Easy Ride

by Suzanne Ruby

  Kirby swallowed back the unscripted tears, along with the shame they carried. This wasn’t the time or place to fall apart for real.

  “You’ll find Ride to be a caring individual. And I can vouch for his integrity,” Fabian said as they entered a cozy room at the end of the hallway.

  The room didn’t have a door. Only an extrawide gas fireplace on the far wall and a solitary tan Le Corbusier sofa facing it. An exit sign midway down the hall had caught her eye as they walked by. She didn’t plan on needing to make a quick exit, but the knowledge felt comforting nonetheless.

  Fabian did a three-sixty. Confusion twisted the near-perfect features of his gorgeous face. “Ride is usually here. This is his territory.”

  “You make him sound like some sort of animal.”

  “I guess that would be a fair description. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll find him and let him know you’re ready.”

  Fabian exited the room, leaving her alone. And uneasy. The positioning of the sofa, with its back to the door, made her feel like fresh meat in a lion’s den. But this particular assignment required bait, so she sat.

  She placed her purse on the near edge of the coffee table, adjusted the camera bauble, then leaned back and waited.

  The fireplace felt warm. Too warm. She slipped the elastic band from her wrist and wrangled her long strands into a messy bun on top of her head. It wasn’t as if she were trying to impress the guy. For what she was paying, he’d act impressed anyway.

  The air-conditioning mercifully kicked on and soothed the back of her neck. In fact, the room started to feel a little too cool.

  As she was about to release her hair from the elastic’s grip once again, a pair of warm hands slid onto her shoulders, and adept fingers slipped beneath the neck of her cashmere sweater and proceeded to massage her muscles.

  Panic comingled with pleasure. The conflicting sensations swirled in her stomach before descending straight to her sex. She never knew a shoulder massage could be so erotic.

  The man pressed his lips close to her ear and whispered, “I couldn’t find him.”

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed the rolled-up sleeve of his white unbuttoned shirt.

  Fabian.

  He smelled exceptionally good. Like vanilla and pine. He must have splashed on some aftershave or cologne, just for her. Maybe since her scheduled friend was nowhere to be found, the host felt obligated to step in.

  Awesome. She hadn’t even met Easy Ride, and he’d already rejected her.

  Not that she was complaining. In fact, she might have to reconsider her choice. For now, she’d play along.

  “Who were you looking for? Refresh my memory,” she said.

  “Anyone who can satisfy you the way I can.”

  Kirby’s breath hitched. She hadn’t expected that kind of talk. At least, not so soon.

  His touch deepened, his thumbs working the knotted muscles of her upper back. She didn’t dare move. Still, she had questions. Lots of them.

  “How do you know what will satisfy me?” she said nervously. “Maybe I have exotic tastes.”

  He leaned in again. “Give me an example, and I’ll tell you exactly how I could satisfy you. In great detail.”

  The jagged lump that had settled in her throat dissolved as sweetly and easily as cotton candy. His rich voice alone satisfied her hungry soul. No details required.

  With this guy, straight missionary would be enough.

  Forget Easy Ride. Fabian was definitely her man tonight. Besides, he was probably the gatekeeper of all the secrets, and would make a great friend. And an even better canary.

  But that was secondary. She finally understood what it meant to mix business with pleasure, to live in the moment. To be touched this way again. No wonder ladies came here in droves after a heartbreak. When reality ripped a person to shreds, there was no better medicine than a three-dimensional and utterly willing fantasy.

  A paid-for fantasy, she reminded herself.

  She leaned into the shoulder rub completely, which now included an upper-arm massage.

  “I can’t get over how good you smell tonight. What kind of perfume are you wearing?” he asked.

  Now there was a line if she’d ever heard one. She wasn’t wearing perfume. It almost jolted her out of the fantasy. Almost.

  “It’s called soap and water.”

  “No, that’s not it. It must be you that I smell.”

  A flush of warmth spread through her entire body. He didn’t clarify what he meant. She was more than willing to fill in the blanks.

  He delved even deeper into her tense shoulder muscles.

  “That feels so good,” she said, although certain syllables came out as an embarrassing moan.

  “And you feel good. Those extra pounds are definitely your friend.”

  Huh?

  She tried to peel away from his touch as she struggled to rationalize the backhanded compliment, but he reeled her back in with those amazing hands.

  Still, such a comment couldn’t go unaddressed. Not for what she was paying.

  “Are you insinuating I’m fat?”

  “Not at all. But I love the extra meat on your bones. Brings out the animal in me.”

  Kirby’s mind swirled, and not in a good way this time. In fact, it didn’t swirl. It shook rather violently. Even though the guy was sexy as hell, there was definitely something wrong here. As in, mentally.

  She was halfway tempted to deliver a strong elbow to the groin and get the hell out of there.

  No sooner had the impulsive thought crossed her mind, than the tip of his finger traced an invisible line along the base of her neck and stopped at the most sensitive point on the side, as if marking the spot. He planted the softest, warmest kiss right at the destination, causing an unbearable stimulation. How could he have landed on the exact spot that could launch her straight to the heavens and beyond?

  Then he whispered, “Your breasts look especially amazing. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were natural.”

  Seriously? She leaned forward and reclaimed her back, as well as the backbone that went with it.

  “We’re done here. Go find my scheduled friend.”

  There. She’d said it, even though part of her wanted to continue this messed-up game they’d started, if only for more neck kisses and shoulder rubs. Maybe she could pay him to not talk.

  Kirby stood as best she could on legs that had all but turned to marshmallows.

  What little strength she’d managed to compose quickly decomposed when she turned to find an over-the-top-gorgeous brunet stranger staring back at her. His expression could easily be described as horrified. Perhaps as horrified as she felt.

  He didn’t seem to have a clue as to who she was.

  It took a moment, but she sure recognized him. His white shirt was now unbuttoned, and he’d removed his Stetson since rescuing her valet ticket from the dance floor.

  His expression remained as distressed as his jeans, yet he looked nothing short of gorgeous. Infuriatingly so, because she didn’t want to feel attracted to this nutcase. The image of a black horse, which was inked on his now-exposed chest, seemed to breathe heavily along with him.

  “You’re not Lydia,” he said.

  “And you’re not Fabian.”

  He ran both hands through his beautifully disheveled hair, and gripped it down to the roots, as if anchoring himself amid the confusion.

  In her opinion, all
he did was elevate the bed-head look to a whole new level of sexiness.

  “There you are, Ride. I see you two have met,” Fabian said, entering the room as if nothing remotely weird had happened in his absence.

  For Kirby, the moment had a distinct ménage feel about it. And not in a good way.

  As much as Easy Ride had awakened something within her—something completely capable of muddling her emotions—her head began to clear. Obviously, this guy was into some woman named Lydia. Or else he had the ability to cook up some seriously tasty lines that contained no sincere ingredients, and then serve them to everyone. Along with a few borderline-offensive ones specifically for her.

  No matter. Kirby smiled, from the inside out. She’d have no problem doing what she needed to do for the story. And maybe doing a few things she wouldn’t ordinarily do along the way.

  As imperfect as their introduction had been, Easy Ride was perfect story material.

  2

  HOLY CRAP.

  So this was his new client. From behind, and with her hair up in a bun, she could pass for their manager. Lydia loved his shoulder rubs, neck kisses and harmless-but-naughty banter. The naughtier, the better, with the added levity of some questionable compliments. All in good fun.

  Nothing about this current situation could be considered remotely fun.

  This Lydia-from-behind look-alike hadn’t bantered back in the usual manner, which should have been a clue. Instead, he had ramped up the innuendo.

  The fact that this woman wasn’t painfully thin should have been another clue, but he’d been too busy enjoying the softness of her to think it through. Rather, enjoying the softness of what he thought was Lydia.

  In a way, he was relieved it wasn’t his boss because he’d gotten more than a little turned on. Then it struck him. Had he really made a snarky remark about a new client’s breasts?

  Adam Drake traced the outline of her gorgeous curves from afar. She’d even let her hair down, and damn if she didn’t make the most stunning brunette he’d ever seen.

  She’d been a blonde in the club, he was sure of it. No small detail in his defense for what had happened. But the hair color hadn’t been the hook. It was her belligerent-turned-appreciative gold-flecked eyes looking directly into his.

  Besides, Lydia was the one who’d asked him to track down Gentleman John and report back to her in this room. But she hadn’t been here when he’d returned.

  Where the hell had Lydia run off to anyway? She could corroborate his story.

  Then again, why even bother formulating a defense? Being innocent never worked. At least, not for him.

  He tried to remain confident as the client chatted with Fabian near the door, probably requesting a new friend for the evening. All the while, his good buddy Fab acted proper and professional and appropriately appalled at Adam’s behavior.

  Now that was hilarious. Fab put on a bigger act than all the guys combined.

  Fabian finally gave him the two-fingered wave, indicating it was safe to come back. He would probably be asked to apologize to the classy client. And Fabian would soak it all up and use it against him later.

  Instead of a reprimand, Fabian said, “She’s happy to continue with you.”

  “Come again?” Adam said.

  An amused smile slashed across his client’s face. She didn’t seem too torn up, which made him wonder whether she had some sort of ulterior motive. She sure as hell didn’t look as if she had to pay some poor schmuck to hear her out. Much less praise her.

  If he were good at one thing, it was spotting a poseur. A woman who came in for all the wrong reasons. Namely, for sex with one of the hot guys. Clients didn’t have to pay a penny if they weren’t satisfied with their session. That much was in the contract. So if a client wanted sex, the employee risked losing his wages if he said no.

  Fabian left without responding to Adam’s question, but the knowing wink spoke volumes. He’d saved Adam’s ass on this one, as a best friend should.

  He also left Adam to comfort this heartbroken knockout.

  Fabian was the only other person who knew Adam’s own story of heartbreak. How his fiancée had traded up to the lead singer of the popular country-rock band Better Days. But only after cheating behind his back for an embarrassing amount of time.

  He fought the urge to rub his bicep. The tattoo artist had inked a gorgeous stallion over his ex-girlfriend’s name. It was a nice complement to the Arabian mare tattooed on his chest. The cursive letters of Liv’s name had transformed into the stallion’s windblown mane quite easily. But he could still feel the resulting humiliation at times. Like slivers of glass lodged under his skin.

  After a few awkward moments of silence, Adam offered his hand and led his new client back to the sofa.

  She settled in on the far side.

  He closed the distance between them, then draped his arm across the back. Near her, but not touching. He owed her that much.

  “So, how does this work?” she asked, then bit her luscious bottom lip, which took a close second in sensuality to the top one. Full, with a cupid’s bow.

  He resisted the urge to bite his own bottom lip.

  “No rules. It can work however you want. It’s helpful for me to know a little bit about you. Why you’re here.”

  “I heard about this place from my best friend, who will remain unnamed.”

  “Understood.”

  She fidgeted with her hands for several seconds while he waited. Patiently. He tried like hell not to get a full hard-on just looking at her. He felt the stirrings of one, a slight tightening of his jeans, so he diverted his gaze back to the fireplace.

  “I’m divorced,” she said. “Which was difficult enough. But I was never really married. Not in the way people are usually married. Oh, God, this is hard.”

  He tried to follow, but she wasn’t making sense.

  “Were you in some sort of arranged marriage?”

  She responded with a nervous laugh and shook her head.

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  He slid somewhat closer. Close enough to pull her in. If, and only if, she wanted.

  Soap and water, did she say? Whatever it was, she smelled damn good. Thinking of the way her soft skin had felt against his palms made the blood rush to his hands, as well as to other extremities.

  “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want. But, if you do, I’m obligated to keep your secret. I signed a confidentiality agreement. Nothing leaves this room,” he said.

  The disclaimer earned him a direct look. One he couldn’t quite decipher.

  Perhaps he couldn’t read her thoughts, but he could definitely read the heartbreak in her eyes.

  He swallowed hard and proceeded to bend his personal rule. The one about not making the first move. But hadn’t he already smashed it to pieces?

  Again, not my fault...

  He urged her gently toward him, and she followed his lead. Her head rested on his shoulder as he caressed her arm, which he knew to be softer than the cashmere sweater that covered it.

  Before his thoughts could stray any further, he reminded himself of his role. A shoulder to cry on. Nothing more.

  * * *

  KIRBY COULDN’T FORCE out the words even though she had rehearsed them to death.

  Thankfully, he didn’t push.

  Although her true story might eventually encourage him to open up, she couldn’t bring herself to do it, even though part of her needed to tell someone, anyone, so badly.

  She totally got the concept behind The Deep now. Understood the service these men provided. Maybe if she’d come to a place like this after her own heartbreak, she’d be healed.

  Rather than keep talking, Kirby yearned for this stranger t
o kiss the back of her neck again. Was it okay to ask for that?

  Yet, she didn’t want to ask for any physical affection. She’d been rejected after asking in the past, and she would never make that mistake again.

  No, she wanted and needed this man to make the first move. Paid for or otherwise.

  As if he sensed her need to be touched, he brushed an errant strand of hair from her face.

  Her eyes went directly to his sensual mouth, which promised so much pleasure without uttering a word. She wanted to know how it would feel to kiss him. She needed to kiss this stranger, she decided, seconds before he leaned in and pressed that gorgeous mouth softly against hers.

  A sudden wave of self-consciousness prompted Kirby to pull away, even though she would have liked nothing more than for him to nudge her lips apart. Open a simple part of herself she’d effectively sealed off.

  “Sorry. I shouldn’t have initiated that,” he said.

  “Club policy?”

  “My policy.”

  Obviously, his personal policy wasn’t the least bit compatible with hers. The only option now was to save face.

  “It’s okay. Paid-for kisses aren’t exactly what I need.”

  He seemed to contemplate her admission.

  “Then I’ll stop the clock, kiss you for ten minutes, then we’ll resume with the paid-for session. How does that sound?”

  All of a sudden she was hyperaware of their proximity, how utterly strong and protective his arm felt around her, how his sensual mouth would feel while exploring her own, if she wanted it.

  And she definitely wanted.

  “Why would you do that?” she asked.

  “I want to kiss you. Why else?”

  Before she could overanalyze it, he pressed his mouth against hers and tenderly nudged her lips apart with his tongue.

  She granted him full access, and he explored deeper.

  He tasted mostly of mint and slightly of Scotch. She wanted to consume him, as he had begun to consume her.

  For the next several minutes, her feelings swung from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. From being convinced that he enjoyed the deep and intimate kisses as much as she did, to wondering whether this was nothing more than a job duty, then back to being convinced.