Pride and Prostitution
St James, Penelope
Ellora’s Cave Publishing Inc. (2013)
* * *
Tags: Erotica
Pride and Prostitution
Penelope St. James
An invitation for a girls’ weekend with her best friend is exactly what Gemma needs. The Ritz is opulent, seductive and anonymous—the ideal place for her to pitch her perfect manners and take a walk on the scandalous side.
One martini into NYC and David, a distractingly handsome local, appears as if sent by the vacation gods. Each passing reference to Austen and every wicked curve of his mouth tempts Gemma into luring the brawny brainiac up to her suite. She’s never been a one-night stand sort of girl, but what’s life without an exception for every rule?
Of course, Gemma never thought this particular exception would get dressed the next morning as an FBI agent who mistook her for a call girl. Trapped between an investigation implicating her best friend and her unrelenting attraction to David, Gemma is forced to work with the FBI to untangle the mess she’s landed in. If only it were so easy to untangle her heart.
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Pride and Prostitution
Penelope St. James
An invitation for a girls’ weekend with her best friend is exactly what Gemma needs. The Ritz is opulent, seductive and anonymous—the ideal place for her to pitch her perfect manners and take a walk on the scandalous side.
One martini into NYC and David, a distractingly handsome local, appears as if sent by the vacation gods. Each passing reference to Austen and every wicked curve of his mouth tempts Gemma into luring the brawny brainiac up to her suite. She’s never been a one-night stand sort of girl, but what’s life without an exception for every rule?
Of course, Gemma never thought this particular exception would get dressed the next morning as an FBI agent who mistook her for a call girl. Trapped between an investigation implicating her best friend and her unrelenting attraction to David, Gemma is forced to work with the FBI to untangle the mess she’s landed in. If only it were so easy to untangle her heart.
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
Pride and Prostitution
Penelope St. James
Chapter One
Nothing could prepare Gemma for actually standing in the foyer of the Ritz Carleton, Central Park. The cream marble. The dark wood. It was like walking into Buckingham Palace. Not that she’d ever been or would ever get to go to Buckingham Palace.
Gemma adjusted the bag on her shoulder and had the sudden thought she shouldn’t be here. Her string of bad luck might bring this place to ruin. But the plane from Atlanta hadn’t crashed. The airline hadn’t lost her luggage, so maybe the New York state of mind was immune to her particular brand of doom.
She mustered up the courage to walk over to the registration desk. She counted on a lost reservation or a miscommunication between her and Annie.
“Good afternoon. How can I help you?” the young man greeted her with a smile.
“Reservation under Gemma Howard?”
The clerk typed away at the keyboard and the moment it was a beat too long, her heart sank. She wasn’t there. This had to be the wrong hotel or the wrong weekend.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if the registration got lost or the credit card bounced. You only need to have that happen to you—”
“Here we are. The other guest has already arrived. I’ll have your bag taken up to the suite.”
Suite? Seriously? When did Annie get enough money for a suite? “I’ll take care of my own bag, thanks.” There was no need to tempt fate.
The room was all golds and whites and smelled fresher than her apartment ever had. This was unreal. On some crazy level, this was magical. She walked through the suite after having locked the door, with an actual key, not one of those plastic card things. It was gorgeous and probably bigger than her apartment all together. There were French doors into the bedroom, an eating area and a view of Central Park in all its autumn glory.
This was heaven. So the plane had crashed and she was now dead and the Ritz Carleton was her heaven.
She put her bag in the walk-in closet to find that Annie had already unpacked and made herself comfortable. Dress after dress already hung on wooden hangers and her shoes already lined the bottom.
As she strolled out into the sitting area, she found a note with her name scrawled across it.
Gem, had to run to a meeting. Feel free to steal something from the closet. Meet you at the bar around eight? New York City, here we come.—Annie
Gemma sighed at the assumption she wouldn’t have anything to wear to a swanky bar in New York. Which, of course, she didn’t because the formal attire decisions in her life were usually which pair of lounge pants were clean that evening.
She eyed the closet again. Annie always had the best clothes and they were the same size. And Annie did say that she could borrow anything.
But first, she needed to wash the travel off herself.
Gemma only got out of the tub when she noticed her fingers begin to wrinkle. The warm water had melted away every knot and kink from being crammed into the tight airplane seat. The bath beads had left her skin soft and smelling like roses. For a moment, she was tempted to stay in the suite and let the king-size bed cradle her relaxed frame. But she had an entire closet at her disposal and it would be a shame to waste that.
She got out of the tub and wrapped up in the plush towel. She twisted her hair up into a turban and headed for the closet. Now for the fun part.
She flipped through the dresses. Black leather, blue silk. But what said “New York” to her? A scalloped edge, a short hemline?
Gemma knew she’d found the one when her fingers brushed the stiff black satin. She pulled it out and held it up against her. A fitted waist and a low neckline that would show off the only thing she was proud of, her chest. Perfect B pluses as perky as they’d been in college.
She knew that if Annie had already hung her things in the closet, she had put her underthings in the dresser. How strange would it be to borrow underwear?
Gemma smoothed her hand over the dress. It needed special underwear. Something as spectacular as the dress itself.
Annie will understand, Gemma thought. She laid the dress on the bed and went to the dresser. Sure enough, black and pink and white underwear lined up like soldiers in the drawer.
She picked up a black lace demi. The sheer black cup would leave nothing to the imagination and the lace wasn’t as soft as her usual jersey bras. She loved it.
Curled up next to it was the matching underwear, a soft rose lace would cover all the essentials but only by as much as a shadow.
Gemma wasn’t sure what was rolled up next to it in the matching pattern. She unfurled it to find a garter belt. She’d never worn a garter belt. Never needed to with her pantyhose lifestyle.
She smiled. She’d take the lot.
After she finally managed to pull on the threesome, she almost didn’t want to put the dress over them. Gemma took her hair out of the towel and inspected herself in the mirror.
The lace of the bra rubbed against her nipples, keeping them small and tight. The underwear cupped her butt perfectly and the garter belt made her waist look miniscule. The stockings left a glow to her legs as if she’d been bathing in moonlight rather than rose oil.
She’d never been so aware of her own body before. The tight strap of the bra, the clasp of the garter at the top of her ass. Not uncomfortable, but there, like a reminder of how sinful she’d look underneath the black dress.
She didn’t bother to put the robe on as she went to fix her hair. She w
anted to enjoy the view a bit more.
* * * * *
“So I’ll go in and talk to the girl and you can sit on surveillance.” Even after the words came out of his mouth, David knew it was a horrible idea.
However, after staring at each other for a day and a half now, it was the only plan they had. They couldn’t afford to lose an opportunity to flip this woman into an asset. Their supervising agent said the intel was fresh and actionable and was sure this was a slam-dunk case for them.
Renner laughed. “You the face and me the sitter? Are we that desperate?”
“The intel is good. She’s meeting with a john tonight. We get her on tape, do the big reveal and then offer the deal. And even if she doesn’t, we still have one in the bag. Either way it’s a win for us. And we both need a win right now.”
Renner sighed.
David knew the sigh was Renner agreeing with him. Their last case together had been so fraught with bad luck that Renner had ended up shot in the foot and David’s surveillance van had ended up in a high-speed chase, culminating with him in a ditch and a million dollars worth of equipment destroyed.
Renner looked down at David’s suit. “You’ll never pass as a millionaire in, what is that, Sears?”
David pulled at his jacket. It was a perfectly good suit. Well, the midsection hung a bit loose, but David had to hide the bulk of his gun somehow. He didn’t have the confidence that Renner had to have his gun so obviously wedged under his arm.
That was why Renner was usually the face of their operations, the one who interacted with the suspects. Renner had a look that made women’s panties drop. David had no such superpower. If fact, most of the time, he couldn’t get women to believe that he was even a federal agent.
“I’ve got a Savile Row in the closet,” Renner said.
David followed his partner through the bedroom, trying desperately not to chuckle at the way Renner had to waddle around the room. Before the debacle of their last case, the man was a gazelle compared to David’s giraffe and hadn’t minded telling David that on a few occasions.
“Quack, quack,” David said under his breath.
“Shut the hell up,” Renner barked as he reached into the closet for a garment bag. “Review the case.”
David went into reciting the solid facts of everything. It calmed him. He pulled off his coat and tossed it on the bed.
“The woman—brunette, five-foot-five. Fairly new to the escort business, but rose pretty quick. Seen on the arm of two prominent senators already on a watch list for corruption.” David took his gun from its holster at his waist and placed it on the bed, followed by his badge and wallet.
“Why haven’t we picked her up before?” Renner handed him the pants.
David stepped out of his shoes and dropped his pants. “Possible asset. We need her list to see if she’s part of a new service.” David pulled on the new trousers. “Why are these so tight?”
“Shows the girls what you’re working with.”
David rolled his eyes as he tucked in his shirt. “So confirm she’s working with this new ring and try to flip her.”
“I bet she’s used to being flipped.” Renner chuckled.
David sighed. He didn’t understand how Renner got all the women with an attitude like that. He pulled on the jacket then turned to the mirror. Outside of the unruly hair, he didn’t look bad. The cut of the suit made his shoulders look broader. He stood up a little straighter and tugged at the cuffs. He looked pretty good.
There was no way in hell that his holster was going to fit underneath the snug jacket or in the waistband of his pants. Guess I’m going in naked.
“What about a wire?” he asked.
“Probably a good idea since you couldn’t charm a bee with honey.”
Renner hobbled out of the room to prep the earpiece. David chuckled again. At least he could walk.
He looked at himself one more time. Stick to the plan. Flip the girl.
Chapter Two
At a quarter to seven, Gemma got bored waiting for Annie. Her contacts had started to bother her because she had read the first five chapters of Price and Prejudice without the benefit of her glasses. To the bar it was.
She did decide to wear her own shoes. Call it a thing, but shoes were her weakness. Like the garter belt constantly reminding her to sit up straight, shoes were a subtle reminder that she was, in fact, female and did want to attract members of the opposite sex.
Gemma buckled the strap at her ankle and looked once more into the mirror. It still needed something. Not earrings. She had her hair down. A necklace? Something to decorate the lovely neckline she had going on.
She shifted through her own collection and came up lacking, so she dug into Annie’s luggage. Annie had been in the accessory business a few times and always had beautiful jewelry. This was no different. Hidden away in a black velvet box was a stunning peacock necklace in faceted sapphires and emeralds. Gemma clasped the silver bird around her neck and it fell to the top of her cleavage. The cold metal against the exposed curve of her breast was perfect.
She was ready to go down to a New York bar and wait, alone, for her friend. Hell, Annie might not even recognize her.
She grabbed her smartphone and a small clutch—another steal from Annie’s closet—for the room key and her ID.
As she reached for the gilded door handle, she surveyed the room. Something was different, lighter. Maybe it was the crisp New York air. Maybe it was the pillow-soft mattress waiting for her when she got back to the room. Maybe it was her.
The bar was just as opulent as everything else in this place. The mirrored wall glowed amber with the line of liquor on the shelves. The high stools were polished leather. Everything Gemma would expect from a place that had pearl bubble bath in the bathrooms.
The bar was populated but there was still an empty seat next to the TV. No ball games on today, so all the businessmen were sipping their poisons around other tables.
“Can I get you something?” the bartender asked as he put out a coaster.
“Martini.”
“Got it. Room?”
Gemma smiled. She was totally charging this one to Annie. Call it a late tax. “1216.”
The bartender nodded and went to fix her drink.
She had to hop to get on the barstool. She looked around and took it in. She enjoyed the stillness of things not falling apart. Her job had gotten worse lately, but in this economy, you didn’t walk out on a paying job, even a low-paying, low-appreciation job. So she listened to the constant ranting of her boss, letting her know how much of a screw-up she was, when she knew that she was the one holding the store together.
Gemma sipped her martini. Perfect. Why wouldn’t it be? She was actually beginning to think that this place was a kind of heaven, or at least the kind of retreat she needed right now. No one needed anything from her. No one needed helping. It was just two days in New York with a college friend to be those carefree girls again.
She sipped her drink and looked up at the TV to watch the news.
“Depressing, isn’t it?” A male voice slipped over her bare shoulder.
Gemma turned quickly to see a tall, slender man take the stool beside her. She didn’t quite know what to look at first, the wavy tuft of ginger hair on his head or the absolutely perfect cupid bow of his upper lip. He unbuttoned his coat—his hands told her that he was in his early thirties, but his eyes could have been those of a sixty-year-old.
“The news nowadays,” he continued. “Crime on top of death with a dash of disease.”
“Actually it’s all sensationalism. It’s all, ‘How can we scare people into watching our program so they purchase from our sponsors?’”
“Wow, a true cynic.”
“I don’t like lying to myself.”
His lips curled into a sly smile. “David.” He offered his hand.
“Gemma.” She hadn’t meant to give him her real name. It sort of fell out. So much for going with the “What happens in New Y
ork” strategy she’d worked out on the plane.
His broad hand was warm and soft as he squeezed gently. The old adage about men with big hands zipped through her brain and she had to fight the salacious thought away.
“That is a stunning necklace, Gemma.”
She smiled and played with the peacock dangling from her throat. “Thank you. I saw it and knew it was for me.”
He turned to order a drink from the bartender and his knee brushed hers. The sizzle ran up her leg and spread through her body like a shot of tequila. When he turned back to look at her, his hazel gaze was like the sour lime that made her stomach tighten and her nipples harden against the rough lace of her bra.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Gemma couldn’t help but smile. This never happened. She could count on her hand the number of times a guy had asked to buy her a drink. But then again, she’d never been in New York, in this bar, in this dress.
* * * * *
David watched her lips so intensely he nearly forgot to listen for the reason he was there—the actual pitch for her services. The crystal chime of her laughter at his jokes hypnotized him. Her emerald eyes never left him and caught the light like the emeralds against the creamy skin of her inner breast. He couldn’t wrench his gaze away from her. It was the way she acted as if she weren’t the most alluring creature in the world.
This woman was more than good at her job. She was reinventing it as they spoke. They had worked prostitution rings before and the services were just that, service. But this woman. He could have never imagined this much life from the grainy surveillance photos.
“That’s when I realized Austen really was queen of snark.”
David laughed. “How can you say that about the woman known for capturing the essence of the Regency period?”
“I’m not arguing that she didn’t capture the rules of the Regency period. I’m saying the woman was vicious and it’s wonderful.”
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