by S. R. Jones
She holds up a forties style tea dress. I like it. It’s pretty, and it has little cap sleeves. It doesn’t look as if it will be too revealing. I nod and she hands it to me. “Try it on.”
I start to undress and then stop, remembering my scars. But why should I be ashamed of them? They’re another sign of my strength and all I’ve gone through, and I know Ann won’t judge me for them. I pull my t-shirt over my head and her eyes widen the moment they land on my stomach and side.
“Wow, Isla. What happened to you?” Her voice is gentle, but not full of pity, which I couldn’t stand.
“Car accident. My mum died in it. I got tons of glass embedded in my stomach, hips, and thighs. I needed surgery as I had trauma to my liver from the accident.”
“How old were you?”
“Nine.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and it shocks me a little to see this stranger moved by something that happened to me a long time ago.
“It’s okay. It happened ages back.”
“I know.” She sniffs. “But what an awful thing to go through so young. And to lose your mum, too. I’m sorry, Isla.”
“it’s okay.” And I mean it. Yes, it was awful, but I had my dad, and he’s been my rock. I’ve experienced a better upbringing than most of my friends with two parents. I still miss Mum, every day. But Dad has given me more than enough love in my life. As to the operation, it was awful, for sure, but nothing compared to what came later. And that’s something I hardly ever talk about.
I shimmy out of my jeans and pull the dress over my head, fastening the tiny buttons at the chest once it’s on. I glance down and am relieved to see it ends right above my knees. I don’t like wearing skirts that are too short as they show my scars.
“You, are a knockout!” Ann stares at me. “Here, slip these on.”
She hands me some sandals, and I’m relieved to see they have a small-ish wedge to them instead of heels. I’m useless in heels. I slip them on and fasten them, liking the feeling of extra height. I’ll have to get myself some shoes like this. I have a few boots with block heels, and a pair of low heeled smart shoes, but that’s about it.
“Go look in the mirror.”
I head to the full-length mirror, running down one of the wardrobe doors, and once more am shocked by what I see. The dress looked innocent in Ann’s hands. And in many ways, it is. The buttons fasten up to my collarbone, the cap sleeves cover my upper arms, and the hem flutters above my knees. But it clings to my curves in a way that’s almost obscene. My boobs look massive in it, my waist tiny and nipped in.
I narrow my eyes at Ann. “This is the sexiest, conservative dress I’ve ever seen.”
“I know.” She laughs. “It’s why I love it. Confuses the fuck out of men. You’re going to do such a number on Ethan tonight. You’re meeting Luka, too, and he’s as hot as the sun.”
“Really?” I can’t imagine him being hotter than Ethan. “Do you like him? Luka, I mean.”
“Oh, I like him alright. Like any other warm-blooded female would. But I’m not stupid enough to get mixed up with him. He’s walking heartbreak, that one. But it won’t hurt if you flirt a little and make Ethan jealous. Mess with his head some more.”
I start at her words. “What do you mean?”
“Only that my brother has the hots for you, and after tonight he’ll like you even more.”
“He has the hots for me?” I know he kissed me, but I’d thought it a game, or maybe an experiment. See how the geeky virgin kisses or something.
How can a man as virile and handsome as him have the hots for me? It makes no sense. He’s like a force of nature. Watching him hitting that punch bag made me want him so badly. I wanted the power and energy of him to be focused on me.
It’s out of character for me, and my brain knows it is a bad, bad idea. It’s not only Ethan, either. I keep getting urges to do crazy things. This feeling has been building in me for the last two years. A need to change things, shake them up. To step out of my suffocating comfort zone. But then fear will step in and hold me back. Fear of what’s out there. Of the unknown. Fear of hurting my dad. He loves having me at home, and he ended his only romantic relationship because she wasn’t nice to me. If I leave, what will he do? We’re a team. A good team.
If only Ethan does like me... He can be my temporary walk on the wild side.
Chapter Nine
Ethan
I’m about to shout Isla when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Katie is in the living room watching a cartoon and I’m finishing making dinner for her and Ann in the kitchen. Ann’s a great mum, but she’s a lousy cook. I’ve made them Spaghetti Bolognese, which Katie loves.
“Everything’s ready. You need to boil the pasta. Which even you can’t fuck up.” I laugh as I turn to look at Ann and the smile dies on my face.
Ann is in the room, but all I can see, all I can focus on, is Isla. She’s wearing some sort of high necked girly dress. It’s got tiny flowers all over it, and buttons on the front and the sleeves. It’s a sensible length, and if I saw it on a hanger I’d call it an instant erection killer. But on her? It clings to her curves, skimming her hips, nipping in at her waist, sitting tight over those amazing tits of hers.
And then I make the mistake of looking at her face. Fuck me. She’s like God decided to totally mess up my life and send temptation itself to torment me. She no longer looks like a pretty, fresh young woman. She’s beautiful. I always saw that beauty in her, from the first moment I turned the light on in her bedroom, and saw her wearing that ugly fucking nightdress with her bed hair. But now everyone will see it. Every man in the bar will look at her and want her.
My teeth are grinding and I force my jaw to relax. I stare at Ann. Her smirk says it all. Cheeky cow has figured me out, and now she’s helping Isla mess with my head.
“Come on. We’re going to be late.” I grunt a goodbye to Ann and shout bye to Katie. Then I storm out the door without waiting for Isla.
She shoots me an unsure look as she follows and approaches the car. I hold the door open and gesture for her to climb in. As she does so, her dress rides up her legs a little and I swear I’ll kill my sister. I was expecting Isla to come downstairs in that ugly denim skirt she’s been wearing all day. She’d have stuck out like a sore thumb in Josephine’s. Not that I’d have given a shit. I don’t care what people wear. But now, she’s going to stick out in a whole different way.
I slam the door on her once she’s settled in and stalk around to the driver’s side. I climb in and gun the engine, before pulling out of the driveway faster than is necessary.
Not wanting to talk, but finding the silence oppressive, I punch the on button on the stereo. Nine Inch Nails blasts into the car, the hypnotic beat of Closer sounding in the tense space between us. Shit. I go to change the dial but she stops me.
“This is a cool song. Who is it? I’ve not heard it before.”
I can’t even swallow as the words fill the car. I glance at her, and once more reach for the dial.
“I want to listen to it, I’ve not heard it before.” She shoots me a puzzled look.
What can I do? I either pussy out and change the song, which I then will have to explain, or I let this play out. The chorus comes on, singing about fucking like an animal, and I glance at her to see her eyes widen. She bites her lip. Looks at me, at the stereo, then back to me again. Her cheeks flush under the make-up she has on.
“Do you like this music?” Her voice is higher than usual.
“Yeah, I fucking do. You have an issue with it?”
She looks thoughtful for a moment. “No. It’s a good song…interesting lyrics.”
“They are.”
“What do you think they mean?”
Oh, no. Not going there. “No idea. I don’t analyse shit, I just listen to good music.”
She nods and looks out of the window. “You’d laugh at the music I like.”
“Oh yeah?” I turn the song down some, and look at her again. “Why?”
“I like cheesy stuff. Even dad thinks my taste in music is lame.”
I laugh at that. “Well, it must be bad if your dad thinks so. I mean, he must be what? All of forty-something.”
“Yeah. He’s pretty old.” She says it with no irony.
“How old do you think I am?”
She looks at me for a moment. “Twenty-eight or nine?”
“Nope.”
“Thirty?”
I laugh again. “Must be the moisturiser or something. Nope. I’m thirty-four. I’m probably nearer your dad’s age than yours.” I know I am because I know her father’s age after investigating him. He’s forty-three. Had her young, and he stepped up when the shit hit the fan, so I have respect for that.
She shrugs. “So?”
“Just saying.”
But everything we say seems loaded with hidden meaning. An undercurrent of desperate lust running between us. I know she feels it, too. It’s insane. It’s fucking dangerous. This level of need for someone isn’t normal and can’t end anywhere good.
We pull up outside the bar and I look through the big glass front and sigh. It’s rammed, which I didn’t anticipate on a Wednesday night. It’ll be hard to find anywhere to talk, and Luka might start to get twitchy with all the people milling around. I decide we will meet Luka and head off to a pub.
I open the door and jog ‘round to her side, and get her door. There’s no sign of Luka’s battered old run around. It’s his sister’s car, too. He lives with her at the moment and lets her use it. Down on his luck a bit since we got back from our last tour. I’ve told him he’d make a fucking killing doing what I do, but he’s not interested. Which is weird, considering how much he likes to screw.
As soon as I pull the heavy glass doors back, a wave of noise hits. I gesture for Isla to go ahead of me. She steps into the heaving crowd and I’m right at her back. There must be some event going on for the place to be this packed. I put my hand on the small of her back and guide her toward the bar. We get there and I order a pint for myself.
“What would you like?” I ask her.
“An orange juice please.”
I remember then, she doesn’t drink alcohol. I order her juice, grab both drinks, and head toward a booth near the back. A hand on my arm stops me as I’m halfway there. I glance down and my heart sinks when I see the dagger-like nails painted in a zebra stripe. Fuck. Selina.
“Ooh, hello there, gorgeous.” She smiles at me, and I see she’s with her friends. Of course, she wouldn’t be anywhere near me if her husband were with her. She leans in close. “I’ve been meaning to book you in again. He’s away for four days, starting tomorrow.”
I glance at Isla by my side, taking the whole thing in. Her face is a carefully neutral mask, and suddenly I don’t want to talk with Selina. “Sorry, sweetheart.” I keep my voice low, pleasant. “I can’t do this week, I’m not working.”
“Not working?” She says this as if it’s incomprehensible.
I get the urge to say something like, Yeah, even whores get time off, but I stuff it down. Instead I smile and peck her cheek. “I’ll message you when I’m back at work.”
The moment she clocks Isla, her eyes narrow. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
Please, do not let Selina make a scene. She’s normally cool, but she’s had a few drinks, and I’ve seen her get bitchy before with too much wine down her neck. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Didn’t think she was your type,” she whispers. “Bit of a Plain Jane. Pretty, but all prim and neat.”
My gaze takes in Selina, really takes her in. She looks…hard. Hard and cynical. Beautiful, at a glance, but too scornful of life itself to be attractive deep down.
“Come on, let’s go get a seat over there at the back.” I guide Isla away, tossing Selina a goodbye smile. She’ll be pissed, but she’ll come around. She’ll have to if she wants my cock again. I’m allowed a fucking break, for God’s sake.
That’s the thing when people buy your time, rent your body, they think they’re buying a piece of your soul. They’re not.
We settle at the table, and I wrack my brain for something to talk to Isla about so she doesn’t start discussing Selina.
“So, why don’t you drink?”
Chapter Ten
Isla
His question distracts me from the one I’d been about to ask. I wanted to know who the woman was. A client maybe? I lose track of my thoughts as I scramble to answer his question.
“You know I was in a car accident?” He nods. “Well, I sustained some damage to my internal organs, including my liver. I had to have surgery to help stop the bleeding, and ever since I’ve wanted to take care of myself. I mean, no one’s told me I can’t drink. The doctors gave me a clean bill of health after my treatment ended, but I don’t want to risk it. And then there were some other things…I like to take care of my health.”
He nods again, but I see the way his eyes narrowed when I mentioned ‘other things’. Like a hawk latching onto its prey. He picked up on it, and I send up a silent prayer he won’t ask. I don’t want to talk about it. I never want to talk about it.
A shadow falls across our table and I look up to see the most astonishingly beautiful man I think I’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s prettier than most of the women in here. He’s got soulful blue/green eyes, framed by lashes that should be illegal. His cheekbones could cut glass, his jaw is strong, and his lips are soft and full. I look from him to Ethan, and think I must be losing it because I prefer Ethan, and I know he’s not as objectively good looking as this guy.
“Sit down, Luka. You’re looming.” Ethan almost snaps the words.
“Fuck me, it’s busy in here for a week night. And noisy.” Luka winces, but it does nothing to dim his pretty.
So, this is the friend we’re meeting. Wow, Ann was right. He is all that, and some. And what’s with the frosty welcome from Ethan? Might she be correct about him liking me, and the jealousy, too? I bite back a smile.
Luka doesn’t seem to take offence and merely grins at Ethan before turning to me. His smile is as beautiful as the rest of him. He sits down, and waves over a young woman collecting glasses.
“Do me a favour, Emma, get us a drink in. I don’t want to have to go wait at the bar.” I swear he bats those eyelashes at her.
She flashes her dimples at him, and trots off to do his bidding. I bet he can get almost any woman to do what he wants with those eyes, and that smile. I look at Ethan again and my heart does a little flip-flop. Yep, I prefer him. More rugged, more masculine. He’s no slouch in the looks department either. But Luka’s the sort of thing broken hearts are made of from a single glance. His face is sad though, at least in repose.
“Who’s this?” Luka nods at me.
“Luka, meet Isla. Isla, Luka.” Ethan gestures between us and takes a sip of his drink.
“Someone hired me to do my special on Isla, without her consent or knowledge.” Ethan lays it straight out there.
Luka runs a hand through his hair. “Fucking hell, mate. You serious?”
Ethan sighs and takes a sip of his pint. “Deadly. And I want to know who. I can’t think of anyone on my end who’d do it. Makes no sense.”
“I can,” I pipe up. Both men turn to look at me. “You screw women for money.” I keep my voice low. “There must be a lot of husbands who’d want to harm you if they found out. What if one did?”
“She’s got a point.” Luka smiles at me.
Ethan shakes his head. “I’ve spoken to all my clients, none of their husbands are aware.”
“As far as these women know.” I once more say my piece.
“Yes,” Ethan replies. “But it’s a fucking risky move. Most of these schmucks wouldn’t have it in them. And how and why would they have picked you? There’s no connection between any of my clients, and you that I can find. You’re a very particular target. So, unless one of their husbands knows about you. Knows everything about you, it makes no sense.”
I get immediately that he’s referring to my virginity.
“Think about it. Yes, they’d maybe get me into trouble. But if one of them had done it to get at me, it makes a lot more sense for them to have called the police or something five or ten minutes after I arrived at yours. Yet no police turned up. Also, do you normally have the landing light on? No, you don’t, do you?”
I shake my head. “No, we turn the lights off at night, I already told you that.” My stomach drops at the thought of waking up and seeing him loom over me. “I have blackout blinds on my window. The only reason I left the light on was because Dad was away, and I got doubly spooked by this silly book I was reading.”
“Which book?” Luka interrupts.
“Erm, It, by Stephen King.”
“Whoa.” Luka holds his hand up. “That’ll do it every time. Not one for reading when all alone.”
“So, as I was saying...” Ethan shoots Luka an inpatient look. “You sleep with the lights off normally. And the email from your account specifically said as much. That the lights would be off, and whoever did this already paid up front, so I didn’t need the lights on at the end to collect any cash. That happens sometimes. Some women want it to be extra authentic, they pay in advance, and tell me to leave without saying anything when we’re done.
“Think about it, the person who hired me knows you and/or your father well enough to share this detail. The lights being off would also mean you couldn’t see my face, and I couldn’t see you. No way to gage your reaction. See your genuine distress. If you hadn’t left the landing light on, things could have turned out much uglier.”
His words sink in and I feel sick. Oh, my God. Without the light on, he could have broken in, held me down, pretend raped me, but for real, and I’d never have been able to see his face. Then he’d have left and I’d have paid him for the privilege! I like to think I’d have fought back, but no one knows what they’d do in such a situation. I might have come out kicking and screaming once the initial shock wore off, but I might as easily have frozen.