Escorted
Escorted
Claire Kent
This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Claire Kent.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit
in any form or by any means.
Contents
Lori Addison sat in a crowded coffee
shop in downtown Seattle, nursed a caramel mocha, and tried to pretend she
wasn’t nervous.
She
was
nervous. So nervous she literally jumped when her cell phone buzzed from her
purse. She fumbled to pull it out and gave a silly giggle of relief when she
heard Sabrina on the other end.
“Is he there
yet?” Sabrina asked.
“No. I told
you. We’re not supposed to meet until three o’clock. Not for fifteen more
minutes.”
“I thought he
might be early.”
“Then why did
you call?”
“I’m dying
here! You have to call me the minute you’re done.”
Lori laughed,
relaxing a little in the face of Sabrina’s characteristic, pestering
impatience. “I will. I told you I would. Who else would I call?”
“Definitely not
any of your other acquaintances. I can’t believe you’re really doing this. You
get to have all the fun.”
Shifting in her
seat restlessly, Lori tried for tartness as she asked, “You call this fun?”
“Well, you’re
going to be paying him a lot of money. It sure as hell better be fun for you.”
To her infinite
mortification, Lori blushed hotly, even sitting alone at a table in a crowded
coffee shop. She mumbled something incoherent.
Sabrina
cackled. “What was that?”
“Shut up. I’m
embarrassed enough. I’m still not sure if I’m going to go through with this.”
“Well,
definitely don’t go through with it if he gives off any creepy vibes. I mean
it. The slightest twinge of weirdness and you get out of there.” Lori’s
cousin’s voice had altered. She was serious now.
“I know that.
I’m twenty-six years old and not a fool. I have a pretty good man-sensor. But I
can’t imagine he’ll be creepy. I mean, you got about fourteen referrals for
him, didn’t you?”
“Sixteen,” Sabrina
corrected. “The man must be a god. I’ve never heard such raves. Some of these
women are frigid, middle-aged harpies, but get them started on
this
guy…”
Lori cleared
her throat and felt the nervous jitters in her belly again. “Um, yeah. So
that’s good anyway. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to make sure it’s with
the right guy.”
“You sound
nervous.”
“Of course, I’m
nervous,” Lori snapped, lashing out as her anxiety started to rise.
Sabrina’s voice
changed again. “Lori, you don’t have to do this, you know. There’s absolutely
nothing weird or unnatural about you—”
“I know that.
But I’m sick of still being a…” Lori lowered her voice so the other patrons
couldn’t hear her. “Still being a virgin. It’s ridiculous. And I’m sick of
waiting around hoping some man will sweep me off my feet and take care of this
inconvenient little detail.”
“Lori—”
“We’ve been
over and over this,” Lori interrupted again. “Do we have to rehash it all?”
Lori had made
it through high school and college without having sex, mostly because she’d
been futilely in love with her best friend for all those years—an sweet,
adorable soccer player who’d never been into to her that way. No one else she
found remotely attractive was interested in her at all.
She’d dated on
and off, but it had never gotten as far as the bedroom. In the years since,
even after she’d realized that her friend just wasn’t the man for her, she’d
grown gradually more and more self-conscious about her sexual inexperience. And
it just got worse as she got older and everyone assumed she had a typical
social life. Because she was so self-conscious, she kept pushing men away. She
felt caught in a ruthless cycle and didn’t know how to break free of it.
“I’ve been
thinking about it for months. It’s kept me from getting close to anyone—even
the few men who’ve seemed mildly interested.” Lori shook her head and took
another long swig of her coffee drink. “Besides, the irony is becoming bitterly
painful. I’m lauded as the Goddess of Romance and looked to for swoon-worthy
love scenes. And yet I have no experience at all.
For the
fourteen-zillionth time, Lori wondered how she’d somehow become a bestselling
romance novelist, when she was a complete failure at love.
“Well, it
is
pretty remarkable how hot your sex scenes are,” Sabrina ventured, an edge of
laughter in her voice.
Lori gave a
little huff. “Anyone can write good sex scenes. All you need is some basic
knowledge of anatomy, the right vocabulary, and some choice reading material.
Experience has nothing to do with it.”
Sabrina cackled
again on the other end of the line.
“Anyway,” Lori
said, noticing a particularly attractive man enter the coffee shop alone. “I
better hang up. He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Call me
immediately afterwards. Immediately! Do you hear me?”
After
reassuring her cousin that she’d waste no time on reporting about the infamous
meeting, Lori slid her phone back into her purse. She noticed that the
attractive man she’d seen enter had gone directly up the counter without
looking around like he was meeting someone.
She drooped
slightly in her chair. It would have been nice if he were the man she’d
arranged to meet. Even with the incongruously bald head, he was one of the
handsomest men she’d ever seen.
Lori glanced
around the shop to make sure another lone man wasn’t looking for her. Seeing no
one, Lori turned to discreetly observe the bald man again.
He was far too
young to be so completely bald. Mid-thirties at the latest. Maybe he shaved his
head. His tall, lean form moved with both power and grace, and his black
trousers and gray dress shirt looked expensive. A businessman, maybe, although
he didn’t carry a briefcase. There was something about him that appealed to her—beyond
his physical appearance. His eyes roamed the room idly as he waited for his
coffee, and his expression was coolly confident.
He seemed
experienced
,
she realized. Like he’d lived a full, complex life before he’d even reached
thirty-five. She wondered what it would be like to marry such a man—to have the
weight of that experience at the kitchen table every morning, in bed with you
every night.
She decided the
hero of her next novel would be burdened with that sort of deep experience.
And he’d be
completely bald.
Glancing at her
watch, she noticed it was just after three o’clock. Surely this guy wouldn’t be
late for a potential new client.
She was looking
at the entrance with a slightly peeved expression when a voice startled her out
of her impatience.
“Lori.”
She jerked her
head around and inexplicably saw the compelling, bald man standing next to her
table with his cup of coffee. She blinked up at him, wondering vaguely if he’d
noticed her leering at him.
“Is it Lori?”
She nodded
mutely.
The man smiled—an
urbane, sensual smile that ignited even his blue-gray eyes. He reached a hand
out to her in greeting. “I’m Ander.”
Lori’s mouth
dropped open and she gaped at him.
While she was
normally a friendly, outgoing person who handled social situations with ease,
she was already insecure about this meeting. And her shock at having the random
man she’d admired turn out to be the one with whom she had this particular
appointment left her speechless and completely discombobulated.
Ander’s elegant
eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ander Lourdes. We were scheduled to meet, right?”
She had to
assume the name was a professional appellation. Surely no loving father would
have saddled a little boy with a name like that. The boy would have no choice
but to go into the profession Ander had obviously chosen.
“Yes,” she said
at last, belatedly pulling herself together. She stood up and shook his hand.
His grip was warmer than she’d expected. He looked so cool and polished that
she’d thought his hand would be a cooler temperature. “Sorry. It’s nice to meet
you.”
He nodded
politely and smiled again. “Do you want to talk here?”
Lori glanced
nervously at the other seat at her table. She definitely wanted to meet with
him where there were plenty of people around, but the kind of conversation
they’d be having wasn’t one you wanted to carry on with dozens of ears within
range.
“We could walk
over to the park,” he suggested with easy courtesy. “Still a public place, but
not so crowded.”
She agreed and
grabbed her purse and mocha. She’d made a point of not dressing up for this
meeting, so she was wearing her favorite pair of jeans and a dark green vintage
jacket of crushed velvet that matched her eyes. She’d pulled her
shoulder-length brown hair back in a low ponytail and wore no make-up except
mascara and lip-gloss. She’d instinctively known that dressing up would make
her even more nervous.
As they crossed
the street, Lori asked her companion, “So what kind of name is Ander?” She
wanted to make casual conversation and she’d genuinely wanted to know the
answer since Sabrina first put this man’s name in front of her as a suitable
candidate.
Ander’s mouth
tilted up on one side. “It’s short for Alexander.”
“So it’s your
real name?” It might be too personal a question for this context, but she’d always
been overly curious.
“Ander is. My
last name has been changed.” He gave a huff of dry laughter that she found
remarkably appealing. “To protect the innocent.”
She snickered a
little, instinctively drawn to wit in any form. His answer had been particularly
clever—as it remained ambiguous as to which party in question was innocent. “So
were you named for Alexander the Great or Alexander Graham Bell?”
He gave her a
curious look, as if he were mildly startled at her nosy questions. But before
she could start to feel self-conscious about what might be inappropriate
behavior on her part for meetings such as these, he said, “The Great. My father
would never have named a child after someone as innocuous as an inventor,
however brilliant the inventor happened to be.”
“Ah,” she
replied, “So your father liked the warriors.”
“Exactly.”
Idly, Ander put a hand on her back to guide her over to an empty bench in the
city park.
Lori sat on the
bench and looked up at him, noting that he was ridiculously handsome in the sunlight,
with a breeze blowing against his dark clothes. “I suppose your father must be
especially proud of you, then,” she said wryly.
Even she
knew—as soon as she spoke the words—that the comment was far too presumptuous
for first acquaintance. She bit her lip and felt a pang of guilt and
embarrassment.
To her relief, Ander
didn’t look offended. He just looked off in the distance and murmured, “Oh,
he’s proud all right.”
The note of
bitterness told Lori something about this man’s feelings for his father. There
was a whole story here, a mystery to unravel.
But it was none
of Lori’s business and wasn’t at all what she was here for. Pulling herself
back to the purpose of this meeting, she felt a new wave of self-consciousness.
What the hell
was she doing here?
Ander sat down
next to her on the bench and sipped his coffee, his expression becoming
professional again. “I always meet with prospective clients to ensure we’re on
the same page before we schedule an engagement.”
Lori nodded,
dropping her eyes to stare at her hands in her lap.
“Did you have
any questions about the prices your friend explained to you?” Ander asked. “You’ll
pay for an entire evening. That’s the base price. I offer nothing lower than
that.”
She looked up
at him, frowning. He didn’t have a website like some escorts, instead relying
on personal referrals, but details Sabrina had gotten from the women she’d
talked to were quite clear. She was a professional woman. Not an idiot. “Yes, I
was able to understand the services you offer and what you charge for them,”
she said, her tone a little snippy.