Jenna looked to Shannon, who said, “I think you should go for it. What do you have to lose?”
“But what if I get there and it’s . . . icky? I mean, what if there are people having sex all over the place, out in the open, and it creeps me out?”
“Then you get on a plane and come home,” Kev replied.
Okay, easy enough. They couldn’t make her have sex, after all. And they couldn’t make her stay if she was uncomfortable there. And though it was a far cry from the castles and battlefields of Europe, a tropical vacation sounded nice. “All right then. Hotel Erotique, here I come.” But that didn’t keep her from casting Kevin one last glare. “And you’d better hope this doesn’t blow up in my face, or you’re a dead man.”
Chapter 1
While everyone at home in Michigan was busy carving pumpkins and munching on candy corn, Jenna was stepping off a plane at the Miami International Airport. Miami—seemed like a probable-enough place for a hotel specializing in sexual gratification. Although the website made a big deal about the Hotel Erotique being in an undisclosed location—probably because the very concept was so kinky and “out there.” And if customers were more or less paying for sex, well, wasn’t that illegal? So no wonder the hotel’s address was a Miami PO box and the site was so cryptic about the exact locale.
That still didn’t prepare her, though, for what happened next.
She’d been told an escort would meet her at baggage claim, and sure enough, there he was—a man in his thirties, blond and mildly handsome with an endearing smile, holding up a card with her last name on it. And the moment they made eye contact, a horrifying thought struck her: He thinks I’m here for sex! He thinks I’ve come to live out hedonistic fantasies with strangers! Ugh.
She thought about defending herself, explaining the situation—but that would just seem childish, and even prudish, to a guy who delivered people to the Hotel Erotique for a living. Still, as she identified herself and he said, “Hi, I’m Gabe,” smoothly taking her bags, her face heated with embarrassment.
Oh brother. This was not a good start. How are you going to spend two weeks at this place if you can’t look at anyone without blushing? Unfortunately, though, this was the first moment she’d thought about the other people she would encounter there, or how they would perceive her. She’d—stupidly—envisioned herself sunning and swimming all alone, in complete solitude. Damn Kevin and Shannon for getting her into this.
The part that really threw her, though, was when she followed Gabe through the airport, traversing hallways, going through doors, until finally he led her out into the hot south Florida sun—not to a limo or shuttle bus, but onto a tarmac, where a small private jet waited, suspiciously devoid of color or markings.
“Um, where are we going?”
Gabe didn’t appear taken aback by the question—she must not be the first guest to get confused at this point. “To the Hotel Erotique, of course,” he said with a carefree smile. “It’s just a short flight away.”
“How short?”
“Once we’re in the air, thirty minutes.”
“So it’s . . . on an island?”
He nodded easily over his shoulder as they approached the plane, then bent to stow her luggage in an open compartment, which she noticed was empty but for hers. Well, that much was good. She didn’t want companions on this flight—people going there for sex who also thought she was going there for sex. Yuck.
“A private island between the Keys and the Bahamas,” Gabe clarified. “Self-contained. The whole staff lives on the island full-time.”
Wow. A private jet and staff accommodations. She was starting to get why this place was so high priced—even if a large portion of the fees did go to executing sex fantasies.
“We’ll have you soaking up the sun in an hour or two,” Gabe said with a wink that made the juncture of her thighs tingle. Just a little. Because of all the thoughts and worries and concerns about sex surrounding this trip, she supposed. Even if she wasn’t partaking, the whole concept made it difficult not to have sex on the brain. And Gabe was cute. Tan. Well built. “Then, after you get a chance to unwind, you’ll meet with your guide over dinner.”
Her guide. She’d read about that in the folder of information they’d sent her. Each guest was assigned a guide to orchestrate his or her “experience” at the Hotel Erotique. The guide was always the same gender as the guest and served not only as confidant and advisor, but also analyzed the guest to design his or her sexual fantasies. Of course, as Jenna had read more of the resort’s literature, it had sounded less like a place where you lived out your fantasies and more like a place that came up with the fantasies for you. Which seemed, to her, even weirder. But each guide also possessed a degree in psychology, so maybe it made sense to have someone like that to sort of . . . direct one’s casual sex.
Geez—casual sex. Gabe still thought she was here for that. Upon remembering, she found herself mumbling a noncommittal, “Oh, okay,” and again feeling embarrassed.
“You’ll love Mariel,” he went on as he followed Jenna up the small jet’s stairway. “She’s great. Really easy to talk to.” She’d already been given the name of her guide, and apparently so had Gabe.
“Wow, seems you’re in the know about everything. Next, I’ll find out you’re the pilot,” she teased, stepping onto the luxurious plane.
“Co-pilot,” he said with a shrug, and she turned to him in surprise. Was he kidding? “Really,” he added, as if reading her mind. “As soon as I get you a drink from the bar and get you buckled in, we’ll be ready for takeoff.”
A few minutes later, Jenna sat in a plush chair next to a window, peering out over aqua Caribbean waters, sipping a fruity drink Gabe had called “erotic rum punch,” and getting more and more nervous as she approached her final destination. Odd, she hadn’t been nervous before meeting Gabe and climbing aboard this plane—but somehow that had made it all real to her. Lord, she was going to the Hotel Erotique!
But stay calm. You’re just going for the beach and the sun.
Only now she was regretting a few things, such as the online questionnaires she’d filled out at Mariel’s request. She wasn’t sure why she’d done it. Maybe she was curious to find out what her answers meant. Although some of the questions were about sex and fantasies, mostly they had been about less risqué subjects, from her childhood to her current hobbies, and seemed to point toward something like a personality profile.
She supposed she’d also feared if she told them up front she didn’t want the sex part of the prize that maybe, despite Kevin’s theory, they’d take it back. And by that time she’d made firm plans to go, even buying some new beachwear—slightly sexier than her usual wardrobe, just to kind of . . . fit in and not feel like a freak among the sex-seekers.
Now she wished she hadn’t completed the forms, nor been so honest on them. Not that she’d had all that much to share. Maybe that was part of the regret. Maybe she would appear to be a classic case of someone who needed help in the sex department, just like Kevin thought. When she’d been sitting at home, looking at her computer screen, it had felt like a game—something to do when she needed a break from work. Now it was feeling very real.
But stop worrying—this will be fine. Nothing had actually changed, after all. Tonight at what the brochure called her “orientation dinner,” she would tell Mariel her decision—not to partake in the sex—and surely the woman would understand, especially if she was as great as Gabe claimed. Then she’d perhaps, out of curiosity, ask Mariel what the analysis had revealed about her. Because who didn’t want to know stuff like that about themselves?
After that, she would embark on two full weeks of sun and relaxation. She was already looking forward to some of the spa treatments, and she’d packed a few books she’d been wanting to read. All this would turn out . . . okay. Better than okay, in fact. It was a free vacation, after all. In a tropical paradise. What more could a girl ask for?
Four hours later, Jenna a
ctually felt relaxed.
Of course, maybe that had to do with the numerous “erotic rum punches” she’d consumed throughout the afternoon. But better to be a tiny bit intoxicated and relaxed than strung out and nervous.
She’d found that, in keeping with the pictures on the Internet, the hotel and grounds were immaculate—luxurious with just a hint of casual island flair that meshed nicely with the tall palm trees swaying in the breeze. After landing on a private airstrip, Gabe had loaded her baggage into a lavish golf-cart-for-the-rich-and-famous, complete with a polished wood dashboard and leather seats. Then he’d driven her up a meandering stone pathway lined with lush tropical foliage to the open-air lobby, where checking in had been surprisingly . . . normal, like at any other hotel.
Her deluxe suite, she soon discovered, came with an enormous bathroom and balcony, along with a spacious sitting area. And after unpacking, she’d put on a new bikini—leopard print, and a bit more scant than what she wore at home—and nervously made her way down to the pool. Because even if the lobby and room seemed normal, she’d decided that surely there’d be some heavy sexual vibes at the pool.
Yet as she stretched out on a lounge chair beneath the sun and started reading some more literature the desk clerk had given her, she learned that the main pool was a sex-free zone, one of many areas at the resort where guests could retreat during their stay to have an experience like they’d find at any ordinary beach destination.
She couldn’t have imagined more welcome news. And that was when she finally quit being nervous—delighted to learn she could indeed bask in the sun here every day without worrying about sexual . . . creepiness invading her space.
And to celebrate, she started indulging in more of the same drink she’d been served on the plane, even if it embarrassed her just slightly at first to order “erotic rum punch.” But her handsome poolside waiter, Josh, quickly put her at ease with his friendly manner, soon explaining that the punch was a trademark Hotel Erotique concoction.
Josh kept the rum flowing all afternoon, until Jenna was so relaxed she even napped a bit. Then went for a dip. When, for the first time, she grew brave enough to look around her at the other people at the pool—some couples, other singles—and had that same odd feeling as when she’d met Gabe: They think I’m here for sex. But then she remembered they were here for sex, and that suddenly seemed a more interesting thought. Walking up the steps out of the lagoon-type pool in her leopard print bikini, water sluicing from her body, she found herself wondering if anyone saw her and wanted to have sex with her.
That was when she realized she’d had too much rum punch—and she quickly tried to banish the thought. But it stayed with her—and was suddenly a lot easier to ponder under the influence of rum. It was easier to look at the attractive couple a few chairs away and wonder what their fantasies were. Easier to surreptitiously spy a hot blond surfer-looking guy stretched out under a small palm tree and wonder if he’d noticed her bikini, if anything about her meshed with the reasons he’d come here.
And when Josh delivered another drink, she couldn’t bring herself to turn it down. “But this is the last one,” she told him with a smile—maybe even a flirty one. Unintentionally, of course, because unlike everyone else at the Hotel Erotique, she wasn’t here for sex. And she didn’t want to send Josh the wrong message. Yet at the same time, she wondered if he might be admiring her body at all. Because, according to Shannon and past lovers, it was a good body. And one not normally this much on display.
“I mean it,” she added when Josh cast a doubtful grin.
“If you say so,” he’d replied teasingly. “But you know where I am if you change your mind.” The cute waiter had pointed to a thatch-covered tiki hut bar on the opposite side of the pool before departing with a wink that—just like talking with Gabe earlier—had made her a little wet.
Now, she’d just showered in the luxurious marble bathroom in her suite and was off to dinner with her guide. Following the map she’d been given upon her arrival, she took in the beach to her right, the sky turning blush-colored as the sun began its descent. And as she started across a long wooden boardwalk, sea oats sprouting up from the sand beneath, she spied a gazebo in the distance—which her trusty map marked as the spot for her orientation dinner.
She’d worn a pretty pink sundress with a low-cut halter neck—like the bathing suit, sexier than what she’d choose at home. Because she didn’t want Mariel to think turning down the sex part of her prize meant she was prim, or repressed, or anything else. She wanted Mariel to see her as a confident woman who had made the right decision for herself.
She walked slowly to ensure not losing her balance on her sexy, strappy cork wedges—and again couldn’t stop herself from thinking about sex. How many people were having sex right now somewhere on this island? She felt warm in her panties, imagining, wondering, as vague, shadowy images of sweaty bodies moving together wafted through her mind.
Damn—she’d finished her last rum punch nearly an hour ago, but she still felt it. Otherwise, she surely wouldn’t be thinking about sex so much—or suffering the response between her thighs.
But don’t worry—this really will be okay. Eating would help sober her. And after dinner, she could turn in early, then get up tomorrow and enjoy a lazy day on the beach.
The setting sun cast shadows over the interior of the gazebo as she approached, but she stepped boldly inside, ready to show Mariel how self-assured she was. Until she saw a completely scorching-hot guy sitting at a table for two—and flinched, halting in place on her wedge heels. “Um, sorry—wrong gazebo.”
His dark hair was thick but well kempt, contrasting slightly with the sexy stubble on his chin—and a slight smile made him even more handsome. Everything about him looked strong, confident, powerful—like she wished she really felt right now. “No—right gazebo, Jenna.”
Oh, shit—he knew her name. She stood up straighter, her spine going rigid. “I’m supposed to meet Mariel. And you’re . . . not her.”
His smile deepened—he looked amused at how flustered she appeared—and she couldn’t help noticing, even in the dim light, that he possessed deep gray eyes, sexy and captivating. He stood and walked around the small table—set for dinner, complete with ensconced candles and wineglasses—to pull out the chair on the other side. “Sit down,” he said, “and I’ll explain over some pinot grigio.” Her favorite wine. Had that been on a questionnaire somewhere?
She couldn’t figure out a graceful way to not sit down, even though her impulses immediately told her to run, to extract herself from this situation. But for heaven’s sake, calm down—he’s only an incredibly hot guy, not a demon from hell or anything.
Although she feared she was probably looking at him as if he were indeed Satan himself. Because she’d had a plan, and whatever it was he had to explain, this changed it. And suddenly everything felt different. Despite how calm she’d been through the afternoon, now she sensed sex all around her, in a pervasive way.
But then, wait, no—maybe it was only . . . him. His eyes. His body. He dripped sex. He made her tingle between her legs even amid her unaccountable fear. He looked like a guy who could steal a woman’s soul.
“Sit,” he urged her again. “I won’t bite. Promise.” Then he winked.
And there it was again, that undeniable pulse at the juncture of her thighs.
Jenna sat, but only because she didn’t know what else to do. And since she’d already acted totally weird in front of Mr. Soul-Stealing Hottie, she now experienced the urge to make him see what she’d wanted Mariel to see—a confident, in-control woman. With Mariel, it had been to prove she didn’t need the sexual offerings here—yet with this guy, it was simply to redeem herself.
After pushing in her chair, he returned to his own—which meant they were face-to-face again and it was time to meet his gaze. Her chest tightened as she forced herself to do so. She simply wasn’t accustomed to dealing with a man so attractive. In a world designed for sex. Wher
e had her pleasant sense of intoxication gone? Its departure left her feeling vulnerable, for reasons she couldn’t understand.
“First,” he said, still smiling that sexy smile, “congratulations on winning our grand prize, and welcome to the Hotel Erotique. I hope you’re enjoying your stay so far.”
“Thank you, and yes, it’s lovely.” Get to the point already.
Before continuing, though, he paused to lift an open bottle from an ice bucket to pour two glasses of wine. “Second,” he finally went on, “I have some unfortunate news. Your guide, Mariel, has just been called away on a family emergency.”
Oh God. I know I should feel bad for Mariel, but right now, I’m more worried about me. “I’m . . . sorry to hear that. Nothing too serious, I hope,” she managed to add.
“Her father had a heart attack, and he’s expected to have a complete recovery, but she still needs to be with him.”
“Of course,” Jenna replied, nodding.
“And as luck would have it, the only other female guide on-site this week is already very overbooked. We have two more, but both are on vacation.”
“I see,” was all she could say. So what did that mean? Well, maybe she should simply go ahead and tell him her decision and this wouldn’t even matter since she didn’t actually need a guide. But before she could figure out how to broach the topic of sex, he went on.
“I know our literature promises a same-gender guide for each guest, but these are unusual circumstances, so I apologize and hope you won’t mind being stuck with me.” His enticing grin widened, making her thighs melt even as her jaw went slack.
“You,” she repeated numbly.
“Brent Powers,” he said, extending a hand across the table.
She forced herself to shake it. It was big. Strong.
“And I can assure you that, despite this being unusual, I’m committed to ensuring your stay with us exceeds your expectations,” Brent went on. “I’ve been with the Hotel Erotique for fifteen years and have spent ten of those as a guide. I have a BS in social psychology and a PhD in clinical sexology. I’m also part owner of the resort, so I hope all that will convince you you’re in safe hands.”
What She Needs Page 2