Yours for the Night (38 page)

The phone clutched to her chest, Noelle waited impatiently for Dax to set up their next date. In the week since the ballroom event, he’d called once for phone sex, only once, and that had been the very next night. Then nothing. He’d said he was planning a special date, and he wanted to heighten his anticipation by starving himself for the sound of her voice. It sounded so sweet, so seductive, so exciting. Until a couple of days turned into a week. For a woman who personified instant gratification, that was six days too many. There just had to be another date. She didn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t see him again. He was better than any flavor of ice cream. He was buttercream frosting on red velvet cake or chocolate decadence with real whipped cream. He was everything she’d dreamed of and thought she’d never have.

He’d said she was fantastic, but he might have been lying. No, he’d said it was fantastic. The date. Burt and Skinner. God, did he say it or she? Damn, damn, damn, she couldn’t remember.

Isabel had been right. Getting your emotions involved was dangerous. Noelle hadn’t been on a courtesan date in a week. She hadn’t thought about another 239

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man since she met Dax. She’d dreamed only of how to please him, what she could do to make him hot. To make him hers. From the moment she stepped onto that rooftop balcony, her clients had been merely reasons to call him, talk to him, incite him to orgasm. She’d wanted the excitement, the infatuation, the giddy I’ll-die-if-I-don’t-talk-to-him-right-now feeling. Now she was trapped into needing it all to be real. The phone rang, and she jumped, almost jostling herself out of the window seat. Then she jabbed the flash button without even checking caller ID. “Hello?”

“Noelle?”

Isabel. Thank you, thank you. She wanted to blurt out, Did he call yet?, but she managed to maintain a little decorum. “I hope you’re having a good day, Isabel.”

Isabel snorted. “You don’t care about my day. You just want to know if he made a date.”

“Who?” She sounded singularly innocent.

Isabel gave a tinkling laugh. “He called.”

Noelle closed her eyes and held in a sob of gratitude. “Did he want to schedule something? I’ll have to check my calendar.”

“We both know your calendar is completely free. You can’t pay your mortgage with a free calendar, you know.”

Noelle didn’t have a mortgage. Being a courtesan had been good for her. She’d paid extra against principal every month, and six weeks ago, the title had become hers. “Okay, I give in. My calendar is too free. Does he want to fill it?”

“Tomorrow night.”

She exhaled in a long sigh. “I can do tomorrow night. Anything special?”

“He’s chosen a couple.”

Her heart froze to a standstill. “A man and a woman?”

Isabel laughed again, although it might have been closer to another snort.

“Yes, a man and woman. He wants a foursome.”

She’d have to share him. She’d have to watch him fuck another woman. He hadn’t even made love to her after the first night, and now he wanted another woman. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—She shut herself down. “When, where, how should I dress, et cetera, et cetera?”

“Are you all right?”

Damn. Isabel was far too intuitive. That worked for making her matches, but 240

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it sucked when Noelle was trying to hide something. “I’m fine.”

“You sound funny.”

“I had too much fresh air, and it’s made me all stuffy.”

Isabel let the silence hang for five counts. “Nine o’clock. The date will be at a residence. He’ll arrive at your place by seven, though. He has something special for you to wear.”

That lifted her. For a very brief moment before she dashed herself down again. God, she was manic. “Did you choose the couple?” It would be so much worse if Dax had picked the woman himself, someone special he already had in mind.

“Yes, I did the match.”

She wrapped her arm around her knees. At least there was that; he’d had Isabel do the selection. “Okay. Then it’s a go. Gotta run now. Bye.” She hung up before Isabel could say I told you so.

He wanted another woman. Noelle wasn’t enough. She was nothing but a courtesan, a plaything. He probably wanted to dress her for the other man, not himself. And really, he’d never said he wanted her. He’d said he wanted a kinky relationship. She’d thought she meant something to him. The way he’d held her that night, soothed her body with a warm cloth, taken care of her. Yet he’d been gone in the morning. She’d allowed herself to fall for an illusion.

Noelle set her chin on her knees and stared out the window. Comeuppance. Retribution. A reckoning. For the first time she understood how each of her husbands had felt when he discovered he wasn’t enough for her. For the crimes she’d committed against the men she supposedly loved, she deserved this.

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8

NOELLE HAD GIVEN HERSELF A PEP TALK. FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. She still didn’t believe it. The gist was that, first, asking him not to do another woman in front of her would reveal all the illusions she’d dreamed up about their relationship and lay bare her insecurities, so no way, bad idea. Second, it would sound as if she had a proprietary interest in him. Which she did, but again, bad idea letting him know. And third, if he wasn’t jealous of her naughty desires, she couldn’t be jealous of his. It was two-faced. Or to twist one of her mother’s clichés, what was good for the goose was good for the gander. Only it wasn’t. Another man making her come was totally separate from how she felt about Dax. It was just sex, physical, nothing more. Her husbands hadn’t understood that. Now here she was with the shoe on the other foot (God, she hated thinking in her mother’s clichés), raging about it.

But that was the God’s honest truth. If she did another man, it had nothing to do with her emotions about Dax. In fact, it was over the top for her if he was there to watch. When he did another woman, however, it meant he didn’t want Noelle.

By the time the doorbell chimed, she’d freshly showered, applied her makeup, and dried and brushed her hair to silky perfection, yet beneath her satin Chinese robe, she was naked, ready for him to dress her up. The butterflies had flown from her stomach up into her throat, choking her. Dax was mind-altering in his usual black tux and crisp white shirt. Except the night she’d kissed him on his doorstep, she’d never seen him wear anything else. And when he’d crawled into his bed with her? She’d missed her one and only opportunity to view his fully naked magnificence. Oh wait, she’d have another chance tonight. When he took off his clothes to fuck another woman. Bam. Direct hit.

“Hi.” Her voice squeaked, hitting an out-of-tune high note. She needed to get her jealousy under control.

“Hi, yourself.” His gaze caressed her from head to toe and everything in between, setting her body on a low light. His voice dipped to a husky note. “You look beautiful.”

She wanted to take his words for the compliment they were, but it seemed 242

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there was a “but” in there somewhere. “Thank you.”

She hated how polite they sounded, like strangers, as if he’d never been buried deep in her mouth or her pussy. “Is that for me?”

He’d wrapped the box under his arm in red paper. Or someone had. “I want you to wear this tonight.”

“What is it?”

He pulled back when she reached for it. “First things first, you get to try it on when we’ve gotten you all ready.”

“I’m ready. Shower. Makeup. Hair.” She fanned the shiny tresses over her shoulder. Didn’t she look perfect? Dammit, she needed to stop with the selfdoubt.

“Let me in and I’ll show all the ways we need to get you ready.”

She’d kept him waiting on the landing without even realizing it. “How are we going to get me ready?” she asked, seduction seeping into her tone. She wanted to ignore the silly, maudlin thoughts and play the game. She’d told Isabel she needed excitement, not melodrama.

He stepped over the threshold. “Nice place.”

“It’s small, but it’s all mine.” A one-bedroom, it had the original pink and gray tile in the kitchen and bathroom, hardwood floors, big bay windows in both dining and living room, an ornate fireplace, and her own tiny one-car garage she used for storage.

“It looks like you.”

She tipped her head in question.

“The blue suede lounging chair.”

It wasn’t actually suede, which would have been a nightmare to clean. But she loved that chair, like the old-fashioned loungers an elegant lady of the manor would drape herself over. “I like to snuggle up with a good book in front of the fire.” She preferred a naughty erotic romance over watching TV. “So are you going to dress me?” She pointed at the package.

“I’m going to prepare you. Take me to your bathroom.”

This was interesting. She felt her spirits lift as she led the way down the short hall.

“Wow,” he said, “that’s amazing.” The tub was a huge porcelain in which she could fully stretch out her legs. Pink and gray tiles marched up the wall. Her cushy towels matched, and a full-length cheval mirror stood in the corner. 243

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Dax was still staring at the tub. “You could fit two in that thing.”

“Yes. I probably could. But I never have.” Damn, she didn’t mean to offer that.

She didn’t bring clients home. He was the first to even ask. She hadn’t thought a thing of it. It was just . . . natural. He laid the box on the countertop, then pointed to the tub’s rim. “Sit.”

She perched demurely on the edge.

“Open your robe.”

Ooh. This was really interesting. She untied the sash and parted the lapels all the way down, letting the satin fall away from her thighs. She got a delicious little catch in her breath as his eyes glided over every inch of her skin.

“Lean back, brace yourself on one hand, and put your other foot along the edge.”

It was as if he were choreographing a musical or posing her for a photograph.

“Touch yourself and tell me if you’re wet.” The tenor of his voice mesmerized her. She didn’t have to touch to know she was wet. But she did, slicking her fingers through her folds. “Very wet,” she whispered.

“Good.” He reached to the inner pocket of his jacket, then stopped, looking at her. “Close your eyes.”

From behind her lids, the sounds he made were exquisite torture. Something chinked on the sink, and he ran the water long enough to turn it hot. The pipes were old, it took a minute, and she could feel each second ticking away in her chest.

The snap and pop of hands being soaped up filled the room, the delicate scent of her lavender bar tingling her nose. He was close enough to exude an enticing male musk, the air currents shifting around him, touching her. He covered her mound, caressed her curls, soaped them. Good God, he was washing her. A finger slipped along her pussy, and she hissed between her teeth.

“Don’t open your eyes,” he warned, then shifted away for a moment, returning the next. “Spread your legs wider.” He helped her with a hand on her thigh.

“What are you doing?”

A razor rasped over her delicate skin. Her eyes shot open, and she stared at 244

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his darker hand against her pussy. He shaved carefully along one fold. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

She held her breath. Her body wanted to shudder. The cool glide of the razor, the warm touch of his hand, the sudden wash of air along her denuded flesh. She trimmed, but never shaved completely.

“Wider,” he urged.

She leaned back on the tub, opened her legs fully, exposed herself. He bent to his task, shaving, reaching to the sink to dip the razor in hot water, then back. No man had ever ministered to her this way, the erotic tilt of his head bent between her thighs, the cool razor leaving delicious prickles in its wake. Her body heated on the inside, melted for him, slicked deep in her channel. Her hips moved with the rhythm of his shaving, and she barely kept a moan in check. Then he pressed a warmed washcloth to her folds. And speared her with his gaze.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked low, tantalized.

“Because I’ve never seen or felt a woman’s bare pussy. And I wanted it tonight.”

Then, like a magician revealing magic, he whisked the cloth away. “Now you’re all pretty and pink.”

She was bare, smooth. Her clit, a burgeoning nub, peeked out. Moisture glistened.

“Touch yourself,” he murmured, taking one hand and guiding her there.

“Christ, that’s a beautiful pussy.”

She laughed, but choked it off. His hand, her hand, her pink flesh, the feel of all that smooth skin. She traced the folds. “It’s so soft.” Reverence dripped from her voice. He’d made her so gorgeous down there and accomplished it with such heart-wrenching tenderness. Just like the first night in his bed. Her eyes ached with unshed tears.

He followed her movements, touching where she touched. It was better than having two men. She tingled, then shivered.

“He’s going to lick this.” His lips at her ear, Dax seduced her. “He’s going to fuck this sweet, smooth, bare, kissable pussy.” He skated over her clit, and she jerked. “I’m going to watch him bury his cock in all that beautiful pink flesh.”

Her lips parted, her skin flushed.

He forced her finger down on her clit, rubbed with her. She shuddered. 245