When you need a job done right, hire a professional...
Paper-pushing cubicle jockey Stacia Keating has never had problems with guys or relationships. Only sex. Fueled by public humiliation from her useless ex-boyfriend and three too many mojitos at a rehearsal dinner for her best friend's Vegas wedding, she decides it's time to put herself in expert hands. But when reason—and sobriety—returns, she realizes her bonehead mistake. Only problem is that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Paid For seems hell-bent on fulfilling his end of the deal.
Never before in his regimented, predictable life has Prince Zaqwan el Behar of the nation of Ittar been mistaken for a male escort. But when the intriguing blonde maid of honor at his friend's wedding offers him money for his sexual services, he can't help but play along. And the more he finds out about her, the more he begins to think that her pleasure is his business...
"Oh, for—" Stacia Keating said, sliding back the chain on the hotel room door. She bit back a growl of annoyance. She'd paid this man too much money for her mistake and still he came back. "Just get in here."
But then, she'd sensed it be that easy. When he walked away, something inside her had warned her he wasn't gone for long. He'd hit her as a snowplow guy. The kind of guy who would, just when you thought you were done shoveling, drive his plow down your street and dump a big pile of snow at the end of your driveway.
At least she got to see that look on his face again. He appeared put-together, almost stuffy. But when confused, he drew his eyebrows together, making lines that resembled quotation marks along the bridge of his nose. With his near-arrogant confidence, she found it funny.
He strode in past her and scanned the room like he owned it. Her second impression of him was just as amazing as the first. He was stunning. Why his regular client had cancelled on him, creating an opening for her, she'd never understand.
He left a subtle spiced masculine scent in his wake. The smell of something delicious. She'd requested tall, dark, and handsome, but the service had pulled out the stops on this one, even though it wasn't until she'd agreed to compromise on the "tall" part that they'd said one of their employees had had a cancellation. It was hard to find guys taller than her, but he had half a head on her 5'7".
The way he filled out his suit jacket, he could have been a soccer star, muscled and athletic. He had large hands that somehow managed to be elegant. Her mind couldn't help wandering off to imagine how those hands had pleasured all kinds of women. The gold ring on his pinky winked in the light as he reached to open the small fridge that contained the mini bar...
Mini bar? She snapped out of her daydream and launched herself toward him, grabbing a hand that already held a Coke and tiny bottle of rum that would cost the earth if he actually opened it.
"Nonononono," she told him, ripping them out of his hands. "Touch those again and I'll hurt you."
She then became aware of just how very close they stood. And how she wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. He was so insanely hot that he shouldn't even be real. Her normally disciplined mind tripped off to all kinds of erotic places.
Up close, she felt pinned in place by the bitter chocolate eyes.
"You took a shower," he said, as if she didn't know. "This robe lengthens your neck, unlike the dress you wore before. You removed your contact lenses. Your glasses, they soften the angles of your face. This is far more charming."
His accent was sexy as hell, but she couldn't identify it. She swallowed, unable to think.
"And your hair." He captured a curling lock that she hadn't had time to iron into submission, twisting it around his finger. "You should always wear it like this. You are much sexier this way. "
Before she knew it, his arm was around her waist, pulling her toward him.
|File size:||2 MB|
|Age Range:||18 Years|
About the Author
Please note: Satin and Steel (https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/292337) is not my book. I didn't write it. There's another Teresa Morgan.
I grew up in a cold, wet country, dreaming of the desert. At an early age, I was exposed to the 1001 Arabian Nights, and that was it for me. The exotic tales of magic and romance imprinted on my brain, ensuring I would never be the same.
I've been to Egypt, Syria, Turkey, and Morocco. A few of the incidents in Cinderella and the Sheikh actually happened (sort of).
I love to hear from readers almost as much as I love sheikh romances. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org