Page 6 of Never Say Yes To A Stranger

“Not for me.” Her hands flex at her sides, and she wipes them on her dress.

She’s not like any woman I’ve ever met. For starters, that dress looks like it came from circa eighteen eighty-four or nineteen seventies does circa eighteen eighty-four. It looks new, or maybe it’s been kept in impeccable condition. The light blue dress with the little flowers scattered all over it covers every inch of her body except her bare arms, and it goes all the way down to her ankles. It’s not fitted at the bust, though it’s not loose either. It hugs her body while being loose, and the little lace at the neckline somehow looks delicate on her without screaming granny. She has a white scrunchy at her wrist, and her blonde hair is free to hang down her back and move whenever she moves like it needs to be thrown down a tower for an errant and very likely incredibly horny prince to climb.

No, she’s not like other women.

For one, she does this—hot bedding.

Two, she was indeed expecting a client today, but she didn’t go out of her way to be fancy. She didn’t put on makeup orwear designer clothes, and she didn’t go for tight or skimpy. She offered tea instead of busting out wine or shots. Granted, it’s the middle of the afternoon, but everything about her seems homey and real.

That’s her grab.

She gives these men who have everything the one thing they’re missing.

A sense of real, honest-to-goodnesshome. Just messy enough but also not a sty. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla, the strange pet, the middle of nowhere, sweet country girl innocence.

She twirls a finger in the air at me. “Go on. Write it up then.” She whirls around and spreads her hands at the sink, staring out the window. Her posture is purposely too relaxed, but I easily note the tension in her straight-as hell-spine. I don’t lower my eyes and take in her ass because I have more control than a horny teenager. I might be here because someone asked me for a favor, but that isn’t about anything physical, either. Nothing in my life for the past decade and then some has been about feelings or cravings, and that’s not going to change.

It doesn’t even appear that she believes my lie about messing up my age, but I’m still here, and I’m still about to write up this contract. The world might be random, but I’m here for a reason. The world is also seriously unjust. Everyone knows that. That’s why people want to believe in magic so badly. It’s why they cling to movies, books, and fantasies. They want to live out a life they’re not currently having to endure.

This might be one injustice I can correct.

That Iwillcorrect if she’s guilty.

She might be beautiful, but it won’t save her from doing jail time.

She stands at the counter with her arms crossed, giving the crawfish occasional looks like they’re having a whole conversation. I arrived at four, and we’ve been talking for half anhour already. How many hours between now and bedtime? Do all her clients arrive this early? If yes, what the heck does she do with them?

It’s eerie how she seems to be able to pick my thoughts from my brain, but it’s okay. Let her think I’m lonely and unfulfilled. If she looked me up online, that’s exactly what she’d find. I made a lot of money and got bored and needed a job. I ended up starting my own agency so I could work there. On top of a few other projects. Okay,manyother projects and investments. I’m still working, even though I don’t need to. If you don’t have something to do, you get old, and you lose your mind from boredom. It’s as simple as that. I’ve never been an arts and crafts guy or a hobby guy. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to settle down and have a family. I needed to be busy.

“After we’re done with the contract, I have to go out and feed the barn cats. You can come with me if you want. If not, you can sit on the porch. I have cameras there, and I’d appreciate you staying on them if that’s agreeable. I can show you anything out here that you’d like. I also have cameras all over the yard and in the building. They’re all hooked together, so it’s easy for me to switch between them.”

“You don’t have any in here?” I’ve already seen the one hiding in the top right corner behind a potted plant in an ancient macramé holder.

“I do. All over the house, actually,” she says.

“But you’d like me to sit on the porch.”

She doesn’t blush or get flustered. “Yes, please. I’d prefer that.”

Because she wants to guard her privacy or her secrets? There is actually a difference. “I can do that.”

Then, she says, “There are trails on my land. I own fifty acres. The gravel roads are also nice for a walk. Quiet.”

I arch my brow. “So, in addition to the sleeping part, you also provide companionship.”

“Most of my clients arrive in the afternoon. It makes things less awkward than just giving a name and a code word, securing payment, and falling into bed. Who could sleep like that?”

“Do people seriously even fall asleep?” I ask.

“Ahh. A first timer.”

“I think that’s already been established.”

“Has it?”

One light brow wriggles up on her perfect forehead. She has the kind of face where all of it smiles when her lips do. She’s young, but she appears to be in possession of an old soul.

Appearances are often deceiving, and she’s done a lot of it in the past. She won’t get by me.

---