been.
“Does it meet your standards?” he asked, resting his broad, dark hand on the white marble bar top.
She turned and forced a smile, trying to ignore the growing ball of emotion in her chest. “Perfectly.”
“I can have a piano brought in tomorrow, does that work for you?”
“Yes, absolutely.” A piano too. To go with the lush, amazing view of Central Park. And money. All fine and good to stand on principle and pretend it didn’t matter … when you had some. But when you didn’t … well, that was when you realized how important money was. It might not buy happiness, but it paid power bills, bought food and clothes. Those things made her pretty happy.
The knot inside her grew larger, made it hard to breathe. She felt … the whole thing just felt wrong, and yet she didn’t think she could walk away. It wasn’t like she was sleeping with him. That would make it all truly reprehensible.
But she still felt as if she was selling herself.
Haven’t you always sold yourself?
What else was performance anyway? She had always been the product. It wasn’t just her music. If her music had been all people wanted from her, it wouldn’t have mattered that she was an adult now. That she was no longer a cute little cherub dwarfed by the grand piano she played.
This was just a different venue.
And she wasn’t going to sleep with him.
Her body felt hot all over just thinking about it. She had zero experience when it came to men, and while in theory she knew about sex—all about it, since she had a pretty curious nature and she’d done a lot of … reading on the subject—she’d never had a chance to put her knowledge into practice. When would she have found the time? And her mother would have …
She closed that thought off. She didn’t care anymore. She had once—she had cared so much. She’d wanted to please her mother, her instructor, her fans and her tutors more than anything in the world. To earn love by being talented and easy to deal with, to give and give.
She had nothing to show for it.
She didn’t care what her mother would think of her now. And, considering her mother’s personal life, it would be hypocritical for her even to have an opinion. So she could sleep with Ethan if she wanted to. She didn’t have anyone around telling her what to do, what to wear and what to think. She could do what she liked, and that meant she didn’t have to hide away, she didn’t have to do drills every day and she didn’t have to stay away from men.
A little tremor wracked her body. Sensual and shameful. Sensual because … well, Ethan just took her thoughts down that path. Shameful because, while in normal circumstances the idea might appeal, she wasn’t out to sell her body in the interest of spiting her mother. No, things weren’t as desperate as all that.
There was a quiet knock on the door and Ethan crossed behind her. She turned quickly. She wanted to make sure she could see him.
He opened the door without checking to verify who it was. “Yes?”
“Mr. Grey.” An employee of the hotel, identified only by his highly polished name tag—his sharply tailored suit was as far from a hotel uniform as anything Noelle had ever seen—stood in the entryway. “When I heard you were here, I thought I would come and make sure that everything was—”
“Everything’s fine, Thomas,” Ethan said, moving to where Noelle was standing, his stance possessive. A clear sign that he was linking the two of them, proving to the employee just where things stood.
Of course, it was all for show. But he was as good as putting on a show as she had once been.
“Noelle will be staying here for the foreseeable future. Everything is to go to my account. Food and service, anything she wants.”
She didn’t—couldn’t—believe that Ethan was truly giving her carte blanche to have whatever she wanted. All part of the show, she reminded herself. Because a man could hardly seem stingy in regards to his … whatever the world was meant to see her as at the moment.
A potential wife. A high-priced call girl.
Her heart thudded dully in her chest. They could see her as either, it wouldn’t matter. Ethan would marry her in the end and that would put a bit of salve on her reputation. Of course, the reputation would blister again after the divorce, but that was the least of her worries. At the moment she had no reputation. Her star had fizzled out.
Ethan moved nearer to her, curling his arm around her waist, drawing her to his body. His fingers moved, idly, slowly, the touch feather light over her clothing. Yet it seemed to blaze a trail of fire that penetrated the thin fabric of her blouse, leaving smoldering embers in its wake that retained the heat long after the flame had moved on.
She tried to suppress the small shiver that raced up her spine, but she couldn’t. Too much of her energy was focused on keeping her face neutral, keeping from conveying to Thomas that having a man’s fingertips drifting over the line of her waist was anything more than a common occurrence.
“Yes, sir.” Thomas nodded. “And will you be staying here as well? In the interest of providing you with the best service.”
Yeah, right. More like in the interest of being nosy.
Ethan’s fingers drifted further up her body, to her ribs, curling around, barely brushing the underside of her breast. She stiffened, not allowing the gasp that had climbed into her throat to escape, not allowing her face to betray her shock.
“I’ll call down in the morning for room service when I’m here. Rest assured, I’ll be certain my needs are met while I’m staying.”
Her face was hot, it felt like the blood beneath it was boiling, pulsing as it rushed through her veins and lit her skin like a beacon. She sucked in a breath. “Or I will.” There. This was a game. That’s all it was. And she wasn’t about to be bested.
She didn’t need heaps of—or any—sexual experience in order to play the part.
Ethan caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up so that she had to meet his liquid black gaze. “I have no doubt about that. In fact, I have a feeling I’ll be requiring very little in the way of hotel room service.”
Her pulse was pounding in her temples now, but she ignored it. Instead of shrinking away from him, as her body was screaming at her to do, she curled herself into him, putting her palm flat on his chest.
It was solid, well-muscled. She could feel the definition of his body beneath the layers of his crisp dress shirt and suit jacket. He didn’t have the body of a man who spent all his time behind a desk.
He had the body of a man who worked out. Shirtless. Maybe he swam? Water sluicing over all that enticing, golden skin, muscles shifting and bunching, tensing and relaxing as he moved …
She chastised her imagination big-time for that unnecessary foray into fantasy.
Understandably, their little sex farce brought sex to mind, but that didn’t mean she was allowed to indulge in thoughts like that.
No, she was
