Free The Rich Girls' Club by HoneyB Page A

finger from the corner of her mouth to her chin. “I’m here to dine with—”
    Johnathon quickly appeared. “Yes, ye-yes,” he stuttered in a soft, sexy kind of way. “She’s the one I’ve been waiting for,” he drooled. “Come with me.”
    His eagerness seemed personal. The thrusting of his chest and squaring of his shoulders as he turned his back to the host resembled what a man would do if she were his date. That or he was already interested in marking his territory.
    “May I please take your coat, madam?”
    Hope slowly eased the soft fluffy collar down her back. The host nodded at Johnathon, an unspoken signal that said, “Damn! Man, now I really see why you got your ass up here in a hurry,” but he remained professional.
    “I’ve got it,” Johnathon said, taking her mink from the host. He tossed it across his arm, clenched it to his side.
    Hope nodded toward her coat, gesturing for the host to take it right away.
    The host nodded back at her then said to Johnathon, “Sir, please, allow me.”
    Before Johnathon could respond, Hope thanked the host then told Johnathon, “You are quite the gentleman. Thanks, Mr. Waters, but my coat will be properly stored. A mink should never lay.” Her eyes trailed from his face to his chest. “A real mink is always hung.”
    “Oh, please, call me Johnathon,” he said with a brilliant smile that already proved to outshine his intellect.
    Men were clueless when it came to valuing the precious belongings of a woman. Unfortunately, that sometimes included what was between her ears and thighs.
    Hope’s coat wasn’t some three-thousand-dollar knock-off. The price tag had been fifty grand, pre-tax. But there was no need to chastise him. She was sure his ego was like most men’s…fragile. As with Stanley, sometimes it was best to quietly correct a man’s mistakes to keep the pendulum, and the dick, swinging in her direction.
    Hope fluffed then shook her hair in front of him. Men loved a slightly untamed look. It was more appealing than the stiffness of having every strand in place. Boring hair implied an equally boring woman.
    Johnathon Waters looked good enough to suck his dick in the middle of the restaurant. His navy suit, white-collared shirt, and solid blue tie were crisp. He was on our party’s side, along with Brooks and Bailey. The light fragrance hovering around him made her pussy notice the swollen imprint in his pants that peeked between the opening in his jacket. Indeed, he was very well-endowed.
    The waiter motioned to pull out her chair. Johnathon beat him to it, waited until she was seated, then sat across from her. His dark wavy hair was tapered on the sides, fuller on top, not a gray strand in sight. A clean shave highlighted his left dimple. The bridge of his nose extended forward, his nostrils flared wide. Lips thin and sexy as hell when he smiled.
    “Please, move his chair next to mine,” Hope told the waiter. “And bring us a bottle of your finest champagne. We’re having a celebration.”
    “If you prefer, madam, I can relocate you to a private booth,” the waiter said, then asked, “What’s the occasion?”
    “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary,” Hope replied, not answering his question.
    Staring into her eyes, Johnathon said, “Well, I must admit I had no idea you were so, um, attractive.”
    That wasn’t what he really wanted to say, was it? He’d seen her before. What he hadn’t witnessed was the size of her breasts without a bra.
    Beauty was a woman’s trump card. Good looks could yield good favor, open closed doors, and garner respect even when unwarranted. Gorgeous women made men do dumb things, but only when the woman was intelligent enough to know she was in charge.
    Hope smiled, placing her hand on his knee under the table. Her fingernails lightly scraped his thigh. “I’m Native American and look just like my mother.” And she had the ruthless, cut-throat characteristics of her father. “But we’re here to