by Mel Teshco
She swallowed past her suddenly dry throat. He held her clutch bag, with Harry’s business card in hand. At least she knew how he’d tracked her down. Except, even holding her dainty bag, he looked every inch a primal warrior, a man that Harry and every gym junkie in the building would want to emulate.
His forearms bulged in his black t-shirt, his legs long and strong in custom-ripped jeans. But it was his hard stare and his take no prisoners expression that caused her breath to catch in her throat and butterflies to flutter deep in her belly.
“I’m here to take my woman home,” Amos announced. “The tour can wait.”
Her throat constricted. He sounded like a caveman, like Tarzan. Add in his absolute certainty that she belonged to him and no one else, not to mention that she was more important than his concert; his fans, and damned if her willpower didn’t melt away faster than snow meeting lava.
Harry eyed Amos with disbelief. “I paid for her. For tonight, at least, she’s mine.”
Amos’ jaw tightened. “Like hell.” He looked stronger, taller in his conviction.
Tiffany—or was she Natalie now—watched the drama unfold like she was a spectator in her own dream. She pressed a shaky hand to her mouth, resisting a sudden desire to wipe away the taste of Harry’s lips.
Her hand dropped and she lifted her chin in challenge. “Amos, I’m not your woman.”
Something flickered in Amos’ stare, something that looked like pain. Her heart hardened. He’d probably never once experienced rejection before.
His tone was resolute, strong. “I’m not leaving without you. You’re more than my woman; you’re my heart and soul. You’re my fucking everything.”
She almost caved… almost. Except she was no longer the same naïve call girl who’d fallen for him hook, line, and sinker. She wasn’t the same woman who’d handed him her heart on a silver platter. Nowhere near it.
Harry turned back to her, his mouth a tight line and his eyes full of questions. “Is this why you can’t be with him, because he’s in love with you?”
“No.” Her voice cracked. “Amos can’t be my client because I’m in love with him.”
Amos inhaled sharply. “You are?”
Hadn’t he believed her the first time? Her eyes burned with pain and unshed tears. “My feelings don’t turn on and off like a switch.”
Harry shook his head, now more bemused than upset. “Tiffany, if you really want to be with him… then be with him.”
Amos stepped forward. “I know Natalie wants to be with me. Which is why she can’t be with you tonight. She can’t be with anymore clients.”
Harry raised a brow. “Except I’ve already paid for her services.”
“I’ll pay you ten times what you paid the agency.”
Natalie felt frozen in the spot. Not because of the crowd gathering around—most notably the fascinated reporter who scribbled down all the juicy details—but because she was once again drowning in yearning and hope. Drowning in emotions she didn’t want to experience again.
She stared at Amos. “You know it’s not that simple. I might be an escort but I have a heart too. And I have more standards than probably all those groupies you meet.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you, knowing you have another woman waiting for you at the end of tour.”
Amos stopped a step away from her when he asked hoarsely, “Did you really believe a woman you don’t know over a man who said he loves you?”
She drew in a breath, and then released it slowly, stopping herself from crossing her arms in a defensive gesture. Dear Lord. He was right. She didn’t know Jasmine, had nothing on the other woman in which to base her trust. “She showed me your text message.”
Amos’ nostrils flared. “She’s been stalking me for months, insisting we’re meant to be together.” His laugh had an edge. “We had a one-night stand and I thought that’d be the end of it. For Jasmine, it wasn’t.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She croaked out.
“I didn’t want to scare you.” He dragged a hand over his face. “Besides, I’d imagined it was Jasmine’s obsession that stopped me from wanting to form a serious relationship. Then I met you and I realized Jasmine had been a scapegoat, an excuse to avoid commitment.”
“And now?”
“And now I realize nothing will stop be from claiming the woman I love more than anything… more than even my music.”
Guilt pricked at her subconscious. He really did love her if he’d abandoned his first concert to be with her.
Harry turned to Amos and then back to Tiffany—no, Natalie—she’d truly always be Natalie now.
He sighed regretfully. “Well, I guess this means you two are getting back together again.”
Natalie stood and took the final step to Amos, before throwing her arms around his neck. Her mouth met his in a kiss that rocked her to the core, and she only barely heard the cheers and clapping of the people witnessing the scene.
She pulled back with a big smile. She no longer cared if people heard about her profession and judged her. She wasn’t ashamed, she was proud. Proud that a man like Amos loved her without bias. Proud that he loved her so much he didn’t want to share her with any other man.
His eyes shone as he looked down at her and murmured, “I love you, Natalie. Don’t ever doubt that again.”
She nodded jerkily. There was no way she could speak past the huge lump in her throat. When Amos picked her up and carried her past the cheering crowd, she could barely see through her tears of joy.
She was finally where she was meant to be.
Epilogue
‡
Natalie couldn’t wipe the grin off her face as she watched Amos from one of the VIP front row seats. His voice filled her heart with more love than was surely possible, which seemed incredible, considering the song he now crooned had once made her cry.
My lover chose another
My heart might never recover
What did I do?
I only ever loved you…
She’d listened to that same song after Toby had professed his love for her, and then disappeared from her life. Now, the song filled her with giddy joy and anticipation, not pain.
She sang it along with him, blowing him a kiss when his gaze returned to find her yet again.
She’d missed a bullet when she and Toby hadn’t gotten together, a bullet that would have bled her soul dry.
She’d blossomed under Amos’ love and devotion.
“And now, I’d like to share a song I wrote for a very special lady… the love of my life.” He walked across the stage and stood looking down at her. “Natalie, this one’s for you.”
Her lungs constricted, nervous energy and anticipation filling her as he sang about meeting a woman he wanted to marry. A kitten with claws and a heart of gold. She didn’t realize she had tears streaming down her face—happy tears—until he finished his song, looked at her before he dropped on a knee and said huskily, “Natalie, will you marry me?”
She didn’t recall leaving her seat and climbing onto the stage to cheers and whistles from the audience. She fell into his arms, laughing and babbling out, “Yes!” over and over.
He slid on a beautiful diamond engagement ring, kissed her one last time on the stage, and then nodded at his band mates. As they played a single from their latest album, Amos led her through the curtains and into the VIP room.
“There’s just one thing I need to tell you before we marry,” she said breathlessly.
His eyes darkened. “What is it?”
“I’d love to live in the country with you—at least, when you’re not on tour—I wasn’t being honest when I said I’d only ever live in the city.”
His stare softened. “We can live in my Sydney house every second weekend if you like. Then we can go out for dinners and shopping trips, even manicures if that’s your thing. And, of course, I’ll have some rooms built onto the country house for your father and his carer… anything that is need
ed. And we can always escape to the mountain cabin when we need some privacy.”
She smiled up at him, so happy her chest ached. “You know, I think I love you more every single day.”
His eyes glowed as he murmured throatily, “And I plan on keeping it that way.”
The VIP Desire Agency series
Welcome to the VIP Desire Agency, where only a privileged few are allowed. It’s here you’ll meet the stunning girls who are committed to tempt and seduce their high profile, powerful clientele. But not until entering this exclusive world and uncovering each of the girls hopes and dreams, ambitions and desires, will you discover it’s not all glamour and opulence.
Book1: Lady in Red
Kate’s story
Buy now!
Book 2: High Class
Claire’s story
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Book 3: Exclusive
Tiffany’s story
Buy now!
Enjoy an Exclusive Excerpt from Lady in Red
Book 1 in the VIP Desire Agency series
Mel Teshco
Copyright ©2016 Mel Teshco
Buy now!
Brandy Alexander, also known as Kate Matthews in her non-fantasy life, stepped out of the chauffeured town car that had collected her. Checking that her upswept hair was still in order, she smoothed a hand down her tiny, crimson leather dress.
Perfect.
Clutch bag firmly in hand, which carried the essential tools of her trade—condoms, lube, lipstick, hairpins and a cell phone, she waited until the car slid away into the night. When its taillights disappeared around a bend, she stepped toward the townhouse with its familiar red front door.
The heels of her thigh-high boots clacked on the granite walkway that led to where her regular client waited. She licked her lips. Blaine Leo Waymann, thirty-six years young and already a billionaire businessman and philanthropist. Not to mention voted “Australia’s Bachelor of the Year” three years running by Cleo magazine readers.
He could have had any woman he wanted, yet he’d asked specifically for her.
Lord only knew there were enough beautiful women at the VIP Escort Agency, where she worked. Savannah, with her slender body, exotic sloe-brown eyes and black-as-night hair. Tiffany, with her gorgeous silver-blonde locks and ice-blue eyes. Or perhaps Scarlet, with her flame-red hair and pale-as-lily skin.
A smile spread over Brandy’s face, melting the distant echo of insecurities clean away. This was why she loved her work. This was why she couldn’t give it up any time soon. She would never underrate the value of being wanted, even if it was only for one night.
Her breath puffed in the chill night air, but she barely felt the cold. Excitement warmed her blood until she wondered if she was flushed all over.
Hot, and past ready to be fucked.
Dozens of tiny, discreet garden lights chased away the shadows. Brandy smiled. She could probably walk this too-familiar path blindfolded.
She turned the doorknob, aware it wouldn’t be bolted.
She was expected.
Shutting the door behind her before routinely flicking its lock, she turned back to take in the expansive entryway. Marble floors and stark, white spaciousness.
Blaine had requested that she always wear red, and she often wondered if she was his one smoldering flame in an otherwise clean-cut and conventional existence. He was a generous and considerate lover, his skill and passion between the sheets indisputable.
He looked after those in his care. She had no doubt it was for his guests’ safety that he had a bodyguard or two stationed around the perimeter of his Sydney home. The same residence that, until recently, he’d occupied only sporadically.
He’d been a regular client, but his appointments with her had steadily increased. His fixation with her was becoming a habit. But she knew his type. He wanted what he couldn’t have. He’d offer her the moon, and if she accepted, the game would pall and his obsession would wane.
Her chin tilted as she squared her shoulders. She wasn’t in the business of having men lose interest in her.
She sashayed into the living room, with its vaulted ceiling and plush cream carpet. Faint notes of Vivaldi echoed through surround sound speakers, making her entrance somehow even more surreal than usual.
Blaine had eclectic tastes, and Brandy never really knew what to expect. Their every encounter had her gut coiled, as if it was a spring, and her body fueled with hot anticipation.
Going by tonight’s music, it seemed his mood was deep. Passionate. Intense.
The loud clink of ice drew her toward the adjacent room he used for entertaining. But her attention wasn’t on the bar and its upside-down bottles, or the dancing flames behind a glass domed fireplace.
She had eyes only for Blaine.
He’d recently had a shower, a white towel slung low on his hips and his dark hair almost inky black with moisture. With his back to her, she could afford to drink him in, appraise his athletic, toned body and olive skin, thanks to some distant Spanish heritage.
She swallowed hard as he pivoted to face her. His smile was a lazy quirk of his lips, a vivid contrast to the darkly sinful glint in his brilliant, gold-brown stare. He stepped toward her, dwarfing her even in her ludicrously high heels. Proffering a squat glass with ice and something alcoholic, he drawled, “Beautiful as always.”
The compliment never failed to charm. Her past never quite forgotten.
She dropped her bag onto the nearest sofa before accepting the drink. Arching a brow, she retorted boldly, “Fuckable as always.”
His husky laugh sent shivers all the way to her toes. She tipped back her drink and swallowed it in one hit. She sighed, relishing the slow whiskey burn that only accentuated the intense chemistry between them. She raised her glass that clinked with nothing but ice. “No brandy tonight?” He always had one ready for her in honor of her namesake.
“Later,” he promised. He nodded toward her empty glass and asked, “Would you care for another?”
She arched a brow and said sweetly, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to take advantage of me.”
His eyes gleaming, he spread his arms out as if in supplication, his drink untouched in one hand. “Would you prefer to take advantage of me?”
With a smile she stepped forward, their bodies all but touching when she handed him her glass. She slid an arm around his nape, and her other hand slipped beneath his towel. His breath hissed as she skated one long nail along the thickening, silky ridge of his shaft before she cupped the heavy weight of his balls in her palm. “Like this?” she asked.
His stare held hers, hot and assessing. “I’m not complaining.”
She nodded in the direction of their glasses. “How long do you think you can hold those?”
He raised his arms to shoulder level, the ice clinking in his untouched drink. “As long as needed.” His eyes burned with desire. “I’m up for the challenge.”
She dropped her hand from between his thighs, wondering if her smile had made it to her eyes. She took these challenges seriously, just the same as he did. But it was even more arousing knowing that Blaine was used to being the one in control. She looked up and held his stare as she reached up and dipped a finger into his untouched whiskey. “Good.”
Her hand returned under his towel and she caressed the head of his hard cock with a wet finger, smearing whiskey into his slit. It had to burn, but the pain evidently balanced precariously with pleasure, as he closed his eyes for a moment on a barely audible groan.
When his silky, long lashes flicked back open, his stare alight with desire, she felt a moment of empowerment, knowing he was all but constrained by the glasses in his hands.
“You’ll pay for that,” he whispered throatily, his eyes glinting. “My god, you’ll pay.”
She shivered. The scenario was akin to releasing the locks to a tiger’s cage and standing back to wait for the inevitable. But then Blaine could never be accused of being boring, especiall
y not in the bedroom. Her hands moved to his ass cheeks, her long nails digging deep enough to hurt when she asked silkily, “Is that a threat or a promise?”
The glasses wavered just a little in his grip. She could have purred with delight.
“It’s whatever you want it to be,” he drawled, “times ten.”
Her breath hitched. Triumph mingled with trepidation. His promised retribution just might be the icing on the cake, if it wasn’t for repressed self-doubt suddenly rearing its head. Even now, many years after the bullying and teasing from her peers, she had to remind herself that she was beautiful and desirable. It took the admiration and high regard of men like Blaine to remind her, without so many words, that she was no longer the insecure girl she’d once been.
Her hands moved upward and flattened onto his chest. She stood on tiptoes, her mouth pressing over his before she touched the seam of his lips with her tongue. His growl morphed into a groan when she pushed her tongue into his mouth and rocked against him, emulating the act he paid top dollar for her to carry out.
God, she loved the taste of him. Hot spices and contrary overtones of cool mint. But she needed to slow things down, draw out the moment. She pulled back and licked her lower lip. His eyes narrowed, following the movement.
Dipping her finger back into the glass of whiskey, she swirled a wet trail over one of his nipples, then the other. He sucked in a breath when she leaned forward and licked each trail dry. Faint notes of soap and warm, spiced male teased her nostrils as his already hard nipples became stiff little peaks, his chest rising and falling sharply beneath her hands.
His nipples were his erogenous zones. But with their every encounter, she varied the seduction, mixed it up to make sure her next visit wouldn’t be her last.
As a high-class call girl, this night alone would secure her more money than what most people would earn in a handful of months. Except the money had become only a small incentive to keep her in the business. She could afford now to be choosy, her clients predominantly a select half dozen.
