Tell Me What You Crave

by Susan Sheehey

The sound from the other golfers around her faded away. Slowly, the white ball turned into a blood-sucking leech with a sickening snarl. Her fingers tightened around the club, and she swung the driver with a force that emerged from her muscles out of nowhere.

  Thwack!

  The ball sailed in the air, nearly disappearing in the bright lights. The arc curved to the right, and bounced across the green. Watching that puny scum obliterate into nothingness gave her a deep satisfaction she hadn’t felt in too long.

  He whistled. “Dead sucker, right there.” His eyes sparkled when he smiled. “Another?”

  “Hell yes.”

  Dorian laughed, and placed another one on the tee.

  The ball morphed into the face of the paparazzi that had climbed her fire escape, and took a picture of her folding laundry.

  Thwack!

  Shithead’s face went even farther than the first.

  Grace grinned.

  By the tenth ball, the images had changed. They weren’t faces anymore, but memories. Conversations she’d desperately tried to forget. The first meeting with the police officer that dreadful night. She rolled that dialogue into a tiny, spitball and thwacked it to kingdom come.

  Then the lady at the hospital front desk who wouldn’t let her through the doors to see her little girl and husband. Thwack!

  Then the doctor who’d informed her the world had incinerated. Then, watching the sheet pulled off to identify her husband’s cold, pale face on the exam table.

  Falling to her knees when her daughter’s face was revealed. Black cuts and bruises had covered her perfect angel’s nose and forehead.

  A million more moments of complete emptiness since then. Each one attached to a tiny, dimpled ball bashed into the beyond.

  Her hands started to ache, and her fingers turned red.

  Dorian had never said a word. He just let her keep smashing those infernal memories to hell.

  Then the images changed again. Into the faces of those who’d tried to swindle her. Pretended to sympathize, console, and charm their way into her pockets. The pockets of a still-grieving woman that had contained the life insurance policies of the ones she loved most. Each one of those devilish bastards was smacked with extra vigor.

  She took a deep breath, and her fingers were so sore, they were almost numb.

  Dorian’s smile was warm, satisfying, and silent. “Ready for a beer?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dorian

  Dorian grinned behind his second beer as Grace downed the rest of hers. In the dozen bays around them, more golfers swung their clubs.

  The whooshes and tinks echoed behind them in a constant orchestra, muffled by the buzz from his drink. They sat next to each other on the couch behind their bay, letting the worn fabric absorb their aches and cares.

  She grabbed from the cheese fries he’d ordered. The muscles in her body had relaxed, her neck now longer and elegant. She’d stretched out on the couch, her foot only inches from his leg.

  The glow on her skin was so enticing, but he restrained the urge to lick it off, and inhale her sweet scent.

  “How do you feel?” he asked.

  She licked the cheese off her finger. “Indulgent.”

  Dorian’s mouth watered.

  “So, this is what you call bad behavior, huh?” She smiled.

  He chuckled. “Heck no. I’m just getting you liquored up so you’ll agree to the next part.”

  Grace paused, her finger on the edge of her lips. “The next part?”

  “Of my plan.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and she reclined against the couch. Skepticism dripped off of her like the condensation on her beer glass. But her gaze glittered, locked onto his with intent sapphires. She was intrigued.

  He was hooked.

  “I’m listening.”

  He took a settling breath. “That video plastered everywhere is a major invasion of your privacy, I agree. But at the end of the day, it’s just a recording. You’re not running for your life with a bunch of M-16’s at your back.”

  “True.”

  “Yet you do have an image problem.”

  Her eyes widened. “I do?”

  Dorian rested his elbows on his knees. “Like it or not, your reputation’s on the line. Normally, I’d tell those assholes to screw themselves. But I’m not running a non-profit, which relies on donations.”

  She finally blinked. Then pursed her lips. “True.”

  He waited, to make sure that message sank in. When Grace took a deep breath, he continued. “To dispel the rumors that could derail donations, you need to be seen dating someone else. Publicly.”

  Her forehead creased more. The cogs slowly turned in her mind, and she knew exactly what he implied. Because her eyes never left his, and her breathing increased a touch. When she licked her bottom lip, he almost had her convinced.

  “By someone else, you mean you,” she finally returned.

  “Grace Evans…” He slipped to the floor on a knee, and caressed her calf. When she didn’t pull away, his bravery bolstered. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

  Her face remained expressionless, her gaze piercing and breathing elevated, but even. Her pause made him doubt the sudden bravery.

  “So, I’d be paying you for the boyfriend experience?”

  Dorian swallowed. “No.”

  She tilted her head.

  “No payment.”

  “Then, what do you get out of this?”

  No matter how hard he tried to stop it, his smile widened. “Are you kidding? You finally agreed to go out with me. You think I’d pass on the chance to officially date you?”

  Her cheeks pinked. “I can’t date an escort, Dorian. Not even for pretend. What kind of image does that give for a charity?”

  “First of all, I’m a Knight.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Classier. More exclusive with a better purpose.”

  “Which is?”

  He held her gaze with a scintillating intensity. “To make a woman feel valued.”

  Her lips parted ever so slightly.

  “Secondly, no one knows my occupation except my boss, a few friends, and former clients. All of whom won’t say a thing.”

  “But one Google search from a journalist, and—”

  “And all they’ll find is my current address and maybe my high school picture. I’m not on any kind of social media, on purpose. One of our company’s rules is no pictures. So, you won’t see me on anyone else’s page either.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know…that sounds like a recipe for more ruin.”

  “You need someone with no desire for public attention, has your best interests at heart, and can effectively thwart gossip. To top it off, most of your colleagues already think we’re dating.”

  “You’re forgetting one important thing.”

  “What?”

  “I have no interest in dating you.” She squirmed as she said it, and her eyes darted to the side.

  Which partially removed some of the stabbing pain in his chest.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Well?” someone called from several bays over.

  Both of their heads shot up to the stranger, an elderly man with his hand on his hip. His khakis were pulled up way too far over his waist. “Don’t leave that poor man on his knee all this time. Aren’t you going to say yes?”

  Dorian chuckled.

  Grace plastered on a disciplinarian smile, which all mothers must have mastered. “Private conversation in progress.”

  The man scowled, and placed another ball on his tee.

  She squeezed her hands together. “Please, don’t take this personally. What I meant is, I have no interest in dating, at all.” She placed her hand over his, on top of her knee. “That part of my life is over.”

  Dorian lost all humor. “You’re not dead, Grace Evans. You’re very much alive. All you need is someone to show you life can be fun again.”

  If only she could see what I see. Perf
ection.

  Her heart rate pumped faster by the tiny vein pulsing in her neck. Her sweet perfume or soap intensified, and the tinks and whooshes around them drowned out. Her mouth was so irresistible the way she kept pressing her lips together. Even more when she kept glancing at his mouth.

  Dorian could tell when a woman was intrigued. When she wanted him. He wanted her back.

  “What I need is—”

  “—is this.” He pressed his lips to hers. Jasmine and beer had never tasted so sweet together on her parted lips.

  Her sudden, quiet gasp invigorated him. He cupped the side of her neck, tracing his thumb down her earlobe.

  She opened for him when he trailed his tongue along her lip. He suckled on the tip of hers, and ventured further in. Clasping her head with both hands, he tilted against her face, tasting more. Completing the addiction to maximum overload.

  She’s better than I imagined.

  He pulled back with a final nip on her tongue.

  Grace followed his momentum forward, her eyelashes flickering against her soft skin.

  She’d gripped his arms at some point, either to keep from falling forward or off the edge entirely. No matter the reason, it spawned a raw inferno in his gut.

  He would’ve smiled into her mouth if his lips weren’t so busy savoring every inch of her tongue. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her into him. Deeper, longer, sweeter.

  A few whistles broke them apart.

  Her kissed-senseless expression made his heart jump.

  “Looks like a yes to me,” someone commented.

  “That’s how you kiss a woman,” another called.

  The chuckles died off, and finally Grace opened her eyes. Her pupils dilated, and a hazy satisfaction filled her irises. Her lips were plump and pink. “Okay,” she sighed.

  Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  She licked her top lip, and her breath was shaky. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Grace

  What the hell did I agree to?

  The single question swirled in Grace’s mind during the drive to their high-rise. When they pulled into the private parking garage, a dozen cameras blinded her. There was no point in hiding now. No point for the cowboy hat and wig lying in the back seat. The question still wrapped around her brain, squeezing out her common sense.

  “This’ll work, Grace.” Dorian’s confidence came through in his smile, as if he sensed her doubt.

  “You’ll have to remind me of that tomorrow. When all these pictures are published with false headlines.”

  Behind the safety gates away from the paparazzi, he parked and stepped out of the car. By the time he rounded the hood to open her door, she’d already climbed out.

  She was perfectly capable of opening her own door. Thirty-five years old, living on her own for the last four years, and forcing herself out of bed every morning had taught her that much.

  Amazing I could keep breathing, when my heart didn’t exist anymore.

  “This isn’t going to work if you have that scowl all the time.” Dorian smiled with the sarcastic remark, but the point was serious.

  “I have a stipulation.”

  His waited.

  “This should go without saying, but I’ll do it anyway. No more clients. You can’t be an escort—even a Knight—while you and I are dating.” Grace used her fingers as rabbit ear quotes.

  He smirked. “But how will I manage satisfying only one woman?”

  “Seriously. Do you have enough in savings for a few weeks?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll talk to my boss and clear my schedule. When’s your next event?”

  She sighed, and forced her brain to remember. Pulling out her cellphone to check her calendar, it buzzed again with another missed call. It’d been ringing all day, but none from the one person she wanted to talk to. Pax. She brought it with her just in case he’d call. He wasn’t answering her all day. Her heart panged every time it went to voicemail. “Friday. The benefit’s check unveiling to the hospital.”

  “Will Ruben Wilde be going?”

  “He was, but now…”

  Dorian checked his phone. “If his publicist is any good, she’ll make sure he attends, with his wife. You and I need to be seen having dinner together at some point beforehand. As well as immediately after the event.”

  “Why?”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. He moved toward her, one slow step after another. “Do you want the media to withdraw the rumors, or not?”

  Her heart hopscotched, watching Dorian glide toward her like a panther. So confident, sure of his plans, and aware of his appeal to other women. A combination that she’d grown to despise in other men over the last few years. For some reason, around Dorian, her inner concrete wall guarding her heart was crumbling. That, and the man had a crazy way of stealing the words from her mind.

  By the time he was only two feet from her, she’d grown breathless. His smirk molded into a half-smile. The corner of his mouth tilted in a manner proving he knew he’d thrown her for a loop. “What’s your favorite restaurant?”

  She licked her bottom lip. “Pacific Kitchen.”

  His smile widened. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Chinese foodie.”

  “They have great sushi.”

  “Yes, they do.” He stopped in front of her, only a foot away. Dorian moved a strand of hair out of her face.

  Her pounding heart may have been loud enough for him to hear through her chest.

  “But I’m more of a steak and lobster guy. The juicier the better.”

  Grace’s mouth watered, and she couldn’t rip her gaze from his lips. “I enjoy a good steak every now and then.” She dared to look in his honey-brown eyes. They darkened to a cognac hue, with a shadow that made her gut turn fuzzy and flush with heat.

  “Pick a night.”

  “A night?” she breathed.

  “We’ll have dinner at Pacific Kitchen. Then on Friday after the unveiling…” He grazed his lips against hers. Hauntingly slow, sweet, and addicting. “We’ll have that steak,” he finished on a whisper.

  Dorian

  “Tell me you didn’t interrupt my one night off for this charity case,” Dorian’s boss barked from the other end of the phone. Duane’s British accent turned more cockney when he was pissed.

  “Knock it off. I just need some time off for this.”

  “And to break some of the rules as a Knight while you’re at it.”

  “Which rules?”

  “No photos, for one. No personal life interfering with the job. Not to mention appearing single for the sake of the client. Those rules.”

  He pulled out a highball from his wet bar, and a bottle of Woodford Reserve bourbon, knowing full well this wouldn’t be a short call. Let alone pleasant. Especially since he heard Duane’s car door shut on the other end to give this berating in private.

  “I’m allowed personal time off. How I choose to spend it is my business.”

  “At the expense of your job?”

  Dorian paused mid-pour, and held back a curse. “That’s where you want to take this, Duane?”

  His boss sighed. “No, I don’t. But you understand the serious problem you’ve made? You’re my highest earner, Dorian. Women eat up that dark, tattooed shite. This’ll put a massive dent in the business if clients see you parading across the news with a new babs. We’re talking major fallout here.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And because I’m your highest earner, you’ll let me do this. I’ll handle the image fallout, as you call it. Not a problem.”

  “Bollocks. Fine.” From the silence on the other end, Dorian guessed Duane was grinding his teeth. “One last thing…”

  “Shoot.”

  “You like this woman, right?”

  “Obviously.”

  “After this whole thing, what’s the world going to think of her dating an escort?”

  He sucked in a breath. “You mean a Knight, right?
You were always the one to stress on us to correct the title when it came up.”

  “Whatever. Because it’ll come out, Dorian. It always does. When that happens, what’s her charity going to think of its founder having a serious relationship like that?”

  He opened his mouth to refute the questions, but the words wouldn’t leave his throat.

  “It’s not a serious relationship, is it?”

  Dorian hesitated for half a heart beat. “We’d be having a different discussion if it were.”

  “Damn straight. So, go have your fun, fool the world for a few weeks, and return to work fast. Got it?”

  He didn’t answer. He hit the End button, and stood there holding his bourbon. A numbing trickle filtered down into chest, and his stomach filled with lead.

  Joy kill.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Grace

  Two steps inside her office building the next morning, and Grace heard the gossip across the marble lobby. Feel the stares of judgment and condescension on her hot face.

  A case of the Mondays would be better than this.

  After hassling with the photographers still camped outside her condominium, she made it to work relatively unscathed. She kept her eyes on her cellphone while her heels clicked across the floor to the elevators.

  Her schedule was jam-packed after the benefit and the crap from this weekend, and she didn’t have time for water cooler rumors. She didn’t look up from her screen until she reached the sixteenth floor, and scurried into her office. Which unfortunately surrounded her with mostly glass walls, easily visible to the receptionist, office personnel, and her admin. Whose chair was vacant.

  Alicia.

  Grace’s heart jumped into her throat. She’d forgotten Alicia knew Dorian. Had actually been a client. Her skin crawled.

  Today’s news would be focused on the ridiculous rumor about her and Ruben Wilde, but no doubt they’d get a hold of the pictures of her and Dorian from last night. Which would make the headlines the next day. She only had today to speak to the woman before the rest of the world got a hold of it.

  Her admin’s computer was on, and steam rose from her coffee cup.