Mister Romance

by Leisa Rayven

  “Are they all like what you did with me at the gym?”

  He gives me a half-smile. “I knew you wouldn’t respond to traditional romance tropes, so with Kieran I took a more ... realistic approach. Most of my dates involve a fantasy element. Larger-than-life characters.”

  I grab a bowl of rice and spoon some onto my plate before offering it to Max. “So, like, costumes?”

  He takes the bowl and helps himself. “Yes, as well as more extreme situations than they’d usually find themselves in.”

  “Will you do that for my dates?”

  He puts the bowl on the other side of the table and shrugs. “Perhaps. I haven’t planned your dates yet. Why? Are you eager to get started?”

  “Not really,” I say, determined to not let on that I’m intrigued about what he’d choose for me. “Just trying to understand what to expect. I should probably warn you that if you come at me with some crazy, unrealistic scenario, I’ll probably laugh my ass off.”

  He gives me a knowing look. “Miss Tate, the only time you’ll laugh while I’m romancing you is if I tell a joke.”

  I lean toward him. “You really don’t know who you’re messing with, Mr. Riley. I’m not that easy to pleaser.”

  He passes me some bread. “That sounds a lot like a challenge.”

  “Take it however you like.”

  He distributes more food between us, and I find myself watching as he eats. The way the muscles in his jaw move is fascinating.

  “So,” I say, to distract myself from staring. “How far do things go on these dates?”

  He wipes his mouth with his napkin and picks up his wine glass. “Talking, light touching, nothing too explicit. If the date goes well, a natural progression will lead to kissing and light intimate contact.”

  “What do you define as ‘light intimate contact?’”

  I’m shocked when he reaches over and cups my face, before grazing a thumb across my cheek and down to my mouth.

  “Something like this,” he says quietly. I stop breathing as he continues to stroke my skin. The sensation is intoxicating.

  As he continues to stare, he seems to glaze over for a few seconds before he blinks and clears his throat. “It depends on the situation.” He pulls back and looks away.

  I try to act like I’m unaffected, but I have no control over how fiercely I blush. “Are ... uh ... women allowed to touch you back?”

  “Yes, within reason.” He adjusts his position. “Areas not covered by underwear are fine.”

  “And if they go for the underwear areas?”

  He looks at me and a muscle in his jaw jumps. “The date is immediately terminated, and the client is blacklisted.”

  “Wow. Harsh.”

  He pours us both more wine. “I’m not a whore, Miss Tate. It’s important to make that clear.”

  “So you’ve never had sex with a client?”

  “Never.”

  “Have you ever wanted to?”

  He pauses for a moment then says, “Next question.”

  I file that piece of information away for further investigation.

  “So,” I say, “Light intimate contact is all you offer? Or can ladies bribe you for more?”

  “Just so there’s no confusion ...” He picks up my phone and holds it up to his mouth. “I do not have sex for money.” He puts the phone back down. “However, if ladies would like something more intense, they can pay extra for a more immersive experience.”

  “Oh, so you take them scuba diving?” He stares at me, unimpressed. I drop my smile and move some food around with my fork. “Please, continue.”

  “Tier two involves the client also taking on a different character. It’s popular with ladies who want to escape their everyday lives.”

  “Will you do that with me?”

  “I’d like to, yes. I think you’d gain a lot from stepping outside of yourself for a while.”

  It grates that he’s so self-assured about what I need. “You barely know me, and yet you think you know what’s good for me?”

  He runs his forefinger over the table cloth next to my hand. “We all have issues we’re trying to overcome, Miss Tate. Everyone wants to feel special, whether we admit it or not. And loving without limits and allowing ourselves to be loved in return is what life’s all about. Or at least, what it should be about. Everything else just gets in the way.”

  I want to refute him, but I’ve never been in love, so I have no idea if he speaks the truth. What I do know is that I have disdain for women who fall apart over men. Surely they’re not stupid. They’ve heard the songs and seen the movies. If you buy a ticket on the Love Express, it comes with compulsory stops at Painville, The Isle of Co-Dependence, and Betrayal Central, so why get onboard in the first place?

  I think Max is waiting for me to contradict him, and when I don’t, he gives me another of those goddamn enigmatic smiles.

  It’s off-putting how confident he is. I mean, I’m used to men who are as attractive as he is being egotistical dicks, but this is something else. He possesses a self-assuredness that has nothing to do with what he looks like and everything to do with who he is. Or at least, who he believes himself to be. He has a Zen-like calm that’s somehow wildly exciting.

  As if he senses my thoughts, the corners of his lips curl. I have a horrifying image of me attempting to find out if those lips taste as good as they look, but I quickly push it away.

  As I try to get back on topic, I form what I hope is an expression of barely suppressed boredom and clear my throat. “Okay, so the big question is, why no sex on dates?”

  “Sex is for the body. Romance is for the soul.”

  “Nice catchphrase. You should sell T-shirts. What does it mean?”

  “Sex complicates things that should be kept simple,” he says. “I can make my clients feel more special if mutual attraction doesn’t escalate into the bedroom.”

  “And how do you do that?”

  He gives me a knowing smile. “Never underestimate the power of a good kiss.”

  I try to disguise my intense skepticism. “A kiss? You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all. Haven’t you ever had a truly life-altering kiss?”

  “Not one that could compete with a good hard fuck, no.”

  He leans forward and studies me, and I struggle to maintain my composure under his intense scrutiny.

  “A lot of men think the way you do,” he says quietly. “And that’s why so many of them take their women for granted. Guys see kissing as the first rung on the ladder to sex.” He draws an arc in the air. “Kiss ... grope ... strip ... penetrate. It’s a straight line for them. But kissing is most powerful when it’s a circle. A long, meandering journey of sensation.”

  God, his voice. His stupidly resonant, sexy-as-hell voice. Even without the Irish accent, it’s devastating.

  He leans forward, and he’s too close for me to ignore how his body sets mine on high alert. I lean back to compensate, but his expression tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing.

  “Miss Tate, you might think that a kiss is nothing special, but kissing a woman with no intention of it leading to something else? That’s how you discover the meaning of sensuality. I can find an ocean of pleasure in every inhale and moan; every soft, slow sweep of her tongue. The taste of her lips. The shape of her face beneath my hands. The way her body curves into mine as she stops thinking and finally gives herself over to how she feels.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but every word vibrates through my skin and into my bones.

  He gazes at my mouth with open fascination for several long seconds before coming back to my eyes. “You can live and die within the lifetime of a decent kiss. Trust me on that.”

  He seems to wait for my reaction, but I’m so mesmerized, all I can manage is, “Uh huh.”

  “You have to understand that most of the ladies who engage my services haven’t been kissed properly in years. Their partners do it to initiate sex, and they’ve forgotten how to make their wom
en feel loved instead of merely wanted.”

  I squirm under his intensity, hot and viciously aroused. “I don’t see the difference.”

  He goes back to staring at my mouth, and every single trace of his smile has vanished. “Maybe one night I’ll kiss you properly to help you understand.”

  I struggle to keep my breathing even as he continues to stare. There’s no way I’m letting him know how stupidly attracted to him I am right now.

  “I didn’t agree to be kissed as part of our deal.”

  “You agreed to the dates. Kissing is part of the package.”

  “Then I’d like to order the non-kissing version. The dates I can pass off as research, but I’d never live it down if my editor found out I was macking on the subject of my exposé.”

  I think I see a flash of disappointment in his expression, but that’s more likely a projection of my own regret.

  “Are you sure that’s how you want to play this?” he asks.

  “I am.”

  He gives a small shrug. “Okay, I’ll hold back from kissing you. But for the record, if you kiss me, all bets are off.”

  “That’s never going to happen.”

  He smiles and goes back to his meal. “If you say so, Miss Tate.”

  * * *

  After polishing off enough food to satisfy a handful of NFL teams, Max and I watch in sated silence as Georgios leads a brigade of waiters in clearing the table. When he places the check between us in a fancy leather wallet, I’m quick to grab it before Max can.

  He isn’t amused. “Hand it over, Miss Tate.”

  “No,” I say. “You paid at Verdi’s. I’m paying here. This isn’t a date. It’s a business meeting.”

  He removes his hand and shrugs. “As you wish.”

  I grab some cash from my purse and slide it into the wallet. “Besides, that thousand dollars you refunded was company money, so really my boss is paying for this, not me.”

  “From what I’ve learned of your boss, he’s not the easiest man to work for.”

  I close my purse. “Not easy to work for is probably the nicest thing anybody’s ever said about Derek. For someone who doesn’t seem to be packing much in his pants, he’s certainly the biggest dick I’ve ever known. It doesn’t help that he hates me.”

  Max stands and holds out his hand to help me up. “Then go somewhere else.”

  I take it, and he pulls me to my feet. “I intend to, but I can’t until I have some frequent headline miles under my belt. This story will help me achieve that.”

  Before I can move away, he brings his hand over mine and says, “Miss Tate, until you write your final piece on me, I’d ask you not to give Derek too many details about what we discuss. In fact, the fewer people who know about me, the better, at least until the article is published. Can I trust your discretion?”

  “I can try to keep everything on the down-low as much as possible, but if Derek pushes me, it’ll be hard to deny him. I’ll do my best, though.”

  We’re quiet as we slip back into our shoes and head out into the street. Max loops his jacket over his arm and shoves his hands in his pockets as we amble in the direction of the west river. It’s a cool night, but right now walking off the metric ton of food in my swollen belly seems like a good idea.

  Seemingly at random, Max passes behind me, so he’s nearest the curb before continuing on.

  “Superstitious?” I ask, amused.

  He points to the water lining the road. “Trying to protect you from a dry-cleaning bill if someone drives too close.”

  “Do you get your moves from an eighteenth-century edition of A Gentlemen’s Guide to Chivalry or something?”

  He glances at me, his expression darkening. “If you knew how ungentlemanly I’ve been in my life, you wouldn’t say that.”

  “Sounds like something I should investigate further. Care to explain?”

  “Not tonight, no.” His tone suggests we’re done discussing it.

  As we continue, walking beside him feels bizarre. Going to dinner with a man to whom I’m attracted, followed by heading to a destination that isn’t a bedroom isn’t usually my thing. The strangeness of it makes me shiver.

  “Are you cold?”

  I shake my head, but already Max is unfurling his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. “You don’t have to,” I say. “I’m fine.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He stands in front of me and pulls at the lapels until it’s securely wrapped around me. “Besides, you look better in it that I do.”

  He gives me a look that’s almost affectionate, then seems to realize he’s not with one of his fawning fans and clears his throat before going back to his place beside me.

  When I look at my phone, I’m surprised to note it’s nearly one a.m. The past few hours have flown by. I should be thinking about heading home, but I still have so many questions running through my mind, I don’t want to lose the opportunity to ask them, just in case Max rethinks his decision to talk to me and disappears.

  “So,” I say, “I know this is probably a silly question, but do you have a girlfriend?”

  Max looks down and chuckles. “Yes. Several. Isn’t that why we’re here?”

  “Excluding clients.”

  “Well, in that case, no.”

  “Have you ever? Since you’ve been doing this?”

  He puts his hand on my lower back as we cross the street. “Once. Didn’t last long. It seems sharing a man with other women can be a relationship killer.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “Honestly? No. She was more an experiment than anything else.”

  “In?”

  “My ability to practice what I preach.”

  “And it didn’t work?” I catch my heel on an uneven bit of pavement and stumble. Max grabs me and keeps me upright. When I regain my footing, I expect him to let me go, but he doesn’t.

  “Sometimes we confuse hormones with happiness,” he says. “I was guilty of that. Beyond some basic chemistry, we had nothing in common.”

  His arms are strong around me, and looking up into his face makes me think I’m going to stumble again.

  “Did she love you?”

  He pauses. “You’d have to ask her that.”

  “Okay. Can I have her name and number?”

  He laughs and makes sure I’m steady before letting go. “You’re tenacious, Miss Tate. I’ll give you that.”

  “Yes, I am, and I think it should be rewarded. How about some info on your upbringing? School, parents, friends–” He walks away from me, and I scramble to catch up. “No? Not even a tidbit?”

  “You’ve exhausted my supply of tidbits.”

  “You know you’re going to have to give me something about your identity eventually, right?”

  “Maybe. But not tonight.”

  When we get to the river, we walk south. I tilt my head to look up at the sky. As spectacular as the river view is, it’s hard to make out the stars in the city. Too much light. Whenever I’d give Asha shit about her quest for Mr. Right, she’d tell me that her prince is like the constellation of Orion – just because she can’t see him, doesn’t mean he isn’t there. Only my sister could make her girl-boner for true love sound like a creepy religion.

  Max follows my gaze. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Oh, you know. The Cult of Love.”

  “Cult?”

  “Yeah. People who are in it won’t shut up about how wonderful and fulfilling it is, but after a while they realize it’s all borderline-crazy, and forever-happiness is a giant con. Getting through life is hard enough without the burden of carrying someone else with you.”

  Max gives a soft laugh and shakes his head. “Every time I think you can’t get more cynical, you prove me wrong. I take it you don’t believe in marriage, then?”

  “No.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “Do I even have to? Look at the world. Love fades. Couples break up. It’s part of growing and developing as people. It�
�s ridiculous to think that you should be attracted to the same person for decades, so what’s the point of standing up in front of your friends and family and swearing to love and cherish forever? Why not swear to stay together for a few years, and then, when the boredom and bitterness sets in, go your separate ways? That’s more realistic.”

  He stops in front of me. “What about keeping a family together?”

  “What about it? Some families are healthier apart.”

  He looks out at the water. “I can’t argue with that.”

  He seems to get lost in his own thoughts for a moment, but when an approaching cyclist rings his bell, he pulls me toward him, making sure we’re both out of the way. With his hand still on my arm, he looks down at me, and I see something in his expression. Something needful I’d seen earlier when he was pretending to be Kieran. It makes my stomach curl and my heart speed up, and I’m reminded that I’ve spent my whole life avoiding this kind of connection for good reason.

  I step back, pretending to yawn. “Wow, it’s getting late, huh?”

  He nods. “Yes. Far too late. I’ll get you a cab.”

  I have more questions, but I guess they’ll have to wait for another time. I peel his jacket off as he steps into the street and hails a taxi. When it pulls over, he takes his jacket from me before opening the door and holding out his hand.

  I shake it firmly. “Well, goodnight, Mr. Riley. Thank you for your time.”

  He gives me a perplexed smile and tenses his arm to stop me from pumping his hand. “I want to hold your hand to help you into the car, Miss Tate. Still, now that I have it ...” He brings it up to his mouth and presses his lips against my skin. I restrain myself from full-on trembling from the rush of sensation that races up my arm. “Goodnight. I’ll see you soon.”

  “When?”

  “For our next interview? Or our first date?”

  “Either. Both.” Jesus, do I sound as hyper as I feel? “I’m talking way too fast, aren’t I?”

  He chuckles and helps me into the car, then leans through the door. “I’ll call you. And make no mistake, Miss Tate, by the time I’m done, you’ll have shed your cynical husk and be a romance junkie like the rest of us. Have a good weekend.”