Escorted
Claire Kent
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Claire Kent. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Epilogue
One
Lori Addison sat in a crowded coffee shop in downtown Seattle, nursed a caramel mocha, and tried to pretend she wasn’t nervous.
She was nervous. So nervous she literally jumped when her cell phone buzzed from her purse. She fumbled to pull it out and gave a silly giggle of relief when she heard Sabrina on the other end.
“Is he there yet?” Sabrina asked.
“No. I told you. We’re not supposed to meet until three o’clock. Not for fifteen more minutes.”
“I thought he might be early.”
“Then why did you call?”
“I’m dying here! You have to call me the minute you’re done.”
Lori laughed, relaxing a little in the face of Sabrina’s characteristic, pestering impatience. “I will. I told you I would. Who else would I call?”
“Definitely not any of your other acquaintances. I can’t believe you’re really doing this. You get to have all the fun.”
Shifting in her seat restlessly, Lori tried for tartness as she asked, “You call this fun?”
“Well, you’re going to be paying him a lot of money. It sure as hell better be fun for you.”
To her infinite mortification, Lori blushed hotly, even sitting alone at a table in a crowded coffee shop. She mumbled something incoherent.
Sabrina cackled. “What was that?”
“Shut up. I’m embarrassed enough. I’m still not sure if I’m going to go through with this.”
“Well, definitely don’t go through with it if he gives off any creepy vibes. I mean it. The slightest twinge of weirdness and you get out of there.” Lori’s cousin’s voice had altered. She was serious now.
“I know that. I’m twenty-six years old and not a fool. I have a pretty good man-sensor. But I can’t imagine he’ll be creepy. I mean, you got about fourteen referrals for him, didn’t you?”
“Sixteen,” Sabrina corrected. “The man must be a god. I’ve never heard such raves. Some of these women are frigid, middle-aged harpies, but get them started on this guy…”
Lori cleared her throat and felt the nervous jitters in her belly again. “Um, yeah. So that’s good anyway. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to make sure it’s with the right guy.”
“You sound nervous.”
“Of course, I’m nervous,” Lori snapped, lashing out as her anxiety started to rise.
Sabrina’s voice changed again. “Lori, you don’t have to do this, you know. There’s absolutely nothing weird or unnatural about you—”
“I know that. But I’m sick of still being a…” Lori lowered her voice so the other patrons couldn’t hear her. “Still being a virgin. It’s ridiculous. And I’m sick of waiting around hoping some man will sweep me off my feet and take care of this inconvenient little detail.”
“Lori—”
“We’ve been over and over this,” Lori interrupted again. “Do we have to rehash it all?”
Lori had made it through high school and college without having sex, mostly because she’d been futilely in love with her best friend for all those years—an sweet, adorable soccer player who’d never been into to her that way. No one else she found remotely attractive was interested in her at all.
She’d dated on and off, but it had never gotten as far as the bedroom. In the years since, even after she’d realized that her friend just wasn’t the man for her, she’d grown gradually more and more self-conscious about her sexual inexperience. And it just got worse as she got older and everyone assumed she had a typical social life. Because she was so self-conscious, she kept pushing men away. She felt caught in a ruthless cycle and didn’t know how to break free of it.
“I’ve been thinking about it for months. It’s kept me from getting close to anyone—even the few men who’ve seemed mildly interested.” Lori shook her head and took another long swig of her coffee drink. “Besides, the irony is becoming bitterly painful. I’m lauded as the Goddess of Romance and looked to for swoon-worthy love scenes. And yet I have no experience at all.
For the fourteen-zillionth time, Lori wondered how she’d somehow become a bestselling romance novelist, when she was a complete failure at love.
“Well, it is pretty remarkable how hot your sex scenes are,” Sabrina ventured, an edge of laughter in her voice.
Lori gave a little huff. “Anyone can write good sex scenes. All you need is some basic knowledge of anatomy, the right vocabulary, and some choice reading material. Experience has nothing to do with it.”
Sabrina cackled again on the other end of the line.
“Anyway,” Lori said, noticing a particularly attractive man enter the coffee shop alone. “I better hang up. He’ll be here in five minutes.”
“Call me immediately afterwards. Immediately! Do you hear me?”
After reassuring her cousin that she’d waste no time on reporting about the infamous meeting, Lori slid her phone back into her purse. She noticed that the attractive man she’d seen enter had gone directly up the counter without looking around like he was meeting someone.
She drooped slightly in her chair. It would have been nice if he were the man she’d arranged to meet. Even with the incongruously bald head, he was one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen.
Lori glanced around the shop to make sure another lone man wasn’t looking for her. Seeing no one, Lori turned to discreetly observe the bald man again.
He was far too young to be so completely bald. Mid-thirties at the latest. Maybe he shaved his head. His tall, lean form moved with both power and grace, and his black trousers and gray dress shirt looked expensive. A businessman, maybe, although he didn’t carry a briefcase. There was something about him that appealed to her—beyond his physical appearance. His eyes roamed the room idly as he waited for his coffee, and his expression was coolly confident.
He seemed experienced, she realized. Like he’d lived a full, complex life before he’d even reached thirty-five. She wondered what it would be like to marry such a man—to have the weight of that experience at the kitchen table every morning, in bed with you every night.
She decided the hero of her next novel would be burdened with that sort of deep experience.
And he’d be completely bald.
Glancing at her watch, she noticed it was just after three o’clock. Surely this guy wouldn’t be late for a potential new client.
She was looking at the entrance with a slightly peeved expression when a voice startled her out of her impatience.
“Lori.”
She jerked her head around and inexplicably saw the compelling, bald man standing next to her table with his cup of coffee. She blinked up at him, wondering vaguely if he’d noticed her leering at him.
“Is it Lori?”
She nodded mutely.
The man smiled—an urbane, sensual smile that ignited even his blue-gray eyes. He reached a hand out to her in greeting. “I’m Ander.”
Lori’s mouth dropped open and she gaped at him.
While she was normally a friendly, outgoing person who handled social situations with ease, she
was already insecure about this meeting. And her shock at having the random man she’d admired turn out to be the one with whom she had this particular appointment left her speechless and completely discombobulated.
Ander’s elegant eyebrows lifted slightly. “Ander Lourdes. We were scheduled to meet, right?”
She had to assume the name was a professional appellation. Surely no loving father would have saddled a little boy with a name like that. The boy would have no choice but to go into the profession Ander had obviously chosen.
“Yes,” she said at last, belatedly pulling herself together. She stood up and shook his hand. His grip was warmer than she’d expected. He looked so cool and polished that she’d thought his hand would be a cooler temperature. “Sorry. It’s nice to meet you.”
He nodded politely and smiled again. “Do you want to talk here?”
Lori glanced nervously at the other seat at her table. She definitely wanted to meet with him where there were plenty of people around, but the kind of conversation they’d be having wasn’t one you wanted to carry on with dozens of ears within range.
“We could walk over to the park,” he suggested with easy courtesy. “Still a public place, but not so crowded.”
She agreed and grabbed her purse and mocha. She’d made a point of not dressing up for this meeting, so she was wearing her favorite pair of jeans and a dark green vintage jacket of crushed velvet that matched her eyes. She’d pulled her shoulder-length brown hair back in a low ponytail and wore no make-up except mascara and lip-gloss. She’d instinctively known that dressing up would make her even more nervous.
As they crossed the street, Lori asked her companion, “So what kind of name is Ander?” She wanted to make casual conversation and she’d genuinely wanted to know the answer since Sabrina first put this man’s name in front of her as a suitable candidate.
Ander’s mouth tilted up on one side. “It’s short for Alexander.”
“So it’s your real name?” It might be too personal a question for this context, but she’d always been overly curious.
“Ander is. My last name has been changed.” He gave a huff of dry laughter that she found remarkably appealing. “To protect the innocent.”
She snickered a little, instinctively drawn to wit in any form. His answer had been particularly clever—as it remained ambiguous as to which party in question was innocent. “So were you named for Alexander the Great or Alexander Graham Bell?”
He gave her a curious look, as if he were mildly startled at her nosy questions. But before she could start to feel self-conscious about what might be inappropriate behavior on her part for meetings such as these, he said, “The Great. My father would never have named a child after someone as innocuous as an inventor, however brilliant the inventor happened to be.”
“Ah,” she replied, “So your father liked the warriors.”
“Exactly.” Idly, Ander put a hand on her back to guide her over to an empty bench in the city park.
Lori sat on the bench and looked up at him, noting that he was ridiculously handsome in the sunlight, with a breeze blowing against his dark clothes. “I suppose your father must be especially proud of you, then,” she said wryly.
Even she knew—as soon as she spoke the words—that the comment was far too presumptuous for first acquaintance. She bit her lip and felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment.
To her relief, Ander didn’t look offended. He just looked off in the distance and murmured, “Oh, he’s proud all right.”
The note of bitterness told Lori something about this man’s feelings for his father. There was a whole story here, a mystery to unravel.
But it was none of Lori’s business and wasn’t at all what she was here for. Pulling herself back to the purpose of this meeting, she felt a new wave of self-consciousness.
What the hell was she doing here?
Ander sat down next to her on the bench and sipped his coffee, his expression becoming professional again. “I always meet with prospective clients to ensure we’re on the same page before we schedule an engagement.”
Lori nodded, dropping her eyes to stare at her hands in her lap.
“Did you have any questions about the prices your friend explained to you?” Ander asked. “You’ll pay for an entire evening. That’s the base price. I offer nothing lower than that.”
She looked up at him, frowning. He didn’t have a website like some escorts, instead relying on personal referrals, but details Sabrina had gotten from the women she’d talked to were quite clear. She was a professional woman. Not an idiot. “Yes, I was able to understand the services you offer and what you charge for them,” she said, her tone a little snippy.
His mouth twitched, so slightly she almost didn’t catch it. “Good. I just wanted to make it clear that you pay for the entire evening, whether or not you use it. I don’t hire myself out by the hour.”
So some reason, his dry tone made her want to snicker again. She stifled it, in case he’d mistake it for mockery. “Understood.”
“We can do whatever you like for the evening. I can act as escort, play a part if you want, provide general companionship. If you’re interested in anything sexual, that will cost extra.”
Lori couldn’t believe she was sitting here, in the middle of a park in downtown Seattle, having this conversation. Her cheeks burned involuntarily, but she wasn’t as mortified as she’d expected. Ander was so business-like and matter-of-fact about the situation that it helped Lori feel that way too.
“I thought I made my interests clear when we talked on the phone,” she said.
Ander nodded. “Of course. The prices differ for oral on you, oral on me, and full intercourse.”
A nagging question that had been bugging her for a few days prompted her to ask, “Who would pay you that much money for you to get the blow job?”
Again, that slight twitch of his mouth. She wasn’t even sure it meant anything—his expression was generally so calm as to be stoic. But she found that occasional little quiver of his mouth the most appealing thing about him. “Women have different desires when they make use of my services. Some find giving more thrilling than receiving. Some simply want the practice.”
Lori thought about that for a moment. It was something she’d never even considered before.
Ander cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him. “Perhaps you can give me a little information about your goals for this engagement.”
She nodded. “Right. Well, I sure as hell wouldn’t pay this much money for a date.” She took a breath. Summoned all her fortitude and courage. “I want to have sex.”
“Yes, but what are your goals for the sex? Are you looking for a particular mood or brand of excitement? Do you just want to relieve tension? Get something you can’t get from other partners? I’m not trying to pry into your personal motivations, but I need a little direction if we’re to make this a successful engagement.”
“Right.” She shifted on the bench. Told herself she would be paying this man a lot of money a few days from now so she had nothing to be embarrassed about. And surely he’d encountered a lot of stranger things in his line of work. “I want to have sex because I haven’t had it before. Yet.”
To her infinite relief, Ander didn’t even bat an eye. “I see. Did you have any specific details you wanted to play out? A particular fantasy?”
“No fantasy. I just want to get it over with.” When she realized how that must have sounded, she shot him a rueful look. “That came out worse than I meant it. I’d like it to be good, of course. As good as possible, I mean. I don’t have any unrealistic expectations. No romanticizing or anything.”
He nodded, his brows pulling together like he was reflecting. “Do you have oral experience?”
She shook her head with a long sigh. She seemed to have gone past embarrassment now to a weird state of restless resignation. “No. Nothing really. I’ve had some make-out sessions, but they weren’t very good and I couldn’t really get into
them. I can’t even get myself off very well.” She slanted a sharp look over at his face to check his expression, but he still showed no signs of surprise.
“In that case, it might be a good idea to start with oral. There’s a better chance of your reaching climax that way.”
Despite the bizarre situation, Lori couldn’t help but give a little snort. “And I suppose that doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that that service is more expensive than intercourse?”
This time, there was no mistaking the slight twitch of his lips. His eyes glinted briefly with amusement. “Just a suggestion.”
“Why is it more expensive?” she blurted out, her curiosity once more taking over.
“It’s more intimate,” he murmured, for the first time glancing away. “On my part.”
Lori wrinkled her brow as she mulled that one over. When she realized he was waiting for a response to their previous discussion, she pulled herself back to the topic at hand. “Well, you’re probably right about starting with oral.” She added glumly, “I would like to have a good orgasm at least once in my life.” Money wasn’t an issue for her. After four bestselling novels in three years, she had more than enough of that.
“We’ll do the best we can,” Ander said matter-of-factly. “Friday still works for you?”
“Yeah.”
“The evening starts at seven o’clock and goes until midnight—unless other arrangements have been made in advance. Did you want to do anything beforehand? Dinner perhaps?”
To Lori, that sounded absurd. She wasn’t trying to trick herself into believing this was a real date. She had no delusions about what she was about to do, and trying to romanticize it would only make things more confusing. But because she was starting to feel really nervous again, she quipped to break the tension, “I suppose I’d have to pay for dinner too.”
Ander arched an eyebrow.
She snickered. “Right. I know. Sorry. That was on your handy list of prices and terms. I don’t want to waste time doing anything beforehand anyway.”
“We can meet at your place or at a hotel.”