The Chase Read Online Free PDF Page A

front of him here in the lounge, I bend and press my finger to the center of an empty marble coaster.
    Standing, he extends a hand to me, a smile of appreciation curving his lips as he looks me up and down.
    “ Claire Daniels?” He lifts my hand to his lips, presses a soft kiss to it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit dazzled by it.
    “Mr. Thomas. It’s lovely to meet you.” I remind myself that Claire is my name for the evening. I force what I hope is a natural smile to my lips, doing my own assessment as he helps me to sit beside him on the small sofa. There’s no denying that he’s a good looking man, with light hair, stormy grey eyes and a lean runner’s build. He’s a bit on the nerdy side, but more Sherlock than Big Bang.
    He’s older than anyone I’ve ever been with... not that there have been very many. One high school boyfriend, one lapse in judgment right after I’d started college. He’s likely to be far more experienced than I am... good thing his file says he’s into that.
    Good looking or not, I can’t stop myself from stiffening a bit when I sit beside him and he immediately rests his fingertips on my knee. It’s not an offensive gesture, and really, not nearly as blatant of a touch as I’d anticipated from a client to a call girl. But I’m not expecting it, and the small press of his fingers against my bare skin makes me jolt. My knee whacks into the small, ornately carved wooden coffee table in front of us. It shakes, and most of the contents of his glass of whiskey and ice slop over the edge... and right onto his nice, tailored pants.
    “Oh, shit!” The words blurt right out of my mouth before I can think them through, and I grab a stiff cocktail napkin and start dabbing at the wet spot on his pristine black trousers. “I’m so sorry.”
    I still as I realize how very badly I’ve screwed this up... spilling on a client, swearing, trying to wipe his pants—not things a classy escort would do. Frozen in place, I stare up at him with wide eyes, my pulse hammering against the thin skin at the base of my throat, certain he’s going to call Miss Black and tell her what a complete and utter fuck up I am.
    Instead he laughs—not at me, but as though I’m a cute little kitten who’s done something especially amusing. His lips twist into a sexy little grin.
    “I’m thinking you haven’t done this before?” His tone is teasing, but his words cement me in place, even as his slight English accent distracts me.
    “I...” Shit. What’s he getting at? Is he going to tell Miss Black?
    I may be projecting a sweet girl image, but growing up in Green Acres has given me a keen instinct for survival.
    I need this to go right.
    What does he want from me ... well, besides the obvious?
    Henry Thomas is in his mid-thirties, is good looking, brilliant and successful. And though I initially wondered why he contracted a call girl, as I kneel there, looking up at him, watching his pupils dilate a bit, it hits me.
    He’s a man who is used to being in control. With a call girl, he controls the date, the situation. He knows how it ends.
    That means he wants to control me . Wants to feel like he’s in charge. And the tone that he just asked me that question in makes me think that he wants a sweet young thing who looks up at him with adoring eyes and lets him lead the way.
    While seducing the brains out of him, of course.
    “You’re right.” Swallowing thickly, I try to slip into my role, to own it. “I... I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.”
    He starts to smile as I look up at him with what I hope is the expression of a sweet little baby seal. Reaching out, he tucks a stray lock of my long dark hair behind my ear, and then twines his fingers through my own to help me up.
    “That’s quite all right, my dear.” His gaze flicks down to my cleavage as he helps me back onto the couch, then blushes, as though he’s embarrassed to have looked. Never mind that the dress is so low cut, my adequate