DIARY OF A MAD ESCORT...

Wow, Chef Ed...your posts have taught me a lot about aphrodisiacs. So, now I've got a little 'aphrodisiac' treat for you from my work-in-progress, DIARY OF A MAD ESCORT, a contemporary erotic romance...

What happens when fantasy sex becomes…murder?

Grace Barry leads a double life. By day, she’s a smart, savvy financial consultant. By night… a sultry, seductive, paid escort providing fantasy sex to New York City’s wealthiest financiers. Grace, a.k.a., Ginger, arrives at her clients’ hotel rooms in her office clothes, looking like one of their own, but tucked away in her handbag are her sheepskin lined handcuffs and little whips. One evening’s sojourn to wealthy stockbroker Mark Chase’s hotel room changes Grace’s life forever. She slips her card key into the door…and discovers Mark’s dead body sprawled on the floor. Fear makes her run…straight into the arms of FBI agent Alex Winter, a man with a deadly secret…a man whose heart is as cold as ice. Now, Ginger must raise money for her defense. In a bold move, she offers her private diary for sale to any news channel willing to pay…

Alex Winters’ frozen heart matches his ice-blue eyes...and his name. His fellow agents call him ‘Iceman,’ and he has no patience for beautiful, scheming murderers like Ginger Berry. She’s the #1 suspect in the death of wealthy financier Mark Chase, but Alex’s fascination…and attraction to the scheming call girl gets in the way of his investigation. As Alex unlocks the secrets surrounding Mark Chase’s death, he unwittingly places Ginger in danger. When her life is threatened, it will be up to Alex to protect her, and keep her from publishing her diary of…a mad escort.

*****
Damn, what was wrong with her? She cradled her head in her hands. This nut job held her captive and all she could think about was swimming?
She was losing her mind…
Five minutes later, Alex came back, a tray in one hand. He maneuvered through the door, placing the tray containing a large covered dish, on the small table next to the bed. A delicious odor drifted by her nose. She sniffed, inhaling the sweet fragrance of vanilla.
Her stomach growled in response. Grace felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
“Hungry?”
She sighed. “I ate breakfast yesterday, but then uh,” she folded her arms across her breasts, yanking the sheet up when it slipped. It sort of ruined the effect when she saw Alex grin. “I was abducted.”
He ignored her attempt at sarcasm…but not her body. His eyes scanned her chest and neck, his cool, gray gaze roaming over every part of her.
“What’s in there?” she nodded towards the covered plate on the tray.
“French toast, made with Tahitian vanilla beans.”
She rolled her eyes. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to say, ‘Gee, all this and he cooks, too?’” Grace swept her hand out in front of her.
Alex grabbed her hand, placing a gentle kiss on her fingers. “Tahitian vanilla is a very strong aphrodisiac.”
She slipped her hand from his, annoyed that those tiny, gentle kisses wreaked havoc on her body. She felt them down to the tips of her toes, the tingling sensation traveling up her legs, to her clit.
Her eyes widenend. “Oh, I get it. So that,” she aimed thumb at the covered plate, “is part of your great challenge? You think I’m going to get all hot and bothered by eating some French toast?” She laughed, the sound snide. “You’re dreaming.”
He uncovered the dish and lifted the plate.
Grace’s mouth watered when she saw four perfect slices of eggy, browned French toast, the heady vanilla odor making her head swim…and her stomach growl again.
“Aphrodisiacs have cumulative powers, like vanilla, for instance. It doesn’t happen over night, it takes a few days.”
“Just how long is this challenge going to be?”
His grin turned wicked. “As long as it takes. Until you’re so turned on,” she shifted in the bed, his deep, languid voice sending a maelstrom of liquid heat to the little nubbin between her legs. “Until you’re so hot for me,” she felt herself flush all over. “Until you’re so wet and excited, that you want me.”
She swallowed, hard. Grace had talked that kind of dirty talk to the men she facilititated, but no one ever spoke that way to her…and not like that! Alex’s eyes, glowed, their gray icy color turning into molten silver.
“If you believe that, you’re really out of your head.” She reached over to grab the plate from his hands.
“Uh, uh.” He held it away. “I’m going to feed you.”
Grace scowled. “That’s ridiculous. I’ll feed myself.”
“No,” his tone brooked no argument. “I’m going to feed you.”
She threw up her hands, but the damned sheet slipped…again. Grabbing it, she hiked it up to her chin. “Go ahead.”
Alex laughed. “Ah, Grace. I’m going to enjoy this.”
He drew one leg up and onto the bed, balancing the plate on his thigh. Using the side of the fork, he cut a little piece of the French toast and dipped it in syrup. Placing the piece of bread by her lips, Grace licked it, sliding the tip of her tongue across her lower lip, then the top one, catching the drop of syrup that clung there.
“This isn’t maple syrup,” she mused, enjoying the wonderful taste and feel of the sweet syrup in her mouth.
“No, its vanilla bean simply syrup. Many ancient people used it as a sort of aphrodisiac tonic.”
“They must have been very healthy people.” Grace reached up and swiped another piece of the French toast from the fork, sliding her slips slowly down the tines, until the piece of bread entered her mouth.
Alex’s breathing turned ragged.
She chewed slowly and swallowed, savoring the delicious, eggy sweetness on her tongue. He continued to feed her, bit by delicious bit. Grace’s body relaxed, each tense muscle unwinding, stretching, her edgy nerves soothed by Alex’s ministrations. Each time he lifted the fork, her pulse raced just a bit, in anticipation of the delicious morsel he held out on the narrow tines.
Alex fed her until the plate lay empty, every crumb, every drop of syrup devoured by Grace’s greedy palate.
He leaned over and put the plate back on the tray while Grace snuggled under a blanket, her hunger for food satisfied…
Her hunger for Alex…that was an entirely different matter...

Copyright 2007 by Catherine Chernow
This excerpt is unedited & may differ from the final version
www.CatherineChernow.com