The Sex Cure

“Tell me why should I even consider doing a favor for you?” This was the real question.

He cocked his head to one side as if the answer was obvious. “Well, because I asked.”

Now, she laughed, full-throated and bent over her knees with mirth. He was funny, damn. And cocky as hell. She kind of liked that about him. She hated that she liked it, but there it was. “Normally, I don’t take personal life-coaching clients.” Except now she’d need to take them on. Lots of them, if she wanted to not be homeless.

“I’ve heard you do make exceptions. I’d like you to make one for me.” He had such gall. And why did that seem so damn sexy? Or was it just the perfect lines of that expensive suit? Her mother’s voice was in her head then: Hear the man out. Don’t be so stubborn you cut off your nose to spite your face.

“I’d have to hear what you need counseling for.”

He leaned back in his chair, the very epitome of charm and ease, except for the guarded look in his eyes. The man clearly used charm to keep people at bay. Well, Harley wasn’t just any person. She took a sledgehammer to emotional walls and usually had a pretty strong bullshit meter.

“I need another round.” He poured himself more tequila, as well.

Harley quirked an eyebrow. “Do you need another cocktail to talk about your sex life, Mr. Lange?”

Wilder looked at her, eyes alight with mischief. “It’s you who might need another cocktail, Ms. Vega.”

Harley laughed a little. Oh, how little the man knew her. “Trust me, there’s nothing you can tell me that will shock me.”

Wilder leaned forward, dark eyes bright. “Is that a challenge?”

She hated to admit it, but the man was already challenging her in ways she didn’t like. “No. Just a simple statement of fact.” She took a drink of the tequila, the warmth trailing down her throat to her stomach. “I’m curious about why the world’s most famous playboy wants...or needs a sexologist?”

Wilder seemed frozen for a second, his expression completely unreadable, and she worried she’d offended him. Then again, why was she worrying about his feelings? Did she care about making things easier for Wilder Lange? Not at all. He was full of himself. So why did she also think he was the sexiest man she’d met in God knows when? Because she always liked men who were trouble, and Wilder Lange had trouble written all over him.

He laughed, a deep chuckle in his belly that she almost felt as a vibration through her whole being. “So, you’ve been reading about me, too, I see.”

“It’s hard not to.” He was everywhere—magazines, blogs, even the evening news sometimes. Clinically, she could admit she was attracted to him, but attraction had never been an issue for her before. She could compartmentalize her feelings, tuck them away in a box on a shelf and then let her clinical, scientific self examine those contents at a later date in a safer environment. But she was having problems compartmentalizing with Wilder sitting before her.

She needed to get this meeting back on track. She cleared her throat. Enough of dipping her toe in the pool of sexual energy flowing between them. Harley knew it was there, and she also knew that as a professional, she could ignore it. People might be animals, with animal instincts, but they also had cold hard logic.

“So, if we can discuss what you’d like from me...”

“Just your attention, Ms. Vega.” His grin turned almost wolfish then, the innuendo subtle, yet she caught it. Maybe she was wrong about the flirting. He seemed to be laying it on thick. Too thick, maybe. He studied her, dark eyes sharp, missing nothing. “This is...well...not easy for me, Harley. Especially with the paparazzi always sniffing around.”

“I thought you employed the paparazzi?” She knew he owned more than one tabloid.

“Just because I’m the boss, doesn’t mean they won’t report on me. Besides, they have competitors that I don’t own. And I’ve made enemies in some places. Political ones.” She’d heard about those, as well. He’d had a public feud with a powerful New York senator over FCC regulations.

“I guess you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs,” she said.

“Isn’t it a little too early in the day to be quoting Ayn Rand?” Wilder asked her, a playful smile on his lips. So, the books on his shelf weren’t just for show. He’d read some of them. Perhaps he wasn’t the empty-headed billionaire she’d assumed he was. The more he talked, the more he seemed exactly her type—tall, dark, devilishly handsome and most likely with more issues than Sports Illustrated. She hated how much she loved complicated men, but there it was. Her Achilles’ heel.

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Are you going to keep changing the subject or are we going to talk about what you need from me?”

Wilder barked a laugh. “Okay. But, before I tell you, I’ll need reassurances that what we talk about here today will be confidential.”

She slid one knee over the other, her fitted skirt sliding up her leg. “Absolutely. I won’t tell a soul.” Wrong. She’d tell every single person she knew and then people she didn’t. She had zero loyalty to Wilder Lange.

Harley was finding it hard to meet Wilder’s gaze. He was looking at her as if she were an intruder in his territory, as if he were a wolf defending his pack’s hunting grounds. She tried to figure out why she thought he was so predatory. He was just a man, sitting in a chair, but there was something about the set of his shoulders, the barely restrained power there. Also, beneath that lazy smile, the bright, intelligent eyes, there was a hardness to Wilder Lange. She thought he must be a man used to using honey to lure bees, of that Harley was certain, but she also sensed a rigidity in him, which would account for the fact that he’d more than doubled his father’s empire. One couldn’t be a fantastically successful businessman on charm alone. Charm, she suspected, was just one of his weapons.

“Just to be certain, I’ll need you to sign this NDA before we get started.” Wilder rose, and moved over to his oversized antique desk, where he slipped open a drawer and pulled out a document of about five pages.

Harley blinked fast. She didn’t want to sign her soul away in some document. She was no lawyer. “Do we need that?”

Wilder crooked his head and handed her the papers and a pen. “Indulge me.” His sensual lips bent into a friendly smile, one intending to disarm her. Clearly, he was a man not used to trusting anyone. Harley took the document and scanned it. From what she could tell, it was a typical nondisclosure agreement, except that while most NDAs lasted two to five years, this one lasted for the entirety of Harley’s life. And she was not allowed to ever even admit to knowing, let alone treating, Wilder Lange.

“I can’t admit I know you?” she asked, puzzled, as she glanced at him. There goes spreading this little tidbit of gossip all over social media.

“If these terms aren’t reasonable to you, then...”

Harley glanced at Wilder. She could get up right now and leave. Why was she doing him any favors? She hated him. Hated what he’d done to her beloved magazine. Yet, she knew deep in her bones she couldn’t walk away. Not yet. Harley loved nothing more than a challenge, and she suspected Wilder would be that and more. The set of his chin, those mysterious dark eyes, the protective rigidity of his shoulders.... Oh, yes, he would be a delicious challenge. And what did she have waiting for her back at home? An eviction notice and hours to scroll LinkedIn for want ads? Besides, curiosity was eating her up inside. She needed to know what problem was so dire that he’d called her to his home and asked for her help.

She took the pen and signed her name on the contract and handed it back to him. He took it, tucked the papers back inside his desk drawer and then took his place opposite her in the leather-bound chair.

“Now, what can I help you with?” she asked. The curiosity was literally about to kill her.

“I can’t seem to...” He took in a sharp breath. “Well, I can’t seem to have sex.”

CHAPTER THREE

HARLEY LOOKED AS if he’d just told her he was an alien born in a different galaxy. Well, he guessed she hadn’t been expecting that. Wilder, himself, was the last man who would’ve thought it could happen to him, either. But there was the sad ugly truth: he was thirty-nine and having trouble getting it up. No matter how beautiful the woman, no matter how amazing or tantalizing she might be, he was having difficulty even mustering up a baseline interest in sex. He was supposed to be in the prime of his life and yet he couldn’t enjoy it. He’d tried the pills, and he’d had all the examinations, and every doctor or specialist told him there was absolutely nothing physically wrong with him. He was in the best shape of his life. His problem, they said, was all in his head.

“I’m sorry...you can’t...?” she said, and then quickly tried to mask her surprise. She was so shocked she put her glass on the nearby glass end table. He, however, took another swig of his.

“I can’t maintain an erection,” he clarified. No use beating around the bush.

“Oh.”

He gave her points for the professionalism and for not laughing in his face. He knew she was angry with him, had every right to be angry with him, and that’s why she’d be the perfect woman to treat him. Because she wouldn’t let him have a pity party like the last therapist he’d tried, who’d gotten him absolutely nowhere. Harley Vega wouldn’t let him manipulate her, either. Of that, he was absolutely certain.

Wilder was more than certain she was the woman to cure him. He hadn’t been this intrigued by a woman in...he couldn’t remember when. Before their meeting, he’d watched dozens of her interviews, read a substantial amount of her advice columns, and he had wanted to meet her in person. She was a rare combination of a beautiful mind who wasn’t afraid to say what needed to be said and a strikingly beautiful woman with curves that simply didn’t quit. The tight pencil skirt clung to her athletic legs, and while the pink ruffled top hid her curves, the sheer fabric showed just a hint of flesh-colored lace beneath, a tantalizing clue of the lingerie she’d worn to this meeting. He was certain she probably didn’t even know the lace showed. Her normally dark shoulder-length curls were confined in a tight French twist, revealing a smooth angular jawline that he had the sudden urge to stroke with his finger. Her light brown eyes were both warm and yet also...reserved. This was a woman used to keeping herself on a short leash, and that made him wonder why she felt she needed to grip it so tightly.

“I see.” She was stalling for time. Trying to get her thoughts in order, he guessed. It’s probably not every day the man who laid her off admitted to such a crippling problem. He would pause to feel humiliated, except that he didn’t have time for that. He needed to get help, and he needed to get it now. “So, I guess you’re not a sex addict, then?”

He barked a laugh. She was exactly the no-nonsense, pull-no-punches Harley Vega that lived in those advice columns.

“Is that what you thought?” he asked.

She nodded. “Can you blame me? You have a new girlfriend every week. And they usually write songs about your...” she cleared her throat “...abilities. While, also, I should say, talking about how you can’t commit.”

“I choose not to commit, there’s a difference.”

“Said like a true commitment-phobe.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Damn, the woman was blunt. Bold. Unafraid of him. She was just what he needed. “Surely, you don’t believe everything you’ve read about me. I’m sure you know that public lives can be different than private ones.”

She nodded, once. “Yes,” she admitted.

“So, do you think you can help me?” he asked.

She kept her face a perfect mask. “It’s a common problem,” she said, which he thought was kind, even as she uncrossed her legs and recrossed them. He watched the hem of her skirt rise, revealing her perfectly smooth olive skin above her knee. He felt his breath catch a little and wondered what that was about. He was a man who surrounded himself with beautiful women on a regular basis, so why would a hint of skin even register with him? Yet, it did. She bit her full lip, concentrating on her next response and he found it unbelievably sexy. The tiniest of lines appeared between her otherwise perfectly manicured eyebrows. Harley was beautiful, but not perfect, he noted, her smile slightly lopsided, her light brown eyes almost too big for her face. Almost. He’d call them doe-like, if he had to use a cliché, but really they were just big and warm and cautious. It was the cautiousness that intrigued him, the guardedness in her otherwise warm and open expression. She wore little makeup, which Wilder respected. He preferred the natural look, no matter what the tabloids might say about him.

But before he could fully appreciate the view before him, his phone rang. It was his younger brother Seth. He was the oldest of Wilder’s half siblings.

“I need to take this,” he said, even as Harley rose to her feet to protest. He stood and moved to the other side of the study. “Hello?”

“You sitting down?”

“No. Should I be?” He glanced at Harley long enough to see a flash of annoyance cross her face. She didn’t like being put on hold. But he’d not send his brother to voice mail. For him, family always came first.

“Maybe. I heard Mom is talking to Stuart. She’s trying to get him to sell his shares in Lange Communications.” In the background, Wilder heard a seagull cry. Seth was supposed to be somewhere in the Mediterranean, which was why Wilder was always going to take his brother’s call. He never knew when it could be an emergency. “Stuart said no, but just wanted you to know she’s trying to up her shares.”

“Of course, she is. That’s her full-time obsession for the last two years. Ever since the company became profitable.” Wilder felt the tightness in his chest loosen a bit. He was always a little worried about any of his brothers and was glad to hear this was just a routine call about Lucinda and not something serious like a car accident or, worse, a sinking yacht.

“Not that she’d ever admit you saved Dad’s legacy. She was livid when you got the lion’s share of the stocks. But he knew you were the best man to run it. We all know that.”

“I did what any of you would do.”

“Dad’s company would be bankrupt by now if any of us had tried to run it. You did something extraordinary. Give yourself credit.”

Wilder felt a swell of pride in his chest. He’d spent most of his life looking after his younger brothers. He’d had to: Lucinda drank too much and while his father was fantastic—when he was home—the business kept him traveling around the world most of the time when he’d been alive. Sure, they’d had a parade of nannies through the house. The nannies had made sure they were fed and wore clean clothes, but none of them dealt with school bullies or helped with homework assignments or, at least for one brother, aided him in talking through his difficult decision to come out. Wilder had been the one who’d been there through it all, making sure the boys knew they had someone in their lives who wasn’t going anywhere. They’d all naturally handed over the job of running their father’s business to him, no questions asked. If pushed, he knew, all of them were relieved not to have had to deal with the burden. No matter what their mother told them about how Wilder wasn’t fit to do it. They all knew he was the only one who could.

And Wilder took the responsibility because that’s what Wilder did. He always did what needed to be done.

“And by the way, thanks for taking it on, so I didn’t have to,” Seth said. In the background, he could hear the ocean waves lapping against the boat’s hull. Seth loved the water, preferring to spend his days on the family yacht far, far from family drama.

“You can repay me by winning that next yacht race,” he said, smiling at the thought of Seth out doing what he loved, racing across the ocean, the wind at his back.

“Oh, I plan on it.” Wilder could almost hear his little brother smiling through the phone. Nothing gave the kid more joy than being on the open water. “Anyway, I hear Lucinda is very close to getting other shareholders to sell to her. So just be aware she’s trying for a coup.”

“I’m not surprised.” Everything he worked so hard to build could be taken away from him if Lucinda got her way, which he didn’t plan on letting happen. Not now, not ever. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

Harley paced near him, impatience in every step, not bothering to hide the fact she was listening to every word. He supposed he should make this quick, now that he knew it wasn’t a life or death emergency.

“Look, if the worst did come to pass...” Seth paused “...you could always opt out of the Lange legacy. You don’t need it.”

“I owe it to Dad. You know if Lucinda got control, she’d just liquidate everything. Immediately. All she cares about is money.” He clenched his jaw, as he glanced at Harley who stood studying him, not bothering to hide that she was eavesdropping. That almost made him smile. He glanced beyond her to his father’s books on the shelf. Dad had left him these and the penthouse. He’d left Seth his boat, and the other boys had gotten more cash than they could probably spend in their lifetimes. Lucinda had gotten much less and had spent the last seven years trying to get what she thought was her fair share. At least in death Dad had admitted that Lucinda was...less than deserving.

“Dad’s dead. He can’t care about the company anymore. You could sell. Especially now that you turned the failing company around. Start your own business. You don’t need to be fighting Lucinda all the time.”

Hadn’t he been doing that his whole life? He wasn’t sure he knew how to do anything else. Plus, he was closing in on forty. This was quickly becoming his own legacy. Not just his father’s.

Harley Vega stopped her pacing, crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. He’d wrap this up.

“Trust me, life is better away from her.” Wilder could imagine Seth standing on the decks in the bright sunshine. He was happy for his younger brother, truly happy, but also felt a deep-seated envy. Wilder didn’t know how to let things go. If something needed doing, he did it. Period.

“Say, did you give Harley Vega a call like I suggested?”

“I did.” He glanced over at Harley and she froze. The impatience on her face changing to...curiosity. “I’m trying things out.”

She took her seat once more, gazing out the windows of his study, waiting for him to end the call.

“Good. You deserve a happy ending, too, brother. Pun intended.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Wilder rolled his eyes.

“Well, if you’re going to be fighting off Lucinda at every turn, then you need to have a way to blow off some steam. I also think if you just got away from that nest of vipers for a little while, come out on the boat, maybe you’d get your mojo back.”

“If I left, Lucinda would have me booted, no doubt, and take over the company now that it’s finally turning a profit.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“Just go sail your boat, little brother.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Seth paused. “Watch your back, Wild,” he said. “And call me if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Wilder ended the call and stared at his phone for a minute. He couldn’t help but wish Seth was here, the brother closest to his own age, the one who’d watched his back countless times in school and in life. The bond between them ran deep, and after he’d come out to him in high school, the bond had grown deeper. Wilder had been even more protective of Seth. He had helped Seth talk to their father about it, who’d accepted the news without any judgment. Lucinda, however, had been a different story. She’d been raised by conservative parents, and thought being gay was a choice. No matter how often Wilder, Seth or their father would try to explain sexual orientation was something you were born with, she’d never accept that Seth’s attraction to other men was something he couldn’t control. Wilder was glad Seth was happy out there on the wild blue sea. He deserved that happiness. Wilder wondered if he would be happier out there, too. But duty called.

And right now, that duty was Harley Vega.

“Sorry about that,” he said again. “It’s one of my little brothers. He’s abroad and I just wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

“Oh.” She seemed to be considering this a moment. “And is he?”

“Fine,” he said. “Not that he’s really trying to stay out of trouble.” Wilder laughed a little.

“Sounds like my sister,” she said. The two exchanged a glance and for the first time she seemed as if she did not want to kill him. That was progress.

“So.” She cleared her throat as she recalibrated, the warm moment cooling. He was losing her again. He needed to win her over. Needed to try harder. Watching her there, back ramrod straight, legs crossed at the knee, her almost-sensible pumps on, he felt a stirring in his groin. He nearly did a double take, as he glanced down at his lap. He hadn’t felt anything there for months. Hell, more than a year, if he were honest with himself. Could seeing this woman’s bare calves have this kind of effect on him? he wondered. Maybe he got off on therapy. Or maybe...he got off on her.

She studied him now, lacing her fingers together. “So, tell me about what’s concerning you most. About...your issue.”

What was concerning him most was how he was halfway to an erection, a thing he thought had left him for good. He took a deep breath and stared at Harley, who blinked at him, her pink lips full and halfway parted, and felt all of her laser-like attention focused on him. He liked it. Her attention.

“Well, I’d like to be normal.” Hell, he’d just like to get back to his life. That was all. Right now on his phone he had a dozen playful and sexy missives from his crew of friends with benefits, women who were always eager and ready for a good time. Except he wasn’t able to show them one. Not with his current predicament.

“There’s no such thing as normal, really,” she said. “There’s just people and what they like and don’t like. A normal amount of sex to one man is not the same for another.”

“Yes, but I’d just like to have sex. Period.” He felt like such a failure. He hated admitting defeat, and even worse than that, hated asking for help. He never asked for help in his life. Yet, he needed her help, whether he liked it or not.

Except that, right at this moment, he seemed not to have any problem with getting turned on. He shifted, crossing his legs to try to get his own growing hard-on under control, and almost laughed to himself about the irony of hiding his erection when he’d just told her he couldn’t get it up.

“Are you having trouble getting hard...or staying hard?” she asked him.

“Getting,” he admitted, though from the stiffness he felt growing in his lap, he doubted she’d believe him. “And maintaining.” He swallowed, hard, and crossed his legs. That seemed to make things worse so he uncrossed them. Was it the woman’s voice? It seemed every time she spoke, she was like a snake charmer, playing a delicate tune that only his cock seemed to fully appreciate. She was weaving a spell around him even now, her light brown eyes focused on him, her skin looking almost bronze beneath his study lights, her hands gently clasped in her lap. What he wanted to do was lean across the space between them and kiss her, feel for himself whether her lips were as soft as they looked. Hell, what he wanted to do was lie her down on the floor right now and taste all of her. The thought of finding her delicate pink—or would it be more mauve or magenta?—center set off a five-alarm fire in his brain, and his groin responded, growing harder even now. He casually put his hands in his lap, amazed to feel himself coming to life there. Now, you pick the time to work? He cursed his body, cursed the way the thing stubbornly refused to follow his orders.