Chapter 2 He's A Call Boy

• My heartbeat thunders in my ears. Every inch of my skin touching his warms pleasantly, and so do my cheeks, once I realize how long I’ve been staring.
• I push against this man’s rock-hard chest, but he doesn’t loosen his hold.
• “Let me go,” I say once, and then again louder, to be heard over the pulsing music. “I can walk on my own.”
• His face turns skeptical.
• Before I can ask again, he swoops me up into a bridal carry and takes me away from the dance floor. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on as he carries me toward the edge of the room, where several u-shaped booths are set up along the wall. He lowers me down onto an empty seat.
• As soon as his arms are away from around me, I start to stand up. The man holds up a hand, palm flat, right in front of me. I stop to keep from pressing into it.
• “Stay,” he says.
• I’m about to snap, I’m not a dog, when he drops down to his knee in front of me. Gently, he cradles one of my calves with both hands and lifts my heel into his lap. With a slow, deliberate touch, he takes off my broken shoe. My foot is swollen underneath.
• Now that my focus isn’t fixed so singularly on this handsome man, the pain starts to creep up inside of me.
• The man carefully inspects my ankle. “It’s looks strained.” I can hear him more clearly here on the outskirts of the club.
• He looks up at me again, and those piercing blue eyes of his take my breath away. He has such an intense focus, I can’t help but wonder what he sees, looking at me.
• He’s probably like Garnar, and sees a not-so-young woman. A tired, worn-down expression.
• The thought makes my heart sink.
• “I suppose this is why I shouldn’t hang around in young people’s places,” I try for a joke. I’m not sure it lands. “It’s too dangerous.”
• The man doesn’t laugh. He just looks at me more closely, narrowing his eyes ever-so-slightly.
• “I’m lucky my ankle didn’t break,” I say. My first joke didn’t make him laugh, so I double down. “I probably already have osteoporosis.”
• “You don’t look any older than me,” he says, frowning slightly.
• “How old are you?”
• “25.”
• A laugh bubbles out from my chest.
• As I’m laughing, Cynthia makes her way over to me. “There you are! And – ah! You are here too.” She smiles, first to me, then to my unlikely savior.
• The man lifts a brow.
• “I have the hotel room key…” Cynthia digs through her purse and retrieves a flat room key. She hands it to the man still kneeling at my feet. “Here we are.”
• The man takes it, even though he looks confused.
• He can’t possibly be more confused than me. “Cynthia. Why are you giving this stranger a hotel key?”
• “Oh. He’s not a stranger. Well, I mean, I suppose he is. But he’s one I hired for you.” Cynthia steps closer to me and fixes my hair. It must have gotten tussled in my near-fall. “He’s a call boy.”
• The man straightens somewhat. He mustn’t like to be called that while he’s in public.
• I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m really not. This is something that Cynthia would think to do, like when she ordered strippers for a mutual friend after her breakup.
• “Your husband wants an open marriage, but he expects you to stay home while he struts around like a fucking peacock. That’s not how it works, Esther. An open marriage means you get some too.”
• Cynthia points at the man still kneeling, who now looks at the hotel key like it’s some kind of prize.
• “You will go back to the hotel room with this hottie and let him fuck your brains out. Is that clear?” Cynthia says.
• The man never once looks away from me. “I won’t rest until she’s satisfied.”
• My cheeks burn with a fresh blush.
• Cynthia laughs. “That’s the spirit! Have a good time, you two.” She winks at me as she turns and disappears right back into the crowd she sprang from.
• Embarrassed, I duck my chin and look down at my ankle. The hotel name written on the key is two blocks away.
• “Maybe this is a bad idea…” I begin. Cynthia was convincing, as are the man’s deep eyes. But this is so out of my routine that I don’t know where to begin. Any hindrance, like my ankle, seems reason enough to stop it.
• “Are you kidding? It sounds like an amazing idea.”
• The man’s enthusiasm draws my attention back up. Those blue eyes are somehow even deeper, churning like a storm. I’m pulled in right away. I never stood a chance.
• “My ankle…” I say, weakly.
• “I’ve got you.” He hands my shoe to hold, then once more scoops me up into his arms. He lifts me like I weigh nothing at all. Holding me close, he carries me from the club and down the sidewalk.
• We receive some attention, cat calls and whistles. I bury by red face in the man’s shoulder, but not before I catch his wide grin. He’s enjoying the hell out of this.
• His chest is hard, and his arms firm. He must work out, all muscle.
• Oddly, he doesn’t take me to the hotel Cynthia reserved. Instead, he shoulders the door open for an exclusive pub with an inn attached.
• The place is as high class as high class comes, with wait-staff in tuxedos, thousand dollar chandeliers hanging every three to four feet on the ceiling, and rich wooden tables and chairs.
• A valet waits at the bottom of the stairs. He does not question my date, or why he might be holding a strange woman in his arms. The valet simply bows in greeting as he steps to the side.
• I thought this hotel reserved for the top elites in the nation. Even as a CEO’s wife, I could never dream of booking a room here.
• For my date to simply be waved through…
• What is his regular clientele? Can I even afford him?
• That should bother me more, maybe. I might have to max out my credit cards for one night of bliss. Garnar is sure to be furious when he finds out.
• After everything I’ve sacrificed, all I struggled with, and all I have faced today, I deserve this. It may only be for one night, but I fully plan on enjoying every single second of this one night.
• “What’s your name?” I ask on the way up the stairs. At the top, the man carries me down a hallway without having to check the directory for directions.
• “Miles Hamilton,” he says. The name rumbles in his chest under my ear.
• “I’m Esther.”
• “I know.”
• Cynthia must have told him.
• While still holding me, Miles withdraws a different key from his pocket and uses it to unlock the door.
• I lift my head to look at the handsome curves and planes of his face. He has high cheekbones, a prominent jawline, a straight, dignified nose. He doesn’t need to be a call boy. He could be a model.
• But at this moment, I’m incredibly grateful for his chosen profession.
• He kicks the door closed behind us, plunging us into darkness.
• Before he can lower me, I grab him by the collar and tug him close as I lean forward.
• Our lips ghost across one another, not quite touching. Not yet.
• “Fuck me, Miles,” I whisper.