[2018] Escort

by Skye Warren

  Except that she had to get drunk before she could come. And what happens when she sobers up? I’m afraid we’re in for an even worse panic attack than before. “You amaze me,” I tell her gently. “This is a beautiful first step. But right now I want you to go back with me.”

  She looks crestfallen. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have a piano, and I want to hear you play.” As I say the words, I discover that they’re true. This loft doesn’t suit her. It’s an impersonal husk, rather like myself. Even if she is able to leave L’Etoile on a regular basis, that penthouse is her home. And, when she plays music, her soul.

  She starts to cry again. “I do want to play. I do.”

  “And you will,” I tell her. “Very soon.”

  “No.” Her green eyes are deep, reflective pools. “I haven’t played since you left. How crazy is that? For years it was almost the only way I could speak. And then nothing.”

  I don’t think it has anything to do with my absence. More likely she’s terrified of being forced from her home after the confrontation with Edward. “You remember my Bugatti?”

  She shakes her head, eyes wide. “Noooo.”

  Oh, she is an adorable drunk. I would enjoy the experience more if I didn’t know how little time with her I have left. “You watched me arrive the first night,” I remind her. “It’s very pretty. Not as pretty as you, but still. Shall we take it back to L’Etoile?”

  “Okay,” she says. “I’ll try not to throw up. The cab driver was not happy.”

  I decide to bring both the contract and the bottle of brandy with me. Something tells me I might need both of them before I’m done.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The next morning I wake up with a massive hangover and a pair of yellow eyes staring down at me. It takes me a moment to make the world stop spinning and orient myself.

  Where the hell am I? The penthouse of L’Etoile.

  What is that? Ah, that’s right. The cat.

  My voice comes out scratchy and thick. “Bonjour, Minette.”

  She’s apparently warmed up enough that she’s cuddling on my chest. Either that or she was plotting ways to kill me in my sleep. Gingerly I move the kitty aside and wander out of the bedroom.

  A room service tray sits on the small table, filled with pastries and an omelet. I must have been sleeping very hard not to notice it arrive. And from behind the closed door I hear music playing. I believe the song is “Breakaway” by Kelly Clarkson, though it’s been changed enough that I’m not sure. It’s softer now, almost haunting.

  Feeling like an intruder, I knock softly and step inside.

  Bea sits at the bench looking impossibly fresh. Her hair is still dark and damp from the shower. I probably could have slept through an earthquake. Only vaguely do I remember working my way through the bottle of brandy while Bea played the piano beside me. There is an even hazier memory of singing “Hotel California” as a duet.

  We were both drunk, and now we’re both hungover.

  Though Bea’s smile is too bright and too genuine. “Are you hungry?” she asks.

  So apparently I’m the only one hungover. “No, thank you. Is it all right if I shower?”

  “Of course. You don’t have to ask me that.”

  Actually I do, because you’ll soon be the new owner of this hotel.

  That’s what I should say to her, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it. Because I know that the sooner I say that, the sooner this ends. And she looks so lovely in a silk and lace robe. So lovely in her casual majesty. It makes me want to fall to my knees, to beg her to stay. But anything other than leaving would be a way to tie her down, to make her owe me. I need to give her the hotel outright, without any strings attached or demands. And then I need to leave.

  I won’t do to her what Edward did.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I say roughly, because I need a cold shower and approximately ten thousand gallons of coffee before I’m ready to have that conversation.

  In the bathroom I find a drawer with a couple unused toothbrushes wrapped in clear plastic, the kind the hotel probably sends up to forgetful travelers. I feel much better after I brush my teeth, but I need a shower. In the end I’m not quite self-flagellant enough to make the water cold. I make it hot instead, standing under the spray and letting it pound away some of the tension.

  A sound catches my attention, and then a gust of cool air as the shower door opens.

  Bea stands on the marble tile, looking shy and knowing at once in a gold silk robe. A virgin. A siren. I’m not sure my mind will ever wrap itself around her. I’m not sure I’d ever want to. I crave both parts of her, all of her.

  “Can I come in?” she asks.

  Already my body reacts to her, hardening, turning hot and eager. “There’s nothing I want more, Bea. But I don’t know if I can be gentle right now.”

  She tugs on the silk holding her robe together, revealing the glory of her body—pale skin and dusky nipples, high breasts with freckles across the slopes of them. Her belly narrows and then flares out again to hips I long to hold as I pound into her.

  Between her legs her hair is a darker color, almost bronze. My cock throbs just looking at her.

  The silk pools behind her, and she steps into the shower with me. “Then be rough.”

  It’s been so long since I’ve had sex for only myself. Have I ever done that?

  Have I ever touched a woman’s breasts only to feel them in my hands? Have I ever sucked her nipples because I love the feel of her? Have I ever slid my fingers through her slit, blunt and greedy, because I needed to feel where my cock would be? It is a revelation to do it now. A miracle.

  Bea gasps and arches, giving me better access to her pussy. “Whatever you want.”

  “Yes,” I mutter, letting the need overtake me. For the first time. This is how she felt that night, being a virgin. It’s the way I feel right now, doing this with her. I push two fingers inside her, slick from her arousal and the hot spray of the shower. “I want this.”

  She moans, leaning back against the tile. “Yes.”

  “I should prepare you more,” I warn her. “You will feel this later.”

  “Make yourself feel good,” she whispers, her eyes an unfathomable sea. She has depths I’ve never explored. Depths I never will explore, because I won’t be here that long.

  I’m here now, so I make it count, lifting her up against the tile wall, spreading her thighs wide, and notching my cock against her. My voice comes out as a growl. “Say it again.”

  Her head falls back, exposing her throat. “Whatever you want.”

  I thrust home, clenching my teeth against the ecstasy of her. She pulses around me, and it feels so good I want to make her do it again. “That’s right,” I say, my lids heavy. “Touch yourself, Bea. Come around my cock. I want to feel you.”

  She reaches down, whimpering as she finds her clit. It’s too direct, I think. A little too harsh, touching herself while she’s spread open and sensitive, but I don’t tell her to stop. It feels too good when her pussy grasps my cock like a fist. “Oh my God,” she whispers.

  Whatever you want. The words swirl around me in the hot steam, and for the first time I’m free. “Bite me,” I gasp, because that’s something I would not have asked for. I want it now.

  She turns her head, making a delicate bite on my arm where I support us against the tile. Her hand moves faster on her clit, and I know she’s close. Close, but I want more. Always more.

  “Harder,” I say, my teeth gritted.

  She comes with a keening cry, biting down hard enough I see stars. I ride out her climax while her pussy squeezes my cock, and then I lose myself in her. I thrust into her, relentless and burning hot, turning her climax into a second and a third, until they string together in an endless litany, her voice echoing off the tile, her body wet and welcoming around mine.

  I take her again and again, long after I should let her rest, only because I want to. Whatever you want, she
says, so I pretend we have forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  We spend the rest of the day making love. I have had plenty of sex in my life—the passionate kind, the animalistic kind. The paid kind. There has been sex in my life but never love.

  Which is why I force myself to leave the bed while she sleeps, to dress quietly, to write a note explaining that the deed will be hers. For such a large property it will require a visit to the lawyer to finalize the transfer, but I make it clear—it will be hers, outright. She owes me nothing. In fact, she most likely won’t ever see me again.

  Perhaps I could have been gone. I should have been.

  Instead I find myself digging through the pantry for a can of tuna. I open it for the cat, who gobbles it almost faster than seems healthy, swallowing whole chunks of fish.

  “Where are you going?” Bea stands in the doorway from the bedroom, holding the lace-trimmed sheet around herself like a toga. I suppose she could look nothing less than glorious, her body well used, her hair even wilder than ever before.

  “Home,” I say, though the word is rather generous considering the emptiness of the loft.

  She moves farther into the living area. “Oh.”

  “It’s for the best,” I say, managing a small smile for her. “I wrote out the details here, but you will be able to stay at L’Etoile. I made sure of that.”

  Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  It’s only here that I realize the note was an act of cowardice. This woman has the strength to confront her worst fears. I can find some to tell her it won’t be as bad as that. “I hope you continue to push your boundaries. To visit the rooftop garden or other places in Tanglewood. There are pianos all around the city for you. But you won’t be forced to leave.”

  “You talked to Edward,” she says, speaking cautiously because I’m sure she knows that if I confronted him a second time, there would be no talking.

  “I had a third party do it for me. He was convinced it would be in his best interest to sell the hotel. Which means you’re free. You don’t have to leave, except on your own terms.”

  A sense of peace flows out from her. “You did that for me?”

  “I would do anything for you.” Even leave.

  Her gaze turns to the stack of papers. “Is that from Edward, then?”

  “In a manner of speaking. Actually I purchased the property from him, because I had to make sure he would go through with it. I’ll transfer the deed into your name as soon as the lawyer can arrange it. Then it will be yours.”

  “You mean I’m going to buy it from you?”

  “No, Bea. It’s a gift. There are no strings attached.”

  Her mouth drops open. “I could never accept a gift that big.”

  It has to be this way. For her, so she is never coerced into anything she doesn’t want, never fearful of it. And for me, because I don’t know how to offer anything but this. “It’s already yours in all but name, Bea. The title is only to make sure you’re safe.”

  She takes a step closer, standing right in front of me now. “I’m already safe. If you own L’Etoile, then I’m safe here, with you.”

  I’m moved that she has such confidence in me. “I never want you to doubt it.”

  “I’ll take the hotel from you if that’s what you want. I would be happy to do that. The building may be old and kind of, you know, gaudy, but I love it. And I love the people here.”

  “Good.”

  “But it will be a purchase. Not a gift.”

  I open my mouth to object, but to be fair, the woman probably has more money than God. Then why does it make me feel like I’m crawling out of my skin to accept? Like I’m losing far more than the woman I care about. “Non.”

  “Oui,” she says, implacable.

  I’m not above pleading, at least not with her. “Bea, you must understand how much I’ve come to care about you. It’s not like the other women. They aren’t even—”

  For maybe the first time since I moved here, I struggle for words.

  She smiles a little. “I know.”

  That makes me pause. “You know?”

  “You make your own kind of music. Not with your fingers on the keys. With your whole body. I thought I was just imagining it. After all, what did I know? I was a virgin. I don’t know how it usually is between a man and a woman. But I know about music. You can’t fake that kind of passion.”

  I breathe out in relief, that she understands what I could not find the words to say. There is too much in my past to love easily or lightly; the grooves run too deep. I speak with my body instead, and in that language Bea is an unexpected prodigy.

  I give her a small bow. “In that case I accept your terms. You will buy the hotel.”

  “And I hope you will come visit me here.”

  My throat becomes tight. I would give almost anything to be with Bea, but I’m not sure I could handle being paid for the honor. Not anymore. “In a professional capacity?”

  “If that’s the only way I can have you, yes.” She swallows hard. “But I’m going to be honest with you, even though it terrifies me. It terrifies me more than taking a cab to your loft, which was a lot. I want more than that. I want everything.”

  “Everything?” It seems impossible that I could have this. For so long I lived only for revenge. And for pleasure. I thought that would be enough until I met Bea.

  She made me realize I want more than that. “What you said in the shower,” I say, gruff.

  Her lips twist into a secret feminine smile, and for the first time in my life I feel my skin flush hot. Am I blushing? Mon Dieu. She really has ruined me for anyone else. “I think I asked you to be rough with me.”

  “Something else,” I say, though I’m dangerously close to being rough with her on the dining table. There is only one thing I want more than sex with her right now.

  “That you should make yourself feel good,” she says, letting the sheet fall away from her body.

  “Minx,” I say on a groan. “Witch. Siren. You said something else to me.”

  “Whatever you want,” she whispers.

  And then I take her in my arms. “Everything. Mon Dieu, I want everything with you.”

  She wraps her arms around my neck and gives me all of that and more. The fire in her wild hair, the freckles scattered across her body. The acceptance in her beautiful moss eyes. There is a whole universe waiting for us, and we find it one star at a time.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The night sky stretches to infinity, but the moment is almost unbearably intimate. We are lying on the rooftop, naked but for a lace-edged sheet we stole from her bed. Bea’s body is slung over mine, her hair a pleasant cloud of sensation against my neck. Her hand plays idly over my chest, tugging lightly at the springy hair, tracing down the muscles of my abs.

  “Are you sad?” she asks. “About Edward?”

  “He lost his hold on you. That’s enough.” It’s more than whatever wealth he has in the world, actually. More precious than gold. Though nothing will ever be punishment enough for what he did to my mother. So I suppose it’s fitting he gave up something priceless. “The truth is I feel more guilty than anything.”

  “About Melissande. Has she called you again?”

  “No.” I stare at the sky, which feels heavier when I think about her. “Not since I gave her a few thousand to start over somewhere else.”

  “What she did was wrong, Hugo. Selling children. You were a child, too, when she took advantage of you. She didn’t deserve your loyalty.”

  “Loyalty is a strange thing. It doesn’t always need an excuse. In the case of Melissande, she took me from a place where I had no future and turned me into something women paid thousands of dollars to spend time with.”

  Anger flashes through Bea’s green eyes, which are usually so calm. “She has no idea what you’re worth. She never did.”

  Bemusement is a warm fire in my chest. “You are kind, mon ami.”

  “Yes, that’s m
e. Kind and so incredibly selfless that I’m willing to spend my nights with the most sought-after man in Tanglewood, that I’m willing to have this body—” She walks her fingers down my abdomen. My cock is a predictable creature. It becomes hard beneath the sheet, despite the number of times I’ve taken her this night. “—bring me pleasure.”

  A small laugh. “If there’s one thing I’ve taught you, it’s to appreciate pleasure.”

  “You taught me more than that,” she says suggestively, and I know she’s thinking of the rather athletic round of sex we had after our picnic of grapes and manchego.

  I touch my finger to the bronze of her eyebrows, tracing them. “While you have learned your lessons well, there is still plenty more to teach.”

  “Oh?” she asks, her lips forming a perfect peach circle.

  “I expect we will spend many nights on the rooftop.”

  She laughs. “I thought you were the one who wanted me to leave the hotel.”

  “Oui, but you have taught me things as well. For example, you taught me to appreciate staying between these four walls.” It has been three days since I signed over L’Etoile to her. Since that time I have not left. There has been only sex and talking and the occasional break for delicious food. “Perhaps we will leave next week. Where would you like to go?’

  She draws swirling circles on my skin. “There is an exhibit at the Tanglewood Art Museum I’ve had my eye on.”

  I think of the traveling exhibits. “The one with mummies?”

  “No.”

  “The one about bugs in gemstones.”

  “No.”

  And then I groan. “It’s the instruments of the Middle Ages, isn’t it? That’s a permanent exhibit, mon ami. Part of the original collection, I believe. It hurts my heart that you have not seen it.”

  “I know,” she says, hiding her face against my chest.

  “We will work up to it,” I promise.

  Naturally I don’t mention that I know the director of the museum on an intimate level, that she was a regular client who was rather peeved when I told her I would no longer be working. Perhaps I could even arrange a private show of the instruments for Bea…if I made it worth the director’s time. But no, we will attend the museum the old-fashioned way, with a ticket of admissions.