Page 1 of Filthy Hot Escort

1

I’m not nervous. I refuse to be nervous.

Skylar tightly clutched her fiancé’s hand as she struggled to climb the stone steps leading to the mansion. Rex was lucky—his silk mask covered only part of his face, making it easier to see. Plus, he was wearing a tuxedo. Skylar’s intricate black silk and lace mask narrowed her field of view, and her long satin evening gown threatened to trip her unless she held the skirt up at just the right angle.

Under her elbow, she gripped her jeweled clutch; it held the blood-red invitation with swooping silver script that would gain them entrance to the evening’s exclusive event. The three-story mansion with the mullioned windows stood tall on a lush hill just outside the city. Golden light glittered through the windows, casting shadows from the tall spiral topiaries on either side of the entryway.

“Can’t you go any faster?” Rex murmured under his breath. Footsteps came from some distance behind them—theclick, click, clickof a woman’s high heels on the granite steps, along with the softer shuffle of a man’s leather-soled dress shoes. Another couple was slowly gaining on them. “I want to get inside and find what we came for before anyone else selects someone you’d be interested in,” he added.

Panic swept over her, a wave of darkness sucking oxygen from her lungs. Skyler stifled the sudden urge to pull the invitation out, rip it in half, and watch the pieces get carried away by the wind that slipped down from the angry, purple clouds in the dark dusk sky. Why had she agreed to tonight? Why had she agreed with Rex thatthis, of all things, was necessary?

Breathe, Skylar, breathe.

She’d made her bed— now she’d have to lie in it, quite literally.

Rex turned to her as they stopped outside the massive iron doors with the gold knocker held in a carved lion’s mouth. “Three quick, two slow, three quick,” he murmured. “That was it, right?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest they turn around and drive back to Manhattan. And yet that wouldn’t be prudent. Because even if they did leave, Rex would simply want to try again another night.

Better to get this over with.

“I thought it was three quick, two slow, two slow,” she said, moving to open her clutch to double-check the invitation. Before she could reach inside her bag, Rex banged the knocker—three quick knocks, followed by two slow knocks, a long pause, then another two slow knocks. She held her breath.

The door creaked open, and a slim butler in a red mask moved to block their view inside. “Invitation, please,” the man said in a bored tone.

Skylar handed the invitation to Rex, who in turn placed it in the waiting hand of the butler. Silently, the red-masked man moved aside, sweeping his hand to gesture them inside the mansion. She shivered as Rex’s cold hand slid up the exposed skin of her lower back. He pressed her forward, and the doors clanged heavily behind them. The shiver turned into quaking, but Rex didn’t seem to notice.

Casting a quick glance about, Skyler took in the marbled floors, the intricately carved paneling on the walls, and an ornate gold chandelier above that illuminated the grand foyer. A sweeping staircase led to the next level. Large oil paintings of still lifes, landscapes, and portraits lined the walls. The place was elegant and ornate, with clear neoclassical elements indicating it was built during the Georgian era. The house would have equally belonged on the lush green fields of England just as much as it did in the far reaches of Long Island.

“Up the stairs and into the ballroom, if you will, sir and madam.”

She glanced back at the butler and shivered again as he shoved the iron bar lock back into place; apparently, the couple who had been following them up the steps hadn’t been quick enough, or perhaps they just needed to provide the secret knock, regardless. The complaining shriek of heavy metal against heavy metal echoed across the marble steps leading upward . . . leading to her destiny, perhaps, depending on how tonight went.

There was no turning back now.

Rex, overly eager, almost started up the stairway without her, but at the last minute, he turned around and offered Skylar his arm. When they reached the elaborately woven carpet at the top of the curved staircase, a server in a white suit and a red mask offered a tray of champagne glasses. Rex took two, handing one to Skylar. By the time they made it to the ballroom doors, the liquid was long gone from both their glasses.

At the double doors, two more white-suited workers in red masks pulled open the doors, allowing Skylar and Rex to enter. Inside, red and blue up-lighting cast the space in a haze of intrigue. Silk, gauze, and chiffon hung from the tiled ceiling, creating the vague illusion of a maze in which deep-seated velvet couches were scattered. Thicker, heavier velvet drapes were strategically placed throughout the space, offering private enclaves. Through the nearly transparent gauze, Skylar caught glimpses of men and women standing in hidden corners or lounging in twos and threes on couches. All were in evening wear. All were masked.

Rex dropped his arm, allowing hers to slip from the crook of his elbow. He took a step away, his gaze darting about. She looked questioningly up at him. She didn’t want to admit she missed the comfort of his closeness.

“There’s no bar. I’d assumed there’d be a bar,” he complained.

She swallowed. Rex was as nervous as she and in search of liquid courage. When they first started dating, she’d been oddly reassured by his insecurities that subtly showed on occasion. Somehow, those brief moments made him more real, more human. Her days at work were filled with men exuding confidence and self-stroking their egos, dominating and taking control of every meeting, every conversation. Par for the course in the high-powered finance industry but wearying to experience daily.

Rex, with his momentary flashes of vulnerability, had been a refreshing and welcomed change— except when he used bravado to cover up and hide those vulnerabilities, something that seemed to be happening as of late.

Noticing various servants carrying trays of drinks, she leaned into Rex and spoke in a low voice. “I think it’s a bit like a casino. Where they bring you drinks.”

“Got it,” he said brusquely. “Shall we find a place to sit? I think we’re supposed to sit and peruse.”

She swallowed and nodded. This time, Rex remembered to offer her his arm, and with her fingers clutched tight to the crook of his elbow, they went deeper into the ballroom. Hanging silk brushed against her bare shoulder, and she sucked in a sudden breath. The sensation felt like the caress of a stranger. The touch was unnerving, but she knew she needed to get used to it. A brush against her shoulder by a stranger would be the least of what happened this evening.

If all went according to plan.

I’m not nervous.

Rex pointed to a tufted couch. “We’ll station ourselves here.”

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