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Nash was surprised by how annoyed he felt. And he had no reason to feel annoyed. He should’ve expected it. Especially after the way he’d treated her the last time she’d been here. She probably wanted nothing to do with the rude pervert who liked to talk dirty to women in the dark. What were the words he’d given her for his behavior?Sexual deviant. It wasn’t exactly the truth. He wasn’t sexually screwed up as much as mentally. These late-night exercises were his way of fixing the broken part of him. Not that he was fixable. And yet, somehow, he felt as if this escort could fix him.
Just her name brought up an image of a beautiful garden in full sunshine. Enough sunshine to seep into all the hidden cracks and crevices and cancel out all the darkness.
Getting up from the chair, Nash moved to the window and drew back the heavy curtains. It wasn’t raining tonight, and the half-moon hung like a Chinese lantern in the sky between the skyscrapers that surrounded the hotel. He tipped the Breitling watch Deacon had gotten him for Christmas toward it and read the time before letting the curtain drop. He paced in the dark for a few minutes. Feeling hot, he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, then stubbed his toe on a table leg when he went to lay it over the back of the chair.
“Shit!” He hobbled to the window and opened the curtain to check his watch.
She wasn’t coming.
But instead of ending the farce, Nash sat down in the chair and picked up his phone from the table. He intended to listen to some blues to match his mood. But while shuffling through his playlist, he saw a Bruce Springsteen song and tapped the play arrow.
His mother had loved Springsteen, and Nash had grown up listening to poetic songs about small towns, city jungles, and unrequited love. But “Thunder Road,” above all other songs, made him think of his mom. Even now he could picture her stepping out on the porch in the midst of a hot, Louisiana summer, her dress fluttering in the thick, humid breeze that swelled up from the bayou, her pretty brown hair clinging to the sweat at her brow. Sweat not only from the heat but also from hours spent sewing clothes for other people, cleaning house, and raising three boys. And yet, she had never stopped smiling. No matter how hard she worked. Or how many jobs his father lost. Or how many bills three boys could accumulate. Or how destructive cancer could be. Althea Beaumont had smiled through it all.
It was a trait that Nash had acquired. There was only one night he’d forgotten to smile, the night his father had woken him from a sound sleep to say his final goodbyes to his mother. He’d been so upset by the shell of the woman on the bed that he’d stood there mute… until she smiled.
“I love you, Nash Potatoes.”
Her smile and the pet name were all it took for him to completely lose it. Not with tears. He wished he had lost it with tears. No, instead, he threw a major tantrum. He kicked over the chair his father had brought into the room and started punching his dad, using every cuss word he could think of. And he didn’t stop until Donny John had wrapped him in a bear hug and carried him out.
Not wanting to think about the painful past, he cut off the song in mid-lyric and chose a Maroon 5 song. But the upbeat tune didn’t stop his brain from going down the dark path of memories. And soon images filled his mind. Not of his mother, but of Melissa. Sweet, innocent Melissa—
“Hello? Are you here?”
The softly spoken words cut into his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to find light spearing through the darkness from the opened door. Relief caused his shoulders to relax.
He lowered the volume of the song. “What happened to the slow burn and trip around the world?”
There was a slight hesitation. “I figured you knew what was on the menu.”
He got to his feet, but kept his distance. “Maybe you should refresh my memory.”
Her swallow was audible. “I would still prefer it if you didn’t touch me.”
She might not want him to, but he wanted to. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything in his life. She pulled at him like the tide to the moon. But she was right. Touching wasn’t an option. At least not for him.
“I’ll make you a deal.” He moved a step closer and caught the same earthy scent he’d smelled before. Not floral, but herbal. The kind of fresh scent you catch on a dewy summer morning. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before slowly releasing. “I won’t touch, if you do exactly what I say.”
There was a long pause. “O-okay.”
He was surprised by how one simple word could make his cock go from semi-interested to fully consumed. It pressed against the fly of his jeans like a divining rod searching for water as an ache grew in Nash’s belly. An ache that chanted two words…
I want. I want. I want.
But Nash had wanted before. And too much want could lead to lack of control. And lack of control could lead to another kind of ache. The kind that settled in your heart and refused to let go. So he ignored the throbbing of his cock and walked back over to the chair in the corner. Once he was seated, he lifted his phone. He had hooked the light over the bed to an app on his phone. Deacon and Grayson liked to tease him about being a tech nerd, but sometimes it came in handy. With just a few taps, the light clicked on.
Eden stood just inside the pool of soft light. Her eyes squinted, and her hands clutched her purse as if it were a life preserver and she a drown victim. She wore the same black dress she’d worn the other night. Nash didn’t know colors as well as Grayson, but he knew that black was the wrong color for Eden. With her black hair and gold eyes, she needed vivid color. Red would look good. Or bright yellow. Or pink. Any color but black. Although he did like her black heels and the way they made her legs look as long as a slim-grip fishing rod.
How would it feel to have them wrapped around his waist? Straddling his hips? Hooked over his shoulders? He clenched his jaw and tried to push the thoughts from his mind.
“The dress,” he said, his voice raspy with desire.
She lowered her hands and set the purse on the bed before slipping down a strap of her dress. The swell of one breast appeared before she pulled it back up. “Look,” she said. “I’m kinda new at this. I mean I haven’t been escort… ing for very long.”
He wasn’t surprised. Her behavior the first night had pretty well clinched the fact that she wasn’t experienced. Which intrigued him. Or maybe just turned him on. Was he her first? He liked the thought of it. Almost as much as he liked the thought of being the first man to give her an orgasm. But he couldn’t think about that. If he did, he would lose all control.
She swallowed again. “So I was wondering if we could talk for a little while?” she asked. “Maybe get to know each other?”
“You don’t need to know me.”
