The Accidental Call Girl (25 page)

He smiled and strolled over to her. She was loafing on one of the huge, cream-coloured settees, in a bathrobe, and he leant down quickly to kiss her. ‘I think you’re more likely to bollocks up the deal for the opposition, especially if you came to lunch like that.’ His hand drifted briefly between the panels of the robe, caressing her thigh.

‘Is it likely to be boring?’ She shuddered finely, amazed to find herself stirring again.

‘It could be. A bit . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I’m afraid movies and television and books glamorise business too much. And most of the moguls involved are terrible old fogies. In fact I’m probably amongst the very few that are half-way presentable and generally unlikely to be kicked out of bed.’

‘And so modest too.’

‘What can I say?’ He shrugged again, smirking as he straightened up.

‘I think I’ll pass on the business lunch, then. Perhaps I’ll just loaf about here as your odalisque . . . or maybe I’ll go for a roam about. I could get some cockles and candy floss on the seafront . . . or see if they still have donkey rides on the sands.’

For a moment, John’s expression gentled and became quite wistful. ‘That sounds cool. I’d rather do that than grapple this lot down a million on the deal.’ He gestured vaguely around, to encompass management of this hotel, and perhaps . . . probably . . . the entire chain. ‘Maybe tomorrow, eh? I’ll have some free time then.’

‘I’ll look forward to that.’ Her mind filled with a vision. John in jeans, strolling along the front with her, their hands entwined. Laughing . . . No cares, no business, no deceptions.

‘And now, alas, gorgeous, I have to get down there. I’m keeping a bunch of anxious executives and two cadres of lawyers, theirs and mine, waiting.’ He grinned, as if he was quite pleased about the latter, then slid his hand into his inner jacket pocket and brought out his wallet. ‘If you feel like going shopping . . . perhaps a bit of lingerie or whatever . . . here’s a card you can use. The PIN is four, seven, nine, three. And if there are any problems, ring this number.’ He handed her the credit card, then one of his business cards, with a phone number hand written on the back, ‘and one of my financial people will deal with it for you.’

Lizzie sprang up. The credit card was black. She’d never seen one of these, but she knew what it was, and it was too much. ‘I can’t take this! I mean . . . thanks and all that. It’s very kind of you. Incredibly kind. But you’ve paid me well over the odds already. If I want to go shopping, I’ve got all the money you’ve already given me.’

John made a little sound of mock exasperation and rolled his eyes. ‘You really are the strangest escort, Bettie.’ He folded his hand around hers, around the cards, gently squeezing. ‘Please take it. Just indulge me, eh? I don’t like the idea of you carrying a lot of cash on the streets. I don’t want you to be at risk from muggers.’ He leant forward and kissed her cheek, a little frown appearing on his brow, then fading again. ‘Maybe you could buy a really nice dress? Something a bit special. A cocktail dress . . . There’s a party I thought we might go to this evening, if you fancy it. I can’t tell you all about it now, but I will later when I’ve bought this bloody hotel.’ With one last squeeze of her fingers, he let her go and gathered up his briefcase. Checking his watch, he strode to the door.

‘I hope this doesn’t take too long. I begrudge every moment spent away from you.’ In the doorway, he paused, ‘Ciao!’

‘Knock ‘em dead,’ whispered Lizzie, but he was already gone.

Swanning through the hotel foyer with a clutch of big, shiny carrier bags, and other less glamorous plastic ones, Lizzie almost laughed at herself.

I really am living the
Pretty Woman
experience here. Where’s the once haughty but now kindly hotel manager to smile on me approvingly?

But there was only a receptionist on duty to offer a smile and a cheery, ‘Good afternoon.’

Back in the vast suite, Lizzie settled into a chair in the sitting room and put her feet up for a minute or two. She’d walked quite a bit on her shopping expedition.

Contrary to John’s preferences, she’d mostly used cash he’d given her to make her purchases. A few nice items of lingerie, because that was what he’d wanted her to get. One or two little bits and bobs for herself, plus some books and magazines; several cute tops and a souvenir mug for Shelley; games and more books for Brent. She’d even purchased a few extravagant cat toys from the pet department of one of the stores for Mulder.

She hadn’t been down to the sea front. Somehow, she wanted to save that experience to share with John. This trip wasn’t a romantic idyll, just a bit of a sex jaunt, really. But a stroll by the seashore together might constitute a vague facsimile of romance, if only for half an hour or so.

She hadn’t eaten either, but a glance at the room service menu earlier had looked reasonably enticing.

Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her head of everything but the simple pleasure of being away for a few days in a new town with a handsome, sexually ingenious man. That was easier said than done, though. The complications rushed on in.

After the shopping trip, she knew she had to tell John, the next time she saw him, that she wasn’t an escort. It’d been a game at first, a dare to herself, a bit of a lark. But she’d never expected to be with him more than the once, or perhaps a couple of times. Now she was hooked. She’d fallen for him, and she wanted and needed to be honest, especially as she might never see him again after tomorrow, or the next day.

Which was why she’d spent only a modest amount of his money, and not touched the credit card . . . except for one item.

The special dress. She’d known the moment she’d seen it in the window of the sort of boutique of which she never usually even crossed the threshold.

It’d been another
Pretty Woman
moment. Although her look was far from Vivienne’s street style, she’d felt like some kind of peasant as she’d walked into the shop. This was the sort of place John’s real women might patronise – women of celebrity and possibly blue blood – not his temporary playmate. But she’d held her head high and assumed an aura.

She smiled again now. How wrong can a person be? The assistants had been lovely, super-friendly and helpful. It’d been all, ‘Oh yes, it will look fabulous on you!’ the instant she’d asked about the golden dress in the window.

It was what might once have been called a sheath dress, a beautifully crafted garment that skimmed the body without clinging, and somehow both tastefully and sensually suggested curves, without grabbing them. As if she was really living a movie, it fit her to perfection, a poem of creamy, buttery gold shantung, overlaid with fine cream lace, tailored immaculately. Lizzie imagined Audrey Hepburn wearing it rather than her beloved Bettie Page, and she’d slipped into a chemists and got the fixings for putting her hair up in a sophisticated chignon to create that sleeker, more soigné impression.

‘You’ll love it, John,’ she said to herself as she unpacked the dress from its cocoon of tissue, in order to make sure any creases fell out, ready for his mysterious special party.

It glistened, almost shone at her. Never mind
Pretty Woman
, in this she would truly be Cinderella, the belle of whatever potentially outré ball John was planning to take her to. And like Cinders, this might be her last big night with him. As soon as she revealed how she’d deceived him, the fairy tale might well be over completely, kaput and for ever. So she had to make the most of every precious hour before the bell tolled.

I want it all, John. Everything you can do for my body, while you’re prepared to do it. I might never be with a man again who knows quite as well what he’s doing.

He’d made promises, and a mock bargain with her when he’d told her the story about his student amours with his male sweetheart Benjamin. The thought of it made her wriggle, imagining, wondering what it might feel like . . . anal sex . . . sodomy. She wanted to try it. She’d always been curious. But never before had she felt she could trust a man enough. Not even Brent, when they’d been lovers.

Yet with John, she knew she’d be safe.

The meeting had been tiresome. The deal, meant to be straightforward, had become a hideous tangle of absurd complications. Usually impassive in such circumstances, he’d wanted to jump up, swear and tell them to stop screwing around and wasting his time because he didn’t want to be in the room with them, haggling over piddling sums of money, when he could have been upstairs, in his suite, with Bettie.

Her beautiful body, her sweet, bright, witty personality, they were like a delicious mirage to him, shining before him, in the aggravating desert of the negotiating environment.

When the deal was finally signed, he’d sighed out loud, drawing inquisitive looks from the assembled lawyers, executives and other drones. He’d snatched up his laptop and briefcase and almost run out of the room, hearing the offers of celebratory drinks as merely meaningless words.

When he reached his room, he didn’t storm in, though. She’d done nothing wrong. No need to take his frustration out on her. Seek solace in her arms, or in play with her, yes. But vent his irritation? No, never that.

He smiled, setting his case and laptop on a side table. Bless her, she was asleep again. He’d never before met a woman, or anyone, who had quite the easy facility for dozing off that Bettie had. He envied her, and yet, earlier, in the car, hadn’t he half nodded off himself while she was asleep? That still astounded him to his very core, and he wondered if perhaps it had been just wishful thinking and he hadn’t slept.

You did, man. You did. You fell asleep.

And that had never happened easily, spontaneously, or without apprehension, since prison. It’d been impossible.

His mind shied away from the memories. The fear. Pain. Bone-deep exhaustion. Hatred of himself. Knowing he deserved every horror. He didn’t go to that place often, because he’d learnt to deal with it, and with himself, and be whole again. After a fashion. With help, and yes, with hindrance too. Clara’s double betrayal . . . When twice he’d believed she cared for him; twice she’d assured him she loved him, but then walked away.

He’d got past it all, but the sleep issues had stubbornly persisted. Or at least they had until he’d found himself falling asleep beside Bettie in the back of the limousine. And slept on, if only for a few moments, in the presence of another human being, and without strong chemical aid, for the first time in over twenty years.

And Bettie, his call girl who
wasn’t
a call girl, was asleep again herself now. She looked peaceful. Angelic. Her dark lashes were like fans across her high cheekbones; her mouth soft and tender, still deliciously pink without benefit of her tinted lip-stain. Her gorgeous body was bundled in one of the hotel’s thick, fluffy robes. Her curves were hidden, but he knew them. The image of her luscious shape was in his mind, like an elixir to harden his cock. She had her legs tucked up beneath her, in the big chair, and he let his hand hover just millimetres over her terry-covered haunch, imagining the feel of the muscle there, the firmness, the resilience when he spanked her.

The succulent curve of her bottom reminded him of what he’d bargained with her for, in return for his story about Benjamin. A tale elaborated upon, but true in essence. Would she be willing to give him her arse? His fingers flexed, to caress it, but he held back, reluctant to disturb her, even though his cock had stiffened to a rigid aching bar, just at the thought of sodomising her slowly and luxuriantly.

Let her sleep, man. Don’t be greedy. Wait a little while.

Stepping away, he tried to ignore his gouging erection. There were carrier bags spread in the other chairs, her shopping presumably. Curiosity piqued him, and he wondered if she’d overcome her reluctance to use the card he’d given her.

In the bags he found lingerie, a variety of small accessories – a couple of belts, a pretty purse with stitched leather kittens on it that made him smile – and several women’s tops and teeshirts, a souvenir mug, other gift items. And cat toys? There were also quite a few books: thrillers, several romances and a couple of rather advanced looking primers on dressmaking. And quite a stack of games.

John frowned, intrigued by the selection of items. Presumably most of the things were for herself, but some were clearly for her house-mates, human and feline. He’d certainly not pegged her as a gamer.

As they were mostly combat and sport, he guessed the games were for Brent. The
real
man in her life. Again, John tried to squelch his sudden jealousy. Bettie was devoted to her friend, and John feared she probably loved the younger man far more than she herself realised. At the moment. But the time would come and, for her sake, he hoped soon. She, at least, deserved to get her emotional life settled . . .

Even if I can’t.

John sighed again, more heavily than he’d done in the boardroom.

If I was a decent man, I’d send her home right now. Send her back to the man she cares for. But I’m not a decent man, and I want her. Want her badly.

His time with Bettie wouldn’t be long. But he’d be selfish and grab what he could, while he could. Moments of happiness, to remember and to treasure.

Leaving his lover to her dreams, he strode to his room, yearning for another shower. To cleanse his soul, not his body. To sluice away both the past and the presentiment of future loss.

As Lizzie woke, she experienced a sense of unease. She felt as if someone had been watching her, and when she glanced around she expected to see John in one of the other chairs, studying her, perhaps sipping a glass of gin while he contemplated their next erotic encounter.

Bring it on.

She wanted the distraction. The uncomplicated escape of sex, despite the games they played. Delirious pleasure with John, whose need for her was straightforward, simple.

And it was a good job things were that way with somebody. She knew where she stood with him. Not so with Brent, who’d been snappish, distant, then argumentative when she’d phoned him again earlier to see how he was doing, a world away from the fairly cheerful friend who’d seen her off. What had happened?