Page 30 of Hired Help

“That’s fine. Anything you want.”

I’m not used to the version of Brooke who displays her emotional frailty this clearly. She appears like the weight of the world is on her shoulders and she’s collapsing.

It makes me uneasy. All I want to do is coax out one of her joyous smiles.

“My easiest lie is that I’m in real estate.” I smile as she turns back to face me, her gaze sharpening. “It bores people so much they don’t ask any questions.”

She goes still for a second, then her face twists in delight as she laughs. “You’ve been hanging around with the wrong brand of teenager.” Her voice is teasing. “With my classmates, they’ll spend the rest of the night trying to pin you down and get an overview of your portfolio.”

“Perhaps something closer to the truth, then. How about I say I’m a performer?”

Her eyes open wide, the change lighting up her face until I have to force my gaze away from her, on the verge of staring.

“That sounds fine, just…” Her forehead wrinkles as her voice trails to a stop. Then she shakes herself, squaring her shoulders like she’s facing an opponent. “Just please don’t tell them I’m paying you.”

A flash of relief shoots through me. Is that all she’s worried about? “My lips are sealed.”

“And no running off with other girls just because they slide a few twenties into your G-string.”

My heart thumps with an extra beat as she leans closer, finally smiling, the joy of our flippant exchange turning up the volume on her ravishing beauty. My hand reaches out for her before my brain can shoulder its way in front. I cup her cheek, marvelling at the touch of her skin, of the way her smile broadens and becomes sultry, pupils expanding until they eclipse so much of her irises the blue might as well be black.

Then her gaze drifts, she flinches back as though at a reprimand only she can hear, and she sits back in her seat, drawing her hand back into her lap.

A small rejection but for a man who has no business kissing her anyway, it’s also a reprieve.

The car turns into a driveway, and I stare at the throngs of teenagers dressed in their finery, hanging around the entrance because at this stage of the evening, there’s more entertainment to be had in watching people arrive than there will be inside.

Brooke stares at the scattered groups with increasing panic. Her breathing speeds up until she gasps for air, pressing a hand to her chest while her eyes reverse their previous changes, shrinking her pupils to pinholes, the whites expanding like a frantic horse.

“Are you okay?” I ask, frowning because she’s clearly not.

If I cast my mind far enough back, I can remember caring a lot about what people thought about me. A trait I sublimated for years until it gave up and went away.

A few platitudes spring to mind but I don’t give them voice. It won’t help. Instead, I reach for her hand again, squeezing it tightly.

“We don’t have to go in there, you know.” When she turns her panicked gaze to mine, I expand, “We can go out for a meal or just go to a movie instead if you prefer. Unless the faculty made your school ball compulsory, no one’s going to care if we slip away.”

I see the idea taking hold, being rejected but giving her space enough to inhale a deep breath. “I haven’t been to the pictures for a while, but I’m pretty sure these gorgeous outfits will be completely wasted on that crowd.”

“Yeah. Sitting in the dark doesn’t usually require evening wear, but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t rock it.”

“Well, of course I’d rock it.” She smooths her dress over her abdomen, a slight crease appearing and disappearing as the delicate fabric pulls tight.

On impulse, I place my hand just above hers, feeling the gentle curve of her lower belly and wishing we were standing because I’d love to pull her back against me, spread my fingers wider to hold her steady while the matching curve of her arse pulsed against my hardening cock.

Her eyes flick down, and I tilt my hips towards her. The stiffening bulge that absolutely shouldn’t show in public is quite a different matter in the back seat of this fancy car.

She’s not paying to have someone on her arm. She’s paying to feel desirable, and I could tell her a hundred times over how attractive she is and never make the same impact as showing her how much I’d like to skip ahead to the culmination of the evening right now.

When her gaze moves higher, I let my body respond to her interest. My nipples harden as she stares at my chest. I move my hand lower, letting my fingers splay across her thigh.

She finally meets my eyes, and I can’t help myself. I might wear the body of a thirty-six-year-old man, but the occupant has reverted to a teenage boy, barely able to believe his luck at getting a date with such an exquisite girl.

I lean into her, my free hand cupping her cheek again, this time holding her in place for long enough to receive my kiss. Her mouth is plump and delicious, her lips not succumbing to the press of mine but giving back as good as she gets, then parting to allow me entry.

When her fingers touch my thigh, I take her hand in mine to press it against me. She rests in place, then her fingertips move with her trademark curiosity, blindly examining my girth, sending a throbbing pulse through my body which starts in my cock and ends embedded in the centre of my brain.

The danger signals are blaring but I’m too lost in her kiss to give a damn. The kiss I’ve never given a client before. The kiss that’s blurring my already smudged lines.

---