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jealousy, unwanted pregnancies leading to litigation, meeting the parents, joint bank accounts, and going for long walks on the beach . In short, I’m cutting out the middleman.”
    “The middleman being?”
    “Emotional complications.”
    There it was, cut and dried. “You seem unconcerned about my bein’ married.”
    “As do you.”
    “How dare you! You know nothing about me.” I jabbed his chest until he gripped my wrists.
    “Don’t get all fired up now.” He let me go and undid another button on his shirt. “If you were happy with your marriage, you wouldn’t have come back.”
    My gut dropped. My hands fell to my sides.
    “I want you , Shay. Isn’t that enough?”
    “I don’t know.” Yet, my fingers roaming his shoulders and behind his neck linked through silky black hair worn a touch too long. “Why me?”
    He bent his head, breath brushing my cheek. “You can feel this, I know you can.”
    “Why not someone younger?”
    He dipped lower, locking eyes with me. “I’m after a woman who knows what she’s about. I like a woman who has some miles on her.”
    Oh no he didn’t. “Was that supposed to be some kind of compliment?”
    He opened his mouth.
    I shut it for him. “You get away with wheelin’ and dealin’ with that mouth, mister?”
    “I’ve got better things to do with my time than train a twenty-year-old.”
    I sniffed. “I’m not at all sure you’re doing yourself any favors saying that.”
    His index finger ran across his upper lip, like my tongue longed to do.
    “Hang on, how do you choose your–” whores, hookers, mistresses, “candidates?”
    I’d noticed his tics enough to know something was up when he withdrew to the desk. Rapping his knuckles once on the wood, he said, “I’m never wrong, not on a deal of this magnitude.”
    “And?”
    “I have a PI.” He refused to look at me.
    “What?”
    “Photos and background checks.”
    “But, how...what?”
    He shrugged. “Money can buy a lot.”
    Even me.
    Finalizing our affair, he took out a legal-looking stack of papers . “First of all, we will not discuss your marriage.”
    “Good.” I didn’t even want to think about it, let alone talk about it.
    We got down to the rest of the contract and I vacillated between wanting to lick his throat, discover his treasure trail, and dive into his lap while he covered the fundamentals such as dress code–aka undress code–and salary, because Poodle Poop Prowlers were put to shame by the figures he wrote down.
    Then he mentioned health insurance.
    I’d be fully covered for any mishap fate threw at me. Since fate had already shown she liked to hit me in the gut with a fastball when I least expected it, this was big time. I blinked to clear my eyes of unbidden tears. The only way I’d be able to get rid of Palmer would be with a decent paycheck and adequate coverage. What Reardon offered went above and beyond.
    I wouldn’t end up in the same situation my momma had.
    He handed me a Fidelity brochure and the business card of Radaman-Slaughter’s broker, instructing me to set up an appointment to go over my 401K.
    All this wealth, the ease with which he gave me a financial leg-up was overwhelming. I strolled around the office. “How old are you?”
    “Forty-two.”
    “Y’all aren’t hardly old enough to be called a sugar daddy.”
    He winked, plinking his tongue to the corner of his lips. “Least you won’t have to worry about my ability to perform.”
    Naturally his gambit led to the rules of attraction. “I need to know if you want me.” Was he blind? Had he been dropped on his head as a baby? “Because otherwise this is all moot,” he added, towing me between his legs.
    Looking down at his blue-fire eyes and ripe lips, handsome features and wavy hair, I said the first thing that came to mind. “Well, I think you get off on being pompous, and you use too many big words.” I stopped myself. “Perhaps you should go first.”
    “Indeed.” Light caresses