Tramp (Hush Book 1)

by Mary Elizabeth

  Ending the call, I close my phone and power it down. Talking to Inez does nothing to soothe the pinprick of unease in the bottom of my stomach. It’s best if we cut communication until this job is done.

  My appointments take place in an office setting, and since I’m supposed to be nothing more than a regular patient or client, my attire consists of pencil skirts and tops that cover the barely-there lace underneath. Inez assures me that Talent and I will be alone, so I need to pull out all the stops and be bold.

  I finish my makeup with dark ruby lipstick before I curl my hair into loose waves that cascade down my back. Stepping out of my robe in front of my dresser, I open the top drawer where a forest green set of lace lingerie rests. The panties tie at the sides, and the top, a deep-V bralette, hugs my breasts and crosses in the back. The contrast is striking against my skin, and I admire my reflection in the mirror longer than normal.

  The only traits I share with my mother are the shape of our smiles and the relentless appearance of uncertainty in our eyes. Thank God I don’t see the smile often.

  I move away from the mirror before the look in my eyes turns the pinprick of hesitation in my stomach into a gash.

  Having chosen a dress that follows the cut of my lingerie to ensure it remains a secret until I reveal it to Talent, I pick a heel to match and leave my room without looking at my reflection a second time.

  Warm spring evening air moves through my hair, lifting it from my shoulders before sweeping across my back. My driver notices and his eyes follow the length of my curls to my waist. His attention continues around the curve of my bottom and down the expanse of my legs. I watch him as I step into the back of the car, and he closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of my perfume.

  I close the door before he has a chance to memorize it, cracking his trance. He hurries around the front of the car and slides into the driver seat, blushing and rattled.

  “You’re headed to the Ridge building downtown, right, Miss Smith?” he asks.

  Locking my gaze out the window, I give this man nothing more to grasp on to and simply nod. He won’t know the sound of my voice or offered common courtesy because he made the mistake of taking a closer look at me. I close the glass partition between the front and back seats, hoping it’s enough to blur his mind’s eye.

  “What are you doing, Lydia?” I whisper to myself as my apartment building disappears and we head toward the business district.

  Nothing about this is in my character. I don’t wear color other than black or white to appointments, my hair usually stays up until I’m behind closed doors, and my heart never beats with nervousness like it knocks now.

  I am exposed.

  Agreeing to a job with a client as prominent as Talent Ridge goes against everything I work to protect.

  I’m digging in my clutch for something to wipe my lipstick off with when the car slows down in front of the Ridge & Sons skyrise. Leaning closer to the car window to get a better look at the building, I can’t see to the top and cloud the window with my breath. I open the car door as the driver comes around, denying him the opportunity to catch another look at my face, and step onto the sidewalk with my gaze held high.

  As the sun sinks toward the west, streaks of blue, yellow, and orange light shimmer against the building’s mirror surface. It’s as if the sky opened in front of me and I’m steps away from the heavens.

  “Enjoy your evening, Miss Smith,” my driver calls out, but I’m already heading toward the reflection of the sky.

  My job is not to admire architecture or daydream about the atmosphere. I’m here to infiltrate the one building in this city Inez hasn’t cracked until now. I straighten my spine, lift my chin, push away any hint of unease I felt before leaving my apartment, and bury Lydia Montgomery down, down, down.

  Cara feels nothing.

  I walk through the lobby like I own the place. No one stops to ask who I am or where I’m headed. Men with briefcases and women with their cell phones glued to their ears make a path for me, and I get to the elevator without making eye contact with a soul.

  No one goes up but me. The elevator doesn’t stop its smooth sail until we’ve reached the top floor, opening to an empty hallway with a set of glass doors etched with Ridge & Sons at the end.

  The waiting area’s empty, but there’s a lady behind the reception desk. She smiles upon my arrival, drinking in the way my body fills out my dress. A woman like her—short and unremarkable—doesn’t own an outfit like mine. It wouldn’t look the same on her even if she did, and she’s well aware of how large my presence is compared to hers.

  She doesn’t realize how deceiving looks can be.

  Brushing her fingertips across her collarbone, she asks, “How may I help you?”

  “I have a six o’clock appointment with Talent Ridge,” I say.

  “Your name?” Color spreads from her chest to her cheeks, and she adjusts her seat to sit taller.

  “Cara Smith,” I say, giving her nothing more than basics.

  She clicks on the computer keyboard and taps on the mouse, nodding her head at the monitor. “Please, have a seat. May I offer you a drink while you wait?”

  Smiling kindly, I say, “Not necessary.”

  Financial magazines and brochures rest on glass coffee tables beside the leather seats for guests. The waiting area is cold, minimal, and impersonal with boring art on the white walls and no sound but the click of the receptionist’s keyboard. But everyone is gone, like Inez promised.

  “Your last appointment is here,” the girl behind the desk whispers into a phone. After a pause, she says, “Yes, sir. I’ll send her in.”

  I inhale a breath through my nose into my belly and empty my mind of everything but the job at hand, becoming as indifferent as the design scheme. From top to bottom, unease melts away from my body with indecision and mistrust, and I’m an empty vessel with one goal in mind: money.

  I was born for this shit.

  I was born because of this shit.

  “He’s ready for you,” the receptionist says, standing to her feet.

  What I don’t expect to happen when I enter Talent’s office is to be hit with a rush of warmth and personality, but it’s exactly what happens. My eyes don’t immediately fall on the dark-haired man sitting behind the desk. First, I’m left breathless by the view of the ocean right over his shoulder from the wall-sized window. Next, the gray walls and golden light spilling from modern light fixtures envelop me. Unlike the waiting room, this room has texture and life, finished with dark wood and leather furniture, and a wet bar serving premium liquor.

  Talent comes to his feet and clears his throat, and I can’t look away.

  “You must be Miss Smith,” he says, motioning toward a chair in front of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  My mouth feels full of cotton, but I confidently reply, “Call me Cara.”

  Dressed in slacks and a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, Talent nods. “Can I offer you something to drink, Cara?”

  Pictures online are offensive compared to how beautiful this man is in person. He’s tall, dark, and godforsakenly handsome. Talent’s eyes look opaque in photographs, but even from six feet away I can see they’re gunmetal gray. His head full of curly hair is worn like a crown, barely contained by the tapered haircut—almost unsuitable and too unruly for an office environment.

  And his mouth…

  Those lips…

  “No,” I answer regretfully. “Thank you, though.”

  He sits after me, and there’s a split second of dead space where we stare at each other without the delusions of politeness and proper introductions. I lift an eyebrow, and he smirks, but neither one of us has the other figured out.

  “Have we met?” he asks, hurling us back into the here and now.

  “We haven’t,” I confirm. I cross my legs.

  Talent leans back in his seat, claiming it like a throne amid his kingdom. Which isn’t far from how he’s typically treated in Grand H
aven.

  “Your name appeared on my schedule this morning for an entire hour of my time and I didn’t recognize it. Not anyone can just walk in here. I almost had my receptionist cancel the appointment.”

  “You’ll be thankful you didn’t,” I say. “I’m well worth your time.”

  His eyes roam from my ankle to my knee, and he says, “What can I do for you, Cara?”

  I didn’t take Talent Ridge as the role-playing type. I assumed he was a straight-to-the-point kind of fella. But I can handle the part of the naïve client to his dominant CEO if that’s what he wants.

  “I need a lawyer,” I say. “I heard you’re the best.”

  “Do you have a company you want to buy or sell? Otherwise, I’ll refer you to another firm.”

  “No, I want you,” I insist. “In fact, you’re the only lawyer in the entire city who can give me what I need.”

  The trace of a smile spoils his practiced persona, and I see the charm that’s earned him the title as Most Eligible Bachelor. Talent’s mastered the art at keeping his charisma at bay, but he’s never faced a woman like me.

  “Please excuse me for cutting to the chase. I don’t typically have women as beautiful as you drop by my office without a lengthy, boring explanation as to why. What do you want?”

  “Send your receptionist home for the night,” I say.

  He doesn’t hesitate before picking up the phone and excusing his girl from her post. His eyes stay locked on mine. “Why did I do that?”

  “Secrecy,” I say, sweeping my fingertips across my collarbone. “I’m nothing like your other clients, but you know that, right?”

  My heels tap against the dark wood floor as I stand up and close the distance between us, amplified by the silence in the office.

  “Who are you?” Talent asks again. He licks his bottom lip, sitting back in his seat as I approach.

  “Your wildest dreams,” I say.

  Sitting on the edge of his desk, I lean back on my palms and cross my legs. Talent exhales a cool breath through his lips, but he doesn’t move to touch me. His eyes roam my body as I look over his shoulder at the breathtaking view of the ocean.

  “Have you seen anything more beautiful than the view from your office window?” I ask in a moment of absolute realness.

  Gray eyes find mine, and he whispers, “Yes.”

  Clever, I think to myself.

  Wrapping his loosened tie around my hand, I open my knees and pull him on his chair between them. He doesn’t lose his cool. He doesn’t stop me from completely untying it. Talent keeps his hands to himself and watches my face as I pull the tie free from around his neck and drop it to the floor.

  “There are certain requirements I need from a lawyer,” I say, unbuttoning his shirt.

  A trace of a grin curves his mouth, and he asks, “What are they?”

  I undo three buttons before I lose patience and pull his shirt apart. Thread snaps and small buttons tap on the wood floor before resting in the corners of the office. Walking my fingers up Talent’s sculpted abs, I say, “These are one of them.”

  His chest rises with a heavy breath, but he still doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t stop me either. My nipples harden beneath the green lace, but I discard it as a natural reaction, far, far, far away from pleasure. Even if my disconnected conscience shows up for a peek as I drag my thumb across Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor’s full lips.

  “Your lips are definitely a requirement,” I play. Pinching and drawing his bottom lip until it pulls free, I continue, “But there’s one more thing on my list.”

  Talent’s cheeks burn soft red, and his hooded eyes arrest mine.

  For a split second, my heart pounds hard enough in my chest that I truly feel it—just once, just enough to push hot blood through my veins. It’s enough to set my skin on fire. Enough to cause me to inhale sharply as I slide onto Talent’s lap and feel how hard he is against my core.

  One single heartbeat is enough to feel the warmth of his bare chest against mine as the woodsy scent of his skin sinks into me.

  I push it away, shoveling sensation and emotion back into the dark corner of my mind where it’s supposed to be locked away when I’m with a client. I force my thoughts to cheap drunks throwing crumpled dollar bills at my mother’s feet, and the sound of her slapping one of them across the face after they’ve touched her as she gathers her earnings from the stage.

  But, as I lower my lips right above Talent’s ear, the hint of the heat he erupted in me prowls.

  Flicking his earlobe with the tip of my tongue, I whisper, “Your cock.”

  “Fuck,” he responds roughly. Talent turns his face into the curve between my shoulder and neck and nips the delicate skin there with his teeth.

  Rolling my hips, I close my eyes and swallow against the battle of mind and body raging inside of me. A few clients have made me come, and it was always only biological. Moments when my awareness was so far away, I became disassociated and abandoned my body to do what bodies do during sex. It was never pleasurable and left me sick for days afterward.

  That’s not what’s threatening to happen here.

  Savage desire overpowers my basic survival tactics, and I find myself asking, “Why haven’t you touched me yet?”

  “Can I?” Talent asks.

  I tilt my head back and moan at the feel of his length between my legs. “Please.”

  Talent’s hands are authoritative, gripping my thighs and pulling me higher on his lap. The chair we’re in rolls back, stopping only when it hits the glass wall behind us. If the entire world just looks up, they’ll see the way my eyes roll as his hands glide up my back. They’ll see me bite my bottom lip when Talent lowers the strap of my dress and tastes the skin atop my shoulder. But they won’t hear me when I say, “More.”

  He drags the straps down my arms, unwrapping me like a gift, until my dress is gathered around my waist. Green lace looks better in the setting sunlight than it did in my dark apartment. My breasts are full and round, spilling out of my bra. Talent cups them in his large hands, sweeping his thumbs over my nipples before reaching around me and releasing the hook.

  Lace has yet to hit the floor before he sucks my nipple into his mouth, palming the other in his warm hand. I circle my arms around his neck, holding him against me as utter bliss shoots through my body. I cry out as his tongue laps over the sensitive bud, and I don’t recognize who I’ve become.

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, kissing from my chest to my neck.

  I shake my head. “I haven’t deemed you qualified to represent me just yet.”

  His answering chuckle sends a blast of heat between my legs. It’s a deliciousness I’ve never felt before, and I dissolve.

  Talent slides his hands under my bottom and stands to his feet. I wrap my legs around him and tug his shirt down his arms, undressing his spectacular chest. His arms are muscular without being obnoxious, and his chest is lean and toned. He lays me down on his desk, knocking pens, paper clips, or whatever-the-fuck else over. Paper cascades to the floor, swaying back and forth like a slowing swing before landing beside my bra and his shirt.

  I drag my fingers down his back, kneading my fingertips into firm muscle as they move beneath his hot skin with motion. He pushes himself up, only to look me in the eyes as he reaches under my dress. Running my hands through my hair, I arch my back away from the desk as unadulterated lust leaves me unguarded and needy.

  “Come on,” I whisper breathlessly, hooking my feet around the back of his thighs. “Come on. Come on. Come on.”

  Cool air brushes against my hot center, casting chills up my spine. I barely register the sound of a drawer opening and closing over the jingle of Talent unfastening his belt. Reaching between us, I lower his zipper as he rips the condom wrapper open between his teeth.

  “We don’t have all night,” I say teasingly, lying back. I open my knees wider for him, stretching my arms above my head to hold on to the edge of the desk in anticipation.

  Tal
ent’s dark hair falls across his forehead as he braces himself over me. He dips his head lower, lower, lower until his mouth hovers right above mine. The scent of spearmint on his breath is close enough to taste on my lips.

  “I don’t usually—”

  Lifting my hips from the desk, I cut him off midsentence and say, “Just fuck me.”

  I don’t want to hear about how this isn’t something he usually does, especially when he has condoms in his office drawer. Hiring pussy is never something any of them usually do. Their flimsy grasp at innocence does nothing for me. It doesn’t make me feel better or worse because I usually don’t feel anything.

  Determination eases the tension furrowing his eyebrows, ending any second thoughts he has about fucking an escort. Society doesn’t understand why people like Talent pay for sex. Society fails to understand that complication and status go hand-in-hand, and after a while, questioning the authenticity and motives of everyone in his life is a drag.

  Paying for my company ditches the drama and cuts straight to the good parts with no strings attached.

  Prostitution is the world’s oldest occupation for a reason.

  I’m sprawled for this man—at his mercy. I tighten my hold and cross my ankles around the back of his legs, pulling him closer, opening me wider. His cock brushes against the inside of my thigh, and I cry out, igniting a frenzy in Talent. He doesn’t bother untying my panties. Neither one of us has patience for the mere seconds it would take for that.

  He pulls them to the side and pushes himself into me in one long, hard thrust.

  There’s no air.

  My head tilts back. My back curves from the desk. I part my lips to gasp, but the oxygen has been sucked from the room.

  Tingles ripple through my body, a feeling so extraordinary, I’m weightless.

  None of this is practiced, routine … part of the job. There’s no script on my tongue. Nothing my body does is in hope to make him come faster, to get this over with. The goose bumps on my arms are real. The moan that finally touches my lips is involuntary and the only thing I can do to keep from exploding.

  Talent grips the desk above my head, right beside my hands, and uses it as leverage as he pulls out and drives back inside of me. I let go, circling my arms around his neck and hold on. Solid wood shudders beneath us, more paper falls to the floor, and the phone takes a dive.