by Alice Gaines
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
An Excerpt from Total Temptation
An Excerpt from Total Immersion
About the Author
By Alice Gaines
Copyright
About the Publisher
Dedication
Thanks to my wonderful editor, Chelsey Emmelhainz, for her help with these stories.
Chapter One
DR. ANGELA CARTER couldn’t quite make herself sit down. Not that the proprietor’s office at Club Ecstasy wasn’t a welcoming place. Tastefully decorated with antique furniture and modern reproductions, the room could have come from a stylish, expensive magazine. Nothing gave away the ultimate purpose of the place: connecting female clients with men who provided very special sexual services. And certainly no one from her lab would have followed her here to watch her pace the oriental carpet. So why couldn’t she simply take a seat and wait to see what would happen? Lord knew she’d paid enough for the privilege.
Finally the office door opened, and a woman every bit as elegant as her surroundings stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“I was early.” Angela ran her palms along the sides of her slacks. No need, really. Her hands weren’t clammy.
“You must be Dr. Carter.” The woman extended her hand.
“Angela, please.” When they shook, the other woman’s hand almost disappeared inside Angela’s. Even though the proprietor stood nearly as tall as Angela, she still managed to appear delicate. Small boned, perhaps, like the girls in high school who’d always made Angela feel, well, big. And awkward. And brainy. But why in hell did any of this remind her of the worst four years of her life?
“I’m Madeline Shaw,” the woman said as she gestured to a chair on the visitor’s side of the desk.
“Shaw?” Angela repeated. “Of the clothing and perfume lines?”
“That would be me.”
They more or less sat at the same time, and Madeline gave her a pleasant smile. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I . . .” That was a given, wasn’t it? You didn’t exactly show up at Club Ecstasy—San Francisco’s exclusive spa, resort, and sex palace for women—to get your taxes filed. “I understood . . . that is . . . I heard your employees performed certain services.”
“The men, my sex providers. They’re capable of satisfying even the most demanding client.”
“Um.” Angela cleared her throat. “You mean sexually.”
“I did say sex providers,” Madeline answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Which it was, of course. Sex. You couldn’t get much more natural than that.
“Well, there you are then,” Angela said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“I understand that part.” Madeline laced her fingers together and rested her hands on the desk. “But I’ll need a little more information if I’m to pair you with the right man.”
Angela rubbed her palms against her slacks again. “I’m sure any one of them will be fine.”
“Are you quite comfortable, Angela?” Madeline’s expression softened. Sympathy with an overlay of concern. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or tea?”
“I don’t think a stimulant is a good idea.”
“A glass of wine, perhaps?” Madeline said.
“Don’t want to dull the senses, either.”
Madeline rose, walked around the desk, and sat on its edge. Everything about her posture suggested You can trust me. Let me help. And none of it felt insincere. Why in hell couldn’t Angela open up and tell the woman what she needed? Maybe because she hadn’t figured it out herself?
She never failed to plan things through: starting with an opening hypothesis, then on to systematic tests, and ending with the conclusion she expected from her experiments. Somehow, with this exercise, she hadn’t prepared much of anything except for the date and how much she’d make the check out for.
“A lot of our clients are uncomfortable on their first visit,” Madeline said.
“There’s nothing to feel uncomfortable about, is there?”
“Of course not,” Madeline answered.
“I’m an adult; I have a PhD. There’s no reason I can’t simply ask for what I want, is there?”
“Then why don’t you?” Madeline’s expression went from sympathetic to psychotherapeutic, and the whole situation turned damned awkward.
Angela shot out of her chair and started pacing. “Sex, sex, sex. There I said it.”
“We both have.” Madeline sat and watched her walk back and forth.
“The thing is that I don’t get sex. I understand everything else in my life: my job, my friends, my hobbies, even my diet. Sex?” She threw her hands up in the air. “It ought to be simple.”
“Now there you’re wrong,” Madeline said. “Everything’s complicated with humans but most especially sex.”
“Animals do it. Female goes into heat. Male covers female. Offspring appear, and it all starts over again with the next cycle.” She stopped pacing long enough to stare at Madeline. “Why can’t I cycle?”
“You’re having fertility problems?”
“No, of course not. I won’t need to have children for another two and a half years.”
“Because that’s one service we don’t provide,” Madeline said. “The men use condoms for everyone’s protection.”
“I’m not explaining this very well.”
“I’ll admit you have me a bit confused.” Madeline nodded toward the visitor’s chair again. After a moment, Angela sighed and resumed her seat.
“Why don’t you try explaining your problem to me simply?” Madeline said.
“I don’t have the sex life I ought to have.”
Madeline bent and placed her hands over Angela’s. “There’s no ought to it. There aren’t any rules or quotas.”
“All right. I don’t have the sex life I want to have.”
“Do you have orgasms?”
Angela’s cheeks grew warm. She hadn’t counted on having to discuss her shortcomings. She’d figured she’d get a really good fucking that would magically burst through whatever barriers stood in the way of her sexual fulfillment. Maybe the man could teach her a few tricks she could pass along to a partner. The whole process might take several sessions and cost her a bundle, but she’d enjoy herself. She hadn’t expected to have to bare her psyche before she even got started. Of course, not responding to Madeline’s question was an answer in itself.
“I see,” Madeline said after a bit.
“I have orgasms. Mostly with my vibrator. Sometimes if a man is good at oral sex.”
“But they aren’t enough.”
Angela shrugged. “They’re nice.”
“Oh dear.” Madeline’s voice dropped an octave. She walked back around the desk, sat, and opened a drawer. From that, she produced a book bound in leather. She pushed it toward Angela. “See if any of my men appeal to you.”
Angela set the book in her lap and leafed through it. Any of Madeline’s men appeal to her? All of them looked absolutely delicious. The first was tall and blond with an easy grin. Sort of a surfer dude. Another guy on a motorcycle resembled a bad ass. Probably a lot of fun in bed, but not someone with whom you could make yourself vulnerable, and this visit could involve a lot of that. She leafed through more of them—all ethnicities by the look of things. A few seemed a bit older than the others. Well dressed and very dignified.
Her gaze caught and lingered on a man toward the end of the pictures. His eyes captured her attention. An odd reaction to a photo, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. His
eyes were a deep brown and curved downward at the corners, giving him a sad look. No, vulnerable. As if he couldn’t hide his emotions and everything would be on the surface.
“You’ve found someone,” Madeline said.
“I think maybe.” She finally managed to pull her attention from the man’s eyes and read some of the text. “Brent Delaney.”
“Brent. Yes, of course. He’d be wonderful for you.”
She delved further into the combination bio and personality description. Thank heaven there were no long walks on the beach. Everything she did to improve her sexual response would remain within these walls. The description did mention he liked classical music and had a gentle but firm touch.
“Is he tall?” No point selecting someone short, given her height, no matter how gentle the touch.
“Six three,” Madeline answered. “The two of you will make a perfect couple.”
“I don’t think we’ll be a couple.” More like a hookup.
“You can be whatever you want to be, Angela,” Madeline said. “We offer your perfect fantasy.”
She glanced up from the picture of Brent Delaney. Madeline met her gaze evenly, as if she really believed you could find fantasy in a place where you paid for sex. Or anywhere, for that matter. Erogenous zones, techniques for stimulation—those were the important things. With the help of a lover for hire, Angela would systematically study all the logical ways to create good sex. Fantasy had nothing to do with it.
“Was there anything particular you had in mind?” Madeline asked.
“Just Brent, I guess.” She studied his picture again. This time she managed to get past his eyes to his mouth. The word lush sprang to mind immediately. He had full lips, especially the bottom one. She could almost imagine the taste of it. Something like honey or nectar. The image came through so clearly she ended up licking her own lips, as if he’d just caressed them.
“I have the perfect room for you,” Madeline said. “Let me just make a call.”
Madeline picked up her phone and dialed a few numbers. After a moment, she smiled. “Brent, dear, come to my office. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
THE MAN SHE’D just met—Brent—escorted Angela down a long corridor over carpets thick enough for her shoes to sink into them. He kept his hand at the small of her back the whole time; his fingers splayed over her spine. It was almost a possessive gesture, as if he cared about her; when ten minutes earlier, he hadn’t known she existed.
Her heart wanted to skitter around in her chest, but she did her best to keep her breathing even. What an incredible series of events. In a little while—as soon as she got her nerve up—she’d be having sex with this stranger. Even more remarkable, her body seemed to have registered the fact better than her mind. Her nipples had already tightened, and her clitoris had begun a slow throb.
She’d experienced some excitement with the mere idea of coming here. What had started out as an inkling of an idea had grown over the weeks, turning from “I’d never in my lifetime actually do this, but if I did . . .” to “I can afford to do it if I cancel that trip to Belize” to “What kind of man would I want?” The next thing she’d known, she’d picked up the phone and told the woman at the other end of the call that her friend, Susan, had referred her.
Now here she stood, outside what looked like a very expensive hotel room, as Brent Delaney slid the key card into the slot. When the lock clicked, he opened the door and held it, waiting for her to enter first. She did not feel like a prisoner on her way to the gallows as she crossed the threshold, and she certainly had no desire to turn like a coward and run back down the hallway. She might be holding a little tension in her shoulders, but anyone would have to find the situation a little bit odd, right?
As she stepped into a large sitting/living room area, the beauty of the place surprised her out of her jitters. The décor was all very elegant. Modern, including a sleek sofa and matching chairs. A huge flat-screen television hung on one wall with a stereo console next to it.
Beyond that area was the bedroom. Large and airy with a four poster bed big enough to sleep a squadron. French doors appeared to open onto a terrace.
“Wow,” she said.
“She speaks,” Brent said from behind her. She’d walked into the place and left him behind.
She turned to face him. She’d hardly dared to glance at him in Madeline’s office for fear of babbling and making a fool of herself. His picture had been stunning, but the reality . . . oh, Lord. For a big man, he seemed elegant, not boorish, and his eyes gave off a warm glow. She had to remind herself to breathe.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked after several seconds.
“You do talk,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder.”
“I didn’t know talking was required,” she replied. “Did you know Einstein didn’t speak until he was four? Or maybe it was three.”
One corner of his lips curled upward. “Is that so?”
Man, he had a crooked smile, too. “Einstein didn’t have anything to say. Or that’s how the story goes.”
“Must have been scary for his parents.”
She clasped her hands together in front of her slacks and then let them fall back by her sides. “For the longest time it didn’t appear he was going to amount to much of anything.”
“Einstein?” he said.
“One of the greatest minds of the century.”
“Say, would you like something to drink?” He went to the wet bar and hefted a decanter of something alcoholic.
“Me?” She waved a hand. “No, I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.” He poured a few fingers of whatever that was into a tumbler and approached her. Instead of drinking it, he handed her the glass. “You were saying.”
As he walked around behind her, she stared into the glass. “I guess there really isn’t any more to the story. We all know how Einstein turned out.”
He scooped up her hair and pushed it to one side of her neck so he could press his lips to the curve of her throat. “He invented relativity.”
“Discovered it, rather. The theory’s not that hard to understand, really.” Her pulse sped up, and her nipples hardened to points, although he’d made no move toward her breasts. She took a sip of the whiskey. Good quality. Smooth, not harsh. She took a bit more and let it warm her throat as it went down. “Mostly, it’s conceptual, just a little . . . oh!”
He’d grazed her earlobe with his teeth, hot breath slipping into her ear. Suddenly, her eyelids grew heavy.
“Math,” she said. “Some fairly simple algebra.”
“I was bad at that,” he said.
He was clearly good at other things. Very, very good. Like using his teeth to make pinpricks of pure pleasure along the sensitive skin beneath her jaw and then downward to her collarbone. She took another sip of the liquor and let the vapors fill her mouth for long seconds before swallowing.
“That’s my girl.” He took the near-empty glass from her and deposited it somewhere behind her. He’d found a table or something without leaving her because the sound of the tumbler settling onto something came through loud and clear.
Then he came back around to face her. She wasn’t used to feeling dwarfed by people, even men, but he seemed to tower over her. With a solid build, he could have played football. But his facial features fit better with someone more sensitive. A poet or actor, perhaps. Those deep, soft eyes and that full mouth. He even had long eyelashes. She could stare into his face forever, and, actually, she’d been doing that for a whole minute.
“Find anything interesting?” he said.
“No, well, yes.”
“Look, Angela, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want. We can talk about famous scientists all night,” he said. “Although that’d be an odd way to spend your money.”
“Oh, I want to do . . .” She stopped herself before she came out with a silly euphemism. “I want to have sex. Lots of it. In different positions.”
“That’s what I’m
here for.”
“But I’ll be honest with you.” She raised her chin and looked him in the eyes. “I have problems performing.”
He stared at her for a moment. “Women don’t perform. They enjoy.”
“A matter of semantics. A woman my age should have multiple orgasms during a full-coital encounter.”
“Really?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “How many?”
“Five is probably too many to expect, but certainly more than one.”
“That leaves two, three, or four,” he said. “Which is it?”
“Three, I suppose.”
“And you haven’t been having three, during a . . . what was it you called it?”
“Full-coital encounter,” she answered.
“You’ll excuse me for thinking that sounds like something you bill your health insurance to cover.” He caught her arms and rubbed his palms from her elbows to her shoulders and back. “You can relax, Angela. I’m used to nonorgasmic women.”
She pulled away. “I didn’t say I was nonorgasmic. I have orgasms.”
“Then what were we talking about?”
“I don’t have enough of them, and I don’t have them the right way.”
He tipped his head and looked at her as if she were crazy. “There’s a right way to have an orgasm?”
“Come on. You know what I mean.” Her feet wanted to pace, but she made them stay where they were. And she stood straight, not backing away from him. “I’m near my sexual prime. If I’m going to fulfill my full potential, I should be making more progress.”
All right, she would pace, but just so she could think. Movement always helped, even if she did come off looking a little frantic. She went to the stereo and turned around. “I finished college at nineteen. Graduate school at twenty-three. I have my professional life mapped out. I eat a healthy diet and exercise.”
“And sex isn’t keeping up with your plan.”
“Exactly. I’m so glad you understand.”
“I’m afraid I do,” he said. “You see, sex isn’t going to keep up with your plan or anyone else’s. Sex is what it is.”
She put her hands on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”