Page 23 of The Plus One Pact

But I don't need to know now. She's paying me to bring the charm, no matter what I feel. She's paying me to tend to her needs. I may enjoy the action, but it won't be what I want.

That's what women want out of a night with a sex worker. Yes, they enjoy the abs and stamina, but, mostly, they want to know they can ask for anything and get it.

They want to know a man won't push them past their comfort zone or ignore warm up or complain if they struggle to come.

This isn't for real. I'm not thinking of what I want here. Only what she needs.

Ivy is a brainy type. Intellectual. In her head. Good for grades. Not for sex.

I look into her gorgeous green eyes and brush a stray hair behind her ear. "You're nervous."

She nods and her expression settles. It helps, to acknowledge the feeling.

"You're meeting a stranger for pre-planned sex." I don't mention the financial arrangement. That tends to make people more nervous. Or shameful. Unless they get off on it. But I can tell that's not her thing. "It's an awkward situation. A first date on steroids."

"For you too?"

"A little," I admit. I'm used to meeting new clients, but I'm still human. I still worry about all the usual things. "You're beautiful and intelligent and you're probably going to tell all your friends about this."

"A few." Her smile is equal parts shy and coy.

It's painfully sexy. I let the desire buzz through my veins then I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

A technique from my early days. When I needed to learn to draw things out longer and longer. These days, it's rare I feel enough of a rush I need to pause.

I hold her gaze. I smile back, with my own blend of coy confidence. "I want to make sure you have a good story."

"You have no idea." She wraps her arm around my bicep right as she pushes the door open.

She steps into her bedroom.

It's like the rest of the space. Just decorated enough that it doesn't feel empty. The lack of extra stuff really emphasizes all these aromatherapy candles.

A spicy flower. Just the right mix of masculine and feminine. Sweet and sexy.

A side of her I doubt she’s shown anyone yet.

She stops in front of the bed. "Sorry. I am nervous. I… I did have sex, once, after my divorce, but it was horrible."

Now, we're getting somewhere. "What was missing?"

"A lot, but, mostly, an emotional connection."

I can't compete with a marriage, but I can offer something. "Casual can be connected too."

"No offense, Romeo, but that sounds like a line."

Shit. Am I that off my game? It is a line, of course, but it usually works. "Is that not what you want?"

"A line?"

"To feel connected?"

"Not if it’s bullshit," she says.

"Depends how you define bullshit," I say. "If we both agree we're playing a game of pretend, then is that bullshit? Or just fun?"

"I'm not very good at games," she says.