Page 5 of Maximus

“What’s your name?”

“Gina.”

I say the first name that enters my mind, and he nods, a small flicker of a smile ghosting his lips.

“What agency sent you?”

“Um–”

Fuck, what the hell do I say now? I figure he’s from out of town, so I say with a bored, “The Kitten Club.”

I pray that he doesn’t question that, or ask for ID because this would be over before it begins and I hold my breath as he nods, leaning back and fixing a hard gaze on my cleavage.

“What’s your rate?”

My mind is racing faster than my heart right now and my voice is high as I whisper, “Two hundred dollars.”

He raises his eyes and I say quickly, “An hour.”

His casual smirk mortifies me as he reaches for his jacket and then removes a wad of dollar bills and lays them flat on the table between us.

“Two thousand dollars buys me ten hours.”

“Ten hours!”

My jaw drops because I wasn’t expecting that. “I’m, um, not sure.”

“Too long, or not enough?” He asks, his dark, tempestuous eyes boring deep into my soul.

I don’t have two hours, let alone ten, because if I’m not back in my room by morning the shit will hit the fan pretty damn fast and I quickly calculate that would mean until eleven am.

“Two hours.” I counter offer and he shrugs, peeling away four hundreds and offering them to me across the table.

“Agreed.”

I stare at the money and a thrill runs through me when I see the bills taunting me from the marble top.

Four hundred dollars is nothing in my world and I struggled hard to calculate a rate I thought would be believable.

His low husky voice slides across my doubts as he whispers, “Then we should get started.”

“Um, of course.” I sense my cheeks heating as I anticipate what happens next, because I wasn’t prepared for this. How could I be and I am wondering if I lost my mind somewhere back in the casino as well as my money?

“Um–” I swallow hard. “What do you, um, want?”

“What do you do?”

I am mortified as he asks for a fucking menu and I attempt to gather my struggling thoughts into some kind of order and say tentatively, “Perhaps you should tell me what you want first and I’ll tell you if it’s on my list.”

“Your list.”

He leans forward. “How about dancing?”

“As in?”

I’m wondering if this is a euphemism for something else and he chuckles softly.

“As in a dance on the balcony under the stars.”

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