Valentine Vegas Gigolo Sheikh (3 page)

"What the hell," she said. "It's a hilarious story. You'll find this story effing hilarious. Everyone at the party did. I know I'm laughing my ass off here."

"Yes," he said. "You seem so amused you might rip someone's heart out with your bare hands."

She shouldn't drink any more tonight. So she didn't. Self-control had never been a problem for her. She put her drink on the table and left it there, though she kept thinking how good it would taste. "I'm in town for this wedding. I'm from Chicago. So are the bride and groom, but they wanted to get married in Vegas. The ceremony is tomorrow and the best man hasn't even shown up yet. Can you believe that? What a jerk."

"A jerk of the highest order," he said, almost pleasantly. "The story."

"I went to college with the bride, and now we work together. Well, at the same company. We used to work in the same department before I got moved."

“What do you do?”

"I push paper for a health insurance firm." She shrugged, drawing her bare legs up under her on the couch. "You might think it's dumb, but it's important to me. My father had cancer when I was little, so I know how important those checks are. I'm good at my job. At least I used to be. Since New Year's, it sucks. You see, I got transferred against my will into Super Bitch's section. This part of the story is more important than it sounds. Make a note of it. My Christmas present was being forcefully moved out of the department I loved, where I had friends, and into one where no one will talk to me and the boss yells at me if I make sure a senior gets a new hip after his fall. Pre-existing condition, my ass."

"She sounds like a, what is the word..." He visibly struggled. Something about the way he did it made her think what a useful tactic it would be for a guy with an accent to occasionally pretend not to understand English. Especially in his line of business. "Bully."

"Gosh, thanks for pointing that out. I never would have noticed. If you want to hear the story, stop interrupting it."

He nodded with an almost regal elegance.

Graced with his permission to continue, she did. "So, I get to the rehearsal dinner, and I find out the second groomsman has food poisoning and the only available last minute replacement who would fit his tux is the ex-boyfriend who broke up with me by text three weeks ago. Prita—she's the bride—is mortified."

"Did you date this man for long?"

"Wa-ay too long," she said. "Six months too long. We were together for six months, see, that's why that's funny."

"I can tell you are infinitely amused."

"I cared about him. Why did I care about him?" She rolled her eyes at herself for her stupidity. "I thought we would be together forever. I told him things I'd never told anyone."

To his credit, Gigolo Zaq didn't say anything. If he'd shown pity, she'd have tossed him out. Instead, his interest silently encouraged her to go on.

"During the rehearsal, everything goes fine. It's awkward, but fine. I manage to avoid punching his smug face in, even though there's no best man I can put between him and me." She took a deep breath. Now for the truly painful part. Zaq the escort seemed to sense the punch line was coming and leaned forward with interest. "But when I get to the dinner after, that's when things go to hell. His date is—"

"Super Bitch," Zaq completed for her. "Ah, I understand."

She had no name for the complex swirl of emotions spinning inside her. If it were simple embarrassment, she could deal. But for the last two months she'd been so angry, so helpless, so out of control of her own life, and then to suddenly have all of this coming at her in one giant mess... It was too much to take. Too much to even hang a name on.

What happened next in her tale of woe was so pathetic that she either had to laugh or dissolve into an incoherent, humiliated puddle on the floor. So she laughed.

"You know," she said. "I introduced them at the corporate Christmas party. They talked for a long time. After that I got transferred. I had no clue why she wanted me in her section, or why she decided to treat me like garbage. Now, I know. Since we're in Vegas, I'm in a betting mood... What are the odds that they started dating before he dumped me?"

"I only gamble when I judge the odds to favor me, so I will not take you up on that bet," he said.

She breathed out through her nose to keep her sigh from escaping. "He told me he was leaving because I wasn't any fun anymore. That all I ever talked about was how unhappy I was at work. But I was unhappy at work because of Super Bitch, his little girlfriend. Once, he told me it was good for me to be in a situation where I wasn't in control. What was that supposed to mean?"

Zaq lifted a dark eyebrow. She could tell he'd made a mental note of her question. But he turned the subject. "Why did you not leave?"

"I couldn't stop thinking of all the dirty tricks she was playing to keep people from getting their benefits," she said. "Real people. Sick people."

The expression on his face. He seemed to be openly assessing her. Why? They were never going to see each other again. Maybe he wanted to figure out the best way to get her into bed?

"I believe I understand. So you hired me because you were feeling lonely and vulnerable. Also, you were perhaps a little inebriated. But this does not 'add up,' as you say. If public humiliation was your problem, why not hire me to escort you to the wedding tomorrow? What we do tonight will be far from public."

She shrugged. "I don't feel vulnerable."

"But lonely?"

"I'm a single girl at a Valentine's Day wedding where her ex is parading around his new girlfriend. I'd be inhuman if I wasn't lonely. Why am I telling you all this again? Do escorts get this kind of
True Confessions
thing often?"

He gave her an unreadable look. "If you do not wish me to interrupt you, do not ask me questions. I find your tale fascinating. Please continue. I believe you were speaking of your boss."

She had been. Talking about her boss in a way she hadn't, not to anyone but Colin, and that had ended up costing her the relationship. It was good to finally share all this with someone. So good that she was going to end up telling him everything. And why not? He couldn't tell anyone she knew, unless someone in the wedding party hired him tomorrow, and that wasn't likely.

"So here I am at this rehearsal, and there they are across the room laughing at me. It's okay, though, I can keep it together. No problem. Hell, after three drinks, I've decided—" Here she raised a finger with each item on her list. "—a) they deserve each other, b) to leave the company, even though it means abandoning the people who depend on me, and c) that the waiter is flirt-worthy. I've got it under control. I even sort of start to have a good time, because the situation is so ridiculous, like a bad
rotic
comedy."

The confusion quotation marks appeared between his eyebrows. "Rotic? I am unfamiliar with this word."

"Oh," she explained. "That's 'romantic,' without the 'man.'"

A hint of a smile lifted those devastating lips. "I sense you will soon say 'And then.'"

He was far more intelligent than he let on. Between that and his amazing body, he must make a huge salary from his clients. "I'm kind of enjoying myself with a couple of the other girls from my old department, catching up with all the latest, when I see all their eyes widen in horror. So I
know
that Super Bitch is coming up behind me."

Zaq rested his drink on his knee, but didn’t interrupt.

"I'm ready for it when Super Bitch arrives with two drinks," she told him. "In front of half the wedding party, she hands me one and tells me it's called an 'Orgasm.' She tells me to drink up because she knows I've never had one before. Colin gives them to her all the time."

Zaq had leaned forward in his chair as she spoke. Now he leaned back. "Ah. I understand. You had told your boyfriend things about yourself you'd never told anyone. You told him this as well. You have never—" Here he used a word she assumed was Arabic. Whatever it was, she knew what it meant. "—with a man. So you left the party and phoned for me."

"Oh no," she said, just as calm now as she'd been then. "I stayed at the party. If I'd left, that would have just confirmed she was right. What I did was give her this
look
. Kind of a smirk, actually. With a little snort. I turned my back on her, did the shooter, and casually handed her the empty glass without breaking the conversation. I barely acknowledged she existed. I humiliated her without saying a word. Everyone laughed at her."

Zaq’s lips twitched in amusement, but he didn’t give her a full smile. He waved his hand again, apparently giving her permission to continue. The cheap bling on his pinkie finger glinted in the light.

"I expect to be fired as soon as she can trump something up against me," she said casually. "Or she might draw it out. Torture me for a while. Then, she'll take her revenge out on my clients, using the excuse to reset everything, creating as much human misery as she can."

"So you stayed at the party until several others had left, then called for me," he said, true admiration in his tone. "You handled the situation in an exquisite fashion."

Exquisite?
Now she knew that he was faking it when he pretended to hunt for English words. Oh well, what did it matter? "I handled it. I always do. When I was a kid, Dad was sick and Mom was usually busy with him, so I pretty much just learned to handle things for myself. I wouldn't have it any other way, though."

"But her statement was true," he said. "About the drink."

She’d fooled an audience that included some of her closest friends. But not Zaq the male escort. He seemed to see through to her core.

"Yup. I'm as frigid as they come." Her stomach pitched as she spoke, but she hid it behind her sarcastic tone. "Now, let me talk about my vagina with a male hooker. That really is the capper of this day. Stacia is one cold cookie. I'm so cold that I decided to hire a professional for the job. To get it done. To handle it, same as I do with everything else. Made it into a To Do item, then figured out how I could knock it off my list."

He spread his hands wide, displaying himself. "And here I am."

"Here you are. Now you know. Hiring you wasn't about passion or desire. It was about getting the job done so I could move on to the next thing," she pointed out. "You were an item on my checklist. Your turn. What's it like to be a male prostitute in Vegas?"

"I meet interesting people."

"And screw them."

"And screw them." He half-closed those dark eyes. "But sometimes I don't get to screw the most interesting ones."

She snorted. "You've already got my money. You can save your flattery. If your boss calls, I had three screaming orgasms in a row. We nearly got kicked out of the hotel."

"How was my oral technique?" he asked, not missing a beat.

"You should give seminars," she said, with faked enthusiasm. "And your
thing
? Wow. There are no words. Just wow."

He dipped his head in acknowledgement. "My
thing
thanks you for the compliment."

A short laugh escaped her, despite her dark mood. She'd always liked guys who could just go along with a silly conversation. She hadn't expected it from him, though.

"How about you? Must be hard to start out in a new country and find yourself in this position—" She stopped herself, realizing what had just come out of her mouth. "I can't believe I just said
hard
and
position
. Everything sounds dirty around you."

"It is both hard and difficult,” he admitted. “The positions, I don't mind."

His slight smile sent heat up the back of her neck.

He really was gorgeous. She'd had her doubts at first, but now she couldn’t see him as anything but a gigolo. It was the perfect job for him. Handsome, built, a great listener. He was seduction on legs. Even though she'd paid for this, and knew it was an act, she'd started to buy into the fantasy. Time to get back in control.

"Or, I don't know," she prodded, "maybe you love this. Maybe you came here just for this. Maybe you're not allowed to do what you want in your country. Or who you want."

"I am not gay," he said, through gritted teeth.

From that kiss, she believed him. But ruffling his feathers evened the score between them, so she pushed. She shrugged. "You said 'people'."

"Women. Exclusively." His tone of voice left no doubt. "Very, very exclusively. And my country has no laws against homosexuality. I would permit no restrictions on such a thing."

"Right," she said, with sarcasm. "Because it's
your
choice."

He paused then, seeming to adjust something inside himself. Hmm. The politics of his home country were an emotional trigger for him. Maybe he had to leave for political reasons or something. It would be interesting to—

She stopped that train of thought at the station. No reason to push into the man's psyche. Let him keep his secrets.

"Truly," he said, and his tone dripped with false sincerity, "it was not my dream to be an escort, though I see a lot of lovely women."

"See a whole lot of them, I imagine. Ba-dump-bump." She mimed a punch line drum roll. "So, what's your dream, then?"

He gazed into the air like he was gazing into the future. "To run a naked yoga studio."

"I can imagine which chakras you want to open." She went along with it, though she didn't believe him for a second, despite the hip way his hair spiked up at the front. Day trader, yes. Yogi, naked or otherwise, no. But if he wanted to throw amusing bullshit at her, fine. Probably his way of keeping clients from getting too close. She was just glad not to be talking about herself. He was great at getting a person's mind off their troubles, at least. "You didn't get that body doing yoga."

"I could open your chakras for you. It would be most enjoyable for both of us," he said. "But, I have to admit that I also work out. I often go to the gym while I think, and I think a lot. I find it an excellent release of tension. You—"

Heat rose in her chest. She covered it by summoning her anger. "—should try it sometime."