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A sudden fluttering takes place in my heart and for some reason, I blush. Of all the expectations I had, I didn’t think my client would be so very human. It’s clear he’s warm from the playful wave he gave me, but it’s his voice that enchants my very being. He’s got this roar to it, this strange, low-slung, slow and heavy voice that makes my toes curl up. I thank the stars he can’t see me, because in another world, I’d never be able to muster up the courage to look this handsome Adonis in the eye.
Not sure of what to say, I simply take a few slow steps to get closer. A few moments later, I am within centimeters of his face. Now, all I have to do is dance. But where do I begin? I think back to Tilly’s words. Bend over, she had said. Touch his arm.
So I do as she said.
For a brief second, I freeze as I bend over him, bringing my eyes to his level.
This man is very, very handsome. My eyes follow the fall of his pitch-black hair, as it tumbles carelessly down his forehead, the styling gel having given way by this point. His jawline is one straight out of the movies, chiseled and strong. I stare at the lines beginning to show on his slightly tanned forehead. I take a deep breath and smell the mahogany on him.
I can’t control the inexplicable fantasy shaping up in my head—what would it feel like to be held in his arms?
Truth is, I’ve never seen a man this strong, this handsome, this sure of himself in such an intimate setting. The way he sits right now, with one leg slung casually over another, an arm flung over the back of the couch that makes me think he’s right out of a movie.
“Like what you see?” he asks, tilting his head in one direction.
I gasp and step back, almost tripping over the table behind me. An ashtray falls and clatters to the ground.
I quickly pick it up, murmuring apologies, and turn around to face him. He’s looking vaguely in my direction, an eyebrow raised.
I feel momentarily embarrassed at the realization that I amuse him, when I should be turning him on. Somewhere deep within my chest, I realize it’s not that I should, but that I want to be turning him on.
I put on the fake, sultry voice I barely had time to practice and inch closer again. I place one hand on his forearm while I take my fingers from the other and gently graze the side of his face, moving down his neck. “Why don’t you just sit back and enjoy the ride, handsome? Let me take all your problems away.”
I feel stupid as I talk this way, and I pray he can’t see through my lack of experience.
"Who are you?" His voice is deep, the kind of sound that doesn't just echo in a room but vibrates through your very bones.
I inch closer, allowing my hair to fall over his face, my heart pounding a rhythm to match my footsteps. "I'm Robin," I say, the name feeling like a secret I'm sharing just with him. "And tonight, I'm whoever you want me to be."
His head tilts ever so slightly as if he's trying to decipher the truth from the web of lies we're both weaving. I take a step back and turn around. Then, I crane my neck back and bring his hands to my hips. I begin to rotate my hips slowly, letting the confidence I don't feel lace through my words.
His hands remain in the same spot, unmoving. God, a thrill goes down my spine when I feel the heat of his palms on my hips. I want him to inch down, or up, or anywhere he wants. Why doesn’t he claim me?
Nervous at failing, yet desiring more, I step away from his grip, bring my knee to his chest, and gently help him lean back against the seat.
"Sit back, relax," I urge, my voice now a purr, my version of an attempt at seduction. "Let me make this a night you won't forget."
A chuckle rumbles from his chest, dark and knowing. "Robin, is it?" He's not asking; he's testing me. "You don't sound convinced that this would make for an unforgettable night. Tell me, why is that?"
My blood gushes to my ears, making me hear my own anxiety. I can't let him see the cracks, can't afford to let him know that beneath this exterior, I'm scrambling not just for more from him all for myself, but for this job. I can’t let him request another woman and be replaced. It’s only my first nighton the job, and he happens to be my first client. If I mess this up, he might ask for someone else.
So, I aim to fake it ‘til I make it.
"And you," I shoot back, trying to keep my voice steady, "sound like a man who doesn't want to enjoy what's right in front of him."
"Maybe. Or maybe I can tell when someone's playing a part that doesn't fit."
Heat floods my cheeks. I begin to feel reckless, and for some reason, very unlike myself. It’s as though every failure of my life has come down to this very moment and I feel the urge to rewrite who I am. This man, handsome beyond belief, whose touch and voice just lit me on fire, is doubting me like everyone else out there and I won’t let him crush me. "Playing?" I say, emboldened by this newfound desire within me—one where I’m in a closed room with a man who can’t see me, giving me the freedom to be exactly who I want to be. "No one's playing here. You think you're the first man to doubt me, love?"
"Perhaps not," he muses, "but I might be the first to call you out on it. Admit it, you’re new to this, aren’t you?"
"Fine," I say, my voice now edged with clear annoyance. "Let's drop the act then. What do you want to know? My life story? Or do you want to skip to the part where we pretend none of this matters and just enjoy the night?"
"Feisty," he says with a hint of appreciation, much to my surprise. "I like that.”
“Y…You do?”
“I admire honesty, Robin. So tell me, what brings you here?”
