What She Needs - Lacey Alexander [9]
Oh boy. She finally took a drink of her wine. A big one. She needed it. “What’s to discuss?” she asked, trying for an easy, confident expression.
Brent lifted his wine for a sip, too—then smiled that killer smile again. “Well, to begin with, what we do here is more than ‘sex with strangers.’ ”
Oh? Could have fooled her.
He went on. “People come here for a lot of different reasons, and we welcome them all, but by and large, I see what we do here as being therapeutic.”
Hah! Was he serious? It was truly hard to hold in a sarcastic laugh, but she contained it somehow.
“There are many reasons people seek out new sexual experiences, and I’m sure you know we design a series of individualized fantasies based on what we’ve learned about each guest from our questionnaires. And we usually fine-tune it a bit after the guest arrives. If we saw our job as nothing more than supplying ‘sex with strangers,’ we wouldn’t go to so much trouble, nor would we have a full staff educated and trained to give our guests the optimal sexual encounters while helping them attain their sexual needs and, in some cases—like yours—resolve their sexual issues.”
She hadn’t thought about that, she supposed—they truly did seem to take great care in creating each person’s fantasies. Except . . . wait. Sexual issues? What was he talking about?
“If people just want casual sex, there are other resorts that offer that, with less-expensive price tags. When people come here, we know they desire more—we’re unique in the service we provide. And I’m not telling you this to change your opinion of the Hotel Erotique so much as to suggest you reconsider your decision.”
Okay, so it was official—he was trying to talk her into going through with the sex part. Which she really hadn’t expected. Kevin had been so sure they’d be happy to let her skip it—damn him.
“The thing is,” she began, “I don’t have sexual issues. I think you just said I do, but I don’t.” Maybe clarifying that would make Mr. Sexology back off.
Across from her, though, his eyelids lowered slightly, shading his gaze and making him look even more seductive. “Jenna, I’ve read your questionnaires, as well as the profile Mariel prepared after receiving them. I was under the impression you realized . . .”
“What?” she asked when he trailed off, her heart beating too fast.
He tilted his head, peering at her as if they shared a secret. “I know you haven’t had sex in more than a year,” he said, his voice so smoky he made even that sound alluring. “Although you characterize the sex you’ve had as ‘good,’ nothing in the way you described it was very convincing. And I know, too, about your parents’ view of sex—and also about your cousin.”
All the blood drained from Jenna’s face. Sexy voice or not, she couldn’t have been more dumbfounded. He, or Mariel, or both of them, had taken bits and pieces of information scattered throughout those online forms and cobbled them together in such a way that . . . oh God, they thought she had sex hang-ups! They thought that was why she’d come here, why she’d entered their stupid contest. If she’d felt vulnerable a few minutes ago, it was nothing compared to now.
Just then, a handsome, dark-skinned waiter entered the gazebo bearing a large tray, and Brent looked up. “Good evening, Rico.”
“Mr. Powers,” the waiter said with a nod, then also smiled politely in Jenna’s direction—which made her blush. This was one more person who thought she’d traveled here for sex—and now it was worse; now it was assumed she’d come here to solve sexual problems!
Rico lowered two dishes—fine china from the look of it—overtop the larger plates already on the table. Glancing down at hers, Jenna saw chicken cordon bleu and didn’t remember choosing it from a menu at any time, despite it being one of her favorites. Unless it had been on some questionnaire she couldn’t remember—she’d filled those out weeks ago.
By the time Rico departed, Jenna’s irritation finally superseded her nervousness