by Tina Donahue
Losing Control
Tina Donahue
Book 2 in the Appointment with Pleasure series.
When it comes to passion, there are no rules.
She wasn’t supposed to hunger for him. Tim was off limits to Catherine, a high-priced call girl with an uneasy past. Indulging in his raw desire shouldn’t have happened, especially at a party attended by the nation’s elite. Tim doesn’t know she works for the agency. If he did… That’s not something Catherine wants to confess. Drowning in his strength and heat, aching to see him again, she keeps her secret.
Tim has never met anyone quite like Catherine. Exotic, elegant, earthy, she’s the best of all worlds. Their evenings are sensual delights where voyeurism, bondage and a growing bond satisfy carnal needs and stir something deep within—until he stumbles upon the truth.
Shaken by her lies, Tim needs to prove the depth of Catherine’s lust and yearning once and for all. For him, their erotic adventure has only begun.
Losing Control
Tina Donahue
Dedication
To LKB—always remembered, always missed.
Author Note
Have you ever wanted someone you shouldn’t have? What if you couldn’t tell that person the truth of your past? Those questions fuel Catherine and Tim’s story in Losing Control, Book Two in my Appointment with Pleasure series. An erotic tale where passion is never easy to deny and love can be all but impossible to resist.
Chapter One
He was the one man she’d been forbidden to meet…to sleep with, exploring her most pressing carnal needs. With him, there would be many. Deep, hungry kisses, the feel of his nudity confining hers. His body hot, hard, demanding. His clean skin scented with musk.
At the thought of what she wasn’t allowed, Catherine Oliver whimpered.
He didn’t hear. He was in the foyer, at the bottom of the mansion’s sweeping staircase, one of tonight’s party attendees, not yet aware of her presence.
Good sense told Catherine to slip back into the powder room where she’d checked her makeup and hair a few minutes before. A group of women exited the spacious room now, some young, others matronly, all decked out in pricey gold necklaces, shimmering diamonds, rubies, pearls, designer silks and velvets. They left a trail of subtle perfume in their wake as they moved past her and the landing to the far end of the hall. Expensive fabrics swirled delicately around their ankles, a perfect match to their well-bred murmurs and subdued laughter.
Beneath it, Catherine heard Alexa Marsh’s warning in her mind.
“Tim Bellamy might be at the party this evening. He’s bad news, believe me. Stay away from him.”
Catherine didn’t retreat, not taking as much as a step back.
A lifetime of having others say she couldn’t do this or couldn’t be that had nurtured a stubborn streak. It and pure will had propelled her from less-than-humble beginnings to this Georgetown estate tonight. What she knew of Tim Bellamy—along with seeing him in the flesh, so to speak—kept her rooted to the spot, curious, needy for more. She trailed her fingertips over the polished mahogany banister, imagining she was touching the hard planes of his chest, his strong arms, his cock stiffened for her alone.
God, he was something.
In his early thirties, he wore his dark-blond hair cropped short on the sides with a bit of length at the top. After a few minutes of bed play, those thick locks would surely tumble over his forehead. His eyes were gray, his features masculine, downright aristocratic, a strong jaw and rich mouth. The kind a long-ago ruler might have owned, his deep baritone equally impressive as he ordered his newest concubine…an untried virgin…to pleasure him or else.
On a quiet sigh, Catherine leaned against the rail, drinking him in.
Despite his blond hair and ashy eyes, his complexion was a healthy bronze, as though he’d recently spent time in sun-drenched climes rather than the District’s dreary winter. It wasn’t hard to imagine him naked on a beach, his lean, muscled body flexing with each step he took across the sand, or him riding a horse bareback, his strong thighs hugging the animal, the breeze tugging his hair.
A wave of warmth radiated from Catherine’s chest to her face. She gripped the rail, unable to pull her attention from him.
His expensive tux draped his frame perfectly. He was a tall man. Six-two according to the dossier the agency had on him. One she’d gone through repeatedly, drooling over his photos, impressed by his education and that he’d turned his back on his family’s business to carve out a career of his own. Not only had he succeeded in that endeavor, those on the Hill respected him. Whether his stand on issues was popular or not, he was a man others knew would never go back on his word. He never promised what he couldn’t deliver. He didn’t lie.
Catherine liked that and wished she could say the same about herself, rather than watching him like some sicko voyeur. It was all she was allowed and it wasn’t nearly enough. Neither were the details she knew about him from his file, compiled shortly before he and his friends, Hunt and David, had spent an evening with Alexa, with Hunt falling for her. At the time, Alexa was one of the most popular young women at the escort agency and had called herself Magique.
She now ran the place, gathering information on clients, making certain none of them were weird or would harm the escorts. Whether Hunt liked her continued involvement in the business or not wasn’t something Alexa spoke about. However, Catherine knew Hunt would never allow another man to touch Alexa again. He’d wooed, then claimed her for his own.
Catherine tried to imagine such devotion for herself, a man wanting her no matter where she’d come from, how she earned her living now.
Sure. She wasn’t that much of a romantic fool. Nor did Catherine resent Alexa for what she had. They were friends, with Alexa wanting only the best for her.
Which explained her warning to stay away from Tim. Privileged since birth, he’d never been told “no”, at least according to Alexa. She said he’d been reluctant to accept Hunt’s desire for her, a former call girl, even though Alexa had been born into breathtaking wealth as Tim had been. Their similar backgrounds should have made them fast friends, but hadn’t. Tim had taken his own sweet time to come around, settling on being coolly polite rather than friendly. Catherine could only imagine what he’d think of her rough origins.
She wanted to hate him for it. At the very least, she needed to ignore him for being such a self-righteous prick with Alexa.
The feeling didn’t come. She remained where she was.
Unaware of her continued scrutiny, he downed his scotch and soda as though he needed it to get through the night. No surprise. As parties went, this one was DOA, perfect for the terminally dull or prissy. Of course, the less uptight attendees were enjoying each other in the mansion’s numerous suites. Catherine had heard a few of those couples in her search for a powder room. The panting and gasps pouring from behind the doors hadn’t surprised her at all. She knew the elite made their own rules, doing whatever they liked, wherever they happened to be. Fueled by power, lust and booze, they were going at each other in those bedrooms like hormone-soaked teens.
Exactly what she and her “date” for this function should have been doing, with him giving her a much-needed orgasm, a few moments of pleasure.
The guy didn’t know the meaning of the term. He was twenty-six—the same as her—and a newly minted billionaire thanks to his Internet company. For a nerd, he was exceptionally good-looking and a narcissist who liked to hear himself talk and talk and talk. Damn, the man never ran out of words, mostly about himself, all of them as riveting as Keanu Reeves reading the white pages without any inflection, precisely like his acting.
After having staved off another yawn, Catherine had left her date in the b
illiards room with a bunch of other guys who were equally into themselves. None of them noticed her departure through their haze of cigar smoke. Even if they had, she still would have come here, searching for Tim, drawn to him by something deep inside she wasn’t about to explore.
His broad shoulders rose and fell on his heavy sigh that seemed almost lonely, the way she’d felt for too long. He glanced around. For his date, a young woman with a sterling pedigree? Suppressing a frown and a pang of envy, Catherine regarded the area. None of the women nearby appeared to notice him…and he didn’t seem to be coveting any female. Was he getting ready to leave?
Unable to help herself, Catherine went to the landing. To do what? Stop him? Strike up a conversation that might lead back to questions about her? What then? Give him a hearty dose of lies laced with just a scrap of truth to protect her client’s ego, to make certain no one here knew the jerk couldn’t get his own date? Would it be worth it?
Maybe. She’d be close enough to smell Tim’s skin. Their hands might touch. She could daydream about pressing her lips to his palm, nuzzling her face against his—
Tim raised his empty glass, stalling her thoughts. A young man with slicked-back hair nodded in acknowledgement. The guy’s short white coat was of a dated nautical design that would have looked good on the Titanic, his tray laden with a variety of colorful cocktails.
Without giving the server a second glance, Tim handed the boy his empty glass and suddenly looked up, meeting her eyes.
Catherine’s heart paused, then beat out of time.
Stay away from him, Alexa had warned.
Too late.
Heat poured through Catherine’s body, weakening it further. At that same moment, she saw a spark of animal interest—wanton and hungry—cross Tim’s handsome face.
“The same as before, sir?” the server asked.
Ignoring the young man, Tim stepped closer to the stairs, his face lifted to the young woman on the landing. He was vaguely aware of the party sounds fading, the steady drone of too many inane conversations and music drifting away, leaving only the rapid thumping of his pulse.
Who in the world was she?
More importantly, was she alone?
Tim hoped to god she was. Rarely had he witnessed anyone as…amazing. A better description eluded him. Seeing her on the stairs, framed in the chandelier’s light like an erotic vision, had stolen his ability to think and put his body into overdrive. His skin actually tingled. Hell, his mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow.
When was the last time that had happened with any woman since Fantine?
His one misstep and regret a long time ago in Paris.
A time he refused to think about now. Dismissing the past, he concentrated on this young woman. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties and was tall, five-nine or so without her heels. Tim caught a glimpse of them through the side slit in her gown. That baby was fucking awesome, the Maserati of dresses.
Of a coppery color, the fabric hugged her ripe breasts and the sweet flare of her hips. From where Tim stood, he could see that only a thin strap on each of her shoulders held the damn thing up, which bared them and her back, where the straps appeared to crisscross and the gown dipped to her waist. The chandelier’s light rained down, making the dress’s tiny beads glimmer, while also bringing out the reddish highlights in her dark-brown hair. Wavy and glossy, that mane reached past her bare shoulders, her skin a delicious tawny shade, complementing her dress and features.
She was either a Latina or possibly a mixture of Caucasian and African American. Her light eyes—blue or green—were indicative of her European ancestors. Her complexion and luscious mouth spoke of a more diverse past. To say she was lovely didn’t begin to define her allure. Exotic might work. Sensuous and sultry also came to mind.
With no effort at all, Tim smiled even as the rest of him remained frozen in awe.
She regarded him for a long moment, a bit of uncertainty flickering across her glorious features.
Why? Did his smile look odd? Too predatory? Did she really think any sane man could regard her in another way? Or was the problem something else…who she’d arrived with? A jealous boyfriend, or worse, a possessive husband.
Cautious, Tim checked her hands. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band, engagement ring or any ring for that matter. Her only jewelry was dangling earrings. The diamonds glittered in the light, drizzling pinpoints of color on her skin.
A group of women approached from the right and moved past her down the stairs. Two were senators, one the wife of a well-known oil baron, the last three lobbyists, the same as him.
The women chattered and laughed on their way to the foyer. Minutes before, Tim would have acknowledged them with a smile or a nod no matter how bored he’d been. That lassitude had evolved into such quick desire and interest, he was afraid they’d notice his hard-on. If his cock stiffened more than it already had, he’d be in serious pain.
He studied the young woman, imagining her shameless kisses, eager mouth and exploring hands. Her slender fingers would get rid of his clothing quickly, ripping it from him if need be.
No way would he mind that.
Once he was nude, he’d encourage her to crawl all over him, tasting his throat, belly, groin, touching all of his good parts too. Obedient to his desires, she’d lavish most of her attention on his cock, holding it in fascination, testing the weight of his balls in her palm.
Her touch wouldn’t be too light or too rough, but precisely what he required.
Unable to help himself, he stepped closer. The tip of his left shoe hit the bottom stair, its tiny tap lost beneath the party’s noise that began to intrude. Others moved into the expansive foyer, laughing, conversing, debating hot-button issues that they’d never agree on. In the grand reception hall, the pianist played Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, reaching the piece’s crescendo.
On those vibrant, wild notes, she descended, her gown fluttering around her long legs.
Images of them flooded Tim’s mind, her creamy flesh exposed to his sight, touch, taste. He pictured his mouth pressed to her furry mound and soft folds, so heated and damp, ready for his tongue and cock.
Bursts of heat spread from his groin to his thighs and chest, both energizing and weakening him. A freaking bizarre combination, like having the urge to jog during a heart attack. Taking a full breath became too much of an effort. All he could do was wait as she negotiated the staircase one slow step at a time. Her unhurried pace seemed deliberate, as though she wanted to keep him in suspense, see how much he desired her.
Was there any doubt? He was still here, wasn’t he?
Beads of lights from her sparkly gown danced over the gold-and-red stairway runner. A small purse, also copper, dangled from a dainty chain on her right shoulder. Gershwin’s tune reached another apex. Behind Tim, two men argued about a recent bill one of them thought shouldn’t have been passed.
At last, she stopped a step above him and smiled…almost as if she couldn’t help herself.
Tim gave her his most unvarnished grin, not wanting to question her initial hesitation. Having her this close was good enough, for the moment. The fragrance she wore was elegant and fragile, though not by too much. Beneath the floral tones, he detected a hint of musk, a heady blend that was ideal, seemingly made for her alone. He was absurdly pleased her eyes were green, a startlingly beautiful shade fringed with long, dark lashes. With no delay, he offered his hand to help her down the final step.
She accepted the courtesy as though they’d known each other forever. Her fingers curled around his, her palm achingly soft and hot.
It was a damn miracle his wasn’t sweating. He squeezed her hand gently. She stroked his thumb in acknowledgement that also held what appeared to be approval. A good sign. A woman in love with another guy or one who feared her man’s possessiveness didn’t behave like this.
Emboldened, Tim leaned closer and murmured, “Hi.”
Her smile softened at his greeting, confirming it hadn�
�t sounded nearly as unglued as he felt.
She tilted her face to their joined hands. “Hi.”
A groan of delight caught in his throat. Her tone was decidedly smoky and did wicked things to him, all of which he liked. With her hand in his, he assisted her down the final step and held on. No way was she leaving his side until she absolutely had to.
“What are you drinking?” He gestured for one of the servers, using the time to scan the area for any men who might be watching them.
Beneath one of the crystal chandeliers, two middle-aged industrialists stood. Both were admiring her ass and nearly naked back. Their horny expressions told Tim neither of them had ever met her and regretted it. Past them, senior congressional aides leaned against the pale yellow wall, arms crossed over their chests as they argued with the tuxedoed lobbyists facing them. Beyond that group hung priceless tapestries of pastoral scenes from the Middle Ages. In front of the largest were several women Tim knew from work or because he and they had once been lovers. Those he’d been intimate with didn’t pay him any unnecessary heed. Nor did he do so with them now that their affairs were over.
Without thinking, he blurted, “Why are you here?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to sound so blunt.” Ever so slightly, he tightened his hold on her hand, not allowing her to pull it away. “I meant, are you here with someone?”
Her expression went from cautious to bummed out. “Unfortunately.”
This was getting better by the minute. However, Tim warned himself not to become too cocky. “Fight with your boyfriend?”
One she’d already decided to break up with? He ran his thumb over the back of her hand.
Color rose in her cheeks. She parted her lips and leaned toward him as though she couldn’t resist. Her arm brushed his, sending a flurry of sensation through Tim’s body. Wicked. Wanting.
