“Lydia suggested I use an alias, but I don’t have anything to hide.” She shrugs one shoulder. “What you see is what you get.”
Our jobs as escorts are to fulfill a fantasy and make the client feel special. This was never without effort for Lydia, and as much as I hate to admit it, I’ve yet to find my footing. But it comes naturally to Vera, as easy as breathing. It’s in the depths of her eyes, and the way they looked directly into me. Even as she walks away, I find myself wanting to call her back.
“Put your tongue back in your mouth,” Lydia says.
“You were right to choose her. She’s perfect.”
“She fucks women. Do you want me to call in a favor?” Lydia asks with a half-smile that still only belongs to me.
I laugh out loud. “Tempting, but no. Wilder made it clear that I’m to keep my hands to myself, remember?”
“Yes. Thank God we’re fresh out of available Ridge brothers.”
Wilder Ridge is available. He may not want his colleagues near me tonight, but that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t want me either. Not in the way that truly matters.
“All right, gentlemen,” Vera announces, leading the pack of girls into the suite. She flips a sheet of black hair over her shoulder. “Who’s ready to party?”
The presidential suite is double the size of our room, with views of the Bay that extend from the bridge to Alcatraz and the rolling hills of the city. The room comes with a private bartender, who’s already been graciously tipped for his discretion. Dinner was catered, although none of the girls will eat. The fireplace is lit, music plays, and these men with their matching briefcases don’t know what they’re in for. Their jaws are still on the ground when Lydia and I saunter in.
John Michael Lucky III claps his hands from the couch as the escorts set their hooks in, circling Lucky and his entourage as if they’re something to be consumed. But it’s only their wallets they want to devour. “Where did you boys get secretaries like these?”
We join Talent at the bar, and Lydia whispers sharply, “I told that motherfucker I was the office manager.”
Talent takes one look at Lydia and wolf whistles, opening his arms to her. She melts into his embrace, wrapping his tie around her hand to pull him closer. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but goose bumps spread from her wrists to her shoulders, and whatever it is, I’m envious.
He slides his hand around her lower back, looking up to say, “I trust that what happens here tonight, John, stays here tonight.”
Lucky rubs his palms together, licking his lips like the girls are a piece of meat on the dinner menu, and I’m the biggest piece of cake on the dessert tray. “You have my word.”
Suddenly, Wilder steps inside from the terrace, pocketing his cell phone. His eyes immediately fall on me and soften, and my heart lurches at the small smile curving his lips. What I thought were heartstrings pulling us together turn out to be ropes. We share a heartbeat within these tattered cords, full of burns from the push and pull.
He crosses the room, stepping between whores and associates, never taking his gaze from me. The pulse in my fingertips and behind my knees eases as he nears, and I inhale a smooth breath between my lips. I pull off my cardigan before he reaches me, exposing the caged bra I’m wearing beneath. Black straps crisscross over my chest, across my back, and under my breasts, accentuating triangle-shaped cuts of lace that cover my nipples like a bad secret. My long legs are fitted into a pair of leather pants that Lydia had to help me into, tight around my full bottom and throbbing pussy.
This isn’t fair.
He claims to not want me, but he doesn’t want anyone else to have me either.
And I’m melting for him.
“Camilla.” Wilder holds his hand out for me.
I take one look at it and walk away.
The cage around our hearts tightens with each step, but what’s another rope burn when you’re already on fire?
He watches John Michael’s finger trail down my arm. Wilder stirs when Lucky leans in and whispers, “How much?” Dark gray eyes turn stormy, and his headful of hair looks like it was caught in the wind. He moves forward when I accept John’s hand in mine, and I almost don’t have it in me to move one foot in front of the other.
“Wilder, let her go,” Lydia says as I lead Lucky away.
“I’m not for sale,” I explain once we’re out of earshot, but Lucky’s already spotted Vera near the fireplace as intended. His grip on me loosens, and then he’s gone all at once. “But she is.”
I told Wilder on Thanksgiving that I can deal with the consequences of us, but I lied. Nothing can keep me in the room when he’s a hurricane and I’m the ocean. There’s no dealing with the tidal wave of longing and anger that rages inside of me, not now, not ever. Because I know what it is to be wanted by him. I know the faces he makes when he’s inside of me, and I know the sound of his voice when he says,you’re beautiful.
I’ve heard the same sentiment from a deceiver, and there’s nothing false about the way Wilder’s lips wrap around the syllables like small kisses.
It’s true and not made of convenience.
How can he expect me to turn my feelings off when they’re this palpable?
