CHAPTER TEN
Ella
A waitress comes to the table, all smiles and drooling over Balor. “Can I get you started with some drinks?”
Strong. I need something strong.
Balor lifts the drink menu, his thigh drifting toward mine. “I would adore a glass of red wine.”
I choke on a sip of water.
I said that on the plane. He’s mimicking me.
“Anything particular, sir?” the waitress asks, purring at him.
She’s either angling for a tip or a date.
Sorry, honey, unless you double as a hooker...
“Ella loves red wine,” Dad says. “I raised her with a European focus on wine and food.”
He gave me my first sip of wine at sixteen.
Balor leans into me, his hip now fully pressed against mine. “Then Ella should pick. See anything you like? Ella ?”
He’s taunting me now to say his name and out the fact that we’ve met before. I’m smarter than that.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes with a grin. Glancing at the menu, I go right to the bottom of the list of Reds.
“We’ll have the Romanee-Conti Grand Cru 1990.”
My father’s jaw hits the table. “Estella! Are you mad? That is an insanely expensive bottle of wine!”
The waitress shifts awkwardly, and I hear a gurgle of glee in her throat, considering the tip this dinner will fetch her.
“Really?” I say and take a closer look. “I thought it said one hundred dollars. I mean, wow, twenty-thousand dollars is a lot of money. Right... Mr. O ?”
Boy, does that fit him .
My father’s breathing goes erratic. He stares at me with an expression that says: You are out of your mind, teasing a mob boss.
I’m teasing the man who screwed me and left me with a stranger who gave me an envelope of crisp hundreds for my services.
“Twenty thousand dollars is nothing to me,” Balor teases back. “I’d pay anything for something so...sweet.”
Shit, I could have asked for more money.
“If I may, Mr. O’Rourke.” Dad grabs the menu, attempting to save both our lives. “We will have the Mondavi Late Harvest Reserve.”
My eyes lower to the menu, and scoff at the sixty-dollar price tag.
“And please, give me the bill for it.”
“Snow, don’t insult me.” Balor smiles across the table at my father. Underneath, his hand squeezes my thigh. “I can afford a sixty-dollar bottle of wine. And we both know I can afford the Grand Cru.”
“I cannot accept such an expensive gesture,” Dad says, his shoulders back.
He likes to be pampered and praised but only if no strings are attached.
The waitress stomps away mad, and I wouldn’t be surprised if our meals come with a side of spit.
With Dad checking the menu for the least expensive dinner, I reach under the table to knock Balor’s hand off my thigh and scooch away.
Only, his hand closes around the bottom of my sweater dress.
“So, Ella...” Balor yanks me closer. “I would love to hear about your work experience.”
He thinks I’m a hooker and that my father doesn’t know.
“I have lots of experience...years of experience,” I play along.
“Years?” He rests one elbow on the table, the other hand sliding under the hem of my dress.
Angling my body, I add, “Right after college. I got a call about a great opportunity with a little boy.”
Balor snaps, “What?”
My father looks perplexed. “Ella is a special-needs educator.”
Somewhere teacher fell out of favor in our lexicon, and I missed it.
“A special-needs educator.” Balor annunciates the words, repressing a laugh because I’m certain he thinks that’s the cover story I gave my father.
“She is,” Dad insists. “If I can be open since we are in intimate company, I thought she could do better with her Yale education.”
“You went to Yale ?”
“Lux et Veritas,” I say, figuring the motto translation Light and Truth really applies here.
“What did you study at Yale?” Balor asks.
With a smile on my face, I say, “Chemistry.” And because I have a death wish, I poke him in the chest.
I won’t bore Balor how I focused my studies on brain chemistry and wrote papers that led me to summer clinics working with severely autistic children.
Mixing liquid chemicals lost its flare for me after one semester when I burned myself.
I got my first tattoo, the roses across the bridge of my foot after the skin grafts didn’t do shit for the burn scars. That fueled my healing journey this summer, covering all of Wesley’s scars with other tattoos.
“Sounds like you’re overqualified to be an assistant,” Balor says.
“She needs a job, Mr. O’Rourke.”
“And she can have one. ”
I really don’t need this job, no matter what it pays. The part time aide position at Fredricks is enough right now. Dad never spoiled me. He passed down his strong work ethic. This thing with Wes upended our life, and now Dad will throw money at anything to keep me safe.
Or throw me at a mob boss for the same reason. That’s what Dad thinks I need .
But I don’t...
“Actually, Dad.” I smile at Balor and look away, waving my phone. “Sara from Fredricks just emailed me as we were walking inside. They have an open aide position with a little boy for the rest of this year.”
I have no idea what Balor O’Rourke planned to pay me and right now money isn’t my main concern. Dad wants me safe. I want my life back. I’m tired of hiding and being afraid.
Balor’s shoulders relax like he didn’t want me working for him anyway. Oooo, that stings.
The waitress comes with the bottle of red wine and does the showing, the opening, and the tasting ritual. Balor takes a taste, and to my surprise hands me the glass.
A smudge from his lower lip catches the light and to tease him, I turn the glass around and sip from the same spot, leaving a lipstick stain.
I smile, handing the glass back to him, and then go weak, watching him sip again from that same spot.
The waitress pours two more glasses, refills Balor’s, and takes our orders.
“Getting back to Ella working for you.” Dad sounds flustered but when his phone rings, his jaw tightens. “Excuse me, Mr. O’Rourke.”
“By all means. Take your time.” Balor is polite, though I expect he’d be offended by his new employee taking a call. But with Dad out of earshot, Balor turns his attention to me .
“Ella, Ella, Ella,” he breathes out my name on a lustful sigh.
“I’m not an escort, okay,” I whisper.
He visibly swallows, disappointment shadowing his eyes. He only sleeps with escorts, and I just put myself in the no-go column.
Now I’m disappointed.
“I paid you twenty thousand dollars.”
“I only asked for five. And can we discuss the jolly green giant you sent to deliver it to me?”
“You mean Trace?” He smirks.
“Does your bodyguard always pay your escorts?”
“Trace is temporary. I usually don’t have a bodyguard.” He pulls at the collar of a crisp cerulean blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off his tats. Thick bands of ink, a test of pain endurance, are sexy as hell on him. Those are his only tattoos. The rest of his body is like untouched snow. “He was on my brother’s security detail in Las Vegas that day. It was an hour flight, so...”
“Lucky for you. And you can have the money back. I just came up with a fee because...” My cheeks blaze with embarrassment.
“Yeah?” He sits back. “Let’s hear this one. Why did you lie?”
Biting my lower lip, I say, “You wouldn’t have wanted me.”
Scoffing, he tugs on his collar. “I wanted you, trust me.”
“Because you thought I was a hooker.” I take a sip of wine and then say, “I figured I’d never see you again, so why not?”
“There’s more. You’re holding back.”
Balor’s heated gaze fuels me, and opening up to him is easy. “I love sex and wanted to fuck you. ”
He squeezes his glass, muttering foreign curses under his breath.
“And since I’m somewhat of a behavioral expert, can we peel back a few layers? Why only hookers?”
“ Escorts ,” he emphasizes. “Fully vetted, fully tested, high-price, discreet escorts .”
I squirm, remembering how he begged to take off the condom and come inside me. Of course, I was clean, too, after being tested in Australia, fearing Wes was cheating on me on top of everything else.
But I’d stopped taking birth control. I called my gyno and asked for emergency contraception. He’s backed up three months, so his nurse approved three refill packs to hold me over until I can see him.
“Okay. But why ?” I press Balor about the escort-kink.
“Because I have no time or interest in a relationship. If your father told you anything about my family and what we do, then you understand I can’t set myself up to be ambushed or blackmailed by strangers. I use a solid escort service because I have needs .”
His words spark electric, and I tingle.
“I don’t want a relationship either right now.” I bite my lip, stopping myself from opening up about Wesley. Being bold, I add, “And I have needs, too.”
“Jesus, you’re so damn tempting.” Balor gulps down his wine. “I need a scotch.”
“If I remember correctly, we had a good time.”
“We did. I did. ” He puts down his glass and eyes me with a hooded glare. “I would love nothing more than to sink my cock into that wet cunt every night.” I blush as he laughs to himself. “I should have known you weren’t a sex worker.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You were so fucking tight, and no one’s... Clawed at the sheets and moaned like that. I wondered if it was an act.”
“It wasn’t.” I don’t care if I sound pathetic, at least I’m being honest.
“And that shower, fuck.” He growls. “Had you done anal before?”
I smile, shaking my head.
“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, breathing heavily. “Did you like it?”
“I loved it,” I whisper. “With you.”
He pours more wine since the waitress is nowhere to be found. “I take it you didn’t see my number?”
“Your number?” My heart seizes.
“On the last bill in the envelope, I wrote my burner phone number.” He rubs a hand down the back of his neck.
I laugh. “Because you thought I would need a refill once I hit the last hundred?”
“I guess.” He smiles. “I wasn’t sure why exactly.”
He wanted me again, but only if he paid me.
I’m so damn tempted to say, Gotcha, and tell him I really am a hooker but don’t tell Dad. Then Balor can keep plowing me.
There is something so sexy, so elegant, so raw with quiet power about this man. I could really fall for him.
Oops, I think I already have.