Romantic Secrets

by Monique DuBois

  I’m finally finished with my two-hour grooming process. I straighten up the hotel room by putting my suitcase in the closet, cleaning up the makeup in the bathroom, and straightening the pillows on the bed that got pushed around when I jumped up and down on it. Yes, I’m a dork. I got so excited when I first came into this gorgeous room that I jumped up and down on the bed like a six-year-old. I even squealed, which probably made my neighbors wonder what was going on. But then again, the walls seem thick here, unlike the Motel 6 walls that I’m used to whenever my mom and I would travel to the river for our annual summer vacation.

  My mom. The thought of her makes my heart pinch a little. What would she think if she saw me now, in this gorgeous hotel room, dressed to the nines and waiting for a sexy millionaire, scratch that, billionaire, to walk through the door? (Ms. White had said Liam is one of the richest guys in the country.) What would my mom think of my decision to become a high-class escort? She probably wouldn’t like it, even with all the money and amenities. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to spend the rest of my years wasting away at a diner like she has. I’ll be damned if I’m going to stay poor.

  We’re both waitresses at the same place. Half the servers there are old. Half are young. As a young person, if you look closely enough, you can see what your future will look like: worn-out faces, varicose veins, sagging shoulders, and much-needed dental work. Many of the older ladies can’t afford proper dental work on their low wages, so they all look a lot older than they are. Bad teeth will do that to a person. They joke about being tired old hags and tell us young girls to take care of our bodies because when they wear out, there’s no going back.

  Well, I’m taking care of my body and my life, starting now. And I’m going to use my body and my brains to propel me into a better life.

  And maybe someday, if I make enough money, I can pay for my mom’s dental work. Better yet, maybe I can help her retire one day.

  But those are just dreams for now. First, I have to make sure that my first client, the sexy and mysterious Liam Black, is happy with my services.

  I check the bedside clock. It’s five minutes after eight. He should be here any moment.

  Just then, there’s a soft rap on the door.

  My heart rate picks up. I cross the room and look out the peephole. Sure enough, the gorgeous Mr. Black is standing there. God, he’s even better than I remembered.

  I take a deep breath, smooth my dress, and open the door.

  He’s holding a bottle of what must be expensive champagne, based on the gold label and French name. He smiles when he sees me, and his eyes once again travel over my body, face, and hair as they had back at the office. This man isn’t subtle, that’s for sure.

  “Hello, Abigail,” he says.

  I smile and beckon him in. “Call me Abby. That’s what my friends back home call me.”

  “But we’re not friends yet, Abigail.” He winks as he passes by me into the room.

  “How about friends with benefits?” I joke.

  He gives me an enigmatic smile. He goes to the mini bar and pulls out two glasses. He holds up one as an offer to me, and I nod. I watch him as he deftly uncorks the champagne, and then pours the bubbling liquid into the glasses. He looks as though he’s done this a thousand times before. He didn’t even give the room a second glance, unlike the way I had stared around me with my jaw dropped in awe. He acts as if he’s been in hotel rooms this nice all his life. Well, what am I thinking? Of course he has. The man is made of wealth. Probably born to it, too. He’s probably never had to want for anything. He’s probably never had a moment in his life where he’s experienced the fear that comes from lack of money.

  It must be nice.

  A sudden flash of insecurity races through me, a deep sense of being out of my element. What in the hell am I doing? Am I up to this guy’s standards? Will he sniff out that I’m nothing but a small-town unsophisticated country bumpkin pretending to be a high-class call girl?

  He crosses over and hands me a glass. We toast. He takes a sip, gazing at me over his glass. “So, Abigail, what shall we do?”

  I don’t know if he’s being facetious or what, but I can’t help a nervous giggle from escaping my throat, mid-sip. Jeez, I’m such a dork. I clear my throat and square my shoulders, pretending a confidence I don’t feel. “Whatever you want, Mr. Black,” I say, making my voice an octave lower. I hope it sounds sexy, not as though I have a wad of gum stuck in my throat. As if on cue, I start to cough, choking on my own words. Great, just great.

  He looks at me with an expression bordering on amusement. It must be pretty damn obvious to him by now that I’m new to this escorting thing.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “I’m fine.” I clear my throat but end up coughing again. I put down my glass and pound on my chest. What a doofus I’m being! Hardly the sexy escort.

  He crosses to the sink and pours me a cup of water. He hands it to me with a bemused look. I take the cup, and when our hands touch, a tingle shoots through my belly.

  “Thanks,” I say, and take a long sip of the water, holding his gaze above the plastic rim of the cup.

  “You’re new at this, huh?” he asks.

  “No. I can assure you, I’ve drunk lots of water in my life.”

  He chuckles. “I’m sure you have. I was referring to escorting.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, it’s my first time around the block. Well, I shouldn’t say that. I actually have been around the block. Many times. I’m not a virgin or anything, in case you’re wondering.”

  His eyebrows shoot up.

  Way to go, Abby. You’re really on a roll.

  “That’s fine,” he says slowly. “Virgins are overrated.” His eyes twinkle. “I prefer a girl with experience, anyway.”

  “That’s good, because that’s what I’ve got. Lots of experience. I was known as the town slut back home.”

  He blinks.

  Oops, probably shouldn’t have blurted that out, either.

  “Don’t worry,” I quickly assure him. “I was thoroughly tested before coming to New York.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He blows out a breath and sits down in a nearby chair, looking dazed. “Wow. You’re certainly not what I expected.”

  “What do you mean?” My heart sinks. I shouldn’t have opened my damn mouth. I’m too blunt, too forward. Guys like more of a chase. Especially billionaires with lots of money. And by the way this guy carries himself, he’s the epitome of a seasoned, powerful billionaire. He practically has a B branded on his forehead.

  “I wasn’t expecting a girl with so much…personality,” he says with a wry look.

  “Sorry,” I say. I stare him down, almost defiantly. Actually, truth be told, I’m not sorry. Not really. I prefer having a personality over being the vacuous, lobotomized type that so many men seem to prefer. A personality, just like looks or brains, can be a valuable asset.

  Well, not always. Maybe brains and personality aren’t considered assets to billionaires who are used to dimwits. Maybe anything outside of looks works against a girl. My heart sinks. Damn, I need to play the part more if I’m going to succeed in this business!

  “Sorry,” I say again, lamely. “I hope I didn’t kill your mood.”

  “Not at all,” he says, his lips curving up into a slight smile as he assesses me. “In fact, I find you different. Intriguing.”

  Another tingle hits my belly. Holy hell, am I hearing him right? This guy doesn’t seem to mind my rough edges, my unfiltered mouth. That’s a first. It’s almost as if he gets me on some level, as if he understands me. It’s weird, but that’s how it feels in this moment with him staring at me with unveiled curiosity in his green eyes and a slight grin tipping his lips.

  “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “You just caught me off guard.” He leans back with his hands behind his head, looking at me. His eyes bore into me, which unnerves me a little. “So who are you, Abigail? Tell me about yourself.”

  I move closer so I’m
eye level with him. Time to get down to business. Time to strike while the iron is hot and he seems interested. “Why waste time talking, Liam,” I say in my sultriest voice, “when we can do more interesting things?” Okay, now that sounds like how an escort would talk!

  A slow smile spreads across his face. “I’m enjoying our conversation too much to rush things.”

  “What about you? Tell me about yourself.” I reach out and loosen the top button on his dress shirt.

  He stops me with his hand. “You should know that I like to get to know my escorts a bit first before we have sex. It makes it less impersonal that way.”

  “What’s wrong with impersonal?” I say. “I’m all about impersonal.”

  “You are, huh? Why is that?”

  “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, Liam. It never works.”

  He raises a brow. “Really.”

  “So let’s get down to business. You’re paying me by the hour, and let’s just say my rates aren’t cheap.” I don’t actually know if this is true because Ms. White never specified my hourly rate, but she intimated that it would be more money than I’d ever seen in my life. If it was more than five hundred bucks, she would be right.

  The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I’m sure I’ll be able to afford you. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Okay, I won’t.” I tug at another button on his shirt. This time he lets me.

  I lean down and brush his lips with my own. He cups the back of my head and brings me closer. Our lips press into each other. Hot damn, he tastes good, like a hint of mint and champagne. He lightly flicks his tongue between my teeth. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my breasts into his chest. Warmth pools in my belly. This is easy. I know this drill. I’ve been here before. All I have to do is close my eyes and pretend I’m back at the pool hall with Barry or Larry or Harry (no, they’re not triplets). Except this is a hundred times better. This guy is a dream. I would do him for free.

  He kisses me passionately, pulling me close to his muscular body. The heat between us is palpable. We’re both breathing heavily now. My fingers travel over the buttons on his shirt, undoing each one. I tug off his shirt, and then inhale at the sight of his body. My God, I’ve never seen a man built like him. He is absolute perfection: hard slabs of muscles, cut pecs, a washboard stomach. I’ve only seen men like him in magazines.

  He looks at me with fire in his eyes, and licks his lips. “Like what you see?”

  I nod wordlessly, stroking my hands over his chest, and then down his abs, feasting on his perfect body. I can’t wait to have this man on top of me, inside me…

  I tug at the button on his pants, and then slowly slide down the zipper. I push down his boxer-briefs, and then his pants. He kicks off his shoes. I lower myself to my knees, my belly coiling in tight, hungry anticipation. I can’t wait to feel his hard length inside my mouth. I can’t wait to give him the best blow job of his life. He’ll never want another woman after I’m finished with him…

  I reach out to grasp his member but my fingers find…nothing?

  I look down.

  Holy crap.

  He’s limp. Yep. As limp and un-erect as an over-boiled hot dog.

  I’m reminded of that screeching noise that happens when an old-fashioned record is scratched by a needle.

  How can this be? I’ve never had this happen with a man before. Never. Not once. I don’t even know what to do with a man who’s not erect.

  I’m completely thrown. I’ve never had a guy not get hard with me before. What do I do? Do I pretend not to notice? Keep going? Take his wilted, flaccid thing in my mouth?

  A thought hits me, turning my insides sour. Is it…possible I don’t turn Liam on? My heart beats wildly in my chest. Shit, what do I do now? Take this limp wiener in my mouth? Stroke it with my hand?

  This can’t be happening. But it is. It truly is.

  The undeniable truth is staring at me in the form of a very limp—albeit very large—weenie.

  He’s not excited by me.

  He’s not hard. He’s not in the slightest turned on by me. Not in the least bit ready.

  My heart (or is it my ego?) thuds to the ground. Maybe I’m not very good at this. Maybe what worked for me in small-podunk-town America won’t work here in glamorous New York…or with a sexy, worldly, seasoned billionaire, for that matter.

  I pretend I don’t notice and try to take him in my mouth. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who just takes a little longer. Maybe I can coax him to get it up…somehow. I truly don’t know what I’m doing in this area as I’ve never experienced anything like this, sorry to say. There should be a manual. Ms. White should have given me a tutorial of what to do if this kind of situation came up. No pun intended.

  I lamely finger his willy, ready to go down on him. He draws away abruptly. “Don’t bother,” he says, and then yanks up his briefs. I scramble to my feet, my heart racing. He pulls up his pants and tucks in his shirt, a dark look on his face.

  “I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I know this sounds stupid, but I don’t know what to do in this situation. I’m sorry. I probably went about things wrong. Maybe you needed more…um…foreplay?” I sound like an idiot, all tongue-tied and unable to even form a cohesive sentence. But I can’t help it. I’m completely flummoxed, caught off guard and out of my element.

  I’ve heard of guys who have a hard time getting it up but never expected this to happen with a guy this hot…or with such chemistry between us.

  Or so I’d thought.

  He finishes dressing, avoiding my eyes. He seems so different than he had a few moments ago: all walled off and closed and cold. In fact, he seems almost scary to me now. He has a dark, brooding look on his face. His jaw is clenched and his eyes stormy. His lips are a thin, clenched line. Uh oh. This doesn’t look good.

  It’s pretty clear I’ve blown it. By his reaction, it’s obvious he’s not used to girls doing a bad job with him.

  I swallow hard and take a deep breath. “Look, I’m really sorry. I’m new at this. Would you let me try again…you know, make it up to you somehow?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he says in a formal voice. “But thank you for the offer.”

  I blink back sudden tears that spring up in my eyes. “I don’t know what I did wrong. I guess I…” My voice falters. My mouth is as dry as year-old fruitcake, and my legs are trembling. I really need this job. But it’s not just the potential loss of a great job before it’s even begun that is making me feel so twisted up inside.

  It’s the fact that I blew it with him. Liam. This sexy, gorgeous, charismatic guy who seemed, for one short moment, to get me on some level. I’ll never meet someone like him again. I had my chance, and I screwed it up.

  I rushed things when I should have taken them slow. I’m an amateur, and it shows. I press my lips together, trying not to cry.

  He’s pulling on his shoes. He looks up and meets my eyes. For a moment, there’s a flicker of something there, an expression I can’t put my finger on. Then he turns and heads to the door without a second glance back at me.

  The door closes behind him with a resounding click.

  five

  “So tell me again what happened?” Isabella asks, handing me a tissue. “Slow down and take a deep breath, and let’s start from the beginning.”

  We’re sitting on her couch in her new apartment. I’m a bawling, babbling mess with mascara tears streaming down my face. After Ms. White informed me that I hadn’t properly satisfied my client, she’d taken the gold bracelet back and then fired me on the spot. I’d been so upset I couldn’t contain the tears that started flowing, right there in her office. She’d just sniffed imperiously and told me that bus fare would be waiting for me at the front desk.

  I’d needed someone to turn to in my distress. Someone to talk to. I’d immediately thought of Isabella, as she’s the only one I know in this big, impersonal city. I’d dug out her number and called her. Thank God she’d not only answered her cell phone, but had im
mediately invited me over.

  “He couldn’t get an erection with me,” I say, wiping my eyes. “I’ve never had that happen before.”

  “Was he drunk?” she asks. “Sometimes it takes longer for a guy to get it up if he’s been drinking.”

  “No, we’d just had a few sips,” I say. “Maybe I went too fast in trying to seduce him. But I thought we were attracted to each other, and he seemed to want me otherwise…” Another sob finds its way up into my throat. “It’s not just the fact that my dream job fell through and I have to return home; it’s that I actually liked the guy. I know we’d just met, but it really felt like we had some sort of unique chemistry. And now I’ve blown it.” I cover my face with my hands.

  I feel Isabella place a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. There are a lot better jobs out there than escorting, anyway.”

  “Not for me,” I blurt out, looking up at her. “I’ll never have this kind of opportunity to make this kind of money in my life ever again.”

  She looks at me sympathetically. “You could go back to school. Lawyers make good money. So do doctors.”

  “There’s no way,” I say. “I can’t afford school.”

  “There’s financial aid. Scholarships. There are other good jobs…although I can’t think of any that pay as well as escorting without advanced degrees.” She rubs her chin. “But what I’m trying to say is, where there’s a will, there’s a way. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

  I sigh and grab another Kleenex from the box. “I know what you’re trying to say, but I was hoping I could start my life now, not later. With a glamorous, exciting job in a glamorous, exciting city. I thought I had it. And it’s over before it even began.”

  “I know what you mean. But trust me, escorting isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

  I eye her. “You seem to have done very well out of it.”

  “I fell in love. It was different for me. He was my only one.”

  “I didn’t know falling in love was even possible in this type of work. Or encouraged.”