скачать книгу бесплатно
In her opinion, all he did was elevate the bed-head look to a whole new level of sexiness.
“There you are, Ride. I see you two have met,” Fabian said, entering the room as if nothing remotely weird had happened in his absence.
For Kirby, the moment had a distinct ménage feel about it. And not in a good way.
As much as Easy Ride had awakened something within her—something completely capable of muddling her emotions—her head began to clear. Obviously, this guy was into some woman named Lydia. Or else he had the ability to cook up some seriously tasty lines that contained no sincere ingredients, and then serve them to everyone. Along with a few borderline-offensive ones specifically for her.
No matter. Kirby smiled, from the inside out. She’d have no problem doing what she needed to do for the story. And maybe doing a few things she wouldn’t ordinarily do along the way.
As imperfect as their introduction had been, Easy Ride was perfect story material.
2 (#uf7944ae7-ae08-517a-bd29-0cf11c1e2224)
HOLY CRAP.
So this was his new client. From behind, and with her hair up in a bun, she could pass for their manager. Lydia loved his shoulder rubs, neck kisses and harmless-but-naughty banter. The naughtier, the better, with the added levity of some questionable compliments. All in good fun.
Nothing about this current situation could be considered remotely fun.
This Lydia-from-behind look-alike hadn’t bantered back in the usual manner, which should have been a clue. Instead, he had ramped up the innuendo.
The fact that this woman wasn’t painfully thin should have been another clue, but he’d been too busy enjoying the softness of her to think it through. Rather, enjoying the softness of what he thought was Lydia.
In a way, he was relieved it wasn’t his boss because he’d gotten more than a little turned on. Then it struck him. Had he really made a snarky remark about a new client’s breasts?
Adam Drake traced the outline of her gorgeous curves from afar. She’d even let her hair down, and damn if she didn’t make the most stunning brunette he’d ever seen.
She’d been a blonde in the club, he was sure of it. No small detail in his defense for what had happened. But the hair color hadn’t been the hook. It was her belligerent-turned-appreciative gold-flecked eyes looking directly into his.
Besides, Lydia was the one who’d asked him to track down Gentleman John and report back to her in this room. But she hadn’t been here when he’d returned.
Where the hell had Lydia run off to anyway? She could corroborate his story.
Then again, why even bother formulating a defense? Being innocent never worked. At least, not for him.
He tried to remain confident as the client chatted with Fabian near the door, probably requesting a new friend for the evening. All the while, his good buddy Fab acted proper and professional and appropriately appalled at Adam’s behavior.
Now that was hilarious. Fab put on a bigger act than all the guys combined.
Fabian finally gave him the two-fingered wave, indicating it was safe to come back. He would probably be asked to apologize to the classy client. And Fabian would soak it all up and use it against him later.
Instead of a reprimand, Fabian said, “She’s happy to continue with you.”
“Come again?” Adam said.
An amused smile slashed across his client’s face. She didn’t seem too torn up, which made him wonder whether she had some sort of ulterior motive. She sure as hell didn’t look as if she had to pay some poor schmuck to hear her out. Much less praise her.
If he were good at one thing, it was spotting a poseur. A woman who came in for all the wrong reasons. Namely, for sex with one of the hot guys. Clients didn’t have to pay a penny if they weren’t satisfied with their session. That much was in the contract. So if a client wanted sex, the employee risked losing his wages if he said no.
Fabian left without responding to Adam’s question, but the knowing wink spoke volumes. He’d saved Adam’s ass on this one, as a best friend should.
He also left Adam to comfort this heartbroken knockout.
Fabian was the only other person who knew Adam’s own story of heartbreak. How his fiancée had traded up to the lead singer of the popular country-rock band Better Days. But only after cheating behind his back for an embarrassing amount of time.
He fought the urge to rub his bicep. The tattoo artist had inked a gorgeous stallion over his ex-girlfriend’s name. It was a nice complement to the Arabian mare tattooed on his chest. The cursive letters of Liv’s name had transformed into the stallion’s windblown mane quite easily. But he could still feel the resulting humiliation at times. Like slivers of glass lodged under his skin.
After a few awkward moments of silence, Adam offered his hand and led his new client back to the sofa.
She settled in on the far side.
He closed the distance between them, then draped his arm across the back. Near her, but not touching. He owed her that much.
“So, how does this work?” she asked, then bit her luscious bottom lip, which took a close second in sensuality to the top one. Full, with a cupid’s bow.
He resisted the urge to bite his own bottom lip.
“No rules. It can work however you want. It’s helpful for me to know a little bit about you. Why you’re here.”
“I heard about this place from my best friend, who will remain unnamed.”
“Understood.”
She fidgeted with her hands for several seconds while he waited. Patiently. He tried like hell not to get a full hard-on just looking at her. He felt the stirrings of one, a slight tightening of his jeans, so he diverted his gaze back to the fireplace.
“I’m divorced,” she said. “Which was difficult enough. But I was never really married. Not in the way people are usually married. Oh, God, this is hard.”
He tried to follow, but she wasn’t making sense.
“Were you in some sort of arranged marriage?”
She responded with a nervous laugh and shook her head.
“No. Nothing like that.”
He slid somewhat closer. Close enough to pull her in. If, and only if, she wanted.
Soap and water, did she say? Whatever it was, she smelled damn good. Thinking of the way her soft skin had felt against his palms made the blood rush to his hands, as well as to other extremities.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want. But, if you do, I’m obligated to keep your secret. I signed a confidentiality agreement. Nothing leaves this room,” he said.
The disclaimer earned him a direct look. One he couldn’t quite decipher.
Perhaps he couldn’t read her thoughts, but he could definitely read the heartbreak in her eyes.
He swallowed hard and proceeded to bend his personal rule. The one about not making the first move. But hadn’t he already smashed it to pieces?
Again, not my fault...
He urged her gently toward him, and she followed his lead. Her head rested on his shoulder as he caressed her arm, which he knew to be softer than the cashmere sweater that covered it.
Before his thoughts could stray any further, he reminded himself of his role. A shoulder to cry on. Nothing more.
* * *
KIRBY COULDN’T FORCE out the words even though she had rehearsed them to death.
Thankfully, he didn’t push.
Although her true story might eventually encourage him to open up, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, even though part of her needed to tell someone, anyone, so badly.
She totally got the concept behind The Deep now. Understood the service these men provided. Maybe if she’d come to a place like this after her own heartbreak, she’d be healed.
Rather than keep talking, Kirby yearned for this stranger to kiss the back of her neck again. Was it okay to ask for that?
Yet, she didn’t want to ask for any physical affection. She’d been rejected after asking in the past, and she would never make that mistake again.
No, she wanted and needed this man to make the first move. Paid for or otherwise.
As if he sensed her need to be touched, he brushed an errant strand of hair from her face.
Her eyes went directly to his sensual mouth, which promised so much pleasure without uttering a word. She wanted to know how it would feel to kiss him. She needed to kiss this stranger, she decided, seconds before he leaned in and pressed that gorgeous mouth softly against hers.
A sudden wave of self-consciousness prompted Kirby to pull away, even though she would have liked nothing more than for him to nudge her lips apart. Open a simple part of herself she’d effectively sealed off.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have initiated that,” he said.
“Club policy?”
“My policy.”
Obviously, his personal policy wasn’t the least bit compatible with hers. The only option now was to save face.
“It’s okay. Paid-for kisses aren’t exactly what I need.”
He seemed to contemplate her admission.
“Then I’ll stop the clock, kiss you for ten minutes, then we’ll resume with the paid-for session. How does that sound?”
All of a sudden she was hyperaware of their proximity, how utterly strong and protective his arm felt around her, how his sensual mouth would feel while exploring her own, if she wanted it.
And she definitely wanted.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
“I want to kiss you. Why else?”
Before she could overanalyze it, he pressed his mouth against hers and tenderly nudged her lips apart with his tongue.
She granted him full access, and he explored deeper.
He tasted mostly of mint and slightly of Scotch. She wanted to consume him, as he had begun to consume her.
For the next several minutes, her feelings swung from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. From being convinced that he enjoyed the deep and intimate kisses as much as she did, to wondering whether this was nothing more than a job duty, then back to being convinced.
As Kirby struggled to stop the pendulum on convinced, someone cleared his throat behind them. It was enough to jolt some sense into apparently both of them, as they broke away from the kiss at the same time and turned to look.
Fabian.
Easy Ride shook his head and flashed the fingers of one hand. Twice. Indicating ten more minutes of privacy, she assumed. He turned back to her.
Once again, she had his baby blues’ full attention. Had she really been making out with this unbelievably sexy man? One who’d made the first move, and was giving his affection at no charge?
Maybe these guys operated like crack dealers. Give the customer a free taste and get ’em hooked. Maybe she definitely needed what he was offering.
“You’re really not charging me for the kissing time? I thought you were joking.”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like that.” He leaned in to kiss her again, resuming the tender urgency they’d generated before the interruption.
As if Kirby was no longer in control of her own body, she leaned back and guided him to more of a full-frontal connection.
He accepted her lead. In fact, they seemed to have the same idea as they repositioned themselves on the sofa. Her underneath. Him on top. By the time he pressed into her, he was rock-hard.
Her private gratefulness momentarily took her breath away.
Pure desire took over from there as he nudged her thighs apart and situated himself between them while continuing to kiss her. The friction against the inseam of her jeans rubbed her in the most delicious way, and with exactly the right amount of tension.
All the while, an instrumental lounge version of George Strait’s “Baby Blue” serenaded the edge of her consciousness.
The slow, confident movement of his hips combined with the softness of his mouth had her mind so twisted and stirred and shaken that she barely noticed his hands reaching underneath and cupping her behind.
He moved her hips for her, pulling her into his deeper thrusts with a slow, smooth, effortless rhythm. The angle and intensity took her all the way.
The pent-up tension and the subsequent release in full were almost more than she could handle, yet she somehow managed to hold in the heaviest groan. It had been so long. So long since she’d wanted a man and felt this wanted in return.
With the final deep thrust against her, he softly moaned, “Oh, baby.”
Her mind began to clear as he finished. Unfortunately, her clear mind always invited the most unwanted of thoughts. Now, her thoughts insisted this gorgeous man would ultimately reject her, as her ex-husband had done, even though she wasn’t here for personal reasons. Or, at least, she wasn’t supposed to be.
Combine business and pleasure? Live in the moment? Those luxuries were for other people. Her choices had always been entwined with consequences.
Consequences. So many of them in this particular situation.
What have I done?
* * *
WHAT THE HELL am I doing?
