Thor (Recherché #1) (4 page)

He takes the seat across from me, unfastening his jacket with a casual grace. “Thank you for coming. I guess Elodie told you about my predicament.” I try to sound confident, but the way his eyes snap to mine makes me think he sees straight through me.

He rests one elbow on the table and taps his index finger against his full bottom lip. “She did, but I have to ask…why is your friend having to set
you
up on a date? Surely you have plenty of offers?”

I sigh at the thought of having to go with one of my mother’s friend’s sons. They’re all such pretentious twats. “They’re all idiots. I’d rather go alone. In fact, I’m perfectly happy going alone. It’s Elodie who insists that I take a ridiculously attractive man with me.” I gesture towards him. “No offence. I mean, I’m sure you’re very nice aside from….the muscles. And the face.” I blurt.
Oh my god.
I feel heat creep into my cheeks as a blush makes its way over my face.

“None taken.” He says though I can see him fighting a smile.

“She kind of has a point. It would piss my sister off. Anyway, if you fancy coming, getting shit faced drunk with me and possibly holding my hair back while I vomit my guts out, that would be great.” His head falls back and he laughs, a deep rumbling sound that resonates deep into my core. Where the hell has Elodie been hiding this guy?

“Well if there’s food and drink I’m there.” 

“Uh, it’s my sister. She’s having a hundred and fifty grand wedding. I’m pretty sure she’ll be feeding the five thousand.”

“Well, I’m all about free food.”

“Is that your way of saying I’m paying tonight?” I smile.  He chuckles and then narrows his eyes on me. His index finger gently taps over his bottom lip as though he’s trying to work me out or something. The longer he looks at me the harder my heart beats until all I can hear is my own pulse hammering in my ears. I can’t tear my gaze from his, and it’s as though he has a physical hold on me and he’s pulling, tugging me towards him.

A throat clears beside us and I jump. The waiter stands there smiling politely. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Wine. I need wine.” I say. Thor keeps his eyes fixed on the wine list in front of him but I don’t miss the way his lips twitch, fighting a smile. We both order food, and I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the menu the entire time. I just need a second to regroup.

The waiter bustles away and I’m left with the full force of his stare again. “So, Thor, if you’re to be my date I guess I should know something about you.”

Casually leaning back in his chair, he taps his fingertips on the table top. “Ask away, Poppy.” The way he says my name makes me shiver and I almost want to slap myself.

“What do you do for a living?” His expression shifts, becoming less playful and more serious for a second.

“I run a business in the hospitality sector.” He says slowly. “How about you?”

“I’m an artist.”

The waiter comes back and opens a bottle of wine, pouring two glasses for us.

“Thank you.” I say. He nods and walks away.

“How does your father feel about you being an artist?” He asks the question carefully but I know exactly what he’s getting at.

“Let’s just say there’s a reason why Violet is the golden girl.” I pick up the wine and take a healthy gulp.

He shrugs. “Breaking the mold isn’t a bad thing. Do what you love and love what you do.”

I smile. Looks
and
intelligence. He must be a psycho. There’s no other explanation.

It’s Saturday morning and I’m on my way to pick Poppy up. I’m never up this early on a weekend, but I even moved a client last night just so I wouldn’t turn up looking like I’d been run over. I’m not a day time, be your date at a wedding kind of guy, but fuck it. Money’s money, right? And it might not be so bad. At the very least the sister showdown should be amusing. Plus, I get to stare at Poppy’s sweet arse all day. The girl is smoking hot and the more I spoke to her the more I actually liked her. After our conversation the other night we had dinner, we talked, it was…normal. And I realised it’s because she doesn’t know I’m an escort. She doesn’t treat me like something she paid for or act as though she wants anything from me. As far as she’s concerned I’m just a friend of a friend who’s agreed to go to a wedding with her. For a second I feel bad about deceiving her, but then I remember that it’s just a job. This job just so happens to involve the client not knowing she’s a client. That’s not on me. That’s on her friend.

I pull up outside her building and press the buzzer for her apartment. There’s a crackling sound followed by a mumbled curse.

“I’m coming!” She practically shouts and then hangs up. I stare at the intercom for a few seconds wondering if she’s going to say something else. She doesn’t.

A few minutes later the door opens and Poppy hops through it.
Damn
. She’s wearing a pale blue dress that drops in a v at her chest exposing just enough cleavage for me to confidently say she’s a D cup. The material clings to her tiny waist before following the flare of her hips. Her red hair is pinned up with a small blue flower tucked behind her ear. She’s the picture of elegance until I notice that she has one shoe in her hand, the other on her foot. I raise an eyebrow at her and she rolls her eyes.

“Look, if you think you could make it down two flights of stairs in these, then I salute you. Until then…” She grabs my arm, using it to steady herself as she puts the other shoe on. Then she bends over in front of me, brushing something off her leg. The material of her dress hugs her arse perfectly and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to tame my dick. I don’t get excited by women, but it’s like the second I tell myself this is one I don’t get to fuck…well then the challenge has been laid down. You always want what you can’t have, right?

“You look good.” I say. I know women inside out and back to front. I know what makes them tick, what they like to hear, hell, I can practically get most of them off simply by talking. But this is different. Those other women know what I am. They expect for me to turn up the sex, to seduce and manipulate them in ways no one else can. That’s what they pay for. Poppy isn’t paying for it. I’m accompanying her. Nothing more. So I’m not going to tell her that dress makes me want to strip her naked and fuck her—even though it does. I’m not going to tell her that I want to know how she tastes, that I wonder how she sounds when she comes, even though I do. This is unchartered territory for me. A girl I actually want to fuck, but for once it’s not in my job description. Irony can be a real bitch.

“You look like every woman’s fantasy.” She says sarcastically before reaching up and straightening my tie. “My sister will hate me.” A grin breaks across her face and I simply shake my head. I’ll never understand women.

As soon as she gets in the car she fiddles with the radio until she finds some 80s station. She looks out the window, humming along to Stevie Wonder and tapping her hand on her thigh.

I wind through the Saturday morning London traffic until we pull up outside The Ritz, where her sister is getting married. I cut the engine and there’s a beat of silence. She stares at her lap fiddling with the clasp on her clutch bag. Her shoulders tighten and she chews on her bottom lip. I can feel the tension radiating off her instantly.

“Hey.” I reach out and pull her lip from her teeth before I can think not to. “It’s fine. We’re just here to get drunk remember.”

Her eyes meet mine and I hold her gaze for long moments. I don’t know this girl, she doesn’t know me, but when I look in her eyes, something pulls at me, something foreign. “Okay.” She breathes.

Getting out of the car, I pass the keys to a waiting valet and open Poppy’s door. She takes my waiting hand and allows me to help her out. I can feel her hesitation as she lingers at the bottom of the steps that lead to the front entrance.

“Look, just so you know. I’m not exactly popular with my family.” She says in a rush.

“Popularity is overrated.” She smiles and glances at the floor. “We’re just here to get drunk, remember?” I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into my side. I hear her breath hitch delicately but she makes no effort to pull away. Her body relaxes slightly, her shoulders dropping and her breathing evening out.

“Okay. Thanks.” She says.

This is seriously foreign territory for me. We’re almost like… normal people. I’ve done the date thing, escorted women to weddings, charity functions, parties, but I’ve never escorted a woman who didn’t know I was just that…an escort. It’s kind of fucked up.

I keep hold of her as we cross the lobby of the hotel. People linger, some sitting on the leather couches, some standing and talking. Poppy focuses straight ahead, but I’m attuned to the attention of others. Every eye subtly shifts our way as we pass through and into the hallway. When we’re outside the room where the wedding is being held, she stops. I glance down at her but she keeps her gaze fixed on the floor. People mill around outside, fussing the way people do whenever there’s a wedding.

“Poppy!” An older woman calls to her from down the corridor. Poppy paints a fake smile on her face and turns around stiffly.

“Mother.”

Oh, great.
All in with meet the parents.

“That dress is
very
revealing.” She chastises. Wow, her version and my version of revealing are very different. “And who is this?” She turns her attention on me and I square my shoulders, flashing her a smile.

“I’m Thor Jameson, Poppy’s date. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs Whitely.” And there it is. She blushes like a Catholic school girl. She has the same red hair and hazel eyes as Poppy, but that’s where the similarities end. Where Poppy is petite but curvy, her mother is just curvy. Of course, the coral pink mother of the bride outfit probably isn’t helping her case. I pull her in for a brief hug and kiss her cheek. Poppy glares at me over her mother’s shoulder and rolls her eyes.

“Where’s Dad?” Poppy ask.

The mother struggles to tear her eyes away. “Uh, he’s with your sister.”

“Great. We’ll just go and take our seats then.”

“Yes, I have so much to do.” She blinks a couple of times and walks back the way she came.

Poppy starts pacing right in front of the doors. Her hand is at her mouth and she’s chewing on her thumbnail.

“Poppy.” I call her name and she looks up at me and I can see how nervous she is. “Just walk in there like you own the place.”

She rolls her eyes. “Easy for you to say, you walk like you own everything.”

I smile. “Then follow my lead.” I offer her my arm and she tentatively takes it.

I walk into the room, ignoring the subtle gazes thrown our way. “So tell me, why exactly does this make you so nervous?”

She presses tighter into my side and I can feel every perfect curve on her body. “I hate attention, and I especially hate attention from the people who I know are judging me.”

I laugh. “People will always judge, babe. Trust me on that.” I’ve never understood people who hate attention. People only offer their attention to things they deem worth their time. Surely that’s flattery at its finest?

She finds her name in the second row behind the wedding party. I take the seat next to her and turn my body towards her slightly, blocking her view of the rest of the room. There must be seating for at least five hundred people in here. Every chair is draped in white satin and garlands of pink flowers are hanging everywhere. If I ever had the mad inclination to get married, I’d fuck off to Vegas, do the deed and have the best party money can buy. This shit—it’s all just for show. How can anything be authentic when you’re more worried about what a room full of people you barely know think, rather than the simple fact of getting married?

“God, I’d sell my soul for a bottle of vodka right now.” Poppy mumbles. I laugh and that slight blush creeps over her cheekbones.

“You’re cute when you blush.” She scowls at me which only makes me laugh more and her blush harder. People around us turn in their seats and I stare back at them brazenly.

The seats around us fill up, and I notice more curious glances directed her way. Every time someone looks at her she shrinks back into her seat more. I barely know this girl, but it pisses me off. I feel unnaturally protective of her for reasons I can’t seem to fathom even to myself. Maybe it’s just because she’s different. I mean, I’m not exactly the height of moral compass, but the women I associate with are just as bad if not worse. Poppy is…a breath of fresh air that, if I stop and think about it, I can’t remember ever breathing.

A few minutes later and the groom takes his place at the front of the room. The poor fucker looks shit-scared and I don’t blame him. I’ve never understood anyone who wants to get married. Why bother? Apparently, every woman’s goal in life is to get that piece of paper and the ring on their finger, but I make a living out of fucking married women. And trust me when I say, the married ones make up ninety percent of our client base. The whole idea of marriage is such a bullshit farce. No one has any loyalty, so what’s the point? Everyone might as well just fuck everyone else and be happy. The wedding music starts and everyone turns around to watch the bridesmaids wearing hideous pink dresses enter.
Isn’t the bride’s sister supposed to be a bridesmaid?
I ignore everyone else and focus on the groom, waiting for that moment of horror to cross his features as he realises that he’s about to sentence himself to a life of Friday night sex and constant nagging. I can tell the exact moment she enters the room though, because he smiles, a genuine smile as if her simple presence just made his world a little better. My mind can’t comprehend it, but then I never have been able to grasp the concept of love, of needing another person like that.