He shook his head. “Higher.”
“Fifty?” He shook his head again. “One hundred?” Harley’s throat went dry. “Two hundred.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think you really want the number.”
“Two hundred and fifty?” Now, she was darn near flabbergasted.
“You’re getting closer.” He grinned. “But, remember, I do believe in casual sex. I’ll tell you this. It’s lower than twenty thousand.”
“The number Wilt Chamberlain claimed? Are you serious?”
“I said it was lower.” He laughed. “How about we just say a lot and leave it at that? Besides, I thought you agreed that numbers—low or high—didn’t matter.”
He took a bite of salad and so did she, as she mulled over Wilder’s revelation. Well, Harley thought numbers didn’t matter, but if this man had literally been with hundreds, or even thousands of women, how could she hope to stand out? Did she want to? Oh, who the hell was she kidding, of course she did. She wanted to rock the man’s world.
She took another bite of salad, only to have Wilder put her on the spot.
“Have you given more thought to my proposition?”
“Yes.” It was all she could think about if she were honest.
“Why don’t we stop playing around? I know you want to do it. You know I want to do it. What’s stopping us?” Wilder didn’t even blink an eye. He didn’t even break a smile. There was no hint of a joke in his manner.
“That’s quite bold of you.” Could the man see right into her brain? Why did he always seem to be one step ahead of her?
“I didn’t get where I am, Ms. Vega, by being timid.” His dark eyes never left hers, and she was very much aware that the two of them sat alone at this massive table in this large room. The servants that seemed to be ducking in and out constantly were suddenly nowhere to be found. “What I know is that you’ve been debating having sex with me. That little pros-and-cons list...”
She blushed at the memory of him reading her uncensored thoughts.
“But what I don’t know is if you’re trying to convince yourself not to do it...or...to do it.” He shook his head slowly. “My point is that if you’re fighting with yourself over it, why not...just stop fighting?”
“Because I’m supposed to be treating you. It’s unethical for me to sleep with you.”
“Yes, but you’re not a doctor. Or a therapist.” He finished the last of his small salad, watching her intently. “And I’m not one of your advice column readers looking to be in the next column, either. So where’s the true conflict?”
“Because you’re...” He wasn’t her patient exactly, since she wasn’t a licensed counselor. “Because you’re paying me...”
“For a consultation. The sex has nothing to do with that. The sex,” he said, and paused, a smile tugging at the corners of his sensual mouth, “that’s just for fun. To see if this thing between us is as real as I think it is.”
“It’s not that simple,” she said, feeling a bit too vulnerable beneath the weight of his heavy gaze. Every time she let herself by tempted by him, she felt so out of control, so... wild. If she were honest with herself, truly honest, she didn’t trust her own judgment anymore, not when it came to him. “The point is not to indulge in the attraction. People are attracted to other people all the time, but they don’t act on it.”
Even as she said the words, she could feel a hardness at the center of her chest, the want that was growing in there, heavy and hard, like something alive, something dangerous, something with a mind of its own.
“Sometimes, actually, they do,” he said, and she knew he spoke from experience. “Besides, we’ve already acted on it, haven’t we? I can still feel the delicate skin of your neck beneath my lips. The taste of your lips.” He picked up his wineglass and gently pressed his lips to it, and she remembered the feel of them beneath her earlobe. The living want inside her shuddered, sparked alive with his words, a thing whose hunger was only just beginning to be known.
She felt it, too, and she knew he could tell. Harley couldn’t look at his face now. She feared he’d see the living thing in her eyes, the living, breathing desire in her that was threatening to take control of her. If he even touched her now, she felt the monster would be let out. And then she didn’t know what might happen.
A small silence fell, and Harley glanced up only to find Wilder considering her. She wondered what he was thinking in that moment, and if the want in his chest was as strong as hers. Then she hated herself for caring. What was it about this man—this complex, wounded man—that drew her in so completely? He might be able to read her, but Harley had no idea what he was thinking from one moment to the next.
Vanka came in once more—she’d magically made herself scarce when talk had turned a bit too flirty—carrying two piping hot plates of food, each with a small filet and a side of mushroom risotto, topped with baby greens. They fell silent as the maid gently set the plates before them. The food smelled delicious, but Wilder barely moved to touch his.
She cut into the delicate beef and put a bite on her tongue. She wasn’t anywhere near hungry anymore, not with Wilder staring at her like that, and her stomach tying itself into a series of knots. But she badly wanted a distraction. Eating seemed like the easiest. She chewed and the beef melted on her tongue in warm perfection.
“Mmm,” she murmured, the amazing flavors overcoming her palette that was more used to quick meals like store-bought salad kits or pizza. “This is amazing.” She took a bite of risotto and she swore she nearly fainted from the creamy goodness of it. How could food even be this good? She was mystified as she scooped another delicate forkful in her mouth. Maybe, with this amazing meal, her appetite would come back and she’d forget that Wilder was looking at her as if she were on his menu.
When she glanced over at him, he was simply watching her, making no move to touch his own food. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, almost as if... But surely not. The very act of her eating dinner couldn’t arouse the man, could it? She was imagining things.
“Your cook is amazing,” she said.
“I know,” he said, simply. He stared at her for a beat, and his attention made her feel warm. “I insist on the best.” Somehow, the statement should have been cocky and egotistical, and yet when he said it, it was simply a statement of fact. The food was fantastic. “That’s why I want you.”
“You haven’t had me yet. How do you know I’m the best?”
“Call it a hunch.” He finally took a few bites of his own meal. After a brief moment of silence as they both ate, he took his napkin from his lap and dabbed the corners of his mouth with it, his almond skin looking a shade darker beneath the lowlight from the ceiling and the flickering candles of the table. “Let’s be frank.”
“Okay,” she agreed, tentatively.
He nodded once, brisk. His manner had become increasingly businesslike, even as Harley felt a growing pull to the man, an increasing desire to touch him. She put down her fork and put her hands in her lap. She reminded herself these were strictly chemical impulses, a cocktail of hormones, nothing that she couldn’t bend to her will.
“How long before...before you think I’ll be cured of my...” he sucked in a breath “...issue.”
Harley felt put on the spot. She knew he was a man who expected answers—no, demanded them—but she didn’t have a good response. “These things can take a lot of time, or a little,” she said. “But in your case...”
He seemed to brace himself for bad news and Harley hated that she was the one who’d be delivering it.
“I’m just not sure,” she said. “I think we could try doing some visualization exercises and maybe we’ll see some progress.”
“I need to be cured in a week.” His tone left no room for argument, even though Harley had quite a lot of arguments to make.
“I can’t guarantee that.
” Harley felt the muscles in the back of her neck tense. He was asking what could be impossible. “You need to be fully open and I don’t even think we’re there yet.”
“I know what would cure me,” he said. “You. In my bed. Tonight.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WILDER TOOK AN insane pleasure in watching Harley Vega blush from the roots of her hair down to the front of her chest. She froze, wineglass halfway to her mouth. At least she hadn’t already taken a sip. Otherwise, she would’ve spit it out all over his expensive white linen tablecloth. She wasn’t a virgin, nothing anywhere close by the way she’d kissed him a couple of days ago, but she was so easy to tease. And the way she was blushing right now and chugging her wine told him she wanted to be in his bed. If she wasn’t seriously considering it, then she wouldn’t have kissed him. Hell, she wouldn’t be sitting at his table right now in those sexy heels and those skin-tight jeans that he wanted to peel off those muscled legs, inch by delicious inch.
“I—I can’t cure you,” she stuttered, not meeting his eye.
“How do you know if you don’t try?” He leaned back in his chair and pushed up the sleeves that threatened to roll down his arms. “Look, I’m a businessman. I’m used to making deals. We can help each other, Harley. You know we can.”
She stared at him, eyes unreadable in the darkened dining room. He felt a flicker of anxiousness in his stomach. He hated not being in control, hated not knowing what was coming next. Would she rebuff him? He was always a man who prided himself on knowing people, and knowing exactly what they would do next, and yet, Harley left him a bit off balance.
She took her napkin from her lap then and placed it gently beside her knife. She took a deep breath, her ample chest heaving. “Okay,” she said, surprising him by completely surrendering. “I accept your proposal.”
“You do?” Few people could shock Wilder Lange, but Harley had done it.
“With a few rules. One, you don’t have sex with anyone else while you’re having sex with me.”
“Okay.” Technically, he couldn’t have sex with anyone else. Hell, didn’t even want to. That would be a promise easily kept.
“And, two, you don’t tell anyone about us. Or about the fact that I only have had two partners before you.”
“I think that NDA you signed technically means that you can’t, and neither can I.” Anticipation bloomed in his stomach. He wanted her. Now. On this dining room table. He imagined all the dishes clattering to the floor. He wasn’t quite sure if he’d even be able to make it to his bedroom.
“And if it’s more than one time...”
Wilder licked his lips. “It will definitely be more than one time,” he said.
“I get to say how often. When. And when we stop.”
“Of course. Lady’s choice. Always.”
“And if anything makes me uncomfortable, we stop. Immediately.”
“Absolutely. I’d insist on it.”
“Okay, then.” She stood up and licked her full red lips. “I’m ready if you are.”
Wilder had never had a woman so matter-of-factly tell him she was going to fuck his brains out. It instantly made him hard. This was what he needed. Not talking endlessly about his past, or traumas or anything else. He just needed Harley. In those skin-tight jeans, hugging all her delicious curves, as she walked over to him in her sky-high stilettos. He’d never seen a woman so sexy in all his life. She came to him, and he pushed away his chair from the table. She straddled him and his breath caught. At that moment, he wondered if there was anything at all he could teach her. Anything about anything.
He put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her down, he needed those thick red lips, needed them now. He could barely help himself, being so close to her, smelling her, sensing her full lips so close to his. He promised himself it would simply be a taste, a little nip, nothing more. He pressed his lips to hers, gently, expecting at any moment for her to stop the contact, to pull away from him. He was testing her boundaries, and he knew it. Yet, her lips were more amazing than he remembered, soft, but firm at the same time, knowledgeable, and made to fit his. He broke the kiss.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yes,” she said, pupils wide and dark. Then she kissed him again, aggressive. Decisive. Sure. And then, like a miracle, her tongue flicked into his mouth, the best thing he’d ever tasted in his life. His want for her roared to life then, as if it had been holding back, testing the waters. Now it was a living, breathing thing inside him, something that needed to be fed. Now.
They devoured each other, there was no other way to describe it, tongues and lips, whole, as his hands roved down her back and hers clutched the back of his neck. He knew he’d awakened something in her as well, something beastly, something she had no desire to control. She grinded against him in his chair, and he felt her warmth pressing into him beneath the fabric of her jeans, and his brain nearly exploded. The chair was suddenly too confining, too rigid. He needed room to move. Wilder picked her up then, easily, as he stood, and her legs wrapped around his waist, their mouths still hungry for one another, insatiable. She tasted like red wine, and the promise of a cure. Yes, he knew it, knew it in the very nerves of his body that she was what he needed. He realized it had been so long since he’d even been able to have a woman this way. A year? Had it been that long since he’d been inside another woman? Since he’d even been able to be inside? His body had failed him for so long, he could barely remember. Now, it strained with urgency against the fly of his suit pants, ached to be free. To be in Harley where he belonged.
But he couldn’t do it here. In the dining room. Not where they could be interrupted. He planned to take his damn time with her. Planned to explore her body all night long, planned to try every position he could remember. He’d show her that she needed him, and what he could give her, just as much as he needed her. He stood, easing her off him and pulling away from her kiss. Her lipstick was deliciously smudged now. He’d done that. He took pride in it.
“Come,” he said, not caring that his napkin had fallen to the floor or, hell, that his steak was half eaten. He was ready for dessert. She took his hand, and he led her out of the dining room, down the lowly lit corridor to his room, his master suite, where he could have her and they’d not be disturbed. Where he could take his time, where he could taste every part of her body.
His whole self had been wanting this since the moment he’d first saw her picture, since he’d first picked up a copy of Femme magazine. He’d wanted her before he even met her, and that meant the urgency of this moment nearly drowned him. He walked quickly and she hurried behind, wordlessly.
He shoved open the door of his bedroom, not bothering to flick on the lights. They came up by themselves, automatically, as soon as he said, “Bedroom lights.” That was his code for low light, romantic light, the perfect setting for undressing a beautiful woman. It was low enough to be romantic but light enough so that he could see it all. And he wanted to see all of her. Every inch.
He pulled her to his bed, and then he stopped, grabbing a condom from a side table’s drawer before turning to kiss her again. Yes, the taste of her. So perfect. So made for him. She pulled back, then. He watched as she slowly lifted her tank top. Beneath, she wore no bra. Nothing, just gravity-defying breasts and milk chocolate nipples. He took them in, appreciating the sight. Next, he pulled her close, put his mouth on one and then the other, making her moan. Yes, the first of many moans tonight. He’d make sure that she’d feel pleasures she’d never known before. He planned to worship her. Show her that sex between near strangers could be the hottest possible. There was no need to hold back, no need to worry about what the other person was thinking. No, this was the time where he could make all her fantasies come true. Even the ones she hadn’t admitted to herself yet.
He tossed the condom wrapper on the bed, and she eyed it, but said nothing. He pulled away and she be
gan to unbutton his shirt. Slowly, button by button, and the wait was nearly too much. He wanted to rip the damn thing off, buttons be damned. He wanted to be inside her now, by God. Wanted to be consumed by her. She got the shirt off, and then she went for his pants. He could barely contain himself now. But she was still so methodical, so infuriatingly slow, as she reached for the fly of his pants and then...he was free. Completely free, and decidedly hard. He’d almost forgotten how this felt, how it made him wild and needy. She stroked him, slowly, almost reverentially, and he thought he might come then and there.
No. But he couldn’t. He needed to wait. Needed to calm himself. Needed to be in her first. He glanced at her and saw wonder in her eyes, awe, even. He’d been with hundreds of women, but had never been treated like this, as if what he had was precious. He knew he was on the north side of average, knew women typically were satisfied, but most women barely looked at him at all. Weren’t interested in the male anatomy, but not Harley. She held his thickness in her hands and stroked him as if she were trying to memorize the lines of his cock. He grabbed her wrist then. One more stroke and he was done for.
“You don’t seem to have any problems that I can see,” she said.
“No,” he growled. “Not with you.”
He laid Harley down on his king-size platform bed and it was his turn to undo her jeans. Her tight jeans that he loved rolling down her legs. He kissed her, inch by inch, as he revealed more skin. She arched her back into his kisses. And then he tugged at the edges of her underwear and then she was free of them, too, all beautifully bare for him. He loved every bit of her tanned almond-colored skin. He could barely contain himself now, as he rolled her over on her back and she spread her legs for him, her mouth finding his once more. Her tongue teasing him, beckoning him to taste her.
He broke the kiss then and knelt then before her, because he planned to do some worshipping. He kissed the inside of her thigh, as he pulled her to the edge of his bed so that all he could see was her, all of her. She glistened in the low light of his bedroom as he spread her lips with his hands, and found what he was looking for, the swollen knob of her clit.
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