Price of a Kiss

  PRICE OF A KISS

  LINDA KAGE

  DEDICATION

  For Kurt and Lydia,

  my best family.

  You are both priceless.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE

  Mason Lowe was fixing his mother’s push mower so he could cut the grass when Mrs. Garrison came to collect the rent.

  “Woo hoo.” Her sharp, nasally call grated against his ears before she tapped on the privacy fence separating his backyard from hers. Metal hinges whined when the gate swung open. “Anyone home?”

  “It’s just me.” He squinted into the midday glare as he glanced up. Wrench firmly gripped in his palm, he swiped the back of his forearm over his brow to wipe away dripping sweat.

  “Oh! Mason.” Pressing a hand to her exposed cleavage, his mother’s landlady stumbled to a halt in her ridiculously high heels and blinked long, fake lashes. “I didn’t see you there.”

  Hoping maybe if he looked busy enough that the forty-something woman would catch the hint and leave him alone, he remained crouched behind the upside-down mower, where he’d been sharpening the blade. “Need something?”

  “Um...” She bit her lip and gathered her hair with one hand to hold it off her neck as she used her other to fan herself. The sparkles in her red fingernail polish flashed in the sunlight.

  She boldly checked him over, her greedy gaze consuming him. Skeeved by the inspection, he squirmed on the inside, itching to reach for the T-shirt he’d stripped off half an hour ago and flung to the side.

  Glancing around the yard as if she were playing lookout for a felon robbing a bank, she asked, “Where’s your mother?”

  Returning his attention to his task, Mason used the wrench to twist the blade into place. “She’s taking my sister to another doctor’s appointment,” he lied, his muscles straining as he gritted his teeth.

  Mom and Sarah were actually at the grocery store, but reminding Mrs. Garrison about his sister’s circumstances might score their family a little sympathy and buy them some extra time to scrounge up more cash, because he was certain Mom was behind on rent again.

  “Hmm. And how is the poor, sweet child?” Mrs. Garrison murmured distractedly, her attention on his hands as he worked.

  Suspecting she cared nothing about Sarah’s welfare, he tossed his dark bangs out of his eyes and sent her a look. “Still has cerebral palsy.” He twisted a little rougher than he had before, securing the bolt tight.

  “My, my.” The landlady drifted closer. “You sure have grown up right. Just look at all those muscles you have now.” Her shadow passed in front of him just before she set a hand on his shoulder, her long nails digging into his slick skin.

  Startled by the contact, he lurched back and snapped his gaze up.

  She gave a husky, amused chuckle. “No need to be so jumpy, dear.” Her nails loosened their grip, only to skim an inch down his chest in a blatant caress of appreciation. “I don’t bite.” Belying her words, she flashed a smile full of orthodontically perfected, white teeth. They looked as if they wanted to take a great big chunk out of his raw flesh.

  Mason gulped. The gleam in her gaze had him turning cold all over, even in the hundred-degree heat. Like a panther spotting its prey, she wanted to pounce. On him.

  He didn’t have to be experienced at sex—and he wasn’t—to know what she wanted. She’d probably seen him from her second-story window, wearing nothing but his ragged shorts, and had dolled herself up with the sole intention of coming over to play.

  He felt a little ill. Not because he actually wanted to hang on to his virginity. He didn’t. In fact, if the opportunity had ever arisen before, he would’ve lost it years ago.

  It wasn’t even because she was ugly. The woman might have a fake tan, fake breasts, and a little reconstructive surgery done to her face—certainly to her lips and eyebrows—but she wasn’t a dog by any stretch of the imagination. She had big boobs, a tight ass, and shapely long legs, which, okay, yeah, they looked nice in those super-tight, super-short jean shorts.

  And it wasn’t because she was married, because she wasn’t that either. He wasn’t sure why everyone called her Mrs. Garrison. He was pretty sure there’d never been a Mr. Garrison in the picture.

  No, it all had to do with her age. Cougars just didn’t do it for him, and her digits had to multiply his own by two. At least.

  Mrs. Robinson—er, Garrison—must’ve been thinking about the numbers thing too because she arched an interested brow and asked, “How old are you now, Mason?”

  “Eighteen.” He glanced away, cursing himself even as he admitted the truth. Damn, why hadn’t he lied about that too? Seventeen suddenly seemed so much…safer.

  But he had a sneaking suspicion she already knew exactly how old he was.

  A predatory grin spread across her painted lips with a mocking gloat as if she assumed she’d already caught him in her web. “So…you’re legal, then.”

  Mason made a choking sound. But holy shit. He hadn’t actually thought she’d have the nerve to come right out and say that aloud.

  She chuckled huskily. “I see I’ve shocked you.”

  He shook his head, more in denial of the moment than actually saying no. She smiled with approval as if proud of him for his answer. “Your mother owes me over three thousand dollars. Did you know that, Mason?”

  Wait, had she said three thousand dollars?

  He stared hard at the old, run-down lawn mower and tried not to pass out. “No. I didn’t.”

  Christ, that was a lot of money.

  As if feeling his pain and offering him a measure of comfort, Mrs. Garrison crouched beside him and set her hand on his bare knee. He glanced at her, thinking maybe he’d see some compassion in her gaze. Maybe she’d give them a couple of months to hunt up three grand.

  Except, with that calculating gleam glistening within her callous, hazel depths, she didn’t look very sympathetic. Her palm shifted on his leg, sliding up to mid-thigh, and he nearly leapt out of his shorts.

  Damn, did she plan on giving him a hand job right here in the middle of his mother’s backyard, or what? While a part of his brain screamed gross, the little guy in his pants perked to attention, deciding her slim fingers felt rather nice moving up his leg and would probably feel even nicer resting on his enflamed head.

  An electric pulse jumped through his system. He wanted to shove her away and glare at her for doing this to him, for making his body react against his will. But he couldn’t shove her anywhere, couldn’t tell her off, couldn’t even give her a scathing glare. His mother owed her over three thousand dollars.

  How many freaking months of rent was that?

  Panic set deep into his veins. He needed to divert this before it went straight to where he feared it was already going.

  “I’m sure Mom has the money,�
�� he tried. “Sh-she and Sarah should be home in an hour or two. She can pay you then.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Garrison brightened. “So we have an hour or two to do whatever we want?”

  Mason didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to run, but he had a bad feeling those fingernails of hers would bite into his leg and rip him to shreds if he tried.

  He felt trapped.

  She leaned in closer, the heat from her palm scorching his thigh. A coconut smell wafted over him. “I’m not stupid, you know. Your mother doesn’t have that kind of cash. And she won’t pay me anything whenever she gets home from her doctor’s appointment. But I’d be willing to cut what she owes me in, let’s say, half if you’d perchance be willing to make a side arrangement with me.”

  Holy mother of God.

  Mrs. Garrison had just asked him to have sex with her.

  For fifteen hundred dollars.

  He didn’t even know her first name.

  “You know what I’m asking, don’t you, Mason?”

  Leaning away, he closed his eyes and nodded.

  “Good.” She sounded pleased. And disgustingly smug. “So your answer would be…?”

  Unable to actually voice his refusal, he gave a vigorous shake of his head.

  When she didn’t respond, a tense silence met his ears. His curiosity got the best of him, and he opened his lashes.

  She studied him with a shrewd expression, as if she knew a small, microscopic part of him wanted to say yes. But seriously, what eighteen-year-old guy wanted to say no to sex, even if it meant losing it to an old chick?

  “Is that your final answer?” she asked, sounding amused.

  He messed up by opening his mouth. “Yes! I’m absolutely positive. I won’t have sex with you. I wouldn’t…” He glanced away. “I wouldn’t even know what to do.”

  Why he went and confessed that, he had no idea. But he hoped to God it scared her off, because any woman who wanted a fumbling virgin to bang her had to be out of her ever-loving mind.

  Instead of jerking her hand off him in revulsion, however, her fingers tightened on his leg. Hazel eyes widened, and she licked her lips.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she breathed. “You just made me wet.”

  Mason blinked. Huh?

  “Don’t worry if it’s your first time, darling. I could teach you everything you need to know. And more. It would be an honor to train a young buck like you to learn my…preferences.” Her fingers began to slide farther up his leg.

  He grabbed her wrist before she reached the hem of his shorts because he knew she wouldn’t stop there. She wouldn’t stop until she had a handful. His dick throbbed, knowing full well this was as close as any female had ever come to touching him. Stupid dick.

  Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip on her to warn her away. But hell, she began to breathe harder as if his manhandling turned her on even more.

  With her gaze glazing to a fevered pitch, she drew in a heavy pant. “Damn, you have strong hands. You’re hard for me right now, aren’t you?”

  Disgusted with her as much as he was with his own betraying body, he threw her hand off and lurched to his feet, turning slightly away so she couldn’t see anything bulging from his shorts.

  “You need to leave,” he bit out. It had to be the most surreal, embarrassing, awkward moment of his life, standing petrified in his mother’s backyard in front of a broken lawn mower, sporting a woody and discussing sex for sale with the landlady. “I told you no.”

  “Fine.” She huffed out an indignant sniff as she pushed to her feet. The heat from her glare burned into the back of his neck. “Tell your mother to pay up by the end of the week then, or she’ll be receiving an eviction notice.”

  Mason spun around to gape at her.

  She wouldn’t.

  Oh, holy hell, she would.

  She pretended to admire her fingernails, preening in front of him as if proud of herself for besting him. Then, with a jaunty wave, she chirped, “Toodles,” and twirled away on her heels, humming a bubbly tune under her breath. Her hips swung in a saucy manner as she strolled toward the gate.

  Mason gaped after her, sick to his stomach and scared out of his mind. She’d never threatened eviction before. Then again, she’d never solicited him for sex before, either.

  His mother already worked two full-time jobs, and what money she’d been saving back was to buy a motorized wheelchair for Sarah.

  Mason clenched his teeth, feeling like the worst son ever, the worst older brother ever. He’d been part-timing it at the car wash after school, but that hadn’t even made a dent in helping Mom pay the bills. If he could assist his family in any way, he should be jumping at the chance to do anything and everything possible.

  Even the landlady.

  Closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness for what he was about to do, Mason rasped out the word, “Wait,” half hoping she didn’t hear him.

  But her hand froze on the gate latch. Slowly, she rotated on her heels. “Yes?”

  He hated the way her eyes flickered with triumph. He hated her, period.

  He worked his mouth a few times before he actually spoke. “Let me…let me just wash up first.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “Oh, honey, don’t you dare. Before this afternoon is over, I plan to lick every inch of sweat off that taut, glistening young body.”

  He nearly lost his lunch.

  She must’ve sensed he was a split second from backing out of the whole deal, because she crooked her index finger, beckoning him forward. “Follow me, handsome.”

  When she turned away and opened the gate, he followed.

  Three hours later, he returned home a completely different person. And Mrs. Garrison had pardoned him all of his mother’s back rent on the condition that he would return whenever she summoned him again.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Two Years, Three Months, and Twelve Days Later

  Okay, so maybe I was about to start drooling just the teeny tiniest bit when my cousin bumped her elbow into mine, distracting me from feasting on the hunk of man candy across the quad I might possibly have been—i.e., was totally—undressing with my gaze.

  “Girl, don’t even think about it. You couldn’t afford him if you emptied all the money in your piggy bank.”

  I blinked, cleared my throat, and murmured, “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said, uh-uh. No way. You can’t afford him.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I kept staring because, well, really, how could I stop? He was hotness exemplified. That was my new name for him, actually: Hotness.

  “What? Is he, like, for sale or something?” I snickered at my own joke.

  Eva patted my knee in a sympathetic gesture. “Yes. Actually, he is.”

  My grin slipped. “Huh?”

  Seated on one of the benches outside the main building of Waterford County Community College, Eva and I had been sipping on our morning dose of caffeine and sugar, arguing over who was wearing the cutest shoes, when Hotness himself had crossed my line of vision at the very corner of my eye. I’d glanced over to catch the whole picture and yeah…Shoes? What were shoes?

  But seriously. He was wickedly beautiful. With the strap of his messenger bag slung diagonally across his chest, he leaned against one of the campus’s many bronzed animal statues as he chatted with a handful of other guys.

  Wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt, he shouldn’t have stood out among the pack. But he did. Oh my, he did. His dark, wavy hair called to me—Reese, Reese! Run your fingers through my wild, gorgeous, untamed mane. It did. For real.

  So maybe I didn’t have a detailed, up-close-and-personal view of him. I mean, I couldn’t even make out his facial attributes from here—and a striking face was what usually drew me first. But none of that seemed to matter, because I had this gut feeling deep inside that his smile was an absolute heartbreaker.

  It was breaking my heart that very second.

  There was just something about his aura
that screamed sensual, confident, charming beast. It radiated off him in waves as he relaxed in a comfortable, total guy stance, casually draping an arm across the back of a frozen stallion. The boy was a piece of art, and hella more alluring than the chunk of metal currently supporting his weight.

  I could not take my eyes off him. “Just tell me he doesn’t stalk and stab his ex-girlfriends.”

  “Nope,” Eva assured me. “He doesn’t even have ex-girlfriends. Because he’s a gigolo.”

  Oh, yes she did. Out loud. In the middle of a busy campus. Like it was an everyday fact.

  I ripped my stare away from Hotness to gape at my cousin, who, sure, sometimes said some crazy-ass shit. But really, this was up there with the best of her whoppers. “Excuse me?”

  Eva smirked. “He sells his body for sex.”

  As if I needed the dictionary definition for a gigolo. Hello. “What the heck are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Mason Lowe, that guy you keep sexually harassing with your eyes.” She tipped her head in the direction of Hotness still leaning against the bucking horse statue. “You can’t stop staring, I know. He’s stunning, I have to agree. He was two classes ahead of me in high school, and we shared a fourth-hour math class my sophomore year, so yeah, I’ve drooled over him a time or two myself. But trust me, sweetie, he’s not available. Because he’s a frigging gigolo.”

  When I did nothing but blink at her because, um, what was I supposed to say to that, Eva insistently added, “I’m serious!”

  “You mean figuratively, right?”

  “I mean exactly what I said, literally.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “And…you would know this because…?”

  “I don’t know. I just…know. Everyone knows. Except the cops, of course. Otherwise, he’d be in jail for illegal prostitution or something. It’s a well-known rumor he works at the Country Club as some kind of cover to set up appointments with his clients, who just happen to be some of the richest, horniest women in the county who pay him boocoos of cash to pleasure them…any way they want. I’m certain some of my mom’s cronies have had him.”