by Mel Teshco
Even in her sexiest escort outfits, Natalie had displayed an effortless style and grace that caught his attention and aroused him without even trying.
He exhaled heavily. “And you must know your fixation with me has to stop.”
Her eyes flashed. “Is that what you came here to tell me?” Her voice rose. “Don’t you find me attractive, is that it?”
He frowned. “You’re a beautiful woman, I’m sure you know that. But looks aren’t the only quality I want in a woman.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on her interlinked hands. “The sex we shared was incredible,” she said huskily, “you can’t deny that.”
His frown deepened. He could hardly even recall their one time together; the sex surely couldn’t have been that amazing? “It was purely a physical release. You know as well as I there was no emotional connection.”
Her fingers whitened, her voice sharpening. “Keep telling yourself that and you might even start to believe it.”
Anger flared and then subsided. He had no idea how he’d react if Natalie shunned him either. Not only that, he doubted he’d ever be able to give her up, he’d chase her to the ends of the earth if that was what it took.
Jesus, maybe he and Jasmine weren’t all that different at all.
Then the dark-haired woman blinked back sudden tears. His lips pinched. He wasn’t falling for her wet eyes and trembling chin. She was a woman scorned and a consummate actress to boot. She’d already tried every trick in the book to get what she wanted.
What exactly did she really want from him? Evidently, it was a man whose heart belonged to another woman. His jaw clenched, his throat closing up as frustration expanded. He’d been so wrong, he wasn’t anything like Jasmine. He could never stand by and watch Natalie sleep with other men.
He sighed. Why hadn’t he realized Jasmine didn’t care about love? She wanted the status symbol, a celebrated and wealthy boyfriend.
She wanted a trophy lover.
He pushed a hand over his face, feeling suddenly old. “Jasmine, I can tell you one thing right now, we’ll never share a bed again.” At her narrow-eyed, vindictive gaze, he added, “But what I can offer you is a payoff.”
Her eyes sharpened, brightened, and she made a half-hearted attempted to thread scorn through her denial. “If you think I’m another one of your whores, you can think again—”
“Two hundred thousand to stay away from me and never contact me again.” He smiled, but felt nothing but coldness. “And, more importantly, to stay away from Natalie.”
Jasmine slumped back in her seat, her face pale and her expression almost resigned. Except he couldn’t fail to notice the glitter of avarice in her stare even when she said, “Natalie… so that’s her real name.”
He ignored her question. “You will also receive a further fifty thousand if you decide to move to another city and start again.” He flicked a look at his watch. “You have one minute to agree. Say the word and my lawyer will be here within the next two minutes with all the appropriate paperwork for you to sign.”
He’d had this whole scenario organized even before Jasmine had texted back an address of where to meet. Having Natalie in his life was all he cared about anymore, and paying off the dark-haired witch was a small price to pay towards achieving that goal.
He swept Jasmine a look. She didn’t look anywhere near as beautiful with her feverish, over-bright eyes and flushed skin. Greed was stamped all over her face. And although it made a nice change from her obsession, he was even gladder he hadn’t been foolish enough to give in and stay with her. “Either way, once the minute is up I’m leaving here and you’ll never see me again.”
She bit into her bottom lip, indecision and yearning chasing over her face. Maybe some of those feelings had been real for him after all, he conceded. But in the end money would win out.
Her chair scraped back loudly and she pushed to her feet. “All right, I’ll do it.”
He stood with a grim smile of satisfaction and murmured, “Good choice. Your time was almost up.”
He turned and nodded to the suited lawyer standing across the street waiting for the verdict. The lawyer would explain every facet of the paperwork to Jasmine. Explain what would happen if she broke the deal. Turning back to her, he rasped, “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out quite the way you hoped.”
She flushed, her eyes glittering. “Not as sorry as I am.”
He nodded, and then turned on his heel to make his escape.
But not before she added, “But things might not turn out quite the way you hoped either.”
He didn’t turn back and ask exactly what she meant. He didn’t want to play any more mind games with a woman he wanted out of his life. He checked the street for a break in the traffic before he strode toward his cherry red Mustang.
He had a little detour to make. He fired up the engine and pulled out onto the road. And though he told himself it was to make sure Natalie was fine, he knew it was as much to reassure himself.
When a few minutes later he cruised past the stretch limousine that was parked just down the road from the Crazy Duke Inn, he found the nearest available space on the curb to park before he strode to his limousine and it’s driver, Joe.
Thin as a beanpole, Joe was standing outside the car, clearly waiting for his passenger.
“Natalie not back yet?” he asked Joe, his words clipped. He had no time for pleasantries, not when a bad feeling was tripping off his internal alarm.
Joe shook his head. “Not yet, sir.”
Amos struggled to catch his breath. Fuck. Was it his turn for a panic attack after all these years of calm?
“Sir, are you okay?”
Amos forced a nod. “Is she still inside the inn?”
Joe’s face paled a little, fully aware of his boss’ frazzled state. “I haven’t been inside. But I doubt she’d gone anywhere else.”
“Why is that?”
Joe swept a hand to the back of the car. “She left her bag with me. No woman I know would ever willingly leave one of their most personal possessions behind.”
“Yeah, except she’s not like other women.” He gritted out, before stalking to the Crazy Duke Inn and scanning the one level layout. There were probably twenty or thirty people inside, but there was no sign of his woman.
He turned, his gaze landing on a man sitting in the corner of the Inn, staring gloomily into his beer with an empty wine glass opposite him.
In three long strides, Amos was in front of the man. “Toby, is it?” he asked.
The other man looked up. A good-looking, Richard Gere type, with thinning gray hair and a deceitful air. “Yeah, do I know you?”
“No, you don’t. But I believe we might share a common interest.”
The other man frowned, before the truth dawned. “Tiffany,” he said.
Amos couldn’t help but chuckle darkly. “Is that what you call her? I use her real name.”
Toby glowered. “She told you her real name?”
He nodded. “I can hardly call my future fiancée by her working name, can I?”
Toby pushed to his feet. “You’re fucking marrying her?”
“If she’ll have me, yes, I am.”
A vein in Toby’s temple throbbed into life, his eyes jagged with disbelief and more than a little envy. “That’s bullshit. You know she’s in love with me, right?”
The older man was lying, it was written all over his face. Natalie might have been a call girl, past tense, but Amos trusted her implicitly. Her profession might be built around lies to suit her particular client’s tastes but, under her stunning surface, she was the girl next door.
“I hate to break it to you,” Amos said with a casualness he was far from feeling, “but she feels nothing for you but contempt and distrust. You left her hanging high and dry, and I was the one who set her free.”
Toby slowly sat back down. But it was evident he hadn’t yet given up the fight when he looked up with fla
shing eyes and said, “Really? Is that why your little floozy spouted off to Tiffany about waiting to marry you after the tour?”
His heart twisted. “My little floozy?” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I’m guessing you’re talking about Jasmine.”
“Yes, I had a lovely chat to her after Tiffany stormed off. Jasmine’s quite a woman. Might even take her up on the offer and meet up.”
Amos curled his lip, feeling a deep distaste for the greasy worm who’d thrown away the best thing that could’ve happened to him. “Do what you want, Jasmine’s a free agent.”
Toby raised a brow and sucked down some more of his beer. “So you really have fallen for Tiff,” he murmured.
“What man in his right mind wouldn’t?” Before Toby had a chance to respond, Amos added neutrally, “Did Tiffany believe Jasmine?”
Toby laughed, his eyes alight with mirth. “Of course, she bloody did. She’s a whore, men don’t marry whores. They marry women like Jasmine.”
Amos wasn’t a violent man. But his whole body tensed, heat rushing through his body and sending his heart pounding. His fist flew, the bone jarring punch sending Toby sprawling from his chair and onto the floor.
Amos stood over him, his vision shot with red. “A man would be fortunate to find a woman who is truly beautiful inside and out.”
A crowd of spectators was already drawing around them. He heard their excited whispers as recognition dawned. He scraped together his sanity and pulled his fist back to his side. This wasn’t the kind of publicity he wanted or needed, but he’d do it all again in a heartbeat.
Toby sat with a groan, swiping the back of his hand across his bloodied nose before looking up at Amos with hatred leaking from his eyes. But he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut and his profanities to himself.
Amos’ grin was a hard twitch of his lips. “Enjoy your lonely life.” He spun on his heel and stalked away from the scene.
He didn’t give a damn about the consequences of his actions. He didn’t even give a damn about his tour.
All he cared about right then was the woman he needed to track down.
Dragging out his phone, he rang the VIP Desire Agency. Maisey answered on the first ring, and he said gruffly, “Hi, it’s Amos. You’re probably sick of hearing my voice, but I really need to see Tiffany.”
He wouldn’t let on to Maisey that he’d learned Tiffany’s real name.
“Amos.” She purred. “I never get sick of hearing your voice, not when it involves you purchasing more time with my girls. Speaking of which, the beautiful Savannah has had a late cancellation—”
“I’m not interested in anyone else. Just Tiffany.”
“Well I’m sorry to hear that, but Tiffany has put in a request for a new client.”
“She’s what?” He heard his voice from a great distance away, his heart beating erratically in his chest and his blood pressure bubbling in his ears.
“I’m sorry, Amos, I know how much you like her. But my girls are my priority and I take their likes and dislikes into consideration.” Her voice dropped. “Please tell me you didn’t hurt her?”
He blew out a harsh breath, bristling with defense. “I wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head.”
“That’s good to hear.” Maisey’s voice softened fractionally. “Please ring me any time if you have a change of heart and desire time alone with one of my other gorgeous girls.”
Maisey disconnected the call and he resisted throwing his cell to the ground and stamping it underfoot. Instead, icy calm moved over him.
He had much to do.
Chapter Thirteen
‡
Tiffany kept a smile pasted on her face as Harry escorted her around the crowded, grand opening of his latest Heavy-Weight fitness center. It was apparently his biggest center yet, an exclusive club where only the wealthiest clientele could afford membership.
It wasn’t hard to believe. The place was beyond impressive, all multi-leveled chrome and glass. Squash courts, aerobic classes, martial arts, three gyms, and a heated pool where he’d hired a world-renowned coach to drill slobs into athletes—Harry’s words—were just some of its attributes.
A fruit smoothie kiosk competed with a bar, where waiters circulated with trays of beers and champagne for the thirsty people wandering around and taking everything in. Two slender women in gold bikinis and sashes with the fitness center name written in bold handed out flyers and discount cards.
“This is going well,” Harry said with a self-satisfied grin, putting his arm around Tiffany’s shoulders before he brushed a kiss against her cheek. “I can’t wait to celebrate its success later tonight,” he murmured intimately.
She managed a smile but wondered if it was more a grimace. Her heart wasn’t in it at all. Not even her client’s decent looks and affable personality put a positive spin on the evening.
“You look gorgeous, by the way,” Harry added, as though aware she needed encouragement.
She glanced down at her silver, sparkly, form-fitting dress with its thigh side-split and plunging neckline that showed off a generous amount of her cleavage. Her breasts had been the perfect fit for Amos’ big, callused hands.
She shivered, her nipples hardening and her womb clenching. Maybe she could get through tonight by closing her eyes and imagining Harry was Amos?
Harry’s voice deepened. “I see you’re looking forward to it too.” His hand tightened around her shoulders and his fingers grazed her upper arm. A pity she experienced no answering response. She felt empty, disaffected. Numb.
Harry didn’t seem to notice, and Tiffany couldn’t help but judge. Amos had observed her every nuance of expression, had sensed her every mood. Her jaw tightened. It was probably an acquired skill he’d picked up from all the women he’d seduced.
She frowned. She had no doubt he’d make Jasmine a very happy wife one day.
A reporter approached with a clack of high heels and Harry’s arm tightened possessively around Tiffany, before he introduced her as his “date”.
The slender reporter, with her sleek auburn bun and long-lashed eyes, assessed Tiffany with a speculative gaze. “So, you’re no longer with Amos, from Frankenstein’s Blood?”
Tiffany’s belly squeezed tight at the reminder. Had word gotten around that fast? Obviously, just being seen with Amos was newsworthy.
She put on a calm face and said politely, “No, Amos has moved on.”
The reporter arched a brow and scribbled into a notepad. “That’s interesting. Gossip has it that he was smitten.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Harry interjected smoothly, before he steered the conversation in the direction of his grand opening.
The reporter looked annoyed, but got on with her job, while Tiffany nodded and smiled at the appropriate moments. But all the while, her thoughts strayed to Amos. Did he have any clue that Jasmine had told her the truth? When had he realized she wasn’t coming back? Was he even now at his concert, maybe even planning to sing the song he’d written for her?
She sighed, hating she wanted to know that and so much more. Hated that she still wanted to be with him, despite the fact he’d planned to get rid of her the moment he settled down after his world tour.
What if you’d been able to change his mind in those months on tour? What if he decided he couldn’t live without you, after all?
She shoved away the thought with ruthless determination. She’d once thought she’d loved Toby too and she’d been wrong. She should have learned her lesson the first time around. Except, while her feelings for Amos had been deep and real, whatever she’d felt for Toby had been shallow at best.
“Fitness and health is the mainstay of my life, the key to looking amazing.” Tiffany zoned back into the one-sided conversation between Harry and the reporter, and smiled at the jaded woman jotting down pertinent notes.
Harry needed Tiffany to look gorgeous on his arm, since it gave his brand and his image a nice boost. Working out attributed to a person looking good. Sh
e hid a sudden smile. She wasn’t about to let on that her exercise routine entailed nothing more than sexual workouts with her many clients.
The reporter scribbled down the last of her notes and took a photo of them, before Harry led Tiffany toward comfy lounges and square tables in a quieter corner of the room. They sat on a two-seater, and Harry lifted a hand and motioned over a waiter.
Taking two champagne flutes, he passed one to Tiffany and then raised his glass. “To a successful launch and an amazing night ahead.”
She downed the fizzy champagne in just a couple of gulps. She’d need all the courage she could get. She fought back a rising tide of hysteria. No call girl she knew dreaded a night with a handsome, half-decent man. And lord only knew she’d been with a lot worse clients than Harry.
Clients like Toby, who promised the world and gave her nothing.
Meeting Amos, falling in love with him… it’d wrecked everything for her. She wasn’t just crying inside, she was bleeding, her heart ripped into little pieces.
Harry moved closer, his eyes glinting. He had no idea she was slowly dying inside. He took her glass and put it onto a low table with his own glass. When he turned back to her, he said huskily, “I don’t know how I’m going to last the night without fucking you right here, right now.”
He clasped the back of her head, before he bent and kissed her. She put her hands on his shoulders, but not to revel in the wet kiss. God help her, she wanted only to shove him away, and then run and never look back.
“Natalie.”
She stiffened. It was the one name guaranteed to get her attention. That it was Amos who spoke it had all her synapses to snapping to attention even before she turned to drink in the man she wanted with every damn fiber of her being.
Harry jerked back, his face flushed and his stare flashing. “What the hell are you doing here? Don’t you have a concert or something to perform?”
She blinked, distantly aware that what Harry said was true. Amos was meant to be on tour. But, instead, he was here, staring at her as though she was the last woman on the planet.
