Because of her situation, two years ago, I’d helped Petra out when she was sick so she wouldn’t lose the extra income. I’d gone in her place as an escort. Thankfully, Petra didn’t do thefull-package deals, so being a companion worked for me. But three dates later, I realized that I couldn’t do it any longer. Ifmyfamily ever found out, it would destroy them.
No matter how innocent it had been, the stigma attached to that type of work instantly brought about the dishonor tag. My parents werereeeeallyold-school.
I couldn’t hurt them after everything they’d been through, especially with Mom’s health on the line. Just as well that was over and done with, water under the bridge.
* * *
An hour later, I finished my shift and headed out of the bar into the noisy night. I shouldered my backpack, searching for a cab when a titanium-gray Porsche Spyder slid to a halt in front of me and double-parked.
Damn. I had been hoping to be gone before Jack returned. Now, I wished I’d told Ila I was working late and couldn’t make it for this wedding planning dinner.
The passenger door of the speed-monster flung open, and Jack angled his head and glanced at me from the low-slung car. “Get in.”
“No tail tonight?” I taunted.
“Ray, don’t make me get out and put you inside.”
I rolled my eyes. And because I knew he could, I slid onto the luxurious leather seat. “You’re such a Neanderthal, you know that?”
“Only when it comes to you,” he shot back.
“Jerk.”
He cut me a narrowed-eye look but didn’t retaliate as he eased the Porsche into the heavy traffic and headed toward SoMa. I switched on the radio. Loud. He lowered the volume. I contemplated tormenting him by dialing it up again, then sighed. Pointless. And juvenile.
The short drive felt like hours. At the sight of the loft, I exhaled in relief and jumped out the moment he parked, then hoofed it to my sister’s place. Jack caught up and followed silently at my side to the entrance. He buzzed, spoke into the intercom, and Max let us in. We headed up the stairs to the landing that led to the loft.
I opened the door and we walked into a spacious white-walled, modern-styled loft. Warm wood made up the floor. Gray leather couches and a flat-screen TV in the living room broke up the massive space, separating it from the dining area. “Ila?”
“Be right down,” she yelled from upstairs.
“No rush,” I called out, heading for the open-plan kitchen at the far side. Dark gray cupboards with a black granite countertop ran along the back wall. A center island-slash-breakfast nook cordoned off the area. I got some OJ from the fridge, poured it into a glass, and wandered back to the living area.
Jack lounged on the two-seater couch, flipping through some art magazine. He looked up, and our gazes connected. I turned away, but not before I caught his smirk.
Keeping my expression even, I strolled to the picturesque window and glared outside, not actually seeing anything while I waited for my sister.
“You know it’s polite to offer a guest a drink,” he drawled.
“You’re not mine. You have hands, go help yourself.”
“Yes, I do…” The leather creaked as he shifted in his seat. “And, rest assured, Bug, I plan to, very soon.Help myself,I mean.” The words, laced with sexual intensity, had me desperately wishing I’d shut my mouth.
The heavy silence felt like a swarm of fire ants burrowing beneath my skin. I pivoted and found him staring at me. So, I ran my gaze over him, hoping to unsettle him where he slouched in his seat. He’d gotten rid of his suit coat and tie. Wearing dark gray pants and a white shirt with the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, he looked too damn sexy. And dangerous.
His mouth kicked up at the corners. “I have to say…” He steepled his fingers over his flat abs, his light gray eyes gleaming with amusement. “That I find this sudden sexual need you have for me fascinating…”
My stomach dropped into a whirlpool, my body suddenly too tense. Because all I could think about was his mouth on mine. There wasn’t enough snow in the world to cool my frustratingly fickle libido. Why did I think I could win this?
Before I gave in to temptation and kissed the maddening rat again, I drawled, “Yes, yesssss, I want you, I want you—like a punch to the head.”
His teasing façade vanished. His mouth tightened as if an unpleasant memory had surfaced. “At least, you’re truthful.”
Not wanting to give him another reason to draw me into a useless face-off, I crossed to my backpack lying on the floor near the armchair and dug out the glossy fashion magazine Denise had given me a few days ago. Setting my glass on the low, wooden coffee table, I settled into the leather chair across from my nemesis.
A heading at the bottom of the cover snagged my attention:Ten Things That Turn Men Off.
Or ten ways to get rid ofoneman, I thought in irritation, opening to the page to read this fantabulous string of ideas.
