by Laura Leone
"And I let you keep your distance," he continued, "because it was better that way. I knew from the start this was wrong. But I couldn't stop. Couldn't stay away. Even knowing... Oh, well. But it never occurred to me," he said, shaking his head at his own lack of perception, "that you didn't know what I wanted. Sure, I thought you wondered why I didn't try to touch you—"
"I did," she murmured.
"But I never thought you didn't know how much I wanted to touch you."
Their gazes met. Sara almost stopped breathing.
"I was thinking about myself so much," Ryan said, "that I didn't even see that you worried you weren't..." He closed his eyes and made an angry sound. "Attractive enough. Sexy enough." When he re-opened his eyes, they were full of regret. "Lots of women feel that way. It's common. It so damn deadly common. But it never occurred to me that you felt that way." He shrugged. "I've spent so much energy just trying not to touch you, I never realized. But I should have known better. It's a rare woman who isn't insecure, and I shouldn't have forgotten that when I was with you. I'm sorry." He nodded. "So let me be clear. I really wanted you just now. And for weeks before this."
She couldn't have looked away even if lightning struck her. "You're not just saying that because—"
"Sara, tonight was the first time I've acted like a randy, clumsy kid..." He shook his head. "Well, since I was one. And that was such a long time ago."
Sara didn't comment. She was starting to realize that, young as he was, his youth may nonetheless have ended long ago.
"I don't lose control," he said, "not sexually. Not like that—all over you and crazy and not even knowing what I was doing... I don't ever do that."
Her hurt was fading. Her humiliation seeping away. But her confusion remained. She edged closer to him now, wanting to understand. Wanting more. "But you did tonight."
He let his gaze drift over her face. "I did tonight."
"Why?" she whispered.
Their gazes locked and held. Her heart pounded, drumming in her ears, driving her towards him. He came closer, driven by the same thing. Their lips met in a slow, warm kiss. Tender. Erotic. Honest.
Sara shuddered and slid her arms around his waist. His hand found her neck and held her to him, deepening the kiss with his tongue until her head was reeling.
"That's why," he breathed against her mouth.
"Then why did you stop?" Their lips brushed again. "Tell me what's wrong. What you're hiding from me." Sensing his lingering hesitation, she said firmly, "Ryan, you can't not tell me. Not after this."
He rested his forehead against hers. After a moment, he sighed. "I know. I have to tell you. I should have told you before it came to this."
When he didn't say anything else, she urged, "Go on."
"Just give me a minute," he murmured, still holding her close.
She'd give him all the time in the world. She didn't want to leave anymore. Not now. Not tonight. Not ever. She waited.
When he finally pulled away from her and turned his back, she knew from his stiff posture that he was genuinely afraid of what the truth would bring to their relationship. Feeling shaky, Sara took a seat.
"Whatever it is," she said, "it doesn't—"
"Don't say that, Sara. It matters."
His face, when he turned towards her, was serious and so unhappy. What secret tormented him so? AIDS? A drug habit? A wife?
"Ryan is my real name," he said, "but..."
She waited.
"But a lot of people know me by my working name." He paused. "Kevin."
"Kevin?"
"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "And I'm not a model."
Chapter Seven
He stood before her, his stomach churning so badly he was afraid for a moment he'd be sick right in front of her.
Oh, that would be smooth.
The flickering lights of the candles cast subtle shadows across Sara's face, bringing out those strong cheekbones which he'd often thought made her look a little exotic, as did the colorful clothes she wore, the artsy earrings she liked, and the rich darkness of her eyes.
Those curious, thoughtful, expressive eyes... which were gazing at him right now with such intensity and tender concern.
His heart contracted, just looking at her. He'd learned all too well by now that she could do this to him—make his insides quiver just by meeting his eyes.
"You're not a model," she said, trying to get the ball rolling. "Okay."
Say it. Get it over with. Tell her.
She said, "Is that why you told me that your face doesn't photograph well, that you only model below-the-neck stuff?"
He nodded. "I almost always include that in the story."
"Because... you need a handy reason," she said, "that no one ever comes across a photo of you modeling?"
He nodded again. Of course she would figure it out right away. He knew by now how smart she was.
She continued, "You could just say they had come across photos of you, but they didn't realize it because—"
"My body looks like anyone's body."
"Not quite," she said with a touch of dryness.
Rain continued drumming gently on the roof. Ryan's gaze shifted to Sara's mouth. Her lips were a little swollen now, and he realized how hard he must have been kissing her before. She looked so...
God, he wanted to kiss her again.
And once she knew the truth, she'd never let him do it again.
He shouldn't have done it in the first place. That's what she'd think, too, once he told her.
"Ryan?" she prodded.
"Um..."
Jesus, just tell her, would you?
Her thick, dark hair was a tangled mess now. From the rain. From his hands. From that sudden tumble to the floor he'd inadvertently given her when he realized what was happening and shot out of that chair and her embrace only seconds before he'd have taken off all her clothes and made love to her.
His body was still crying out for her.
"So if you're not a model," she said, "then what do you do for a living?"
Say it. Say it. Say—
"I'm an escort."
Finally! Thank you.
"An escort," she repeated.
His breath came rushing out. "Yes. I'm an escort."
There. It's out. Done.
He should have told her weeks ago. When he realized how he was starting to feel about her. When he suspected how she was starting to feel about him. He should never have let things go this far between them without telling her.
He'd wanted to slit his own throat when he saw how he'd hurt her tonight. Her tears and humiliation. The wounded look in her eyes before he'd explained himself. He didn't deserve to live, hurting her like that.
And now he wanted someone to beat him up for the way he'd been unwittingly hurting her before this. She'd thought he didn't want her? That she didn't attract him? Christ, he'd been pacing his cage for weeks because of her!
He'd been going so crazy lately, unable to give her up and unable to try to claim her, it had turned him into an idiot. How could he, of all people, not have realized that she needed to know he found her desirable?
Maybe I was a little preoccupied with lying to her.
Or maybe he'd just been trying to avoid this moment as long as he could. He knew that once the lid was lifted on his desire, he couldn't continue hiding the truth from her. That was the line he'd drawn for himself somewhere along the way: He wouldn't touch her without her knowing exactly what he was. And since he didn't want to tell her...
"An escort." Sara shrugged, a slight frown on her face. "Like... a PR escort?"
He blinked. "A what?"
"A public relations, um, escort. You know." When he just stared at her blankly, his blood pounding through his throbbing head, she elaborated, "When a writer gets sent on tour to promote a book, for example... Are you saying that you're the person who would take her around to her interviews and autographings while she's here in San Francisco?"
Shit. Sh
e didn't understand what he meant.
"No," he said hollowly, "that's not what I do."
"Then what do you do?"
She sat with her hands folded, looking patient, intent, and encouraging.
"I, um..."
"Go on," she urged.
"I spend time with people."
"You spend time with people?"
"With women."
"You spend time with women." She still didn't understand.
He looked away. "Maybe at a party, or a restaurant, or on a trip..." Come on, spill it. "Maybe in bed."
"In bed? Are y..." Now her voice was uneasy. "I mean, when you say... Is this—"
"I get paid for it." He took a breath, seized hold of his resolve to give her the honesty she deserved, and met her eyes again. "Usually by the hour or by the day. I get paid to be good company. In bed, out of bed, whatever the client wants." Seeing her jaw drop slightly, he added, "That's my job. To be whatever the client wants."
She looked stunned, confused, a little upset. "You mean you... Women pay you to have sex with them?"
"Actually," he mumbled, "they pay Catherine."
"Who's Catherine?"
"She's, um... I guess you could say she's my boss." He shrugged. "Whenever my cell phone rings, it's her."
"Calling you to..."
"To schedule me for an appointment."
"An appointment." Her voice was faint. "To... have sex? With other women?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes, I just spend time with them."
"Spend time," she repeated.
"Uh-huh."
"Being good company."
"Yes," he said, lowering his gaze.
"And you get paid for this."
"I do." He wished this conversation could be finished now.
"Paid by Catherine."
"Yes."
"And they pay her," Sara said. "They pay... to be with you."
"With me. Or with someone like me."
"Are you telling me..." Sara sounded like she was sure she must be mistaken when she said, "Ryan, that sounds like prostitution."
"Oh, no," he said ironically. "It's only prostitution if you get paid for sex. If you just get paid for your time..." He met her eyes, wincing at the dawning shock he now saw there. "Well, then it's all strictly legal."
"You just... get paid for your time?"
"That's how it works."
"So... I mean, if you don't want to have sex..."
"It doesn't matter what I want. It's whatever the client wants."
"But... if you don't want sex, and you do it because someone's paying you... Then, well, they are paying you to have sex, and that is prostitution."
"Yeah." She understood it now, all right. He could hear it in her voice, see it in her expression. "It is."
"You're telling me... You're telling me you're a prostitute." When he didn't respond, she prodded, "Ryan?"
"Yes. I'm a prostitute." And he was discovering that telling her made him feel even worse than he had anticipated. For no particular reason, he added, "A very expensive one."
"Expensive?" she repeated weakly.
"Oh, yeah." He sank onto the couch and rubbed his brow. "I'm a pricey item. Top drawer. A first-class fuck."
"Ryan!"
"It's true, Sara."
"Don't talk about yourself like—"
"I usually say 'escort,' because that's what Catherine taught me to say." He had to be candid with her, no matter what it cost him. "But it's just a nice way of saying that I'm a high-priced whore."
"But what—"
"I work for an exclusive agency. You couldn't even afford the so-called membership fee that most people have to pay just to see my photos, never mind meet me." If anything ever happened between the two of them after this, he didn't want it to be because he'd glossed over the facts. "It costs a client a lot of money to have sex with me, and even more to spend the night with me. It's not so cheap for someone to have me on her arm at dinner or a party, either."
"Stop!" Sara was shaking her head. "What are you saying? What are you talking about?"
"You wanted to know what happened to me today?" He recalled her questions and how he'd tried to avoid answering them. "I spent most of the day in the lock-up."
"The lock-up? What's the l—"
"A holding cell. Awaiting arraignment."
"You were in jail today? You've been arrested?"
"For the third time." His chest hurt as he held her gaze. "I've got a rap sheet, Sara."
"What?" She looked sick from this succession of shocks. "What were you arrested for?"
"Which time?"
"I... I..."
"Today I got up, walked Macy, bummed a cup of coffee from you, went to the gym..." He made himself tell her. It was wrong to keep hiding this from her. "And then I did a two-hour trick."
"A tr..."
"We're not supposed to call it that—"
"We?"
"The escorts who work for Catherine. But I have bad habits. You can take the boy off the streets, but you can never completely wipe the streets off the boy."
She just stared at him, stunned and distressed.
Now that he had started, he couldn't seem to stop himself. He felt compelled to strip everything, to be more naked with her than he'd been with anyone in years. "Anyhow, it was a two-hour trick, like I said. Easy work. A massage and sex. We finished early, I got dressed—"
"You had sex with another woman today?"
"Yes." He held her gaze. "And two days before that, with someone else. And last week—"
"You've been..." She squeezed her eyes shut briefly, then said, "You've been sleeping with other women. All this time."
"Yes."
"All those times you said you were working..."
"I was working. Just not the kind of work I told you I did."
"You've been lying to me?"
The betrayal in her voice cut into his heart, but he wouldn't try to escape his punishment. "Yes. I've been lying to you. Ever since we met."
"So... so last week, when I took care of your place and your pets while you were out of town, you weren't on a photo shoot." A little anger was starting to join the betrayal. "You were... doing this?"
"Yes," he admitted, not shying away from her bewildered and accusing gaze.
"And what is 'this?'" she demanded. "What exactly were you doing?"
"I don't think details are a good idea, Sara." There was a difference between honesty and stupidity, after all.
"No, I want to know," she said, some more anger creeping in now. "How many women were you sleeping with on your trip last week while I was here, walking your dog, and feeding your fish, and taking your cat to your vet, and—"
"One," he said. "One woman. I was hired to put her in a generous mood."
"What does that mean?"
"Someone is trying to attract new capital for their failing luxury resort. So they invited a few potential backers there... and made sure they had a good time."
Sara gaped at him. "The people who hired you thought that a hot affair with a dream lover at their resort would influence this woman's financial judgment in their favor?"
"I never talked to the clients," he said, avoiding her gaze, "but that was my impression from Catherine's instructions to me."
"Did it work?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. Catherine says they were pleased with me."
"So you went along with this travesty?" she demanded.
He'd expected her outrage, but that didn't make it easier to bear. "I did what I was paid to do."
"Which entailed what?" The contempt in Sara's voice hurt him, sparking defensive anger and an unworthy impulse to hurt her back. "Flirting with the woman, complimenting her, listening to her... being good company?"
"And fucking her," he added, feeling a dark satisfaction when Sara flinched. She wanted details? Fine, she could have them. "Don't forget fucking her until she was limp."
"I suppose that was in the job description?"
"She invited me to her room, and my job was to be whatever she wanted me to be."
"But didn't she want you to be real? Didn't she want your home phone number or something?"
"She's married, Sara."
"Married? Oh."
"I wasn't supposed to be a new love interest. Just a temporary perk."
"A perk?" she repeated, clearly appalled.
"Yeah," he said, wishing they could stop now. "A perk."
Sara paused a moment before saying, "But even so, how do you know she didn't think you were more than that? Maybe she thought you were a new love inter— "
"Since she tipped me before she left, I think she kept her perspective."
"She tipped you?" Sara sounded scandalized.
"Pretty generously."
"So she knew you were a hired... hired escort?"
He shrugged again. "I don't think so. She was just showing her appreciation to the golf instructor who'd shown her such a good time."
"She thought you were a golf instructor at the resort?"
"It seemed a safe story, since she didn't know anything at all about golf."
"Do other women tip you, too?"
"I don't think we should talk about—"
"Do they?"
He sighed. "Sometimes. Now can we just stop this?"
"What about this morning, after your... your 'easy' two-hour trick?" Sara was glaring at him now. "Did she tip you?"
"Actually, if she hadn't handed me money," he said wearily, "I suppose they wouldn't have even tried to bust me."
"What happened?" When he hesitated, she prodded, "Well?"
"Vice grabbed me in the hallway, as I leaving." If this was the way Sara wanted it, fine. She could have so many details, she'd despise him. "They said they had a tape of me doing the client, right there on the massage table. I got her off three times—"
Sara made a stifled sound and put her hand over her mouth.
"—and she never even looked at me. I think she was pretending I was someone else." He shrugged indifferently. "Anyhow, the cops caught the whole show on camera. Including the part where I accepted cash from her. They said I was screwed. But it was a bad bust, so they let me go this afternoon."
She was staring at him in horrified silence.
"Sara..." He made an awkward gesture. "I told you that details weren't a good idea."