The Right Wish Page 3

  I knew Bree didn’t shoulder all the blame. It took two to make a relationship work, and two to doom it. My own shit had come between us—my work schedule, mainly, and the travel associated with it.

  Looking back, I saw clearly that the last cross-country tour with Rush had been the beginning of the end with Bree and me. I’d asked her to go with me, but she turned me down, because she was an actress and her work was in LA. Our separate lives didn’t mesh, and maybe they never had. Maybe the two of us had been a total miscalculation on my part.

  Or just wishful thinking.

  But wanting something to work didn’t make it so. I shouldn’t have expected it to when I didn’t even feel like I fit inside my own skin anymore.

  In the bathroom, I stopped in front of the mirror, noting in my reflection how much I’d outwardly changed. Gone was the geeky college graduate from just a few years ago. I’d traded in my glasses for contacts when I moved out to LA. My light blue eyes were no longer shielded behind thick lenses. My dark blond hair was lighter from the sun, and my once-pale skin was tanned. Physically, I’d been remade, a product of my choices. Superficially, at least, but the visible outer layer wasn’t the entire me.

  Raking a hand through my hair, I turned away from the mirror and the truths it could reveal. I opened the glass door and stepped into the travertine-lined shower. Flipping on the water by the pewter handle, I didn’t wait for it to warm up. Bracing cold worked for me today.

  I washed quickly and stepped out barely a few moments later. Setting my misgivings aside, something I was becoming adept at, I returned to solvable equations. But I knew deep down that the longer I continued playing a role in my own life, the more likely the pretense would be all that remained.

  After drying off, I wrapped the oversized white towel around my waist and exited the bathroom. Colder than before, I retraced my steps down the hall. When I reentered the master bedroom, I discovered as expected that Bree was already gone. Earlier, she’d mentioned a predawn casting call. Those weren’t uncommon. But there had been a lot of them lately, and not a single new part.

  Where did she go for hours on end?

  The signs all pointed in one direction.

  As her secretive behavior increased, my suspicions solidified. But I knew if I confronted her with them, there would be no more going through the motions where she and I were concerned anymore. We would be well and truly over.

  But weren’t we over now?

  At the dresser, I yanked open the middle drawer, using too much force and nearly pulling it off its tracks. The leash on my control was slipping. I needed a run, needed to breathe in and breathe out. Focusing on the rhythm and pushing my body beyond what I thought it could handle was a cathartic process that quieted my inner clamor. A process less efficient than music, but better than nothing.

  I grabbed my running gear—cutoff sweats and a Manhattan Beach-emblazoned tank—and put them on like armor. Preparing myself outwardly for battle, although the war that raged was mostly within myself. I returned to the bed, dropped onto the end, and pulled my shoes out from under the mattress.

  My worn running shoes laced, I stood and snagged my phone, then jogged down the stairs. The main living area was dark except for the dim glow of the chandelier over the table. Bree had left a note on the circular glass. I scooped it up and quickly scanned it.

  Brad, I won’t make it to dinner tonight with Rush and Jewel. I’ll see you back at the house later.

  — Bree

  Crushing the paper in my grip, I shook my head. I wanted . . . well, I wanted what I couldn’t have.

  Chapter 3

  * * *

  Camaro

  The past

  More nervous than usual with a prearranged hookup for cash, I opened the door a few inches but kept the privacy chain on. My eyes widened within the smoky frame I’d penciled around them.

  The view out the murky peephole a moment before hadn’t done the man standing in the hallway justice. I’d never seen one as handsome or more out of place.

  The high sheen of his royal-blue business suit was too fancy for an illicit rendezvous at a shabby rent-by-the-hour motel. Custom tailored, the virgin-wool suit conformed to six feet of chiseled perfection crowned by a treasure trove of glittering gold-and-platinum hair.

  Silence stretched uncomfortably between us as we stared at each other. He seemed as shocked by me as I was by him. His piercing blue gaze pinned my tongue to the roof of my mouth and made my heart race.

  Speak, Cam. You need the cash. You’re on your own out here while Jewel is with Rush.

  Finally finding my voice, I licked my dry lips. “I don’t usually take referrals without meeting them somewhere public to check them out first.”

  His gaze dipped to my mouth, making my lips tingle. “First time for everything, I guess.” The words rumbled as if loosened from some secret place deep inside him. He had a low, soft, melodic voice, one that he’d employed brilliantly on the phone as he charmed me into bending my rules.

  In person, that voice was more potent, ninety proof and smooth like a single-grain Irish whiskey. Warmth flowed through me at being on the receiving end of it, captivating me like the rest of him did.

  His eyes, twinkling with confidence, met mine again. “But I’m sure the right amount of cash will get me whatever I wish.”

  “Not whatever.” I shook my head. “There are restrictions.”

  I managed to find both my resolve and my equilibrium, but only barely as his gaze drifted from the long ebony fall of my hair to my feet in my intricately laced stilettos. When his eyes darkened to seductive sapphire, I assumed he approved of what he saw.

  Transfixed by the hunger in his expression, I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to with him looking at me like that.

  “Are you going to open the door so we can discuss those restrictions of yours?” he asked.

  I dropped my gaze to his neck, where his pulse pounded hard above the collar of his jacket. My heart was practically beating out of my chest, as if in sync with his.

  When I didn’t immediately answer, one of his dark blond brows slowly lifted, a sardonic checkmark over one eye. “Were you planning to complete this transaction through the crack in the door?”

  “This works for now.” I gripped the door tighter, despite being tempted to throw it open and let him come right in. The fact that I wanted to toss caution to the wind scared me.

  “You think I can’t break the chain?” The midnight blue of his eyes glowed, the light consumed by the darkness.

  “I don’t do violence.”

  “What do you do?” His voice rumbled impossibly lower, making my scalp tingle as if he’d whispered his intimate request directly into my ear. “And how much will it cost me?”

  “I told you on the phone,” I reminded him, my voice husky.

  “Fifty dollars.” His fiery gaze stoked the heat higher inside me. “Cash up front. I remember what you said.”

  He unbuttoned his jacket. The crisp powder-blue shirt underneath outlined a chest so chiseled, it could have been carved by a master sculptor’s hand. My mouth went dry as he withdrew a fifty-dollar bill, folded it lengthwise, and slid it to me through the crack in the door.

  “Can I come in now?” Both his dark blond brows lifted, dipping under the artfully arranged sun-lightened layers above them.

  “Okay.” I closed the door and slid open the chain.

  When I reopened it seconds later, my heart raced as he immediately strode past me to come inside. The view of him from behind—wide shoulders, tight ass, long legs—before he spun around was nearly as good as the front.

  After closing the door, I leaned back against it, crushing the lapels of my robe together in my fist, along with his cash. His cologne swept over me—a mix of sweet lemon, savory evergreen, and fruity wood—stealing my breath as he stood in his newly claimed position in the center of the room. Oxygen deprived, my mind whirled as my eyes met his and our gazes melded.

  I was in trouble, d
eep trouble, and not my usual kind.

  “You scared?” he asked, scanning me again, but slower this time. Raw masculine need sharpened handsome features that were already compelling.

  “A little,” I said softly.

  His brow furrowed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “That’s what they all say before they hurt you.” True, so sadly true. Physically and emotionally, I’d weathered pain from every man who had professed to care for me.

  “I give you my word,” he said with a sincerity I could almost believe. “To people who know me, my word means something.”

  “I’m sure it does to them, Mr. Marshall. But for you and me, we’ll just stick with cash.”

  He took a step toward me. Although several feet separated us, he crossed the space in only two steps.

  The corner of the bed was beside him on his right. The door was behind me if I needed to turn and run. The covers on my left were turned down to give the illusion that we would soon be in bed together, but I wasn’t planning for that to be the case. The things I did satisfied most men.

  But he wasn’t most men. With him, even the familiar felt different.

  “You have my cash.” Lips as refined as the rest of him flattened. “How long are you going to continue standing way over there?”

  “You paid, mister.” I lifted my chin. “But I’m still the one who decides whether this transaction continues.”

  It was important to establish control at the very beginning, and I’d passed on that knowledge to Jewel. If men who paid for sex thought they had the upper hand, they would crush you. And I didn’t want to be crushed again.

  “Bradley. Not mister.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the bed.

  “Oh my.”

  I sighed as I took all of him in, a pleasurable shiver rolling through me. The impressive width of his shoulders topped an equally impressive upper torso, his expensive shirt clinging to him like I would, given the chance.

  In sensual overload, I was more than merely attracted to him . . . I was in awe. And he wasn’t unaffected by me. The cut of his wool slacks emphasized his powerful thighs and narrow hips. It also revealed that his cock was thick and hard.

  I swallowed to moisten my throat. It would be challenging to get my mouth around him.

  Speaking gruffly, he said, “Come here, Camaro.”

  I lifted my gaze.

  With an arrogant cant to his head, he crooked his finger at me. “If that’s even your real name.”

  “Fifty for the blow job.” I stepped closer, swaying my hips provocatively. The gauzy hem of my transparent robe brushed the creamy skin of my upper thighs, giving him tantalizing glimpses of the triangle of lace covering my pussy. “But I should charge you more because of your size.”

  Experience kept me moving forward through the rehearsed motions, rather than setting my will against his to fan the flames between us to a roaring fire. That would be dangerous. A game I couldn’t, wouldn’t play. Not when I was fine crystal, and he was the perfect frequency. If he touched me for real, I might shatter.

  “You should charge more because of the way you look.” His lids hooding his gaze, he scanned me and shook his head. “Fuck, you’re too fine to give it up for only fifty dollars.”

  “Not giving it up.” My nipples drew to points, the tight tips scoring the cups of my faux silk bra. Between my legs, I was hot, the scrap of lace wet. I was turned on just from his perusal of me. “I agreed on the phone to a striptease and a blow job.” I lifted my chin and glanced up at him through my lashes. “Nothing else.”

  “How much for anything I want?” he asked.

  Something was off.

  On guard, I searched his features. Wide, earnest brow. Strong nose. Unyielding jaw with a dusting of dark blond stubble along the honed edge. Handsome, he was so incredibly handsome with gorgeous piercing blue eyes framed by long thick lashes.

  But there was a fierceness to his overall expression and a watchfulness within his gaze that I hadn’t noted before. It sent up red flags of warning, giving me pause.

  “Are you a cop?” I asked.

  “No. I’m no cop.”

  “Why all the questions about pricing?”

  “Because I’m here, and you’re here.” He gave me the once-over again. “And I like what I see.”

  “I like what I see too,” I said sincerely, my voice as scratchy as an old vinyl record.

  Within his eyes, I thought I saw a yearning that equaled my own. Before I could think it through, words tumbled free, truthful ones that should have remained unsaid.

  “I don’t want to do this with you. I mean, I’ll do what I agreed to for cash. But nothing more. Not for money. However . . .”

  My heart raced ahead of me, leaping right out of my chest into my dazzled eyes. I was making myself vulnerable, my inner self, that tiny part that persisted in believing that I could still become everything my mother had wished for me.

  I pulled in a big breath, still gripping the money he’d given me. “If you want something more, you can leave, and I’ll put on my clothes. I’ll meet you down in the lobby, and we can discuss it. Without the bed here, and expectations that make me nervous, and give you the impression that anything you want from me can be bought.”

  When he took a step back, my exposed heart plummeted, crashing into the space he created between us.

  • • •

  Bradley

  Camaro wasn’t at all what I’d expected. I stared into those expressive silvery-green eyes of hers that seemed to broadcast her emotions before the rest of her did, and I wavered, fucking wavered from my purpose.

  I’m here for Rush, I reminded myself. To protect him.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d had to remind myself of my purpose. My best friend needed me to look out for him. He was in deep with this girl’s best friend, and I didn’t get it. Jewel was a hooker. So was Camaro. He was probably being played. I’d never considered that the risk might be worth the reward.

  Until now.

  Until I met Camaro.

  All my cause-versus-effect analytics were thrown off by her, this incomparable beauty with her dewy crimson lips, her velvety night-sky hair, and her sexy curves and flawless bronze skin that made my eager hands ache.

  I wanted her, wanted to throw her on the bed and sink my cock into her. I’d been harder than I could ever remember being from the moment she opened the door.

  But the kicker of it all, what made it nearly impossible for me to breathe, was the way she looked at me now. Totally vulnerable, with her heart in her eyes.

  To defile her further or to save her, she was giving me a choice. A more irresistible one I had never been offered. Yet she didn’t really know me. If she did, she would know the days of me doing what I wanted without consideration for anyone else were long past.

  Remembering my responsibilities dampened my desire. Reaching for my jacket, I shrugged it on. I avoided the allure of the woman before me, avoided looking at her directly.

  “You are who your friend says you are.” Even with my focus only partially on her, awareness of her crackled in my tone. “You aren’t an extortionist or a drug addict. You’re a prostitute like Jewel is.” I gave her a firm, direct look. “But one who charges far too little.”

  Her chin dropped to her chest as if she were merely a marionette and my words had sliced through the strings that had previously animated her. “Fifty dollars isn’t an insignificant amount when you’re hungry,” she said softly.

  I barely heard her, but her quiet, brittle desperation sliced into me.

  “I’m sorry. I’m going to take care of all of that, but I had to be sure about your situation before I proceeded. My name truly is Bradley Marshall. I’m Rush McMahon’s business manager. Your friend is worried about you, so Rush wants you provided for while Jewel is with him. I need to arrange having some food and other items delivered to your apartment.”

  But what to do about the rest? A raw hunger clamored within me. A
primal need to take, claim, and make her mine.

  Camaro didn’t merely rattle my control. She tempted me to lose it completely.

  Chapter 4

  * * *

  Camaro

  The present

  The light change registering in my subconscious, I opened my eyes in the early dawn but saw only the dark shadows inside my room. The indistinct shapes seemed threatening. I knew on one level that the shadows were only furniture in the room. My mind was playing a trick on me.

  But real danger or imagined, the result was the same. I remembered what I’d tried to forget and bolted upright in my bed. Panicked, I took in deep breaths as my heart hammered inside my chest, even though it had been months since the—since the assault.

  Refusing to more specifically identify what had happened didn’t make it disappear. The bruises, my broken arm, my physical injuries had healed. But the rest I feared might be irreparable.

  Be brave. Be kind. Be good.

  I could do it for her, for my mother, even if I wasn’t truly good anymore. A daughter rejected by her father when she’d needed him, not once but twice, was disqualified from being the star of her own story, even an imagined one. And I’d fallen even further since then.

  Throwing back the covers, I sat up. I needed to get in motion so I wouldn’t dwell. I knew from experience that taking the first step was the hardest. Getting the most difficult one out of the way led to other easier ones being accomplished. The overall goal was to be the best good I could be to fulfill my mother’s last wish for me.