Part 1 (1/2)

Beautiful Scars.

s.h.i.+loh Walker.

Dedication.

For my kids and husband, always. I love you.

Chapter One.

”You're supposed to go to a party tonight.”

Marc Archer stopped in the middle of the song, the melody that had been dancing in the back of his mind cras.h.i.+ng to an abrupt halt. ”A party,” he muttered. Then he remembered. ”Oh. Yeah. Caleb's thing. Selene was going with me.”

”Hmmm. Yes. She was, that was the plan.”

Lifting his head, he stared at the angelic face of the woman who put up with his cranky, forgetful a.s.s and basically made his world continue to function. Her name was Ilona Muoz and if she wasn't married to one of his best friends, he just might have married her himself. Not that she'd have him or anything, but he'd try. Just because she made life so much easier for him. When she wasn't driving him crazy.

Because he thought better when he played, and because he knew she had a weakness for the song, he fell into a cla.s.sical piece by Philip Gla.s.s, smiling a little as her brows dropped low over her eyes. ”You play dirty, Marc,” she muttered.

”I didn't know we were playing a game.” He continued to play and waited.

”Yeah, yeah. Well, your pleather-wearing Barbie doll can't do the party. She actually left a message. It was in the mailbox when I got here.” Her eyes fell away and she suddenly took a serious interest in her nails. ”I...uh...well. Here.”

She dropped a piece of paper on top of the Steinway and turned around, moving out of the studio so quick, she might as well have been running. She reached the door and looked back at him. ”I'm sorry. I...well. I know you two had a thing for a while.”

Marc reached for the note.

A thing.

h.e.l.l.

What did he and Selene have exactly?

He met her at Blue's, a local club that catered to those with...unusual tastes; it was crazy expensive and beyond private. Getting a members.h.i.+p was harder than h.e.l.l. The members were expected to respect the privacy of other members, the one reason he felt somewhat safe indulging there.

Selene understood the kind of games he played; she got the rules, because they were her rules too. She wasn't out to jerk him around, because he could do the same thing to her. It was safe that way. He'd played the game only with people who had a need to be just as careful as he was.

It was a lesson he'd learned the hard way.

He didn't love Selene, but he liked her. Respected her. Enjoyed her.

Still, it was a bit of a punch to look at the note and read: Marc, We've had fun. But I've met somebody and I think it could be real. I know you needed me for something tonight, but I can't keep this up when I've got a chance for something better.

S.

Folding the note back up, he dropped it on the bench next to him. It wasn't even noon. He'd worry about the d.a.m.n party later.

Resting his hands back on the keys, he fell back into the music. It was better there, anyway.

”I need a date.”

Leaning back in her chair, Shera MacNeil sighed and picked up her nail file. As she stroked it along her index finger, she studied the man in front of her desk. It wasn't terribly unusual for people to just show up in the office of Escorte, the companion service she'd taken over from her mother.

She provided a service. Companions.h.i.+p. Phone calls, dates, that sort of thing. Nothing else, although there were more than a few who thought otherwise. Her ladies, and the few men she kept on call, kept their clothes on. Period. Or they were terminated. Period.

Her employees knew that. The clients knew that. It was a good arrangement and a service that was highly in demand.

Most people called, though. Or used the Internet.

It was just more convenient. And easier for her when they didn't pa.s.s her rather strict vetting.

The man in front of her had pa.s.sed the vetting. He was also a repeat customer, despite his surly att.i.tude and penchant for showing up late. The women she paired him with had to be d.a.m.n good at conversation, because he sucked at it and the only time he ever needed her services was when he was going to some sort of party where he had to socialize. He used the companion to do all the talking for him, so he could do what he did best...stand there and brood. Until he got talked into playing or singing.

He was tall, pus.h.i.+ng six foot three, and he was attractive enough, she figured. More than a few of her employees would love to be his companion for the night-and not just the women. But she had this little thing with people just barging in like this.

Especially this guy. He was about impossible to pair up with any of her ladies, despite being a great-looking guy, despite being a good tipper.

Lately, he hadn't needed her company much and she'd hoped that would continue. d.a.m.n her luck, anyway. Studying his surly expression, she leaned back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other.

Well, surly or not, money was money. She'd spent too many years broke not to appreciate how much easier money could make things.

”When do you need a companion, Marc?”

”Tonight. I've got a big party and the woman I was taking decided to bail.”

”Hmm. Is this a temporary thing or a permanent thing?”

He bared his teeth at her.

She smiled back. ”I'll take that to mean it's permanent. d.a.m.n. Such a shame. It must have something to do with your charming personality.”

”Are you going to help me or not? I can't go alone.” He shoved a hand through his hair, but the thick, dark locks promptly fell back into his eyes. He needed a haircut. Something he usually put off until he couldn't do it any longer and then he attacked it himself with a pair of scissors he found lying around the house. Which then required professional help to fix the damage before he went back on the road. Always fun.

”Now, Marc...you know I can't go out on a date with you,” she chided. ”That would be rather disgusting, seeing as how you're my half-brother.”

”Ha, ha.” He flung himself into a chair and glared at her. ”Are you going to help me out or not, Sher? I need a date for this party. If I go alone...” His voice trailed off and he hunched his shoulders a little, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

He didn't need to elaborate.

She knew. Marc had a bad habit of ending up in trouble with females if he wasn't careful. h.e.l.l. He ended up in trouble even when he was careful. Sometimes she thought he was living under some sort of h.e.l.lish curse or something, the luck he had going on lately.

He sat up, braced his elbows on his knees and twined his fingers. Staring down at the carpet, he asked in a flat voice, ”Are you going to help?”

Before she could answer, the door opened.