Say You’ll Stay Read online

  But he was trying not to think about that.

  “You’ve been very kind, Mason. I hate to ask this. May I borrow your hotel room for a few minutes to clean up and change clothes? I’ll get out of your hair right afterward. Promise.”

  Clean up, as in wash the makeup off her face.

  Change clothes, as in get naked before putting on something less slutty. Or not. She could hang out naked and a certain part of his anatomy wouldn’t mind a bit.

  He’d bet his left testicle Cleo shined up like a new penny.

  Bad Penny. Bad memories. A good reminder, though, of why he had to get Cleopatra Trouble Tits out of his life immediately.

  “Sure.” Well. His dick had won control of his mouth, and his brain was left flashing silent red warning signs.

  You’d have wanted someone to be kind to Penny if she was in a bad situation.

  Yeah, and she’d have made them regret it.

  History might not repeat itself, but as the saying went, it often rhymed.

  * * *

  How the ever-loving hell had she gotten herself into this mess?

  Janelle hunched her shoulders down inside the too-large suit jacket. It smelled of Mason, which was strangely comforting given she’d met him barely ten minutes ago. The warm, faintly spicy scent and the breadth of the jacket’s shoulders were the ghost hug she desperately needed to get through this humiliating shit show.

  Unlike Crystal, she hadn’t gotten a Barry for a sugar daddy.

  On the last night she’d had her own internet access in her own apartment, Janelle had submitted a brief and thoroughly halfhearted application to the website Crystal had sent. The application fee was fifty bucks, but it was refunded if they didn’t accept you. There was no risk, and she was desperate enough to try it.

  Janelle’s money had bounced back to her bank account a few days later.

  Rejected.

  We look for sugar babies of your age who are either enrolled in graduate school or pursuing non-remunerative employment (i.e., internship). Your credit report is an additional source of concern. Babies with poor credit have been known to attempt blackmail or other illegal extortion of their Daddies.

  Of course. Her entire life could be reduced to a three-digit summary: not trustworthy.

  But…her age? She’d just turned twenty-five, and she was too old?

  Rage of a kind she’d never experienced had blinded her for the last few hours of unpacking at her parents’ house. It wasn’t that she wanted to screw some guy having a midlife crisis for money; it was the principle.

  This should’ve been the nail in the coffin of her sugar baby experience, but pride had intervened. She was not too old, and she was going to prove it. In a fit of fury, she’d gone online and filled out applications at two other, less reputable-looking websites. One rejected her.

  The other called a week later.

  “I see you have some boundaries. No married men,” the woman on the phone noted. “No bondage, no threesomes, no more than two encounters a month, no anal sex, no rough play, no…is there anything you are willing to do?”

  “Oral sex,” she offered begrudgingly. “If I have to.”

  Janelle liked giving head, but the concept of doing it for a stranger was too weird to be more than abstraction.

  “Role play?” the agent countered.

  “I cannot imagine adults getting off by playing dress up. No.”

  “You’re limiting your prospects,” the woman replied crankily.

  Yeah, well, Janelle was used to not having a lot of options.

  “Is there anything else you’re willing to do?”

  “Travel,” Janelle said immediately. “But the, uh, daddy has to pay for all expenses.”

  Thus, she’d been matched with exactly one prospect. She’d spoken with Kyle, aka Rich Jerk (aka her new sugar daddy) on the phone twice, and bought a plane ticket to Las Vegas at his request. He’d promised to pay her back when they met. Janelle had scheduled a Friday and a Monday off from work and flown into McCarran International Thursday evening, ahead of Rich Jerk’s arrival. Since then, not one thing had gone according to plan.

  Now she was trotting after a tall, broad-shouldered, extremely good-looking man with only one name, while looking like she’d fallen off the back of a paddy wagon full of hookers.

  “Mace,” a male voice rang out. Her protector turned. Janelle kept walking as though she didn’t know him, eyes glued to the hideous hotel carpet. She turned the corner and waited out of sight.

  A minute later, “Mace” Mason appeared. She inhaled and finally took a good look at the man who’d gone above and beyond to help her. He had to top six feet, and Janelle was certain his muscles had muscles. Thick biceps stretched the fabric of his dress shirt. “Please don’t tell me my rescuer’s nicknamed for pepper spray.”

  Her reluctant protector’s mouth quirked up at the corners. She’d made him laugh, or at least, almost smile. This was the first good look she’d gotten at his eyes since he’d whipped his sunglasses off on entering the building. They were dead sexy, deep blue and fringed with lashes that would’ve made any girl abandon mascara for life if she’d been lucky enough to own them.

  “No, for a blunt weapon from the Middle Ages,” he shot back.

  “Too bad it’s not the spice.” Janelle inhaled, and all it did was send a hit of pheromones straight to her brain. He stared at her a long moment. Yeah, dumb comment. Her mind was busy plotting how to get her wallet and phone back so she could get on the first plane back to Florida. It had nothing to do with the weird drugged sensation that came with being near Mysterious Mace Mason, hottie and, apparently, decent human being.

  The world could use a few more of those.

  She’d have to meet him looking like this, too. It was too much to ask fate to show any hint of mercy.

  Janelle followed him into the smallest hotel room she’d ever seen. Instead of the usual double queen beds, there was only one. Shoved against the far wall was a two-seater couch, next to a chair and a table that could be used as a desk. Facing the bed, there was a clunky dresser topped with a large television. In other words, it was a normal hotel room except for the size.

  Small hotel room. Muscular, attractive man. What could go wrong?

  “I’ll just be a minute.” She pushed the bathroom door open, hung Mason’s jacket on the back of the door, and upended her sloppily packed bag. Then she ripped off the skimpy dress she’d packed to make an impression, never once imagining it would be seen outside the confines of a hotel room, and stuffed it down to the very bottom of the bag. The gold heels almost chipped the tile wall, she kicked them off so hard.

  Janelle cringed at the sight that greeted her in the harsh light over the mirror. The toiletries by the sink were still wrapped. Janelle tore the paper off a small bar of soap and rubbed her hands in the water, then scrubbed her face until it was clean of makeup. Afterwards, she tugged on a bra, t-shirt and leggings and finally stuffed everything back into her bag and squared her shoulders.

  The least she could do was try to mend Mason’s torn jacket.

  “Feel better?” he asked as she emerged.

  Janelle nodded, hardly able to look at him. “I think I can fix this.”

  Mason plucked the fine wool from her hands. “Right now, you have bigger problems. I’m going out for a sandwich. Want one?”

  “I don’t have any money. It was in my wallet.” She was always broke, but she’d never been penniless until now.

  “It’s a sandwich. Don’t worry about it.” He’d rolled up his sleeves so his sinewy forearms showed. His hair was short on the sides, a little longer on the top, like someone in the military who’d recently been discharged and hadn’t quite adapted to civilian life yet.

  “Why are you being nice to me?” Janelle pulled at the hem of her shirt. It was a V-neck and clingy, not her usual style, but all the clothes she’d brought were revealing. By her standards, anyway.

  “Good question. Maybe I should throw you ou
t of here, like those bouncers did.”

  Mason took one step closer, and for a second she thought he’d do it. Her heart flapped like a pigeon desperate to take flight, but all he did was reach for her shoulder bag and drop it onto the couch.

  “I’m leaving my phone here, unlocked. If there’s anyone you can call for help, do it while I’m not here to listen. I’m here for a conference, and I can’t babysit you.”

  “I’m self-sufficient.”

  Mason raised an eyebrow. Janelle ducked her head. His skepticism was warranted.

  “Go to your conference, I’ll figure something out. Promise. I’m not a mooch.” The instant Mace departed, Janelle reached for the phone. She sucked in a hard breath and dialed her own mobile phone number.

  A familiar male voice answered. “Janelle?”

  She shivered as the air conditioning chilled the sudden sweat that broke out over her neck. “Kyle.”

  “If you want your wallet and phone back, get back here and get naked. Now.”

  “I’m not doing that.”

  A beat of silence. “I’ll ruin you.”

  Janelle’s teeth caught her lower lip. The words were punch in the gut. “I’ll report you.”

  He laughed. “For what? Rape? Assault? You consented. In writing.”

  “For being an asshole,” she seethed, knowing full well she’d have a hard time convincing anyone she’d resisted, and he’d insisted, even after she’d emphatically told him no.

  Kyle laughed, that rat bastard. “There’s no statute against hurting your feelings. But prostitution is definitely illegal. So is breach of contract. I can sue you.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Oh yes you did. If you want to go crawling back to your pathetic life in Florida without anyone knowing what you’ve done, you’ll come back to this hotel room and get on all fours. Naked. You’ll pretend to enjoy everything I do to you or everyone in your contacts is going to get a copy of the little video I made this morning. Check your email.”

  Call terminated. Janelle’s mouth hung open, a tangle of retorts about revenge porn being illegal dying unspoken. Even if it was, he could say she’d consented and what then? She set the phone down carefully. Her stomach heaved as a fine cold sweat covered her forehead. She’d never wanted a stiff drink so badly in her life.

  The door clicked open. “I hope ham and cheese is okay. You’re not vegetarian or anything…Did something happen?”

  Janelle felt her head move as though she were a puppet dancing on a string. “No. I called my phone. It’s fine. I’ll get it back.”

  Eventually. Right before she was arrested for Kyle’s murder, just long enough to make her one phone call to a lawyer. Crystal was in law school, maybe she’d handle it pro bono. Janelle figured Crys owed her a favor for her role in this debacle.

  Janelle unwrapped the sandwich on the table and stared at it until Mason’s voice called her back to the present.

  “You have parents who can help?”

  “And tell them how I ended up here? No way.” She picked up the sandwich and took a bite without tasting it.

  Mason’s appetite was in fine form. He tucked into his sandwich and licked a bit of dressing off his thumb. “How bad is it?”

  “The mess I’m in? Pretty bad.”

  “Drugs?”

  Did she look that strung out? “No!”

  Drugs were one problem she didn’t have. Though she’d sure looked like a potential addict in the excuse for a dress with makeup running down her face. Janelle shifted uncomfortably and examined her sandwich.

  Mason, on the other hand, perked up considerably. “Sex?”

  “How’d you guess?” The return of her habitual sarcasm was unbelievably welcome. She bit into the sandwich. “Was it the outfit?”

  Mason’s mouth ticked up at the corners. “Money?”

  “The root of all evil.” Janelle rubbed her forehead. Now that her anger had leached out, fear, failure, and loneliness had stolen her appetite.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jan-” Hey, wait a minute. “Janie.”

  He crumpled the paper of his sandwich and waited a beat. “No last name?”

  “You gave me one name, I’ll give you one name. If you want to know more, spill.”

  Mason stood up and tossed the ball of sandwich paper into the trash can by the desk. “You’re cheeky for someone in a fix.”

  “You like it, though.” Whoa. Where had that come from? This was no time to get flirty.

  He chuckled but admitted nothing. Instead, he stood up and pulled out a wooden door on the dresser. Inside was a dorm-sized refrigerator. Mason removed two airplane bottles of gin and a pint-sized bottle of tonic.

  “No limes. You want a gin and tonic anyway?”

  Mysterious Mace Mason was her guardian angel. She must’ve done something right in her life if he was offering her the drink she needed. “Yes, please.”

  “Are you twenty-one?” he asked skeptically.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. She was too decrepit to sleep with a dirty old man but appeared too young to drink? “I’m twenty-five.”

  “You look younger.” He cracked open the bottles and mixed the contents into matching hotel glasses. “A lot younger.”

  “Especially without makeup.” She took the glass and downed half of it in a single gulp.

  “You looked like a baby raccoon with all that shit on your face. I thought you were sixteen.”

  “Nope. Completely of age. Next milestone is running for President, and then AARP discounts here I come.”

  The sound of Mace Mason’s startled laughter was a balm to her pride. The gin and tonic was the perfect temporary antidote to threatening Rich Jerks and hot, untouchable guardian angels. The booze went straight to her head and took every pleasure synapse of her brain hostage.

  She had a problem to solve. Except that instead of thinking through how to get her wallet and phone back from Rich Jerk, all she could think about was Mace Mason’s broad shoulders and narrow waist. “How old are you, Mace?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Cheers.” Janelle held up her glass. He tapped hers, looking straight into her eyes as he did. Everything inside her went hot and soft. But attraction wasn’t going to get her a pass.

  “What happened this morning, Janie?”

  Chapter Three

  Janie’s expression turned as sour as a lemon. “Why should I tell you?”

  Exasperating woman. For a minute there, she’d gone relaxed and flirty. Now she’d flipped like a switch back to wary and defensive.

  At least it wasn’t drugs. Sex, well, he could be broad-minded about whatever she was into. He had exactly zero moral standing to judge anyone on that point. Money, though, the jury was still out.

  Trent glanced at his watch. “I’m leaving in fifteen minutes for the afternoon half of my conference. If you want to stay here and figure out how to straighten things out, I need to know that it’s not going to boomerang back on me. What kind of trouble are you in?”

  “Big trouble,” she said softly through pink lips.

  “How big?” Trent wished they were talking about sex. This conversation could play out so many dirty ways. His rational brain was holding the door against lusty ideas like a doomed character about to get eaten in a zombie flick.

  Without makeup, Janie’s fine bone structure was clearly visible. Large green eyes rimmed by dark lashes, a manicured sweep of dark eyebrow, the straight slope of her nose above the perfect philtrum that led to plump, pink lips. Below, a stubbornly pointed chin that spoke volumes about her frankly shitty attitude.

  In addition to that face, Janie was blessed with a long, elegant neck, and he’d not forgotten the one instinctive glimpse he’d stolen of her incredible breasts. He was only male, after all.

  And it had been a long time.

  Janie, if that was her real name, licked her lips and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I came here to meet a man. For sex.”

  “Turning tricks?”r />
  “No!” Her eyes searched his, pleading and outraged. “He was supposed to be my…my arrangement.”

  “An arranged encounter,” he repeated, half understanding and half perplexed. His cock was certainly enjoying the diversion of talking about sex with an actual woman after a years-long, self-imposed drought. Her t-shirt dipped at the center, showing a couple inches of bra-trapped cleavage. Trent didn’t look lower than her neck, unless you counted a furtive check of her legs. Encased in thin cotton, they were toned and slender. She was slim everywhere, except for the chest.

  “I was supposed to be his sugar baby,” she blurted, high cheekbones flushed red.

  Oh. That’s what the kids were calling it these days. “He was older, I take it?”

  “Much. And he’s an asshole. I arrived last night, but I was out when he checked into the hotel this morning. He left a note to wear the sexiest thing I’d brought and be ready around noon. You saw how I was dressed. I tried, but I couldn’t go through with it. He threw me out of the room.”

  “That’s it?” Mason sat back on the bed. “You almost screwed some old guy for money but didn’t?”

  “I couldn’t!” she almost screamed, tears welling in those green depths.

  “Why not?”

  “Because…” She downed the rest of her gin and tonic. “Because I’ve only been with one person before.”

  One partner at the age of twenty-five. By his low standards she was practically a virgin. “I assume that was true going into the situation?”

  Janie hung her head. “Yes.”

  “What changed?”

  She shrugged. “Up to that point, it hadn’t felt…real. He told me to do a strip tease and tried to stick his dick in my mouth, and I told him I couldn’t do it. I wanted to go home. He tried to pin me to the bed, but I fought him off. He called security, which I guess is where you pick up the story.”

  Janie raked her hand through her dark hair. It was a soft, rich cloud glinting with reddish highlights. Probably dyed.