I nodded and silently went to the bathroom. This was the strangest situation I’d ever found myself in. What was wrong with him if he paid girls to simply talk to him? My heart hammered in my chest like a freight train. That voice. It was deep and vibrated something on the molecular level within me. Attraction was not an issue, but trepidation overtook my thoughts. Changing out the silk lingerie, I put on my jeans and pale-yellow sweater.
Creaking the door open, the man still sat on the couch. His gaze trained on me. I smoothed my hands down the front of my jeans.
Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, the man kept staring at me. He was a man of few words and gave me the urge to fill the silence. “I don’t think I know your name.”
“Bane Bradley.”
If I was going to stay, I needed more. “Why did you pay to talk to me?”
He shrugged while running his hand over his bald head, dark eyes watching me. “I’m not sure. Jewel, the owner, asked if I wanted some company and I said your name.”
“Why?”
“I find you intriguing. I wasn’t busy. So, I figured why the hell not.”
I shook my head. “You don’t give much away, Bane.”
“I could say the same about you.” A smirk appeared as I crinkled my brow. There was no way I wanted to delve into my issues. Trust me, I knew how it looked with helping Frankie and I loathed myself for feeling like I had to. Needing a subject change, I asked, “Would you like a drink?”
Rubbing the back of his neck, Bane seemed tense as he responded, “Bourbon.”
This would give me something to do while I kept trying to process everything. Standing up, I took in an imperceptible steady breath as I made my way to the black granite bar across the room. The ice bucket was filled. Quickly, I made the drink and grabbed myself a bottle of water from the mini bar.
My fingers flexed before I grabbed Bane’s drink, trying to squelch the nerves. Bane’s gaze never faltered off me as I came back to him. The way he appreciatively took me in, I had the impression he was as attracted to me as I was him—at least for some reason I hoped that was the case. But, I was probably reading everything wrong. The situation was confusing. After handing him the drink, I took a seat on the far end of the couch.
He tipped the glass to me. “Thank you. Have you decided if you’re leaving or staying? Regardless, you’ll be paid.”
“Staying. I’m staying. No sex.”
“No sex.”
I believed him, but it didn’t keep the thoughts of what it would feel like if he touched me. Nervously, I rubbed my hands together while I cleared my mind of all the thoughts my mind conjured of what Bane looked like without clothes.
This was crazy.
I am crazy.
More silence resumed. Bane took appreciative sips of his bourbon. Unscrewing and re-screwing the lid on the bottled water, I watched him, hoping to piece this together. Bane was in co
mplete control of his emotions and actions. Every move seemed calculated.
I decided to keep talking since he was paying me to do so. Taking his money felt wrong, but I wasn’t ready for our time together to be over. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m in security. It’s why I was at Discrete Encounters. What do you do?” His eyes went wide. “I mean. I meant. Fuck, I didn’t mean to ask that.”
Sarcastically, I chuckled. “What don’t I do? Through the week, I work mornings at a dentist office, afternoons at a vet clinic walking dogs, and weekends I wait tables.”
“And an escort?” Calling her a hooker didn’t feel right.
An awkward silence filled the room. Bane thought I was a hooker. Who could blame him? I responded, “I think we know my escorting days are over after this talk. I’m not cut out to be a prostitute.”
For the first time, I saw humor in Bane’s eyes versus the emotional dark depths. “What made you sign up?”
Even with Bane’s forbearing presence, I wanted him to know the truth. It was important, for a reason I didn’t want to explore, that Bane knew I wasn’t a hussy. “My brother. He’s in trouble and needs the money.”
Leaning forward slightly, Bane laid his drink on the coffee table. “How much trouble?”
“Enough that the three current jobs I have won’t cover the trouble.” I squirmed. This conversation was getting a little deeper than I wanted to go. Not being strong enough to stand up to my brother was shameful. Maybe taking the offensive in the question asking would help steer the conversation. “What do you do for fun?”