Escorting the Groom (The Escort Collection Book 4)

by Leigh James

  He looked down at his plate, breaking the moment. "Listen… I didn't mention anything about this to Elena, but we should be clear about something."

  Was this the part where he revealed that he was into BDSM, or that he was a furry—i.e., someone who liked to dress up as an animal before he had sex? Lucas might actually be cute dressed up as a bunny…

  "Blake?" Lucas interrupted my train of thought, which was probably a blessing.

  "Sorry—I spaced out for a second," I said. "What were you saying?"

  "I'm not requiring physical contact as part of our arrangement. I meant it when I said that this was strictly a business arrangement."

  I thought my hearing might be going. "I'm sorry?"

  He looked back up at me, chewing his food thoughtfully. His green eyes glittered in the candlelight. "I said that I'm not asking you to have sex with me as part of this deal. That's not what you're here for."

  I swallowed some wine.

  "Don't take it personally," he cautioned, watching me warily.

  "This is strictly professional for me," I reminded him. "And my ego's big enough that I'm not going to take that as a rejection."

  "Good girl." Lucas grinned at me. "I just don't want things to get any more complicated between us."

  "I understand." I knew I should be relieved, but I felt a small sting of disappointment.

  I looked at his broad, handsome face and the stubble forming across his chin. I had another sip of wine. I had wanted to find out what he had going on underneath his suit. "But if at any point something changes, please understand that physical contact is part of my job. And I'm sure your own ego is big enough that you know it wouldn't be the worst thing that ever happened to me—if you did change your mind."

  At that, Lucas gulped his wine, and I grinned at him playfully. Because really, at this point, what did I have to lose?

  Chapter Six

  Lucas

  "You flatter me." The truth was that I was more than flattered; I started to get aroused, becoming rigid from her compliment. "But I mean it—I think this arrangement is going to be mutually beneficial for both of us. I'd like to keep it as professional as possible." I willed my traitorous cock to fall in line.

  She nodded. "Whatever you say, boss."

  "Can you stop calling me boss?"

  "Of course. Sir." She smiled at me, teasing.

  The rest of our meal was subdued, spent discussing the pros and cons of each wedding venue and arguing about who had ordered the better entree. Dinner with Blake was, of all things, pleasant. I patted her hand as we pulled up outside of The Stratum. "I'll see you at some point tomorrow. Dinner with my family is at six. Ian's at your disposal, so feel free to go shopping or out to eat, whatever you like. I left a credit card for you and some cash in the kitchen. There's also a gym in the basement of the hotel, which you're free to use. Housekeeping keeps me stocked with food and wine. Please help yourself."

  "That's really nice of you," Blake said. "I appreciate how generous you're being. The article about you in the Globe didn't do you justice."

  "What—you don't think I'm a self-serving, ruthless egoist?" I grinned, oddly touched that she'd read up on me. "With a zombie-like appetite?"

  "That's the one."

  "See? You do flatter me. Most people take that article as gospel." I reached over and squeezed her hand again then pulled away quickly. "See you tomorrow."

  The valet opened Blake's door. "Good night," she said. I'm pretty sure I flattered myself by imagining that her tone was wistful.

  And with that, Blake headed toward the lobby, alone. I watched her easy stride, her blond hair flowing past her shoulders. Down, boy, I thought, but I only felt my erection thicken. Great. I was going to be jerking off at work again.

  But that was better than the alternative: sleeping with Blake. Because then I would really never get her out of my head.

  My cock didn't care about all that. It wanted to tell Ian to turn around so that I could go back and take Blake to bed. What the actual fuck of my own making, I thought, as we headed back downtown.

  It was going to be a long year.

  "What do you mean, meet your fiancée?" my father roared.

  "I mean just what I told your assistant: I'm engaged. You will be meeting Blake, my fiancée, tonight at six p.m. Feel free to bring my step-monster. She's included in the reservation. Oh, and Serena will be there as well. Should be fun." I hadn't felt this giddy since I'd made my first billion and considered myself financially independent from my family.

  "Since when do you have a fiancée? Since when do you have a girlfriend, or even go on a date, for the love of God?" My father sounded exasperated.

  "As you know, I took some time off from dating after Elizabeth left me for you." It didn't hurt my pride to say it out loud anymore. "But seeing as I'm in my mid-thirties, I thought it would be the appropriate time for me to settle down and start thinking about a family."

  My father scoffed. "And to inherit your trust."

  "And to inherit my trust," I agreed. "The timing's perfect. I'm in love, Blake said yes, and now I finally get the money intended for me. You don't have a problem with that, do you? Seeing as it's not your money in the first place?" Franklin Ford was affluent in his own right, but my mother's family's vast wealth far eclipsed his.

  My father clucked his tongue. "Of course I don't have a problem with it. I just want to make sure that you're doing this for the right reasons."

  I started laughing; I couldn't help myself. "Suddenly, you're worried about the right reasons?" My father and I had never really discussed what had happened with Elizabeth. It was simply that one day she was my girlfriend, and I was happy—at least I thought I was—and the next, she'd moved in with my widowed and extremely wealthy father.

  The same year my mother died.

  I'd had to do some soul-searching for the reason she'd done it. I was wealthy in my own right, I was young and attractive, and I'd even been reasonably attentive to Elizabeth. But she always liked to be naughty. She always wanted to do the "bad" thing—sex in public places, she wanted me to spank her, stuff like that. I thought it was sort of hot until I realized, after she left me for my father, that what my girlfriend had was a classic case of daddy issues.

  I guessed he did something for her I couldn't. I preferred not to think about it any further.

  "Son, I know the topic makes you uncomfortable—"

  "Oh, please, please don't try to talk to me about it now. It's been years. I resigned myself to the fact that you're a dirty old man who married my ex-girlfriend when my mother, your wife, had just passed away." That was the thing that upset me the most. I hadn't stopped mourning my mother, and my father had moved on at warp-speed. Time-warp speed.

  He sighed. "Someday, when you're a lonely old man, you might understand. Besides, I know you don't believe this, but Elizabeth and I love each other. Very much."

  "Can you excuse me for a moment? I just threw up in my mouth. I need to go rinse it out."

  My father grunted. "Are we really doing this tonight? And will you be able to be civil to Elizabeth?"

  "Yes, we're really doing this. I'm getting married. Soon." I surprised myself by actually smiling as I thought of Blake. "And I'll be civil. I think I'm actually going to enjoy it."

  Blake

  The day stretched on forever. I went to the gym, I made my bed, I took a shower, I stared out the window… a lot. I called my mom to make sure she was okay. We chatted for a few minutes, and she caught me up on what was going on with our neighbors as well as the latest on her soaps. She didn't mention my sister, and I wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad sign. But I didn't bring Chelsea up, either. My mother sounded calm and healthy, and I saw no reason to get her riled up.

  I would have cleaned the house, but it was already immaculate. I would've stocked the fridge and gone grocery shopping, but there was already organic food packed neatly on the shelves. I went out for a short walk through the park, but I just felt restles
s, aimless, as I watched young families playing with their children, and tourists riding the swan boats.

  What the hell do rich people do all day if they don’t have to work? Or clean their house?

  I wandered back to the penthouse and searched for something to read, cursing the fact that I'd left my Kindle at home. I'd been right in the middle of this book about a sexy, rugged treasure hunter who was an ex-Navy SEAL. The only books Lucas had on his shelves were business tomes and biographies. I finally grabbed one about the founder of Berkshire Hathaway and managed to concentrate on it for a few hours.

  Then I reached the next stage of my day: widespread panic about meeting Lucas's family at dinner.

  I tore through the outfits I'd packed, looking for something that would be attractive but also appropriate. I didn't want my boobs hanging out as I sat across the table from Lucas's father and ex-girlfriend. I did another Internet search on his family, and I ascertained that his father was a silver fox, a handsome and healthy-looking seventy-something. His wife, Elizabeth, was stunning. She had long auburn hair and porcelain skin. I pushed aside a twinge of jealousy as I studied her picture. It didn't do me any good to be jealous of my fake-fiancé's ex-girlfriend-slash-stepmother.

  Finally, I looked at pictures of his sister again. Serena Ford was stunning as well. She had Lucas's curls, but she wore them long and loose over her shoulders. Long dark lashes framed her stunning green eyes, so similar to her brother's. I noticed in each of her pictures that she was dressed meticulously, her designer clothes hugging her curves. Serena appeared to have attended every charitable event in Boston for the past five years, always looking flawless. Then I came across her wedding announcement from years before: Serena Ford, Society Princess, Weds Robert Heathman, ER Doctor. There was a detailed description of her schooling: Miss Porter's, a post-graduate year at Proctor Academy, Sarah Lawrence. Robert's family was wealthy and prominent; Robert was a graduate of Harvard Medical School.

  I briefly wondered why they'd divorced as I sat down on the bed and let out a shaky breath. I am so out of my league. I quickly ran through my fabricated backstory, so I felt somewhat prepared: I'd attended public high school and graduated from the University of New Hampshire. Compared to the Ford family, even my alter-ego was a nothing from nothing. But that was at least better than the truth: that I was a hooker pretending to be Lucas's fiancée. Yeah, that'd go over even better!

  Finally, I calmed down enough to get dressed. I chose a black fitted sheath that was covered in lace. It had cap sleeves and a high neckline. I put it on and checked myself in the mirror; it was perfect. Fitted but not too showy. Classic. I checked the price tag before I removed it. Eight hundred dollars. I almost passed out. No wonder it was perfect!

  I put my hair up in an elegant bun and was very restrained with my makeup. I inspected myself when I was finished and felt impressed. I looked like a gorgeous billionaire CEO's fiancée. Which I suppose I was. Sort of.

  By the time Lucas got home, I was pacing in the living room, trying to resist the urge to either bite my nails or guzzle a bottle of wine. Or both.

  He let out a low whistle as he came through the door. "You look stunning," he said simply.

  "Thank you." I melted toward him a little. "Of course you know that you look stunning, too."

  He loosened his tie and shrugged off his jacket. He flashed me a smile, punctuated by that dimple. "Of course I do. But I don't mind hearing it."

  "Are you ready for tonight?" I could hear the nerves in my own voice.

  "You've got nothing to worry about." Apparently Lucas could hear them, too. "We'll take care of my family. I'm going to try to enjoy myself." He poured himself a bourbon, and I watched him curiously.

  "Do you always need liquid courage to prepare yourself for an enjoyable evening?" I asked. "And, um, can I have some, too?"

  Lucas held out the bottle to me, but I groaned and shook my head, thinking better of it. He knocked his small drink back in one sip. "I always need a drink before I see my family. And I told my father we're engaged. He sounded as though he was about to pop a blood vessel."

  "Was he… okay?" I asked. "Eventually?"

  He shrugged. "He'll live. I didn't give him any details about the wedding because we still have to finalize that. But I'm going to let them know that it's next week."

  I stumbled a little. "Next week? I thought you wanted to do it in three weeks. I haven't tried to book anything for that soon."

  Lucas regarded me casually, the way only a billionaire planning last-minute nuptials could. "We'll figure it out. I can call in some favors from people who owe me if we do it in Maine. Or there's always Vegas. You can do pretty much whatever you want in Vegas so long as you're willing to pay for it. And I am."

  "I've been thinking about that… about Vegas."

  "What?"

  I shrugged. "Don't you think your family would think it was a little, um, beneath them?"

  He stalked toward the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of wine, then poured us each a glass. "Probably." He ran his fingers through his hair, making the curls spring up, slightly out of control. "Let's see how they behave tonight. Then we'll decide what we're going to do."

  "Okay." I was nervous, though, because planning the wedding was my assignment. One week was a bogglingly small time frame. "Are you sure you don't want to just elope? On an island somewhere?"

  "I wish we could—which reminds me, we're taking a one-week honeymoon after the ceremony. I've already cleared my schedule. I'm taking you to an island where no one will bother us."

  "Uh… okay." Had I been bored this afternoon? I now had to plan a wedding and prepare for a tropical honeymoon in the course of one week. I had so many items on my to-do list, I was starting to lose track. "And why can't we elope, again?"

  "The same reason we have to go on a honeymoon. The same reason we have to meet my family for dinner tonight. This has to seem completely real. Otherwise, Serena will be sprinting off to the trust administrator to contest my inheritance so fast, you'd think she was trying to qualify for the Olympics."

  "Okay." I sighed. "I understand."

  Lucas's green eyes searched my face. "Do you? We have to go soon. Are you really ready for this?"

  I nodded bravely, feeling as though we were indeed about to meet the local firing squad. "Of course. I'm a professional, remember?"

  "I remember." He came closer, close enough to touch, and electricity crackled between us out of nowhere. My breathing sped up as I inhaled his scent, something masculine and spicy that wasn't cologne. "And that's good, because I'm going to have to touch you tonight. Hold your hand and kiss you. Do you think you can handle that?"

  I swallowed hard. Oh yeah. I could handle that, all right. "Yes, sir," I said demurely.

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. "So we've gone from 'boss' to 'sir,' huh?"

  I started laughing, and the tension broke between us. "I have to call you something."

  "Try honey. Or baby. My sister's a stickler for details." He stepped back from me and headed for his room. "I'm going to change. Start thinking of pet names."

  "Right away—baby," I said.

  He wasn't facing me, so I couldn't be sure, but I thought he might have been laughing.

  Chapter Seven

  Lucas

  It was a good thing I'd jerked off properly because Blake looked amazing in that dress.

  I pushed the thought roughly from my mind, choosing instead to concentrate on the neat row of suits hanging in my walk-in closet. I selected a light gray one, perfect for a hot summer evening. I also had a feeling that things were about to heat up with my family. Keeping my cool was very important.

  I clasped her hand as we strode through the lobby. People stopped to stare at Blake, and I tightened my grip on her. Keeping my cool, indeed.

  "We're going to La Ciel for dinner," I told Blake as Ian navigated the SUV through light traffic. "Have you been there?"

  "No, but I'm guessing I'm in for a treat," she said. "It's alw
ays voted one of Boston's top restaurants."

  I leaned back against the seat and watched the buildings go by. "It's nice. It won't compare to our dinner last night, but it's still serviceable."

  "Nothing can compare to our dinner last night," Blake said dreamily. "I keep thinking about that appetizer."

  "Me too. I love that thingy." I grinned and she grinned back at me. I felt an urge to reach out and touch her, to run my hands down her bare arm. I probably should—we would be at the restaurant in less than ten minutes, on display for my family to scrutinize and dissect. I tentatively put my hand on hers, surprised and annoyed at the shock that went through my body when I touched her bare skin.

  Blake looked down at my hand. "Practicing?"

  I retreated to my side of the car. "Sorry."

  "Don't be silly." She took my hand and brought it back over, placing it directly on her thigh. I squeezed her leg. It felt smooth and muscular under my touch. Then of course my cock stirred again. The traitor.

  "I take it you're not normally demonstrative with your dates," Blake said.

  "I'm physically demonstrative with the women I take home," I offered.

  "Ha. But we need to be serious. Would it be okay if I took the lead with our physical contact? I'm comfortable touching you, holding your hand, rubbing your back, kissing you."

  "I think that would absolutely be okay." This was getting better and better… except for the fact that I was going to end up with the bluest of blue balls by the end of the evening.

  She smiled, pleased with herself. "Good. I think it seems in character, and your family would expect that."

  "I appreciate that," I said, "and I think it sounds like a good plan. You take the lead with the affection. I'll take the lead explaining how we met… how did we meet, again?"

  Blake trailed her finger down my arm and put her hand on top of mine. I had a feeling she was enjoying herself. I wasn't sure if she was teasing me, making me ache for what I told her I had no interest in. If she was, it was working.