Ines thought it was rather nice of Kilborne to let reception know she was coming. Encouraged, she felt some of her nervousness falling away as she walked to the elevator. Maybe by the time she met him, she'd be able to speak in complete sentences again.

Alone in the elevator, she used the scant time she had before she got to the 22nd floor to rehearse her pitch. She tried to, at least. She couldn't get past practicing her introduction.

"Mr. Kilborne, thank you for seeing me," she said, nodding and smiling at an imaginary Jamie Kilborne.

She could see herself reflected on the polished walls of the elevator car. Too enthusiastic, she thought. Was it better to seem less needy?

"Mr. Kilborne." She let the corners of her mouth turn up a bit in a half smile. "Thank you for seeing me."

Too stand-offish? she wondered.

The elevator doors opened.

She stepped out of the car, her heels clicking on the hardwood floors. Her jaw dropped as she surveyed the enormous living room. Daylight poured through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, illuminating the cream carpet and leather furniture. A steel spiral staircaise in the corner led up to a loft. Imposing dark marble columns flanked the far corners of the space, right behind a twelve-seat dining room. There was a door on the side, leading to what looked like a library or office.

There was no one in sight.

"Mr. Kilborne?" she called out.

No answer.

It was quiet, but she could hear the straining of metal from somewhere outside. To her right, there was a glass sliding door opening to an outdoor space. Was he on the balcony?

"Hello?" She walked through the door. A few feet away a man was doing pull-ups on a bar, his back toward her.

His shirtless, sweaty, muscular back.

Grunting with effort, he lifted his body up and down with his arms. His movements were graceful, perfect. And in breathtaking slow motion, too.

Although on second thought, that may just be her.

She tried to find her voice, but it was lost somewhere between his narrow waist and the curve of his backside.

He let go of the bar and landed neatly on his feet. He grabbed a towel from a nearby table. Mopping his face, he turned to face her.

"Who are you?" he said.

The deep tones of his of voice hit her somewhere in her core, and she felt her knees wobble under her.

"Mr. Kilborne," she said breathlessly. "Uhm... Mr. Kilborne." Oh shit. Did she just repeat his name? Her brain functions seemed stuck.

His eyes narrowed as he looked her over. "How did you get up here?"

"I, uhm..." She took a step back as he moved closer. "I was... uh, told you were expecting me."

He narrowed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, and soon he was disturbingly close. Her eyes fell lower to stare at his chest. In such proximity, she could see the fine dark blond hairs matted in a sheen of sweat. Mesmerized, she watched the rise and fall of his perfectly sculptured chest.

"Huh?" she said. Did he say something? It was a few seconds before it occurred to her that she was blatantly staring at his body, and her eyes shot upward to meet his gaze.

Kilborne's eyes burned with barely concealed annoyance. "I said..." He spoke slowly, as though explaining to a rather stupid child. "... there has been a misunderstanding."

He smelled of sweat with a slight hint of aftershave. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily in a vain attempt to suppress the sudden dampness in her panties.

"Are you listening to me, Ms..."

"Andrada," she said, feeling a wave of relief that she had discovered her voice. "Ines Andrada. But Mikey said—"

"Mikey," he said, his voice thick with disdain, "was mistaken."

He wrapped his fingers in a steel-like grip around her upper arm, cutting off any further argument.

For a moment she thought she saw his eyes darken and his gaze burn a path from her face down to the low neckline of her dress. She was suddenly very aware of how her breasts heaved with every breath she inhaled. He was pulling her dangerously closer. Her body ached with the promise of being pressed up against him, her nipples stiffening against the hardness of his...

"Hey!" she cried out as he lead her roughly by her arm back inside. "Mr. Kilborne, Mikey said you knew I was coming. I was supposed to give you —"

He smirked. "My apologies, Ms. Andrada, but I'm afraid I'm not interested in anything you have to give me." He brought her to the elevator and pressed a button.

"I'm sorry. I thought you were okay with me coming to see you." Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Or could it be because he was still touching her? She wasn't sure. His hand was still firmly clamped on her arm, and his touch sent hot sparks up her spine. "Mr. Kilborne, I —"

"No apologies necessary, Ms. Andrada." The elevator doors slid open silently, and he all but shoved her inside. "And tell Mikey I don't want him pulling a stunt like this ever again."

***
Girl will be there at 10.

That was what Michael's text had said. Only he didn't say if it was 10 in the morning or evening, and of course any reasonable person had to assume he'd meant evening.

Who the hell sends over an escort this early in the day?

Mason was caught off-guard, and nothing angered him more than being put in a spot like that.

Nevertheless, he felt a twinge of guilt at the rather crude way with which he'd thrown the girl out of his apartment. She was only doing her job, after all. It wasn't her fault Michael had her do this despite Mason's refusal to accept his... gift.

"Edgar," he said, speaking to the intercom. His voice betrayed his annoyance. "That young woman who was just here — why did you let her up?"

"Mr. Kilborne, I thought she was your cousin. Is there... " Mason could almost hear the man swallow hard on the other end of the line. "Is there a problem?"

Bloody hell. "My cousin is a man, Edgar. Do ask to see some identification next time, will you?"

"Y-y-yes, sir. I'm sorry sir. Uhm, should I ring you when he comes?"

"No. Just send him straight up."

"Yes, sir."

"After you ask to see his ID."

"Yes, Mr. Kilborne, sir."

Mason shook his head. It was unbelievable how inept the new reception man was. Granted, he'd only been on the job three weeks, but one should at the very least expect him to not get conned into letting a working girl into Mason's apartment without warning.

He looked down at himself, realizing he looked utterly looked unprepared for female company, paid or otherwise. But she made no secret of how intensely she had been staring at him. He suppressed a smirk, remembering how long she must have been watching him on those pull-up bars. At least she'd gotten a good show, even if she hadn't made any money off him today.

As he walked into his bedroom, he recalled her face. Physically,the girl herself was nothing like he expected. Not that he'd eagerly actually put any thought into what she might look like. But she was rather... healthy for someone in her line of work. A size four, at least. And she'd clearly not had any work done to fill out what looked like a size B cup. Most of the escorts he'd seen some of his colleagues and business acquaintances parade around were usually stick-thin, with alarmingly hefty chests.

He dropped his gym shorts and boxers and tossed them into a hamper in his closet. As he stepped naked into the bathroom, he tried to put the incident out of his mind. The girl was no great beauty, after all. He would describe her facial features as plain. Except there was something oddly attractive about her eyes when you saw them up close. And the way her lips parted just before she spoke...

Why the bloody hell was he still thinking about the girl?

Mason shook his head as he turned on the steam shower. He sure as hell wasn't planning to avail of her services. Ideally, it was best if they never saw each other again.

Of course he couldn't help being curious about the plain-faced woman who was supposed to be Michael Sorensen's favorite escort. If one made a living from sex, one is expected to at least be reasonably attractive.

Then the thought hit him as he stood in the shower, under the spray of hot water: Perhaps the unassuming Ms. Andrada was simply mind-blowingly good in bed.

That, he could easily imagine.

She was a little too young for his taste — perhaps nineteen. Except there was a certain intelligence in her eyes that one does not see too often in the very young. Twenty-one, twenty-two maybe? It was doubtful she was anywhere older than twenty- five. Her skin was clear and fresh. Her breasts — the outline of which was enticingly visible under her white dress — looked quite firm and rose proudly everytime she breathed.

Mason grinned to himself as he rubbed shampoo into his hair. Yes, he could easily believe the girl could be a pleasure in bed.

The image of her and Michael together came to mind, unbidden.

You'll like her, I promise.

Mason's nostrils flared with annoyance. Mikey, she called him. Mason couldn't quite picture her calling Michael that name in bed.

Mason. Oh, Mason.

The image in Mason's head changed, and it was now him and the girl. Naked in bed. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist.

She cried out his name softly as he filled her with his —

He looked down to find he had unconsciously taken his stiff and turgid cock in his hand.

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Thanks for reading! And many thanks to everyone who voted for this and other chapters.

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