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  Will You Be My Escort

  By Meg Harding

  A Carlisles Novel

  Jackson Carlisle has rotten luck with men and women, and after an especially bad situation, he takes a step back from romance. But with a two-week family reunion in Hawaii looming, his mom is determined to set him up with one of the sweet singles she knows would be perfect for him. A normal person would tell her no and be done with it. Instead, Jackson tells her he has a boyfriend. The only problem? He doesn’t.

  Aaron Wilkes is an escort. He’s a little surprised when a friend’s girlfriend hires him to date her brother, but he’s had stranger jobs. Jackson is cute, and he thinks a fling with Aaron might be just the kind of no-strings-attached fun he needs to get over his dry spell. As they explore the islands together, their carefully laid plans begin to get away from them. Feelings aren’t supposed to come into play, but that shouldn’t be a problem. After all, you can’t fall in love in two weeks….

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Exclusive Excerpt

  More from Meg Harding

  Readers love Dinner for One by Meg Harding

  About the Author

  By Meg Harding

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright Page

  To my mom. Thanks for always finding me funny, even if I don’t.

  Prologue

  THROUGHOUT HIS life, Jackson has been broken up with several times. In a variety of ways. He’s been let down gently over awkward dinners. He’s received text messages, e-mails, and voice mails. Once there was even a note. He’s gone days without hearing from a boyfriend or girlfriend, only to see them out and about with someone else. He had his heart stomped on and bruised, handed back to him with no-thank-yous attached. And it sucks. Without fail. But he keeps going because he’s young, and this is all part of it, or so he’s told.

  He’s not so young anymore, though, and he was never really in it for the fun of it all. He’s looking for Mr. or Ms. Right. They don’t have to be perfect—and Jackson’s current possibility is far from it. But he’s confident about them, and he feels like they’re in a good place.

  He’s not living with Angel, though they do have keys to each other’s apartments (and he thinks Angel might ask to move in soon). For the last two weeks, he’s been in Atlanta for work, doing makeup for a small television production. He’s back a day early, wants to drop his stuff off, and then go over to Angel’s and surprise him. They’ve been together for a little over six months now. In his mind, things are serious. He’s thinking about just how he wants to surprise Angel when he sticks his key in the door and opens it.

  His ears are assaulted by a wave of moaning. Loud, unrepentant, obnoxious moaning. For half a second, he’s willing to believe that maybe Angel missed him and is having an enthusiastic solo session. It would be weird. He could overlook it, though. But he wasn’t born yesterday, and his naïve days are long past. So when the distinct sound of a second voice chimes in, he’s not all that surprised.

  Upset, hurt, disgusted? Yes. Surprised it’s happening at all? Definitely. Shocked by the second voice? Nope.

  This time—this soon-to-be breakup—might take the cake for worst one yet. For a couple of different reasons. He thinks it might be the final straw. He can’t keep doing this if each time is going to be worse.

  He lets his bag drop to the floor. The moaning doesn’t stop. He can hear his headboard hitting the wall. The creak of his bedsprings that only happens when the sex really gets going. His stomach rolls. He has a guest bedroom, and he wonders, somewhat hysterically, why Angel didn’t have the courtesy to at least use it. It’s bad enough he’s doing this in Jackson’s place at all. He’s going to have to burn his bed now.

  The moaning turns into grunting and gasped cries of more and yes and please. He gags.

  Numbly, he heads in the direction of his room. He doesn’t want to see it—hearing it is bad enough—but the thought of them finishing in his bed makes him sick. He loves the comforter and his sheets. He’s going to have to toss them. Maybe he can find the same exact ones on Amazon or something.

  The door is wide open, and his view of the proceedings isn’t hindered in any way. His soft, peacock-colored down comforter is bunched at the end of the bed. His head pillow is underneath Angel’s plump ass. Which is currently being pounded into by someone else’s porn-star dick. His gray Egyptian cotton sheets are bunched around them, shaking with each movement. He thinks his headboard might leave a dent in the wall—there goes his security deposit. The shelves he has around the room are all rattling from the force.

  He clears his throat.

  They don’t notice him.

  He could clear his throat louder. But…. He turns and goes to the kitchen, calmly removes the flowers from the vase in the center of his island, and fills the vase with ice-cold water. He goes back to his bedroom and throws the water on the two naked men in his bed. He makes sure to get both of them good, makes sure they’re fully covered.

  If the situation were different, he’d laugh at their startled cries and the way they scramble around. The man on top almost falls off the bed, and Angel gives a loud yell when he pulls out so fast.

  But all in all, it’s not really a laughing matter.

  “Hello,” he says, voice carefully blank. He hopes his face is just as emotionless. He doesn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing how distraught he is. “Would anyone care to explain?”

  Angel looks at him with wide brown eyes. His black hair is matted to his scalp. “You weren’t supposed to be home till tomorrow,” he says and has the nerve to look irritated.

  “I thought I’d surprise you,” says Jackson. He smiles tightly. “I guess the joke’s on me.”

  Angel sighs and points to the naked man beside him. He’s ripped, with a broad face, thick eyebrows, a bushy beard, and not a hair on his dark head. “This is Carl. We’ve been doing this for a couple months now.”

  Since he gave him a key. Fantastic. “This as in sleeping together, or this as in fucking in my bed?”

  “Both,” says Angel, shrugging—like it’s nothing. “You’ve got a really nice pad.”

  Jackson can’t even believe it. He’s tempted to look around for cameras because surely this has to be a really bad joke for a show or something. “I think you should go,” he says. He needs to call a Realtor and find a new place. He’s not going to be staying here.

  Angel looks miffed and glances down at his still hard dick. “Can’t we finish?”

  “No,” says Jackson, flatly. His life has become a nightmare. This is nothing but a horrible delusion. “I’m going to call the cops if you don’t leave right now.”

  He watches them pick up their clothes and make for the door. He’s tempted to toss them out naked, but he doesn’t want to punish his neighbors or innocent bystanders.

  “Do you want your stuff back?” asks Angel, hovering outside the doorway. His shoes are in his hands. They’re hideous loafers.

  “Keep it.” Jackson doesn’t want back any of the clothes or personal items he’s left at Angel’s. He slams the door in his face. He’d like to collapse on his couch, but his whole apartment feels tainted. He doesn
’t know what’s been touched by them. His skin crawls. It’s been tainted for months, and he hasn’t known. He wants to jump in the shower—not his—and scrub till his skin is raw. Can he afford to burn everything in his place and start over?

  Scrubbing his hands over his face, he takes a deep, steadying breath and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He calls Georgina, his sister, because she doesn’t live with a partner, and she’s in the area. Two of his brothers are shacked up (he’s so not in the mood to deal with happy couples) and the other two are somewhere in California having pictures taken of them.

  She picks up on the third ring, voice cheery and surprised. “Wasn’t expecting to hear from you for a couple of days. How’s the shoot going?”

  “I need a place to stay.”

  Georgina goes quiet, and after a long moment she asks, “You’re home? Did something happen to your apartment?”

  Nothing happened like what she’s thinking, but in a way something very heinous did indeed happen. “I came home early. Angel’s been having sex with another man in it,” he says. “For a while now, apparently. In my bed. Am I the only one who thinks that’s wrong? ’Cause he didn’t seem to think so.” He hears how empty his voice sounds, but he can’t seem to do anything about it. He wonders if this is what true shock feels like.

  Her breath whistles as she sucks it in. “Take a cab over,” she says. “I’ll run to the store and get some candy.” He hears rustling as she gets up, the jingle of her keys as she grabs them. “I’ll call Dad and have him call that Realtor he knows.”

  He loves her so much right now. Thanking her quietly, feeling his throat strain as he fights back the mix of emotions bubbling in his chest, he hangs up and grabs his bag. He’ll send someone else to get more of his stuff later. Or maybe not. He really might get all new stuff. He doesn’t want to risk being icked out by his own belongings.

  By the time he gets to Georgina’s, she’s returned from the store and lets him in, enveloping him in a bracing hug before anything else. She doesn’t let go for several minutes, and they stand like that in her doorway, swaying back and forth slightly.

  “I bought chocolate,” she says softly. “And those Sour Skittles you like. Caramel apples. And donuts. I know that’s not candy, but they’re good. They’re an assortment.”

  He buries his face against her shoulder, heaves in a shuddering breath. She takes a step back, drawing him in with her. He hears the door click shut behind them. “We’re going to slash his tires,” she says. “They’ll never be able to prove who did it.”

  He laughs wetly. Shakes his head.

  They’ve only just settled on the couch, Jackson with his head in Georgina’s lap as she pets his hair, when the door opens. He turns to look, and in walks James, unaccompanied by his other half. Laurence follows him, minus his wife. They both look pissed.

  “You’ve got a key to his house, right?” asks James.

  “We’re going to trash it,” says Laurence vehemently.

  Jackson knuckles at his wet eyes and smiles weakly. “You can’t trash his apartment.”

  “Yes, we can,” says James. “He trashed yours. It’s called being fair.” He cracks his knuckles. “Bastien knows a lot of chefs. He’s going to put the word out, and this guy isn’t going to get good service ever again.”

  His family is absolutely insane, and he loves them to pieces. “You can do that,” he says, a tiny genuine smile lifting his lips. “But you can’t break into his home.”

  Laurence gets a speculative look on his face. “What if we give the key to someone else to trash it? There’s a hooker who hangs around the bar on 11th. We could give her the key and tell her she can have a blast.”

  “I’m going to get in trouble if someone trashes his place,” says Jackson patiently. “So as appealing as that sounds, I’m going to have to say no.” Though he does think it’s a fantastic idea. One of the best Laurence ever had. Unfortunately, it’s just not feasible.

  James takes a seat on the couch, lifting his legs and draping them over his lap. Laurence sits on the floor, his arm on the couch, brushing along Jackson’s back. He rubs between his shoulder blades.

  “Candy and a film?” Laurence asks. “We can watch something you worked on and compliment your living art.”

  Jackson huffs a laugh, running a hand through his messy blond hair. He needs a haircut. “That sounds good,” he says. He reaches over his head for where Georgina has the sweets stacked, and she hands him a jumbo bag of Sour Skittles. He rolls to face the large flat-screen television and settles in to listen to his family tell him how amazing he is at his job.

  He may not have a significant other anymore, but he thinks he doesn’t need one when he has his family.

  Chapter One

  Eight Months Later

  PART OF being in a large family means everyone knows everything. And it’s never forgotten, because inevitably someone remembers it. So Jackson doesn’t know how he hasn’t heard about the family reunion until he’s staring at the ridiculous card on his dark-cream tiled counter. Someone has taken the time to make a collage of the entire family’s faces and merge them into lettering that reads “You’re invited to the Carlisle Family Reunion.” He’s not sure whether to be impressed or appalled.

  His phone starts to trill. He picks it up without looking. “Are you seeing this?” asks James. “I think I’m hallucinating it.”

  “No,” says Jackson. “I’ve got it in front of me. It’s painfully real.”

  The last thing in the world he wants to do is attend a family reunion. It’s a two-week-long affair at a resort in Hawaii (which would be lovely if the family reunion aspect was removed), occurring in three weeks’ time, during which they’re going to be surrounded by obnoxious extended family. It’s like something from a horror film.

  “I don’t know why you’re complaining,” he says to James. “You’ve got a boyfriend.” He thinks about it. “Can Bastien not come?” He runs two businesses and works a lot, but he’s got a partner who can probably take things over.

  “Bastien can come,” grumbles James. “He’s annoyingly excited for it.”

  “He’s in for a rude awakening,” mutters Jackson. Bastien hasn’t met anyone outside of their immediate close-knit group yet—he wasn’t around for the last reunion. He’s probably expecting everyone to be like their particular branch of Carlisles. The extended family isn’t like them. Well, in some ways they are, but in others… no. They’re an eclectic group of people who mostly only bother to get together and converse for a period longer than a two-word holiday or birthday card every five years.

  There’s a reason for that.

  His call waiting goes off. He pulls the phone from his ear. “Mom’s calling,” he says on a sigh. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Don’t bother,” says James. “I’m coming over, and we’re going to drink till we forget we’ve been invited.”

  Jackson rolls his eyes. “You’re a drama queen.” He drops the call in the middle of James’s indignant squawks. “Hello,” he says to his mom.

  “Hello, sweetie,” she says. “Did you get the invitation?”

  He glares at their obnoxious collaged faces. “I did.” He looks closer. Someone has photoshopped a curled mustache onto James’s face. He holds the phone away from him as he snickers. Their cousin Bobby must have made the card. He hates James. “James has a mustache in the picture,” he tells his mom. “Did you see that?”

  Her sigh is long and pained. “I did. I’m calling to let you know you have to go. You can’t get out of this.” She goes silent, but there’s something about it that makes Jackson feel like there’s more coming. He has a feeling he’s not going to like it. “I know things have been rough, since you had to move and all….”

  And he called that.

  “But I have a friend, she has a delightful daughter, and I think you two would really get along. She might take some of the pressure off the reunion. And I think it’ll be good for you. I don’t mean to worry, but you
haven’t dated anyone since Angel.” He winces at the name. “It’s time to try again, don’t you think? Move on? We’re all worried about you, dear. I have a friend with a son too, he’s a bit older than you, but he’s got a nice job.”

  The last thing he wants is to be set up by his mother. A sane person would tell her to butt out and hang up. Politely of course; this is his mom after all. Jackson has a short supply of sanity, though, and he’s been running on very little sleep for the last month. What comes out of his mouth, instead of “no, thank you” or “I don’t need someone else to be happy,” is “I’m already seeing someone.”

  Which is a complete lie. He hasn’t slept with anyone since Angel, let alone started seeing someone. He hasn’t even gone on a date. He’s not exactly feeling good about romance at the moment. This, he thinks, is like not liking a food. If he tells someone he doesn’t like walnuts, they’ll tell him to just try them. If he says he’s allergic, they won’t try to force them down his throat. His mom is the same. If he says he’s good without a partner, she’ll try to fix him up. But if he has one…. And really, he can’t take it back now, can he?

  His mom bursts out with, “Oh! That’s fantastic news! You have to bring them. I’m so glad, darling. We were all so worried. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” He hears her yelling in the background. “Trevor, Jackson is seeing someone. Isn’t this fantastic?”

  He bangs his head on the counter and closes his eyes. “Mom,” he says. He needs to get her off the phone before she starts asking for details. “I have to go. Someone’s at the door.” He can’t deal with this right now, and he can’t just hang up on her. Though he’s extremely tempted. Maybe more so than he’s ever been.

  The disappointment in her voice when she says, “Oh. No time to tell me about him, then?” is off the charts. “You’ll have to tell me later.”

  “Will do,” he says. “Bye.” He hangs up.

  What the fuck is he going to do now? Make up a breakup? That’ll be delightful. He calls James back. “You better be on your way with the promised alcohol,” he says, forgoing the hello.