by Paige North
When he doesn’t make any move toward me, I decide to take a chance. I move behind the couch, my pulse fluttering right before I rest my hands on his wide shoulders. He tenses, as if resisting me, and I almost pull back.
But when he doesn’t tell me to stop, I ease my fingers down his shoulders, just like the massage therapist did to me yesterday. Then I begin to rub his tight muscles.
“You’re very tense, Mr. Star,” I say, testing him.
“So I’ve been told.”
He hasn’t demanded that I leave him alone yet, so I continue massaging him. When he starts to relax, a warm gush of emotion rises in my chest.
This is working. I’m not dumb enough to believe that I have some kind of magical touch that’s going to change his world, but for now, this is enough to make me happy.
As I use my thumbs on the back of his neck and his shoulders, he keeps holding his cocktail. He’s not drinking it, but it seems to be there if he needs a hit. I’m determined to be enough of a relaxing tonic for him, and his shoulders are loosening up, giving me more confidence in my abilities. I hold my breath and slide my hands to the front of him, tugging on his loosened tie, beginning to undo it further.
He doesn’t stop me.
My mouth is dry, and I lick my lips, getting his tie untangled then leaving it around his neck. I run my hands over his chest and, god, he’s just as hard and muscular as I fantasized. I wish I could unbutton his shirt and slip my hands inside to feel his skin, but I keep massaging him, soothing him…and myself, really. That warmth inside of me has balled up, making me feel light and fizzy, like thick, golden champagne with bubbles popping to the top of a bottle.
Travis leans his head back, and he’s so relaxed that I realize he’s finally giving in to the demands of his day.
He’s falling asleep.
Before he can drop his drink, I bend over the couch and delicately take it from him, then move it to the table. Then I sit on the cushion next to him, watching his face.
In sleep, he looks so peaceful. The warm ball inside my chest grows, making something itch in my throat, and even knowing that this might be a bad idea I reach out, wanting to touch him for only a second, to feel the slight stubble on his face, to feel closer to him.
With my heart hopping, I lightly run my fingertips over his cheek, just this once…
He opens his eyes, and I lift my hand away.
Shockingly, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me against his chest.
At first, I can only rest my hands on him, feeling this unfamiliar rhythm and closeness. His chest rises and falls with his even breathing, and so does my world as I lean on him. I hear his heart beating in my ear, and the vibration travels through me, synching us in some kind of way that I can’t explain. Then, as the TV plays on, I give in and relax against him.
I’ve never experienced anything so intimate. The warmth in me has spread across my body like the glow of a campfire. With his arms around me, I actually feel taken care of. This is the first time that I’ve ever felt truly safe in my life up until now, and I close my eyes…
I don’t remember opening them again until morning, when I’m lying on the couch, alone.
The only sign of Travis is a chenille blanket that’s been tucked around me, taking the place of his arms.
I’m eating a ready-made yogurt parfait for breakfast when the doorbell chimes. At the same time, my phone rings, Travis’s number flashes on my screen.
I gather my robe around me and pad to the front door while excitement tumbles through me. Even the thought of hearing his voice on the phone is enough to get me going.
“Hello?”
“Good morning,” he says. “How did you sleep?”
“On a couch with a lovely blanket around me.”
“I thought about carrying you to your bed, but you looked so sweet lying there.”
Sweet? I smile. Funny how I’m still “sweet” in his eyes, even after that lap dance.
His tone changes, bringing our business arrangement back into the equation. “There’s something for you at the door.”
“Are you a mind reader? The bell just rang.” I access the security screen to see a woman dressed in a business suit holding a wardrobe bag. A cart filled with ribbon-wrapped boutique boxes stands next to her.
“It’s one of my assistants, Clarice,” he says, “and she just texted me to let me know that she’s arrived. She’s delivering a special gown, as well as matching shoes and jewelry.”
Before I let the woman in, I pause. “A special gown? Is it another peignoir?” And is he going to dress me in his jewels in preparation for some kind of kinky fantasy fulfillment tonight?
“As much as I’d like to see you right now in a nightie,” he says, “that’s not it.”
“Then what’s the occasion?”
I open the door and smile at the woman as Travis answers.
“I’m taking you to a benefit dinner this evening, so be ready at seven. Clarice will be there to assist you all day.”
His employee walks in with an efficient nod and her own smile. She clearly knows the route into the apartment because I’m not her first rent-a-virgin.
I watch her disappear down the gallery and then through the door of my bedroom. “You’re taking me out tonight?” I say to Travis.
“I said I would be discreet,” he murmurs, “not that I would hide you away.”
The usual nerves attack me. People are going to see me with Travis? I’m going someplace that requires a special gown and jewelry? Just how fancy is this event?
“But I’ve never been to a nice dinner before,” I say.
“There’s a first time for everything,” he says, with charged meaning.
I feel my face flush at the innuendo. “Well, I’ll do my best to be a good dinner date,” I reply lamely.
“You’ll be visited by a manicurist, a stylist, and hair and makeup experts today.”
“All right. I…I can’t wait.”
“You sound anxious.”
“I am.”
“You’ll be well taken care of—I’ll see to it. The limo will arrive at seven.”
Then he disconnects. But why should I be surprised when there’s always some kind of disconnect in the end with Travis?
Clutching my robe around me, I head down the gallery of my temporary luxury apartment, buzzing with nerves and hoping I can fulfill his wishes tonight.
Chapter 9
I can’t believe this is me staring back at myself in the mirror.
I look like a starlet from the forties with my dark hair waving over half my face and down to my shoulders. My fingernails and toenails are polished, and my makeup is flawless, giving me a natural glow that almost fools me into thinking I’m not wearing much at all. My bronze, full-skirted gown is a one-of-a-kind from an up-and-coming designer, the sleeves adorably capped, the bodice dipping just low enough to be playful but not gauche. The hand-worked embroidery uses tasteful beads that flash in the light, and my sandals are delicate and high-heeled.
Then there’s the jewelry.
I don’t have a necklace because Travis’s assistant Clarice said we don’t want my jewelry and gown competing with each other. He requested that I merely wear “simple” earrings and a bracelet tonight.
“Mr. Star thinks your ears are lovely, just perfectly sweet,” Clarice told me with that professional smile, but I still blushed like crazy, and when she left me alone enough to inspect myself here in the bathroom mirror, a surge of happiness overwhelmed me. He thinks my ears are lovely, and on these adorable ears of mine I’m wearing a pair of darling hoops featuring 1.77 carat diamonds that have been set in rose-gold cobblestones. My bracelet matches, and altogether, I look fresh, not like a tarted-up mistress or temporary date at all.
Then again, I kind of feel as if I need an armed guard around me tonight with these diamonds. However, Clarice assured me that there’s no need to be nervous about the gems. Travis has deemed that I wear a “beginner’s set” that’s wor
th “only” about $33,000. The jewelry is nice enough to attract compliments tonight, but it’s not remotely show stopping.
Knowing that I’ll never even get within gaping distance of any more gems in my life, I decide to enjoy wearing these while I can and hope to heaven that I don’t drop anything down a restroom drain.
Just before seven o’clock, Clarice escorts me downstairs and through the lobby, where the doorman and a few upscale residents stare at me. They smile at the picture I present, and I feel as if I’m glowing while I move toward the limousine outside.
Much to my surprise, Travis is there waiting, dressed in a tuxedo and standing near the open backseat door.
“I thought you were sending a car for me,” I say.
“I decided to come with it.”
A blast of heat sweeps over my skin as he looks at me in my dress and jewels. His gaze holds the same fire that I’ve seen a few times when he’s been particularly hungry for me.
“Nova,” he murmurs, eyes darkening.
An odd shyness comes over me and I start to fidget with the skirt of my gown. Then I remember the lovely beading on it and stop. “Your staff did a good job making me over. You should give them raises.”
He frowns slightly before assuming his typical cryptic expression. “I doubt it was much work to shine you up.”
Is he getting tired of how I tend to put myself down sometimes? I think about how, so far, I’ve done everything right for him. I need to remember that.
He sweeps his arm toward the backseat.
I nod and smile. He takes my hand in his then helps me inside. My skin tingles just before he lets me go. As he shuts the door and moves around to the other side to get in, I look at my surroundings—the ice-filled bucket of champagne, the stereo and TV system, and the illuminated, mirrored bar. I spread my skirts around me, and Travis gets in and shuts the door, closing us in together.
As he expertly pops the cork on the champagne bottle and fills a flute I ask, “Can you tell me exactly where we’re going?”
“An event for animal rescue charities.”
I blink. “Do you have pets?”
“No.” At first it seems like he’s annoyed by the question, but then he continues. “At least, I never had one of my own. The family I lived with while growing up got rid of their dog early on and I…” He cuts himself off and concentrates on pouring champagne for himself. “If I had a dog now, it wouldn’t be fair to him. I’m rarely around, and a pet deserves better.”
As he drinks his champagne, he completely shuts down again, and I wonder if it’s because he let out a little part of himself to me just now. I also wonder if he realizes that he does have pets, and I’m but one of them.
He’s ice cold as he answers my question about where we’re going in a more direct way. “This is part of what I do, Nova. I go to benefits, mingle, give money to deserving charities. It’s always for a good cause, but every one of them has the same people running in the same circles. You’ll see tonight.”
Then he turns on the TV, drowning out any more serious moments between us. We drink our champagne until we complete the short yet traffic-ridden journey to the Plaza Hotel and The Grand Ballroom, where the event is being held. After we’re out of the limo, Travis bends his elbow, signaling that I should take his arm, and we make our way into the flush-lit room where a band is playing swanky music.
Travis steers me away from the cameras at the entrance, and we follow a hostess to our seats at a front table. After she leaves us with a saucy look at my date, he goes to pull out my chair as if not noticing her attention. I look around the table at our dinner mates and make a heroic effort to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.
I recognize every one of these people: a pop star and his partner, a Hollywood power couple, another billionaire who owns sports teams who’s sitting next to the tennis star he’s dating, and…
Holy smokes, I think the mayor of New York City is across the table, standing at his chair and fast-talking a group of slick men.
“Travis, buddy!” someone says behind us.
Before I can sit, I look over to find Jason Savage, the star of a series of car-chase blockbusters that keep breaking the summer bank.
I freeze on my feet as Travis greets him. I feel like one of the blushing sheer curtains that decorates the room—there but taken for granted.
Then Travis rests his hand on my back, and a yank of desire pulls at me. Still, I manage my best smile, knowing what’s about to happen.
“Jason,” Travis says, “this is Nova.”
He doesn’t say “my friend” or “the girl I’m currently putting up in one of my luxury apartments.” No, I’m just Nova, and I reach out my hand to shake Jason’s.
“Pleased to meet you,” I say.
He brushes a kiss on the back of my hand, then smiles wickedly at me. “Pleased to meet you. Damn, Travis, and I thought your taste in gems was already spectacular.”
I touch one of my earrings. Then I realize Jason isn’t talking about the jewelry. He’s talking about me. I flush like a teen seeing her first R-rated movie and glance at Travis.
Travis’s jaw twitches. “Yes, I prefer real gems that stand the test of time, while some prefer the trendy stuff that never lasts.”
Jason’s eyebrows lift. “Is that so?”
Travis’s gaze flicks toward Jason’s accompaniment. “That’s my opinion.”
I recognize Jason’s date immediately.
Candy Badham, who has about ten platinum songs to her credit. She and Jason were just photographed together on vacation in Spain, and she narrows her eyes at him—I think playfully. He winks at her as she turns to me.
“He needs a leash, that one,” she says in her British accent. Then she takes my hand, enveloping it in both of hers. “I’m Candy,” she says.
“Nova.” Oh my god, I’m on a first-name basis with Jason Savage and Candy Badham. These people are talking to me as if I’m one of them. It’s as if they think Travis and I are a real couple or something.
As Candy starts chatting with me about what’s on the menu for tonight, I almost begin to believe in this fairy tale Travis has created. Maybe it’s the dress that’s fooling them. Maybe it’s the jewelry. I don’t know, but Travis is watching me with an enigmatic expression as Candy teasingly asks Jason why he thinks I’m on the menu.
They kid with one another, and Travis slides his fingers down my arm to my hand, then squeezes my fingers as if in approval. I warm through and through, but when he lifts my hand to his lips then kisses my knuckles while looking into my eyes, flames consume me. Something is connecting us, a red-hot string that’s been lit to life. The searing aftershock travels through me.
I look at him as the music and chatter surround us. He looks at me.
Then the darkness returns to him, settling in his gaze as Jason grips his shoulder.
“If you don’t mind,” he says to Candy and me, “this guy and I have some catching up to do.”
And with that, Jason steals Travis. My “date” glances back at me, and for a moment I think he wants to stay.
I’m wrong, because he goes just as easily as he came.
I’m anxious about being left alone, but it turns out I needn’t be.
For some reason, Candy keeps talking to me, sitting us down, telling me about her trip to Spain. As cocktails are served, the rest of the table listens to her tales of debauchery and fun with Jason, and we laugh at her jokes. Everyone seems to think I’m something more to Travis than I am, but I don’t care. I’m going to enjoy the food, the company, the everything.
It isn’t until dinner arrives that Travis returns and takes his seat next to me, but he doesn’t look at me as he did before, with that intimate link between us. He’s withdrawn from me once again, and his shoulders have gone tense, his attitude colder than ever.
Although the caviar, lobster, and total ambiance are like nothing I’ve ever experienced, I wish I weren’t experiencing this. My nerves start to tumble as I wonder if
I’ve done something wrong again.
By the end of the night, I’m saying genuine goodbyes to the people I’ve met, especially Candy.
“You remind me of the girls at home.” She says “gels” instead of “girls,” and she’s holding my hand. “I miss them. There’s something about you, Nova, that’s so very real.”
I don’t want to burst her bubble, so I only smile.
“Perhaps we could arrange something with Travis. Dinner?” Her gaze sparkles with mischief. “Or perhaps a spot of tea, my darling?”
“Tea.” I perk up, and no matter Travis’s mood, even something simple like tea, scones, and jam is enough to cheer me. “I’d love that.”
“Good. I’ll contact you after I get back from the next leg of my tour.”
And that’s when I remember that this is a passing fairy tale. Candy is a superstar and I’m a pauper at the ball. Candy thinks I’ll be around longer than my two-week agreement with Travis. But I say a fond goodbye to her anyway, and Travis is there when I turn around.
Unreadable. Mysterious. A gaze so deep green and unfathomable that I’ll never see all the way into it.
My pulse begins its confused thudding as he nestles his hand in the small of my back on our way out. His fingers are tense, just as they were yesterday when they clutched that armrest during my lap dance.
He’s busy acknowledging everyone who’s thanking him for his time and donations, and it’s only when we’re ensconced in the limo that he leans over to me, whispering.
“We’re going back to the apartment,” he says, “and once we’re there, I’m going to have my way with you.”
Chills run up and down my skin, both of excitement and anticipatory fright.
Tonight could be the night I lose everything to him.
Chapter 10
During the limo ride back to the apartment, I discover that the weather has turned. Sprinkles of rain mist the windows, blurring the view of the city traffic and sidewalks.
Travis is quiet, and while soft, moody music plays on the speakers, I lay back in my seat. Our only communication is the language of his fingertips as he absently skims them up my arm and back down, watching the hair on my skin rise, watching the goose bumps form at his mere touch.