Boyfriend for Hire: A Stand-Alone Contemporary Romance (Escort Files Book 1) by Nina Strych

bite the curve where her neck merged into her shoulder?
    He didn’t know and he hadn’t done it. He might never know.
    And now she was resting and he was alone in this room trying not to run across the beach to knock on her door and find out. His belly rumbled in hunger, cruelly reminding him that dinner would be separate tonight. He didn’t know if it was because she was really tired or simply tired of him. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.
    Mike dreaded going out into the main hotel area to get dinner, but ordering room service didn’t seem right. This was on her tab and he didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity. Changing into a basic t-shirt and pants, he sighed and left his room, hoping he was early enough that the pavilion for casual dining would be empty.
    He had no such luck. That same woman was there, this time with a man he guessed was her husband. He had his nose in a book and she—glass of wine in hand—was watching everyone come and go. And when she saw him, her eyes glinted and that predatory gleam from before returned.
    “Oh great,” he muttered, and asked the server for a table for one.
    Thinking it might be safer if he wasn’t in the more isolated corners, he asked if a small table near the railing was available. It made him conspicuous, but it also meant she might be less likely to say anything to him with so many others around. He felt it like a pressure on his back when she turned in her chair to stare at him.
    Shaking his head, he ordered a sandwich and fries. He’d eat quickly and then be gone. When his food arrived, he tucked in, wolfing down the food and avoiding meeting anyone else’s eyes. He could feel her back there, the soft sound of turning pages breaking through the clutter of noise as her husband remained engrossed in his reading.
    As he signed the bill, a hand touched his shoulder from behind and he jumped in his seat. Flinching away, he turned his head to see her bent close to him, a devilish smile on her face. “You’re not busy tonight, I see,” she purred.
    Her confidence in her right to touch him, to approach him like he was nothing more than a piece of meat for sale, rankled him. It also shamed him. And that made him angry.
    “Excuse you,” he said, standing up and backing away from her. “I don’t believe we know each other.”
    She seemed unperturbed by this, leaning back on one hip and sipping her wine. He wondered how many of those she’d already had. Glancing over at her table, he saw her husband with his nose still firmly in his book.
    Eyeing him over the rim of her glass, she swallowed her sip then dipped the glass at him, as if making an imaginary toast. “Oh, I think we know each other well enough. I know what you are and you know what I am. Isn’t that the only thing that matters?”
    Clenching his jaw, but not willing to make a scene, he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’ll excuse me.”
    She stepped neatly in front of him, effectively blocking his escape unless he wanted to draw attention to them by shoving past her. Lowering her voice, she said, “You’re too old to be doing this to pay for college, which means you’re a professional. A professional wouldn’t pass up a good opportunity.”
    Her nearness was repulsive. He did know her type, if not her in particular. They bought you and then didn’t ever let you forget you were bought goods.
    “Listen, I don’t know—or care—what you think I am, but my girlfriend isn’t feeling well and I’d like to go check on her. Please, excuse me.”
    She stared at him for a moment, her gaze hardening, clearly not used to being turned down like this. She stepped aside just enough for him to squeeze past and made a gesture as if to say, “Be my guest.” Squeezing by her made his teeth clench and the look on his face must have been telling, because the server at the podium gave him a concerned look as he quickly left the restaurant.
    That was it for going outside the room