January (Calendar Girl #1) (4 page)

He pulled back, his green eyes swirling with restrained lust. “I have work to do in my office. Feel free to look around, sunbathe, use the pool. I’ll need you ready and wearing a cocktail dress at five sharp. We have a business dinner to attend,” and with one last squeeze to my hip, he turned and left. The skin of my hip still felt the phantom imprint of his touch.

“Damn,” I said, lightheaded after holding my breath for so long. Once his lips touched down behind my ear, I’d lost the ability to breathe. “He’s going to be trouble.”

Chapter 3

The pool was heated and refreshing. I used the time I had to work on my tan and get some exercise by way of laps in the pool. Weston, or “Wes” as he likes to be called, had not made an appearance. I imagined him behind one of the many closed doors I passed on my way to the patio.

While I was drip-drying, a petite, though quite round woman, dressed in a pair of khakis and a sweater holding a tray, entered the patio. Instantly, I reached for a towel that was not there and looked around. She smiled wide and walked over to a basket in the corner by the door, lifted the lid and pulled out a huge, multicolored beach towel. “Here you are, love,” she said in a British accent handing me the towel. Her salt-and-pepper-colored hair and soft brown eyes reminded me of an older Mary Poppins.

“Hi, I’m Mia.” I pulled the towel completely around my body hiding the miniscule red bikini I’d found in the wardrobe. There were several others, but they were all tiny, so I chose one at random.

‘Mary Poppins’ smiled and held out her small hand. “Ms. Croft. I keep the house in order, provide Mr. Channing with his meals, tidy up, and the lot.” I nodded and wrung the excess water out of my hair and pulled it up into a ponytail. “I wanted to bring you a little nosh, introduce myself, and let you know that if you need anything, you can buzz me by pressing the
Aid
button on the mounted intercom in each room.” She pointed to the panel of buttons on the wall outside. “I’ll be sure to provide you with a daily schedule of yours and Mr. Channing’s activities so you are prepared. How about I push it under your door in the mornings?”

I shrugged. Like her, I was a hired hand, only I was meant to look pretty and scare off rich girls. We all had our crosses to bear. “Whatever works. I’m easy.”

Ms. Croft looked me up and down and then tilted her head. A smirk adorned her thin lips. “I’m getting the feeling you’re anything but easy, poppet,” she winked. “This should be interesting,” she said vaguely before she turned on her heel and re-entered the house.

Whatever
that
meant. Scanning the awesome view one more time I thought,
this is going to be easy money
. Hot guy, I’m
not
going to fall in love with, a killer pad with a view, and enough new clothes to choke a horse. So far, seemed like a pretty killer gig. Through the open patio doors, I saw the clock hanging over the stove in the kitchen and noted I had an hour and half before Hot Surfer Rich Guy needed his new “companion” for my first day on the job.

I decided as with everything, I was going to knock his socks off, even if they weren’t Christmas red and green.

***

Mr. Channing arrived at my door with a brisk knock then strutted right in without waiting for an invitation.
Note to self: Don’t get dressed out in the open, or you’re liable to give the Lord of the Manor a peep show.
Though something tells me he wouldn’t mind at all, if the way his eyes were passing over my form from top to bottom—not once, but twice—was any indication The view on this side of the room wasn’t bad either. He was de-lish-ious in a finely tailored black suit. He had on a crisp white shirt with the collar open showing a sexy slash of male throat. He held up three ties as he took in my attire.

I was wearing a deep eggplant purple cocktail dress. It had beading at the halter neck, which flowed into two swaths of fabric over my breasts leaving the center open for maximum cleavage, then crossed over at the ribs, again with the jewels, leaving enticing cutouts at the dips in my waist. I’d never worn anything so sexy, elegant, or expensive. I felt like Elizabeth Taylor in one of her diamond commercials. The rest of the dress fell into an A-line ending demurely at the knee. Even though I was on the busty side—this dress left no room for a bra with its open back—it held  the girls up nicely with the inside shaping. I looked and, better yet,
felt
beautiful for the first time in a long time. 

“Wow,” was all Wes said as he stood with a look of awe over his handsomely rugged face. He held out the three ties and presented them to me. “Which one?” he said on a swallow before clearing his throat. I grinned, loving every second of taking this wild card by surprise. I might be a bad ass biker babe but I knew I cleaned up well.

The ties were nice, and one did go better with my dress than the rest, but instead of taking the ties from him, I placed both my hands at his collar, pulled it out and laid it over the collar and lapels of his suit. “I like it without. You look hot.” No reason not to be honest. He did look hot.

His lips crooked up into a too-hot-to-handle grin and I bit my lip, feeling the lace of my panties go damp. Shit, if he didn’t stop, I was going to jump him. Like Ginelle so crudely reminded me this morning, it had been months since I’d felt a man’s touch. And honestly, it was more like a year. I’d had it with men after Blaine and spent the year telling myself I could live the life of a nun as long as I had a vibrator and plenty of cookie dough at the ready. Faced with the man in front of me, I wasn’t so sure celibacy was the smart decision. For right now, I was primed to take down Hot Surfer guy.

“Mother won’t like that,” he whispered before clasping my wrist and tugging me to him. I wobbled on the sickeningly high stiletto heels his personal shopper bought and tumbled into him, chest-to-chest. My hands landed on the hard wall of muscle that could still be felt through his suit and shirt.  

He looked down at me as I looked up. “You always do what your mama says?” I challenged.

He laughed and his eyes went a beautiful shamrock green. I found I could stare into those leafy eyes for days on end and feel like I’d won a prize. “No, but it is Mother’s event. I do like to be a good boy when it suits.” He leaned in close and inhaled at the base of my neck. “Christ, you smell like sunshine and a cool breeze in the summer,” he said dragging his lips along my chin. Shivers of excitement ran through me from the roots of my curled hair to the soles of my feet. “And you look beyond beautiful.” He kissed the side of my lip again. No full lip contact. I almost harrumphed, but I figured it was part of his game, and he was good at it. The art of seduction was obviously something he enjoyed. At this moment in time, I was all for it.

“We better go,” I warned.

Wes smiled and tugged on my hand turning and leading me out of the room. I barely had a moment to grab the matching handbag that had my phone, lipstick, and ID in it. As we reached the door to leave, Ms. Croft was standing there. She had a handful of pocket squares. She looked at my dress, picked the matching one and made a fuss over putting it into the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

“There,” she smoothed her hands over his suit coat. “You look perfect, Sonny.” Her eyes were bright and glistened as if she was preparing her own son for his senior prom. Weird. I declined to mention it. He put the ties into her capable hands.

“Thanks, Judi,” He leaned forward and kissed her wrinkled cheek. He looked over to me, sized me up again and turned back to his maid-slash-cook-slash-housekeeper. Not really sure what she was. “The dress is perfect.” He thanked her and led me out to the limo waiting out front.

Judi bought the clothes?
Any further thoughts were obliterated, and my mouth dropped open at the size of the limo. It was long, stretched beyond anything I’d ever seen. I’d never been in a limo, but as we approached, Wes tilted his head to the side and looked at me with a funny smile. “You ever been in a limo?” he asked, clearly amused.

I straightened my shoulders and walked up to the limo as if I’d been in one a million times. “Of course.” I pulled open the door. He put a hand over his mouth, clasping one arm at the elbow and laughed. I cringed, apparently not in on the joke.

“Then why are you trying to get in on the passenger side?” He gestured to the door I held open. I looked inside and saw the driver’s wheel. When I adjusted my stance, there was a gentleman in what had to be a black chauffeur’s uniform holding open the back door.

“I knew that. I was just going to ask the driver where we were headed.” I sauntered over to the door, cheeks burning hot.

“Of course you were.” He placed a hand low on my back and ushered me inside with a chuckle.

Once we were settled, he offered me a glass of champagne, which I readily accepted.

“Thank you.”

He smiled and poured one for himself as well. We clinked glasses.

“What are we toasting to?” I asked.

“How about to being friends?” He grinned then set a warm hand high on my thigh, much higher than a ‘friend’ would. It felt good there. “Good friends.” His eyes dropped to my mouth as I bit my bottom lip.

“Friends with benefits?” I inquired, lifting an eyebrow for maximum effect and crossing my legs. That hand of his went a few inches higher until it brushed along bare thigh.

His gaze focused on mine and made me feel warm, positively hot, under his heated look. “God, I hope so,” he whispered and leaned closer.

To foil his plans and keep my sanity in check, I immediately lifted my champagne flute and placed it against my lips and took a hearty sip of the bubbly concoction.

Wes leaned back and groaned, adjusting his crotch—less than subtle. I giggled, and he shot a few daggers my way but ended with a head shake and a grin. Yeah, I was going to enjoy this game of cat and mouse. Although at the moment, I wasn’t sure who was the cat and who was the mouse. In the end, I was having far too much fun to care.

We arrived at a swank mansion in the Malibu Hills not far from where Wes lived. As we walked up the steps, I could see people milling about through the windows. Everyone was dressed to the nines and holding a drink. Most of the women in attendance seemed to be my age, which I found strange since the men were not.

“What do you do anyway?” I whispered as he led me to the bar. I realized when we walked in that I had very little information about what I was to do, besides keep the Hollywood harlots at bay.

“I write scripts,” he said casually as we waited for the bartender to approach us. It seemed odd to have a full length bar in someone’s house, but the room was huge, the size of a ballroom, so maybe it wasn’t so strange. Chandeliers dotted the ceiling and a wall of windows led out into an open view of the ocean just like at Wes’s house, only on a much grander scale. This person was über rich. Unlike Wes, who was just beaucoup rich.

He handed me another glass of champagne. “Like for plays?” I asked while scanning the area. Instantly, I spotted a pack of girls dolled up and ready to strike in the corner. They were focused on Wes, and had lusty dollar signs in their eyes.

“More like movies.”

“Huh. Would I know any?” I turned to him and he smiled.

“Probably,” he snickered and took a sip of something amber-colored in a cocktail tumbler. I could smell whiskey a mile away, and it didn’t bring fond memories. I cringed and turned back to the vultures.

Wes put a hand on my bare shoulder, eyes narrowed and uncertain. “What’s the matter?”

I took a deep breath and pressed down the frustration I had with my father and his drinking and the gambling habit that had gotten me into this mess in the first place. I shook my head. “Nothing.”

He tipped up my chin and looked into my eyes. “It’s not nothing. I won’t ask again,” he warned.

Nonchalantly I shrugged. “I hate the smell of whiskey; no biggie.”  Curving outward I loosened his hold. He set down the drink and gestured to the bartender.

“Changed my mind. Gin and tonic,” he said and the man nodded.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I started, but he cut me off by lifting a hand to my cheek. He cupped it and swiped just his thumb against my bottom lip tenderly.

He held my lip, and I wanted so badly to press my tongue to the digit and steal a small taste. I didn’t though, fearing what he’d think or do.

“I wanted to. Now, let’s go introduce you to Mother.”

With mammoth effort, I followed him, wanting nothing more than to rush out those double doors, down to the beach until I reached the ocean, where I’d promptly drown myself. What the hell was I doing at a fancy-dancy party, on the arm of a man who wrote movies and had more money than I’d see in my lifetime? I was the daughter of a Vegas gambler, abandoned by my mother at a young age, worked mostly waitressing jobs, and only recently was trying to hack it as a small time actress.

Wes led me through the throngs of people. Snippets of conversations about exotic vacations, the latest new action movie, who was who in Hollywood, and what major corporation was doing what flooded my mind as we passed each small group. The men looked appreciatively at me as we passed, their women—not so much. Pouty lips and anorexia were obviously the latest trends, both of which I didn’t have, and in this dress,
nothing
was left to the imagination.

We made our way through the crowd to the back of the room where a cropping of high back chairs and bookcases were. An older woman, perhaps in her fifties, stood near a man who looked suspiciously like Wes. He also was tall with blond hair, except this distinguished gentleman in a dark grey suit that complimented his wife’s pale pink dress was built like a linebacker, unlike Wes who had the leaner build of a regular swimmer-slash-surfer.

“Mother, Father,” Wes approached the couple. The older woman had pale blond hair, almost white, and startling blue eyes. Her lips were full like her son’s and coated with a mauve lipstick that paired well with her skin tone and coloring. Her hair was pulled into a severe French twist and pearls hung from her neck and ears. Her look was classic elegance.