Easy Ride

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

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

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.