Rule #2…Respect the ladies.
Conner Steele has nothing but respect for ladies. He absolutely adores them and takes more than a little bit of pride in his job—or rather, his former job.
After a run-in with a cop, former male escort Con, along with his brother Riley and best friend Shame, decided it might just be best to hang up their…hats and retire from the business of being paid to pleasure.
After all, they have a profitable business going with their new pub. No reason to ruin a good thing and Con is more than happy to keep pleasing the ladies—just…no longer as a job. Finding a date or company for the night has never been an issue for him, either. He’s been told more than once that he can charm a tiger out of its stripes. But lately a new hire at the bar is turning the tables on him—she is the one charming him, twisting him up into knots and getting him so worked up, he can barely see straight.
In his rather expert opinion, Shawntelle Callahan is nothing less than a queen.
And she’s a queen on a mission, too. Even as tangled up as he is over her, he can see that. First she tries to coax him out of retirement for one last engagement. When that doesn’t work, she sets out to drive him crazy. After finally admitting that she’s a writer who’s looking to do a story on male escorts, Con realizes it will be best to just stay away from Shawntelle. Sure, she says she’s just looking for some hands-on information but he knows there’s more to it than that. There are secrets in her eyes, barely hidden lies and doubt.
“Pardon the shabby chic décor. It comes with the place. Which is how I like it when I travel. Less trouble for me.” She moved farther into the house, stopping to face him when she neared the couch. Leaning back against it, she smiled. “All the ruffles and flounces aren’t my thing.”
“I didn’t come to discuss the décor.”
“No.” She curled a finger toward him.
He prowled closer, feeling like she had him on some sort of hook. He didn’t like it. When she would have kissed him, he averted his face and pressed his mouth to her neck.
She hissed out a breath, her body arching toward his in a bow.
He scraped the sensitive spot with his teeth and felt her shudder.
“I…” She paused a moment.
He took advantage of that and nuzzled her hair away from her ear, catching the lobe between his teeth and giving it a tug.
“You were saying something,” he reminded her, sliding a hand up between them. She’d worn a white blouse, sleeveless, with five, exactly five buttons that glittered with jewel-like brilliance. Now, he found the top button and slid it free.
Her breath caught.
Pulling back, he met her eyes.
She was staring at his hand.
He freed another button and moved down, taking his time and giving her a chance to pull back.
She never said a word, never moved.
When he finished with the last button, he circled his finger around her navel, fighting the urge to stare at the lush, sweet curves of her breasts, rising against the white bra. Her skin, a warm, soft brown, pebbled under his touch as he traced the scalloped edges of the bra. “This bra drove me a little insane. I could see this pattern,” he said conversationally. “And I kept thinking about undoing those five buttons on your shirt and spreading it open, staring at you.”
“But you weren’t going to come inside,” she said, a challenge in her voice.
He met her eyes. “Yes, I was. We both know that.”