Chapter One
Lucy Whiticker studied her reflection critically. At forty-five she had to work hard to maintain her lithe figure. The advancing years and the birth of two children meant that her workout routine was an arduous and daily occurrence. She couldn’t defy gravity, but she could work damn hard in order to keep it at bay for as long as possible.
Now, studying her naked form in the full-length mirror, she mentally thanked her personal trainer. Her long legs were still supple and relatively dimple free. Her stomach was slightly rounded but remained firm, and hundreds of triceps bench dips per week meant that she hadn’t yet developed the dreaded arm sag. Her breasts, though not as perky as they used to be, were not too bad. She supposed it was their size that helped. She had never been big breasted, a detail that had irritated her when she was younger but helped at forty-five. In her opinion, the less amount of skin one boasted, the better. Her ash-blonde hair was cut in a chic bob that feathered softly around her face and highlighted her hazel green eyes. She had good, olive skin and a few laugh lines around her mouth and eyes but nothing too serious. All things considered, she thought she still looked pretty good.
Why then, she wondered, was it so difficult to meet a nice, single man? She knew many of them were already taken. Most men in her age bracket were married, which made things difficult for single women, but surely there were divorcees or even bachelors waiting to meet that perfect someone. Of course it hadn’t been difficult for her ex-husband to find someone. The only problem was that he’d found his new woman whilst Lucy was still married to him. Why did it seem to be so much easier for men to find a partner?
Because women don’t mind older men, but men don’t want older women , her subconscious sneered at her.
She huffed out a disgusted breath at her reflection before turning to study the contents of her wardrobe. She was meeting with a new client later that morning and wanted to give a good impression.
She finally decided on a charcoal pencil skirt and a grey silk blouse, which she paired with suede pumps. She had always loved lingerie and spent far too much on silky, lacy underwear confections, but she figured it was a fairly harmless vice and it made her feel good about herself. Also, she enjoyed knowing that what she wore underneath her relatively conventional business attire was sexy and sensual. She delved through her lingerie drawer and selected a black lace bra and panty set, then a pair of suspender panty hose with matching garter belt.
When she was dressed, she spent a half hour applying her makeup and quickly styled her hair. She was ready.
* * * *
Rhett Hunter sat at a table in the Oasis restaurant waiting for the interior designer who would be redecorating his father’s law offices. He sipped on a glass of red wine that he had debated ordering, but considering it was eleven thirty a.m., he thought he could get away with it. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and checked his watch. Ms Whiticker should be arriving any minute. As he looked up, his eyes locked on the form of a woman entering the restaurant.
He watched as she stopped to speak to the maître d’ then looked in his direction. He studied her as she started walking towards his table. His gaze zeroed in on her breasts and he could tell by the soft swell outlined by her blouse that they would fit in his palms perfectly. She had a small waist and hips that flared gently. Her pencil skirt ended just above her knees and displayed toned calves ending in slim ankles.
She was a knockout! As she drew closer, he noticed that she was older than he had first thought, but rather than diminishing his lust, it only enhanced it. The maturity and confidence she exuded was sexy and powerful and he found himself having to readjust his suit pants under the table.
When she reached him, he stood and extended his hand
Lucy Whiticker studied her reflection critically. At forty-five she had to work hard to maintain her lithe figure. The advancing years and the birth of two children meant that her workout routine was an arduous and daily occurrence. She couldn’t defy gravity, but she could work damn hard in order to keep it at bay for as long as possible.
Now, studying her naked form in the full-length mirror, she mentally thanked her personal trainer. Her long legs were still supple and relatively dimple free. Her stomach was slightly rounded but remained firm, and hundreds of triceps bench dips per week meant that she hadn’t yet developed the dreaded arm sag. Her breasts, though not as perky as they used to be, were not too bad. She supposed it was their size that helped. She had never been big breasted, a detail that had irritated her when she was younger but helped at forty-five. In her opinion, the less amount of skin one boasted, the better. Her ash-blonde hair was cut in a chic bob that feathered softly around her face and highlighted her hazel green eyes. She had good, olive skin and a few laugh lines around her mouth and eyes but nothing too serious. All things considered, she thought she still looked pretty good.
Why then, she wondered, was it so difficult to meet a nice, single man? She knew many of them were already taken. Most men in her age bracket were married, which made things difficult for single women, but surely there were divorcees or even bachelors waiting to meet that perfect someone. Of course it hadn’t been difficult for her ex-husband to find someone. The only problem was that he’d found his new woman whilst Lucy was still married to him. Why did it seem to be so much easier for men to find a partner?
Because women don’t mind older men, but men don’t want older women , her subconscious sneered at her.
She huffed out a disgusted breath at her reflection before turning to study the contents of her wardrobe. She was meeting with a new client later that morning and wanted to give a good impression.
She finally decided on a charcoal pencil skirt and a grey silk blouse, which she paired with suede pumps. She had always loved lingerie and spent far too much on silky, lacy underwear confections, but she figured it was a fairly harmless vice and it made her feel good about herself. Also, she enjoyed knowing that what she wore underneath her relatively conventional business attire was sexy and sensual. She delved through her lingerie drawer and selected a black lace bra and panty set, then a pair of suspender panty hose with matching garter belt.
When she was dressed, she spent a half hour applying her makeup and quickly styled her hair. She was ready.
* * * *
Rhett Hunter sat at a table in the Oasis restaurant waiting for the interior designer who would be redecorating his father’s law offices. He sipped on a glass of red wine that he had debated ordering, but considering it was eleven thirty a.m., he thought he could get away with it. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and checked his watch. Ms Whiticker should be arriving any minute. As he looked up, his eyes locked on the form of a woman entering the restaurant.
He watched as she stopped to speak to the maître d’ then looked in his direction. He studied her as she started walking towards his table. His gaze zeroed in on her breasts and he could tell by the soft swell outlined by her blouse that they would fit in his palms perfectly. She had a small waist and hips that flared gently. Her pencil skirt ended just above her knees and displayed toned calves ending in slim ankles.
She was a knockout! As she drew closer, he noticed that she was older than he had first thought, but rather than diminishing his lust, it only enhanced it. The maturity and confidence she exuded was sexy and powerful and he found himself having to readjust his suit pants under the table.
When she reached him, he stood and extended his hand
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