across.
At sixteen, she’d fled and got as
far as the District, selling her body to survive, telling herself she was
looking for love, that’s why she was doing it. The pay was simply how the men
proved they adored her.
Before long, she realized how good
she was at seduction and sex, always picked first among the other girls. In
time, she knew she’d never make any real money unless she had her own business.
Stella Nolan—her birth name—became Veronique DuBlanc ,
Ronnie for short. By then, she’d lost the trailer park accent, studied French
at night, learned as much as she could about current events and pulled off a
damn good imitation of a woman of breeding.
All while craving and looking for
love.
When she was young and beautiful,
she’d at least had men’s attention, but only because they wanted sex, not her
as a person they cherished. At fifty-eight, guys decades younger than her told
Ronnie she was still hot, which wasn’t true. They were playing with her,
wanting her to be their mother, to nurture and support them emotionally or
financially, when she’d never had the same devotion from anyone at that age.
She wanted better for her Alexa .
A smile tugged at the corners of
Ronnie’s mouth, generated by tenderness that had no bounds. She adored the
girl, had from the moment they met. Beneath Alexa’s many layers of bravado, there was a fragile soul and heart, reminding Ronnie of
herself…her need to belong to someone. No way would she allow anything or
anyone to harm the girl, especially a man.
The dossiers Ronnie authorized on Alexa’s clients were more thorough than any government’s.
The men were educated, upscale, disease free, not married and certainly not
violent. In many ways, Ronnie knew she was protecting her beloved girl more
than life ever could. If Alexa had been like most
young women and hung out at a singles bar, she’d be taking a chance on the
strangers who strolled inside.
Still…
Given her condition, Ronnie knew she
might not make it another year cancer-free, much less ten as she had the last
time. What would happen to Alexa after she died? It
wasn’t as if the girl could run to her parents for any guidance and warmth. Her
father’s indifference or disapproval of everything Alexa did was legend, while her mother—a beauty in her own right—felt compelled to
compete with rather than to appreciate her own daughter.
Idiots. They didn’t deserve to have a child. They’d never earned
that privilege and continued to abuse it even now.
“So?” Alexa asked.
Ronnie blinked. Had she spoken her
thoughts aloud? Her skin prickled with embarrassment. “What?”
“That’s what I just asked you.” Alexa squinted as though to read past Ronnie’s expression
into the corners of her mind where lies didn’t exist. “You were staring at me
with this weird look on your face. You okay? Is the pain bad again?”
She shook her head and told a
partial truth, “I haven’t felt this good in weeks. You’re not busy tonight, are
you?”
Alexa leaned back in her chair, its cushions of red velvet. She
drew her forefinger over her lower lip just as she did when reading personal
information on the men she’d agreed to be with. “You would know. You handle the
reservations, right?”
Indeed she did. “In that case—”
“Wait a sec.” Alexa leaned up. “I’m game for a good time, as long as it’s not with Hunter
Prescott.”
Ronnie brought back her hand from
the phone, recalling what Hunt had said when he’d just called.
“Don’t deny that I have the right
place,” he’d warned.
Ronnie should have, but didn’t.
She’d been too stunned to speak. Very few men had the agency’s unlisted number
and Hunt hadn’t been one of them. Until now.
“Don’t hang up on me either,” he
added. “I’ll keep calling back. I’m not a cop or the press. Jack Kilhan arranged an evening for me and my friends the other
night at the R Street house. And no, Jack didn’t give me this
At sixteen, she’d fled and got as
far as the District, selling her body to survive, telling herself she was
looking for love, that’s why she was doing it. The pay was simply how the men
proved they adored her.
Before long, she realized how good
she was at seduction and sex, always picked first among the other girls. In
time, she knew she’d never make any real money unless she had her own business.
Stella Nolan—her birth name—became Veronique DuBlanc ,
Ronnie for short. By then, she’d lost the trailer park accent, studied French
at night, learned as much as she could about current events and pulled off a
damn good imitation of a woman of breeding.
All while craving and looking for
love.
When she was young and beautiful,
she’d at least had men’s attention, but only because they wanted sex, not her
as a person they cherished. At fifty-eight, guys decades younger than her told
Ronnie she was still hot, which wasn’t true. They were playing with her,
wanting her to be their mother, to nurture and support them emotionally or
financially, when she’d never had the same devotion from anyone at that age.
She wanted better for her Alexa .
A smile tugged at the corners of
Ronnie’s mouth, generated by tenderness that had no bounds. She adored the
girl, had from the moment they met. Beneath Alexa’s many layers of bravado, there was a fragile soul and heart, reminding Ronnie of
herself…her need to belong to someone. No way would she allow anything or
anyone to harm the girl, especially a man.
The dossiers Ronnie authorized on Alexa’s clients were more thorough than any government’s.
The men were educated, upscale, disease free, not married and certainly not
violent. In many ways, Ronnie knew she was protecting her beloved girl more
than life ever could. If Alexa had been like most
young women and hung out at a singles bar, she’d be taking a chance on the
strangers who strolled inside.
Still…
Given her condition, Ronnie knew she
might not make it another year cancer-free, much less ten as she had the last
time. What would happen to Alexa after she died? It
wasn’t as if the girl could run to her parents for any guidance and warmth. Her
father’s indifference or disapproval of everything Alexa did was legend, while her mother—a beauty in her own right—felt compelled to
compete with rather than to appreciate her own daughter.
Idiots. They didn’t deserve to have a child. They’d never earned
that privilege and continued to abuse it even now.
“So?” Alexa asked.
Ronnie blinked. Had she spoken her
thoughts aloud? Her skin prickled with embarrassment. “What?”
“That’s what I just asked you.” Alexa squinted as though to read past Ronnie’s expression
into the corners of her mind where lies didn’t exist. “You were staring at me
with this weird look on your face. You okay? Is the pain bad again?”
She shook her head and told a
partial truth, “I haven’t felt this good in weeks. You’re not busy tonight, are
you?”
Alexa leaned back in her chair, its cushions of red velvet. She
drew her forefinger over her lower lip just as she did when reading personal
information on the men she’d agreed to be with. “You would know. You handle the
reservations, right?”
Indeed she did. “In that case—”
“Wait a sec.” Alexa leaned up. “I’m game for a good time, as long as it’s not with Hunter
Prescott.”
Ronnie brought back her hand from
the phone, recalling what Hunt had said when he’d just called.
“Don’t deny that I have the right
place,” he’d warned.
Ronnie should have, but didn’t.
She’d been too stunned to speak. Very few men had the agency’s unlisted number
and Hunt hadn’t been one of them. Until now.
“Don’t hang up on me either,” he
added. “I’ll keep calling back. I’m not a cop or the press. Jack Kilhan arranged an evening for me and my friends the other
night at the R Street house. And no, Jack didn’t give me this
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