{"id":36244,"date":"2016-04-16T13:24:31","date_gmt":"2016-04-16T21:24:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/wantonreads.com\/?post_type=product&p=36244"},"modified":"2017-09-13T12:50:53","modified_gmt":"2017-09-13T20:50:53","slug":"the-dirty-secret-by-kira-a-gold","status":"publish","type":"product","link":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/product\/the-dirty-secret-by-kira-a-gold\/","title":{"rendered":"THE DIRTY SECRET by Kira A. Gold"},"content":{"rendered":"

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About the author:<\/h2>\n

Kira A. Gold is a costume designer living in Kentucky. Her sexy romance, THE DIRTY SECRET was chosen as a Top Pick by The Romance Reviews, and earned a starred review from Publishers Weekly. Her short story, A MIDSUMMER FLIGHT\u2019S DREAM, from the FREQUENT FLYERS collection, was featured on usatoday.com. She enjoys\u2014but isn\u2019t very good at\u2014knitting and playing darts.<\/p>\n

Here is a short sample from the book:<\/h2>\n

All art is erotic.
\n\u2014Gustav Klimt
\nChapter One
\nDonna Edith
\nA cylindrical aquarium stood in the center of the waiting room, stretching to the ceiling. Hidden lights glowed from the top and bottom of the tank, illuminating the pastel jellyfish inside. The receptionist wrote Vessa\u2019s name and time of arrival on a clipboard and told her to have a seat. The chairs were upholstered in turquoise velvet and distinct marks were left in the nap of the fabric, cheeky prints of their previous occupants. Vessa remained standing.
\nA man with white hair and a ginger goatee sat in a corner, the only other person in the waiting area. He was an aged tiger of a man, grizzled and dangerous, and handsome. She would have painted him a room in orange and silver. His lips turned up at the corners, under his mustache, when he met her glance through the fish tank. She looked away, wondering what it would feel like to kiss a man with that much facial hair.
\n\u201cVessa,\u201d the very blond receptionist called. \u201cDonna Edith will see you now.\u201d
\nThe next room held more fish. A tank full of flickering darts with azure and bloodred stripes down their sides sat against a wall, and a glass bowl in a macram\u00e9 hanger housed a black Siamese fighting fish. It raised its fins at Vessa and swished a fluffy tail. She fluttered her fingers, and it retreated behind a plant.
\nSomeone cleared her throat. Vessa spun around as a woman stepped out from an alcove. She was beautiful in that timeless way of movie stars from an earlier era, ageless and effortlessly sexy, with a cool stare that left Vessa feeling naked and naive.
\nVessa made herself smile and mean it. \u201cHello,\u201d she said. \u201cYour fish are pretty.\u201d
\n\u201cThat is Lucifer.\u201d The woman offered her hand, bare of rings. \u201cI am Donna Edith,\u201d she said, the emphasis on her second name, as if Donna were a title, like Missus, or Doctor. \u201cAnd you are Vanessa, Simone\u2019s daughter.\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d Vessa shook her hand: smooth fingers, perfect manicure, a brief clasp and release. \u201cShe said you could help me.\u201d
\n\u201cI certainly hope to. How is your mother?\u201d
\n\u201cGood. She\u2019s in Africa right now.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd Rudolpho? Is he with her?\u201d
\nVessa bit the inside of her cheek to keep her jittery laughter inside. She\u2019d never heard anyone call her stepfather anything but Rollo. \u201cThey got a huge grant for the water project last month. They\u2019ll be able to help thousands of people.\u201d
\n\u201cSimone didn\u2019t seem pleased with your choice to move back to Vermont.\u201d
\n\u201cShe worries.\u201d The walls in the spacious office were dusty mauve, with a deeper shade below a white chair rail. Neutral and noncommittal, yet strangely intimate, like the conversation.
\n\u201cShe says your decision is based on rebellion rather than a need for roots and family.\u201d
\n\u201cMy mother understands a fight against authority. But she\u2019s never wanted to belong anywhere.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd you do. Fair enough. Why now?\u201d
\n\u201cMy grandfather had a stroke this spring,\u201d Vessa said. \u201cNot a big one, but enough to make me realize how important family is.\u201d
\n\u201cAre you two close?\u201d
\nVessa looked out the window, toward the lake, where her dad\u2019s father had taught her to swim and to fish. He\u2019d let her help paint his boat, when she was six, the first time she\u2019d ever held a paintbrush.
\n\u201cAs much as we\u2019ve been allowed to be,\u201d she said. A few weeks every July, and phone calls on holidays and birthdays\u2014except this last one, when he\u2019d been in the hospital.
\n\u201cNo time like the present, then,\u201d said Donna Edith. \u201cHave you found a place to live?\u201d
\n\u201cYes. A loft. Above an antique shop. Brass and Bones. The owner is my landlord.\u201d
\n\u201cManuel Luna. He\u2019s a lovely man.\u201d
\n\u201cYou know him?\u201d
\n\u201cI do.\u201d Donna Edith raised an eyebrow and Vessa squirmed, embarrassed. Of course Donna Edith knew her landlord. She knew everyone. She even knew who Vessa was, when very few did.
\n\u201cDid your mother explain what my agency does?\u201d the woman asked.
\n\u201cShe said you place people.\u201d
\n\u201cPrecisely. I only accept referrals because it is too easy to misconstrue what we do. We are not an escort service, nor are we a temporary employment brokerage\u2014though both structures are similar. Clients come to me with a need, and I match them to other clients with needs. Some are longstanding or repeated requests. For example, Mrs. Zimmer prefers to bring her own partner to her ballroom dance lessons, and several young men have benefited from the social guidance of an older woman. Rudolpho needed a spokesperson for his crusade. Your mother needed a cause for all her restless energy.\u201d
\nShe gestured to the alcove, where a kettle hissed from the hot plate. \u201cWould you like a cup of tea?\u201d
\n\u201cYes, thank you,\u201d Vessa said, and Donna Edith smiled, like Vessa had passed a test.
\nDonna Edith stepped to the tiny kitchenette. The pins in her hair were tipped with black pearls. They glimmered, like the iridescent fish in the bowl.
\n\u201cCome choose.\u201d She beckoned to the tiny room.
\nThe shelves above the burner and the mini-fridge were filled with boxes and tins, some with handwritten labels, some with gorgeous packaging of high-end specialty stores.
\nVessa mouthed the name on one that had fancy vowels. \u201cWhat would you recommend?\u201d she asked.
\nThe woman set two glass mugs on the counter. \u201cFor you?\u201d She made a show of looking Vessa up and down, then pulled a tin from a shelf and gestured to the couch by the window. \u201cHave a seat.\u201d
\nVessa sat while Donna Edith poured the water over the tea strainer, a hinged, holed spoon. She brought a tray to the table at the sofa, dropped a cube of sugar in one mug and stirred the spoon three times. When the liquid turned amber, she handed over the mug.
\nVessa took it carefully, terrified she would spill it but grateful to have something to do with her hands. Donna Edith\u2019s tea turned dark gray and smelled of burnt wood. Vessa sniffed her own. The steam was scented like whiskey and roses.
\n\u201cTell me about yourself, Vanessa.\u201d Donna Edith leaned back in the cushions, sliding one foot out of her shoe and tucking it beneath her.
\n\u201cIt\u2019s Vessa. Or Vess. Nobody calls me Vanessa except my father\u2019s wife. She doesn\u2019t care for me much.\u201d The second hand on the desk clock clicked, out of sync with her heartbeat. She wove her fingers through the handle of her mug, staring through the liquid to the star in the bottom made by the cut crystal base.
\n\u201cMy bachelor\u2019s degree took five years at three different schools. Then it turned out being a scenic artist requires an MFA to get hired anywhere that actually pays. But grad schools want a year in the field and a professional portfolio before they\u2019ll even look at your application. And in L.A., no matter how good you are, to get work\u2014even an internship\u2014you have to mingle, to network and be social and talk about yourself.\u201d
\nVessa blew across the mug and took a tiny sip. The tea tasted like it smelled: smoky and floral with a touch of sweetness. \u201cThat\u2019s lovely.\u201d
\nThe betta fish preened in its bowl, like it had been the one to make the tea. The woman at the other end of the couch watched Vessa over her own mug.
\n\u201cSo, basically, college was half a decade of me learning to paint walls that get torn down after three weeks, and the credentials to wait tables with a name tag that says \u2018Tess.\u2019\u201d
\nDonna Edith cocked her head to the side, pinning her with eyes as sharp as icicles. \u201cHow would you paint these walls, Vessa?\u201d
\n\u201cOh!\u201d The question was unexpected and she sloshed her tea, a single drop falling to her wrist. She set the cup on the table, stood and turned around in a slow circle, considering the walls, the window, the furniture and the woman on the couch. This was a test she could pass with flying colors. \u201cSpanish?\u201d she murmured. \u201cOr maybe colonial Brazil\u2014\u201d She reached for her bag. \u201cCan I show you? It\u2019s easier to draw than explain with words.\u201d
\nDonna Edith nodded. Vessa grabbed her sketchbook and a handful of pencils, and knelt on the floor in front of the tea table. The familiarity of her art supplies calmed her more than the tea. \u201cYour furniture runs to the baroque, all solid and dark, but the window brings in so much light. Those are nice contrasts to play with.\u201d
\nShe sketched some fast lines of the walls, the window and the tank with the flickering neon fish, her confidence settling into place. \u201cThe mauve is pretty, but it\u2019s not the best for skin\u2014especially the satin finish. In artificial light it can bounce shadows that look like bruises. The sunlight would have more impact, too, if the walls were brighter. Maybe taken to ivory, and then softened with a glaze of terra-cotta. Then you\u2019d have a palette that matches the time period of your furniture.\u201d
\nShe shaded with the side of a pencil, then dipped a paintbrush in her tea and wet the watercolor pigment, softening her pencil strokes. \u201cAlmost a Titian red. It would only read in the shadows, but the auburn in your hair would catch it and shine. You have great legs\u2014do you wear shorter skirts a lot?\u201d
\nVessa instantly regretted her forward question, but Donna Edith nodded once, like a queen.
\n\u201cSo a dark color below the chair rail, to really bring out the silhouette. Deeper even than your furniture. Ebony.\u201d She painted a navy layer on her sketch, then another of evergreen. \u201cWith color washes over it, a dark rainbow of them because you like pearls and fish that look like opals. And maybe, if you wanted to set the whole look off, instead of the woven plant hanger thing for Lucifer\u2019s bowl, something wrought iron because it adds a touch of that medieval badass feel that is so sexy, and kind of intimidating, too.\u201d
\nShe drew a chain from the ceiling to suspend the globe, with the curling fins of the black fish inside. \u201cLike that.\u201d
\nShe blew across the paper, and then passed it to Donna Edith. The woman\u2019s eyes widened, glancing to Vessa and then back to the paper in her hands. Vessa was used to that reaction, the surprise that her work was good, more professional than her Bohemian appearance led on. Donna Edith held up the sketch, comparing it to the room. \u201cYou think I want to intimidate people?\u201d
\nVessa rolled her lips inward, wincing. \u201cNo woman wears a leather skirt by accident.\u201d
\nDonna Edith set her cup on the tray and leaned back into the cushions, still holding the sketch. \u201cAnd what do your clothes say about you, I wonder?\u201d
\nThe rose flavor in the tea sat in Vessa\u2019s mouth like old perfume, musky and sharp. She picked up her pencils and brush and put them in her bag with her sketchbook, her self-assurance ebbing away as the other woman\u2019s gaze lay heavy on her skin.
\n\u201cCheap leggings under a thrift store designer dress\u2014you recognize quality but back it up with practicality. Your shoes say the same. Comfortable, but well made and formal enough for an interview. The strap on your brassiere is violet lace, and I would guess your lingerie cost more than your entire ensemble. You may hide your sensuous nature, but privately, you revel in it.\u201d
\nVessa touched the collar of her dress at the shoulder where it had had slipped, revealing her bra. She dropped her hand to her lap without fixing the fashion faux pas.
\n\u201cYou\u2019re wearing no jewelry,\u201d Donna Edith said. \u201cSo no strong religious affiliation, and no boyfriends, either.\u201d She paused, as if she\u2019d asked a question.
\nVessa shook her head. \u201cNothing that ever lasted beyond final curtain.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat a shame,\u201d Donna Edith said with no sincerity at all. \u201cYour eyes are painted like opals, and your hair is dyed three different colors, meant to draw attention away from the girl behind the artifice, yes?\u201d The woman\u2019s tone turned gentle. \u201cBut the world becomes a very lonely place if you can\u2019t let people see who you really are.\u201d
\nThe sunlight faded from the room, stripping the mauve walls of their pink and purple, leaving only gray behind. Vessa twisted the strap of her bag between her fingers and looked at the floor, tears pricking hot in her eyes.
\n\u201cDoes your father know you are here?\u201d
\n\u201cNot yet.\u201d Vessa raised her chin and the tears receded. \u201cBut he\u2019ll be pleased.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd your stepmother? Will she?\u201d
\nVessa took a deep shaky breath. \u201cNot so much.\u201d
\n\u201cFrom what your mother told me of the situation, I gather you\u2019d like to be financially solvent before your father\u2019s wife discovers you are here.\u201d
\n\u201cIn all the fairy tales, no one mentions that the evil stepmother is the one paying the bills.\u201d
\n\u201cOf course not.\u201d Donna Edith laid the drawing on the table. \u201cBut I think you\u2019re delightful, and I know exactly where I\u2019m going to place you.\u201d
\n * * *
\n Killian tapped the stylus icon and drew another line across the top of the digital drawing, then took off his glasses. The lenses weren\u2019t blurry, he discovered\u2014his eyes were. He rolled his head on his neck, listening to the vertebrae pop one by one.
\n\u201cI\u2019ve called a budget meeting for two o\u2019clock tomorrow,\u201d the accounts manager said, dropping an expense report printout on top of his keyboard. \u201cThe entire company needs to be there.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019ve got a project review scheduled with the contractors then,\u201d Killian said.
\nThe accountant shrugged. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to change it.\u201d
\n\u201cYou want me to skip a meeting called by our investors, just so you can read aloud the email we all got yesterday? My name isn\u2019t even on this.\u201d
\n\u201cTake it up with Bergman if you don\u2019t like it.\u201d
\nFrom the next workspace came the noise of crumpling and the rattle of a paper wad hitting a metal trashcan. The accountant sniffed and walked off. Killian glanced at the expense report and circled a column of numbers with a highlighter pen.
\nHis cell phone rang. When he saw the number he snatched it from his desk and stood up.
\n\u201cThis is Fitzroy,\u201d he answered, keeping his tone calm and professional. He crossed the architecture firm\u2019s design room in long strides and stepped into the empty boardroom.
\n\u201cKillian, Donna Edith here.\u201d
\nA thrill ran down his spine at her voice, a schoolboy\u2019s response to the sexy teacher. \u201cGood morning,\u201d he said, closing the door.
\nShe didn\u2019t return the greeting. \u201cI have someone I\u2019d like you to meet.\u201d
\n\u201cWill she take the job?\u201d he asked.
\n\u201cOnly you can ask her that. But I believe she is a perfect fit for your situation. She\u2019s an artist who is comfortable with deadlines and working under pressure. She\u2019s also very feminine.\u201d
\n\u201cThat sounds perfect.\u201d He dropped into a seat at the table, relief sagging his bones. \u201cThank you. What\u2019s her background?\u201d
\n\u201cTheater. She\u2019s a scenic charge artist. That\u2019s the set painter, in layman\u2019s terms.\u201d
\nKillian sat up straight. \u201cInteresting.\u201d
\n\u201cWait until you meet her. She\u2019s fascinating. Has an eye for color that is just astounding.\u201d
\nOn the phone, without the distracting vision of Donna Edith\u2014which had him as awkward as Dustin Hoffman gawking at Anne Bancroft in The Graduate\u2014he was able to detect a hesitation in her voice.
\n\u201cBut?\u201d he asked. \u201cThere\u2019s more?\u201d
\n\u201cShe\u2019s extremely private, Mr. Fitzroy. Be careful not to pry.\u201d
\n\u201cI just need the work finished on time. I don\u2019t need to know her life story.\u201d
\n\u201cYou\u2019ll want to know, Killian. In fact, you\u2019ll have difficulty keeping your hands off her.\u201d
\nHe snorted. He didn\u2019t have time to even look at girls, much less get to know one. \u201cWhen can she start?\u201d
\n\u201cI told her to be at your house at two o\u2019clock tomorrow.\u201d
\nHe stuck his finger through the venetian blinds of the boardroom window, peering at his desk and the calendar above it with red circles around the date. He hung his head. \u201cOkay. Thank you.\u201d
\n\u201cIs that a problem?\u201d Donna Edith asked.
\n\u201cNo, ma\u2019am. Not at all.\u201d He let go of the blinds. \u201cWhat\u2019s her name?\u201d
\n\u201cVessa Ratham. And Killian? Let her surprise you.\u201d She hung up.
\nHe walked back to his workspace and sat at the small desk next to his drafting table. His computer beeped with an email, but he ignored it and entered the name into a search engine. All that turned up was a five-year-old announcement of a Vermont charity scholarship recipient, and a few crew photos from a theater production in California. No face stood out as particularly interesting.
\nHis phone rang again. \u201cFitzroy.\u201d
\n\u201cHey, Killer. Pad Thai?\u201d
\nHe hung up the phone. \u201cYou can\u2019t just stick your fat head over the cubicle wall?\u201d
\nA paper clip flew over the upholstered partition in response.
\nKillian caught it and flicked it back. \u201cI better not take the time, man. I\u2019m so behind, I\u2019ll be here until midnight.\u201d His empty stomach protested.
\n\u201cYou have to eat, dude. You\u2019re a fucking skeleton.\u201d Bengt leaned around the wall that divided their drafting spaces. \u201cAnd I can\u2019t flirt with the waitress if you don\u2019t come with me.\u201d He swiped a tissue from Killian\u2019s desk and scrubbed at the pencil smudges on the side of his hand.
\nKillian handed him the paper from the accountant. \u201cYou\u2019ll want to keep this. Those are your numbers.\u201d The marketing director waved at him across the workroom, brandishing a flip calendar. He turned away before she could establish eye contact. \u201cOkay,\u201d he told his friend. \u201cLet\u2019s go. Before anyone schedules any more meetings I don\u2019t have time for.\u201d
\nThey escaped out the side exit without talking to anyone. In the lobby, they initialed the sign-out log, pausing long enough for Bengt to tease the middle-aged receptionist. She clicked her tongue when he changed the time by fifteen minutes to give them a longer lunch, but she didn\u2019t correct it. Bengt was Killian\u2019s opposite: blond, muscle-bound and charming. Women rarely denied him anything.
\n\u201cYou don\u2019t need me to hit on a waitress,\u201d Killian grumbled as they walked the half block to Taste of Siam. \u201cWhy can\u2019t you perv on girls on your own?\u201d
\n\u201cBecause that would be creepy. And she might take me seriously. I don\u2019t want to take her home, I just want extra peanut sauce.\u201d
\nThe waitress greeted them by name, and sat them at a booth. \u201cYour usual?\u201d she asked.
\n\u201cYes, ma\u2019am,\u201d Killian told her, and Bengt complimented her haircut. After she left their drinks at the table, Killian said, \u201cI went to Donna Edith\u2019s.\u201d
\n\u201cHoly shit!\u201d
\nHeads turned their direction, with a clatter of forks and chopsticks.
\n\u201cShe\u2019s incredible, isn\u2019t she? Made me feel like I was thirteen again, stammering like a dork in front of the hot mom across the street. What kind of tea did you have?\u201d
\n\u201cEarl Grey,\u201d Killian said. \u201cMy grandmother used to drink it.\u201d It was the only kind he knew by name. \u201cWhat about you?\u201d
\n\u201cI told her I\u2019d have what she was having. Big mistake. Stuff tasted like I\u2019d licked Santa\u2019s chimney after he\u2019d been up and down both ways. She told me it was called Lapsang Souchong, after a mountain. But I think it\u2019s really Chinese for \u2018tastes like smoked ass on a charred stick.\u2019\u201d He shuddered.
\n\u201cWhat did you go to her for?\u201d Killian pulled his disposable chopsticks from their paper and snapped them apart. \u201cIf you don\u2019t mind me asking.\u201d
\n\u201cThe first time?\u201d Bengt jiggled the ice cubes in his plastic glass. \u201cDad brought me in when I was eighteen. He\u2019d overheard me mispronounce the word clitoris, so I got an anatomy lesson.\u201d
\n\u201cFrom her?\u201d Killian spluttered, blinking against images of Donna Edith on her couch, reclining on the cushions. He sucked at his Coke until his head hurt from the ice.
\n\u201cNo!\u201d Bengt said.
\nThe waitress stopped, holding his plate inches from the table.
\n\u201cNot you,\u201d he told her.
\nShe set the plates down and left.
\n\u201cShe placed me with a girl who wanted her labia pierced, but didn\u2019t want to go to the shop all alone.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d Killian shook red pepper flakes onto his chicken pad Thai.
\n\u201cI got a whole lot of insight into female genitalia. And sixteen-gauge nipple rings.\u201d
\n\u201cI always wondered why you got those.\u201d Killian fought with his chopsticks for a moment before giving up and stabbing a heap of noodles. He bit through the tangle.
\nBengt drew a breath, pulling his shirt taut across his chest, and circled a nipple with a fingertip. \u201cYou want to touch them?\u201d
\n\u201cNo!\u201d Killian said through his food, then shook his head at the waitress again. \u201cNot you.\u201d
\nThe woman gave Bengt a wide-eyed look as he toyed with his chest. She set the fresh Cokes down and backed away, while Killian laughed at his friend\u2019s dismay. \u201cYou said \u2018the first time.\u2019 So what about the second?\u201d
\nBengt reached for the soy sauce bottle. \u201cI was curious about something.\u201d
\n\u201cYour sexual orientation?\u201d
\n\u201cNot exactly.\u201d Bengt stared off at some vision only he could see, but there was a glint in his eye, some savage satisfaction that made him more than the spoiled son of the boss, more than the big blond flirt who was good with girls. \u201cSo did she Sherlock you?\u201d
\n\u201cRight from the start.\u201d
\nLast Tuesday, he\u2019d been shown into her office by the receptionist. Donna Edith had glanced at him and told him to have a seat.
\n\u201cYes, ma\u2019am,\u201d he said, and she turned from her tea pantry to reappraise him. She was older, ten years and probably more, and so elegant he felt like a maladroit teenager staring back at her.
\n\u201cBengt Bjorn referred you to me, did he not?\u201d
\n\u201cYes, ma\u2019am. We went to college together. I work at his mother\u2019s firm.\u201d
\n\u201cThere\u2019s more to you than just that, Mr. Fitzroy.\u201d The woman sat at the other end of the couch, and crossed her magnificent legs. Her movements were smooth, her expressions deliberate, like all the actresses who had ever played Catwoman. \u201cYou\u2019re from the South, but not very deep. Appalachia.\u201d She pronounced it like a native, with each A short. \u201cEastern Kentucky?\u201d
\n\u201cHarlan County.\u201d Three years in New England had not frozen his accent much, but no one had ever guessed so close to home.
\n\u201cYou\u2019re not a wealthy man,\u201d she continued. \u201cYour shirt is more than seven years old, and fraying at the neck. You do not have a woman in your life who would buy you a new one, nor do you take the time to pay attention to such things yourself. You wear a tie, even though it makes you uncomfortable, perhaps because it gives you a certain white-collar status, above the roots from which you were raised. Are you the first in your family to go to college?\u201d
\n\u201cYes, ma\u2019am,\u201d he said. \u201cThe first to graduate high school.\u201d
\n\u201cYou\u2019ve worked hard for your education, then. You\u2019re driven and clever. But you\u2019re not arrogant\u2014you\u2019re here, which means you aren\u2019t afraid to ask others for help. You say you work at Bergman and Bjorn, not for, which indicates you have some status there, and your calluses suggest you use a pencil as much as a keyboard. Mr. Bjorn referred you to me, so he sees you as much more than a fellow alum or a coworker.\u201d
\nHe didn\u2019t bother nodding.
\n\u201cYou\u2019re starved for sex,\u201d she said with a knowing look in her dark eyes that went straight to his gut and groin, \u201cbut you\u2019re not here to satisfy that hunger. Your desperation is professional, not personal. Now, what would a humble, talented, resourceful architect possibly need that he couldn\u2019t ask his wealthy best friend to provide?\u201d
\n\u201cI have never asked Bengt for anything,\u201d Killian said.
\n\u201cI see. You\u2019re looking for something that will set you apart\u2014and even above\u2014anything that the Bjorn\u2019s money and connections can offer. You want obvious uniqueness. A display of your own creativity.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, ma\u2019am,\u201d he said. \u201cExactly.\u201d
\n\u201cWould you like a cup of tea?\u201d she\u2019d asked, rising from the couch.
\n\u201cIt\u2019s almost creepy, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Bengt asked, pulling Killian back to the present. \u201cThe way she can read you cold. What did she ask for as payment?\u201d
\n\u201cShe had me draw up plans for an addition to her neighbor\u2019s house. A foyer with wheelchair access. What did she ask from you?\u201d
\n\u201cI designed a tree house for her niece. It was awesome. Two rooms and a porch, with running water and electricity. So are you going to tell me what she\u2019s helping you with?\u201d
\n\u201cShe found me a decorator.\u201d Killian didn\u2019t meet his friend\u2019s eyes. \u201cI meet her tomorrow.\u201d
\nBengt coughed and grabbed his drink. \u201cYou went to her about work?\u201d He wheezed. \u201cYou had the golden ticket, the genie in the lamp, and you asked for someone to pick out your curtain fabrics? I don\u2019t even know you anymore.\u201d
\nKillian picked at his food, thinking about the next day. How the hell was he going to manage being in three places at two o\u2019clock tomorrow?
\nAnd what kind of girl would a woman like Donna Edith find fascinating?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"\n

From the Desk of Donna Edith\u2026<\/p>\n

My services are unconventional. My clients come to me with needs and I match them to other clients with needs of their own\u2026<\/p>\n

Promising young architect Killian Fitzroy: Driven, clever, eager to prove himself. Starved for sex, though he\u2019s come to me for professional assistance, not personal. Needs: Someone unique, creative and fast. An artist with a feminine perspective to breathe life into a house he\u2019s built.<\/p>\n

Aspiring scenic designer Vessa Ratham: Sensuous, spontaneous, but secretive. Recently returned to Vermont armed with an art degree that qualifies her for little more than waiting tables. Needs: An opportunity to shine.<\/p>\n

Yes, Killian and Vessa will satisfy each other nicely\u2014in more ways than one.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":36245,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","template":"","meta":[],"product_cat":[2469],"product_tag":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product\/36244"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/product"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=36244"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/36245"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=36244"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"product_cat","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product_cat?post=36244"},{"taxonomy":"product_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wantonreads.com\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/product_tag?post=36244"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}