Escort: Burning Obsession

I SAT IN a crowded coffee shop in downtown Seattle, nursed a caramel mocha, and tried to pretend I wasn’t nervous.

I was nervous. So nervous I literally jumped when my cell phone buzzed from my purse. I fumbled to pull it out and gave a silly giggle of relief when I heard on the other end.

“Is he there yet?” Kelly asked.

“No. I told you. We’re not supposed to meet until three o’clock. Not for fifteen more minutes.”

“I thought he might be early.”

“Then why did you call?”

“I’m dying here! You have to call me the minute you’re done.”

I laughed, relaxing a little in the face of Kelly’s characteristic, pestering impatience. “I will. I told you I would. Who else would I call?”

“Definitely not any of your other acquaintances. I can’t believe you’re really doing this. You get to have all the fun.”

Shifting in her seat restlessly, I tried for tartness as she asked, “You call this fun?”

“Well, you’re going to be paying him a lot of money. It sure as hell better be fun for you.”

To her infinite mortification, I blushed hotly, even sitting alone at a table in a crowded coffee shop. She mumbled something incoherent.

Kelly cackled. “What was that?”

“Shut up. I’m embarrassed enough. I’m still not sure if I’m going to go through with this.”

“Well, definitely don’t go through with it if he gives off any creepy vibes. I mean it. The slightest twinge of weirdness and you get out of there.” My cousin’s voice had altered. She was serious now.

“I know that. I’m twentysix years old and not a fool. I have a pretty good man sensor. But I can’t imagine he’ll be creepy. I mean, you got about fourteen referrals for him, didn’t you?”

“Sixteen,” Kelly corrected. “The man must be a god. I’ve never heard such raves. Some of these women are frigid, middleaged harpies, but get them started on this guy...”

I cleared my throat and felt the nervous jitters in my belly again. “Um, yeah. So that’s good anyway. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to make sure it’s with the right guy.”

“You sound nervous.”

“Of course I’m nervous,” I snapped, lashing out as her anxiety started to rise.

Kelly’s voice changed again. “Sally, you don’t have to do this, you know. There’s absolutely nothing weird or unnatural about you—”

“I know that. But I’m sick of still being a...” I lowered my voice so the other patrons couldn’t hear her. “Still being a virgin. It’s ridiculous. And I’m sick of waiting around, hoping some man will sweep me off my feet and take care of this inconvenient little detail.”

“Sally”

“We’ve been over and over this,” I interrupted again. “Do we have to rehash it all?”

I had made it through high school and college without having sex, mostly because l'd been futilely in love with my best friend for all those years a sweet, adorable soccer player who’d never been into me that way. No one else I found remotely attractive was interested in me at all.

I’d dated on and off, but it had never gotten as far as the bedroom. In the years since, even after I'd realized that my friend just wasn’t the man for me. I'd grown gradually more and more selfconscious about my sexual inexperience. And it just got worse as I got older and everyone assumed I had a typical social life. Because I was so selfconscious, I kept pushing men away. I felt caught in a ruthless cycle and didn’t know how to break free of it.

“I’ve been thinking about it for months. It’s kept me from getting close to anyone—even the few men who’ve seemed mildly interested.” I shook my head and took another long swig of my coffee drink. “Besides, the irony is becoming bitterly painful. I’m lauded as the Goddess of Romance and looked to for swoonworthy love scenes. And yet I have no experience at all.”

For the fourteenzillionth time, I wondered how I’d somehow become a bestselling romance novelist when I was a complete failure at love.

“Well, it is pretty remarkable how hot your sex scenes are,” Kelly ventured, an edge of laughter in her voice.

I gave a little huff. “Anyone can write good sex scenes. All you need is some basic knowledge of anatomy, the right vocabulary, and some choice reading material. Experience has nothing to do with it.”

Kelly cackled again on the other end of the line.

“Anyway,” I said, noticing a particularly attractive man enter the coffee shop alone. “I better hang up. He’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Call me immediately afterward. Immediately! Do you hear me?”

After reassuring my cousin that I’d waste no time on reporting about the infamous meeting, I slid my phone back into my purse. I noticed that the attractive man I'd seen enter had gone directly up to the counter without looking around like he was meeting someone.

drooping slightly in my chair. It would have been nice if he were the man I’d arranged to meet. Even with the incongruously bald head, he was one of the handsomest men I'd ever seen.

I glanced around the shop to make sure another lone man wasn’t looking for me. Seeing no one, I turned to discreetly observe the bald man again.

He was far too young to be so completely bald. Midthirties at the latest. Maybe he shaved his head. His tall, lean form moved with both power and grace, and his black trousers and gray dress shirt looked expensive. A businessman, maybe, although he didn’t carry a briefcase. There was something about him that appealed me beyond his physical appearance. His eyes roamed the room idly as he waited for his coffee, and his expression was coolly confident.

He seemed experienced, I realized. Like he’d lived a full, complex life before he’d even reached thirtyfive. wondering what it would be like to marry such a man to have the weight of that experience at the kitchen table every morning, in bed with you every night.

It didn't take long before I decided the hero of my next novel would be burdened with that sort of deep experience.

And he’d be completely bald.

Glancing at my watch, I noticed it was just after three o’clock. Surely this guy wouldn’t be late for a potential new client.

I was looking at the entrance with a slightly peeved expression when a voice startled me out of my impatience.

“Sally.”

jerking my head around and inexplicably saw the compelling, bald man standing next to my table with his cup of coffee. I blinked up at him, wondering vaguely if he’d noticed me leering at him.

“Is it Sally?”

I nodded mutely.

The man smiled an urbane, sensual smile that ignited even his bluegray eyes. He reached a hand out to me in greeting. “I’m Oyin.”

Sally’s mouth dropped open, and I gaped at him.

While I was normally a friendly, outgoing person who handled social situations with ease, I was already insecure about this meeting. And my shock at having the random man I’d admired turn out to be the one with whom I had this particular appointment left me speechless and completely discombobulated.

Oyin’s elegant eyebrows lifted slightly. “Oyin Lehin. We were scheduled to meet, right?”

I had to assume the name was a professional appellation. Surely no loving father would have saddled a little boy with a name like that. The boy would have no choice but to go into the profession Oyin had obviously chosen.

“Yes,” I said at last, belatedly pulling myself together. I stood up and shook his hand. His grip was warmer than I’d expected. He looked so cool and polished that I thought his hand would be a cooler temperature. “Sorry. It’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded politely and smiled again. “Do you want to talk here?”

Sally glanced nervously at the other seat at her table. I definitely wanted to meet with him where there were plenty of people around, but the kind of conversation they’d be having wasn’t one you wanted to carry on with dozens of ears within range.

“We could walk over to the park,” he suggested with easy courtesy. “Still a public place but not so crowded.”

I agreed and grabbed my purse and mocha. I’d made a point of not dressing up for this meeting, so I was wearing my favorite pair of jeans and a dark green vintage jacket of crushed velvet that matched my eyes. I’d pulled my shoulderlength brown hair back in a low ponytail and wore no makeup except mascara and lip gloss. I'd instinctively known that dressing up would make me even more nervous.

As they crossed the street, I asked my companion, “So what kind of name is Oyin?” I wanted to make casual conversation, and I’d genuinely wanted to know the answer since Kelly first put this man’s name in front of me as a suitable candidate.

Oyin’s mouth tilted up on one side. “It’s short for Doyin”

“So it’s your real name?” It might be too personal a question for this context, but I’d always been overly curious.

“Oyin is. My last name has been changed.” He gave a huff of dry laughter that I found remarkably appealing. “To protect the innocent.”

She snickered a little, instinctively drawn to wit in any form. His answer had been particularly clever as it remained ambiguous as to which party

in question was innocent. “So were you named for?"

"I am Nigerian, the demons part of it"

"Yoruba"