Page 16 of Frequency of Attraction

“What do you want?” she asked.

He leaned over the console into his passenger seat, nose down so his blue eyes crested like the sun over his very Euro sunglasses. His sly grin pulled on her belly. Quinn’s traitorous feet propelled her toward his car without her consent. “I’m super busy and you’re blocking me,” she told him, leaning on the open window. His car smelled like him. She tried not to stare at his biceps, or the inked hand that gripped the steering wheel.

“Your attitude doesn’t fool me, princess. Your body is dying a slow death. Quit torturing yourself and let me resurrect you.”

She could not stop the squeak that escaped, nor could she ignore the flutters in her core from his words. He’d already brought her body to life without so much as a brush of skin on skin. Resurrection, indeed. With real effort, she kept her face neutral and stood. “Mm hm.Bonsoir, Vadim.”

She couldn’t see his face anymore, but she could hear him. Of course she could. “Come see me, Quinn. Soon.”

He left her, roaring out of the lot and turning toward town. She stood in that same spot for a long time.

By the time she got back to their concrete villa in the hills, Quinn had made up her mind. For real this time. Operation Orgasm was a go.

She found Vadim’s number in her phone and composed her message.Friday night?

His reply came right back.Yes.

Well, that was that. In two days, she’d be breaking a years-long dry spell and hopefully negating a lifetime of sexual frustration. In two days, her life might change.

Quinn got up from her bed to study herself in her bedroom mirror. She hadn’t changed out of her work clothes yet. Her silky purple tank blouse showed alabaster skin marked by freckles. Vadim was going to learn just how far those freckles traveled. She moved her blonde hair to one side, imagining him doing the same, standing behind her, his giant hands traveling down her frame. She wasn’t tall and thin like all of her cousins, or her friends Elle and Rosie. For some reason, she seemed to be surrounded by Amazons. She had a narrow waist and flatish stomach, but wide hips and significant cleavage. Turning to the side, she acknowledged there was a bit too much padding on her butt for her liking, and probably Vadim’s. That dude could probably pull supermodels no problem.

When the big day came, Quinn rushed home from work, where she’d studiously avoided the man all day, to freshen up. Quick leg shave, more deodorant. She didn’t change out of the dress she’d been wearing because she didn’t want to seem like she was trying to make this transaction something it wasn’t.

But a girl had to have smooth legs and smell nice for her first sexual encounter in years, with a man who short-circuited her body with his eyes alone. What would happen when he touched her for the first time? Quinn might faint, like the ladies of old. Or Beatles fans.

She snuck past the revelry on their pool deck. Tate had company, friends from out of state, including a young woman, staying with them. He had not told Rosie, a decision Quinn didn’t agree with. Tate would never betray her, but permission over forgiveness was key in public relations, and should be in life, too. She hoped Tate wasn’t making a mistake by keeping part of his life secret from the woman he loved.

She drove the thirty minutes back into Victory with her heart in her throat.

She knocked on the door to apartment 313, looking left and right to make sure no one from OrbitAll saw her visiting this obvious den of iniquity. She bounced on her toes.I am ready. I can do this.Quinn really believed that. Until Vadim opened the door shirtless.

10

Vadim was fairly sure the noise that had stuck in her throat was a whimper.

Nearly a minute passed before Quinn dragged her eyes from his bare torso to his face. She didn’t say a word and neither did he. Finally, a deep breath escaped her mouth.

“Hi,” she whispered.

Was this the same woman who goaded him at work? Where were her snarky words and scowls?

Vadim tipped his chin toward his apartment. “You coming?”

Definitely a whimper.

Inside, she turned to face him. “This feels really fucking weird, right? Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks what we’re doing is weird.”

“You’re making it weird.” He made his way toward the couch, where she followed. “Just relax. I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s your problem to begin with.”

Anger suffused her face with color. She crossed her arms and glared, a frequent reaction when he was around. “Relax? Why does everyone say that to me like the words can actually compel me? I can’t relax when I have to babysit the reputations of nineteen family members, plus spouses. Promote twelve brands. Support dozens of stores in dozens of countries. I wish people would quit telling me to have a drink, take a vacation, or get laid. Instead of telling me to relax, people should help me find solutions to our damn problems.”

There was that fire.

“I am.”

She blew out an angry breath and shoved her hands in the pockets of her American housewife-looking dress. She flicked her hazel gaze at him. “You sure you’re up for this? I mean, I’m kind of a mess, if you haven’t noticed. What if this little experiment takes months of trying?”

He shrugged.

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