Yours for the Night (14 page)

The Girlfriend Experience

God, yes. He’d never been completely flesh-to-flesh with her; some bit of clothing had always been in between somewhere. Condom packages were scattered all over the bed where he’d tossed them; he grabbed one. She stilled his hand. “Wait. I changed my mind. I want to suck you first.”

“Too late now. Suck me later.” He backed off, tore the wrapper, rolled on the condom, then, his hand on his cock, he held her gaze. “Let me inside you first.”

Her taste was ambrosia, but when she lay back on the bed and opened her arms and legs to him, she offered him heaven. Bracing himself on one hand, he rubbed the tip in her juice, then savored the sight of his cock vanishing inside her.

She was tight. Her pussy had milked his fingers, clamping down on him when she came. He’d brought her to orgasm before, but nothing like that, not with a scream or a tear. The sensation would be phenomenal on his cock. God, how he’d missed the feel of a woman.

God, how he needed the feel of this woman.

He rocked into her. She raised her legs to his hips, her feet clasped at the ankles, and dragged him in. Biting her lips, she moaned as his cock massaged that already sensitized spot inside. Her body trembled, and she tossed her head on the mattress, then stopped and met his gaze. Her eyes were the shade of his jade ring on her finger. Color bloomed in her cheeks. Then her body moved with his rhythm, took him deep, let him loose, called him back again, forced him home. He felt her orgasm rise, working his cock from the inside. The ache built in his balls. And just as she began to spasm around him, she claimed his nipples, pinched hard with excruciating perfection, rocketing him into space, into mindless-ness, into her.

HIS RELEASE WAS SO MUCH MORE THAN PHYSICAL.

Chase had disposed of the condom, turned down the lights, then laid a jewelry box on the bedside table while Marianna was in the bathroom. When she returned, he hunkered down in the big bed with her curled against him, her arm draped across his chest.

The sapphire-and-diamond bracelet glittered on her wrist. He liked his jewelry on her. Like a stamp of ownership.

She wore every gift he gave her. Which meant she hadn’t hocked anything for the money. What they had between them was above money. 86

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At least he liked to tell himself that. How she felt was another matter. He hadn’t asked.

“Mmm,” she murmured against his skin, then kissed his chest and tipped her head back to look at him. “That was very good.” Her eyes sparkled as brightly as the gems he gave her.

He stretched out an arm for the oblong box, then laid it on his belly. “For you.”

She smiled. “You shouldn’t have.”

He wondered if the words were part of the fantasy she’d fabricated for him.

“I saw this, and it reminded me of you.”

“My eyes again?”

He laughed, feeling corny. “Open it, and I’ll explain.”

She sat up and flipped the lid, making a little ooh sound as she lifted the intricately braided gold links, then let them cascade into her palm. “It’s so heavy.”

“It’s an antique gambler’s chain.”

“What’s that?”

“Like the chain for a pocket watch, gamblers had chains for their wallets so they couldn’t be easily stolen.”

She fingered the gold embellishments. “But it’s too beautiful to be just an ordinary chain for a wallet.”

“The more elaborate, the richer it made a man appear.”

“I see.” She tipped her head. “But I don’t have a watch or a wallet that would fit it.”

“You can wear it as a necklace.” He snapped the box closed, then sat up to slide the chain around her neck. He didn’t care that she already wore the sapphires and diamonds. He wanted to drape her in jewels. “It’s classy, elegant, and unique.” He kissed her neck. “Like you.”

She traced it with her finger. “Thank you.”

There was so much more he wanted to say, yet the proper words to describe his emotions wouldn’t come. Instead, he showed her how he felt. Wrapping a hand around her neck, he pulled her down, took her mouth, kissed her, and long into the night, he made love to her.

SHE’D LEFT HIM AT FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING TO GIVE HERSELF

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enough time to get ready for work. She’d wanted to stay in bed, wrapped in his arms, rather than face another day at the brokerage with no sales, no leads, no calls. Gosh, those thoughts were totally depressing after such a spectacular date the night before.

Which was why Marianna ignored her real life and thought about Chase for most of Friday. He’d made love to her. Honestly, there was no other euphemism for it. Whenever she touched the gambler’s chain, she knew it. Elegant, classy, and unique. That’s what he’d called her.

Those thoughts sustained her until five o’clock. She stopped for groceries on the way home. Her cell phone chirped oddly just as she’d grabbed a cart and headed into the produce section. She fished the phone from her purse, but it chirped again. Inside her bag. God. It was the phone.

Only three people had that number—Isabel, Jewel . . . and Chase. She’d been dying to hear from him all day.

Marianna dove once more into her purse before the cell stopped ringing.

“Hello.”

“Marianna?”

Her head was dizzied by anticipation, desire, the giddiness of relief, and the fear that the soccer moms shopping right next to her might overhear something naughty.

“Hello, Chase.” Her heart beat wildly.

“I’d like to ask you to dinner.”

“That’s nice.” She tried not to let excitement bubble over in her voice as she moved her cart closer to the organics and out of the way. He was calling her for a date, not setting it up through Isabel. Finally. Triumph sizzled through her veins. “I’d love to.” She covered one ear to hear him better.

“Don’t you need to check your calendar?”

Damn, he’d busted her. She didn’t care when, she’d be free. “What day were you thinking of?”

“I was hoping you’d be available tomorrow night.”

They sounded so polite, as if they were making an appointment for her to show him a house. She glanced at the crowded produce section. Okay, polite was a good thing now. “That will work. I’ll report it to the agency, if you’d like.”

“No,” he said. “I don’t want to report it. I don’t want sex. I just want dinner. 88

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With you.”

Oh God. He’d wanted a whole night. Now he wanted a real date. “Okay.”

“And . . .” He stopped, and cleared his throat as if he were having difficulty speaking, or needed a moment to sort out his words. “My daughter’s coming for the weekend.”

“Your daughter?” She was sure her voice squeaked. He cleared his throat again. “I thought if she met you, she would see that I’m starting to get over . . . what happened.”

He was a good man; he cared about his daughter. The girl was probably as traumatized as he was. “I’d love to meet her,” she told him with every ounce of sincerity she had. “Who will you tell her I am?” She’d play by whatever rules he chose.

He gave the briefest of pauses. “My girlfriend.”

She closed her eyes. Breathe. “That’s sounds all right. What time would you like me to be there?”

“Six is good. You can compliment the apartment, too.”

She laughed. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?”

He laughed, though there was an odd note in it. “She complains that the walls are kind of bare.”

After he’d hung up, she closed the phone and held it to her chest. He wasn’t just a fantasy of Prince Charming that she’d created. He had all the qualities she’d always looked for in a man; he was loyal, caring, a good father, thoughtful, smart, and he had the ability to play.

He wanted her to meet his daughter. It had to mean something .

DAMMIT, HE DIDN’T SAY IT THE WAY HE MEANT IT. THIS WASN’T about showing Krista he was getting better. It was about showing Marianna that she was more than a date Harve had set him up on. He wasn’t asking a courtesan to meet his daughter. He was asking a woman who had become terribly important to him.

She’d been an escape from his pain and guilt, but now the escape had become reality. After the first time, he’d never paid, he’d given her jewelry. She hadn’t seen another man, she’d seen only him. He didn’t fuck her, he made love to her. She wasn’t a courtesan in any real sense of the word. He should have said all that.

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Except he’d been afraid she’d tell him that she was a courtesan and that to her this was all a fantasy Harve had paid for. 90

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13

“I WANTED YOU TO MEET HER, SWEETIE.” CHASE NUDGED KRISTA with his hip as he pretended to be helping her in the kitchen. “Plus I needed someone to do the cooking.”

“You really like this lady, I can tell.”

Krista was right. Chase had laughed more in the last few weeks than in the previous two years. Marianna was good for him. By osmosis, she’d be good for his daughter. Krista hadn’t glowed like this in ages. She used to be such a happy kid. As a baby, she was always smiling, cooing at strangers, laughing. After Rosie died, she’d beaten herself black and blue with guilt, too. He wasn’t the only one.

“Besides”—Krista did one of her typical eye rolls—“anyone can make lasagna.” She sprinkled parmesan on the bread. Lasagna and garlic toast might seem like simple fare, but Krista jazzed it up by combining unexpected spices for a distinctive taste. She’d harbored dreams of becoming a top chef. The practical side she’d inherited from Chase had won out, though, and she’d chosen graphic design as her college major.

“They say the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach,” he said, “so I’m counting on you to make me look good. Which is why I went to all the trouble of buying proper cookware for you to make it.”

Krista grinned, and he was struck, as always, by how much he loved her, wanted the best for her.

“At least Marianna got you to invest in some kitchen stuff.” She laid her head on his shoulder for the briefest of moments. “Love you, Dad,” she whispered, then, ever the efficient hostess, she added, “We’ll put the bread in a little bit after she arrives. That way we can relax for a few minutes without rushing her to the dinner table.”

The doorbell rang, and Chase froze, suddenly nervous, like a sixteen-year-old who has to meet his date’s father.

Krista pushed his shoulder. “I’m going to love her, and she’s going to love me, Dad, so stop worrying.”

How had he managed to raise such a beautiful, intuitive woman?

He opened the door, heart choking his throat. Marianna. Low-rider jeans and sweater top. And the gamblers’ chain around her neck. 91

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She grabbed his hand, pecked his cheek, then stepped around him. “You must be Krista. It’s so nice to meet you.”

His daughter gave him an up-down look. “So he told you my name and everything.”

Unbelievably, a flush rose in his cheeks.

“He pretty much never stops talking about you.”

Little liar. They hadn’t talked about Krista for quite a lot of the time they’d spent together. But Krista beamed.

“God, something smells divine.” Marianna closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, then sighed.

“Krista made lasagna for us.”

“I haven’t had lasagna in ages. Yum.” She patted her stomach, then set her small purse on the table by the door he reserved for tossing his keys when he walked in. “I don’t have wine or flowers or dessert, but I’ve got something else.”

She skipped out the front door.

He’d been so mesmerized, worried, excited, terrified, that he hadn’t even closed it. She hefted a flat package she’d leaned against the outside wall.

“Housewarming present.”

His heart hammered hard enough for him to feel it against his ribs. He took the package, a framed picture of some sort, then slid his index finger along the edging to slice through the tape. Krista crumpled the brown paper he let fall to the carpet. He flipped the fourteen-by-eighteen picture in a blue frame from one palm to the other, right side up.

“I got it on Fisherman’s Wharf.”

A stylized, colored-pencil drawing, fine lines and slashes that when you held it away sharpened into a semblance of the Bay and Alcatraz. Unusual, it wasn’t to scale, but as he examined, the details popped out—sailboats drifting, seagulls diving, a ferry, buildings, even sea lions on the wharf.