Easy Ride. Suzanne Ruby
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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,