StarofChristmas by Jayne Rylon

Author:Jayne Rylon
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781419931765
Publisher: Ellora's Cave Publishing Inc.

Intermission

“Son of a bitch!”

“What’s wrong? Are you sore? Tired? I can slow down.” Rick grimaces. We stride through the alley toward the main canal, impatient and eager to minimize our exposure to the cold. “I got a little carried away in there.”

“No, you were perfect.” I smile and pat his cheek. “It’s just that I loathe paperwork. One of the perks of being a prostitute is avoiding the mountains of bureaucracy most desk jockeys have to endure.”

Rick turned a disbelieving stare on me. “You’re always a surprise, Star. Candid. Direct. Honest. You’re kind of my idol.”

I can’t look away from the admiration mingling with the remnants of lust in his sapphire eyes. Distracted, I slip on a frozen puddle. I could catch my balance on my own, but I’m not about to shove off his strong arms, which bundle me to his cozy side.

“Careful.” His cinnamon-flavored breath washes over my cheek. When we reach the street, we both hesitate. Where do we go from here?

“May I walk you home?”

“Ah, that’s probably not a good idea, Rick.” Already I’m wondering how I’ll separate this experience from our routine the next time he appears at my window. And he will. Of that, I’m certain.

Still, I don’t relish the thought of my empty apartment right now either. Adrenaline lingers, rushing through my veins, distributed by my pounding heart. I could return to work. Every other customer would pale by comparison and I don’t believe in providing half-assed service.

“Would you like to grab some breakfast?” The tightening in my gut must be from hunger. Right?

“Yeah. Sure. I worked up one hell of an appetite. We can sort through this contract together. How about Seven Swans?”

The cafe stays open twenty-four hours. “My favorite. I wonder if they’ll have the chicken satay tonight.”

“Mmm. That does sound good.”

He keeps hold of my hand as we wind through the canyons created by the crooked townhouses lining the canals. I allow myself to believe my safety is his primary concern.

The smell of peanut sauce greets us when we duck through the weathered entrance to take a seat behind the massive bar constructed from timbers ripped from the galley of an old trading vessel. I imagine all the things the polished boards have seen.

I’m almost positive none of them have been odder than a hooker and a bodyguard devouring platters of gooey skewers while deciphering legalese intended to put guardrails around an extreme, for-profit sexual encounter.

I tug the sheaf to my side of the table and shelter it with my hand while I sign on the dotted line, right below Rick’s autograph. It strikes me that I never knew his last name, Brouwer. I admire the way our signatures fit together before folding the document, tucking it into my purse.

“I’ll take care of this.” It has my real name on it. Immediately below his. Something about the juxtaposition feels intimate. Surreal.

“Star.”

“Hmm?”

“What happens after the show?”

“I suppose things return to normal. I’ll work my window and you’ll be a bodyguard. Unless…” I try to erase my frown, though I doubt I’m entirely successful.

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