I spoke up at last. “Rick, this is very generous. What would your conditions be?”
He shrugged. “I like the idea of the house rules. You already have many of them in place. Can we talk about what else should be included?”
“With no judgement?”
He looked surprised I’d even think that. “Yes, with no judgement.”
“Rick? Just so you know. We didn’t help out just so we have a decent bed to fuck in,” I said bluntly.
He smiled. “And yes, I already know that.”
We agreed to the deal, of course. Spent a couple of hours making plans, getting a little drunk together, toasting the promise that December would bring. We were a team of different guys, but well-matched in this.
Arne walked me to the door when I left. “You’re coming back to the Haven?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “You’re pleased about all this?”
“Hell, yeah. I trust Rick, he’s a good guy. He loved Aunt Pop and he really cares about the hotel. It’s been great, working with him. Plus, he’s not only strong, he’s intelligent. Christ, it’s far from the usual business model, but he’ll make it work. And Dante?”
“Hm?”
“Thanks for sorting out the finance for him. Was that what you were hatching up with his friend Blake?”
Even the name made my heart race. “Yeah. More or less.”
Arne’s look grew shrewd. “Good looking man. He liked you.”
“What’s not to like?” I joked. But Arne knew me better than that.
“You liked him, too. Maybe he’ll be back to visit soon.”
“Whatever.” I was playing it cool, but really I wanted to ask Arne if he’d heard anything about Blake returning to the Haven. Wanted to ask Rick to invite him back.
Dammit, I wanted a lot of things in life, but they weren’t necessarily gonna happen, were they?
FIVE
But sometimes, wishes do come true. When Blake Marshall did return to the Haven, it was for me.
I went back to escorting the first week of December, because there was no luck with other employment. Basically, I could make a hell of a lot more money at the Haven, rather than commuting into the City every day, facing mindless, underpaid, temporary filing jobs when I knew I could add better value elsewhere in the organisation… but would never be considered. And I needed extra income. December was an expensive time, even though I’d been summarily dropped from my family’s Christmas card list. I had friends instead, but they liked to party. In the absence of salaried work, a few sessions at the Haven would set me up so I could pay my way.
That was important to me.
The hotel arrangement was working well, as far as I could see. The rooms were smarter, and the third floor had been opened up since the elevator was fixed. Rick had employed new, part-time cleaners, and Arne was back to working in the kitchen. He continued to use his desk diary as an appointments book, and monitored us like a benevolent matchmaker. The Haven didn’t advertise publicly—can you imagine what we’d say?—but we drew clients by word of mouth, and it had been a busy time. Other guys showed interest in escorting out of the hotel, but they had to be recommended by one or more of us. Everyone knew the rules.
Tonight, my booking hadn’t turned up, and I was moping around in the bar area, wondering if I could add another evening this week to make up for it. Then Arne called me to Reception.
Blake Marshall was standing there. My chest felt suddenly tight.
“Evening,” I said, proud of sounding as casual as if he’d been just another punter looking for a fake PA to fuck.
Blake turned in front of the desk to face me. He was beautifully dressed in a dark, single-breasted suit and crisp white shirt. A blue necktie complemented his eyes, and he oozed confidence and elegance. Then his gaze ran over me and his pupils dilated. He didn’t move nearer, but his hands curled into light fists by his sides.
“Good evening, Dante. I came to see Rick but, apparently, he’s out tonight. I should have called ahead, of course. I’ve been away and I’m catching up with friends now I’m back.”
“Yeah?” I stared him out for a long moment.
“Yes.” His smile was slow and knowing, those generous lips twisting with some mischief. “And that includes everyone at the Haven.”
Arne peered over Blake’s shoulder and winked at me. “By a stroke of luck, Dante might be free this evening.”
“Lucky for me,” Blake murmured softly, never taking his gaze from me.
Arne cleared his throat. “Dante. Are you available?” It was one of the rules that everything had to be consensual, by both parties.
“Sure.” I let my hand slide down to my hip, my palm curling as if preparing to cup my package, to display the goods on offer. Blake’s gaze followed the movement as closely as if I’d snared him with fishing line. “Blake? If you’d like to pay Arne…”
Blake needed to know the terms—that I was an escort, and this was business. I was in control. Why, then, did his smirk as he handed over his card make me feel anything but?
“Room 4,” I told Arne. We didn’t always use the same room—some of them had specific features that suited a particular kind of client—but it was my favourite, despite the way it had tried, only weeks ago, to knock out my brains. It was one of the smaller rooms, with a single armchair, a side table, and a reasonably efficient shower. There wasn’t space for anything else after the king-sized bed that was common to every room. But the windows overlooked the pavement out front, with a streetlight that shone in through the blinds and over the bed at night. I liked to lie in that strip of light, let it play over my skin, display what I had to offer. I’d listen to the occasional car passing outside, hear the chatter of people at the end of a hard day’s work or shopping, using the street as a cut through to the smarter, cleaner, richer side of London. I had no idea why the hotel was called the Haven—I hadn’t known its history before Aunt Pop—but to me, that’s what it was.
And now I had Blake Marshall to entertain.
“I’m glad you came back,” I said, as I locked the door of Room 4 behind us.
“To see Rick?” he teased, smiling, gaze bright.
“To see me.” And I rolled my eyes.
“Well, I felt we had unfinished business.”
“I felt that too.” I stood in front of him, loosening his necktie. It slid through my fingers. Good quality silk. I brushed the back of my knuckles across his chest, and his nipples hardened beneath the fabric.
He leaned slightly forward and his breath brushed my ear. “How have you been, Dante?”
“Does that matter?”
He paused. I’d forgotten how he did that: the momentary silence, the measured attention he gave. “It does to me. I want to hear your story.”
“I’m not important, except for this, for tonight. For you. Let’s fuck.” I ran my fingers along his jaw. His heavy swallow was very visible. “That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”
He sucked in a breath. “Christ, yes. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I first came here with Rick.”