July (Calendar Girl #7)(4)
His brows furrowed. “Anton don’t do repeats. Vete al carajo,” he said and with a sweep of his hand shooed them away. By the grimace and sadness on their faces, whatever he said could not have been good. Later I found out it meant “f*ck off”.
“Lucita,” he licked his lips in the way a man does that literally makes your spine tingle and your core clench. Yes, he made my * clench with a single lip lick. “Now that you’re here, whatever shall we do with you?” His Puerto Rican accent did crazy things to my senses as his eyes scanned me from head to toe again. He may as well have reached out a hand and trailed it all along my skin for how much I felt that look.
Those green orbs glazed over with what could only be seen as pure, carnal lust. We stood there, eyes locked on one another as we had a visual silent war with one another. Nostrils flared, eyes squinted, and finally I spoke.
“You could feed me. I’m starved,” I said. Heather, standing a lot closer than I thought, snorted with laughter, breaking the tension between me and the Latin Lov-ah. Now, seeing him in front of me, it made all kinds of sense where he got that name.
His head cut to hers. “Sorry, Anton,” she said and looked away, failing to hide the smile on her face.
Anton held his hand out to me. “Mia, let’s fill you up.” The way he said those words literally made me think of a hundred other completely inappropriate things besides food. I licked my lips and smacked my chops.
“Yes, let’s.”
Chapter 2
Anton led the three of us to the elevator and up to the penthouse, his private residence. The moment the doors opened Anton walked through them leaving the two of us behind. “You know what to do, H.” He hollered over his shoulder, not even sparing a glance in his wake.
Heather led me in the opposite direction. “Come on girl, I think we’ll be needing a drink. A big one.”
We entered an open floor plan kitchen; white cabinets spanned an entire wall, each with a unique black scrollwork handle, as if each one was individually made. An obscenely long counter stretched in front of the cabinetry and top notch appliances. Ten stools with rounded tops sat in a perfect line under the black granite slab counter. I pulled one out and sat, tugging down the itty bitty shorts as much as possible to make sure portions of my ass weren’t hanging over the bull-nosed edge of the stool. Not a good look for anybody.
“Do you like pomegranate?” Heather pulled out two crystal martini glasses.
I nodded. “Very much.”
She proceeded to pull out a giant bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, a metal shaker, and the juice.
“So what does Anton have planned for me?” I asked while she dropped the cubes into the shaker, then with a heavy hand, poured the vodka, adding just a splash of the pomegranate concentrate.
Heather smirked and smiled. “You mean aside from f*cking you?” The statement was more an accusation than a question. I balked, unable to believe the audacity of what she just said.
“Don’t act all coy. I saw the way the two of you were eye-f*cking each other in the studio earlier. I give it until evening before he has you laid out underneath him.”
She pushed the martini filled to the brim with burgundy liquid over to me. “Bottoms up?” She said and took a healthy swig.
I did the same needing the liquid courage to set her straight. “You really don’t think that highly of me, do you?” The words came out as venomous as a rattle snake’s bite.
Her eyebrows scrunched together. “Don’t you f*ck all your clients? You are an escort.” That one word carried an enormous amount of scorn.
On that note, I smacked the glass down, red liquid sloshing all over the counter. “I f*ck who I want, when I want to. It’s not part of my contract. I’m an escort not a whore.” I blew out a harsh breath and continued. “I offer companionship or fill a need, but that need doesn’t necessarily include f*cking my clients.” My tone was rife with indignation although, technically, I had f*cked some of my clients, but not all of them.
I say who and I say when. Period.
Thoughts of the man who wanted to push the physical who and the when onto me, creeped their sinister way into my subconscious. If I could, I’d bat the disgusting reminders back with a sledgehammer. lock them in a very dark closet, and throw away the key. You will not control me.
Instead of letting Heather speak, revenge scaled along my chest and up through my throat, fueled by my lingering fear of what had recently occurred with Aaron. “Now I know why you don’t have any friends. You’re judgmental, pissy, and downright rude!”
Heather backed up a few steps until she hit the opposite counter where the stainless steel, double-wide Sub Zero fridge shook. If I hadn’t been paying close attention I wouldn’t have recognized the shimmery blue of her eyes. She cleared her throat, raised a delicate, long-fingered hand to her chest and spoke. “I’m sorry, Mia. That was rude of me.”
“Damn right it was rude!” My mouth hurt from clenching my teeth. I sucked back the rest of my drink allowing the fiery burn to disguise the acid burn building in the pit of my stomach.
She licked her lips and her eyes moved from side to side. “Again, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t hire you to be his bedmate; he has plenty of those. You’re going to be the main woman in the new video. A woman he wants, a seductress that he can’t have.”