Inside the Lines: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel Read Free Page A

experience reminded me that I had this raw need inside, and that it could be sated.
    The downside: I had sex with several people. And got paid for it. I didn’t like the way that part made me feel. That hasn’t stopped me from doing it again and again. With only a select few clients, of course. I’m not a prostitute, for fuck’s sake.
    But then...what am I?

    The candescence of pink light softens the room. The hazy glow turns the blood red decor into a deep maroon. This hotel made a splash because of its “red suites;” they’re swanky and beautifully styled. And for this evening’s pleasure, they seemed like the perfect fit. I’ve remade the suite’s bedroom with the softer bulbs, draping scarves, red boas, and a few well-placed, cotton restraints.
    Someone knocks, and I hope it’s Stephen. But when I open the door, it’s Ari.
    “Oh, God, am I too early?” Her blue eyes go round as she takes in my cut up t-shirt that falls artfully, exposing my shoulder, and stops just shy of my wine-colored skinny jeans.
    “Well, it’s not quite—” I check my phone for the time but also see a missed text, which makes me frown. “What the...” Apparently, I nudged the ringer off, and with setting up and moving around, I missed the vibration of a new text. One that says Stephen can’t make it. “Un-fucking-believable. You asshole.”
    Ari stares at me, wide-eyed. Her white-blond hair shimmers in a short, wispy cut that frames her heart-shaped face. A professional dancer, Ari has the slight build of a ballerina, but with more softness and curve.
    I shake my head. “Not you, love. Come in. You’re about a half hour early, so I haven’t changed yet. Come in,” I say again when she pauses at the door. One of the ongoing problems with Ari is her hesitance. It’s taken me nearly six months to get her to this point. I’m going to kill Stephen for ruining it.
    I check the text so I can read the whole thing.
    Sry, dove, I’m sick. And u don’t want my snot ruining a sexy scene. Found a replacement, tho. Fin. Trust me, u will luv him. xoxo.
    I receive a second text as I’m standing there.
    Hi. It’s Fin. Stephen sent me. I’m here at the hotel. What room?
    Un-fucking-believable. I text him the floor and say I’ll meet him. Then I return Stephen’s message: you better die of this illness. Or I promise, you’ll wish you did.
    “Ari, I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable. Remember what we talked about. Deep breaths, center yourself—”
    “Envision, and repeat mantra.” Ari’s light voice finishes for me. “I know.” She smiles, but the corners of her mouth flicker with nerves.
    Inwardly, I sigh. Then I shower her with smiling confidence and step into the hallway, closing the door snugly.
    When the elevator opens, another couple gets off, wheeling luggage behind them. The doors start to shut, but then a strong hand holds them open. The man that steps off is very tall, well over six feet, and when his aquamarine eyes meet mine, he grins.
    “Lux, I take it?” His deep voice holds a heavy Scottish burr. He wears jeans and a nondescript black t-shirt under a black leather jacket, and if I weren’t so mad, I’d be swooning. Dear God. His shoulders and chest are broad, but not thick. He’s built more like a soccer player, with wavy auburn hair with hints of chestnut. He has a crooked smile, and when I stand there staring for a moment, I get a glimpse of perfectly straight teeth and a dimple.
    Holy Christ. Stephen sent me an underwear model.
    “I know you. You’re the guy from that ad. Th-the new Monsieur line. You’re on the goddamn billboard in Times Square in bikini briefs.” Monsieur is a male clothing boutique on Fashion Avenue; they’ve been making quite a stir with their advertising of everyday men—e.g. not celebrities or models, though you’d be hard-pressed to find one that isn’t ripped— wearing their new underwear line.
    His cheeks blush, which on him, is highly attractive, and I get