Boyfriend for Hire: A Stand-Alone Contemporary Romance (Escort Files Book 1)

by Nina Strych

  He saw her and once he did, his eyes never left her. He glanced down at her sleeveless shirt, an extra button on the lavender cotton left unbuttoned, and then he smiled that lazy, sexy smile just for her. The dimple did its work and she felt a liquid heat that was foreign and yet, delightfully welcome.

  A woman watched him as he passed her, then saw Amy and raised her wineglass in a salute with a grin. Oh god, she knows. The smile was a knowing one, but also one that said, Welcome to the club!

  Michael—or Blake or whatever he was today—was wearing almost a mirror of her clothing, but it was done to very different effect. White drawstring pants with enticing little ties that dangled in front and drew the eye right to parts of him that she really shouldn’t be looking at. A shirt of pale blue unbuttoned just so made his skin look tan and entirely lick-able. He looked delicious. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a body so well built it had to be a full-time job to maintain.

  “Hi again,” he said, placing his hands on the back of the other chair, clearly waiting for an invitation.

  Amy’s mouth felt very dry all the sudden and she squeaked a little when she said, “Hi. Please, take a seat.”

  She started to reach out a hand for him to shake, but then pulled it back when she realized people were watching, especially the smiling older woman with the wine. Amy needed to stop being so obvious about not knowing him. She gulped down a bit of the cold water in her glass and wished for a bottle of vodka. Just the bottle, olives not needed.

  Michael/Blake leaned forward a little and winked, “Don’t be nervous. We’re here for lunch, right?”

  The server appeared and asked if they were ready for menus. While she listed the specialties of the day, Amy tried hard to concentrate, but the simple presence of this man made her brain fuzzy. He smelled of something fresh, like the ocean only with a little something that spoke of maleness. His hands were strong and so perfectly imperfect, the strength in them evident when he rotated his glass on the table. Even the hair on his arms was sexy, black but not overwhelming.

  The truth was, she’d lost her appetite and wished she was an artist so she could draw him all day. Naked, of course. Did stick figures count?

  “Anything sound good to you?” he asked, breaking her reverie. The server’s lips turned up ever so slightly, and Amy realized she’d been staring. Was she drooling too? She checked, but her chin was dry. Thank goodness for small favors.

  “Uh, I’m not sure,” she answered, having absolutely zero memory of anything that server said aside from a few mentions of the word fish.

  He covered neatly for her and said, “We flew in this morning and we’re both still half-way on the plane. How about we just look at the menus?”

  Once she was gone—with drink orders because Amy needed a drink more than anything else in the world at the moment—he handed her a menu and said, “It’s just a late lunch. Or early dinner. Whatever it is, it’s just food.”

  Pulling in a deep breath, Amy pushed it out and held up the menu. He was right. She was acting like she was on some sort of deadline or had some quota in terms of sexual encounters. But in reality, she didn’t have to do anything at all. Not one thing.

  If she wanted to look at him while she ate cake all week, she could. If she wanted to simply watch all the other women drool over him, she could do that too.

  Whatever she wanted, she could do.

  Her appetite came back with a vengeance at that thought and she perused the offerings. It all looked good. She started to do the calculus she always did, figuring out what would have the least calories and not make her look like a glutton. Almost narrowing her choices down to two forms of salad, she looked up at all the other people relaxing with their meals.

  She could do what she wanted.

  “I’ll have the creole mahi,” she said, putting her menu down to prevent any temptation to change back to a salad.

  Michael—or Blake maybe—nodded, his eyebrows rising a little. “I like it. A little spice, a little danger. But I do have one question for you. It’s a serious one.” He leaned forward, the menu folding against that delicious triangle of skin showing above his buttons.

  Amy didn’t know what his question might be, but she hoped it wouldn’t make her get up and run from the table. She nodded and said, “Go ahead.”

  “Can I have a bite if I get the red snapper?”

  Amy leaned back in her chair and threw back her head, a loud laugh escaping her. She covered her mouth with her hand at the looks from several other diners, then said, “Are you Marion in disguise or something? I’ll never get to eat my food in peace.”

  He must not have been sure she was joking, because he looked like he was trying to figure out how to retract his request. She waved it off and laughed again. “I’m teasing. You’re more than welcome. But only if it’s an equitable trade. I love red snapper.”

  “Deal.”

  Five

  Mike kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s no possible way that this woman needs help from someone like me, not looking like that. And she’s booking me for a week to do it. What, am I winning the lottery or something?

  The flight had been long and crowded, the woman in the seat next to him hinting she’d like to become a member of the mile high club with increasing bluntness as he pretended not to understand what she meant. By the time Mike had snatched his bag from the carousel and flagged a cab, she was circling like a piranha, looking for that vacation squeeze to round out her tropical spring getaway.

  If he hadn’t already met Amy, he might have been tempted to turn around and catch the next flight home. Being a piece of meat wasn’t the fun career movies made it out to be. It was work. Hard work. And it took a toll on his self-worth.

  But he had met her and he was entranced. His roommate, Charlie, had tried to talk him into trading the commission, his words of warning serious. Never work for someone you’d rather date. It’s a recipe for a broken heart.

  Those were true words and up till now, they were ones that had never applied to Mike. This was his job, one that paid far better than anything else he could get with a degree in horticulture. And he needed the money. Living in a shoebox with Charlie kept his expenses low and every penny went to pay off the fire-blasted land that used to be covered with his family’s almond and apricot orchards.

  There was no way he would trade away the opportunity to be near someone so interesting, not to mention gorgeous. During that meeting she’d fidgeted nervously, barely meeting his eyes and looking around like she wore a sign that proclaimed their meeting illicit. But when she’d finally spoken, finally gotten the business out of the way and then started talking so that they might get to know each other a little, she lit up from the inside like someone had turned on a bank of halogen lights.

  Her wavy brown hair, those sky-blue eyes, the way her lips were just this side of being too full and ever so slightly chapped. Even the freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks were engaging, making him want to lay her down and count each fading brown dot with a kiss.

  They’d talked for a couple of hours, had a couple of drinks, gobbled up a tray of nachos and had a chip fight over who would get that last dab of guacamole. It hadn’t felt like the first day of a job, but rather like meeting someone he might become friends with in short order.

  Or more, because she was a tempting little morsel. No question.

  Yes, he absolutely should have traded. She needed a solution to a problem that far too many women had and never sought help for, but she wouldn’t want anything to do with him after. That’s how these things went. Even so, he’d get that week with her and he intended it to be a week that turned out to be very worth her money.

  The stares as he crossed the wide deck had been embarrassing. Many of the women here were wealthy and eyed him like he was the latest offering by their favorite designer. Keeping a smile on his face while searching the crowded terrace for Amy had been difficult.

  And then he’d seen her. Near the edge of the terrac
e, the wide blue sea and a strip of white beach framing her face, sitting at a table for two, her elbows on the table and her whole body tense. He saw it from all the way across the patio, the bowed shoulders, the ankles tightly crossed under the table. Even so tightly wound that she looked like she might spring apart, she had been a beautiful sight.

  There was something in there, a need, a fire carefully dampened so that it only kept the coals alive and never burst into flame. She’d blushed when their eyes met, a true pink suffusing her pale skin.

  Meeting again like this was awkward for her, but then again, it couldn’t be anything except awkward given the circumstances. What he wanted to do was sweep her up, get her into a bathing suit and then play in the water for a while to get her to calm down and relax.

  But this was her week and he wasn’t entirely sure how it would play out. If a cross between lunch and dinner was what she wanted, then that’s what he would do.

  As promised, she held up a fork full of her fish and asked, “So, do you want your bite?”

  The answer that popped into his head probably wouldn’t be helpful, but he couldn’t help the smile that came up even so. She flushed and looked away for a moment, seeming torn between simply shoving the fork at him and getting up to run.

  Mike settled the matter by leaning forward and taking the fish. It was delicious, spicy and tender, with a mellow complexity underneath the spice that made him groan.

  “That good?” she asked, eyeing her plate after seeing his reaction.

  “Oh yeah, it’s that good. I don’t think I’ve ever had better. Taste it,” he replied.

  She did and he watched her reaction, wanting to see what she might do. Her eyebrows came together and her eyes closed in pure sensuous enjoyment. Oh yes, this was his kind of woman.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she whispered, breaking off another piece of fish.

  “Exactly,” Mike replied. He looked at his plate, the red snapper perfectly arranged on his plate and the scent of herbs and spices wafting up.

  Amy paused, her fork in the air, and looked at him. When she did, her eyes caught the light and almost glowed, making him forget almost everything for a moment. “Something wrong with your food?” she asked, glancing down at his plate.

  Mike shook his head, his fork making a ting against the plate as he was caught up in her eyes. “I just really loved yours.”

  Amy giggled and then laughed, ending with a tiny snort that made him laugh with her. “You really are like my friend Marion. Be warned, I have years of practice at defending my plate from her, so you’ve got no shot.” She changed her grip on the fork so that it was clenched in a fist and added, “I will stick my fork in you.”

  Mike held up his hands, including the fork, in mock surrender. “I yield. Would you like your bite? A deal is a deal.”

  Amy’s eyes flicked down to his plate and then back up, her head tilting so that her hair slid away from her neck. Mike swallowed and tried not to get distracted by the sight of that creamy expanse of skin. It was almost begging to be kissed, bitten. He looked down and flaked off a piece of the fish, then held up the fork as she’d done for him.

  Amy leaned forward and closed her eyes. The little glimpse of pink tongue touching the metal, the way her lips pressed around the utensil, all of it was almost too much. When she pulled back, he arranged the napkin as discreetly as possible over his lap to hide the evidence of his desire. The tightening of his lower regions was becoming almost painful.

  Mike was a reactive sort of guy. This job was pretty impossible if a guy wasn’t, but this wasn’t the usual way of things. Getting a hard-on while on a crowded patio during a late lunch was not his normal state.

  Fish. Eat the fish. Don’t look at her mouth, her lips, that hint of round breast at the gap in her shirt.

  He did his best, but it was hard. And hard in other ways too. By the time they finished with a cup of strong, island coffee, he could at least stand up to leave without showing the entire terrace how much he liked the company he was keeping. That was something.

  Amy led the way and Mike was more than happy to follow. The way her hips slid inside those white pants was a sight almost hypnotic in nature. Would it be wrong to simply grab her by the hips and plant a kiss on each cheek?

  Six

  He’s a really good actor, Amy thought as they left the terrace. If this were any other man, I would be absolutely sure that he was into me.

  Of course, he wasn’t any other man. He was bought and paid for. It was his job to make it feel real and he was clearly very good at his job. Even so, she felt an extra something in her belly that made her hips sway a little as they left the restaurant and headed for the beach.

  She knew he was watching. It was like his gaze on her rear had weight. She rather liked it.

  They settled in the sand, both of them plopping down onto the near-white beach to watch the water. Amy was full after their meal and dreadfully aware that she needed to keep wearing loose pants until her food settled.

  As for him, he oofed as he sat, letting his legs splay out on the sand, so she figured he felt the same. Digging into the sand a little with her toes, Amy tried to figure out how to broach the topic of his name. It was becoming ridiculous. She couldn’t address him and had to think of ways to say things that specifically excluded his name.

  Eventually, she would have to move on from Hey or You.

  “Um, this is strange, but I have to ask you something,” she began, keeping her eyes on the water.

  From the corner of her eye she saw him turn his face toward her—oh, that face!—with a look of concern. “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  He seemed really sincere in his question, as if it mattered to him that she was okay. He really was good, but then again, maybe given the nature of the job, he actually was concerned. Maybe he was more like a sex therapist than a hooker at the moment.

  Amy smiled and glanced at him quickly. The dimple was pulling on her again, making her want to jump up and climb onto him, right here on the beach. A flash of what it would be like to actually do that came to ultraHD life inside her head for a moment. It was vivid and she almost knew the way it would feel to wrap her legs around him, to pull his head to her chest and just—

  “Are you okay?” he asked, breaking the spell. He was sitting upright now, his hand almost touching her arm, his face concerned.

  She gasped a little and shook her head. Did I do any of that out loud? She swallowed so hard that her throat clicked and said, “Uh, yeah, fine. Just daydreaming.” And I need a post-fuck cigarette even though I don’t smoke. Where is this coming from? Maybe I really did just need to get away. Maybe I’m cured or whatever.

  “Do you want me to go get you a water or something?”

  She waved his concern away and said, “I’m fine. Really. Uh, what I wanted to ask you…it’s not a big deal, and it’s totally your choice…but what do I call you?”

  He looked confused for a second. “You mean like, if anyone asked if we were married or something like that? You can just say I’m your boyfriend or partner or something.”

  Amy laughed. No one would believe that for a second. Guys like this dated skinny girls with giant fake boobs and modeling contracts. “No, I mean your name. I have your real name because of the flight, but your profile says Blake and that’s how you introduced yourself.”

  “Ah! Okay. Wow, that’s awkward. Just call me Mike. That way I’ll actually answer if you call me. You understand about the other name, though, right?”

  “Sure. I totally get it,” she said and leaned back to dig her fingers into the sugar-soft sand. Now that it was over, it hadn’t been a big deal at all.

  She tilted her face to the strong, tropical sun and felt heat prickling on her cheeks. It was nice, but she was glad of sunscreen. For a coastal girl, Amy burned like mad in the sun. It happened at least once before a tan would even begin to show, so she simply never went out in the sun for too long anymore.

  They sat in the sand for
a while, enjoying the sensation of the wind off the sea, the salty tang of the air, and the quiet chatter of the few others this close to the water. Amy could feel him next to her and the sensation was like being near a quiet volcano, one that looked deceptively calm at the surface, but boiled with heat just below. That’s what sitting so close to Mike felt like…heat.

  “You’re burning,” he said at last.

  Amy opened her eyes and looked down at her legs. Sure enough, the tops of her feet were going pink. “Dammit. I always forget to put sunscreen there.”

  “Do you have it with you?”

  Brushing sand off her hands, she dug around in her overstuffed beach bag until she found the tube. A blob came out in her hands with a ridiculous farting noise, but Mike reached over and put his palm to hers, covering the white dollop.

  “Let me,” he said, his voice low.

  Amy cupped her fingers a little, making space between their hands and said, “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

  He smiled at her and winked. “Maybe I like feet.”

  She was getting to enjoy that Pavlovian response between his dimple and her woman’s center. She let it wash over her as he wiped the cream from her hand. Pivoting on her butt, she swung her legs his way and waited for what might come next.

  Might as well get the touching part over with, otherwise she knew herself well enough to know what would happen. She needed to go ahead and punch through this barrier and get comfortable with his proximity. Barbara had prepared her well, walking her through methods she could use to prevent that tightly wound physical isolation she felt more comfortable with. If she let this thing with Mike stay distant, then it would solidify into a non-touching week for her. She’d stay where she felt comfortable. Risk brings reward and she had to risk this or there would be no reward whatsoever. At least not the kind she’d hired him for.