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Her face appeared as soon as he hit ‘search’.
Nausea rode through him. It was obvious that Ethan had played Khalil at his own game—and won. Not only had he brought a prostitute home, he’d kissed her at the bar, in full view of Manhattan’s social elite, an army of spies armed with cell phones, who would be all too happy to sell this picture to the tabloids. It was Fatima all over again. Fatima’s lies, Fatima’s trickery, Fatima’s mercenary ability to wrap men around her little finger purely for financial gain, her cold-hearted devotion to money the only thing she cared about. And India was just the same! But she wasn’t. Was she?
He ran his mind over the night, trying to connect the dots of Ethan’s words to the woman he’d bedded. Surely that passion hadn’t been faked? No, their chemistry was genuine, of that he was sure, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be willing to exploit it. He’d told her he was royal almost as soon as they’d met. He had no way of knowing if her interest from that point on had been genuine or motivated by his endless coffers, as Fatima’s actions had been. But her relationship with Ethan suddenly made so much more sense. It wasn’t a relationship. She was too smart for him, too beautiful. She was being paid to be at his side, to laugh at his jokes, to fetch his damned drinks. It was why she’d hesitated to leave Ethan, her current pay cheque, why she’d questioned the fact he only wanted one night with her. If she was going to give up Ethan, it had to be worth it. Everything suddenly made so much sense! It was why she’d wanted to let Ethan down gently, to feign illness, rather than being honest with him. She wanted to have her cake and eat it too! Had she thought she could sleep with Khalil one night and Ethan the next? Disgust chipped at his gut.
He slammed his palms into the kitchen counter, staring at it with a rising sense of outrage. After Fatima, he’d thought he’d protected himself against women like this! He’d thought he could spot them a mile off! How had India managed to get under his skin so thoroughly?
Was there any chance this wasn’t true? Was there any possibility? He groaned at his gullibility. What kind of escort agency offered dates with no sex? Not any that he’d ever heard of! Admittedly he had very little experience with such matters, but he was sure a happy ending was a guaranteed part of the night.
With every minute that passed, he began to see India as the second coming of Fatima, to see her as a very beautiful, manipulative, dishonest, scheming woman. Old pain was exposed, bitter and fierce. He stared at her photograph on the phone; the confirmation of her vocation stared right back at him. Damn it! How had he been so foolish?
He put down his phone and straightened his spine, renewed determination firing in his veins. He’d made a mistake, but at least there were no lasting consequences this time. He would wait until she was awake and then he’d throw her out of this apartment, and out of his life. He never wanted to see her again.
‘So what exactly is the going rate?’
She frowned, still sleepy, her body on fire, her nerves sensitive, her stomach hungry and mouth dry, and, most of all, her heart blessedly, completely content in a way she’d never known before. Khalil stood in the hotel kitchen, dressed in an expensive bespoke suit that fitted him as though it were moulded to his frame. Naked he was glorious, but like this he was the embodiment of power and success, so a thousand and one sparks went off beneath her skin. Given his formal state of dress, India was glad she’d paused long enough to wrap a sheet, toga-style, around herself.
‘For coffee?’ she prompted as the fragrance reached her nostrils. ‘I’d pay about a thousand dollars right now.’
He didn’t smile. ‘I meant, for a night of your...company.’
India stopped walking, frozen to the spot. Her smile dropped to her toes and her blood turned to ice. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Oh, apologies are definitely warranted,’ he said with a cutting tone to his voice.
‘That’s not what I—what do you mean?’
‘Now I understand why you were trying to move our arrangement to tonight,’ he said, throwing back half of his own coffee without shifting his eyes from her face. ‘You were already booked last night. I suppose you expect me to compensate you for two nights of business?’
Her eyes swept shut as the true horror of the situation became clear.
‘I’m just surprised you didn’t negotiate your price and ask for payment before you climbed into my bed. Surely that’s better business practice?’
India felt sick. ‘Don’t,’ she snapped, slicing her hand through the air. ‘Don’t you dare suggest that I slept with you in exchange for—’
‘Oh, that’s rich,’ he interrupted. ‘Acting outraged when the whole world can see who and what you do.’ He lifted up his phone, showing her Warm Engagements profile picture. She felt the sharp sting of tears at her eyes and in her throat, but refused to give in to that weakness now.
‘That’s a legitimate escort service,’ she insisted, but of course she could see how damning the facts were, on the surface.
‘Sure it is,’ he said in a way that made it obvious he didn’t believe a word she was saying. ‘Legitimate prostitution.’
‘No,’ she ground out. ‘You’re wrong. It’s not that kind of agency. We specialise in dates for out-of-town businesspeople, who need someone on their arm for one night and don’t want the complication of a romantic entanglement. That concept is the only reason I agreed to work for them. I have never slept with a man for money, and it definitely isn’t what last night was about.’
‘That is not what Ethan said.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Ethan?’ She groaned, lifting a hand to her forehead and pacing across the room, towards the kitchen. ‘You do know him, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘But what did he say? How did he—? He didn’t know about you. And us. I mean, he didn’t know I left with you.’
‘I made sure he did, actually.’ Khalil glared down his nose at her. ‘It turns out, you weren’t the only one telling lies last night, azeezi.’Now when he used the term of endearment she flinched, impossibly hurt by the tone of his voice, the obvious accusation.
‘You used me,’ she whispered, the words sticking in her throat. But it was the truth, of course. What other explanation was there? Was that why he’d pursued her so relentlessly? Overpowering her very minuscule defences, all because he wanted to hurt the other man? Was that all last night had meant to him? ‘Why?’
‘You use men for money. Is that any better?’
She stormed across to him without thinking, shoving his chest as a primal, animalistic rage overtook her. ‘Damn it, I’m not going to stand here and listen to this! I would never sleep with a man for money—never. If you think me possible of that, then you’re a terrible judge of character.’ Anger made the words vibrate and she clung to that emotion rather than allowing sadness to take over.
