by Carol Caiton
She held his gaze and a small chill inched its way up her spine.
She thought back over the questions that dealt with sexual experience and realized she wasn't so ordinary after all. Not at RUSH. And Simon Yetzer knew it.
She drew a slow, shaky breath. She was a twenty-two-year-old virgin. She'd joined a sex club without ever having experienced intercourse. And this stranger—this annoying statistician—knew it. That was why he wanted answers. That was why he was walking with her when A. Lotz should have been her only escort. No wonder he had asked about her reasons for joining RUSH. No wonder he stared at her as though she belonged under a microscope, an oddity to be studied. He was doing it even now.
"You're staring." She called him on it, fighting the embarrassment that nearly clogged her throat.
"I apologize. You're very . . . intriguing."
"No, I'm not."
"I disagree."
"I'm not at all intriguing."
He raised that brow again. "You're the most thought-provoking woman I've met in a long time."
She clenched her teeth. If he'd meant that as a compliment, it would have been a nice one. But she knew better. Spinning on the ball of her old sneaker, she turned and walked away from him.
"Nina?"
She kept walking.
"Nina."
She ignored him.
But his tone grew in volume. "Nina!"
Heaving a theatrical sigh, she whirled around. "What!"
Four steps brought him to her. "It was an observation, not an insult."
"Well, you can keep your observations to yourself, Mr. Yetzer, along with any other questions you have. I'll be taking care of your little oddity first thing Monday morning. Then all your numbers will be in order again."
"What?"
She shut her eyes. Opened them. "Can we just go to Medical Services without talking anymore? I don't like talking to you."
In answer, strong fingers closed around her upper arm. Her heart thumped as he steered her back down the path.
"Where are we going?" She looked over at A. Lotz and was glad to see him alert and watching.
Simon didn't answer. Instead, he propelled her toward a section of dewy morning grass where a large, quarter-round cement bench sat just off the path.
"Sit down," he ordered, releasing her arm.
She sat.
"I'm not going to pretend I understand the way a woman's mind works," he said, towering over her. "And I'm not going to expend the energy it takes to look for hidden meanings. No guessing games."
Nina frowned up at him. Was he lecturing her?
"I don't read minds," he continued. "Straightforward communication keeps things uncomplicated and—"
She'd had enough.
"Now look here," she cut in with a lecture of her own. "I'll probably never see you again after today . . . well, maybe in passing," she amended. "You probably mean well, and no matter how embarrassing it is, I can understand your curiosity because of the numbers thing. But it won't even be an issue after Monday."
"Stop."
"What?"
"Stop right there."
She clamped her lips together.
"What 'numbers thing' are you talking about? What won't be an issue after Monday?"
She stared up at him.
He stared back.
She arched one cool brow, mimicking his earlier arrogance and refused to answer.
He narrowed his eyes. "My entire day is free," he threatened. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and stood there, as though he might actually keep her sitting on a hard concrete bench all day.
Backing down wasn't easy. She didn't want to give in. "Why does every question you ask have to be personal?"
His eyes actually glittered. "Just answer it."
"I have an appointment with Dr. Sturrow on Monday."
"And?"
She glared at him. "Why is this your business?"
"Answer the damned question!" he gritted out.
"I'm scheduled to have a hymenscission!" Then she clamped her teeth together until her jaw hurt from the pressure.
"What the hell is a hymenscission?"
Lord, he was every bit as incensed as she. Had any two people ever been so antagonistic toward one another on such short acquaintance? She straightened her shoulders. "My virginity won't be an issue after Monday," she stated tightly. "I'm going to have my maidenhead medically pierced so my first experience won't be—"
"The hell you are."
CHAPTER 8
She sat perfectly still.
Those dark innocent eyes stared up at him with caution now. And who could blame her? He'd stepped over that vague, inferred line separating normal, rational humanity from someone to be wary of. If her caution escalated and she began to fear for her safety, her heart rate would increase. Security Central would be in touch with Antonio Lotz through the headset he wore, advising him of her heightened stress levels. Within seconds a couple more guards would appear and Simon's chance to win her over would be lost. By then she'd have decided he was unstable. Someone to be avoided.
Frankly, he felt a little unstable. The anger coursing through him was the strongest he'd felt in a long time. Years. It even surprised him because her virginity had been an annoyance until the very second she said she planned to have it medically breached. Because of it she'd been a bewildering oddity in the boardroom which turned him into a bewildering oddity in the boardroom. She'd had no business joining RUSH. Her innocence was a mockery here. But by God, it belonged to him. No surgical procedure was going to deny him the intensity of breaking through her maidenhead and claiming it for himself.
Pulling in a long breath, he held it, then slowly let it out. If he didn't want her running off, he'd better come up was a reasonable explanation for his emphatic denial.
"Dr. Sturrow," he said, striving for normal, "phoned Admin yesterday afternoon. There's been a death in the family, so she'll be out all week. You'll have to call and reschedule."
It was the first thing that came to mind. He'd have to get in touch with Amy Sturrow and tell her she'd been given an impromptu vacation. Still, he thought he managed to convey that fabrication in a non-threatening tone. He'd never met a woman, anyone, who pushed his buttons the way this Nina Millering did. It placed him in the mystifying position of pursuing someone who provoked and aggravated him so quickly, he couldn't imagine which aspects of their profiles could be so damned compatible.
She didn't answer right away. She watched him through curious eyes, as though wondering why a death in Dr. Sturrow's family should have incited his temper. It reminded him that she'd studied Peter Kerber back at the checkpoint, contemplating the guard as though wondering what he'd be like in bed, and Kerber had enjoyed every second of her perusal.
Simon hadn't. As precursor of what was to come, it only confirmed his expectations.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she said, pulling him back on topic. "Was it a close family member?"
"I don't know."
She tilted her head, causing the ponytail on top to appear more off-center than it already was and he couldn't fathom why that appealed to him.
"You keep looking at my hair."
"I apologize. Again." He lowered his eyes to hers. "You're not what I expected."
She wrinkled her nose and looked away.
"Nina, I'm not here to cause you embarrassment or discomfort. I'm trying to explain that we've never had a woman with no sexual experience apply for an R-link membership. Your circumstances at RUSH are unique and, as a result, some adjustments have to be made."
"What kind of adjustments?" She brought her eyes back to his.
"Nothing dramatic. But your lack of experience raises the possibility of future legal issues. Because of that, our attorney drew up an addendum to your contract. Primarily it gives the board of directors control over the pace of your training."
"The pace of my training," she repeated, toying with the strap of her purse. "You mean they want to slow thin
gs down?"
"Yes. Exactly."
"How will that affect my membership?"
"Nothing will change," he assured her. "You'll live on property, meet with your advisor, and begin a routine schedule—everything an R-link membership entails. The only difference will be a change in your required classes. They'll be rearranged to allow for more time before you engage in sexual contact."
"I see." She appeared more relaxed, the wariness of a few minutes before fading. "I have a question," she added.
"What is it?"
"Well, I can't help but wonder why you're the one explaining this to me. I mean, shouldn't it be my advisor? Or the attorney? —Nothing against your career choice, but I don't understand why they asked a statistician to speak with me."
He kept his eyes on hers. But he took in all of her, from the ponytail, as thick and dark as his own hair, to the full breasts stretching her pullover top, to her slender build and small feet. He'd stared at her salon-perfect computer image for hours, kept returning to her eyes time and again because the innocence there, paradoxical to her near naked pose, had fascinated him.
He stared into them now, clear and waiting, bewildered and trusting, and he was just as fascinated. And just as puzzled. What was it about her that made her his ideal mate? She was argumentative, illogical, and had a wandering eye that needed to be reined in. Initially, her virginity had been an irritant but he was willing to acknowledge that it was now as significant as the link itself. She was his. Young, vibrant, and alive in front of him, she'd become more than a file, more than a folder he'd accepted. And this sense of ownership he felt was another first for him. He wanted her. Yes, he definitely wanted her. But how would she react when he told her why he, not her advisor, and not Mason, was the person speaking with her?
"Because," he told her softly, "your first sexual encounter is going to be with me."
* * *
She was too stunned to respond, too stunned to do more than stare up at him. Why had he said that? Her first time was supposed to be with one of RUSH's instructors—someone who knew more about her body than she did, someone who had the knowledge to make it magical for her. She wasn't supposed to feel panicky and desperate while her intended sexual partner hovered over her, rude and intimidating, measuring her through dark narrowed eyes.
She wanted someone nicer. She wanted someone less commanding. She wanted someone smaller.
Hot, wild heat rushed into her face. Then it drained right back out. It wasn't supposed to go like this. She was sure of it. Link notifications, including R-link notifications, were supposed to be delivered through the computer system, not in person. That's what she'd been told. She remembered reading it, as well. The linking system was supposed to pair her with a compatible partner, not someone she argued with just fifteen seconds after meeting him. And what about the restricted pace of her training? He'd just told her she wouldn't be sexually active until the board of directors covered their legal backsides and knew for certain she couldn't file any lawsuits.
"No." She pushed up off the bench and stepped away. Clutching the damp blue sweatshirt to her stomach, she said, "You must have made a mistake."
"I didn't make a mistake."
"Are you an instructor here as well as a statistician?"
"No."
"Well there you have it." She took a step to the side. "My first experience is supposed to be with an instructor, not a statistician."
He stared at her.
She offered a nervous smile. "It's nothing against your profession," she insisted. "It's just that—"
He took a step forward and her heart jumped.
He noted her reaction and the corner of his mouth twitched. Satisfaction glittered in his eyes. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure it's memorable."
* * *
Her eyes flew open and his bruised ego took a fair amount of pleasure from that. But when she whirled around and made for the pathway the pleasure waned. He shouldn't have provoked her.
Even as he reprimanded himself, however, he smiled at her swinging ponytail. He watched the motion of her body as she paced herself and wished he had a frontal view, as well.
Damn, but he felt good. And that made no sense. He'd just spent the better part of a half hour trying to reason with a woman who spoke in circles, a half hour during which time emotions had dominated—both hers and his. Yet, right from the start, as soon as he'd set eyes on her lopsided ponytail, logic and reason had been replaced with an urge to conquer. She frustrated him, exasperated him and thought nothing of flaying his ego, but here he stood having discovered a capacity for pos-sessiveness he didn't know why he felt, and for a woman who wanted nothing to do with him. Where, in God's name was the logic in that?
Antonio Lotz caught up with him, nodded, then continued jogging down the path.
Simon ran a hand along the back of his neck. In retrospect, it was a good thing she didn't yet know about their blue link. After the remark he'd treated her to, she would probably have sprinted off to Member Services, logged on to her account, and declined it out of simple spite. It wouldn't have occurred to her to step back and think about what a blue icon represented. She probably wouldn't have cared.
He glanced down at his watch. A number of first-shift arrivals strolled the pavement carrying disposable cups from the coffee bar. Technically the small bistro was named Urns & Leaves, but most people referred to it as the coffee bar.
He made his way toward the take-away counter, the rich aroma of several brews wafting through the air as he drew close. Inside, a long row of gleaming, copperplated urns lined one wall. On another, tea leaves were dispensed in precise measurements at the press of a button for the ease of blending one with another. Or not. And if the customer preferred personal service instead, several female servers accommo-dated both the dining room and a section of outdoor tables, delivering steaming hot beverages in fine, bone china cups.
Eyeing the crowd at the take-away counter, he decided to go inside. But a glance through the row of bay windows showed a large gathering in the dining room as well. So he walked around the fountain at the center of the food court, weaving a path through the surrounding wrought-iron tables.
Magnolias, the health food eatery assigned to fill the prescribed diet plans of RUSH's R-links, now served coffee. The selection was limited, but in Simon's opinion Magnolias rivaled Urns & Leaves for some of the best coffee in Orlando. He purchased his black and strong, walked back outside, and sat down at a table near the fountain.
For a while he listened to the splash of water as it spilled from one tier to another. He took a swallow of coffee, then set his cup down on the table. It had been a long time since he'd set out to pursue a woman, and even then it hadn't taken much effort. With better than average genes, a little conversation, and a few dinner dates, he'd been able to find himself a bed partner with relative ease.
That wasn't going to happen this time. Nina Millering wouldn't agree to an evening spent over dinner and drinks after his little act of vengeance. Nor did he deceive himself into believing his better-than-average genes had impressed her. That spark of interest he usually saw in a woman's eyes hadn't been there this time. Not once. Yet thirty minutes in her presence had left him determined to have her. Why would he want to conquer and claim a woman who brought out the worst in him? And why had that caused such a surge of exhilaration?
The analyst in him wanted answers to all those questions. And if he was feeling so damned territorial, why had he reacted to her, spoken to her, in a manner that left him shaking his head?
He wanted some time to reconsider what he'd gotten himself into. Unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury. Both he and RUSH were bound by the membership contract she'd signed. Legal issues restricted him, limiting his choices, and forced him to move quickly in unfamiliar territory. He wasn't comfortable operating inside those parameters, particularly when the stakes were so high.
Reaching for his cup again, he watched a growing crowd of employees pass through
the food court. It wasn't often that he came in on a weekend, and he didn't recognize the majority of them. But there were some that he did and still more who recognized him and offered a greeting as they passed.
Finishing off his coffee, he rose and headed for the entertainment sector. It had been a while since he'd been down there as well, and he was curious to see the landscaping around the new mall.
He stepped onto the main walkway where a recently constructed stucco wall now surrounded the Moon Orchid Spa. Taking a short detour, he decided to check that out, as well. His palmprint wouldn't open the gate since the spa, like the R-link complex, was a venue where men weren't permitted. He could take a walk around the perimeter, though.
Originally the spa had been a single-story fitness center for RUSH's female clients, much like Sportworld Gym accommodated the men. But it was the spa's amenities that, surprisingly, drew an increasing number of women back on property, regardless of whether or not a sexual encounter had been scheduled. Eventually those women had drawn up a petition asking the board to consider a few changes—a few changes that amounted to a small fortune.
The fitness center itself had been redesigned with individualized workout zones and now took up twice the real estate. With twenty-eight private treatment rooms, two more saunas, steam rooms, and whirlpools, the Moon Orchid Spa would soon be a two-story, full-service day spa with a focus on health and lifestyle improvement. The women had asked for more classes. They wanted more meditation alcoves and the same amenities afforded to the R-links, including a personalized wellness program and the option to purchase cosmetics from the phytochemist who prepared them exclusively for the R-links. They requested beauty therapists and a salon for hair, nail and skin care. And they'd made it very clear that a two-month waiting list for a full-body massage was unacceptable.