by Lynda Aicher
Carter eased his hand out from beneath his coat and extended it toward the man. The smile that crossed his lips was genuine. At this point, there was no need to fake anything. “Good evening,” he said, ensuring his voice was warm and casual. He never used names in public until the client did. And even though the hall looked empty, as did what he could see of the room behind him, he wouldn’t take the risk. Privacy was usually very important to men who paid for the company of others..
When the man made no movement to accept his offered hand of greeting, Carter lowered it without fuss.
After another long moment of silent assessment, broken only by the small click of the door handle where the man still clutched it, Carter lifted a brow. “Should I come in or is this a no-go?”
He’d never had a full-stop before entry, but there was always a first. Of course the agency wouldn’t be happy about that.
With that thought, he stepped closer, careful to stay in the hallway. He pitched his voice low. “Let’s go in where we can talk in private.” He glanced toward the elevators before looking back at his stoic client. The man was not giving an inch. Carter shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the doorjamb. “Or we can stay right here and chat awhile.” Carter shrugged, but curled his lips in a suggestive half smile. “So what’s your sign?”
That got a small quirk from the man’s lips that could’ve been amusement if it’d lasted longer than an instant. Without a word, the man stepped back and motioned for Carter to enter.
There was only a smidgeon of trepidation smoldering within him as he stepped into the room. It was the same feeling he always had when he entered an unknown situation. He’d learned to defend himself long ago, but he could never fully let his guard down. Especially not with a man he didn’t know and who appeared to have the muscle and skills to harm Carter if he chose to.
Carter went only far enough so he was out of the small entry. The heels of his shoes clicked over the laminate floor but didn’t cover the soft rattle of the door closing behind him. The pale floors were just one of the features that spoke to the five-star hotel rating. The room was decorated in mute tans, moss greens and butter yellows, offset by pale oak furnishings with smooth lines and clean cuts.
The standard gaudy wall prints over the bed were replaced by a series of glass panels depicting an etched architectural design. The plain white duvet was fluffed and pristine. There was no evidence that the man had laid a hand on it since he’d entered.
In fact, there was no sign that the man had done anything but enter the room. Absent was the usual dropping of items on the desk, such as a briefcase or phone charger. No change, papers or garbage either. Carter was willing to bet the bathroom was neat and unused as well.
So this one wasn’t a business traveler. He could’ve driven down from the military base up near Little Falls. The hour-and-a-half drive was easily doable for a night of entertainment.
Carter wasn’t presumptuous enough to remove his coat or use the man’s name even now. In fact, he tried not to think of his clients’ names until he was told what to use. It saved him from mistakes or slips happening later. He simply turned around and waited for his client to make the next move. The man had paid for three hours. It was his time to use as he wished, and Carter had to wait for some indication of what that would encompass.
The man moved to stand across from him but out of arm’s reach. His gaze flicked over Carter’s face before making a slow pass down his body and back up to settle on his eyes. “Thank you for coming.” His voice was deep, sturdy, the chords reaching out to lure Carter in. Not that he needed to be lured, but it would’ve done the trick, no problem.
“It’s my pleasure.”
The slight cock of a brow seemed to question that statement. “We’ll see.”
The soft chuckle that escaped wasn’t planned. This guy was stacking up to be infinitely more interesting than he’d anticipated. Cracking a hard nut was always more rewarding than finding one that was already opened, its prize easily taken.
And wasn’t that a bad metaphor, given what he willingly gave away for money?
“Can I take your coat?” The man extended a hand, palm up, revealing surprisingly slim, almost graceful fingers. “Piano fingers” is what his grandmother would’ve called them. The hands one would expect on a concert pianist, not a roughened military man.
Carter jerked his gaze away and focused on removing the long wool coat. Everything of importance was on him in the event the coat got left behind. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. He made sure to let his hand brush across the other man’s when he handed the coat over. The man didn’t flinch, nor did he acknowledge the contact. But Carter felt it. The smooth back was roughened by the faint traces of hair that tickled over his fingertips.
He also caught a low trace of a rich aftershave that contained hints of cedar and—he inhaled again—sage. It wasn’t heavily applied and was far from overpowering. It fit his client in a way that was too detailed for a straight man who didn’t have a wife to buy it for him. His finger was free of a band, impression or obvious white stripe—one of the first details Carter always scoped out.
Deeply closeted then? If the man was military, this wouldn’t be Carter’s first Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell customer. The strict military rule may have been lifted, but it didn’t make the deep-rooted habits of the lifers disappear upon command. He guessed the man’s age to be early- to mid-thirties, which meant if he’d enlisted right out of high school he would’ve spent years hiding under DADT.
But until the man gave up the information, it wasn’t Carter’s concern or worry. The less he knew, the better. Yeah, the strong, silent type had its advantages.
The suit jacket stretched across broad shoulders as the man took the time to hang Carter’s coat in the closet. It was a small detail that told him more about the man. Some customers merely tossed it over the back of the chair. Some never asked. Manners like that were usually ingrained.
Carter tucked his hands in the pockets on his slacks and mentally shuffled through the various ways to play the evening. There was no question that the prospect of being with this guy was immensely interesting. However, he’d learned long ago that appearances made no difference when it came to sexual skills. Some of the hottest men had been complete duds and vice versa. Still…
The man shut the closet door and paused a second before turning around. He looked to Carter, clasped his hands behind his back, and the first small sign of nervousness came through. The man’s tongue snaked out to wet his lips in a slow way that wasn’t a sexual play but something done absently without thought. “I made reservations for dinner downstairs.” He glanced down, shifted then snapped his chin back up. “Or we could order room service if you’d prefer.”
God, he wanted to take away this man’s unease. “Downstairs sounds nice, but I’m okay with whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“It’s just dinner.” The words were more mumbled to himself than spoken to Carter.
“Yes,” Carter said, taking a step closer. “It is just dinner.”
The man inhaled before giving a sharp nod. “Right.”
Another step, and Carter once again extended his hand. “I’m Carter. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Maybe giving his name would help calm the man.
There was a long moment where Carter thought he was going to be ignored again. The man stared at his offered hand like he was palming a weapon or it was covered in poison. Finally he reached out and grasped Carter’s palm in a firm hold. His touch was warm, the grip confident but not domineering.
The man stared at their clasped hands, unmoving. There was no little pump-and-drop or battle for control, just a simple hold that stretched longer than would’ve been comfortable under normal circumstances. But this wasn’t normal by any means.
The desire flowed up his arm from their contact to flush in a warm wave down his body. The urge to tug the man in closer was building the longer they stood there. He had little doubt that when t
his guy finally gave in to what he wanted, the wave of passion that opened would be amazing to experience. The lightest of strokes of the man’s thumb over the back of Carter’s hand was so gentle, hesitant, that it came across as genuine. Again, not a play or a move but a true reaction.
“Rock.” The sudden sound busted into the little vacuum of silence that had surrounded them. Carter’s head snapped up to meet the man’s eyes. They were a light shade of blue now dominated by the black orb of his iris. “My name’s Rock.”
And didn’t that fit him perfectly? The Rockford he’d been given by the agency was too formal for this man. “Rock,” Carter said with a smile. “I like it.”
Rock released Carter’s hand and fell back into his prior stance with his hands behind his back. “It’s a family name, Rockford. My grandfather claimed the Ford half, so Rock went to me.”
Carter hadn’t been certain if Rockford was a real or fake name, but now he knew—not that it mattered. “I’ve got nothing but Carter.”
The quick wrinkle of a frown creased over Rock’s brow before it cleared. The man checked his watch. “We should head down.”
He opened the door and held it for Carter to pass through. He inhaled that distinct cedar-and-sage scent when he passed, his breath holding as it worked through his system to start a slow simmer that had his groin taking notice. There would be no need for medical-induced help or mental images to make things work tonight.
The real deal was hands down the best offer he’d had in a very long time.
* * *
The hostess had seated them in a secluded corner per Rock’s request. It was unlikely he’d see anyone who knew him in a place this nice, but he’d spent too many years being cautious to change his habits. If he were man enough, he’d admit the real word for his actions was hiding, not caution.
He waited for their server to take their drink order before he looked back to his…date.
No. Not his date. His friend? Business acquaintance?
Shit, did it matter? No.
Carter Montgomery was even better in person. The computer screens hadn’t done justice to the crystal blue of his eyes. They were the kind of eyes that caused people to do a double take and wonder if the color was real or contact-enhanced. With a face framed by dark lashes, prominent cheekbones and arched brows in the same black of his hair, his looks would have men standing in line for the chance to sleep with him. He didn’t need to get paid to have sex.
But the why wasn’t Rock’s concern. Or it shouldn’t be, outside of natural curiosity.
The longer the silence extended between them, the more uncomfortable it became. Carter didn’t appear to be concerned though. He scanned the restaurant, his posture relaxed in the booth.
He brought his gaze back to meet Rock’s and smiled. It was a light curl that lifted his cheekbones, reached his eyes and sucked the air from Rock’s chest. “Nice place.”
Rock resisted the urge to rub at the back of his neck and duck his head. Simple conversation. He could do that. If he could get his lips to move. “I’ve never eaten here before.” His flat comment didn’t inspire more talking. Great. “Have you?” he asked, trying to be more than a lump occupying the space in the booth.
Carter tipped his head, his assessing look continuing. No doubt he was trying to figure out the intent of the evening. “A few times.”
Of course, Rock had to link that to other clients. Other men who’d brought him here before taking him upstairs to…He couldn’t think about that. “What do you recommend then?” He pointed to the menus that lay untouched on the table.
“You look like a steak man.” Carter lifted a brow. “Right?”
“Who doesn’t love a good piece of meat?”
Both of Carter’s brows shot higher. His lips quirked then flattened as he struggled to hold back a grin. The temperature within Rock’s body turned to boiling when his words sank in to his malfunctioning brain. Nice, asshole. He closed his eyes and looked away, embarrassment joining the crap-pile of emotions that were making all food seem like a bad idea.
The low chuckle that filled their small booth was deep and contagious. “I can’t argue with that,” Carter said, his voice pitched with amusement. “I’d recommend the porterhouse then.”
Rock shook his head and let go of his discomfort with a strangled sound that was supposed to be a laugh. “Sorry.” He glanced up to catch the light dancing in Carter’s eyes. “I don’t do casual conversation.” Generally, the less he said the better. Admitting that wasn’t something he’d planned to do. Just like that little explanation about his name. As if the man cared or would remember once the evening was done.
Rock was only a client, paying him for three hours of his time.
He drew his shoulders back and focused on the menu, even though the words made no sense. The nerves rolled and tightened in his stomach until the possibility of throwing up was a valid concern. Damn it. Was this worth the turmoil eating him from the inside out?
“Hey.” Carter leaned forward, his voice gentle. “It’s fine.” He waited for Rock to look at him before he eased back to make room for the waitress who’d returned with their iced teas.
It hadn’t gone unnoticed to Rock that the other man had waited for him to order his drink before doing the same. In the end, they both ordered the steak too. Carter’s medium rare, Rock’s well-done. Not that he’d be able to consume much of it.
The uncomfortable silence returned. Damn, dinner had been a bad idea. Why had he thought it would be nice to get to know the man? Why would the man want to know him? What was he supposed to say? Ask? Talk about? Shit.
“I may be wrong here,” Carter started then paused. He folded his arms on the table, leaning in. “But I’m guessing this is the first time you’ve…entertained like this. Am I right?”
It was that obvious? Of course it was. Rock debated how to answer but couldn’t come up with a valid reason not to be honest. “Yes.”
Carter nodded, his easy smile returning. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Yes.” Hell, yes. All help was willingly accepted at this point.
“We’re just having dinner. Don’t stress about anything else.” He took a drink of his iced tea before continuing. “If I ask you something you don’t want to answer, just say so. No offense. But think of me like your doctor. I don’t repeat, share or divulge anything I hear, see or do.”
Rock stared at him. Carter didn’t flinch or drop his gaze. There appeared to be nothing but truth behind his words. Then again, a man didn’t rise to the top of the escort pool by blabbing his mouth around.
“Right,” Rock said. “And I assume that goes both ways?”
“Correct.” Carter tipped his chin, his smile remaining. “So, military or government?”
The urge to clam up was right there, choking his throat, but there was no reason for it. He exhaled and responded. “Ex-military.”
“Newly freed?”
He gave a tight head shake. “Six years.”
Carter’s gaze lifted. “Is the haircut a statement or simply easy?”
The high-and-tight cut was the only style he’d ever had. It’d never occurred to him to try anything different. “I guess that’d be easy.” Carter’s hair was longer and styled in a casual wave away from his face but was still cut neatly over his ears and off his collar.
“Are you into sports?”
This, Rock could do. “Watch. Play for fun and exercise.”
“Favorite football team?”
“Cowboys.”
The wince that pulled across Carter’s face was filled with mock pain. “Well, I won’t judge you based on that.”
In Rock’s experience, people either loved or hated the Cowboys. There was no in-between. It didn’t sway his opinion. “Vikings for you, then?”
“I’m a born-and-bred Packer fan,” Carter said, his smile flashing. “But I back all of the local teams.”
Rock gave a low snort. “Of course you do. Not that the baseball or basketball
teams have given anyone much to cheer about lately.”
“Thankfully, the Vikings and Glaciers have had better seasons,” Carter shot back without hesitating, then shrugged. “But I’m not a diehard fan. I enjoy watching, regardless of the outcome.”
The waitress arrived with their meal, and Rock relaxed some with the good food and the flow of topics that followed. Carter carried the majority of the conversation, but he didn’t seem to mind. The sports talk migrated to home states, touching on Rock growing up on military bases around the world and Carter being raised in Green Bay, then the weather, and finally slowed as they finished their steaks.
“You were right,” Rock said, wiping his mouth on the cloth napkin. “The steak was excellent.”
“Their duck breast is great as well.”
It was a simple statement that went with the topic, but it reminded Rock that this wasn’t just a nice dinner with a colleague or even a real date. Dressed in their suits at a midweek dinner, they could easily be two men discussing business over a meal. But it wasn’t that, was it?
“What’d I say?”
Carter’s question snapped Rock out of his thoughts. “What?”
“Your expression just returned to the pre-dinner stiffness.”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I was just thinking. Sorry.”
The waitress returned to remove their plates, her interruption perfectly timed.
Carter rested his arm on the table and leaned in again. The more intimate pose warned Rock of the coming comment. “You’re on to what’s next. Right?”
Directness was something Rock had always appreciated, so he shouldn’t have been surprised by Carter’s. It didn’t stop the unease from returning. “That obvious?”
“You get this crease right here when you’re worrying about something.” Carter ran his finger in a line between his brows.
Instantly, Rock flattened his brow. No one had ever told him that before. Was it true? It would be to the man’s benefit to pick up on his client’s moods and tells, and Rock was probably putting out a shitload of signals without meaning to.