repeat! With that thought in mind, I pressed the penthouse doorbell.
“You’re late,” he snapped when he answered. “You said nine . . .” He trailed off as he raked his gaze over my body. “Fuck. Me.”
“
Hola.
” I hoped I sounded casual, but he looked even hotter than last time. He wore a sharp gray suit, with the collar of his crisp white button-down open.
“
Qué pasa?
” I sauntered past him into the living room. Stopped in my tracks.
Another man was here, a giant. Burly and even taller than Sevastyan, this guy had a bald head, a brick-end chin, and a bulldog jaw shadowed with rough stubble.
My heart tripped with panic. “I don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Sevastyan frowned.
“Two men.” Instinctively, I retreated a step—then realized with a start that I hadn’t taken a step toward the door; I’d taken a step closer to Sevastyan.
“Ah. Vasili’s my head of security and right-hand man. Has been for over a decade.”
Relief sailed through me.
Vasili grated something in Russian. Sevastyan responded. I couldn’t understand the words, but there was no mistaking Sevastyan’s
do not fuck with me
tone. He looped his arm
around me, drawing me close, which seemed to surprise Vasili.
More evidence that Sevastyan didn’t like to touch or be touched? Or he hadn’t in the past?
In English, he said, “Vasili was just leaving.”
The man shot me a cutting look as he passed.
When we were alone, I said, “He certainly doesn’t like me.”
“He’s suspicious because he can’t find information about you. Anyone who comes in contact with me more than once would have an inch-thick dossier by now.”
That sounded risky, but I’d only be here for another hour or so, then
adiós
.
I set down my jacket and purse. “I don’t appreciate being strong-armed into a date at the last minute. I do have a life, you know.”
“In my experience, most escorts don’t have to be ‘strong-armed’ into dating billionaires.”
“Oh, baby boy”—I gave him an
embarrassed for you
wince—“you weren’t quite a billionaire today, now, were you?”
His lips curved. “Bad day in the markets. So you looked me up? And you still give me shit?”
Growing serious, I said, “I didn’t appreciate you violating my privacy. I meant what I said Monday night: I wanted my line to stay private.”
“You’re really angry about that? I know something that will cheer you.” He crossed to his briefcase, offering me a stack of hundreds, bound with a currency strap. “Five
thousand. I assume you won’t try to haggle for more after our first night.”
I followed him, accepting the money. This would be twelve grand in two nights! Plus the phone number fee! Still, when I thought of how miserable I’d been over the last two days—and
his high-handedness today—I found myself saying, “No haggling. With the late-booking fee, it’s
ten
thousand. Or I take the party in my tiny dress somewhere else.”
I knew I’d aimed too low when he handed me another stack—as if I’d asked him to pass the salt.
My anger faded. I could afford to get another number. Wasn’t like I would need to update my contact info with all my friends and family, since I had neither. Once I left town, I’d
toss the phone anyway.
As if in a dream, I floated toward my purse to stash my windfall.
When I returned, his gaze raked over me in a way that made me want to fan myself. My nipples were already straining against the silk.
“I thought I told you to wear something sexy.” A joke out of the Russian? “Why didn’t you dress like this last time? I only turned you away because you appeared almost .
. . wholesome. At least from the front.”
“I wasn’t sure if you would take me out. Now I know you won’t.”
He crossed to stand in front of me, seeming to make a visible effort to keep his eyes on my face. “Perhaps I would if I had no time limit.”
“You’re the one who called at the last minute.”
“I began calling
“You’re late,” he snapped when he answered. “You said nine . . .” He trailed off as he raked his gaze over my body. “Fuck. Me.”
“
Hola.
” I hoped I sounded casual, but he looked even hotter than last time. He wore a sharp gray suit, with the collar of his crisp white button-down open.
“
Qué pasa?
” I sauntered past him into the living room. Stopped in my tracks.
Another man was here, a giant. Burly and even taller than Sevastyan, this guy had a bald head, a brick-end chin, and a bulldog jaw shadowed with rough stubble.
My heart tripped with panic. “I don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Sevastyan frowned.
“Two men.” Instinctively, I retreated a step—then realized with a start that I hadn’t taken a step toward the door; I’d taken a step closer to Sevastyan.
“Ah. Vasili’s my head of security and right-hand man. Has been for over a decade.”
Relief sailed through me.
Vasili grated something in Russian. Sevastyan responded. I couldn’t understand the words, but there was no mistaking Sevastyan’s
do not fuck with me
tone. He looped his arm
around me, drawing me close, which seemed to surprise Vasili.
More evidence that Sevastyan didn’t like to touch or be touched? Or he hadn’t in the past?
In English, he said, “Vasili was just leaving.”
The man shot me a cutting look as he passed.
When we were alone, I said, “He certainly doesn’t like me.”
“He’s suspicious because he can’t find information about you. Anyone who comes in contact with me more than once would have an inch-thick dossier by now.”
That sounded risky, but I’d only be here for another hour or so, then
adiós
.
I set down my jacket and purse. “I don’t appreciate being strong-armed into a date at the last minute. I do have a life, you know.”
“In my experience, most escorts don’t have to be ‘strong-armed’ into dating billionaires.”
“Oh, baby boy”—I gave him an
embarrassed for you
wince—“you weren’t quite a billionaire today, now, were you?”
His lips curved. “Bad day in the markets. So you looked me up? And you still give me shit?”
Growing serious, I said, “I didn’t appreciate you violating my privacy. I meant what I said Monday night: I wanted my line to stay private.”
“You’re really angry about that? I know something that will cheer you.” He crossed to his briefcase, offering me a stack of hundreds, bound with a currency strap. “Five
thousand. I assume you won’t try to haggle for more after our first night.”
I followed him, accepting the money. This would be twelve grand in two nights! Plus the phone number fee! Still, when I thought of how miserable I’d been over the last two days—and
his high-handedness today—I found myself saying, “No haggling. With the late-booking fee, it’s
ten
thousand. Or I take the party in my tiny dress somewhere else.”
I knew I’d aimed too low when he handed me another stack—as if I’d asked him to pass the salt.
My anger faded. I could afford to get another number. Wasn’t like I would need to update my contact info with all my friends and family, since I had neither. Once I left town, I’d
toss the phone anyway.
As if in a dream, I floated toward my purse to stash my windfall.
When I returned, his gaze raked over me in a way that made me want to fan myself. My nipples were already straining against the silk.
“I thought I told you to wear something sexy.” A joke out of the Russian? “Why didn’t you dress like this last time? I only turned you away because you appeared almost .
. . wholesome. At least from the front.”
“I wasn’t sure if you would take me out. Now I know you won’t.”
He crossed to stand in front of me, seeming to make a visible effort to keep his eyes on my face. “Perhaps I would if I had no time limit.”
“You’re the one who called at the last minute.”
“I began calling
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