The Kiss Quotient Page 5

  Once inside, she lunged for her floss and ran the thread between all of her teeth. Twice. When nothing heinous came free, she breathed a sigh of relief and went about brushing at a more sedate pace.

  He entered the bathroom, and she stepped aside so he could spit into the sink, feeling horribly self-conscious with toothpaste foaming from her mouth. Why couldn’t she look sexy like him when she brushed her teeth? After rinsing out his mouth and patting it dry with a hand towel, he leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. He smelled of hotel soap, minty toothpaste, and . . . himself. That elusive scent still clung to him. She supposed it emanated from his pores. Lucky him. Lucky her.

  As she continued brushing her teeth, keeping her eyes awkwardly glued to the bubbles in the sink, he left the bathroom. Pausing midbrush, she heard it: the rustle of fabric. He was getting dressed. That meant he was naked. Without a qualm, she rushed to the doorway and peered out.

  Her lungs depressed when she saw him pulling clean jeans over his boxers. He yanked on a tight black T-shirt and sat down to pull on black socks. He had to be leaving soon.

  She hurried to finish brushing her teeth and caught him just as he tied his last shoelace.

  “We have to talk,” she said.

  The look on his face as he straightened in the chair made her stomach bottom out. He was going to back out. Last night had been a fiasco filled with panic attacks and fear sweat, and he wanted nothing to do with her now. She tightened her lips when they threatened to tremble. It had been bad, but there had been good parts. Hadn’t there?

  She’d thought she had a chance.

  “I have something at ten I shouldn’t miss.” He stood, looped the strap of his bag over his shoulder, and walked to her with a loose stride. His eyes were heartbreakingly kind as he looked at her.

  Or was it pity? She hated pity.

  “I need you to tell me if we’re moving forward with the lessons or not.”

  He shook his head with a sad smile. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.”

  Her heart plummeted, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret last night. He’d gotten her to kiss him—really kiss him, not lie there and cringe as he stuck his tongue in her mouth. “I’ll leave you another five-star review.”

  “I don’t deserve it. I never sealed the deal. The agency doesn’t issue refunds, but I’d be happy to return my share of the commission. Give me your account—”

  “No, no refund,” she said firmly. “Thanks, but no. I’m sure you had to work harder with me than most of your other clients.”

  “Not really, no.”

  She interlaced her fingers and stared down at the floor. She did not want to ask this, but she had to. “I know you need to go, but first, could you . . . recommend . . . a colleague who you think would work well with me?”

  “After last night, you still want to go forward with these crazy lessons?”

  “They’re not crazy, but yes, I plan to move forward.” She forced her eyes up to his stony face and took a determined breath. “Maybe if you think about it a while, you’ll remember someone who’s . . . patient, like you, a-and doesn’t mind sweat or—”

  He took a half step toward her, and his jaw worked for a moment before he said, “Girls like you don’t need escorts. Girls like you have boyfriends. You need to get this idea out of your head.”

  Burning anger pulsed through her body, immobilizing her. He didn’t know anything about girls like her. “That’s completely untrue. Girls like me intimidate boyfriends away. Girls like me have never been asked out by a single boy. Girls like me have to find their own way, make their own luck. I’ve had to fight for every success in my life, and I’m going to fight for this. I’m going to get good at sex, and then I’ll finally be able to entice the right person into being mine.”

  “Stella, it doesn’t work that way. You don’t need these lessons.”

  “I don’t agree with you. Please, think about it? I trust your judgment.” She rushed to her purse, extracted a business card, and scrawled her cell number on the back. Placing it in his hand, she said, “I’d really appreciate it. Thank you.”

  He stuffed the card into his back pocket with a hard jab of his hand. “What will you do if I don’t give you a name?”

  She shrugged. “My selection process was pretty good the first time around. I’ll just go through the escort listings again.”

  “Do you know how many crack jobs there are in there? It’s not safe.” He lifted a hand like he wanted to touch her but fisted and withdrew it instead.

  “Are you saying your agency’s guarantee of safety is meaningless?”

  He growled in frustration and raked his fingers through his damp hair, making it stand on end. “There’s a vetting process with psych evals and background checks, but people can slip through the cracks. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Stella tipped her chin up. “I’m not stupid. I have a Taser.”

  “You have what?”

  She snatched the pink C2 Taser from her purse and handed it over.

  “Holy hell, do you even know how to use it?” He stared at it with eyes so rounded she would have laughed if the situation had been any different.

  “You slide the safety back, aim, and hit the button. It’s very simple.”

  “Would you have used it on me?”

  “I didn’t, so clearly the answer is no.”

  When he rotated it and stared at it in horrified fascination, she grabbed it from him. “Never aim it at yourself.” After plopping it in her purse, she crossed her arms and said, “As you can see, I have the situation under control, but I appreciate your concern.”

  The thought of perusing the escort ads again made her grind her teeth. None of those men interested her anymore. Once her mind was made up, it was made up. The only one she wanted was Michael, but she’d botched things so badly he couldn’t stand to see her again. How was she supposed to get better if her problem kept driving away the people who could help her?

  Her bitterness must have shown because his expression softened. “Stella, I don’t do repeat sessions. Otherwise, I’d take you up on your offer.”

  “Why?” she asked on a frustrated exhalation.

  “I used to do it in the past. A client got attached, and things blew out of control. The single-session policy has saved me and my clients a lot of grief.”

  “You mean you knew ahead of time you weren’t going to accept?” Blackness threatened to spill over and stain her insides. She’d thought he was a potential solution to her problem. Now, it looked like it had been nothing but a one-night stand from the start.

  He nodded curtly.

  “Why did you stay last night, then? I was up front with you about what I wanted. All of the k-kissing and touching, my clothes, I did that for nothing.” Her throat swelled so much that near the end, she could barely force the words out.

  She pressed hot palms to her forehead, trying to deal with this betrayed feeling. The pain and shame were so unexpected, she had trouble breathing. Why had he made her do those things? Had it been a game? Had he thought it was funny?

  How come she never understood people?

  “I honestly didn’t believe you,” he said. “At most, I thought you had a confidence problem that would go away after we were together. Besides, you paid in advance. I wanted you to get your money’s worth.”

  “You wanted to show me a good time.”

  “Well . . . yeah. That’s why people hire me.”

  “But that’s not why I hired you.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose and righted her glasses, suddenly hollowed out and exhausted. “It doesn’t matter. You should get going, or you’ll be late.”

  As if from a distance, she was aware of her feet bringing her to the door and her palm gripping the handle, pulling it open.

  He took a breath as if he meant to speak but ended up shutting his mout
h before he could say anything. He swept past her and paused on the other side of the doorway, considering her. “I’m sorry to leave with things like this. Be safe, okay?”

  She looked away from him and nodded.

  “Good-bye, Stella.”

  He padded down the hall, and she shut the door. The locks engaged with a final click.

  She should shower. She’d basically slept in her sweat last night. But when she touched her clothes, she realized she was wearing Michael’s shirt. She pressed her cheek to her shoulder and inhaled his scent. After sniffing her arms and hair, she discovered it was all over her.

  What did she do now?

  Her body itched with the need to wash, but if she showered, that precious smell would be gone. And there wasn’t ever going to be any more of it. This was it.

  She sank to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest to keep the loneliness at bay. She ached so badly to be held it felt like a sickness had invaded her muscles and bones. As usual, her own arms provided little comfort. She’d give herself five minutes, and then she’d get ready for work. It was only Saturday morning, and she’d already had more weekend than she could handle. If she didn’t find a way to occupy her mind, she’d spiral into something dark and bleak—was already spiraling.

  Three quick knocks rapped on the door, and she stood up mechanically. It was probably housecleaning, checking to see if she’d left yet.

  She opened the door, and Michael stared back at her with an intense gaze. His chest labored like he’d sprinted the entire way back from his car.

  “Three sessions. That’s the most I’ll do,” he said.

  It took her a moment to understand that by sessions he meant lessons, but when she did, her heart sprinted so fast her fingers went numb. He was going to help her. Could three lessons possibly be enough to perfect sex? There was so much she had to learn, so much she was bad at, but what choice did she have? Maybe if they planned everything out very carefully . . .

  With her limbs frozen in shock, all she could manage to say was, “Okay.”

  He considered her, the muscles of his jaw taut. “If we do this thing, you have to promise not to go crazy when it ends.”

  “I can promise that,” she said through the roaring in her ears.

  “I mean it. No stalking, no calling, no outrageous gifts. None of that.” His fingers were tight around the strap of his bag as he awaited her response, and his expression was dead serious.

  “Okay.”

  He unlooped the bag from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground before he stepped toward her, not stopping until her back was pressed against the open door. He flattened a hand on the door next to her face and leaned down. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

  “Okay.” He’d shaken her brain into malfunctioning, and apparently that was all she could say now.

  He touched his lips to hers, and pleasure jolted to her heart, down her arms, down her legs. Tilting his head, he kissed her deeper. Once. Twice. Again. Until she sighed and leaned into him, tangled her fingers in his cool hair. He claimed her mouth with his tongue in a way that was new and familiar at once. She kissed him back with everything in her, trying to tell him all the things she wasn’t articulate enough to say.

  “God, Stella,” he rasped against her lips, his dark eyes dazed and heavy-lidded. “You learned that fast.”

  Before she could respond, he took her mouth again. She forgot about the time, forgot about work, even forgot about her anxiety. His large body rubbed against hers, and she arched into him, reveling in his closeness.

  Her phone buzzed with her mother’s ring tone.

  Michael tore away at once, flushed and breathing heavily. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he stared deep into her eyes, looking like he was two seconds away from kissing her again.

  “I should get that.” She slipped inside, sat on the edge of the bed, and pressed the talk button on her phone with a shaky thumb. “Hello?”

  “Stella dear, your father’s—oh, hold on a second.” Her father’s deep voice rumbled on the other end, and Stella held the phone away from her ear as her parents discussed golf and lunch plans.

  Michael approached her with a fluid-limbed gait. “I need to go, but we’re on for next Friday.”

  “Next Friday,” she confirmed with a nod.

  Instead of leaving immediately as she expected, he leaned down and brushed a fleeting kiss to her mouth. “Good-bye, Stella.”

  She watched his departure in a dazed state. They were meeting again. In a week.

  “Who was that?” Even with the phone several inches from her ear, Stella could hear her mother’s surprise.

  “That was . . . Michael.” A breathless kind of nervousness filled her. She might like it that her mother had discovered her male visitor.

  A brief silence ensued, followed by, “Stella dear, did you spend the night with a man?”

  “It’s not what you think. We didn’t do anything. Other than kissing.” The best kissing of Stella’s life.

  “Well, why ever not?”

  Stella’s mouth worked without issuing words.

  “You’re a mature adult, and you make good choices. Now, tell me all about this Michael.”

  { CHAP+ER }

  6

  Destroy. Defeat. Deceive.

  Michael scanned his partner’s black-clad form for weaknesses he could exploit. Right now, during the heat of the match, was the only time he gave free rein to the base, selfish instincts he battled daily. And it felt so fucking good.

  No matter how hard he fought against it, at his core, he was just like his dad. The badness had been passed down in his blood.

  He shoved and went for a head shot. When his partner’s sword rose to block the strike, Michael pushed for that extra burst of speed and arched his weapon down. The tip of his sword cracked against his partner’s side.

  Clean point. Match over.

  Everyone bowed and set their swords on the blue matted floor before kneeling. Michael hated this part of class, not because it meant practice was ending, but because it was time to remove his armor and return to his normal self.

  This was the beauty of apparel. A suit transformed you into a certain kind of person. A T-shirt, a different kind of person. Black nightmare armor that hid your face behind an ominous metal cage, yet a different kind of person. The gear weighed thirty pounds, but he always felt lighter when he wore it.

  As he shed layers, cold air touched his skin, and reality crept back into his head. Heavy thoughts stacked one upon the other like bricks, returning him to his regular burdened state. Responsibilities and obligations. Bills. Family. His day job. His night job.

  After class officially ended, he put his gear in its place on the shelf along the back wall. Space was tight as fuck with five guys in the cramped changing room, and he didn’t feel like waiting around, so he slipped his uniform off in the hallway. Nothing half the women in California hadn’t already seen.

  Two high school girls giggled and hurried into the women’s room, and he rolled his eyes as he yanked a pair of jeans over his boxer briefs. Michael Larsen: now serving half the women in California plus two.

  “We’re probably going to have a bunch of new girl members next week now,” said a voice Michael recognized as belonging to Quan, Michael’s cousin and sparring partner.

  “I’ll let you teach them their strikes,” Michael said as he retrieved a wrinkled T-shirt from his duffel bag and straightened.

  “They might be disappointed.”

  “Whatever.” He yanked his shirt on, trying and failing to ignore their contrasting reflections in the full-length mirror hanging on the wall.

  Lots of girls went for Quan. With his buzzed head and the dense tattoos covering his arms and neck, he rocked that badass Asian drug lord image. You wouldn’t guess he was pay
ing his way through business school while helping his parents at their restaurant. Michael, on the other hand, was a pretty boy.

  It wasn’t a bad problem to have—it was paying the bills, after all—but people’s responses got boring. Well, except for a certain economist someone’s response. Stella’s attraction to him had been obvious, but she hadn’t looked at him like he was an expensive cut of meat. She’d looked at him like she saw no one else. He couldn’t forget the way she’d kissed him once he’d earned her trust, the way she’d melted and—

  When Michael caught the direction of his thoughts, he mentally punched himself in the dick. She was his client, and she had issues. It was fucked up to think of their sessions like this.

  “If we have new students, I’ll teach them. I don’t mind,” Khai, Quan’s younger brother, offered. He still wore his uniform and practiced running strikes in front of the mirror, his pace fast but steady, like a machine.

  Quan rolled his eyes. “He never minds. Even when they throw themselves at him. You should have seen the last one. She asked him out to dinner, and he said, ‘No, thanks, I already ate.’ ‘Dessert then?’ ‘No, I don’t eat dessert after class.’ ‘Coffee?’ ‘That will keep me up, and I have work tomorrow.’”

  Michael couldn’t help smiling at that. Khai reminded him a little of Stella.

  As Quan shoved both of their weapons into a nearby storage box, he said, “Nice match. Bad day?”

  Michael shrugged. “Just the same.” He should be grateful. He was grateful. Everything would be fine if he could stop wanting all the things he’d given up. He didn’t regret exchanging his old life for this one—he’d do it again—but at the same time, this wanting wouldn’t stop. If anything, it was getting worse. Because he was a selfish bastard. Like his dad.

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Good, I guess. She says she likes her new meds.”

  “That’s good, man.” Quan squeezed his shoulder. “You should celebrate. Come out with me on Friday. There’s this new club in SF called 212 Fahrenheit.”