To his infinite relief, she relaxed beside him, even shooting him a grateful grin. He felt like a hero.
Phil snorted. “I’ve seen it. Too much seventies funk and eighties rock for my tastes, though I like her jazz collection.”
Gabe finally piped up. “Hey, it’s not my fault Aunt Tab was au courant with her musical tastes. She kept up with the times until the day she died and always told me that musical taste had to change as often as rock-n-roll did, but that the old didn’t necessarily have to clash with the new.”
“Good advice, that.” Jack nodded approvingly.
“I’d swear I know you from somewhere.”
The budding conversation halted. He reluctantly turned to look at Doug’s girlfriend, as did everyone else. He had a very bad feeling.
“Where are you from, again?”
“Kansas City.”
“Ah. I moved here from Kansas City just last year.” Pale blue eyes turned icy, and a smile sharp enough to etch glass curved her lips. “And what did you say you do for a living?”
Gabe stiffened again. Jack’s face felt numb.
“I didn’t.”
Doug glanced at his girlfriend, but didn’t seem to feel the tension growing. Phil, on the other hand, flicked his dark eyes from Jack to the girlfriend and back again.
“You don’t go by the name Blade, do you?”
Oh, shit on toast and call it a sandwich.
Before he could begin to respond, Gabe sat forward, her back rigid. “Why, Karen? How would you know a name like that?”
“Like what?” Doug asked, frowning at her intense tone.
Karen ignored him, turning her knife-edged smile on Gabe. “Does he still do that thing?”
“What thing, exactly?”
“That thing with his hips.” The woman shuddered and rolled her eyes over to him, blinking languorously. “God, it’s incredible.”
“What’s going on here?”
Both women ignored Mr. California.
Gabe, smiling almost as viciously as the other woman, folded her hands primly on the table before her. “And just how would you know how Blade Savage twists his hips? As far as I know, he only does that for paying customers.”
Phil sat back from the table, his eyes wide, and Doug choked on his beer.
“Ha! I never said his last name.” Karen smirked and crossed her arms. “You do know who he is.”
“As, obviously, do you. I’m curious, Karen. I got him as a birthday present, but why would you need a male prostitute? Couldn’t get anyone to look past that ice cube you call a heart?”
“Gabe!”
“Bitch!”
Karen practically leapt across the table, but Doug snagged her around the waist and hauled her back. Gabe sat stock-still, neither flinching nor backing down.
“What’s going on here?” Phil seemed to be the only calm one at the table, though his eyes were still wide and very white against his dark skin. “Someone want to explain?”
“That little bitch brought a hooker to dinner, that’s what!”
Doug shook his head, both arms wrapped around his girlfriend to keep her from vaulting over the table again. “That’s impossible. Gabe, what’s this about?”
Jack sat like a statue, wishing he’d just stayed in Kansas City this weekend. Gabe would never forgive him for this. He should have listened to her, but nooooo.
And then he nearly jumped out of his skin when she put an arm around his waist and a hand on his chest and leaned against him.
“I brought a friend to dinner with what I thought were friends, and one of you has done her very best to alienate him. As far as I know, friends don’t do that to each other.”
“Whore!”
He stood out of Gabe’s grasp and leaned down, planting his palms on the table and glaring at the ice-eyed shrew. “No, that’s my job description.”
Doug sputtered and Phil said something, but he couldn’t make any of it out through the pounding in his ears. His heart slammed in his chest, both in anger and dismay. There was no salvaging this.
Gabe stood beside him. “Since I was obviously mistaken in my intentions for this evening, I’m going to take my gigolo back to the house for a more pleasant sort of good time, during which I might paddle his fine ass. And maybe, just for kicks, I’ll ask him to perform his notorious hip twist for free.”
Blinking in shock, he stared down at the little spitfire he’d thought would never want to see him again, then jumped in surprise as she smacked his ass through the leather and grabbed on for a good squeeze.
“Let’s go, Honey Butt.”
Honey Butt? “Lead the way.”
She turned and headed for the door, but he pulled out of her one-handed grasp for a final parting shot. Leaning down, he smiled charmingly at the bitch of a girlfriend.
“I’m sorry I don’t have even a vague memory of you, miss, but be sure that I’ve crossed your name off my future client list. Have a lovely evening.”
Sucking in the cool night air, she tried to still her racing thoughts. They pounded almost as hard and fast as the backbeat from the radio van. Oh, she’d made a complete mess of that. Doug would never forgive her. Phil might, but she hadn’t personally insulted his girlfriend. Worse, she’d probably alienated Jack, to boot.
“Gabe?” He pressed up against her back, and she gratefully leaned against his strong bulk and hid a sigh of relief.
“I am so sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
She hung her head. “I was so worried they’d think we were dating that I never once thought they’d find out what you do and use it against you like that. I hope I didn’t make you feel like a whore in there, but she just pissed me off so bad. Hateful bitch. I never did like her. Just didn’t know why until now.”
He snorted, lowering his cheek to the top of her head. “You did the opposite of making me feel like a whore, Gabe. You defended me to your friends. I feel like a million bucks.”
“But I—”
“Gabe, wait up!”
Groaning at the interruption of Phil’s voice, she pulled out of Jack’s arms and ran across the street to the parking lot. She didn’t want to hear it tonight. Maybe things wouldn’t look so bad in the morning.
“Gabe, damn it, stop.”
Whirling, she scowled. “Why? So you can dog on him some more?”
Phil put up his hands. “Hey, I didn’t say a word. I’m just trying to find out what’s going on.”
Jack stayed on the other side of the street, probably to allow her some privacy. Sullivan’s door flew open, and Doug spilled out, looking around wildly. She groaned again and turned back toward the SUV. She just wanted to go home.
“Gabe? Hey, hold on a second.”
“Doug, go comfort your girlfriend. Phil, leave me alone. Jack, please take me home.”
“Hey, no girlfriend of mine talks to my best friend like that. Even if it’s true, there’s no excuse for turning it on you like that.”
She froze and closed her eyes, listening to his footfalls come to a stop behind her. “I’m sorry, Doug. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“Is it?”
“Is what?”
“Is it true?”
Swallowing hard, she turned toward her friends again and reluctantly raised her eyes. At their intent expressions, she set her jaw and lifted her chin. “Yes, it is. Jack is a male prostitute—and a damn fine one, if my opinion counts. Plus, he’s my friend, and I don’t want anyone giving him any shit about it, all right?”
Against her will, her eyes darted a glance at Jack, and she couldn’t help relaxing a little at his grin. Phil shot him a speculative look from her side of the street. Doug’s eyes widened, and he slowly turned to look Jack over.
She waited for it all to go further to hell.
“I guess that explains why you didn’t want to tell us about him.” Finally, after a brief and considering pause, Doug flashed his infamous smile. “Dude, that must be the best job ever.”
His eyes never left Gabe. She slumped—with relief, he hoped—and shook her head.
“I mean, seriously. A different woman every night. No commitment.” Doug waggled his eyebrows. “Sex. All. The time.”
Mr. California was grinning ear to ear over there, but Gabe still seemed troubled. He wanted to go to her, put an arm around her, and damn if her friends got the wrong idea, but he restrained himself.
Doug turned back to her and bombarded her with questions, but he lost track of the rapid fire when he realized that her other friend hadn’t said a word and was still eyeing him. This one obviously wasn’t as enamored of his former position. This friend would be the challenge, the one to whom he’d have to prove himself.
Sure enough, Phil looked both ways and then crossed the street.
“Phil.”
“Jack.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. Jack fought to keep his expression pleasantly bland. It used to be easy, but he had to work at it now. Definitely out of practice.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Do you promise not to tell her what I’m about to tell you?”
“No.”
He tried not to frown. “Look, I’m not a bad guy, and I’m not just using her, but getting around all her guards is hard enough without her knowing the whole story.”
Phil didn’t bother hiding his displeasure. “Can you make less sense?”
He shot a hasty glance at Gabe to make sure she wasn’t looking, then focused all of his attention on her friend. “I love her, all right? Yes, I used to be an escort, but I quit to be with her. But I can’t tell her that, because she thinks I’m just here for sex, and if she finds out I want a relationship, she’ll kill it and I’ll never see her again.”
“Apparently, you can make less sense.”
“Look, man. I just want to make her happy—”
“But she’s not happy.” Phil’s expression darkened. “Did you see her in there? Are you looking at her now? She’s not happy. So I repeat, do you know what you’re doing to her?”
Stilling, he did indeed look across the street. She fidgeted and looked longingly at his Envoy, obviously uncomfortable as Doug cheerfully interrogated her. Would she be so uncomfortable if her friend were questioning her about anything else but her gigolo?
His tone more gentle, Phil continued. “I’m sure you’re a peach of a guy, Jack, but you are a male prostitute, even if you’ve quit. That’s something she’ll have to live with if she ever does come around to you. Are you sure you want to put that on her? Do you really want her to feel like this every time some stranger recognizes you and asks about that thing you do with your hips?”
He’d never thought about it. How likely was it that anyone in Joplin would know him for what he was? And yet, someone had. Someone close to her, though obviously not terribly well-liked. It could happen any time.
“If you love her, man, maybe you ought to just let her be.”
He swallowed hard. “I can’t.”
“Your choice. But don’t expect me to like you for it.”
Phil strode back across the street without another word, leaving Jack floundering in painful thought. Was Phil right? Would his past haunt them forever? Did quitting and finding another job and hopefully finishing his degree change what he’d been, or just make it sad?
Could he ever let her go now?
She looked at him then, her eyes pleading, and he went to her. He stared down into those dark, dark eyes and tried to convince himself to leave her, to let her live her life without him as a blemish on it. He could do it. If he could up and quit a job he used to love for her, he could surely do this one thing to make her life better.
“Can we go home now?”
All his fine reasoning shattered at his feet, and he put an arm around her. “Sure. I’ll get the door.”
He seemed to feel Phil’s eyes burning into his back all the way home.
No more denying the obvious. She hated self-delusion like nothing else. She would no longer be guilty of it.
She’d stood up to her friends, whose good opinions she cherished, for him. She’d let loose her rare vicious streak on a woman who’d tried to wound him. Telling herself she only wanted him for sex was pure stupidity.
Her heart was officially engaged. Damn it.
He pulled into her driveway and keyed off the engine, but they both just sat, neither moving to get out. She stared down at her hands. He seemed to be staring at her house.
Finally, he stirred. “I can just go.”
“No. Please come in.”
“Okay.”
After another quiet moment, she reached for the door latch. He followed her to the house and stood close at her back while she unlocked the door. She put down her keys on the handy end table and locked the door behind them.
He took her gently by the upper arm, turned her to him, and kissed her lightly. Relief flowed through her as surely as warmth, and she pressed against him. He slid his arms around her and hugged her tight, his mouth slow and thorough on her own. She let herself forget who and what he was and simply kissed back.
With gentle pressures, he guided her to the staircase and started her up them backwards. His lips never left hers, his height putting her on the same level as him for the first time as she stood a step or two higher. His hands slid under her shirt and splayed across her back, their strength and weight comforting. She’d never know how she made it up the spiral without falling, but he guided her without misstep until she backed up against her bed.
And still he kissed her, making no move to tear off her clothes or tug at his own. He simply stroked her back, held her close. His lips caressed hers, his tongue gentle and patient. He seemed content to taste her slowly.
For the first time, she didn’t try to rush him.
Her fingers slid over the cool silk of his shirt, the material a fascinating contrast to the hard muscle underneath. Grinning into his kiss, she dropped her hands lower and stroked the leather over his butt. He chuckled against her lips, and she gave him a good squeeze, reveling in the perfectly rounded muscle in her grip.
“Honey Butt?”
His lips tickled hers as they moved, and she wrinkled her nose, too content to be embarrassed about the stupid endearment.
“I thought a cutesy nickname necessary at the time, and you do have a sweet ass.”
He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, and she opened her eyes to look into his. The green had darkened to nearly black, and her breath caught in her throat.
“I’ll have to think of a silly name for you now.”
His eyelashes were so long. They framed the dark emerald of his eyes with black velvet and made them darker still. Her eyelashes wouldn’t do that without a heavy coat of mascara, and even then, her eyes would be plain old brown. He was so beautiful, almost exotic.
She sighed. “Can I do something for you?”
He pulled away a fraction of an inch. “You’ve already done something for me tonight. I’ll never forget it.”
She shook her head, one of the annoying tendrils over her forehead catching on the tip of his nose. “I didn’t do anything right tonight. Let me do this one thing.”
His eyebrows pulled together, but she shushed him with a soft kiss on his lower lip and reached down to the fly of his leather pants. His stomach flexed at the touch, and she couldn’t help pressing her hands flat against the tight muscle there. She kissed his chin, his Adam’s apple, the hollow of his throat.
Her fingers twisted in silk and tugged upward, untucking his shirt and letting it pool over her wrists. She ran her hands up the washboard of his stomach to his chest and back down to the waist of his pants. His body tightened, his hands stilling on her back. She unfastened the button and pulled the zipper, and he sucked in a quiet breath.
“Gabe—”
“Hush.”
He was hard as a rock in her hand, straining against his silk boxers. She smiled softly and flicked her tongue
against his throat. He usually wore boxer briefs. Maybe they didn’t work so well with skintight leather.
“You don’t have to—”
“Hush.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jerking against her lips and nose. She slid her fingers into his boxers’ waistband and pushed, stripping him of both leather and silk in one movement. He shuddered, then lifted his hands from her back to jerk off his shirt without bothering to unbutton it. She used the distraction to spin them both around and push him down to the bed.
He looked up at her, his chest already heaving, his arousal standing at full attention between his legs. She stared, seeing him as if for the first time. He was beautiful, yes, but he was also here. He could have left. He could have picked any of his other girls to get away from his life. But he was here, with her, and the heat in his eyes assured her that he needed her.
Her.
She drew off her shirt and stepped out of her skirt, then knelt to take off his boots and finish stripping him. His body put off waves of heat that she felt even from inches away. It distracted her, made her fingers fumble with his bootlaces, and it took her longer to finish the job than she’d wanted. By the time she tossed the second boot aside and threw his leather and silk over her shoulder, he was smiling down at her instead of lusting.
So much for being smooth.
“Stop looking at me like that.”
He smiled wider. “Like what?”
“Like I’m adorable.”
“You are.” He touched her jaw, tilting her face up to his. “You are utterly adorable.”
Pouting, she lowered her face and looked up at him through her eyelashes, much as he’d done when he first showed up on her porch. “I was going for sexy.”
Leaning down, he flicked his tongue at her lower lip, then kissed it softly. “Adorable is sexy. Anyone who says different has never had you kneeling between his legs.”
Her pout twisted into a lop-sided grin. She reached up and stroked her fingers down his length, her grin widening when his eyes rolled back and he let out a shaky breath. She took him fully in hand and stroked from base to tip. He trembled, so she did it again, running her thumb over the tip for good measure.
My Gigolo: The Care and Feeding of a Male Prostitute Page 14
