Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men 1)

He worked his mouth a few times before he actually spoke. “Let me…let me just wash up first.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, honey, don’t you dare. Before this afternoon is over, I plan to lick every inch of sweat off that taut, glistening young body.”

He nearly lost his lunch.

She must’ve sensed he was a split second from backing out of the whole deal, because she crooked her index finger, beckoning him forward. “Follow me, handsome.”

When she turned away and opened the gate, he followed.

Three hours later, he returned home a completely different person. And Mrs. Garrison had pardoned him all of his mother’s back rent on the condition that he would return whenever she summoned him again.

CHAPTER ONE

Two Years, Three Months, and Twelve Days Later

Okay, so maybe I was about to start drooling just the teeny tiniest bit when my cousin bumped her elbow into mine, distracting me from feasting on the hunk of man candy across the quad I might possibly have been—i.e., was totally—undressing with my gaze.

“Girl, don’t even think about it. You couldn’t afford him if you emptied all the money in your piggy bank.”

I blinked, cleared my throat, and murmured, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, uh-uh. No way. You can’t afford him.”

Wrinkling my nose, I kept staring because, well, really, how could I stop? He was hotness exemplified. That was my new name for him, actually: Hotness.

“What? Is he, like, for sale or something?” I snickered at my own joke.

Eva patted my knee in a sympathetic gesture. “Yes. Actually, he is.”

My grin slipped. “Huh?”

Seated on one of the benches outside the main building of Waterford County Community College, Eva and I had been sipping on our morning dose of caffeine and sugar, arguing over who was wearing the cutest shoes, when Hotness himself had crossed my line of vision at the very corner of my eye. I’d glanced over to catch the whole picture and yeah…Shoes? What were shoes?

But seriously. He was wickedly beautiful. With the strap of his messenger bag slung diagonally across his chest, he leaned against one of the campus’s many bronzed animal statues as he chatted with a handful of other guys.

Wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt, he shouldn’t have stood out among the pack. But he did. Oh my, he did. His dark, wavy hair called to me—Reese, Reese! Run your fingers through my wild, gorgeous, untamed mane. It did. For real.

So maybe I didn’t have a detailed, up-close-and-personal view of him. I mean, I couldn’t even make out his facial attributes from here—and a striking face was what usually drew me first. But none of that seemed to matter, because I had this gut feeling deep inside that his smile was an absolute heartbreaker.

It was breaking my heart that very second.

There was just something about his aura th

at screamed sensual, confident, charming beast. It radiated off him in waves as he relaxed in a comfortable, total guy stance, casually draping an arm across the back of a frozen stallion. The boy was a piece of art, and hella more alluring than the chunk of metal currently supporting his weight.

I could not take my eyes off him. “Just tell me he doesn’t stalk and stab his ex-girlfriends.”

“Nope,” Eva assured me. “He doesn’t even have ex-girlfriends. Because he’s a gigolo.”

Oh, yes she did. Out loud. In the middle of a busy campus. Like it was an everyday fact.

I ripped my stare away from Hotness to gape at my cousin, who, sure, sometimes said some crazy-ass shit. But really, this was up there with the best of her whoppers. “Excuse me?”

Eva smirked. “He sells his body for sex.”

As if I needed the dictionary definition for a gigolo. Hello. “What the heck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Mason Lowe, that guy you keep sexually harassing with your eyes.” She tipped her head in the direction of Hotness still leaning against the bucking horse statue. “You can’t stop staring, I know. He’s stunning, I have to agree. He was two classes ahead of me in high school, and we shared a fourth-hour math class my sophomore year, so yeah, I’ve drooled over him a time or two myself. But trust me, sweetie, he’s not available. Because he’s a frigging gigolo.”