Quid Pro Quo (Market Garden, #1)(3)

“You two work together?” So he was American, though

Jared couldn’t put a finger on a regional accent.

Jared glanced at Tristan, who had in fact sat up straighter now, and raised an eyebrow. Do we?

Tristan’s eyes were fixed on the potential client. “Depends on what you want, and how much you’re willing to pay.”

Oh God. Jared always expected the unexpected in this

place, but the idea of working with Tristan? Oh f*ck. Ooh

f*ck. He would pay top money for that shit.

He turned back to Mr. Gold Rolex. The guy’s lips quirked

in an odd smile, and he slid—uninvited, but not unwelcome—

into the booth across from them. “I’m willing to pay for good quality,” he said. “But . . . I don’t buy anything sight unseen, so before we start talking about throwing down cash, I need to see the two of you in action.”

Tristan snorted derisively. “You think there’s a free

preview?”

“Not necessarily free.” The guy shrugged as he pulled out

his wallet and set it on the table. The cash-stuffed gauntlet 6

thrown. “But perhaps a sample of sorts. And if I like what I see? Then maybe we can negotiate from there.”

It’s one step closer to making rent, Jared told himself, suppressing the flutter of nerves. With Tristan involved, he suddenly wasn’t quite sure his bag of tricks was enough.

“Twenty quid apiece,” Tristan declared. “And you get a

kiss. Or, well, he does.”

Jared’s breath got lost somewhere in his throat. His heart beat faster as the john reached for the wallet and pulled out the money. Rolex laid the notes beside the wallet, dead centre on the table, and then gave both of them an expectant look.

Jared gave Tristan a short nod, because Tristan was now

arching that eyebrow at him. Whatever, Jared hoped his half-shrug said. Money’s on the table, and I’m game if you are.

Though “whatever” didn’t begin to cover what he felt when

Tristan leaned over and touched his lips to his. Jared jolted a little, thinking only, Oh shit, I didn’t know he was a kisser.

Of course, the kiss had been discussed, negotiated,

bought and paid for, but it was nevertheless a surprise. And a hot one. Not tender—the john didn’t want to see a seduction.

Much like somebody dial ing into a porn camera, he wanted

to see something juicier than banter or a flash of skin. But that kiss counted as both: seduction and foreplay. It started gently enough, a teasing brush of lips, Tristan’s fingers splayed on Jared’s cheek, and Jared had to remind himself to do something, so he opened up a bit and pretended he wasn’t

surprised and also that he was a kisser. Okay, so he loved to kiss lovers and boyfriends, but not johns. That would just feel too weird. Too intimate. But now Tristan had kissed him, so would Rolex expect to be kissed too?

Nasty thought, one that almost made Jared’s skin crawl,

but right then Tristan’s tongue invaded his mouth and swept 7

along his teeth, and that thought popped out of existence. He dug his fingers into Tristan’s shoulder, felt the muscle shift under his grip, and pretended this was anything like a work assignment.

No, the john wanted something more than that, and the

art was to make the fake more real than the reality. Johns bought a particular idea of sex—perfection at every level—so now Jared and Tristan delivered the same in the form of a kiss.

No banging noses or clashing teeth. He and Tristan were too good at this, and besides, hell, he wanted to kiss Tristan. More than he had any other guy in a long time, actually, and even though it was only a twenty-quid kiss, he let himself get into it. Really into it.

And just when he had gotten much too far into it, it

ended. Abruptly, as if a timer had gone off and a bell had rung, Tristan broke the kiss and turned to the john. “Like that?”

The man smirked and nodded. “I do, yes. So do you both

f*ck and get f*cked? Because I will happily pay for both.”

Be still my heart, Jared thought, lips still tingling. A real charmer.

“I go both ways.” Tristan looked at Jared, that eyebrow

arched again.

Jared nodded. “Same.” For you, anything.

Tristan winked, the blood pressure–altering motherf*cker,

and faced the john again. “You just gonna watch? Or you

gonna join in?”

“Just watching.” The customer’s smirk turned into a

devilish grin that rivalled Tristan’s. “Unless I really like what I see.”

“Which all depends on if we like what we see.” Tristan gestured at the leather wallet on the table. “One of us isn’t cheap. Both of us will cost you.”





8


“I’m willing to pay for the finer things in life.” The john stroked his chin with his index finger. “How much?”

“Eight hundred for an hour.” Tristan didn’t flinch, but

Jared’s heart skipped. That much? Shit. Tristan had been here long enough that he was allowed to negotiate his own prices as long as Market Garden got its cut, but eight hundred?

That was more than double what Jared usually got paid.

Significantly more.