Naturally, Ander could ice skate.

He could do everything well—from cunnilingus to military history to pillow fights. She should have known he was an expert ice skater as well.

Apparently, he’d played a lot of ice hockey when he was younger, so he slid across the ice with such ease and confidence that Lori couldn’t help but glare at him in annoyance.

She’d never ice-skated before. She’d always wanted to but she’d not gotten the chance as a kid. In high school, she and her best friend were supposed to visit an ice rink so she could learn, but something had come up and they’d never rescheduled. And, once she’d grown up, the interest had basically disappeared from her radar.

But that afternoon, while thinking over what she wanted to do with Ander, the idea of ice-skating had randomly crossed her mind. Then she couldn’t think of anything else she’d rather do. So she’d mentioned it in half-jest in her response to Ander’s email, asking where they should meet.

And here they were. Not at one of the big rinks, but at a newer, smaller one that Ander said was less crowded and had more convenient public skating times. She couldn’t help but wonder how many other clients he’d taken ice-skating in the past.

For the last few weeks, ever since she’d found out Ander’s real identity, she’d felt weird about just meeting him at their regular hotel for sex. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have sex with him. She did. And they always had sex for the last couple of hours of their scheduled engagements. But, especially knowing who he really was and the kind of sophisticated monster he had for a father, Lori started feeling cheap and guilty about meeting up with him purely for sex.

It made her feel like she was just using Ander—in the same way everyone else always had.

She knew she still was. She knew her change of routine was mostly an empty gesture. But it made her feel better. Made her feel like their liaisons weren’t quite so superficial and objectifying. And she had a good time with Ander—even outside of the bedroom.

On the first evening she’d suggested a change, they’d gone to an exhibit of antique Asian fans that the art museum was displaying for the month. Ander had wowed her with his knowledge of Asian fans until she’d needled him into admitting that he’d spent the day before doing research on them.

For their next engagement, they’d gone out to eat and then to a newly opened bookstore, specializing in used and rare books. They’d spent almost two hours searching the shelves and talking about books before they’d gone back to the hotel to have sex.

And today they were going to ice skate. Something Lori had always wanted to do.

Now she wasn’t sure why.

She was horrible at it. She knew how to roller-skate and she’d done some roller-blading in college. Somehow, she assumed that experience would help her on the ice.

It didn’t. She wobbled around, clinging to the wall or to Ander’s arm and falling down so many times it was mortifying. Six-year-old kids were skating better than she was. And Ander, damn him, had to be the most patient, considerate teacher imaginable.

She would feel better if he would just laugh at her.

Lori hadn’t said a word to him about knowing who he really was. She felt kind of guilty about snooping into his personal life—when he’d been so clear with her before about his vigilance over his privacy. Plus, she wasn’t sure what to say. He obviously had reason to keep his identity secret, and he’d probably be mad if she blurted out that she now knew the truth.

She told herself it didn’t matter. He was still the same Ander she’d known for the last six months.

But it did matter. It made him feel even more like a whole person. A person with a traumatic, conflicted history and a father whom the papers and news shows constantly characterized as heartless and money-hungry. A man who never hesitated to wipe out anyone who happened to be in the way of what he wanted.

Had Lori met Ander as Ander Milton, she probably would have been immediately suspicious and taken him for a spoiled, selfish playboy. But she knew Ander now. Knew he’d probably been one of his father’s most damaged victims.

Knowing who Ander’s father was made her feel weird and awkward in a way she hadn’t expected.

The change in their routine helped, and pushing her knowledge of Ander’s identity from her consciousness helped some too. But a tiny, stifled part of Lori’s mind kept hinting that she wasn’t going to be able to shuffle through this emotional balancing act for very long.

Determined to enjoy herself as much as she could for as long as she could, Lori tried to skate another lap around the rink. She did a little better this time. Her ankles wobbled a bit but she held herself upright and made it several yards before she felt herself lose her balance.

She reached out to clutch at Ander, who was skating slowly beside her and trying to give her some pointers.

Ander came to a neat stop in time to catch her. She whimpered in frustration and buried her face in his shirt for a moment. Then she looked up at him and gritted out, “Damn it!”

Ander’s lips twitched just a little. “You’re doing fine.”

“No I’m not. Everyone is doing better than me. I’m usually good at things. This is ridiculous.”

His arms loosely draped around her waist, Ander’s eyes were momentarily so warm they took her breath away. Then he said with his typical cool composure, “You’re too uptight now. It’s making you clumsier than normal.”

Lori gasped indignantly. “Clumsy!”

“Just a little,” he qualified, with another twitch of his mouth. “Try to relax and have fun with it. You’re in good shape and you’re coordinated. You’ll do just fine if you relax a little.”

She’d never dare to admit it, but a lot of Lori’s tension was caused by something other than the new skill she was trying to learn. Being with Ander now made her feel kind of jittery. Tense and confused. Part of it had to do with the knowledge of his identity.

And the rest of it was caused by intense feelings Lori was too afraid to explore too deeply.

To cover her nerves, she glared up at him. “If you dare tell me I need to breathe ...”

Ander let out a brief burst of laughter, and Lori felt a little wave of delight at having amused him that way. It was always like this for her now, swinging from one emotional extreme to another.

But then Ander gave her a thoughtful look. “Actually, that might not be a bad idea.” Before Lori could do more than huff, he continued, “Think about breathing the way you did the first few times we were together.”

She stared at him suspiciously.

“Just do it,” he said with an ironic smile. “Trust me.”

As incongruous as it sounded, she did trust him. So, with a last roll of her eyes, she began to breathe slowly and evenly.

After a minute, Ander nudged her forward. “Let’s go. And move your legs with your breathing.”

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, and it really shouldn’t have worked.

But it did.

Ander had to help her coordinate her motion at first, but Lori soon got the hang of it. Breathe and slide. Breathe and slide.

She made it halfway around the rink before she started to wobble. And then she didn’t even fall. After a while, she could make it around the entire rink by herself. And soon she could actually enjoy it.

They skated for a little more than an hour, but then the rink started getting more crowded. It was a Friday night and this was apparently a favorite spot for high school dates. Lori could feel her cheeks were bright red from effort and activity, and her legs were getting a little tired.

So when Ander suggested just one more circle around the rink before they left, she was in full agreement.

She was delighted with herself when she made it the whole way without even a wobble. She clung to Ander’s hand and decided she understood why she’d always dreamed ice-skating would be such a fun and romantic activity.

Lori was brimming over with victory at her accomplishment and with giddy excitement as they finally came to a stop and stepped off the ice.

She took off her skates, grinning to herself and thinking how much fun she would have had skating with her best friend and crush from high school. She kind of felt like a teenager again right now, so she could only imagine how she would have felt back then.

“Have fun?” Ander asked, straightening up after he slid on his shoes. His face was relaxed and she could have sworn he was having a good time too. Surely he wasn’t just pretending for her benefit.

Lori stood up and beamed up into his face. “Yes.”

He looked so adorable in his dusky purple shirt, with slightly flushed cheeks and soft eyes and mouth that she wanted to hug him.

Then she couldn’t think of a reason not to.

Without letting herself question the action, she wrapped her arms around him, pressed her body against his, and squeezed him tightly. “It was wonderful! Thank you for taking me.”

She felt Ander stiffen in her arms for just a moment, before he relaxed and hugged her back.

She supposed she must have surprised him. It should be pretty obvious that hugging one’s gigolo out of pure joie de vivre wasn’t a normal activity.

But he returned her embrace soon enough and warmly enough to keep her from getting too self-conscious. He smelled wonderful and Lori breathed him in as she squeezed him.

When she pulled back, she caught a flicker in his eyes of a feeling she couldn’t quite name. Her mouth parted in surprise as she gazed up at him, trying to catch a glimpse of it again.

His mouth quirked up with a familiar, dry humor. “Someone really should have taken you ice-skating before now.”

Lori snorted. “Yeah. Tell me about it. But they wouldn’t have been such a good teacher as you.” She slanted him a quizzical look. “Do you have to be good at everything?”

Ander just chuckled as they began to leave the rink. He suggested a little Italian place just a few blocks down for dinner—remarking it was one of his favorites—and Lori agreed. It was a mild evening and Lori enjoyed the walk and was genuinely interested in the story Ander told her about the architect who designed the building on the corner.

She was evidently too relaxed, however, because she randomly spoke what was on her mind. Rarely a good idea.

“You know, Ander, sometimes it’s a little unnerving to be around you. I mean, you’re so good at everything. You know everything.”

Ander gave her a sideways look. “I told you the other day that I only knew about Asian fans because I did my homework.”

Lori couldn’t help but laugh. “I know. But, seriously, you’re amazingly knowledgeable and competent. I generally think I’m a smart, talented person. But I sometimes feel like an inexperienced ignoramus when I’m around you.”

Her tone had been light but Ander came to a stop on the sidewalk, causing the couple behind them to veer widely around them with a muttered grumble. “Lori, that’s absurd.”

“I know.” She felt shy and kind of squirmy for some reason. “I’m not saying it’s something I believe. I just feel that way sometimes. And sometimes I wish...I wish you didn't always have to be the teacher. I wish there was something I could teach you.”

Her voice faded off on the last words, as she was mostly speaking to herself. She stared at the concrete and processed what she’d just said.

But Ander suddenly grew tense and he moved a hand to her face, lifting it so she was looking into his eyes. “Lori,” he said, his voice unexpectedly thick. “Do you have any idea what you’ve taught me?”

Lori’s mouth fell open again. “What?” she breathed, her pulse starting to pound frantically.

For just a moment, she thought she would drown in his eyes. They looked more gray than blue in the lowering light and they held such depth she couldn’t begin to understand them.

Then his mouth quirked up with a dry humor she recognized. She usually loved his sense of humor but the sight of it now made her want to scream—since it meant his mood had shifted from the delicious tension of a moment ago.

Ander murmured something that might have been the truth, but was obviously not what he’d originally intended. “You’ve taught me how to research Asian fans.”

***

As they walked the last two blocks to the restaurant, Lori’s high spirits returned with the quicksilver variability that seemed to define her time spent with Ander over the last few weeks.

She was actually giggling as they walked into the small, candle-lit restaurant. The air smelled like garlic and delightful music played in the background. A genial Mediterranean-looking man greeted Ander by name and turned to Lori with a blinking smile that looked vaguely surprised.

Lori loved the place immediately.

There weren’t very many tables and evidently all of them were taken. The host was extremely apologetic and offered them a complimentary drink while they waited a few minutes for one of the tables to vacate.

Not used to such treatment by a restaurant host unless she tossed around the name Lucy Anderson, Lori leaned toward Ander as they stood near the wall in the pleasant entryway. “What have you done to earn such treatment?” she murmured, foolishly enjoying the sense of having him so close to her in such a public place.

Ander smiled, his eyes lingering on her face in a way that made her shiver in delight. “I come here a lot.”

When the host brushed by her on his way to scout out table availability, Lori swayed even closer to Ander, instinctively putting one hand out to curve gently around his side, just under his ribs. “Do you live around here?”

She had no idea where he lived and she was dying to know what his home was like. But she asked the question absently, without any underhanded motive to pry.

“Not far.” Ander didn’t look particularly closed off, although his answer wasn’t at all forthcoming. He didn’t pull away from her. In fact, he shifted a little, leaning against the wall and somehow moving even closer to her.

Their hips, chests, and arms brushed against each other, and Lori still hadn’t removed her hand from his side.

She liked the way he was looking at her. She liked the way his body felt beneath her palm—the warm, firm flesh she felt beneath his shirt not sexual as much as intimate.

And she realized that this was something she was missing—the feel of being with a man in public, having everyone around them know they were together. She was paying Ander for his time and attention this evening, but everyone who saw them must assume they were a couple.

It felt like they were together. And that tiny, nagging, inner voice that always insisted on spoiling Lori’s simple fun kept telling her she was treading very dangerous water here.

She wasn’t entirely a fool. And she was very afraid she was becoming one of those silly, desperate women who started to believe in a fantasy. Who convinced themselves that what they had with Ander was real.

She was relieved when the host came back over and brought them their drinks. Lori sipped her red wine and watched, strangely fascinated, as Ander took a swallow of his scotch.

“Sorry about the wait,” Ander murmured, adjusting so his arm was around her and she was leaning against the wall with him. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”

“This is great,” she said, telling herself she would enjoy this evening and tomorrow she would sort through a few unsettling recognitions that she just couldn’t shake.

She leaned her head against Ander’s shoulder and took another sip of her wine. She saw the host talking to a waitress. They were obviously preparing a table for them. When the host glanced over toward Ander and Lori, he smiled with an unexpected fondness in his gaze.

He looked almost like a proud papa, and Lori vaguely wondered what had prompted the look.

She slanted her eyes up to Ander and surprised another unsettling expression on his face. He gazed down at her with soft eyes, and for a moment she lost her breath.

Then she remembered the way he’d looked at Sarah Jacoby. The way he probably looked at all of his clients.

That was his job. Make them feel special. Act like a besotted, romantic escort.

She ducked her head abruptly and told herself not to picture him with anyone else. But she kept seeing Ander with Sarah. Flirting with her. Seducing her. Kissing her. Having sex with her. Fucking her with pulsing intensity and hot, hungry eyes.

Exactly like he did with Lori.

“What’s the matter?” Ander asked, tilting her head up so he could scan her face.

She shook her head and let out a breath of rueful laughter, since the only other choice was to cry.

“Lori?” he prompted, leaning his head down and frowning. She couldn’t tell if he was concerned or annoyed, and she wasn’t sure which she’d prefer.

Lori took a slow sip of wine and tried to hide her face with the rim of the glass. Then she smiled at him, just a little shaky. “Looks like they’ve got our table ready.”

To Lori’s relief, they did. The host hurried back, gestured them over to a cozy table in the far corner of the restaurant, and took their drinks to carry over himself.

Ander put his hand on the small of Lori’s back as they walked, and the gesture felt supportive and protective.

She liked it. Way too much.

They were halfway through the restaurant when she felt Ander stiffen dramatically beside her. He didn’t really move, didn’t make a sound. But she felt it—as sure as if she’d tensed up herself.

Looking over at him quickly, she felt her heart drop when she saw a frozen expression on his face. His features were stoic. Completely blank. And so immovable they terrified her.

She followed his fixed gaze over to the other side of the restaurant, where a couple was seated over half-finished pasta and a nearly empty bottle of wine. The woman was beautiful—slender, elegant, red-haired, and probably in her mid-thirties.

The man was much older, with long limbs and a contained appearance that spoke of a lifetime of power and strategy. He had a craggy face that was oddly mesmerizing. And a distinctive mane of thick, longish, graying hair.

Lori knew who it was, and she knew why Ander had become a stony statue beside her.

Peter Milton’s knowing eyes scanned the restaurant casually. He couldn’t have failed to see his son standing half a room away. From his vantage point, he may have even seen Ander and Lori as soon as they’d entered. Certainly when they’d been standing in intimate proximity and waiting for their table.

But Peter’s eyes passed over Ander, as if his son didn’t exist in the world.

Lori gasped from a sharp wrench of pain at the obvious slight. Ander hadn’t moved, and his complete lack of reaction was perhaps the scariest thing of all.

She grabbed his arm, pressing up against his side with a protective instinct she couldn’t possibly control. As she moved, Ander’s hand dropped from the small of her back to hang limply at his side.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Lori said, trying to keep her voice natural and utterly failing. “I’m not sure I feel like Italian after all.”

It was an implausible excuse, but it was all that she could think of. And she couldn’t help thinking the most important thing in the universe was getting Ander out of this restaurant.

Ander’s eyes turned to stare at her blankly, but she was sure he couldn’t really see her. “What do you mean?” He was better than she was at composing his voice, but his eyes were so empty they broke her heart.

Lori shot a nervous glance back over at Peter, who was looking once more at his companion but smiling smugly in a way that she knew was meant for Ander.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she said again, her voice gentle and her hands clinging to Ander’s sides as if she could somehow hold him together.

Ander swallowed and his face cleared, all of the leashed angst falling smoothly behind the polished surface she now knew he used to hide himself from the world. “I don’t want to go somewhere else. We’re going to eat here.”

Leaving would be a defeat. Would be a surrender. And that was something Ander would never do when confronted with his father.

Lori was awed by the strength of his will that had allowed him to overcome his shock so quickly, but she also wanted to cry for him. And she knew the longer Ander was in his father’s presence, the more painful it would be for him.

She had no choice, though. Ander wasn’t about to back down. So she walked with him over to their table, keeping her hand on his arm.

Just before they sat down, something finally must have processed in Ander’s brain. With a sharp breath, he turned on his heel and grabbed her shoulders with strong, unyielding hands.

Lori was slammed with a wave of terror as she stared up into his angry face.

Ander tightened his fingers on her shoulders and gritted out in a voice she’d never heard from him before, “You know.”

Lori gulped. Ander’s hands on her shoulders were painful and her breath came out in frantic, little pants. But she managed to pull herself together enough to respond. “Yes. I know who you are. I’m sorry.”

Something raw twisted on his face. She’d never seen him angry before, but he clearly was now. “You’ve known all along?”

“No!” Her voice was shriller than she’d expected, so she tempered it as she continued in an earnest rush, “I only just found out. I had no idea before. I swear. A couple of weeks ago, I got curious and wanted to know more about you. So I dug back through some old newspapers and figured it out. I wasn’t sure how to tell you. I know you didn’t want me to pry into your personal life. I can understand why you're mad. I’m sorry. I really am.”

She didn’t want Ander to be mad at her. But that wasn’t the reason for her sudden surge of desperation. For a moment, he looked almost betrayed. Like she’d betrayed him. And she couldn’t bear for that to be true.

Some of the tension eased on Ander’s face, although his eyes were hard and wary. “And what were you going to do with this information?”

“Nothing!” Instinctively, Lori reached out to grab onto Ander’s shirt and cling. “I would never do anything to hurt you. How can you even think that?”

Ander let out a breath, the anger fading on his face and leaving nothing but bitter exhaustion. Then, as if he were suddenly aware of how fiercely he was gripping her, he released her shoulders abruptly and dropped his hands. “It’s not a big deal.”

She’d almost started to relax but then her breath caught sharply at his resigned words. “It is a big deal. I mean, you deserve an apology from me. And we can talk about it more. But I don’t think this is the best time or place for the discussion.” She darted a look over at Peter Milton, whose eyes had glanced idly past where Lori and Ander were standing in front of their table, having a private conversation in public.

“You’re right,” Ander murmured, pulling out Lori’s seat for her. “Let’s sit down and move on.”

Neither one of them would really move on. Lori was relieved that Ander had, at least for the moment, let go of his anger and resentment toward her. But she was afraid about how this turn of events would affect their relationship in the future.

It might change everything.

Everything might already have changed.

And Ander’s father—a man who, by all accounts, lacked the sense of humanity that tempered most other people’s behavior—was still seated on the other side of the restaurant, chatting smoothly with his red-haired companion.

Ander, of course, had taken the seat where he would be in direct view of his father. He wouldn’t even retreat a small step for self-preservation and sit with his back to his father’s table. His features were composed now, and his hands and shoulders relaxed as he dropped his napkin on his lap and sipped his scotch.

But Lori wasn’t fooled for an instant. Ander was practically shuddering with an angst that was brutally leashed. She could see it in the slight sheen on his forehead. In the tightening of his lips. In the stony blankness of his eyes.

They faked their way through casual conversation, gave their orders, and accepted a second drink from their obviously concerned host. And Lori grew more and more stressed as dinner progressed. Ander’s hidden tension grew increasingly urgent—she sensed it even without visible signs—and soon she was afraid he would simply implode as he sat across from her at the table.

Peter and his companion ordered and then finished dessert. But they still wouldn’t get up and leave. Lori didn’t have to look behind her to be aware of Peter’s continued, silently taunting presence in the room. All she had to do was look at Ander’s empty face.

Their food arrived, which was a relief to Lori. She planned to gobble down her pasta and get them out of there as soon as she could. The food was delicious but she wasn’t very hungry, so swallowing each bite was a challenge.

When she saw Ander’s shoulders stiffen, she knew something was going to happen. A slight turn of her head revealed what.

Peter’s companion must have gone to the restroom as they got up to leave. And Peter himself, elegant and sophisticated in a pale gray suit, was even now approaching their table.

Lori’s mouth fell open in pained shock. Her pulse pounded frantically in her chest, her head and her fingertips. Peter Milton had disowned his own son. Surely he wasn't now going to make a scene by twisting the knife in the wound.

Ander stood up, clearly so that his father couldn’t look down on him.

Peter’s lips curled up in an arrogant, satisfied smiled. “Ander,” he said, “Working, I see.” His cold hazel eyes cut over to Lori, dismissed her with no more than a flicker of his eyelashes. “I’ll admit to being surprised by the altered nature of your clientele. I’d understood you drew clients from the highest ranks of taste, intelligence, and social standing.”

Lori blinked in surprise. She would have assumed that Peter’s first verbal thrust would be a deep one, an attempt to strike Ander where he was most vulnerable. Instead, he’d insulted her, which—while annoying—wouldn't result in lasting damage.

She couldn’t believe a man as practiced in business and political strategy as Peter would have misfired. But she didn’t at all understand his aim.

Evidently, the blow hit home. Ander’s spine stiffened and his lips went momentarily white. “Did you have a purpose for coming to speak to me?”

“You aren’t going to introduce me to your companion?” Peter emphasized the last word, making it sound somehow dirty and demeaning.

“No,” Ander said, his voice as smoothly venomous as his father’s. “And I'm sure you'll understand, since obviously you felt compelled to hide yours. Not surprising, considering.”

It must have been a shot in the dark—unless Ander knew something about Peter’s date that evening—but it worked. For the first time, a flash of cold anger flashed across Peter’s craggy face.

Lori should have known to expect Peter to parry unmercifully, without hesitation or a sense of fair play. He turned away from Ander with cruel indifference and held out a hand to Lori. “Peter Milton,” he murmured, “Have you been Ander’s client for long? He was always the kind of boy who liked to play make-believe. I always hoped he’d grow up to be a man. But alas...”

His superficially mild tone cracked through Lori like a whip. His words physically hurt her—mostly because she knew how deeply they would pierce the tender, sensitive core of Ander’s nature.

Responding automatically, without any thought to wisdom or strategy, she reached up and took Peter’s hand. It was cool and dry. Not anything like Ander’s always warm clasp.

She used the leverage his hand offered her to pull herself up to her feet. With a bright smile and intentional innocence, she said, “I’ve never heard anyone use ‘alas’ in casual conversation before.”

Lori had held onto her wine as she stood. As she stepped forward, she tilted the glass.

Slopped a nearly full glass full of red wine all over the front of Peter’s cool, pale suit.

***

Lori knew the wine thing was petty and a little childish, but she greatly enjoyed it, and it accomplished what she needed.

Peter was clearly startled and perturbed by the deluge of dark red wine. He didn’t linger among the amused onlookers, and he made no more verbal assaults on his son.

Once Peter left the restaurant, Ander and Lori could return to their meals. Ander was still tense, still pulsing with leashed angst, but he no longer appeared on the verge of implosion.

They left the restaurant twenty minutes later. Lori felt shaky and emotional, and she silently fell in step with Ander. She had no idea where they were going, but Ander started walking, clearly absorbed in his own thoughts.

They walked several blocks until he came to a stop in front of a historic stone building with clean lines and large windows.

He blinked as he stared at an unmarked door that clearly led upstairs. “What am I doing here?” he muttered, as if he had just become aware of his surroundings.

“I don’t know,” Lori said, feeling nervous and confused. “You were just walking so I walked with you. Is this your place?”

“Yeah.” Ander cleared his throat and gave his head a little shake. “Sorry. I was out of it. We were going back to the hotel, weren’t we?”

Lori reached out to take his arm in concern. He looked shaken, exhausted, and more battered than she’d ever seen him. She had no idea the kind of emotional turmoil he’d suffered this evening, but the feeling she sensed from him was wrenching.

Ander was hiding it well, but he looked traumatized. And Lori would be damned if she made it any worse.

“Ander, why don’t you just go home? We don’t need to go back to the hotel tonight.”

Rubbing his eyes, Ander made another obvious effort to pull himself together. He glanced at his watch. “It’s just ten.”

“I don’t care. Really. I know that wasn’t any fun for you.” She used the understatement on purpose, intuitively knowing he would be uncomfortable if she made a big deal about what had happened. “You look tired. Go on up. I’ll get a cab home.”

Ander shook his head. “No. I’m fine.”

“I mean it,” Lori insisted. “I’d feel like a heartless monster if I made you fuck me tonight.”

“You don’t make me—”

“You know what I mean. I want...I want to help you.”

He stared at an empty spot in the air, his breathing fast and uneven. He looked like he was shuddering again, just under the surface of his composure, and the tension was so brutal she feared he would shatter.

“Ander?” she asked softly, stroking her hand up to cup his face. “Are you all right?”

For a moment, he seemed to lean into her palm. Then he jerked his head away. He still hadn’t met her eyes. “I’m fine.”

Lori’s growing concern intensified until a lump formed in her throat. Ander was on the verge of breaking, and she had no idea what she could do to help. A wave of aching tenderness overwhelmed her. She wished she could cradle him. Hold him in her arms.

“I don’t think you are.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “Ander, what can I do? What do you need?”

“I’m fine.” She noticed his hands had started to shake. But then he clenched them into fists at his sides.

“You’re not,” she choked, “You’re not! Tell me the truth. Tell me what you want. Do you want to be alone? Do you want me to hang out with you for a while? We can go to the hotel. Or somewhere else. Anything, Ander. Just tell me what you want.”

Her hoarse, impassioned entreaties must have finally gotten through to him. At last, he looked up at her slowly, as if his eyes were too heavy to lift. A muscle flickered in his temple and his lips were dead white. “I want ...” He cleared his throat, but his words were still thick and reluctant. “Stay with me tonight.”

***

They went up to Ander’s loft apartment.

Lori had never expected him to take her home with him. Obviously, his apartment was his private sanctum with boundaries clients were never allowed to cross.

But he wanted her company tonight. Without speaking, he just unlocked the street-front door and ascended the stairs to his loft. So Lori went with him.

His apartment wasn’t anything like she’d imagined. It wasn’t sleek and cool, with minimalist contemporary furnishings, abstract modern art, and hard edges. The loft was wide-open and well-lit, with high ceilings, huge windows, exposed ductwork, and aged wood floors. He’d furnished it with fine old pieces that looked to be antique. But they weren’t delicate, curlicued and ornate. The lines of the tables, chairs, and chests were strong and solid, with stark silhouettes and history embedded in every detail. He had Asian rugs on the floor, oil paintings on the walls, and books piled everywhere.

Lori loved it immediately. She realized the place looked more like Ander—the real Ander and not the slick image he maintained—than her original expectations.

She was too upset and worried about him to indulge her natural curiosity and peer into every corner. She stood in the middle of the floor and waited as he pulled a bottle of Merlot from his full wine rack, opened it, and poured out two glasses.

He carried the wine over the low sofa and he gestured for her to sit down. Then he set the glasses and bottle on the coffee table and went over to turn on some classical music.

They both sat and sipped their wine in silence. Lori had no idea what to say, no idea what to do. She wanted so much to help and comfort Ander, but she felt powerless, incapable, so young.

He sat and brooded, finishing two glasses of wine and starting on the third before he shifted his eyes to rest on her face.

Lori swallowed. “Is there anything I can do?” she asked, a little threadily.

He shook his head slightly and just stared. “I’m sorry you had to see that. With my father.”

The lump that had been lodged in her throat since down on the sidewalk threatened to strangle her at the sight of his pained acquiescence, at his bone-deep belief that he wasn't worth caring about. “I don’t care about me,” she said, leaning toward him in her urgency. Her face twisted as she tried to control her emotions. “Ander, are you all right? Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Then he softened the curt word and shuttered expression with a hoarse, “Thank you.”

“Okay.”

She had no idea what to do. She wanted to pull him into her arms, comfort him with her body, but she feared he would jerk away from her touch. His defenses were high, and she was just his client. Nothing in their relationship gave her the privilege of consoling him in that way.

So she just sat in silence and let the rich wine slide down her throat, the piano concerto waft over them.

After several long minutes, Ander bit out, “I hate him.” He was staring at the floor now, obviously seeing his father’s face.

“I know. You have every reason to. I hate him too.” Lori only knew Peter Milton by reputation. It didn’t matter. She hated the man more than she could remember hating anyone. “For you.”

This caused Ander to flick his eyes back over to her. Their gazes held for far too long—his was anguished, absolutely heart-breaking. Then he whispered, “I can never seem to hate him enough.”

A little sob lodged in Lori’s throat as she processed the implications of his words. He couldn’t hate his father completely. Despite everything. Part of him still wanted his father's love.

With a strangled sound, Lori put down her wine and scooted over toward him on the couch. She couldn’t hold back anymore. She wrapped her arms around him. Held him. Wished her touch had the power to heal.

Ander made a muffled grunt—like he'd unintentionally let something go—and then adjusted on the sofa to pull Lori into his lap, holding her as tightly as she was him.

They sat that way for a long time, their arms gripping tightly and Lori draped across his lap with her face buried against his shoulder. Her emotions built too high, spilled out involuntarily from her eyes. She wept silently for a minute, aching for him and aching for her inability to change things.

Ander’s body was as hot and hard as ever. He smelled of effort and intensity—a familiar scent that spoke to Lori deeply. His arms tightened around her with a naked strength that threatened to crack her ribs. She didn’t care. She loved it. And she hugged him back just as desperately.

After a long time, he finally started to shift beneath her. His face had been pressed against her neck and her hair, but he lifted it and loosened his arms.

Reluctantly, Lori pulled back, peering up at him with trembling lips and stinging eyes.

Something about the haunted emptiness of his gaze changed as he saw her face. He lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips along one of her cheeks. Then stared down at the moisture from her tears on his skin.

“Are these for me?” he breathed, sounding either astonished or awed.

She choked back another little sob at his inability to believe that she would care enough for him to cry. “Ander,” she pleaded, taking his face in both of her shaky hands. “Please let me help.”

With a guttural sound, he tightened his arms around her again, but this time he found her lips in a desperate, hungry kiss.

Lori felt just as desperate, just as hungry, and she returned the kiss with equal ardor. She kept his face in her hands as she opened to the urgent advance of his tongue, and she moaned into his mouth as his hands started to trace over her body.

His mouth and his touch weren't skillful and considerate, as they had always been before. His caresses were fumbling, almost clumsy, and his kiss was openly needy. But, if possible, Lori’s body responded even more quickly. His greedy hands on her breasts, her hips, her thighs teased her into an aching arousal. And she was afraid she would drown in the kiss. Finally she had to free her lips so she could gasp desperately against his neck.

She discovered her own hands were just as clutching as his, gripping at his head and trying to feel every inch of its smooth surface. The texture beneath her fingertips was overwhelming, and the coiled tension in Ander’s body was so different than she’d ever felt before. The tension wasn’t just arousal. Wasn’t lust or impatience.

It was emotion. He couldn’t express it in words, but she could feel it pulsing through him. And it thrilled and terrified her both.

Ander pushed her backward enough to give his lips access to her chest. He hungrily mouthed his way down to her breasts and suckled through the fabric of her top.

Lori let her head fall back and moaned helplessly, as her need built up even higher.

On the verge of losing control, Lori pushed him away and then grabbed his head again to capture his mouth in another kiss. This time, they both moaned deep in their throats as they groped and frantically rubbed their bodies against each other.

“Ander,” Lori gasped at last, afraid that Ander or her own need for him would completely devour her. “Do you want to go to bed?”

One of Ander’s hands had pushed in between her thighs and was cupping her groin through her pants. “Oh, fuck, Lori,” he gritted out as she ground herself against his hand.

“Ander?” She clawed at the back of his neck but tried to rein in her desires so she could be there in any way Ander needed.

“Lori,” Ander rasped, staring into her eyes for a moment with such naked longing she couldn’t breathe. Then he claimed her lips again with a low groan.

She whimpered as his kiss grew deeper and more ravenous. When a flare of terror shot through her, she broke away. Momentarily, she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to deal with the depth and intensity of Ander’s need.

Losing her lips, he buried his face in her hair. She heard him inhaling deeply. Like he was smelling her hair. Smelling her.

The sound dispelled the surge of fear and she took his face in her hands one more time. “Ander, do you want to go to bed?”

She was so used to his always asking her what she wanted, letting her guide all the decision-making, that this new dynamic was hard to process. But she waited as Ander managed to compose himself enough to answer.

He said gruffly, “Yes. I do.”

Before Lori could reply, Ander adjusted her body, heaved himself up, and then lifted her up into his arms. She clung to his neck, startled and unsteady and a little exhilarated.

He carried her to his bed, laid her down, and immediately moved over her, parting her legs to give himself space and lowering his face for another kiss.

She clung to him, wrapping her legs around his hips and holding onto him as tightly as she could. They kissed frantically for a couple of minutes. Then Ander started to pull off Lori’s clothes.

He didn’t waste time with foreplay or delicacy. He bunched up her shirt and swiftly maneuvered it over her head. Then he yanked on her pants and panties. He fumbled with her bra until he managed to yank it off.

She’d never seen him this uncontrolled. This lacking in skill and consideration. It did nothing to diminish her desire for him, however. Instead, it further fed her own need.

She clawed at his clothes, futilely trying to undress him as he worked on hers. When she was naked, Ander helped Lori with his buttons and belt and zipper. Together, they pushed off his shirt, trousers, and boxers—tossing them sloppily onto the floor with Lori’s clothes.

Ander was fully erect, and Lori reached out greedily to squeeze him with both hands. He grunted and jerked his hips against her touch.

While she fondled his cock, he slid his hand between her thighs and penetrated her with two fingers. Her passage was wet and aching and it fluttered a little around Ander’s fingers. Lori moaned with embarrassing abandon.

Something in Ander’s eyes ignited, even as his body remained coiled with that same agonizingly leashed tension. He pushed her thighs apart and situated his hips between them. Lori waited in breathless anticipation while he aligned his cock at her entrance.

He’d actually begun to penetrate her when he jerked his pelvis back with a strangled sound. “Fuck! Condom.”

Lori couldn’t believe she had almost forgotten. Couldn’t believe Ander had forgotten.

Ander held himself perfectly still and took a few agonized breaths. Seeing his condition, Lori rolled out from under him. “I’ll get them. Are they in the nightstand?”

“No. My case.” Sweating and with a slightly glazed expression, Ander gestured toward the familiar leather case that was set on the floor near the closet.

Vaguely surprised that he didn’t keep condoms in the drawer of his nightstand, Lori scrambled off the bed and ran over to grab a few foil packets out of his case.

When she returned to the bed, Ander was still holding himself with rigid control. So she opened the condom and reached over to stroke his hard cock. He sucked in his breath as her fingers brushed against his distended flesh. Then she carefully rolled the condom down over his length.

Ander released another groan as he settled himself once more between her legs. This time, he didn’t hesitate. Just lined up his cock and slid himself home with a long thrust.

Lori cried out and arched up at the sudden, thick penetration. He felt so good, so full, so deep that she whimpered and wrapped her legs around his hips, trying twice to hook her ankles to keep her clasp on him secure.

Ander eased his arms under her shoulders, holding her in an embrace as his mouth found hers once more. Their kiss was deep and sloppy as Ander began to pump his hips.

Lori squeezed him with her arms, her legs, and her pussy. Held him as tightly as she could. Couldn’t keep herself quiet as emotion, pleasure, and exquisite tension built up inside her—so hopelessly tangled together she would never be able to sort them out.

Ander kept trying to kiss her, but his intensifying thrusting kept tearing their lips apart. He grunted, much louder and more primitively than usual. Each time he drove into her, bumping their groins together, he released another rough, guttural sound.

The sound of his lack of control pushed Lori’s pleasure even higher. The sensations from their urgent rocking bodies, his cock rubbing roughly against her inner walls, and his greedy mouth and tongue moving against hers all collected into a deep pressure at her center.

She was close to orgasm. And with every push of Ander’s tight body, shaking the bed and her with it, she got closer and closer.

His heat, his need, and his tension overwhelmed her, blurring her vision and throbbing through her veins. She’d never seen him like this. Never felt him like this.

Never felt like this in her life.

She arched her spine as her pleasure started to crest. Instead of closing all the way, her eyes flew open on a taken breath.

And, in that rawest moment, she saw everything in Ander’s eyes. Heat and need and helplessness and rage and desire and loss and primitive power. All of it, there, in his eyes.

And she knew—she knew—he needed this even more than she did. She knew that this was his only channel, his only outlet, his only lifeline against the desperate turmoil of his pain. He wasn’t just finding pleasure or escape in her body. He was finding something lost in himself.

She came on that knowledge, crying out helplessly from the shattering edge of her pleasure, of her need and his.

Ander choked, “Oh fuck! Oh Lori!” as his hips jerked hard against her. In the blurred aftermath of her release, Lori was conscious of Ander’s face twisting in a losing battle for control.

Then he cried out too, roughly and right in her ear, as he pushed through the last of his leashed tension.

She’d never heard him so loud, so completely out of control. She didn’t think he said anything in that loud exclamation. But he did the moment afterwards, as his whole body pulsed with his coming and his hips twisted wantonly, grinding his groin against hers. She heard the rasp of his voice, soft and too low to distinguish. She felt his breath against her ear but didn’t hear the words as he spoke them with the crash of his climax.

It was only a moment’s frustration as her body began to soften beneath his. She clung to him, just as tightly as before, already hating the moment when he’d pull out of her.

He didn’t move immediately. His head tilted down so he could press kisses against her throat. Lori arched into them, arched into the hot, damp press of his weight.

She knew their coupling tonight had been different than anything they’d shared before. She loved the feel of that difference, loved the way Ander had reached out to her in naked need.

But she didn’t know what it meant. Or even if she should pay him for tonight.

A flutter of fear awoke in her chest as she started to process the reality of her feelings and the hopeless trap in which she’d tangled herself by falling for the man she paid to fuck her.

“The condom,” she said hoarsely, pushing gently against his shoulders to get him to roll off.

Ander didn’t move immediately. He lay on top of her until he could no longer ignore her nudging. Then he held the condom in place and pulled his sated cock out of her with a groan. He was about to get up from the bed when Lori stopped him. “I’ll get it.”

She needed to get away from him for a minute, so she hurried into his bathroom. After throwing away the condom, she turned on the water in the sink. Washed her hands and then splashed water on her hot, red face.

She tried to breathe deeply as she stared at herself in the mirror, her heart churning with confusion and fear, reluctance and something akin to joy. A stranger with mussed hair, glowing cheeks, damp skin, and wild green eyes stared back at her.

She wanted to run away, to get away from the foreign intimacy of Ander’s apartment and go home to crawl under her own covers where it was safe. But Ander was waiting for her in bed. And he’d been emotionally ripped to shreds this evening. He’d said he wanted her to stay.

She couldn’t leave him alone.

So she steeled her courage and returned to the bed, where Ander was sprawled out, half under a sheet. His body was relaxed and his face looked warm and a little groggy. But his blue-gray eyes were knowing and observant as he watched her approach.

“It’s after twelve,” he said. “You can leave if you want.”

She wondered if part of him wanted her to leave. It didn’t matter. She knew that wasn’t what he needed. So she turned off the lights, crawled under the sheet beside him and pressed her body up against his. “I’m tired.”

With a long sigh, Ander wrapped an arm around her and adjusted her more comfortably at his side. “Me too.”

That was all they said. She rested her head on his chest and idly stroked his belly until her eyes drooped.

Ander wasn’t asleep. He was relaxed but still conscious. Even on the edge of sleep, she liked the way he held her, as if she were cherished, as if he wasn’t going to let her go.

She fell asleep that way, and she didn’t wake up until morning.

She was still snuggled up against Ander, her cheek hot from where it was pressed against Ander’s skin and her arms stiff from the awkward position they’d settled in. She felt cozy though. Protected. Utterly safe.

When her mind started to clear, she remembered what had happened the night before. She lifted her head and saw that Ander was asleep, his eyes closed, his features soft, and his breathing slow and even.

She watched him for a minute and was tempted to press a kiss against his mouth.

But it was morning now. The sun was streaming in through the windows. And she couldn’t hide in delusions or excuses anymore.

So she gently extricated herself from Ander’s embrace. Every time she drew away, he mumbled something and unconsciously tried to pull her back in place. She was flustered when she finally managed to get out of the big, antique bed.

She grabbed her clothes and ran into the bathroom. Stared at the wild-eyed, wild-haired stranger in the mirror again.

Lori Addison. Six months ago she’d been a virgin, and now she was crazy about her gigolo.

She’d been resisting the truth ever since she felt its presence—since it would mean that everything had to change— but she couldn’t pretend anymore.

For too long, she’d looked forward to her time with Ander, enjoying the pleasure, intimacy, companionship, and satisfaction while ignoring everything else.

But she’d taken willful ignorance as far as it would go.

She couldn’t be Ander’s client anymore.