THE ESCORT

TWENTY | POOR BY DESIGN

Elodie was fastening her stud earrings when she heard some movements from the other side of the connecting door of her hotel suite.

They'd arrived in London around five in the morning after almost eleven hours of being in the air, and she'd been barely coherent when she was showed into her room by Hana.

Angelo had left her alone without a word or glance at her, but she did see him go through the door beside hers.

Hana had been gracious to let Elodie sleep until noon, at least, then came in to wake her thirty minutes ago, told her to dress for her late brunch with him.

Stomach churning, Elodie stood away from the dressing table and looked at her reflection.

She was wearing a thigh-length black dress with fitted bodice, and full-skirt.  On her feet were low-heeled black boots.

Elodie had swept her hair up into a bun, and dabbed a little bit of fragrance behind her ears, the insides of her wrists, and under her armpit.

She was so nervous that her hands were clammy.

It was her first time being out of the country, leaving her brother behind, and being in the company of someone who'd hurt her once, before; someone she didn't trust.

Elodie wiped her hands and rubbed lotion into them. Then, she left the bedroom.

She opened the connecting door—surprised when it gave way easily—and made a mental note to lock it before going back to bed, tonight.

The sitting room Elodie was admitted to took her breath away.

It had imposingly high ceilings, amazing glass walls that led out to a wide balcony laid out with a table and chairs and potted topiary. The mirrored wall that reflected the elegant silver patterned pale lavender wallpaper, the rich furnishings, and the deep-pile, white carpet.

It looked like the room Elodie had only seen in glossy magazines, and one of those fancy house re-modelings by people in Hollywood.

Angelo was looking down into the busy streets of Hyde Park and had not heard her footfalls on the soft carpets. It was only when her reflection showed in the glass that he turned.

The creases of his pants looked sharp enough to cut glass and his shoes were polished to a glossy shine. He was wearing a robins-blue suit and an open white shirt.

Elodie's eyes trailed up to his strong, working throat, the wicked straight mouth and up to his eyes; so arresting, dark and filled with dangerous secrets. They were watching her intently. Her breath caught.

In his hand was a bouquet of deep red roses with fat petals, and he held them out wordlessly to her.

Elodie recieved the flowers, sniffing at their fragrance. "Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful."

"Come here," he said, half-sitting on the table behind him.

His voice was very soft. There was something in it she didn't understand, because Angelo had never used that tone with anyone in her presence.

Fingers tightening around the cellophane wrapper of her flowers, she went to him.

Angelo caught her by the waist and pulled her to him until she was trapped between his thighs. Elodie could feel the heat wafting off him body.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I used excessive force the last time we're together, and I didn't realize that you were..." He sighed. "I didn't know you were a virgin."

Elodie opened her mouth to tell him that it was okay, but what came out was, "You hurt me."

Then, she clamped her mouth shut, face flaming.