Page 70 of A Million To Fall

She smirks. “Your coffee,” she says. “Milk? Sugar?”

I shake my head and shrug. “Uh, sure.”

She twists the lid onto the mug, then hands it over with a smile.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

I turn to go, but her hand on my biceps stops me.

“I enjoyed last night, Boston,” she says softly. “You’re really damn good.”

I don’t say anything. Wouldn’t even know what, to be honest.

Her eyes are pinned to mine. “I hope you’re not leaving because of what happened between us.”

“No,” I lie. “I just think—”

“I’d like to make you an offer,” she says, cutting me off.

My gut instantly tightens.

She steps in close again, her hand skimming over my chest in that slow, almost taunting way. “I have needs, Boston—needs my husband doesn’t meet. You know how much he travels.” Her fingers drift lower, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re an exceptional male specimen.”

I hold my breath.

“And I want more of you,” she adds breathily. “I want you to stay, Boston. I want you at my beck and call.”

She leans up, her lips only an inch from mine. “And in return”—she whispers, her breath hot against my mouth—“I’m going to pay you a thousand dollars a week.”

My heart stumbles in my chest.

Fuck. A thousand dollars? A week? That’s… everything.

But it’s also her. Her hands. Her mouth. Her body. Her bed.

And it’s wrong. Even if I’m doing this for a good reason.

Mrs. Davis strokes me lightly through my jeans. “What do you say, Boston? Last night wasn’t so bad, right?”

I don’t speak—just shake my head.

“Come on, then, baby. Let yourself enjoy it. You’re not a kid. And plenty of guys your age would kill to have sex with a woman who actually knows what she’s doing. The only difference is you get paid for it.”

I want to say no. I really do. But the math doesn’t lie.

Ten weeks. Maybe twelve. That’s all I’d need. Just long enough to buy Cassie and Bronx a chance at a life worth living.

I take a deep breath.

Then I nod. “Okay.”

Mrs. Davis smiles, triumphant. “I knew you were a smart boy.” She gives me one more squeeze, then steps back just enough to appraise me. “What time do you start work this morning?”

“Eight.”

Her grin turns suggestive. “Plenty of time, then.”

She doesn’t wait. Just takes my hand and leads me to her bedroom.