Chapter 1

Belle du Jour walks into the hotel bar like she owns the place. It's one of the tricks of the trade, so to speak, and it's always worked for her. One of her regulars, John, sits at the bar nursing a Scotch, a glass of chilled white wine beside him. She doesn't normally drink on the job, but with John one glass of wine before going to the room upstairs is tradition.

"Hello, John," she says, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as she sits down beside him. He turns to her, his grin broad and a bit manic, the fringe of his shaggy brown hair falls into his eyes. She reaches up to brush it away.

"Hello, Belle." He leans in for a chaste kiss that tastes like expensive Scotch. Anyone at the bar probably thinks they're in a relationship, meeting for a drink after work. They would never guess that an obscene amount of money is going to change hands when they head upstairs.

"How are you?" Belle asks. She takes a small sip of her wine, letting the crisp sweetness roll over her tongue and biting back a moan at the taste.

John drapes an arm over the back of her chair, his fingers drifting lazily over the skin of her shoulder, left bare by her dress. Tingles race across her skin at the touch. She rests her free hand on his knee, squeezing lightly. A tremor runs through him and his eyes flutter shut for a brief moment.

"I'm fine. My sabbatical is winding down; I'll have to go back to teaching soon. Term starts in a few weeks." Belle makes it a point to know the broad strokes about her clients, but not the details. She knows that John is a professor at a University, but she has never asked which one, and they've never talked about his specialty. He's been on sabbatical for the last year, researching for a book he's writing.

"Are you happy to be back in the classroom?" Belle doesn't mention that she'll be going back to school herself in a few weeks. Their meetings aren't about her.

John sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"I don't know. I've not been back since…well, since." Belle makes a sound in her throat, half agreement, half sympathy, and starts drawing small circles on his thigh. Anyone who reads the British tabs knows his story, married to Reinette Poisson, a socialite descended from royalty, her affair and their subsequent divorce, accompanied by the requisite scandal. The paparazzi still hound him occasionally, especially surrounding the release of his latest book or an event for his foundation, Such-and-Such. It's part of the reason they meet for a drink first, in case someone snaps a picture of him.

"I'm sure you'll be brilliant," Belle says. She leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, his stubble scratching at her lips.

They finish their drinks, for which John pays, and then he reaches for her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow as he leads the way to the elevator.

As soon as the doors slide shut, John is on her. He pushes her against the wall, pinning her there with his thigh between her legs, and nips at her neck.

"Mmm, hello," she hums, just as he claims her lips in a kiss. His hands skate down her sides to the hem of her dress, tickling the skin of her thighs as his tongue traces patterns just below her ear. Belle gasps, grinding down on his thigh.

"John," she breathes, threading her fingers through that really great hair and giving it a sharp tug. He nips harder at her neck, but still not hard enough to leave a mark. He knows better.

The elevator doors chime and slide open, and John sweeps her into his arms, carrying her a short way down the hall to the room they use every time they meet. Not for the first time with him, Belle wants to say sod procedure and go straight to shagging him rotten, but she can't. There's a line that shouldn't be crossed, and leaving the particulars for later is that line.

John doesn't push, just sets her down inside the door and reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket. Then he leaves for the en suite with a kiss. Belle waits until she's counted the money, even though he's never tried to short her before, and then calls her manager with their all clear signal.

While John showers, Belle goes through her own routine. She tucks the envelope into her purse and tucks her purse in the cupboard. She takes a handful of condoms and puts them on the bedside table, just waiting to be used. She shimmies out of her knickers, knowing that John likes to discover she's bare beneath her dress. Then she lounges in the middle of the bed and waits.

John comes back from the shower, skin dry, hair damp, not bothering to hide his nakedness or his arousal. A thrill races through Belle's blood, leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake. Though Belle is a professional and it's her job to turn men on, seeing John hard after only a snog and a quick grope in the elevator is something else. It makes her feel more desired than any other bloke has ever made her feel.

"Hello," he says when her eyes finish their perusal of his body and end up back at his face.

"Hello," she says. She gives him her best she-wolf smile and beckons him closer. John stalks forward, kneeling on the bed and crawling over her, dragging a hand up her leg as he goes. His fingers skate over her core and his eyes darken when he encounters the soft curls instead of lace.

"Naughty girl," he says. He abandons his trek upwards and ducks under her dress instead, tracing his tongue along her slit. Belle's head drops back to the pillows and she groans, the sound incredibly loud in the silent room. "Yes. Let me hear you."

John nudges his shoulder into Belle's knee and she lets her legs fall open, surrendering herself to his attention. He teases her with licks and nips, working first one finger and then another inside her. By the time he's thrusting against the mattress for want of release, Belle is writhing and crying out beneath him.

"John, please," she begs, because she knows he likes it and because she can't go another second without feeling him inside of her. He reaches for one of the condoms on the nightstand and sheathes himself before sinking into her with a shuddering moan that Belle feels in her heart.

Neither of them lasts as long as they'd like to before they come with shattering intensity. Belle's entire body is wracked with tremors that don't subside even as John gathers her in his arms and tucks her head to his chest.

"Shh," he murmurs, skating his hand up and down her back. Finally Belle stills.

"That was…" she breathes.

"Incredible. How do you manage it?" John asks. Belle shakes her head, the movement hampered by Johns sweaty chest beneath her cheek. She can't tell him that it's different with him, that he makes her feel in a way no other client or boyfriend ever has. She can't hint at an attachment to him, or personal feelings. She already finds it difficult to stay professional when she's with him, she has to hold on to some shred of it.

"So it's worthy of top marks, Professor?" she teases. John growls playfully into her ear, his fingertips digging lightly into her side until she giggles.

"The highest, Miss du Jour." John presses a kiss to her forehead and sighs. "I wish I had time for this to be an overnight appointment."

"Me too," Belle echoes.

They bask in each other's presence for a while, enjoying the silence and the contact until the alarm on John's phone goes off. He sighs deeply and gets out of bed, pulling on his clothes slowly, like he loathes every moment of it.

"Why does this feel like an ending?" John asks, sitting next to Belle and smoothing the hair away from her face. She presses her cheek into his hand.

"Because it is. I hope we'll still meet, of course, but I imagine you'll have much less freedom with term starting."

"We'll still meet," John says, leaning over Belle and kissing her deeply. "I will make it work, even if I have to grade papers in bed as soon as I make you come."

Belle laughs, a loud, throaty sound that follows John out the door. Belle tries not to think of the warmth his words stirred in her. That life, go to work, come home to a man, and bask in the afterglow while he works in bed, is not for her no matter how much she wishes it were.