by Ava Lore
“I went to see a lawyer today,” I told him.
The other end of the line was quiet for a fraction of a second longer than I expected. “Good,” he said. “I'm glad. You should have legal counsel when signing legal documents.”
Yeah. And she told me to marry you if the sex was good. My middle finger circled my clit as though pondering just how much it could get away with while I talked on the phone. “Uh-huh. Anyway, I have a few changes to make.”
This time the silence on the other end was definitely longer than I expected. A few other fingers joined the first. At last there was a rustling sound, and I heard him sigh. “We should meet.”
I hadn't expected that, although I probably should have. “Okay. At your office?”
“No,” he said. “It's almost lunch time. We should meet for lunch.”
My roving hand stilled and my nerves shot through the roof. “Uh. Okay. Where?”
This time when he spoke, I could hear the smile in his voice, and that made me even more nervous. “I'll send a car to pick you up.”
“How should I dress—” I started to say, but he hung up on me.
I stared at the phone in my hand. Quickly, I redialed his number, but it went immediately to voice mail.
My eyes flew to the contract where it sat on my coffee table. All that shit about being submissive... that's what he was doing, wasn't it? He was trying to show me just how much power he held.
“Ass!” I said out loud, though I would have been hard pressed to tell anyone listening if I were calling Waters an ass, or merely commenting on the general situation. Maybe both.
I jumped up from my seat, shedding my towel and bathrobe.
Two could play this game.
*
Anton Waters knew where I lived.
I mean, of course he did, it was right there on his stupid contract, but the fact that a fancy-ass car—black, naturally—pulled up to my shitty apartment in my little low rent neighborhood reminded me that he knew where I lived. Suddenly my tiny shoebox didn't seem so safe and snug. For reasons I couldn't define, the idea that he could probably find me whenever he chose gave me the shivers.
I took a drag of my cigarette and lifted my chin.
To his credit, the driver Waters had sent only did a double-take when he saw me, and it was only a small one, at that. But it was enough. I knew I had done a good job.
I'm not in the habit of dressing up, and I have to make my clothes last when I get them, so luckily I still had some truly awful clothes left over from college. The tiny red skirt I wore contrasted horribly with the orange blouse, worn because it revealed a truly indecent amount of cleavage. Knee-high leather boots and some torn fishnets leftover from that Halloween where I dressed up like Sally Bowles completed the outfit, and I'd layered the blue eyeshadow on like it had gone out of style in the eighties. I hadn't had time to do my hair so it still hung straight and wasn't a glorious frizzball like I'd wanted, but I thought I looked pretty good. For my purposes anyway.
The driver recovered and opened the door. "Ma'am," he said. "My name is Zachary. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you," I told him, and got in.
The car was even nicer on the inside than on the out, and the outside had been pretty damn sweet. Buttery leather seats caressed my thighs through my fishnets, and there was a tiny bar built into the seats in front of me. Look at me, it seemed to say. I'm classy and made of real wood.
"Is the bar free, or do I have to pay a surcharge?" I asked the driver as we pulled away from my apartment.
"Mr. Waters said you were welcome to anything you wish, ma'am." Unlike Katy and Arthur, Zachary seemed more standoffish, but that was probably my outfit talking. He was the soul of politeness otherwise, but I could practically feel him replaying the plot of Pretty Woman in his head and trying to figure out which scene he was in.
Well, I might as well give myself a little liquid courage. I popped open the bar and grabbed a bottle at random. Scotch. Of course.
Yuck.
Trying to act cool, I replaced itand looked out the window. "So where are we going?" I asked.
"To lunch, ma'am," Zachary said.
My mouth twisted. "Did Mr. Waters give you instructions not to tell me where exactly we'll be going for lunch?"
"Oh, no, ma'am," he said. "I've never spoken with Mr. Waters directly. But..." In the rear view mirror he looked faintly embarrassed. "I am supposed to, er, drive around a bit before dropping you off.”
He looked worried.
“Don't fret,” I told him. “I won't tattle.”
I settled back and watched the city glide by me, hoping to calm my jangling nerves, but I must have been more tired than I'd realized. The cumulative effect of the car's momentum and last night's ill-considered bender combined to send me into a doze. I was startled awake by the door opening.
“Hrble?” I said intelligently. I glanced around, disoriented.
“Here we are, ma'am,” the driver said, and when I looked up at him, I saw the slightest bit of sympathy in his eyes. I felt pathetically grateful for it.
“Thank you,” I said. He helped me out of the car, and I pretended to fix my clothes—an impossible task as they were designed to be unfixable—and tried to figure out where I had ended up. Story of my life.
To my surprise, I discovered that I had been delivered to a small Mom and Pop place called The Villa. This didn't really tell me anything, because there are a thousand Mom and Pop Italian places called The Villa, but at least most of them were good. That I had not been deposited in front of a high-end sushi bar or a sexy French bistro surprised me, but only for a moment. I gathered my courage and went in.
Anton Waters was waiting for me just inside the door. Even though I was semi-prepared to see him, he still stopped me in my tracks.
Dammit. I'd forgotten just how arresting he was. He sported a light dusting of dark stubble today, accenting the squareness of his jaw. His stupid full lips quirked in that faint smile of his when he saw me, and I felt like those vivid green eyes, muted in the gloom of the intimate little restaurant, were staring right through me.
“Miss Dare,” he said.
I tried to toss my hair back arrogantly, but I wasn't used to wearing such high heels and the gesture made me stagger.
One large, warm hand caught me before I fell on my ass, and then Waters was pulling me close to him. His lean, hard body fairly hummed with energy, and he stared down at me.
“Watch your step,” he said. Then, gently, he let me go.
I swallowed hard. “Mr. Waters,” I said.
He held out a hand. “Please. Let's be seated.”
I gripped my purse, holding the strap in front of me like a talisman that could ward him off, and glared at him. He dropped his hand, somehow making the gesture elegant rather than awkward, and turned into the dining room. I followed him.
We wove through the other diners. A few stopped chewing and stared at him as he passed them by, but most of them ignored him. I, in my hooker-on-a-holiday getup, attracted far more attention. I didn't like that one bit. Mercifully, we were seated at the back of the dining room in an intimate little booth. I took one side and put my purse next to me to deter him from sharing my bench, but he didn't even try. Instead he slid in across from me, poured two generous glasses of red wine, and ordered the asparagus salad for both of us from the waitress who stood next to our table, practically vibrating at attention.
“Of course, Mr. Waters,” she gushed. She didn't even look at me. I wondered if I would have to get used to that sort of thing as well when we got married.
No. If. If!
Dammit.
I smoothed the white table cloth under my hands as she ran off to the kitchen. “I'm not fond of asparagus,” I said.
“You will be with this asparagus,” he said. “It is delicious.” I watched as he shook out his napkin and laid it in his lap. I envied that napkin. I followed suit, though the table cloth was so long it seemed like it could do
double duty as a napkin just fine. I shoved it out of my way and laid the cloth across my gaudy red skirt.
“Care to explain what you are wearing?”
I looked up.
Waters sat across from me, one arm propped on the back of the booth, his head tilted at an arrogant angle. He wore another linen shirt today, this one just as impeccably tailored as the one yesterday, and a tie was conspicuously absent. Every day was casual Friday in the Empire empire, apparently.
“Just something I had left over from college,” I said. Which was mostly true.
He arched one perfect brow. His green eyes glinted. “I see,” he said, his tone of voice conveying that he didn't see at all. I felt like a contrite schoolgirl dragged in front of the principal.
Oh no, don't paddle me, Mr. Principal, I thought, and was immediately angry. It was becoming increasingly clear that I was fighting a losing battle, and it wasn't with Waters; it was with myself.
Of course it was Waters' fault for being so sexy. It wasn't fair.
I shrugged at him. “Well, you hung up on me before I could ask you what I should wear.”
“And this is what you chose?”
I looked down at myself, pretending to be surprised. “Sure,” I replied. “Why not?”
He studied the glass of wine in front of him, then reached out and began to play with it, but before he could answer me the waitress returned with our salads. She chirped something at him, and he answered, but I wasn't paying attention. I was too mesmerized by the slow, deliberate way he stroked the stem of his wineglass. It wasn't until the waitress bustled away again that I realized he had ordered my lunch for me. I was really blowing this. Ah, well, at least I could get a meal out of it, right?
I looked down at my salad and was perturbed to discover that it was a single piece of asparagus on a leaf of lettuce, artfully arranged and drizzled with some balsamic concoction that stung my nose all the way from the table. A lone slice of tomato peeked from beneath the lettuce.
“You are trying to get a rise out of me, Miss Dare.”
I looked back up at him. His gaze penetrated me straight to the core.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
He leaned back. “You will have to do better than that. What purpose would dressing as a prostitute serve?”
“Well, that's what I'm going to be for you, right? Your prostitute?”
“No. You would be my wife.”
I scowled at him. “I don't see it that way, and I doubt many other people would either if they knew the truth. I just thought I'd rather be honest about what I am to you.”
He pursed his lips. His lovely, perfect lips. Why was he so distracting?
“I know what you are to me, and you know what I am to you, Miss Dare. There is no other reason for dressing in this fashion than to attempt to humiliate me.”
I shrugged. “If you think so, then fine.”
To my surprise, he shook his head. "Your opinion of others is so low," he said. "That is disappointing. Many wonderful women work in the sex industry. I would not be insulted to be seen with one of them. I hope they would be able to make the most of it."
Stung, I stared at him. He was right, of course. I had just assumed, because he was rich and lucky, because of the circles he moved in, that he would be angry with my outfit. In a flash of insight, I realized that he hadn't told me how to dress because he wanted to see what I would do, not just exerting power over me.
For a brief moment I felt ashamed. "Was this just a test?" I asked.
He tilted his head. "It was what it was. I now know more about you than before. That is enough for me." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. I wished I could punch it and not get my name in the papers. I wondered if paparazzi were taking pictures of us right now. The thought was so humiliating that I swept my hair over my face and looked down at my plate and its lovingly arranged asparagus.
"But we are here to talk about the contract, yes?"
I nodded. "Yeah." The asparagus languished in front of me, begging to be eaten, but I had lost my appetite.
“Let me see it.”
With clumsy fingers, I extracted the rewritten agreement from my purse and handed it across the table. Waters leaned back and began to flip through it as though he had all the time in the world. Ms. Gray had highlighted the changes in the contract to make them easy to find, and he lingered over each one, sipping his wine as he did so. Occasionally he glanced up at me.
At last he sat back. “None of these changes are very drastic,” he said. “Are you sure this is all you want?”
I'd been staring at my asparagus salad, trying to ignore him and make a decision about what part of my bounty to attack first, but at this I looked up in surprise.
“I, uh, didn't know I could ask for more.”
He speared his tomato and popped it into his mouth. “You may ask for anything you like. Whether or not I will grant it is another matter entirely.”
God, I hated him.
Thoughtfully, he chewed and swallowed. “Your changes are minimal. The major changes appear to be a requirement to revisit and renew the contract after one year. That is fine with me. And you wish for the medical clause to go into effect immediately upon signing.” For a long moment, he regarded me, then signaled a passing waiter who snapped to attention.
“May I borrow a pen?” he asked.
The blood drained from my face. Surely he didn't mean to...?
But he did. The waiter whipped a ballpoint pen from his pocket, and right in front of me Anton Waters initialed and signed each clause and page, and then signed and dated it.
He pushed it across the table.
I stared at it.
It stared back at me.
I willed it to go away.
It didn't.
I reached out and drained my glass of wine.
“Are you not prepared to sign today?” Waters asked.
I swallowed. “I...” My thoughts ricocheted inside my head. All it would take was a flourish of a cheap Bic ballpoint and my life would change. I would be bound to marry this man that I didn't even know, my father would be back in business, and my mother would be in chemo.
The world darkened at the edges of my vision. I tried to take a deep breath, but it seemed like something heavy had settled on my chest.
“Miss Dare?”
A movement across from me caught my attention. Waters had risen from his seat.
I didn't know how to react, but then I felt the booth dip and he slid in next to me, looping an arm around my shoulders, shielding me from the rest of the dining room.
God, he felt good, warm and strong. If circumstances had been different, and if he had been less of a douche, I might have enjoyed the intimacy. I might have been able to lean into him and taken comfort from his strength. I might have been able to wholeheartedly let him take my burdens from me.
But all it did was make me skittish. My pulse picked up the pace.
"Let's not pretend," he said. Reaching out, he poured me another glass of wine. "You need me, and I want you."
"You don't want me," I said. "You want a woman who needs you."
"To me, those are one and the same at the moment." He lifted the wine and brought it toward me, urging me to drink. I took the glass from his hand and set it on the table.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head. "I like to watch you fight it," he said. "Just like I liked watching you finger yourself in my elevator while you thought of me."
Security cameras. Of course.
Mortification swept over me. I stiffened and he leaned in. His lips brushed over my ear. "You are beautiful when you abandon yourself."
"Don't feel so smug," I snapped, even as he moved his lips to the spot just below my earlobe. "I haven't gotten laid in six mo—ooh..."
Anton Waters pressed his hot, soft mouth against my hammering pulse.
I melted under him, my body dissolving into shivers. Panting, I put my hands on the table, gripping the table cloth tigh
tly as I struggled to keep myself from touching him back. My fingers itched to feel him. My mouth watered at the thought of tasting him.
"Our marriage would be mutually beneficial,” he said, breath ghosting over my skin. “I think you might even enjoy it."
No, no, no, no, no... "No one would enjoy being forced into sex for money,” I ground out.
He smirked against my throat and swept my hair aside. Lightly, gently, he placed lingering kisses down my throat and up over my neck.
"I would never force you. You will always want it."
My heart twisted in my chest. I know, I know, I wanted to say, but I couldn't bring myself to admit it.
His breath was hot on the back of my neck. "Do you think I won't be able to please you? Is that it?" he whispered, and I felt his words sink into my skin, into my bones, zipping down my body, electrifying me. I wanted him so badly, but how could I tell him that obtaining orgasms with him was the least of my worries?
His leg pressed against mine. The heat of his body seeped through the fabric between us and I wished I'd been more prudent and worn pants instead of a skirt. His fingers alighted on my thigh and began to trace shivering patterns across my skin. Lips and tongue played with the sensitive nape of my neck, and his hand drifted down my arm, fingertips skimming the outside swell of my breast. Between my thighs, I felt myself grow hot and slick.
"I could make you come right here in this restaurant," he murmured, and his voice was hoarse. "Right in front of everyone. I'll make you scream."
His words set me on fire. "I'd like to see you try," I whispered back. Bravado. My voice shook.
But it wasn't a lie.
Pulling back, he graced me with another one of his faint smiles. "You are the perfect woman for me," he said. "Defiant, with nowhere to run. You'd rather die on your feet than live on your knees." His fingers drifted up my leg, up under my skirt. I swallowed around the lump in my throat.
"I'd rather live on my feet than die on my knees, thanks," I told him.
He laughed, then looked shocked that he'd done so. I saw him forcibly recover, but I had no time to bask in my tiny victory. One long, hot finger brushed against the soft mound above my pussy, robbing me of thought.