by Mel Teshco
His breath touched her ear at about the same time his fingers parted her flesh. “Every time someone comes near and smells your aroma, they will know you are mine.”
Oh. Fuck.
If words were an aphrodisiac, then he was the master. She was close to convulsing with pleasure even before one of his fingers massaged the aching gem of her clit. Over and over again. Until she was writhing and grinding against him, her head resting against his chest. His golden, glittering eyes held hers, watching as her breath abruptly caught, her body jerking with release, then trembling with the after effects.
“I must be a fool for not filling your pussy and fucking you senseless, my seed spilling inside you,” he said throatily.
She was incapable of answering and recovering any semblance of the upper hand. She didn’t even have the energy to mention that any more sex between them would be with a condom sheathing his cock. Instead she said weakly, “Your romantic words get me every time.”
“Perhaps I’m saving the romance for later, hmm?”
She pulled free from his embrace, the intensity of his stare causing her to feel uneasy. She looked away and adjusted her thong, her dress, before she gathered up her clutch purse and took his proffered hand.
*
The party was at the Sydney Opera House, with beautiful views of the harbor and its myriad twinkling lights along the shoreline.
She sneaked a glance behind them. “No bodyguards tonight?”
“No. Believe it or not, we’re safer amongst a crowd.”
A handful of musicians had set up beside a raised stage and a makeshift dance floor. They played cover songs, and a popular ballad was lending a little more cheer to the rich, stuffy atmosphere.
The women in their sequined gowns and flashing jewels made Brandy feel underdressed. But as if reading her thoughts, Blaine said in an undertone, “Your simple, stunning elegance has already drawn the eye of every man in the room.”
She shivered a little, recognizing he meant every word. Yes, they were attracting a lot of attention, but it was from the women as much as the men, their envious glances sliding between her and the delicious man by her side.
Even without all his wealth and good looks, there was something magnetic about Blaine that drew the eye. He carried himself with an inborn assurance and self-belief she secretly envied and admired in equal measure.
Blaine took two drinks from a passing waiter before handing one to her. She murmured thanks, the bubbly effervescence that slid down her throat lending her a little more courage.
She could handle herself in social situations, although formal affairs such as these left her feeling inadequate, as though she didn’t belong. She could only hope she appeared poised and confident on the outside.
Blaine introduced her to one group of people after another until she lost track of the number of important and influential guests with whom he was on first-name basis. Then he drew her toward the next group.
Oh. Shit.
“Brandy, I’d like you to meet Calvin and his wife, Sharlene.”
Her eyes fixed on Calvin. She kept all her shock on the inside as she allowed him—a former client—to take her hand and press fleshy lips to her knuckles.
“What a pleasure,” he said with a drawling smirk, his nostrils flaring as though he really was aware of the musky scent between her thighs.
Except that she had a bad feeling the scent only emphasized his adverse opinion of her. The same man she’d rejected when his fetish for rough, violent sex had become apparent. He’d also been the man who’d fast-tracked her into becoming more selective with her clients.
“Kate? Oh my god…is that really you?”
Even before she tugged her hand free to turn toward Calvin’s wife, she knew who she’d face. Brandy would remember that voice anywhere. A class-A bitch and spoiled rich kid, all of Sharlene’s prettiness had just happened to be on the outside. Her inner ugliness hadn’t stopped her from being the most popular girl in high school.
The same woman who’d made her life a living hell.
“It really is you!” Sharlene looked her up and down with frank and disbelieving envy. “You look amazing.”
The other woman could say that now. And little wonder. Age hadn’t done Sharlene any favors—or maybe her husband was as nasty out of bed as he was in it, infecting those around him with his own personal brand of ugliness?
Sharlene’s face twitched into what should have been a frown, if only her obviously wrinkle-free, Botoxed features allowed such movement. “Why the name change?”
Calvin guffawed, his heavy jaw made more noticeable with his obnoxious laugh. He lifted a shoulder that was still as broad and heavy as it was in his linebacker days when he’d lived in the states. His career was one thing he’d managed to boast about in their short time together. “Sweetheart, use your imagination. In her line of work, she needs to be anonymous for her own safety.”
Brandy felt the blood drain right out of her face even as Blaine stiffened beside her.
It was ironic that the one man she had feared the most referred to her line of work as being dangerous.
Sharlene’s eyes rounded with evident realization before she clapped a hand to her mouth. “No. Way! Kate. Ah, Brandy, is that true?” She leaned forward, clearly titillated when she hissed, “You’re a whore?”
And just like that, something within Brandy shut down. One well-aimed hit to the solar plexus and she was the shy plain Jane with no friends and all too many insecurities.
Blaine put his arm around her rigid shoulders and drew her close, shielding her from harm. She wilted against him. This once, she could only be thankful for the security he offered.
Later…much later, she’d be strong again.
Blaine’s gaze held Sharlene’s as he challenged softly, “Define whore?”
The other woman shrank a little at the clear warning in his voice, and its undertone of distaste. Brandy released an unsteady breath. How easily he’d switched all the ugliness back onto Calvin’s wife.
Blaine swung away from Sharlene, who was grappling for a suitable reply. His attention was now on the man who’d forgotten the meaning of discretion in order to settle a score. “Tell me, Calvin. How is it that you know so much about Brandy?”
Sharlene turned to her husband with sudden uncertainty in her eyes. “What is going on, Calvin? How do you know her?”
Brandy leaned further into Blaine’s strong body, feeding off his strength just a little longer, before deciding enough was enough. The time for being strong was here and now, not later. If she could find the strength within to leave Blaine, then standing up to these two should be a walk in the park.
She stepped out of Blaine’s arms. “Actually we have met.” When Sharlene threw her a glaring look of disbelief, she added, “Except I didn’t much care for his penchant for violence.”
If Calvin roughed up his spouse in the same way he did his escorts, Sharlene would get her drift. And going by the other woman’s stifled gasp, it was clear she did.
Sympathy for Sharlene, and the life she must share with this man, softened any ill will toward her. Brandy could only hope the nasty displeasure stamped into every hard crevice on Calvin’s face, wouldn’t mean that his wife would later take the brunt of his anger. But his focus wasn’t on his wife. It was all on her.
A pulse beat into life at his temple, his hands curling into fists. “Listen to me, you little—”
“I believe we have a meeting early next week,” Blaine said in an undertone that somehow oozed authority right along with the threat of reprisal.
Calvin pulled himself together, at least outwardly. He all but bowed to the alpha male when he nodded stiffly and said, “I’ll be there.”
Blaine looked anything but appeased. “See that you are.” When he took her arm once again and escorted her away from the pair of piranhas, he murmured, “Are you okay?”
She looked up at his taut face. “I’m fine. I’ve dealt with worse.”
&n
bsp; Calvin had seen to that. He’d reminded her that her father wasn’t the only man in the world who was an asshole.
Chapter Ten
‡
Blaine’s eyes narrowed, dangerously assessing. “Your job?”
She shivered, aware that Blaine was far more lethal than anything Calvin could muster. But she didn’t answer, didn’t feel the need to explain herself or her chosen career. Her silence seemed answer enough.
His mouth tightened. “You know you don’t need to do what you’re doing. Not anymore.”
She inhaled sharply. He didn’t need to say the words, didn’t need to tell her he’d look after her. But why did he think being his mistress would be so much better? She’d still be getting paid for sex, the only difference being that it would be with one man.
And then what?
Nothing. She’d be right back to square one the moment he’d had enough of her.
No. She couldn’t rely on anyone but herself. She’d already learned that the hard way.
As though knowing he’d pushed her far enough, Blaine changed tactics and asked, “Would you care to dance?”
The dance floor was empty, but sensing Sharlene’s and Calvin’s eyes still boring into her back, she knew she needed to fight fire with fire. Screw them. Let them watch. She wasn’t going to make excuses. She loved sex, loved her job. She wasn’t going to let another person’s judgments make her feel inferior or ashamed in any way.
When were men like Calvin going to realize they paid their unhappy wives a whole hell of a lot more than any call girl to satisfy their needs?
She lifted her chin. Better to stay than run scared. “I’d love to.”
His eyes glinted with satisfaction and something else, something not quite definable, when he smiled and she stepped into his arms. Her belly fluttered. Sometimes she swore she glimpsed more than lust in Blaine’s stare, something much deeper than even his desire to possess her. She had to constantly remind herself she was a call girl, and that men rarely saw beyond that label.
No matter that Blaine thought he wanted a longer-term arrangement, she’d still be nothing more than a paid mistress. She wasn’t girlfriend material. She’d gone into the business with her eyes wide open, aware of what she was getting into.
She’d made her bed…
A slow melody started up, but Brandy scarcely noticed. She was too attuned to Blaine and his strong feelings for her. His interest was the last thing she needed, especially knowing this was their last night together. Somehow it didn’t stop the glow from spreading inside.
She pushed away all reservation, and instead concentrated on following Blaine’s lead. He was a fabulous dancer. While she’d had enough lessons to make her passable in any given situation, she knew with Blaine in charge, they moved fluidly across the floor, his big, adept hand on the bared skin of her back, her skirts swishing.
And all the while, dozens of admiring eyes followed them.
She looked up at Blaine’s determined stare. Is this what he really wanted? Did he hope people would see them as a couple? She frowned. He might want her as a mistress, but surely it’d be the downfall of his celebrated career if others got wind of who he was really with?
Evidently he didn’t care.
“You want to talk about it?” he asked, his head bent and his voice brushing over her ear.
She ignored the instant raise of goosebumps. “What do you mean?”
“That exchange between you and Calvin…not to mention his wife.”
She shrugged, keeping her tone light, casual. “Calvin was a client.”
The tightening of Blaine’s hands confirmed his possessiveness. It also reconfirmed her decision to part ways with him before things got even more serious.
As though perceiving her thoughts, he visibly relaxed, his touch gentling. “Go on.”
She shrugged. “And Sharlene was someone I knew in high school.”
“A friend?”
Her short burst of laughter held no trace of humor. “Hardly. She was more an enemy who made my life miserable in every way.”
The song came to an end.
They stilled. Neither moved as another ballad swept over them.
Blaine’s hands tightened fractionally as he stared down at her. “She felt threatened by you.” Before she could disabuse him of that absurd idea, he added, “Life has a funny way of evening scores.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I almost feel sorry for her being married to that…pig.”
“He’s that bad?”
She nodded, her mouth drying at his intense look. “Worse.”
His face tightened. “Then I’ll be certain he knows never to go near you again.”
She pulled back and shook her head. “I can take care of myself.”
His stare darkened. “Is it really so bad to have someone want to look out for you?”
Yearning once again pulled at her defenses. She gritted her teeth, refusing to give in to his arrangement that would be unattainable long-term. Besides, she’d fought hard for her independence, and she wasn’t about to hand those reins—and that kind of power—over to someone else.
About to put her thoughts into words, a well-coiffed matron with sky-high heels and heavy earrings mounted the nearby stage and took hold of the microphone. “First of all, I want to thank you, one and all, for coming tonight and making this awareness fundraiser a resounding success.” As a polite round of applause dimmed, she added with a beaming smile, “But I’m sure you are all hungry. Please take your designated seats and enjoy your meals while our guest speakers entertain you.”
Blaine took her hand and guided her through the throng of people to the round table for two close to the stage.
“I’m the keynote speaker,” he informed her at seeing her arched brow.
After he pulled out her chair, then seated himself, she leaned in close and said softly, “Then perhaps I should have asked what this charity fundraiser is all about?”
He nodded toward the stage. “You’re about to find out.”
A young woman with long, mouse-brown hair and an even more timid demeanor stepped onto the stage. Although her voice shook, it was obvious how bad her childhood had been as she recounted her days spent terrorized by schoolyard bullies.
The first course arrived, some kind of consommé in a delicate, chalk-white bowl. Brandy didn’t touch it. All her attention was centered on the young woman whose past sounded so similar to her own.
She was half aware of Blaine’s considering gaze on her, but this once she ignored his regard. The woman’s speech was poignant and sad. Worse, it brought back memories like a reopened wound, fresh and painful. And more than a little confronting.
When the woman on stage concluded by admitting that as a teen she’d attempted to take her own life, Brandy’s throat clogged, her vision misting over. The woman might be timid, but she had the heart of a lion. Not only had she faced her fears, she spoke about them in the hopes that others would be saved from the turmoil she’d gone through.
Brandy wilted against her seat as the speaker left the stage as quietly as she’d arrived. Where would her own life have taken her without the threat of school bullies to contend with? She most certainly would have coped with her mother’s death a whole lot better if she’d had true friends around her to comfort and offer solace, even share a little of her pain and grief.
Would she have been confident in her own right, without the admiration of a man to make her feel complete? She glanced at Blaine. Would she have been lucky enough to marry someone like him? Or would she have forged ahead in some other, more acceptable career, and taken on someone like him as a lover instead?
Her belly tightened. The woman on stage had been strong enough to make serious changes in her life. Was it possible she too could change direction from the path she’d chosen? More importantly, did she want to put her trust in a man, in Blaine, and make those changes?
The next speaker was announced when
Blaine tilted his head close to her, his voice feathering across her earlobe. “We’re funding a national campaign aimed at putting an end to bullying.”
She sucked in a steadying breath, but it didn’t stop the odd sensation from taking over her body. It was as if tonight she’d been brought full circle and the universe was pointing her in a whole new direction. Her belly fluttered. It was now her decision whether to follow those signposts…or not.
Dare she hope for a future with Blaine? Was it possible to find happiness with one man? For one man to find happiness with her? Surely all the long-lived marriages around the globe proved it was a plausible conclusion.
Blaine signaled for a waiter who immediately came over and filled her empty wine glass. She took a mouthful, barely noticing its extravagant flavor. Barely registering the monotone voice of the man who’d taken to the stage.
“I didn’t thank you,” Blaine said in a whisper.
She turned to him, his open warmth and adoration producing an ache somewhere in the vicinity of her chest. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it all even as lightheadedness assailed her. This was all wrong! Blaine didn’t love her! Of course he didn’t.
So why was she drowning in a sea of denial, and he was the lifesaver with an outstretched hand?
“Wh…what for?” she managed.
“For accepting my invitation tonight. And taking a chance on us.”
Her mouth dried. But before she could respond, the coiffed woman once again took the microphone and announced Blaine’s name.
He pressed a reassuring kiss to her scalp before brushing a lingering hand across her shoulder. Moments later, he stood and took the stage.
She gulped in some air, focusing on Blaine to steady her nerves. The non-fantasy part of her brain stepped in, logical and reasonable. Blaine wanted her to be his mistress. That. Was. It. Only when her breathing returned to some semblance of normality, did she perceive her anxiety attack had slowly seeped away, like it’d never been.
I’m happy on my own. I don’t need a man permanently in my life to make things right.