Forbidden Desires

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Jasmine

F lorie’s in Palm Beach was comfortably packed, with just enough patrons sitting in the light, airy dining room to create a low undercurrent of conversation, laughter, and contentment, without being a total cacophony of noise. It was one of two reasons I loved to come here. The second reason, of course, was the delicately indulgent seared scallops I always ate while gracing the table situated at the window that overlooked the Florida coastline.

Usually, being here would be a comfort for me. Today, there was far too much on my mind to even be enticed by the half-eaten plate of scallops in front of me.

“Jasmine, darling. I didn’t invite you out to lunch just to watch you stare at your plate as though it were going to grow an arm and strangle you.”

I lifted my gaze to the woman sitting across from me—my mentor and my one true confidant left in this world. The one person who took a destitute young girl without a family under her wing and had offered her a better future than the one she’d currently been living. She’d given me choices when I’d had none, and I was grateful to her for that. But sometimes, admittedly, what I did for a living was a lonely existence, despite being surrounded by people.

Dominique La Rue was a seasoned woman. Her glossy, thick black hair that held a single, silvery stripe of grey was the opposite of my pale blonde waves. She was well into her sixties—a fact only those closest to her knew—but could easily pass for a woman a decade younger than herself, with wise crows’ feet and snarky smile lines that made her smirks mischievous and enticing. She had taught me everything I now knew about what it was to be an escort—a damn good one at that.

Ironic that that’s what caused my state of distraction today.

I laughed at her comment and shifted in my seat. It was fair enough that all I had done this meal was give despondent, single word answers and pick at my food. “I’m sorry, Dom.”

A perfectly pencilled and filled in brow rose up. “Oh, a whole sentence out of you. Most I’ve gotten since planting my rear in this seat,” she said in a dry tone. “Go on. Spit it out. You’ve clearly got something on your mind.”

She always managed to read me liked she’d just cracked open the pages of my life story, which she knew all too well. “It’s about this last client. Well, about all of them, I suppose. And this line of work.”

She hummed, nodding. “Go on.”

I sat back in my chair and exhaled a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about the future.”

Dominique laughed, this time heartily. “Barely into your twenties and already thinking forward? I wonder who put such a mature mind set into your head.”

“Who indeed,” I said with a smile. “But it’s true. I realized a few things the other night with a client and it got me thinking about how fun the flings are, how the pretending and the playing is so much like a game. I like the game,” I said honestly. I was only twenty-four and I enjoyed the companionship, the social events I was privy to, and yes, even the luxuries that came with my job. “But many games come to an end eventually, and in this line of work it’s so easy for people to get bored and move on to something, and someone, different.”

Dominique took a sip of her wine. “Your client said something to you, didn’t he?”

I nodded, folding my hands in my lap. “I’ve seen him a few times. Nothing too serious. He’s doting, likes taking me on business trips and showing me off to his friends. Then we part ways until the next time he needs me.”

She tipped her head curiously. “And something went wrong?”

My lips pursed. “He’s gotten engaged, and I had no idea he was seeing anyone else.” Which went against my personal rules. Yes, I was an escort, but I didn’t date men who were involved in other serious relationships and Dom knew and respected that. “From what he told me, it’s more a marriage of convenience between two wealthy families, but you know that’s a deal breaker for me.”

“Yes, I do. So, this man has gotten engaged and now you’re thinking about the future.” She frowned in concern. “Don’t tell me you got attached to your client, my dear.”

Not even close. One of the first lessons Dom had taught me was to keep my emotions out of the equation. That in this line of business the relationships were fleeting and the men were fickle, all of which had so far held true. There hadn’t been a client that had even tempted me to give him anything other than my time and body.

“No,” I replied, a half grin curving my lips. “The last thing on my mind is getting attached to anyone who pays me to call him ‘Captain Long John’ in bed. Let alone someone who doesn’t have the length to back up the name.”

Amusement sparkled in her eyes. “I’m just making sure you’re playing it smart, dear. Do continue.”

I thought for a moment how to phrase what was on my mind. “Well, he’s not the only client who has settled down or has moved on, which is part of this business, I know. But sometimes I think it would be nice to find someone who could offer a bit more…stability.”

“So, you want someone who will provide you with a comfortable future. Give you the means to live as you please, make your choices according to what you want, not what you need, while providing him with the companionship he desires.” She flashed me a gregarious grin. “Why, Jasmine, are you looking for a future like mine?”

Dominique was teasing, but who wouldn’t want a future like hers? She wasn’t even escorting anymore and still had means to maintain a nice apartment and travel as she pleased. She still had connections from her former working days that got her into art houses, film festivals, and fashion shows. Dominique did not want for anything, whether it was luxury or necessity.

Mostly, she didn’t have to worry about security being pulled viciously out from under her feet, which was something I feared and worried about the most. And even though I’d come a long way from the scared, destitute eighteen-year-old I’d been when Dom had taken me under her wing, there was no way I ever wanted to live in such dire circumstances again.

So, yes, of course I wanted that kind of stability.

Dominique swirled the last of her wine around in her glass, her expression thoughtful. “I think what you need is an older man who is more in the position to offer you those things,” she suggested. “Someone who can appreciate both your mental and physical attributes and provide you with the security and independence that I know is so important to you.”

“Exactly,” I said with a smile.

Her own grin widened. “Luckily for you, I have a close friend who is in need of a woman with longevity and exclusivity on her mind. He’s well established and in his mid-forties. He is also very monogamous when it comes to his arrangements, and generous.”

My interest and curiosity instantly piqued. Dominique always knew the ins and outs of the kind of class of men who had the need or desire to spend obscene amounts of money on pretty women for dates, to show off, or simply, to fuck. Whether he was older or not was of little consequence; an escort could have all manner of men. The biggest lesson learned was that the outer shell of a man rarely revealed the totality of who he was. It only gave context clues.

“Well,” I said impatiently, wanting to know more. “Don’t keep all of the important information to yourself.”

“His name is Eric Maxim. Obscenely wealthy and quite the catch, really. Son of a retired Army general and a French heiress to a sizeable fortune. He owns one of the largest producers and exporters of fine arts products—the sort of fare that would have had Van Gogh, Rembrandt, and the like positively frothing at the mouth to get their hands on the sheer quality of artwork. These days, he is deep in the philanthropy game. His money goes toward funding the arts and keeping the humanities accessible. He’s also well versed in several languages and can be quite charming.”

A man who had money and an interest in the arts?

“And he’s single?” I asked, surprised.

Dominique chuckled. “Eric Maxim is a focused man with specific and particular tastes. He has a hard time finding the right companion who can match his resolve, expertise, and wit for a night around the people he is either entertaining, or funding. I believe you’d fit what he’s looking for. He needs someone for an upcoming art show. Someone who is a little more than your average arm candy exhibition—a woman who knows their way around art, maybe even someone who knows it intimately through experience.”

At that, I hesitated. “I haven’t made any art in years, Dom.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That truly doesn’t matter, Jasmine. The fact that you can, and you have, is the thing of importance. You and I have discussed the art world enough for me to know how well versed you are in the field.”

Then, she smirked. “Besides, it is unlikely that he will ask you to paint for him. Knowledge, however, he will find intriguing. And what intrigues Eric tends to put him in a good mood. I hear he’s quite the lover when someone actually interests him enough for him to put in the effort. I believe you’ll be able to accomplish both, and if you do, you’ll have his attention and a door opened toward the security that you’re wanting.”

It all sounded too good to be true. I took a drink of my water, letting my fingers linger on the cool glass while I considered all that she’d said. “So, he’s a reasonable, undemanding man?”

“Actually, he is. Shocking, I know,” she said, humor lacing her voice. “I think an arrangement with someone like Eric would be mutually beneficial, and it would leave you other options to explore in terms of what you truly want for your future, and maybe someday that will include art again. Whether it’s creating it, or owning an art gallery, or opening up your own studio.”

I glanced away from Dom’s direct stare, and what I’d always believed in my youth was nothing more than a pipe dream. For as long as I could remember, as early as holding a crayon in my hand, I’d loved art. Drawing, painting, the extensive history of artists and all the different mediums used to create beautiful masterpieces. I still surrounded myself with books and immersed myself in the works of masters from various periods, soaking in their techniques and philosophies, but it had been a very long time since I’d dabbled in creating my own art.

But I couldn’t deny that something within me stirred at Dom’s encouragement. A quiet longing to reconnect with the canvas, to feel the texture of paint beneath my fingers once more. The idea of creating felt distant, almost like a forgotten language I once spoke fluently, but had since been lost with the tragic death of my parents. But as we spoke, I could feel a small spark of desire inside of me to revive those dreams again.

Dominque reached across the table and placed her hand over mine, redirecting my gaze back to her kind eyes.

“You’re twenty-four, Jasmine. You’ve been doing this for six years and you’ve made a nice life for yourself when things could have gone horribly wrong for you,” she said quietly, reminding me of how and when she’d saved me from a much worse fate. “And you’re such an old soul. You’ve experienced pain that most people wouldn’t expect from someone so young, but you are not one to wither when it comes to hardships and challenges. I think your parents would be proud of the life you’ve made for yourself, of how strong and resilient you’ve been in the face of adversity.”

I chuckled incredulously. “I’m not sure my dead parents would be proud of me being an escort, regardless of the circumstances of me becoming one in the first place.”

Her gaze softened. “Jasmine, it doesn’t matter the method. Your survivability and resilience are something to be proud of. And now, maybe with Eric and him being so involved in the arts, it will give you the push you need to get back into your real passion. And even if it doesn’t, maybe it will push you closer to that life you’re dreaming of, the one where you don’t have to be so scared anymore.”

I swallowed back the painful lump in my throat. Was that even possible? To not live with that bit of anxiety always niggling in the back of my mind and driving my actions? After losing my parents in such a horrific way, and not having any other family to fall back on, I’d gained a lifetime of fear in a few months just to keep surviving. Until Dom had given me purpose and direction.

I didn’t want to just survive anymore. I wanted to truly live.

I sat quietly as our waiter came by and cleared our table and Dominque took care of the bill. What she was proposing sounded like it could be a perfect case scenario on paper for me to do just that, if it worked. The thing that would make or break the deal wouldn’t be whether Dominique’s information about this client held up—it always did. It would depend on whether or not the seemingly perfect arrangement was sustainable when we actually met.

“I assume you already set up a meeting between the two of us?” I asked, glancing across the table at my mentor, and friend. “If you’re bringing this up so confidently and he seems the type of man who doesn’t like wasting his working time on disasters.”

She laughed, the sound light and filled with confidence. “Of course, my dear. What sort of match maker do you take me for?”