A Man For The Night

“Well, I’m happy you think so,” he said. Yet he wasn’t happy. Here he was, with a gorgeous girl who liked him and he couldn’t lay a finger on her. Which was more than just a pity. It was downright frustrating.

It had been ages since Callum had had sex. Hawaii had been a total wipe-out where the ladies were concerned, the females who’d come on to him either being married, or desperately wanting to be. He’d been substituting surfing for sex for the last three months, and the result was one very nicely tanned but rather testy guy.

“When a colleague recommended you, I have to confess I was initially reluctant,” Josie prattled on. “But Kay insisted.”

Callum feared that his cover was about to be blown. “I’ve been hired by a colleague of yours in the past?”

“Actually, not Kay herself. It was her cousin. Cora.”

“Cora,” Callum repeated before realizing he was sounding like he’d been hired by so many women that they all blurred into one.

“You must remember Cora. She’s a rally-car driver, which is a pretty unique occupation for a woman. You took her to an industry awards dinner not long back. She certainly remembers you. She simply raved to Kay over your looks and your performance.”

“Really? And what performance, exactly, would that have been?”

Callum was astonished when she actually blushed. So! Madam wasn’t that bold, not if his unintended double-entendre embarrassed her.

“You…er…pretended to be her boy-toy lover for the evening,” she explained, her cheeks glowing. “To make her ex-husband jealous. You must remember. I was told it wasn’t long ago.”

“Oh yes…of course. Cora,” he murmured, digesting this highly interesting piece of information. It seemed he was getting Clay out of the escort business just in time. That boy had no common sense at all. Boy-toy indeed! What next?

“I thought if you had no trouble pretending to be a forty-year-old woman’s lover, then you’d have no trouble pretending to be mine.”

“You’re quite right,” he agreed. “Pretending to be your boyfriend will be a piece of cake.”

At this compliment, she blushed some more.

Ms. Josie Williams was an enigma all right, an intriguing mixture of daring and innocence.

“You ready to go then?” he asked. “My car’s parked right outside.”

“You know, I was thinking…I could easily call for a taxi. You might like to have a few drinks tonight. The beer and wine are sure to be laid on.”

“No, ma’am, I never drink on the job.” Now he sounded like a cop. A very pompous cop.

She smiled a stiff little smile. “I think you’d better call me Josie, don’t you?”

“Yep. I think you could be right there. And you can call me Callum.”

“Callum! But I thought your name was Beau?”

Callum knew he couldn’t stand that name all night. He’d wince every time she said it. With Clay out of that agency tomorrow what did it matter what name he used tonight, as long as he kept up the pretense of being from Gentlemen Partners. He had to do that, otherwise there might be trouble, and that was what he was always trying to avoid. Trouble.

“Beau Grainger was a name I chose for my escort work,” he explained. “Like a stage name. Frankly, I can’t get used to it so I’ve decided to revert back to my real name. Which is Callum. Callum McCloud.”

“Callum McCloud,” she repeated, savoring his name as one might savor a sip of wine. Very thoughtfully. “Yes,” she said, nodding. “That fits you better than Beau Grainger. Much better. I’ll just get my purse and shawl and we’ll get going.” She turned away to walk toward a nearby hall stand, her body in motion threatening Callum’s intention to keep strictly to his Gentleman Partner role tonight.

Frankly, he’d never been confronted by a more tempting sight in all his life. That curtain of gorgeous black hair swinging across her deliciously bare back brought seriously erotic images to mind. As did the split up the back of that long clinging red skirt, exposing great legs with shapely calves and narrow ankles.

Callum’s gaze stayed glued to her as she picked up a beaded black shawl from the hall stand, and threw it around her beautifully bare shoulders with all the style and grace of a flamenco dancer. It was a sensual movement, with a sexually provocative garment, the shawl being transparent behind the beads.

Callum was glad Josie took her time, checking her hair in the mirror first as well as the contents of a black beaded purse, then extracting a set of keys from the hall stand drawer before turning back to face him. By then, he had his wayward body under stern control.

Still, it seemed the coming evening wasn’t going to be the piece of cake he claimed it would be. Not unless he could have this piece of cake, and eat it too.

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