Valentine Vegas Gigolo Sheikh (2 page)

Yet she had mistaken him for a male prostitute, and he understood why. He was what the escort was attempting to imitate. To the untrained eye, the only difference between them was the fashionable way the other man's hair spiked up at the front. He permitted a smile to lift the corners of his lips as he shifted his body language to mimic the escort's stance.

Fate had handed him an opportunity. He intended to make the most of it. Of course he would not sleep with her, but he could cast off his identity for an hour. He could investigate an intriguing woman, and play a pleasant joke. No harm done.

He spent a moment gazing in the mirror, combing fingers through his hair until it spiked up at the front in the escort's modern style.

"No," he told the escort, handing him the envelope of money the woman had given to him. "The lady does not need your services tonight. She is taken care of."

Chapter two

"Oh, for God's sake," Stacia Keating said, sliding back the chain on door of the hotel room that she probably couldn't afford any more. She'd paid this man far too much money to make up for her mistake and still he came back. "Just get in here, would you?"

But then, she'd suspected it wouldn't be that simple. When he walked away, something inside her had warned that he wasn't gone for long. She was a decent judge of character, and he'd hit her as a snowplow guy. The kind of guy who would, just when you thought you were done shoveling, drive his snowplow down your street and dump a big pile of snow at the end of your driveway. So the knock on her door, pulling her out of the shower when she was barely damp, hadn't surprised her.

At least she got to see that
look
on his face again. He appeared very put-together, almost stuffy. But when confused, he drew his eyebrows together, making lines that resembled quotation marks along the bridge of his nose. With his near-arrogant confidence, she found it funny.

He strode in past her, all confidence, and scanned the room like he owned it. Her second impression of him was just as amazing as the first. He was stunning enough to take any woman's breath way. Why his regular client had cancelled on him, creating an opening for her, she'd never understand.

He left a subtle spiced masculine scent in his wake. The smell of something delicious. She'd requested tall, dark, and handsome, but the service had pulled out the stops on this one, even though it wasn't until she'd agreed to compromise on the "tall" part that they'd said one of their employees had a cancellation. It was hard to find guys taller than her, but he had half a head on her 5'9".

The way he filled out his suit jacket, he could have been a soccer star, muscled and athletic without being bulky or awkward. Even his large hands somehow managed to be elegant. And had probably pleasured all kinds of women. The gold ring on his pinky winked in the light as he reached to open the small fridge that contained the mini bar...

Mini bar?
She snapped out of her daydream and launched herself toward him, grabbing a hand that already held a Coke and tiny bottle of rum that would cost the earth if he actually opened it.

"Nonononono," she told him, ripping them out of his hands. "Touch those again and I'll have to hurt you."

She then became aware of just how very close they stood. And how she was still wearing the bathrobe after her shower, a bathrobe and nothing else. He was so insanely hot that he shouldn't even be real. Her normally disciplined mind tripped off to all kinds of erotic places. Up close, she felt pinned in place by the bitter chocolate eyes that stared openly into her own.

"You took a shower," he said, like she didn't know what she'd just done. "This robe lengthens your neck, unlike the dress you wore before. You removed your contact lenses. Your glasses, they soften the angles of your face. This is far more charming."

She swallowed, unable to think. His accent was sexy as hell, but she couldn't identify where it was from.

"And your hair." He captured one of the ruthlessly curling locks she hadn't had time to iron into submission and twisted it around his index finger. "You should always wear it in this style. You are much sexier this way. Like a librarian in an adult film."

Before she knew it, his arm was around her waist, pulling her toward him. As if it was on TV and not her own life, she watched events unfold from somewhere outside herself. The hottest guy she'd ever seen buried his fingers in her damp hair and guided her face close to his own. The amazing scent of his body and the faint cologne he wore whipped every thought from her head. Her breathing turned to harsh, gulping gasps. She hung on to the rum and Coke, her arms becoming useless awkward appendages.

That didn't stop him from kissing her. In slow motion, his perfect sculpted lips dipped toward her own. His hand at the back of her neck guided their mouths into perfect alignment.

When their lips touched, fireworks exploded behind her lowered eyelids. And the pleasure didn't stop at her hungry mouth. It moved through her, a tsunami wave that turned her into a boneless wreck dependent on his arm to hold her up. Her senses filled with him. The masculine taste of his mouth, the smoothness of his silk tie against her bare breastbone, the low sounds of appreciation that rumbled his chest.

Damn, it had been too long since she'd been kissed like this. She pressed closer to him, mindlessly seeking more of his heat, wanting so much to get rid of all the unnecessary barriers between herself and this sexy, talented...

Male escort
.

Oh God. The "On" switch flicked in her brain, and her neurons fired up. She was kissing a male hooker in a hotel room, the skankiest thing she'd ever done. Not to mention that he had just compared her to a porn star.

Too bad it was hot enough to curl her toes.

"Arrgh." She shoved his chest with hands that still had bottles in them, half-angry, half-annoyed that the kiss had to end.

He didn't stop, but continued with his leisurely exploration of her mouth for several more heartbeats. Until she was beginning to forget why it was a bad idea to kiss him.

Only then did he stop, stepping back from her, and taking the drinks from her hands. While she grabbed at the counter behind her and blinked at the world to make it stop spinning, he twisted the cap from the twenty dollars. Er, from the bottle of rum.

The crack of the seal brought her back to reality. She slapped her palm to her forehead to punish her stupidity. It felt so good. Almost as good as that kiss.

"Please do not hurt yourself,
Sokar
," said the escort in that sexy accent she still couldn't place. "I will make you a drink as well before we retire to the bed."

She took a deep breath. He was just a guy, no matter how impossibly sexy. "We are not going to 'retire to the bed,' Mr.—"

The escort paused in pouring the seven dollar Coke into two glasses. Maybe trying to decide who he was going to be tonight, what fantasy she wanted him to fulfill.

"No 'Mr.'" he said. "My name is Zaq, with a 'q,' not 'c' or 'k', or both. It is the name you will cry out in ecstasy."

She rolled her eyes at his line. "I'm lactose intolerant, so knock off the cheese. There will be no ecstasy tonight. You have my money, so why can't you just go away?"

"I realized that if I return too soon, my pimp will know I did not, um, what is the word?" He snapped his fingers. "
Screw
you. He will beat me."

The idea anyone would lay a hand on him made her want to laugh. The slight spark of amusement in his eyes told her he didn't believe it himself. "You could have a drink in the bar with the five hundred dollars I can't really afford to pay you."

"Why should I have to do that? It is your fault I have this time to murder. You should pay, not I."

"Time to
kill
, not murder. That isn't really the reason you're here. You're going to try to get me into bed. It won't work. My head is straight again." It had been a tough rehearsal party, but she was feeling better now. Except for residual spinning from that kiss.

"Then it is the perfect time for a drink." He offered her a glass. "It will be Valentine's Day in an hour. You have paid five hundred dollars for a man. Why not spend a few enjoyable minutes flirting? Is it not so?"

Despite his theft of the rum and Coke, and stealing a kiss that she would probably remember for the rest of her life, the only danger he exuded was the erotic kind. She definitely had the willpower to keep up her defenses.

And, she had to admit to herself, she felt pathetic. Thrilled as she was for Prita and Rick, it was Valentine's Day tomorrow and everyone at the wedding was coupled up. That's why tonight's rehearsal party had broken up early. Everyone had romantic plans. Everyone but her.

Plus, it was a wedding. A celebration of love that should be about her friends, not herself, But still, no one should have to be alone at a wedding. On Valentine’s Day.

So when Zaq, with a 'q,' sat down in the comfy armchair across from the couch, she didn't argue. The neon lights of the Strip tinged his dark hair with blue and red. When he stuck his fingers in his tie to loosen the knot, her mouth went dry. He made even that common little movement into a sex-filled invitation.

Dear God, it was going to be a long night.

One of his midnight eyebrows rose as he assessed her from head to toe. Hot blood started to rise in her cheeks. "I must ask. Why did you let me into your room so easily? I expected more resistance. Unless you have changed your mind once more, which you don't seem to have done."

She was suddenly an awkward teen again, with new, long arms and legs she couldn't control. She hid the sensation with long strides that parted her robe, purposely revealing her thighs to his view, and settled down on the couch. "You were prepared to make a scene in the hallway until I let you in, right?"

He waved a hand to indicate she'd gotten it right.

"I wasn't going to wait for you to wake the hallway and tell everyone who you were. Let's face it, you had the upper hand there. But in here, no one has all the power. Unless you want me to call the front desk and ask them to send Security to escort the
escort
from my room." She needed to get back in control of this situation. Most of all, she needed to get back in control of herself after today's nightmare.

"Ah," he countered. "That would get me banned from this hotel. I would no longer be able to ply my wares here. Clever. So, tell me why you called for me."

"Mindless sex," she answered, unwilling to tell him why she needed a professional, not some cheap lay that she could have any night.

He didn't react. That figured. A man in his profession wouldn't shock easily. He'd probably talked to more women about sex than any other man alive. "Women do not have to pay five hundred dollars for sex. There is a bar downstairs where you might find a man to have for free."

She rolled her eyes. The conversation had at least been interesting until now. And then he came up with this cliché BS. "Guys always think that. They think a woman can just have any man she wants. But when they picture that woman, she's stacked and confident and gorgeous. For regular women, it's not any truer for us than it is for you. A girl can only offer herself, same as a guy. We get rejected over and over. There's a whole genre of movies about it if you care to watch them, which you don't."

As her tirade went on, he lost interest. First he watched her, then his gaze dropped lazily to her knees, and finally, he picked up his drink to swish in circles, mixing it. When she finished, he spoke. "We were not speaking of all women. Only you. I can easily tell that if you wanted any man, there is little chance he would reject you."

She tamped down on the warmth inside her. Definitely the best compliment she'd received all day. Also, very true. She'd never been shy of meeting men, or dating them. Her best feature had always been her secret weapon. Her butt would give a Kardashian a run for her money. "I do have the most fantastic ass."

"I admit that escaped me the first time I saw you. It was not until you allowed me inside your room that I experienced the most excellent view." He ran his fingers over his glass as it sat on the table at his arm. The rum and Coke was sweating under his hand, and she couldn't blame it. "You have not answered my question. However, you have not answered it in a very clever way, which I do appreciate."

Was she was having an out of body experience? Alone, in Vegas, on Valentine's Day eve, in a hotel room with a male prostitute she'd hired. She didn't believe this guy would fall for the easy answer, but she gave it one more shot.

"Momentary lapse of judgment set off by three glasses of wine at the rehearsal dinner and an insult." The truth, in a way. Just not the whole truth. "Very out of character for me. But I'm back now." Time to refocus the conversation. On him. "You're only here because a regular cancelled your Valentine's Day gig at the last minute. You came back because you got to the lobby and the fact that you've been rejected twice tonight kicked in. I bet that doesn't happen to your hot self ever. I guess that makes us both pretty pathetic."

She lifted her own glass and reached across the space between them to offer him the base to clink. He regarded her with a tilt of the head for a second, as if she was a difficult Sudoku problem he was trying to solve. Then he touched his drink to hers. The hotel glasses made a cheery clinking sound.

"Rejection is indeed very difficult," he admitted, but he didn't fall for her change of topic. "Tell me about this insult."

She stared into her rum and Coke. The dark liquid was the same deep brown as the intelligent, inscrutable eyes that bore into her.

Should she tell him? He wore an expression of interest. Maybe it was true what they said about prostitutes, that half their job was just listening, though she wouldn't have guessed he was a good listener. Even 'relaxing' in the chair, he broadcast a snapping energy. She wouldn't be surprised if he jumped up and started to pace the room. If she passed him on the street, she would have pegged him for a businessman, not an escort. Except for that spiky hair.