Page 8 of Reckless Desire

Accepting her gift would solve my dry spell, and perhaps—in theory only—she might be right about sex snapping me out of my idle state. It’s not like I’m paying for it after all. Nevertheless, it’s paid for. Even if I ignored my moral objections, I don’t think I would enjoy it.

Isn’t he contractually obliged to pretend he likes me? Is there even a contract? He must sleep with so many women. What if London’s present leaves me with an unwanted gift? Like chlamydia. I trust she screened him well. They must produce a health certificate at the time of hiring.

Morals and health concerns aside, it could be just like a one-night stand. I’m not sure if that’s what I need. I had one of those before Jeremy and it left me feeling lonely and empty. And doing it now with a man who is only pretending—getting paid—to like me, I would for sure feel even more deflated.

Why am I even thinking about it at all? Sex isn’t on the menu tonight. What was London thinking?

She takes care of the bill and practically drags me to the reception area near the entrance to wait for my stupid present.

When we were kids, London was an instigator and got me involved in some sick shit. Okay, some of it was my idea. But overall, I was the good girl forced to step into the role of caretaker after my mom passed, and London was the on-paper well-behaved daughter who rebelled on every occasion.

We had lots of fun together and frankly, over the years, I’ve appreciated how she’s always stood by me. How she didn’t let me sink into premature adulthood after I was left with three younger sisters, her included, and a grieving father. Then, she was there, again, to pull me out of depression after Jeremy died.

But this prank-like gift is next level fucked up, regardless of how much she considers it perfectly appropriate for me. I’m regretting it, even knowing there is no way I’ll go through with it.

“Geez, don’t be so tense.” She elbows my ribs and then perks up, smiling in the direction of the entrance.

I take a breath to tell her I’m leaving, but then I follow her gaze and freeze. Henry Cavill is pushing through the revolving door. Only once he steps in is it clear that he is no Superman. This man is real. Breathtakingly handsome. Magazine-cover hot.

His black hair swings playfully across his forehead. A tiny smile softens his square jaw. Or maybe it’s a smirk, but it gives him a cocky handsomeness that makes my pulse dance.

He is wearing a navy blue suit and it must be tailored, because I don’t think an off-the-rack piece would ever hug his broad shoulders and torso in such a flattering way. Maybe heisSuperman.

He carries himself in a way that causes all women—and, to an extent, men—to turn. And he’s only been here for a split second. His other leg is practically still on the street, and everyone here seems affected.

Or it might be just my imagination. The soft, organized buzz of the hotel flows unconcerned. Shit. Even the romantic music has only been playing in my head.

What an entrance. I lick my lips, but my mouth remains dry. The man sucked in all the air and humidity. It’s a desert here now for sure, because I’m sweating way more than the margaritas warrant.

And just my luck, he ambles toward us, slicing through the room with a confident gait. My resolve to leave wavers. How can walking be this sexy?

“London?” He smiles, and I’m not only parched anymore. I’m blinded.

“Hello, that’s me.” My sister offers him her hand and he kisses it. Kisses it! While staring into her eyes. “This is Sydney. Promise me you’ll take good care of her tonight.”

I’m focused on willing the ground to swallow me, so it takes me a moment to realize he’s now extending his hand to me.

His eyes are the most unusual gray color, like silver with sparkles of amber. Hot and cold at the same time.

I shake his hand vigorously, almost ripping his arm off. “Hi.” My greeting is a squeal. Yes, I’m perspiring, my heart is palpitating, my mouth is my only dry cavity and I squeal. Perfect.

“Hunter Stuart, pleased to meet you.” And apparently that playful smirk is his permanent countenance, and flickers in his eyes as well. His voice drapes around my skin like silk—strong, yet soft and luxurious.

“Which one is your first name?” I spit out, due to my brain apparently being broken. Along with my self-respect because I’m still standing here. With my sister. And with a male escort. Though I have to give it to him, with his looks he must have a very successful career.

“Hunter.” He frowns and shakes his head slightly, as if he startled himself, but then his smile is back. “London, I promise Sydney will enjoy tonight, and perhaps even remember it fondly.” He winks.

London wiggles her eyebrows and gives him a card, the key toourroom. I look around, half expecting the police to burst in and arrest us. Geez, is this even legal? Am I going to do this? What if a parent of one of my students recognizes me here with him?Don’t be stupid.

“You have a table at the restaurant waiting for you. The staff knows to bill it to the room. Have fun.” London smiles at Hunter.

He nods and then turns to me, scanning me up and down. Not in a sleazy way, though, in a very discreet way. His gaze scrapes my skin, exposing feelings I haven’t felt in a long time. If ever. It’s like my body came alive, alight, ablaze under his scrutiny.

He’s probably wondering what kind of nightmare client I’m going to be, regretting he took the order. Assignment? Transaction? Jesus, thisisa nightmare. What am I doing? Or not doing?

Damn it, I’m sick. I shouldn’t have drunk anything.

“Happy birthday.” London hugs me. “Loosen up, silly, it’s just one night,” she whispers into my ear.

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