Hallen Jansen has it all. At 28, he has a flashy car, a great apartment, and a job he’s good at and that he loves – as an escort – working at your beck and call.
His life is easy, with no emotions or attachments slowing him down – choosing to keep moving, always running from the past. But when a new client awakens unfamiliar feelings, all bets are off. Can he convince a recently divorced woman twenty years older to trust men again – to trust him? Can Hallen trust himself not to screw things up?
Surrounded by people who choose to judge them, will they make their relationship a reality, or is it heartbreak for both?
Not all services are professional.
She joined me at the window, a large glass of Cognac in each hand. I accepted one and clinked it against hers.
“Santé!”
“Skål!”
She smiled and took a sip, her eyes thirsty and impatient.
“What are you thinking?” she asked, quietly.
“That it’s a long way down.”
She laughed, tension seeping around the edges of the sound. “I hope you’re not thinking of jumping to get away from me.”
I turned to look at her, deliberately running my eyes up and down her body. “No, I’m not thinking that.”
Her lips parted in a small gasp.
I took the glass out of her hand and placed it on the table with mine.
Belinda. Her name was Belinda.
“What do you like, Belinda?”
“Um, I…”
“You can tell me,” I said, as if we were sharing a secret. “Do you want me to touch you slowly?” I drifted my fingers down her arm, stroking her skin. “Or do you want me to take you hard?” I gripped her wrist in one hand and tipped her chin up with the other, so she was forced to look at me.
I saw her moisten her lips and swallow.
“Hard,” she whispered.
Yeah, that’s what I’d guessed. You learned to read people—women—in this job.
She licked her lips again and tottered forward, her balance becoming uneven with an alchemy of alcohol and lust.
“Do you want me to take you at the window, baby? Press your beautiful breasts against the cold glass while I fuck you. Anyone looking up would know what a bad, bad girl you are. Anyone could see.”
She choked on a laugh and I could tell she was considering it. My guess was she’d go for the bed. Older women usually did.
I started writing contemporary romance two years ago. Before that, I didn’t think I could write a sex scene. Turns out I can!
My lucky number is 13 because I was born on the 13th and live near a haunted castle by the ocean. My number one past-time is watching hot surfers get changed into (and out of) their wetsuits.
My husband doesn’t read my books. My mother does.
Writing is my love, my hobby, my total addiction. All my characters are important to me and whisper their stories, even when I’ve finished writing their books. That’s why you’ll often find bonus chapters/out-takes from various books, because those voices just won’t be quiet.
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