Any Way You Want It (11 page)

Chapter Nine

W
hen Zandra first opened Elite For You Companions, a trusted mentor had advised her to keep her escorts apart to prevent them from competing with one another or comparing notes. She was told horror stories of shady escorts skimming profits and colluding to steal clients to start their own agencies.

She’d received the cautionary advice, filed it away, then formulated her own approach to dealing with her escorts. Even though they were independent contractors, she considered them employees. And as any smart employer knows, happy employees are the key to a successful and highly profitable business. From the very beginning, Zandra understood that if she treated her escorts with decency and respect, then they would be happy. Happy escorts produced satisfied clients, and satisfied clients were repeat customers.

So once a month, Zandra booked a private room at an upscale restaurant and treated her escorts to dinner. Attendance was not mandatory. She knew that the women led busy lives that had them juggling the demands of a career, college and, in two cases, single motherhood. So she never required their time beyond their availability to clients. But in the five years she’d been hosting the dinners, no one had ever canceled. The women looked forward to getting together.

Over dinner, they didn’t discuss clients or dates or anything that would breach confidentiality. It was simply an opportunity for them to unwind, become better acquainted, and draw strength and support from one another.

It was through these monthly gatherings that Zandra learned how much she had in common with the women who worked for her. Relaxed by good food and wine, they often let down their guards and opened up to one another. Secrets were shared and commiserated over—the sense of loss and regret after an abortion; righteous anger caused by a nasty divorce; the pain and despair suffered in an abusive relationship.

The women were ethnically and physically diverse, came from different backgrounds and ranged in age from twenty-five to forty-two. But that didn’t prevent them from being able to relate to one another, a bond strengthened by the shared experience of working as an escort.

Seven months ago, Zandra had changed the venue of their outings to a luxury day spa, where the women could be pampered with manicures and pedicures, lavish massages and sauna treatments. It seemed a fitting reward for women who made a living catering to the needs of others.

That Saturday afternoon, they sat soaking in the spa’s thermal whirlpool as they sipped champagne and luxuriated in the soothing fragrances of jasmine and lavender wafting up from the steamy water.

“I finally did it,” announced Yana, a Russian college student who’d immigrated to America two years ago in pursuit of a modeling career that never panned out.

“Did what?” the others asked.

“I finally called home and told my mother that I’m an escort.”

Everyone stared at the dark-haired young beauty. “How did she react?”

Yana grimaced. “She said she didn’t raise me to be a
blyadischa.
”

“Ouch. Sounds bad. What does it mean?”

Yana sighed. “Whore.”

A chorus of groans swept around the pool.

“It’s really a shame that she said that to you, Yana,” Zandra said, her voice laced with sympathy and anger. “It’s hard enough hearing that word from strangers. It has to be worse coming from your own mother.”

“It was,” Yana admitted forlornly. “She’s been asking me if I’ve found any modeling work. I was tired of lying to her, so I just decided to tell her the truth. I knew she wouldn’t be happy, but I never expected her to call me a whore.”

“I’m truly sorry about that, kiddo,” Zandra consoled, gently rubbing Yana’s shoulder. “She’s just concerned for your welfare. Give her time to come around and accept what you’re doing.”

Yana nodded despondently, sipping her wine.

Claudia—a petite, voluptuous blonde and single mother—glanced around the circle. “Angry mothers aside. Is it just me, or does that word hurt more coming from other women than men?”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement.

Claudia frowned. “Why do you think women seem so quick to use it against others?”

“Spitefulness,” Yana proposed.

“Jealousy.”

“Insecurity.”

“Ignorance,” Zandra contributed. “I think it’s easy to be judgmental of something you don’t understand. When most people hear that a woman is an escort, they naturally assume that she gets paid for having sex.” She shook her head ruefully. “I went to college in the UK. I think Americans are way more uptight about sex than Europeans.”

More echoes of agreement went around the pool.

“That’s because Americans tend to have more conservative religious values,” opined Laurel, a black beauty pageant veteran. “I belong to a large Methodist church on the South Side. I would
never
tell any of the members that I moonlight as an escort, or they’d run me out of there so fast my heels would leave skid marks.”

“Damn,” some of the others lamented, and chuckled. “That’s a shame.”

“I know. Now, I’m not saying congregations everywhere would be so judgmental,” Laurel added. “That’s just my personal perception of my own church.”

“That’s why I don’t tell anyone that I’m an escort.” This was from Noelani, an exotic beauty from Hawaii. “I know they wouldn’t understand or approve, especially my family. They’re very traditional and conservative. Hell, my parents just want me to hurry up and finish my doctorate so I can get married.”

“Mine, too,” Laurel commiserated.

Claudia grinned crookedly. “This conversation we’re having would be great material for a show on Oprah’s network.”

The others laughed.

“Seriously,” she insisted. “We should invite Oprah to one of our spa days. I don’t think she’s ever gone inside the lives of professional escorts who
don’t
have sex with their clients.”

Zandra chuckled dryly. “Tell you what, Claude. The next time you’re at a party with Oprah, feel free to pitch the idea to her.”

“I think I will,” Claudia declared, drawing a chorus of amused groans. Given the wealthy status of their clientele, it wasn’t uncommon for any of the escorts to find themselves at the same glitzy event as Oprah, and Claudia was just bold enough to proposition the famous media mogul.

Noelani sighed, gazing up at the tiled ceiling of the bathhouse. “Maybe it’s just the romantic in me, but I
do
sometimes catch myself fantasizing about meeting Mr. Right—a dashing prince who will sweep me off my feet and carry me off to his castle in the forest.”

Laurel snorted humorously. “I already found
my
Mr. Right. Met him at the Castle adult megastore, and he only cost me about forty bucks. He vibrates, he can’t knock me up, and he takes me
anywhere
my imagination can go.”

As the others shrieked with laughter, Noelani blushed self-consciously and murmured, “I guess I’m the only sap around here.”

“No, you’re not,” Claudia laughingly assured her. “Though some of us would never admit it, we’ve all fantasized every now and then about getting swept off our feet by a handsome tycoon like Julia Roberts did in
Pretty Woman.
”

“And don’t forget Lena,” Yana added.

This elicited envious sighs and murmurs at the memory of Lena and Roderick’s breathtakingly romantic waterfront wedding.

“Doesn’t get any more fairy tale than meeting and falling in love with a gorgeous billionaire,” Claudia said.

“I know.” Laurel smiled fondly. “Couldn’t have happened to a sweeter person.”

“Hear, hear,” the others chorused, raising their glasses in a toast to Lena.

As they drank, Noelani sighed deeply. “Who knows? Maybe
my
next client will be Mr. Right.”

Zandra sure as hell hoped not, considering that Noelani’s next client would be Remy. She’d already had serious misgivings about setting up the date. Learning that Noelani was a hopeless romantic didn’t exactly put her mind at ease.

“So what about you, boss lady? You ever fantasize about meeting Mr. Right?”

Zandra’s face heated as nine pairs of eyes settled on her. “Me?”

Claudia chuckled. “Yeah, you.”

“Hmm.” Zandra sipped her wine, stalling as she pretended to ponder the question. She didn’t share many personal details with her escorts. Not because she didn’t like or trust them, but because she’d always been fiercely private, and as their employer, she felt it was necessary to maintain some professional boundaries.

During their monthly gatherings, she often assumed the nurturing role of counselor as they bared their souls, and they never seemed to mind that she knew more about them than they knew about her.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve fantasized about it,” she responded, even as her mind flashed traitorously on sensual images of Remy. His eyes...his lips...the cut of his biceps...the hardness of his thighs...the thickness of his cock. Her body heated so fast she half expected the steamy water to start boiling.

Clearing her throat, she delicately dabbed at her flushed cheeks. “I wouldn’t say I fantasize about finding Mr. Right, but I
will
admit that one of my all-time favorite movies is
An Officer and a Gentleman.
That ending scene where Richard Gere goes to the factory, sweeps Debra Winger into his arms and carries her out while her coworkers cheer...”

A chorus of dreamy feminine sighs and squeals swept around the pool.

“Oh, my God,” Noelani breathed, her hand fluttering to her heart. “
That
is definitely a classic.”

Zandra grinned. “I was only four when the movie came out, but my mother used to watch it all the time. When I was old enough to appreciate it, we’d watch it together and cry every time at that sappy ending.”

The others laughed and nodded, reliving similar experiences.

“Sentimentality aside,” Zandra murmured, “I’ve never really been a happily-ever-after type of girl. So I don’t spend a lot of time looking for Mr. Right.”

“But if he comes along?” Noelani prodded.

Zandra smiled. “Then hopefully he won’t make it hard for me to recognize that he’s the one.”

“Amen to that.” Laurel grinned, holding up her glass. “In the meantime, here’s to a satisfying relationship with our battery-operated Mr. Right. Even when he takes a licking, he keeps on ticking!”

The women clinked glasses, then dissolved into hysterical laughter.

Chapter Ten

“H
ave I told you how absolutely stunning you look tonight?”

Zandra smiled indulgently at Colin as camera bulbs flashed wildly around them. “You may have mentioned it once or twice.”

He chuckled. “Well, it’s true. You look amazing. I can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

The dress he spoke of was a Herve Leger original—an electric blue strapless number layered with romantic ruffles that flowed sensuously over her hourglass curves. Diamonds glittered at her ears and wrist, and towering stiletto heels accentuated her long, shapely legs. She wore her hair down, parted on one side and glamorously swept over her shoulder. Her eyes were smoky and dramatic, and her lips were lusciously red.

Already considered a fashion trendsetter among her peers, she’d wanted to look her absolute best tonight. And she’d apparently succeeded, judging by Colin’s response and the admiring stares and whistles that greeted her as she stepped from her limo.

“Who are you wearing, Miss Kennedy?” reporters called out eagerly to her.

She only smiled enigmatically, setting off another flurry of flashbulbs.

For tonight’s fundraiser gala, the entrance to the art museum resembled an Academy Awards ceremony with a red carpet and photographers snapping pictures of arriving guests. Hundreds of well-heeled Chicagoans had shelled out two grand per ticket to enjoy a glitzy evening of fine dining and dancing, and to celebrate the highly anticipated opening of the newly renovated museum.

Colin’s hand rested possessively at Zandra’s waist as they climbed the grand staircase and entered the elegant lobby to join the milling crowd. Jeweled flesh wrapped in the expensive silk of designer gowns created a dazzling kaleidoscope of color. Waiters circulated among the guests offering canapés and glasses of champagne. Orchestra music from a string quartet wafted over the hall.

Zandra knew the moment Remy arrived.

Not because she saw him walk through the doors, but because her pulse quickened and her skin erupted in goose bumps.

She glanced around the crowded lobby.

And there he was.

Tall, dark and devastatingly handsome in a Brioni tux that fit his powerful body like a dream. Her mouth went dry as she stared at him, a Rembrandt who deserved his very own exhibit in any museum.

It was only belatedly that she noticed Noelani on his arm.

There was a reason the Hawaiian woman was one of Zandra’s most popular escorts. Not only was she exotic and drop-dead gorgeous, but she’d perfected the art of treating each client as if he were the best date she’d ever had. The way she was staring at Remy made it clear that she wouldn’t have to do much faking tonight.

As if sensing Zandra’s gaze, Remy glanced up, his eyes locking on her from across the room.

She trembled as his dark gaze blazed a path from her face down to her bare shoulders, the swell of her cleavage and past her flat stomach. He lingered at the juncture of her thighs, as if he could sense the slick moisture he’d just coaxed from her body.

The eyes that slowly returned to hers glittered with a possessive satisfaction that made her shiver. Her nipples hardened, craving the heat of his touch, the stroke of his tongue.

As an electric hum of arousal crackled in the distance between them, Zandra swallowed hard and looked away.

But she felt him watching her as she worked the room—smiling beguilingly, fluttering her lashes, touching an arm here, patting a cheek there, coyly drumming up funds for one of her favorite causes, which was keeping art programs alive in Chicago’s public schools.

Remy’s smoldering gaze tracked her every move. But he kept his distance, because he knew Zandra had a thing about not socializing with her escorts when they were working. And given the way he’d felt about Colin accompanying her to tonight’s function, it was best for all involved if he stayed as far away as possible.

Zandra and Colin were conversing with Enid Roche and her husband when a laughter-tinged voice whispered in her ear, “Oh, my God. He’s doing it again.”

Zandra turned and smiled at the petite, curvaceous brunette who’d appeared beside her. “Hey, Skylar.”

“Hey, yourself.” Skylar Blake pressed a chaste kiss to Zandra’s cheek, then smiled congenially at Enid. “Everything looks fabulous. And
what
a turnout.”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” The gala committee chairwoman beamed with pleasure. “I was just telling Zandra that we raised over two million dollars from ticket sales. Seems that a lot of people wanted to be the first to see the renovated museum before we open our doors to the public next week.”

“
Two mil?
Wow, that’s awesome.” Skylar shifted her smile to Colin, her hazel eyes twinkling with undisguised interest. “And you are?”

Chuckling at her friend’s forthrightness, Zandra made the introductions.

“Pleasure to meet you, Skylar,” Colin said easily, shaking her hand.

“The pleasure’s mine. Would you excuse us a minute?” Without waiting for Colin’s assent, Skylar grabbed Zandra’s hand and steered her out of earshot.

“Oh, my goodness,” she breathed excitedly. “I just
had
to come over here and find out what the hell is going on between you and Remy Brand.”

Zandra feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“Remember how he showed up at your dinner party last month and spent the whole evening devouring you with those bedroom eyes?”

Zandra nodded reluctantly. Of course she remembered.

Skylar grinned. “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, he’s doing it again. And this time he’s eye-fucking you so hard, you’re probably already pregnant.”

Heat scalded Zandra’s face.
“Skylar!”

She laughed. “I’m just speaking the truth, Zandra. The way that man looks at you...” She trailed off, fanning herself with elegantly manicured fingers.

Shaking her head, Zandra lifted her champagne glass to her mouth. “You’re crazy.”

“Not crazy,” Skylar corrected. “Jealous. Insanely jealous. Remy is hot as hell, Zandra. And even though women have been practically throwing themselves at him since he got here, he only has eyes for you. Not that anyone could blame him,” she added, her eyes glinting as she looked Zandra over. “I’m as straight as they come, and
I
wanna fuck you in that dress.”

When Zandra nearly spit out her champagne, Skylar threw back her head and pealed with laughter.

Zandra dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her fingertips. “You are in rare form tonight.”

Skylar sighed. “I know.”

They paused to smile and pose for a photographer from the
Tribune.
As soon as the man moved on, Skylar grinned mischievously at Zandra.

“So give up the goods. Did something happen between you and Remy during your trip to St. Lucia?”

Sipping her wine, Zandra glanced over her shoulder at Colin. He was nodding and smiling politely as Enid Roche told him all about the museum’s two-year expansion project.

She smiled wryly. “I should probably go rescue my date.”

Skylar gave her a knowing look. “Nice evasion. But I’ll let you off the hook
this
time. Speaking of your date...” She paused, lips pursed as she appraised Colin through narrowed eyes. “He’s a cutie. But he’s not your type.”

Zandra scowled, because Remy had made the same remark to her. “Why isn’t he my type?” she challenged.

Skylar snorted. “He’s not alpha enough for you. You’d chew him up and spit him back out.”

Zandra couldn’t deny it. As much as she’d enjoyed Colin’s company over dinner on Friday, she’d known by the end of the date that they could never work as a couple. Which was a shame, because he really was a nice guy.

“You need a bad boy,” Skylar told her. “Someone with an edge. Someone dangerous.”

Zandra frowned, naturally thinking of Remy. They didn’t come any more dangerous than him. He’d been a street fighter for as long as she’d known him. The U.S. Navy had sharpened his rough edges and honed him into an elite assassin who could kill with lethal precision. He had the medals to show for it, along with commendations for covert operations the public would never know about.

For the nine years that he’d been away fighting wars and doing God only knows what else, Zandra had secretly worried about him. She’d lived in fear of receiving a phone call from Roderick—it would have to be Roderick—telling her that Remy had been killed in the line of duty. Even now, whenever he traveled for business, she didn’t breathe easy until he was back home, safe and sound.

Two days ago, when she’d tuned into BBC news and heard reports of a gunfight in Abu Dhabi, her heart had plummeted into her stomach. She’d only calmed down after she made some phone calls and talked to Roderick, who was always the first to know what was going on with his twin. According to Roderick, Remy and his men had taken out a group of extremists who’d tried to ambush them as they escorted their clients to a business meeting. All of the terrorists had been killed.

Zandra had calmly thanked Roderick for the information, hung up the phone, then choked back a sob of relief.

“You need someone who’s bossy and unpredictable,” Skylar was saying. “The kind of man who’d grab you without warning, bend you over and fuck you senseless, then chain you to a wall and have his wicked way with you until you passed out.”

Zandra laughed. “Don’t project your BDSM fantasies onto me,” she teased, even as her body heated at the memory of her scorchingly erotic encounters with Remy. Even when she was on top, he’d dictated the pace of their lovemaking. But he wasn’t a selfish lover. Far from it. He was fiercely attuned to her needs and desires, and he gave her more pleasure than she’d ever thought her body could experience.

As her clit tingled, Zandra let her gaze wander through the crowd until she located Remy. He and Noelani were laughing and chatting with two other couples. Noelani had her hand tucked into the crook of Remy’s arm, her head resting coquettishly on his broad shoulder.

As Zandra observed them, she felt an irrational stab of annoyance. Under normal circumstances, it would have pleased her to see one of her escorts getting along so well with a client. But Remy was no ordinary client.

Following the direction of her narrowed gaze, Skylar asked, “Isn’t that one of your girls?”

Zandra nodded shortly.

Skylar chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re a better woman than me, Zandra. I know you trust your escorts, but there’s no way in hell
I’d
set any of them up on a date with Remy. Hell, I wouldn’t even leave them alone in a room with him.”

Zandra frowned.

At that moment, Remy sent a lazy glance in her direction.

When their eyes met, her breath caught in her throat.

As his hot gaze slid down her body, lust swam into her veins, pooled between her thighs. If she’d been wearing panties, they would have been drenched.

Skylar purred low in her throat. “You lucky bitch.”

Zandra smiled.

When Colin suddenly came up beside her and curved an arm around her waist, Remy’s face hardened.

Catching his deadly expression, Skylar smiled brightly at Colin. “Having a good time?”

As he turned and responded to her, Zandra hazarded another glance at Remy.

Lips curved mockingly, he lifted his champagne and toasted her before putting the glass to his mouth and drinking.

Zandra dragged in a shaky breath and looked away.

“Hey, there,” she said, smiling apologetically at Colin. “Didn’t mean to abandon you to Enid. She’s a sweetheart, but she can be long-winded.”

Colin chuckled good-naturedly. “No problem. She and her husband remind me a little of my parents. Anyway, she says they’re gonna be seating for dinner soon, so we should make our way to the gallery.”

“All right. I need to use the restroom first, so why don’t you and Skylar grab our table and I’ll catch up with you.”

When Colin hesitated, Skylar slipped her arm through his and winked at Zandra. “Go on. I’ll keep him company for you.”

“Thanks.” Zandra grinned. “I think.”

As Colin and Skylar moved off, Zandra turned and began weaving her way toward the restrooms, demurely fending off advances from flirtatious admirers.

The line inside the ladies’ room was ridiculously long, and she really had to pee. So she left, went down the hall and around the corner, and crept to the rear stairwell Enid Roche had shown her during a previous tour of the museum.

Surprised and relieved that no security guard stopped her, Zandra ascended the stairs to the darkened second floor, which would be opened for viewing after dinner.

Moving quickly and quietly, she strode to the door of the ladies’ room and slipped inside, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that the elegantly refurbished room was empty. Her heels clicked smartly on the polished marble floor as she strode past the gleaming row of sinks and ducked into the last stall.

When she’d finished emptying her bladder and freshening up with a feminine wipe, she flushed the toilet and grabbed her satin clutch. Unlatching the stall door, she opened it and stepped out.

And ran smack into the massive wall of a man’s chest.

Not just any man.

Remy.

She sucked in a shocked breath, staring up at him. “What are you—”

He lowered his head and kissed her.

Before she could gasp, his tongue invaded her mouth, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Electric fire swept through her, hardening her nipples.

As her arms went around his neck, her clutch fell to the floor.

He backed her into the stall as his hands moved downward to grip her ass, pulling her tight against his scorching erection. She moaned into his mouth.

He worked her dress up her thighs, then lifted her off the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he turned in the small space and pushed her up against the door. His mouth ran down her throat and over her breasts as she reached beneath his tuxedo jacket to stroke his broad chest.

When his fingers delved between her thighs and encountered bare flesh, he made a primal sound and lifted his head to stare at her, his eyes blazing with lust. “No panties?”