Page 8 of Paid With Innocence

There’s something about this man that I can’t quite put my finger on. He’s a gentleman and an animal at the same time. He’s well-mannered but was also ready to pummel Chuck if he kept hitting on me.

I didn’t know men like this existed.

Then again, what do I know about men?

“Come,” he tells me, taking me by the hand. My entire body flushes with warmth as he leads me to the front door. It swings open, and my jaw drops.

Marble floors, wood paneling, chandeliers, renaissance paintings. I can’t even imagine what this single room cost.

“I want to say something witty,” I say as I try to take it all in. “But, wow, Orson. It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

His words rock me. Walking in these heels is bad enough, but I literally have to brace myself against the door to keep from falling over.

Did he really just say that?

He must be screwing with me. But when I look up and see his gorgeous green eyes beaming down at me, I can see he means it.

“I…”

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll give you a tour.”

Clutching his hand like a little girl, I walk beside him as he shows me the enormous living room, the library, the kitchen, the game room, the morning room (for eating breakfast and enjoying the sunrise), and an actual ballroom for when he wants to host a lavish event. It’s so ornate I could see them hosting the Oscars’ after-party here.

“There’s a pool of course,” he tells me as we pass a wall of windows looking out onto the back lawn. “Several gardens, a driving range, and a hot tub that I’ll have to show you.”

I’m actually trembling now. He’s talking to me like I’ve done something like this before. Like I have experience with these things.

Little does he know, I’ve never even been hit on by a guy, let alone one who could buy the city.

What do I do?

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

Orson chuckles. “You don’t need one.”

My feet stop working. He notices and smirks. He has this unreal way of making me feel small and silly while at the same time acting like the entire universe revolves around me.

“Why don’t I show you your wing of the house?” Before I can respond, he’s leading me down a beautiful candlelit hall. Incredible paintings adorn the walls. I want to stop and admire them, but he has other plans.

He takes me to an elaborate door made from beautiful dark wood. It opens into a bedroom that takes my breath away.

It’s at least five times the size of my entire apartment. There’s a king-sized bed, floor-to-ceiling windows with cream-colored curtains, ornate woodwork everywhere, and the furniture? Well, let’s just say it’s a long way from Ikea.

“Is this big enough for you, princess?” he teases back, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger.

I’m floored, but I look up at him and shake my head. “I’ve been to nicer pay-by-the-hour motels.”

Again, he laughs, and the next thing I know, I’m in his arms. His big, strong, thick arms.

My mind goes blank as he carries me to the bed and sets me down beneath him. I smell the scent of the scotch he drank tonight, as well as a hint of product he used to comb back his hair. Beneath it all is his own personal aroma.

The mix of it all hits me like a sedative.

My lips part, and the tingling between my thighs spreads and warms, rushing up my spine to my cheeks which must be redder than ripe cherries. He presses his firm body against mine, and that’s when I feel it.

A bulge, hard as a fist, swollen between his legs.