Page 44 of The VIP Package

“That’s perfectly understandable,” she says. “And I promise I’m not wearing my therapist hat when I say so. This is me, Camille, your friend and—” She flounders there, probablyseeking a term to describe what we are to each other. “I lost my father last year, and while I know that can’t possibly compare to the heartache of losing a wife and a child, I do understand grief. And I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss as well.” What the fuck is wrong with me, turning this conversation into a sob-fest? Did I not just remind myself to keep my emotional distance from Camille?

“You asked about my personal kinks.” I wince at how jarring that sounds. “That wasn’t the smoothest subject change, was it?”

Camille laughs and the spell gets broken. “I’ll give you a pass. Did you bring it up because you’d like to share yours?”

Not really, but here goes nothing. “I’m a bit of a voyeur, to be honest.” If she’s struck by the fact that my kink matches her exhibitionist desires, she doesn’t say so. “I love women. I love looking at them, touching them, breathing them in.” My voice goes a little bit husky. “I love admiring their curves, savoring the softness of their skin. I love watching them come unraveled with just the lightest touch. I don’t even need to be part of it. Just witnessing that beauty is perhaps my most deeply ingrained kink.”

There’s a soft little click as she swallows. “Are you trying to turn me on right now?”

“Not precisely.” But now I’m curious. “Are you turned on?”

“A little.” There’s some rustling on the line and I picture her touching herself. She probably isn’t, but I like to imagine she might. “I love that about women, too.”

“You’ve been with a woman?” There’s another picture indelibly burned in my brain.

“Yes.” Her response slips out on a wisp of breath. “A few times in college and grad school. It’s been years.”

“Do you consider yourself bisexual?”

“I suppose so, but I’m leery of co-opting that identity. I’ve never been in a relationship with a woman, and I won’t claim I’m a member of a marginalized community.” She lets out a soft little laugh. “I know I promised not to put on my therapist hat, so won’t bore you with the science of sexual fluidity and gender, so I’ll just say that I’m heteromantically bisexual.”

I feel my brow furrow. “Say what?”

“I’m sexually attracted to both men and women, but I prefer men for long-term partnership.”

“I see.” I honestly wouldn’t mind if she donned that therapist hat, but we’re already treading on dangerous ground. The last thing I want is a shrink rooting around in my brain.

“That makes sense,” I continue. “I’m only attracted to women but open to ménage experiences that include any gender.”

“Good to know.”

Is she picturing me as part of that three-man fantasy she marked on her form? The filmstrip in my brain that’s playing a girl-on-girl ensemble switches to one starring Camille at the center of an all-male cast.

These pants are becoming exceptionally snug.

“Can I ask you something, Ash?”

The urge to say no makes me pause. “Perhaps.” I pause. “I reserve the right not to answer. Not to be obstinate. I just?—”

“I get it. I do.”

Something in her voice says she does. “Go ahead. Ask me what you want to ask.”

“What made you open a sex resort?”

The breath leaves my lungs. I can’t answer that one completely. Not without spilling my secrets.

But I can give her at least part of an answer. “I care very deeply about women’s sexual experiences. Giving women a safe place to explore all their fantasies and unmet needs.” I take amoment to find the right words. “Especially women who’ve been betrayed in some way.”

“I see.” There’s no more rustling on the line, so clearly I’ve killed any urge Camille felt to touch herself. “That’s noble of you.”

“Absolutely not.” The snap in my voice surprises me. “I’m not noble.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t argue, which tells me something.

What, I’m not sure.

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