SHE WOULD NOT KEEP HIM AWAY
They had met in the South of France, in a small resort where he had been working. The consultancy had engaged him to deal with a hotel business, in a client's group of companies, that were not reaching their performance targets. That a London-based company took him on had offered a return to the mainstream of life after a bruising and financially wasting divorce. He'd gotten through to better times and in doing so he had pursued a parallel life; on the one side was his knack for getting a project over the line and on the other, to act as discreet company for women who had become cynical of married life, were divorced or simply wanted to live out their days a little differently from their friends or what passed for 'normality'.
The trick in living that dual role, he had soon learned, was to never become emotionally involved with any of the women the agency, owned and run by Rebecca Lambert, referred him to.
Marie-Therese was not to learn of his 'assignments', back home, until they had drained a cocktail or two, seated on the terrace of the hotel he was staying at, a boutique place that was not in the group under scrutiny. He had not confessed to leading a double life outright, but how Marie had talked of her troubles and what she had sometimes resorted to in finding the particular company she wanted, had persuaded him to 'open up' on the other life he often led. That he had become attracted to the woman he saw before him had offered ample excuse to talk pursue matters further.
'I like the mystique of an arrangement I may choose to make with an agency I sometimes use, you understand?' she had smiled, slicked her lips suggestively with her tongue before she lifted her glass to her parted lips. She was flirty and suggestive, and she had also declined his suggestion that spend time together. 'The moment will come, Jake. Give me your card, please? I have a daughter who lives in England and I visit her...stay in a London hotel and not at her home. Her husband and I do not get on, so...so there it is.'
He had seen her nimble fingers, beautifully manicured, turn his card over and over. 'I have been with that agency for a year or so.'
'Then I may call them and say I have seen what others have written about you. There will be no photos, I suppose?'
'Now, there won't ever be a photo. What you see is what you get, Marie.'
They had parted at the end of the evening on the best of terms, but not as lovers. That, she had said on a parting kiss to his cheek, would have to wait.
♥
'You've been recommended to a new client...she's French!'
Becca had left the briefest of instructions, telling him it was a last-minute inquiry, an unknown referral, and a new assignment in every respect. The clients she had been enthusing over in previous calls were now more circumspect, and non-committal. Marie Therese Cassini had mailed Becca to request the services of someone that matched Jake's description and his attributes. She had accepted, telling their new client that the agency had a perfect escort to allocate to her.
Marie Therese had left an address, a hotel on Park Lane, London. The message had been delivered in a clipped tone and it said that she expected Jake to be there by mid-afternoon, that day. There was nothing more. He had dressed accordingly and now carried the soft, tan leather, bag that could be mistaken for a briefcase, its bulk giving no clue that its contents were more prosaic. They were always carefully checked, a packet of three condoms the first item to be packed. Along with them went a neat flat leather case for toiletries that he had purchased in Burlington Arcade on a last visit to town, and other essentials were carefully packed to maintain a well-groomed appearance. A neatly trimmed stubble beard testified to his virility.; Marie Therese had said as much his to him in the nearest thing to a compliment that he had heard from her when they had been together that evening three weeks ago. The travel pack included a pressed shirt and smaller items of clothing.
He did not feel out of place at all as he walked along the corridor to her suite and chuckled at the thought of what he had left behind only a few weeks ago, the conclusion of his work as a management consultant. No one was getting hurt by the life that he led and attendance on women was taken in his stride.
Marie Therese had a thin-lipped smile that revealed neat even white teeth, the work of an expensive dentist; from his initial impression of the woman. They were too youthful in the aging, narrow and pointed face of an ash blonde beauty, slender-bodied and firm-breasted, thanks to some cosmetic surgery that had not been resorted to on the rest of her. At their last meeting, he had taken her to be a woman of a certain age whose vivacious personality had to be coaxed into being seen. Her severely plucked, thin, eyebrows and dark mascara accentuated the slant of her penetrating blue eyes, disconcertingly direct in their quick reassessment of him. A thin, pointed nose completed the image of a haughty, seemingly unapproachable, woman whose slender, carefully tended figure, again held an immediate attraction for him. She had the softest of tans to her skin that had a seductive smoothness that he would be easily drawn to.
Marie Therese greeted him with an aloof, 'Bonjour,' but corrected herself. 'Hello, Jake.'
Her soft voice and accent appealed and, despite their long conversation weeks ago, and what he had imagined would be continued now, he answered politely, almost formally, taking the hand that she offered and bent to kiss it. The dab of perfume on her wrist was both expensive and exquisite; a silk dress lent refinement and revealed shapely, firm, breasts. defined Marie's shoulders and exposed a deep hollow at her throat; a string of pearls an added distinction. She brushed back her ash-blonde hair that he remembered from their first meeting.
Jeez, he was calling on a wonderful, mature, and captivating woman. How was he not to get involved with her and not break every rule? He was not meeting a matronly woman who required his attention, and yet she was playing the role of an 'ice-maiden', pretending not to be desirable or alluring or to keep his attention on the figure of the woman he had called upon. He drew a deep breath and kept hold of his heart, it seemed, from thudding to the floor.
'Is this a game we have to play out? We have met before and now we go a step further.'
'In my ways, Jake.'
He now knew why Becca had given few details of this particular assignment, or allocation as they were called by Becca. It was just another deal to her. He had to think quickly and consider. What was the next move to be?
Well, it was a case of acting out the part of a lifetime, so far. The metaphor was wearing a bit thin; he had felt this way before, every time he met someone new, a woman that he would never see again once the allocation was over. Would Marie-Therese be any different despite their meeting weeks ago? This was not likely to be the satisfying romp it had become with others. So, the only problem was...could he keep it up?
His reflective smile turned to a soft laugh.
'Is something wrong, Jake?' The lady arched her eyebrows and regarded him with a fixed stare. 'You have not said anything.'
'Pardon,' he bowed and gave her an impudent smile. Each situation needed a new approach. 'The desk was expecting me.'
Hell, what a thing to say, gauche, but he was floundering, wished to leave, but Becca had made clear that the address alone meant a decent pay-off. He would have to endure whatever awaited him.
'I told them that my 'husband was arriving, later.' She sat down on the large sofa and crossed her toned and slender legs. There was a smile on her thin lips, for the first time, as she gauged his reaction. Her voice was captivating, the dropped 'aitches' an endearing trait.
'May I get you a drink?' Jake offered with a smile.
There must be some redeeming feature in his predicament. Oh yes, the money. He was being paid for this allocation, so it was for better or worse.
'Yes, please, and do you need one?' She beckoned and held out her hands to him.
'No!' he laughed self-consciously, shaking his head, 'not for the reason you think, no.' He felt a gentle squeeze.
'Pour le courage?' she winked and gave him a mischievous grin that softened, for the first time, the hauteur that had dominated her expression. It was the start of a thaw, he hoped.
