Yours for the Night

by Jasmine Haynes

  He didn’t notice her until she was at his elbow. “I’m back,” she murmured softly.

  Trevor flinched, then pointed at the nearest female ass and said, “Doesn’t she know that tight pink jersey across her butt makes it look like the back end of a donkey?” He glanced at Dominique.

  “Trevor.” She shushed him. The volume of his voice had climbed, and despite the chitchat, laughter, and music, they were close enough to the pink bottom to be overheard.

  Trevor turned to her, his face flushed, a shaft of light from the chandelier making his eyes spark. “That dress shows every dimple and bulge in all that flab.”

  That’s how men were. They tore you down behind your back. The woman in the jersey probably thought she looked gorgeous and flamboyant in that dress. Dominique imagined the middle-aged lady twirling in front of the mirror, viewing 121

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  herself from all the possible angles except the one that mattered, blissfully unaware of all the dimples and bulges and flab. Until her husband walked in one day and dumped her for a younger, prettier model with no dimples or bulges and not even an ounce of flab.

  In desperation, Dominique had gone on a crash diet the day after Edward made his announcement. She’d lost twenty pounds in a ridiculously short period of time. Edward hadn’t come back. She lost another ten pounds. She would have kept going, except that she actually stopped one day and looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look fit and gorgeous. She’d looked haggard and gaunt, her flesh sagging on her face.

  She’d joined a gym, hired a nutritionist, and gained back all the weight with healthy eating and exercise. Real women have curves, and she now had them in abundance, along with being fit, toned, and amazing her doctor with fantastic HDLs and LDLs. She was better than she’d ever been. And she deserved better than an ass like Trevor McDowell. Every woman, including the pink-jersey lady, deserved better than Trevor McDowell. She stood to her full height in her four-inch stilettos and glared. “Trevor. I worry that you have this tremendous fixation on a woman’s posterior.” She leaned in. “You would be lucky if that gorgeous curvy woman decided to give you a blow job under the table. Except you’d be too self-absorbed to appreciate it.”

  He blinked rapidly. “It was just an observation. I’ve been trying to entertain you all evening.”

  “You’re not entertaining. You are rude and demeaning to women. I’m going home. I’ll get myself a cab.”

  He touched the pocket of his tux. “But we have a deal. For later. I’ve got the money right there.”

  “We do not have a deal. We never had a deal.”

  “But all this money.” He widened his eyes, the brown catching her reflection.

  “We have nothing in common, Trevor.”

  “Who cares about having anything in common?” He actually sounded mystified. “I chose you because I was told you were the highest priced.”

  She smiled. She was the highest priced courtesan, and proud of it. “That’s your mistake. I do the choosing, not you.”

  “But”—he tapped his pocket once again—“I’ve got ten thousand dollars in 122

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  here.”

  She almost laughed. What an idiot to be carrying that much cash. “Ten thousand is nothing. A sheik once gave me a diamond worth thirty thousand.”

  Bitchy and self-aggrandizing, it still felt so good. “For you, even that’s not enough.”

  “But—”

  “You’re catching flies, Trevor.” She tapped his jaw with her fingers. “I don’t sleep with men who have no manners.”

  She didn’t just leave, she made an exit, stalking straight through the throng of partygoers, forcing them to part for her. It was marvelous. Almost as good as the day she’d decided to be a courtesan and show Edward just how much men were willing to pay for her.

  THE WOMAN KNEW HOW TO MAKE AN EXIT, THAT WAS FOR SURE. She sashayed from the crowded ballroom and every male eye followed the sway of her hips in that hot, slinky red dress.

  Following the direction of his gaze, Brenda leaned close. “Go for it,” she urged. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to ask Maureen to drive me home anyway.”

  “Naughty slut,” he murmured.

  “That makes two of us.” She beamed a smile at him. Brenda and Maureen, a public defender for the city, had been doing the dance for weeks. He glanced down at her. “I don’t want to have to worry that you didn’t make it home.”

  “Darling, I’ll be fine.” Her eyes sparkled with just how fine she planned to be. He hoped this thing with Maureen would help Brenda to accept herself, come out of the closet or, at the very least, find a little happiness. He bent to kiss the tip of her nose.

  “Now hurry”—she swatted him playfully on the behind—“before she changes into a pumpkin like Cinderella.”

  “It was the coach that changed into the pumpkin.”

  “Whatever.”

  Gabriel turned to follow his lady in red. He’d unashamedly eavesdropped on what he could make out of her conversation, enough to hear her remonstrate with her partner about a rude comment he’d made in far too loud a voice. She 123

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  actually gave a damn about someone else’s feelings. They’d spoken in hushed tones for a minute or two after that, then she’d walked out. It didn’t take a rocket scientist. The guy was an ass, and she’d left him. Since Brenda had her own plans, Gabriel wasn’t about to miss the opportunity. He exited the ballroom as the lady, having retrieved her wrap from the coat check, stepped onto the lobby escalator. He made a quick call to order his car around, then caught up with her outside the hotel, where she’d had a doorman signal a cab.

  She stood back beneath the canopy, out of the rain and the bite of cool night air. Pulling her wrap tighter around her shoulders, she followed his progress across the lobby and through the revolving doors. A slight smile kicked up at the corners of her lips. As if she knew he was coming for her. Once at her side, he spoke easily, no introduction. “I have a car and driver and would be more than happy to take you wherever you want to go.”

  “I don’t know you. What if you’re planning to kidnap me?”

  He leaned in close, her scent rising to him, something sweet mingled with the elemental aroma of rain and aroused woman. “My name is Gabriel Price. I live in Atherton, I work in San Francisco. My driver wouldn’t be a part of a kidnapping. And you can hold your cell phone on 911 just in case.”

  She laughed, that tinkling musical note that first captured his attention in the ballroom. “Maybe I should hold my stiletto shoe at the ready as well.”

  “Such torture won’t be necessary.”

  She jutted one hip, putting a hand to it, her long nails crimson like her dress.

  “What about your lady friend?”

  He liked that she asked, that she cared. “Brenda has her own plans for the rest of the evening, which don’t include me.”

  “So you’re just friends.”

  “Good friends, but that’s all.” They’d once considered a threesome together with a bisexual mutual friend, a woman. But in the end, they’d both decided that sex in any form had the potential to screw up even a really good friendship. She gazed at him, deliberated, then finally waved her hand at the doorman to cancel her cab. Returning to him, she fished a cell phone from within the elegant but tiny evening bag. “I’ll make a call first.” She gazed up at him through her lashes. “One should never go anywhere without telling someone else.”

  “I agree.”

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  Turning her back to him, she hit a speed dial, spoke softly, laughed briefly, then closed the phone again. “I’m Dominique,” she said, holding out her hand. He shook, and observed his car pulling up curbside. “A lovely name.” A lovely voice, a low, sexy tone that vibrated on his insides. “My car is here.”

  He’d ordered a limousine because sometimes Brenda liked to bring friends, cocktails before, nightcaps afterward. She liked last-minute decisions
in her social life.

  The driver jumped out, holding the door for them both as Gabriel ushered Dominique into the plush interior.

  Dominique realized this was a crazy idea. But she was a courtesan, and she liked to spice things up with a little risk. In the scheme of things, this one wasn’t particularly dangerous, plus she’d checked in with Courtesans, leaving a message with the receptionist that she’d had a change of plans. Tomorrow she’d call and give Isabel the full scoop on Trevor McDowell. For now, she simply wanted to enjoy Gabriel Price’s subtle spicy aroma in the luxurious car. Maybe she’d enjoy a lot more.

  “You never even asked how far you’ll have to drive me,” she observed. He leaned forward to pop a small door, revealing a snazzy bar with crystal glasses and decanters. “That’s because I don’t care.” He turned his head slightly to gaze at her from dark eyes. “I’ll take you as far as you want to go.”

  There was a wealth of meaning in that. Distance, yes, but far more. She wondered how far she needed to go tonight to clean out Trevor’s nasty attitude and the vision of Edward’s Madonna-like wife. “I live in Saratoga.” If she let him take her all the way home, he’d know where she lived. She had an hour to think about it, since the San Francisco streets were packed and getting out of the city wouldn’t be a quick jaunt.

  “Atherton isn’t all that far from Saratoga, so it’s not particularly out of my way.”

  Except that her house was up in the hills, along winding roads. She was sure, though, that he wouldn’t calculate the extra distance and regret his offer.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  She slipped closer, ostensibly to look at what was available, yet more than that, she wanted his scent to fill her head, make her forget everything else. She wanted the heat of his body to shoot warmth through her. Dominique had always loved the way men smelled. Earthy. Salty. The hint of 125

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  sex in the air around them. Men seemed to live and breathe sex, perfuming the atmosphere with their thoughts. When they looked at you, sex was written in the way they caressed you with a glance. Some women thought it objectified them, and they found it offensive. For Dominique, it was the core of being a woman. Invoking that predatorial, elemental, caveman look.

  “Brandy?” she asked before her thoughts ran away with her and she begged him to take her in the backseat of his limo.

  He selected a decanter and one of the squat glasses. After preparing one for himself as well, he closed up the bar, leaned back, and tipped the crystal to hers.

  “To meeting gazes across a crowded room.” He sipped, watching her over the rim. The city lights reflected in the rain-soaked streets flashed over his face as their driver successfully made it through a green light.

  “Is that a subtle question as to whether I was watching you tonight?”

  “I might be flattering myself, but I wasn’t questioning that at all. And I was watching you.”

  She wondered if she should tell him her reason for watching was Trevor and his cutting remarks. Then again, she would have noticed Gabriel even without that. “I’ll admit I was watching. I like your name.”

  “Gabriel the angel?”

  “No. Like Gabriel Byrne, the Irish actor. I think he’s incredibly hot.”

  Gabriel laughed, the mirth reaching his eyes. “Well, that’s a set-down.”

  “Not really.” She’d always had secret yen for the actor. She sipped her drink. Despite the brandy’s relative smoothness, it was liquid fire down her throat, setting her body alight. Or maybe that was caused by his brown eyes, the same dark amber of the drink, seeing through to her soul. Leaning back against the seat, she crossed her legs, letting her foot swing. Nonchalant. At ease. Though she was anything but. “Tell me what you do for a living.” Innocuous. Meaningless chitchat. The question restored her equilibrium. For a moment there, she’d wanted nothing more than to touch him, taste him, take him.

  She put the wild need down to a bad night.

  “I invest in start-ups.” He shifted and laid his arm along the back of her seat, close enough for her to feel his heat.

  “What kind of start-ups?”

  “Mostly telecommunications. In all its different forms.”

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  She stroked the leather seat. “You must do well then.”

  “It’s all in knowing the exact moment to enter. And the perfect moment to pull out.”

  She smiled, chuckled. “Is that a sexual innuendo?”

  Light sparkled in his eyes as the car pulled to a stop again. The heavy window glass insulated them from the city noise outside. The quiet interior enveloped her in his warmth and spice even as the alcohol worked its magic on her limbs.

  “It was definitely a sexual innuendo.” He twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, then drew back, letting it fall as he studied the light streaming across it through the back window.

  He had a way of looking at a woman, really seeing her, the tint of her hair, the color of her eyes, making every part of her special.

  “Are you married?” It wasn’t a question she usually asked. In her line of work, the question was irrelevant. She was well aware that many of her clients were married. It was in the nature of what she did. But he wasn’t a client. And she was hoping he could make her forget about the shock of seeing Edward’s pregnant wife. At least for a little while. 127

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  3

  “NEVER BEEN MARRIED. DEMANDING CAREER, WOULDN’T FOIST A workaholic type on a family, never met the right woman,” Gabriel recited, as if he’d been asked too many times. The truth could have been all of the above, none, or something entirely different. “And you?” He picked up her left hand, running his thumb along her ring finger.

  She suppressed the quiver his touch stirred. “Divorced.”

  He continued to stroke her finger, staring at it. “He was there tonight, wasn’t he?”

  Dominique was glad she hadn’t been sipping the fiery brandy, or its burn might have consumed her. “Why do you ask?”

  When he lifted his gaze to hers, she saw . . . something. He’d never been married, so it couldn’t have been empathy. “The pregnant blonde” was all he said.

  Her blood began to beat against the backs of her eyes. He’d been watching her way too closely. Heat rose to her cheeks. So much for forgetting. “That was nothing.”

  He dropped her hand to lightly trail a finger down her cheek, as if he were following the tracks of tears she hadn’t cried. Gabriel the angel. He’d seen it all. Including her pain. Dominique turned abruptly and stared out onto the rainy city streets, people running to and fro in the rain, covering their heads, hunkering down beneath their umbrellas. The lights of the neon signs glittered on the wet concrete. God, she needed, she wanted. Needed to be wanted. Yes, it was all tied up with Edward and his pretty Francine, the cutting remarks Trevor had made so blithely, hits on her age, her weight, her ass. Though the digs were about other women, they all led back to her own insecurities. She’d spent months rebuilding herself, only to feel it all come crashing down in little more than an hour.

  “Sorry. That was out of line. Not my business.” His voice was pure sex. Deep yet soft. Over the phone, he’d have made her come at the count of ten. Sex was power. Mindless relief from bad thoughts. From the moment she’d contemplated becoming a courtesan, it had never been about the sex itself but 128

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  about the peripherals, feeling on top, in control, desired. One would think she’d done all sorts of wild things, too, but she’d kept everything vanilla. Nothing kinky. Just straight-up sex, in many ways like her marital sex. She winced. Everything came back to Edward. She needed to erase him. Wipe him out. Obliterate him. The man beside her was the perfect panacea, the beguiling stroke to her figurative bruises.

  Dominique turned slowly. The limo broke free of the gridlock and finally hit the freeway ramp. Setting the edge of her glass to her lips, she downed the rest of the brandy. It burned away
any remaining inhibition, freed her to the moment.

  “I was never very good at small talk,” she murmured, holding her empty glass out to him.

  He took it. “You’re doing fine.” He followed her example and drained his brandy, then opened the liquor cabinet long enough to stow the glasses. He didn’t offer her another.

  “You didn’t let me finish.” She arched her feet, letting her shoes drop to the car floor, then curled her legs beneath her as she faced him.

  “So sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  Dominique moved in on him. Gabriel didn’t back off an inch. “What I was going to say was that I’m not good at small talk when I want something else entirely.”

  She was fast. Gabriel found that extremely hot. A woman who knew what she wanted and went for it.

  “What else do you want?” Hell, he wanted everything. The smoked glass concealed them from the driver, but he wouldn’t have cared if the man could see the whole thing. He got the impression she didn’t give a damn either. Rising slightly, she pulled her skirt high, then looked at him, a hint of mischief in her green eyes. “I’d like a kiss.”

  “I’m okay with that.”

  “In order to really kiss you, I have to get on your lap.”

  He’d been half-turned in the seat toward her. Now he backed off, sitting straight against the back. “Be my guest.”

  Bunching the dress at her waist, she climbed on top, legs enveloping him, her heat seeping through to his cock. “There, that’s better,” she whispered. Putting her hands to his shoulders, she snuggled closer. 129

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  Christ. His eyes drifted shut as he enjoyed the feel of her, her hips beneath his hands, the cool slide of material separating him from bare flesh. He didn’t keep his lids closed for long. Her lush breasts were a feast for the eyes, begging for his lips, his tongue. And her flowery, sexy woman scent hardened his cock.

  “By the way, I want to fuck you, too, Gabriel, but first I need that kiss.”