And then she swung open the rooftop door to his penthouse and, without a word, disappeared inside.
A stab of disappointment stung her. She did want him. She wanted him badly. And that was the whole problem.
CHAPTER NINE
WILDER FELT THE water rush over his head the next morning as he glided through his single-lap pool on the other side of his enormous penthouse. The glass walls looked out over his rooftop deck. It was as if he was sliding along the edge of the rooftop, since the only thing separating him and a seventy-story drop was a glass partition. He loved that lap pool, because to him, it felt like he was swimming on the edge of the world.
A white lounger sat on the other side of the pool room, with his shirt and towel draped on it. The pool was where he went when he needed to clear his head, but this time, it didn’t seem to work. All he could think about was the soft feel of Harley’s lips, the ample curves of her body, the way she seemed to be made for him. Everything about her turned him on, from her dark curls and high cheekbones to her slim ankles and polished toes. And then there was that fascinating mind of hers. But he didn’t believe in trying to persuade women to cross boundaries they didn’t want to cross. In his experience, women knew exactly what they wanted and usually asked for it. Men who didn’t understand this didn’t deserve a woman’s company. He knew she had rules, and she had to be the one to break them. Not him. End of story.
The cold water rushed over him as he took yet another lap. He’d need to swim to London and back if he’d ever hope to forget about the feel of Harley’s lips on his. Leave it to him to be off women for nearly a year and then be head over heels for the one woman who’d already told him she wasn’t going to sleep with him. He’d always been attracted to the forbidden. He loved breaking the rules. Of course, if she did...then what? He still wasn’t in the market for a serious relationship, and after he’d seen his father and Lucinda’s disastrous marriage, wasn’t even sure he wanted to try. He’d been asked about whether or not he wanted a family, but he already had one—his brothers, and they were enough to take care of.
Even if they were grown.
Looking after them since he was eight had kind of purged him of the need to settle down. He’d been settled down since he was in elementary school. And Harley was the kind of woman who didn’t do things casually. He knew that. Could see that from miles away. There was a reason she’d never had a one-night stand. He’d never met a woman who took sex so seriously before. Hell, he’d never met a woman with a doctorate in human sexuality, either. Yet, the scariest thing for him was that the thought of a relationship with Harley didn’t seem so outlandish after all. The moment she’d walked into his life he’d started to wonder if maybe he did need someone. He was drawn to her, to her mind and her body. But what did he know about serious relationships? He was the king of casual, and that was how he’d keep it. The very fact that he’d even think about something more, about the possibility of more, just spoke to the lust he had for the woman. It was clogging up his brain, confusing his own logic, making him second-guess himself.
And it was all because she had an effect on him that no other woman had. It was that simple. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the cure for him. He knew it was unreasonable. Laughable, even. Yet, the thought just stuck there, unmovable. Did it matter if the cure was temporary or permanent?
And he also knew he could cure her, too. Because he’d come to see she was stuck. She might not even know it yet, but she seemed trapped—in this place where she was keeping herself from casual sex because—why? Because she feared it would negate all her advice columns? Or because she feared she’d like it? He badly wanted to find out. He pushed through another lap in the pool, wondering if he was losing his mind.
He thought about what she’d said about past traumas. Could Lucinda’s drunken rages have led him to not being able to have a full life now? He’d always thought that the abuse he’d suffered at her hands had made him stronger. He’d always worn his scars as a source of quiet pride. He’d survived and he’d protected his brothers. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Lucinda was the one who ought to have regrets. So why was she reaching out from the past and haunting him still?
He grabbed the edge of the pool and came through the surface, gasping for air. He shook the droplets of water off his hair and ran a hand down his face and then dove back in for another lap. Harley Vega was getting under his skin. Dredging up his past, churning his thoughts from his past to his present, twisting him in knots. That very morning, he’d desperately tried to distract himself with work, but after hours of answering the backlog of emails (What was his decision on hiring a new news director? How about next year’s budget?), he was still focused on Harley Vega. Two opposite thoughts battled in his mind. Part of him wanted to avoid Harley and all her prodding questions about his past, but another part of him yearned to be in her presence even now, her body seeming to call to his from across his massive penthouse. He knew the woman could feel the chemistry between them, the way their bodies silently talked to one another. He knew she was tempted—more than tempted to accept his invitation to his bed. He’d felt her desire in their kiss last night, when she’d finally—if only for a brief second—let go of that tight leash she kept herself on. He knew in his bones that one night with Harley would very likely cure him of his little problem, and might also help her, too. She was a woman who spent too much time in her head, too much time trying to think about sex logically, when in his experience, there wasn’t anything logical about sex. It was all primal instinct. All base deliciousness. Reason had no part in it.
Wilder reached the edge of the pool at the end of his lap count, and sucked in air, his chest heaving as water rolled down it. He grabbed his thick fluffy white towel from the chaise lounge at the water’s edge and patted his face with it and then pulled himself out of the pool just in time to hear his phone ping with an incoming message. He dried his hands and picked up his phone in time to see Seth’s name flicker across it.
Lucinda is getting more shares. Just a heads-up. Someone is selling, but I don’t know who.
He shut his eyes and dropped the phone on a nearby chair. It felt like the company was slipping through his fingers. He’d need to figure out how many shares Lucinda had, how close she was to gaining a portion of control, but he also knew it would be hard to figure it out. Whoever was selling wouldn’t want him to know, wouldn’t want him to counter. This felt strangely personal, though, as if someone was betraying him. He thought of the board members, the shareholders he knew personally and tried to figure out who might be open to advances from Lucinda, but came up empty. No one liked her. No one that he knew trusted her.
He thought about his twin brothers. Would they sell? Seth said Stuart had said no. Would Liam sell? No. He wouldn’t. Would he? Wilder shook his head in frustration. The very fact he was even considering one of his brothers betraying him just underlined how out of control he was. They’d never undermine him like that. Not after all he’d done for them. No. This was probably Lucinda’s strategy all along. Start rumors and let the brothers start fighting amongst themselves and then swoop in when they were all distracted and try to take the company over.
The muscles in his jaw clenched a bit. He needed to focus on business, but he also had to clear his mind to do it. He couldn’t be obsessed with Harley Vega’s mouth when he had to go to battle. What he needed was the cure Harley could give him. He needed to be fixed, once and for all, so he could move on and deal with real problems. He’d give Harley another week. One week. Either she’d help him, or he’d figure out a way to stop obsessing over her. Either way, time was running out.
And in the meantime, he’d get to the office and figure out who the hell was selling shares behind his back. He hated to leave, but he needed to get a handle on this situation and fast.
* * *
Harley was dreading the counseling appointment today with Wilder Lange. After the white-hot
make-out session on the roof the night before, she didn’t trust herself to be with him alone and not think about what his lips felt like on hers. Because she’d decided that... Well, she hadn’t decided. She wanted to jump into bed with the man, but she didn’t trust the instinct. Didn’t trust her own motives. She was the kind of person who moved methodically, with purpose. She didn’t make decisions quickly. Hell, she barely made decisions at all. Hadn’t her first boyfriend teased her that she could spend an hour debating whether or not she wanted a bagel or toast for breakfast? But her methodical nature meant she could work out problems, help people see parts of their relationships they turned a blind eye to. She looked at all angles and she didn’t jump into anything hastily, and never with both feet.
Was that so wrong? She didn’t think so.
She waited for him in his study and glanced at her watch. He was five minutes late. Where was the man? She was here, waiting for their session at the normal time. Who knew where he was? Had he taken offense to her not jumping into his bed the night before? Well, that’s just not how she operated. And she’d let him know that the second he walked through the door.
She stared at the door and waited.
And waited some more.
Where was he?
Wilder Lange, the walking enigma, the black box that kept all his inner thoughts and emotions wrapped up deep inside himself. She thought of those big broad shoulders and that squared-off jaw that seemed determined to get exactly what it wanted. How would her body react when she saw him? Or worse, when he opened his mouth? The real danger, she knew, wasn’t that she was attracted to his body. She was increasingly intrigued by the man’s mind.
Sure, he had every advantage: wealth, power, prestige. Everything she’d read said he could be a ruthless businessman, but to hear him talk to his brother, she also knew he was a loyal family man, someone who clearly loved and cared for his brothers. Many wealthy families fought over their inheritance, but not the Lange family—at least not the brothers—and Harley thought that had everything to do with Wilder Lange. He’d surprised her in any number of ways. Yes, he was an egotistical, entitled jerk at times, but he was also, surprisingly...levelheaded and selfless. If he were truly the villain she’d imagined, why would he care for his brothers? Why not write them all out of the will? How often had she heard about families fighting over money? Yet, the Lange brothers were steadfast in their loyalty to Wilder.
She was loyal to her own family, knew she’d do anything to help them and had even sent money home to Miami after a hurricane knocked out power for a week and her parents had no income from the restaurant. She’d never walk away from that responsibility, no matter what. She sensed that same loyalty in Wilder. Still, she wondered about the relationship he’d had with his stepmom, and how that had shaped his worldview. Wilder was hiding some intense memories, of this she had no doubt, but getting to them would be a very different kind of challenge. She knew people put up their own defenses to avoid their pain, but Wilder’s heart seemed to have more security than Fort Knox.
The door to the study opened then, and her stomach lurched. Here it was. She’d figure out if she could stay in the same room with Wilder Lange, if she could keep her libido under control. It would be the ultimate test. Butterflies ricocheted around her stomach. Why was she so damn nervous? Then, as she was debating to herself, Jacob, Wilder’s butler, poked his gray head in the study.
“Ms. Vega, I’m sorry to report that Mr. Lange won’t be attending today’s session,” he began. “He begs your pardon, but urgent matters at the office require his full attention.”
Harley felt a cool prick of disappointment at the back of her neck. He wouldn’t be at the session today. Hell, she might not even see him today. That hadn’t factored into her calculations, not at all. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d been looking forward to seeing the man. How much she’d been counting on it. Until the moment when she realized she wouldn’t be seeing him.
“When will he be back?” She hated that she sounded like she cared. After all, she couldn’t very well expect the offer of casual sex to be at the top of his to-do list, could she? He ran a Fortune 500 company, with thousands of employees. Hell, he was probably buying and gutting another magazine right at this minute. She knew the thought was unfair and unkind, but she didn’t care. Because the fact was she’d been on the verge of accepting his offer. Today. That was the truth of it. But he wasn’t even here to take her up on it.
“I’m not sure, Ms. Vega. He didn’t say.”
Did this have something to do with the fact that she hadn’t jumped into his bed at the first opportunity? That she’d cut their make-out session short the night before? That when he snapped his fingers she hadn’t jumped? Surely, that wasn’t it. Yet, part of her worried she’d missed her chance with Wilder Lange. He could have any woman he wanted after all. What if he found a replacement? Someone else who lit his fire?
It was just her ridiculous insecurities running around her brain. She knew that. Clinically, she knew there was no basis to any of them, and yet...
“Thank you, Jacob,” she said, and slipped her notebook back into her bag. “I guess that means I have the afternoon off.”
Just last week, she would’ve been overjoyed to be off the hook for a session, an afternoon free to leave the penthouse or do whatever she wished without being the subject of Wilder’s moodiness. But, now... Now, when she finally wanted to see the man, he disappeared.
* * *
The afternoon, next morning, next evening and next full afternoon went by with no word from Wilder Lange, except his profuse apologies for not having time for a session, messages all sent through Jacob. In fact, he hadn’t even returned to the penthouse, opting to grab a few hours of sleep at the office, where he also kept a full change of suits. More apologies through Jacob came, and more promises of makeup sessions without any real dates or times attached.
The apologies and promises rang false in Harley’s mind. He had to be deliberately avoiding her. But why? Sure, she imagined, he was a busy man with all kinds of pressing decisions to be made at work, but she couldn’t help but take his absence personally. Plus, the longer he stayed away, the more she started to worry that she’d missed her chance. That his offer to bed her had an expiration date that she didn’t know about.
Then she told herself that she couldn’t have imagined the chemistry between them, couldn’t have imagined the spark on that rooftop, which they’d nearly set ablaze with a single kiss. No. That was real. That had to be real. But maybe it hadn’t affected him as much as it affected her. What if... Well, what if he’d changed his mind? What if he’d found her kiss wanting? She simply couldn’t believe that. Her gut told her that he’d felt the desire as hot and heavy as she had.
Harley threw down the book she was reading and sighed. She felt like she’d been trapped in his penthouse for the last two days, in this enormous, well-heeled prison. Sure, she could leave if she wanted to, except she’d pathetically hung around. Hoping he’d be back. Hoping they could pick up where they’d left off, hoping she might, at last, scratch the itch that had been burning in her belly ever since Wilder Lange invited her to his bed. Because the longer he stayed away, the more she desperately wanted him. She knew, logically, it was just reverse psychology. She didn’t want him, until he was no longer there. A simple principal, and yet, profoundly effective.
Harley glanced at her watch. It was nearing eight in the evening and she hadn’t had dinner yet. What had she been hoping for? That Wilder would miraculously appear and take her out? The thought was laughable. Hadn’t she signed an NDA where she couldn’t even admit to knowing him? It’s not like they were going to go on a public date. And, hell, that’s not even what she wanted. What she wanted was a private date. Naked. In his bed.
She realized how desperate she sounded. She also realized that she’d flip-flopped in her thinking at least a dozen times in the last two days:
swinging from desperately wanting to have sex with the man to hating his guts and vowing not to give in to her baser desires. And she’d be fine with that, except, of course, for that damn kiss. It haunted her dreams, woke her in the middle of the night, came to her when she soaped herself in the shower. He’d turned something on in her, something she couldn’t turn off.
She could still feel his lips on hers, still sense the electric shock that rode up her nerve endings and straight to her brain. The striatum, to be exact, that’s where lust lives. That’s all this was—lust clouding her good judgement. Lust activating the striatum, the same part of the brain where food cravings lived. She just craved him like she would chocolate. It was all just electric pulses in the brain, she reminded herself, things that ultimately she could control. She didn’t have to stuff her face with chocolate any more than she’d need to kiss Wilder again. She was the master of her body. Not the striatum.
But right now, her striatum was demanding food. Namely, dinner. She could warm up a frozen dinner in her kitchenette. Or order a pizza. But neither sounded appetizing. She could go out, but what if Wilder came home? What...if? Then again, maybe he should come home to find it empty, and her gone. Just because she’d agreed to this job, didn’t mean she’d agreed to be his prisoner.
She was feeling better already as she stood and walked to her closet, plucking out a pair of skin-tight jeans, a bare-shouldered halter and gold dangling earrings. She let her hair down and put on her highest heels. She was going out. She’d already scooped out a few social media feeds of friends nearby. They were out, having drinks at a local bar, and she’d surprise them. She’d have wine with her girlfriends and forget all about the Wilder Lange horror show.
Just as she was putting on bright red lipstick, puckering her lips at the brightly lit mirror of her bathroom, a soft knock sounded at her door. Jacob, no doubt, here to tell her most likely that Wilder wouldn’t be back tonight, either. Or hell, maybe he’d tell her he was gone for the week.
The Sex Cure Page 8
