Praise for Micah Persell
Don’t miss these Micah Persell titles:
Uncharted Waters
“Science: love or maybe both? See for yourself. You won’t be disappointed. Plus, come on . . . the cover? Dang . . . ”—Harlie’s Books
Operation: Middle of the Garden series
Of Eternal Life
Winner of the 2013 Virginia HOLT Award of Merit in the paranormal category.
Second place in Lyrical Press’s first annual “How Lyrical Is Your Romance” contest.
Of the Knowledge of Good and Evil
Of Consuming Fire
Of Alliance and Rebellion
“If you enjoy military suspense and a strong romance try this book. Of Eternal Life is a good page turner to the end.”—Night Owl Reviews
“I give this action-packed, sexually-charged story a definite thumbs up . . . the author has a good series going, and I was left gasping for breath and searching for more pages . . . I can’t wait to hear more.”—4 stars, The Romance Reviews
“I fell in hopelessly in love with the lead male character, Jayden. Wow! He is absolutely divine in every sense of the word.”—5 stars, Romancing the Book
Wild and Wanton series
Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition
Persuasion: The Wild and Wanton Edition
“Micah Persell has near perfectly captured Austen’s voice and explored some of the subtle nuances of Persuasion that Austen hinted at but never ventured to pursue . . . As . . . a fan of Austen retellings, I appreciated how seamlessly the additional text was worked into the classic storyline.”—The Romance Reviews
“Micah Persell exceeded my modest expectations, however, by deftly and for the most part seamlessly working in backstory, dreams, and interior monologue in very Austenesque language . . . it’s just ideal for a reader such as me—one who loves Persuasion but also can take pleasure in a talented wordsmith’s having a bit of fun with it.”—Romantic Historical Lovers
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Contents
Cover
Praise for Micah Persell
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
About the Author
‘Uncharted Waters’ Excerpt
Copyright Page
Guide
Cover
Contents
Start of content
Hard Work
Sin City Gigolos, Book 1
Micah Persell
Avon, Massachusetts
For Nielle—
Who selflessly offered to research this book with me. Such the giving heart.
Chapter One
“Oh, God.”
That’s right, baby.
“Oh, God!”
The woman beneath him arched her back and dug her nails into his abdomen before raking them down to where they joined. She pressed her manicured fingers over her clit and bit into her lip. Kip picked up the pace of his thrusts, the telltale fluttering of her orgasm against his cock signaling that he could finally—finally—come.
He grinned down at her—his payday was just minutes away—and allowed the knot of restraint at the base of his spine to loosen as he tipped over the edge with her.
He swallowed down the small moan that rose in his throat as he spilled into the condom, maintaining control even as he allowed himself to slip it a bit.
Her dazed eyes opened, and her gaze scoured his torso as his stomach clenched and unclenched—something he did intentionally, because they always liked to see it—before the last of his own orgasm faded.
Job well done.
She sighed. “Fuck, Kip.”
He chuckled as he leaned down and brushed a kiss against her damp neck. “Good?”
“The best.”
Job very well done. He glanced over at the clock beside the bed, and even he raised an eyebrow. Two hours. Two hours of delayed gratification for a woman who had claimed she had trouble orgasming at the start of it. Two hours of taking her right to the edge and backing her off over and over and over again.
Damn, I’m good. This was going to mean a tip. A big one.
She sighed again, and Kip frowned slightly as he tried to remember her name. As he grasped the condom and pulled out of her, he mentally shrugged. It didn’t matter anyway. Her eyelids were already drooping, and in moments she would be asleep. “I’m going to take a shower, doll.”
She murmured something and nodded. Hopefully, she wouldn’t fall too deeply asleep. If he had to wake her up to get payment, it could get awkward. Then again, there wasn’t much in his line of work that wasn’t awkward, so c’est la vie.
In the bathroom, he tossed the condom and turned the shower on all the way to hot. As he waited for it to warm up, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his gaze automatically falling to the red, angry stripes she’d given him on his stomach.
He sighed. Those needed to be gone by the next client. Despite obviously knowing he was a gigolo, none of the ladies liked the reminder that he slept with other women, and it usually affected his payout when they caught sight of a love bite or scratch someone else put there. He relied half on networking at casinos and bars, half on word of mouth to maintain and add to his client list. No traceable agencies for him. So, he had to keep the ladies—he didn’t believe in types and serviced all kinds—happy. His livelihood depended on it.
He stepped under the water and started lathering up with the hotel’s provided soap, ready to get out of here and on with his night, which was now free, having thoroughly pleasured his last client of the day. Once he’d washed the woman’s scent from his body, he toweled off and walked back to where his clothes lay in a pile beside the bedside table where—hallelujah—Sated Beauty had left his money before slipping into a slumber deep enough that her tiny snores filled the hotel room.
He took a moment to thumb through the crisp, green bills, and . . . holy shit. Who cared if the scratches were gone by the next client? She’d tipped him more than he could have ever expected.
Kip did some quick math in his head. Nineteen thousand dollars. Nearly there. Thanks to this woman’s generosity, he now had half the amount he needed to start his own business and get out of one in which he had to shower several times a day and hide hickeys on the reg.
This calls for a celebration. But somewhere off the Strip, where he wouldn’t feel like he had to be on and could enjoy a cocktail in peace.
He pulled on his clothes and slipped his payment into his wallet before shoving it in his back pocket. His favorite place was open for several more hours yet, and if he remembered correctly, Steve was behind the bar tonight. He mixed the best Blue Hawaiians.
Kip cast one last grateful grin at the woman sleeping spread-eagled in the middle of the bed, then slipped out of the hotel room a
nd into the night.
Chapter Two
Victoria clicked send on the e-mail and then leaned back in her chair with a slight smile. Another job well done. Her client was going to love the idea she’d just sent, and that meant that she was going to be her boss’s new favorite.
Or, continuous favorite. Six of one; half dozen of the other.
The only thing that mattered was she’d just closed the gap between her and the newly vacant corner office, even if it was only by a few proverbial inches. Just one more big success, and she was surely in.
Her computer chimed. “Already?” she muttered. She clicked her inbox, and when it refreshed, there was a new e-mail, but it wasn’t from the client she’d just contacted.
It was a Google alert, and when she saw the subject line, she forgot how to breathe.
She clicked on the e-mail so hard, the mouse emitted a creak beneath her fingers. Her gaze moved over the words too quickly for her brain to understand, and she had to start over again. Several times.
When she finally grasped the news release she was reading, she leaned back in her chair, stunned.
The Ricchezza was switching advertising agencies. A fairly new casino on the strip, The Ricchezza, which meant wealth in Italian, had launched onto the scene, becoming a must-stop casino within hours of opening its doors for the first time.
And now it was up for grabs.
It’s finally happened. Since beginning her career in advertising several years ago, Victoria had kept a wishful eye on the big casinos located just a few blocks away from the offices of Precision Media Services. Surely, one of them would want fresh ideas at some point.
Hardly daring to take her eyes from the screen, Victoria groped in the laptop bag beside her chair and unzipped the secret pocket on the inside. She dug through the myriad pencils and pens until her fingertips encountered the well-known and oft-visited flash drive.
Her thumb brushed over the peeling tape label she didn’t have to read—the one that said “Hopes and Dreams” in black Sharpie—as she plugged it into the computer tower. She tapped her foot against the plastic carpet guard beneath her desk chair as her computer worked to open the files, and when it did, she clicked open the ready-made proposal. The perfect one. The one she’d made only a few months ago on one of her regular “What-if Weekends” with The Ricchezza specifically in mind.
As she quickly scanned it, the firm set of her lips relaxed; as she typed a few final edits, the relaxation turned to a full-fledged smile.
It was brilliant. Just as she remembered.
She composed the body of the e-mail, attached the file, and clicked send.
She flicked a glance at the bottom, right-hand corner of her screen; she’d managed to send off a damn fine proposal within ten minutes of The Ricchezza releasing the news. Not even “The Master” over at Precision’s biggest competitor could top that.
There wouldn’t be enough fussy French-pressed coffee in the world for Masterson when she received word tomorrow that Victoria had scooped The Ricchezza account right from beneath her nose. A bubble of giddiness roiled in Victoria’s belly.
This was it. That corner office was as good as hers.
She looked at the clock again. Plenty of time to celebrate before she went to bed for the minimal five hours of sleep she needed to function.
She shut down her computer, waiting until the screen was completely black and her files secure before turning off the lights and walking through the office that had been abandoned for a good four hours already on this Friday evening.
“’Night, Earl.” She waved over her shoulder as she passed the watchman.
“’Night, Ms. Hastings.”
She felt his careful gaze follow her across the parking lot to her Mercedes, and when she backed out of her spot and drove past him, he kept his eye on her until he couldn’t any more, always watching out for her safety, though she didn’t know what he would do if someone ever threatened her. He was older than God and walked with a pronounced limp thanks to his regular gout flare-ups. If there were trouble, she would have to protect him.
As she stopped at a red light, the Bluetooth in the car started ringing, and a rare bloom of happiness lit in her chest.
She pushed a button. “Hey, Cassidy.”
“Please tell me you’re not still at the office.”
“I’m not. Swear to God.”
A heavy sigh. “You just left it, didn’t you?”
Victoria shrugged with one shoulder, though Cassidy couldn’t see it. “Hey, I’ve got some good news.”
“She said in a shameless ploy to redirect the conversation.”
Guilty. “So, The Ricchezza is in the market for new advertising blood.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Okay, I’ll allow this new topic, but we will revisit the travesty of spending your Friday night at the office as soon as it’s done.”
Not if she could help it. “I already sent a bid.”
“That’s right, you did. You’re an ass-kicker. And?”
“It’s good.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she pulled into the lounge’s parking lot. “Really good.”
“Well, yeah. I meant and as in, what did they say?”
“I just sent it. I won’t hear back until probably Monday.” Oh, God, that’s a long way away.
“Nah, you’ll hear from them any second. Just keep your phone on.” There was a cacophonous spat of gunfire on the line. “Damn it,” Cassidy muttered.
“You die?”
“Yes. Fucking again.”
Cassidy’s ability to carry on and be present in a conversation while button jamming as she wrote and tested video games never failed to leave Victoria in a state of awe.
“Programming error?” Victoria asked. “Or player—?”
“Nice try, Tori. We were discussing the sad state of your life. You’re not getting out of it this time.”
“The sad state of—” Victoria shook her head. “I think I’m offended.”
“Good. When’s the last time you got laid?”
“What?” She pulled into a parking spot and applied the brakes a little too vehemently. The car lurched to a halt. “I’m not talking about this with you.”
“Because I’m willing to bet money it was before my brother died.”
Victoria swallowed hard. “Cassidy . . . ”
“I’m right.” The sudden gentleness in Cassidy’s usually brash tone was jarring. “Aren’t I?”
She wasn’t right. Victoria rubbed the vacant spot on her left ring finger, even though the indentation there had long disappeared. It had been much, much longer than the two years after Jeremy’s death since Victoria had been laid, owing to the fact they’d slept in separate rooms for that last year before his suicide, an invisible wall erecting itself between them despite their best efforts to battle his mental illness together. She wasn’t going to tell Cassidy that, however. “Cassidy, I don’t need sex.”
She definitely needed sex.
“You forget I’ve seen the rate at which you burn through AA batteries.”
“Okay, we’re done here.”
“Tori, go get some already. Burn off the stress—”
Victoria pushed the end button, dismayed to find her fingers shaking as she did so.
Immediately, her phone chimed. It was a text from Cassidy.
Do it! Do it! Do it!
And, nice, she’d been sure to include two emojis: a pointer finger followed by an okay sign.
Victoria’s lips thinned. File under things you should never hear from your sister-in-law. She texted back:
Seriously?
Cassidy: LU
Victoria sighed, and her thumbs moved once more over the keyboard.
Love you, too. But I think I now need therapy.
Cassidy: Then my work is done.
Victoria slipped her phone into her purse and locked the car behind her. Get some. It was so far out of the question, it was laughable. Sex meant a relationship; s
he’d never get caught in the trap of one of those again.
She walked into the bar, industriously named “The Bar,” and headed to a stool by rote, too distracted by both her conversation with Cassidy and the huge, impending realization of her biggest dream to pay much attention to her surroundings. As she ordered a whisky—straight, over the rocks—she slipped her phone from her purse and checked her inbox.
Empty.
She put the phone facedown on the bar but kept it right at her fingertips. She’d be checking her inbox nearly every other breath until she heard back from Davis, the owner of The Ricchezza.
“Whisky for the lady.”
A crystal tumbler appeared in her line of sight, placed on a square, black napkin. She raised her head and gave her best efforts toward a thank you smile. Apparently that failed, because the bartender just raised an eyebrow and asked, “Starting a tab or—?”
She sighed. “Sure. Why not? I’m celebrating.” Hopefully. She checked her phone again. Damn. Still empty.
“If you say so.”
She looked back at him to find his gaze taking in everything from her business attire to the laptop case sitting on the stool next to her—the one she optimistically referred to as her purse—with a smirk on his face, and she bristled.
First Cassidy, now this guy. Everyone was suddenly a critic.
She tossed back the whisky in one bracing gulp. “I’ll have another.” The badass effect was ruined by the strained quality of her voice as the liquor burned its way to her gut.
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned his back, but not before she caught the hint of a patronizing smile on his lips.
Ass. She distracted herself as she awaited her second drink by checking her e-mail again. Nothing, naturally, but this time, the sting was dulled slightly by a pleasant fuzziness in her chest.
Quality whisky. She’d have to take time and actually taste it the second time around.
The bartender dropped off her second glass, and Victoria wrapped her fingers around it, squeezing tightly to keep them from wandering to her phone again. She raised the glass to her lips and drew in a deep breath, the dark scent of the spirits filling her lungs. Really quality whisky. The bartender probably thought he could pull one over on the little lady and give her something expensive without her noticing until the check came, but she couldn’t bring herself to mind. This was one damn fine drink.
Hard Work Page 1
