by Jane Henry
She squeals. “This is… this is amazing. Oh my goodness, it’s the stuff of dreams. Are those fresh roses? And look at the soap, it’s carved just like the roses, almost too pretty to use. I didn’t know there were this many shades of white in the world! And there’s another hot tub, smaller than the one where we did the wine thing.” She gasps. “Is that an entrance to a pool?”
I grab a condom, slide it on the sink beside the shower, and join her. “It is.”
“Wow.”
I lean in and turn the shower on. Moments later, billows of steam fill the room. I reach for her hand.
“We have half an hour before that food gets here.”
She nods. “Yes, daddy. And another hour before the contract’s up.”
Is it my imagination, or is there a note of sadness in her voice? I hate that our night together has come to an end so quickly.
I close the shower door, take two washcloths, and lather them up with the rosette soaps. She closes her eyes when I tip her head back, running a stream of hot water through her hair before I shampoo it. Wordlessly, I lather her body, paying close attention to her nipples, her neck, and the sweet apex of her thighs. When I’m done, she does the same for me.
It’s easy but sensual. I could get used to this.
By the time I’ve lathered her fully, my cock’s hard, and she’s practically panting. I arrange her against the shower, bend her over, and roll the condom on. She rocks against me as I take her from behind. I slide in and out of her with blissful pleasure, and as I come again, I know.
That contract was only a prelude.
After our breakfast, we quietly dress, and it’s like the curtain’s come down on the show. She’s fulfilled her contract. The time is up. I should be ready to face the day, to do my work, satisfied with the one-night stand that scratched the itch, but I’m not.
“I’ll arrange for a ride to get you home.”
“I have a car…”
Is her car safe? I don’t want her driving alone.
Why do I care?
“I’d much prefer you take my ride, so I know you’ve arrived home safely. I’ll arrange for your car to be brought home later.” I tell myself making sure she gets home safe protects me from liability.
Or something.
Her eyes brighten and she smiles. “You’ll come with me?”
I look away. “I have work to do, so no. But one of my drivers will take you.”
Her voice is pained. “Oh.”
She gathers her things and I kiss her cheek, but the second the door shuts behind her, I want to yank it open, grab her, and pull her back to me. I want to keep her here, with me, where she’s safe, because a part of me feels...as if she’s mine.
But I can’t get involved with an escort, I know I can’t. I open the door, but she’s already gone. I slam it, pacing the penthouse. I go about my day on autopilot, answering calls and sending emails, attending teleconferences and signing paperwork.
By lunchtime, I’m on my feet, pacing back and forth in front of my desk. I have to find a way to get her back.
I have to.
Chapter 5
Katie
The driver pulls up to my apartment complex. I should be happy to be home, but I’m not.
I’m wearing last night's dress, wrinkled and rumpled, my hair’s air dried from the shower, and it’s poofing around my face like a winsome cloud. I attempt to smooth it down in preparation of my walk of shame.
Only, it's not a walk of shame if you arrive in a limo. Is it?
My purse lays heavy in my lap, the coins I won at the slots weighing it down. Then, I remember what else is in that bag.
Ten thousand dollars in cold, hard cash.
I know I should feel icky, dirty, carrying around money paid to me for a night of sex, but I don’t.
I feel elated. As much as I could, I suppose, now that I’ve left the hotel. Maybe it was how sweet he was, how hot, and possessive, but it took everything I had to make myself leave when my contract was fulfilled.
Was he reticent too, or was that only my imagination?
Last night was the best of my life. Not only the sex, the stunning orgasms, the deliciously taboo way I called him daddy, but the overall vibe of being with Darius, the handsome stranger.
I felt decadent and spoiled and… safe.
The way he held me in his arms, it's like I can still feel him wrapped around me like a protective cocoon.
“Miss?”
It’s only then that I realize I’ve been sitting in the parked limo, a Cheshire Cat smile across my dazed face. Jumping in my seat, I say, “Oh, I’m sorry! How much for the ride?”
Unzipping my purse, I finger the stack of cash. Electricity dances through my body just from brushing the edge of the crisp bills with the pad of my finger.
“Ma’am? I’m not for hire. I’m Mr. Morrow’s personal driver.” He offers me a polite smile.
“Right. Okay, how about a tip, then?” I pull a twenty from the stack.
He shakes his head. “No need, little lady. Mr. Morrow pays me quite well. Enjoy your day.”
Embarrassment flushes my face. Not coming from a wealthy family, I’m unsure how these things are supposed to go. “Um. Okay, well, thanks for the ride!”
Zipping my purse, I toss it over my shoulder. I go to open my door, but the driver is already out of the car, opening it for me. “Thanks again.”
I stand on the sidewalk, watching as the limo pulls away.
When I turn back to the building, I find a crowd of sunbathers, relaxing by the pool, their curious stares on me.
Straightening my dress, I hold my head high, and march right into the complex office. The bell clangs as I enter, announcing my arrival.
My grumpy landlord, Mr. Taylor, sits behind the desk, a pen in his hand. He looks up, giving me a grim hello. “Katie. Just the girl I wanted to see. Is today the day I finally get to kick you out? Your rent is five days late—”
I cut off his words by putting ten brand-spanking-new Benjamins on his desk. Smiling brightly, I say, “Keep the change, Mr. Taylor.” Turning on my heel, I exit his office, leaving him with his jaw hanging open.
That felt good. Too good.
Maybe I should consider a new profession as an escort. It certainly makes more money than a romance author.
My book! I’d forgotten all about it.
My magical night with Daddy Darius had me completely forgetting my mission and the reason I was at Vegas, Baby in the first place. For inspiration for the book.
Entering my apartment, I find my clothes strewn about from my fit of trying on dresses last night. It’s only been about twelve hours since then, but it feels like I’ve entered another world.
As if nothing will be the same after last night.
I quickly change into leggings and an oversized tee. My hair is a disaster so I wind it up on the top of my head in a messy bun.
Sliding into my desk chair, I flip open my laptop, a grin of victory on my face even though I’ve not yet written a word. How could I not pen a bestseller after the night I had?
The screen comes to life and I tap my red nails on the keys. “Let’s see, let’s see. What will my title be?”
I always start with the title, it’s the hardest part to nail. I find my mind going fuzzy, words swirling around in my brain. Daddy, Older Gentleman, Vegas Lights, Enchanting Evening, Daddy…
This will never do—there’s no way in hell my publisher is going to print a daddy book. But suddenly, that's all I want to write. His words echo in my mind, stirring warmth in my core and making my breasts do that heavy, aching thing. You deserve a reward for being such a very good girl. Spread your legs for daddy. Come on daddy’s fingers.
A little shiver runs through me, and I press my thighs together. Playtime is over—it’s time to work. I may have nine grand left, but I know how quickly that will be gone, and even with an advance on this book, I still won’t see a real paycheck till the story hits the shelves.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. “Come on, you’ve got this.”
My fingers hover over the keys as I think of Darius’ handsome face.
And nothing happens.
Not one word appears on my computer screen.
Letting out a groan of frustration, I rise from my chair, pacing the floor. What to do? Going to the fridge, I open it, finding a carton of expired milk and two apples.
Even if there was something to eat, I’m just looking for food out of nerves. My hand goes to my belly; I’m still stuffed from breakfast.
Daddy said pick your breakfast.
Suddenly, not only am I terrified that the writer's block hasn’t magically unblocked, I have a much deeper worry.
What if I never see him again?
The contract was a one-night thing. One perfect night.
Just as sadness is about to swallow me whole, I slam the fridge door shut. “One Night!” It’s the perfect title and I rush back to my desk to type it.
One Night by Scarlet Rose
Now, for the tagline. One little sentence that will grab the reader, hook, line, and sinker. My fingers fly over the keys.
A young girl down on her luck makes an arrangement with a perfect stranger.
Sigh. And he is perfect. Biting my lip again, to keep from biting my nails, I stare at the screen. It’s a great tagline. And yet—it makes me feel lost.
How can you put into words the bittersweetness that comes with one perfect night?
An evening that will trump all other evenings in your personal history book. One you will never be able to relive. With a man who, however wonderful and attentive he may have been, you still know that you were nothing more than a paid distraction.
My heart slips in, interrupting my gloomy thoughts: He really seemed to care about you. He was so tender and generous. And the sex was phenomenal. There was a connection.
My brain fights her with… Um… he’s a billionaire? Who can, like, have any woman he wants? And he’s had you. So you’re done.
Brain wins.
“Okay, so it was a one-night thing. I got ten grand. My rent is paid, my ass got laid, and now I can write my story.” Shaking it off, I stretch my fingers, ready to attack. Planting my ass in my chair, I start to type.
Morning quickly turns to afternoon.
I’ve got four chapters, and my stomach is growling. Remembering that I’m flush with cash, I decide to take a break, and head out to my favorite Indian place for takeout. A delicious reward for hard work.
Just as I’m locking my door, my cell rings. A little pitter patter interrupts the rhythm of my heart. It couldn’t be him, could it?
Hope fills my chest as I pull my phone from my purse, checking the screen. It’s Sarah, my publisher. Disappointment floods me, but I’m able to release a deep breath; at least I have good news for her.
“Sarah! Listen, I’m so glad you called. I finally got through that terrible writer's block and I started a book. It’s wonderful, about a billionaire and a hot tub and—”
She cuts me off. “Katie. Billionaires are out. So over. The extraordinary has become ordinary. That’s why I’ve called. We’ve got this great pitch for you. Something new, totally taboo, yet going mainstream, as we speak.”
“Yes?” My keys hang from my hand as I wait to see if I should go straight back into the apartment to type, or head out for food.
“Okay, hold onto your panties because they might melt right off your body. Are you ready?”
What is she going to say? Cosplay? I cringe, thinking of Miranda’s words on stage, telling her girls to remain professional no matter what. “Yes. Please, just tell me.”
I can hear her exhale of breath, the excitement in her tone. “Daddy dom.”
“Um, excuse me?” My face goes white hot.
“I know, I know! It sounds twisted but hear me out. It’s not like the man is your father—he’s just this hot, ultra-protective dude that wants to spoil you and—”
“Spank you?” I murmur, more to myself than to Sarah.
She pauses for a beat. I can picture her face as she mulls over the idea, a pen in the corner of her mouth, another one holding up a twist of her auburn hair. A finger tapping on the desk, her gaze staring at the ceiling through her dark rimmed glasses. “Well, I didn’t think of that, but yes, spanking could be hot. Let me run it by our publicist but… hmm… it’s getting a little warm in here—yes, that could work.”
I’m going to write a bestseller.
Scenes and words burst into my mind, my fingers suddenly needing to connect with my computer keys. I’ve got to get off the phone. “Sarah? It sounds fantastic. I’ll get right to working on it. Got to go!”
Unlocking my door, I kick it shut with my foot and fling my purse onto the bed. Phone still in hand, I place a quick delivery order for a liter of Cola and a Chicken Tikka Masala then fall into my chair.
It’s midnight by the time I’m done editing. Takeout boxes litter the room, the scent of curry in the air. I do a quick clean up, tossing the trash in the bin.
I close my computer, a satisfied smile creeping over my face. Pumping a fist in the air, I say, “I did it! Scarlet Rose is back in business.”
Crawling under the covers, I find my eyelids heavy, my mind peaceful.
And the face of Darius Morrow floating in my dreams.
After spending only one night with him, I find it strange to be in bed without him. I miss his big arms wrapped around my body. Then I remember his words, You signed a contract, Katie. Mine for one night.
And that's all it was... one perfect night. I’ve got to let him go. Eventually, I drift off, visions of penthouse and daddy in my mind.
The next morning, I shower and dress in my usual writing uniform of yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Order in breakfast because I can afford it. Coffee, orange juice, scrambled eggs, and banana pancakes are delivered to my door.
Though eating alone isn’t quite as much fun as dining with daddy. I bite my lip, and the memory of Darius floods me.
Would he take me back? Does he want me?
As I nibble at my food, I gaze over the first part of my book, a victory smile on my face. I can’t believe my luck, that the market is lusting after the very experience I’ve just had.
It’s unreal—it must be fate.
Destiny led me to that hotel. To that buffet. To him.
Finishing up my meal, I tidy my apartment, ready to get to work with act two. This is the part where the love interests get to know one another better, spending time together and doing all kinds of romantic things with one another.
I give myself a pep talk. “Okay, you’ve got this. This part is a piece of cake. You’ll have two more chapters by lunch.” My fingers rest on the keys.
And… nothing.
What does one do with a Daddy dom in real life? How does he act, what does he say? And how would it make me feel?
I sit, staring at the screen for what must be an hour. Typing, then deleting, then sitting doing nothing. It's no use. I let out a groan, flopping face first onto my bed.
I must have fallen asleep, because I wake, a bit of drool on my pillow, to the ringing of my phone. “What now?” I moan when I pick it up. My mind blurry with sleep and expecting it to be Sarah, I answer with, “Don’t worry. I’ve got the daddy thing under control.”
An unfamiliar voice responds back, curt and crisp. “I beg your pardon.”
Pulling the phone from my ear, I check the screen. Unknown Caller. Putting it back to my ear, I say, “I’m sorry. Who is this?”
“Miranda Montague here, owner and founder of Sugar Daddies Escort Service.” Her no-nonsense tone is wrought with professionalism and I picture her stern face, her ice blonde hair, each strand perfectly in place.
“Oh my God,” I murmur. So eager to chow down on the food at the buffet, I filled out that stupid form with all of my real contact information. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miranda, but there’s been a mix up. I didn’t mean to—”
She cuts me off w
ith a brisk, “I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Morrow.”
Daddy Darius. My heart picks up the pace, double time.
“Uh—yes?” What could he want? Did he overpay me? Or did he tell Miranda that I came more times than he did, and he wants his money back? Was I not up to the agency standards? Even though he figured out I wasn’t with them in the first place, he probably wants a refund. “How may I help you?”
“Mr. Morrow has a proposition for you. A second contract of sorts.”
Relief washes over me. I wasn’t totally shit at being an escort! He wants me back.
But I’m not really an escort. And Miranda doesn’t seem to know that. Does she? Would it hurt to let her keep thinking that I am one?
I remember the spanking he gave me over his lap, my ass cheeks clenching beneath me, making my decision. No more lying. “Miranda, you know I’m not really an escort though, right?”
“I’ve got your information right here. The background check was run last night. And I’ve got your signature on the first contract with Mr. Morrow.”
“Ah—but…” my words trail off.
If he wants me for another night, why not?
The money is good. The sex is fantastic. And, after being with him, the words flowed like water.
Maybe he can make them flow again.
Like the arousal that’s now pooling between my thighs at the thought of seeing him again.
She gives an impatient sigh. “Katie? Are you still there?”
My throat feels tight and I gulp. “I’m here.”
“Good. Let me spell out the terms of the contract for you. Mr. Morrow has an elderly grandmother living in his hometown of Peach Orchard, Georgia.”
Peach Orchard? I try to picture stern, sexy Darius living somewhere with such a name. I can’t. “Okay.”
“She’s about to celebrate her eightieth birthday and though as feisty as they come, she’s constantly telling Darius that her days are numbered. She has one wish, one thing that she tells him would allow her to live out the rest of her days on this Earth in peace: to know that her oldest grandson is happily attached to a wonderful woman.”
“That’s… nice?” I’m not sure where I come into this charming story.
