Emerald Room , livre ebook

Title Page
THE EMERALD ROOM
Four Sexy Encounters Of Older Men With Younger Women

By
Scarlett Knight



Publisher Information
The Emerald Room published in 2012
by Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Scarlett Knight 2012
The right of Scarlett Knight to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.



The Emerald Room
The Emerald Room bar was one of the classier joints where Nate got paid to play these days. Every Friday for the past two months, he put on a jacket and bowtie and sat at their shiny baby grand, tickling the keys for his two-hour set. It was a hell of a lot better than some of the trashy spots he was forced to waste his talent in, places whose patrons were so noisy and crude, where his music drowned beneath the sound of shrill laughter and glass breaking.
But not this place.
Aside from the nice paycheck, and aside from the sleek marble-topped bar and tall cherry wood seats, and aside from the polite, well-dressed folks who not only listened to him but tipped as well, there was the goddess.
She always showed up when he was about thirty minutes into his set, usually around the time he was playing soundtrack tunes from movies like The Godfather. In she’d stride, wearing one of her killer dresses. Sometimes it was the little black one, her hair cascading like a golden wave down her bare back. Other times she wore the sparkling red number. Tonight she donned a silver gown with a slit all the way up to the top of her right leg, the lacy band of her stocking peeking out whenever she moved just right on the barstool.
God, did Nate have a thing for stockings.
Her black stilettos only made her heavenly legs even more mouthwatering, the way they caused the calf muscles to flex just right. In between songs he took a sip of his bourbon and loosened his tie. To imagine those legs wrapped around him...it was the fuel for many a fantasy after he went home, too chicken shit to talk to her.
But tonight would be different. Tonight, he’d talk to her. He’d have the balls to approach her the way the foolish younger men always found something to say when they sat next to her. She was always accommodating to them, flashing that million-dollar grin as she humored them in their advances. She’d share a couple of drinks, but Nate never saw her leave the bar with any of them. She always left alone.
Last Friday, she finished her last glass of wine and gathered her purse to go before Nate was finished with the gig. And much to his delight, she stopped by the baby grand for the fist time and dropped a bill into his glass tip jar. He couldn’t have cared less about the money. She smiled down at him, her red lipstick accenting such a full, kissable mouth, and she told him she enjoyed his playing. Her voice was like one of those belonging to a James Bond girl: feminine, yet almost husky - a bedroom voice.
Stupid ass he was, he’d been too dumbstruck to say anything back. Only looked up at her and nodded. He’d chastised himself all week for that. But he’d make up for it tonight. He’d go sit by her during his break and offer to buy her a drink. He owed her that much for being the center of his universe.
Now to gather a fool’s amount of courage. Maybe another gulp of alcohol would help.
He’d been told he was still attractive. Running was one of his favorite pastimes, and it showed. He was in better shape than most guys half his age. He had those big chocolate-colored eyes paired with longish brown hair (just slightly streaked with silver) that women seemed to find handsome. Too bad he didn’t have that arrogant flair they also seemed to like. Sure, he was confident enough. You had to be if you were going to make it anywhere as a musician. But that whole “testosterone-driven asshole” gene, at least toward women, he didn’t have it and didn’t care to have it. He preferred the “don’t give a shit” attitude. Maybe it was something that just came with age.
Don’t give a shit. Don’t give a shit. Don’t give a shit.
He ran the mantra through his head as he took one last swig of his bourbon and headed to the bar. So far, there had been three of the younger gentlemen who tried to hit on her tonight. She hadn’t been especially receptive to any of them, other than her usual smile and what appeared to be small talk. Nate had to feel a little sorry for them. No doubt their inexperienced cocks throbbed for her against the crotch of their trousers as much as his did. Damn, his prick was already reacting by the time he reached the bar and stood close enough to touch her. There were times he thought he was losing his sex drive, but seeing her transported him back to his most hormone-driven days.
He had to fight within not to succumb to her intoxicating perfume, not to run his hand along the top of her stocking, not to pull her toward him and feel her firm breasts pressed against his chest. Yeah, the erection was pretty inevitable at this point.
Taking in a breath, he ran a dozen stupid conversation starters through his head, from “How are you?” to “You look lovely” to “Hi, I’m Nate,” when she interrupted him with her own greeting.
“If you’re here to offer me a drink, the answer is no,” she said, her voice the same lightly husky dream as it was last night.
“Oh,” he said. He blinked, taken aback. She wasn’t even looking at him, only staring into her wine glass with a coy smile on those red lips. “Okay. Sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Not a problem. I’ve just had quite enough Pinot for the evening.” Then she looked at him. His heart kicked into high gear as her sea-colored irises glimmered, her eyes lined in sparkling black. “Is your break the usual fifteen minutes?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
“Good. Then we have enough time.” She took another sip of her wine, her intense, long-lashed stare not leaving his wide gaze. “Follow me.”
Enough time for what? She began walking toward the back of the bar. He let out a shaky breath and tried not to let his fantasies get away with him. Whatever she was doing had to be innocent. They didn’t even know each other. She was half his age, probably saw him as more of a father figure. Safe. Someone she trusted not to put a hand on her.