Not For Sale

by Rebecca Williams

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  Atlantic Bridge/Liquid Silver Books

  www.liquidsilverbooks.com

  Copyright ©2004 Rebecca Williams

  First Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge, November 2004

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright 2004, Rebecca Williams. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Olivia Maigret hustled through the foyer of the Grand Hyatt hotel in Melbourne. Searching out a bathroom in which to check her looks, she strove for the nonchalant strut usually associated with the people who stayed here. Fortunately, she was early for her appointment. How that had happened would remain one of the unsolved mysteries of the universe. Not that she was complaining. She would need every spare minute to get herself together. Since beginning work for Charlotte's, her best friend's escort agency, Olivia was fast becoming the queen of impromptu poise. An hour's notice, however, was pushing even their friendship a little too far. Especially when at the time Charlotte had called Olivia's nose had been buried in an engineering materials textbook and her mouth around the first biscuit of an entire packet of mint slice biscuits, the determination to eat all of them firmly implanted in her tastebuds.

  Sometimes life just isn't fair.

  After the mad dash she'd made to get here on time, leaping on and off trams all across town, Olivia was surprised to see not too much tweaking was needed. Smoothing the long layers of her auburn hair, she simultaneously checked her creamy complexion for flaws in the bathroom mirror. Men didn't pay good money to be escorted by women with mascara on their cheeks. The fall of the jersey fabric that her black, backless, halter-neck dress was made of remained uncrushed. God bless synthetic fabrics. Her newly exfoliated skin was smooth and fairly glowing with good health. All in all, she wasn't doing too badly.

  Using a paper towel in preference to the hand dryer, Olivia decided that she looked as good as possible, considering the circumstances. Unlike so many other patrons, she had neither a personal stylist to create her image nor an air-conditioned limousine to ensure she arrived at the hotel door completely unruffled and immersed in champagne. Straightening her shoulders, she exhaled hard. This job never got any easier, but she was as ready as possible. The door swished closed behind her and Olivia entered the foyer a full minute early for her meeting.

  Trying to appear as though she knew what her appointment looked like, she surveyed the foyer. The man was a new customer. Usually Charlotte did her internet magic, emailing a scanned photograph prior to meetings, so her escorts would know who they were looking for, thus eliminating embarrassing oversights. This guy, though, was not some media mongrel who appeared in gossip columns or newspapers every second week, the way quite a few of Charlotte's clients did. In fact, neither Olivia nor Charlotte had ever even heard of Cain Warner.

  Apparently he was in gold. Mining, that is. According to Charlotte, his company vouched for his employment with them, and his credit card must have checked out or she wouldn't be waiting for him now. Crossing to a stand of tastefully displayed brochures, she began looking for interesting “about town” information. In the face of its reputation for dreadful weather, Melbourne had developed a reputation as Australia's cultural center. The latest news regarding the shows at the NGV International, which housed the country's largest collection of international art, had just hit Olivia's fingers when a smooth voice and delicious smell made instant impressions on her senses.

  "Excuse me, would you be Olivia Maigret?"

  She tilted her head and gave a half smile in his direction. My, my, my ... why is this man paying for company? Women should have been swarming about by now. “How did you guess?"

  Almost inadvertently one corner of her mouth tipped a little further up, while the rest of her body began a gentle tingling response to the handsome man's presence.

  Here was Adonis in a business suit. He was tall. At five foot nine in her bare feet, standing beside him in her heels she was still a head shorter. Dark hair, cropped close and styled, begged for the mess her fingers might make. Broad shoulders encased in a well-cut suit coat appeared to need no padding, and the crisp, pale blue shirt beneath served only to emphasise the unique colour of his eyes. His eyes couldn't be described as either dark or light blue, rather they were ocean blue—cerulean blue, her mother would have said. They sparkled too, as if he spent his life containing a quirky sense of humour. The rest of his face was all male. Despite smelling of a recent shave, his jaw was darkened by an inkling of stubble. His lips, now smiling down on her, were firm and smooth despite their fullness. The grin creasing his cheeks revealed dimples that cut grooves to his jaw.

  All combined—the beautiful face, divine aftershave, and the fact she loved men who could wear suits well—Cain Warner succeeded in giving her a giant case of the jitters.

  "Your agency told me to look for a natural redhead reeking French.” His eyelids lowered, letting her know she was being inspected. She couldn't help but wonder if he was taking a personal interest or if he was just making sure he'd gotten his money's worth.

  "Well, despite their rather vague description, you appear to have sniffed me out rather nicely.” Olivia offered her hand. Cain took it, before doing the very European cheek kiss. Right, then left. With each touch of his lips to her face, the gently citrus, unobtrusive scent of his cologne filled her nostrils. Olivia inhaled him. It was not often a man smelled as good as he looked, or vice versa for that matter. Either way, Cain Warner was an entirely impressive specimen.

  "Shall we go to our table? I'll fill you in on all the necessary details over a drink."

  Taking her elbow, he led her, weaving through tables, before stopping at the one allocated to them. Tiny tremors erupted under her skin at the touch of his fingers on her. She couldn't help but wonder how he managed to emanate such vibes. He could have led her straight to hell with the sparks those fingers generated and she wouldn't have cared one little bit. She really was out of practise. Either that or the man was electric. Maybe both.

  With all the magnetism Cain Warner exuded, Olivia was amazed the hotel wasn't experiencing electrical difficulties. Then again, even if there were a complete blackout, this particular hotel would probably find a way to market their problems. The Grand Hyatt had won half a dozen awards and received numerous positive reviews for its new décor. Olivia could see why. Overdone, the cream, gold and dark burgundy colour scheme should have been tacky, but instead spoke of discreet opulence. The lighting was perfect. Wall sconces shimmered, providing enough light for the perusal of menus, as well as enough shadow to soften the lines in women's faces.

  The chance to dine in luxury was one of the reasons Olivia enjoyed being an escort for Charlotte's. Initially, her employment had been a method of paying off some of her ever-increasing study debt and a favour to Charlotte. Best friends in high school, due in part to their shar
ed heritage, she'd not even blinked before offering to help her friend out of a bind. Charlotte's escort agency had boomed almost from the beginning. and Business had expanded to the point where Charlotte simply couldn't find enough women to fill appointments. Charlotte, now more boss than friend, was booking her more often than they'd originally agreed, partly because of the sheer number of appointments and also because Charlotte was very particular about the women she hired. They had to be classy, intelligent, at least bilingual, and not prostitutes. Indeed, sleeping with clients was forbidden. Charlotte was aiming for a very select niche—the one with all the money.

  Most men who made appointments with Charlotte's were well-paid executives too busy for real relationships yet in need of a partner for social or business occasions. Despite the latest trends toward equality, a man who couldn't produce a woman as needed wasn't much of a man. At least that appeared to be the general consensus within the wealthy business elite.

  Enter the escort.

  Nowadays, Olivia had come to appreciate the money—which was extremely good—as well as the lifestyle, which offered more than the usual opportunity to dress up, eat good food and at least listen to interesting conversation. She also enjoyed the lascivious power of being able to pretend for an evening. On the job she could “play” at being sultry, whimsical, intellectual or funny, depending on necessity. Then she could go home to be herself with no one the wiser. It was great fun. Escapism at its best.

  Settling into her seat, Olivia listened carefully to the rundown Cain was giving her. She was trying hard to think of him by his name rather than as “the appointment.” It would be best if his name tripped easily from her lips when talking to company.

  "These are a group of men also employed by my company. They are the hierarchy of our Turkish mining endeavours. Mostly we're going to be swapping details regarding the environmental issues related to mining and how we do it here. From what I can gather, Turkey doesn't have much in the way of environmental legislation, but in order for our company to retain its ‘social license,’ we need to upgrade the calibre of the environmental standards maintained at the mine. Probably boring for you, but I'd appreciate it if you would at least try to appear interested and attentive."

  Au contraire! Despite currently being embroiled in relatively tedious materials and drafting subjects, her major was environmental engineering. This whole dinner would be right up her alley. Perhaps something more than a cordon bleu meal would be salvaged from the evening. She'd certainly learn more here over good food than she would have at home with a packet of biscuits and a textbook. A few contacts, a little insight, and plenty of up-to-date information never went astray when presented in assignments.

  "As I said, the men are Turkish. Despite equal opportunity laws for women in their country, they generally expect them to sit quietly and pay attention. The quality of the woman indicates the status of the man over there."

  Well, so much for my intellectual persona. Olivia managed to keep her frustrated shrug to a mental level. Such a shame, he'd started so well, speaking to her as if she had a brain, touching nothing but her elbow when he led her to the table, then he'd ruined it all by expecting her to be seen but not heard. Still, it wasn't really his fault. Just another social requirement. Tonight she would be the silent but sexy type ... Again!

  "Any questions?” The terse query jolted her from her assessment of her current assignment.

  This time she actually raised her shoulders. “Not really. Do their wives speak English? If so, do you want me to talk to the women or just be quiet and subservient?” She found it difficult to keep the taint of irritation from her voice.

  Cain considered this, frowning slightly while he rubbed a lean, strong hand along his jaw. “I'm not sure about the women. The men definitely speak English, or I would have brought an interpreter with me. If they do speak English, I think you should talk to the wives. After all, they must have discussions at home. Even if they don't take their wives’ opinions seriously, they've still heard what's been said."

  Olivia breathed deeply, nodding in the direction of the door. An exotic-looking group of people entered the restaurant and were led in their direction by a tuxedoed waiter. Cain lowered a hand below the table. As though understanding her nerves, he took her clammy fingers in his grasp. Used to men behaving as though she was their partner or girlfriend, she paid little attention to the gesture, brushing it aside as part of the charade. They certainly hadn't reached a level where kindness was required of him, so there could be nothing but pretence in his touch.

  When small shocks of awareness sprang from his fingers to hers, winding their tickling way about her palm and wrist, she was forced to take notice. She stretched her hand, attempting to release the tingles the circular movements of his fingers against her palm created. Dear Lord, if this was how he caressed a woman's hand, imagine what he could do to her body!

  Cain rose, bringing her with him as their visitors approached. The two men were exactly what she'd expected—medium height, very dark colouring and heavily moustached. They shook hands with both Cain and herself. She noticed the way he avoided offering an explanation of their relationship, choosing instead to introduce her by name only. His verbal side-step probably counted as lying by omission, but really, who cared? Herself, she couldn't have been less concerned, not when his warm hand rested on the exposed skin of her back while he made introductions. Light circles along her spine had her standing straighter, trying very hard not to close her eyes and savour the sensation.

  The women of the Turkish party were stunning. With large dark eyes rimmed in kohl, perfect olive skin, and smiles that lit their entire faces, Olivia found it difficult to believe their husbands might not pay attention to them. Dressed in bright silk and heavy gold jewellery, these petite little females certainly packed a punch. Notably absent were the headscarves she'd expected on women of Middle-Eastern origin.

  Typical of the good service for which this restaurant was renowned, the drink waiter arrived just as the party settled in their seats. Olivia ordered a scotch on the rocks, noting the sexy half-smile that came her way as Cain requested the same thing. Both Turkish men ordered beer, their women champagne. When their drinks arrived, the men fell automatically into business talk, ignoring the women who had been rather obviously grouped together at their own end of the rectangular table.

  Olivia took her cue and began a conversation with the women. Commenting on the heavily inscribed, very ornate bracelet on the arm of the exotic female immediately opposite her, she began in English only to see the confused, slightly embarrassed expression on the woman's face. Flipping to French, her next most comfortable language, she was met with raised eyebrows and a clucking sound, which obviously indicated a negative response.

  "Sprechen sie Deutsch?” At this question, a rush of heavily accented German met her grateful ears. Glad she wouldn't have to spend the night smiling nervously at the women and practicing her charades technique, she smiled happily and began again with her comment on the first woman's bracelet. The woman, whose name was Neslihan, Nes for short, explained that the bracelet was part of a traditional Turkish courtship process. During the months before a marriage, the groom to be extols the high esteem in which he holds his fiancée by presenting both the girl and her family with many different kinds of gift—bracelets, silk, underwear and porcelain. The more expensive the gifts, the more valued the bride, the wealthier and more generous the husband appeared.

  While trying to pay attention to the eager explanation Nes offered, Olivia couldn't help but notice the sideways glance and raised eyebrow Cain flicked in her direction. The same brief appraisal followed when the women introduced themselves and a rapid-fire German conversation ensued. Naturally, having explained their own courtship routines, the Turkish women asked after her marital status. Smiling, Olivia let them in on her supposedly liberating outlook regarding men.

  "We are not married,” she explained. “I like to keep my independence. I like to keep him on his
toes. When I tire of the chase, I might settle down.” She shrugged to ensure the women understood her lack of enthusiasm for the final prospect.

  Nes giggled in response, holding a hand over her smile as she did. “Be careful of that one.” She rolled her big dark eyes in Cain's direction. “I think he is a wolf. The hunt could be over quickly unless you run very fast.” It was the eastern woman's turn to shrug, a sexy nonchalant movement accompanied by a conspiratorial smile at her friends. “Of course, being caught by a wolf could be enjoyable also."

  Olivia coughed, almost choking on a mouthful of scotch. The other women exploded into wicked laughter. She fought down the blush threatening to rise up her neck into her cheeks, while the raucous good humour attracted attention from the men at the table. With a tilt of his head in her direction, Cain ran teasing fingers up over her spine, until his hand came to rest at her neck. Goosebumps chased along her shoulders while shivers ran the length of her body. This man is something else.

  "I do believe our wives may have embarrassed your lovely partner, Mr. Warner. They think perhaps she is a little...” the man sought the right word, “naïve, I think is the correct description."

  "Ah well, perhaps there will be a lesson in tonight for all of us,” Cain rejoined, not taking his eyes from hers as he spoke. His dark blue gaze shimmered disbelief into her blinking, embarrassed expression. His smooth bottom lip curved sardonically upward.

  Thank goodness the men hadn't translated the conversation directly for him, or she might well have died from embarrassment. Olivia opened her mouth and drew deep breaths. Between Cain's intense inspection and the gentle press of his fingers at the pulse points at the base of her throat, her body felt afire. Another time, another place, and she would have leaned forward to brush her lips against his. But not tonight, when he was a client. Instead, she remained still while his fingers stroked along her throat. They came to rest just beneath her ear lobe, caressing the soft skin there. The gesture was both possessive and tender.