Easy Ride
Suzanne Ruby
Every cowboy has his secrets…Reporter Kirby Montgomery is undercover at a secret club—where deliciously sexy men are rumoured to sell their company and their bodies. The most popular of all the hunks? Easy Ride. Handsome as hell with a ripped bod to match, he's 100 percent red-hot cowboy. And all it takes is one scorchin' kiss to break every one of Kirby's rules…But Kirby isn't the only one breaking rules. Adam “Easy Ride” Drake isn't what he seems. And the explosive chemistry between them is only the beginning of an attraction that spells trouble. With the line between fantasy and reality getting blurry, Kirby has to decide what’s more important: the story that could make her career or the man she wants by her side.
Every cowboy has his secrets...
Reporter Kirby Montgomery is undercover at a secret club—where deliciously sexy men are rumored to sell their company and their bodies. The most popular of all the hunks? Easy Ride. Handsome as hell with a ripped bod to match, he’s 100 percent red-hot cowboy. And all it takes is one scorchin’ kiss to break every one of Kirby’s rules...
But Kirby isn’t the only one breaking rules. Adam “Easy Ride” Drake isn’t what he seems. And the explosive chemistry between them is only the beginning of an attraction that spells trouble. With the line between fantasy and reality getting blurry, Kirby has to decide what’s more important: the story that could make her career or the man she wants by her side.
“Paid-for kisses aren’t exactly what I need...”
Easy Ride seemed to contemplate Kirby’s 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 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.
As Kirby struggled to stop the pendulum on “convinced,” someone cleared his throat behind them.
Dear Reader (#uf7944ae7-ae08-517a-bd29-0cf11c1e2224),
I’ve always been curious about what goes on behind closed doors. Especially when they’re unmarked and belong to discreet businesses. I have stepped behind such a door and entered a world where couples claim an enclave or a sofa and get to know each other better. Sometimes a lot better. That club, which shall remain nameless, was the inspiration for this book.
In Easy Ride, I’ll take you behind the unmarked door of a referral-only club where gorgeous men are paid to salve the emotional wounds of women. Where Kirby, an undercover reporter, meets Adam—a male escort with a heart of gold beneath those amazing pecs and equestrian tattoos. Of course, Kirby needs the type of comfort these men offer even more than she needs a story. Adam’s heart, and his past, need mending, as well. And Kirby is just the woman to do it.
I hope you’ll fall in love with Kirby and Adam as deeply as I have. Whatever you do, keep opening doors.
Enjoy!
Suzanne Ruby
Easy Ride
Suzanne Ruby
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUZANNE RUBY’s writing journey was once as eclectic as the books that grace her shelves. What began as a desire to craft romantic short stories evolved into writing literary fiction, personal essays and poetry. Her journey came full circle when she joined Romance Writers of America and got down to the business—and the pleasure—of writing novel-length contemporary romance. And she has never looked back.
When she isn’t making her heroes and heroines work hard and play even harder, Suzanne is being mercilessly bossed around by her and her husband’s alpha-female German Shepherd at their home in Houston, Texas...and enjoying every minute of it!
Visit her at suzanneruby.com (http://www.suzanneruby.com).
For David and Bella—my special angels.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Sandra Bretting, my critique partner since the beginning of our writing journey.
To my genre BFFs, Meta Carroll, Robin Gianna, Sarah Andre and Lark Brennan.
And my lifesaver, Perry Jackson.
To my parents, Martha and Bobby, for their unconditional love and encouragement. And my husband, Jeff, for knowing when to be there for me and when to leave me alone and let me write.
Also, special thanks to my wonderful agent, Linda Scalissi, and my amazing editor, Dana Grimaldi, for their gentle, brilliant guidance.
Contents
Cover (#u9a80c6e6-2642-5cd3-894c-407fbce7f7dc)
Back Cover Text (#u36efccb2-9e5a-56b1-a086-c6bd28e66fa0)
Introduction (#ubae81c1a-96e7-5e87-988b-1bb0628860cb)
Dear Reader (#u39a0d752-52e5-5548-9467-8f25bf127121)
Title Page (#u8d318c5d-81e5-5397-870a-44f17a38d2a1)
About the Author (#u3748ffe5-ac47-587c-b4f8-c495c43d79f4)
Dedication (#u137228ae-e1b8-5050-a741-a0d3f3ed8e7a)
Chapter 1 (#uda245b38-154f-50bb-9d34-3a75604ebe9d)
Chapter 2 (#u813aa5cd-7967-56ea-bae0-56f96bd9158c)
Chapter 3 (#uaa267256-dbac-52ac-aadf-b166e343fa17)
Chapter 4 (#uf0781de6-abc3-5d7e-8db6-f6aa6787489e)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#uf7944ae7-ae08-517a-bd29-0cf11c1e2224)
KIRBY MONTGOMERY ADJUSTED the long blond wig that seemed to be crawling off her scalp with each step. It was almost as if the ridiculous thing were warning her not to follow through with this supremely bad idea.
As if she needed to be warned.
She’d come to this club specifically in search of “bad.” Her reputation depended on it.
Three young men dressed in Wrangler jeans, tight T-shirts and cowboy hats puffed menthols and sipped longnecks near the front entrance of Deep in the Heart, but they paused long enough to gift Kirby with an appreciative once-over.
Ordinarily, she’d welcome such validation. But validation wasn’t what she was after tonight.
She clenched the valet ticket as she would a set of winning lottery numbers. She needed that piece of paper—to claim her Volvo at the end of the night and to access the part of this joint where the real action took place.
The first step of the process was a no-brainer: present the valet ticket to the gentleman directly inside the door and say, “I have a reservation and here’s my number.”
Problem was, as soon as the phrase spilled from her lips, she wasn’t sure whether she had nailed the sequence. At least, not until the doorman texted someone, returned her ticket and said, “You’re good to go.”
Damn dyslexia. Even though she’d all but conquered the beast, it still had the power to trip her up and strip her confidence bare.
Step two proved to be a bit more challenging: locate the red door in the back of the club. That meant maneuvering around the dance floor, past the tables overflowing with people.
The scents of beer, drugstore perfume and good-ole-boy arrogance made her stomach roil as she dodged the drunks and the dreamers who came to the club to either get laid or find true love.
She’d almost made it around the first curve when one of the drunken dreamers grabbed her arm.
“Dance with me, darlin’,” he said as the deejay cued up Alan Jackson’s “Mercury Blues.”
The valet ticket slithered from her hand as he twirled her onto the dance floor. She immediately lost sight of it beneath the trampling of boots.
Her own feet tangled beneath her, and her emotions became tied in impossible knots as she tried to get oriented. The whole club spun round and round in all its wood-beamed, high-ceilinged, taxidermy-deer-headed glory. She couldn’t even make out the face of her partner, who, to his credit, maintained an abundance of patience with his two-left-footed partner.
Then again, this was his fault for assuming she could dance, much less wanted to.
She somehow made it through the song without breaking the guy’s foot or crushing his ego with the well-chosen words she’d managed to squelch. Once safely grounded on the sidelines, she exhausted every drop of remaining focus to identify a landmark.
Thank God, she’d somehow ended up about where she started, logistically.
Emotionally, the whole unplanned two-step had wrecked her. She couldn’t even bear to think about the physical damage. Was her wig still on her head? If so, how bad did it look?
She reached up. Fortunately, the beast had remained reasonably intact. She scanned the dance floor for the ticket. What was her number anyway? Was it 181, or 818? Or neither? As she was about to go up front and beg for help, someone tapped her shoulder.
Not again.
She spun around and said, “No, I do not want to dance.”
As soon as she saw the man’s face, she wished she could take it back. Sure, it was dark in this place, but that didn’t shroud certain details, such as the pale blue tint of his eyes. It sure as hell didn’t detract from the sensual shape of his lips. And damn, he looked good in a black Stetson.
At such proximity, the part of her that had been refused, rejected and turned away reawakened with unexpected force. It tugged at her like an iron hand, clad in satin. Forceful and sensual, all at once.
“I don’t recall asking,” he said. “I believe you dropped this.”
He produced the ticket, along with a curious half smile and a tip of the hat.
Oh. Of course he wasn’t going to ask her to dance. Why would he?
She accepted the ticket and held it up to the only light she could find. It had somehow survived the stampede, even though boot scuffs and indentions had scarred the surface and ripped the edges.
Her number—181. She was almost certain.
By the time she thought to thank the man, he’d disappeared into the crowd. Just as well. She had work to do.
After dodging more easygoing cowboys, she finally located the red door.
The no-turning-back-once-you’re-inside door.
She positioned her purse so that the miniature camera, disguised as a zipper bauble, pointed forward.
Moments after punching her valet number into a keypad next to the frame, the door buzzed open and the world changed from honky-tonk to urban lounge.
The only design thread connecting the two different businesses was the cowhide rug beneath her feet, though this one was black and white. Colorless, like everything else around her. Like the stark white podium with only an iPad on top, the glossy white IKEA-inspired cabinet and the white semitransparent scrim of fabric that separated the entry from a darkened room beyond.
An antique chandelier overhead added a touch of romance, but the bulbs were much too bright. All of a sudden she felt overexposed. And far too obvious.
Time to lose the wig. No one would recognize her anyway. Nor would they recognize her name, since she remained eternally stuck behind the scenes at the television station. Shivering in the shadow of Seth Wainwright’s reporter-slash-celebrity ego. But this assignment had the power to change all of that.
She deep-sixed the wig in a tall black trash can situated in the corner, then unleashed her long brunette hair from the strict confines of the elastic ponytail holder, which she slipped around her wrist.
Before she had time to retrieve a comb from her purse, a man parted the scrim and approached.
He looked as though he’d been interrupted in the middle of getting dressed. Or perhaps undressed. The white dress shirt had been unbuttoned to reveal his tan, smooth six-pack. That, along with the gray wool pants, black leather belt and shiny dress shoes, suggested business and pleasure mixed quite beautifully here.
He wasn’t the man she had booked, based on the minimal facial features revealed in the portal photos. Not to mention, this one had blond, rather than borderline black, hair. Furthermore, he looked much too tame.
If nothing else, The Deep’s website was an excellent example of male objectification at its finest.
“You must be Kirby.”
And just like that, she felt as if she’d been stripped naked.
“How do you know my name? I thought anonymity was guaranteed.” In fact, she was sure of it.
The man remained gorgeously stoic as he walked around the desk and typed something into the iPad.
“You provided that info when you signed up. But don’t worry. I’m the only one who knows. To everyone else, you’re a number.”
I’ve been a number before.
“I’ll need your valet ticket,” he continued. “You’ll exit out back when you’re done, and we’ll pull your car around. We find most ladies like the extra privacy.”
She handed him the sad shrapnel of paper. “Sorry. Turns out the ticket isn’t very good on the dance floor.”
No response. Not even a smile. He simply turned his attention back to the iPad.
At this angle, his profile and the depth of his concentration seemed familiar.
“Have we met before?” she asked.
Might as well get it out in the open now. Otherwise, her cover could be blown mid-assignment. Better to forfeit the story before it began and cover the oil-and-gas scandal instead, even though this was the story she wanted. Make that needed. On so many levels.
“Not that I’m aware,” he said without so much as looking up. His fingers continued to glide across the screen.
A few more moments passed, but the familiarity wouldn’t allow her to drop the subject.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He glanced up from the tablet and evaluated her with the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. Now those she definitely didn’t recognize, which was somewhat reassuring.
“Fabian.”
Yeah, right.
While she waited for Fabian, or whoever he was, to finish his task, she imagined what moniker she would have chosen.
The answer was easy. She’d been compared to Sandra Bullock at least a dozen times. Except, her own eyes were an ever-changing hazel instead of rich, movie-star brown. And her teeth were far from perfect, with both cuspids slightly overlapping their neighboring incisors. She’d shared that quirky trait with her mom. To correct it would mean losing her all over again.
“First time here, I see,” Fabian said.
“I guess that makes me a virgin. I don’t mean I’m a virgin virgin, I meant—”
“You booked Easy Ride to pop your cherry. Excellent choice.”
She gulped. But the knot of self-consciousness in her throat didn’t budge, and she could barely speak around it.
“So I’m paying for...sex?”
This story was going to be easier to wrap up than she had originally thought. She’d barely crafted a lede beyond something like “The Deep, an underground male escort service nestled within the popular country dance hall Deep in the Heart, is allegedly serving up more than longnecks and a shoulder to cry on. It is suspected as a front for prostitution.”
“We’re not that kind of club.” He punctuated the straightforward defense with a cordial smile.
“I was kidding. I crack stupid jokes when I’m nervous.”
She flashed her full-on genuine crooked-tooth smile, and he immediately softened. Yet another reason to avoid orthodontics. For some reason, her smile put people at ease, which was a good thing since her mouth otherwise managed to get her into trouble.
He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Nothing to be nervous about. Come with me. We’ll locate your friend for the evening.”
Friend. The casual way he said it rubbed her the wrong way. A real friend couldn’t be bought. Lovers, however, were a different story. Tailor-made for an exposé. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.
Kirby followed Fabian into the main room, where fat white leather-and-chrome Le Corbusier sofas sat empty, except for one in the far, dark corner. A well-dressed woman rested her head on the bare shoulder of a younger, shirtless man, who rubbed her hand as he whispered something to her.
Another man sat alone in one of two black Barcelona chairs, with an ostrich-skin boot propped on the matching ottoman as he sipped wine from an expensive-looking long-stem glass and pressed a cell phone to his ear.
Instrumental lounge versions of pop country singles skimmed the surface of her awareness. It was yet another thread that loosely tied the two establishments together.
Fabian led her out of the main room and into a softly lit hallway lined with closed and semiclosed doors and enclaves with curtains. A black-and-tan patchwork cowhide runner cushioned their footsteps.
As they walked, Kirby reviewed the details of her heartbreaking script. Her persona’s husband had been an emotional abuser, a withholder of affection. Her persona hadn’t had sex since her engagement. Not even on her wedding night.
If that didn’t bring out the so-called friend in a man, nothing would.
She never thought her own life story could be used for something good. Never thought she’d have the nerve to talk about the unspeakable situation she’d found herself in. Being untouched, unloved and disrespected by the person who had stood in front of God and everyone and promised otherwise.
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 (#uf7944ae7-ae08-517a-bd29-0cf11c1e2224)
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 to 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.
As Kirby struggled to stop the pendulum on convinced, someone cleared his throat behind them. It was enough to jolt some sense into apparently both of them, as they broke away from the kiss at the same time and turned to look.
Fabian.
Easy Ride shook his head and flashed the fingers of one hand. Twice. Indicating ten more minutes of privacy, she assumed. He turned back to her.
Once again, she had his baby blues’ full attention. Had she really been making out with this unbelievably sexy man? One who’d made the first move, and was giving his affection at no charge?
Maybe these guys operated like crack dealers. Give the customer a free taste and get ’em hooked. Maybe she definitely needed what he was offering.
“You’re really not charging me for the kissing time? I thought you were joking.”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like that.” He leaned in to kiss her again, resuming the tender urgency they’d generated before the interruption.
As if Kirby was no longer in control of her own body, she leaned back and guided him to more of a full-frontal connection.
He accepted her lead. In fact, they seemed to have the same idea as they repositioned themselves on the sofa. Her underneath. Him on top. By the time he pressed into her, he was rock-hard.
Her private gratefulness momentarily took her breath away.
Pure desire took over from there as he nudged her thighs apart and situated himself between them while continuing to kiss her. The friction against the inseam of her jeans rubbed her in the most delicious way, and with exactly the right amount of tension.
All the while, an instrumental lounge version of George Strait’s “Baby Blue” serenaded the edge of her consciousness.
The slow, confident movement of his hips combined with the softness of his mouth had her mind so twisted and stirred and shaken that she barely noticed his hands reaching underneath and cupping her behind.
He moved her hips for her, pulling her into his deeper thrusts with a slow, smooth, effortless rhythm. The angle and intensity took her all the way.
The pent-up tension and the subsequent release in full were almost more than she could handle, yet she somehow managed to hold in the heaviest groan. It had been so long. So long since she’d wanted a man and felt this wanted in return.
With the final deep thrust against her, he softly moaned, “Oh, baby.”
Her mind began to clear as he finished. Unfortunately, her clear mind always invited the most unwanted of thoughts. Now, her thoughts insisted this gorgeous man would ultimately reject her, as her ex-husband had done, even though she wasn’t here for personal reasons. Or, at least, she wasn’t supposed to be.
Combine business and pleasure? Live in the moment? Those luxuries were for other people. Her choices had always been entwined with consequences.
Consequences. So many of them in this particular situation.
What have I done?
* * *
WHAT THE HELL am I doing?
That was the first thought to cross Adam’s mind, once the blood rushed back to his brain. It was as if he had no self-control around this one. As in, zero.
One thing was for sure, he couldn’t accept her money. Any of it. Hopefully, she wouldn’t insist he take it. If she did, her intentions would be clear.
Awkward. The whole damn thing was awkward.
After they both eased back to the upright position, he put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on top of her gloriously mussed-up hair. If he wasn’t mistaken, she sharply inhaled, as if the casual familiarity were somehow inappropriate.
“Next time, I won’t initiate,” he said, hoping to drive home that his intention had not been to ravage her. “You’re just so fucking gorgeous, I couldn’t hold back.”
Her reluctance softened, and she embraced him in return.
“It felt good. I mean, really good,” she said. “Thank you.”
He relinquished his embrace when she stretched forward to retrieve her purse.
“Did I call you baby?” he asked, because in the heat of it all, he couldn’t be sure.
“Yeah. You did.”
“Sorry. In my defense, I don’t know your name. Somehow 181 didn’t feel right.”
Her hand welcomed his as they stood and walked to the exit, which was a relief. Some of the women simply charged out the door with a satisfied grin.
The other guys were more than okay with that outcome. Even though Adam still felt bitter as hell about what had happened with Liv, he never liked to end an intimate encounter in such a crass way. Not even when it merely imitated the real thing.
Once outside, he pulled her a little closer, creating as private a goodbye as he could. After all, this might be the last time he ever saw her.
“I’m glad you were satisfied with the service. Be sure to fill out the online customer satisfaction survey at your earliest convenience.” Might as well add some levity to the situation. The worst thing that could happen would be his humor falling flat.
“I thought you kissed me, and everything else, because you wanted to. But I’ll give you high marks on the survey anyway.”
He gulped. Hard. Part of him wanted that type of response. The other part didn’t want the confusion of it. But he needed it, and it felt damn good to admit it. If only to himself.
Did he have the right to ask her to come back? Or, better yet, go on a proper date?
A chuckle rose in his throat at the absurdity of it. Why the hell would she want to go out with a guy who worked here? Who—she must have thought—does this sort of thing with other women? And for money.
She must have picked up on his thoughts because she backed away.
“I need to get home,” she said, her eyes diverting from his in favor of the valet, who had pulled her car around.
“Call me if you encounter any problems along the way. Flat tire, that sort of thing.”
It was an impulsive and potentially brilliant demand. And entirely true. Even though women could take care of themselves, he hated the idea of her out alone at night.
“I don’t have your number,” she said.
Adam sprinted to the valet to borrow a pen, then sprinted back. He turned her hand over and jotted his cell number into her palm.
“So you change flat tires?” she asked.
“One of my little-known talents.”
“Perhaps you should have a business card. Something like ‘mends flat tires and broken hearts.’”
A sense of humor, too. That made her a triple threat. Gorgeous, smart and funny.
As she drove away, he had the most selfish thought imaginable.
Please, let her get a flat.
* * *
“SHOULD I CALL HAZMAT?” Fabian asked.
Had the guy really been standing by the back door the entire time?
“Very funny, Fab. Issue her a refund.”
Adam sidestepped his supposed best friend and walked back inside, toward the den of iniquity.
The refund request implied an admission, but no way he’d take her money. Sure, they hadn’t broken the cardinal rule. But he’d initiated something and violated his own rule in the process.
How did the other guys live with themselves, letting their clients pay for their sessions after the line was crossed? Collecting their fat commission for what could barely be considered work? And when they care nothing about these women?
They do perfectly fine. More than fine, actually. They drove Porsches, rather than a beat-up Jeep.
He’d been one bad decision away from buying a Porsche himself, until the false accusation from a client at his former job convinced him not to blow what little savings he had. The worst part of it wasn’t the car. It was how his boss didn’t believe his side of the story, even after their years of friendship and mutual professional respect.
“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath just as he bumped shoulders with one of the other guys.
“Who are you callin’ an asshole, Ride? Watch where you’re goin’.”
“Sorry, man. I was talking to myself.”
“Sounds boring,” the guy countered.
Asshole.
Once in the men’s room, he splashed cold water on his face. He hadn’t lost this kind of control, fully clothed, with a woman since he was sixteen.
He yanked a paper towel from the dispenser and patted his skin dry. Didn’t even hear anyone come in.
“Please tell me you used protection,” Fabian said as he proceeded to toss some half-full glasses of red wine down the sink.
“Of course. Wouldn’t want my client to catch any of my multiple STDs, would I?”
“Or for you to catch one.”
Adam struggled to not rise to her defense, even though the two of them hadn’t ventured anywhere near such a delicate topic.
“Can we change the subject, please? Do I have anyone else on the books tonight? I’d like to get out of here,” Adam said.
“Nope.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“Last time I checked you were booked solid. Good thing you asked for Saturday off. You’re going to need the rest.”
“Is she on the books?”
“She? You mean 181? Nope.”
“‘Nope’? You are an exceptional linguist.”
“And a cunning one, too. At least, that’s what the ladies tell me. It’s all in the tongue.”
With a half smile, Adam said, “I’ll take your word for it. Now, give it up, Fab.”
Fabian kept his head down. Kept busy swirling soap and water around in the glasses and dodging the demand in the process.
“Well?” Adam asked.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Her name.”
“That’s confidential. I could lose my job. But I do have a question.”
“You have a question, but you won’t answer mine? Asshole.”
Fabian made a show of clearing his throat and said, “Ever been to the Armadillo Palace?”
“You already know the answer. We’ve been there together.”
“What street is it on? I can’t remember.”
“Kirby.”
Fabian smiled. “Yes. You are correct.”
Kirby. Adam had to smile, as well.
He grabbed his cell from the counter and the thing practically vibrated right out of his hand. His heartbeat kicked up a notch or three at the possibility it was her.
Although the area code was in Houston, the number wasn’t familiar.
He stepped into the hallway.
“Adam here.” Not that Kirby would know his first name, but he wouldn’t mind if she did.
“Hey, Adam. It’s Bernard.”
Adam’s chest constricted at the sound of his attorney’s voice.
“Why do I have a feeling this is bad news,” he said.
“It isn’t the worst news, but I didn’t want to wait until morning.”
“Burning the midnight oil at home? How much is that going to cost me?”
“I told you not to worry about costs. I’ll draw my compensation from the countersuit we win.”
“Oh, yeah? Whom am I suing, and for what?”
“Defamation. Now, don’t get upset, but I saw a rather damning statement your ex-boss recently made, in print, about you.”
Flames of rage shot up Adam’s spine at the prospect.
“Is that a fact? What does it say?”
“He claims some Hermès saddles went missing around the time you were dismissed. Looks like he’s setting the stage for something.”
3 (#uf7944ae7-ae08-517a-bd29-0cf11c1e2224)
KIRBY RESTED HER head on her desk for a measly ten seconds before a hard double-knock jolted her from her borderline-REM state. She didn’t have to look up to know it was Seth Wainright.
“No, I didn’t get the story. Yet,” she called out from her slump. Against her better judgment, she looked up anyway.
Seth leaned in, and for a moment she was afraid he’d wobble over and crush her.
“Too bad. I was looking forward to the video. But, hey, we don’t all get lucky the first time,” he said. The words were ushered out by the fumes of coffee and onions.
She sat up straight, and not only to find some fresh air.
The video. She’d stayed up late, watching the dark, grainy footage over and over again. The only thing she’d noticed was how she’d totally lost control. They both had. The video couldn’t be used as evidence against the club, but it reminded her of how good it felt to experience such intimacy. In any case, she had no intention of sharing the footage with anyone. Especially not Seth.
“I’m going back in tonight,” she said without embellishment.
It wasn’t a complete lie. She hadn’t booked anything. But her neck ached to be massaged, her body hurt to be held, her mouth burned to be kissed. It was as if she’d caught the flu, and the best medicine would only make matters worse.
Seth lingered. And he wasn’t the lingering type.
“What’s it like in there?” he asked.
“Surprisingly classy. Gorgeous, partially undressed men.”
“Private rooms?”
“Lots of rooms, but I wasn’t in a private one.”
“Book one. Tonight. Force a confession. Or, in this case, seduce one out of him. That’s what I’d do,” he whispered, then wobbled away.
Although she couldn’t visualize anyone being seduced by Seth, he was right about one thing. Time to put on her big-girl panties. Just be ready and willing to take them off, according to Seth.
Not that the station condoned “going all the way” to get the story, but they didn’t outright discourage it, either.
Kirby logged in to the private portal. Unfortunately, Easy Ride was booked tonight. No slots available tomorrow night, either. Which meant he’d be with other women, likely doing to them what he’d done to her.
The thought slammed into her unexpectedly. No way should she be jealous. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about how a total stranger could feel so good and so right. Even if it was only so “right now.”
The phone rang, yanking her out of her messed-up thoughts.
“Montgomery here,” she answered.
“I got a lead on a stray Dumpster diver near Hobby Airport. Can you help?”
“Good morning, Reese. Of course I’ll help, but calling me with this information is only going to distract me from work until I can get away.”
“All part of my evil plan. Can you get away now?”
Kirby weighed the situation. In times like these, she wished she was unemployed and independently wealthy, like her best friend, Reese, and could scour the city for animals in need of rescuing. Talk about the ultimate dream job.
“I might be able to arrange something. Have you already lined up a foster?” Kirby asked.
“No. But don’t worry. I’ll foster until I can find someone.”
Kirby exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The easy part was catching an animal. The harder part was placing him or her in a loving home. And the absolute worst part was saying goodbye, once a home was found. That was how she’d recently ended up with a rescue cat. At her house, foster home had turned into forever home.
“How far away?
“South of Broadway, living behind the Dumpsters at some rather seedy apartments. I tried to execute a solo rescue earlier this morning, but I couldn’t get close.”
“No chance the owner lives in the complex?”
“If that’s the case, the puppy needs rescuing more than ever. Very thin and dirty.”
“I’ll take an early lunch. Pick me up at ten thirty,” Kirby said. She wasn’t going to get any further on The Deep story this afternoon. Might as well be distracted for a worthy cause.
“Great. I’ll wait up front.”
Kirby replaced the receiver and referred back to the website. As she clicked through the photos, someone approached from behind.
She recognized the fumes.
“Which one is yours?” Seth asked. “Please tell me it’s Gentleman John. Ha! Gotta love it.”
Seth launched into his obnoxious laugh, which always had a delayed effect. Like a time bomb with a long fuse.
Today, it was more like a stink bomb.
As soon as Kirby clicked on Easy Ride and his buff upper body filled the screen, the laughing ceased.
Seth leaned in closer.
Kirby held her breath.
“What’s his name?” he asked.
“They don’t give out names.”
“Find out. Or I will.”
Strange. Something had piqued his curiosity, and it likely wasn’t Easy Ride’s abundance of chiseled muscles.
“You seem awfully interested. Why?” she asked.
“Only trying to help. In fact, the offer still stands to trade stories. The oil-and-gas lead is a sure thing. I’d hate to see you blow your only chance with Bettencourt after you waited so long.”
Even though she doubted Seth’s concern for her professional well-being, he wasn’t simply blowing smoke. Their news director had earned the nickname “one-chance Charlie” for good reason. He gave reporter wannabes who worked at the station a shot to be on the air. A single shot. This was hers.
“Why are you so interested in The Deep?” Seth asked. “Aside from getting to hang out at the beefcake buffet. A story like this will cast your reputation in stone. Goodbye, good girl.”
“Oddly enough, you just answered your own question.”
Seth raised one bushy brow and gave her a nod of approval. He only related to people who got down in the mud. No doubt her willingness to chase this particular lead earned his reluctant respect.
What she didn’t tell him was that this story had become personal long before she’d stepped foot in The Deep. The thought of men taking women’s money for false flattery reminded her too much of her charming crook of an ex-husband, who was more than happy to relieve her of any and all loose change and limited savings, only to end up spending it on his girlfriends. Oh, and then going on to reject his own wife.
She mentally returned to the sofa at The Deep. No evidence of rejection there. No usable information, either. He didn’t even charge her for the kisses.
Certain facts about the club might be difficult to get out of Easy Ride. However, the pleasure promised to be deliciously...easy. So much so, she was finding it hard to focus today.
Goodbye, good girl was right.
* * *
“HEY, FAB. SPOT ME,” Adam said.
Fabian positioned himself, ready to catch the bar in case Adam’s ambitious 320-pound bench press turned out to be a top-story bleeder on the evening news.
“You trying to kill yourself, Ride?”
Adam grimaced at the weight, but damn if Better Days’s newest release wasn’t blaring from every speaker throughout the gym. The angry schmuck within him could bench-press an eighteen-wheeler to the lead singer’s whiny voice. The owner of Six-Pax usually had better taste in music.
He finished a set and Fabian helped with the bar.
“No death wish, but that song makes me want to kill someone.”
Fabian slapped Adam on the back with the appropriate force. The gesture implied friendly support rather than pity.
“Sorry, man. How anyone can work out to that country-rock shit is beyond me. I’ll tell the manager to change the station.”
“Don’t bother. I might as well get used to hearing it. Better Days is having its best days.”
“I thought you were over her,” Fabian said.
Adam considered Fab’s statement for a minute. Truth was, being dumped by Liv honestly didn’t hurt anymore. He couldn’t say the same for the humiliation.
“I wish her the best of luck. She’ll need it. Her new boyfriend has quite the reputation with groupies. I imagine karma will take care of the balance due.”
Adam wandered over to the free weights next. Fabian trailed close behind.
“I still can’t wrap my mind around how she was doing him at the same time she was doing you. And for so long,” Fabian said.
So much for friendly support.
“Gee, Fab, let’s see if the other guys want to sit in on this discussion. I think one of them might not have caught the last part.”
Not that it mattered. Everyone within an earshot already knew the scoop.
Adam grabbed a pair of forty pounders and started banging out some standing curls.
Fabian followed suit, but grabbed some thirties instead. “I bet I know how to cheer you up.”
“How so?”
“Your new girlfriend, Kirby, tried to book tonight. Saw it on the activity feed.”
Adam nearly dropped the weights. It felt as if someone had tickled his goddamn heart with a feather.
“Why do you think I’d be happy?”
“For starters, you’ve never humped a first-timer then played the concerned-boyfriend card.”
“I’ve never humped a client. Period. I shouldn’t even have to say it.”
“First time for everything, my friend. If you didn’t hump her, why did you ask me to refund her money?”
“I like her. She’s attractive. We made out and I enjoyed the hell out of it. What can I say?”
“Just don’t do what the others are doing. Eventually, one of these wounded lovelies is going to turn psycho and give us away, and then we’ll be in some deep shit.”
Adam continued doing reps. All he could think was how he’d love to break a rule or two with Kirby. But it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen at the club.
“Does Lydia know?” Adam asked.
“I suspect our madam chooses not to know. But have no fear. Even if we get busted, you’re clean. Or so you say.”
Although true, it did nothing to tame the uneasy feeling. Last thing he needed was another controversy. Not if he wanted to land the gig in Florida. They needed an elite trainer. He needed a new life. Seemed like the perfect fit. It had been a year since he’d been appreciated for what he did best: train riders and horses at the most prestigious grounds in the greater Houston Area.
Wild Indigo Equestrian Center seemed to be the only potential employer left in the world who either didn’t know about his previous legal problems, or didn’t care. They certainly didn’t need to know his current employment situation, or the newest dilemma with the saddles. Either one of those would knock him out of the running.
He grabbed his gym bag from the floor, shrugged off his sweaty T-shirt and donned a fresh one. Six hours before he had to be back at work. Enough time to make a dent in the informal written deposition he’d promised Bernard.
The real question was, why would his ex-boss levy those charges so long after Adam had left? Why would it even be a case, because there was no way the man could have proof? Proof didn’t exist. None of it made sense.
Adam pulled his cell phone from his bag. One voice message, and from a number he didn’t recognize. Maybe it was Kirby. Maybe she got a flat tire after all.
He held the phone to his ear, and as far away from Fabian as possible.
“This is Methodist Hospital. We’re trying to locate Adam Drake, next of kin for Henry Drake. Please give us a call at...”
The hot ringing in his head made it impossible to hear the number.
Next of kin? Isn’t that the kind of thing people said when someone was deceased, or on their death bed? Besides, Adam was the man’s only kin.
A sudden sheen of cold sweat traversed the length of his neck and back. He swallowed hard in an attempt to jump-start his breathing. Instead of calling the hospital, he sprinted out of Six-Pax, jumped into his Jeep without bothering to buckle the seat belt and tore out of the parking lot.
He had zero intention of driving the speed limit. Didn’t care how many tickets he got along the way.
Time to start breaking some rules.
* * *
KIRBY POSITIONED HERSELF on one side of the Dumpster while Reese tiptoed around to the other.
The air reeked of urine and spoiled milk and miscellaneous unidentifiable odors. She inhaled through her mouth, but pure nastiness coated her throat. The thick, noxious mix made her feel as if she were swallowing toxic sludge. But it was all worth it as soon as the scared puppy peeked around the side. In fact, there was no other place Kirby would rather be.
Except perhaps one other place. On the sofa at The Deep, being massaged and kissed and desired by the most desirable man she’d ever met. And being looked at by those baby blue eyes.
The memory battled for her focus, but dreamy eyes of a different kind were sizing her up.
“Looks like a Maltese-terrier mix,” she said.
The puppy growled as if in disagreement.
“Hard to tell. Baby needs a bath. At least his vocal cords are healthy,” Reese said.
They anchored the edges of a large net at either corner of a fence without managing to spook the puppy, and draped the rest of it over the large metal contraption.
“Area secure,” Kirby said, although she knew all too well the puppy could finagle its way out of the trap easily enough.
Kirby pulled the net over her head, effectively sealing her inside the entrapment zone. She opened the paper sack, reached in and tore off a piece of the hamburger and bun. Then she held it out while Reese snuck underneath from the other side, rescue leash in hand.
The puppy crouched and took a few tentative steps forward, but retracted back to its spot without taking the bait.
Kirby set down the bite and backed away as far as the net would allow.
Reese took slow, easy steps closer. Then they both stood perfectly still. And waited.
It took a few minutes, but the puppy inched close enough to claim the food, then scurried back to the unreachable center behind the Dumpster.
“Smart little guy. Or girl,” Reese said.
“My bets are on girl. Time to take it to the next level.” Kirby placed another bite even farther outside the puppy’s self-defined boundary.
The creature gained a little more confidence, grabbing the bite this time and retreating before Reese could make her move.
“Party time,” Kirby whispered.
Reese moved to the edge of the Dumpster. The puppy would surely see her feet, but would hopefully forget all about it once the feast was laid out.
Kirby set two pieces of the burger on the ground, a couple of feet apart, along with a trail of French fries leading up to her feet as she backed completely against the netting. If the puppy wanted to claim all treats, he or she would inevitably linger.
Sure enough, the puppy took the bait.
Reese slipped the leash around the puppy’s neck while Kirby peeled away the netting.
The puppy railed against the leash but then seemed to finally realize they were there to help and relinquished its struggle on the way to the car.
Once settled in the back seat, the creature proceeded to lick Kirby’s face.
“Ah, more kisses.” She tore off a tiny bite of the burger as a reward.
“Boy or girl?” Reese asked as she started the car and took the first U-turn toward downtown.
Kirby lifted the little one’s wagging tail.
“Girl. I win.”
“You’re amazing. How did you know?”
“Easy. A boy would have taken the bait on the first drop and thought about the consequences later.”
Reese raised a brow and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Are we talking about dogs or men?”
Kirby simply smiled.
“Thank you for doing this. I know you’re really busy at work,” Reese said.
“Happy to do it.”
The puppy curled up beside Kirby and fell fast asleep as they rode, in relative silence, back to the station.
“Speaking of work and kisses, how did your date go last night?” Reese asked.
Kirby figured the question had been percolating in her friend’s brain.
“Okay. He’s amazing-looking, but otherwise I have no story to tell.” She privately smiled at her understatement, and Reese totally witnessed the momentary slip.
“Keep your eyes on the road, please,” Kirby admonished. “We don’t want to kill the puppy after we went to so much trouble to rescue her.”
“Okay. But dish, please.”
“There’s nothing to dish. Seriously, I’m not planning on sleeping with the guy. I just need to get him to talk.”
“Right. No telling where those guys have been.”
“Probably no more places than my ex had been,” Kirby said.
“Oh. Sorry, I forgot. Hey, know what? I think you should totally go for it with this guy. Get the story, and have a few orgasms.”
“What? No.” But even as Kirby said it, her body begged to differ.
“Do it, Kirby. You deserve to have some fun. Just make him wear protection.”
Reese eased to a stop in front of the station.
“I won’t let it go that far,” Kirby said as she exited the back seat, much to the disappointment of the puppy.
Reese’s smirk said it all. Kirby hadn’t been the least bit convincing.
Maybe because she didn’t feel the least bit convinced. Mostly, what she felt was a deep stirring that whipped into a frenzy at the thought of him. It was as if he’d turned her on last night and there wasn’t an off switch.
Between the high of rescuing the puppy and the images of Easy Ride that her mind feasted on, getting anything accomplished at work wouldn’t be easy.
Once back at her desk, a different reality set in. She hadn’t logged out of the private portal, and someone had obviously been poking around the site. Furthermore, she knew exactly who that someone was. But there was no way she’d let Seth hijack her assignment.
True, she had a chink in her armor, which could make it more challenging to be objective. Yet, she wanted to feel what this man had made her feel. She deserved to feel something. All the self-talk in the world kept leading her back to the same place, and back into the arms of the irresistible unknown.
Mix business with pleasure...live in the moment.
The only problem was, she hadn’t been prepared for...this. Out-of-control desire. As appealing as it sounded to shed her good-girl image, she hadn’t set out to sleep with her source. Too risky. Professionally and personally.
In fact, she’d be satisfied with a repeat of last night’s “performance.”
Yeah. Right.
At least she was prepared to take Reese’s advice, should the uncontrollable happen again—make him wear a condom—because she was in too deep to stop now. For the pleasure, and for the story.
Her moment, it seemed, had arrived.
* * *
ADAM PUMPED A generous amount of Purell into his hands and worked it through every pore. The cool gel calmed his sweaty palms, and the clean scent cleared his head for what he was about to face.
He was still reeling from the emotional jolt, as if he’d been riding the most incredible mare and was cold-cocked by a low-hanging branch.
It didn’t help his nervousness to see the name Henry V. Drake on the wall next to his grandfather’s hospital room.
At least his worst fears weren’t realized. Henry hadn’t died. From what little Adam had been told when he’d asked for directions at the nurses’ station, his grandfather took the wrong dosage of one of his many medicines and blacked out on the front lawn. Fortunately, a neighbor called 911 and gave Adam as the primary contact.
He knocked lightly while easing the door fully open.
“Come in, come in!” Henry’s cheery greeting provided some assurance that nothing essential had changed.
The man looked up as Adam approached. A rather large glob of pudding wobbled on the spoon as Henry’s hand shook ever so slightly.
“What the heck are you doing here, son? The hospital folks weren’t supposed to bother you with this.” Henry set down the spoon and shoved the entire tray aside.
Adam perched on the edge of the bed.
“You gave everyone quite a scare, old man.”
“Busybody neighbors. I was resting on the lawn. I wish they’d mind their own business.”
As if to emphasize his point, Henry kicked at the covers, exposing one pale thin leg and one foot sheathed in a fuzzy blue sock, complete with rubber speed bumps on the sole.
“You were resting, facedown, on the lawn?”
“Okay. Maybe I got a little dizzy.”
“You and I are going to put together a written schedule for your medications. Or, better yet, hire a nurse to stop by the house and administer them. I promise I’ll find a pretty one.”
A little life returned to Henry’s pale cheeks.
“I’d rather you find a pretty one for yourself. Nurse or otherwise.”
“I’m working on it.” Adam couldn’t help but smile when he thought about Kirby, which was absolutely insane. But she was insanely beautiful. And seemingly sweet. She sure as hell smelled sweet, and tasted even sweeter.
Henry eyed him curiously. “You’ve met someone.”
“I’m paging the doctor. You’re delusional.”
“I raised you. I know when you’ve got a crush.”
Crush? It hadn’t even occurred to Adam to describe it that way.
As much as he’d like to get to know Kirby better, his plans didn’t include a relationship. In fact, that was the last complication he needed, now that his professional life was inching closer to full resurrection. But, hey, his grandfather was happy. Might as well use it to his advantage.
“Okay. You got me. I’ll spill the details after you’re back home. And only if you let me hire a nurse.”
Henry kicked off the remainder of the covers, exposing both legs and damn near everything remotely attached.
Adam arranged Henry’s gown to fully cover the man’s privates.
“They’re keeping me overnight. They want to run some more blasted tests. You’ll have to at least feed me a crumb.”
A nurse walked in. The doctor followed on her heels.
“What’s the verdict?” Adam asked.
“Terrible news. I’m afraid I can’t let you run the Houston Marathon this year, Mr. Drake,” the doctor said, directing his answer to Henry.
“Well, that is disappointing. I was so sure it was mine to win.”
“I don’t doubt it for a minute.” The doctor turned his attention to Adam. “It could have been much worse. He could have fallen on cement, rather than grass.”
“Hey! I’m in the room! I can hear you,” Henry interjected. Obviously, he wasn’t thrilled about being referred to in the third person. “I was taking a nap. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”
“Do you think he’ll be released tomorrow?” Adam asked.
“We’ll have to see.” The doctor reached down and patted Henry’s arm. “I’ll give your grandson a call if anything changes.”
“I’ll spend the night here,” Adam said.
The doctor nodded and left the room.
“You’re going home, and that’s that. There’s something I need you to do,” Henry said.
“I know. But I don’t think we should list our homes until I get a solid offer. It’s between me and one other guy, but they pretty much guaranteed I’m in the lead.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. Destin, Florida, is our destiny! I’ve already cut the tags off my new swimming trunks, that’s how confident I am. Do whatever you think is best as far as putting the houses up for sale.”
Adam studied this frail man, who also happened to be the strongest person he knew. A man who spent what should have been his golden years of retirement raising Adam in Houston, putting up with an endless amount of bullshit. Florida was Adam’s chance to make it up to the man who had sacrificed so much. Didn’t get much better than white sand beaches and emerald-tinted waters.
“So, what is it you need me to do?” Adam asked.
“I want you to promise you’ll make me a great-grandfather before I die. I always wanted the word great in front of my name.”
“How do you know you don’t already have great-grandkids running around somewhere?”
Even joking about such a thing made Adam’s conscience quiver. Condoms were nonnegotiable until a committed relationship was established. He could be certain of his fatherhood status, or lack thereof, at this point.
“At least promise me you’ll find a nice girl. Liv wasn’t nice. I may not be much, but I’m a flawless judge of character.”
Yet, if Henry really knew what Adam had made of himself—disgraced trainer turned cut-rate escort—it might turn the man’s whole flawless-judge assumption on its ear. Considering he could lose his grandfather at any time, it was more important than ever that he straighten out his own life.
Beginning with his career.
4 (#uf7944ae7-ae08-517a-bd29-0cf11c1e2224)
KIRBY STAYED IN bed and stared at her open palm, willing her mind to reconstruct the smudge of what used to be Easy Ride’s cell phone number. It had survived the first night and one full day, but last night’s bubble bath proved to be its undoing.
She’d committed the sequence to memory, but now the order of the numbers proved to be a moving target. A mental shell game.
When she couldn’t find any definition within the hopeless blur, she balled her hand into a fist and knocked herself on the forehead. Hard.
Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t write his number down somewhere. She didn’t need to become addicted to a man like him. Which meant she’d need to check her emotions and insecurities at the door, along with her newly reawakened carnal desire.
Once halfheartedly upright, she finagled out from under the goose-down comforter, swung her legs over the side of the bed and eased into her fuzzy leopard-print slippers. Onward to the kitchen, where the Keurig sat ready and waiting for its morning abuse.
Designer caffeine. Yet another addiction she couldn’t afford. Today could easily be a four-mug day.
She sensed Lady’s inquisitive green feline eyes watching her every move from the top of the refrigerator. Kirby retrieved a tin of moist cat food from the pantry. Lady’s warm purr couldn’t compete with a modified version of the song playing in Kirby’s head.
Baby Blue...
She wished she could get another look at those blue eyes this morning. Blue skies were out there, as well, but she couldn’t see them, either. Nothing but overcast skies.
What her loft lacked in square footage, it more than made up for in windows. Mainly, windows that overlooked a covered parking garage, the adjacent office building and the street directly below.
If only her windows opened, she wouldn’t feel so claustrophobic.
Open windows would help in other ways. The smell of shrimp in aspic this early in the morning triggered Kirby’s gag reflex. Peeling back the lid of the cat food was like unzipping a body bag containing a swamp-logged corpse. But Lady was worth the inevitable assault on the senses.
She set the plate on the floor and reached into the cabinet for the box of much-needed caffeine. “My turn now.”
Or not. The K-cups box was empty.
Crap. She’d meant to stop by the grocery store last night, but her thoughts had been consumed by something else entirely.
A caffeine deficit constituted an emergency, so she trudged the mercifully short distance to the bathroom as best she could unfueled.
She pulled her hair back into a slick ponytail, brushed her teeth and washed her face, then slipped out of her satin pajamas and into some black yoga pants and an oversized burnt-orange University of Texas jersey. Good enough for grocery shopping, especially at this early hour. The only people tooling around were...
Oh, my God. She had seen Fabian before. At one of the nearby grocery stores, although not the one she usually frequented. Who could miss the hottie in his workout attire? He always seemed too consumed with his task to realize most of the women there were ogling him. Herself included.
Chances were slim that he’d be there this morning, but it couldn’t hurt to try. Running into him outside the club might make him more comfortable to eventually open up.
“I’ll be right back,” she explained to Lady as she rushed around in search of her purse and keys.
Sure, the kitty wouldn’t understand the words, but she wanted to communicate as sweetly as possible to this particular rescue animal because she knew Lady’s history. Why people tortured black cats on Halloween was unimaginable. That’s why she’d decided to officially adopt her.
Two abused souls helping each other heal, Kirby concluded.
Another creature possessed the power to make her forget why she’d ever been sad. Fabian had been right. Easy Ride was an animal. Lion-strong and equally undomesticated, yet so enticing to touch. The mere thought of his warm hands, tender, hot mouth and scorching hardness made every inch of her flesh ache.
As soon as Lady finished licking the remainder of aspic from her plate, Kirby scooped her up for an official good-morning hug and retrieved her cell phone from the kitchen counter.
Yikes! She’d missed three calls and four texts from Reese. But an alert from her credit card company piqued her immediate interest. The Deep had issued a refund, which thrilled her in one way. Maybe Easy Ride really had wanted to make out with her after all, and didn’t see it as a job duty. In fact, the whole session was free.
But she felt the potential story slip from her fingers as easily as the valet ticket had slipped away on the dance floor.
The visit had hinted at a possible story, even though she and her friend-for-hire didn’t violate any laws. At least, not any she was aware of. She could still focus on the unsavory aspect of the business. The public gobbled up “unsavory” as easily as Lady gobbled up shrimp in aspic.
Besides, if she and Easy Ride went as far as they did within an hour, it could easily go all the way the next time. Maybe he’d even take her money. Maybe she could get in and out and wrap up the story before anything awful happened.
Awful, like being rejected. Except rejection hadn’t seemed possible the other night.
As she began to entertain how “all the way” would feel with that particular animal, someone pounded on her front door.
Lady ripped out of Kirby’s embrace, leaving a streak of scratches in her wake. No blood, thankfully, but the cat’s claws left some impressive welts.
Kirby looked out the peephole, then swung the door open.
Reese wasn’t alone. A very familiar and adorable rescue puppy stood next to her. Either the puppy had belonged to a decent owner at some point, or she was unusually self-disciplined.
Her best friend, by contrast, didn’t look quite as calm.
“I’ve been calling and texting you all night,” Reese practically screamed.
The poor thing slumped as if she hadn’t slept in ages. Her already pale skin looked totally bleached out, along with her naturally blond eyebrows and hair. If it wasn’t for her chocolate-brown eyes, she could pass for a ghost.
“I’m so sorry. Come in.”
“You won’t freakin’ believe this, Kirby. My rescue Doberman got way too excited over having a foster sibling. He just wants to play, but he doesn’t realize his strength. I tried putting the puppy in another room, but he knew she was there and wouldn’t stop whimpering. All night long.”
“Were the kennels full?”
“The ones I could reach, as were our usual foster families. Which is why I’m here.”
“Reese—”
“I know I promised not to ask again. But please help me this time. I’ll do the work in finding a suitable home. She needs food, shelter and a little tender loving care in the meantime. Nothing more.”
Kirby exhaled a deep sigh and mustered the courage to say the two-letter word that always eluded her: no.
The crazy little puppy tilted her mop of a head and looked up, and the letters voluntarily transposed and expanded into a longer word and conditional commitment.
“Only if Lady approves.”
Reese’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
“Let her loose,” Kirby said.
The puppy raced to the ottoman, straight into the black cat’s domain.
Lady stared at this odd creature, with its open-mouth breathing and inebriated gait and slap-happy tail. She glared for a long time before taking a decisive swat, claws safely sheathed.
The puppy heeded the warning and wisely retreated.
“Okay. Lady can hold her own. Looks like the pup knows who’s alpha,” Kirby said.
Reese gave her a good long hug. That made two hugs in less than forty-eight hours. Three, if she counted Lady. And she definitely counted Lady.
“I don’t suppose you brought any puppy food with you,” Kirby said.
“Oh, no! In all the excitement, I forgot. I’ll go get—”
“No worries. I’m headed to the store. You go home and get some sleep.”
Reese nodded. “By the way, what should we name her?”
Naming the creature. A dangerous tactic because it became personal for them. It also became more personal for potential adopters.
“Baby,” Kirby blurted out.
Reese seemed to consider it.
“Cute. Sounds like you’ve already given it some thought.” Reese raised one eyebrow as if requesting confirmation.
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