Hard Work Page 4

  She opened the door, and her lips parted. “You!”

  Maybe-Dream Man stood outside the open door, his hand still raised for a knock, and those gorgeous blue eyes of his widened for a moment before he grinned lopsidedly and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Hello, Victoria.”

  He remembered my name.

  Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but nothing came out. Her mind, however, worked at a million words a minute. Her body, already primed, surged white hot, and she had to fist her hands at her side to keep from reaching for him and hauling him into the room.

  He laughed softly. “Are you going to invite me inside?

  Automatically, she moved aside and gestured for him to enter before she could think twice about the action. She inwardly cursed as he walked by her. What happened to calling everything off?

  But then she caught sight of his broad shoulders from the back, and her gaze traveled downward across that broad expanse until it narrowed to the tightest ass she’d ever seen or imagined.

  She closed the door.

  At the quiet snick, Definitely-Dream Man turned. His hot gaze gobbled her up, and in response, her nipples tightened. “I confess,” he said in a low rumble, “I was more than glad to see you on the other side of that door.”

  Victoria narrowed her eyes. The truth or an act? This man’s profession was making women believe what they wanted to believe. In fact, he probably remembered her name because he’d trained himself to always remember a woman’s name.

  As though he’d heard her thoughts, he said, “I’m being honest with you. I promise.”

  She straightened her shoulders, lest she appear vulnerable. She’d have to do better guarding her thoughts. This wasn’t a relationship. Would never be one. Emotion had no place here.

  He stepped toward her and didn’t stop coming until they were so close she could see the fine shadow of a beard on his clean-shaven jaw.

  He must have to shave constantly. He’d probably shaved right before he came to the hotel, but his jaw would still leave a burn all over her.

  “I’m Kip, by the way.”

  She jolted. He hadn’t told her his name that night at The Bar. Was his name something he only gave away to paying customers?

  Stop it. Stop thinking that way right now!

  “Kip,” she mumbled. She frowned. “Is that short for something?”

  He shrugged. “Just Kip.”

  My ass. But his hedging answer reassured her more than anything else could have. They were both on the same page. No strings. No emotions.

  Just pleasure.

  She hoped.

  She nibbled her bottom lip again, and his gaze narrowed. “Nervous?” he asked.

  “You have no idea.” Her words were quiet in the room, but she felt so much better once she’d said them.

  “Don’t be.” He raised a hand, but paused with it several inches away from her cheek. He raised a brow in obvious question, and she found herself nodding. His brow relaxed, and he brushed the tips of his fingers across her cheek until he cradled it in his palm. “I will take very good care of you, Victoria.”

  Oh, God.

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until Kip smiled. He lowered his head, and just as she thought he was going to kiss her—panicking that he was moving so quickly—instead, he asked, “What made you change your mind?”

  Her befuddled mind scrambled to keep up. “Change my mind?”

  “About paying for it.”

  She couldn’t prevent a wince.

  “Victoria, there’s nothing wrong with this.”

  “I know that.”

  He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Do you?”

  No. She nodded.

  With his other hand, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pressing his thumb into her pulse point before stroking there in a circle. “Tell me what you want. What you like.”

  She swayed toward him. “Everything.”

  The thumb stroking the inside of her wrist paused. “Everything, huh?”

  His lips were quirked at the corners, and she felt her cheeks flush with heat. She stepped backward before she could stop herself.

  Why did you say that? Shame she hadn’t felt in years flooded her chest. Shame she hated and knew was ill placed, but shame she couldn’t keep at bay nonetheless.

  “Hey, now,” Kip said, placing a hand on the curve of her waist. “Victoria—” He tightened his fingers in her soft side and pulled her back to him. “Honey, you’re thinking too hard.”

  The endearment shocked her, but, even more shocking, after he uttered it, she immediately calmed. Damned if she knew why.

  “That’s better,” he murmured. “So—” He moved his hand to the small of her back and now his arm was around her. She could feel the heat of his broad chest hovering a breath away from her breasts, and her nipples strained toward that warmth with all their might. “Victoria likes everything. What a pleasant surprise.”

  Her breathing quickened.

  “Before we get to everything,” he said, wrapping his other arm around her back. “How about we start with a kiss?”

  A kiss. While moments ago, she’d been panicking at the thought of one, now, with his arms around her, she was trembling for his lips against hers.

  She’d gone without a kiss even longer than the years she’d gone without sex.

  The sudden thought clogged in Victoria’s throat, and unwelcome memories forced their way through the haze of her lust.

  No. Anything but that.

  She reached up with the hands that had still been at her side and grabbed hold of Kip’s shirt right over the shockingly firm planes of his chest. She didn’t allow the feel of his body to shock her for long though—couldn’t afford to—and she jerked him toward her, stood on her tiptoes, and crushed her mouth to his.

  Her eyes were still open, so she was able to see how his widened, his eyebrows shooting toward his hairline.

  But he didn’t release her. And after a moment, the muscles that had stiffened against her fists relaxed, and he wrapped his arms more securely about her.

  Yes. This is what she’d set out to do. And she’d been successful.

  She was already breathing hard—much harder than the mere two seconds of kissing merited—and she waited for the pressure of Kip’s lips against hers to drive away the onslaught of the unforgiving past.

  His eyes closed; his brow relaxed. One of his hands smoothed up between her shoulder blades until his fingers wound into her hair. He skated the tip of his tongue along the seam of her lips.

  He was doing everything right, and she could recognize that he was good at it.

  It’s not working!

  She moaned, a sound he echoed, but she was already pushing her fists against his chest, barely keeping herself from beating against it as she wished to beat against the tide of the memories.

  As soon as he felt the pressure of her hands, he stopped, an immediate halt to all activity as he lowered his arms and stepped back. As her chest billowed, she noticed his cheeks had a slight red tinge to them, and his lips were shiny from her mouth.

  “Victoria?”

  Victoria, I’m so sorry. Victoria, please stop. Victoria, I just . . . can’t.

  The distance that cropped up in their marriage, no matter how hard she’d tried to keep it at bay. The resentment that, as his caretaker, she’d felt toward his illness, and even him when, instead of getting better, things just got worse and worse. And then, the immediate guilt that would overrun her, because no matter how hard things got for her, they were infinitely harder for Jeremy. And she should know that! Should shove everything she was feeling aside before it made him do something stupid, like . . .

  She shoved her hand over her lips, spun, and sprinted to the bathroom.

  • • •

  Okay.

  Kip blinked at the closed bathroom door several times, hoping either the view would change or he would reach some level of clarity as to why his arms were sudd
enly and achingly empty of woman.

  Of Victoria, whose body had felt unexpectedly good against his. Whose kiss had tasted of the orange juice he’d spied on the table when he’d come in. Whose fists in his shirt had driven him slightly wild, as though he’d never had a woman fist his shirt before instead of it being a regular occurrence.

  The erection that had sprung to existence as soon as he’d placed his hand in the lush curve of her waist several minutes ago jerked within his pants, and he hissed in a breath, taken aback by how much it ached.

  Nothing here made any damn sense!

  He shoved some fingers through his hair as he drew in a deep breath and blew it out harshly.

  He’d never had a woman run away from him before. He wasn’t sure he was a fan.

  With a grimace, he rearranged his cock in his pants so that he could move without pinching the thing to death. Then, he strode across the room and knocked on the closed bathroom door.

  “Victoria?”

  Silence.

  “Are you—are you sick?” She’d had her hand over her mouth as she ran. He eyed the orange juice again, looking for any sign of a mini liquor bottle nearby. Nothing.

  There was still no response from the other side of the door, and he felt a flare of uncharacteristic impatience. Then he jolted. Was he truly impatient to get back to the kissing—a part of his job he did solely to arouse his clients and not for any sort of self-gratification?

  “The hell’s wrong with me?” he muttered. He rapped the door with his knuckles once more. “Victoria!” he said more sharply than he’d intended.

  There was finally a noise from the other side, but it was so faint that he barely heard it except for making out the wounded quality of it.

  A chill slid up his neck. “Honey?” He reached down and wrapped his fingers around the doorknob, giving it a twist.

  Locked.

  “Victoria, open the door, please.”

  Another one of those noises dripping with hurt filtered through the door.

  Fuck this.

  He rammed his shoulder into the door, and it gave way with a surprising lack of resistance. Kip stumbled into the dark interior of the bathroom, and his eyes scanned frantically as he groped for the light switch.

  The light was shards in his eyes, and he held a hand up against the glare, squinting into the sudden glut of illumination.

  He caught sight of her immediately, and his hand dropped. She was huddled between the toilet and the tub, her knees tucked into her chest and her arms wrapped around her shins.

  She was rocking back and forth, and that same, horrifying sound that had scared him so badly kept traveling his way at regular intervals.

  One thing was very clear: she was hurt.

  “Honey!” He rushed over, sliding on his knees as he hit the tile. He brushed a hand over the back of her head. “Look at me.”

  His heart seemed to be trying to climb up his throat.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  The words were garbled, but he heard them nonetheless. His hand stilled on her hair. “Sorry?”

  “I just wanted a kiss. I’m sorry.”

  Kip attempted to swallow past the throbbing that seemed lodged at the base of his throat, but it didn’t quite work. “I’m going to lift you. Okay?”

  She didn’t respond in any way other than a string of unintelligible words and more rocking.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “Shit.”

  Something was very wrong with her. He slid one arm beneath her bent knees and pulled her far enough from between the toilet and tub by sliding her on her bottom to be able to wrap his other arm around her shoulders and stagger to his feet with her cradled against his chest.

  She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, and her frantic breaths raised gooseflesh along his chest. “I’m so sorry, Jeremy.” She hiccupped.

  The muscles along Kip’s shoulders stiffened. He squeezed her close. “Shh, honey.” He carried her through the doorway, turning sideways to keep from bashing her into the doorframe, and walked to the bed.

  He kneeled on the mattress and crawled to the center on his knees before settling against the headboard and arranging her in his lap. She curled into him, wrapping an arm around his neck, and when she pressed her face against his throat, he could feel wetness.

  Tears.

  He tightened his arms and started rocking her back and forth.

  Why are you doing this? Even as he snuggled her hair with his cheek, he recognized that this was crazy. He should have called hotel management when he couldn’t open the door. Hell, at the very least, he should have called the odd woman who’d hired him and told her to come get Victoria.

  He absolutely should not be here in the middle of the bed rocking her and trying to calm her tears. This was not what he did. Was outside of his job description.

  And a mob of shoulds would not be able to pull him away from Victoria at this point.

  Honey, he’d called her at several opportunities. Another oddity. He often used a pet name with his clients, but it was always baby. He never once had called someone honey, because it wasn’t a pet name, it was an endearment and therefore had no place in his vocabulary.

  He tucked her head more securely into the notch between his neck and shoulder. “Why are you sorry, honey?”

  “He died. It’s all my fault he died.”

  Kip frowned, but he didn’t pause as he rocked her and stroked her hair. He had incredible people instincts. Whereas a confession like this would have sent him running with any other client, it seemed unlikely Victoria would try to choke him to death or, one of his least favorite client memories, whip out a pointy nail file and jab it his direction. “Why do you think that?”

  “I . . . needed sex.” She sobbed. “His medication . . . he didn’t want me anymore, no matter what I did.”

  His heart grew sick. He pressed a kiss into her hair.

  “He loved me so much,” she murmured. “He took himself off it, and—”

  Oh, shit.

  “It was our anniversary. I f-found him. His gun in his hand.” She sobbed again. “There was so much blood. Why couldn’t I just control myself? The meds were finally working. If he hadn’t felt pressure from me, he would have been fine!”

  A sudden rush of tears slid down his neck, pooling in the dip of his collarbone. “Oh, honey.”

  What a thing for someone to have to live with. What a thing for a woman to have to live with when women’s sexuality carried such a stigma as it was.

  To feel as though your need for sex killed the man you loved . . .

  “Was Jeremy your husband?”

  At the word husband, she stiffened. “Yes—” She straightened in his arms and blinked up at his face, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes widened. “Kip?”

  He felt his eyebrows rise. She’d obviously forgotten where she was and whom she was with. That was some serious trauma. He cautiously raised his hand and brushed his fingertips across her cheek. “Yes.”

  Her cheeks paled. “Oh, God. What did I say?”

  Probably your deepest secret and fear. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  She gasped and pushed at him a bit, but, unlike what he would do in a similar situation with someone else, Kip didn’t release her. “Hey, now,” he said.

  “I told you about Jeremy!” She struggled against him.

  He attempted to exude extreme calm—hopefully, some of it would be catching. “You did.”

  Her expression grew stricken, as though her every nightmare had been realized. “Oh, God.”

  Her tone was far different from the one he was used to hearing those words spoken in.

  “Let’s just take a breath, hmm?” He stroked her hair again. “You’ve told people before. It’s no big deal. Just pretend I’m one of them.”

  “I’ve told nobody before!”

  He drew his head back. “Seriously?”

  “Yes!” She pulled her knees up again and buried her face in her hands. “Not any of m
y friends. Not my sister-in-law. Nobody! All they know is that Jeremy killed himself.” She shook her head. “Ugh, I just wanted to fuck! And now the one guy who will fuck me is looking at me like that.” She waved a hand his general direction, keeping her forehead pressed to her knees.

  Properly chastened, Kip cleared his expression, but his mind was rioting. “The one guy.” He laughed without humor. “Victoria, be realistic.”

  Men were lined up for this woman. He knew it.

  She raised her head, and her eyes were sharp. “Yeah, that’s why I’m paying for it. I have so many people wanting to screw me.”

  He frowned. She wasn’t serious. Was she? This woman was a catch with a capital C. He fucked for a living, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since running into her at The Bar. “Is everyone in this world idiots?”

  She looked down at her knees and wiped the tears from her left cheek, which was now stained with one of her blushes.

  “Victoria, I’m confident that if you really looked around you at the men who are drooling all over themselves, you’d find that isn’t true.”

  She laughed humorlessly and still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “My own husband wouldn’t sleep with me.”

  He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You know that’s a different situation. I know that’s a different situation, and I don’t even have particulars. He—”

  She waved a hand at him and squeezed her eyes shut. “We are not talking about this. I don’t even want to remember that I told you.”

  Kip shut his mouth. “Okay.”

  She flopped back on the bed and threw her forearm over her eyes. “I can’t believe I managed to screw up a screw with a hooker.”

  His lips twitched. “Technically, we prefer the term—”

  “Gigolo. I know.” She sighed. “I’ll pay you for your time.”

  “Victoria”—he shifted so he faced her fully—“if you’re under the impression I’m not going to fuck your brains out still, you’re gravely mistaken.”

  He saw the rapid rise and fall of her ribcage halt abruptly. She slowly removed her arm from her eyes, and her gaze connected with his. “Fuck my brains out?”

  He winced. Really? “Okay, I recognize in hindsight that wasn’t romantic.” What was it about this woman that made him completely inept? “I’ll make lo—”