Curved Lines: Tattooed Bad Boys and the Women They Love Read online

  Curiosity finally won, and I lifted the lid on my laptop. I signed in and then grabbed a beer while it finished booting up. By the time I reclaimed my seat in the corner of the couch and took a long pull from the bottle, all I had to do was click on the email icon.

  She’d left a response. I ignored the emails from my business partner, and my brothers, Matty and Adrian, and went straight to Lily’s reply which was typed out in all caps and read simply:

  I WANT A MILLION DOLLARS.

  Laughing softly, I quickly replied in all caps and clicked ‘send’: OKAY

  Yeah, it was ridiculous, insane, ludicrous even to think of burning a million dollars on a piece of ass just because I was bored. That was an Adrian thing, not a Jeff thing. But here I was, doing it anyway.

  While I waited for her to respond, I turned up the volume and watched the sports recap with half an eye and half an ear.

  Haha. You’re so not funny, was the response I got three minutes later.

  I’m not kidding, is what she got back in return.

  She’d asked for a million dollars and I’d met her asking price. It was literally an offer she couldn’t say no to. I felt pretty certain she’d been joking and, to a point, I had too, but while a million dollars was crazy excessive, it was also very doable. As in, I wouldn’t even break a sweat.

  Now, let’s see if Lily could say the same and put that hot bod of hers where her mouth was—or better yet, where my mouth was. I grinned into my beer bottle. I continued to sip my beer and flip channels while I waited.

  You’re an asshole, was the next message that landed in my inbox.

  I’m a rich asshole though. LOL

  Let’s Skype.

  So that’s what it took to get her to Skype with me. A few minutes later we were more face-to-face than we’d ever been.

  “Do you accept American Express?” I asked with a smile.

  She blinked a few times and swallowed hard before rolling her eyes and sputtering, “You’re hilarious.”

  Her attempts to cover her surprise, and her nerves, weren’t very successful. My attempts to not openly gloat were equally as bad.

  “I’m hilarious? You’re the one who asked for a million dollars,” I calmly shot back.

  Lily sighed heavily and her shoulders sank a little. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you.” Her eyes flickered to her lap then back up to the screen.

  “Is that a problem?” Maybe she didn’t like black men. “Am I not your type?” My jaw clenched while my fingers tightened around on my beer bottle.

  “Absolutely not.” Her face broke into a genuine smile. “I’d just never seen you before and here you are joking around about a million dollars like it’s no big.” Then one movie-star-perfect eyebrow slowly rose as her face morphed into what I like to call “Classic Lily Zinger” mode. “However, I do have to say that hair is pretty freaking questionable. Did you pay for that…or did you fall into a bottle of bleach?”

  “This from a woman with purple and blue hair,” I shot back instead of running a self-conscious hand across my curly, dark blond mohawk. “And who’s joking? You named your price; now here we are. Put up or shut up, baby.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head, her multicolored ponytail swinging back and forth, her attempts to deflect laughably obvious. “So let me get this straight. You’re going to pay me $1 million to just come and hang out with you for a few days?”

  Here’s where things had the potential to turn a little weird.

  “Hang out, talk, drink good wine, eat good food, go for a swim.” My feet dug into the deck. I almost had her but if I came off too eager, she’d rabbit on me and I’d never get another chance at her.

  “That’s it?” This time both her eyebrows shot up in question.

  “And perform for me…live. You get paid, and I get the pleasure of your company for four days. You can even bring your sketchpad—not that there’s much to see other than a bunch of sand and the Gulf of Mexico.

  “Just tell me how you’d like to be paid. Obviously cash could be a little bit awkward—”

  “—and heavy,” she added.

  “That, too,” I said with a chuckle. “I can do a wire transfer or I’m pretty sure American Express won’t squeal too much if I just put it on my Black card. Then of course there’s always a good old-fashioned cashier’s check.” While I talked about ways to pay her, Lily’s eye got bigger and bigger and her mouth opened wider and wider.

  She’d seriously underestimated me.

  “How many days again?” she softly asked.

  She was mine.

  She just needed to say the words already.She might not realize it, but it was all done except for the haggling.

  “Four. That’s $250,000 a day.” I stretched my cramped leg muscles then settled back in the cushions, happy to know I’d soon have some company. And not just any company but my own live CamGirl. “Plus travel expenses,” she blurted out.

  I choked on a laugh, covering my amusement with a frown. If she wanted to squabble about a couple thousand dollars in travel expenses, fine by me. “What’s the closest airport? I’ll have a first-class ticket waiting for you and a car and driver will pick you up when you plane lands.”

  “Just like that?” she said with a snap of her fingers.

  “Just like that,” I echoed with a nod of my head.

  Money made life ridiculously easy at times. And everyone had a price.

  Suffice to say, I now knew Lily’s.

  LOLLY

  By the time I stepped off the plane in Houston, I was a queasy, sweaty mess. I know, not very sexy.

  Luckily, I had a nice, long car ride to pull myself together before I actually met Jeff. I had no trouble spotting the driver that Jeff had sent to pick me up–he was holding up a sign with my name on it, but first, I needed a few minutes to kick my own ass.

  I ducked my head and turned away, making a detour into the nearby ladies room so that I could pull myself together. I couldn’t believe I was really doing this. I wasn’t a complete idiot. I knew how dangerous meeting a client in person could be; it’s why I’d traded being a call girl in favor of being a camgirl. Safety. And anonymity.

  I also knew that the $250,000 that Jeff had transferred into my bank account could disappear just as easily as my dead mutilated corpse. I was no dummy by any means, but, fuck, for a million dollars I’d damn near sell my soul.

  And Sweet Baby Jesus with Sprinkles, the things I could do with a million dollars. Can you say, “Set for life?”

  I could—with a smile on my face.

  I rinsed my hands and dabbed at my face, blotting away some of the sweat before pressing a hand against my stomach and forcing myself to take a couple of deep, calming breaths. I could do this. It would be okay. My roommate knew where I was, and if nothing else, there was a paper trail leading straight to Jeff Stone’s doorstep—on the off chance he did murder me.

  Once I finish talking myself off the proverbial ledge, I exited the bathroom, and approached the driver holding up a sign with my name on it.

  “Hi, I’m Lolly Whitehouse. I think you’re waiting for me.”

  # # #

  I stared at the passing scenery, my hands digging deeper and deeper into the plush leather seat as we left behind the high-rises and traffic of Houston and our surroundings grew more and more remote. “How long till we get there?” I finally asked the driver.

  The deal we’d struck had been a simple one: Four days with Jeff—doing God knows what. I’d receive the second payment once I was in the car with the final half a million—and let’s just stop and think about that for a minute: Me, little Miss Nobody From Nowhere With Pretty Much Nothing, the proud owner of a million fucking bucks–being paid out at the end of my four-day stay.

  “According to my GPS, about fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Thank you.” I pulled out my phone and checked to see if the promised second payment was there. Of course, the money was there.

  Then a mean litt
le voice in my head reminded me that money didn’t do me any good if I was dead.

  I silenced the voice, wiped my sweaty palms on and breathed a sigh of relief, then fished my lipstick and a mirror from my purse and applied another coat. I probably didn’t need it, but it kept my hands busy. Nothing was final until four days from now. I couldn’t let myself focus too hard on the fact that my bank account which had, until yesterday, had a balance of $900, now held a cool half mill. I didn’t know whether to barf or go shopping. I made enough as a camgirl to keep a roof over my head, pay my bills, and pay my art school tuition, so I had no debt—which was key when a girl had no safety net—but I also didn’t have much room for error or emergencies. The thought of shopping for anything without having to worry about how much it cost or how to pay for it was absolutely positively mind-boggling.

  The driver was wrong. It wasn’t fifteen minutes. It was twelve and a half minutes. And then there I was, sitting in Jeff Stone’s driveway looking up into his devastatingly handsome face, all the while knowing he now knew my real name. He now knew what maybe a dozen people in the whole entire universe knew. There had been no way to hide it when I’d given him my banking information for the wire transfers. Color me weird, but Jeff knowing my real name bothered me almost as much as the thought of him possibly being serial killer.

  Never mind that he had my banking information. That was beside the point.

  “Welcome to Casa Stone,” he said as he signed the driver’s paperwork and then handed it back to him. Once again, he held out his hand.

  Do or die time. Pulling my purse closer to my body, I took one last deep breath and exited the car as gracefully as possible. I wish I could say I’d felt some sort of electric spark when our fingers touched, but I was too busy praying he didn’t notice how nervous I was. It wasn’t easy.

  I did my best not to stare at my surroundings as Jeff closed the car door. At him, at the property, all of it. From where I stood, the house in front of me didn’t look very fancy, but I’d Googled to make sure it was legit and knew that it was huge on the inside and had an ocean facing deck that ran along the entire back of the house.

  I was completely aware of the driver lifting my battered little suitcase from the trunk, of a totally relaxed Jeff staring at me, and the wind blowing my hair into my face, and this incredibly gorgeous, incredibly expensive looking piece of beachfront property I’d be living in for the next four days.

  Maybe it was the expression on my face, maybeit was the way my grip tightened on Jeff’s hand as I stood up, but his brief, reassuring smile helped calm my nerves a little.

  “You folks have a nice day,” the driver said. He climbed back into the car and pulled away before I’d even gotten my bearings. Before I could change my mind and go back to Houston with him.

  No! Wait! Take me with you, stalled out somewhere on the back of my tongue. I was about to be stuck in the middle of pretty much nowhere with a stranger I’d met on the Internet. Jesus, this had been such a mistake. I could see it now. It would be like something out of “Criminal Minds”–the headlines would read: Sexy As Fuck Millionaire Beats Murder Rap.

  I mean really, how lucky could a man be? He was good-looking and rich enough to drop a cool mil on a pretend girlfriend for four days so he could watch me masturbate live and in person.

  “You have a dog?” I asked instead of running after the driver. Color me crazy, my avoidance game was strong. Unlike my apparent will to live.

  “Nope.” Jeff slung an arm around my shoulder and grabbed my suitcase with his free hand, and then started walking us toward the house. “That is the dog from down the beach. I call him Traffic.” He shook his head. “He’s always in the middle of everything; he comes and goes and I typically keep some food around for whenever he visits.”

  Nodding, I sucked in a deep breath of salty air and reminded myself that if things got out of hand, I’d just stab him with the knife tucked in my purse.

  Inside, Jeff murmured something about taking my bag upstairs. Not bothering to wait for my temporary boyfriend—or whatever the hell he was supposed to be—I stepped into the kitchen/living area, letting my fingers glance off the granite countertops while the heels of my thirty-five dollar Target shoes clicked on the tile floor. The French doors were already open and a breeze ruffled champagne colored sheers.

  Across from the kitchen was the living room with a sectional sofa and a ginormous television surrounded by bookshelves filled with old hard cover books and dog-eared paperbacks. This wasn’t some rich person’s weekend retreat made to impress their equally rich friends and neighbors.

  This was some rich person’s honest-to-God actual retreat.

  First impression? Very tasteful but…homey. Surprisingly so. Despite it’s size and the fancy kitchen appliances, the place had a family feel to it. Not easy to achieve when you were uber-wealthy—as Jeff apparently was. I’d call-girled a while. Usually, with rich dudes, it was all about presentation, whether it was a night out ‘on his arm’, a night in his apartment or a hotel suite. About how one wanted to be perceived. Worst six months of my life. Camming was so much easier. My roommate disagreed, but to each her own. Anyway, homey wasn’t something that seemed to come natural to them—or me either—but for very different reasons. A low table tucked in a corner caught my eye and I stepped closer for a better look. The old marble tabletop was littered with photos of Happy Shiny People—presumably Jeff’s family—displayed in frames that probably hadn’t come from Target. That made me wonder if Jeff had inherited or earned his own. Must be nice. Obviously, this wasn’t just his place, but to my relief (and yeah, dread), we seemed to be alone. Even the dog had disappeared.

  After dropping my purse on the granite countertop, I strolled outside and across the deck to stand at the rail, ears peeled for Jeff’s return. To my left a downward curving walkway led to the pool surrounded on two sides by the tall hedge. The walkway continued, leading down to the beach. Personally, I didn’t like sand. And it didn’t like me.

  There was an outdoor kitchen, the view from the deck was pretty freaking spectacular—especially coming from Phoenix aka the land of no water—even this late in the year the Gulf was a gorgeous dark blue (and probably cold as fuck). Tall hedges provided privacy even though there wasn’t another house within screaming distance. Also…I’d bet $900.00 that pool was heated.

  I didn’t have long to wait for Jeff to join me on the deck. At the sound of his heavy footsteps, I turned to face him, bracing my elbows on the railing behind me and swallowing hard. I’d spend the next four days giving the performance of a lifetime.

  Not that it’d be a huge hardship. Because, Jesus, he was hot. Like, panty-melting hot.

  Jeff Stone had what could possibly be considered the most beautiful mouth I’d ever seen on a man. And even though he was wearing an old T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a pair of frayed cutoffs, he walked with his dick–back ramrod straight, head up, that beautiful mouth curved into a tiny smile, amber eyes focused on me, hips rolling with military precision. I tried to picture him dressed in a suit. It wasn’t very difficult, and the mental image was pretty fucking swoon-worthy.

  Despite his silly bleach blonde curls, and the dimple in his left cheek, this was a man who knew exactly what he wanted and exactly how to get it. He came from money.

  Obviously…I mean, who had a pool at the beach? Rich people, that’s who.

  Jeff knew how to get what he wanted but he’d probably never broken a sweat a day in his life. He got what he wanted because he expected it, not because he actually worked for it. Look at how easily he’d gotten me here.

  For the record, I’d also decided he probably didn’t intend to kill me. Then again, on the off-chance he did kill me, I kind of hoped he’d fuck my brains out first. That way, at least I could die happy.

  He kept walking toward me, his arms outstretched, that easy-going, overfed smile firmly in place. “Hungry? Thirsty? Tired? Name your poison, sweet Lolly.”

  I bit off a
nd irritated growl and released my death-grip on the railing at the sound of my real name coming out of his mouth.

  He leaned against the rail next to me, close enough that the pheromones he exuded left me dizzy. Made me forget that I didn’t like him very much. That I was all about the money. I mean, why else would I be here? “You don’t like that?”

  I took a deep breath and said, “No, but—”

  “What do you want me to call you then? Lily?”

  I hated Lily almost as much as Lolly, but it was easy for me to remember and answer to. Finally I shrugged and said, “I don’t care. But if you call me Lolly Pop, fingers will be broken, rich boy.”

  He chuckled and said, “Fine. Lolly it is then, but don’t call me rich boy. Not when I’ve got at least a decade on you.”

  “Deal.” He might have a decade on me in physical years, but that was about it. “So, exactly what is it you want me to do for the next four days?” I figured I might as well start earning my keep. Four days wasn’t really that long. Right?

  “Just…be my girlfriend,” he said with a laugh.

  I laughed, too, and said, “Your uber kinky girlfriend who masturbates on command?”

  His expression morphed into something serious and, for a moment, dark, his jaw tensing. He nodded, but he wasn’t looking at me. “I just want someone to spend some time with. No strings. Just…us…hanging out.”

  And me masturbating on command, went unsaid..

  I could count the number of actual boyfriends I’d had on one hand and what I knew about real relationships I could probably hold in the palm of the same hand. Also, most of it wasn’t good. “You make it sound so simple.” I guess, to him, it was.

  “It is.” He leaned closer, offering me a smile that I felt in my soul.

  I leaned away a little, resisting the urge to shake my head and make another snide comment. Nothing was ever simple. Nothing was ever easy. And people who could touch your soul could also rip your heart out. I’d learned those lessons the hard way. I reminded myself that this was nothing more than a business transaction—like tokens but on a much larger scale. “And for today? What’s the plan?”