Date for Hire (Companions for Hire, #0.5) Page 3

  We walk six blocks to the restaurant and only wait a few minutes for our table. We talk about New York as we get our drinks, and we talk about Mike’s PhD program while we wait for our food, and we talk about my family and my growing-up years and my hopes for the future while we eat.

  By now, I’ve relaxed enough to talk naturally. And it gets easier and easier as the meal progresses. Mike answers my questions honestly, and he asks me real questions in return—ones he seems to genuinely want to know answers to, ones that require me to be more open about my real feelings than I almost ever am.

  Proof of this comes with the arrival of our main courses. I stare down at my scrumptious-looking salmon and risotto and murmur, “My ex-husband wouldn’t approve.”

  I don’t talk much about my ex—particularly not with Mike. I have no idea why I say something so useless and revealing. It just slips out.

  Mike’s slightly widened eyes are his only reaction. “Why not?”

  For a moment I fight a sinking feeling—one that warns me about opening up this much—but I don’t like that sinking feeling. I like the genuinely interested look in Mike’s eyes. “He’s a big no-carbs guy. He wouldn’t approve of this risotto.”

  “Surely he didn’t keep you from eating carbs.” Mike’s eyes have narrowed now, and there’s the slightest edge to his voice.

  “No. I mean, not directly. He never told me not to, and if he had I would have eaten them purely in defiance.”

  Mike chuckles softly. “Good.”

  “And it’s totally fine that he wanted to be healthy and preferred to avoid carbs. But he always...” I clear my throat. For a moment I see myself from outside my body, saying what I’m saying in this moment. “He always made me feel kind of guilty about it. Always telling me how many calories and carbs everything had. Acting like I was going to get too fat. It was never direct. If it had been direct, it would have almost been easier. But it was always in innuendo and implication. I didn’t even realize it until we’d split up. I suddenly felt... free.” I’ve been staring down at my plate, but I shoot a quick look up at Mike’s face. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “I totally get it. Even little things can add up until it’s like this weight that pushes you under.” He pauses. “You never talk much about your ex.”

  “I know. There’s not much to say about him. I mean, I know I just made him sound terrible, but he wasn’t really. Not completely. He was a decent guy most of the time, and the only thing that really burdened me was his attitude about what I ate.”

  “Usually that kind of thing is a symptom of a deeper attitude.”

  “Yeah. I know. But he wasn’t all bad. I don’t hate him or anything. We still keep in touch some.”

  “So why did you get divorced?”

  “Well, uh, it didn’t happen all at once. We never had a huge blowup. We were really hot for each other at first.” I flush slightly, although it shouldn’t have been an embarrassing admission. “Really hot. Then that fire started to fade, and we realized there was no real foundation to... to make the relationship last. We bugged each other. We wanted different things. Sometimes it felt like we were strangers. So it was just... over.”

  “I guess it happens a lot that way.”

  “Has it happened to you?” I know Mike isn’t married, but he’s in his thirties. He’s likely to have been in at least one serious relationship.

  “Yeah. I had a girlfriend for five years in my twenties, and it fizzled out in the same way.”

  “Is that the longest relationship you’ve been in?”

  “No. I was in another relationship after that. It lasted for six.”

  “Did that fizzle out too?”

  He shakes his head. “Not really. Not in the same way. I thought it was going fine. Then I found out she was cheating on me.” His voice is even. Uninflected.

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

  He shrugs. “It happens. People are rarely who we think they are. And only occasionally are they better than we believe.”

  “Yeah.”

  We’re silent for a while as we eat. The silence isn’t awkward or oppressive. It’s deep. Meaningful. Like we’ve shared something too intimate to put into words.

  When dessert comes—a piece of chocolate caramel cheesecake that we share since we’re both pretty full from our meals—my head and heart are both buzzing with a kind of excitement I haven’t felt in years.

  Maybe this is real.

  Maybe this isn’t just in my imagination.

  Maybe the warm look in Mike’s eyes is exactly what I’m hoping.

  Or maybe not.

  I don’t want to get ahead of myself and end up crushed when I discover the reality. That he just thinks of me like a friend. Or he feels sorry for me and is giving me one fun night out on the town.

  It’s possible. Maybe even likely. I’ve been invisible to men most of my life, so there’s no reason to assume that the man of my dreams will suddenly be attracted to me. My ex-husband was one of the few who ever really seemed into me for a while. Like I’d told Mike, we were hot for each other for a while, but once the heat faded, so did everything else between us. But Mike feels different. It’s not just heat. It’s like something more—something deeper—is drawing me toward him.

  So maybe...

  All this to explain why my head is spinning from wine and good food and a lot of feelings far more intoxicating than alcohol when we get up to leave.

  I’m not in a fit state to maneuver through the crowded sidewalks or cross traffic-filled streets. I keep as close to Mike as possible, occasionally grabbing for his arm. Eventually he takes my hand so that we don’t get pushed apart.

  I tell myself it’s practical. Nothing but a commonsense strategy to keep us from being separated.

  But he doesn’t let my hand go even when the sidewalk clears a little.

  I like it so much. The feeling of being connected to him. Like he’s claiming me as his by the simple gesture.

  We’re quiet as we enter the hotel and ride up to our floor. He lets go of my hand in the elevator, so we’re not touching as we walk down the hall toward our rooms. When we reach them, we stand silently, staring at each other in front of my door.

  “Well,” I say at last since one of us needs to say something.

  “Well.”

  “Thanks for tonight. You should have let me pay.”

  “I wanted to do it.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” I look down and then up again. His blue eyes are soft and hot both.

  So soft. So hot.

  I can barely breathe.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, low and husky.

  I suck in a breath. Let it out. I see him do the same.

  My hand is shaking as I unlock my door and turn the knob.

  I step in. Look back. Find the courage to begin, “Do you—?”

  “Yes!” He steps into my room and pulls me into his arms.

  Five

  AS SOON AS MIKE’S LIPS touch mine, a fire ignites inside me.

  A fire like I’ve never experienced before.

  I’ve had good sex before. My ex-husband and I were great in the bedroom for a couple of years. I’ve been turned on. I’ve been excited. I’ve felt like I could explode from the intensity of my lust.

  But this is more.

  This is different.

  This fire isn’t simple desire—at least not as I’ve ever felt it before. The heat spirals out from my heart and overwhelms my whole body as Mike’s mouth moves against mine, hard and hungry and urgent.

  He turns me around and steps me against the entryway wall, the door to the room falling shut on its own. I hear the click of the latch—a strangely freeing sound. It means we’re safe in this room. Alone. A locked door standing between the two of us and the rest of the world.

  I have no idea why this is a thought that passes through my mind, but the idea materializes and takes hold as Mike pushes me against the wall with the strength of his kiss.
>
  His lean body is hard and warm against mine. His hands are moving greedily, feeling me all over. As if the deep curves and valleys of my body are his and his alone.

  Desire pulses between my legs, and it’s swallowing up all my normal reserve. I’m rocking shamelessly against him, trying to feel him exactly the way I need him.

  He’s making hungry sounds into the kiss, and they’re the hottest things I’ve ever heard. He’s turned off all his inhibitions, and it makes me want to do the same. I claw at his back through the wrinkled fabric of his shirt. I need to get it off. I want to feel his bare skin.

  Maybe he reads my mind. He suddenly breaks the kiss and fumbles to unbutton his shirt. I help him—or maybe slow him down in my clumsy eagerness—but we eventually yank off his shirt and then pull off the undershirt he has on beneath it.

  I’m about to grab him again since I can now get my hands on his skin, but he doesn’t give me the chance. He pulls my top off over my head and stares down at my breasts in my black bra (as sexy a bra as I can find in my size while still doing the job I need it to do).

  His blue eyes blaze. “Oh fuck, baby. You’re so gorgeous.”

  I’m not sure which surprises and thrills me more, the endearment or the compliment. Before I can respond, he’s kissing me again, and soon I can’t form any words at all beyond repeated gasps of “yes” and “please.”

  Eventually his kisses move from my mouth to my neck and then even lower. I arch helplessly against the wall as he nips lightly at one nipple and then the other through my bra. I’m so turned on that I raise one leg and wrap it around his thighs. It’s not the most stable of positions, but I need stimulation on my aching arousal, and I need it now. He’s just as turned on as I am, if the hard bulge I feel at the front of his pants is any indication.

  I have no idea how long this lasts since my mind has become nothing more than a heated blur. But eventually I become aware of the fact that Mike is moving us toward the bed without ever letting me go.

  I’m so excited by this development that I bump into the corner of the bed frame and fall forward, taking Mike with me. We end up in a messy tumble.

  He’s chuckling as he turns me over and climbs on top of me, evidently unconcerned by the fact that we’re at the foot of the bed, my legs hanging over the side.

  His eyes are so hot that I’m surprised when he pauses, propped above me. He cups my cheek gently. “Tell me you want this, Aurora.”

  My lips part. My heart hammers. My cheeks blaze. “I want this.” I should just stop there, but I can’t. I’ve always been good at holding back my words, hiding my heart from the world. But it spills out now before I can stop it. “I want you.”

  He makes a weird gruff sound and kisses me again, and nothing stops us after that. We kiss and roll around and clumsily take off each other’s clothes until we’re naked on top of the coverlet, still hanging partway off the side of the mattress.

  When we’ve gotten his underwear off, I grab for his erection, not caring if it makes me look shameless. He groans as I stroke him, his head falling backward as my fingers move down to his balls. He doesn’t let me play with him for long, however. “I don’t think you realize how far gone I am, baby,” he murmurs, pulling my hands away. “You do that anymore, and this will be over before it’s started.”

  No way to not like hearing that. I beam at him rather foolishly.

  Something in my expression makes him chuckle and kiss me softly. Then his eyes move up and down my naked body, getting hotter as they do. “What did I do to deserve this?” he breathes, so softly I barely hear him.

  But I do hear him. My heart gives a dramatic flip-flop, and I can’t get any words out in response.

  He’s parting my legs when I remember something. “Should we use—?”

  He blinks. “Oh. Yes. Of course. Shit, I almost got carried away. I’ve got something with me.” He hefts himself to his feet, finds his trousers on the floor, and pulls a condom packet out of the pocket before he rips it open and rolls it on.

  Relieved that preliminaries are taken care of, I pull him back on top of me again, spreading my thighs to make room for him. He’s so tense he’s almost shaking with it as he aligns himself at my entrance and pushes in.

  I make a silly sound of pleasure and surprise at the tightness of the penetration. We take a minute to adjust to each other before he starts to thrust. His motion starts slow and steady, but it doesn’t last that way for long. We’re both pretty far gone, and soon we’re rocking together vigorously, shaking the bed and jiggling every part of my body in uninhibited enthusiasm.

  It feels so good I can’t hold back the sounds I make every time he pushes in. At first they’re little gasps. Then cries. Then helpless sobs as the pleasure coalesces and then crests in a hard orgasm.

  He’s right behind me, bellowing out his release as his body shakes and jerks against me.

  We collapse together, hot and sweaty and breathless and replete.

  Maybe it wasn’t the longest or most creative sex I’ve ever had, but I can’t remember anything ever feeling better than this. I feel with him. Connected. Like his body isn’t just tangled with mine.

  We’re one.

  I relax into the feeling, closing my eyes and snuggling against him. He’s rolled us onto our sides so his weight isn’t all on top of me. His arms are tight around me.

  Soon he’ll need to let me go so he can take care of the condom, but he hasn’t let go of me yet.

  Six

  NOTHING FEELS AWKWARD between us until Mike finally gets up and walks to the bathroom naked.

  I watch him go. His long legs. Tight butt. Red marks on his back from my fingernails.

  For one moment, I’m happy. He looks like mine. Feels like mine. And we just had great sex.

  Maybe he can be mine for real.

  But as soon as I process that thought, all my normal anxieties force their way back into my mind in a painful rush.

  I’m paying Mike for this weekend. That’s the only reason he’s here with me. And while it’s obvious that he enjoyed the sex, he probably would never have gone to bed with me had I not been paying for his services.

  He’s brilliant and funny and kindhearted and incredibly hot. He could have any woman he wanted. I’m not going to be stupid about this. I’m not going to act like a naive, clueless girl who doesn’t understand the realities of the world (even if I sometimes feel like that’s who I am).

  I’m going to be smart and mature and not get carried away.

  I might be in love with Mike O’Dell, but he’s not in love with me. If he were even the slightest bit interested in me, he would have asked me out months or years ago.

  He never did. He never did anything more than chat with me until I paid him for this weekend.

  Maybe he’s expecting extra money for the orgasm he gave me just now.

  The thought makes my stomach churn.

  I hear the toilet flush in the bathroom.

  Slightly shaky, I get up to grab an oversize T-shirt from my suitcase and pull it on since I don’t want to be naked anymore.

  I want to get under the covers and pull them up over my head, but I manage to resist that impulse. Instead, I sit on the bed and wait until Mike comes out.

  He smiles when he sees me, his expression softening in a way I love. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” I smile back at him, reminding myself not to melt into a puddle of goo just because this man is looking at me in that way that feels special.

  “That was amazing,” he says, sitting down beside me and reaching over to take my hand.

  “Yeah. It was really good.” I swallow hard and respond to a flood of nerves by mentally chanting Don’t be stupid over and over again. “Th-thank you.”

  He blinks twice. “Yeah.”

  Something in his tone sounds off, and I quickly try to fix whatever I messed up. “I mean, it was great. You were great. Thank you.”

  Okay. Perfect. I haven’t fixed a single thing.

  Being
me, I try again. “I... I had a really good time. Thank you.”

  Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

  He stands up, letting my hand slide out of his grip. “You don’t have to thank me again. I had a great time too.”

  I lick my lips. “Okay.”

  He pulls on his clothes and then leans down to give me a soft kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He walks out of the room, and I burrow under the covers, pulling them over my head in a futile attempt to keep out the rest of the world and the mess I somehow managed to make just now.

  THE NEXT MORNING, MIKE texts to confirm when I want to go down to the brunch, and he shows up at my door exactly on time and looking heart-stoppingly handsome in a suit and tie. His shirt is a little wrinkled, which would normally make me smile.

  But I don’t feel like smiling this morning because Mike’s manner is perfectly appropriate. Polite. Friendly. Accommodating.

  And the real him—the one I’ve come to know and love over the past three years—is entirely absent.

  He’s withdrawn in some indescribable way. I know it for sure. And I hate every moment of his civil smile and empty eyes.

  I go through the motions as best I can, even quieter than normal. I’m not even as nervous as I normally would have been about being the center of attention because I’m so upset about the change in Mike and what it means.

  I receive my service award, and I give a three-minute thank-you with perfect composure. I don’t care about any of it. I just want to fix things with Mike—go back to how we were before.

  I never would have slept with him if I’d known it would mess things up. Better to have him in my life in some small way than to have nothing but this vacant shell of the man I knew.

  I’m trapped by fear and indecision, and it doesn’t get better as the brunch ends. We return to our rooms to pack up, and then we take a taxi to the airport. Mike takes care of me as we go. He keeps a hand on my back as we walk, and he makes sure to keep us away from the worst of the crowds. I admitted to him yesterday that I hate making my way through New York, and he hasn’t forgotten that.