by Kelly Alexis
"You could try one of the specials, or if you're not into taking risks, I would recommend the surf and turf, but substitute a Delmonico for the filet. And their Caesar dressing is world-class."
Funny, that was the second time today someone had mentioned taking a risk. Truth was I didn't usually take risks, but tonight seemed a good time to start, so I took his recommendation. "Sounds good."
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and held it out to Frisco for approval. Frisco looked at me, and I nodded. "Perfect," Frisco said.
Rory wrapped a red towel around the bottle, then poured a little into a glass and waited until Frisco tasted it.
Frisco swirled it in the glass and inhaled the aroma before taking a sip. He looked up in surprise. "It's very good."
The waiter poured a generous portion into each of our glasses, then set the bottle in an ice bucket. "Are you ready to order?" He looked first at me.
I hesitated, waiting out of habit for the man to order for me, but when Frisco didn't speak up, I answered, "I'll take the surf and turf with a Delmonico, medium, please, with a baked potato and a Caesar salad, dressing on the side."
"Same for me," Frisco told Rory.
"Very good." Rory gave us a friendly smile, then left.
"I expected you to order for me," I stated.
"Are you disappointed that I didn't?"
"No. I was just surprised."
"You're an intelligent woman. I assumed you were capable of ordering for yourself."
"I am." I frowned. "My husband never gave me a chance, even when he chose something I didn't want. Eventually, it morphed into him thinking he owned me and taking control of my life while stomping on my soul." I looked up in dismay, slightly out of breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to vent."
Frisco leaned forward. "Never apologize for anything you say or do if it's from your heart. You can't ever be sorry about how you feel, Samantha." He reached out and covered my hand.
It was the first time he had called me by my first name, and it sent crazy little swirls in my stomach. His hand was much larger than mine, and his warmth soaked into my skin. He had meant it as a comforting gesture, but it was sending jolts of electricity through me that were having a startling effect low in my abdomen. My vagina was humming, and I clenched my thighs together to stop the unexpected sensation. I jerked my hand away, a little too roughly, but I was desperate to break the connection.
It didn't seem to upset him as he picked up his glass and raised it toward me. "To you and a wonderful evening."
I lifted my glass. "To both of us putting the past behind us."
We clicked our glasses together with a crystal ting, then drank.
"Not too bad, huh?" I asked.
"It's excellent." His lips stretched into a grin. "I just didn't know what to expect from something called limo chardonnay."
Our salads arrived, and the conversation stopped while we drizzled the salad dressing over the crisp lettuce and took our first bites.
"Umm, this is delicious dressing," I agreed.
"Wait until you taste the lobster. It'll melt in your mouth." He took a bite before continuing. "What books have you read lately?"
"I read a lot, mostly romantic suspense," I answered between bites. "And I love film and theater."
"Do you go to any of the local dinner theaters?"
"I live in Denver, and there are some amazing local troupes there—a lot of amazing talent."
He nodded his agreement. "Like Amy Adams. She started at the Boulder Dinner Theater and Heritage Square Music Hall before breaking into movies."
I was impressed by his knowledge. "So, you're a theater buff?"
"I have season tickets at the Denver Center, although the really big musicals all but stopped traveling during the recession."
"Kevin and I used to go to New York or LA a couple times a year, in the beginning. The past couple of years, he was too busy to go anywhere but business trips or Vegas, probably with Lolita."
"Is that really her name?" That now-familiar twinkle lit up his eyes.
"No, probably not. We never met. All I know is that she's a coed who sat in on one of Kevin's guest lectures at CU. Apparently, it was a very impressive speech, because she showed up at every one he made, even the ones that were out of town."
"Is he a professor?"
"No, he owned a start-up dot-com company that went viral."
"Sounds like a nerd with bad taste if he picked a bimbo over you."
I had had enough to drink by then that I was able to accept the compliment without blushing. "I was wife number four, and I doubt if Lolita will be his last."
Our conversation flowed easily and slowed only when our salads arrived. We ordered a second bottle of wine, and my anxiety about sharing dinner with a stranger disappeared like our dirty dishes, never to be thought of again.
Frisco refilled my glass and his, then twirled his stem between his thumb and index finger, watching the golden liquid swirl inside the crystal. He looked up. "What do you do for a living, Samantha?"
The question was far more interesting than my answer would be. "I have a master's degree in marketing, but I haven't worked in years."
"He didn't want you working, did he?"
"How did you know?"
"That's the way those kinds of men usually are. It's a control thing. Keep your outside influences to a minimum, and then you have to look to him for all your needs. It's a vicious cycle."
I snorted. "Have you met Kevin?" I joked.
His chuckle was dry and sardonic. "I've met a lot of Kevins and women who are hurt by Kevins."
Rory picked up our salad plates and placed our entrées in front of us. For a few moments, we focused on our meals. Frisco's recommendation had been spot-on, and the lobster was delicious.
I sipped my wine and studied Frisco. He continued to impress me. "What do you do for a living?"
"I specialize in human sociosexuality."
I set my wineglass down and looked at him with my head slightly cocked like a puppy. It was not the answer I had expected. "Human sociosexuality? Like a sex surrogate?"
Frisco smiled. "No, not exactly. It's more about pleasure than performance."
"So, like an escort?"
"Sort of," he hedged.
"You date people for money?"
"Not exactly date. It's more personal than that."
My eyes widened as it dawned on me. "You're a gigolo?" I asked, totally shocked.
"It serves a purpose."
"Right. You get money, and they get sex." I put my napkin on the table and scooted my chair back, preparing to leave.
He wrapped his long fingers around my wrist, gently stopping me. "Let me explain. It's not always about sex. It's about companionship. That's what most relationships are missing. Even when a couple has sex, it doesn't always fulfill her need for being made to feel special."
I couldn't argue with that. But I was having trouble wrapping my mind around the not-always-about-sex part. "Really?"
"Really. Wouldn't it be a good thing to spend an evening with a man who has good manners and social skills? A man who focuses just on you?"
"Is that what you're doing tonight? With me?"
He leaned forward, compelling me to meet his gaze. "No, this was just because you didn't have anyone to sit with, and neither did I. It was a pleasant evening for both of us, wasn't it?"
Up to that point, I had been enjoying myself very much, so I relaxed a little. I wasn't sure I believed him, but I wanted to find out more. I'd never met a gigolo before. "Why would a woman hire you?"
"All sorts of reasons. You'd be surprised. Sometimes, they want someone to talk with. Other times, they need a date for a business or social event. Some women have high-pressure careers and just want to relax and reset their self-worth gauge with an attentive man who treats her better than any of her friends' guys treat them."
"And they hire you for a night or a weekend?"
"Sometimes, but usually my clients pa
y by the month, and then every occasion throughout the month is taken care of, no matter what comes up."
"And they do this for one month or maybe two?"
"Some of my clients have been with me for over a year."
I tried to wrap my mind around the concept, but it was difficult to imagine. Oh, I understood the part about wanting a man to pay attention to you and make you feel important. But to pay for sex? "Well, personally, I have no interest, but it's an interesting idea."
Frisco smiled, and his eyes focused on me in a way that made me suddenly feel breathless. "I'm really good at my job."
There was something about the husky tone of his voice and the intensity of his gaze that made me melt back into my chair. "Do you ever fall in love with a client?" I barely managed to ask, but I really wanted to know how someone could share such intimate moments without getting emotionally involved.
"Never. It's a rule. Clients aren't dates. I don't need a client with a crush. That's the kiss of death."
"So the women…your clients…never get the romance?"
"Didn't say that. If that's why they want my services, believe me, they get the romance. I'm generous with my affection and attention."
"So, those Denver Center tickets, one for you and one for a client?"
He nodded. "Exactly. A lot of women only go to the theater with me, never with their husband. Some theater seasons I've had three sets of tickets. You have to have them in different parts of the theater so season-ticket holders around you won't say something to make my clients uncomfortable. Funny thing, even a woman who is just a client doesn't want to feel like her date is cheating on her."
"And you never call them up and ask them out?"
"Never," he repeated. "I'm there for my client, whatever she needs and for as long as she needs me. But she makes the call."
I considered that for a moment. The whole concept was foreign to me, but it was fascinating. "You're an interesting guy. And because I'm a little tipsy, I can admit that you're damn hot. But I can't figure out what kind of woman would need your…services."
"Any woman who isn't being satisfied in the real world. Maybe she needs someone to dance with or to hold her and remind her how it feels to be a woman."
There was something about the way he said it, or it might have been the totally sincere look in his eyes as they stared into mine as if he could see my soul. Whatever it was, I felt myself responding in a most feminine way. I squirmed in my chair and tried to think of something snappy to say to lighten the mood, but my mouth had suddenly gone dry.
He moved until he was lightly stroking the top of my hand with his fingertips, very aware of the effect it was having on me. "Would you like me to show you?"
His question rattled me to my core. "I, uh, could never afford you." I tried to make it a joke.
"What if I were to tell you that I was already on your room-service order? In other words, I'm already paid for."
I felt my mouth drop open. I should have laughed it off. I should have immediately told him that was ridiculous. I should have slapped his face and flounced out of the restaurant. But dear God, all I could think about was letting him run those magnificent fingers all over my naked body and feeling those beautiful lips on my mouth and my breasts and my… I snapped my mouth shut. "I couldn't. I mean I've never done anything like that before."
Frisco's smile was gentle yet compelling. "That's why you're here, to let yourself play out your fantasies, to let go of the past and leave here with a clean slate. Kevin didn't make you happy or keep you satisfied. This is your chance to explore your sensuality." He took my hand in his and ran his finger across my palm.
I could no longer think clearly. My brain, had it not been so exhausted or tipsy, would never have agreed to something so crazy. But my body was begging me to forget about my inhibitions and social norms. This was completely out of character.
But that was when I was Samantha Kern, respectable society wife. Now, I was just Samantha Ingalls, no one special. Which made this the perfect time to do something wild and crazy. No one knew me here. No one cared if I spent the time alone or with a sexy masseuse or even a superhot gigolo. It was just one night. We both understood the rules up front. No harm, no foul…right?
I picked up my wineglass and drained it. "Let's get another bottle to go," I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
Frisco squeezed my hand. "You won't regret it," he promised. "And you'll never forget it."
I wasn't sure about the regret part, but I knew I'd never, ever forget it.
Chapter 4
Frisco and I walked across the dining room toward the lobby. I kept glancing around, checking to see if everyone was staring at us. Surely, I was marked with a scarlet G for even considering spending the night with a gigolo. But no one looked up except a little old lady who gave us a sweet smile. I felt a blush creep across my cheeks. The lady probably thought we were a couple. She had no idea that we were headed to my room to have hot, wild sex, or at least that's what I assumed would happen, my experience with sex-for-hire being limited to watching HBO.
The elevator door opened, and Frisco and I stepped inside. The door slid closed behind us, and we were all alone. I was grateful for the Muzak that filled the air because it covered up the pounding of my heart.
"What floor?" Frisco asked.
"Three." My voice sounded so normal for a woman who was about to jump off an emotional cliff.
Frisco pushed the button, and then before I could react, he turned around and threaded his long fingers into my hair, cradling my head as he leaned down and kissed me. His lips were even more delicious than I had imagined as they moved over mine, eager and inquisitive.
He backed me up against a wall, and I was glad for the support because my legs were suddenly so weak I was afraid I would collapse. He leaned closer, and I could feel the bulge of his erection pushing against my abdomen. Knowing that he was that turned on by me made my own desire spiral out of control.
I stood on tiptoe so his cock would rub against my feminine mound, wishing there wasn't so much clothing between us.
The elevator dinged, signaling it had reached my floor. Frisco didn't immediately step away. He lifted his head and stared into my eyes. "I've been dying to do that all evening. You've got the sexiest mouth I've ever seen."
I blinked. No one had ever told me that. Even if it wasn't true, I loved hearing it. Damn the elevator for being so quick. I could have spent the rest of the night right there, screwing our brains out on the marble floor. Still a little dazed, I dug my room key out of my purse and handed it to him. "It's the Fantasy Suite."
His blue eyes twinkled. "How very appropriate." He laced his fingers through mine and led me out of the elevator, down the hall, and to my room. He slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.
Once inside the room, I had another panic attack. The suite had seemed so large before, but Frisco's presence filled it up. He must have sensed my rush of nerves, because he took a step back to give me more personal space.
"Look, the bottle beat us to the room," he commented casually. He walked to the ice bucket on the coffee table. It contained fresh ice and an unopened bottle of my favorite wine, next to a tray of cheese, crackers and fresh fruit. "Care for another glass?"
I already felt a little tipsy, but a glass of wine would both help with my nerves and serve as a time buffer. I was way out of my comfort zone. I had no idea how one progressed from a friendly dinner to wild sex with a paid lover. A tingle of excitement streaked through me as it dawned on me that someone who makes love for a living must be really good at it. "Yes, I'll take one."
He uncorked the bottle and filled two glasses. He handed me one, then flipped the switch, and the fireplace jumped to life. He lifted his glass in a toast. "To the best night of our lives."
"Isn't that a little premature?"
He winked. "Trust me."
I couldn't help but smile. "You're the expert." I clinked my glass against his, an
d we each drank.
The alcohol was warm as it rolled down my throat, but not as warm as the heat that was building inside me. Even though Frisco was several feet away, he overwhelmed my senses. He was as handsome as any movie star, and he carried himself with a quiet confidence that made it easy to trust him. The scent of his spicy aftershave curled through my nose, almost like an aphrodisiac. Or maybe it was his natural masculine pheromones that were tantalizing me. His voice was deep and calm with no discernable accent, the kind of voice that would sound sexy even if he were reading a computer manual.
And there was that attraction I had felt the first time his eyes had met mine that was anything but calm. During dinner, I felt my panties getting wet when he stroked my hand. The kiss in the elevator had made me want to rip those panties off and attack him. Now, here we were, all alone in my room, and I was too afraid to move things along. The one thing I knew was that the longer I was wrapped in the warmth of his aura, the more desperate I was for him to make love to me.
I knew Frisco was watching me closely, waiting for me to give him some kind of signal. I hesitated, not really sure what move to make.
Finally, he broke the silence and asked, "Do you want to sit in the living room and talk?"
I nibbled my lower lip. I had talked myself into taking a chance and doing something wildly out of character, and now I was letting it slip away. Frisco wasn't going to force himself on me. He needed to know that I truly wanted this. The thudding of my heart and the throbbing between my legs assured me that I really did want this. I took a step forward until we were only inches apart. "We can talk anytime. I was hoping for a little more, uh, action."
He smiled and set his wineglass on the mantel. Without saying a word, he took my glass and set it next to his, then pulled me into his arms. Gentle at first, his lips moved over mine, tasting and teasing and driving me crazy. I circled my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. The tip of his tongue caressed my lips, then slipped inside.