Authors: Shelby Reed
“Nothing.” His whisper brushed her forehead, his embrace gentle, non-threatening.
“You’re too frightened. But I know what you want, how much you want it. I can take one look at you and know what you need.”
“How?” She drew back to meet his gaze. “How can you know what a woman needs with just a look?”
“Your eyes are a dead giveaway. You’re starving, Billie. For love. For sex. For attention. Who denied you all these things?” The truth exploded against her unguarded heart and she tried to pull away, but he held tight. “You wanted to know what a client experiences.”
“I came here to research an article. I didn’t come for this.”
“Maybe not, but it’s what you want now that you’re here. A woman never leaves here unsatisfied.”
“But I’m not looking for sex. I’m not,” she repeated, needing to convince him.
Needing to convince herself.
“You should be.” His fingers brushed the stubborn wave of hair from her cheek, tender, comforting. Then he grasped her arms and brought them up around his neck, looped his own around her waist and swayed her to the music again, pelvis to pelvis, his gaze locked on hers. “Have you ever asked for it?”
She made a scornful sound. “I’m a woman in her thirties. What do you think?”
“I think you don’t know how.”
Her silence was her confession.
Moving with a suddenness that alarmed her, Adrian caught her chin in his fingers and forced her gaze to meet his. “All you have to do is say three little words, Billie.
I
want you
. You can whisper them in my ear, and nobody has to know but you and me.
19
Shelby Reed
Nobody will know what we do in this room. You can have anything, everything. The way you like it, over and over. Just say it.”
Mesmerized, she stared up at him, her throat dry with desire.
“Say it,” he whispered, his ferocity softening, melting into sinuous intent. His fingers crept through her hair and cradled the back of her head as he leaned to kiss her chin, her jaw. “I can give you anything.”
Heat and desperation and carnal need rose in a huge wave and shoved the words into her throat. “I want…” She tried to swallow and failed. “I don’t know. I just want.”
His hand left her hair and slid down her neck, her spine, down, down, to rest on the curve of her buttock. Then he pulled her tight against him, tighter than before, and for the first time Billie was aware of something more than her own desire. The quickened rush of his breath, his heartbeat thundering beneath his muscled chest, the hard press of his erection through linen and khaki and skin. Adrian wanted, too. He wanted her. Or any woman. He could have anyone.
“No—” She cupped her hand against his mouth to halt its descent. It brushed against her palm, warm and soft, before he grasped her wrist and drew her thumb between his lips, let his tongue slide over it once, twice, then sucked it deeper into silken, wet heat…
Frantic, she jerked away and found herself by the fireplace again with six safe feet between them. She tried to berate him for invading her desires, probing her mind,
sucking on her thumb like that, for God’s sake
…but she couldn’t form the words.
Nor did Adrian speak. Tony Bennett was the only one with something to say, and he crooned unobtrusively from the ceiling speakers as Billie gathered her attaché, jacket and the recorder and slipped into her shoes.
“I’m not comfortable with the route this interview has taken,” she said without looking at Adrian.
“You’re not comfortable with the truth,” he replied.
The tape recorder slipped from her trembling fingers and cracked against the hearth. She swiped it from the floor to examine it, jabbing the buttons to no avail. It was a cheap model. The cassette tape tangled within the tiny machine when she tried to remove it. Something had broken. Inside the recorder. Inside her. “That’s an hour of interviewing down the commode,” she muttered.
“Then you’ll come back.”
She turned to look at him and found his black gaze watchful, unreadable. “This article could make my career. I have to come back.”
He retrieved a pad and pen from the bedside table and scribbled something, then tore off a sheet and handed it to her. “My private phone number here at Avalon, Billie.
Call me and I’ll be more than happy to schedule another meeting with you.”
Disarmed, she stared at the paper. “You can do that? Even with your busy agenda?”
20
The Fifth Favor
“For you, I would.”
She folded the paper and slipped it into her attaché, her indignation defused. “And the next time we meet, we’ll conduct our appointment with utter professionalism, right?”
His smile was grim. “Speak for yourself, Ms. Cort.”
She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it and turned away to put on her jacket.
Nothing she could say would restore her defenses. When he showed her downstairs to the door, all courtesy and civility again, she emerged into the too-bright afternoon sun on shaky legs, no doubt like the numerous other clients leaving Adrian’s seductive embrace.
21
Shelby Reed
Adrian held aside the lobby window’s drapery, his attention focused on the slightly stiff posture of the slender woman retreating from Avalon. Even the soft fall of footsteps on the marble tile behind him failed to draw his attention, and he didn’t move until a soft male voice brushed his ear.
“Who is she?” Lucien murmured, staring over Adrian’s shoulder at Billie Cort’s departing figure.
“No one. A reporter.” Adrian’s gaze followed her as she crossed the street and disappeared around the corner, then he sighed, let the sheer panel fall and glanced at his friend. “You’re here early.”
“Boss’s orders. I’m on probation these days.” Lucien scraped a hand through his tousled dark hair and offered a wry smile, but Adrian noted the tremble of his fingers, the shadows beneath his red-rimmed eyes.
“You’re hung over.” A flat, disapproving observation.
Lucien’s gaze darted away. “Hot date last night.” He moved across the deserted lobby and busied himself flipping through the appointment book Azure had left on the desk. His white knit shirt was untucked and rumpled, hanging off his lean frame. He was too thin, the result of living off recreational drugs instead of food.
“I want to know when you plan to recover between clients, Ad. The way Azure’s booked you, you’ll be going all night. And it’s only Monday.” He offered Adrian a crooked grin. “You ought to double up with some of these ladies. Bet they wouldn’t object.”
Adrian didn’t respond, just watched him, his brows drawn down as he focused on the faint, bluish shadow that marred Lucien’s unshaven jaw. He knew better than to ask about the bruise; Lucien would inevitably react in ferocious defense, as he did whenever Adrian questioned him about his ever-growing proclivity toward drugs, alcohol and danger. Especially danger. Whoever Lucien was spending his free nights with had a combustible temper. It wasn’t the first time Adrian had noticed bruising on his friend’s well-favored features.
“So why was a reporter here?” Lucien asked, finally meeting Adrian’s eyes.
Adrian sauntered toward the reception desk. “She’s doing an article on a day in the life of a male escort. She writes for
Illicit
.”
Lucien’s dark brows shot up. “Juicy magazine. Even juicier reporter. I caught a good view of her shapely little ass when she hightailed it out of here. Plan on giving her a sample of what it’s all about to be you?”
22
The Fifth Favor
A sudden vision of Billie Cort’s luminous green eyes flashed across Adrian’s mind and he sucked in a soft breath. He’d wanted her, and the attraction had caught him completely off-guard. She wasn’t an extraordinary beauty. She wasn’t refined and elite and willow-thin. No plastic surgeon had touched the laugh lines around her eyes, or the small breasts curving gently beneath her tailored blouse.
She was real. A glimpse of the past, when life was simpler, cleaner and more truthful. She was vulnerable and pretty.
She was dangerous
.
Adrian offered his friend a rueful smile. “I tried to give her a freebie, but she wouldn’t have me.”
Lucien laughed. “Now
that’s
refreshing. Maybe you should’ve gotten her number.”
“I’ll see her again. The interview’s not finished.” He hesitated, his humor fading.
“You should rest before you go to work, Luke.”
“Now, now. Don’t let Azure hear you calling me by my good Christian name.”
“I’m serious. You look like hell.”
Lucien shrugged. “I’ve got a couple hours. I’ll suck down some of Consuela’s Brazilian blend and take a cool shower. Joe’s got some stuff, too, that’ll wake me up in a hurry.”
Reproach tightened the muscles in Adrian’s jaw. “Couldn’t work better than a decent night’s sleep and a good hot meal, and you know it.”
“Yeah, but it’s faster and a hell of a lot more fun.”
Adrian stared at him, speechless with a sick, confused disgust, and for a moment the two men stood with gazes locked, the air between them heavy with a nameless provocation.
Then Lucien looked away, rubbing his arms as though he were chilled. “You really ought to relax, Ad. Join the party once in a while. This is a lifestyle most men would kill for.”
“I sure as hell wouldn’t covet yours.”
“How would you know when you’ve never tasted the real thing?”
The heavy innuendo was all Adrian needed to push him past tolerance. He started toward the staircase, too incensed by his friend’s flippant disregard for his own well-being to stand another minute of it.
“So I take it you don’t want to grab some lunch with me?” Lucien called after him, the question heavy with sarcasm.
“No,” Adrian said without looking back. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”
Upstairs, he closed himself in his room, fixed a drink and sank down on one of the wingback chairs. In a matter of hours, his first client of the night would arrive. Sophie Rochaille, wife of a French envoy, visited Avalon every six months like clockwork.
Lush, flaxen-haired and insatiable, she had initially captivated Adrian with her long 23
Shelby Reed
limbs and lack of inhibition. But Sophie’s predilections rode the edge between adventurous and aberrant, and the last time she’d left Adrian’s bed, he’d felt…dirty.
A frisson of discomfort ran through him. Too close to shame. A black shadow he never allowed to seep into his conscience.
Of course, the whole morning had been one of failed defenses. Again he thought of the reporter, of the wonder in her meadow-green gaze when she’d slowly circled the luxurious bathroom. Despite a hint of cynicism that bespoke a broken heart, she’d exuded a sort of innocence that Adrian found utterly provocative. If she’d let him, he would have stripped her down to see what dwelled beneath. Sweetness, something told him. Vulnerability. She’d struggled with her own desire standing in the circle of his arms.
He ran a hand over his face and inhaled. Her scent, soap and faded flowers, still lingered on his skin. Instinctively his body stirred and he shifted on the chair, knees falling wide as he tried to force his thoughts to the night ahead. And failed.
I just want
, she said when he’d finally broken down her defenses. And so had he.
He’d wanted her to desire him, but truthfully, whether she knew it or not, any man’s tender arms would do. The woman was wounded and aching for love, and it didn’t matter who Adrian was, or that he was the one who held her.
But it had mattered to him. His eyelids slid closed as he envisioned all the pleasure he could have shown her, if she hadn’t had the decency to decline. No toys or tricks needed for this one; just deep, primal fucking. Stripping away her inhibitions alone would have been erotic enough to test his endurance.
In response to the sultry thoughts sliding through his mind, his penis stirred and swelled to hardness. What was wrong with him today? He rarely thought about sex when he wasn’t working. With an ironic smile, he set aside his drink, loosened his belt and slid down on the chair, fingers slipping inside the placket of his pants to ease the pressure building in his cock. Not as gratifying as the soft touch of a woman’s hand, but enough to quicken his pulse until it pounded in hot, strategic places.
The pressure increased to a relentless throb. He unfastened his fly, freed his erection, let his fingers trail over it until it jerked in demand of a firmer touch. A shudder of need went through him. God—when was the last time he’d needed this? It wasn’t the right way to start the work night, but suddenly his body demanded relief so desperately, he couldn’t think past the moment.
His fingers curled around his shaft and stroked base to tip. Again. Again. Faster, driven by a wild, rising urgency. Billie Cort had awakened something hot and hungry within him, and a moment’s relief, unfortunately, would be just that.
It didn’t matter, he told himself as pleasure stole the breath from his lungs. If this didn’t solve the problem, he’d work it off tonight. In a matter of hours he’d have all the satisfaction a man could want.
Arching his head against the back of the chair, he gripped the armrest and braced himself against the coiling rapture while his other palm quickened its steady stroke. He 24
The Fifth Favor
had all night to exorcise his inexplicable desire for Billie. And when he saw her again, he’d do his damnedest to shield himself against the seductive, innocent appeal that made her such a rare
objet d’art
in his world.
* * * * *
They met again a week later, this time at a small café in the Adams Morgan section of Washington, where Billie would feel safe, buffered by the public’s presence.
“I can’t afford to pay you for more than an hour this time,” she told him, skirting her gaze from his dark, piercing regard as he sat across from her. “The magazine’s footing the bill, and I’ve been allotted—”
“This is my day off,” Adrian said, fingertips caressing the lip of his water goblet.
Billie grimaced. “Does that mean you’re charging me time and a half?”