She narrowed her eyes, looking wary. Even after two weeks, he’d done very little to win this woman’s trust. And while she might not be openly hostile to him, she damn sure wasn’t friendly. Not nearly as friendly as he’d like. That needed to change.
“I’m not the one who needs sex advice.”
“No, but if you want to help me, then I suggest you give this a try. Otherwise, I can stonewall you all day, every day, for weeks, or even years on end.” A little color drained from her face. So, it wasn’t just his imagination: she was counting down the days until she could leave his penthouse, until this job was over. He didn’t like that she found it so distasteful. Was his company truly so bad that she wanted to bolt at the first opportunity?
“You promise not to evade my questions?” He saw a glint of hope in her eyes. Well, that was something, he guessed. Even if the hope stemmed from her wish to try to get away from him as fast as possible. At this point, he’d take what he could get. He already knew he could be damn persuasive if he had an in.
“Promise,” he said, and meant it.
“Okay.” He saw a crack in her armor appear, then. Yes, just what he wanted. “I’ll do it. Go ahead, ask me what you want.”
Ah, the possibilities were endless, the temptations tantalizing. What would he ask her first? Perhaps what part of her body she liked touched the most? He’d been trying to guess at that since he’d met her. Or, maybe, he’d simply ask how she was managing to ignore the white-hot chemistry between them, the pulsing want that felt like a river of lava. He knew it wasn’t in his head. Why was she resisting it so much? Maybe she had herself on a tight leash, he thought, because there was another person in the picture. Maybe she wasn’t free.
“Are you in a relationship?” he asked her. Might as well get that out of the way.
“No.” Annoyance flicked across her face. Touchy subject, then.
“Do you want to be?”
“Maybe,” she said, eyes wary.
“Do you tend to be a relationship person...or a casual sex person?”
A little bit of pink colored her almond-toned cheeks before she crossed her arms and turned her back to him.
“Relationship person,” she said, but her voice was low, reticent. She was hiding something. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Are you sure?” he prodded.
“Well, technically...” She cleared her throat. “I’ve never had casual sex. But my study of it suggests it’s not what will give people the most satisfaction. So, I prefer relationship sex.”
Now, he felt blindsided. She was thirty. How had she never had a hookup?
“Wait. You’ve never had casual sex? No one-night stands. No casual vacation sex. No ongoing friends with benefits. All the sex you’ve had has been in a committed relationship?”
She nodded. “Yes. So?”
He realized, by the flicker of insecurity in her eyes, that she was sensitive about it but also defensive.
“Well, I mean you are a sex columnist, but you’ve only had relationship sex?”
“Yes. And I have my degrees. More than any others in my field.”
“Right, because sex is all academic.” He shook his head. “So, this relationship sex, you think it’s prepared you to understand...all kinds of sex?”
“Of course. I’ve had two partners who were—”
“Wait.” He held up his hand, not quite sure he’d heard correctly. “You’ve only had two partners?”
He wasn’t sure how many he’d thought she’d had, but two was...well, mind-bogglingly low. That damn secret would stay with him. He wasn’t going to tell anyone. Yet...he couldn’t quite believe it. Only two?
“So, these two partners,” he said, trying to tread softly. “Who were they?”
Harley let out a frustrated sigh. “The first was my college boyfriend. Dated him for seven years, but then we broke up. I wanted to get married, but he didn’t.” There was a whole lot of heartbreak in that single sentence, Wilder knew. He could feel it in the tight, controlled way she talked about it. “The second was a year-long relationship that ended about a year ago. He got a job in California, and I wasn’t willing to move.”
“So, you’ve never had casual sex.”
Harley seemed to realize too late her mistake in being so honest. “So?”
“So, you’re telling me that casual sex is evil, but you don’t really know because you’ve never had it.” Wilder leaned forward, clasping his hands together.
“I don’t have to do something to know it’s bad. All the research says...”
“Research isn’t doing. How can you truly know that you’re giving good advice to your readership when you’ve never even had a one-night stand?” Wilder stood now, spreading his hands.
“I can tell drugs are bad without doing drugs,” she said. But he could tell that she was shaken, unnerved.
“Right. But you wouldn’t know how great a high is, would you? The temptation a drug addict might fight if you hadn’t been there yourself? You’re writing with certainty about something you’re really not certain about at all.” Wilder moved a bit closer to her now, closing the distance between them slowly, ever slowly. “Aren’t you even the least bit curious about casual sex?”
“Maybe.” Harley’s voice was so low he wasn’t sure he’d even heard her correctly. Harley turned away from him, toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the Upper East Side. He stood behind her, tantalizingly close, but with his arms at his sides. He saw every ragged, unsettled breath she took with each rise of her shoulders.
He knew he had her now. Knew that her curiosity would do the rest of the work for him.
“What if casual sex isn’t what you think? What if it’s actually hotter than you know? What if it’s...exactly the right thing to do sometimes?”
She remained still, thinking. He could almost hear the gears in her head move, almost sense the inner conflict inside her.
“I think we can make a deal, Ms. Vega,” Wilder whispered, voice low in his throat, so close to her that he could kiss her neck. “I can talk to you all day, but that’s not going to cure me.”
She stayed still, studying the skyline. “It’s your body I want,” he said. “It’s your body I need. It’s your touch that can cure me, Ms. Vega. You know it and I know it. And it’s damn time we stopped pretending, because now I know that there’s something I can give you, too.”
She stiffened. “What’s that?”
“Experience,” he said. “And sex you’ll never forget. But it will tell you once and for all if you’re right about casual sex. I’ll do everything I can to prove you wrong.”
“You’re going to teach me about casual sex?” She looked stunned.
“I promise to show you everything you’ve been missing.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
LATER THAT NIGHT, Harley paced the inside of her room, unable to sleep. It had been hours since the session with Wilder Lange, but her heart still felt like it was racing. Her emotions raging in her chest. Sometimes, she’d feel outraged: how dare he assume he was the one who should teach her about sex? That she even needed to be taught about sex. She knew plenty about sex and human sexuality. Hell, she’d written a dissertation on it. She had a PhD, a doctorate for heaven’s sake, in human sexuality. She was a sex doctor, technically. She was probably the most informed sexologist that existed in North America, maybe even the world. And he was going to teach her about sex? The gall of the man.
And yet...
Yet, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d tell him no. That was the scary part. She was actually considering his offer. Casual sex. Even if it was just once. The whole deal. She was seriously considering it. And she knew it had everything to do with the fact that she’d never in her life been interested in a one-night stand, until the day she met Wilder Lange.
Hadn’t she been imagining ripping
the man’s clothes off since the first time she’d laid eyes on him? Hadn’t he lit up her arousal centers immediately?
“This is crazy,” she told her empty room, and the little kitchenette. “This is insane.” She couldn’t seriously be considering falling into Wilder Lange’s bed. She’d told him she wouldn’t sleep with him. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she liked him. He was still the man who’d gutted her magazine and laid her off. He was still responsible for the loss of all those jobs. But why did the images of sliding her naked body against his keep running through her mind? Why did she keep thinking about him shirtless in the gym, wondering what the weight of his body on hers would feel like?
No. She couldn’t be seriously considering this. She’d never done anything so reckless her whole life. Not just casual sex, but sex with someone like Wilder Lange. He probably had so many notches in his bedpost he didn’t have any bedpost left. And he was full of himself. And entitled. And...completely infuriating. She couldn’t believe she was thinking about jumping into his bed like some romance novel virgin desperate to learn new techniques from a powerful master. No. She was a modern, educated woman who didn’t actually need a man for anything. Sure, she’d only had two partners her whole life, but wasn’t that plenty enough to know about sex? She’d had deep, meaningful relationship sex. She knew what sex was. Knew the difference between good and bad sex. She’d had plenty of actual sex. Did the number of partners even make a difference?
Yet, it was true she’d never had sex with a stranger, never casually fallen into someone’s bed without knowing their middle name and pretty much everything else about them. Never followed the path of lust to see where it led just for the heck of it. And wasn’t that part of her problem now with finding a relationship? She just wasn’t comfortable jumping into a bed casually. Actually, she realized that she wasn’t comfortable jumping into bed at all unless she’d known a person for a while. Her college boyfriend she met in high school and had had a secret crush on him for years before they finally did the deed. Her second boyfriend had been a work colleague she’d known for a year as friends before they went out on a first date.
Maybe her lack of experience with casual encounters was part of her problem now. Part of the reason she couldn’t properly date anyone, her secret shame. That she gave relationship advice but couldn’t seem to maintain a relationship. Could Wilder be her cure?
Then there was the crazy idea that somehow she could cure him. She knew, clinically, that she couldn’t solve his problems. That despite his desire for her, impotence was a complicated puzzle, and he’d need to work on fixing himself. She couldn’t just swoop in and save the day. Human beings just didn’t work like that. And yet...and yet...wasn’t she tempted to try? Who wouldn’t want to be Wilder Lange’s savior? Who wouldn’t want to be the one woman on earth who could stoke his fire of desire? All the models and the sexy pop stars he could have, and he wanted her.
The power felt delicious. Heady, even.
She was supposed to hate him. Now she was just trying to convince herself he wasn’t such a bad guy because she wanted his body as much as he wanted hers.
God, she didn’t know what to do. She itched to pick up the phone and call her sister, her best friend and the one who held no punches when it came to relationship advice. Of course, normally, Harley was the one telling her sister what to do with her life. Besides, it was too late to call. It was nearing midnight. Not to mention there was that damn NDA she’d signed. No, she’d have to figure this out on her own. She grabbed her notepad and began furiously scribbling two headers: Pros and Cons.
She ought to be logical about this after all. Pro: she’d get experience she could use to give other people advice. Con: she might regret it. Pro: she might regret it if she didn’t do it. Con: giving in to baser instincts never usually had good results. Eating a whole pint of ice cream, for instance, never made anyone feel better, did it?
After she’d scribbled more pros and cons, she stood up, frustrated, feeling that the walls of her big suite were somehow closing in on her. There’s no way she would be able to sleep now, not with thoughts of Wilder Lange in her head, of the temptation of exploring his body and finding out what all those other women he’d taken to bed had found so bewitching. She tucked the pen and pad under one arm and headed out of her room, figuring just a walk down the long corridors of his penthouse would clear her head. Maybe after a walk, she’d feel clear-headed or, at least, able to look at her problem logically. Plus, her whole body buzzed with a kind of excited nervousness. The very idea of inviting Wilder into her bed made her nerves thrum with excitement. Too much excitement.
She walked down the long, darkened corridor, lit only by ambient lighting in the floor, which seemed to be motion activated. Whenever she took a step, a new lowlight would flick on. She almost felt like she was living in a spaceship. Everything was so impossibly high tech. Remembering her wrong turns from the first time she wandered out of her room, she almost laughed. Now, two weeks later, she’d more than gotten her bearings. She’d definitely steer clear of the gym and the wing where she knew Wilder’s master bedroom suite was located. Harley just needed to walk. Let out the nervous energy buzzing in her veins.
It was pent-up sexual energy, she realized with a shock. God, the irony. It had been too long since she’d had sex with anyone, even herself. Well, no wonder Wilder had her in a tailspin. She ought to go back to her room and take care of it with one long soak in the bath. But, no. She wasn’t going to do that. She feared that thoughts of Wilder would invade her me-time, completely defeating the purpose. No, she’d get rid of all this energy the old-fashioned way: a brisk walk. Then, maybe, at long last, she could think clearly. She thought about heading to the rooftop deck, maybe taking a look at the stars. She knew the deck existed: Jacob, the butler, had mentioned it. What had he said? Second stairwell all the way up? She was wearing her pajamas, a tank top and cotton-striped bottoms, and in her bare feet, but she knew the early June weather was warm, and, she figured, might as well try to get some fresh air. She felt claustrophobic all of a sudden, trapped inside the air-conditioned penthouse. Being outdoors would do her good.
She found the second stairwell and followed it up, glad to see the green light on the control panel near the door. That meant the alarm was off. Good. She pushed open the door and a warm breeze came over her, as she stepped onto the huge rooftop patio. She’d never been outside on a roof so high above the city before, but it was surrounded by tall ten-foot privacy walls. The rooftop deck had to be at least eight-thousand-square feet alone. It was divided into sections, too: the lounge area with a full couch and chairs and colorful potted plants, and then at the edge, a single lap pool and an adjacent Jacuzzi, lit blue against the night sky. The other lights were off up here, but the blazing city lights from Manhattan offered even more light than the full moon overhead. She glanced up, rubbing her bare arms, as she looked at the stars she could see, faint against the city sky but there nonetheless.
“Beautiful,” she whispered. She stared in awe at the sky. Should I do it? she silently asked the stars. Should I sleep with Wilder Lange? Could he teach her things she didn’t know about sex? Were there things that books couldn’t tell her? Maybe it would make her a better columnist. Maybe it would make her a better lover for future boyfriends. Or maybe it would be the biggest mistake of her life.
She tried to squash her insecurities. She was a smart and talented woman. She’d had two boyfriends and they hadn’t complained. Except, she thought sourly, they had left her. The hollowness of their rejection still stung. Her first boyfriend hadn’t wanted to marry her. The second had picked a job over her. If she’d been a sex vixen, then maybe they wouldn’t have been able to say no.
What was she even thinking? She didn’t care what men thought of her. She liked who she was. She didn’t need any sex coaching. Did she?
Then, suddenly, the rooftop door swung open with a clatter. She jumped in surprise, h
er bare toes slipping a little on the wooden decking, as she glanced up to see Wilder Lange, bath towel hung casually around his bare neck, wearing nothing but swim shorts. God, he was pure sex. There was no other way to describe the man. Ripped muscles, smooth tanned chest, tall and lean with angles on him that seemed best suited for an underwear ad in Times Square. Dark thick hair and just the hint of matching hair at the center of his chest. Looking at him now, she was beginning to wonder why she was even debating whether or not to sleep with the man. Look at him. Powerful, magnetic, experienced and so very, very confident. A sex god if ever she saw one.
“Harley.” He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he glanced over her outfit. She wasn’t wearing a bra and the night air had made her nipples rise. She crossed her arms across her chest, cursing herself for not having the forethought to wear a shirt with more coverage.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you here.” Would he think that she was accepting his offer? That she was hoping to run into him so they could get it on? And what if she did...? What if right at this moment she slipped out of her clothes and walked over to him? Would he take her—here, on this rooftop deck, on the sectional outdoor couch just feet away from them? She blinked away the image and tried to tell herself to stop being ridiculous. That wasn’t going to happen.
“You sure about that?” There was laughter in his eyes, and in the quirk of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His luscious soft mouth. How soft was it? She wanted to find out. That nervous energy in her body ramped up then, and she felt shaky. Jittery. It was probably the cool night air. Probably not the way the man was looking at her right now. Like a midnight snack he’d been craving.
“I’m sure. I just needed some...” Sex. She almost said sex. What was wrong with her? She knew what was wrong. She did want sex. No...she needed sex. With him. Where had that thought come from? But then she knew. It came from looking at his bare chest. From feeling the pent-up sexual energy between them, the hum of mutual want. She’d never before been so fixated on a man. Never in her life felt like being so reckless as when she was standing in front of him. “...fresh air,” she finished, though she could feel her cheeks grow hot. She almost wanted to slap herself. She was literally playing the role of the blushing virgin. And she was no virgin. Not by a long shot.
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