As my pulse raced until I felt almost light-headed, I waited, keeping as close to the front hall as I could without looking obvious. I inspected the toys for sale in the glass display case. I wandered to the bar, grabbed a rag and dusted the moldings around the front door. That's how desperate I was to make sure I was there when John emerged from his apartment.
It was pretty early in the morning, around nine-thirty, or closer to ten o'clock. For those of us who worked straight through the night, sometimes well past sunrise, it might as well have been dawn, so the other girls were still in bed. The only reason I was up and out was because I couldn't sleep. I'd gotten up, thrown on a cute little teddy and a silk robe in case anyone was around, and had rooted in the kitchen for something to eat with my usual morning cup of hot tea.
I'd been on my way back to my room when I'd heard Henry and John. There was no way I was going to my room now. Not with John on the premises.
"You sure you don't mind?" John's voice preceded him.
"Not at all. I can order the window treatments and have them installed this week or if you'd like them earlier, I can drive to the store and see what they have in stock."
"Either is fine. I'm not all that concerned about drapes. The blinds are up for now."
"Yes, sir. I'll go place the order." Henry ducked into the office.
John continued the few more steps it took to reach where I stood like a dolt with dust rag in hand. I smiled. "Good morning."
"Good morning." John returned my smile and it felt as if he'd turned on the sun.
I felt the need to explain both my presence and that of the rag in my hand. "Just doing a little dusting. It seems somebody's been doing some construction around here and kicking up a lot of dust." I joked and hoped I didn't sound like an idiot.
"Yes, annoying I'm sure. But the good news is, it's done. They've even painted the walls and finished the floors, so no more sanding. I promise. The rest is just finishing touches."
"Such as drapes."
He tipped his head. "Such as drapes."
"They worked fast. It's pretty amazing how quickly they got it done." Now I was babbling, but I was afraid if I stopped talking he'd leave.
"Yes, and the bonus I promised if they finished within a month helped."
"No doubt." I decided to forge ahead to what I really wanted to know. Was he here to stay and for how long? "So, I guess you'll be around more often then."
"Yes. It's done, right down to the furnishings, so I see no reason why I shouldn't stay here starting tonight."
I swallowed hard and grew bolder. "I’m glad you'll be around more often."
"And why is that?" He tipped his head to the side.
I shrugged. "I like seeing you."
"Seeing me?" He raised a brow and I could tell by his expression he was thinking the same as I was. About how much we both liked what we did together that had to do with many more body parts than our eyes.
"Okay, I like doing more than just seeing you," I confessed.
"Me too." John let out a sigh and looked less happy with our discussion. "It could get tricky, I'm afraid."
"What could?"
"My spending time with you. It could be seen as my showing favoritism. The other girls might not take it well."
He was right, of course. Jealousy and bickering was common among the girls, even before John had singled me out from the group. And even though I fully intended to keep working just as hard as they did, they might see me as John's pet and be looking to find fault in me or my job performance.
"I know. You're right." My gaze dropped away from his.
Maybe us spending time together would make things too complicated for him and he didn't want to deal with it. John was first and foremost a smart businessman. I wasn't certain he'd choose sex with me over the best interest of the Cat Haus. He was silent for so long, I dared to glance up at his face.
He shook his head and laughed as he stared at me. "Every one of your emotions shows through in your expression."
I frowned. I didn't like he'd noticed my handicap. John brought my chin up with his forefinger so I'd have to look him in the eye.
"And now you're upset by my comment. Cate, don't be. It's not a bad thing, but you should probably never play poker." He smiled.
"Don't worry. I wasn't planning on it." My mouth twisted even at the mention of the card game that had brought both bad and good into my life of late.
John took a step closer and cupped my face with both of his hands. "Cate."
The breath I'd been holding whooshed out of me. "Yeah."
"Go upstairs."
I frowned. I wasn't often confused, but around this man, it happened too often. My bedroom was on this level, down the hallway. The only upstairs in the building was his new apartment—
Oh.
"You want me to go upstairs?"
"Yes." He trailed a fingertip down my arm, over the silk of my robe. "I was assuming you'd want to help me christen my new bed. But I understand if you'd rather not."
"No, I want to. I definitely want to." Anticipation had my heart pounding so hard I feared he'd feel it.
"Good." John looped his arm around my neck, drew me close and kissed the top of my head. "It's nice to see you again, Cate. It feels really good to be back."
As he led me down the hallway and to the stairs, his arm still around my shoulders, I could have sworn he leaned in and drew in a whiff of my hair. I'd washed it after I'd finished working early this morning and I could still smell the scent of the styling product I'd used.
He let out a sigh that sounded an awful lot like contentment.
I'm glad he was feeling happy because my world had just turned upside down. All I could think after this surreal display of affection from John was what the fuck? What was this? Was I his sex partner or something more? Was he staying for a few days or forever?
I would have liked to ask those plus a dozen more questions but instead I followed John up the stairs. I let him close the door, then nuzzle my neck as he slid my robe off my shoulders. I opened my lips to his when he kissed me.
I'd help him christen the bed, and the sofa, and even the counter in the tiny kitchen area if he wanted. But as he stripped naked before me, the overriding thought in my mind remained—what was I to him? Did he even know?
When he came toward me in all his glorious aroused perfection, I had to think, did it matter what we were to each other? As he laid me down on the bed on top of a comforter that had probably cost a small fortune and slid inside me, my heart clenched with emotion and I realized, yeah, it did matter.
Crap.
PART III
CHAPTER 13
Kneeling on the bed, John ran his hands between my legs, starting at my calves and moving up until he'd spread my thighs wide.
I loved when he touched me. Loved it a little too much, truth be told. I never seemed to be able to get enough of him. I craved him. His touch on my skin. His eyes on me. Even the sound of his voice.
It's crazy. A woman who has sex as many times a day as I did shouldn't need a man with the intensity that I needed him. And that scared the shit out of me, because it meant there's something else going on here. Something I refused to put a name to because there was no way I was going to let myself fall in love with John. At times like this, it was hard to remember that resolution.
Braced between my legs, he spread me with his thumbs and circled my clit. A slow, lazy motion. A warm up. Just a taste of the pleasure he could—would—give me soon. Not soon enough.
My eyes drifted closed, but I forced them open again. I didn't want to miss a moment of watching him. I was never sure if this would be our last time together and I wanted to tuck away every memory I could. Wanted to memorize his voice. The look in his eyes. The feel of him inside me.
"John?"
"Yes, Cate."
I'd said his name in hopes of hearing him say mine. He did and my heart did a little flutter. Fuck. I was so screwed. Tucking that reality away, I said, "I
'm glad you're here."
A slow, sexy smile tipped up the corners of his lips and drew my eyes to his mouth. "Me too."
Inside my head, my mind screamed that familiar, unanswered question—what was this thing between us?
Even as that thought careened through my brain, John continued to work my clit in slow, gentle circles while the tip of his length pressed against my entrance. I waited, anticipating what I needed so badly—that first thrust as he filled me. No matter what I was to him, I had this. This moment.
My one consolation amid all my doubt and uncertainty was my firm belief that he needed this too. He needed to be the man he was while we were together. As he pushed inside me and his eyes lost focus, I knew that to be true with complete certainty.
He wanted me, needed me, needed this. This release. This loss of his tightly held control. He pushed deep and I felt the shudder that ran down his spine. I knew deep down that while he was with me was the only time he let himself go.
His mouth opened on an exhale. With his eyes squeezed shut, a tiny frown creased the space between his brows. I reached up and cupped his face with my hands. Then those eyes opened and his ice blue gaze captured and held mine. His expression seemed filled with wonder, as if this were the first time.
It was far from it. We'd done this before, but still every time with him felt this wondrous. Magical. All words I had no fucking business thinking when it came to sex with a man like John. I yanked myself back to reality. I needed to bring myself down to earth and take him with me.
This, this sex that felt like love, would hurt me in the end. I didn't like being hurt. I reached up and grabbed his hair in one fist, dragging his head down to me. I crushed my mouth against his. He pushed his tongue between my lips as his cock thrust inside me.
I ended the kiss by latching on to his bottom lip with my teeth in a not so gentle bite. I released his mouth and said, "Fuck me."
His eyes narrowed and he did just that, increasing the speed of his body pounding into mine. With him over me, his every stroke rubbed my clit. I bore down around him and he groaned in response. Holding there, close, pressed tight against me, he circled his hips and I felt my muscles tighten, building toward release.
I gripped his perfect ass in both hands and held him there, right where I needed him to be, and the climax rose within me. My breath grew faster until soon I was crying out with each exhale.
John hissed in a breath between his teeth. "Yes, Cate. Come for me."
The sound of my name on his lips sent me over the edge. My muscles spasmed, milking him inside me. John felt it—his muttered cuss and the frenzied increase in his stroke told me that. Then he was coming too, plunging inside me and holding deep as he groaned loud and long.
After what seemed like slow motion yet didn't last for nearly long enough, it was over. He collapsed over me, panting. Sex with John was a work out. His chest stuck to mine as perspiration rose on his bare skin in spite of the air conditioning. I'd have to remember to turn that sucker on full blast before the next time we were together—if there was a next time.
I pushed that doubt aside and absorbed the feel of his weight on top of me. I ran both of my hands down his back, committing his body to memory so I could relive this moment later when I was alone in my own bed. When would that be? How long was John here for this time?
I opened my mouth to ask that very thing, when he spoke first. "Cate, can I ask you a personal question?"
Since John and I were in his bed, both naked and still sweaty from a round of some pretty kick ass sex, I was a little surprised at the formality. Then again, John always did speak to me as if we were in a boardroom rather than a bedroom, except when we were in the middle of actually doing it. When he'd finally let himself go. When his eyes got all unfocused and he talked dirty to me.
I loved those all too brief moments. I cherished them, because from the handful of times we've been together I already knew his standard operating procedure. I knew that even before my heart rate had slowed he'd be back in control again. Analytical. Polite. All business. But I was his business now, wasn't I? John owned this brothel now. This sexual haven in the Nevada desert. Just because I was off the clock and in his bed in his brand new, on-site owner's apartment that still smelled of fresh paint didn't change that.
"Sure. Go for it. Ask away."
His spent cock having already slipped out, he rolled off me and lay at my side. I missed the feel of him over me immediately. Braced on one elbow, he trailed one fingertip down the bare skin in the valley between my breasts. His gaze followed the motion, all the way down to my belly button.
Just when I thought he'd gotten distracted and had forgotten the question, he brought his eyes up to mine and asked, "Why do you work here?"
Ah, the question. The one everyone wants to know the answer to. I was wondering if and when it would rear its ugly head with John. Until now, he'd seemed content to take things at face value and not dig any deeper. Not anymore.
Putting on my sexy look, I shrugged and let my gaze run down his hard and naked body. The man looked too damn good to sit behind a desk all day. He must work out at a gym or something. "Because of the sexy as hell owner."
One dark brow cocked up and I knew I was being indulged. "Cute, and thank you, but you worked here before I took over . . . unless, of course, you're talking about the former owner."
A joke. From John. We were making progress. I laughed at what was obviously a jest, delivered in the usual deadpan manner of any good straight man in a comedy.
"Yup. You caught me. My type totally is old, fat, bald men with bad breath. I have to tell you, it's been quite the chore having to put up with you now that Gus is gone. Hey, do you have Gus's number? Maybe I could call him."
Those blue eyes that had me enthralled the moment I first saw them just a few months ago captured and held mine for a moment before John let out a breath. "Always the little joker."
Here's the thing—I'm not addicted to drugs. I've never been abused. I'm not a high school dropout or a runaway. I'm just a hooker, plain and simple.
Why? Because the freaking money is amazing, the work isn't all that hard and, honestly, I like having sex. But people don’t want to hear that. They want the sob story. The excuses. The reason why a college educated, moderately good girl from a stable family in Middle America would turn to prostitution, even if it is legal and state regulated here in Nevada.
I could tell that John wanted that sob story, or at least some reason or excuse from me for why I chose this life. He'd never spoken it out loud until now, but the question had always been there, hanging almost visibly over us in his bed like some ghostly apparition.
He trailed a finger over my thigh and paused, a frown creasing his forehead above his dark brows. "Where did you get this?"
"Get what?" It was an effort to focus. I was feeling so boneless and relaxed from our prior bout of sex.
"This bruise." He circled a spot on my leg with his fingertip so lightly I hardly felt his touch.
Now I was frowning too as I made the effort to lift my head and glance down at my own thigh. "Oh, that. I walked into the corner of the dresser in my room a couple of days ago."
John leveled his gaze on mine. "Cate . . ."
"John . . ." I imitated his doubt-filled, judgmental tone pretty damn well, if I did say so myself.
His scowl told me he wasn't amused. "Tell me how it happened. Did a client do this to you?"
"No, a client did not do that to me." I rolled my eyes, knowing he still didn't believe me. What the hell? Why would he think I'd lie about a little bruise on my leg? "I told you. I did it to myself. I'm basically a klutz."
"I've never seen you be anything other than graceful, even in heels so high I have no idea how you can walk."
Quite the compliment indeed. My high heel-loving, hooker heart swelled with pride. Too bad it wasn't quite the truth. Most days I was about as graceful as a chimp on roller skates. "You've never seen me in my room when the front bell ri
ngs and I'm still trying to finish getting dressed and out to the parlor for the lineup."
He tipped his head and watched my face. Ah, the old silent treatment trick, guaranteed to get the accused to talk. I knew it well. My dad used to employ the same tactics on us kids back in the day. Wasn't gonna work this time. I was no longer a child, John was far from my daddy, and I had absolutely nothing to confess.
"John, do you really think I'd let any man get away with hurting me?"
Yeah, there'd been a few who'd hurt my pride—a very few—but not my body, and never on purpose. This bitch had skills, and a panic button in my room. If any guy got out of line, I was confident I could handle it, and if I couldn't Tito or Henry in the office would. Sure, bruises happened sometimes during the more energetic rounds of sex, but that wasn't the case this time.
That John was so concerned for my welfare he didn't believe I was being truthful was both infuriating and endearing at the same time. But he always had confused me, from the very beginning. No reason today should be any different.
He drew in a breath and finally let it out. "No, I don't think you would. I'm sorry I questioned you."
"Not a problem. Thank you for worrying about me."
I'd give him a pass this time. It was his job as the owner of the Cat Haus to worry about the girls in his employ. I tried to not let myself assume it was more than that. But dammit, in the back of my mind I kept thinking it was more. He wasn't downstairs inspecting all the other girls for bruises. The lines between my personal life and my work, and the boundaries between John and I, were so blurred it was no wonder I was walking into things.
Me being in his bed in this newly built apartment above the brothel wasn't going to help the situation any. We'd only had one tumble on the crisp, new sheets and yet I already had expectations for the future. I felt as if I had a place here, at least for the couple of days a month John made his appearance.
Which brought me to my next issue, besides what John and I were to each other. What was he, who was he, when he wasn't here? Was he married and I was the other woman? For those three plus weeks a month he was gone, was he a doting father? A loyal brother? An entitled son? What was his life outside of the Cat Haus and the bubble in which we existed here together?
Cat Haus - the Complete Story (Billionaire Bad Boys) Page 12