What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [13]
“You know,” she said, pausing to take another sip of wine, her meal now appearing long forgotten, “maybe I wish I were like you. But I’m not. And the trouble with people like you—and with my friends Shannon and Kevin—is that just because you’re satisfied by the act of sex without emotion, you think everyone else should be, too.”
At this, however, he shook his head in firm disagreement. “I never said that. And I’m in no way suggesting you shouldn’t feel emotion with sex. That’s how you happen to be put together and it’s fine.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
He considered his answer—how could he make her understand? “Sometimes,” he began, “there are bigger issues at work than intimacy and emotion. And if you let me design two weeks of fantasies for you, I guarantee that every time you have sex after leaving here, it will be better , even more emotional, with more intimacy.”
Her eyes went wide with doubt. “That’s a bold claim, Mr. Powers.”
“Damn right.” And he wasn’t backing down from it a bit. “What I’m suggesting, Jenna, is that if you can temporarily push aside the idea of romantic intimacy, you’ll leave here with a much clearer, healthier, happier view of sex, which will make you a happier person more likely to find healthier, longer-lasting relationships.”
She peered across the table at him as if maybe she was actually thinking it over. Her blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight now that dusk had fallen over the gazebo. The sunset painted the sky to the west in shades of vibrant pink and orange, but he didn’t bother looking because he found himself liking the view of Jenna more. He knew her. In a primal way. He understood her so much better than she thought. And beyond the obligations of his job, he was struck with the surprising urge to rescue her . . . from herself, whether she liked it or not.
Jenna could scarcely believe the promises Brent Powers was willing to make. They were ridiculous. And he must think she was ridiculous if he expected her to believe them. Given how weirdly personal the conversation now felt, she decided to come completely clean. “You want to know the whole truth, the reason I’m here?”
“Very much so. Because like I said, most people don’t come to the Hotel Erotique to turn down the sex.”
“I didn’t even enter the contest,” she confessed. “My friend Kevin entered my name—because he thinks I’m not having enough sex. I wanted to kill him when I found out, but then I decided I could use a free beach vacation. I filled out the forms online on a lark, just for fun, and also figuring if I admitted up front that I didn’t want the fantasies, maybe I’d lose the trip. So there you have it. I didn’t enter. I don’t want more sex than I already have. I’m a perfectly happy, content woman. So what do you think of that?”
Brent’s eyes nearly burned a hole through her, but he didn’t look angry. So far he had never looked angry; in fact—he simply looked like . . . a sexy, presumptuous know-it-all. And ever since the “presumptuous know-it-all” part had been added to “sexy,” she’d felt much less intimidated by him. Even if the way he looked at her right now still had her breasts aching and the crux of her thighs throbbing. But that was just . . . the whole sexual aura of this place, of this discussion. It meant nothing.
“What I think,” he finally said, soft, low, his voice almost intoxicating, “is that this means it’s fate.”
“Huh?” she mumbled in disbelief.
“Maybe fate brought you here, Jenna, to help you face your sexual issues.”
At this she rolled her eyes. “For the last time, I do not have sexual issues. The way I see it is—just because someone like me chooses to be selective about my sexual activity, someone like you thinks that makes me some kind of prim and proper Little Mary Sunshine. Basically, you think your way is right and my way is wrong and that I need to be . . . liberated or something.”
“Not true,” he said, still calm and smooth, despite the fact that she’d just ranted