Page 51 of Filthy Hot Escort

Cold washed over him. An ice bucket of realization.

Had Skylar been assaulted? Was that why she had issues with sex?

“Skylar,” he said gently.

Skylar sighed and pushed her hair back from her face. Then she twisted and got to her feet.

“Where are you going?”

“Look, it’s just not going to happen, alright?” she said, her voice rising in pitch. “You think you’re somehow different from all the rest. Like, because you’ve been an escort, you have some sort of magical touch. Hate to tell you, but you’re wrong.”

Julian blew out a breath and counted to ten. Then counted to ten again. With his jaw so tight he could barely get the words out, he said, “I don’t want to fight with you, Skylar. If you don’t want this, then that’s fine. You’re in control here.”

She scoffed and crossed her arms defensively. “I know that, Julian, but thanks for the reminder. So we’re done here. That was attempt number one,” she said, holding up one finger. “You have one left.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. It wasn’t the fucking—or rather, lack thereof–part of this that got to him. It was that she was in utter denial about her own body. And he was deathly afraid that what he suspected was true—she was afraid of him in the sense that she was afraid of all men, or at the very least, afraid of what her own body was capable of. Frightened by her own needs. And if that was true, what was he going to fucking do about it, if anything at all?

Inexperience or resistance to letting go he could have dealt with. But if they were talking about something more than that . . . he wasn’t equipped for that.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care.

No, it was front and center now for him.

He cared about Skylar.

He cared too much.

And he was afraid of fucking up and hurting her. Not physically. Never physically.

But of triggering past trauma. Of scaring her. Of smashing her soul to smithereens with one unintentional but careless action.

“Fine,” he said.

“What?”

“I said, fine.”

She looked so confused for a moment, it broke his heart. “You’re okay with only one more try?”

“I’m okay with whatever you want, Skylar. This was your counteroffer, remember? In fact,” he hesitated, struggling with himself, then feeling resolved it was the right thing to do. “I failed, right? And there’s no reason to think I won’t fail again. So why don’t we stop this game? You won. I’ll do the article onEmpowered in Finance,and you don’t have to be part of it. Okay?”

She looked at him as if he’d suddenly stabbed her in the stomach.

Hurt flashed in her expression before she shut it down.

“Skylar—”

She laughed. “No, that’s fine. I mean, of course, you’re throwing in the towel. I’m a hopeless cause. But what do I care?” She began sweeping up her clothes and throwing them on in a way that reminded him of how she’d gotten redressed at the mansion before she’d run from him. When she stared down at her ripped blouse, she looked around, then grabbed a Columbia sweatshirt thrown over the back of his couch and pulled it on. “You’re giving me what I want, after all. Right?”

He stared at her, something inside him shifting, simultaneously opening him up and draining him out. “Right,” he said quietly.

She strode toward the door, where she paused, her long, toned body silhouetted by the light that slipped in between the folds of his drapes. His chest seized in hope.

Was she going to confide in him? Ask to stay? Ask him to hold her?

She looked over her shoulder at him, and her cheeks reddened slightly in the dim light. “Goodbye, Julian,” she said.

She was already gone by the time he replied.