“It’ll be more wicked this way.” He used her own word against her. “Do it,”
he whispered.
The cash had been the prime motivator. Brock’s money had gotten her off in ways a physical orgasm couldn’t. But with Chase, it was him, the moment, her need, and money be damned. She dipped between her legs, and his gaze followed. His nostrils flared, his cock flexed. His reaction drove her higher. She’d masturbated for a man, but it had been mutual and just another bit of foreplay. Not like this.
Her body shuddered and shimmied against her fingers. His grip biting into her hips, he pulled her closer. The back of her fingers rubbed his cock with every frenzied stroke.
Then she felt his touch on her, his hand cupping hers, his fingers sliding inside her as she caressed her clit. He stroked deeply, slow, gaining speed, then she was riding his hand, the pleasure inside, outside, everywhere. The climb was unbelievably fast, like a rocket shooting her into space. All she saw was stars behind her lids, then her body imploded from the very center, and she cried out. His arms were around her as she trembled and jerked, then, for just a moment, she wasn’t in a car, she was in his bed, safe, warm, sated, wanting to sleep, wanting to wake in the morning to make him coffee and breakfast. Like a girlfriend.
He laid her across the seat and came down on top of her. 57
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She opened her eyes.
“I’m not sure what I want,” he said, his eyes dark, and the sky beyond the window black with clouds.
“Do you want to fuck me?” The harsh word ached in her throat, reducing what she’d just experienced to . . . sex for money.
“No.”
Was that good or bad? “Do you want me to blow you?”
He shook his head.
Do you want me to come home and sleep with you? She couldn’t say that.
“I don’t want to do you in the car.”
Her heart beat hard and fast. “Okay.”
“I don’t want to do you tonight.”
Her stomach turned over. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
He shook his head, so imperceptibly she almost missed it. “Tomorrow night.”
He exhaled in a rush. “I want to see you again.”
“Yes.” She’d promised herself she’d have that orgasm. And Chase had made it spectacular.
Now, as with any drug, she needed more. She needed Chase’s taste in her mouth, his orgasm, and her name on his lips when he came. 58
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9
HER SCENT WAS ALL OVER HIS HANDS, HER TASTE ON HIS LIPS. HE could have had her. But when she came, crying out his name, Chase couldn’t do her in the backseat of his SUV like she was a hooker he’d hired. The hours he was with her had transported him back to a time when every moment wasn’t filled with guilt and should-haves.
It might not have been Marianna. Perhaps he’d been ready to let go, even if for a short time. Yet he couldn’t take the chance. He needed more of her. He wanted the fantasy she created for him.
He’d helped her dress. She’d smiled sweetly, then talked non-stop on the drive back to her car. About the housing market and how she’d never been able to afford her own home. “Yeah, my dad, he’s totally about net worth, so my not having a house . . .”
In the backseat, touching each other, insulated by the rain, they’d been in their own world. Now they’d come back to earth. Her anxiety exposed itself in the way she crossed and uncrossed her legs, how she clasped her hands, then a moment later laid them beside her on the seat, tucking them beneath her thighs. And kept talking.
“My sister, she’s got a gorgeous house and the most well-behaved teenagers. I know that’s an oxymoron, but . . .”
He didn’t have to answer. She most likely didn’t know how much she’d revealed about herself. Or how appealing he found her, insecurities and all. It put them on the same level, he with his guilt, she with her sense of never being good enough. Her revelations also made him evaluate his relationship with his daughter. He hoped to God he’d never made Krista feel less-than. Storing Marianna’s number in his cell, he told her he’d call in the morning, then the moment she drove away, he started planning where he’d take her tomorrow night. He had never, in his entire life, planned a date with the energy he expended on this one.
He needed to get ahold of Harve and find out how to book her for an evening. He’d take her any way he could get her, even if it meant paying for her.
MARIANNA HAD AN OPEN HOUSE THE NEXT DAY. JANUARY WASN’T usually 59
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a good month for sales. People tended to put things on the market in the spring, when the weather was nicer. But just as the flowers were starting to bloom early, the unseasonably warm days recently had encouraged sellers. Despite yesterday’s rain, the morning sun was now bright in a cloudless sky. That’s how she felt: bright, cheery. Despite having babbled like a dork the entire drive back to her car after their picnic. She’d had a momentary case of nerves. But he wanted another date. That changed everything. It was Chase who brought the sunniness out in her, not the twenty-five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills in the envelope on the vanity. She hadn’t even opened it until this morning. A little less than what Brock had given her, but more than what Jewel had called average. Marianna’s financial crisis had been averted. Yet she wouldn’t give up being a courtesan. If she did, she wouldn’t see Chase again. She liked him. Her heart skipped beats at a time when she thought of him. It was that special time when you meet a new and interesting man you can’t seem to stop thinking about. Her delight defied explanation. The cell rang in the bedroom. She’d been waiting for Chase’s call since the crack of dawn. Okay, slight exaggeration—but close. She jogged to the bedside table and checked caller ID. Isabel. Her heart skipped.
“You impressed him,” Isabel said after Marianna’s hello. Her heart rat-a-tatted. He said he’d call her; instead he’d called Isabel. She didn’t know what to think. “I had a nice time.”
Isabel’s laugh tinkled musically. “He’s requested another date tonight. Are you free?”
God, yes. She wouldn’t care why he’d called Isabel first. “I’ll check my calendar.” She counted to three. “I’m free.”
“He’s asked for a car to pick you up at six thirty.”
“Okay.” Excitement rippled through her. “Did he say what kind of engagement he’d like me to dress for?”
“Elegant dinner, then the symphony.”
Yes! A real date, not just a hotel room. She did a little happy dance around the bed, then stopped as if Isabel could see her being such an infatuated idiot.
“I also received a call from Brock Ransom. He’s asked for you again. Are you interested?”
Brock who? Yeah, yeah, she knew, but after Chase . . . “I can only handle dating one man at a time.”
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“That’s perfectly all right,” Isabel said.
Then Marianna’s mind started working overtime on what to wear. An elegant dinner. Dress up. Sexy high heels—she had a closet to choose from. Black stockings. That lacy red bra she’d bought a few months ago and never worn. Panties? Or no panties? Condoms, definitely. Should she have her hair done?
At four o’clock, she raced home from the open house, as if two and a half hours was an impossible amount of time in which to get ready. She washed, dried, fluffed, and mussed her hair, deciding it looked as good as if she’d been to the salon.
She chose a midnight blue velvet dress that matched her favorite Jimmy Choos. The neckline plunged, and the skirt was fun and flirty, reaching past midthigh. She forgot she was meeting a client and dressed for the man of her dreams, especially the thigh-high stockings with a sexy back seam. She was ready for anything. She wanted everything. Her life would have been perfect if her bell hadn’t rung half an hour before she was expecting it to.
When she opened the door, Marianna’s stomach
dropped straight to her toes. Her father stood miles tall in the hall. All her life, he’d seemed miles tall, totally out of her reach. This evening was no different. Yet she was old enough to hide her insecurities behind a big smile. “Dad. Wow. Come on in. To what do I owe this pleasure?” He was checking up on her, that much was obvious; otherwise he wouldn’t have come without her mother.
“Well, don’t you look lovely.”
She suppressed a shudder. She wouldn’t let this ruin her date with Chase.
“I’m going to a cocktail party. Business. A client invited me.” It just wasn’t a real estate client.
She closed the door behind him as he raised his nose to sniff. “Coffee. Thank God. Your mother’s coffee is terrible.”
Marianna loved a cup while she was dressing, whether it was morning or night. “I’ll pour you one.” Her insides shouted, Tell me what you want. Still, she led him into the kitchen with a chipper smile on her face and made polite conversation about nothing, none of which she’d remember later.
“Your mother sent me,” he said, seating himself at the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen nook.
“Mom sent you?” God, it was serious.
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“She told me I was a putz for not giving you the money.” He hitched a hip and pulled out his wallet, unfolded it.
She felt like Alice sucked down the rabbit hole. It was a nightmare. They’d argued, and he’d given in to keep the peace, which probably made him pissed as hell. At her, not her mom.
Poised with his fingers in his wallet, he asked her, “How much do you need?”
She wanted to throw up. Until the moment she remembered she didn’t need his money. “Dad, I’m okay now.” It shouldn’t have felt so good, considering how she’d gotten the cash. “I sold a house last week, and my broker gave me an advance on the commission, so I’m all set.” She spread her hands to encompass her outfit. “That’s what the cocktails are about. To celebrate finding their dream home.” The lies were just piling up. Soon, she’d bury herself under them. Her father beamed and slapped his wallet down. “Sweetie, congratulations. The talk we had must have gotten you off your duff.”
She barely suppressed the wince. “It sure did. Without you, Dad, I would never have gotten busy. You were so right. All it took was a little hard work.”
She was laying it on way too thick, making even herself nauseous. “I’ve got some open houses tomorrow as well. So it’s all looking good.”
He smiled that big, toothy smile usually reserved for her sister. “Honey, I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it when you applied yourself.”
Not. He’d never believed she could do anything. She’d been applying herself all along, harder than he’d ever given her credit for.
“If I hear of anyone needing an agent, I’ll pass on your card. Give me a stack, will ya, sweetie?”
She fished her holder from her purse and gave him what was in it. “I appreciate it, Dad.” She wondered if he’d even handed out the last set. He had a ton of business contacts, but she was pretty sure that up until this point, he’d been too embarrassed by her to give out her cards. Maybe he even thought she’d screw up a deal and make him look bad.
He rose, his coffee only half-finished. Mission accomplished. He’d gotten her in line—no need to stay. “Now I can tell your mother she didn’t need to worry so much.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Keep up the good work.” He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “If you want me to invest any of the money for you, let me know.”
Good God. He really was proud of her. He actually was. It was unbelievable, 62
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a state of relationship she’d never had with her father. He hadn’t even asked to see the check she’d received. There was a catch, there had to be. Maybe he was going to call her broker and verify the sale.
“Just let me build up my cash reserves, Dad, then we’ll talk about it.” Of course, she wouldn’t do it. She rather die. Giving him money to invest was along the lines of borrowing from him, like making a deal with the devil. She never wanted him to feel he had a right to ask where the money came from.
DINNER WAS DELICIOUS, SEXY FUN, WITH MARIANNA GORGEOUS IN blue velvet. But she went over the moon when Chase bought her the symphony program.
She grabbed his arm, sank her fingers into his biceps. “Oh my God. It’s Ashkenazy.” As if she were speaking in reverent tones about a favorite movie hunk actor, her breathless, husky voice strummed his cock.
“It was last minute,” he said, “so we didn’t have much choice.”
Her eyes sparkled as she pulled him out of the stream of symphony-goers heading into the auditorium. “Do you see what he’s playing?” She stabbed the program. A Rachmaninoff piano concerto and rhapsody was all Chase could make out before she went on. “These are my two most favorite piano pieces in the whole world and he’s my most favorite pianist. I saw him when I was in my teens, but he played some horrible discordant Dvoák music I hated.”
“I did good, then, huh?” He felt inordinately pleased. She went up on her toes to kiss his cheek, and he could have sworn moisture clouded her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He’d racked his brain for something he thought she’d like and decided the symphony was a good bet. When he purchased the tickets, he hadn’t even asked who or what was playing. He hadn’t cared. It was simply the elegant ambience he’d wanted. Yet someone up there was looking out for him. He took her hand to lead her to a less crowded set of stairs. “I hope you approve of the seats, too.”
Upstairs, down a hall, he handed the ticket to a docent in a burgundy jacket. The man pointed several doors down.
“You got us a private box.” Awe dripped from her voice as he opened the door for her.
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He attributed the fact that a box was still available to the economy. People were no longer willing to pay exorbitant prices. He, however, wanted the privacy. Like an excited child, Marianna scampered down to the railing to look out. The slightly angled box was three tiers deep, designed for a party rather than a couple. A small curtained-off landing lay to the right where the wall blocked the stage view. The champagne Chase had ordered, chilling in a silver bucket, stood beyond the drapery. He popped the cork while Marianna was entranced by the sights. The dress was primarily formal—Chase himself had chosen a tux—but there were a few tweed jackets over jeans.
Marianna dashed back up the three steps. “He’s not out there yet, but the rest of the musicians are tuning up.”
Which explained the cacophony of voices, laughter, the clash of instruments, and Marianna’s bright cheeks. He handed her a glass and clinked. “Cheers.”
She sipped, closed her eyes, moaned. “Oh God, that’s good.”
She enjoyed everything with gusto—Ashkenazy, champagne, Rachmaninoff, teriyaki drumsticks with peaches, his touch, her orgasm. As he let his eyes rove over her, her sweet sounds caressing his ears, his cock twitched, begging for more.
She opened her eyes, smiled. “That’s orgasmic.”
Her terminology amused and delighted him. He had so much more in store for her tonight. “Let’s sit. The performance won’t start for another fifteen minutes.”
She settled into the second seat on the top tier. Chase noted that they were damn near invisible from most angles, though their view of the stage was undeterred. Perfect.
Marianna, however, concentrated on him, gazing over the rim of her glass as she sipped.
“I want to hear more about being a real estate agent.” He allowed a smile to rise. “We got sidetracked yesterday.” He wanted to sidetrack her again tonight, but he was a patient man.
Over dinner, she’d steered the conversation to him, getting him to talk about his work. They’d even covered current events. Now he wanted to learn more about her.
She sighed, a sharp inhale, then a puff of air. “The marke
t is not the best right now, you know. My father says I got into the business too late.”
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Her father. Chase was beginning to visualize the man as an ogre. “So you haven’t always been in real estate.”
“I started out as a librarian.”
He laughed, couldn’t help himself. “Marian the librarian.”
She smiled with him. “A naughty librarian.” She ran a finger down his sleeve.
“There are a lot of naughty things I didn’t get to do to you.”
A librarian, a real estate agent, a courtesan. The sad state of the market was probably why she’d had to supplement her income. Chase figured that was his gain. “What things?” he asked.
She wet her lips with champagne. “I could give you a back rub.”
A laugh burst from him. “All you want to do is rub my back?”
She leaned in, smiled up at him, a sultry, seductive cast to her gaze. “I could rub your chest, too, if you want.”
“It’s not my chest that’s getting hard and needs your attention.”
“Dirty man,” she whispered. “I can’t rub that here.”
Hell, yes, she could. No one would see. “The lights will be going down soon.”
The box would be in relative darkness.
“We would miss the music.” Yet her hazel eyes glittered, the color changing, reflecting bits of gold, as she turned her head slightly to gauge how visible they were.
He touched the small jewel case in his pocket. He’d thought about giving it to her at dinner, but was glad he’d waited until she’d learned who was playing tonight.
“For you.” The ring box lay on the flat of his hand. “I decided this would be preferable to money.” He hadn’t wanted to hand her cash, and Harve said presents were always welcome.
Chase was silent for three beats. The instruments suddenly got louder, the murmur of voices higher pitched.
MARIANNA FELT A THROB AT HER TEMPLE. SHE’D BEEN HAVING A marvelous time. She planned to have her wicked way with this man, touch him, stroke him, taste him, but she’d forgotten she was being paid to do it. “You open it,” she said.
Yours for the Night Page 7