Priceless

And then she did die.

It happened very quickly and without warning, because her general prognosis had not been dire. But the worst part was I’d not been able to get home in time to see her again. This card in my hand right now held the last words I would ever “hear” from my mother.

I pressed my eyes shut and thought of her. Of how good she was, and how determined she was to let me know how much she loved me in spite of what I’d done. It was my mother who had reached out to my dad and suggested I leave home and come to London to live where he could help me to find my way. After the mess I’d made, I’d needed some help. The two of them had kept an open line of communication about their children over the years, and I often wondered if Garrick hadn’t snatched up my mother and married her, would my parents have gotten back together in time?

That had been impossible with my step-dad in the picture. He was also Blake’s father and thus, I was stuck with Garrick Chamberlain as a family connection whether I liked it or not.

Garrick was solicitous of my mom when they were together, but I’d never seen any evidence of the love affair between them. He’d married her for her money I was sure, and she had stayed married to him because of Blake. And now that she was gone, Garrick wanted to control even the portions of her estate that had been left to me and to Dani.

It was very easy for me to blame Garrick for everything. After all, my great shame was in part, because of him. Whenever I did visit my sister and brother in Santa Barbara, I couldn’t wait to get away from Garrick and back home to London.

Home?

Where was my home, really?

I had family in London and in California, but I lived in London now. I couldn’t see myself leaving it, either. There was too much back in California to hurt me. There was also nothing to tie my heart to California now my mom was gone. I missed Dani and Blake terribly, but for now my imperative was pretty simple.

Avoid the hurt at all costs.

THREE

London

6th July

MY do-over date with Maria would be handled a little differently than usual. We’d already met face to face, and so the typical dinner or date activity wasn’t really necessary. We could get down to what we’d started the other night. No need to drag out the inevitable. I was contracting for sex and she was providing it.

Business.

Just contractual business and nothing more.

So why did I feel like shit about the fact I paid women to get me off?

The truthful answer to that question helped me to realize my glass was empty and in desperate need of a refill.

I shrugged off my ugly thoughts as I mixed the Bombay and Schweppes, tossed in a lemon twist, and envisioned how Maria would look today when she showed up instead. To be honest, I couldn’t wait to see her again. There was something about her that had got to me the other night despite our untimely interruption. I knew one thing for certain.

I wanted to be with her badly, and that fact alone was unusual for me.

Mostly, I couldn’t stop thinking about her, or how she’d been so willing in my arms when I’d had her pinned against that gallery door with my fingers inside her. Maria was a born sexual submissive, I would bet my life on it, and I wanted to explore her further.

I felt my cock punch out when the buzzer went off. Maria was here, just on the other side of the door to my flat.

Mmmm…where to begin with her…was the delicious thought that slid through my mind as I put my hand on the knob and turned it.

I stared at the female before me wearing black stilettos paired with a pink and black trench coat cinched in tight at her waist with a bow. Probably the only thing standing between her and public indecency I imagined.

“Mr. Ivanhoe?” the too-thin blonde inquired softly. She was probably evaluating my frown and general puzzlement at her presence.

“But you’re not Maria.” I tilted my head at her.

“No, but please call me Maria if you wish,” she answered with a nod as she checked me over with a smile. “I am here for your pleasure, Mr. Ivanhoe.”

I guess she misread my shock at her not being whom I was expecting and took it for an invitation, because she swept inside and shut the door behind her. She walked into my living room and set her bag down on the coffee table. She turned back toward me and started unknotting the belt of her coat. The look in her dark brown eyes was predatory as she pulled the fabric of her belt out of the bow with a rasping draw.

Well, fuck.

This was definitely not who I’d been with in that store room. Not even close.