“Your gentleman friend has reserved one of our private balconies for you.”
The goateed man swept his hand in front, bidding her to enter. Approximately one-third of the restaurant’s circumference was given over to balconies open to the sky.
Noelle stepped into a jungle. Ferns and exotic flowers bloomed from pots on the concrete floor, climbing the walls, an explosion of color and scent. On one side, two crystal glasses and a bucket with champagne already icing adorned the center of an elegantly laid, glass-top table. Dax Deacon adorned the rattan sofa on the opposite side of the intimate balcony.
Meeting his brilliant blue eyes, Noelle felt a moment of dizziness much as she’d had stepping onto the revolving floor.
He was all Isabel had said and more. With gentlemanly aplomb, he rose to his feet. His height stole her breath, his tailored black tux fitting him like he’d been born to wear it.
Behind her the maître d’ closed the frosted sliding-glass door, leaving her alone with Dax. She was oddly nervous. “I thought it would be cold, but it’s toasty warm out here.”
“Heaters.” He raised a hand to indicate two standing electric torches. “And a windbreak.”
“It’s a perfect design.” Outside the wind howled, yet the clear canopy above diminished the wind but not the sparkle of stars, and the heaters pushed back the cold. Damn, she felt totally inane talking about the architecture. He was just so . . . hot. With short blond hair, he made her think of Peter Graves in the old Mission: Impossible TV show—strong features, square jaw. And his hands . . . big hands, long fingers. She hadn’t felt tongue-tied with a man in ages. After all, she was a courtesan.
Then she recognized it—the breathlessness, the quickened pace of her heart, the butterflies in her stomach. Infatuation. Lust. It was his looks. It was the things Isabel said he wanted. It was her own fantasies seducing her. 200
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2
WHO CARED WHAT CAUSED IT? NOELLE REVELED IN THE EXCITEMENT. God, it had been so long. She closed her eyes to savor the moment, the man, the spice of his barely there aftershave blending with the perfume of exotic blooms.
“May I pour you champagne?”
His deep voice set off little charges along her nerve endings. This was what she’d been looking for. True, her own fantasies had fueled the fire burning in her, but wasn’t that always the way? The mind was the real sex organ. She opened her eyes. “I’d love some.” Oh, he was delicious. At the table, he popped the cork without shooting it over the balcony. She wanted to giggle at the thought of it landing at someone’s feet thirty-six stories below. He poured expertly, creating a minimum of foam, and handed her a flute.
“Cheers,” he said, clinking glasses. “Shall we sit?” He extended a hand toward the sofa, its bright cushions mirroring the jungle theme. “I left instructions for our dinner to arrive in half an hour. So we can chat and enjoy our drinks first.”
“That’s so accommodating of you.” He was a planner. He’d arrived early, made sure the setup was ready and to his liking. She hoped his attention to her pleasure was as exacting.
“I chose filet mignon for you. Isabel said you weren’t a vegetarian.”
“I’m not. I adore a good steak. Thank you for checking.” Some women would go crazy with his presumption, ordering for her. She viewed it as an appealing attention to detail.
“You’re welcome.”
They were, however, becoming annoyingly polite without really saying anything at all. She kicked off her high-heeled pumps and tucked her feet beneath her, the slit of her dress baring her leg to mid-thigh. “I must say your sexual requests have me very intrigued.”
He smiled, one corner of his mouth higher than the other, giving him a slightly naughty quality. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
She could have laughed at the image, but decided not to get crass. “What’s the point? We both know why we’re here.” Meeting a stranger simply for the purpose of sex excited her. It always had. And such a magnificent specimen?
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Even better. But would he turn out to be the something she’d been looking for?
He gave a little chuckle. “Since you’re here, I assume you didn’t find any of my desires too reprehensible.”
“Of course not. Every person has a right to his or her own fantasies.” She shrugged. “They may not always mesh with mine, but you certainly have a right.”
“Did ours mesh?”
She inhaled, aware of his eyes falling to the swell of her breasts, and let a naughty smile grow on her lips. “I like to be watched,” she whispered, leaning ever so slightly closer for emphasis.
“I love to watch,” he whispered back in kind.
“Then we mesh perfectly.” She let his looks, his voice, her desires, and the intimate surroundings weave a spell around her. “Tell me everything you love.”
Sharing fantasies was her foreplay.
He laid his arm along the back of the sofa, resting the cool and sweating stem of his glass next to her elbow. His knee brushed her shin, sparking like static electricity. “I’ve got this fantasy of the perfect relationship with a woman who allows me to be a party to all her sexual adventures.” The blue of his eyes seemed to deepen as he spoke.
“That sounds interesting.” So exciting, her heart fluttered in her chest. “But maybe you should be more specific.” She sipped her champagne, feigning calm, but inside her blood pumped fast and hard through her veins. A rush of warmth shot to her center. If she touched herself, she’d be wet, her panties damp. He seduced her with his fantasies. “Sometimes I’d want only to watch, sometimes I’d want to be an active participant. But I always want to be involved, this perfect woman telling me what she’s doing, sharing every taste, suck, and swallow.”
His wording made it theoretical; she brought it back to them. “But what if my client doesn’t wish to be watched?”
“I’d want you to call me, during the act if you can, or right after.”
“Then what?” She shuddered to think of all the possibilities. Phone sex was such a turn-on.
He leaned close. As if he were taking in her perfume, his nostrils flared, his eyes turned to sparkling sapphire, and she knew he’d scented her arousal. His reaction seduced her as well. Everything about Dax Deacon seduced her. 202
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“I’d want you to describe every dirty, naughty, nasty detail to me,” he said. He glanced down her body. Her nipples tightened beneath the silk. She wanted him to touch her. He stroked her only with his gaze. For the moment, it was enough.
“Will you jerk off while I talk to you?”
He tipped his head—“Maybe”—then tilted the other way. “Or maybe I’ll want you to meet me so I can taste his come on you.”
Her breath simply stopped. “Taste it?”
“On your fingers, your lips, your tongue.” He blinked slowly. “Sip it from your pussy.”
A flush of heat raced from her nipples to her toes. “That’s hot,” she murmured, trying to keep her tone light, when the thought of what he wanted consumed her.
“You will never have sex without telling me first.”
“I have to ask your permission?” It was the first thing she’d heard that she didn’t like.
“No. You’re a courtesan. You’ll do whoever you contract to do. But you’ll tell me ahead of time. We’ll decide if your client can handle me watching, perhaps being active in the date.” He was on a roll now, listing all his requirements. Oh yes, the man was a planner, and he’d thought of everything. “Sometimes I’ll arrange dates for you,” he went on. “Perhaps a couple. Perhaps two men. I might make myself a fourth.”
A finger to her chin, he tipped her to meet his eyes. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring at his groin, imagining his cock hard and thick beneath his tux pants.
“Is there anything you won’t do?” The husky timbre of his voice captured her.
“I’m not into other women. I do
n’t like to be tied down. And I abhor pain.”
“Would you suck a man’s cock with another woman?”
“I could do that.” She had done it. They’d touched tongues. She’d just never had the desire for sex with another woman. It wouldn’t freak her out, but she didn’t want him to show up with a woman and expect to watch her perform oral sex.
“If there’s anything I ask that you find yourself uncomfortable with, you can tell me.”
“And you can tell me to do anything you’d like.” She gave him a sassy grin. 203
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“As long as I have veto power.”
“Agreed.”
Her mind whirled as if she’d drunk the whole bottle of champagne. He was too good to be true. “How long would our relationship last?”
He held her with a steady gaze. “Until one of us tires of it.”
She wondered how long it would take her to get bored, to need something different again. She was notoriously bad about requiring a new level of excitement. “We agree to have no hurt feelings on either side if one of us wants to opt out?”
He nodded. “No hurt feelings.”
She had the notion that he was so controlled, he didn’t have feelings close enough to the surface for them to get hurt. It was the most attractive thing of all. “So are you a Dom?”
He caressed her with that naughty half smile. “No. I just enjoy acting out some of the nasty scenarios running around in here”—he tapped his temple—
“and finding a . . .” He paused, as if searching for an inoffensive word. “A courtesan,” he finally said, “means not having to worry about the negative aspects of most relationships.”
“Let’s face it, you can’t ask your girlfriend to let you watch her do another couple.”
He laughed, a deep chord strumming her body, not too loud, but with real mirth and no derision. “It takes a special woman to allow a man to give her to another.”
“You’re not giving me to anyone. I’m simply letting you into my world.” She didn’t want him to get the idea he owned her. This was a business deal. Exciting, thrilling, but still a deal in which they were equal partners. As soon as the giddiness evaporated, she needed the freedom to get out without causing any fuss or pain.
He bestowed a quick bend of his head. “I stand corrected. What I meant was in a relationship such as I’m suggesting, we do away with the jealousy that can potentially ruin everything.”
Jealousy. It was the bane of her existence. It was why she couldn’t be married. “I think we have a deal, then.”
He set his champagne on a small table and glanced at the frosted sliding door. Raising his hand slowly, he gave her plenty of time to say something—no, 204
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hell no, yes, please—then he circled her nipple with the tip of his finger. She lost herself in his gaze. Her breath quickened, her pulse fluttered. She wanted to close her eyes and lean into the pleasure, but the power of him kept her lids from drifting down.
Slowly, so she saw it coming, anticipated it, felt her panties dampen with it: he pulled her nipple between his fingers and thumb. Then he pinched. Gently. Harder. Tighter. Until a tingle of pain arced straight to her clitoris. She gasped.
“Tell me,” Dax whispered, “is that too much pain?”
Noelle cupped his hand, held him to her. “No.”
“Does it feel good?”
She leaned into him. “Yes.”
DAX TOOK POSSESSION OF BOTH NIPPLES. HE DIDN’T WANT TO HURT her, only give her exquisite pleasure. She moaned, lowered her lids, and tipped her head back, inviting him to plunder her lips.
“It makes me want to come.” She shifted on the sofa, wriggling her bottom, then opened her eyes.
They were black as night, as dark as her hair. Dax could barely see where her irises ended and her pupils began. She was a gorgeous, perfect creature, more than he’d hoped for, better than Isabel had claimed. She wasn’t just a hooker who fucked for money. She was a courtesan who had sex because she loved it. The money was incidental. She was exactly what he’d been looking for.
With a hand to his chest, she pushed him back. “I want to hold off the orgasm for a little while.”
“You can come now and later.” Unlike men, who needed a little recharge, he’d found that one orgasm made a woman want the second one more desperately.
She cocked her head, her silky mane falling across her shoulder. “But no one’s watching.”
“The waiter could walk in at any time.” The possibility provided enough kick for this first brief adventure.
“Ah, so you like the risk of discovery, too.” Her dark eyes sparkled in the intimate lighting.
“Everything’s good.” He picked up his champagne. “But you’re right. I’m 205
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rushing.” He smiled. “You have the ability to make me get carried away.”
She’d never relinquished her champagne, and she held the glass out to him.
“May I have more?”
He’d give her a hell of a lot more. Just not right here and now. First he wanted to learn more about her. “How long have you been a courtesan?” he asked, refilling her flute from the bottle chilling on the table.
“Two years.”
He handed her the champagne and sat beside her once again. “Why do you do it?”
Mindful of her glass, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts. He recognized it for the defensive posture it was. Even some of her clients probably looked down on her. It was fine for a man to pay for it, but it was the woman who got vilified for accepting payment.
He sought to assure her. “I’m not judging, just curious.”
She relaxed, the tension in her shoulders releasing. “I’m very sexual. I always have been. I’m not good in relationships because of that. And I’ve never been happier.” She flashed a smile. “They do say you should do what you love.” She leaned in. “And I love sex. I love men. I love how they smell.” She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath of him. “I love how their skin feels.” Raising a hand, she caressed his cheek, slid her fingers down his face, stroked the side of his neck, then pulled away again. “I love how they taste.” Her eyes fell from his mouth to his lap, and he knew the taste she loved. The tux jacket covered his cock. He’d been hard almost from the moment she’d sauntered through the door, dressed in emerald and smelling like fresh summer fruit. “Careful,” he murmured, “or I’ll beg you to taste me right now.”
“Did I mention I love to tease?”
“No, but I’m figuring it out.”
A shadow passed over the frosted-glass door, followed by a discreet knock.
“Our dinner has arrived.”
He rose, opened the door, and their waiter wheeled in the cart. In brief minutes, he’d transferred the champagne bucket, set the table, and whisked the warming covers off their plates.
“God, that smells scrumptious.” She rose, leaving her shoes tipped on their sides, and crossed barefoot to the table. Eyes closed, she drew in the scents of meat and béarnaise, then licked her lips.
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She was a carnal creature, employing all her senses to get the most from her experience.
With the waiter gone, Dax pulled out her chair and seated her. She flapped her napkin and laid it over her lap. “God.” She smiled around the first bite of steak, her lids lowered, her eyes rolling up slightly as she savored. Christ, she was going to be a fantastic fuck.
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3
“SO TELL ME WHEN YOU FIRST REALIZED YOU WERE SO KINKY.”
Dax put a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Kinky? Me?”
Noelle shook her fork at him. “Yes, you. Tell me when.”
It was one thing to say you liked kink as an adult. It was another to admit you’d probably always been that way, like you needed a psychiatrist. “My older sister had a friend. They had sleepovers.”
“Naughty boy.”
Her eyes gleamed. “You watched the friend. How old were you?”
“I was fourteen.”
She leaned forward, affording him a clear view of her gorgeous, sensitive nipples. “I bet she knew. She probably made sure she undressed in places where you could see.”
Several times. “She had a penchant for undressing with the door open if my sister wasn’t around.”
Noelle laughed. “See? She wanted you to watch. And you’ve loved watching ever since.” She cut off another slice of steak and smothered it with béarnaise, then moaned as she chewed.
Christ. He could get off just watching her eat. “There’s more.”
“Ooh,” she purred, and whether it was her sound or his own memory, his cock hardened. “Tell me,” she urged.
“My sister had a slumber party on Halloween. The girls watched horror flicks down in the basement. Friday the Thirteenth Part One Million or something like it. I sat at the top of the stairs because she wouldn’t let me come down and join.” He’d taken pleasure in all the pretty girls, their brightly colored pajamas, their laughter and shrieks doing odd things to his insides. “The girl, my favorite one, excused herself to use the restroom, and as she passed me on the stairs, she whispered ‘pervert.’ ”
“Even then you were.” Noelle smiled without censure, as if she understood exactly what he’d been feeling.
“Even then,” he agreed.
“And you followed her.”
He snorted. “Of course I did.” He was sure she’d wanted him to. “I gave her 208
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a five-minute head start.”
Noelle nibbled her bottom lip, dinner forgotten. He could swear a pulse beat double-time at her throat. “And?”
He discovered he loved teasing her as much as he enjoyed the memory. “She was already on the bed in my sister’s room, her pajamas and panties around her ankles, her legs parted and her fingers doing a magic dance.”
Her eyes glittered with the reflected glow of the heaters. “Oh my, that was bold.”
“It was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life. Her pussy was pink and glistening.” His mouth had watered, his heart pounding in his chest. “And the sounds she made”—he closed his eyes remembering—“soft little moans in the sweetest voice. She thrashed around on that bed, and I could smell her juice on the air, this citrusy, musky perfume, like she’d smoothed lotion between her thighs.” He lost himself in the sensual memory, smelled her all over again, but then Noelle’s scent was so closely related.
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