Jet-Setting Escort 4 (A Curvy Girl Erotic Romance) by Monique Dubois & Free Romance Novels

Author:Monique Dubois & Free Romance Novels [Dubois, Monique & Novels, Free Romance]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance, Single Authors, Collections & Anthologies, Psychological, Sports, United States, Women's Fiction, African American, Literature & Fiction, Short Stories, Short Stories & Anthologies
Amazon: B00GRWTHMC
Published: 2013-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

It was just like a man like Westcott to fly me to New York to see an art exhibit on our first date. The exhibit was at his rooftop gallery in Manhattan, and he’d sent a limo to pick me up from my hotel. When the driver opened my door at the curb outside the tall building, Westcott immediately approached. I recognized him from his Matchscort profile. He was even better looking in real life, taller than I’d expected, with broad shoulders under a tweed sports coat. His longish light brown hair was slightly messy, as if he’d forgotten to brush it, but on him it looked sexy.

He held out his hand. “Hello. I’m Westcott.” His hand was slightly damp, as if he was nervous. Cute.

“Ariella. Nice to meet you,” I said, smiling.

Brown eyes behind rimless glasses searched my face, as if trying to see into my soul. I was surprised that he didn’t assess my body or outfit, the way most men did. I’d worn an understated but form-fitting black pantsuit with a medium-low neckline since his profile had said he liked women to dress conservatively. I’d also pulled my long, thick hair back into a bun at the nape of my neck. A few wavy pieces had escaped, framing my face. Pearl earrings completed the look. I knew I looked classy, but also sexy. My large breasts always took even the most conventional outfit to another level. I couldn’t stop my cleavage if I tried.

He seemed to deliberately avoid looking at my chest. He shifted on his feet, as if not knowing what to say next. I smiled, waiting, as taxis and cars roared by. Shouldn’t we go up to the gallery? I wanted to say something but didn’t want to emasculate him right off the starting blocks by taking charge of the conversation. I’d let him take the lead. A shy man like Westcott would appreciate that. He was probably used to women rambling on to fill the silence, running over him in the process.

He finally held out his arm. “Would you like to see some art?”

“Sure,” I responded, and let him lead me to the tall glass doors of the elegant building. A well-dressed doorman greeted us.

In the elevator ride up to the roof, Westcott looked uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and shifted his feet, as if he didn’t know what to do next. There was such an awkward shyness about him, despite his smoldering good looks. He seemed completely unaware of how handsome he was. By his slightly rounded shoulders, he seemed unable to own his physical presence on some level, even though his physique was tall and well built. Maybe it was the shyness, or maybe no one had ever told him how attractive he was. And he certainly was, in a nerdy-artist-thinker sort of way . . . so much so that I felt a strong surge of sexual attraction.

He would be so much fun to seduce. His unassuming manner was so refreshing after the cocky men I’d been with recently.

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