her trust to those who absolutely earned it. Or
to those whose discretion she’d purchased.
Which had brought her here, to this
up-market and discreet hideaway. A place where she was going to
rediscover a side of herself she’d buried and damn near forgotten
about.
A place where she intended to let a man take
her body and pleasure it, use his skills to bring her joy,
excitement and - she hoped - at least one eye-rolling, scream
inducing, stress releasing, toe-curling orgasm. Maybe even two.
Yep. Rose blinked at her reflection in the
fancy mirror over the buffet, not seeing the elegant and slender
brunette with the blue-green eyes, but the daring lass with Irish
blood in her veins, who’d gone out on a limb and worked her way to
this moment.
She had done it. She’d booked herself a room
and a man. She’d gone to her spa for the first time in ages, had
her hair done, and bought the latest in silk ensembles - a blouse
that drifted over her modest curves and a skirt that floated freely
around her shapely calves. It wasn’t edgy, and probably wouldn’t
have made the cover of any fashion magazine, but as soon as she’d
put it on, she’d felt -- feminine. Now, however, she caught a
glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors in the room.
Eeek . This damned outfit makes my ass
look fat .
She’d taken the advice of her few trusted
girlfriends, listened to their enthusiastic encouragement, and then
picked up the phone to dial the number they’d given her. At the
beginning there had been more than a little skepticism in her
attitude, since public perception listed this out-of-town hideaway
as either a celebrity rehab center or a post-cosmetic surgery
recovery spa. Neither was accessible to those with less than
several millions in their disposable income bank accounts. Those
lovely CEO petty cash funds that seemed to attract expensive and
alluring invitations like flowers lured bees.
But apparently both descriptions were
carefully crafted misdirections, nurtured by subtle rumors and
gossip. Only the privileged few knew that it was, in fact, a
high-class and prohibitively expensive palace of sexual
pleasure.
For women .
And if the clients emerged refreshed,
smiling and walking tall - well, it was only natural to place the
blame on newly enhanced sobriety, or laser skin resurfacing. What
else would make a woman glow?
After Rose’s first call, it had been
surprisingly simple.
“We’ll be happy to accommodate you, Ms.
Jackson. All charges will be handled with discretion and from what
you’ve told us, our data indicate that Josh will be best suited to
meet your requirements.” The voice was professionally soothing, the
information concise and efficient.
Rose appreciated both, accepted the
recommendation and here she was, nervous, ready and waiting in the
elegant room, with the comforting knowledge that Mel would be
within earshot if she needed him.
He’ll be listening. Shit. Do I scream when I
come? It’s been so long since I had sex with anything that wasn’t
battery-powered, I’ve forgotten.
What must he think? Was he running one hand
through his short dark hair, the way he did sometimes when he was
working on a problem? And what was going on behind those brown
eyes? Were the tiny golden flecks bright today in the lamplight, or
were they muted, giving him that certain look Rose privately
thought of as his predatory stare?
Christ, if he did plant a micro mini video
cam - although I doubt it - he’ll see my ‘orgasm face’. Do I have
one? Those magazines all say I’m supposed to.
She glanced at her reflection and twisted up
her nose, squinting and frowning at herself. Then she gave up and
sighed. The candlelight and single lamp were flattering, softening
the planes of her cheeks and making her slender body look lusher
than she knew it was. She wasn’t a big woman anywhere. Her breasts
were adequate, but not eye-catching, and next to Mel she felt
definitely feminine and almost petite. Of course, he’d
to those whose discretion she’d purchased.
Which had brought her here, to this
up-market and discreet hideaway. A place where she was going to
rediscover a side of herself she’d buried and damn near forgotten
about.
A place where she intended to let a man take
her body and pleasure it, use his skills to bring her joy,
excitement and - she hoped - at least one eye-rolling, scream
inducing, stress releasing, toe-curling orgasm. Maybe even two.
Yep. Rose blinked at her reflection in the
fancy mirror over the buffet, not seeing the elegant and slender
brunette with the blue-green eyes, but the daring lass with Irish
blood in her veins, who’d gone out on a limb and worked her way to
this moment.
She had done it. She’d booked herself a room
and a man. She’d gone to her spa for the first time in ages, had
her hair done, and bought the latest in silk ensembles - a blouse
that drifted over her modest curves and a skirt that floated freely
around her shapely calves. It wasn’t edgy, and probably wouldn’t
have made the cover of any fashion magazine, but as soon as she’d
put it on, she’d felt -- feminine. Now, however, she caught a
glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors in the room.
Eeek . This damned outfit makes my ass
look fat .
She’d taken the advice of her few trusted
girlfriends, listened to their enthusiastic encouragement, and then
picked up the phone to dial the number they’d given her. At the
beginning there had been more than a little skepticism in her
attitude, since public perception listed this out-of-town hideaway
as either a celebrity rehab center or a post-cosmetic surgery
recovery spa. Neither was accessible to those with less than
several millions in their disposable income bank accounts. Those
lovely CEO petty cash funds that seemed to attract expensive and
alluring invitations like flowers lured bees.
But apparently both descriptions were
carefully crafted misdirections, nurtured by subtle rumors and
gossip. Only the privileged few knew that it was, in fact, a
high-class and prohibitively expensive palace of sexual
pleasure.
For women .
And if the clients emerged refreshed,
smiling and walking tall - well, it was only natural to place the
blame on newly enhanced sobriety, or laser skin resurfacing. What
else would make a woman glow?
After Rose’s first call, it had been
surprisingly simple.
“We’ll be happy to accommodate you, Ms.
Jackson. All charges will be handled with discretion and from what
you’ve told us, our data indicate that Josh will be best suited to
meet your requirements.” The voice was professionally soothing, the
information concise and efficient.
Rose appreciated both, accepted the
recommendation and here she was, nervous, ready and waiting in the
elegant room, with the comforting knowledge that Mel would be
within earshot if she needed him.
He’ll be listening. Shit. Do I scream when I
come? It’s been so long since I had sex with anything that wasn’t
battery-powered, I’ve forgotten.
What must he think? Was he running one hand
through his short dark hair, the way he did sometimes when he was
working on a problem? And what was going on behind those brown
eyes? Were the tiny golden flecks bright today in the lamplight, or
were they muted, giving him that certain look Rose privately
thought of as his predatory stare?
Christ, if he did plant a micro mini video
cam - although I doubt it - he’ll see my ‘orgasm face’. Do I have
one? Those magazines all say I’m supposed to.
She glanced at her reflection and twisted up
her nose, squinting and frowning at herself. Then she gave up and
sighed. The candlelight and single lamp were flattering, softening
the planes of her cheeks and making her slender body look lusher
than she knew it was. She wasn’t a big woman anywhere. Her breasts
were adequate, but not eye-catching, and next to Mel she felt
definitely feminine and almost petite. Of course, he’d
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