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“Yes, it was. Listen, love, I know you hate those labels.” He puts his phone back in his pocket. “I know you weren’t raped, and thank God for that. But there was sexual torture involved, and there’s a reason you can’t be with men. So humor me, okay? Give her a call. Try her out. You deserve to live a normal, happy life.”
“As you do. Corey—”
“Who says I’m not happy?” He sends me a too-bright smile, and climbs to his feet. “Have to run. Bryan’s waiting for me. Glad you’re alive, sweet cheeks. I was worried. Next time give some sign of life, would you? Keep me from getting gray hairs.”
I laugh, I can’t help it. “You’re twenty-one.”
“And your point is?” He winks at me, smooths his hands over his hair and grabs his coat from the chair. “We should go out. Saturday night. What say you, oh dark one?”
My laughter fades. Dark. Yeah. “Maybe.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, which makes no sense, but by the time I’ve formulated a reply, he’s out and closing the door behind him.
Hurricane Corey.
Sighing, I plop back against the cushions and rub my hands over my face. He’s right. I should call this therapist, go out on Saturday night, and slowly put my life back together. The way others do it. Why think I could do it differently?
Or that Riot can fix me? An escort. Sure, he’s hot, insanely so, and also kind and persistent, but why would he be able to help me when the specialists couldn’t?
This is hopeless.
***
Dressed in one of my favorite dresses and high heels, feeling the scratch of my lacy underwear against my skin, I reach the hotel and hesitate at the door.
I haven’t dressed up for Riot, I tell myself. It’s just that I feel better, stronger when I wear my favorite pieces. I don’t care if he likes my dress, and he won’t be seeing my underwear no matter what. He won’t undress me or touch me.
Don’t care if I see that flare of desire in his eyes like when we were last here. Shouldn’t forget it’s all an act. He’s trained for this—to make women feel wanted, desired.
Remember he’s a good actor.
Christ, I don’t know what the hell we’re doing here tonight. I shouldn’t have accepted. This is a stupid idea—one more of many.
The doors open and a couple stroll out, their arms around each other. Seeing them sends a pang through my chest.
Love.
Not for the likes of us, Corey said. Well, he was only speaking for himself, but what chances would someone like me have of loving someone when I can’t even get over my fear for one minute to touch a man, kiss him, sleep with him?
Corey is the better candidate of the two of us in this game, even if he doesn’t seem to know it.
Taking a deep breath, I push through the door and enter the hotel lobby. I’m a bit early—nerves—so my plan is to sit and read on my phone until he arrives.
I don’t expect him to be there, standing with his back to the wall and his arms folded over his broad chest.
My first reaction is to take a step back, flee before he sees me. But like every time, he looks up as if sensing me, and that fine mouth turns up in a faint smirk.
Sexy…
Get a grip, Pax. I take a step back. Remember what you’re both doing here. A business. A transaction.
Between naked bodies, my traitorous mind whispers, and I shush it. It doesn’t matter what sort of transaction it is.
Stop lusting after him.
And what use is lusting if you can’t touch? Shaking my head at myself, I stop before I reach the door. Force my feet to move forward, step after step, approaching him.
He hasn’t moved from his spot. Still lounging. Still smirking. Still looking at me with those clear, gray eyes, his dark hair tousled and shiny like silk.
