Sugar Daddy(96)

"I don't think he cared much about Dawnelle one way or the other. But he cares a lot about you."

Delight seemed to be spilling inside me like close-held armful s of fruit that had become too heavy to carry. "Churchill cares about a lot of people," I said in an offhand tone.

"Not really. He's pretty guarded with most people. I take after him that way."

It was dangerous, this temptation to tell him anything, to relax completely in his presence. But the car was a luxurious dark cocoon, and I was steeped in a feeling of intimacy with this man I barely knew.

"He told me about you for years," I said. "And about your brothers and sister. Whenever he visited the salon, he'd give me an update on the family, and it seemed you and he were always in the middle of some kind of argument. But I could tell he was proudest of you. Even when he was complaining about you, it sounded like bragging."

Gage smiled slightly. "He's not usually that talkative."

"You'd be surprised what people say across the manicure table."

He shook his head, his eyes on the road. "Dad is the last man in the world I'd ever expect to go for a manicure. When I first heard about it, I wondered what kind of woman could get him to do such a thing. As you can guess, it caused more than a little speculation in the family."

I knew it mattered too much, what Gage thought of me. "I never asked him for anything," I said, my voice weighted with anxiety. "I never thought of him as a...you know, sugar daddy.. .there were no presents or—"

"Liberty," he interrupted gently, "it's okay. I get it."

"Oh." I let out a long sigh. "Well, I know how it looked."

"I realized right away nothing was going on. I figured any man who slept with you would never let you out of his bed."

Silence.

The deliberately provocative remark split the course of my thoughts into two channels. one of desire, the other profound insecurity. I had seldom, if ever, wanted any man as much as I wanted Gage. But I wasn't going to be enough for him. I wasn't experienced, I had no skills. And during sex I was too easily distracted, I could never block the caprices of a mind that, right in the middle of the action, would summon up worries such as Did I sign Carrington 's form for the school field trip yet? or Is the dry cleaner going to be able to take the coffee stain out of my white blouse? In short, I was bad in bed. And I didn't want this man to find out.

"Are we going to talk about it?" Gage asked, and I knew he meant the kiss.

"About what?" I countered.

He laughed softly. "I guess not." Taking pity, he asked how Carrington was doing in school. Relieved, I told him about the problems my sister was having in math, and the conversation turned to our own memories of school, and soon he was entertaining me with reminiscences of all the trouble he and his brothers had gotten into when they were younger.

Before I knew it we were at the restaurant. A uniformed valet helped me out of the car while another received the keys from Gage. "We can go anywhere," Gage said, taking my elbow. "If you don't like the look of this place, just tell me."

"I'm sure it will be wonderful."

It was a contemporary French restaurant with light-colored walls and tables covered in white linen, and piano music. After Gage explained to the hostess that the Travis party had gone from nine to two, she led us to one of the small tables in the corner, which was partially concealed by a curtainlike panel to allow for privacy.

While Gage looked through a wine list the size of a phone book, a solicitous waiter filled our water glasses and draped a napkin across my lap. After Gage chose the wine, we ordered artichoke soup sprinkled with shreds of caramelized Maine lobster, plates of California abalone, skillet-roasted sole from Dover accompanied by a hot salad of New Zealand eggplant and peppers.

"My dinner is going to be more well traveled than I am," I said.

Gage smiled. "Where would you go, if you could choose any place?"

The question made me animated. I had always fantasized about traveling to places I had seen only in magazines or movies. "Oh, I don't know...to start with, Paris, maybe. Or London, or Florence. When Carrington gets a little older I'm going to save enough to take us on one of those bus tours through Europe..."

"You don't want to see Europe through a bus window." he said.

"I don't?"

"No. You want to go with someone who knows the right places." He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. "Which one?"

I smiled and shook my head in confusion. "What do you mean, which one?"

"Paris or London? I can have the plane ready in two hours."