by Ann Raina
“They don’t need a key.”
“Good.” Before he reacted, she rolled from the bed, collected her clothes on the way to the bathroom and shut the door.
He lay on the sheets, flabbergasted. He wanted to say, There’s no need to be embarrassed. Or, Take your time and we do it again. But she had left him no chance. While he shed the chains, he heard her bumble around the bathroom and within record time she was out again, dressed, hair brushed. She put her shoes on.
“This is not my usual way of—” She waved a hand instead of ending the sentence.
He sat on the bed and coiled the rope she had used.
“Really, please, don’t think, I do this often.”
“I don’t.” He tied a knot at the end so the rope wouldn’t unwind again.
She sighed, exasperated, when he accompanied her to the door. She opened it, faster than he could help her. “And I must admit—” She wet her lips, one hand stretched out as if to touch him, but thought better of it. “I’m not a Mrs. Smith. Sorry.”
Then she was out, swung the purse over her shoulder and left Michael to digest the news. He shut the door and bumped his head against the wood. “Shit! Fuck! Shit!”
There was lively chatter in the kitchen when Michael came down for a late dinner. All lights were on, the table loaded with large plates with slices of meat, bread and cheese. Mona served sandwiches, salads and fresh pressed juice. She smiled all over her face, enjoying serving the throng of men.
He glanced along the table. The two rows of men looked like the Olympic swimming team. And judged by their joyous laughter, it was the moment after winning the gold medal. All of the escort guys were tall—Michael was the smallest at five foot ten—and well built. Their outer appearances however differed as if Lady Summerston had decided to offer her customers the utmost variety in men. There were blonds with short cut beards, dark-haired men with clean shaven faces and others sported long hair like Eric.
Spotting him, their smiles contained all the mockery they could muster without laughing in his face. He had known the beans would already be spilled, so all he could do was pretend listlessness. After all, he was the butt of jokes. Denying the truth wouldn’t make it better.
“Next time you play tag with a Mrs. Smith, better check if she’s the right one,” Jason greeted him at the table.
Michael sat down and got a full plate, shrugging it off. “She was the only one there.”
“And a nice bite, or so I heard.”
“I don’t know who she was.”
“A Mrs. X instead of a Mrs. Smith.” Eric knocked on the table and the others whooped with laughter.
Jason tilted his head. “You didn’t know, that’s okay, but there was the real Mrs. Smith, who wasn’t so easily calmed.”
“What happened?” Ms. Monroe appeared in his field of view, face stern. He wondered where she had been hidden. With all the testosterone wavering in the air, he had expected this to be a men’s evening.
“First, she just thought you came belated. When you didn’t show up, she asked at the counter and I was called.” Her cheeks flushed. She blinked rapidly behind her glasses. “I can’t tell you how embarrassing it was to explain that another woman had taken her place!”
“How did you know?”
“Freemont.” Ms. Monroe nailed Michael with her glare. “If this happens again—”
He stopped the threat by lifting his hand. “Honestly, I didn’t suppose a woman to take the place of another. And I don’t know why that other woman came to the waiting room. How was I supposed to be certain if I didn’t even know her real name?”
Ms. Monroe had no reply at hand. “This better not happen again, Mr. Hathaway.” She left the kitchen with a threatening glance at everybody present.
Michael relaxed. Jason and some others shook out their hands as if they had touched something hot.
“Maybe they should get some cards to show to us.” Eric cocked his head. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out who she is. Describe her!”
Michael cut the description to the barest necessities, leaving out how beautiful she was and how much she had mesmerized him.
It was Patrick, one of the blonds with a tan so dark you took him to be a surfer, who answered. “I guess, it’s the woman working with Mr. Summerston. She’s a kind of secretary or something. I saw her two or three days ago.”
“She works here? I can’t believe it! But why was she in that room?”
“That’s something you should ask her when you see her again.”
“She didn’t say a word about that! She’s a secretary!” Michael could hardly conceal his excitement. The others took it for outrage that she had framed him.
“Sure.” Patrick gazed past Michael, who sat with his back to the window. “If you say long black hair—and since Eric is with us—I’d make an educated guess she’s on the way to her car.”
“What?” Michael’s head spun around. “She’s in the parking lot!” He put down this napkin and was up and out of the room in no time. Laughter followed him like a warm wave and he heard the pushing and shoving of chairs. They would all take front seats to watch him. Yes, the boys have a really good time.
He ran through the hall, down the broad stairway and flat out across the graveled lane to get to her before she slipped behind the wheel. “Wait!”
She hesitated at the open door and turned, pushing her sunglasses across the hairline. He reached her and she had the decency to look embarrassed. “I was hoping to see you again, but so soon?” Her smile held something he couldn’t quite place. Was it more than embarrassment?
“Your lie almost cost me my job!”
She raised her brows. The sunglasses slipped down and she caught them in time. “My lie? I just played along. You invited me.”
“You know what I do for a living, so why pretend you were someone else?”
She twisted the arm of the glasses between her fingers and shrugged. “Who could resist being Mrs. Smith for once?” She tried to touch his collar, but his hand was up and he took a step back before she reached him. “Suddenly shy?”
“Just irritated like hell.”
She dropped the hand and the playful expression vanished from her face. Her look was serious now, bothered. “Okay, I shouldn’t have done that. Right. So do you still want to see me again? Maybe at some other place?”
Michael’s first instinct was to say no and let her suffer, but, hell, here was the opportunity to get first-hand information. She was George Summerston’s secretary. He wouldn’t get any closer to the big boss. “Step a little closer so I can touch your hair. You had it spread all over me, but I never got a chance to touch it.”
“Is that some kind of fetish stuff? Touching means possessing or something else funky?”
“No.” He allowed a smile back on his face. “I just want to feel it. I thought about touching it the moment I met you, but there was no time.”
She stepped closer, her lips curled to that playful grin she had had the moment she had pushed him onto the bed. “You could’ve asked.”
“The one lying under is not allowed to ask.”
She laughed. “Please, cut the crap here. We’re grownups.”
He felt her warm hair under his fingertips, ran a hand through the mass that it glided like a soft waterfall. It was a feeling he loved and his words were heartfelt. “It’s beautiful, really. I’ve never touched such wonderful hair.” He cleared his throat when her look was nothing but soft mockery. “Tell me, would you really chastise me?”
“Would it be part of your dream tonight if I said yes?”
“Maybe it would be part of your dream to have me for yourself.”
She laughed. “Oh, you’re such a show off, Matt!” She gave him another moment before she stepped back. “Feels good what you do.” She cocked her head. “Maybe next time I offer you a minute of stroking me before I tie you up.”
His hand dropped. He couldn’t grasp his luck that she would meet with him again. “Y
ou don’t think I’ll let you do it again, do you?”
“Maybe.”
“At least not until you tell me your name.”
“Alyssa.” She put the sunglasses back on her nose. “You can call me Al.” She turned to get into her car.
Michael laughed, shook his head and still laughed while she put the car in gear and left the parking lot.
Chapter 8
Patrick and Eric had decided to go out for a drink and since Michael had no date for the night, he was asked to join. When they entered the Half Moon Bar, dressed as casual as their wardrobe allowed, the guests standing or sitting nearby turned their heads. It was close to putting a super trouper to their faces. For a moment conversations stopped. While the women checked their assets, the men judged them for trouble. Michael felt like being on a catwalk, dolled up for everyone to look at and judge. It was an awkward moment. He smiled warmly, but that was also a mistake. Anger spilled out of the men’s stares as if he had already talked dirty to their girlfriends.
When the doors closed behind them, the guests went back to their drinks and conversation. Some checked where the newly arrived went and made sure their girls had no intention to leave the table to join them. Only then they relaxed.
The big room was divided into two larger sections. Up front, close to the counter, stood small, wooden tables with silvery tabletops and fitting chairs. In the back section, elevated by one step, were larger tables with L-shaped benches for groups. Soft yellow light from overhead lamps made the bar cozy like an oversized living room.
Three waitresses moved snakelike through the throng of people, standing three deep to the counter and then some. Smoke hung in the air like London fog, mixed with the smell of beer, bourbon and sweat. There were other notes among them Michael didn’t want to know. He pushed his way gently through the crowd of chattering, drinking and smoking people until he could signal the barkeeper. He moved to the other side of the counter. Within yelling distance, Michael ordered three beers.
“It’s absolutely fantastic!” Eric shouted over the noise. His body moved with the music and he made eye contact with a woman about twenty, who sat at the other corner of the bar. She flashed a smile, then looked down at her glass again, not knowing where to put herself. Eric pushed back a long strand of hair like women do. He got the glances he expected. “I really love it here! Don’t you?”
Michael wasn’t so sure he liked it. After all, Eric and Patrick got more judging glances than he did so he was left wondering if he either used the wrong aftershave or the wrong clothes. Somehow it was annoying, but at the same time he called himself an idiot. The more reasonable part did. The other part wanted to strut around like a prized stallion and show off his assets. “Why did we take my car?” He paid the beer and pushed two glasses toward Patrick and Eric.
Eric took a swig. “Thanks. Mine’s broken.”
“Ah. And what if I hadn’t come along?”
“I’d have asked for your keys.”
“My keys?” Michael slapped Eric on the back of his head, a bit harder than was necessary. “Have you never learned to be polite?”
“Ouch! You sound like my dad.”
“Do I?” Michael’s gaze swept the room. A stout guy, face like a bulldog, grabbed his girl’s wrist. She winced and he let go after whispering in her ear. She dropped her gaze like a child that got reprimanded. Michael licked his lips. His sense of righteousness was on alert, but he didn’t get up to help. He did not want more attention to their threesome than they already got.
“Yes, you do!” Eric rubbed the spot Michael had hit. “Be polite. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. You need better grades. You have to work more. Blabla. Every day.” Eric followed Michael’s gaze, found a petite brunette with a ponytail and automatically smiled at her. She turned away, blushing and giggling. Eric looked back at Michael, a grin glued to his face. “Was your dad the same?”
“My dad was great. I learned a lot from him.”
“You lost him early?”
“Too early.” Michael felt the urge to change the subject. Talk about his father didn’t belong in a bar. He was convinced Eric didn’t want to know the whole story. He was already skimming the crowd again. The idea of a cheetah checking out a flock of gazelles came to his mind.
“What about the woman at the car?” Eric asked so suddenly, Michael coughed on his beer.
“What about her?”
“Will you see her again?”
“I might.”
“She had legs, wow, great.”
“She stood behind the car.”
“I bet she swims. Or takes a bike every day. What’re you going to do with her?”
“We’ll have coffee. Maybe next week.”
Eric grinned from ear to ear. “Which she feeds you with a straw since you’ll be bound to the bed, ey?”
Michael fought down the urge to squirm on the barstool. Hell, he didn’t know what he would do with her. He needed her friendship and she truly wasn’t bad to look at. If she was out for more, he might grant it. After all, he dated women for money. If he thought about it for too long, his mind would reel and throw in the towel. Better get back to matters that didn’t concern him too closely. “Tell me, what made this job so attractive for you?”
“Money.” Eric said it flat, without the usual amused undertone. He sat up straight on the barstool, his left hand around the glass. If he was irritated at the question, he didn’t show. “See, I got a sis, and she’s everybody’s darling. She’s intelligent, polite, well-educated. Every dad wants her to be his daughter-in-law. She studies marketing and overtakes everybody in class because she’s ahead with the subjects. She knows students of upper semesters and runs around the library every day. She’s a boy scout and takes care of old ladies in the neighborhood. Stop smiling, Matt, it’s no fun to have her at home.”
Michael shook his head. “Sorry, but your description tells me you’d want her to be the opposite of everything.”
“Might work.”
“Sisters can be a pain in the ass, I know. Because you’re always compared to her.”
“That’s damn right. And she’s the one adding her two cents to everything. But this time I beat her. I make money and she doesn’t. Not nice for her but true.”
“When she finishes her studies—”
“That’s years away! For once, I’m the one bringing in money. I sustain myself and don’t come running for money every week like she does. Mostly for books and such, of course. It’s only in her best intentions. Holla!” His gaze followed a longhaired blonde, who had just entered the bar. Of course, she couldn’t miss him as she wormed her way to the counter. Her shoulder brushed his. She gave him big, blue eyes under thick, black-colored lashes. A bedroom glance and an invitation Eric did not intend to miss. “Ho, wow! Lady, careful here! That’s private property.”
“If it’s so private why is it here?”
Eric opened his mouth, but she gently touched his lips with her index finger, smiled, and moved on. Eric whistled lowly and was about to follow her when Patrick caught his sleeve and held him on the barstool. Eric licked his lips as if he had tasted sex.
Michael sighed. It was hard to talk with someone whose mind was on stand-by. “But is it truly what you want? This job, I mean?”
He turned back from the blonde long enough to frown. “That’s one personal question, Matt.”
“Sorry.”
Eric took a swig of his beer. “I like what I do. And where I do it. I wouldn’t wanna be on the street to find dates that pay me. That’s something I don’t even think about. But this way it’s great. And don’t you deny it!”
He laughed and was about to flirt with the young woman when Michael claimed back his attention. He had already seen a guy in a polo shirt only four feet away, who was very anxious for the young blonde and where her gaze went. He didn’t look as if he believed in She started this. He would punch first and ask questions later. “Careful here, Eric, she’s not alone.” Eric shrugged.
“Do your parents know what you do?” Michael took another swig of beer.
Eric sounded a tad impatient. “Yes, they do. And I can’t tell you… No, I would’ve loved to show you the expression on their faces when I told them! They were shell-shocked!”
“I’d bet.”
Patrick pulled the small bowl with nuts while he also checked the crowd for women. It was like a sport of some kind they couldn’t resist playing. Michael thought he was getting too old for this kind of game.
Eric pointed out the blonde. “Did you see her? Wow, that’s what I call legs.”
“Right. A fine bite for sure.” Patrick turned so he showed his face to the public, the all-smiling surf star. If he planned on a bang-up night in a hotel room, he would certainly find company. A lot of company. His smile widened when a Latino lady claimed his attention. She stood beside him and they made small talk in no time, lots of deep tones included. Temperatures in the bar were instantly rising.
“The driver’s job was on the edge,” Eric continued, shedding a glance at Michael. “They didn’t like it, but since I drove a wealthy, well-respected lady of our hometown, they swallowed it like a frog. But this…I didn’t tell ‘em that the lady herself got me into Lady Summerston’s escort service. That would’ve been too much. After all, they’re on friendly terms with her.” Eric beamed with delight and winked at another woman closing in to the bar. It was the place to be seen and see everybody around. He offered to flirt, but she shook her head, irritated. Eric turned back to Michael. “Mom was stunned and Dad forgot his drink. I’d never seen them like that before.”
“And you plan to stay here until…”
“Don’t know. It’s a good life, so why quit?” Eric’s attention drifted off once more. He didn’t see the boyfriends, but they had already checked the threesome.
Michael had the feeling of being judged for size, ability and muscle. The hair in his neck stood on end when he realized that flirtatious young men were targets if they didn’t stick to their drinks. Period. “You mean, you haven’t planned for some other occupation?”
