“Anything else I can get you, sir?” the waiter asks.
“The check,” I say, wheezing. I point back to Miranda’s chair. “I’m fine. Sit.”
She sits, her blue eyes not leaving mine for a second. She opens her mouth and then closes it again, then finally whispers, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Twenty-nine years old. Drop dead gorgeous. Virgin.
What’s she playing at? The woman owns an escort service. I did some digging, and she runs not only an escort service, but one of the most professional, well-respected escort services in Vegas.
And she’s a virgin?
She tips her head to the side, staring at me as if I’m going to pounce on her.
“You look as if you don’t trust me,” I say warily, sipping the water the waiter brought.
“I just… well, first of all, I’m not sure how I’d possibly trust you. I mean, we only just met. Second of all, you just ordered me back into the chair and you look as if you’re angry. So I’m merely trying to decide how to proceed from here.”
I respect her honesty. She says this all matter-of-factly, the boss babe handling her shit the way she always does. But there’s a thread of hurt in her eyes she can’t quite mask.
“I’m not sure how to proceed from here myself,” I tell her. I keep my gaze fixed on her.
On the one hand, I’m completely enamored by the thought of having my way with a virgin. And not only a virgin, but this virgin.
On the other hand… how can I really have my way with her when she’s… inexperienced in the bedroom? I half feel like a fucking predator for even thinking of taking her virginity.
“How did a woman as beautiful as you get to be twenty-nine years old and still…” my voice trails off. I don’t complete the sentence because she’s clearly taking this personally. Her cheeks are flushed, and she won’t look at me.
“I’m happy to get you another escort, Mr. Lord,” she says, not meeting my eyes, and there’s a note of steel in her voice.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Honestly, I think it best that I find a replacement,” she says coldly as she gets to her feet. Grabs her purse.
My patience is waning. “Sit down.”
Her eyes narrow on me for one beat before she obeys.
No one will ever call Miranda Montague spineless.
I’m fucking this up. I’ve been watching her now for months, biding my time until I had the opportunity to have her alone, to get to know her, and I’m doing a great job at making sure I push her away and she never comes back.
The waiter comes with the bill, and I pay it quickly, keeping my gaze fixed on Miranda. I sign my name with a flourish, stand, and throw the bill down on the table. I’m angry. At the circumstances, our inability to talk this through, and not knowing what happens next or how I’ll orchestrate this evening without being a class-A douchebag.
I reach for her hand. She gives me a scornful look, folds her napkin, places it on the table beside her, then gets to her feet, turning away from my hand.
“Take my hand.”
She purses her lips. “No.”
She’s playing with fire. The daddy tendencies I’ve obviously been harboring rise to the surface. I’ve booked her for this evening. She agreed to that. And just because she doesn’t like how things are going doesn’t give her the freedom to turn away from me now. Tell me no? That’s going to get you over my lap, little girl.
I come closer to her, take her by the elbow, and tug her over to me so I can whisper in her ear.
“Are you or are you not a representative of the Sugar Daddies Escort service?”
She swallows hard and her jaw clenches. “I am the representative of Sugar Daddies.”
I nod. “Then you ought to know, Miss Montague. Need I remind you what happens to little girls who don’t do what their daddies tell them?”
Her cheeks heat and she holds her head up high. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Lord, but I daresay you have a completely different concept of what our agency is about.”
I won’t allow her to sidestep.
“Then why don’t you and I go upstairs and have a little chat about this?”
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a ‘chat,’ and I’m starting to get a little wary about what exactly that entails.”
“Then perhaps it’s best we get to a place where we can discuss matters at length, and privately.”
She’s so close, I can smell the mesmerizing scent of her perfume, flowery and just a bit spicy, exquisitely feminine. A stray strand of blonde hair falls onto her forehead. I brush it off, lean in, and kiss her, a chaste brush of my lips where her hair fell on her forehead. Her eyes widen, and her mouth parts.
“Are you with me?”
A beat passes before she swallows and nods. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
She flushes even deeper.
The ride up on the elevator takes too long. I want her alone. Naked. On her knees before me, ready to do what I tell her. I want that contract signed, sealed, and delivered.
Now.
We finally arrive on my floor. I take her by the hand. It’s cold and clammy in mine, and I give her a sharp look.
“Are you nervous?”
She huffs out a laugh. “Who, me? Now why would I be nervous? There isn’t anything at all intimidating about a very massive, obviously jacked, somehow furious, sexy man who’s hired me to have sex with him, who’s outrageously furious at me for having the nerve to be a virgin?” She rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “Piece of cake.”
I narrow my eyes on her, which only makes her huff out again. “Definitely not helping my unease, if you were concerned about that or anything,” she mutters.
I don’t respond but take her to the entrance, slide my key card against the lock, then shove the door open when the little light turns green.
“Oh, wow,” she murmurs.
I give her a curious look. She shrugs. “I forgot for a minute we were in a hotel.” She looks around. “Is Darius Morrow nearby?”
“He is. What do you know about Morrow?”
“He married a friend of mine,” she says. “But I’ve never been to the penthouse.”
Good.
The more I learn about her, the more I want her for myself. I don’t share well, never have, and I don’t plan on changing that.
“Darius’s primary residence is here at the casino,” I explain, ushering her in. The door clicks shut behind her, as her eyes take in every detail. “So yes, he lives in the penthouse, though that’s on the other side of the casino. This is just a suite I rent.”
“Not your primary residence?” she asks, one elegant eyebrow arched.
I walk in, shrug out of my suit coat, and hang it up on the coat rack. “No.”
She looks around the place without a word. To our right is the massive king-bed, with its gilded ivory headboard and matching linens. The bedroom opens up to a large sitting room with chocolate brown leather furniture, accented with ivories and creams. A small end table holds a vase of white roses.
In front of us, the large window opens to a balcony, giving us a view of the Vegas skyline with magnificent twinkling lights and large skyscrapers.