Page 13 of Black Velvet

"Can I tell you a secret?"

He tilts his head to the side, his curiosity obvious as he beckons me to continue with a swirl of his hand.

"Normal dates are a mystery to me," I admit.

"You've never been on one? I don't believe that," he scoffs.

"It's been a long time," I say. "And even then... I don't think what we did counts asnormal."

"What you did?" he asks, visibly intrigued. “What did you do?”

I feel myself blushing as I recall the last time I went out on a first date with a guy who was not a paying client. It was more than three years ago. I know that because my dating life became pretty much nonexistent when I started working for the agency on a regular basis. I've always been open and upfront about my job, and for obvious reasons, it didn't sit well with potential love interests. Most guys don't like to share, let alone date a call girl, and when I was faced with choosing between a normal dating life and my job, I chose the latter.

Dating had never been as rewarding as this job. At least it didn't seem so at the time. The lack of true pleasure was the same in both worlds, but at least I was getting paid for my services at the agency.

But maybe I'm just really bad at this normal dating thing because I'm not... normal.

"The last time I went on a date, we had anal sex in the guy’s car about an hour after we met up," I answer bluntly. "I don't think that counts as normal."

A dark smirk graces his handsome face. "Certainly not what anangelwould do."

"So, I wonder," I say, unable to prevent myself from switching my voice into that tone of seduction that has been part of my job for so long. "What do people do on normal dates?"

"You mean when they don't jump each other like horny teenagers," he says, causing me to raise my eyebrows at his brutally sharp remark, "or when there's no money exchanged between the parties?"

"Yes," I say, not missing the condescending tone in his voice. "Exactly."

"They drink, talk," he lists. "Get to know each other."

An awkward pause follows his words, because I don't know what to say. I reach for my drink, but without the intention of taking a sip. It's almost gone and finishing it would only prompt him to order me another one, and I know I wouldn't be able to say no.

"What's your name?"

It's a natural starter question, but still it baffles me. I'm not used to clients asking for my name. No one has ever cared.

"Elene."

"Elene," he repeats. "Is that your real name?"

I nod. "Yes. I don't have a call-girl name."

He raises his hand in defense. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's a beautiful name."

"What should I call you?" I ask.

"My name is Damon, so I think you should go with that," he says. "But we might come up with something different along the way."

I shoot him a look from the side. Along the way? What is that supposed to mean?

"You know I can't accompany you up to the velvet rooms," I remind him.

He looks at me, but his facial expression is impossible to read. The hint of a smile is playing at the corners of his mouth, and there's a certain smugness in the way he leans into me, supporting himself on the bar with one hand while using the other to lift my chin with the tip of his index finger.

I gasp, unable to hide the effect his touch has on me. It's electric, searing, brimming with taboo vibes.

No touching, it says. Does that include a gesture like this? Does he care?

"I know we can't go up there," he says. "But you can tell me about it, right?"

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