Fidelity Files (16 page)

There was the invite. That obligatory, necessary, all-powerful invitation.

He had initiated. And now I could follow.

Without saying a word, I slid my stylishly polished finger through one of his Mardi Gras beads and began to pull him toward the dance floor.

As the groom-to-be followed closely behind me, he could feel his pulse escalating. His hand wanted to slide down my back and caress the shape of my hips. His mouth wanted to fall helplessly along the length of my neck, push my hair aside, and feel my skin under his lips. He could hear the voices of his friends growing distant, cheering him on as if he were leaving to go into battle. He could feel himself getting hard with anticipation...

And then his body jerked upright. Something snapped his attention back to the room, the music, the lights. The memory of something waiting for him back at home. Some
one
counting on him to keep his word.

He bargained with his inner voice.

It's just a dance,
he told himself.
And this
is
my bachelor party.

IF A subject has been drinking, it makes my job easier. Not only in the obvious way, in which alcohol makes people less inhibited, more sexual, more willing to stray, but also in the unobvious way, in which I can be less cautious. Men under the influence of alcohol are less suspicious by nature. They don't notice coincidences. They don't hear slipups. They simply enjoy their state of inhibition.

Although Ashlyn's personality tonight was still very well defined and premeditated, I felt myself relax on the dance floor. I knew I had little to worry about. There was no doubt that this night would end up in Parker Colman's hotel room. The inspection was as good as failed.

The music was loud and sensual. The pressure of his hands on my body intensified as the song continued. His touch started off soft, a faint exploration of my exterior silhouette, and then little by little, it pressed into me. Harder, more forceful, like he was massaging sexual tension right into my muscles. His fingers wrapped around my waist and pulled me toward him. His body thrust against mine and I could feel his chest muscles. His pecs were strong and defined. As if separate from my body, I watched my hands reach up and grab them. Knead them.

The music began to pulse through my veins. Louder and louder, until I felt like it had become a part of me. Controlling my movements, steering my every step.

His powerful hands spun me around and landed just above my stomach. He pressed my back into him. His fingers ran up and down the sides of my waist, just barely escaping the curves of my breasts and lingering just long enough on my hipbones to know that the underwear I was wearing didn't cover much.

As he brushed my hair away and began to tenderly kiss the back of my neck I felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time... something I
never
felt on an assignment. A tingling between my legs.

I closed my eyes, letting the touch of his lips send shivers up and down my back and through my entire body.

He aggressively turned me around again to face him and his lips went straight for mine.

I didn't fight it. Not that I ever did. But this time something was different. I didn't
want
to fight it. That natural reaction to push him away that I have to fight with every single assignment was nowhere to be felt.

His kiss was strong, masculine, tasting of whiskey and Coke. It made my knees want to buckle.

What the hell is wrong with me?
I thought.
Could it be the alcohol?

That was ridiculous. On past assignments I had drunk three times as much as I had tonight and could have passed a roadside sobriety test with flying colors. No. There was something else happening here. Something inexplicable. And definitely terrifying.

There's certainly no rulebook for this job. At least not a published one. But if there were this would be on page one as the biggest misdemeanor of them all. The Golden Rule of fidelity inspections. As far as he's concerned you can't get enough of him and all the scandalous things he's doing to you. As far as
you're
concerned...you might as well be numb from the forehead down. You don't feel, you don't get involved, and you certainly don't enjoy.

But there was something about Parker's hands and his mouth. They were intoxicating. My tolerance level was supposed to be off the charts, for alcohol
and
this kind of thing. But tonight I felt like an absolute lightweight. Getting drunk off of one dance. One touch. One amazing kiss.

"Let's get out of here," he whispered in my ear.

I nodded. I didn't even have to say anything. And I was afraid that if I did, it would be something I would regret. And possibly something that might get me fired and my reputation as an honest professional destroyed.

Don't lead, just follow,
I reminded myself. But one question kept repeating in my mind:
If I enjoy it, does it still count?

He pulled me in front of him and walked close behind me, his arms wrapped around my body, his legs walking in unison with mine, his lips still continuing to send shivers down my back and into my toes.

I tried desperately to stay in character. Ashlyn is a pro at this. Ashlyn is not a stranger to leaving bars with random men. Ashlyn would giggle at his advances.

So I did.

"You smell incredible," he said, stopping his lips long enough to inhale my neck.

"What about your friends?" I asked, glancing in the direction of the bar where we had begun this runaway evening.

"They'll be fine," he assured me. "It's my bachelor party."

And it was those words that finally sobered me up. Instantly. Not because I was reminded that he was engaged to someone else and I was definitely crossing the line for being even remotely turned on by his touch, but because of what the words implied. "It's my bachelor party."
My friends expect this of me. I would have cheated with anyone. You just happened to be there . . . twice.

"Are you okay with that?" he asked, most likely feeling my shoulders suddenly stiffen.

I immediately relaxed my body and slipped right back into character. I could slowly feel Ashlyn once again slide into the driver's seat. I ran one finger over his cheek and down the underside of his chin. "Of course. You're not married
yet,
are you?"

The numbness returned to my legs, then my hips, followed by my stomach, my arms, and my breasts. As we exited the front of the Palms Hotel, he turned me toward him and kissed my lips. Yep, those were numb again, too.

Everything was back to normal. Or so I hoped.

PARKER PLAYFULLY tossed me down onto the bed and practically fell on top of me. I moaned with pleasure as his hands massaged my thighs from the outside of my dress.

I braced myself for what was coming next. More kissing, more touching, more fake moans coming from my lips. But it didn't come. None of it. Without warning, his hands suddenly fell limp alongside my legs, and then eventually withdrew.

I wasn't sure what had happened. I searched his face for a clue. He was quiet, pensive, contemplative. He looked me in the eye, preparing to say something. Something important.

"Wait a minute," he began.

My first thought was that he was having doubts. That he might actually turn me down. The alcohol had worn off, something reminded him of his fiancée, whatever the reason... this unlikely candidate looked poised and ready to be one of the select few who passed the inspection.

I fought the smile that was attempting to penetrate my facade. The thought of someone passing was always exhilarating. Yes, it would mean my initial read on him was wrong, but this was hardly the job in which to be proud. Most of the time I practically
prayed
I was wrong.

"What's the matter?" I asked, naively.

"Something's not right," he replied.

My heart started to pound. This was it. It was really going to happen.

"Really?" The tone of my voice bordered on clueless.

"You've changed," he said, matter-of-factly.

My small glimmer of hope slowly started to melt into a very large pool of confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You were all about this on the dance floor, and then as soon as we left the club it was like you just shut off."

My stomach lurched as I began to realize what his hesitation was really about. It was about me. I had fucked up. I had lost control... just for a second. And now I was about to sabotage an assignment because of it.

"I, um, I don't know what you're talking about."

He sat up. "It feels like you're just going through the motions or something. Like you're on autopilot but your mind is somewhere else."

Oh, dear Lord.

I started to panic. It just goes to show:
No
good can ever come from losing focus in this job. You can never let your guard down, even for a minute.

My thoughts were a blur. Was he really questioning my motivations or was this just an excuse? That tiny ray of hope was ironically clouding my view of reality. I couldn't seem to let go of the thought that maybe he was having second thoughts after all, and that my abnormal behavior tonight was just a convenient way out. A magical solution to dissolve the glue that held him captive in this sticky situation.

"That's crazy," I replied defensively.

"Is it?"

It suddenly occurred to me:
If he turns me down now, I'll never know the real reason why.
Will it be because he really wanted to be faithful to his fiancée, or will it be because I screwed up? The implication of confusing these two very different scenarios was severe. I, of course, would assume the latter.

How would I ever report back to Roger Ireland if I wasn't 100 percent sure about the results?
"Um, he passed...well, sort of. It's complicated, see..."

No way. That would never fly. I had to know for certain before I left this room.

"Parker." I sat up and faced him, trying to look serious and provocative at the same time. "I'm not going through any motions. I want what you want. I think you just have to decide
what
you want."

There. I put the ball right back in his court. It wasn't the ultimate fix, but it would hopefully give him something to chew on for a while.

Then I had another thought. One far more sobering than any of my others. What if he had been tipped off about me? Intercepted by someone in the course of the night. Giving away my true intentions. Revealing everything.

If that were the case, it would mean Parker was just
playing along,
going through the motions, setting
me
up to fail. Slow playing
me!

There was an awkward silence between us.

He looked over at me, obviously wondering what was going through my head. Funny, I was wondering the same thing about him. I wasn't sure which one of us was more desperate for a mind-reading device right about now. Especially when my internal one was failing me so miserably.

My superpowers had never been so out-of-tune in my life. Like Parker Colman, of all people in the world, was my kryptonite. Everything felt chaotic. As if someone had placed a magnet next to my compass and the needle was spinning in crazy circles.

Because, for the first time tonight, I had absolutely no idea what he was holding in his hand. The cards on the table were meaningless to me now. It wasn't as easy as having the nut flush when you're pretty sure your opponent is holding three kings. And when you don't have a clue what the person across from you is playing with, there's no way you can know how much to bet.

I tried to mask my anxiety as he continued to study my face. As if trying to map out his next play based on what I could possibly be hiding.

Trying to figure out if I still had those two hearts in my back pocket.

And then realization and relief washed over his face.

"Wait a minute," he said with a knowing smile. "Okay, how much are my friends paying you?"

I smothered a gasp. "
Excuse
me?"

"You're an escort, right? My friends paid for you. But they were sure I wouldn't sleep with you if I knew who you really were, so they told you to pretend you were all into me and shit, right?"

My eyes widened. And just as I was about to throw the whole thing out the window, fold my hand, leave the table, and for the first time abandon the job half finished out of pure pride, something in me clicked.

Parker had just made the ultimate poker faux pas: He had showed me his hand before the game was over. And suddenly I had the edge I was looking for. I knew
exactly
how to play.

I violently pulled myself off the bed and started huffing and puffing around the room in search of my shoes.

I made sure that every aggravated, insulted, emotionally wounded bone in my body was perfectly visible
and
audible.

"Oh my God!
I have never been so insulted in my entire life!"

Parker's face immediately turned bright red, realizing his utterly horrendous mistake. He panicked and jumped up from the bed, reaching out to grab me and pull me close to him. "Wait, don't leave. I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

I shoved him away. "You think I'm a
hooker
?"

He stammered. "I'm sorry. I just sensed a change in you. I didn't know what it was. I overreacted. I got paranoid. It was the alcohol talking... not me. Please don't leave! I really want to spend more time with you."

I placed my hands on my hips and glared at him, seemingly deciding whether I had it in my heart to forgive him. Seemingly deciding just how much I wanted to have sex tonight. And then my voice softened slightly, to an almost vulnerable murmur. "Do I
look
like a hooker?" I asked, with hope of reconciliation in my eyes.

"Of course not! You are so beautiful and sexy and... classy! God, I want you so bad, it's driving me crazy." He put his arms back around me. This time gently, affectionately, with a forced adoration he prayed would be convincing enough to keep me from walking out the door. To keep me in his rented bed.

It worked.