“See, this is why we shouldn’t talk. We do better with body language, no?”

He almost seemed . . . wary. “Do you have a degree?”

“No, I don’t.” This could get dicey.

“But you went to college?”

Bob. “It wasn’t a prerequisite for my current employment.” Weave.

He was about to ask me more, but Tiffani returned with the check, saving the day.

I told him, “I’ll just go run to the ladies’ room.” I grabbed my purse and hurried off, the tassels of my skirt tickling the backs of my thighs.

When I passed the outdoor bar, guys gawked, knowing what I was. Or thinking they did.

In the bathroom, I stared into the mirror. Cat Marín, escort.

A far cry from my onetime goal: Lucía Martinez, tycoon. From an early age, I’d played with the idea of taking over the world, maybe going into politics like my late father. Even as I partied in high school, I’d gotten straight A’s, earning tons of AP credits. I’d planned to graduate college at age twenty-one, with a 4.0 GPA.

Yet the harder I worked, the further I got from my dreams. Which wasn’t exactly incentivizing! At least the GPA was still within reach. All I had to do was make an A on my last final.

Ever since I could remember, my mother had told me I wouldn’t need a college degree because I would marry and have children. Once Edward had come into the picture, she’d suddenly gotten hip to the times: “Girls like you should be too busy in college to date! In this strange country, it’s expected that you will have a career, and marry in your thirties. That’s simply how it is here. Finish your degree.”

She hadn’t instilled much of her Catholicism in me, but I did get the concept of penance. School was mine. Each credit was like one of those medieval indulgences you could buy to wash away your sins.

With a sigh, I smoothed a curl behind my ear and tugged down the hem of my dress.

By the time I passed the bar again, the men were prepared. Three guys tried to press business cards into my palm. I held up my hand. “No, gracias.”

The men were all wealthy-looking and fairly attractive, but I wouldn’t call any of them. This career would begin—and end—with Sevastyan.

When I returned, he looked furious. “Whenever you’re with me, you do not canvass for more business.”

“I wasn’t!” With a glare, I sat. “I was surprised by their cards.”

“You wear a dress like that in a Miami hotel bar and are surprised when men want to pay you to fuck? They know what you are—you might as well wear a sign.”

And that sign did not read: Tycoon Walking. Which pissed me off. I was buzzed enough to say, “Brilliant. I’ll model my sign after a cabby’s: Vacant, Off Duty, Taken.”

“Tonight you’re definitely taken.” He cupped my nape, drawing me in for a kiss. His lips were so firm, and God, he knew how to use them.

Soon we were at each other’s mouths, ravenous, kissing for everyone to see. My nipples hardened almost painfully against my halter.

I startled when I felt his palm on my inner thigh. His hand climbed higher. Higher. My dress would provide no barrier, the hem nearly reaching my thong.

Then . . . contact. Against my mouth, he growled the word: “Wet. You’re practically vibrating for it.”

I squirmed in my seat.

He drew back until our mouths were inches apart. “I’m going to pretend that you aren’t like this with your other clients. That I alone make you feel this way.” He slipped his forefinger past the silk to trace the seam of my damp lips. My thighs and pussy obediently parted for him. “Purr in your accent that it’s true, and maybe I’ll believe it.”

I leaned forward. “I’ll whisper it in your ear.” When he tilted his head down, I nipped his earlobe, hard. “You make me this way, you arrogant pendejo.”

“Little witch.” He was grinning when he took my mouth. Sinking a finger inside me, he kissed and kissed me until I was riding his hand. I neared the point of no return when he broke away from me.

His eyes were hooded, his hair mussed from my hands.

I could only imagine what I looked like. Panting, I squeezed my thighs around his hand. “Why’d you stop?”

He gazed down at me with those penetrating blue eyes. The color of sunstruck ocean. “Do you need me inside you, Katya?” His voice was so husky it made me tremble.

For some reason, this felt like a turning-point moment. So again, I asked myself, Would I fuck him for free?

My answer: “Absolutely.”

CHAPTER 10

In the elevator, Máxim maneuvered me against the wall, his body looming.

I turned to him, jutting my breasts and hard nipples for attention. His raised his hands, only to drop them, fists clenched. “Camera,” he muttered, stepping back. Then he cast me a look of resentment, as if I were the cause of his current discomfort.

As if I wasn’t just as bad off as he was. If I didn’t feel him inside me soon, I was going to climb the walls!

He stormed from the elevator. In the lobby, he yanked me to him. When I hopped up to lock my legs around his waist, he caught me, growling his approval, his hot hands gripping my ass.

Between kisses, he said, “I’ve thought about you ever since you left. Couldn’t concentrate on business, on anything, for two fucking days.”

I moaned, absorbing his words. Was it bullshit? Hazily, I realized he had no incentive to bullshit me. He was guaranteed to have sex with me. For all he knew, I owned absolutely nothing.