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He took a step closer and said in a low voice, “It’s been a long five years, Marcia.”
She considered a moment longer, then, reaching a decision, said, “I have someone at midnight.”
“It won’t take me near that long.”
He took her elbow, and they walked to the elevators, saying nothing until they were inside one of the mirrored cubicles. She inserted a small key into a discreet slot in the mechanical panel. Responding to his quizzical look, she said, “I’ve moved up a couple of floors, into the penthouse.”
“Business must be good.”
“I have three girls working for me now.”
He whistled. “Business is really good.”
“The market for my product never goes soft.” Laughing, she added, “So to speak.”
Griff was even more impressed by her success when they stepped out of the elevator into a lobby with a marble floor and a clear skylight for a ceiling that provided a view of a quarter moon and a sprinkling of stars bright enough to defy the skyline lights.
Three doors opened into the private lobby. “Are you friendly with your neighbors?”
“One is a Japanese businessman. He’s rarely here, but when he is, he finds the proximity very convenient.”
Griff chuckled. “He comes over to borrow sugar?”
“At least once while he’s in town,” she said demurely. “The other is a friend, a gay decorator who envies me my clientele.”
She unlocked her front door. Griff followed her inside. The interior looked like a picture in a magazine, probably would be her gay neighbor’s wet dream. Griff gave it a cursory glance, said a polite “Very nice,” then reached for her and pulled her against him.
He hadn’t kissed a woman in five years, and the sex was going to have to be damn good to top the pleasure he derived from pushing his tongue into her mouth. He kissed her like a horny kid whose prom date was easy. Too eager, too greedy, too sloppy. His hands were everywhere at once.
After a minute of his mauling her, she pushed him away, laughing. “You know the rules, Griff. No kissing. And I’m the initiator.”
His sports jacket was fighting to stay on while he was frantically trying to shake it off. “Give me a break.”
“This once. But some rules must apply.”
“Right. I pay up front.”
“Hmm.”
The sleeves of his jacket were turned inside out when he finally was able to fling the thing to the floor. He dug into his pants pocket for the money clip of cash Wyatt Turner had given him. The tight-ass would have conniptions if he knew his client was spending his food and gas money on a prostitute. Speaking for himself, Griff didn’t begrudge a penny of Marcia’s fee. If he had to, he’d skip a few meals.
“How much?”
“Two thousand. For an hour. Straight sex.”
He gaped at her and swallowed the golf ball now lodged in his throat. “Two thousand? You’ve gone up. A lot.”
“So has the cost of living,” she replied coolly. “And business expenses.”
He expelled a gusty breath of disappointment, then bent down and retrieved his jacket from the floor. “I don’t have it. Maybe tomorrow night,” he said wryly.
“How much have you got?”
He held out the money clip. She took it and pulled out two hundred-dollar bills, then gave the clip back to him. “Don’t tell anybody.”
Griff thought he might weep out of gratitude. “I’ll be eternally in your debt.”
Marcia was the most select prostitute in Dallas, and it was strict business practices that had put her there. She was a businesswoman all the way. Through the grapevine, Griff had heard that she, acting on tips from clients, had invested wisely in real estate. She’d bought up farmland north of Dallas, and when the city expanded in that direction, she had scored huge. It was also said she had a stock portfolio worth millions.
