Accidentally Hooked (The Naked Truth Series Book 1)

by Falcone, Carmen

  “If you’re going to go back to a boyfriend, you better say now,” he said, his voice colder than snow. “Because if that’s the case, the deal is off. I mean what I said. While I’m in town, you won’t sleep with anyone else.”

  Like I have that kind of energy? She peered at him, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to figure her out. Would he see it? That she wasn’t a real sex worker. That she was an impostor. Sagging her shoulders a notch, she decided faking was her only strategy. “Relax. I don’t have a boyfriend.” She waved him off.

  He flashed her the naughty smile of a man who had seen her naked. “Good. See you later?”

  She nodded at him, the only non-verbal response to the latent chemistry oozing between them, and he turned on his heels. She watched him go, her mouthwatering at how a pair of jeans cupped his gorgeous ass. It took a few minutes for her pulse to slow its pace, and she almost had a shot of the semi-empty vodka glass someone had left behind on the top of a coin slot machine. Slowly, the buzz from the machines, the winnings being flashed on them, the voices from a group of Japanese tourists arriving at that wing of the hotel, caught up to her and she blinked.

  Although she picked the tray where she’d left and headed for the kitchen, her movements were automatic. She just agreed to being a hooker, after all. Granted, every part of her wanted that man, like she never wanted anyone before.

  There was no hiding this time. Ryan would screw her every way imaginable, and at the end, he’d give her the cold hard cash to ensure her sister’s safety and out of this life. Wasn’t this easy? She had to cling to any silver lining bullshit if she wanted to get out of this unscathed.

  Would she be able to have a prolonged sexual encounter with a man who turned her on, only to know he’d be going on his merry way wherever he lived, and she’d go to hers? No emotional ties could come out of sleeping with someone for money. At the end, she wouldn’t be hurt, wouldn’t lose him, wouldn’t have to—

  “You. We aren’t done yet,” said the rasping voice that prickled all her nerve endings.

  She raised her eyes to Omar, blocking her entrance to the kitchen. The silver tray swayed on her hand, and she wished she could slap it on his ugly face. He made a gesture with his head to the area behind, and she followed him knowing there was no way she’d get rid of him as fast as she wished. “I’ll give you half of the cash tomorrow morning, the rest in a few days.”

  “It’s not like that. If you’ll be working for your sister, I need to make the arrangements for you. We work with referrals. We’re very protective of our operation. There is a procedure.”

  “Are you for real? I’m not applying for citizenship.” Tearing her gaze from his, she placed the tray on an empty table and contemplated her short, black polished nails.

  “Don’t get fresh with me.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Look, I don’t know how much you know, but—

  “I know enough,” she said with the casualty of discussing TV’s late-night programming. “Enough to know you are serious about that money. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I figured out a way to give it to you in a few days without you pimping me.”

  He lifted her chin with his hand, making her stare into his devious eyes. “I prefer… managing.”

  She snickered. “Whatever.” The attitude in her semblance didn’t match the pulse flicking wildly in her neck. “I’ll stop by human resources and tell them my sister has the flu or something. I mean, I have the flu since they will think I’m her, not to raise any red flags, and very soon I’ll get your cash together. Now let me go.” She jerked away from him, making a mental note to get disinfected stat.

  He sighed, curling and uncurling his hands. “How are you going to do it?”

  “That’s my problem. I’ll get your money and that’s all that matters. I don’t care what you tell your boss. You can lie, for all I care. If your greasy hand ever comes near me again, I’ll knee you so hard your voice will be higher than Sponge Bob’s.”

  Chapter Five

  He hung up the phone and tossed it on the dresser. The knowledge of sleeping with the woman he was supposed to expose was wrong, but did nothing to dampen the smothering sexual awareness ravaging through his body like a tsunami. Wrong was wrong. He shouldn’t have offered to have her for himself only during this stay. Damn it. He’d been able to give up alcohol. One day at a time.

  Stomping on the marbled hallway floor, he smothered a groan. The need grew at every inch. A long, thin black coat covered her, and she closed the door behind her with flushed cheeks. Her gaze slid to his aching erection, and the hint of a smile grew on her lips. She removed the coat, which glided down her body and pooled at her feet. The mini dress she had on earlier still snugged her show-stopping figure. Whoever designed it had attempted to make it somewhat elegant, with well-cut lines, different shades of gold, and the flattering curves of a woman’s shape.

  His breath hitched. The dress clung to her body, and strained her hardened nipples against the fabric. He slammed her against the door, and captured her mouth with his, his exploratory tongue delivering the urgent message to hers, his teeth grazing her full lip. He glided his hands up and down her body, his fingers hovering over her warm skin in a frenzied need to touch her everywhere at once. Finesse be damned.

  A soft moan escaped her mouth, and she snaked her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. She kneaded her fingers in his head, and the decadent rubbing sent a charge of high voltage through him, stiffening his spine, sensitizing his scalp. With urgency, he slid his hand between her legs, finding no resistance. He inserted two fingers inside her drenched panties—there it was. Her pussy, gloriously damp. Warm. Tender.

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  He pulled at the sides of her panties, and with one swift movement ripped them apart, his tingling fingers working faster than his brain. She gasped, lifted her leg, hooked it against his butt, and ground against him.

  A feral need flooded him. Without delay, he reached for the foil packet in his pocket. For how much longer could he take it? Not much, he realized. Swiftly, he unwrapped it then pulled down his lounge pants. When he rolled the condom on his cock, the tip of his fingers trembled, revealing the frantic yearning torpedoing through him.

  He drove deep inside her, melding their mouths in an erotic kiss. The sweet agony of thrusting and almost pulling out every time worked its way on his control. Each time he plunged into her, he neared the edge, his blood hotter than roofing in the summer.

  He groaned, intensifying the rhythm, stimulated by the trail of growing moans and her body convulsing against his. Withdrawing his mouth from hers, he contemplated her parted lips and the sheen of sweat covering her cheeks. A savage sensation shook him, the peak of pleasure never so close.

  Let go. He drove into her, faster, deeper, desperate to reach a part of her still unexplored and unexploited. Within seconds, a spiral of pleasure battered him, claimed him, mocked him, and he spilled himself in the confines of the condom, wanting it never to end.

  “And hi to you too,” she whispered in his ear.

  ***

  “I should… freshen up.” She swallowed the razors in her throat.

  “Of course.” He slipped out of her, and an immediate cold draft replaced the sticky heat from seconds earlier. He planted a kiss on her neck, the quick brush reenergizing her sex with a warm, single pulse.

  What’s happening to me? She pulled the dress down, the sweat clinging to her body, automatically shrinking the size. With her eyes fixed on nowhere in particular, just an invisible point of no return, she headed to the bathroom next to the living area. She closed the door behind her with a sigh, and heard his footsteps as he probably went to the other bathroom in his bedroom.

  She rid herself of the dress, turned the shower on cold, and walked in, intending to wash her body of him. No amount of water made her forget the sensations of being in his arms, of shutting down her problems, of how strong and empowered he’d made her, with tantalizing thrusts that both sliced he
r in half and pieced her back together.

  She dried herself with a fluffy towel, slipped the dress back on, and tossed her shredded panties in the trash bin. A quick glimpse at her reflection in the mirror, and heat rose to her cheeks. She blinked a few times, but the spark in her eyes remained. Stubborn.

  It shouldn’t be like this. Sex for money should be more…sterile, programmed, dull. Was that what lured her sister into this life? The sex?

  Yeah right. Wake up, Cinderella. With a snort, Kika shook her head and yanked her gaze away from the mirror. There was no way all johns looked like Ryan, or had his unique way of being firm at times, then surprise her with heart-wrenching gentleness. Like the kiss on her neck. Or the stroke on her face.

  Certain her exceptional situation of temporary hooking had to affect all her brain cells, she walked back to the main room, determined to keep her mind in the game. I need that money. Luna needs the money. If she let herself get involved, or made him believe so, then what? He’d not pay her at the end?

  No. The clearer she was about the situation, the better.

  Ryan sat on the oversize tan chair, slipping on his polished leather shoes. “Are you hungry?” He rose to his feet and smoothed his hand over his dark jeans.

  Hungry? Did he expect her to—

  “I’m talking about food.” His lips broken into a disarming smile, and she curled her toes.

  “Oh.” She placed her hand on her forehead, and stroked it. Get a grip, chica. The fear of exposing herself, her real self to him, flooded her veins. With eyes more dangerous than a dark alley in Rio, he studied her. “I thought we were done. I mean, you don’t have to feed me.” She let out a nervous gulp of air.

  “Consider sharing a nutritious meal part of the package.”

  “Well, I guess it’s your time. Your money.” She lifted her shoulders.

  He stretched to his full height. The ghost of a smile touched his lips, then faded, and she couldn’t work out if he was disappointed or just cynical. “Ready?”

  “Sure,” she lied. Truth was, she wasn’t ready for any of this. She was way out of her comfort zone—but that didn’t matter. As long as she moved forward with her plan, everything would be fine.

  Ever since they shut the door behind them, through the short drive in his rental Beemer to the entrance of an exclusive restaurant in The Venetian, there was a strange sensation between them. She tied the belt of her black coat, knowing the length of the dress wouldn’t be a problem in Vegas in a million of years. It was more her desire not to be recognized as an employee of The Spot. Or a sister of an employee. Shit. Less than twenty-four hours, her life had turned into a bad Mexican soap opera. Like the ones her deceased mother used to watch. I doubt Mama would want to see any of this in real life.

  Worse, her life had turned into a train wreck reality show. The ones she watched with a bucket of buttery popcorn on her lap.

  The pony-tailed waiter brought them the dinner and wine menu, and sauntered out of sight. She pushed the drink menu to the side, and played with the other one. “What are you going to have?”

  “You don’t have to do this. If you want to drink alcohol, you can.” His voice was casual over the dinner menu he held. “I’ll resist the urge.”

  Of course he would. I mean, the man had been clean for years, right? She fiddled with her dress. “I’m good.”

  His baby blues shifted into dark cobalt; eyes that warned and dared her. She shifted in the seat.

  Freddy’s cocaine addiction had taught her to be compassionate. How could she not when people struggled with a condition that wasn’t theirs by choice? A disease. Although…she couldn’t, wouldn’t care for an addict again. Not after what happened to Freddy.

  She touched her face, a slight brush from the ear down her jaw line. Who cared if he was alcoholic? She wasn’t going steady with him for crying out loud. Just sex. For money, a bitter part of her warned. “So. How did you start your business?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up, and a gleam of interest hit his eyes. She peered at his hands. The lightest blonde hair dusted the long, tanned fingers. A shot of adrenaline bolted through her, and the touch of his rough palm on her sex flashed in her memory.

  “In the beginning, it was just me, a friend, and a realtor. Now I have a larger team.”

  “You talk about it so casually, but I’m sure your so called team is much larger than you say.” His Breitling watch and imposing penthouse left no room for mistake, did it? The man was loaded.

  He chuckled. “I thought you knew how large it was.” He winked at her, and the playful gestured poured a warm tingly sensation over her.

  Down girl. This wasn’t a date. The man needed some company so he wouldn’t eat alone. Yup. Why did her heart insist on racing like a teenager on her first date? “How do you weed out the potential good investments from bad ones?”

  “Experience. Real estate trends. I have a good eye for this sort of thing.” He lifted his drink to his mouth, staring at her with the intensity of Fourth of July fireworks. His gaze trailed over her, starting at her eyes then dropping to her mouth and neck. On cue, the main vein on her neck throbbed. He upped an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the side. He had a good eye…for everything.

  “Nice.” She injected a dose of enthusiasm in her voice on purpose, to burst the bubble of awareness between them. “It’s a real gift to turn something run down into a livable place.” She produced a neutral smile, masking the awkwardness thickening her throat after she realized what she said. Turn something mediocre into a better place? Why did that stir her inside?

  Because I couldn’t do it. She lifted her fingers to her ear and toyed with her earrings, not looking anywhere in particular. He chattered on about his business with enthusiasm, and she nodded, worried about reacting to his pride and joy like she had earlier. A reaction she had no right to have. None.

  “Nice earrings.” He reached across the table and gently touched her dangling golden hoops.

  “My creation.” She tossed her hair to the side. “I like making jewelry; it calms me down.” Also served as a distraction. Wasn’t it great not thinking about the dark memories of her past? About her mother’s quiet sobs before bed time, or the painful void that she had to deal with after Freddy’s death? As if she had not only lost him, but a tangible body part.

  The waiter returned, and they ordered. While he told him how he’d want his steak cooked, she skimmed through the menu and settled for lobster ravioli.

  He took the glass of sparkly lemonade to his mouth and had a sip. “It’s nice to have a passion.”

  She leaned forward. “How do you know it’s a passion?”

  His lips quirked up. “Your eyes lit up. You blushed, like you were talking about something very intimate.”

  That’s because you just touched me. She let her hand press against her stomach, wishing there was a way to stop the acidy sensation knotting inside. God. “It is. I don’t share that with a lot of people. I’m trying to get my things straight and show it to some department stores.”

  “Why did you wait so long?”

  “How do you know? Maybe I just started crafting a month ago,” she said, and hated how defensive she sounded. The knots from her insides began to untie. Shoulders sagging a notch, she sighed. Why couldn’t she just talk? The man seemed interested, and he would be thousands of miles away, soon. There was no way they would get romantically involved, ever. If things were different… Nope. She crossed her legs. They weren’t. “I waited because it was easier for me not to give myself to a career. You can’t be disappointed, or feel guilty, when you don’t have anything to lose,” she said, then blinked. “Enough about me. If I knew you were this good at reading people, I’d have been more careful.”

  He reached for the sourdough bread and took a piece. “Rehab and counseling teach you how to read people.”

  Not my business. Not my business. However, the need to know more pinched her, squashing any possibility of dropping the subject. “For how long
have you been sober?”

  “Three years, six months, and ten days,” he said with a pang of pride. Her heart twisted in her chest. After Freddy had come to terms about his addiction, he had never made it past two weeks clean.

  “Good for you.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I know the eternity each of those days can last.”

  Leaning forward, he narrowed his eyes. “Personal experience?”

  She raised her eyes to his. “Just someone close to me.”

  He frowned. “Who?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it.” Discussing that particular event wasn’t her thing—even with her sister. Well, in that case she avoided the subject because of her damn pride, because if she admitted to Luna out loud she shouldn’t have gone against her idea, maybe he’d still be here. Alive.

  “Understood. Just thought I’d ask.” He threw his hands in the air.

  “You ask a lot.” She injected a nervous chuckle, part criticizing, part noting.

  “My mum taught me if you don’t ask…” A devilish, handsome smile spread across his face. Slowly. With the urgent lovemaking they shared, hadn’t he always made sure she found pleasure first? Lovemaking? A shudder traveled down her spine. “I reckon if I hadn’t asked you a couple of interesting questions, we wouldn’t be here now.”

  “Your mother seems like a very smart woman, even if you’re twisting her lessons.”

  “Believe me, she’s not that smart.” He snorted.

  To refrain herself from asking more, she smothered a piece of bread with butter and shoved it in her mouth.

  “You know, you’re very coy for a—”

  She lifted her chin up, resolved to play the part. If she was really getting paid at the end, was it still playing? “Hooker?”

  He upped an eyebrow, and gave her a light shrug of relaxed shoulders. Damn. “A sex professional. Did it make you bitter?”