She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty and the blushes that kept coloring her cheeks were pretty damn cute.

One thing was certain – she wasn't what I'd been expecting.

But then again, I wasn't sure what I'd been expecting. When a woman contacted me out of the blue about an article she wanted to do with Jake King, the King of Multiple Orgasms – shit, what a name – I'd been tempted to say no.

But I'd been tempted to say no to a lot of things in the past decade of my life, and I hadn't. All for one reason. If it could serve as a mean to an end, then I wasn't saying no.

And while I wasn't sure if somebody who wrote for a woman's magazine like Coterie was considered a reporter or a writer – was there a difference? – one thing was certain. Anybody who worked for an outfit that big would have connections. I'd spent my entire adult life cultivating any and every connection I could get.

Why stop now?

I'd been right though.

The woman who'd requested the interview was Gina Goddard, one of Coterie's top writers.

The woman sitting next to me had nervously given me her name – Michelle.

They were two different people. There was no doubt in my mind. Different styles, different approaches. I didn't even have to ask. Gina Goddard wasn't a woman who'd blush about asking a man how he'd gotten his start at fucking women for money.

The woman next to me with her pretty blushes and her uncertain glances was a different matter entirely. And those blushes were proving to be far more enticing than I'd imagined possible, and I wanted to see just how far down they went.

Finally figuring out the right way to approach all of that, I studied the interior of the tequila bar where we'd agreed to meet and decided that the ideal way to handle this – her – was to tell her we needed more privacy.

That plan got dashed to all hell less than five seconds after I hatched it.

The last thing I needed was to see a movie star come in.

No, the last thing I needed was to get intrigued by the cute little redhead conducting the interview. But that was what happened. And it had been followed by the second to the last thing I needed to happen – the entrance of a movie star followed by paparazzi.

Now I was stuck in this damn bar with a writer, paparazzi, and the problem of how to get out. I never should have agreed to this damn interview. Women didn't need to read articles on how to achieve multiple orgasms. They needed a really good vibrator, or better yet, a really good partner.

That's where I came in.

With the right dollar amount, I would give a woman as many orgasms as she wanted.

Sometimes, I didn't even need the dollars thrown in there.

I dated, had sex off the job. A busman's holiday, maybe. I didn't need to get paid to get off. It was just...what I did. It was what I was good at. And it was a means to an end.

Michelle wasn't exactly the sort of woman I would have sought out on my own, but having her dropped into my life was...well, who turned down such a sweet surprise?

Granted, there was nothing about sitting there with Michelle that was helping me accomplish that end I'd set for myself a long time ago, teasing and flirting with the sexy redhead who had actually come out in the freezing weather wearing a strapless dress under a coat that had almost convinced me she wasn't the woman I was looking for. Right up until she shrugged out of the coat to reveal that dress, and that body.

All those curves had been perched on a pair of fuck-me heels, done in a shade of blistering red – the high heels sans pantyhose and a pink miniskirt. It was possible there could be a woman wearing that same get-up but nobody else but the woman I needed to meet would be likely to be alone as she approached the seat my bartender buddy always kept open for me on the nights I told him I had a meet.

Now, here I was with a woman I wouldn't mind being alone with, but the one thing I didn't have time for was convincing her of that – not when the camera flashes were getting as consistent as lightning during a summer thunderstorm.

Michelle crossed her legs, murmuring something under her breath, and I was acutely aware of the way one shoe dangled off the tip of her toes.

I had to get the hell out of here, or I wouldn't care enough to do it later.

Buck, my faithful bartender sidekick, glanced my way and I gestured toward her glass, already knowing how much the wine would cost – and calculating how much of a tip I should leave to cover his trouble.

He glanced at Michelle, but gave a single nod.

I had the money out before he even reached me and took the pen from the little leather folder as he laid it on the counter.

Scrawling her a note, I left the bills, making sure I took the business card she'd fished out of her purse earlier.

I hadn't seen the last of Miz Michelle.

But I wasn't seeing her here.

That was for certain.

* * *

Back at my apartment, simple, sparse and spartan, I looked up Miz Michelle Nestor.

I had more interest in her rather than finding out why she'd been at the restaurant rather than Gina, but I did take a few minutes to research the popular writer from the women's magazine.

Her accident had actually made a couple of the local news outlets, so it was pretty easy to understand why she had somebody else filling in for her.

Finding out information about Michelle wasn't quite so easy.

She had a Facebook page, but it was locked down tight.

She had a LinkedIn page, but it was locked down even tighter.

No Twitter that I could see.

The only online presence that held any really hint of her was a brief online website for freelancers, and all I could see from that without having an account was a headshot and a few reviews and references.

"You're not making this easy are you, sweetheart?"

I studied the headshot, taking in the smile that was both polite and warm, but distant somehow. I didn't like it.

It wasn't really her.

"I guess I'm not going to find out much about you online, am I, sugar?" I touched a finger to the curve of her cheek and leaned back, head cocked as I continued to ponder her face.

Plucking the card from the pocket of my jeans, I eyed her email, then opened the email app on my laptop.

"I wonder if I can make you blush from just a message."

* * *

An hour later, I locked the door behind me, leaving the warmth of the apartment behind yet again. I had an appointment in Manhattan at a boutique hotel where anonymity was just as much a selling point as the lush, 1920s art-deco style rooms.

My client was waiting for me, lying in bed naked, sipping from a glass of wine and checking her email.

"Can't you take a night off, darlin'?" I asked.

She glanced at me. "I am. That's why I'm here...darling." She gave me a slow smile and dropped the phone on the nightstand before taking a sip of her wine, smiling at me over the rim as she swallowed.

Alicia was one of my favorite clients. I'd almost even call her a friend, if I allowed myself to have friends.

But friends weren't exactly something I liked to put my trust in. I'd done that before, and it had fucked me over good and proper. I wouldn't let myself get in that position again.

Still, I liked Alicia.

She was easy to talk with, easy to please, she was a good bed partner, and she paid well.

What wasn't to like?

"Are you in the mood for anything specific?" I asked, moving to the foot of the bed.

"Just you." She gave another smile and crooked her finger at me.

I approached, and she offered me her glass of wine. I put it on the table for her instead of drinking and bent down low, kissing her soft lips. She tasted of the chardonnay she'd been drinking, and I had a brief moment to wonder...how would the zinfandel Michelle had been drinking taste on her lips?

Then I jerked my attention back to the job.

Alicia moaned as I covered her body with mine, deliberately dragging my chest against her breasts so that the cotton of my sweater rubbed over her nipples.

"I changed my mind," she said against my lips. "I do want something specific. Hard and fast."

"As you wish."

I flipped her over onto her belly and brought her up onto her knees. As she braced herself on her palms, I pulled a rubber from my pocket – it would be the first of three we'd use, although I carried a couple extra just in case.

By the time she had herself steadied on her hands and knees, I had my cock sheathed in latex, and I grabbed her hips again, hauling her back and half lifting her slim form. I had another flash – rounder hips, because Michelle was a powerhouse of curves and lines, her pale flesh glowing like a pearl against my darker, rougher skin.

Groaning, I thrust deep.

Alicia cried out my name, and I forced myself to think, to focus. "Rough?" I asked.

"Please...yes. Hell, yes."

I caught the thick weight of her hair in my hand and made a rope of it, pulling her back until her spine arched as I rode her. "Come for me, you sexy little bitch," I said as I palmed her breast with my free hand, tweaking her nipple.

Alicia whimpered and pushed against me, butt and breast, and I shoved all thoughts of everything else from my mind.

After all, I had a reputation to uphold.