Page 12 of Souvenir

Within a few seconds, his photo popped up on the screen. He was around my age, good looking with muscles and nice eyes. However, he was not Mr. Christmas. With my hands shaking, I barely managed to type my message.

“I deeply apologize for the no show. However, I will get back to you about your offer in a few days.”

My plan had been to have sex for Christmas. I’d never done revenge sex before and I didn’t even know whether there was such a thing until I came upon it on the internet. Here I was, hyperventilating about sex with a man who was a complete stranger.

It was one thing screwing an escort. At least I could contact the agency in the event that something had gone wrong. Oh, shit, so many things could have gone wrong. What it he’d been a serial killer?

“Oh God!”

My knees buckled and I found myself sinking to the floor. What should I do? No, I would not let it go. Dredging up some strength I pushed myself up, inhaled a shaky breath and fought against the tears that stung the back of my eyes.

Blinking away my distress, I took several deep breaths and made my way up the stairs. Allowing myself the relief that anger provided, I got dressed. Anger was my anchor. It gave me purpose and drive. It was anger that led me to do hire the escort, and now it was anger that would allow me to confront this man.

Chapter 9

Savannah

The hotel lobby was quiet. Most people had probably gone out as it was Christmas. Carols played softly from discreetly hidden speakers, adding to the festive atmosphere of the decorated halls. With my back stiff and chin held high, I walked up to the front desk.

“Merry Christmas,” the female clerk greeted. “How can I be of assistance?”

“The guest in suite 314, is he in?”

I should have gone directly to the suite, but I needed to let someone know that I had come. If anything happened to me, the cameras would prove I had been there and asked specifically about that room.

“Oh, you’re Miss Souvenir.”

My mouth fell open as my heart thundered and blood boiled. How dare he share that with anyone? Why was the clerk calling me by that name? When the clerk noticed my distressed expression she rushed to allay my discomfort.

“I have something for you, from Mr. Christmas.”

She handed me an envelope. Tentatively I opened it, wary that maybe it contained some deadly ingredient that would poison me. I knew my imagination was running wild here, but it was difficult coming to terms with my situation.

My eyes fell on the note taken from the envelope.

I know what you must be thinking now that you know I wasn’t who you thought I was. I have something for you that I think means a lot to you. I have your pendant. Meet me at the Italian restaurant two blocks away from the hotel. I’ll be waiting. Your Mr. Christmas.

There was no way I was meeting this man anywhere. Then again he had my pendant, the one my father gave me for my sixteenth birthday. That diamond pendant had sentimental value. How could I just leave it in the hands of the strange man?

I was tempted to call Misty. She was a toughie and would protect me. But she was with her family and I would not disturb her. I had to call a taxi to take me the destination where I would confront this mystery fellow myself. The good thing was that he was in a public space. That was good … right?

The cab ride was the longest five minutes I’d ever experienced. My palms were sweaty while my blood rushed to my head. By the time I stepped from the vehicle, my head was heavy and my feet equally leaden. My stomach was queasy as hell and I was reminded that I hadn’t eaten. It didn’t matter as I wouldn’t have been able to keep down my food at that point anyway.

The restaurant was dimly lit on the inside, offering a romantic atmosphere. From the entrance, I could smell freshly baked bread. My stomach churned thinking about the food as my eyes scanned the large dining area. There were several doors leading off to the right of the doom which I assumed were private dining.

Several patrons sat at tables, some eating while others seemed to await their meals. As it was mid-morning, it appeared that that a brunch special was on the menu.

A maître’ d’ approached, his smile broad. “Buon Natale.” (Merry Chrsitmas)

“Hi, I’m meeting someone here.”

As though already knowing this, he ushered me across the main dining area. I thought he was taking me to one of the private room, but he seated me at a table in the far corner.

“Your guest will join you shortly,” he said, his accent quite strong. “Buon appetito.”

The maître d’ had just walked away when I saw him. He was wearing a dark suite, his hair brushed back and his face cleanly shaven. As he strode across the room, I noticed the heads of the women turning to admire him.

Closing my eyes, I fought against the memories of our night spent together. No matter how darn sexy he looked in a suit, or how those powerful thighs looked great in his pants, I would not weaken. Oh god, I touched those thighs. They were entwined with mine. They felt so damn good beneath my fingers.

---