The Accidental Call Girl by Portia Da Costa Read Free Book Online Page B

way!
    At his door, she rapped firmly before second thoughts could grip her.
    ‘Bettie! So glad you made it.’
    Ah, she hadn’t dreamed him. John Smith was just as handsome as she remembered, just as real. It seemed like a week since she’d seen him, a long week in which she’d spent most of her waking moments wanting him again, but really it was just twenty-four hours.
    As he conducted her into the room, she wondered if he’d been aware of her doubts. Something quizzical in his expression seemed to suggest so, as if he were privy to her most intimate thoughts . . . and perhaps the depth of her deception? ‘Nice to see you again, John,’ she said, masking it all, and leaning in towards him, to kiss his cheek. Her lips brushed a faint hint of stubble, and he was dressed for business, apart from his abandoned jacket. Had he been hard at work doing whatever it was he did, even far into the evening?
    ‘You look perfectly delicious, woman. That’s a great outfit. Do you always dress for business when you’re doing business?’ He winked at her, his expression puckish and provocative.
    ‘Doesn’t do to look too obvious in my line of work. Keep the goodies in a plain brown wrapper, so to speak.’ She winked back at him.
    ‘Speaking of business . . .’ John crossed to the dresser and came back with a plump envelope. The cash sum, she presumed, that they’d agreed when she’d emailed her new phone number.
    Knowing it was crass to count it in front of him, she said, ‘Might I powder my nose before we . . . we get started?’
    ‘Of course.’ His blue eyes glittered. Had he heard the little hesitation? She still couldn’t be sure he didn’t suspect. He seemed to be almost humming with thoughts and secrets all the time, his smile open like the sun, yet hiding Lord alone knew what shadows and deceptions of his own.
    In the bathroom, she counted the cash – all there – then texted Brent to say everything was OK and he mustn’t worry. After a few deep centring breaths, she spent a penny, rinsed her hands, and refreshed her lip gloss.
    Ready as I’ll ever be. Now or never and all that . . .
    She pushed open the door.
    John was sipping a small drink. Gin, she supposed. She could detect a faint hint of its balsamic tang as he came close to her. ‘Drink?’ he enquired.
    ‘I’ll just have some water, please, if I may?’
    ‘You are businesslike tonight, aren’t you?’ His grin was tricky as he opened a bottle and poured for her.
    ‘Well, I’m in a service industry. I like to stay sharp and give value for money.’
    ‘Admirable . . . admirable . . .’ he murmured, watching her like a raptor as she took a few sips, then put aside the drink.
    Another deep breath. ‘So, John . . . what’s it to be?’
    His beautiful mouth quirked, then for just an instant, he snagged his plush lower lip between his teeth. Then even though there was barely any visible sign of it, she sensed him turn to steel in front of her. It was as if he grew an inch or two, at least in aura, radiating power. She imagined him as a demon, a bastard of the negotiating table, getting everything he ever wanted with barely any effort.
    ‘Well . . . first, indulge me, beautiful Bettie . . . Call me “master”.’
    It was like being back in the lift again, but with the cable cut. The word sent her plunging wildly, perhaps not down a lift shaft but a hurtling roller-coaster plunge, a thrill of terror ride. This was it. The game. She could play, or just give him his money back and flee.
    Never!
    ‘Yes, master,’ she said. Her voice was soft; he’d taken her breath away.
    He took her face between his two smooth hands and looked into her eyes, the intensity of his scrutiny stripping her. Still fully clothed she felt more than naked, all her hopes and fears revealed. Then he kissed her, gently at first, then more powerfully. Thrilling to her submissive role, she kept her lips still, and pliant, receptive, passive. Her arms hung by her sides as he