Page 93 of Filthy Hot Escort
A grin slowly spread across his face. “I’m offering you whatever you want from me, Skylar. My time. My body. Hell, even my money. We could fuck for the next week in New York, or we can fuck in a villa in Europe. I just know we’re not done. Not yet.”
* * *
The morningafter Julian told Skylar they weren’t done . . . yet . . . he was in his penthouse, seated on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, pants unzipped and long-sleeved shirt unbuttoned, a cup of coffee in one hand and a manila envelope in the other. He stared out his living room window at Manhattan as the city awoke, flicking the envelope against his leg.
He’d received it three days after he’d returned from his assignation with Elena. He hadn’t been home an hour before Albie Phillips buzzed him from downstairs.
“Julian, it’s Albie. I’ve got that report you wanted.”
At first, Julian hadn’t known exactly which report Albie was talking about. Julian worked with the top-notch investigator all the time when he was researching something or someone for one of his stories.
Was the report about the pharmaceutical price-gouging story?
The Olympian doping scandal?
The latest insider trading rumors?
Then it hit him like a ton of bricks.
Skylar.
The day he’d started to suspect Skylar had been sexually assaulted, he’d sent Albie an email, asking him to use extreme discretion but to dig into Skylar McKenzie’s past. To ferret out anything that wasn’t already accessible to him.
Not for a story. Never that. But because he’d been . . .
What, you asshole?
Curious?
Operating under some savior complex, thinking that if only you knew more about what might be haunting her, you’d be able to give her an orgasm, and that would solve all her problems?
Yeah, he was ashamed to admit it now, but those had played a role in why he’d contacted Albie, even if they weren’t his main reason.
He’d done it because he’dhadto know, and he wasn’t going to push Skylar about it.
He’d done it because he’d never felt the all-consuming rage he’d felt whenever he thought about someone violating Skylar. Hurting her. Scaring her. Destroying her.
And he’d done it because part of him had wondered—if he knew the truth, if he discovered who’d hurt her, if he could just get his hands on him, could he set her free from that which tormented her, either by calling the cops or killing the motherfucker who’d hurt her with his bare hands.
Even now, the thought of killing to avenge Skylar didn’t seem as farfetched as it should have.
And that was before they’d shared all the things they’d shared since then.
Sure enough, when Albie had delivered the report to him, it had been in a legal-sized envelope with a label that read—SKYLAR MCKENZIE - Good luck with your story. Let me know what else I can do for you. -A
It had been natural for Albie to assume he’d had him research Skylar for a story, and even though that wasn’t what happened, Julian stared at the envelope, conflicted.
It’s probably in there. Her secrets. The pain that she keeps locked up inside herself.
He wanted to open the envelope so badly. Wanted to know everything about her, the good and the not-so-good, because he knew she’d never share it and because he was greedy. He didn’t know how much time he had left with her. She’d been ready to break things off based on her orgasm yesterday. He should have let it happen, but he couldn’t.
He hadn’t had enough of her.
He needed more so that when he finally walked away, he could do so with no hesitation.
His cell phone rang. He was about to send the call to voicemail when he saw who was calling. He set the manila envelope down on the couch and answered the call.
“Margaux, how may I be of service?”