Hard Work Page 2

  She took a sip and let the alcohol hover over her tongue before swallowing, and as she did so, she let her gaze wander around the bar for the first time since entering. It was shockingly abandoned for a Friday night, which only meant she was far enough from the Strip to have found a neighborhood bar the tourists had yet to overrun. Florescent lights at least a decade out of date and advertising various beers peppered the wall, but the booths were crack free and the dark wood tabletops gleamed.

  Her gaze landed on one patron seated beneath the neon Bud Light sign. She swallowed the whisky in a gulp that nearly stole her breath.

  Lord have mercy.

  Victoria quickly checked to see if the other people in the bar were aware of the flawless specimen of manhood in their midst. No one was paying him any attention. Aghast, she looked at him again.

  He was Michelangelo’s goddamned David. His head was tipped back as he watched the TV above the bar, and his wavy brown hair cascaded past his shirt collar. His elegant Roman nose led her gaze down to a chiseled jaw and a neck she could happily nibble, which disappeared into the open collar of his shirt and branched out to broad shoulders a girl could really hang on to in the event of a rough ride.

  Her pulse raced, and she ducked her gaze, hiding behind another sip of her whisky as she drank him in.

  While she’d fought so hard not to think about it when on the phone with Cassidy, her body suddenly and vehemently reminded her that it’d been exactly three and a half years since she’d had a man between her thighs. And, her body helpfully suggested, here was a prime candidate to fill that missing spot in her life.

  Her cheeks heated, and she snapped her gaze away. She squirmed in her seat as the spot between her legs began insistently beating along with her pulse.

  Damn. This was the worst it’d been since Jeremy’s death. Usually, she could distract herself with work or—yes, Cassidy—something battery operated, but she hadn’t ached this bad for sex since she could remember.

  She found her gaze sliding back over to the dream man, and this time she didn’t fight it, certain she’d discover he hadn’t really been that good-looking anyway and this would be over just like that.

  Gah! He was even more handsome than she had initially given him credit for. He shoved some fingers through his hair, and his hands caught her attention. They were perfect. Just like the rest of him. So big, with gorgeous, blunt fingers. She’d always been a sucker for hands.

  She took a nervous sip of her whisky, and her gaze fell to his drink. She relaxed a bit. Finally, something unattractive about him. Whatever he was drinking, it was blue. Smurf blue. It even had an umbrella in it.

  Which is why she had no idea what she was doing as she raised her hand to get the bartender’s attention. He walked over, flicking a glance at her still-full drink. Victoria nodded toward Dream Man. “Another round of whatever he’s drinking. On me.”

  The bartender grinned. “Hmm, we are celebrating, aren’t we?”

  She barely resisted the urge to scowl at him. Luckily, she was so confused by what she’d just done, the bartender was gone before she could give in to the impulse.

  What did I just do?

  She shouldn’t have done that. What was she thinking? She knew how anything like this went. How it eventually ended.

  Jeremy.

  No! She shoved the thought aside. This man, whoever he was, was not Jeremy. And a drink was not a relationship. As the asshole bartender mixed up another blue drink, Victoria began to calm down. Maybe this was exactly what she needed. She was right: a drink wasn’t a relationship. Most people had sex without a relationship, too.

  Maybe I could have a one-night stand. She’d never had one before, and, if she had to guess, she wasn’t a one-night stand type of girl. But anything was better than celibacy, right?

  She swallowed hard as she watched the bartender carry the drink to Dream Man. She winced when she saw his current drink was all the way full. She couldn’t even flirt right. The bartender sat the new drink down in front of him and then nodded her direction.

  Victoria straightened in her seat and tried to take a nonchalant sip of her whisky, but she damn near choked as Dream Man’s full attention landed on her.

  The man was even more incredibly gorgeous from the front than the side. Where did his handsomeness end? Surely there was a finite limit to such things.

  Dream Man’s eyes—she could see now they were a vivid blue—met hers, but his gaze didn’t stay locked with hers for long. It fell to her lips, and he began to grin wickedly as he then looked at her neck. And breasts.

  Victoria’s breathing grew shallow. Oh, God. She felt as though he were touching her. Those big hands cupping the breasts he stared at as he brought the blue travesty of a cocktail to his lips and took a long draw on the straw.

  She pressed her knees together and set her drink down with a clink. Dream Man abandoned his own full cocktail, picked up the one she’d ordered for him, and pushed to his feet.

  So tall. Even seated across the bar, Victoria had to tip her head back to take in his full height. And damn if those broad shoulders didn’t taper down to the sweetest narrow hips.

  He started walking her way, and the angels began singing as his thighs moved beneath the fabric of his pants.

  He was walking her way.

  She’d done it. She’d flirted, and it’d worked. What in God’s name was she going to do now? She took a gulp of her whisky, her gaze never leaving his while she fisted her other hand in her lap to control the tremble in her fingers.

  He stopped right beside her. She stared up at him, her lips still around the rim of her glass. She blinked.

  Had she thought his eyes merely blue? There was an appalling lack of descriptors in the English language for the shade of his deep, icy gaze that somehow warmed her from her pebbled nipples to the tips of her curled toes.

  “Hello.”

  She lowered the glass but had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Hello.”

  His lips curled, and her gaze followed the small tip at their corners like her ovaries depended on it. “Thanks for the drink.”

  “Yep.” Oh, God. Yep?

  His smile widened, showcasing a dimple in his left cheek. “May I join you?”

  She nodded toward the vacant stool next to her, unable to manage even the inane, one-syllable responses she’d spewed thus far as she caught scent of his cologne. Delicious. Dark and spicy, just like the whisky she’d held in her mouth moments before. He’d taste much better; she knew it.

  She was suddenly desperate to not fuck this—whatever this was—up. “I’m Victoria.”

  He sat down on the stool but kept his body facing hers, putting them in such close proximity that their knees brushed. Heat licked her body, and she swayed his direction.

  His gaze moved over her body again before pausing on her lips and then meeting hers. “A pleasure, Victoria,” he said in a deep voice that, given the right circumstances, could send her straight into orgasm.

  Oh, fuck. One thing was for certain. She was going to do wicked, wicked things to this man tonight.

  Chapter Three

  So much for taking the rest of the night off. But if he had to go on the job again . . .

  This Victoria was a stunning woman, with her blond hair up in a prim and proper bun that couldn’t detract from the sensuality of her porcelain skin and those enormous brown eyes. Doe eyes a more romantic man might call them.

  Which was why Kip shied away from that description as soon as it popped into his head.

  Victoria was also jumpy as hell. As he intentionally pressed his knee into the soft muscle of her inner thigh, her drink jostled in her hand, nearly splashing them both.

  That’s when he noticed she was drinking whisky. He raised a brow as he scooted her cocktail napkin closer to her hand so she could set her drink down.

  He didn’t subscribe to the belief that one’s drink choice was a reflection of the person—his own affinity for Blue Hawaiians was proof enough
of a cocktail’s inability to diagnose personality—but straight whisky . . .

  Damn if he wasn’t already impressed.

  When she kept her fingertips near her drink, Kip set his own down and placed his hand a mere breath away from hers, the possibility of touch at any moment a latent promise.

  And she definitely noticed. Her pulse was a rapid flutter beneath her jaw and, at its current speed, would feel like butterfly wings against his lips.

  He noticed how her pupils expanded when she gazed up at him over the rim of her glass. And the way she couldn’t keep her eyes off his body. And the way she consistently shifted in her seat as though she were swollen and achy between her legs.

  She wanted him.

  She could have him, of course. Anyone could for the right price.

  “So, Victoria.” He grinned at her and focused on her lips, a move that made her straighten in her seat. “What brings you to The Bar—business or pleasure?”

  She blinked several times, and just as Kip was planning to repeat himself, she said, “For me, business is pleasure.” She seemed to immediately regret the statement, as she blushed the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen. His gaze traveled down her neck and then to her chest as he watched that blush disappear beneath the vee of her shirt. How far down did it go?

  Despite the fact that he had thoroughly worn himself out a couple of hours ago with his last client, his dick twitched. “Hmm.” He nudged his fingers forward until the tip of his middle finger brushed the tip of hers. “Business is pleasure for me as well.”

  That blush deepened, but then she surprised him when her eyes narrowed and she tipped her head back and laughed. Not a delicate, tinkling laugh like some women; oh, no, not for Victoria. Her laugh was deep and husky—as potent as her drink.

  He drew his brows together. This was . . . not the usual reaction he got when he seduced a woman.

  “You’ve got to be doing that on purpose,” she said when she looked at him again.

  Kip tilted his head. “Doing what?”

  She gestured to all of him with a flit of her fingers. “This.”

  The fact that he had been doing everything he’d done from the moment he left his seat until now on purpose did not keep him from feeling offended. And not a little embarrassed—something he never felt around women. “I’m always purposeful around a beautiful woman.”

  He could tell she was still amused, but she sobered and looked at the bar, rolling her shoulders.

  Because he’d trained himself to pick up on a woman’s every mood, he recognized that she was uncomfortable being complimented, which probably meant that it had been a good long while since someone had told this woman she was beautiful. And she was more than beautiful. Stunning. Unique. No, he definitely didn’t believe in “types,” but she seemed to check every single one of his boxes. Something panged behind his sternum, and he reached for his drink, disconcerted.

  As he took a sip, Victoria said, “Well, you don’t have to be quite so purposeful around me.” Her gaze skittered away from his, and she drew an invisible circle on the bar. “I find I like authenticity best.”

  Noted. Astonishingly, he wanted her to like him, which was a new situation for him, and one he didn’t find particularly comfortable—not to mention, it wasn’t necessary for his line of work. Maybe it was because she’d called him on his act. Maybe it was her delicate blend of vulnerability mixed with hints of a woman who would chew you up and spit you out if you crossed her.

  Whatever it was, if he was going to get her as a client, he was going to have to be present and try. No autopilot for Victoria who liked authenticity—God help him. And yet, he had to fight his knee-jerk response to say something smarmy, like You’ll find me authentic. He swallowed. “All right.”

  “So”—she licked her lips, and those gorgeous eyes met his—“What kind of business do you do that’s so pleasurable?”

  Kip pressed his lips together. Authenticity, in this case, was going to get him nowhere. Time to employ a trick he’d learned worked on every woman in existence: turn the topic back to her. And a little touch never hurt either. He pressed his knee into her inner thigh again, and, like magic, her legs parted a bit, nearly distracting him. “What’s your pleasurable business?”

  She tilted her head, and her gaze grew increasingly piercing until Kip had to squelch the urge to shift in his seat. Her delicate throat worked beneath a swallow. “On second thought, there’s probably no need to get personal.”

  Kip blinked twice in rapid succession. What? His brain worked overtime. She wanted authentic but impersonal. How in the world was he supposed to do that?

  What a challenge!

  He nearly groaned. He shouldn’t like this. He shouldn’t like this at all. In fact, he should thank her for the drink, get up, and go home. Right now. He should do that right—

  Her fingers brushed against his, jerking him from his thoughts.

  She straightened. “Do you want to get out of here?”

  Kip inhaled quickly through his nose. “Get out of here?” he repeated, as though he’d forgotten the meaning behind those words.

  “Get a hotel room. For the night.”

  Her fingers were hot against his, but they trembled a bit, and that’s when he knew he hadn’t misheard or misinterpreted her.

  Holy hell. Whatever he’d done had worked. An unaccustomed tightness that felt like excitement filled his gut. Victoria, who had been nervous seconds ago and who was now propositioning him, was full of surprises. He couldn’t wait to see what more he’d unearth with her beneath him. Would she be a vixen? Passionate? Or one of those tender lovers—the ones that made him nervous? Only one way to find out. He shifted his fingers slightly until they were intertwined with hers. Best to just get this part out of the way, and yet, he found himself hesitating. The word sure was perched on his lips, though he hadn’t slept with any woman without being paid for it in four years.

  That simple sure terrified him. He leaned forward, and, with his lips only a few inches from hers, said, “My rate for a night is a thousand dollars.” He stroked the inside of her wrist with his thumb. “But I’d be happy to give you an hour for much less than my usual rate.”

  You’d what? He gritted his teeth. What the hell had he just said?

  Victoria sucked in a breath.

  Say yes. Please, fuck, let her say yes.

  • • •

  My rate . . .

  Those words echoed on repeat in Victoria’s head as she stared into this stranger’s unimaginably beautiful eyes. With each repetition, they grew louder until they were a roar.

  Victoria, you’ve fucked up this time.

  The truth became undeniable. She’d propositioned a prostitute.

  Of course, she’d propositioned a prostitute.

  She snatched her hand away from his, and he let her go without the slightest resistance. Irrational disappointment crashed down around her.

  She lurched to her feet. Not-So-Dream Man’s gaze as he looked up at her burned her anew. She snatched her laptop bag and jerked it onto her shoulder. She’d finally decided to take the plunge and ask for a night of sex, and this happened. “I don’t have to pay for it.” Oh, God, do I have to pay for it? Was she that hopeless?

  He sighed, and the sound contained something that made her pause instead of storm out right away like she’d been planning. “You certainly don’t,” he said. His gaze roamed her body again, and his eyes flashed. He rubbed his pointer finger across his bottom lip. “You certainly don’t.”

  And despite knowing now that his words weren’t genuine, her body surged with heat once more. Why would he be regretful . . . other than possibly losing his going rate for an entire night?

  A grand. Naturally, he would be regretful over losing that amount. His regret was no more trustworthy than his compliment.

  She groaned and clenched her fingers in the strap of her bag. What a nightmare. She’d really liked this guy, even when he’d been trying too hard. And that body�
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  Well. When your body was your office, you had to keep it up, didn’t you? She tossed some bills on the bar.

  “Victoria—”

  She couldn’t even meet his eyes. Her cheeks flushed, and her body was already lamenting the fact that she was going to go without sex. Again. And tonight, no vibrator would help matters.

  “Victoria,” he said again.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, pinched the bridge of her nose, and then forced herself to look at him.

  His hand was extended toward her, and in his palm sat her phone.

  Her phone! She snatched it and saw the blinking light that meant she had a new e-mail. She hadn’t thought it possible, but this was strong enough to distract her from her current humiliation.

  Can’t-Believe-She-Thought-He-Was-Dream Man was saying something, but Victoria didn’t expend any energy trying to translate it through the dull roar in her head. She waved a hand at him—more a not now than a see you later—and left The Bar without another word.

  She was breathing quickly as she walked toward her car, and when she closed herself inside, her heartbeat accelerated to the point she was lightheaded. This could be it: the moment her life changed.

  She unlocked her phone, and a noise slipped past her lips when she saw the e-mail was, in fact, from The Ricchezza domain.

  Dear Ms. Hastings,

  We thank you for your excellent proposal . . .

  She was unable to keep herself from skimming down to the bottom of the e-mail where she saw not the name of Mr. Davis after Sincerely, but the name of his assistant.

  She frowned. With her throat suddenly dry, she scrolled back up to where she’d left off and read the e-mail thoroughly.