Page 14 of Resist

“Excuse me?” She stutters the question.

“Vee was right. You’ll do fine. Ryker Lockhart.” I extend my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She stares at my hand and then with a slight lift to her chin gives me the same languorous appraisal I gave her before meeting my eyes. “Saxony . . . and I guess you’ll have to do too.”

I chuckle. I do love my women feisty. Vee definitely nailed that aspect.

“Good to know you approve,” I murmur and wonder what in hell I’ve gotten myself into with that blatant defiance warring in her aqua-colored eyes. “Shall we get a drink?”

Her eyes flit around the space. She’s either nervous or making sure she doesn’t know anyone else here.

Gentlemanly protocol says if you see your escort out with another man, you don’t approach them. So that means she’s afraid of seeing someone who knows her outside the business.

Interesting. She frequents these places often, then.

“Saxony?” I ask.

“Huh?” She gives a little shake of her head and then a quick smile that clears the caution from her eyes. “Yes. Of course.”

When I place my hand on the small of her back to guide her through the lobby, she startles ever so slightly at the touch, and a part of me wonders if I’m being played.

I used Wicked Ways so I wouldn’t have to teach someone the ropes of how this all works. If Saxony is in fact a newbie, that negates the point, and I was way overcharged. I could snap my fingers and have a date, but I’d have to worry all night whether the right words were going to come out of her mouth in front of clients or whether she’s going to have proper manners.

That among a long fucking list of other things I’d rather not think about.

But she flinched.

And now my mind is stuck on that.

I shove the thoughts away as we walk across the lobby toward the bar. A few men are less than subtle when they look at her, and I give them a tight smile to let them know that yes, she is in fact with me.

The question is . . . what am I planning on doing with her?

We find a seat at a table in the back, and once we have our drinks in hand, I lean back and study her again, her own gaze waiting for mine when it looks up to her eyes.

“What is it you do for a living, Mr. Lockhart?” she asks, when I know she’s read my profile already and is just doing this to let me pound my chest and throw my testosterone around.

I’m not a man who has to boast to feel good about myself.

“It’s Ryker,” I murmur as I lean forward and place my hand on her knee. Skin and silk and a perfume that’s subtle but sexy. “And we both know what I do, but thanks for asking.”

“Let me guess—you’re not one for small talk.” She takes a sip of her wine and meets my eyes above the rim.

“Depends on what the topic is.”

Her eyes question me, but her lips don’t utter the one she wants to know the most: Why did I hire an escort?

“What is your meeting about?”

“It’s been canceled,” I say, her eyes flashing up to meet mine at the unexpected change of plans.

“Then shall we head upstairs?” She starts to stand, and my hand reaches out to stop her.

“What’s the rush? It’s not like we don’t have all night.”

CHAPTER SIX

Vaughn