Any Way You Want It (5 page)

“But that’s all right,” he drawled, pushing her onto her back and covering her body with his. “I’ve got something for you.”

Anxious eyes stared up at him. “Remy, I don’t want your family to know—”

He put his finger to her soft lips. “I’ll leave before anyone else wakes up.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He captured her wrists in one hand and held them over her head as he guided his engorged shaft to her wet opening.

She shivered, her breath quickening.

Watching her intently, Remy parted her swollen pussy lips, slid through the thick cream that covered them and slowly entered her.

Zandra moaned, her eyes slitting closed.

Staggered by the look of ecstasy on her face, Remy thought of the endless days and nights he’d dreamed of this moment.

And then he got busy making up for lost time.

Chapter Four

W
hen most people learned that Zandra was the owner of an escort agency, they usually assumed that she was a madam who peddled prostitutes, therefore, by extension, she must have a wild sex life.

In reality Zandra had never promoted prostitution. She’d always enforced a no-sex policy for her escorts, which they’d adhered to—with few exceptions.

As for her personal life, she rarely dated, and prior to her recent island tryst, it had been several months since she’d been penetrated by anything other than her vibrator.

She should have kept it that way. Because now that she’d experienced Remy’s lovemaking, it’d be an eternity before she could even think about sleeping with another man, and getting off on her vibrator would only be a cruel tease.

Zandra groaned, leaning her forehead against the warm glass window of her downtown Chicago office. Since returning from St. Lucia two days ago, she’d been consumed with thoughts of Remy and the explosive night of passion they’d shared. He’d done things to her no man had ever done, making love to her with a ferocious insatiability she would never forget.

With his thick shaft embedded so deep inside her she couldn’t tell where she began and he ended, she’d forgotten who they were, forgotten that he was only supposed to be a friend.

But when she awoke the next morning—alone, thankfully—she was so shocked and embarrassed by her reckless behavior that she’d avoided being alone with Remy for the rest of the trip.

If only she believed that was the end of what they’d started.

With a deep sigh, Zandra lifted her head from the window to stare out at the glistening Chicago skyline.

For the past five years, she’d owned and operated Elite For You Companions, an upscale escort agency patronized by some of Chicago’s richest, most powerful men. Her clients included chief executives, industrialists, philanthropists, foreign diplomats and Arab sheikhs, all of whom came to her because she had the best escorts in town—beautiful, intelligent, classy women who knew how to handle themselves in any social setting.

With two degrees in economics, Zandra prided herself on being a shrewd businesswoman. Everything about the way she ran her agency—from hiring escorts to catering to clients—was intended to protect her business interests and ensure maximum profitability.

Instead of using a booking agent to set up client appointments, she delegated the task to her efficient receptionist, who was the soul of discretion. Zandra set the hourly rates and fees, which were unapologetically high and unapologetically nonnegotiable.

Though her escorts were hired as independent contractors, Zandra treated them like employees and took her cut off the top, because she’d only needed to be burned once to remember that she could trust no one.

She didn’t accept credit cards for payment because even though she was running a legal business, she believed her clients were entitled to their privacy, and accepting their plastic hardware established a paper trail that could later be used against them
or
her.

She ran complete background checks on clients to ensure their financial solvency and to weed out criminals and undercover cops, because she didn’t have time or patience for bullshit. If prospective clients were married, she politely referred them to other agencies, because she wasn’t in the business of wrecking homes.

Thanks to her shrewd professionalism and eye for quality, Zandra was now worth a small fortune that afforded her a luxury penthouse on the Gold Coast and the loyalty of a personal chef and chauffeur.

Not bad for a girl from the South Side.

Just then the phone on her desk buzzed.

“Zandra?” Her receptionist’s voice came through the intercom.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“Sorry to disturb you, but Enid Roche is on the line. She wanted to confirm your RSVP for the museum fundraiser gala on Sunday.”

In addition to running a successful escort agency, Zandra was also a patron of the arts who served on the board of various arts councils, hosted fundraisers at her own home and promoted the works of local artists.

She smiled. “Tell Enid I’ll definitely be there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Christine chirped.

Zandra stared out the window another moment, then sighed and smoothed down the front of her Chanel shift dress, turned on the heel of her Louboutin snakeskin pumps and sat behind a custom-designed glass-top desk with a sleek leather base.

Enough daydreaming about Remy,
she told herself.
You have work to do.

No sooner had she completed the thought than her cell phone rang. When she picked it up and saw Remy’s number, her heart pounded into her throat.

Taking a deep breath to summon her composure, she pressed the answer button and spoke as calmly as possible. “Hello.”

“You. Me. Lunch at noon.”

Her stomach pitched at the sound of his deep, dark voice. Leaning back in her chair, she murmured, “Good morning to you, too, Remington.”

“Good morning, Zandra.” She could hear his smile. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” Her lips curved wryly. “It seems that we’re making progress.”

“How so?”

“Instead of calling, you usually just show up unannounced and make me go to lunch with you.”

Remy chuckled, low and husky. “I couldn’t wait that long to hear your voice again.”

Zandra closed her eyes, heat curling from the base of her skull to the bottom of her spine. “Well, um, I’m not free for lunch today.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve been out of the office, and I have work to catch up on.”

“And it will be there when you get back from lunch.”

“That’s not the point—”

“Listen.”

Never had one word conveyed such quiet authority.

Zandra snapped her mouth shut, her pulse thudding as she waited for him to continue.

“I let you ignore me for the rest of our trip because I knew you needed time to process what had happened between us. For that same reason I didn’t come to your room the next night, even though it killed me to stay away, and I couldn’t sleep worth a damn because my dick was so hot and hard for you—”

Oh, God,
Zandra thought as a ripple of lust shot to her groin, making her cross her legs tightly.

“On the flight back home,” he continued, “I let you get away with sitting next to Royce instead of me, and I didn’t say a word when you insisted on having your driver pick you up from the airport, even though you’d previously agreed to let
me
take you home.” He paused, his voice turning dangerously silky. “Under the circumstances, I think I’ve shown remarkable patience and restraint. But if you think I’m going to keep my distance and pretend that nothing has changed between us, you obviously haven’t met me.”

Zandra was silent, heart thumping, hand pressed to her quivering belly.

“So what time should I pick you up for lunch?”

Zandra dragged in a shaky breath, then exhaled on a sigh of defeat. “Be here at twelve-thirty.”

Remy chuckled low. “Atta girl.”

Incensed at the dark satisfaction in his voice, Zandra scowled. “I’m in the mood for Mirage,” she said peevishly, knowing how much he hated the modern fusion cuisine served at the trendy downtown restaurant.

But instead of balking at the suggestion, Remy merely drawled, “Whatever you want, babe. See you soon.”

“Fine.” Zandra hung up, then swiveled toward the window and glared at the cerulean summer sky as if it were to blame for her problems.

It’s just lunch,
she assured herself.
It’s not like he can debauch me in public.

But then again...

The phone on her desk buzzed a second time.

“Zandra?” Christine spoke through the intercom. “There’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Zandra frowned, swiveling back toward her desk. She wasn’t expecting anyone that morning. “Who is it, Chris?”

There was a pause. “Landis Kennedy.”

Zandra froze, her spine stiffening in shock as the blood drained from her head.

Staring at the phone as if it were a venomous snake poised to strike, she said tightly, “I don’t have an appointment with Mr. Kennedy.”

“I know, but he says it’s important that he see you.”

Zandra closed her eyes, her fingers curling on the arms of her chair. After all these years, what could he possibly want from her?

“Zandra?” Christine prompted. “Should I send him back?”

I’d rather you send him to hell where he belongs,
Zandra thought darkly.

“Yes,” she relented through gritted teeth. “Show him to my office.”

Releasing her death grip on the chair, she took a slow, deep breath and prepared to face her past.

Moments later Landis Kennedy strode through the door of her office as if he had every right to be there, every right to intrude.

He wore an expensively tailored suit, and his short black hair was wisped with gray at the temples. His face was broad and handsome, with shrewd dark eyes and a square chin.

He seemed shorter than Zandra remembered, not the hulking monster of her childhood nightmares. But a monster he was and always would be.

When she deliberately didn’t stand to greet him, he sat without invitation and smoothly crossed his legs. His pants were meticulously pressed, and his dark Italian loafers were polished to a high gleam.

“What do you want?” Zandra asked coldly.

He gave her a chiding smile that made her skin crawl. “Now is that any way to greet your long-lost father?”

The word curdled in Zandra’s stomach.
Father.
What had Landis Kennedy ever known about being a father? He’d terrorized her from the day she was born until she turned sixteen and left home to live with her grandmother. The last time she’d seen him had been at her mother’s funeral ten years ago, after which she’d told him to stay the hell out of her life. Years later, she’d boycotted his lavish wedding to a widowed socialite, and when he became a city alderman, she’d tossed away the invitation to his swearing-in ceremony.

“Why are you here?”

He met her icy glare, his eyes raking over her face before he glanced away. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You look just like your mother.” It was an accusation. A bitter indictment.

Zandra swallowed hard, fighting to keep the painful memories at bay. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

His gaze swept around the tastefully furnished room before returning to hers. “First, I wanted to inform you of my decision to run for mayor of Chicago.”

Zandra leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, offering no congratulations or words of encouragement.

“Once I announce my candidacy,” he continued, “every facet of my life will come under intense scrutiny by the media and my opponents. I can’t afford to have any skeletons in my closet that could be a liability to my campaign. Which brings me to you and your—” he paused, lips thinning in distaste “—brothel.”

Zandra arched an amused brow. “You mean my escort agency?”

He smirked. “If that’s what you prefer to call it. The point is that your line of work will be a liability to my campaign once the public learns that you’re my daughter. And that’s why I’m here.” He looked her in the eye. “I want you to relocate your agency to another state.”

Zandra didn’t even blink. “No.”

He frowned. “Hear me out—”

“I don’t need to. What you’re suggesting is out of the question.”

“I’m prepared to write you a check—”

“I don’t want your damn money,” Zandra spat. “I’m not going anywhere, so you wasted your time coming here.”

Landis’s face hardened, a malicious gleam filling his eyes. “You seem to forget that I’m a member of the city council. I have friends in high places. All it would take is one phone call for the state’s attorney to launch an investigation that would put your brothel out of business.”

“Do your worst,” Zandra dared him. “I’m not worried about being investigated because I know I’m running a legitimate business.”

“Since when did peddling prostitution become legitimate?”

Zandra clenched her jaw. “You know nothing about me or my agency—”

“I know plenty.” He sneered at her. “I’ve seen you being chauffeured around town, showing up at all the ritzy parties and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. You think those people admire you? Respect you?” He snorted contemptuously. “Everyone knows you’re nothing but a high-priced whore masquerading as an entrepreneur.”

Zandra let out a caustic laugh, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep his words cut. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to lecture
me
about respectability when you slithered your way into society by seducing an heiress just days after she’d buried her husband. You may not approve of the way I make my living, but at least
I
earned everything I own. It seems to me that the only whore in this room is—”

Landis shot from the chair, banging his fist on top of her desk.

Suddenly the years evaporated, transforming Zandra into that terrified little girl who’d cowered in the kitchen doorway watching as he brutally punched and kicked her sobbing mother.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” he snarled, his face twisted with hatred and fury. “Who the hell do you think you are? You should be down on your knees
thanking
me for everything you have.
I’m
the one who went out every day and worked my ass off to provide for you while your pathetic excuse for a mother could never keep her head out of the clouds long enough to tend to our home. You and that goddamn woman robbed me of the best years of my life! The only thing
she
ever did right was tie a belt around her neck and hang herself.”

Zandra gasped. As grief and fury seared her from gut to throat, she lunged to her feet and screamed, “
You bastard!
Get out of my office and don’t ever come back, or I swear to God I will
kill
you!”

He sneered. “Your empty threats don’t scare me, little girl.”

As he took a menacing step around the desk, Zandra snatched open the top drawer, reached inside and grabbed the pearl-handled pistol she’d received as a gift from Remy.