Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(9)

“Search services are extra,” he said.

“What do you mean? Extra what?”

“Money. That fifty dollars a day you’re paying me doesn’t cover search services.”

“You consider finding a tattoo parlor a search service?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

She’d known his fee was too good to be true. “Exactly what does the fifty dollars cover?”

“Driving, mainly. As I said, finding tattoo parlors is extra. I also don’t do hair and manicures.”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“Massage is included in the fifty. But, ’course, you know that.”

“Mas—”

“Suitcase hauling only once a day. Any more than that’ll cost you an extra thousand bucks. Pointing out the sights is included in the base fee, but if I have to do any Spanish translation for you, I’ll need to charge you by the hour. As for sex, that’s an additional fifty dollars. Does that seem fair?”

She stared at him and wondered if she’d somehow gotten water in her ears.

He shook his head. “No, you’re right. It’s the off season, so I need to discount. Tell you what. Let’s make it thirty for sex, and that’ll cover the whole night, not just one time, you understand. A budget traveler like yourself will have to agree you won’t find a better rate than that.”

Slowly her tongue came unglued from the roof of her mouth. “Sex?”

“The whole night for thirty dollars.” He propped his elbows on the deck. “Lately I been thinkin’ about how unfair that is. A woman can charge hundreds of dollars for an entire night, but a man—Hell, it’s discrimination, is what it is. I swear, lately I been thinkin’ about filing a complaint with the EEOC.”

She couldn’t take her eyes from him. She was both repulsed and strangely fascinated. “Women pay to have sex with you?”

He regarded her as if she were the slow-witted one. “You hired an escort service.”

“I thought I hired a driver.”

“And a guide. An escort. It’s the same thing. Didn’t Francesca explain to you about drivers and escort services?”

“Apparently not,” she managed.

He shook his head. “I’m going to have to talk to her about this. She should have taken into consideration the fact that you don’t understand how things work over here. Now I’ve been put in an awkward position. I don’t like discussing money with my clients. What I mainly like to talk about is pleasure.”

The way he lingered over that last word—his Texas drawl stroking it with slow molasses—sent a shiver up her spine.

Suddenly, without any conscious direction, her mind began to race. Sex for hire? Had she just been given the answer to all her troubles? Her stomach clenched. No. It was unthinkable. Impossible.

But why? She only had two weeks to escape the net the despicable Hugh Holroyd had woven so tightly around both her and St. Gert’s, and this would be far more scandalous than a tattoo.

She considered the possibility that Francesca had chosen Kenny Traveler as her guide for just this reason. Francesca didn’t know about Holroyd’s plans, but she did know something else—how much Emma regretted her limited experience with men.

One afternoon several months ago, they’d shared tea at Emma’s cottage on the grounds at St. Gert’s, and Francesca’s openness regarding her own painful passage into maturity had allowed Emma to reveal something of her own past. Francesa already knew how much Emma loved St. Gert’s, which was the only home she’d ever known. At the same time, being raised in a girl’s school had restricted her contacts with men.

Even when she’d gone to the university, things hadn’t improved much. Her mother’s death had left her virtually penniless, so she’d been forced to work hard. Between her job and her studies, there’d been little time left over for a social life, and most of the men she found attractive were intimidated by her. They seemed to prefer a softer sort of female, one who was milder-mannered and less inclined to take charge.

She knew it would have been more sensible for her to have accepted a teaching position in London after she’d graduated, but St. Gert’s was her home, and the old place drew her back. Unfortunately, the pool of eligible men in the small town of Lower Tilbey was limited, and she seemed to inspire their respect rather than their passion.

She had just begun to resign herself to a single, childless existence when she’d hired Jeremy Fox to fill the vacancy her appointment as headmistress had left in the history department. Within a few months, she’d fallen in love with him. Jeremy was kind, good-humored, and attractive in the scholarly, rumpled fashion that had always appealed to her. Unfortunately, he was also her subordinate, but they had so many interests in common that a friendship had formed anyway.

She’d let herself be satisfied with their comfortable companionship until a drizzly day last November when she’d spent several hours with a homesick six-year-old curled in her lap. The gloomy weather combined with her upcoming thirtieth birthday and the feel of the little girl’s head tucked under her chin had overcome both her common sense and her professionalism. She’d gone to Jeremy’s rooms that evening and, as subtly as possible, indicated that her feelings for him went beyond friendship.