by Grey, R. S.
There’s no time for my conscience to grab hold of the situation because he’s lifting me up like I’m filled with air and carrying me back toward the sink. My butt hits the porcelain lip and he pushes me up onto it then spreads my knees wide enough for him to step between. His suit pants brush against my denim-clad thighs and I let out a soft involuntary groan. Even with the added height, he still has to lean down to reach me, hands cradling my face and tilting my chin up so he can easily capture my lips. He turns his head to the side, slanting his mouth over mine and taking the reins oh so easily. I might have initiated our first kiss, but it’s clear that every one that follows will be from him, by him, for him.
His tongue laps me up, sending pleasure through every inch of me.
I’m getting carried away.
I can feel reality nipping at my heels even as I try hard to bat it away.
I have to stop this.
This won’t help me. This will only make me twice as sad come morning.
Unless…
A wild, stupid thought pops into my head: maybe I could get something out of this, more than just a pleasant evening…money. I could strike a bargain! Sell myself! Oh good, as if a one-night stand isn’t bad enough, now I’m contemplating stepping into the oldest profession in the book. It’s totally ridiculous, and besides, how does someone even initiate that bargain?
Oh, yes, hi, if you’d stop kissing me for a second, I’d like to discuss my terms of service for this transaction.
What do small-town prostitutes with hardly any experience go for these days? A hundred bucks and a coupon for a free milkshake?
The questions filling my head make it easier to separate myself from our kiss. His mouth is deliciously tempting, but it’s no use against my impending panic attack. This impromptu bathroom make-out session was spontaneous and poorly thought-out. I’m only going to succeed in making a fool of myself.
If I wanted a one-night stand, I should have picked a lesser man, not this suit with his rock-hard body and come-hither kisses. He’s going to tear through my sanity, show me pleasure like I’ve never experienced, and leave me lonely and bereft while he slides into a fancy sports car and kicks up dust as he peels out of town.
Even with my brain working a mile a minute, his sensual, teasing kisses are provoking every emotion I should be hiding. I know if he broke away and stepped back, he’d find my lips swollen and red, my eyes coated with a glossy love-me sheen, my chest heaving, my panties wet. If he brushed his hand down there, I’d come just from the sheer wrongness of this entire situation.
Even now, his hands brush up under the hem of my t-shirt, and when his warm palms glide over my skin, I momentarily lose track of my thoughts.
He squeezes my waist and I reach out for him too, scared I’m going to topple forward off the sink. My hands land squarely on his butt.
No, not just that…
His wallet.
Sitting snug in the back pocket of his suit pants.
My eyes spring open with the revelation as he bends to string kisses down my neck.
Take it, my survival instincts shout. Take it now!
NO.
My stomach twists with guilt and disgust that I’d even think of doing such a thing. I’m not a thief. Never.
This whole situation feels wrong and gritty and this bathroom smells and he’s so tempting with his veined hands, warm and big, gripping my waist to bring us closer so that our hips rock together. I wish so badly we were kissing in his fairytale instead of a filthy bar bathroom. I wish so badly this was the grown-up version of that summertime teenage kiss, wish we were two lovers completely enraptured by each other instead of two strangers using each other in ways the other can’t even begin to imagine.
And then a highlight reel of my future plays through my mind: overdue medical bills, broken-down cars, dead-end jobs. The money in this stranger’s wallet wouldn’t fix all my problems, but it would give us a much-needed boost, and it’s with that thought that I realize my body has taken over the decision for me.
My fingers dig into his butt as a distraction and he doesn’t protest. He must just assume I’m into butts, and I never really have been before this moment, but oh yes, I would be very into his. It’s muscular and firm, not some kind of flat wussy cheeks that don’t know how to fill out a pair of pants. His is ripe and OH MY GOD FOCUS!
Suddenly, I’m taking his wallet, working it out of his back pocket so slowly—millimeter by millimeter—that he doesn’t notice and then I have no idea what to do with it. I have his wallet in my hand behind his back and my heart is pumping so hard, I’m going to be sick. It’s convenient that we’re making out so close to a toilet because I’m about to need one.
What have I done?!
At this point, I’ve stopped reacting to his kisses—I’m not that good at multitasking. He realizes something is wrong and pulls back to stare down at me, those warm brown eyes assessing me with worry. Then he sweeps his gaze around the bathroom, and he lets out a heavy sigh. Guilt replaces worry, but I can’t let it fester. I can’t let him turn into a nice guy, a gentleman who escorts me out of here and calls me a cab.
I’m still holding his wallet and there’s no good explanation for that if he finds me with it. Uhhh, I was looking for a condom? Pony up, big boy!
No.
I do the first thing that comes to mind.
“Close your eyes.”
His brows furrow and he doesn’t follow my orders. Cocky men like him probably aren’t used to being bossed around. The thought makes me smile, and the tension in his forehead lessons a little. I think he likes my smile, so I keep it there, pinned in place as I run a teasing finger down the front of his shirt.
“Close your eyes.”
He does it this time, though it’s accompanied by a shake of his head and an annoyed groan. He tips his head back as if sending up a prayer.
I waste no time at all stuffing his wallet down the front of my shirt and into my bra.
“What’s your room number?” I croon, sounding like a phone sex operator, my finger tracing down to the button of his pants. The bulge there is nearly obscene. I look away, scandalized.
One of his eyes winks open and I brace myself for him to notice his wallet stashed under my top. It’s lumpy, but fortunately I’m packing enough cleavage that it nestles nicely in the middle, hidden.
“209.”
“Go there and wait for me.”
“What are you going to do?”
I panic as if I’ve been caught but then quickly recover with a coy smile.
“You didn’t think I would make it this easy on you, did you? One beer and I’m yours for the taking?”
I keep expecting my seduction to work on him, assuming his hard veneer will crack. He still hasn’t smiled at me. No flowery words or promises of pleasure. He’s too smart for his own good, too skeptical of my bad acting. I can tell something about our encounter feels off to him. Still, I persist.
“I think you want a little chase, a little bit of time in that room, pacing back and forth, wondering if I’ll come, and if I do—”
“When you do,” he amends.
“Well, it will be worth the wait, and that reunion kiss will be all the sweeter. Don’t you think?”
He tilts his head to the side, studying me.
I try to sit perfectly still, appearing cool and calm, when in reality I feel like a bug under a magnifying glass, about to go up in flames.
His mouth opens like he’s going to say something, but in the end, he turns for the door and tugs it open, hard, without another word. His broad shoulders disappear out into the hall and the second the door swings closed behind him, I’m off that sink and hurrying for a toilet, just in time to throw up a winning combination of beer and chewed-up cherries.
It’s disgusting and putrid and exactly what I deserve. Karma is on top of her shit these days. I haven’t even finished completing my crime yet and I’m already being punished. My stomach rolls again and I squeeze my eyes shu
t, prepared for round two, but there’s nothing left. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
I flush the toilet and move to the sink to rinse out my mouth and wash my hands. I don’t have time to linger. I need to get out of here and fast. He’s going to notice his wallet is missing as soon as he tries to get into his motel room and realizes he doesn’t have his keycard, and the same parts of him that moments ago sent desire radiating through me will do the exact opposite when he storms in here boiling with rage at what I’ve just done to him.
With trembling hands, I open the wallet, ignore the hotel key and the thick black credit card, and move on to the cash. There’s more in here than I expected, nearly $800 total. Who keeps that much cash on them?! I could skim $500 and he’d still be left with plenty. $500 is more than I make in a month. I move to take it, but my hand is shaking and I tell myself I should look at his driver’s license first so I can memorize his address. One day, when I’m not surviving by the skin of my teeth, I’ll send him back the money with interest and a thank you note. He’ll get to feel good about himself. He’ll get to say he helped the poor helpless country girl when she was down on her luck. He’ll get to tell his buddies about it, and his wife, too. No—he wasn’t wearing a ring. I can’t add mistress to my growing list of sins.
According to his license, he’ll turn thirty-one this year, but that’s as much information as I can gather before I hear muffled voices out in the bar.
Is it him? Back already?
My heart leaps into overdrive.
It’s now or never.
I have to get out of here.
I flip back to the cash and rub the bills between my fingers.
Take it. Take it and get out.
This money would solve your problems!
I want it. I want that money so badly my mouth nearly salivates, but instead of taking it out and slipping it into my back pocket, I sigh and slam the wallet closed.
In the end, I can’t do it.
Instead of feeling proud that I’m doing the right thing, I chide myself as I walk out into the hallway. All that…for nothing. Now what am I going to do? How’s my mom going to get to her classes? How am I supposed to get to work?
The voices I first heard in the bathroom grow louder and I relax, recognizing one of them as my cousin. I spot him leaning against the bar talking to the new bartender, asking where I am. When he sees me emerge from the hallway, he looks relieved—relieved and tired as hell. His beat-up baseball hat is tugged low on his head, nearly covering all of his ashy blond hair. His neon yellow t-shirt—his uniform at the lumber mill—is stained with sweat around the neck and arms. If this was a bad day for me, Jeremy’s probably wasn’t far behind.
“Hey, I’ve been calling you,” he says, pushing away from the bar and straightening to stand.
I blanche. “Sorry. I wasn’t feeling well.”
He frowns and assesses me quickly from head to toe. Jeremy’s always been a worrier. When our lives were at the most chaotic in my high school years, he was truly the only person I had in my corner. I was there for him too, someone he could trust, someone he could talk to. We formed a tight bond.
“Ready to go?” he asks, angling his head toward the door.
I nod then turn to the bartender, holding up the sleek leather wallet. “That suit must have dropped this. I’m sure he’ll be back for it any second.”
After I hand it off, I follow Jeremy out to his beat-up truck, decline the half-finished cheeseburger he tries to force on me, and don’t look back in the rearview mirror even once as we pull out onto the old country highway.
Chapter 3
Ethan
Truth be told, when I make it back to my motel room and find my back pocket empty, my first reaction isn’t even anger; it’s shocked admiration. How the hell did she steal my wallet without me even noticing? That feeling doesn’t last long, though. My anger settles rightly into place by the time I make it back to the elevator. The facts are impossible to ignore: I know I had my wallet when I got up to follow her into the bathroom because I remember reaching for it before Steven insisted on closing the tab. Sure, it could have fallen out at some point between then and now (something that has never once happened before), but the other piece of evidence glaring me in the face is the fact that the brunette bombshell isn’t here right now, meeting me back at my room like she promised, ready to finish what we started in that bathroom.
No. Of course she’s not. She never planned on meeting me here.
She took my wallet and ran like the little thief she is.
Rage curls my hands into fists. I can’t believe I got played like that. I can’t believe she pressed her supple body against mine and kissed me back, moaning like she was as shocked by the chemistry as I was and all the while, she was planning to rob me blind.
I want to find her and teach her a lesson for taking advantage of me.
I ignore the part of my conscience that tries to lay the blame at my feet. I knew something was off when I first laid eyes on her in the bar. My instincts shouted at me to leave after I’d spent half the night watching her. I’d written off the feeling, though, mistaking it as some kind of gentlemanly urge. I felt like I was taking advantage of her. She looked so fragile and helpless up there at the bar all alone, her shoulders slumped with defeat, head tilted down.
Now, I realize it was all an act, no doubt one she’s performed a million times before considering how successfully she pulled it off. I could have sworn she was near tears at one point in the bathroom, right after I confessed that I wanted to make sure she was okay.
Jesus Christ. I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I fell for that!
I yank my hands through my hair. My god, she seemed so into me, into the way I was touching her, kissing her.
This never should have happened. My partners and I are only in town for the weekend and we have a million things on our agenda. I had no business noticing the brunette when she first walked into the bar, but now I see the trap plain as day. The whole setup was arranged to tug at my heartstrings. It’s so easy to pick it apart now that I have some distance. Casting aside her femme fatale beauty, I recall her faded jeans and thin t-shirt—clothes that looked like they’d been worn and washed a hundred times before.
She ignored all of us as she walked straight to the bar, threw herself up on a barstool, and heaved a heavy sigh. The bartender asked if she wanted anything to drink. She asked for some water but didn’t order anything after that.
Instead, she sat, twirling her phone in her hands with her shoulders slumped over and her head bowed forward. She looked like she needed a savior, and some caveman instinct kicked on inside me, making me yearn to be that for her, even if just for one night.
My partners had all noticed her walk in too. In fact, one of them, Grant, tried to get me to change seats with him so he’d have a better vantage point from which to watch her at the bar. I didn’t budge.
Then, later—still not quite ready to give up—he volunteered to go up to the bar to order our next round. Not happening. I clapped my hand on his shoulder and forced him to stay in his seat, much to the amusement of our two other partners. It’s not often I make a fool of myself for a woman, if ever, but not a single one of them was surprised when they stood to leave and I opted to stay behind. They all wished me luck except for Grant, who shot me the finger and told me to go to hell.
At the time, it made sense. No man in his right mind would want to walk out of that bar and leave that angel behind.
No, I remind myself swiftly. She’s a lot of things—con artist, thief, liar—but she’s no angel.
I’m seeing red as I pull open the door to the bar and stalk toward the bartender, who’s cleaning glasses.
“Is she still here?” I ask, my voice cutting through the air with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“The brunette you trailed into the bathroom?” he asks with a barely interested tone. “Nah. She left right after you did.”
My ego takes another sucker punc
h at having my speculation confirmed. She never did plan on meeting me in my room.
“Great. Well, did you happen to see my wallet clutched in her hand as she ran out of here?”
Without a reply, he heads over to the cash register, grabs something, and then holds it up like a magician completing a trick.
I freeze, completely baffled.
So she didn’t steal it? It really just slipped out of my back pocket—
No.
Fuck.
I haven’t even finished the thought before I tear it out of his hand, look inside, and find every bit of my cash gone. I just pulled it out of the bank this morning, and I know I had over $800 because I didn’t want to have to get cash out here in the middle of nowhere.
I curse under my breath and the bartender shrugs, totally unperturbed by my anger.
“Who is she?” I ask, biting out each word while my fingers curl into fists. Surely every man within a fifty-mile radius knows her name.
“Listen, I just started here. I’ve never met her before tonight and she didn’t tell me her name. All I know is she walked out of the bathroom a few minutes after you and told me you’d dropped your wallet in the hallway.”
“Yeah, well, she’s a fucking liar. She stole it.”
He shrugs as if to say, Well, what can ya do?
Then he resumes his duties.
“All I can say is, I hope she was worth it.”
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