Safe in His Arms (4 page)

just a little while? I‘ll show you the computer system. It‘s simple.‖

Randy agreed, thinking it wouldn‘t hurt to rack up points with the owner‘s lover.

Not to mention it would be fun to snoop. Once Jacob was gone, Randy settled down in

the large comfortable desk chair Jacob had vacated and began to scroll through the

private clientele information. He was just about to open Hank Seeley‘s profile when the

private line rang, the one the sex workers used to call in.

―Gentleman‘s Elite,‖ he answered.

―Jacob?‖ The voice was familiar.

―No, it‘s Randy. Filling in for a bit.‖

―Randy Trenton? This is Troy Jenkins. I heard you were working there.‖

―Hey, it‘s great to hear your voice. It‘s been a few years, huh? How you holding

up?‖ Randy and Troy used to work the same streets when they‘d first started in the

business. Troy had been beaten nearly to death by a vicious john, and Randy had been

the one to find Troy and get him to a hospital.

―I‘m okay. Excited about working for Elite. I can‘t believe all the hoops they put you

through to work there. It took nearly two months before they cleared me. Is it worth it?‖

―It is. Most of the clients are dreams and the tips are great. But listen, Troy. I hear

you‘re going out to see a guy named Hank Seeley tonight?‖

―Yeah. My first assignment.‖

―Listen. I feel like I have to warn you. I went out there last night and—‖

―Hey, it‘s okay. Jacob told me he likes it rough. I can handle it.‖

―It‘s more than rough, Troy. He‘s abusive. He‘s the kind of guy who smells fear and

gets hard over it. I‘ve got bruises on my neck to prove it.‖ Randy touched his throat,

shuddering.

―Oh,‖ Troy said. ―Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.‖ After a pause, he added, ―I have to go. I

told Jacob I would.‖

An idea hatched in Randy‘s head and though he knew he should squelch it right

away and stay out of trouble, he couldn‘t help offering, ―I‘m at the switchboard right

now. Stephan got hurt and Jacob ran off to take care of him. What if…‖ Did he dare

even suggest it? ―What if you suddenly came down with the flu? I could send a

replacement. Then you can put in a no-call for that client once you‘re miraculously

recovered tomorrow.‖

―Um…I don‘t know,‖ Troy said. ―You‘d really do that for me?‖

―Sure I would,‖ Randy said, as an even more diabolical scheme began to hatch in

his mind. He could claim he‘d opened the wrong file or something. A simple, honest

mistake. After all, Jacob had barely shown him what to do before flying out the door.

Even if they got pissed off they wouldn‘t fire him—he was in high demand and made

them a lot of money.

And Hank Seeley had a lesson coming to him. Who better to deliver that lesson

than Russell Evans?

―Thanks, man,‖ Troy offered, sounding very relieved. ―I can deal with a little rough

play, but I really don‘t want to get into it with a guy like that. Why do they even keep

him on the clientele list?‖

―Money talks. You know that,‖ Randy said. ―But don‘t worry. I just wrote down on

your call sheet that you‘re running a fever of a hundred and two. Feel better, my

friend.‖

Troy laughed. ―Thanks. I owe you one.‖

Randy hung up and placed a call to Russell Evans. ―Hi Russell? It‘s Randy, filling in

for Jacob over at Elite. Listen, can you take a last minute call? A guy is out sick, and we

need a real pro to fill in. Can you make it?‖

~*~

The doorbell rang and out of habit, Hank almost called for Julio to get it. Then he

remembered he‘d fired him two weeks ago. He really needed to get another houseboy,

but good help was so hard to find. Julio had lasted longer than most, nearly a year.

He‘d been a good worker and a good occasional fuck when Hank was especially hard

up.

But lately Julio had started getting uppity, telling Hank he‘d had too much to drink,

and that he‘d become intolerable to be around since Reese had flown the coop. The last

thing Hank needed was help that didn‘t know their place. When he‘d found Julio

pouring his good cognac down the sink, that had been the last straw, and he‘d sent him

packing.

He tried to blot out their last conversation, but Julio‘s words came back to him now.

―Firing me isn‘t going to solve your problems. The next time you wake up in a pool of

your own vomit, who‘s going to clean you up? You got serious issues, dude. You better

get help or mark my words, you‘re going to end up dead.‖

Fuck Julio. Hank didn‘t need his sanctimonious lecturing. So he drank a little too

much from time to time. Who didn‘t?

He walked through the house toward the front door, his cock twitching at the

thought of meeting the new call boy. He licked his lips in anticipation and pulled open

the door.

He stared, speechless, at the man standing before him.

He was easily six-three and maybe two hundred fifty pounds, too much of it in his

gut. There was solid muscle beneath it though, as evidenced by his thickly muscled

arms and massive shoulders. He had ginger red hair, cut short, and a ginger mustache

and goatee, trimmed close. His nose looked like it had been broken at least once and his

skin was the sunburned, ruddy color of someone who‘d spent much of their lives

outdoors.

He was wearing a black muscle T-shirt that revealed lots of chest hair, and his arms

were covered in a thick down of golden-red fuzz. The man was the antithesis of Hank‘s

standing profile at the escort service. What the hell was he doing here?

Hank finally found his voice. ―I didn‘t call for you. Jesus, how old are you, anyway?

Forty
?‖

The man lifted his eyebrows and had the gall to laugh. Hank saw nothing funny in

the question. His profile specifically stated no one over twenty-five, and the younger

the better. ―Getting there,‖ the guy said, still smiling. ―Thirty-eight.‖

Hank waited for some kind of excuse or explanation, but he said nothing more.

―I ordered Troy. You‘re not Troy,‖ Hank said, increasingly annoyed.

―My name is Russell. I got a call from the service and they gave me your name and

directions to your place. Apparently Troy got sick at the last minute and there‘s some

kind of emergency over there so Jacob was unavailable. From your reaction, I would

venture to guess the guy on call screwed up.‖ Russell‘s voice was a deep rumbling bass.

―Huh,‖ Hank said, feeling for some reason on uncertain ground around the tall,

imposing man standing before him. ―I‘ve been using the service for over a year and

they never messed up like this before.‖

―My apologies. I‘m sure it can be straightened out. Unless you‘d like me to…‖

Russell let the sentence hang.

Why didn‘t Hank just dismiss the guy out of hand and slam the door? What kept

him staring into those very blue eyes? He never went for the big hairy types. He liked

his boys young and smooth, and very much in his thrall. But he couldn‘t deny his cock

had come to attention in this guy‘s presence.

Without consciously making the decision, Hank stepped back and waved a hand.

―What the hell. You give good head, Russell?‖

Russell entered the hall, allowing Hank to close the door behind him. ―So I‘m told.

How about you?‖

―Pardon?‖ Hank was taken aback by the question from a guy who was nothing

more than a hooker.

―I asked if you give good head,‖ Russell repeated.

―Yeah, well, I‘ll ask the questions. You‘re on my dime, don‘t forget. This isn‘t a

social call.‖ The question rankled. The fact of the matter was, he rarely sucked another

man‘s cock, except when he was very drunk, and even then not often. He was a pitcher,

not a catcher.

―Okay,‖ Russell said slowly. ―I‘m guessing by your tone that you don‘t have many

social calls. No friends to speak of.‖

Hank whirled on him. ―What the fuck is your problem? I‘m not paying you to talk.

I‘m paying you to get on your knees and suck my dick. Got it?‖

Instead of contrition or even anger, Hank saw pity in Russell‘s expression. What a

joke that a common whore would pity him! Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

―Hey,‖ Russell said in a maddeningly gentle tone, ―sorry if I offended you with the

comment about no friends. It‘s rough when you‘re all alone. I understand that. Even

with all this,‖ he waved his hand around the large elegantly furnished living room,

―that old adage is true, huh? Money can‘t buy happiness. I‘d venture to guess you are

one very unhappy man.‖

―Jesus Christ!‖ Hank shouted, anger exploding through him. ―Who the fuck do you

think you are? Is this how you treat all your customers? What the fuck is wrong with

you?‖

―You‘re not my customer, Hank.‖

―What? You work for Gentleman‘s Elite. You‘re here because they sent you. For this

hour I own your ass.‖

―Nope, sorry.‖ Russell shook his head. ―I‘ve changed my mind. I don‘t want to be

with you any longer. I thought at first you were my type, but I see I was mistaken.‖

Russell moved toward the door.

Hank felt his face heat and he clenched his fists, reflexively starting toward the

bigger man. Russell put his hands up, palms outward. ―Calm down, Hank. I‘m not your

type either, remember? I‘ll be on my way, and you can figure this out with the service.‖

Hank couldn‘t believe
he
was the one being dismissed. The whole thing seemed

surreal. ―I‘m not your type? You‘re a hooker, for god‘s sake! Your
type
is whoever‘s

handing out the money.‖

―I prefer the term sex worker. And yes, while I offer sexual services in exchange for

money, I actually do have preferences, and standards. Common civility is one of those. I

will not be treated as less than, simply to satisfy your insecurities. To put it another

way, I won‘t allow someone to stand on my neck so they can feel a little taller. No

amount of money is worth that.‖

Yes, the money, Hank thought, narrowing his eyes as he appraised the tall,

enigmatic stranger. Russell was already bought and paid for. How dare he refuse to

deliver the goods—in this case his own ass? Even as this thought occurred to Hank, he

knew it would hold no sway with this guy.

For some reason, though the man was beyond insulting, Hank realized he didn‘t

want him to go. The fact that Russell had refused to have sex with him was challenge

enough, but it went beyond that. In spite of his fury at being treated like this, Hank

found himself intrigued. Who the hell
was
this guy? He certainly wasn‘t anything like

the usual boys Hank purchased on a regular basis. There was something very collected

about him. Put together. He was nobody‘s fool, that was for sure.

Hank found himself saying, ―Look, I‘ve—I‘ve had a bad month. Would you, um,

would you like a drink or something?‖

Hank couldn‘t figure out what had happened. Since he‘d broken away from his

suffocating parents, Hank had always been the one in control—the one in charge. It was

his way or the highway. Though a part of him knew he should send this uppity ―sex

worker‖ packing, he couldn‘t quite bring himself to let him go. At least not until he

reestablished the balance of power in his own favor.

―Please,‖ he tried again, not sure suddenly if the humility in his tone was real or

feigned. ―Can we maybe start over?‖

Russell tilted his head, seeming to weigh the offer. Finally he nodded. He stuck out

his hand, and Hank found himself clasping it. Russell‘s handshake was firm and warm.

―I believe in second chances,‖ Russell added with a smile.

They dropped hands and stared at each other for a few moments, each taking the

other‘s measure, Russell supposed. Something about Hank triggered feelings Russell

was used to keeping at bay.

No question, the man was attractive, with just the type of body Russell admired—

compact and powerful with a nice round ass just made for his firm hand. He had thick,

dark hair and dark, flickering eyes that held an unspoken challenge. There was a

brooding intensity, an edginess coiled in the man like a python.

He reminded Russell, he realized suddenly, of Jesse.

In a rare dropping of his guard, Russell touched the memory of Jesse cautiously,

like a tongue to a toothache. Like Hank, Jesse had that same swagger, the same

aggressive, in-your-face bluster that hid a longing to meet someone who would be

strong enough to master him at his own game. Back then Russell had thrilled to the

challenge of harnessing and taming the arrogant boy, without snuffing out his spark.

Yet in the end, all the skill and desire Russell could bring to bear with his loving

dominance, and all the passion and heat Jesse offered in return, did not equal love. In

the end, it was about Jesse‘s pleasure and Jesse‘s agenda.

There was power in Hank‘s features, an underlying strength Russell thought he