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“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks with anger in her tone. “You’re going to get me fired.”

“You’re welcome for saving you from that guy.”

“Who? Jim?” she asks. “He’s a regular and completely harmless.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You looked scared.”

“I was, but not of Jim.” She won’t look at me. I resist the urge to force her to. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to see you here.”

“So you ran from me?” She hangs her head, and I remember the look she shared with Brady and how nervous he appeared. “No, it’s more. You know Brady?”

She nods. “It was a long time ago. Look, I need to get back to work.”

My hand curls around her arm when she starts to walk away.

“No way. We need to talk.”

She tears her arm free. “My boss is watching. I can’t get fired.”

“Where’s your boss?”

Her eyes move to the bar. I know who she is talking about because he’s staring right at us.

“You get dressed. I’ll pay your boss. You’re spending the night with me.”

M
y entire body trembles as I watch Ryan walk away. I tried to convince him he couldn’t afford to hire me for the entire night, but he laughed at me. I remember him handing eight hundred dollars to Jim like it was nothing, and the ridiculous amount he spent on cigars. Maybe he can afford me.

Ryan talks with my boss, who looks at me for confirmation that I’ve agreed to a new client, and I nod. Why did I nod? Although I hate this profession, I have it better than most of the girls here, a few regulars, and no one else without my approval, but as soon as money changes hands, there’s no going back.

Spending an hour in one of the rooms here is torture. I don’t have any idea how I’ll make it an entire night. Backstage, I towel-dry my hair and slip into my street clothes. I don’t know why Ryan wants me to get dressed if he wants to spend the night with me. I’m not sure if I can go through with this. Strangers, yes. Regulars, yes. A guy I met outside of the club who I’m insanely attracted to and haven’t been able to stop thinking about? No. But I have to. The cash is in my boss’s pocket, and I can’t lose my job.

The door sticks when I try to open it. After a good yank, it finally opens. Ryan smiles at me as his eyes rake over me slowly.

“Better,” he says quietly, and takes my hand.

We walk toward the door to exit the club, and I stop. “Rooms are in the back.”

“We aren’t staying here, sweet girl.”

Instinctively, I start backing up. “I’m not leaving with you. I don’t even know you.”

He closes the gap between us, his dark stare intense.

“You know me better than most of the men here.”

That’s true, but I’m still worried. “I don’t leave with them. How do I know you won’t chop me up into little pieces?”

He pulls me roughly against his side and whispers in my ear, “I won’t hurt you. I want to fuck, and I’m not doing it in a filthy back room at this club.”

I push my hands into his chest and shove him back. “Oh, okay, so you’re taking a hooker to a nicer place to fuck her. Wow, how moral of you.”

His nostrils flare on a sharp inhale. The vein in his neck throbs as he nears me. “I paid for the night under my terms, so yes, we are going to a ‘nicer’ place to fuck.”

I march past him and walk until I’m outside. He follows me out of the club. My heart races, and anger burns my skin. I like this guy, and now he’s paid to fuck me for one night. I can’t. “And, don’t call me sweet girl. I’m not your girl, sweet or otherwise. I’m just a girl you paid to fuck.”

A devilish grin curls his lips. “Okay, so, do you want me to call you,
Girl I
Paid to Fuck
or Monica or Maria? You have a few names to choose from. Pardon me if it’s a little confusing.”

The indignant tone he uses prickles my skin, but I swallow my anger. I don’t want Ryan to think of me as a hooker, even if that’s who I am to him. I should have kept my big mouth shut. “My name is Maria. I only use Monica here.”

He smiles and tucks a wet lock of hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on my cheek. I ignore the shiver jolting through me and pretend it’s because my hair is wet and I’m cold.

“I like Maria much better,” he says, his hand falling away.

I shiver again. Does he mean the name or the person? I like Maria much better than Monica, too. But Monica has confidence and pays the bills.

He holds his keys out and the lights flash on the sleek black Porsche in front of us. Of course he drives a Porsche. It’s a classic choice for an arrogant playboy overcompensating for some deficiency in his life. Hopefully he’s not hung like a buck gerbil, or it’s going to be an extremely long night.

Once we’re in his car, I pull out my cell and text the sitter that I’ll be home in the morning, and to kiss Javier goodnight for me. She’s not my usual sitter, and I hope she’ll be okay with it. Part of me worries that Ryan is a lunatic, and I should run back inside and tell my boss I can’t go through with it. But I don’t, because the other part of me wants to fuck him and get him out of my system. Maybe then I can evict him from my thoughts.

“Who are you texting?” Ryan asks.

“My sitter.”

“Ah, for your brother.”

I glance over and shoot him a look.

“Do you really think he’s my brother?”

“Oh.” He looks surprised. “But you’re so young.”

I nod. “Twenty-two.”

“And he’s four-ish?”

“Almost six.”

Ryan’s forehead crinkles in thought. I expect some judgmental comment, but instead he says, “Well, shit happens, right?”

“Yep.” I laugh. “Fifteen and stupid happened a lot where I grew up and to most of the girls I work with.”

“Where are your parents?”

I look out the window and try not to cry. Fighting the sharp ache in my chest grows impossible, and I heave a breath. “I can’t.”

“Whoa, hey. It’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it. I want us to have fun tonight.”

I smile, tucking my hands between my knees. “Thank you. I don’t like to talk about them.”

He gives me an understanding nod. When we line up to cross the border, I ask, “Where are we going?”

“My place in San Diego.”

I’m about to ask how he plans to sneak me across the border and then remember our run-in after Papa’s doctor’s appointment. Guess he’s smart enough to realize between that and my lack of an accent, I’m not a native to Mexico.

“Why your place?”

“Because I want to.”

“Do you always do what you want?” I ask, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my tone.

He turns his head and lifts a brow. “Always.”

“Your place, huh? How do you know I won’t case the place, come back in a few weeks with a truck, and rob you blind?”

“Seriously?”

“I wouldn’t, but you don’t know me. You should be more careful.”

He shrugs but doesn’t look over. “So Jim’s a regular?” he says as a question.

“Yes.”

“Do you have a lot of regulars?”

I snap my head around to look at him. “Why?”

“I’m trying to get to know you, before I take you to my place.” He smirks. I wonder if this guy takes anything in life seriously.

“I have three,” I admit, although reluctantly.

I don’t share with Ryan that his friend, Brady was number four, but he stopped coming to see me after running out on me, leaving me slightly devastated. I had a difficult time getting over him.

“And the rest are a bunch of non-regulars?” he assumes.

“No, I don’t work the floor, only the stage. Anyone who’s not a regular, I have to approve, which never happens.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, revealing that smug grin of his. I take in a breath, mentally preparing for the sarcastic comment about how much I obviously want him, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he asks, “Why is that?”

He’s so damn pushy. As much as I want to tell him my life is off limits, I don’t. Maybe I feel like if I’m honest with him, he’ll see me as more than a hooker. Right, like we’re going to his house to cuddle up and watch a movie.

“My reasons are personal.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

He’s not about to let it go until I answer. I decide to play things as nonchalant as possible, like what I do is typical.

“When I first started at the club, I tried the open floor for a while, but it wasn’t for me. I have more control with my regulars and between them and what I make on stage, it’s enough that I don’t have to be on the floor.”

Actually, I don’t earn nearly enough, but if I’d stayed on the floor, I would’ve ended up on drugs to get through it, like most of the girls at the club, and I refused to let that happen. Ryan doesn’t ask any more questions, and I want to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t ask.

H
is loft is gorgeous, rustic and masculine. The walls are muted grey, the fixtures brushed nickel. Several fans hang from the vaulted ceiling. The furniture is sleek, dark leather and teak woods. The walls are covered in black and white landscape photography. By the looks of it, Ryan isn’t hurting for money. It’s mind-boggling why a rich, handsome guy would bring a hooker home with him. He’s every woman’s dream guy. My guess is he could have any woman he set his sights on.

“Are you hungry?”

“No.” I stare into his brown eyes, noticing how long his lashes are. He’s handsome and younger than I initially thought. I avert my eyes and ask, “Why am I here?”

He grips my face and pulls my head until I have to look at him. The gleam in his eyes answers before he does.

“I told you. I want to fuck.”

I swallow hard and remove his hand. “You’re a young, successful guy. If you just want to fuck, I’ll bet there are women lined up who would be more than willing to accommodate you.”

His eyes stay on me as his arms wind around my waist. He slips his hands into the butt pockets of my jeans and walks me backward through a door. He keeps going until the backs of my legs hit a bed. My stomach knots up. I can’t look at him, knowing what we’re about to do will mean absolutely nothing to him. He pushes me down on the bed and climbs up my body. Braced above me, he stares down at me, his eyes gloomy and distant. This guy’s heart has been broken, which makes him all the more off limits.

“I don’t want to fuck any woman. I want to fuck
you
.”

He lowers his head. His lips graze slowly over mine.

“No lips,” I say, breathless.

“You mean no kissing,” he whispers against my cheek.

“No … no lips anywhere. It’s too intimate. I have to be able to forget you when this is over.”

He pulls back and grins. “Oh, sweet girl. I love a challenge.”

I haven’t cried when I’ve been with a client since the first month I was at the club, but I feel the painful sting in my eyes as tears form. As I turn my head to the side, my cheek presses into the brushed-cotton sheet, and the tears come. “Just fuck me so I can get out of here.”