Hooker (L.A. Liaisons Book 2)

by Brooke Blaine

  As he kissed his way up my body, I lost myself in his touch, his caress, both gentle and strong, and in the dirty sweet nothings he whispered as he filled me so entirely that I couldn’t imagine ever feeling complete without him.

  * * *

  THREE HOURS AND four—count ’em, four—orgasms later, we were still tangled in the sheets, the lights off and the doors leading outside open so the wind could breeze in and we could see the stars.

  “It was like this where I grew up,” I said. “So quiet at night and you could see out for miles.”

  “Must’ve been nice. The view wasn’t anything like this in Michigan. All I remember is snow for months.”

  “Snow is pretty.”

  Nate’s chest vibrated with laughter. “Yeah, because you’ve never been in it.”

  “True. Maybe you’ll take me there sometime.”

  “Maybe so.” I could hear the grin in his voice. “Speaking of…do I get to meet your parents anytime soon?”

  “Uh, you really want to talk about my parents while we’re naked?”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  “I’m not—” I started, and then shook my head. “Sorry to dash your dreams, but they’re not visiting until next year. So if I’m still putting up with you then, I guess I’ll let you tag along,” I said with a wink.

  He clutched at his heart. “If, she says. Don’t you guys Skype every week?”

  “Hold on. You want to Skype with me and my parents? Really?” A slow smile spread across my face. “You liiiiike me, you want to kiiiiiss me—”

  “Oh bugger off,” he said, and that had me laughing. “See? You’re already rubbing off on me.”

  “Maybe don’t say that particular expression when you meet them.”

  “So it’s when now, huh?” His grin turned arrogant.

  “Yeah, I guess I’ll claim you.”

  “That’s good to know,” he said, as his hands played in my hair. “So you know the project I’ve been working on?”

  “The one you’ve been talking about but not talking about for weeks? No, I have no idea,” I said, grinning as I nudged him with my knee. “Please tell me more of nothing about it.”

  Nate was on top of me in a flash, his eyes twinkling as he pinned me to the bed. Laughing, I struggled to escape, but gave up when he interlaced our fingers over my head.

  “We’re booked for showcases next month. I want you there.”

  “Mhmm, I think I can make that happen,” I said, lifting up to catch his lips in a kiss, but he dodged out of my reach.

  “Promise?”

  A fleeting thought of checking in with Ace went through my head, but even if something came up with him, there was no way I would miss Nate’s big event. It was only one night, after all. He could deal.

  “On second thought, I might be busy that day…” I teased, pushing my hips up against his.

  “Don’t make me tie you up again and force you. I’ll do it.”

  I pulled my left leg out from underneath him and wrapped it around his hips, pushing him down onto me as I arched into him again. “How bad do you want me there?”

  His eyes glazed over with lust at my sexual invitation.

  “Pretty fucking bad,” he said, licking his lips as one hand came down to hold the leg I had around him firmly in place. His mouth went to my neck, brushing so light against my skin that I shivered. “Tell me…will you come for me?”

  “Come for you…or with you?”

  “With me,” he said, his lips grazing mine. “Always.”

  A whispered “yes” lingered in the air as I rolled on top of him, giving just as good as I’d been given.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Pervy Pete

  WHY IS IT always when things are going well that they inevitably turn to shit? Just out of the blue, bam, it hits you, and you’re knocked off course.

  It was a rare rainy day in April, and I was just wrapping up my column for the week when my cell phone rang.

  “Hey, Ace, what’s up?”

  “Sorry to make this quick, but I’m in the middle of a shoot. Something’s come up for Friday, and I’ll need you.”

  “Friday, like this Friday? As in tomorrow night, you mean?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, I know it’s last minute, and I was gonna just go alone, but Roger and Martina seem to think you need to walk the red carpet with me. There’s another fucking story coming out in next week’s tabloids, and it would be a stronger show to ward off the shitstorm.”

  Oh my God. Not Friday. Not Nate’s project Friday.

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’ve got something to wear. I’ll have Roger work things out with your boss so you can get something tomorrow—”

  “Wait, uh…you don’t have to do that.” Shit shit shit. “What I mean is, um. I can’t…go with you. I already made plans—”

  “I’m sorry, I know this makes me such a huge asshole, but I need you, Shayne. I hate having to even admit that, but…if we don’t show up together, I’m fucked and this is all for nothing. Please.”

  “Isn’t there something else we could attend instead? Something Saturday or Sunday?” Literally any time other than tomorrow night. Please, God, don’t do this to me.

  “Oh…well, if it’s not possible, I’m sure I can figure something out—”

  A muffled sound as if the phone dropped or switched hands, and then—

  “Shayne.” Oh hell. Ace’s right-hand man had, of course, heard the conversation. Great. Just great.

  My eyes squeezed shut as I ground out, “Hi, Mr. Herschman.”

  “I just wanted to remind you of the contract you signed with us. And that the penalty for breaking said contract is a pretty hefty fee, to the tune of two million.”

  “I’m more than aware of what I signed.” And more than aware that even if I worked every day of my life I’d still never make that much money.

  So what was the alternative? Jail? Getting sent back to Australia? If it wasn’t so fucking terrifying, it would almost be laughable.

  “Then it’ll be no problem for you to do your job and attend the event with Ace tomorrow. And you won’t give him a hard time for asking something simple of you. I’m sure your plans can be easily rescheduled.” His voice brooked no argument. It also said that if I tried to fight him on this, that he would personally see to it that I attended, even if he had to drag me kicking and screaming bloody murder all the way there.

  But Nate’s face was all I could see, and the burden of what I had to do weighed heavily on my shoulders. I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat, but I felt like I was choking. No. No, I can’t go. No, I won’t go. I don’t care how much money you sue me for. That’s what I wanted to say, what was on the tip of my tongue. Instead I said, “I understand.”

  “That’s what I thought. Martina will find you tomorrow and get you set up with something to wear, as Ace said. You’ll be at his house at four on Friday for hair and makeup, and then you’ll ride together.”

  “Right. Of course.” My voice sounded so small I didn’t even recognize it as mine.

  “We’ll see you then.” He ended the call before Ace had a chance to get back on, and I instantly felt sick to my stomach.

  What the hell was I going to tell Nate? “Oh, I can’t attend your big final project that you’ve been working so hard on because I have to go walk a red carpet with my faux-boyfriend. You know, the one I said I wasn’t dating in Vegas but ended up in a contract with? Oh, did I forget to mention that? Well, you know now, and also your friends will tell you once clear pictures without a fucking disguise are plastered all the hell over every magazine and newspaper.” No big deal. I just had to go break his heart, which in turn would break mine.

  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. How was this my life?

  * * *

  IT’D TAKEN THREE hours for me to work up the courage to go see Nate. He’d been expecting me to head over right after work with dinner I’d ordered from the Aussie b
akery nearby, even though he was swamped with final project details, of which he was still keeping a super secret.

  He opened the door with a huge smile, and I wasn’t even in the door when he grabbed me by the waist, kissed me, and pulled me inside.

  “Just the break I needed,” he said, kissing down my neck and then taking the bags I held and dumping them on the counter.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Nah, I was just taking a break, so it’s perfect timing.” He kissed me again, his lips lingering on mine, but then he leaned back, his brow furrowed. “You okay?”

  I mustered a smile, even though every beat of my heart pumped the dread in my veins deeper and harder until I was consumed. But I couldn’t hide it from Nate. Not for long, so I told him the truth. “Not really.”

  “What’s wrong? You starving? I know how you get when you’re hungry,” he said with a grin, and let go of me to pull the Styrofoam cartons out of the to-go bag. “I got port to go with it, the kind your dad mentioned you like—”

  “I can’t go tomorrow,” I blurted out.

  His hands went still, and his head craned to look at me. “What?”

  “I can’t go tomorrow. To your big night.”

  “Yeah, I heard you, but I was hoping there was a ‘just kidding’ coming.”

  I took a big breath, and then gave him the story I’d come up with on the way here. Lies upon more lies. What else was new for me lately? And who the hell was I? “Val informed me today that she has an out-of-town emergency, and I have to handle a big client mixer on her behalf. Two of her investors will be there, and it’s a huge deal for the company. I tried to get out of it, I swear, but she wasn’t having it.”

  The story would check out fine because Val was indeed out of town until Monday, but not for an emergency, like I’d said. No, she was off enjoying herself on some tropical vacay, as she was wont to do more often than not. Must be nice.

  “And no one else can do it,” he said. Not a question. A statement that said he was sure someone else could do it, and I just hadn’t said no.

  I crossed my arms over my chest so my hands would stop shaking. “No, she doesn’t trust anyone else to handle it.”

  “I see.” He stared down at the counter for a long moment before pushing off it and walking past me.

  “Nate, I’m sorry—”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “Of course I am. But what can I do?”

  “You can say no, Shayne. You can say I’m sorry, but we’ll just have to reschedule. You have choices. You do what you want to do.”

  “But I don’t have a choice, don’t you understand that?”

  “You know, you keep saying that like you’re stuck where you are. No one is keeping you there.”

  “What, so you want me to quit my job?”

  He stayed silent, staring at his hands as he sat on the edge of the couch.

  “Nate, I can’t quit my job. I love what I do.” His eyebrow winged up, and I said, “Okay, I don’t love where I’m at, but I do love what I do. I’d never ask you to give something like that up.”

  “Is that what I’m asking you to do?” His head cocked to the side, and his eyes studied me as though I were someone he’d never seen before. I didn’t want him looking at me that way. I wanted the happy-go-lucky Nate who had opened the door. The one who believed I wasn’t the asshole who would blow him off.

  Perching on the end of the chair opposite him, I said, “It makes me sick that I can’t go, and if I could be there I would. I mean that. I’m so proud of you, and I want to be there to see what you’ve accomplished. More than anything. Please believe me.”

  He picked at his hands. “This little school thing, or whatever you think it is…it means a lot to me.”

  My eyesight grew blurry around the edges as the tears threatened, and I swallowed hard. “I know it does. And it’s not a little thing at all.”

  Nate didn’t say anything to that, just had his head in his hands. After silent minutes passed, he rubbed his face and stood up, heading back to his desk.

  I just watched him, not sure whether he wanted me to stay. Wanted me to go. Wanted to yell. He rearranged the books on his desk and flipped the monitor back on.

  “I don’t know what else to say.”

  “Then maybe you should go.” His face was hard, closed off. He looked so much older in that moment than I’d ever seen him, and I hated the cause was me.

  I recoiled. “You want me to leave?”

  His shoulders lifted in a shrug, and my heart sank. I knew the reaction wouldn’t be a good one, but I hadn’t expected the complete shutout. I’d thought he’d be upset and pissed off and then forgive me and say maybe next time. I should’ve known better.

  “If that’s what you want.”

  He looked back down at his desk. “I’ve just got a lot to work on, so it’d be best if you did.”

  “Nate—”

  “Shayne,” he said, his gaze coming up to meet mine. He started to say something else then shook his head. “I’ll call you later.”

  I didn’t want to leave, not yet. What if he decided this was too much of a deal breaker and I never came back? Surely not. Work happens. He’d understand…eventually. “I’m really sorry, Nate. I tried.”

  “Yeah, I heard you the first time,” he said softly. “You can let yourself out. Take the food with you.”

  I was too much in shock to say anything back, so I stood and walked numbly to the front door, passing by the food left out on the counter. I didn’t want it, and he’d need it later. When I opened the door and looked back at him, his back was facing me, and it was all I could do not to go back inside and make him forgive me. Instead, I would give him space, and I let the door click quietly shut behind me.

  * * *

  AFTER THE TEARS unleashed and then finally came to a stop on the drive home, I left a message on Val’s machine and told her I was gonna chuck a sickie the next day. Because apparently I had to go shopping for a fucking dress for a fucking premiere so I could officially come out as Ace’s fucking girlfriend, in essence cutting off all ties to my real fucking boyfriend.

  And yeah, my punishment and bad karma had been coming for a while now, and I’d been lucky my double-dealing ways hadn’t bit me on the ass yet, but I needed more time. I needed this all not to happen until I could figure out how the hell to fix it, but let’s face it—I’d been in fix-it mode for weeks and weeks now and hadn’t gotten any damn where.

  Normally when I was upset, I’d stop off and grab a pint of ice cream at Licked, but I wasn’t in the mood for any more lying today. Yes, I was avoiding my friends. Add that to the “Shayne is a horrible person” list. So I made a detour to Trader Joe’s for cookie butter and cheap red wine instead.

  When I got home, the apartment was thankfully empty, a rarity nowadays, but the twins were in Palm Springs for a few days, so I would take advantage of the dead silence that mimicked the numbness I felt inside. Maybe I’d take a long, luxurious bubble bath to go with my gorge-fest, along with a little mindless reading to quiet the chaos that would soon come back with a roaring vengeance to vie for attention inside my brain.

  That wasn’t asking too much, was it? A nice, quiet night at home to pretend my life wasn’t a complete fuck-up.

  So not what I got.

  My enjoyable evening started with plumbing issues. It took a good ten minutes of running the water for the rusty, orange-tinted liquid to go clear—damn old pipes—and then another ten for the shitty water pressure to fill the tub. Trying to fit myself into the small, bubble-filled bath was a challenge, my limbs contorting into awkward positions so that I was covered, but it was either legs under and top half out, or top half in, legs out.

  See? Baths always seemed like such a good idea in theory, but until tub makers decided to wake up and realize people were taller now than back when they’d been invented in the nineteenth century, it would continue to be an uncomfortable experience for anyone over five-two.

 
; Oh, and for the record, Dawn dish soap makes for an inexpensive alternative and gives great foam. #CheapideasbyShayne

  I crossed my legs Indian-style and lay back, and the water finally covered most of me. Closing my eyes, I counted backward from a hundred, clearing my mind of everything threatening to invade my quiet time. In this space, there wasn’t work stress or lies. No men to complicate things. No money problems or car issues. Just peace and tranquility.

  “Shayne!”

  The pounding on the front door jolted me awake just as I’d finally begun to drift off somewhere between sleep and consciousness.

  Nope. Ignore. Pretend there is no old landlord beating down your door to tear you away from this mountain of bubbles that you worked so hard to build. There are also no such things as cell phones, crazy people, love-life problems, or anything stressful. Nope. There is only bubbles. And a half-eaten jar of cookie butter by the tub within arm’s reach.

  My hand grazed through the top layer of foam, and when I scooped a handful, I blew on it and made a wish before letting my eyelids shutter down again.

  Bang bang bang. “Shayne! Open open.”

  When the assault against my front door continued, I growled and sat up, the water lapping over the edge of the tub. Then I stood, grabbed my robe, and muttered obscenities as I stomped out of the bathroom. Wet footprints on the fake hardwood linoleum trailed me as I made my way through the living room, and then when another knock sounded, I swung open the door.

  “There better be a fire,” I warned, holding my robe closed in one hand and gripping the door with the other.

  My landlord, a squat man with a beer belly, stood there with a flashlight in his hand, which was probably what he’d used to beat my door half to death with. He didn’t even try to hide his open perusal. Instead, he twirled his handlebar mustache and whistled to show his appreciation.

  I didn’t refer to him as Pervy Pete for nothin’.

  “I didn’t realize I was interrupting,” he said, his south-of-the-border accent thicker than usual, and he looked anything but apologetic.