Falling In by Lydia Michaels

until the time comes. I could tell you my expectations, but who’s to say what they’ll be tomorrow? I’d much rather our association develop over a natural course of time before we try to pigeonhole it with labels.”
    â€œI’m not stupid,” she whispered defensively, unable to meet his gaze.
    â€œOf course not. I have no interest in surrounding myself with stupid people.”
    â€œI know what you’re asking.”
    â€œGood. I’d hate to think I wasn’t clear.”
    The calm manner in which he danced around her questions was infuriating. “I’m not a prostitute.”
    The word didn’t slow him. “Also good. I hate involving myself with legal situations. I much prefer to keep things on the up-and-up. We’d merely be two consenting adults sharing each other’s company.”
    Her fists tightened on the linen napkin.
    â€œMr. Patras, no matter how you pretty it up, my sexual favors are
not
for sale.”
    â€œEverything’s for sale, Ms. Keats,” he replied silkily. “The currency simply varies in order to meet social standards.”
    â€œI’m not.”
    â€œWhile your paychecks may read Patras, Evelyn, they are only in exchange for housekeeping. I assure you, what I intend to offer will pay for itself. You’ll take as much pleasure from our association as I plan to.”
    His black eyes gazed into hers. She looked at this man, finding herself marginally more settled in his presence than the day before, but still ill at ease. His fingernails were clean. His thickly muscled arms were dusted with dark hair. He was so different than the malnourished men at the shelter or even Parker, who was surprisingly fit. Mr. Patras was undeniably an attractive man.
    Her gaze scanned the penthouse, still clean from her visit the day before. Mr. Patras was a fairly tidy person. His desk was messy, but she’d never concern herself with that again.
    As tempting as the offer of fine clothing and salon beauty treatments were, she was more concerned with proper-fitting shoes she could take with her when Mr. Patras no longer required her “company.” Her situation in life had never, not once, allowed for any sort of indulgence. Scout’s brain simply wasn’t wired in a way that permitted such fantasies.
    Her dreams consisted of warm clothing, shelter, and food to stave of her hunger. Mr. Patras could certainly provide that, but at what price? Indignity had her pride bristling. She’d witnessed sex and found it undesirable, to say the least. She was very territorial of her own space and didn’t favor anyone coming too close. Yet, the thought of a man like Lucian Patras finding her attractive did things to her. Her body warmed in places she wasn’t normally aware of. There was certainly a level of temptation hidden within her to experience these unknowns with him.
    If sacrificing her body and attending parties could bridge the gap between her and the ordinary women of society, she probably shouldn’t dismiss the opportunity. Would she be able to abide a man like Mr. Patras touching her, kissing her? The idea of such acts appealed, but actually having the guts to follow through was something else entirely. She had a stubborn side she couldn’t always control. As her mind imagined what it would be like to have sex with him, her stomach tightened in an unfamiliar way she found disarming. She quickly generated a mental list of pros and cons.
    Scout wouldn’t have to sleep at the shelter, at least for a short length of time. There would be no more guarding her belongings and cold, restless nights of sleeping with one eye open. This could be that chance to finally rest peacefully.
    She’d have an actual bed, complete with clean linens and plush pillows. Her skin prickled with longing for such luxuries. She’d be warm. Winter was coming and she didn’t savor the idea of coughing through another bitter