Excerpt:
The elevator stopped
and opened directly into the luxurious penthouse; it was huge with an open
floor plan, elegantly furnished, and smelled faintly of sandalwood and leather.
The kitchen gleamed with top-of-the-line chrome appliances. There was a nicely
sized, but not ostentatious, LCD television to the left of a fireplace
surrounded by built-in mahogany bookcases crammed full of books. The floors
were gleaming hardwood with beautiful, intricate Persian rugs here and there.
On the coffee table was an array of magazines—Time, Newsweek, Men’s
Health, GQ, The Advocate, and Details—along with a
book of erotic male photography. The entire west wall was made up of
floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a spectacular view of the city at
sunset, and there standing in front of them, looking out, had to be his client.
He was big, not
overweight, but tall, lean, and most likely muscular if the broad shoulders
were anything to go by. His hair was to his shoulders, dark, brown probably,
and thick. He looked to be impeccably dressed in dark slacks and shirt—silk,
Craig guessed. Despite a couple of years in the escort business and being
plenty jaded, Craig was intrigued. He wished the man would turn around. He’d
love to see if the front was as appealing as the back.
“I’m Craig,” Craig
said evenly.
“I’m Dee,” his client
said in a deep voice, not turning to face Craig.
Craig took a few
uncertain steps closer. “I hope I’m what you wanted.”
“You’re fine,” his
client replied shortly.
Craig frowned and his
brows knitted together in puzzlement. How could he think Craig was fine when he
hadn’t even turned to look at him? The first tendrils of unease began to unfurl
inside him. This guy was big, strong, and could easily overpower Craig. Not
that Craig was a slouch, but he didn’t have the muscle mass his client seemed
to under his expensive clothes, and this guy was at least three inches taller
than him.
There was a low
mechanical hum, and the curtains began to close over the windows, shutting out
the weak light from the setting sun. A second later the television clicked on.
“Have a seat, Craig,”
Dee said, motioning to the overstuffed suede sofa.
Craig
swallowed and nodded even though Dee couldn’t see. He sank down into the plush
sofa but kept Dee in his line of sight. The curtains closed completely, and the
only light came from the glow of the television and the dim recessed lights in
the kitchen. Craig didn’t like this, didn’t like not being able to see his
client, not being able to judge his reactions.
“Do
you have a favorite genre of film?” his client asked, moving away from the
windows and over to sit beside Craig. Craig looked over at Dee but couldn’t
really make out any facial features because of the dim lighting, and Dee’s hair
was obscuring his face. It didn’t exactly make Craig feel better about this
situation.
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