Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“Miss Westcott? Miss Westcott?” A hotel clerk waves from across the grand lobby, then starts walking toward me with an older man at his side. I look behind me, but they’re coming toward me and whispering when they approach. I don’t catch what they say, but it sounded like they were speaking another language.
“Yes?” I ask, still in the dark.
The older man looks at me, letting his gaze travel, then settle on my chest before smiling at the clerk and giving him a nod. I have no idea what he wants, but I don’t think I want to find out. Creeped out, I glance back over my shoulder in hopes of seeing Loch come through the door before reaching for my coat.
“Good evening, Miss Westcott.”
Before I turn to go, the clerk says, “I’d like you to meet Benedettu Serra. He’s visiting us from Sardinia this week.”
The other man takes my hand and brings it to his mouth. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Before he has a chance to go any further, I remove my hand from his grasp and take a step back. Holding my coat in front of me, I shift to drape it over my arm. “Mr. Wescott will be here any minute. I’m going to wait for him near the entrance.”
The clerk’s gaze shifts over my shoulder and the color drains from his face. “My apologies for keeping you. I’ll make this quick.”
“Make what quick?”
“Mr. Serra would like your company this weekend and was wondering if you have an opening in your schedule?”
I look back and forth between them several times, feeling like I’m missing something obvious. “I’m not following.”
“He’d like to pay for your services.”
“My services?” My head jerks back when it dawns on me. Oh. My. God. “Do you think I’m an escort?”
“I’ve been operating under the assumption. It’s not something we normally allow in the hotel, but the Westcott’s have been clients of ours for a long—”
“Let me be very clear for both of you. I’m not, nor have I ever been an escort.” Feeling my anxiety rising, I swing my hands wildly in front of me. “I’m not a call girl. I’m not a hooker.” Noticing the band around the man’s left finger, I feel my anger surge. “So get it out of your head and tell your friend here to go home to his wife and appreciate her instead.” I spin on my rhinestone-encrusted heels and head for the door. My heart pounds in my chest when I rush outside and straight into strong arms that embrace me.
The scent of the ocean with a hint of musk.
The perfectly cut suit.
Hard muscles wrapped around my soft frame.
Loch.
“Hey, there,” he says, holding me tightly to him. “Everything okay?”
I close my eyes a few seconds more just to appreciate the compassion and concern of this man.
Stroking my hair, he bends down to catch my eyes when I open them, and whispers, “Tuesday?”
Pull yourself together. I take a breath. “Yes. I’m hungry.” What else can I possibly tell him? That everyone thinks I’m his personal call girl?
“What’s really going on?”
I take a moment to think about what I want to say. Am I making something out of nothing? Is it really that big of a deal? I’m sure I’ll be laughing about it in a few minutes. “Do you remember how you told me the hotel clerk thought I was a call girl when you checked me in?”
I’m hit with a harder glare than before. No gold can be found in the centers of his eyes at all. Only fire. “Yes,” he replies with a sharp edge to his tone. “Go on.”
“I thought you were joking, but I think he meant it.”
“Why do you say that?” While I try to figure out how to soften the offense, his temper sparks to life. “Are you going to make me drag it out of you, Tuesday, or will you tell me?”
“I was just offered a job.” By the way he’s fisting his hands by his sides, I can tell he’s failing to see the humor. I get it. I failed as well at first. “There was a man from Sardinia. The hotel clerk introduced me as someone he could hire to keep him company while he’s in town.”
“What the fuck? Stay here.”
My hands start shaking, panic making my heart beat faster as I watch Loch storm toward the hotel entrance. “What are you doing?”
“Handling it.”
“There’s nothing to handle, Loch. It’s done. Over with.”
He stops and turns back, then comes toward me. Opening the car door, he guides me into the cavernous back seat. “Wait here for me, okay?” Shooting his eyes to Brady, he adds, “I’ll be right back.”
“And then what?” I ask.
“And then you’re going home with me.”
13
Loch
That asshole doesn’t even see me coming. I could get in a punch, or a few, knock him the fuck out before he knew what hit him.