A snippet of a pretty woman au that no one asked for.

"Three days."

"Huh."

"And you will be paid. Handsomely."

She cocks her head to the side. "Howhandsomely are we talking here?"

He purses his lips though she senses it's more out of amusement than of irritation at her. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip in a leisurely move that still seems too calculated to be anything butdeliberate, and yet it's with Herculean effort that she not bite her own lips and let out a soft moan in response to the sight.

"$6,000."

Her face gives nothing away but internally, she crows, well shit.

The left corner of his mouth tips up into a crooked smile, as if he knowswhat she's thinking. She should be annoyed as hell, but... but,the smile brings out the dimple in his cheek despite the scruff that lines his face and she finds that she's abso-fucking-lutely fuckstruck.

Double shit, she thinks.

He holds his hand out, fingers uncurling slowly and inching towards her space. "Do we have an accord?"

Six fucking grand, Christ. Is the sky blue? Is water wet?

But still, her face is a blank canvas.

"Fine," then she narrows her eyes at him. "But this isn't Pretty Woman. You're not Richard Gere looking to sweep me off my feet and I'm not Julia Roberts looking to be swept off my feet. This isn't some movie or a goddamn fairy tale. Got it?"

He scoffs, and rolls his eyes for good measure. "Of course not. Julia Roberts stayed for a week. I asked for a weekend. Also," his smile takes a smug turn then, "I am more devilishly handsome than Richard Gere and you, my dear," this time she's certain the way his eyes leisurely sweep the length of her body is intentional, "are most definitely more... enchantingthan Julia Roberts."

His perusal ends in an intense inspection of her lips, and it makes her roll her eyes.

"Whatever," she returns though her lips quirk upwards in poorly concealed humor. But before he can comment on it, she continues with, "Deal."

"Aye?"

His eyebrows do a dance atop his forehead that should not be endearing but by god it is and just what the hell has she gotten herself into?

She gives a near imperceptible shake of her head as if she can dislodge the crazy thoughts up there. Then she glares at him like it's his fault.

(Because it is)

"Did I stutter?" She looks at his still outstretched hand and also because she has apparently arrived in Crazy Station she might as well board the train too.

So she takes it.

Gives it a quick shake.

(Tries to ignore the way electricity shoots up her arm at the contact)

(Or the way her skin warms and her blood sings when, instead of giving it a shake too, he raises it to his lips where he bestows a lingering kiss upon her knuckles)

(A kiss that is hardly chaste, if that hint of tongue is anything to go by)

She's quick to withdraw and if he's offended by the action, he's got a funny way of showing it because there's a shit-eating grin on his face and an excitable bounce to his step when he nears her.

"Oh, love," the grin turns soft suddenly, as he tucks a stray lock behind her ear. Her breath catches. "It's sure to be an interesting weekend."

She doesn't reply. Just tries to swallow the acquiescence that burns in her throat in lieu of the thought that pushes itself to the forefront of her mind once more.

Just what the hell has she gotten herself into?

Should I keep going? Thoughts? :) Title taken from The Clash cause it's currently stuck in my head.