Only one other person had access to my account, and that was my mother—I’d just never gotten around to taking her name off the account that I’d had since I was a minor. Which, knowing as I did about how much she loved to play the slots, was so incredibly stupid I couldn’t even believe it.
She’d withdrawn money from it before. Just a twenty here and there. I’d noticed, but had assumed she’d needed to buy groceries. And she hadn’t done it often.
I wasn’t going to make a fuss over such a small amount from the woman who raised me, no matter how she’d managed to do that. But as I thought it through now, I realized that those small withdrawals had become more and more frequent of late.
I bet anything that her love of those slot machines had escalated. The withdrawals were a warning sign that I should have caught.
Shit, shit, shit!
With shaking fingers, I’d pulled up my mom in the contacts on my cell phone, had listened to it ringing. Listened to her answer, her voice barely audible over the clinks and rings and other vibrant sounds that could only be found at a casino.
I remember slowly hanging up the phone without speaking, despair washing over me like sleet.
There was no doubt in my mind—my mom had used my savings, and the scholarship money that I desperately needed, to fund her gambling habit.
And even if she won with it, she’d shove it right back into the slot machines.
She had no money. I had no money.
She needed to go to rehab. I couldn’t even afford a kiddie meal at Wendy’s.
“Excuse me.” The voice was melodious, and was accompanied by the scent of the floral perfume that I’d inhaled while waiting in line inside the bank.
Cold, stiff, frozen I looked up to find the well put together blonde that I’d been so envious of standing in front of me. And even all of her expensive clothes couldn’t hide the hint of uncertainty that I could see on her face.
“I apologize if I’m reading this wrong, but... here.” She thrust a simple business card in my face. One side was stark black, one white, and the white had a name and phone number in elegant, simple script.
Miss Black
“What’s this?” My voice was harsh, but the woman just smiled, and unless I was reading her entirely wrong, the expression was tinged with sadness.
“Just... if you need to make some good money fast, call her. Tell her Annabelle recommended you.” Her smile tightened. “And hear her out. You’ve got a good look. You’d do really well there.”
I had a good look? I was attractive enough, but I was no model. Which left me with no clue about what this job could be.
But... I did need good money. Fast. And so I’d called. And I’d listened to what would be expected of me, working for the mysterious Miss Black.
To say I’d been shocked was an understatement. I’d told Miss Black to take her offer and go to hell, that that same hell would freeze over before I’d sell my body like a whore.
But at the end of the day... it wasn’t easy money, oh hell no. But it was a lot of money. And I could have that money, fast. Just like I needed.
Since I owned exactly two more cups of ramen noodles, and had no idea what my mom was eating, if she bothered with things like hunger while around the bright lights of the casino, it couldn’t come fast enough.
And so here I am, dressed like exactly what I am—a call girl. And strangely, I can feel myself start to slip into the role that Miss Black has given me as Caleb stops the limo. We’re in front of a hotel that I’ve heard of but certainly have never had the money to stay at, a towering confection of marble and light. He opens the door for me, and I slide across the leather seat, clinging to the sense of false confidence.
I may have never imagined that I’d wind up here, on my way to a meeting with a man who will more than likely demand sex of me. But if I can sell this, if I can be who Henry Thomas wants me to be, then I’ll make enough money tonight alone to get myself back on my feet. If he wants to see me again, I might even be able to check my mom into a rehab facility.
I might lose my soul in the process, but at the end of the day, I really don’t see another way.
The interior of the hotel is just as impressive as the outside. The walls are a mosaic of glittery gold tiles, the floor a darkly panelled wood. The centre of the lobby boasts a round stage with a pure white grand piano that’s currently in use. Cozy leather loveseats and recliners surround the stage, and a smattering of people relax in them, listening to music, crystal flutes of champagne or snifters of whiskey in their hands.
Trees placed in a geometric design break up the sleek flooring, and as I gaze up into the branches of one, I note the red fruit hiding in the dark leaves.
Apple trees, for a hotel in the Big Apple. Cute.
Weaving among the greenery, I follow gilt signs that point me toward the small, classy lounge that is our rendezvous point. There’s a sheet of glass with water rushing down over it just outside the door, and I inhale deeply, trying to let the sound of the liquid soothe my nerves before squaring my shoulders and pressing on.
I easily spot Henry Thomas. He is seated on a leather loveseat in front of a roaring fireplace that I could easily stand inside. He’s recognizable from his picture, mostly because of his glasses and his expectant expression.
Get it together, Carly.
This man is my ticket out of disaster. And so I strangle the voice chanting whore whore whore in my head and try to emulate that blonde girl from the bank, the one who saved my ass.
I smile sweetly—Miss Black made it clear that he likes good girls—and swing my ass just a bit as I make my way across the room, trying not to trip in the high heels that I’m not used to wearing.
He looks up expectantly when I stop in front of him. The signal of a Miss Black’s girl is the touch of a finger to a plate; since there’s no plate in front of him here in the lounge, I bend and press my finger to the center of an empty marble coaster.
Standing, he extends a hand to me, a smile of appreciation curving his lips as he looks me up and down.
“Claire Daniels?” He lifts my hand to his lips, presses a soft kiss to it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit dazzled by it.
“Mr. Thomas. It’s lovely to meet you.” I remind myself that Claire is my name for the evening. I force what I hope is a natural smile to my lips, doing my own assessment as he helps me to sit beside him on the small sofa. There’s no denying that he’s a good looking man, with light hair, stormy grey eyes and a lean runner’s build. He’s a bit on the nerdy side, but more Sherlock than Big Bang.
He’s older than anyone I’ve ever been with... not that there have been very many. One high school boyfriend, one lapse in judgment right after I’d started college. He’s likely to be far more experienced than I am... good thing his file says he’s into that.
Good looking or not, I can’t stop myself from stiffening a bit when I sit beside him and he immediately rests his fingertips on my knee. It’s not an offensive gesture, and really, not nearly as blatant of a touch as I’d anticipated from a client to a call girl. But I’m not expecting it, and the small press of his fingers against my bare skin makes me jolt. My knee whacks into the small, ornately carved wooden coffee table in front of us. It shakes, and most of the contents of his glass of whiskey and ice slop over the edge... and right onto his nice, tailored pants.
“Oh, shit!” The words blurt right out of my mouth before I can think them through, and I grab a stiff cocktail napkin and start dabbing at the wet spot on his pristine black trousers. “I’m so sorry.”
I still as I realize how very badly I’ve screwed this up... spilling on a client, swearing, trying to wipe his pants—not things a classy escort would do. Frozen in place, I stare up at him with wide eyes, my pulse hammering against the thin skin at the base of my throat, certain he’s going to call Miss Black and tell her what a complete and utter fuck up I am.
Instead he laughs—not at me, but as though I’m a cute little kitten wh
o’s done something especially amusing. His lips twist into a sexy little grin.
“I’m thinking you haven’t done this before?” His tone is teasing, but his words cement me in place, even as his slight English accent distracts me.
“I...” Shit. What’s he getting at? Is he going to tell Miss Black?
I may be projecting a sweet girl image, but growing up in Green Acres has given me a keen instinct for survival.
I need this to go right.
What does he want from me... well, besides the obvious?
Henry Thomas is in his mid-thirties, is good looking, brilliant and successful. And though I initially wondered why he contracted a call girl, as I kneel there, looking up at him, watching his pupils dilate a bit, it hits me.
He’s a man who is used to being in control. With a call girl, he controls the date, the situation. He knows how it ends.
That means he wants to control me. Wants to feel like he’s in charge. And the tone that he just asked me that question in makes me think that he wants a sweet young thing who looks up at him with adoring eyes and lets him lead the way.
While seducing the brains out of him, of course.
“You’re right.” Swallowing thickly, I try to slip into my role, to own it. “I... I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.”
He starts to smile as I look up at him with what I hope is the expression of a sweet little baby seal. Reaching out, he tucks a stray lock of my long dark hair behind my ear, and then twines his fingers through my own to help me up.
“That’s quite all right, my dear.” His gaze flicks down to my cleavage as he helps me back onto the couch, then blushes, as though he’s embarrassed to have looked. Never mind that the dress is so low cut, my adequate C cups are practically hanging out there for the world to see. “Truth be told, I’m fairly new at this, myself.”
“You’ve never... aah... contacted Miss Black before?” I meant to emphasize that we could be each other’s firsts in this matter, but those storm cloud eyes of his darken, narrow, and my stomach does a slow roll.
Danger, Will Robinson. Change the subject.
Actions move more quickly than words, and so I widen my eyes, then place my hand on his knee, slide it up a bit, the movement both innocent and—I hope—seductive.
His nostrils flare a bit as he looks down at where my hand grips his thigh, a breath shuddering out of him.
“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable if we headed up to my room for a drink.” Tearing his gaze from my hand and moving it to my face, Henry cocks his head to the side and studies me. Flirtation—and maybe a bit more—is evident in his voice.
Oh, shit. That was... fast. I thought he wanted a date more than anything... but it looks like we’re moving right toward the sex.
The thought leaves me cold.
Well, you didn’t think you were going to enjoy it, did you Carly?
My expression must reflect my shock, because he leans in, kisses my cheek sweetly, his lips warm against the cool skin of my cheek.
“Relax. Just a drink for now, away from prying eyes so you can relax. I’ll order up some champagne, and we’ll admire the city... I have a stellar view.” Picking up his glass, he downs the last sip of whiskey, what hasn’t spilled out onto the table. “Tonight goes at your pace. You have my word.”
At my pace, I think as we stand, and he places a hand at the small of my back—a protective gesture, almost like this is a real date.
At my pace, like a real date.
And just like a real date, I know that he, the man, has his eyes on the prize. And I know as he guides me toward the back of the lounge that I need to find some courage, and find it fast, because that prize?
That’s what’s going to give me the money. And money is freedom. Just ask anyone who doesn’t have any.
Lured by this seemingly innocuous man, the comfortable feel of his hand on my back, the scent of his pricey cologne, when he leads me to a service door rather than the main entrance, I only hesitate for a moment. But... aren’t the elevators to the upper floors through the lobby, back the way I came?
Well, he’s clearly been here before. Maybe he’s taking me this way so that we don’t run into anyone he knows. Though something about that niggles at my memory—didn’t he insist that I know his real name for just that purpose?
But I’m paid to make the client happy. And oh, how I need to be paid. There’s no room for me to be ridiculous.
“Come.” Ducking through the heavy door first, Henry turns back, extends a hand for me, that flirtatious, eager smile on his face again, making his resemble nothing so much as a little boy about to open his first birthday present.
I’m guessing that I’m that present. And I’m wearing the safety bracelet that Miss Black gave me, after all. I’m pretty sure it has a GPS in it. So how much trouble could I possibly get into?
“Coming.” I smile again, placing my hand in Henry’s own. My breath catches as he pulls me through the door, a little more eagerly than I had anticipated.
I hear the click of the door closing behind me as I register the chill of an unfinished service hallway. I can hear the busy sounds of the lounge’s kitchen, so we’re not separated from other people by much. But there’s no one else back here, and the scattered toolboxes, hard hats, planks of wood and buckets of drywall tell me why—this area is under construction.
We’re all alone, the smell of fresh paint stinging my nose. And while being alone appears to be exactly what Henry has in mind, I find it kinda eerie, the stillness of the hallway, the sounds of the hotel muted as though we’re underwater.
The thought is quickly jolted from my mind. My breath whooshes from my lungs as lean hands find my waist, pushing me back into the wall.
“What—” A kiss muffles my question. Just a kiss, an exploration of my mouth that might have even been pleasant if the concrete of the wall wasn’t causing chill bumps to break out along the bare skin of my back.
I yelp into his mouth, squirming in an instinctive effort to free myself.
Henry pulls back, looks into my eyes with an unreadable expression. His hand tightens on my waist. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help myself.”
Trying to catch my breath as a tingle of... something... begins to work its way through my gut, I examine Henry’s face.
What am I getting so worked up about? It’s just a kiss. He’s paid for it.
And I can’t imagine Miss Black will be pleased to know that I’ve taken off my big girl panties over nothing but a kiss.
“You caught me by surprise, that’s all.” I try to make my words sound flirtatious, hoping some playful banter might give me a chance to get my bearings. I’d been anticipating this part of the date—the sex—to play out in his room, not in a cold, silent hallway where I feel more than a bit creeped out.
I have the bracelet. And he’s smiling down at me again, eagerness playing over his face...
Why is it so bad for this to move a little faster? It means I can go home sooner, can go back to being me.
“Claire?” It takes a second for me to realize that Henry is referring to me. Not that that matters... a man as smart as he is, I’m sure he knows that I’m using a fake name.
Earn the damn money, Carly, so you can go home.
“I’m surprised... not unhappy.” Curving my lips in what I hope is a seductive expression, I splay my hand over his chest. He sucks in a breath, and I can feel his heart pounding beneath my palm, hard and fast. Can see his pulse, just beneath the tanned skin of his jaw.
He’s all worked up. And it’s my job to make him even more so.
Standing on my toes—even in massively high heels, I’m still fairly short—I press my lips to his neck. He shudders, arching his neck, letting me kiss my way over to his jaw, then to his mouth.
As he greedily sinks into the kiss, I try to feel—something. He’s hot. Our bodies are rubbing together—shouldn’t I have some kind of reaction, be aroused at all?
I’m not. It would be so much eas
ier if I was, and that pisses me off. Closing my eyes, I turn my entire focus onto the kiss, giving it everything I’ve got, trying to elicit a response in myself.
To my utter shock, it’s Adam Kincaid’s face that pops into my mind. That silver eyebrow ring emphasizing those intense eyes as he casts me a cocky smile, then takes my mouth without asking.
With that image in my head, I find myself warming up a bit. I press against Henry, and he moans into my mouth when I lick my tongue over the seam of his lips. His hand slides into my hair, fists a little tighter than I’m comfortable with, yanking me back to reality.
My lips still for a second. That stings. But I’m not going to lose this paycheque because he likes to pull hair. My preference sheet said I was open to a little bit of kink.
I don’t know if I am, really—I’ve never come across any. But I felt like I had to put something, and nipple clamps are just not my cup of tea.
That hands fists tighter, pulls harder. The hand on my waist slides to my shoulder and presses me back, pinning me in place.
“Mr. Thomas.” My body stiffens as he draws back, looks down at me, his expression unreadable. I try to muster up a flirtatious smile, even though warning bells are starting to clang in my head. “I’m looking forward to this part of our evening too. But it’s a little chilly back here. Why don’t we go up, have that drink... and draw out the anticipation a little bit longer?”
He dips his head, nuzzles his lips against my neck as if in apology, and I start to relax again.
Then his teeth sink into the soft curve of my shoulder, far too hard to cause anything but deliberate pain. I cry out, my hands fisting against his shirt, and he chuckles against my neck, then whispers a name.
“Oh, Avery.”
Avery?
When he pulls back, I scan his face with wide, anxious eyes. When his lips curve into that smile of his again, all traces of seduction are gone, and dread blooms in my gut.
“Ah...” Damn it. Damn it. Is this part of what he wants from the evening? What am I supposed to do? I didn’t indicate that I was into pain play, but really... it was just a bite. Do I have room to complain?
The Chase Page 3