Page 6 of Forbidden Desires

Eric waited for me at the top of the gallery’s entrance stairs, and I didn’t miss the appreciative glances of the women who walked past him. He was in another pressed and tailored suit, a three piece in a stunning jade green hue that few men could pull off as well as he did. His hair was styled back away from his face again, and just like before, those pale blue eyes stole my breath away and made me feel very inappropriate things as they flicked down the length of my body.

“There you are,” he said, his arm out for me to take as I approached him.

“Eric,” I greeted, as I looped my arm loosely through his, his date for the night, bought and paid for. I smiled up at him, feeling so petite next to his height.

This seemingly stoic man didn’t return my smile, but as my gaze met his, I saw something far more intriguing. Was my mind playing tricks on me or was I really seeing a hungry gleam in his intense eyes as he stared down at me? Those same eyes daringly traversed a little lower, to my cleavage, before returning to my face again.

This time, the heat and desire in his gaze were unmistakable.

Huh. Maybe he’s not so offended by escorts after all.

CHAPTER 4

Eric

Ireceived the alert on my phone from Jeff that he would be arriving shortly with Jasmine. My anticipation had been where it usually was for nights like these—calm, unbothered, eager to get the evening started. It was an important night and ingrained habits inherited from my father taught me that wasting time, no matter how little time it seemed to be, was one of the worst things a man could do.

Of course, when I saw Jasmine as she exited the car in a stunning burgundy dress that complimented her lithe body, as well as her gorgeous blonde, wavy hair I could easily imagine wrapped around my fist in the throes of passion, I wondered if my father was slightly off the mark about certain things. I could waste an eon simply admiring Jasmine like a fine piece of art, as if she were an exhibit here in this gallery, as if she were there just for me to enjoy.

She was beautiful. She ascended the stairs, all elegance and classically stated sex appeal, despite her young age. That I knew she held that appeal, and what I had seen of her mind and personality thus far, seemed to make my interest in her all the more apparent as she approached me. Would she be able to see the hunger that she inspired in me, even as I tried to keep it in check?

“There you are,” I said, being a gentleman and offering her my arm.

“Eric,” she replied in a sweet tone as she slid her hand into place, the move so natural, as if we trulywerea couple.

The scent of her—something soft, not quite floral, but certain delectable—wafted up into my nose and I automatically breathed her in. Her skin was like porcelain, her facial features absolutely exquisite, and my eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as they dipped down, stealing a glimpse of her breasts, so perfectly outlined by the clinging material of her burgundy dress.

Standing at my side, her body brushed against mine. She placed herself there naturally, all grace and sophistication. She didn’t allow her hand to roam over my chest in a possessive manner, didn’t attempt to touch or caress elsewhere, either, in a show of ownership.

Those intimate overtures were something that I had come to expect with other eager-to-please escorts I’d hired, though the attention wasn’t entirely something that I wanted, personally. While there was a time and a place for overt sexuality—and I could appreciate overt sexuality like any other man with a healthy libido—the older I got the more I had begun to appreciate the understated. The more I began to desire being more discreet when it came to public affection.

However, that didn’t mean for all the respect I had for public restraint I didn’t enjoy the feel of this small, petitewoman tucked against my side. Arousal thrummed through me, surprising even myself for breaking the finely held control I usually had.

“You were waiting out here all this time?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

I shook my head. “No, Jeff let me know when you were close by, so I came out here to greet you.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment, then inclined her head. “Shall we, then?” she asked, nodding toward the entrance, a spark of excitement in her green eyes. “I’ve been dying to see this artwork you were so intent on showing off since you spoke about it last week.” Her eagerness was only barely held beneath her words.

Her enthusiasm warmed me. “I’ve been dying to show it to you, so in that regard, I think we call this a mutual feeling.”

I caught her surprised expression, schooled just so, as I led her into the venue. I even pulled her closer, simply enjoying the feel of her pressed into my side. She gave a little jump when I did—like she was shocked at the gesture, which made me wonder what kind of impression I’d left her with following our first meeting.

It did cross my mind that I might have been too direct with Jasmine. Dominque had told me thathernormal experience with clients was something quite different than what she imaged her experience with me would be. Should I have been more friendly as opposed to so composed and clinical about what I needed from Jasmine? I almost sighed. Dominique was good at what she did, but she also wasn’t above teasing me for my staunch, analytical ways if she wanted to be entertained.

No matter. I forced myself to relax and decided to be more invested in showing Jasmine the gallery than contemplating a potential course correction with her before the evening had even begun.

The gallery had been completely redecorated between my meeting with Jasmine last week and now. Dark drapery hung between wall-mounted pieces of art while red velvet ropes sectioned off sculptures that were placed intentionally throughout the open space. The painting of the woman and her death flowers was up on full display, as well as other works full of the macabre and the light and beautiful alike. The duality of life and death. The beauty and the horror in both. It was the theme of the night, and I explained this to Jasmine as I made the first proper rounds around the gallery, pointing to different pieces and gauging her interest and reactions to ones we might discuss.

“All of this artwork is so diverse,” she said, her tone filled with awe as we moved on from a life-sized sculpture of a Native American woman.

I nodded in agreement. “Artists have been putting their pieces together for about six months now, all local from around Florida.”

Her eyes brimmed with curiosity as she glanced up at me. “Around Florida, not just from Coral Gables?”

“Almost all of the artists come from outside of Coral Gables and typically not from any of the major cities,” I explained. “The purpose is to showcase artists who would otherwise be barred from conventional events because of finances or other biases that art houses might have. Money buys a lot, but visibility is a currency that is often underappreciated.”

She studied my face for a long moment. “You give people a chance they wouldn’t otherwise get on their own, without support.”

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