Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men 1)

Happy to see anyone who wasn’t Jeremy, and even more thrilled that ‘anyone’ ended up being Mason, I dropped the mace and Taser at my feet and went to work, opening the three locks keeping my door sealed against intruders.

By the time I threw it open, I was ready to fling myself into his arms and hug him for being here. I was so relieved I didn’t have to suffer through the rest of the night alone.

“Mason,” I gasped.

When he lifted his face, I saw instantly something was wrong. His gaze swirled with torment. “Can we talk?” he grated out. “I just…I need to talk…to someone.”

Brushing my hair out of my face, I found a piece of popcorn stuck in the tresses and batted it free. “Um…okay. Sure. Come on in.”

I began to open the door wider, but that seemed to intimidate him. He scuttled a step back and lifted his hand. “If this is a bad time, I can leave.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mason, seriously. Get inside now.” I didn’t really fancy the idea of letting my front door just hang open.

But Mr. Gigolo turned shy. He stayed rooted on the landing outside, sending me a skittish glance.

With a mutter of frustration, I grabbed his arm and tugged him into my apartment. As I bolted us inside, he paced my front room. I turned and watched him run his hands over his hair and sigh. Repeatedly. He was so distracted he didn’t even notice when I scooped up my Taser and mace off the floor and discretely tucked them away.

After he prowled around for a solid minute without even acknowledging me, I perched on the arm of my couch and folded my hands in my lap. “So…what’s up?”

He slumped down onto the couch and sprawled out, letting his head drop back against the backrest. After letting out a low groan, he admitted, “I almost got caught tonight.”

Oh, crap.

I slid off the armrest and sat next to him. Our knees almost touched, so I leaned forward and snagged my soda off the coffee table, using it as a bad imitation of a barricade.

My hands began to shake. To disguise the tremors, I took a quick drink, but immediately realized how big of a mistake that was. The carbonation in my pop made me want to heave up all the contents in my stomach.

But damn it, damn it, damn it. I’d been so sure he’d told Dr. Janison he wasn’t taking clients anymore. I thought he was stopping that lifestyle because of the girl, because of me. I thought all our flirt texting and near kisses meant we were getting close.

So how could he have almost gotten caught? Had Eva’s warning to him scared him back to the dark side?

God, I was such an idiot.

And I was not going to cry about this. No. I refused.

“You…you mean by the police?” I finally found enough oomph in my voice box to ask.

“No.” He swung his head back and forth, still staring up at a ceiling. “By a husband.”

“Holy…” I dropped the drink I was holding, and it was a miracle my lap caught it upright. I gathered it back into my hands. “Oh, my God, you sleep with married women too?”

I had to cover my mouth as if to manually shove the bile back into the depths of my stomach.

He sent me a distraught glance and began to jiggle his knee. “Most of the women who hire me are married.”

I gulped and almost gagged on the misery and pain and disappointment crowding up my esophagus. “Oh.” I was a little too busy concentrating on not bawling my head off to say much else.

My lack of response seemed to irritate him though. “Jesus, why do you think they come to me? A majority of them are bored, affluent housewives who blow all the spending money their husbands give them on younger men.”

He surged to his feet and began to pace again, yanking at handfuls of his hair until the strands stood up at odd angles. The sad thing was, even as upset and scattered as he was, he still looked as sexy as hell. And I still wanted to go to him and hug his pain away.

He kicked the door as he passed it. Then he froze and gawked a moment as if making sure he hadn’t damaged it before wincing in my direction. “Sorry.”

I shrugged and motioned for him to carry on. He could kick whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t leave a dent or hole. “Hey, at least you didn’t kick me.”

That comment seemed to shock him. “Why would I kick you?”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly uneasy, I took a big sip. This time, the caffeine settled my stomach instead of upsetting it. He was still watching me, so I fluttered out my hand in a useless gesture. “Sometimes people feel the need to hurt other people in a way to show their power. And you’re obviously feeling powerless with no control of your own life right now, so—”