Good Girls Like it Dirty Read online

  Paula stared at her, speechless.

  Monique strode out of the place, not even waiting to discuss her payment, no matter how badly she needed every little cent she managed to make. Gut instinct informed her Paula would make a fuss about paying after her poor performance, and she doubted the woman would keep her as her cleaner or ever refer her again.

  Tough luck. Monique left the house and walked down the street until she reached her parked car. Before she had lived in the US, she hadn’t even owned a car. In Paris, she’d take the subway, walk, or ride with friends. Keeping a car was far too costly and unnecessary. She hurried into the tiny Kia she’d bought not second, but fourth hand. A smile formed on her lips. She’d worry about paying the bills later. Now, she’d drive out of this fancy gated community with her chin held high—and that was priceless.

  …

  “Hey, Monique, where’s your share of the rent?” Nicole, one of her roommates, asked the next day. “It’s due tomorrow.”

  Monique thinned her lips, desperate for a good excuse. She hated lying, and her entire day had been depressing. Six clients had emailed her to cancel services, and because she didn’t clean any houses, she didn’t have any cash to pay her roommates. “I don’t have it yet. I’m sorry, something happened and—”

  Nicole lifted her hand, gesturing for her to stop talking. Nicole had always been nice to her. With curly long hair and mysterious gray eyes, she was going to cosmetology school and sometimes gave Monique free mani-pedis to practice. Unfortunately, one of them was always out working or studying while the other slept, so Monique never had much opportunity to really bond with Nicole. “I get it. But you still have to pull your own weight.”

  “I do, and I have,” Monique said, remembering how she’d offered to do Nicole’s laundry when she was on the way to the laundry room, and how she never spent too long in the shower. “Listen, I apologize for being late this once.”

  “We need to pay the landlord tomorrow to avoid fees,” Nicole said matter-of-factly. “It’s a fact. If you don’t pay…” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged.

  “I’ll have the money for you tomorrow morning. Don’t worry,” Monique promised. Nicole left the living area and marched to her room. Tears brimmed against her eyelids, frustration welling up inside. How had it come to this?

  She was supposed to be working and earning money today. Yet, her regulars had canceled her maid services—not just for the day, but for good without any plausible explanation.

  What the hell? The bad timing brought a sour taste to her mouth. Maybe she didn’t make tons from cleaning, but she counted on that income to cover her bills, gas, and food.

  A pang of fear crept under her skin. She wished she was problem-free and could enjoy the nice weather, cool for September, but sadly she barely had enough gas in her car to go to her classes during the week and then to her few remaining clients.

  Am I being paranoid?

  The night had ended a lot differently from what she imagined when she’d made out with Zaine in the bathroom. Perhaps it’s for the best. She had left the mansion immediately, and didn’t think he knew her phone number. Miss Ashley probably had it, which, of course, didn’t prevent her from checking her phone every ten minutes to make sure Zaine hadn’t miraculously texted her.

  The doorbell rang, pulling her from her reverie. Sighing, she got off the couch and headed for the entrance. Maybe one of her roomies had ordered pizza again.

  She opened the door, and what she found on the other side of the threshold left her weak in the knees: Zaine Cavanaugh, in the flesh, and as sexy as ever. Moisture evaporated from her throat. How did he get her address?

  “Zaine.” Her heart skipped a beat. She hated how a part of her wanted to jump in his arms. Sure, she had been to blame for what had happened at Paula’s…but if she were smart, she’d avoid an affair with him at all costs. No good would come from hooking up with him—besides unforgettable orgasms. “What are you doing here?”

  He inched closer. “I have a proposition for you.”

  She partially closed the door, to make sure he wouldn’t come inside.

  He smiled, and a fire flared at the pit of her stomach. “May I come in?”

  “No.”

  He leaned in closer, and she knew she should move or shut the door in his face. He wanted a booty call, a quick hookup, a good old fuck. All of those things sounded great, but in reality he was in a complicated situation. Legally separated? Yes. Divorced? No. Besides, in what world would he ever take her as a girlfriend if they became close? He’d never ditch his snobby friends to go out with the much younger maid who didn’t fit in with his crowd.

  “I heard about what happened. I’m sorry. I didn’t have your address or number last night, or I’d have been at your doorstep then,” he said, staring deep in her eyes.

  A warm energy passed between them, and she swallowed the dry lump lodged in her throat. An invisible band squeezed them together, and she couldn’t will herself to step away from him. Didn’t want to.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He closed the gap between them and snatched her into his arms. He captured her lips in a demanding kiss, one she couldn’t resist. Embracing her, he pressed the small of her back until every part of her magically molded to him. She opened her mouth to give him more access, but also because she enjoyed the tingles teasing her breasts, the heat radiating from her chest.

  He weaned her off with small kisses, his lips brushing against her as her head bobbed, dizzy with arousal. If she didn’t share a room with Nicole, she’d invite him in. She’d give anything to see the girls’ faces when this sexy man entered their crummy living room.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to hear me out?”

  “Fine, but only because I’m curious,” she said to save face, but the delightful sigh fleeing from her lips betrayed her.

  The polite thing to do was to invite him in, but she didn’t want her roommates ogling him and asking questions. Worse, she didn’t want to explain who he was. One glance at him and they’d assume he had money. Besides, if he wanted to talk…

  He stepped back to give her room, and she exited the apartment and closed the door behind her. She’d been wearing old jeans and a T-shirt, and now she wished she had bothered with putting a bra on. Damn it.

  She went down the stairs and could feel his presence behind her. Where can we talk? Some tenants walked their dogs or gathered in the parking lot, probably making plans for the night. Shit. It’s not like she had a conference room, but getting into his car would give him more control.

  “Come,” she said, using her key to open the laundry room.

  She entered, and thankfully the space filled with washers and driers was empty. At that time of the day, the young crowd preferred going out to washing clothes. “What is it?” she said, closing the door behind him.

  Why did he want to see her? As much as she wanted to keep her pride, she needed the money if she could keep working for him. And with clients that had already fired her ass, she couldn’t afford to take the high road.

  The smell of bleach, detergent, and dirty socks filled the air. She leaned against a washer, trying to give them enough buffer zone. He stood in the middle of the room, his hotness contrasting majestically against the crappy setting. The uncomfortable fluorescent light flickered, each time outlining his large frame and straight posture.

  Her nipples hardened, and she folded her arms to hide her reaction to him.

  “I have a deal for you. It may seem crazy at first, but when you stop to think, you’ll see it’s a pretty good one.”

  She swallowed. “What do you want, Monsieur?”

  “You, in my bed, for the next two months.”

  Chapter Three

  Zaine tensed up. He’d had the idea on his drive over to her place, and nothing else made more sense. Doug had mentioned Monique only had a couple more months in the country.

  Zaine had to focus on his bid for the Lara Annick project, and that�
��d be impossible if thoughts of the French beauty kept invading his mind. She could give him sex and the release he needed to clear his head.

  Sure, maybe she’d have done that anyway for the rest of her stay, but establishing boundaries for the two of them was critical. If they kept seeing each other without any kind of rules, they’d both be emotionally at risk. He had made the wrong choice in marrying Ashley, and he sure didn’t want to repeat it.

  Once the blur from his separation and divorce cleared, he’d choose a woman his age, who yearned for the same things he did. A woman who had already pursued her wildest dreams and career goals, and now wanted someone to share it with—and to create a family. Monique didn’t fit in his plans, and to expect her to alter her life for him would be unfair and illogical.

  Besides, if she accepted his offer, she’d be better off. Lovely Monique deserved to have enough money to truly enjoy her remaining time in the US—which, judging from the run-down place she lived in, he doubted she got around to do.

  She tilted her head. “Why is sleeping with you a deal?”

  Wearing jeans and a green shirt, she looked lovelier than ever. He hadn’t missed it when her nipples had pebbled against the cotton fabric, and the tips of his fingers throbbed to touch them. He was sure she had no bra on. Another bolt of arousal surged through him, powerful and invincible.

  “Because I’ll pay you for sleeping with me. Look at it as a generous stipend so you can enjoy your stay in my country,” he said, almost feeling patriotic.

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “I’m not a prostitute.”

  His gut clenched. Shit, he hadn’t meant to offend her. If he wanted her onboard with the idea, he needed to keep going. “Of course not. You’re a gorgeous young woman I can’t get enough of. You’re also a perceptive individual who knows we can’t get attached emotionally. You have dreams to pursue, Monique, and I’m at a different stage in life. I’m thirty-six. When I get into a serious relationship and marry again, I’ll pick a woman my age. A woman who wants the same things I do.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “What does money have to do with any of this?”

  “Money will keep us honest. It’ll be a guarantee of the limitations of our time together.”

  “So you expect to call me and I’ll just be available?”

  “I expect you to spend your free time with me. We’ll have fun. I’ll show you places you never had the chance to visit. We’ll also fuck. A lot of fucking will be involved.”

  She listened quietly, drumming her fingers to her sides. Maybe he had a shot. Maybe he’d get through and make her see this wasn’t about treating her like a hooker, but a fair exchange where they’d both get what they needed.

  “I respect you,” he said, inching closer. “Our deal is simple and painless, the same way our affair should be. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

  “How much am I worth to you? Should I give you the numbers?” she asked, her voice acidic.

  “I’m not buying you. I’m buying our time together,” he said. The tips of his fingers burned to touch her, to plant a kiss on her shoulder and hold her. Other things should have been on his mind, such as the bid to work in the brand-new hospital that could potentially help him honor his late brother. Damn it, the whole day she’d been the only thing on his mind. He needed to get his fill of her; the make-out session at Doug’s hadn’t been enough.

  “How about thirty thousand dollars a month, for the next two months? Would that be enough?” he asked, imagining her course and living expenses had to cost a third of that. Still, he wanted to give her more, so she could have the freedom to buy or experience anything she wanted.

  “Thirty…thousand dollars?” she asked, her eyebrows reaching her hairline. “For…sex? Are you insane?”

  “That’s exactly how you’ve made me. Let me show you…” He shortened the gap between them and pulled her into his arms, thrusting his fingers into her hair. When he lowered his lips and kissed her, his entire body seared, his cock hardening. She touched his chest, her hands sliding down his pecs and abs.

  A tremor rolled through him, and he lifted her off the floor, placing her on the washer. She wrapped her legs around him as a sexy moan escaped from her lips. Fuck, was she sexy. So sexy it was dangerous…dangerous for his common sense, obviously.

  There he was, burning for her, to be inside her, to make her his over and over again. She clutched her legs around him tighter, and he outlined the apex of her thighs. Warmth sifted through the denim, a sigh she was ready for him to take her. When he’d fooled around with her at Doug’s he hadn’t had a plan—he’d just acted on his hormones. But now he needed to know she agreed to a casual affair with no expectations.

  She bucked into him, undulating her hips, grazing her teeth on his upper lip. “Zaine…” she said in that crazy hot accent.

  He withdrew his mouth from her, nuzzling her. “Say yes, baby. Say yes to the deal.”

  She ran her hand down his abs until she caressed his hard-on. She cupped his rod, and he groaned. He felt the rush of blood from his veins to his dick so fast he almost lost his balance. “Seems like you’re the one saying yes, Monsieur.”

  She made it so damn easy to say yes, which was why he needed boundaries, to keep himself in check.

  He lifted her top, exposing her epic tits, and looked at them, beaming with approval. Then, he aimed his gaze at her, and the lust darkening her eyes arrowed a shot of adrenaline in his veins. He leaned down and circled one taut nipple with the tip of his tongue.

  She whimpered, and he wished he could record the alluring sound. The hairs on his neck and arms stood on end, and he cupped the other breast. She pushed herself into his hand, rubbing into him. Monique knew all the right moves.

  He took one full tit in his mouth and sucked it, feeling her intake of breath. “Monique, say yes to me.”

  She shoved her fingers in his hair. “Mon Dieu…don’t stop. Please.”

  Damn it. What if he screwed her one time then they figured out the rest later? Pressure built in his core, the need to be inside her shaking him. Desire fogged his brain, and his vision, the hazy blur an evidence of his madness.

  He unzipped his jeans, then—

  The sound of voices nearing their cocoon of naughtiness made him raise his head. She was still grinding herself on him, giving herself to him in the best way a woman could to a man. He blinked and tilted his head, checking he wasn’t hearing things. That’d certainly be the last shred of sanity.

  “Monique,” he said, standing upright. “People are coming.”

  He pulled down her shirt, hiding her breasts from view. Such a crime, but he didn’t want to share Monique’s many assets with anyone. She opened her eyes with a start, then shifted on the washer, sliding down before he helped her.

  Seconds later, the door opened and two women entered, each carrying a plastic hamper filled with clothes. They were talking to each other about what had happened the previous night at a club, and one of them acknowledged them with a quick smile.

  He sighed and glanced at Monique, who smoothed her shirt. She lifted her chin and a mischievous glint flickered in her eyes. A wave of newfound affection washed over him. Affection? He cleared his throat. Lust had zero to do with affection, though unrealized lust certainly made someone crazy. The weeks without sex definitely had taken their toll on him. “Two-month fuckfest. Yes or no?”

  She chewed her bottom lip, then smiled. “Yes.”

  He swallowed.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “Tomorrow we’ll celebrate our deal.”

  …

  Monique brushed her hair for the tenth time. She glanced at her watch. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him to pick her up at her place, but she didn’t want him to show up at her doorstep again.

  The previous night they’d made out in the laundry room, and she’d agreed to his insane proposal. She’d had the good sense to ask him to meet her tonight, almost twenty-four hours later, to rethink her decision.

  Now, she couldn�
�t run. He’d wired thirty thousand dollars to her account, and she’d already paid her rent. Do I want to run? Her stomach knotted, anxiety moistening her palms. No. I want this.

  She put the brush in her room, then hurried out of the apartment. Her determination only grew stronger during her walk to the parking lot. Why couldn’t she be bad and sleep with her boss for money? She’d sleep with him anyway, so why not make some money to send to her family? Her mom had mentioned her youngest brother needed braces, and her other two brothers could use new tennis shoes and sports gear. They loved running, and every so often needed sneakers.

  He drove his Lamborghini into the parking space next to her and came out. Moisture evaporated from her throat. Oh la la…

  Dressed in an unassuming dark gray shirt that clung to his thick biceps and black jeans, Monsieur Zaine looked like a delicious entrée.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He opened the door of his Lamborghini and she stepped in. She liked that he treated her as though they were on a date. Older men knew how to court a woman, supposedly. Maybe he just wants to get into my pants faster and is outdoing himself. Though if she were honest, didn’t she want him? She hadn’t had sex in months. Between studying and working way more hours than she had expected to, at the end of most days she fell facedown on the bed and slept.

  “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  His place? He chose to take me to his house because no one’ll see us. After all, why would he waste time taking her out to eat if sex was a sure thing? Really, the only thing—he’d been clear about it. When the time came, he’d choose someone who wanted the same things he did. Rich men preferred marrying a successful woman who came from a good family. Whatever that meant.

  She nodded, trying not to show her true feelings. Maybe he was embarrassed to be seen with her. Like her father had been of her and her brothers. An old insecurity clawed its way back, but she shook her head, not wanting to believe it. Choosing not to.