"Which part?"
"The part where you fucked her. I thought this plan was to do more of a wine and dine sort of thing."
The man has a point. But that plan had been concocted before he'd seen her body, before her lips had first wrapped around his cock. From that point on, it had only been a matter of when, and not if, he would fuck Candace Tapers.
He stands, glancing in the dark glass of the bedroom, the curve of her body barely visible under the spread.
"I'm gonna be married to the woman," he drawls. "It only makes sense that I know what I'm signing myself up for."
CHAPTER 10
Light streams through the open balcony doors, the smell of salt in the air, the sound of ocean waves soothing. I roll over, the sheets soft and smooth against my naked skin. I run a hand over the empty place where Nathan had slept. He had come to bed late, after I had taken a shower and lain in bed long enough to second-guess every minute of the evening. I had woken up when he had settled into the bed, the mattress moving slightly, the covers pulling across my hip. I hadn’t moved, had only waited, hopeful that he would slide an arm across my body, or plant a kiss on the back of my neck.
He hadn’t. He had lain as still as a corpse, his breaths shallow until the moment he had fallen asleep. I had wanted so badly, at that moment, to roll over and into his side, to rest my head on his chest and my arm across his body.
I haven't slept with a man since Seth. Most guys—the good guys—don’t want to date a stripper. Fuck them, sure. Actually sleep with them? Cuddle and caress? Nah.
“Good morning.”
I turn my head, my gaze colliding with a set of green eyes, ones that lead to a crooked nose, full lips and a few days of unshaven growth. The security guy. Some name that begins with a D. Drew.
“Mr. Dumont would like to speak to you.”
I stretch, a long and lazy motion that fully utilizes every inch of the king bed, then sit up, holding the blanket against my chest. “Do you mind getting my dress from out there?”
“There is a set of clothes for you in the closet. You may be more comfortable in those.”
I turn my head and eye the closet door. “Okay.”
When he leaves the room, I throw off the blanket and stand up.
The closet is empty, except for a few padded hangers. One holds a flannel set of pajamas, ones I would have appreciated last night. I roll my eyes and flip to the next hanger, which has a pale blue sundress and matching cardigan. I pull it loose, the tags snagging on the hanger, and I pause, carefully separating the items. My eyes catch on the price tag, and I let out a low whistle. Three hundred dollars for a sundress? A bit excessive for a sending-the-hooker-on-her-way outfit.
I pull the dress carefully over my head, leaving the tags on. I don’t work on Tuesday. Maybe I can return it then, assuming he bought it somewhere locally. I think again of the Nashville address on his license, and my stomach flips, a reminder of the fact that my life is about to return to normal.
“Candy?” There is the soft knock on the bedroom door, and I run a quick hand through my hair.
“Coming.” My eyes drop to the floor, where a pair of lace panties lie next to some wedge sandals. I crouch down, pulling the tags off the panties and snagging the wedges. Brian Atwoods, in my size, a fact that gives me a serious moment of pause.
Is this creepy? A pre-purchased outfit in my size? Maybe it’s sweet. Maybe he planned ahead and … I end that thought process. There is no “planning ahead” scenario that isn’t creepy.
I pull on the panties and straighten the lay of the dress, carrying the shoes and pulling open the bedroom door. The bodyguard steps away from the door, gesturing me forward.
“He’s at the table.”
I smile breezily at him, my excitement mounting at the thought of getting paid. I wonder if he’ll give me a fat stack of bills, something thick and impressive. Or maybe a check, though he doesn’t seem like that type.
I round the corner and slow, spying Nathan at the table, a spread of documents before him. He slides the chair backward and stands at my approach.
“Good morning, Candace. Please, sit down.”
CHAPTER 11
I look at the document in confusion, the pages filled with words that don’t belong near me.
Marriage.
Prenuptial.
Assumption.
Loyalty.
Confidentiality.
I set down the pages and look at him, sitting on the other end of the long dining table. The same table on which I had laid naked, touched myself on, begged him from.
“I’m confused…” I glance back down, my name in the first sentence, in clear block font. “Is this document for me?”
“It’s a proposal. Last night was an audition of sorts. To see if we are sexually compatible. I have strong sexual needs, and you prove equipped to handle them. I need, for various reasons, a wife. I’ve had you followed for several weeks. You seem to have a fairly despondent life, with no boyfriend, no family, no financial security. I am offering you a business proposition.”
So many bombs to deliver. I’ve had you followed for weeks. The statement fills me with a mix of anger and fear, my ignorance of the situation alarming. I think of Dib’s house, the overgrown yard, my dented car with duct tape holding on one fender, and flush from embarrassment. No family. That’s incorrect, an observation that is either truly ignorant, or disdainfully hateful. I have a father. Whether I visit enough, or lie to him about my life, or can’t afford to move him to a nicer facility—all of that is immaterial to the fact that he exists. I swallow. “I have family. My father. He’s in a hospital in Jacksonville.”
He says nothing, and if I expected sympathy, I was wrong.
I glance back down at the documents, my mind clogged with possibilities, in equal amounts fear and excitement. “I don’t see a compensation structure.”
That produces a laugh, one short bark absolutely devoid of humor. “Compensation?”
I meet his mocking eyes. “Yes. Business propositions involve compensation on both parts. I understand what I am giving up, but fail to see what I am getting from this arrangement.”
He holds out his hands, gesturing to the suite. “This life. You are barely struggling by. I am offering you a life of luxury, with everything you want, at your fingertips. You won’t have to work, will no longer have to straddle sweaty men with wandering hands.”
I arch a brow. “Oh. Like you?”
He pushes back from the table and stands. “Look at the paperwork. If you are interested, sign the documents. If not, Drew will give you your money and take you home. Either way, you will be paid.” He turns, grabbing a jacket off the counter and shrugging into it.
I stand and the chair scrapes the floor, the raw sound loud in the quiet suite. “Is this your idea of romance?”