Harley coughed. Was this why he wanted her to move in with him? Was he under the impression that therapy from her involved hands-on work? “I can’t date you. Not if I’m coaching you. It violates every rule I’ve ever made for myself, and if you think I’ll treat you by actually having sex with you, then you’ve recruited the wrong sexologist.” She should’ve left already. She shouldn’t even have stayed this long.
“I’m not asking you to move in so we can have sex, Ms. Vega. I’m simply protective of my privacy. That’s all. Most of the time, paparazzi stalk me, and stake out the lobby of this very building. If you came regularly, eventually they’d know.” He took a deep breath. “If I came to you, then they’d know.”
“Getting help is nothing to be ashamed of.” Harley met his gaze.
“No, it isn’t. But I don’t want my company’s stock to plummet, either, on scandalous news that its owner is impotent.”
“Would they really?”
“Of course, they would. They’ve dipped on much less salacious news.”
She looked away from him, back out the window. She couldn’t seriously be considering moving in with the man. What on earth kind of business dealings could sexual therapy throw a wrench in?
“Also, there’s a third reason you should move in.”
“I can hardly wait to hear this.”
“You’re being evicted, Ms. Vega. In a week’s time, you won’t have anywhere to stay, anyway.”
She was struck speechless. “How did you know that?”
He gave her a sly look. “I trade in information, Ms. Vega. I made it my business to know.”
So he knew how desperate she was, then. Knew she was facing rough times. Facing having to move back in with her parents in Miami by the month’s end if she didn’t change her circumstances and fast. She could do that, though. It wasn’t as if she had no options. She just didn’t have any good ones.
“Since it’s my fault you are being evicted, I figured offering you a place to stay was the least I could do.”
Well, he had a point there. It was his fault she couldn’t pay her rent.
“How about we have a trial period?” Wilder sounded calm and confident. Of course, he did. He expected people to do as he instructed, no questions asked. “You can treat me for one week, living here, and then after one week’s time, if you would like to leave, I’ll pay you a full month’s salary, anyway.”
Harley’s mind spun with the possibilities.
“If I do this, you understand that I am not a sexual surrogate.”
“Sexual...surrogate?” Wilder looked confused.
“I don’t have sex to heal people or help them work out their...issues.” Not that she’d ever have sex with him, anyway. She hated him. Period. But she knew Wilder was a man used to getting what he wanted, and she needed to be sure he knew there was absolutely one thing he couldn’t have: her body. No matter how charming the man’s smile was, he had to understand she had rules that she didn’t intend to break.
“I’m asking you to treat me,” Wilder said. “Sex is optional.”
“No, it’s off the table.” Harley had to make this perfectly clear. She could only agree to this if she set up rules. She didn’t want a handsy billionaire who felt entitled to her body.
“That’s your decision completely.” Wilder shrugged, indicating with a slight head nod that he’d respect her decision.
She was not quite sure if she felt relieved or disappointed. “So you’ll respect my rules, then?”
He took a step closer to her and Harley craned her neck to meet his gaze, suddenly very aware of how broad he was, how very, very tall.
“I always respect women’s rules. It’s my motto that if you make the rule, you have to be the one to break it.”
“I won’t break my rules.” Harley had no intention of changing her mind. No matter how charismatic Wilder Lange might be. Plus, she despised him.
“Sounds like you’re challenging yourself now.” Wilder flashed a bright white smile, all charm, all ease, and yet, she sensed that reticence beneath it all. A distance that he put between himself and others. It might just be at the root of whatever issues he was having. She itched to dig into his mind, figure out what made him tick. Why? she wondered. So she could know her enemy better?
“I’m not the one who’s going to be challenged if I treat you,” she said. She might not be a therapist, but she’d done enough coaching to know that really dealing with his issues meant getting a closer look at the ugly truths that most people kept hidden away. For Wilder Lange, she suspected he used that charming smile to lure people in and then somehow keep them at arm’s length, all at the same time. “I’ll take this job but only on the condition that you respect my therapeutic methods.”
“Certainly.” Wilder cocked his head to one side, the light catching the hint of red highlights in his otherwise nearly black hair.
“And I’m free to leave at any time, even before the full week is up, should I decide that my methods are not being respected.”
“Of course. I don’t plan to keep you prisoner against your will.” Wilder looked at her as if she were crazy. And maybe she was. Why was she even considering doing this? Because she was losing her apartment. She didn’t want to admit defeat and go home to Miami. Especially not when they were already strapped. Last year, her sister had recently gotten divorced and moved back in with her parents with two small children in tow. She didn’t need to be another burden, not when her parents were dealing with their own. But even more than that, she had to admit to herself, she might be a little bit too fascinated with Wilder Lange.
“Okay.” Why was her heart beating so hard in her chest? Why had her blood pressure ticked up a notch? “Then, we have a deal.” She stuck out her hand. She was a professional and she could damn well act like one.
He grasped it in his, putting a little more pressure against her palm this time, and held it for a little bit too long. She sucked in a breath and realized she was holding it. Harley deliberately exhaled. She didn’t like the man, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t treat him. And she’d have a free place to stay while she saved cash and figured out her next move.
“I’m glad to hear it.” His voice rolled over her like melted caramel and as she watched his lips move, she realized that she was already looking forward to their first real session, when she could start unpacking the man’s secrets and dive into that fascinating brain of his. She knew the excitement meant trouble. But she could handle it. She was certain she could. What could possibly go wrong?
CHAPTER FIVE
ONE WEEK LATER, Harley was already regretting her decision to move into Wilder Lange’s penthouse, and she hadn’t even unpacked yet. Not that she’d likely get the chance to do that, as Lange’s impressive staff (a butler, a maid and one valet) worked to get her things tucked away in the largest guest bedroom she’d ever seen. The problem wasn’t the accommodations. They were stellar. Her “room”—bigger than her entire Brooklyn apartment—had a giant mahogany four-poster-canopy bed to her right, a large flat-screen TV on the wall, an ornate antique dresser, a connected full bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi tub, and, next door, its own “kitchenette,” which was, Harley was sad to say, larger than her own small apartment kitchen. The fridge was also already stocked with the essentials. It stood nearby to the other gleaming top-of-the-line appliances, all of which looked as if they’d never been used. But why would they have been? Wilder had his own kitchen downstairs, and his own chef to cook for him. Why would anyone need to use this one?
She ought to be grateful for such lovely accommodations, but the fact was she was simply annoyed. Annoyed that a man like Wilder had such nice things and she’d been desperate enough to agree to living with him in the first place, so she could be reminded that he had everything and she had nothing. Well, not nothing, exactly. She had her furniture in storage and a Visa that was abou
t to combust since she’d swiped the darn thing so often this month. She still couldn’t quite believe a week ago she’d gone into his penthouse with the intent of giving him a piece of her mind, and now she was...moving in? The whole idea was absurd. So absurd, in fact, that she’d deliberately not told her parents or sister about it, because how would she begin to explain moving in with a billionaire? Besides, she was fairly certain that her NDA made it impossible to tell anyone where she was living or what she was doing for the next few months. She’d read over the damn thing the night before and she pretty much couldn’t speak one word about Lange.
“Do you have any questions, Ms. Vega?” asked Jacob, Wilder’s butler, an older gentleman with more salt in his hair than pepper who was dressed in a suit, and made her feel decidedly underdressed in her tank top, coral linen capris and flat sandals. Jacob had gone through all she needed to know about her swanky new digs, including how to turn on the lights, run the shower, set the temperature, request maid service and get the news and weather all by talking to smart device panels in her room.
“Uh...” Harley glanced around the room, which was both traditionally furnished yet distinctly high tech, and thought she had a million questions, but she figured she’d have to stumble through and figure out how to live in a room with smart devices and not light switches. “No, thank you.”
“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call us.” Jacob nodded toward the panel on the wall with the video screen linked to every other room in the house, she assumed. She’d never stayed anywhere so modern and traditional at the same time. Again, she wondered about the old furniture, the traditional quilt on the bed juxtaposed with the cutting-edge tech. Each side seeming to be working for dominance in the room. Harley looked up in time to see that the maid and valet had made quick work of her small rolling suitcase, hanging up her clothes and putting her other items away in drawers before tucking the suitcase into the massive walk-in closet. Her clothes, she noted, took up about one-hundredth of the space provided. Resentment hung heavy in her gut. Why did Wilder Lange deserve such nice things? Why did he get this when he ruined so many lives with a click of his mouse or a single phone call?
“Thank you,” she said, feeling awkward as the servants nodded in her direction and then quickly dispersed. She was glad to see a safety bolt on the door. At least she could lock it from the inside and sleep at night. Not that she expected Wilder Lange to slip into her room in the middle of the night. But, still, the bolt was reassuring.
Nonetheless, she was still starting to feel as if coming here might have been a mistake. First off, she was far more comfortable sitting behind her computer writing advice. She was far less comfortable sitting across from a man like Wilder Lange and telling him how she thought his body ought to work. It didn’t help, either, that she wasn’t in a relationship right now. In fact, most of her relationships had fizzled lately and she couldn’t quite figure out why. It was the ultimate irony: she was the woman who was supposed to have all the relationship answers and yet she couldn’t manage to keep a man in her life for more than three months before they ran for the door. Granted, she suspected why. She took things slow. Maybe too slow, granted, but that’s where she felt comfortable. She didn’t jump right into sex. She might be fine talking about vibrators and climaxes in her column, but she wasn’t all that fine with taking off her clothes with a complete stranger. And anyone she’d known less than a couple of months, in her mind, was a complete stranger.
Harley glanced at her watch and realized that their first session, agreed upon in advance, was about an hour away. She felt jittery and nervous and figured a walk around the penthouse might be the best way to work out her nerves before the big session. She smoothed down her tank top, grabbed her bag and decided to head out of her room to get a layout of the place, and maybe, she’d admit, because she was a little nosey. She’d never been in a giant penthouse before. Who knew how the rich lived? Once in the massive hallway with the sleek pristine white carpet, she hesitated. Which way?
She’d already been to the right, since Jacob had led her there from the front door. So, left it was. She quickly found that Wilder’s home was larger than most hotels, and it contained no helpful signs pointing guests to the lobby, but she did find a stairwell and decided to see where it went. She walked through room after room, a seemingly endless number of sitting rooms and lounges and, after peeking in a few doors, many, many bedrooms. Who needed this many bedrooms? He could sleep in a different one every night and not even dirty his sheets. What she did know was that she was impressed. Damn impressed. The man had real marble statues that looked like they were actually from ancient Greece, which they probably were. He even had a game room, she saw, complete with a pool table with gray felt. She’d never seen a pool table with gray felt before, and figured it had to be expensive. In fact, everything in the penthouse screamed money, even the sleek stainless steel doorknobs and light switch plates.
The current hallway she stood in was lined with vibrant modern paintings. No staid oil painting portraits of ancestors here. She made it to the end of the hall and went left, wishing she had a bag of breadcrumbs to lead her back to her room because she’d taken a number of turns and feared she might be lost. She wondered where Wilder’s room was and then immediately felt warmth in her cheeks. Wilder Lange. She was still reeling from their first meeting, from the way his dark eyes seemed to read her mind. Today, however, she was bound and determined not to let attraction get in the way of the work she needed to do. How often had she coached her readers about controlling their impulses? Now, it was time to follow her own advice. Besides, what she needed to worry about was being able to help the man. She still disliked him, disliked his entitled ways and how he played God with people’s lives, and part of her hated that she’d even agreed to help the man in the first place. But she knew why she’d agreed. She needed the money. And, maybe, a small part of her was holding on to the hope that, with her dazzling insights, he’d reinstate her old job. Okay, time to head back. The last thing she needed to do was get caught snooping around his place.
She took the right fork at the end of the hallway and found herself at a back staircase. This wasn’t the staircase she’d used to get to this level, so she turned around and walked down the other fork and found an actual elevator at the end of that long hallway. How many ways up and down did this home have? Hell, how many stories was it? Did he own the whole building? Though, technically, he did, since his name was on it. The first fifteen floors were dedicated to his national news empire in both broadcast and broadsheet news. She shook her head at the size of the place, and wished she’d paid better attention when Jacob had shown her to her room. Only now she realized the folly of taking one wrong turn, as she wound her way through the house like she was in a hedge maze. She pivoted, and before she knew it, she found herself standing in the double doorway of a massive home gym, complete with mirrors, free weights, a treadmill and about a half dozen weight machines. She froze when she saw that one of the weight machines was occupied—by Wilder—who was pushing quite an impressive block of weight in a chest press. He sat with his back to her, shirtless, which showed off his impressive muscles that rippled with effort every time he moved. Harley realized she ought to turn quickly and head out, before she was caught staring at the man. It felt like the worst invasion of his privacy, and yet, she felt rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the twitch of the muscles in his back, as he pulled the weights back, his thick arms bulging with the effort. He let the weights go with a sudden jerk, the set complete, as the weights cracked together. And then he stood, disentangling himself from the machine and reaching for a nearby water bottle. The mirrored wall reflected the profile of his face, and at any moment, he could look up and see her standing there.
Now’s the time to go, she told herself, and yet she watched as he lifted the bottle to his full lips and drank. He could turn around at any moment or turn to his left and see her in that mirror, and then what
? She’d explain that she was simply admiring the view? She was snooping around his giant penthouse? Then again, it had been so long since she’d seen a half-naked man, she realized it was partly just a physical reaction to being so close to so much bare skin. She turned to go, but the movement caught his attention and he turned.
“Ms. Vega.” She froze at the sound of her name. “I thought our appointment wasn’t for another hour. And, I thought we agreed to meet in my study.”
“Yes, er...” Was she about to admit to this man she was simply lost? “I was just...uh...” Rudely poking around your ginormous penthouse. “Taking a walk. I’ll head back to my room.”
She ducked back into the corridor.
“Actually, your room is the other way,” Wilder called. Stricken, she quickly turned.
“Oh, right.” She smiled, uneasily.
His dark eyes looked almost golden in the gym light. He eyed her, assessing. “Lost?”
Harley felt a little flame of heat flicker up her neck. “I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious.”
He grabbed a towel from the back of the weight bench and wiped his sweaty brow with it. The glisten of sweat on his firm muscled arms just made them even sexier, if that were possible. She was distinctly aware he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and she was trying to avoid staring at his chest and the pronounced pectoral muscles. Damn the man was beyond fine. He was...just white-hot. Why did he have to be like a walking underwear model? How did he get his abs so cut? And why was she imagining what it might be like to lick that sweat right off his swollen muscles? She’d never imagined jumping into bed instantly with any man she’d ever met before. She was methodical, slow, plodding when it came to her own personal relationships. But somehow, Wilder just made her mind go directly to the dirtiest deed she could think of.
“Everybody gets lost the first time they stay.” He smiled, flashing his perfectly straight, bright white teeth. “Even the governor did, when he stayed here.”
The Sex Cure Page 4