BABY DADDY (5 page)

I feel him tense, but only for a moment.

“Hold hands?”

“Among other things you’d like to do.”

I’m kinda impressed with how I’m handling this, casually propositioning him like I’m just offering him a drink at the bar. Despite my rioting hormones, my nerves are relaxed around him. I don’t know what it is about him, but the way he looks at me doesn’t make me feel less of myself with what I’m doing.

His eyes don’t judge me. I feel empowered by them.

He smiles at me and doesn’t answer right away, but I don’t feel rejected. His eyes tell me his answer.

Dang, this man looks so divine my body is responding crazily to his potent appeal for the first time in ages. No, for the first time ever! I haven’t felt this with Aiden who I swore was my first true love, this exhilaration inside me waiting to burst like a dam any moment.

Insta-lust.

Now I know how that feels. Those smutty ebooks I usually gobble from Amazon if I want to declog my brain of pressure are not lying after all. You can really feel instant lust for a man you don’t even know. My moist bikini bottom proves it without a doubt.

“I’d like to do a lot of things with you,” he finally replies.

Okay, I take back that mean thought about that chick at the bar. I’m melting like stupid goo on the sand now. “Me, too.”

“A lot of inappropriate things.”

Oh god. Keep going.

I can feel my core clench with a familiar, delicious ache, but it’s not self-induced this time. It’s being caused by an outside force. A very powerful force.

I wet my lips. “I’d like to find out how….inappropriate those things are.”

I relish the tell-tale signs of my awakening desire. For a man! Hallelujah, my muff is not a manhater, after all! It’s been a long-standing affair with Bob. It’s time to welcome the real deal again. I can say I’ve really missed this feeling.

It’s so liberating!

“Very inappropriate for a lady like you.”

“But I’m not a lady for a whole month,” I quip.

He chuckles. “I like you. You’re a no-bullshit woman.”

“Only because you’re so hot-looking I have to dumb myself down to hold your attention. Otherwise, I gotta warn you, I’m a class A bitch.”

His laughs out loud this time.

I take in the marvelous sound like a sweet balm to my senses. If I’ll have a son, I hope he laughs just like that when he becomes a man.

“You’re the hottest woman on this island,” he declares and pulls me towards him.

Thunder and lightning ignite inside me.

He’s so warm and hard and yet his touch is nothing but the gentlest.

We stare in each other’s eyes.

I feel like I’m in a parallel universe and in that existence, time flies back like the North Wind. Taking a decade away from my weary soul. Wiping away mountains of fears and self-loathing. Obliterating any remaining doubt in my mind.

“What’s your name?” I finally ask.

He bends his neck and kisses me.

Oh. God.

This sunset.

This kiss.

Spell perfection.

I close my eyes and allow myself to feel young again. Like I’m being kissed for the very first time. Like I haven’t been devastated by a lying, cheating opportunist. Like my heart has no layers upon layers of scar tissues wrapped around it for years.

His kiss feels so good.

Slow.

Savoring.

So fucking divine.

“Raiden,” he whispers on my lips.

I open my eyes. “Raiden,” I breathe dreamily.

I’m absolutely sure now. Baby Dada is THIS.

“I’m Ella.”

THREE

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25 CONTROVERSIAL QUOTES FROM THE STYLE EMPRESS

On being single:

"Not all women can handle the thought of being single,

much less the practice. Solitude is an art.

It takes extensive training to live alone.

Like an addiction, it’s hard to kick out of your system.

I cannot imagine the withdrawal syndrome.”

Stella Rhodes

__________________________________________________

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME
I went out with a man to have a simple, quiet dinner? I can’t remember. So, don’t ask me the last time I got laid. That's not even in the map. No wonder my eggs are drying up.

But they’re about to get showered.

Oh boy, my thoughts. My wicked, wicked thoughts.

“I thought this is your favorite restaurant?”

“It is. What can you say?” He spread his arms towards the expanse of the yacht
situated some 200 meters from the beach which we reached via a high-powered jet ski.

I still can’t get over the exhilaration of riding behind a man on a speeding jet ski, my thighs hugging his hips and my arms wrapped around his washboard abs as the last rays of the fading sun illuminated our way. I’ll reminisce about that later or my mind will scramble like Text Twist from the sigh-worthy memory. He seemed to have noticed I was enjoying the ride so we circled the yacht a few times before we boarded it.

The yacht is medium-size and designed as a spacious cabana complete with tropical landscaping and a jacuzzi that would probably fit a dozen people. In itself, it’s a tiny island. Very private. It doesn’t have the usual tables for fine dining but clusters of chaise lounges filled with colorful throw pillows embroidered and beaded with tribal designs. The architecture is a blend of Japanese and Balinese. The deck is hardwood and the ceiling is adorned with intricate wood carvings.

“It’s…breathtaking.” I steal his vocabulary. “Too awesome for words.” I look at him the way he looked at me at the beach.

He grins. “Glad you like it.”

I scrutinize a throw pillow. “I gotta have these fabrics! I wonder where they make these.” I’m thinking of the coming Fashion Week. I’m doing the shows in New York and Paris. I’ll Skip London and Milan this year. These fabrics will look perfect in my spring/summer collection.

“There’s a small village here where the people weave them. Part of the island’s local industry.”

My designer hormones are going hyper. “Oh my god, I wanna go there. Will you take me there?”

“Of course.”

“Can we go tomorrow?”

“We’ll see.”

“We’ll see?”

He has this naughty gleam in his eyes. “Ask me again tomorrow. But I doubt if you’d want to leave the bed.”

My cheeks heat up. “Oh.”

“We’d be very busy in the next few days. We have plenty of time next week.”

What can I possibly say to that? It’s perfect.

Wait, next week? I only need to be with him for a week, but I do not correct him.

I’m suddenly feeling shy. Now that he’s accepted my proposition and is talking about it casually, I feel my nerves catching up on me. I came up to him with swaggering confidence at the bar but that was just bravado fueled by my desperation.

What I am is a thirty-seven year old woman who has not had sex in the last…ever. It’s embarrassing to even think about, much less talk about.

Me, a very successful self-made woman, a billionaire for christ’s sake, who can have a pick of lovers from the supermodels who regularly walk the runways clad in my collection every season, is still a virgin. Technically, that is. If people knew, I’d make Page Six again as the regular punch line.

My occasional dinner dates with fellow single billionaires at strategic places in different parts of the world have given me the reputation as a woman in absolute control of her ship. In truth, those dates were no more than business transactions. They were mostly investors in my expanding mini-empire.

I’d like to consider that my few petting sessions with my asshole of an ex a long time ago were sex but they didn’t count really. There was no actual penetration.

Sitting in front of me is a much younger man who I’m absolutely sure is light years ahead of me in carnal experience.

The contrast is staggering and demoralizing. But he doesn’t have to know.

“Alright…” I say.

“You were so far away for a while. Have you changed your mind?”

“No!” I hastily reply in a louder voice.

He arches a brow. “Sure?”

“Yes! I’m sure.”

“I have a demanding appetite.”

Oh boy.
Here we go again.

“But I’m sure you can handle it. Right?”

I give him an irked look. He gives me a wicked grin. He’s either teasing me or testing me.

“Why did you blow off those young women at the bar?”

“How did you know I blew them off?”

“It was obvious. They were about to rip my hair off my scalp when you shifted your attention to me.”

He shrugs. “Blame it on my Rubenesque taste.”

“Rubenesque…?” I look at him blankly for a few seconds, then it clicks. I throw one of the pillows at him.

He catches it, chuckling. “Hey, it was a compliment!”

Indeed, he had a choice at the bar between me and those women. He chose me. I’m absolutely sure he likes my looks nor do I have reason to doubt his Rubenesque taste. It’s what got me in this yacht with him. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it with fancy art terms, you know. Just call me fat,”
I say in feigned annoyance.

“Christ, you women are so cruel to your own bodies. You have a fantastic body, Ella. You’re perfect.”

Perfect. Nobody has said that of me.

Ever.

His eyes are bathing me in pure masculine appreciation I want to melt all over again. Man, have I lucked out too much today? This is just getting better and better.

I smile at him, joy suffusing my entire being, my confidence soaring for real now. The man is great for my ego, too. “Rubenesque. I’m kinda liking the sound of that. Sounds cooler than plus-size.”

“You’re beautiful. Always remember that.”

Oh God. Will you stop?

“Thank you. I’m not insecure of my body. Not anymore. I’ve accepted that I’ll never be Size 6, much less Size 4. I’ll always be 12 or more, depending on my appetite level, which escalates during the Fashion Weeks in New York and Paris. Pressure makes me eat more.”

“Why is your appetite stronger during those weeks?”

Ops.

You blabbermouth.

“Uhm, because it’s time to change wardrobe and I know I’d never fit in most of the clothes designed for slender women,” I improvise.

He makes a snorting sound. “If it were up to me, you’d have no clothes most of the day.”

I must be blushing like a sixteen-year old. “Uhh, where are the people?” I change the topic.

“Maybe they’re all going to The Cove. There’s an impressive list of artists lined up for tonight.”

“The Cove? Where’s that?”

He gives me an odd look. “You haven’t toured the island yet, have you?”

“No.” I’ve been busy looking for Baby Dada.

“The Cove is an amphitheater somewhere along the strip where all the shows and concerts are held. There’s a festival going on at the moment and it lasts for a month. You came right in the middle of it. Have you heard of Coachella in California?”

“Of course, but I’ve never attended one.” Not for lack of opportunity though. I’ve been surrounded by bohemians in the industry but I deliberately veered away from the decadence of the celebrity party scene. I only dress celebrities. I don’t need to embody their lifestyle, as well.

“The Fiamma Festival is part Coachella, part Mardi Gras, but for the VVIP’s only.”

“Then I can’t wait to experience that!”

“You definitely will.”

A waiter comes over to deliver our drinks. We both opted for white wine. I’m impressed at the label served. Certainly, this place makes one feel like royalty. Only the best and the finest.

“You seem to know a lot about this island. You come here often?”

He takes a sip first before answering. “Interested to know more about me now?”

“If we’re going to be doing inappropriate things to each other, I might as well know the basics about you.”

He spreads his arms over the back rest of the lounger he’s sitting on. “Alright. Ask away.”

Okay...How does one ask a stranger about his sexual history without offending him?

“To answer your first question, I come to this island a lot. It’s my favorite place in the world.”

Okay. Very loaded. I wonder who he is and I don’t mean just his full name.

No, you don’t wanna know.
Don’t get too curious about Baby Dada.

I inwardly sigh. Yup, that’s imperative if I’m to get out of this baby-making mission unscathed. It’s the reason I went this far from the United States to look for sperm source. I don’t want any association with him beyond the fertilization of my egg.