by Joanna Blake
After I popped, I wanted to remove myself immediately. But that was not part of the gig.
This was about their pleasure, not mine. So I suppressed the instinct to cut and run. It must be a man thing. But when I was on duty, I wasn't just a man.
I was the perfect man.
Finally, her tremors stopped. Krystal looked back at me as I pulled myself free. She looked so grateful that I felt guilty for wanting to pull out. She slid her arms around me after I disposed of the condom.
"Oh Nick. What would I do without you?"
I smiled.
"You are going to have to make due for the next few weeks."
She pouted, giving me a glimpse of the hottie she used to be. Back in her day, she was movie star hot. I stroked her cheek, giving her a soft kiss.
"Why do you have to go to London again? Don't I pay you enough?"
I smiled at her, brushing the wet hair out of her face.
"It's a job. A really, really big job."
Rosalie
I turned the page, snuggling deeper into the sofa. The furry, breathing, snoring sofa.
"Damien!"
Big brown eyes stared back at me soulfully. I wrinkled my nose. The dogs needed a bath. And I was pretty sure one of them had just passed gas.
The glamorous life of the nobility. If only people knew. Old, drafty stone houses. Faulty plumbing. Servants hovering around, listening to everything. Straight backs and tight, uncomfortable clothes. And farting old dogs.
I loved it here though. The creaky, massive old estate was beautiful, even if it was perpetually cold. I loved our old family retainers too, even though most of them did eavesdrop unrepentantly. And most of all I loved my pups. Even though they were enormous elderly Clumber Spaniels, and not puppies anymore. I still though of them as the little wiggling masses I first fell in love with when I was just a girl.
Not that they were ever that small.
I'd even ridden them like tiny ponies, at the urging of my cousin Rebecca. I'd felt guilty afterwards, even though the dogs didn't seem to mind.
They were lovable, oafish dogs who were more likely to lick you to death than to bite you. Even if you were an obnoxious child who was tugging on their ears while screaming 'giddy up' at the top of your lungs. They were incredibly patient with me, and in return I worshipped them. Given the lack of hugs in the house, I latched onto the big warm fuzzy dogs with all the love I had in my heart. And they'd returned my affection in spades.
A bond had been formed that way, and it had lasted all these years. Even with me away at school for much of the time. According to my mother, they slept in my bed the entire time I was away.
They didn't like to let me out of their sight when I was home either. Even now that I had moved back in. I'd done two years of junior college. Apparently, that was all that was required by my strict, controlling parents.
Now, for the first time since I was ten years old, I was home.
Not just for holiday either.
But I'd already been told it was not for long. I was here only as long as it took to marry me off. My parents were very traditional. Never mind my father's mother, the Duchess. She gave a whole new meaning to the word, tyrannical. I knew what was expected of me. I had to be neat, clean, well mannered, kind and aloof. I could never interact with the lower classes.
I always did my best to live up to those standards, even the parts that seemed outdated and snobbish. In front of my family anyway. When they weren't there I joked around with the stable master and talked to the mail carrier. Out of loneliness mostly, though you would be surprised what sort of interesting lives the most ordinary people had lived.
Not me though. I went from task to task and from duty to duty.
It was boring to say the least.
Until recently, I hadn't minded. I had my books and my movies. And my dogs.
But lately... I'd been feeling more than a little bit restless.
Just then Regan chose to rearrange herself so that her head was across my belly. She stared at me with her adoring eyes. Then she yawned and I got a big whiff of dog breath.
Stinky, stinky dog breath.
I smiled and picked up my book again. I had nothing to do today but lose myself in a good book. There was no place I'd rather be.
"Rosalie! Are you listening to me? You know the dogs shouldn't be on the furniture!"
I sighed. There went my afternoon. My grandmother had just arrived.
I extricated myself from the massive pile of dog and sank into a curtsy.
"Your Grace."
She arched a brow at me, her eyes sliding over my outfit. I was wearing old school clothes. A navy skirt and a button down shirt and cardigan. I belatedly realized that I might be a bit rumpled. I glanced down.
Very rumpled.
She on the other hand, looked impeccable. As always.
"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"
I blinked at her. She'd been talking? I bit my lip. She was right. I hadn't heard a word.
She sighed heavily.
"It's time for your fitting. You have a full social calendar this season. I expect you to hold still and not complain about pins this time."
I groaned inwardly. I hated being dressed this way. By committee. I just wanted to wear jeans and a t-shirt. But I wasn't really ever allowed to. My school uniform had gotten me through adolescence. Off duty I just wore what I had, which was more of the same.
Navy, gray, plaid. Woolens and stiff starchy cottons. And the clothing for formal events... well, those were even worse. Tight fitting dresses in scratchy brocades and overly warm velvets. I cringed at the thought.
But I had no choice in the matter. Or any other.
I had managed to keep some scraggly old cashmere sweaters that had belonged to my father and a few t-shirts over the years. But no one ever saw them, so it was fine. I had to keep them hidden though, or someone would throw them out.
Even my pajamas were picked out for me.
I never complained though. My work with various charities had kept me well informed about the levels of misery in the world. So what if my clothes were stiff and itchy from starch? At least I had clothes, and food to eat. A roof over my head.
I was one of the lucky ones. And someday, I'd be able to make my own decisions. I knew I would do a lot of things differently.
But that day was not today.
I nodded.
"Alright Grand-mere."
I smiled as I followed my Grandmother out of the room. She hated being called Grandmother in any of its variations. So of course, I snuck it in whenever possible.
She also hated to be reminded of her first husband, before she'd married my Grandfather, the Duke.
Grand-mere's first husband had been French.
Naturally, I got very high marks in French.
Chapter Two
Nicholas
I sipped my sparkling water as the stewardess made her way through the first class cabin. I had a window seat with no one beside me, even though the plane was full. It was deliberately done.
That was a first. My new employer had bought me two first class tickets. She had been very specific about the procedure. I was to read the dossier on the plane, then dispose of it in a public place, and then pour liquid over it.
Not water, either. Something dark, like coffee.
She'd actually specified a dark roast.
It all seemed a little silly to me. Like I was in an old spy movie. But the client had insisted.
Of course, since she was paying me twenty thousand dollars, it was more than worth it. Well, more actually. If I was able to complete the assignment, I would get another fifty thousand. She had yet to fill me in on the details.
With that money and everything I had saved I could finally set my mom up in a gorgeous house. I already paid for her rental apartment in Malibu. But we could finally move away. Start over.
Maybe open a little family restaurant like she'd always dreamed of.
Hawaii so
unded nice. Or the Maldives. Someplace warm.
Someplace where she'd never been a housekeeper. Or a hotel maid. Or a clerk at a grocery store.
More than anything, I wanted to repay my mother for everything she had done for my sister and I. She deserved it. Nobody had worked harder. She'd had three jobs, just to raise my kid sister and I. She'd barely slept from the day that my father walked out on us to the day I brought home my first envelope full of money.
A big, fat envelope of money. Cash. No paper trail.
One of the many, many perks of my job.
She knew what I did. She didn't like it. But she knew it was temporary. And she knew I took pride in my work.
My sister on the other hand, had no idea what I did.
Even though I was paying her way through college at the moment.
I glanced around to make sure no one was looking and pulled the thick package out of my bag.
I flipped open the folder and froze. There was a picture of a girl on top. A very, very pretty, very young girl. She was fragile looking. Delicate. Her pale skin and full pink lips were classically beautiful. Her high cheekbones and slanted doe eyes were a bright blue. Her dark wavy hair cascaded over her slender shoulders.
She was standing with perfect posture at the edge of a crowd at what looked like a garden party. She was dressed in lace and ruffles, not like a pretty little porcelain doll. She looked perfect. Flawless.
And yet, totally alone somehow. Something about her made me want to comfort her, not seduce her. She looked lost.
I frowned. This beautiful girl was my client? I dealt with women, not fragile little doe. Besides, even that young, I was sure a beauty like that was crawling with options. A girl that looked like her would have men beating down her door.
She was young, rich and stunningly beautiful. She didn't need an escort. It made no sense at all.
I flipped the picture and my breath caught. Relief flooded me as I stared at another photo. She was older here. Laughing as she fed an apple to a horse. Her riding clothes fit her like a glove, revealing a remarkably feminine form. Her hair was pulled back this time and I could see she was even more beautiful than I'd thought.
Not a little girl at all.
My body had responded instantly. And that was just from a picture. If this was really the job, it would be more enjoyable than most.
Much, much more enjoyable.
I closed the folder abruptly. There was something strange about this. Not that I objected to taking a stunning young woman to bed. I just didn't understand why.
I opened the folder again and pulled out a thick stack of printed papers. It was a description of the client, her likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams, everything. Maybe this would shed some light on the situation...
I settled in and began to read.
Rosalie
"Lower."
I stared in shock at the Duchess. She and my mother were looking over yet another evening gown they had chosen for me. And for some reason they seemed to want to put my bosom on prominent display.
Well, at least compared to the other high necked gowns I was used to wearing to formal events. I did like the color though. It was a dark teal. I also had one in sapphire, one in emerald and several in black and white.
For the first time in my life, no one was trying to make me wear pink.
I despised pink.
Well, not in small doses. Or pink dog noses. I just hated being swathed in it from head to toe. Something that had been happening to me with alarming regularity since birth.
I shrugged, making the seamstress glare at me. I knew I was restless. I knew it made her job harder. But I'd been standing here for three hours, and I had a book waiting in the other room that I wanted to get back to...
"I think it could be dropped another inch..."
I grimaced as I was manhandled, the fabric trimmed and then tucked to show the top of my breasts. I knew it was nothing scandalous. Not really. But it did seem odd after all this time...
Perhaps they finally saw me as an adult. An adult with very little life experience, it was true. But I was nearly twenty one now, and of age.
Of age...
Realization dawned. My stoic mother and a peer of the realm were trying to exploit my assets. My two very large assets.
My breasts were the bane of my existence. The two large globes on my chest that had gotten me teased mercilessly at school starting at the tender age of twelve. The same objects that made riding so uncomfortable. And just about everything else.
They even got in the way of reading.
But now they were apparently a good thing, judging from the way my mother was nodding.
"Stand up straight Rosalie."
I jerked my shoulders back. The voice of authority always did that to me. I was a puppet. A puppet with a plunging neckline.
"Alright, what about the crimson silk?"
"You're joking."
My mother's cheeks were red as she stared at me. I was to be seen and not heard. I knew that. But for some reason I wasn't feeling quite so obedient of late.
"What did you say?"
I shut my mouth but inside I was starting to simmer. I was used to being told what to do, where to go, who to speak to. But this was too much.
"Is red really appropriate?"
She walked closer as the seamstresses started to unpin me, leaving me standing in a slip in the middle of the room.
"You aren't twelve Rosalie. Besides its not red. It's more of a burgundy."
I held still as they started to pin swaths of a dark red silk over my body. My mother was staring at me like I was a statue. Her head tilted to the side as she inspected me.
"It really is quite becoming on you dear. This is the last one for now. Then you can run along with your books. We can select some ready to wear after tea."
"I have an appointment in town this afternoon. I can't."
"Oh? You're supposed to keep me informed of your schedule."
I felt myself wanting to snap. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I usually didn't object to her meddling. But I wanted to say something... very rude.
"Rebecca and I are organizing a fundraiser."
"What is it this time?"
I sighed. I knew I had told her about this. She just failed to listen.
"The bees."
"Do you really need another charity dear?"
"Mother, you do realize that the bees are responsible for most food sources on Earth don't you?"
"You already have the orphans, and the polar bears."
"Global warming mother. It affects every species on the planet. The polar bears are just the first and most obvious to suffer."
She frowned at me and walked away, not deigning to acknowledge the sorry state of the world. My grandmother took one glance at the dress and nodded regally. Then she left, with my mother at her heels.
I waited impatiently as the seamstresses finished their work. Then I ran upstairs to change. I stared at my closet, with the neat rows of gray and navy pencil skirts. The white and blue button down shirts. The tweed jackets.
It was laughable really. I was a stereotype. A stereotype from fifty years ago.
I reached into the back of the closet and pulled out my solitary pair of jeans. I'd gotten them on summer vacation years ago. I'd been with Rebecca. They were tight and soft from repeated washings. They fit like a glove.
I winced as I pulled them on. Perhaps they were a bit too snug... but there was no way I was wearing a grubby school uniform to town. Rebecca always looked posh. She would make fun of me if I did.
I grabbed a shirt and one of the less stodgy looking jackets and ran a comb through my hair, pulling it back into a ponytail.
I slipped into my old riding boots. They were marginally better than my five pairs of identical loafers. I didn't care what people thought generally speaking, but my cousin Becca was one of the most stylish people I knew.
At least this didn't look like a uniform.
I smiled at my reflection in the mirror, not really caring that I looked like the plain Jane that I was. It didn't matter today. I had a strange sense of excitement at the thought of getting away from all of this.
I was going out.
Chapter Three
Nicholas
I stared around the room in the London townhouse. Even by Hollywood standards, it was spectacular. Thick rugs covered the dark wood floors. Heavy ornate furniture was scattered around the room, covered with velvets and thick brocades. I turned to the windows. There was a small park across the street, so even though we were in the heart of London, all you could see was green.
I heard someone come into the room and turned. A young blond woman was looking me over like I was a piece of meat. I let her look. I was used to it in my line of work. Usually, I didn't mind. But for some reason I didn't like it today.
I didn't like it from her.
A pretty girl. But her eyes were hard. I always noticed the eyes. If she were my client, I would expect a lot of head games. I would definitely be 'too busy' to accommodate her. She would be demanding and selfish and a pain in the ass. I could tell right off the bat she was the clingy type.
A little bit crazy too.
"You're perfect."
I smiled politely. I was used to compliments from women. I knew I was good looking. For a long time, it was the only thing I'd had going for me.
Well, that and my other skills. I was good at reading people. And I knew my way around a woman's body.
But mostly it was about my cock.
"I'm Rebecca. And you are my brother's old friend from rowing camp."
She looked me up and down.
"You certainly have the physique for it."
I noticed she didn't offer me her hand before she sat. There were two of those strange tiny couches English people seemed to like flanking the fireplace. I sat across from her.
"I've rented you a suitable hotel suite. You are here to work on an ad campaign to save the bees or something appalling."
"Okay. Why the ornate cover story?"
She stared at me, her cold eyes calculating.