Ten

YES, that was what was different since he woke up.
That's what he had been puzzling over and over, that it was driving him crazy.
The memory of her body's willing response to his lovemaking was rapidly rousing his body as no one had ever done before, even though he wondered why she had to do what she did.
How long had she been selling her body?
He realized, as he didn't know the answer to that or why it was even important, that it was driving him crazy.
He'd touched the girl.
Not just touched, he'd been taken by her the moment he saw her beautiful face in what light could enter through the glass panes of the windows.
There was a vulnerability in her face.
That was what got through him, as drunk as he was.
She saw her face, her eyes that looked about ready to cry, and he instantly changed.
His heart melted against his better judgment.
Suddenly, he just wanted to comfort her, make love to her and give her what he had been seeking for himself.
He thought, crazy as it sounded even to himself, that she needed the kind of love he'd craved for, the one he'd dreamed of him and Helene once she'd matured enough to appreciate him better.
That opportunity to have a perfect life with her was snatched from him when he'd found out about her affair with the other man.
The woman last night gave him an illusion of what he'd dreamed of with another woman.
After that, he fell asleep like a guy who'd had a great day.
He was full of hope.
He was even thinking that he wouldn't let her leave. That he would pay for her to stay until he could let her go.
He needed that feeling back.
He was ready to pay anything for it.
He winced a second later.
He must have gone crazy. Thinking of her was giving him a headache.
His hand reached his temple to massage the headache away.
But he couldn't stop thinking about her.
Whatever pushed her to sell her body last night must be a dire one. He wanted to think so.
What could have happened if it hadn't been him? What if it was someone drunk and rough with her?
He winced again.
That was him. He was drunk when she arrived and was rough with her in the beginning.
But he was damn sure it was making love once he'd carried her upstairs. It hadn't been just sex.
Right?
Did she know that? Was that what she thought, too?
How the hell would he know? She'd left and he couldn't ask her!
Even though he was feeling defensive, Enrique couldn't stop finding excuses for his behavior last night.
He'd made her cum.
That's right.
He kissed her and she responded as if... as if she had wanted to be kissed because she kissed him back as hungrily as he did.
He wasn't that ignorant or drunk enough to make a mistake about that.
Her body had clung to him, her breathing had raced with the beating of his heart, and her moans answered his moans as if she was with him soul to soul.
When she came – unraveled in his arms' embrace – and he watched her beautiful face transform into something ethereal, he felt his recovery from the poison that was Helene.
He felt complete again.
She'd released the rage in him, made him realize he could make love to another woman again.
He didn't even know the name of the woman in his arms last night.
When she arrived, there was nothing he expected from her but that she would do what she was paid for.
Nothing... but distract him from his misery.
Instead, she'd pulled him from the rut he was stuck in.
And he could never forget that.
He also could not rest until he finds her. He had to find out who she was, know why she sold her body, and understand why last night happened between them.
He wanted to know if last night was real.
Or what he thought he knew of her and what he thought he'd felt was real.
Enrique knew his obsession with Helene had found another target but, again, he couldn't stop.
He was obsessing over a prostitute, someone he viewed now in much higher regard than his ex.
It was feeding his ego, knowing that if Helene even found out about it, it would insult her to her very core.
And he was okay with that. He was more than okay with that. He was getting his revenge.
Someone simpler but more beautiful, a provincial young woman, had restored his masculinity the first time he'd brought her to his bed...
Helene bore pretty strappings... but all she had come up to, really, was a whore, up to the highest bidder, he thought bitterly.
He found himself smiling at the ceiling, giddy... and then laughing, stunned at himself because he simply hadn't laughed like that for a very long time.
Even at that moment, he was still smiling, anticipating the moment when he could laugh at Helene's face.
All this internal debate was happening while he still lay in bed.
The moment he was done with this internal merry-go-round and his brain had formulated a little plan, he got up and swung his legs to the side of his big bed.
The blanket that covered him was pulled when he stood up and fell to the floor. Naked, he strolled towards the window.
Even the way he walked, the cockiness in his strides, was restored.
He felt really good.
He looked out and instantly, he wondered where she could be out there.
He would call Brad as soon as he'd located where his phone was and charged it to tell him he needed to get that woman for him again.
He would pay this time, for as long as he needed her. He would pay her handsomely so she wouldn't even think of selling herself to another man.
He felt territorial toward her now. He would even pay her enough so that she didn't need to sell her body to another man all her life.
He'd pay for her college if she wanted to get an education because he was sure she hadn't had that.
Maybe that was the reason why she prostituted herself.
He scowled.
He didn't like that word. She didn't feel like that last night.
She was rather tender and sweet.
A vamp in that hot little red dress.
He closed his eyes and he could see her clearly on his head, lovely curves and a small waist, skin translucent and soft against the bright shade of blood, and her heart-shaped face dressed by luxurious hair that smelled wonderful and arousing.
He craved the smell of her.
Maybe he didn't need someone to love.
What he needed was a lover, a beautiful woman without any mask of pretensions.
Someone who would take from him what he was ready to shower her with without taking his heart.
*Yes, exactly that,* he said to himself, satisfied with his decision.
He opened his eyes and turned to look for his robe. Not on the floor. He remembered he had taken it off downstairs.
Well, he could just...
Everything flew from his mind when he turned to look at the bed for the boxers he threw there before he'd showered yesterday but didn't get to wear.
He saw the blood stains on the bedspread, darker than its original shade and dried, exposed when he'd pulled the blankets to the side of the bed when he'd stood up.
He could feel his head swelling like a balloon getting infused with air.
The woman... the prostitute. The one who got paid to have sex with him last night...
... was a virgin.
The sexy vamp in her tiny red dress...
... was a fucking virgin.
What the fuck was a virgin doing in his bed last night?
He closed his eyes and opened them again. The blood didn't disappear from the spread.
Trembling with anger, he looked for his phone all over the house so he could call Brad.