A Kept Man Read Free

Beneath the spark of
desire whenever she’d looked at him, there had been suspicion
as well. She didn’t trust him, and she was a smart woman. He
could see the shrewdness gleaming in her wary eyes.
    Little did she know how right she was to be wary.
    The real Charlie had been dispatched with ease. Considering what he
did for a living, it came as no surprise that the man would do
anything for a sum, including vacating the premises to allow another
to take his place. It was the perfect guise for Caleb’s
purposes, giving him the ultimate access to the woman.
    He watched her pace the length of patio on the other side of the
glass doors. Agitation was written into the tense line of her posture
and every clipped step. He’d made her uncomfortable. He allowed
himself the small bit of satisfaction that knowledge gave him.
    Now he only had to hope she didn’t take her bag and leave. He
doubted she would. From what he heard, she needed to work on the book
project she was struggling to finish in time for her deadline in
thirty days. She had no time to make alternate plans at this point.
    From the defeated slump of her shoulders, she’d come to the
same conclusion. She wasn’t going anywhere.
    He didn’t bother to keep the smile from his mouth.
    She was all his.

    “SURPRISE, DARLING!”
    I should have made that bet with Charlie , Jess thought. Of
course, since he knew Felicity he would have known better than to
take it. Her godmother had reacted to the call exactly as predicted,
unable to contain her glee at having caught Jess off-guard.
    Barely keeping her annoyance in check, Jess gritted her teeth and
said, “Why is he here?”
    “He’s the houseboy,” Felicity proclaimed, as though
it was the most natural thing in the world.
    Jess glanced back over her shoulder at Charlie. He stood on the other
side of the glass, watching her. “I don’t know if you’ve
noticed, Felicity, but there is nothing boyish about that guy.”
    “Well, of course not, darling,” Felicity laughed. “I’m
not into that.”
    “So you admit that he’s also your lover.”
    “Oh, Jessica.” Felicity clucked her tongue in gentle
censure. “Don’t sound so disapproving. We are consenting
adults.”
    “One of whom is being paid by the other.”
    “Nonsense. I don’t pay him. He’s an aspiring actor
who needs a place to live. He’s staying in the guesthouse.”
    “And in exchange he ‘services’ you.”
    “You make it sound so clinical.”
    “Any less clinical and I wouldn’t be able to keep from
gagging.”
    “Honestly, Jessica. Why is it that an older man can have a
younger companion, yet a woman can’t?”
    “I didn’t say I approve of that either. All I know is
that I’m not interested in being serviced by your guest.”
    “Did he offer? Oh, that dear boy,” Felicity chuckled in a
tone vaguely reminiscent of Joan Collins. The comparison didn’t
end there, especially since Felicity, like Madonna, had taken to
affecting an English accent. It made her feel more continental, she
said. It made her sound more ridiculous, in Jess’s opinion. “I
told him that he works for me, not for you, but that’s just how
he is. So giving.”
    Jess had a feeling she knew all too well what it was he wanted to
give her.
    She pressed a hand to her suddenly throbbing forehead. As a child
growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, Felicity’s occasional
presence in her life had been a window into a far different world
than her own, one exotic and completely foreign to her reality. Once
she’d grown up, she’d understood that Felicity’s
world bore no resemblance to reality as most people knew it. Jess
felt like she’d tumbled headfirst through the looking glass.
    “Felicity, I don’t want to be judgmental about the way
you live your life—”
    “Too late, dear. And you can’t say anything I haven’t
heard before.”
    “But I have no interest in bedding your boy toy. I’m not
here for that. I’m here to work.”
    “So? It’s not as