Page 10 of Shattered Veil

He narrows his eyes on my hand, but with a lip quiver, he ignores it. Gifting me with a smile, he says, “I like how you think. Now eat.”

“Is that a command?”

“Aye.” He lifts his silver dome cover.

Breathing in the warm cinnamon aroma, I can come again. And the exquisite presentation makes it so picture-perfect, I almost don’t want to touch anything. Almost. It’s hard to believe that people line up to make those cheap waffles for breakfast in hotels.

Two thick and crispy waffles sit stacked on a plate surrounded by dainty silver containers filled with whipped cream, mixed fruit, syrup, and powdered sugar.

Thank you, Daddy.

For sending me aheadandbuying me this first-class ticket. Otherwise, I’d have never met this guy who dirty talked me into an amazing orgasm and ordered me waffles the next morning.

This feels like a date. The kind I’ve always dreamt about.

“I’ll be right back.” I unbuckle myself and smooth my dress.

“Where are you going?” he asks with a sharp alarm in his tone.

I halt, slipping my shoes back on. “To the bathroom to freshen up.”

“You look fucking gorgeous. Eat first.”

“Are you always so bossy with your dates?”

A forkful of waffles layered with each of the toppings stops right at his gorgeous mouth. “Thisis not a date.”

“Too bad, because you’d certainly be getting lucky.”

“I will be getting lucky in about two hours.”

“I’m getting lucky right now.” I grab the top waffle, take a bite, and sigh at the warm crunchy texture.

That earns me a stifled laugh. “Not to be rude, but how much do you charge that you can afford a last-minute first-class ticket from Australia to New York?”

I nervously play with the whipped cream. Charge. Money. To sleep with him. Right.

I’m a better liar than I thought. He really believes I’m a hooker. It’s tempting to tell him no charge, but that could turn him off. He could think there are strings attached.

But I have no idea what a hooker who can afford first-class air travel charges for a five-hour fuck.Pretty Womanplays in my head. She asked for three grand for five days or something like that. But those were 1980’s dollars.

“Considering I’m off the clock, so to speak, and it’s all gravy, let’s say one thousand dollars an hour?”

He coughs into his juice. “That’s it?”

“You’ll be paying for the room?”

“Aye.”

“And the transportation to and from the hotel?”

A bushy eyebrow lowers. “Is this some kind of volume discount?”

“Exactly.” My stomach unclenches. “I don’t usually stay more than two hours with a...client. Five hours...”

“Five hours of unbridling fucking? Still one thousandan hour?” he says, pursing his lips dabbed with left-over sugar I want to lick off his mouth.

“Uh-huh.” I lean in, but he snaps back.