Chapter Three

Meg collected a bottle of Chardonnay from the fridge while Laura found two glasses in an overhead cupboard. They headed back to the lounge. Laura took possession of the armchair and Meg flopped down on the overstuffed velour couch. After filling the glasses, she handed one to Laura before placing the bottle on the coffee table.

“So, tell me your plan. If you don’t have something we can use, we need to get back to finding a slogan for Wonder Bites.”

“Oh, I’ve got an idea, girlfriend. You’re going to love this.” Laura leaned back and stretched out on the recliner like she had all night.

Meg sighed loudly. Ever the marketing guru, Laura’s life was one long sales pitch. “For Christ’s sake, just tell me.”

“Lifestyle advisors.”

Meg stared open-mouthed. Had she lost her mind? “Do I look like I should be giving people lifestyle advice? Unless they want to learn how to dress badly and put on weight, in which case, I’m definitely their girl.”

Laura sat up and stared intently at her. “We won’t be the ones offering the advice. The world is full of women like you with no interest in their bodies and nonexistent sex lives. What they need is a man to help them get back on track. Show them they’re attractive. Teach them to be less inhibited.”

She didn’t appreciate the comments about her level of interest in her body and sex life, but she was too tired to argue. Besides, a row would end with Laura storming out and then she’d never share her business idea. “You mean gay men helping women dress properly?”

Laura sipped her wine before leaning over and putting her glass on the table. “I wasn’t thinking gay men. The services might run to things gay men couldn’t or wouldn’t do.”

Meg didn’t like the sound of this. Up until now, the idea had sounded promising. She could only think of one thing gay men wouldn’t do with women and she was not about to get involved in anything illegal.

“Are you talking about sex?”

Laura took a sip of her wine. “I haven’t worked out all the details yet. I’m just covering all our bases in case that was a service some of our clients might be interested in.”

Meg shook her head. “I am not doing anything illegal.”

“Hear me out before you reject the idea. I’ve been doing some market research. There’s a niche in the male escort business for men who take on women for more than a night on the town. Women want to feel special, like it’s real. A handsome young man to take them shopping for clothes, help them choose a hairstyle, take them to dinner at a fancy restaurant or a night at the theatre, someone who will see them more than once.”

Nothing Laura had said so far sounded too bad. The women got what they wanted—the man—and she and Laura got paid. Everyone went home happy. “Sounds great, so far.”

Laura chewed on her thumbnail. “The niche requires a little more. Women want a man who will take the dating thing to the next level. Help them win back their confidence in the bedroom and make them feel sexy again.”

Meg wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “I thought we just discussed this? Are you suggesting we hire male prostitutes and become pimps? Because, in my book, that comes under the heading of illegal.”

“Prostitute is such a harsh word.”

She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. “What would you prefer, whore, ho, tart, street walker, hooker?”

Laura glared at her. “Those words aren’t appropriate for men.”

“Okay, sorry, gigolo, cabana boy, Don Juan, Casanova, toy boy?”

Laura raised a perfectly arched brow. “Let’s move on. We don’t need to finalize everything today.”

Meg relaxed a little. The plan had some merit, there must be clients who didn’t want sex. “So, nothing illegal?”

A wicked smile on her face, Laura patted Meg’s arm. “Of course not, hun. For now we’re not doing anything. First things first, we need to advertise, and interview a few guys.”

The business plan, minus the sex, didn’t sound so bad, and interviewing some hunky men would be fun. She tried to ignore the high-pitched nasal voice in the back of her mind. Her rampant feminist Aunty Ellen would hate the idea. She believed women didn’t need men to validate them. Meg had gone along to a few of her rallies, she’d even stopped wearing a bra, but her boobs didn’t do perky, so her alternative lifestyle hadn’t lasted long. Thankfully, she didn’t see Aunty Ellen often, and she had no need to tell any of her family about the business. What harm was there in having a few men onboard who took women shopping and helped make them over?

“Well, I guess running some interviews will be okay. We should be able to advertise, rumor has it we work in marketing. But no sex, we’re not selling sex under any circumstances.”

* * * *

The front door slammed behind Sam. He was late, probably chatting up some gorgeous, lithe woman at the gym. Meanwhile, here she sat curled up on the sofa with a large box of tissues on the coffee table and a tub of ice cream in her lap.

Sam crossed the room, sank down next to her and shoved a finger into her ice cream. “Do Ben & Jerry know you’re cheating on them?”

“I wanted chocolate and the all night store only sells Haagen-Dazs. You won’t tell them, will you?”

She watched as he sucked the cold confection from his finger. Geez, that was so damn sexy. Had he done it to wind her up? After her discussion with Laura, she didn’t think she could take any more of his teasing and sexual innuendo tonight. The thought of hiring out men for sex appalled her, but some days Sam’s flirting left her in need of a man, or a cold shower. To date, she had opted for the cold shower. Maybe she was more like the women in their target group than she cared to believe.

Usually she enjoyed the game, but it still hurt to know he was toying with her. Not that she was in the least bit interested in him. She preferred men who were…who were…breathing. She huffed in annoyance.

Sam stole her spoon and stopped with it halfway to his mouth. “Problem?”

“Not really. Do you intend to steal all my ice cream?”

He slipped the spoon between his lips and winked, making blood rush to her cheeks. After dragging the spoon slowly between his lips, he plunged it back in the tub. Refilled, he offered her the ice cream, holding the spoon just in front of her face. She licked her lips and leaned forward, opening her mouth to accept the sweet treat. Eyes closed, she held back a moan as the cool dessert slipped down her throat.

Sam’s breath tickled her cheek. “There is nothing like getting your lips around something hard and creamy to put you in a good mood.”

Meg snapped her eyes open and glared at him. How dare he make something as innocent as ice cream sexual? She was eating it to forget how terrible her life was, not as a supplement for sex. She grabbed the spoon. “Fuck off, you bastard.”

Chuckling, he leaned back and put his feet on the coffee table. “Let me get this right. After Laura left, you chose to sit alone in the dark watching Titanic, eating ice cream, and I’m the one who gets the abuse? So, what did she say to upset you?”

He was right, the verbal foreplay wasn’t what pissed her off. It was just another nail in the coffin of her already dead sex life. Meg shook her head. “Nothing. It’s not her. I’m being stupid. Apparently she has a new man in her life. Gerard, who’s hung like a horse, and could win awards for fucking.”

“Is that what upset you? She has a boyfriend and you don’t?” Sam slid his arm around her shoulders and tugged her against him. “You know you won’t find one sitting home alone on a Friday night.”

The sensation of his hard body pressed against her and the smell of his musky deodorant had all her senses on overdrive. She didn’t care about Laura’s new man. The comments about Meg’s sexual repression and letting her body go had hit a nerve. The way she reacted to Sam’s teasing and the warmth of his touch made her very aware of her state as a single, unfulfilled woman. It might not do her any harm to go to the gym once in a while. She had a plentiful supply of track pants and training shoes. Her wardrobe was full of them in every shade of her favorite colors, pink and purple. She might be overweight and uncomfortable wearing tight fitting clothes, but that didn’t mean she had to give up everything she loved. Including expensive perfume and clothes in her favorite colors. If she sorted herself out she might be able to get a man, a decent man, a man who would help her find her missing g-spot. She turned and stared at Sam. He was gorgeous, so why wasn’t he out on a date on a Friday night? Why did he never go out on a date? Laura’s words came back to her. Maybe she was sexually repressed and it had rubbed off on him. They could be destined to live a life of double entendre and sexual innuendo.

Meg whispered, “Do you really think I’m sexually repressed?”

“What?”

Stupid question, he’d already said so. She didn’t need to hear it again. The last thing she wanted to do was wallow in misery. The ice cream was all gone, time for bed. She uncurled her legs and got to her feet.

Sam grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”

“Bed.”

“Alone?” He raised an eyebrow and grinned suggestively at her. “The movie’s finished and I won’t be up early in the morning, unless you want me to be.”

It was the final straw. She threw a right hook at his head, but he caught it with his hand and pulled her into his lap. Despite her best efforts to maintain some shred of dignity the tide broke. Burying her face in his neck, she sobbed uncontrollably, letting all of her anger and frustration melt into him. He stroked her hair and held her tight against him until the crying jag calmed to a bout of intermittent hiccups.

Finally under control, she shoved away from him, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She was horribly embarrassed about unraveling in front of him. The sooner she could extradite herself the better. “Sorry. I really need to stop drinking so much on an empty stomach.”

“I don’t think wine had anything to do with what happened here.” He pushed her hair back from her face. His other arm still held her firmly in his lap. “Why don’t we talk about what’s bothering you? I’m a good listener, and I promise no more smart remarks.”

Meg stared into his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d played psychologist with her. She should get off his lap and escape before she told him way too much. His gaze never left hers. The concern in his face seemed sincere; maybe she should try him. If she didn’t talk to someone, she was terrified she would blunder into another disastrous sexual exploit that would only add to her misery. “Do you think I’m sexually repressed?”

“Do you?”

Did she? Well, to date, she’d never had an orgasm during a sexual encounter. Of course, there was a chance she wasn’t repressed; she could be frigid instead, although she never had any trouble pleasuring herself. “I might be frigid.”

She broke eye contact and focused on his left shoulder.

He slid his fingers beneath her chin and tipped her face up to meet his gaze. He appeared genuinely concern. “I don’t know enough about your sex life to pass judgment. You certainly seemed interested enough when you walked into my room.”

Heat rose to Meg’s cheeks. Why did he have to keep mentioning that?

“You were interested, weren’t you?”

Despite her best intentions, her head bobbed.

A smile lit up his face. “So, it’s not that you don’t want sex. The problem might be more to do with the partners you’ve had in the past. When did you first have sex?”