by Lisa Childs
UNDERCOVER ESCORT
by
Lisa Childs
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
UNDERCOVER ESCORT
COPYRIGHT 2017 by Lisa Childs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information:
[email protected]
PO Box 139, Marne, MI 49435
Website:
www.lisachilds.com
Table of contents:
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Chapter One
May 15
Late morning
It’s time to resume my role as madam of FANTASY ENTERTAINMENT. My friends will undoubtedly protest my decision and think that I’m crazy for risking it. But it’s not like I’m running a real escort service. Nobody will get hurt.
Of course someone was murdered last time. But that situation was entirely different and more dangerous than any of us realized. This time there are no risks – no dangers. No one will get in trouble and definitely no one will die.
“I’m going to kill you,” Taylor Hallowell promised. It wasn’t just an idle threat. She meant it. It didn’t matter how long and well she knew Michelle Towers. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this...”
She knew better than to fall for one of Michelle’s bizarre schemes. But as well as she knew Michelle, she loved her even more. And because she loved her, she had never been able to tell her no and stick to it.
“You’re welcome,” Michelle said as she tugged up the zipper at the back of Taylor’s black cocktail dress.
“I did not thank you,” Taylor said. “That would be like a prostitute thanking her pimp for setting her up with tricks.”
Now Michelle, blue eyes narrowed in a glare, looked like she might kill Taylor. “How many times do I have to explain it to you and Elaine? I am not a pimp. I am a madam.”
“But you’re not,” Taylor said. “Not any more than Elaine is a call girl.” But Michelle had talked Elaine Meisner, one of their other friends, into posing as a call girl. Taylor still couldn’t believe it, but Elaine had been desperate for information to help her father. So desperate that she’d fallen for one of Michelle’s crazy schemes and then she’d fallen for notorious corporate raider Bryce Howard.
“No,” Michelle agreed. “Elaine did not make a good call girl. You, however, are perfect for the role.”
They had modeled Elaine’s call girl disguise after Taylor – over which she still hadn’t decided if she was mad or flattered.
“I am not a whore,” Taylor said testily. She was especially touchy about it because it had been a while since she’d had sex. This whole graduating into the real world had overwhelmed her. Fortunately she, Michelle, Elaine and their friend Shawna had prolonged the inevitable with a celebratory trip abroad. But it had only prolonged the inevitable and increased the balance on Taylor’s already almost maxed out credit cards.
“No,” Michelle agreed. “You’re a reporter. And you need this story to launch your career.”
She needed this story for the money. The fact that it would launch her career was just a perk. “Yes, I do. But I thought there was another way for me to get this story – that I could go as your plus one to the wedding.”
“Even if I had been invited, I wouldn’t have wanted to attend that wedding.” Michelle uttered a derisive snort, which would have shocked anyone else who’d heard it – well, anyone but Taylor and their other sisters. They knew that Michelle Towers wasn’t nearly as classy as she looked.
Neither was Taylor, though.
She stared into the oval mirror in Michelle’s walk-in closet and studied her reflection. She didn’t need the wig Elaine had worn for the role. Her hair was already long and silky and blond. Michelle, who had once studied under a make-up artist, had only had to paint Taylor’s lips red and add mascara to her already long lashes.
Then she’d zipped her into the expensive cocktail dress. The short little black dress made her already long legs look even longer – especially with the fire engine red stilettos. “I don’t look like a reporter.”
“That’s good,” Michelle said, “because you wouldn’t get anywhere near him if you did. He hates reporters.” She shivered as if the depth of that hatred scared her. Or maybe she was afraid he would find out that she’d helped Taylor fool him because she added, “So he can’t ever find out who you really are. You need to be very convincing.”
Taylor narrowed her eyes, which were blue like Michelle’s. But hers were more navy than Michelle’s silvery blue. “What do you mean by that? You’re not suggesting that I actually sleep with the guy?”
Although it had been so long since she’d had sex that she might actually consider it. It had been quite a long time – so long that she couldn’t remember if it had even been good or not. So probably not ...
Michelle laughed now. “I don’t think there’s any way he would sleep with a call girl. So just act like that part. You already look like it. Thanks to me.”
Taylor couldn’t deny that she looked like a call girl. Or, as she would prefer to be called, undercover escort.
“Damn you,” she murmured.
Michelle, who was much shorter than Taylor, peeked around her and smiled smugly at her reflection in the mirror. “It’s going to work.”
It had to – Taylor had credit cards to pay off. And an aunt to repay for the generosity that had sent her orphaned niece to the swanky boarding school where she’d met her best friends. Taylor drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Okay...”
Michelle beamed. “You’re going to do it?”
She had no choice. This was the story of the century. Other reporters would sell their souls for it. Taylor only had to sell her body. Or at least give the impression that she sold her body. She and Michelle were the only ones who would know the truth – that she wasn’t really a call girl. She was only posing as one.
***
Dominic Rowe cradled his cell phone between his ear and shoulder as he swiped the key card over the lock of Room #601 at St. Bart’s Inn. “No, Michelle,” he replied, “I didn’t change my mind.”
Michelle Towers hadn’t been his stepsister for very long – just a little over a year nearly a decade ago – when they were just kids. But it didn’t matter how long they’d legally been related; she had been his sister ever since and not just in her mind.
But in his heart too.
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you put yourself through this?”
“Coming back to St. Bart’s?” He’d loved the time that he had lived in St. Bartholomew, New York just a couple of hours north of the city where his dad and stepmother worked. Unfortunately it had been for just as long as that marriage of his father’s had lasted.
“You know I’m not talking about that,” she said, and her raspy voice was a little rougher with irritation.
He dropped his garment bag onto the bed. It sank into the thick duvet and mattress. “I know. It’s not like I’ve never b
een back to St. Bart’s since the divorce. I have.”
“Not enough,” she admonished him. “You should have visited me more often.”
He should have because he had missed the picturesque village with its quaint buildings and shops and scenic mountains and parks. But most of all, he’d missed his sister. “You know I rarely leave my studio.”
“You shouldn’t have left it now either.”
He uttered a wistful sigh. He wished he hadn’t left it. But he’d had no choice. “Michelle, he’s my brother. I can’t not attend my brother’s wedding.”
“You can not attend when he’s marrying the woman he stole from you.”
At least Roderick was marrying this one. He hadn’t taken her just because he could. “I think they’re really in love.”
Michelle snorted. “Narcissists are incapable of loving anyone but themselves.”
He wasn’t certain if she was talking about Roderick or Courtney. Unfortunately the title probably applied to them both.
Dominic remarked, “And you wonder why Roderick didn’t invite you to his wedding...” Actually it was worse than that; he’d banned her. Dominic and probably everyone at the hotel had orders not to allow her anywhere near the event.
His narcissistic twin and Michelle had never gotten along – not during the short time their parents had been married and not in all the years since the messy, high-profile divorce. Dominic flinched as he remembered how the paparazzi had hounded them. But then the paparazzi always hounded his family. His father was a movie star and now so was his twin.
He crossed over to the window and peered through the blinds. Fortunately his view was not of the parking lot where paparazzi had already gathered. His window looked out onto the gardens below, where the wedding would be held.
“I know why Roderick didn’t invite me,” she said.
Michelle had never been secretive about her opinion of her stepbrother, and unless you adored and idolized him, Roderick didn’t want you around him. So why had he invited Dominic? He’d stopped adoring and idolizing his twin a long time ago. Of course he’d never been as vocal about his feelings as Michelle was, so maybe Roderick hadn’t picked up on Dominic’s real opinion of him. His twin could be quite obtuse.
“The thing I don’t know is why he invited you,” Michelle continued. “To rub your nose in his conquest?”
“Because I’m his brother,” Dominic countered. At least that was what he preferred to think. He could be quite obtuse too. It was the one characteristic he actually shared with his twin.
“Well, because you’re my brother, I’m sending you a little something to make this wedding more bearable for you.”
Nerves tightened the muscles in Dominic’s stomach. Uh-oh. What had Michelle done?
“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “It’s one weekend.” Of Roderick and Courtney and the paparazzi... He suppressed a groan as those nerves cramped his stomach.
“Yes, you will,” Michelle agreed. “Thanks to me...”
“What did you do?” he asked, those nerves turning to genuine fear. Michelle was fiercely loyal and supportive but could also be headstrong and vindictive as well. While he waited for her reply, a knock came at his door.
“Someone’s here,” he murmured as he turned back toward the door. He’d only just checked in; he’d thought he would have a few moments of solitude before having to join the wedding party. He wasn’t sure he was ready yet. Maybe Michelle was right; he shouldn’t have come.
“Good,” Michelle said. “And you’re welcome.”
Before he could ask what she meant, she disconnected their call. His visitor knocked again – impatiently. Would a bell hop be that impatient? In a hotel as discreet as St. Bart’s Inn, probably not. He drew in a deep breath, bracing himself before he opened the door. But he lost that breath entirely at the sight before him.
He’d grown up around movie stars, but he’d never before seen a woman as beautiful as the one standing before him. Her hair was like gold silk, shimmering around her face and bare shoulders. She wore a black sheath-type dress and high heels that brought her nearly to his chin. She was tall – with long, toned legs. And her face...
God, he wanted to sculpt her face. She had the sharp cheekbones and fine nose and full lips that movie stars paid millions to have. But he suspected her countenance was entirely natural.
She had to have the wrong room. But then she spoke, asking, “Are you Dominic Rowe?”
He fisted his hands at his sides so he wouldn’t reach for her, so he wouldn’t start moving his fingertips over the contours of her incredible face. He’d learned a while ago that people didn’t always react that well to a stranger touching them. And, even though she knew his name, they were strangers. He had no idea who she was.
He nodded and asked, “And you are?”
She paused for a moment, as if she had no idea what her name was. Then she shrugged and replied, “Taylor...”
“How can I help you, Taylor?” he asked.
She held out her hand and passed him a business card.
He swallowed a groan of disappointment. So she was some kind of salesperson, going door to door in the hotel. But he glanced down at the card and furrowed his brow as he read it. “FANTASY ENTERTAINMENT...” And after that, there was the tag line: St. Bart’s Most Discreet Escort Service. Was there a less discreet escort service? How the hell was there even one let alone two in a village like St. Bart’s?
“Michelle Towers sent me,” she said.
FANTASY ENTERTAINMENT. Michelle. Escort service. Realization dawned and he reached out, tugging her into the room with him. Then he glanced into the hall before closing the door behind them. All he needed was for some reporter to overhear what she’d said and put together what he just had; his stepsister had hired him a call girl.
He needed to get her the hell out of there before anyone noticed her. So why had he dragged her into the room with him instead of shoving her back out into the hall?
He spun away from the door to face her and realized he had no idea what to do with his call girl. Well, he had a few ideas. Fantasies, really...
About unzipping that dress and peeling it off her lush body. Like her face, he wanted to run his fingertips all over the curves of her figure, too. But that wasn’t all he’d like to do to her.
God, he’d been working too damn hard – because he was getting hard over the images flashing through his mind. Sure, she was beautiful. Hell, she was beyond beautiful, but she was still a call girl. And even if she wasn’t, he wasn’t the type to believe in instant attraction like this. He’d learned – the hard way – that beauty was often only skin deep.
“Michelle shouldn’t have done this,” he murmured. For so many reasons – one being that he was actually tempted to keep the call girl.
No. Michelle shouldn’t have done this , Taylor silently agreed. They should have come up with a better plan to get her inside this wedding party than having this man think she was a call girl.
She shouldn’t have been shocked when he’d opened the door. From all the paparazzi photos of his famous, identical twin, she was well aware of how handsome he was. But Roderick paled in comparison to Dominic – who was just more. His black hair looked darker and silkier. His green eyes looked sharper and brighter. His body...
Damn. His body...
He was so tall. But along with the height, he had breadth – broad shoulders and a muscular chest with a lean waist and powerful looking thighs that strained the denim of his worn jeans. With the jeans, he wore a black, cashmere sweater that molded to his chest. He was beyond handsome.
He should have been the movie star.
But Michelle had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with that kind of life – with the fame and the paparazzi. If Taylor wanted to change how long it had been since she’d had sex, she had a better chance of getting him to sleep with her if he thought she was a call girl rather than a reporter. And looking at him...
Made Taylor nearly forget why she�
��d come here. Hell, he’d made her forget her own name – or at least the one she’d intended to give him. She couldn’t believe she’d given him her real first name. Fortunately she had already decided to write under a pen name, so he wouldn’t associate her with TJ Money when the tabloids published her story about his famous twin’s wedding ceremony just weeks after the divorce was granted for his first marriage. Roderick was following in the footsteps of his movie star father more for his multiple marriages than his acting talent, though.
Taylor reminded herself she wasn’t here for sex; if it was all that important to her she wouldn’t have gone so long without and had it so infrequently before that. She was here for the story. And in order to get that story, she had to get him to buy hers. “Michelle sent me here to serve as your plus one for your brother’s wedding.”
His face flushed – either with temper or embarrassment. “I didn’t need her to hire me a plus one.”