Page 125 of Filthy Hot Escort

Skylar learned quickly to not interfere when he was working. It wasn’t that Julian got grumpy when she did, but rather that he was so lost in his own world that he barely knew she was there. Instead, she brought him drinks and meals, usually finger foods he could munch on as he kept his focus on the computer screen, and let him do this thing.

As much as she enjoyed watching him work, she enjoyed more the moments when he finally looked up from his computer, stretched, grinned at her, and nodded at the bedroom. “Break time,” he’d say, then they'd both make a mad dash, stripping as they ran, laughing all the way, to tumble onto the bed and into each other’s arms.

He’d make her come, and she’d make him come, often more than once for each of them.

Then he’d hold her until he had to work again.

On the rare occasions that Julian took a break and they didn’t have sex, they were learning things about each other and having fun moments. They’d listen to John Coltrane playing softly in the background. Or he’d massage her feet or shoulders. Or they’d watch a TV show or movie, arguing about whether Lord of the Rings was better than Alien or the Office was better than Parks and Recreation.

All of which she loved.

When he was close to finishing, she and Julian discussed what would be the best date and time for his article to run. She’d checked her calendar, and the choice had been obvious.

Sunday night, Julian was done.

“That’s it?” she asked.

He nodded, then ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up in places. “That’s it. I have five major newspapers lined up to publish the expose.” They’d talked for a bit longer, then he yawned, his eyes slid shut, and he dropped his head onto his laptop and fell asleep. She’d roused him and gotten him into bed.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispered as she kissed his forehead.

“I’m proud of you, too, Skylar,” he murmured sleepily. “I’m proud. And I love you, princess.”

He fell asleep again right as Skylar said, “I love you, too, Julian.”

* * *

It wasseveral days later when Skylar awoke to the pitter-patter of icy sleet rattling against the windows in Julian’s penthouse. After a busy day at work, she must have fallen asleep in his arms after sex—the light coming through the windows was dim. She blinked, opening her eyes to squint at the dark gray clouds that swirled ominously above the city. Harsh winds gusted past, but in Julian’s bed, she was nothing but warm and safe.

In the distance, she heard a shower and smiled, knowing Julian was in there—naked, soapy, and wet.

She debated joining him but needed water. The man’s prowess in bed had dehydrated her.

She slipped out of bed and put on one of Julian’s long-sleeve button-downs, rolling the sleeves up into cuffs, then headed into the kitchen. There, she grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge, downed the entire thing, then put his tea kettle on. With the sleet and wind, curling up together with a mug of hot tea would be just the thing for this blustery evening.

As she waited for him to get out of the shower, she wandered into his living room and snuggled up on his sofa, tugging her knees up to her chest, feet tucked under her like a child, grinning like a loon. She couldn’t help herself—she was happy.

I’m happy.

I’m really, truly happy.

The sound of the wind outside sent shivers down her arms, and she noticed a handwoven throw tossed over a messy pile of books and files on the nearby end table. She tugged the blanket, but the pile underneath must have been precariously balanced because the entire thing came tumbling down. She clambered down to the floor and began picking up the books and papers, putting them back in place. She spotted a large manila envelope, possibly the same one she’d knocked off his couch a while ago. But this time, the manila envelope was face up, and there was a label stuck to it.

SKYLAR MACKENZIE - Good luck with your story. Let me know what else I can do for you.-A

“Oh, god.” She stared at her name written on the envelope.

What story?

Her heart rate quickened, and her fingers twitched toward the envelope, but she stopped herself.

I don’t want to open it.

I don’t want to break this magical spell.

I don’t want to see.

The tea kettle whistled, the sound sharp and shrill. She wanted to move, to go get the tea. To turn off the piercing noise that screamed and shrieked at her. But she couldn’t make her body obey. Couldn’t tear her gaze away from the envelope with her name written in big, black, bold writing.

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