My Neighbor's A What? (Book 3 of "Forbidden Secrets")
The new neighbors have a secret. Five gorgeous women have moved in next door. When Clark Fowler takes a summer job as a handyman, he never expected to find out that the sexy cougar who owns the house is running it as a bordello. As he gets to learn his new neighbors better, it promises to be one incredible summer! More
The new neighbors have a secret. Five gorgeous women have moved in next door. When Clark Fowler takes a summer job as a handyman, he never expected to find out that the sexy cougar who owns the house is running it as a bordello. As he gets to learn his new neighbors better, it promises to be one incredible summer!
~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~
I’m not going to do it.
In his bedroom, late the next night, Clark eyed his laptop as if it were a poisonous snake.
Could it be true? Could the gorgeous woman next door really have been (hell, still was, if she was telling him the truth) one of the most sought-after escorts in America?
It would be easy to find out. He looked out his window. A few lights glowed on the first floor, where Heidi’s room was, but the upper story was dark. Which was both a relief and frustrating as hell. He could imagine Josephine, her body a naked silhouette, watching him from across the way.
He had crossed paths with Consuela earlier in the day, while working on a balky entertainment center for Jo. The large, flat-screen television, stereo receiver, and DVD player had laughed at their best efforts, and they had both been reduced to muttered threats and curses until they finally figured out the right combination of cords, cable, and remote controls. The Latina woman had watched them for a while, an amused smile on her lips, and after a casual remark or two about Americans who had more money than her entire village, had asked Clark to help her hang some pictures when he was done. Any hopes of a mid-afternoon siesta had been dashed when Jo had tagged along, commenting admiringly on the way Consuela had decorated the limited living space.
Oh, to hell with it. He knew himself well enough. If he didn’t look up Josephine now, he’d do it sometime between now and when the sun burned out. The temptation, once thought of, was all but impossible to ignore.
He powered on his laptop and opened a browser window. After thinking for a moment, he typed in ‘Josephine Devereaux escort Chicago,’ and hit the enter button.
Any lingering doubts he might have had were removed in moments. The third result that popped up came with a thumbnail picture. When he clicked on it, the truth was undeniable. Oh, sure. It was obvious the picture had been taken a few years ago. The silver that accentuated the midnight mass of Josephine’s hair had not yet put in an appearance, but it was still the same smiling mouth, the same exquisitely carved body, the same upright, regal bearing.
It was her.
He followed a link to her webpage, and gazed at it the way a starving man would look at a five-course meal. She had an entire page devoted to her pictures, and he clicked through them, one by one. She appeared in every possible combination of clothing and lingerie. Sometimes gowned like a queen, sometimes in nothing more than wisps of satin and lace. Never fully nude. Oh, no. He knew, instinctively, that doing so would destroy the reputation for class and style she had carefully cultivated over the years.
His heart in his throat, he clicked over to the ‘touring and appointments’ button, and sighed. Apparently Josephine didn’t go out of town too often. The page informed him that she had no tours currently scheduled, but invited him to check back soon. And that the donations for all appointments were done based on where Josephine was hosting.
Just as well. He clicked back to the pictures. Can you imagine trying to set up an appointment with her? It’d probably tap you out for the rest of the summer. He snorted. Or maybe you can offer to work for her for free until school starts.
But when he finally fell into a fitful, uneasy sleep, it was Jo that he dreamed of.
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