by Jane Henry
Katie Davis—the girl who became an escort when she was just trying to borrow a little ribeye from a buffet.
His gaze searches my face, his words bringing me back to the present. “Did I say something wrong?”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip. What do I say? “Uh, no. I just was thinking we’re getting close to the hotel. We should probably cut this little session short so you’re not walking through the hotel with a…” My eyes go to the bulge between his thighs.
He gives me a wicked stare. “A massive boner?”
“Yup.” I try to smile but I can feel it doesn’t reach my eyes. Climbing from him, I smooth my long tunic shirt, and sort out my curls. He puts his arm around me, kissing my cheek, and it offers me some comfort.
But it doesn’t stop this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me my happy ending may not be as secure as I thought.
The rock on my left ring finger catches my eye. I twist it between my fingers. “Oh, what do you want me to do with this?” I try to sound casual, but faking isn’t my strongest suit. I’ll leave that to Tiffany. I go to remove it to return to him, but my fingers work against me, and I just can’t seem to take it off.
He stares down at my hand, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin. “Keep it on, for now. It looks so pretty on you.”
I oblige him, because he’s right. This ring looks damn good on my finger. Like it should be there.
Forever.
Like it should be a real engagement. But in order to be engaged, wouldn’t I first need to be totally honest with him? To tell him about the book?
I’m plagued with guilt until we reach his penthouse. Because now, his hands are back on my body, his lips caressing my skin, and suddenly the only thing that exists is our desire for one another.
He slams the door shut, with an aggressive kick of his foot. Pushing my body up against the wall, his hands slide up my arms, raising them over my head and pinning my wrists to the drywall. “Katie, my Katie. Oh, how I love you, little girl.”
His tongue swirls against mine and my core melts for him, ready for him to take me to new heights. We may be on the fifty-fifth floor but when his hand slides down my belly, stroking me between my legs, I rise to the heavens.
Elation takes over as his lips return to where they were in his car, kissing my neck, making me moan, his one hand pinning my wrists so hard I fear there may be fingertip shaped bruises on my skin tomorrow, and I welcome them.
I welcome his mouth, his body with reckless abandon, held tight to the words of his love, his declaration a promise that this will work out. That we will be together.
His other hand dips into my leggings, beneath my panties and he holds me there, his prisoner against his wall as he kisses my mouth with hot wet kisses, his fingers dipping inside of me, gathering the slickness of my arousal, and fingering my throbbing clit that aches for him, and him alone.
His kisses muffle my cries as I climax, my back arching against the wall, my fingers curling into my trapped palms. He releases my wrists to lower my clothing. I stand there, panting, beads of perspiration forming on my skin.
Then he’s back. His mouth on mine, his hand slipping up my shirt, fondling my breasts. My hands run through his hair as he hitches me up, bringing my legs around his waist. My ankles lock together and the head of his cock presses against my slick heat.
Yes. Yes. Yes. Take me up against this wall. Take me as hard as you can. Fuck me until all my worries, all my doubts leave my mind and I know that you are mine and I am yours.
He enters me with a growl, thrusting fast and hard, the full length and strength of his cock entering me at once.
I cry out his name, cry out my love, cry out everything. “Darius, Daddy, I love you... I love you.”
His hand slips below the curve of my ass, cradling me as he fucks me. He pummels into me hard and fast, as if he knows exactly what I need. The delicious friction grows and grows until I enter another climax, this one twice as powerful as the first.
I hear him murmur my name, a strangled sound of passion. “Katie, my Katie.”
And we come as one, clutching one another as if our life depends on this moment, on this closeness, this thrilling connection between two bodies.
Two souls.
As we lay in bed later that night, basking in the afterglow of our love, I think to myself, so this is love. Now I understand what all those songs are about, the poems, the stories of crazed lovers who can no longer live after they’ve suffered the loss of this... this great, precious, powerful thing that I’m feeling.
And I know I’ll stop at nothing to keep it safe.
Chapter 16
Darius
Several days after our trip to Georgia, I’m sitting at my desk, looking at my calendar. In four more days, by contract, my time with Katie is up. But does that contract mean anything anymore?
I scowl down at the calendar and click it off my desktop. I dial Ruth.
“Yes, Mr. Morrow?”
“Ruth, make me a reservation at Bellacasa tonight, please. Table for two, privacy booth. I want champagne, and the four-course meal.”
“Certainly, sir.”
She doesn’t ask questions, but does what I ask. I get to my feet and pace, my hands in my pockets. I look out the large windows at the sea of pools below, and I wonder.
What will it be like when this honeymoon phase wears off? Katie’s sweet and seductive and unpretentious, and I adore spending time with her. Spoiling her. Just yesterday, I had her spend the afternoon at the local spa while I finished up work, and later that night I heard her tapping away on her keyboard while I took an overseas conference call. Everything inspires her to write, and it’s adorable.
But will she be happy here? She told me she enjoyed going home to Gran’s more than she did the high life here in Vegas. But she’s got her own home here, her own job, and I have work to do.
So many questions. I hate that we have the contract we signed, because it feels as if there’s an invisible wall between the two of us. A reminder that this isn’t real. A contract for love? How does that work?
I walk into the bedroom, where Katie’s perched in bed. She’s got her hair on top of her head in a messy bun, a pen between her teeth, and she’s tapping away at her keyboard. She doesn’t even look up when I come in the room, she’s that intent. I walk quietly to the bed and sit beside her.
“Just a minute,” she says, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Just one… little… minute.” She types so fast her fingers fly over the keyboard.
“There!” she says with a flourish and a grin. “Fini! The End!”
“Ah, congratulations, kitten.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Seems like this may be cause for celebration, no?”
She holds up a hand. I chuckle, as if that will stop me.
“Just a minute,” she said. “That was the final revision on the last chapter… I need to send this to my publisher, Sarah, then I can celebrate.” She taps the keyboard, shoots off an email, then grins. “Done!”
She yawns and stretches, then falls back onto the bed and collapses. She covers a huge yawn with her hand. “Yes,” she says. “Must celebrate.” She sighs and closes her eyes. “But first, I must collapse from exhaustion from the words that have been wrenched out of my very being.”
Curling up on her side, she closes her eyes. Is she… asleep? Damn, writing a book must really take it out of a little girl. I have big plans for tonight, but they can wait—my girl needs her rest.
Contacting my assistant, I cancel everything for tonight, rescheduling it for the same time tomorrow evening. I’m a little disappointed my plans have changed, but I figure it gives me another day to look forward to surprising her.
The next morning, we order in pancakes. Drive to the mountains and take a hike, the exercise helps to burn off the nervous energy I feel.
We get back to the penthouse and I think of another form of physical exertion that could be helpful to calm me. She plops down on t
he bed, and I sit beside her. “Hiking is good for the body, but I have another type of exercise in mind. One that is good for the soul.”
“I’m exhausted. I couldn’t possibly endure any further exertion.” She drops a dramatic hand to brow, and I chuckle.
I grab her ankle and drag her over to me, resting my hand on her upper thigh. “No more energy for anything else, eh?”
Her eyes are closed tight but her lips curve upward. “Nothing. Nada. Zilch.” She flicks a wrist in the air. “Nein.”
I let my fingers travel upward and she bites her lip, her eyes closed tighter. I brush my thumb just at the apex of her thighs, over her yoga pants, and her hips rise to meet my touch. My heart squeezes. She’s so eager for intimacy she’s broken down the walls I’ve constructed so fully, I’d give her anything. Anything.
I tease her over the fabric, massaging between her legs, and she stifles a little moan.
“Maybe a little energy,” she says, opening one eye to squint at me.
“Good girl,” I whisper. “Daddy wants to reward you for a job well done.”
She clasps her hands behind her head. “I suppose I can allow that.”
I spank her thigh even as I chuckle, before I draw down the elastic edge of her yoga pants. “Daddy’s the only one who allows things, kitten.”
“Oh, is that right?” she says, but the next minute she falls silent as I drag down her panties, bend down, and kiss her right between the legs.
“Mmm,” she moans. “Yes, please.”
“Good girls deserve to be spoiled,” I whisper, just before I drag my tongue along her slit. I groan at her taste, and the way her hips rise to meet mine. I pull my mouth off her pussy just long enough to grate out in a husky whisper, “Touch those tits of yours. Grab them. Pinch your nipples, and if you stop, I’ll whip your pretty ass.”
She moans and obeys, and minutes later, she comes on my mouth with my name on her lips. I love it when she comes. I feel like I’ve won a prize. I flip her onto her knees and take her from behind, my fingers trapped in her hair, slamming into her until she comes again and my own release ricochets through me.
We collapse on the bed together, and she curls up next to me. “You sure you want us to go out tonight, big guy?”
No way in hell she’s derailing my plans. I grin at her and kiss her forehead. “Yeah, baby. I’m sure. Daddy has a surprise for you. Now go put on that soft pink dress I picked out for you yesterday.”
She waggles her eyebrows at me. “The one with that plunging neckline?”
I shrug. “Whatever. Pink.” I like my girl wearing her favorite shade of pink.
“Will I have assistance this evening, sir?” she says with mock formality.
“They’ll be here in five.”
“Darius!” she says, abashed. “I have to put clothes on.” She pushes herself out of bed and goes to get ready. Her “assistance” is a team of stylists I’ve hired especially for her. They help her pick out accessories to match the dress, style her hair and makeup, and even though she’s unpretentious and simple, she enjoys the occasional pampering session.
An hour later, she looks as if she’s about to step onto a runway.
“Let’s go,” she says, giving me a stern look. “I know that look in your eyes, and if we don’t get out of this bedroom, we will never follow through on whatever surprise you have in store.”
“Touché.” I take her hand and head downstairs.
“You really do spoil me, daddy,” she says softly on the elevator down. “A girl could get used to treatment like this.”
“A girl could,” I say, kissing her temple. “But a daddy likes to take care of his little girl.”
I run my finger down her spine, and she shivers. “I love how you respond to me, Katie.”
She smiles shyly. “I love how I respond, too. I don’t do it on purpose, it’s just like my body comes alive when you touch me.”
I grin at her. “Is that a line from your book?”
For some reason, a shadow crosses her features, and she looks away.
“Something I said?”
“Oh, nothing,” she says, but it isn’t nothing. What’s troubling her? But the next moment the elevator opens, and flashing lights and cameras block our view. I scowl, and signal for security on this floor. Four uniformed guards flank our sides instantly.
“Take us to Bellacasa,” I order.
On all sides, we’re being accosted by journalists. I catch snippets of conversations and questions shouted directly at us. Cameras flash.
I hear people say romance writer, and billionaire, and did you authorize this, Mr. Morrow? I ignore them all.
“What is all this? I thought if we went to Georgia and laid low, this would all be over when we got back.” Katie asks. “Seriously, Darius, what is going on?”
“Just ignore them,” I tell her. “It happens sometimes. It’s really nothing to worry about, promise.”
I don’t tell her that this onslaught of reporters seems more vicious than the last. Could it be because Katie’s involved this time? Can I brush them off as usual, or should I really pay attention?
Not tonight.
Tonight’s about Katie’s accomplishment, finishing her book, and sending it off to her publisher. Tonight, I’m giving her a real ring for that finger.
My security team brings us to a private hallway, and we enter through the privacy entrance to the restaurant. Our table is secluded from the rest, a circular table set for two, adorned with candles and flowers. The rest of the guests are separated by walls and mirrors, giving us full privacy.
“Oh, wow,” Katie says. “This is amazing.” She smirks. “Wish I’d seen this before I sent that book in.”
I chuckle, but it makes me wonder. How much of us did she put in her book? I tell myself not to worry about it, it’s just my old fear of being played for my money surfacing its ugly head again. Katie isn’t like the others.
I pull a chair out for her, place a napkin in her lap, and push the chair in.
“Why, thank you,” she says, but she still looks distracted.
“Are you alright?” I ask, sitting down.
“I just wonder what they were going on about,” she says. “Have you heard anything from your publicist?”
“I wouldn’t know. Left my phone in the penthouse.”
She bites her lip. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I’m starting to tire of the questions. Tonight’s a special night, and I won’t let the media get in the way of that.
“It’s an excellent idea. You know what else is a good idea?”
She gives me a curious look.
“Trusting your daddy.”
She smiles, but still looks uneasy. Soon, however, we’re presented with a large tray of shrimp cocktail and a charcuterie board, our wine glasses are filled, and she’s regaling me with scenes from her book.
“That sounds amazing,” I tell her. “Will you let me read it?”
She sputters on her wine. “Absolutely not!”
“Why not?”
“Well, first of all, it’s just… too personal.”
“Personal? So I’ll learn a little bit more about you? Excellent.”
She winces. “What if I’m not ready for you to learn more about me?”
That bothers me. “So you’ll let however many thousands of readers learn a little more about you, but not me? How does that work?”
“Oh, don’t, Darius,” she pleads. “It isn’t like that.”
“Then why don’t you explain?”
“They don’t… they won’t know it’s me. They don’t know me. I’m a faceless author no one’s ever met, and they won’t be able to fetter out what’s real from what’s fantasy.”
I take another sip of wine. I’m trying to understand, but I don’t love this.
“And I will?”
She places her wine glass down and stares at me earnestly. “Yes,” she says. “You will. Because you’re good at that. You’re really,
really good at moving past the periphery and seeing the truth.” She bites her lip. “At breaking down my barriers. At making me… vulnerable.”
“I see.” But I really don’t. I feel like she's hiding something from me. The waiter signals me from the corner, and I rise, placing my napkin on the table.
“I’ll be right back.”
He’s got the ring I picked out for her on a little velvet pillow. Seeing it doesn’t bring the feelings of joy I’d anticipated it would. The waiter gives me a curious stare. “Now, sir?”
Why do I feel apprehensive about this? Am I making a mistake? Is it too soon?
I blow out a breath. If I let her go, I may never get her back. I know in my heart that I love her. I know in my heart she loves me back.
“With dessert, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
I return to the table, to two sizzling platters of steak, asparagus, and roasted potatoes, with a side of wild greens drizzled with the house salad dressing.
“This looks amazing,” Katie says.
“Wait until you taste it. The steak melts in your mouth, like butter.”
I delight in every detail as she eats her food, her little sighs of contentment as she tucks in. I enjoy watching her eat more than I enjoy eating myself.
Finally, it’s time for dessert. The waiter and a few of his colleagues stand behind him. I give him a nod, and he begins walking toward us. Nerves rise in my belly, the likes of which I’ve never felt before.
Katie’s talking to me, but I can hardly hear her, I’m that intent on what has to happen next, when a door opens to my left, and I look in surprise to find a barrage of reporters with cameras and microphones piling into the restaurant, right into our private moment.
I push back from the table, hold my hand up to the waitstaff, and turn to the reporters. “Out,” I snap. “You step one foot toward this table, and I will break that camera you’ve got around your neck and call the police. You’re trespassing on private property.”
But they don’t heed me and head straight toward Katie. I grab the first guy by the collar and toss him to the side, but another comes straight at me, his flash blinding me. Before I know what I’m doing, I deck him. More flashes, Katie screams, and I feel strong hands on me pulling me back.
