The Singles (26 page)

“If I wanted to unnerve you—” I felt his hand between my legs and before I could push it away, he flicked his thumb over the center of my panties, sending desire melting through me. “—I’d start with that.”

Keeping my face void of any emotion, I cocked my head. “What happened to what you said about not whipping your dick out at restaurants?”

Pumping my thigh, he laughed. “I never said I wouldn’t touch your pussy,” he murmured. Reluctantly, he released me and placed both his hands on the table almost dramatically, like he was trying to prove he knew how to behave. “How are things going with Margaret?”

“She left for Paris today.” I held off my next question until after our waitress stopped by for our drink order, and then I asked, “Why do you call her Margaret?”

“I’ve called her my mother before.”

“Yes, but it’s usually said derisively.” I knew I was searching in places I shouldn’t go—and especially during dinner—but I was curious for both the cause I was committed to and for myself. “I don’t—”

“You don’t what?”

Twisting my lips, I fidgeted with the corner of my linen napkin, clanging the silverware around inside it. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that when I talk about my mother, it’s a bit softer.”

“Margaret is complicated. I’m not her biggest fan, but she’s still my mother. We’ve never been particularly close because she meddles in my life. We both have very strong personalities that tend to clash.”

“And that’s why you were closer to your stepfather?” I blurted out.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t tell Margaret that. My stepfather had—” He paused, as if considering what to say next, then ran his palm from side to side across his somewhat scruffy chin. “—
commitment
issues that only made my mother colder after his death.”

This wasn’t the first time I’d heard of my father’s infidelities. I’d found that picture of him with Margaret that was dated during his marriage to my mom. And then, the stepmonster herself had exposed she and my dad were an item before Mom had sauntered into the picture and married him.

Still, it stung because I wanted to believe the absolute best about both my parents.

Observing my silence, Oliver asked, “You think I sound like a spoiled rich boy for feeling that way about Margaret, don’t you?”

Maybe if his mother were anyone else other than the woman I’d recently discovered had bent me over and screwed me with no lube, I might, but I shook my head. “You know your story better than anyone else.”

“What about
your
mother?”

I thought of the beautiful model I’d shared fifteen years with, and my shoulders touched my ears. “She was—
is
—wonderful.” I glared at the candle in the center of the table until the flame blurred my vision. I was hardly aware of our drinks reaching the table, but then Oliver’s hand rubbed against mine.

“Do you know what you want to order?”

Ignoring his concerned expression, I looked down at the menu and back at him. “What are you having?”

“The barramundi.”

Tilting my chin up to the waitress, I nodded. “Can I get that too, please?”

“Yes ma’am. Please let me know if you need anything else,” she said with a genuine version of the accommodating smile I offered my boss everyday.

As soon as she left, Oliver resumed his focus on me. “I want to know you,” he said. “Not just every inch of your body—I want to know
you
. And the longer it takes me to learn, the better.”

I tried not to hold my breath, to keep my tone even, but I failed miserably when I asked, “Are you asking to see me on a regular basis?”

“I’m already seeing you.” He drank from the craft beer he’d ordered, swallowing hard, licking his lips to draw my attention to them. “Give me something, Lizzie.”

“What do you want to know?” I touched my chest, shocked at how quickly my heart was beating. “My favorite movie is
The Princess Bride
, I’m obsessed with TV series, and I want to work in fashion.”

He shook his head. “I already know all that, beautiful. Something new.” Before I was able to attempt to feed him some of Lizzie’s past, his phone rang. Sliding away from the table, he looked at me apologetically. “I’ve got to take this, but I’ll be right back.”

While I awaited his return, I fished my own phone from my purse to send Pen a message. Spotting a text from her already sitting in my inbox, I grinned.

Where are you, woman?!? I’m home and you’re nowhere to be found. Are you with Mr. Sex-In-A-Business-Suit? If you are, don’t forget what I said!

As if I could. I was about to respond, but then a hand covered mine. Dropping my phone into my lap, I lifted my eyes to take in the sight of Oliver, but my gaze connected with the short, good-looking man standing beside the table. He was older than me by at least twenty years—maybe mid-forties—with dark hair and eyes and a disbelieving expression.

Anxiously, I slid a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry, can I—”

“God, if I’d known you were living in Los Angeles now,” he murmured with a suggestive smile that drained the blood from my face even before he put a name to me. “It’s so good to see you again, Alice.”

Alice
.

Not Lizzie or Gemma, but Alice.

Hearing that name instantly brought to mind the day three years ago when I’d picked a pseudonym for my job—because no escort used her real name. Pen and I were having dinner with friends at the Hard Rock, and when I quietly told her about my plan to make the transition from PSO to half-naked concierge, she’d joked about me going down the rabbit hole. Up until five months ago, the name had stuck.

Staring back at one of my former clients, I fought to maintain my composure. I couldn’t remember him, which was probably a good thing and meant he wasn’t a raging lunatic.

“It’s ... nice to see you again, too.” I peeked around him, keeping an eye out for Oliver. As much as I wanted this man to go away, I also knew going about it the wrong way could put an end to my date if I somehow offended him. “How’ve you been?”

“Same as before. I’ve relocated to L.A. for the next few months while we finish a new development.”

I bobbed my head, hoping I resembled the good-listener the agencies always advertised me as. “Hopefully there won’t be any hiccups.” I looked past him once again.

When I returned my focus on him, he’d wrinkled his forehead. “I promise I’m not being rude! It’s just that ... I’m here with someone tonight.”

His dark eyes widening in comprehension, he reached into the back pocket of his slacks. “I completely understand. You’re a gorgeous girl, so I know you must be busy.” Mortified, I watched as he dug a business card from his wallet. My hand shook as I accepted it, and I wished to God the restaurant floor would open up and swallow me under Rodeo Drive.

“Give me a call when you’re available.”

While I had no intention of ever contacting him, I knew that it was better to let him believe I was still in the industry. I folded the card and clutched it in my fist. “I’ll let you know.”

“See you soon, Alice,” he said, turning on his heel. He nearly bumped into my date on the way back to the table he was sharing with a few other men who were most likely business partners. When he gestured to me, and they all looked over, the flush creeping up my face flamed higher.

I hoped Oliver hadn’t heard a word of what was said.

Hesitantly taking his seat across from me, Oliver turned a scowled to my former client’s table, looking like he was seconds away from storming over there. “Did I miss something?” he asked irritably.

“No.”

“He wasn’t harassing you, was he? I saw him giving you a card and I know the owner of this—”

“No!” I practically shouted. “He’s a ... modeling scout. He wanted to know if I was interested in some commercial work.” That explanation sounded incredibly cocky, but after thinking of my mom several minutes ago, it was the first thing that came to mind that made any sense.

“I told him how awkward I was behind the camera, but he insisted I take his card,” I added calmly, fidgeting with my fork’s prongs.

It was just one more lie to keep up with on top of all the others, and my head spun when I realized just how fragile the house of cards I’d built had become.

Oliver stayed hushed for a few moments, tracing his index finger around his half-full beer glass. Eventually, he lifted his light blue eyes and offered me a slight smile. “Everyone wants you, beautiful, but you’re mine.”

“Yours?” I laughed because it was the only thing I could do not to choke. “A little possessive, are we?”

“A little.”

Through the rest of dinner, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being stared at from across the restaurant. And every few minutes, Oliver threw a curious glare of his own in the direction of my former client.

Opting to skip dessert, Oliver seemed like he was in a rush to leave. As soon as the valet brought his black Viper to the front of the building and we were safely hidden behind the protection of several tinted windows, he bumped my knees apart.

“Scratch what I said earlier,” he growled, and I started to frown, but that expression quickly changed to one of unconcealed pleasure when the backs of his fingers caressed my center through my panties. “When it comes to you, I’m slowly discovering I’m more than just a
little
possessive.”

––––––––

F
alling back on Oliver’s mattress, I pulled the dark green sheets over my breasts the following Wednesday night, struggling to catch my breath.

“Good God, we can’t do this anymore,” I groaned.

We’d spent most of the evening tangled up together, but with Margaret scheduled to call me from Paris the next morning, I couldn’t afford to stay awake any longer. To say I was disappointed about that was an understatement. Being around Oliver helped me shove my problems out of my head, and I welcomed that temporary distraction.

Grinning widely, he flipped over on his stomach, moving his lips along the column of my throat. “Quitter.” But he kissed my shoulder, his scruffy face tickling my skin.

“I’m serious, Oliver. It’s—” I lifted my head to view the clock on the other side of his bed. “—one thirty in the morning. Your mother is calling me at nine on the dot, and if I’m not there to pick up the phone, she’ll start harassing Carl and probably Dora, too.”

And the last thing I wanted was for Margaret to bring me up to Dora. I’d successfully avoided the HR director, and her requests to sign me up for a company credit card thus far.

“Poor Isadora.” He shook his head in mock remorse. “No wonder she’s so uptight. But, I can always tell Easton to forward your calls to your cell.”

“No, don’t do that. Margaret’s bitchy-sense would automatically pick up on it.”

When he chuckled, I sighed and started to shimmy off the bed. He closed his fingers around my wrist. “Stay the night.” When I pressed my lips into a fine line, he rolled onto his back, giving me a full frontal view of his nudity, and my mouth went dry. Smirking at the look on my face, he held his hands up in surrender.

“I’m a gentleman, Lizzie, and I promise to let you sleep.”

“I—” But the unmistakable chime of his doorbell stopped my words, and I chewed on my lower lip. “Company at one thirty? I’m guessing it’s not the pizza guy.”

He rolled off the bed, rubbing his hand over his face. “Shit, it might be important—” Pointing at me as he walked to his dresser, he warned, “Don’t leave, Lizzie.”

Admiring his body as he put on a pair of sweats, I shifted beneath his Egyptian cotton sheets. “I’m surprised you’re not tying me to the bed,” I countered.

“Maybe when I get back.”

Letting his words wash over me, I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of Jack White’s rendition of “Love Is Blindness” playing quietly on the music intercom system. There was a good chance it would lull me to sleep before he came back to the bedroom, which was probably the reason he’d turned on music before we climbed into bed.

He wanted me to spend the night.

And knowing that he wanted me here warmed me in a way I knew was toxic.

I hummed the chorus of the song, stopping at the part I was unfamiliar with. As soon as I went quiet, I heard the distinctive sound of a female voice coming through the crack Oliver had left in the door.

What the hell?

Scowling, I got out of bed, quickly dressing in my underwear and the clothes I wore over here—Joe’s skinny jeans, a black tank top, and a plaid roll sleeve shirt. I edged closer to the entrance and pressed my ear to it.

I heard high-pitched laughter, and I cringed. A few seconds later, the woman with Oliver spoke, and her words squashed down my anger before it could rise to the surface.

“No sane man turns down a piece of ass in the middle of the night, Ollie,” Finley Scott stated. “You can deny whatever you want, but we’ve been together before, and it was—”

I hummed, running my tongue over my teeth to drown out whatever she was about to say about their former sex life.

At one thirty in the damn morning.

Quietly, I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. I crept toward the sound of their hushed voices, following it to the family room.

Peeking around the corner, I saw Finley standing close to the stone fireplace with her hands on her slim hips and her head tilted back to glare up at the tray ceiling. Oliver leaned against the wall closest to the entranceway. Even beneath the recessed lighting, I could see that the muscles in his neck were taut.

He crossed his arms over his bare chest—the same chest I’d branded with my fingernails not even twenty minutes ago. “I’d hate to drag you out, Fin, but you’re really pushing your fucking luck,” he told her tightly. “Go back to Margaret’s. Go to bed.”

“I drove all the way here to see you,” she hissed, lowering her gaze from the ceiling. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“No. It doesn’t. I can deal with many things, Fin, but cheating isn’t one of them. We’re going on three years apart now, and I’m tired of doing this shit every time you come to town.”

She sauntered over to him, but he held her away by her thin shoulders. “You have no clue what I’ve been through!”