by Flesa Black
Then there had been the run-ins; some he’d instigated, in the hallway and the laundry room. She’d made him insane, nearly incoherent, with her gorgeous smile and incredible penny-colored eyes. Her laugh was enough to drive a grown man to his knees; he could only imagine what the sounds she made in the bedroom would do to him. God, he’d like to find out.
But for all her good humor, 225 was surprisingly shy. Or at least he’d thought she was.
His flirting had been met with startlingly arousing blushes, lowered eyelashes, and husky replies. Of course, if he hadn’t spent his life studying sexuality and the human response, he might have missed those signs. The only problem was that she’d shaken him up enough that he hadn’t been sure if she was actually interested in him. He had deliberately been gentle with her, considering her reaction to his overtures. But now…now he had a whole other side of his neighbor to consider.
“I see you like the look of my new client.”
10 Flesa Black
Clive nearly fumbled the photograph and his glass of whiskey. Clearing his throat, he tried for a casual tone. “She seems…interesting. She’s new?”
Nina watched as he carefully set the picture on top of the folder. “Actually, her friend signed her up. Naturally, we’ve done all the relevant research on Ms. Frazier.”
He felt a surprising wave of relief sweep through him. “Her friend put in the application? That’s…”
“Strange? I would agree, only Betty is a wonderful saleswoman. She told me about her friend, about the predicament she was in, and how she wanted this to be a surprise holiday gift for Ms. Frazier.”
“Gift?”
Nina nodded, her lips tilting up as she eyed him. “A man as a present. Fine idea, don’t you think?”
“Ms. Frazier,” he said softly, battling to keep his gaze from wandering to the file. “You agreed to this little arrangement?”
“After our background check and her friend’s glowing reference, yes, I agreed. I’m sending Victor over tomorrow.”
Clive tried not to wince at the thought of the hard-bodied, bottle-tanned man touching the beautiful redhead. “Victor? Are you sure about the fit?”
Nina’s brow knitted tightly as her eyes narrowed. “She needs someone for over three weeks, and he’s the only one without any set plans.”
“Three weeks?” He couldn’t stop the way his voice rose in shock.
“Yes, three weeks. I thought you didn’t have a problem with my line of business, Clive.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why all the questions? We usually have a nice, rambling conversation, not an interrogation.”
Tinsel Town
11
He couldn’t explain what was wrong, not when he wasn’t sure himself. If this woman had been anyone else, he would have only had a mild interest in her information. But 225 -Ms. Frazier, he amended, was different. And somehow, he knew it wasn’t just the sexual attraction that made it that way.
Nina moved closer, tilting her head as she stared at him. “You have a vested interest in this woman.”
He didn’t reply to her statement, only kept himself still as he held her eyes with his own. She didn’t push, though she trailed her fingertips down his knuckles in sympathy.
“I like you, Dr. Clive Thibodaux. But ethically, I can’t tell you that Kathleen Frazier is an intelligent, talented young woman who is interested in sexual experimentation with a careful, experienced partner. I also can’t tell you that she needs a man to play her significant other over the holidays, as her friend says, for the sake of her sanity. And I also shouldn’t say that personal in-depth research is one of the best ways to create a more realistic book.”
Staring at her, Clive let what she’d just said seep into his mind before slowly sorting it all out. When it all finally clicked, his pulse leaped as the blood rushed straight down to his crotch. She was going to need a personal teacher, a very personal teacher, to walk her through her sexual desires. And she needed him for three weeks. It was all he could do not to demand the chance to play the male escort. For all that Nina liked him, she was actually very principled when it came to her clientele and employees.
“I can see the question, Clive. Why don’t you balls up and ask it?”
Waiting for her to stop him, waiting for her to tell him no, he swallowed back the knot of desire and fear that clogged his throat. “I would be very interested in being Ms. Frazier’s escort for the holidays.”
A small, knowing smile touched her rouged mouth. “Well, now, that’s a very enticing offer, doctor. You’ve been shadowing me for, oh, three months now. You go through the same tests every week that my employees do. You’ve gone through the same training 12 Flesa Black
sessions. You even once subjected yourself to the same spa treatment as my men. But I’ve never seen you show interest in any of the clients before.”
“Maybe it was your persuasive argument about research.”
“Maybe.” She raised a doubtful eyebrow, though her features didn’t show any mocking.
“I will admit that I noticed you and Ms. Frazier have the same address. I’m assuming you live in the same apartment building.”
“That’ll make it easier for me, then.”
“There is travel involved. You don’t have any family plans? Nothing to keep you from focusing completely on this woman?”
“My parents are visiting my sisters in Washington. I’m free and clear.”
Nina let out a soft sigh, tapping her fingertips together as she studied him. “You have to know that you’ll be representing me and my company. I don’t hire just anyone.”
“I understand that, and I know how hard you’ve worked to build your reputation. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”
“You know, I think I might have been wrong about you, Dr. Thibodaux.”
Clive felt a ripple of uncertainty and shook it off. “How is that?”
“You aren’t as cynical as you might like people to think.” She reached down and picked up the image of his neighbor. “This is going to be an interesting few weeks. All right, Clive, in the spirit of Christmas, I’m going to give you the gift of my newest client. You, doctor, are going to be the present Kathleen Frazier will never forget.”
Tinsel Town
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Chapter Two
Kate checked her appearance in the cheval mirror…again. Tugging at the jersey material, she cast a critical eye on the neckline and again at the empire waist. She supposed it was conservative enough without being too sexy; still, she didn’t want to look like a frump, either. God knew it was almost impossible to find a dress that might impress a professional escort; adding her figure into the equation didn’t exactly leave her many options. Picnic blanket with head and armholes, or overly laced, cut down to her navel and up to her bikini line? With her body type, finding something in between was harder than it should have been. Luckily, she had just enough sewing experience to be able to alter the less-than-flattering outfits into something a bit more sophisticated. Still, she wasn’t sure if the sky blue material flattered her curves or accentuated them too much. Was the upswept hair too businesslike? Were the dark heels too risqué? Did she have on too much makeup? Exactly how did one dress for a man who was, according to his contract, supposed to be her own personal cabana boy? And since she had no intention of going through with the ludicrous plan, did it matter?
Sighing, she swung away from her image and made a grab for her purse. She would like to say it didn’t matter, but the fact that she’d waxed every available piece and part of her body spoke volumes. At least she could tell the man thanks but no thanks feeling sexy.
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She was just considering her tried-and-true black symphony dress when the doorbell rang. Immediately, her stomach rolled into a twist, and her heart made a giant leap for her throat. She checked her watch, seven o’clock, exactly on time. She couldn’t decide if his punctuality was a plus or a minus.
“I
don’t suppose it’s nice to leave a man standing out there all night.” Taking a deep breath, Kate hurried from her bedroom.
When she reached the door, she stopped to smooth down her dress, which gave her a moment to gather her thoughts. Might as well get this over with, she decided, and quickly set a smile into place. The greeting on her lips died a quick, hot death when she saw who was standing there.
“Two thirteen.” The numbers eked out on a tight breath.
“Hello, Ms. Frazier.”
His voice was, as usual, smooth, dark, and stunningly erotic. Licking her lips, she shook her head and looked around the deserted hallway.
“Um, yes, hello. I, uh, can I help you?”
He sent her a smile that did unspeakably wicked things to her insides. “Actually, I was under the impression that I was here to help you.”
No…oh, good Lord, no! He couldn’t be. There was just no way. Fate couldn’t possibly be that perverse. But as she stared at him, she saw his dazzling gray eyes looking her over in a way that could only be described as curious and vaguely smug. Oh, yes, Fate was having a really good laugh right about now.
“Clive Thibodaux,” he said, and extended his hand.
She tried to speak, she really did, but nothing came out as she slid her palm into his. He held her perfectly still with his gaze while gallantly lifting her hand up to his mouth and brushing her knuckles with his lips. She supposed the gesture was meant to be sweet, even old-fashioned, but the small nip of his teeth on her tender skin made it something more.
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“Kate,” she managed to say.
“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He released her hand and gave the purse in her fist a pointed look. “Are you ready to go?”
Trying desperately to gain control of her reason, Kate gave a quick nod of her head, then a sudden shake. “My coat.”
He stepped inside before she could stop him. Was he going to make a move now? She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to or not. He reached toward her, his dark suit jacket riding slightly up at his wrists. This close, she could smell him, the sensual scent of male and a deeper, muskier tone that she’d not encountered before. His pulse beat like a steady drum, the strong line of his jaw enticingly taut. Without conscious thought, she lowered her eyelids and slackened her lips in anticipation. Then, to her confused disappointment, he reached behind her and pulled up her black dress coat. Without a word, he slipped her into the soft confines, then gently wrapped the matching scarf around her neck.
“You look lovely,” he said with a smile. A killer smile, one with two deep, matching dimples on either side of his mouth.
“I…thank you.” And didn’t she sound like the conversationalist? At this rate, she’d be blubbering like a moron through her appetizer.
He paused and looked down at her, his eyes sure and steady. “I surprised you. I guess you didn’t expect your neighbor to be your date.”
“I, uh, no, no, I didn’t. I guess I was just expecting…”
“Richard Gere? Or maybe a college boy with a fake tan and perfect teeth?” The smile flashed again, and her heart did a little jig. “I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”
Disappoint? Was he joking? “No, not at all.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” He offered her his arm and a quick little wink. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”
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She couldn’t stop the tilt of her lips or the little laugh that escaped. Even if she was going to call this whole charade off, at least she would have a nice meal with a good-looking man, one who was apparently more charming than ten men had a right to be. Taking his arm, she let him lead her out of her apartment with her wobbly legs and dancing nerves tightly under control.
* * * * * *
Clive watched her as she slid into the padded chair and fought the urge to tell her how sexy she was. He’d had to squash down the desire to toy with the little aquamarine pendant that hung just above the tantalizing rise of her cleavage. She’d barely participated in the conversation on the way to the restaurant, speaking to him only when he’d said something that required a reply. She had obviously been shocked when she’d realized he was her escort, something he intended to use to his advantage. He gazed at her over the top of his menu. “I hope you like Italian.”
Her lush lips lifted into a sardonic smile. “You know I do. I’m sure it was in my file.”
He lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “Actually, I didn’t read past your name or what you needed an escort for. I think getting to know a woman by watching her, listening to her, paying attention to the things she does, is more important than what’s put down on a sheet of paper.”
She blushed gently, a warm color that suffused her soft skin. “You certainly know how to put a girl in her place, Mr. Thibodaux.”
He supposed he did, but damn it, that’s not at all what he’d intended. Her little comment pricked his usually cool temper. “Look, Ms. Frazier…do you mind if I call you Kate?” When she shook her head, he continued. “Kate, I’m not the kind of escort who reads a woman’s file. I like to get to know her through the things she tells me, verbally and otherwise. It’s much more pleasurable.”
“Even when you only have a night with them?”
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Well, she had him there. He took a deep breath and decided to go with his own personal experiences to answer. “To be honest, Kate, I don’t have a lot of one-night dates.”
Her features suddenly lit up, a look he saw on his students when they’d finally understood a particular issue. “So you’re the one they send on, um, long-term assignments.”
He wasn’t sure how he should respond, so he gave her a warm smile. “Well, they did send me on this one.”
A lie without really telling one; he wondered how many times he’d have to skirt around her like this. They were interrupted by a cheery, fresh-faced waitress in a white shirt and bow tie. He listened as Kate placed her order, cheese and mushroom ravioli, and studied the way she treated the young woman. Her smile was real, as if she understood what it was like to be a hard-working server. There was respect there, something she was willing to give to their waitress because of the returned kindness. She created an instant rapport, an easy sympathy that told him this was no act on her part. This was a part of who Kathleen Frazier was. Something inside gave a little blip, a small click that startled him.
“Sir, would you like something to start with?”
He had to blink his eyes to clear his thoughts. “Oh, yes, calamari, if Kate will split it with me?”
She gave him a questioning look but nodded. As he gave the rest of his order, he noted the way she watched him, as if he were some enigma that she couldn’t possibly understand.
Not in the way she understood their waitress, or in the way she probably understood most everyone else. Another good sign, he decided, and gave her a wink when the waitress slipped away.
“I’m starving,” he admitted. “This place has the best homemade Italian food in the entire city. Including my own kitchen.”
He saw her begin to relax as he chattered and reached out to stroke her knuckles. The spark was immediate and undeniable, and he absorbed it straight down to his crotch. She 18 Flesa Black
gave a slight jerk but didn’t pull away, so he continued to caress her. She was soft, delicate, like a pastry confection that could too easily become addictive. He was struck again with the urge to touch the rise of her breasts, and had to swallow back the saliva pooling in his mouth.
Good Lord, at this rate, he’d be yanking her underneath the table and taking her right here.
And she’d want it -- he would make damn sure of that. She would be begging him, pulling at him, opening herself to him while he -- What the hell was wrong with him? He was sitting here, trying to justify making love to a woman under a table in his favorite restaurant. Not that the idea didn’t have merit, but the first time they made love, he wanted it to be pri
vate.
“Your wine.”
He looked up to find the waitress there. With a perky smile in place, she set down two wine goblets and placed the chilled bottle at his elbow. She uncorked the top efficiently then poured just a bit into his glass for him to taste. It was a chauvinistic ritual, he supposed, but one he enjoyed. He was determined that tonight would be perfect, and the wine was a large part of that plan.
“It’s excellent,” he said, and smiled as the waitress filled both glasses. He waited until she’d disappeared again to lift his goblet. “To pretty redheads who make beautiful music.”
Kate gave him a bemused look, but gently clinked her glass against his. She took a healthy sip before setting the wine aside. He watched as her fingers began to fidget, as if they were trying to find an outlet for her anxiety.
“You know I play?” she asked quietly.
“I’ve seen you leaving the apartment with your violin case and music folder. Whenever you’re in your black dress, it usually coincides with an Elizabeth Falls Orchestra performance.”
She nodded, took another sip of her drink. “I play violin, third chair.”
“That makes you third in charge of the section. You must be very good.”
“You know how that works?”
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He chuckled and nodded. “I was in the band in high school; trumpet, never made it past fourth chair.”
“Ah, a brass player. I should have known.” Her smile was quick and potent, the flash in her whiskey-colored eyes stoking his fire higher. “Brass players are always chasing girls around.”
“Guilty. To brass players and the girls they chase around.”
This time there was no hesitation; she saluted him with her glass and sipped. Asking about pieces of her life, finding out facts that no paper could have told him, he continued to talk to her while they waited. She had an agile mind, quick to think, but careful in responding. She also had a strange sense of humor and irony, the same kind that he did, actually.