Free Penthouse by Penthouse International Page B

control! I should have hung up.
     I should have tossed that portable phone across the room and moved directly to Ann Landers, but I didn’t. I held fast to that
     receiver like a kid does a balloon on a windy day, and muttered my demands.
    “Older,” I said. “Classy,” I insisted. After all, for three hundred fifty hard-earned dollars…Yes. Two hours. Yes. I’d have
     cash.
    “The Fairmount?” she suggested.
    “Yes. Perfect,” I replied. How surprisingly easy this was! “In the lobby, Friday night at eight.”
    I placed the phone on the table. I stared at the black-edged ad. Friday night at eight? Had I actually consented? Did I really
     think I’d go to the Fairmount and take some woman up to a room and…and…? And what?
    The transaction whirled around me like a hurricane. Two hours. Three hundred fifty dollars. Oh my God.
    I sat in the lobby of the Fairmount Hotel like a reluctant patient in a dentist’s chair. How I had gotten there, I couldn’t
     be sure. I’d merely buy her a drink, make small talk for a bit, and then get the hell out of there as soon as I could. Even
     so, four one-hundred-dollar bills were crammed in my coat pocket. Not that I would actually go through with this scheme. Not
     that I would end up in bedwith a woman for hire—but who could have guessed that I’d even be in a hotel lobby, waiting for a $175-an-hour date?
    My heart thumped recklessly. My slinky black dress hiked slightly up my thigh. Had I not painted my lips ruby red? Had I not
     trailed a wet line of perfume between my full breasts, across my sloped belly, and into the soft tangle of sex hair? Life
     being what it was, circumstances twisting as they do, it was always best to be prepared in the off chance that… In the off
     chance that what? The sudden urge to hurry out, climb into my car, and screech out of the garage overwhelmed me. What was
     I thinking?
    Dressed in black garters and lace—what the hell was I thinking? I reached for my keys, rose from the chair, and—
    “Excuse me?” The voice gushed through me like liquid heat. “I thought perhaps you were waiting for me?”
    I stopped. I froze. The sound of rushing blood swished loud in my ears.
Turn around,
something inside insisted.
Turn around and smile.
In a long, slow movement that seemed to last an eternity, I pivoted. And there she stood. Five foot six? Five foot seven?
     It was difficult to be sure, what with the distraction of her kohl-lined eyes, what with the allure of her cherry-red lips.
    “Are you Marie?” My voice cracked.
    She nodded and extended her hand. A sparkle of fiery red glittered from a thin gold ring that decorated her index finger.
     If I took her hand in mine, then what? If I lightly ran my fingertip across that jeweled band, then what? My palms felt clammy.
     A harsh hollowness ballooned in my chest. Take her hand.
    “Nice to meet you.” Her hand was warm, soft, satiny. In the lobby of the Fairmount, her hand in mine, I stood immobilized.
     Now what the hell did I do? My gaze slid fromher Egyptian-shadowed eyes and lingered on those voluptuous lips.
    “Do you have a room?” She squeezed my hand lightly and then slipped hers from mine.
    I felt the sudden lack of her softness and wrestled with the urge to grab her hand roughly and hold it. After all, wasn’t
     this my party? After all, didn’t I call the shots? Yes, I had a room. Yes, I had four hundred dollars in my jacket. And yes,
     yes, yes, I could grasp her hand if that’s what I wanted—or could I? The car was through the doors and in the garage. I could
     be out of here and safe in the blink of an eye. Did I have a room? And what? We go up there? We take off our clothes? How
     the hell had I gotten into this situation?
    Once again, she took my hand. I felt abruptly transported out of my hesitations and into the steamy sensation of her touch.
     One moment we were in the lobby, the next we were sitting in my room sipping champagne. Had we had a conversation? How