Protecting His Interests

by Suzanne Rock

  Other than all of them being escorts, I had yet to link the murders together. That meant that the killer could be anywhere, watching anyone. I wondered if the killer was in this hotel lobby now, calculating his next move.

  Stop it, Ferreira. You’re becoming paranoid. It was difficult to lie low, but I had little choice. The killer’s trail had gone cold. I had to wait for him to make a mistake before I could make my move.

  That meant I had to focus on my escort cover, not my real job. I had to look authentic if I wanted to make myself a target. Taking a deep breath, I gave my name to the receptionist and took one of the seats in the foyer to wait for my “date.” Within minutes, the elevator doors opened, and a sexy, high-class woman stepped out. Straightening, I stood up and adjusted the bow tie in my tuxedo, something Edgar Cox gave me on the first day of the job, and put my trembling hands behind my back to hide my nerves.

  She had changed. Scarlett’s hair was no longer ebony, but bright, Kool-Aid red. It was cut in one of those modern reverse-bob styles, which accented her heart-shaped face. The piercings were gone, replaced by smoky eye shadow that sparkled in the overhead lighting. The skin-tight dress accented her breasts and hips, reminding me that she was no longer a shy sixteen-year-old girl, but a woman with desires and needs. Seeing her made me uncomfortably hard, and I adjusted my stance to hide my swelling cock behind the folds of my jacket.

  She stopped several steps away and stared at me with those large, hazel eyes. I was struck by how the intensity of her stare had changed. Back in high school, her eyes were full of mischief, and her features were soft and open. Now she seemed cold and businesslike. Her stiff jaw and rigid limbs suggested she might even be a little defensive, although I had no idea why. I realized she was already mentally throwing up walls against my presence. Interesting. She had picked me out of a virtual lineup, and yet she was acting aloof. Did she even recognize me?

  Probably not. This Scarlett was so different from the girl I used to know. I wondered what had happened to make her so hard, and thought how much fun it could be melting her defenses.

  I had always liked a challenge.

  I fought the overwhelming impulse to touch her and instead calmly waited for her to make the first move. Edgar had strict rules about how his escorts should behave. As far as Scarlett knew, I was just an escort. I could possibly use that to my advantage. People talked to escorts more than they talked to cops, and I didn’t want Scarlett to close off herself any more than she was already doing.

  “Mr. Sargent?” she asked.

  I inched forward. “Please, call me Gabe.” Giving in to temptation, I took her hand and placed my lips on her knuckles. Instead of being smeared with globs of primary colors, her fingers were shaped and polished with professional care. I wondered if she regretted giving up painting like I regretted giving up basketball. Then again, perhaps some things were better left behind in the past.

  “I didn’t know you spent time in the military.”

  The comment took me by surprise until I remembered my profile on the Web site. Sal had helped me craft the fake background so that I could explain away my disciplined nature. “Two tours.”

  “In Afghanistan.” She furrowed her brow for a moment in thought. “I thought you were going to become a cop.”

  “Plans change.” I shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. “People change.”

  She dropped her gaze to her fingers. “Yes, they do.” Tightening the death-grip on her clutch, she turned to the woman behind her. “It’s okay, Violet, you can go.”

  I blinked and turned my attention to the raven-haired woman studying me from behind her dark-rimmed glasses. I had been so busy ogling Scarlett, I hadn’t seen her at all. That was a dangerous thing, considering the circumstances. I was going to have to start throwing up some of my own walls tonight, or both Scarlett and I could be in a heap of trouble.

  “Are you sure?” The woman asked as she raked her gaze over my torso. “I mean, I could—”

  Scarlett met my gaze and held it. “Mr. Ferreira and I have a lot to discuss.”

  I knew I needed to correct her if I wanted to keep my cover, but hearing my name on her lips sent a bolt of desire through me that was difficult to control. It took all of my mental energy not to scoop her up in my arms right then and there.

  “Of course.” After casting a long, wistful glance in my direction, Violet turned her back. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She glanced over her shoulder and winked at her friend. “And I expect all the details.”

  As soon as Violet was out of earshot, Scarlett motioned toward the front door. “Come. We’re late.”

  “Late?” I glanced at my watch. “How can that be possible? I’m ten minutes early.”

  “Yes, but the party has already started.”

  I hurried to catch up with her. Man, the woman could walk fast. “My car is parked in the garage.”

  She stopped and raised her brow. “You brought a car?”

  “Of course.”

  “What kind?”

  I furrowed my brow in confusion. “A Toyota Camry.”

  She snorted and shook her head. “I thought you were a high-end escort.”

  “I am.”

  She started walking once more. “A high-end escort in a Camry?”

  Was that a jibe? I wanted to correct her, but she was already heading toward the revolving door in front. Grimacing, I quickly went through the rental places in town in my mind as I hurried to catch up. “If you need something fancier, I could—”

  “We can take my limo.” She paused just inside the door to speak with someone from the hotel staff.

  I barely had time to process our conversation before she pushed past me once more, heading out onto the sidewalk. “You have a limo?”

  “Of course.” She moved purposefully toward a long, black limo that had pulled up as soon as she stepped outside. A man in a gray uniform emerged from the driver’s side as we approached and walked around to greet us.

  “Good evening, Ms. Bishop.”

  “Good evening, Raul.” Scarlett’s smile was brilliant and genuine. It lit up her face, transforming all of the worry and stress lines around her eyes. Jealousy rippled through me as I remembered how she used to smile at me like that in high school. Before the night was over, I was determined to have her smile at me that way again.

  “To the convention center?” Raul asked.

  “No, to the Morales estate.”

  “The Morales estate?” It was hard to hide the surprise from my features.

  “Yes, do you know Rocco?”

  “No, but his name is familiar.” Rocco’s name had shown up in one of the Escort Serial killer files. Evidently, one of the murders had taken place at a party he attended last month. He had been one of the last people to see the victim alive.

  “It should be. He is one of the biggest art collectors in the area,” Scarlett said.

  “I see.” Perhaps I should pay closer attention to this Rocco Morales. Maybe he is the missing link we have been looking for in this case. Excitement rippled through me as I moved to open the back passenger door, but Raul brushed me aside.

  “Right away, Ms. Bishop.” The chauffeur opened the door with a flourish, and Scarlett hurried inside.

  Raul looked down his nose at me in distaste. “I suppose you are coming, too?”

  “I . . . of course.” I started to climb into the back of the limo, but the old man put his hand on my arm, stopping me.

  “If you make her cry like the last one did, I swear I will hurt you.”

  I raised my brows. “Is that a threat?”

  “No, it’s a promise.” He let go of my arm and stepped back.

  I straightened and made a production of adjusting my jacket, showing him that his words didn’t scare me. It was odd for staff to be so protective of their employees. As I slid into the back seat of the limo, I wondered what Scarlett did to spark such devotion.

  “What was that about?” she asked as Raul closed the door.


  “Nothing.” I adjusted my cuff links as my mind raced to process this new information. The chauffer’s loyalty made me wonder exactly what had happened to Scarlett. I made a mental note to do some research on the matter once I was back at my apartment.

  “So, Gabriel Sargent, eh?”

  I cleared my throat. “We don’t use our real names when we’re working.”

  “I see.” She eyed me suspiciously as the limo pulled away from the sidewalk. “How did you come to work at Cox Services?” she asked after a long moment.

  “Oh, it’s a long, boring story.” I was quite sure she didn’t want to hear about the Escort Killer, or how I enjoyed undercover work because it allowed me to pretend to be somebody different. Tonight was about her needs, not mine. Besides, the less she knew about the real me, the better.

  “So, what are the plans for tonight?” I asked, in an effort to change the subject.

  She lifted her chin and turned toward me. “Have you heard of the Mystique Art Show?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  “Well, it’s one of the most influential art shows in the world.” She waved her hand in the air as her voice took on an authoritative tone. “It’s open to gallery owners, collectors, and the public. Some of the largest contemporary art deals of the year are made at Mystique.”

  “Sounds fancy.” I tugged on my collar. Man, how did those high-society types stand to wear these monkey suits?

  “It is. It opens tomorrow, and it’s tradition for the CEO of Mystique Art, Rocco Morales, to invite all of the gallery owners to his estate for a cocktail party the night before it opens to the public. Everyone who is anyone in the art world will be there.”

  “And you don’t want to show up alone.”

  A look of surprise flashed over her features, but she quickly recovered. “Yes.” She lowered her hand and focused out the window. “Look, I don’t normally do stuff like this. It’s just . . . I broke up with my boyfriend, and things have been so busy—”

  I reached over and took her hand. Her skin felt smooth and delicate, just like a China doll’s. It was so different from the rough, paint-splattered fingers I remembered. “No explanations are needed. I’ll be anything you want. Just tell me.”

  Scarlett frowned slightly as she looked down at our joined hands. “Yes. Well.” She slipped her fingers from mine and shifted in her seat. “Tonight, you are to be a distraction.”

  I leaned back and raised my brow. “A distraction?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “My ex is a famous collector and will be there tonight. You are to stay close to me and pretend to hang on my every word.”

  I twisted my lips into a half smile. “Want to show the ex what he’s missing, eh?”

  “Not really.” She took in a deep breath, then let it out. “I opened an art gallery several years ago, and Henri was my biggest client. The revenue from him alone was enough for me to expand into international markets.” She shook her head. “Once my buyers hear that we’ve parted ways, they’ll start to get nervous. They’ll wonder if my gallery is still viable without his backing.”

  I nodded in understanding. “And you need to let everyone know that it’s business as usual.”

  “Yes. I need to show potential buyers that my head is still in the game and that I’m still a contender. That’s where you come in.” She cleared her throat. “I need you to make me look desirable.”

  “I see.” Desirable, huh? That could be arranged.

  “Nothing improper, mind you. Just . . . act as if you are really into me, and explain how it would be wise for people to invest in my assets.”

  I dropped my gaze to her breasts, tracing the upper curves that poked out over the seam of her tight, emerald dress. “Your assets.”

  “Yes. My assets. My art.”

  “You don’t need me to tell people the advantages of your assets. Anyone with two eyes can see that for himself.” Take those breasts, for example. They were so round, so perfect. I imagined tracing my tongue over each mound and feeling her shiver under my touch.

  Scarlett waved her hands in the air, oblivious to my innuendo. “Yes, well, hopefully you’ll be able to stop a lot of the rumors before they start.” She fidgeted in her seat and glanced out the window. “I’m sorry if this is inconvenient, but there simply wasn’t enough time to find anyone else. I needed someone who not only was good-looking and intelligent but knew that this had no chance of developing into a relationship.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She faced me and nibbled her lip, causing a bolt of desire to shoot through my core. “I don’t want anyone to misunderstand my invitation as something more than a one-night thing. I don’t have time for the drama of a boyfriend right now.”

  Interesting. This Henri guy must have really done a number on her. Still, I could appreciate her philosophy when it came to the opposite sex. I had a very similar one myself.

  “You just want me to be a . . .” What did she call it? “A distraction. Nothing more.” I twitched my lips in an effort to hold back a laugh. If there was one thing I excelled at, it was providing women with a distraction.

  “Yes.” She let out a sigh of relief. “This is all about image.”

  “Just so we are clear, I’m to hang on your every word, and act like a besotted teenager.”

  “Yes.”

  Easy enough. I nodded and slid my arm over the back of the seat. “I think that can be arranged.”

  “Good.” She let out a long breath. “There will be a lot of people there, so you’ll have to be convincing.”

  “Oh, I can be very convincing.” I eased my fingers through her hair and was surprised at how soft and smooth it felt. I had read once in a magazine about an artist who had sex with women on canvases filled with paint, then sold the paintings for thousands of dollars. I imagined what it would feel like to lay Scarlett down on a palette of colors and create a masterpiece of my own.

  “And don’t talk too much,” Scarlett said. “I want you to come across as intelligent.”

  Was that an insult? I stilled my hand and fought the sudden need to correct her. Why did I care what she thought of me? Like she said, this was one date, nothing more.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I’m sure you’re very intelligent.” She wrung her hands in her lap. “This cocktail party just has me a little nervous.”

  Ah, that explained it. I relaxed and twisted my hand to push back a stray hair from her face. As I moved, the air seemed to heat around us. Her lip trembled, and an odd possessiveness surged through me. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. I wondered what had happened between her and this Henri, and instantly hated him for making her life so difficult. If I came across him tonight, it would take a lot of willpower not to punch the guy in the face.

  She slid her head away from my touch, and I suddenly realized that I had no right to feel so possessive. I had given up the right to those emotions when I broke up with her in high school.

  Fisting my hand, I placed it on the seat between us and tried to get my emotions under control. I didn’t expect such a strong reaction to seeing Scarlett again. It was going to make things rather inconvenient. I couldn’t very well keep an eye out for the Escort Killer if I was punching all of the men at the party in the face for glancing at my date.

  “What if someone should ask about us?” I asked. “What do I tell them?”

  Her gaze softened as she looked up at me. “We tell them that we recently started dating, but you have a thing back in Boston tomorrow, so you won’t be able to go to the show.”

  “A thing?”

  “We’ll make it up as we go along. Like one of those improv games we used to do in drama club.” She dropped her gaze to my lips, and I watched her eyes start to lose focus.

  Drama club. How could I forget? My so-called friends had been making fun of her because she was part of some drama group at school. Curious, I had showed up at one of the meetings. It wasn’t long be
fore I was hooked. While the acting bug never lasted beyond high school, some of the techniques I learned there did. Perhaps that was part of the reason why I was so damn good at my undercover work.

  “So you want me to improvise,” I said, trying to make sure I heard her right.

  “Yes.” She moistened her lips and shifted her gaze to my mouth. I wondered if she was remembering how I had stolen a kiss during one of our improv games, or one of the many times I had walked her home after rehearsal was over. Our relationship in high school never got beyond second base, but the sexual tension between us was enough to set fire to the entire school.

  She was quite the kisser.

  Was she still an excellent kisser? I wanted to know. A quick glance outside showed that we had arrived at the estate. Soon everyone would be crowding around us, and I’d be reduced to little more than arm candy for the rest of the night. If I wanted to make a move, now would be the chance. If I timed it right, others would see it, and it would be hard for people to say that Scarlett Bishop was still pining after some loser with more priceless paintings than good sense.

  As we pulled up to a stop, I slid my arm across the seat, leaned in close and lowered my voice. “How’s this for improvising?”

  Her breath hitched as I brushed my lips against hers. Every instinct I had wanted to possess her, to consume her like I did those lazy afternoons after drama club in high school, but I forced myself to keep the kiss soft and inviting. For now.

  When I heard Raul open the passenger door and clear his throat, I forced myself to pull away.

  “We’re here,” I murmured as I slid my thumb over her lip, wishing that the moment could have lasted longer. There was so much to catch up on, so much to taste. Scarlett wanted a performance from me, but I knew that there would be little, if any, acting tonight.