell of sex pungent and powerful. He was trying to catch his breath, his hands running up and down her back, feeling her ass, eyes closed, enjoying the after glow. She had been aggressive tonight, he thought, almost attacking him once they came through the door. When she was on, there was no stopping her, and it was her show. The shyness of their first encounter had given way to a lioness that knew what she wanted, and what she wanted to give him, show him, do to him.

"Can I ask you something?" Her voice came from close, but it still retained that quality that always shook him to the core.

"Anything."

"Do you have any kids?"

There was a sharp intake of breath, and she screwed her eyes shut against any type of assault that might come. There was a whistling sound as he exhaled past pursed lips, his body deflating under her.

"Sorry, is that a relationship question?"

"No, its ok. Yes, I do. I have a daughter. She's eighteen now, living in California."

"Do you ever see her?"

"No. My ex-wife has total custody of her. I didn't really do that well in the divorce thing. Mostly my fault, I was an idiot."

She sat up, running her finger down his chest, then licking the sweat of her finger. "Well…why don't we go see her?"

The strip was lit up below, even at one in the morning cars snaked their way along the neon and mass of bodies. The city truly never slept. Unlike her. He looked back at her form underneath the sheets, the rhythmic slow rise and fall of her breasts telling him she was still in deep sleep.

What was this woman doing to him? He had wanted to cry at the mention of Samantha, and something had told him that if he had, she would have held him, and made the pain go away. But he had been there before, hadn't he? Standing by his parents gravesite, killed senselessly by a drunken driver, crying in weakness, Angelina holding him. Then during the reception she had screwed the caterer, wasn't it? No, it was the driver of the hearse. The caterer had been at Morrison's wedding. God damn it!

He leaned his forehead against the cool glass, exhaling sharply. He wanted to believe, really did. He had it all. He was top in his business, and he could buy any thing he chose. He was well regarded in all spheres of life, and could do whatever he chose. But this eluded him. Happiness. Looking back at Amber, a smile curled at the edges of his lips. And there it lay, sleeping. His for the taking.

There were parts of him that really wanted to believe that she was in this for the money, for the free ride. An Anna Nicole Smith in a Pamela Anderson body, with a Condolezza Rice mind. But Duty Brain cell reported that the large part of his analytical brain did not agree. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she moved around him, touched him. And he could see it in the way that Markus and Margie looked at her. She was not some girl he brought around that might as well not be there, the way that Randy's eye candy had sat there at dinner, her tits about to pop out of her top. This was a human being to them. Had Margie said something to her?

He slipped into the sheets, kissing her softly. She purred, rolling away, but he was insistent. Finally she relented, her eyes opening. She had that amazing ability to be instantly awake, and he loved it.

"Get dressed."

"Where are we going?"

"L.A."

"You know how to drive a stick?"

"What kind of question is that?" She had dressed in what they now referred to as normal clothes, stalking through the lobby of the hotel. The casino was still in full swing, she could see through the massive arch. Everything they might need for a day was in a small bag he was carrying with them, brought up by room service.

"I ordered a car."

They stepped out into the night, and the doorman held open the door to blazing red BMW M3. Waving her around, he slipped into the passenger seat. She dropped into the driver seat after a second of hesitation. She had never driven anywhere with him around, and for all he knew, she might not even have a drivers license.

"You drive first. I'll navigate. Everybody knows women can't read maps."

"Aye, aye captain." The engine rumbled, then roared, and they shot out into traffic. She thought this a bad time to mention that her license was one point away from suspension. If he had asked she would have shrugged. Speeding tickets are a bitch.

The sudden movement of the car woke him up, and he looked around, not remembering where he was for a second. So he looked over at her smiling form, and asked.

"California. L.A. is about twenty miles down the road." Her smile was downright devious now.

"What was that?"

"What?"

"We were stopped, and we like jumped away from the curb."

"Ohhh…nothing."

"Right."

She laughed, and watched as he had his seat come back upright. He had been reclined back as far as possible, after she finally convinced him to go to sleep.

"How long we been on the road?"

"Just under three hours."

"WHAT?"

"Well, I'll just tell you. That was a cop. He was going to give me a speeding ticket, but I cried my way out of it."

He looked close, and he could see a bit of redness around her eyes. She had wiped the tears away, but he had no doubt that she could cry on command. She struck him as the type.

"Ahhh…"

"I've had six speeding tickets in my life."

"SIX? You barely twenty one!"

"My insurance is hell. My parents were paying for it out the ass, but with the financial support of a nameless benefactor, I've been able to relieve them of that burden."

He took the information in quietly, rolling his head a couple of times to work out the kinks. "How do you explain your sudden cash flow to others?"

"All my friends know I have a sugar daddy. And to my parents, I told them I had gotten a couple more scholarships. Well, they know you give me money. They know about the bed, the clothes, stuff like that."

He grunted as a way of response, then looked at her again. "We need to find an Internet café' so that I can get online. Maybe we can find them that way."

"Done already." She handed him a slip of notebook paper. Three phone numbers, all with L.A. area codes, and an address up in the hills graced the page.

"What is this?"

"I'm very charming, and that young Highway Patrolman was very helpful."

"You are out of control."

"Feel free to spank me whenever you want to. I've been a bad, bad, girl."

The house was not too excessive, and he guessed its price tag in the two to three range, based mainly on location. The Beemer fit right into the neighborhood, and nobody would pay attention to the Nevada plates. The thing working against them was that it was four in the morning on Sunday.

"She religious?"

"No." He chuckled at that one.

"Athletic?"

"Wife or daughter?'

"Either."

"No."

"Well, I guess we got nothing." Picking up his cell phone, she studied the three numbers, then dialed one.

"This is the house number. These two have the same predial, so they are cell phones on the same contract. I'm guessing she's the primary, so I'm hoping this is her." He nodded, hoping she was right.

The phone rang several times, then somebody answered.

"Hello?"

"Samantha?"

"Yeah, whose this?"

"It's Amber, from that party the other night. Listen, I'm outside, I need to meet you. It's important."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, please."

"Ok…"

The phone died, and she winked at him. He just stared at her. They watched the door, and when it opened, she heard him gasp. The girl that came out was a striking image of her mother, or at least of the picture she had seen. The same blond hair, the same athletic figure, the same deep blue eyes. She watched the girl look around, then come up the driveway towards the car. She let her get to the sidewalk, then kicked the door open, and jogged across the road.

"Samantha?"

"Yeah…" The girl stepped back, her body going into a kind of natural defensive position. "I don't know you."